Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one. I'm not a materialist.
Spoilers: Nothing I'm aware of.
Setting: Season 5.
Author Notes: Thank you to all who have commented. Thank you especially to those who posted links in other places and gave me the exposure every new author needs. You are wonderful.
Let's get this show on the road!
It's still very dark outside, the curtains are drawn but he can tell that the sun won't rise for another several hours. His body's sluggishness and slow, deliberate movements betray his tiredness, and it's yet another clue of how early it is. The clock is on the nightstand, where it's been for the past 14 years, but in the course of the night's activities, he ended up on the other side of the bed and now he's reluctant to lean over her and check the time.
She's sleeping on her stomach, one leg spread over his and her right hand tightly clutching a handful of his pillow. He can't see the exact outlines of her face, it's all a fuzzy art in the middle of the night and for a moment he considers taking up painting. Except she'd always be fuzzy and relaxed, like this.
He kisses the top of her head and then her forehead. He can smell the fruity scent of her shampoo and the traces of moisturizer on her face. It's the same scent that gets embedded in his linens when she spends the night and invariably the next evening, he shifts over to where she slept and lets it surround him.
She's so beautiful to him. The other day he even considered her as a good wine that gets better as it ages. He's not sure if it's an increasing amount of grace that she's acquired as she turned into the woman she is today, or if it's his bias that's influencing him at the moment, but it's undeniable to him that she is a sight to behold today, and that she is a picture of perfection.
Eventually, he swings his legs over the side of the bed, and grabs a sweatshirt off a chair. He's already in his pajama pants and a t-shirt, but there's a chill in the air in the early spring and he hates shivering. It's a bit of a sign of weakness, a surrender to your body.
She doesn't stir when he walks to the door, nor when he leaves his apartment. He's glad, because he doesn't feel like he's got it in him to have a protracted discussion, but part of him hoped she'd wake up with the click of the door and come chasing after him.
Sometimes he feels like she's got to hold on to him and not let him go, or he'll wander away aimlessly, in the desert, but for way more than 40 days.
The diner is dark, and the street lights illuminate their tiny town. He takes one of the chairs off the table closest to the stairs leading to his apartment, and sits down on it, knees spread apart, forearms resting on his thighs.
He goes over that phone call in his head a dozen times, a hundred times and it always turns out the same way. You win some and you lose some, and truth be told, he'd be willing to settle on something in between.
Some people are idealists, and Luke is a pragmatist. He knows this about himself, and he even fancies himself a reasonable diplomat, willing to meet you halfway, providing you are reasonable and your name isn't Taylor.
Maybe that's why he finds himself partially agreeing with what Emily had said to him. In his heart, he feels she is dead wrong, but matters of the heart are complicated things and one is more apt to succeed in this world if they stock their faith into things more cut and dry.
He sighs, and wishes she were with him now.
If he could see her face, he figures everything would make perfect sense and if not, she'd kick him in the butt and make him see things her way.
When he hears her footsteps some 20 minutes later, a brief smile dances on his face, although he's filled with trepidation as well.
"Hey, Luke?" She whispers his name, then pads across the floor to sit at the same table as him.
"Morning." He greets her because he knows she'll roll her pretty blue eyes at him.
"You are a masochist, my friend."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." He tells her, but he lies.
"It's cold down here." She says, shivering and he glances down at her bare feet resting on the cold tiles.
"Here, put your feet on top of mine, keep them warm."
She does so, and it's silly, but she loves him for it, adores him, spends every day crazy for him in a hundred different ways, but this one is her favorite thus far.
"Couldn't sleep?" She asks, and it's a vague question, but she's learned this is how she has to be with him, so that he's got enough time to tell her in his own words.
"Yes, no, I could. I don't know..."
"Are you planning on a very early day?"
He's confused about what she's asking, so she motions wildly around the diner.
"Not any earlier than usual."
"So you're contemplating redecorating?"
"You remember when we weren't dating?"
She raises her eyebrows in surprise. They've not been together a year yet.
"Eight years, I'd stand there and look at you, over the counter and marvel at you, but I wasn't with you, and that allowed me for a certain amount of objectivity."
"About me?" She's not sure anymore that she likes where this is going.
"You and me." He corrects her.
"Luke, baby, what's this about?" She asks softly and finds his hand in the dark.
He lifts his head and looks at her so closely and so honestly that she knows there isn't a thing he could downplay now or keep from her. She hopes he sees that reflected in her eyes.
"Do you ever feel like the universe is conspiring against you?" He finally asks.
"Well, they did decaffeinate coffee." She says perkily, hoping to lighten to mood.
"Ah, they were aiming right at you."
"Bastards."
"Tell me who they are and their ass is mine." He tells her playfully, even if his heart isn't completely in it.
"It gives you cancer, you know." She says knowingly.
"What does?"
"The chemicals they use in the decaffeination process."
"Yeah?"
"I read it somewhere. It's this disgusting, industrialized process, like making car tires or rubber products or something."
"I'm sure."
"You should dump that tea you drink, it's probably the same."
"I drink uncaffeinated herbal. It's not the same."
"How so?"
"No caffeine in chamomile to begin with."
"Oh."
"Right."
"You win again." She concedes.
"No, I really don't."
"Luke?"
He sighs again and runs his hand through his hair tiredly.
"I was thinking about you."
"Always a good thing, I hope." She adds with a smile, and he nods in confirmation.
"The best."
"Thank you."
"But anyway, you grew up over there, in that castle, with all these things and all these expectations of who you were and who you would become someday."
She raises her hands in the air and her eyes pop over.
"Whoa, whoa, flashback to childhood from hell! Little fiery man with a pitchfork and the 9th circle!"
"Sorry."
"God, Luke, I hope this isn't when you ask me if I'd prefer a tiara to being here with you."
She's joking, a little, but the look on his face stuns her.
"Oh no, don't tell me that's what you're thinking. No, no way." Her protest is immediate and it is vehement.
"I know you wouldn't rather be there than here."
"Phew. You just restored my faith in humanity."
"But you know, we're so different, you and I..."
She gets up, lifts her feet off his and stands up, too wound up to sit.
"I can't believe this. Not from you." She points her finger at him accusingly.
"I'm not trying to upset you."
"Yeah, well you're doing a bang up job of it."
He looks miserable and her heart breaks a little for him.
"Sorry."
"No, I deserved it."
"Just please talk to me, tell me what you're really thinking." She begs him.
"We went to see Pippi, right? And then you got me the book the next week? And remember I told you that I didn't think Dean was good enough for Rory, because she'd never be Pippi with him dragging her down?"
She just looks at him.
"I'm not? Am I?"
"No!"
"Because you know, I used to worry about that a lot. You were this perfect woman to me, and I thought, I'll never be good enough for her in a million years. But then we got together, and it was so good."
She shakes her head and her fury grows.
"What happened?"
"When?"
"When you decided to flip out and lose your mind and start talking like a man possessed by the spirit of Lorelai Gilmore the First."
"Okay, I give."
"Keep giving."
"Your mother called me."
Her head hangs and a cold sweat breaks over her.
"When?"
"What does it matter? This afternoon."
"What did she want? To shave you again?"
"That was your father."
"Then what, to take you shopping? To have you take a charm class? A French class? Some brass cufflings for the flannel?"
He looks horrified at all of the suggestions she makes.
"Okay, I want you to hear me out." He implores and she agrees, but they both know she won't stay quiet.
"So she calls me to say that she apologizes for not having invited me to that fundraiser she is involved in. Apparently, you and Rory are obliged to come along, but since Christopher and his family will be there, she felt it would be awkward, so she's trying to spare me."
"Oh, my God." Lorelai says angrily and he can almost see the steam rising inside her.
"I mean, it's fine, I wouldn't want to go anyway."
"I cannot believe this! No, wait, I can, because that's my mother, the she-devil."
"Not worth it, Lorelai."
"Getting angry? It sure as hell is worth it!" He watches her march over to his phone behind the counter, and she punches in the digits furiously.
"Jesus, it's 3 am!" He yells and runs over there to hang up the receiver before a connection is established.
"So fucking what!" She screams. "I've had it, Luke, I've just had it. I wasn't even going to that fundraiser. She knew that. She knew it but she called you to irritate you and to sow the seeds of doubt in your mind, and now she's done it. God, she knew Christopher was back and she's using it to ruin my life."
"Maybe she has a point." He says quietly, and all Lorelai can hear is the sound of her heart beating its way out of her chest.
"Excuse me?"
"Is that how the world sees us? The same way as your parents?"
Lorelai shakes her head in protest and points squarely outside, down the main street of the town they live in, past Taylor's store and the soda shop.
"This town? We're the it couple. It's been like that all along."
"Maybe."
"My parents? They're not normal people, Luke. They're part of the upper crust of the upper crust, the charred parts of the apple pie that everyone slices off with their fork before diving into the soft, juicy filling."
He chuckles despite his will.
"I just want to be sure, Lorelai. Look at me – really look at me."
"I do every day."
"I've given you all that I have. I've given you all the time, my waking and sleeping hours, and it's not a chore, it's a treat. I've given you almost all the savings I have, because you needed it and I could and I'd do it again. I've given you my friendship and my coffee and all of the rest of me. I love you, but I have nothing left. What your parents see now is what they get, because there is nothing more I can do, there is no other way I could better myself and make myself good enough for you. I can't, because I don't have it in me. I wish I did, for you, but I don't."
She tears up during his first sentence and by the time he's done his impromptu speech, there are large tears rolling down her cheeks slowly, one by one, traversing the same wet path down her face. It isn't sadness, but an awe and a wonder at just how devoted he is to her and a quiet realization that she feels the same way, and so in her mind, it's all very easy and very simple. The sun always rises in the East, and Luke and Lorelai are meant to be.
"Luke, if you gave me half of what you've given me, you would have been the greatest person to ever have come into my life apart from Rory."
"Thank you."
She approaches him and rises up on her toes, hugging him tightly, burying her nose in the crook of his neck. His broad shoulders envelope her and he holds her to him.
"I love you like no other." She promises him.
"I'll love you always." He promises back. "I just thought, family is important. Families stick together."
"That's why I'm sticking with you." She whispers.
Her hair looks great this morning. She knows that because he told her so when she came into the diner for breakfast. It's slightly wavy, totally in control, cascading just past her shoulders. Her eyes are bright and blue and match perfectly with her cableknit turtleneck sweater. He likes the way her charcoal pinstripe pants shape her legs and she's confident when she gets out of the car, walking up to the front door.
It's a little past noon, probably just after lunch, and the maid is new. Lorelai introduces herself to her, like Luke did and it feels great. She's done her part to prevent a peasant revolt, she figures.
Emily is startled to see her, but Lorelai breezes right past her into the living room.
"Was I expecting you?"
"That's a loaded question, Mom."
"Pardon?"
"Never mind. I needed to talk to you about something, I was in the neighbourhood, and I just so happened to remember how to get here from the sale at the outlet mall."
"Did they not have your shoe size ready? Or is there some other reason you are looking particularly irritated to be standing here?"
"I'm not irritated."
"If you keep frowning, your face just might freeze like that."
Lorelai exhales a long, slow breath, and attempts to steady herself.
"We need to have a tete-a-tete."
"I'm sorry?"
"I know you called Luke the other day."
"Does he give you a daily report every night? Is the diner business so slow he has nothing else to contemplate but my calls?"
"Stop it, Mom."
"Well?"
"I thought about this a lot, it's why I didn't come here two days ago, when I really wanted to. I thought, gee, I don't owe her anything. How many times has she made me cry? You've made me cry a lot, Mom, and he hasn't. Not in an unhappy way, anyhow."
She looks at Emily, and sees her mother stunned at this bluntness. There is hurt too, reflected from her eyes, but Lorelai doesn't see it necessary to apologize. She didn't come here out of malice, she feels, and if you give Emily an inch, she'll always take a mile. And most of Texas.
"So, here we are, and I am 100 okay with why I came. And I want you to listen to me very carefully."
"I don't do well with ultimatums." Emily finally says levelly.
"I love him, Mom."
"So you've said."
"And you apparently didn't believe me. Why else would you be rude to him in front of me, rude to him behind my back and rude about him to me in my face?"
"This has nothing to do with you, Lorelai."
"Nothing to do with me?" She's getting angry now, and it's never good when she loses her temper.
"You were always like this. You always think everything is about you. Well, this is about him. He may be a hardworking and honest man, which is fine. You might even say he is the backbone of our country. But he is not the best you could do. You are a different breed."
"No, Mom, you are a different breed. You and dad, you had each other all the time. You were perfect, two people from the same social sphere, same interests, same values, and same bickerings. I never fit in. You two had each other and I had nobody."
"We gave you everything, Lorelai. This lack of gratitude is not very becoming."
"Luke has loved me for most of my adult life. When I broke my leg and he brought me lunch every day, and when he fixed my roof and my porch railing and my oven and changed my locks and fed Rory and protected her like she was his own."
"I didn't say he wasn't a good man."
"The hell you didn't."
"He is a good man, for some woman who understands his world."
"Welcome to Uranus then, Mom, because you've just met her."
"Lorelai, be serious."
She feels like the moment of truth has arrived, like this is her final hour.
"I'm going to marry him. I am going to stay with him for the rest of my life. And I am going to have children with him, whether it be one or ten."
She blurts it all out, almost carelessly and is privately pleased that Emily is clearly surprised.
"Is that it? Are you pregnant?"
She can't help roll her eyes at the dig.
"There will be a day when I am, and I am telling you this right now, Mom, as loud and as clear as I possibly can. Let's not make the same mistake we did 20 years ago."
"You did not have to leave this house."
"Let's not play the blame game either."
They stand opposite each other, waiting for the first to crack.
"Mom, he's given me everything. He's given me more than any man before him, and more than any man should have to give. And I will do something today I've never done before, with my pride put aside and the last 35 years forgotten. I promise to give you everything, like he has given me, and I will beg you to take it. Because this is what the future is. Because you don't want to be here in 5 years not knowing your other grandchildren's names. You don't want to be that person, I know you don't. I don't want you to be that, so please, for once in your life, forget everything you've been told, unteach yourself all those assumptions and for God's sake, meet me halfway. Hell, meet me closer to you even, I'll budge."
It was the first time she saw her mother utterly speechless, her thin lips were set tightly as she controlled her breathing.
"Well, that's quite a mouthful, Lorelai."
"Take it or leave it, Mom."
"You've given me a lot to think about."
"Don't think." Lorelai demands. "You wasted 20 years thinking. I wasted just as many."
"Lorelai."
"Yes or no, Mom? Luke and I, together? Or nothing at all?"
"I've always wanted the best for you."
"Then be happy you have it."
Emily cocks her head to the side thoughtfully. She's already made up her mind, but giving in easily would be weak and uncharacteristic of her.
"I expect to see the three of you here on Fridays from now on."
Tears sting Lorelai's eyes, but she doesn't cry. She will later, with him, when she tells him about this conversation and how hard it was to come here, and how she needs him desperately to tell her that she's right, that taking the high road is the only way.
"Thank you."
"You are my daughter."
"Yes."
"Be happy."
"I am."
"Good." Emily smiles a small, polite smile. "It's all I ever wanted for you, in my own way."
"I know."
"But life isn't a Frank Sinatra song, is it now?"
"I guess not."
"It's just as well. I hear he was insufferable."