Title: Lost, Without a Doubt

Summary: Rory, in the middle of an argument, helps Lorelai realize her mistake. If only she would admit it.

Disclaimer: fight scene burrowed from show. (Merry Fisticuffs? Is that right?)

Setting: post French Twist.

A/N: ...i've kind of lost interest in this. my bad. nevertheless, i will try to finish it (because no story gets left behind). :P

The next chapter will more than likely be the last.

--

His vision has become a little blurred around the edges with the help of alcohol and anger, but he doesn't think he will ever forget that hideous green truck and who its owner is. His jaw clenches shut and Christopher stalks toward him, fists clenched till his knuckles turned white, seething. They seem to have reached a silent and mutual understanding.

He unbuttons the top collar of his shirt (to give him room to breathe) as Luke tosses his jacket to the side and it lands somewhere in a patch of grass. It’s not important. They meet in the middle of the deserted street—well, technically his face meets Luke’s fist in the middle of the street.

It is not a fight that lasts long.

After toppling over baby Jesus in the midst of the tranquil nativity scene, Christopher limps away, face and ego bruised, wondering if going back home-- back to Lorelai's, he mentally corrects, because she seems to be doing everything within her power to keep it from becoming their home-- is worth it.

--

“Lorelai? Are you even listening to me?”

She nods, her chin rubbing against the palm of her hand and yet somehow the words “Not in the least bit,” still manage to tumble out of her mouth without her consent. She closes her eyes for a moment and sighs; she didn’t mean to say that out loud.

“Honestly, Lorelai, you could be a little more grateful—”

“You know what? You’re right. I could. I’m sorry. So sorry.” She wants this day to be over with, and soon. Now, if possible. She knows that when it comes to Emily Gilmore, the only way to make that happen is to apologize and agree.

Emily sets her mouth into a firm line. “Well, there’s no need to be sarcastic,” she says primly.

Lorelai sighs, annoyed, but unable to completely blame her mother. She's always been sensitive to the things she says; Lorelai guesses she could have left off that second “sorry”.

“I didn’t mean to offend you, mother. Honestly. Please, continue.”

Emily goes silent for a moment as she studies her daughter closely. Finally, she breaks gazes and looks down at the list in front of her. “Roasted Cornish hen or Summer Cornish roast?”

“Is there a difference?” she asks, impassive. She rests her chin on her hands and tries to stifle a yawn.

“The seasoning. Both have garlic, but--”

“Go with the one with less garlic, then,” Lorelai murmurs, distractedly.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” she insists although that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Truth is she doesn’t care about any of this. The only thing that should matter is having her friends there, but she doesn’t feel like this is the things they should be celebrating, doesn’t feel right and for some reason, she is reluctant to force them to be a part of it.

“Now, as for the drinks…”

Lorelai holds back another sigh as Emily hands her a list of over a hundred different wines and cocktail mixes.

She’s starting to feel reluctant, herself.

--

Rory sighs in frustration as she continues blindly down another street, not bothering to look at the sign. All roads lead back to the town square, eventually, anyway. “I’m trying to be supportive. I really am. But I just don’t understand why they had to go and do this. I thought they'd date and realize, eventually-- I just never thought this would happen. Not for real.”

“Maybe…they’re in love.” Lane, ever the romantic.

“It’s not that simple. Besides, I don't think that's it.” Rory, ever the pragmatist and logical thinker.

“Why not?”

“Because—”

“Isn’t this what you wanted? Ever since I could remember, you've always said how it would be wonderful and great and peachy keen once your parents got back together."

Rory frowns, cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder as she bends over to tie her shoe. "'Peachy keen'?"

"You know what I mean," Lane huffs. Rory presses her cell phone back to her ear, as she hooks a left and finds herself at the town square. For the first time since, well, ever, she'd been feeling a little suffocated at the House Formerly Known as the Crap Shack, even though she was the only one there. She hoped a walk and pep talk with Lane would do her some good. So far, though, she's been sorely mistaken.

"It was different back then. I mean, I was convinced that them being together was right and would make everything okay. But now..."

"Now?"

"Now, I'm not so convinced anymore." She pauses before crossing the street, discovers that her walk has taken her to Luke's. She considers heading inside, because she honestly misses him and the crap coffee her mother bought couldn't possibly compare, but decides at the last second that it might not be best, for anyone, if she did. Instead, she turns towards the bookstore, hoping Andrew's winter discount sale will make her feel better.

--

It's late, closer to midnight than eleven, but Lorelai finds herself nursing a cold mug of coffee as she waits for Christopher to come home. Always waiting, she thinks morosely.

At 12:07, she hears the front door close, detects his poor attempt to be discreet.

"Where the hell have you been?"

He stops, just at the bottom of the staircase, but doesn't look up. "I went for a walk."

"For seven hours?" She scoffs, disbelieving. "I know you're not familiar with the town, but--"

He looks up at her then, and even in the dim light coming from the lamp on the table, she can't miss the bruise that's starting to form on his cheek. "What happened? Are you alright?"

He inches away from her hand and while she pretends not to notice, it still unsettles her. "I...got into a fight."

Lorelai has a sudden and unwelcome flashback to high school, when he wore a nearly identical expression after punching Danny Meester when he called her a slut. "A fight? With who?"

He glares, pointedly, at her. "Who else? The Diner Man."

"Luke? Why, why, why would you do that?" She shakes her head, amazed at his audacity. "You can't do things like that, Christopher!"

"Why not? Worried I'll hurt your precious Luke?" he spits out. He looks oddly comical with his lip swollen and the misplaced righteous indignation scrawled across his features.

Lorelai opens her mouth for rebuttal, but stops before the words leave her mouth. Because, in a small, tiny, miniscule way, he's right. He's right. Goddammit, for once, Christopher is completely and utterly right.

"You can't just punch Luke everytime we get in an argument or you don't like something that I do," she snaps.

"You didn't do anything. That's the problem. And, the last time I checked, he was the one who punched me four months ago!"

"I told you I'm telling Sookie tomorrow--"

"Whatever," he interrupts, his tone rueful. "I mean, you'll do what you want to do, right? No one can force Lorelai Gilmore to do anything she doesn't want to do. I should have learned that by now."

He shakes his head and walks toward the door. She almost says that he has nowhere else to go, then remembers, almost immediately that she never let him give up the lease on his apartment. Good thing, she guesses.

She doesn't ask him when he'll be back, doesn't wait up for him to call and let her know he's gotten wherever it is that he's going safely.

--

It goes without saying that she is not exactly looking forward to the end of the week. But it comes, without her permission, and just as all the other Fridays before it, she finds herself standing side by side with her daughter, unwilling to be the first to ring the doorbell.

She never actually expected him to show up to Friday Night Dinner. Still, when her mother questions her about his and GiGi's whereabouts, she isn't at all prepared with a plausible excuse that would cover their absence.

"Isn't he working, Mom?" Rory asks leadingly, as she nudges Lorelai in the side with her elbow.

"Right, yeah. Big...project, er, thing." Why can't she ever remember what it is that he does for a living?

Emily furrows her brow, frowning in disapproval, but otherwise doesn't let her opinion be known. She walks to the dining room, let the issue die, for once, in the foyer.

Lorelai says a silent thank you for little miracles and quietly follows her daughter into the dining room.

--