New Author's Note: I'm going to make more of an effort to add some of my older stories to my collection here. Some of these are much longer, and definitely much more filled with angst. In most cases I'm going to go ahead and leave the original Author's Notes at the beginning of each story or each chapter, just so you can see what what was going on in my head at the time. The little medical prologue at the beginning of each of the four chapters of this story confused some readers when this story was first published. It was just a fanciful way for me to address the fact that Lorelai was hurt and broken and was going to have to go through different stages of 'treatment' to become healed again. I'd love to hear any and all thoughts about this one. Thanks for reading!

A/N: Sorry ― but this is another Post-Partings, 'let's fix Season 7' story. I've been working on a couple of other things while I've been sitting on this one, and I think I finally got it to the point that I might as well release it. When Oh-No reviewed my "Alone" story, she made a comment about wishing she could see Lorelai get her own balance back, separate from any help from Luke. I'd been contemplating a similar idea, and this story was born from that. I don't think it's going to be particularly sad. It's just trying to get Lorelai back to the Lorelai we loved, which was a strong woman, even though she's on her own. Also, I'm kind of sorry about the title, but once it popped into my head it stuck ― kind of like the song itself, I guess. At least it should make Michel happy.

It happens on medical dramas all the time.

A beautiful woman lays on a gurney in an emergency room. She's gravely injured. Her heart has stopped beating.

A grizzled doctor grabs a huge syringe. Or maybe it's George Clooney. Or a young, unsure intern who nobody expects to have the nerve to come to the rescue. The doctor grabs the syringe, brings it up high over his head, and then plunges it down into the patient's heart.

The woman ― all but dead, seconds ago ― gasps and opens her eyes, color returning to her face.

The old doctor, or the sexy resident, or the clumsy intern walks over to the woman's family.

"It's OK," he says, reassuringly. "She's going to make it. She's back now."

One moment Lorelai was asleep. The next she was sitting up straight in the middle of her too-big bed, gasping, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it was bouncing between her ribs.

She didn't know what had awakened her so abruptly. She put a hand over her thumping heart and held her breath, listening hard for noises coming from downstairs, but all was quiet. No one was making mac'n'cheese in the kitchen. No intruder was stealing her priceless collection of Charlie's Angels plates. Paul Anka's toenails weren't skittering up and down the steps.

Still feeling shaken, she scooted to the edge of the bed. She went to the door, opened it, and listened intently again. She went to the window and looked out onto the peaceful night.

And it was there, while she gazed out onto the chuppah that she now understood was never going to have a use, that she realized her head was clear. As clear as the moonlight glinting off the fine sheen of sealer on Gilbert the Goat. For so long her thoughts had been fuzzy, as if the TV in her brain had those old-fashioned rabbit-eared antennas and they hadn't been turned properly to get reception. She'd watched her life roll by through a filter of static and confusion. She'd felt like she'd been on a diet of cold medication that had left her too dull and zoned-out to actively participate in her own life.

But that was gone now. All of the fuzziness that had cradled her against what had happened was gone. The tiredness that had coated her brain for weeks, allowing her to sleep like the dead, had retreated.

Suddenly she was watching herself with the clarity of an IMAX film. She heard, with agonizing shrillness, the things she had said. She saw, with heart-rending pain, the things she had done.

And jabbing into her, over and over, were tiny little pitchforks of shame and regret, poking her with the knowledge of the things she had not said and the things she had not done.

"I'm not that girl," she protested feebly to herself, so ashamed that she didn't think she could even draw another breath. She could feel her cheeks flaming in the dark. She was surprised she wasn't glowing.

But then her shoulders straightened and her spine clicked into place. "I am not that girl," she said with quiet determination.

She looked around the room that she hadn't truly registered in months. She grabbed the easy chair from under the lamp in the corner and by planting her feet every yard or so, managed to drag it over in front of the window.

She sat there, watching the windbreak of trees that separated her property from the Browning's next door. She watched the moonlight filter through the branches until it disappeared as morning approached. She watched the early morning rays from the sun play with the mist rising up from the grass.

She didn't know who the imposter had been who had been living in her body for the past year. But she was Lorelai Gilmore. And Lorelai Gilmore faced her messes and fought for her happiness.

She was alive again. And she was going to make this right.

She was sitting at the table, a mug of coffee in her hands, when Rory opened her bedroom door.

Rory yawned and stretched, one of the old 'rory's going to yale' shirts serving as a pajama top. "I thought I smelled ―" she started, but broke off, shocked to see a pan of cinnamon rolls actually sitting on their kitchen table.

"They're just from a can." Lorelai felt the need have full disclosure on all of her shortcomings on this particular morning. "They're not even the good ones in the can. They're the cheap off-brand ones Taylor stocks in his freezer case. And the coffee's nothing special. But it's strong."

"That's totally acceptable to me. I'm not a breakfast pastry snob." Rory poured herself a cup and then sat down at the table. Lorelai helped her pull one of the rolls from the pan.

Lorelai watched her daughter tear into the roll. "It's time for me to 'fess up. Bare my soul. Come clean about all transgressions." She tried to sound flippant; tried to sound like she hadn't been up for half the night, deciding on how to best redeem her life.

"OK," Rory said, unconcerned. She was used to hearing grand pronouncements from her mother. She casually swiped her finger through the icing that had run to the bottom of the pan.

Lorelai gripped the coffee mug harder. She watched as the icing dripped off of Rory's finger before she could raise it to her mouth.

"I need to apologize to you." The words were wrenched out of her.

Rory stopped chewing. She stared at her mother, apparently picking up on the fact that this wasn't a normal conversation. "Why?" she asked, her mouth full.

"I …" This was so much harder than she'd expected. It wouldn't have surprised her to see shards of porcelain explode across the table, so tightly was she griping the mug. She drew in one more deep breath. If she couldn't even talk to Rory about this, what hope was there that she could face anyone else?

"I altered our lives, Rory." Her voice came out deep and low, as though she had to pull the words from out of the very depths of her soul. The flippancy was gone. "I didn't talk to you first. I didn't even give you a hint that I was on the verge of causing an upheaval. I just … acted. I didn't think. I didn't think about what would come after." She felt like her arms were trembling and her shoulders were shaking. "I didn't even think about you." That awful admission brought her voice down to an ashamed whisper.

Rory put down the sticky roll. She wiped her fingers nervously on a napkin, carefully not looking at Lorelai. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does," Lorelai insisted. "Can you imagine the lecture I would have loosed on you if you would have pulled something like this?"

Rory shook her head. She gave her mother a tight smile before turning her attention to the roll in front of her. As she picked it apart, she said, "I have pulled stuff like that, and we both know it."

"You were 19, Rory. 20. I'm 38. And most importantly, I'm the Mom. I don't get to act like an idiot, not when it involves you, too. It was unbelievably awful of me to turn our lives upside down and not even give you a warning."

The roll got pulled into smaller and smaller pieces. "Mom," Rory said, discomfort dripping off of her.

Lorelai sat down the coffee mug and clung to the table, knowing she was going to need something stronger to hang on to in order to get through the next part of her confession. "I hurt Luke." The trembling from her arms had progressed internally, and everything inside of her chest and abdomen was quivering. "I hurt Luke," she repeated, for some reason needing to feel the pain from those words again. "You and Luke have always been close. You've always had your own relationship with him, and I messed that up. And I did it without even giving you a hint of what was coming."

Rory sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest for protection. She swung her head away, so Lorelai couldn't see her face.

"And then I went to your Dad," Lorelai continued, her voice getting clearer and stronger. "The worst possible choice I could have made that night, and I knew it. I went to him knowing it was going to destroy everything, and I did it without thinking even once what it would do to you."

Rory's eyes flashed as she turned back to Lorelai. "You are not responsible for what you did that night!"

"Yes, I am," Lorelai disputed. "No one forced me to do what I did. I wasn't insane. I wasn't drunk. There's no excuse for what I did."

"He hurt you!" Rory cried out, nearly choking on her indignation.

Lorelai bit her lip. "Yeah, he did. But that's still no reason for me to blow up our lives."

Rory's hand smacked the table, still fuming. "Dad should have ―"

Lorelai swiftly put her hand over Rory's. "Dad did exactly what I was counting on him to do. I went to him for a reason. Once I stepped through his door, I knew everything between me and Luke was over, and that's what I needed at that moment. You can't blame Dad. I'm just so sorry, Rory, that I conveniently forgot that he was your Dad. I forgot that whatever happened between Chris and me was going to spill down over you, too. The three of us have always had such a muddied relationship, and I made it a thousand times worse by going to him that night. I'm sorry. You can't believe how sorry I am."

She wanted to cry. She really wanted to cry. But she didn't. She held her daughter's hand and looked her in the eyes. She kept her mouth and her resolve firm.

Rory took a shaky breath. "So you blew everything up. What happens next?"

"Somehow I need to find all the pieces and put them together again. I know things won't ever be the same. I know I'll never be able to find some of the pieces. I did such a good job of blowing them to smithereens, they're too tiny to ever find again. But I have to try. I hurt too many good people to not try." She felt tired already, just thinking about the impossible tasks lined up ahead of her.

Rory bent her head over the table, her dark hair swinging down and blocking her face for a moment. When she looked back up, she put her hand over her mother's.

"I'm not mad at you, Mom. I hate what happened. I hate what you did. But I also hate what Luke did. I hate that he pushed us out."

"He didn't push you out," she argued.

Rory rolled her eyes and shrugged. "I understand what you're saying, that you're responsible for what you did. But I still don't think you're completely at fault for what happened. It's like what Grandpa is always talking about in insurance, how sometimes both parties are liable for whatever damage has occurred. You own some of the blame, but so does Luke. So does Dad, for that matter."

"Rory ―"

"No, you're not changing my mind." Rory got up and gave her a firm hug. It was a little sticky, but firm and warm. "I love you, no matter how many times you steal a boat and drop out of school."

The tears were really trying to force their way out. "Thanks, Sweets," she choked out.

"I learned from the best," Rory said airily, standing back up straight. She looked at her mother squarely. "You seem different. You seem…well, normal again. Does that make sense?"

"I feel…different," Lorelai said hesitantly, trying to find the right words. "Actually, that's not true. I feel the way I used to, back in once upon a time." She traced over the edge of the old tabletop, trying to remember the last time she felt normal. "When you left me and went to your grandparents ―"

Rory winced as she sat back down.

"― it was like a switch got flipped off inside of me," Lorelai hurried on. "It was like I was afraid to really live without you. I was just starting to feel my way again when I found out that Luke had hidden all of the April stuff from me, and I hit the pause button again. I think I forgot how I was supposed to be. I think I forgot that I was strong enough to handle this stuff."

"But you're better now?" Rory asked, worry creasing her brow.

Lorelai took an inventory of her inner self. "I think I am. Or at least, I'm going to be."

Lorelai took a sip of coffee, while Rory licked at the icing again. They both took a moment, judging if there was more to say.

"I've always tried to be a good example for you, Rory," Lorelai broke the silence, trying to find her way to the wisdom she hoped to impart to her daughter. "And if I wasn't a good example, if I screwed up, I wanted you to know that, too, so that you could see what worked and what didn't. I want you to know that the way I acted with Luke was wrong. I was wrong to sit there silently, in misery, and let him run the show. I was wrong in the way I finally confronted him. I was wrong in the way I ended things. I am not that woman. I want you to know that I expect myself to be better than that. I expect you to be better than that."

Rory's big blue eyes met hers from under the dark fringe of her bangs. "You don't have to worry about that. For all my life you've taught me how to be the best Lorelai Gilmore that I can possibly be."

Lorelai's throat closed up and she watched as Rory's lips trembled as she forced them into a smile. Their hands met in a comforting squeeze across the table.

Rory gave her head a little shake and chuckled, trying to dispel their seriousness. With a watery smile she pushed the pan towards her mother. "Cinnamon roll?" She shrugged. "They're really not half bad, even if they are just from a can."

Sudden hunger tore through Lorelai. She smiled; a real smile. "Gimme," she said, and reached for the roll in the middle of the pan.

"Oooh!" Sookie squealed, as Lorelai snuck up behind her and wrapped her arms around her. "You scared me half to death! That's a dangerous thing to do with a cook holding a knife, you know!"

"I know," Lorelai agreed, rubbing her cheek against the bright red bandana covering Sookie's head. "Could you come take a walk with me for a couple of minutes?"

Sookie turned her face enough to see the serious look on Lorelai's. "Sure," she said, trying to sound agreeable, but Lorelai could hear the underlying apprehension.

"Don't let the potatoes burn!" she warned Manny. She threw out a couple more reminders in Spanish as they walked through the back door.

They chatted a little bit about problems with linen delivery and the odd noises heard from the occupants of Room 11 over the weekend. They strolled around the barn and ended up leaning against the fence, watching Desdemona daintily nibbling on the grass growing up around the posts.

"So, what's shakin', bacon?" Sookie asked. Then she giggled. "That's Davey's favorite saying right now. Hear that about a million times a day. I don't know why he loves saying it so much."

"Maybe he likes bacon," Lorelai murmured. She couldn't keep from rubbing her hands together as she tried to contain her nerves.

"Lorelai." Sookie looked sad as she scrutinized her friend. "Why don't you just tell me what's on your mind?"

Lorelai blew out a breath. "I owe you an apology."

Sookie frowned. "Why? What did you do?"

"It's more…what I didn't do."

The frown deepened. "What?"

"You're my best friend, Sook. You're my business partner. I trust you with my money; with my kid. But I didn't trust you enough to tell you when my life was going to hell."

Sookie shifted her eyes away, clearly uncomfortable. "You didn't need to tell me. I mean, I could see it, you know?"

Lorelai slowly shook her head as she draped her arms over the fence. "It occurs to me that I did the same thing to you that Luke did to me. I shut you out. You've always been such a huge part of my life, but I just sidelined you, as if you didn't matter."

Sookie pulled the bandanna off and rubbed it slowly between her fingers. "But that's kind of the definition of being a friend, isn't it? You stand by, in case you're needed. I was always ready to listen, if you wanted to tell me. But I never thought you had to."

"It's more than that. I neglected you as a friend, but we're in this business together, and I let you down there, too. I haven't really been here for months. My head's been floating off in my own personal soap opera. None of it's been fair to you, Sookie."

"You've worked harder than anybody to get this place up and running," Sookie disputed loyally. "It's OK that you needed some lost time. We all know what to do now, anyway."

"Lost time," Lorelai muttered, a little bitterly, even though she tried to smile. "That's the truth, though, isn't it? I've been using lost time, even though I've been here every day. You, and Michel, and everyone else have had to pick up the slack. Because of me."

"You had a major upheaval in your life. We all understand. You were allowed."

"A major upheaval," Lorelai mocked. "A major upheaval of my own making."

"I wouldn't say that," Sookie interjected.

"I would." Lorelai looked down at the dirt at her feet for a moment. "That goes back to the friendship thing again. Why didn't I come to you and confess how awful things really were between me and Luke? Why didn't I pour out everything to you the way I always used to? Why didn't I try to talk things over with you?"

"Because you were scared," Sookie said softly.

Lorelai sucked in a sharp breath. "Yeah."

"Because you were afraid I'd agree with you," Sookie continued. "You were afraid that I'd say what Luke was doing was crappy. And you weren't ready to deal with that opinion. You were afraid that if I said that, you'd have to do something about it."

"So smart," Lorelai said, trying not to sound mournful.

"I have my moments," Sookie agreed somberly.

"I should have talked to you." Lorelai kept her focus straight ahead. "I should have kicked down your door that night and cried on your shoulder. I should have told you everything. You never would have let me go to Boston."

Sookie chewed on her lips for a moment as she turned and gazed at the barn. She sighed deeply and shoved the bandanna into the pocket of her chef's jacket as she took the two steps needed to bring her beside her friend. She slipped an arm around her waist.

"I wouldn't have stopped you. If you really thought going there was what you should do, I wouldn't have stood in your way, but I would have let you know that I disagreed. I would have listened. I would have let you get it all out. I would have let you cry on my shoulder." She gave Lorelai a little squeeze. "That will never change. I'm here anytime you need me."

"Man." Lorelai tried to laugh, but she had to quickly swipe a finger under her eye. "I don't deserve you."

"Maybe not." Sookie tried to look serious. "Ooh! Maybe I need a raise! After all, I have been running this place practically single-handedly."

Lorelai took a moment to look over the gentle horse eying them with curiosity. Desdemona, and the stables, and the beautifully landscaped grounds of the Dragonfly wouldn't be here if she hadn't fought to make them happen. The sunshine glinted off of Sookie's bright hair, and her heart thumped in gratitude that such a good friend still stood beside her. She felt lighter and happier than she had in months.

"Can I pay you in bacon?" she suggested. That's what the old Lorelai would have said, jokingly.

Sookie giggled. "That would be Davey's dream come true."

"Well, then, I guess I need to go call our meat supplier." She swallowed hard. "Thanks, Sook."

"Anytime," Sookie told her gently.

Together the two friends leaned on the fence and took turns rubbing Desdemona's velvety nose.

Later that day Lorelai tried to talk to Michel, to offer him an apology about her behavior as well, but Michel being Michel, he brushed her off, pretending to be bored. When she gathered the Dragonfly staff together, to face them all and go over her shortcomings as the boss and promising to be better in the future, she couldn't help but notice that Michel stood right next to her, glaring at anyone who didn't seem to be paying enough attention.

Throughout the next week, Lorelai took time to track down anyone she thought she'd wronged while her relationship with Luke had imploded.

She went to both Miss Patty and Babette, apologizing for putting them in awkward spots with Luke that week before the blow-up. She admitted how ashamed she was of her actions, and said she understood if they couldn't look at her now and see the Lorelai she used to be. But both forgave her on the spot, showering her with unconditional love and sympathy that came from their own life experiences.

"We're just glad to have ya back, Doll," Babette told her earnestly.

She apologized to Taylor for ignoring town events. She went to the people she knew had been on the street that night and had witnessed the awful scene first-hand, apologizing sincerely for making them a party to her meltdown.

Finally, with grim resolve, she drove to Hartford. She sat quietly in her parents' living room and told them how sincerely she regretted hiding the truth from them about how much her relationship with Luke had deteriorated. She told them how awful she'd felt. She told them how sorry she was that they'd wasted their time looking for a home that she knew wasn't going to be used.

The room was silent after her long, rambling admission.

"Well, that's all past now," her father said gruffly, heading for the drink cart. "Best forgotten."

"I know you're still mourning this, Lorelai," her mother said, "but it will get better. Why don't I send over my decorator? New drapes will change your outlook on everything."

Lorelai even thought about going over to see Anna again, to apologize for her unwanted intrusion into her life.

No, she thought. No, I'm not apologizing for that. That's the one thing I did right. That's the one thing that felt like me.

Slowly she began to notice that she was back to actually living in Stars Hollow again. People looked her in the eye. They waved and called out greetings. They offered bits of gossip. They asked her opinion. It still wasn't quite the old 'normal,' but it was getting closer.

She walked down the streets now with her head up and her eyes clear. Unfortunately she'd learned that the cost of all of this honesty and self-awareness meant living with the awful ache in her chest.

But then she remembered all of the months she hadn't felt anything.

At least she knew now that living with pain was still better than living with nothing at all.

She watched about a dozen emotions flit across his face as he opened the door. No wonder she'd always been drawn to him. He didn't attempt to hide anything from her.

"Lorelai?" He'd gone from stunned surprise to irritation, toyed with nervousness, tried to be coolly aloof, and now he was grinning, just happy to see her. "This is great! Come on in!"

"Hi, Chris," she said, keeping her voice as neutral as she could. He stepped back from the door and she stepped across the threshold with more ease than she would have thought possible. She'd been afraid that her knees would buckle beneath her, but apparently the stress of worrying about the words she was going to deliver made it possible to ignore the physical part of what she was actually doing.

He closed the door, that happy-puppy look still on his face. "You should have called, Lor. I would have made arrangements for the nanny to stay, and we could have gone out! Man, it's great to see you!"

Her eyes grazed the side of his face. She couldn't really look at him. She detested the feel of the sickly smile she had taped to her mouth.

He put his hands on his hips. "Sit down," he said, trying to be hospitable, but his voice was laced with caution. "What do you want to drink?"

"That's OK. I'm not ―" Her gaze went to the streetlights starting to glow outside his apartment window. "I'm not going to be here that long."

His hands crossed over his chest. The happy-puppy look faded as his face hardened. "I've been trying to connect with you for weeks. I've been worried to death about you, Lor. All those calls, and you wouldn't say more than ten words to me. Rory told me to leave you alone, so I did. And now you finally show up here and you say you're not staying? What the hell's the deal?"

She tore her eyes away from the window and made herself look at him. He deserved to have her at least look at him. She forced air down into her chest.

"I'm here to apologize to you." Now her knees decided to wobble.

"What?" His face went sweet and goofy, the look that had slain her since she was 14 years old. "You've got nothing to apologize for," he insisted, his voice warm.

"No, Chris, I..." She shook her head a few times. Gulped. Wrapped her fingers around the leather purse straps looped over her shoulder for strength. "I used you. I totally used you. And I'm sorry. You have no idea how sorry."

He laughed. "You're being silly. There's no way I'd ever consider what happened as me being used," he teased, and took a step towards her. She instantly took a step back and he stopped, a fleeting look of concern crossing his face. "You're not serious?" he asked, in disbelief.

"Totally, totally serious," she nodded. "I used you. I used you to put an end to the mess I had with Luke. And that ―" she had to stop again, had to tug on her purse straps again, " ― used up our friendship."

He was still trying to smile but she could tell that it was beginning to sink in. "You're scaring me here, Lor," he said, trying to chuckle. "You're freaking out over nothing."

"It wasn't nothing. It was huge. It was monstrous. It ruined everything between me and Luke. It ruined everything between you and me. I'm sorry, Chris. I'm so, so sorry."

"Lor, come on!" He was starting to sound a little angry. "You don't mean that. You're just doing some drama queen routine."

"I was hurting so bad that night. It was killing me ― You had to see that it was killing me. I didn't stop to think because I just wanted it to stop. I didn't think about the consequences. I didn't think about what would happen with us. I didn't even think as far as the next day. What I did was so awful, Chris, to both of you. But what I did, I did. I can't take it back now. I have to live with it." She looked at him, desperately, the words tumbling out.

"Of course you do," he muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his khakis. "And I can even feel a little sorry for Luke, but the guy was an idiot for letting you go. He lost you, which was what he deserved. But that has nothing to do with us!"

"That's what I'm trying to make clear here. There is no 'us' anymore, because of what I did with you that night. Can't you understand? I cheated on Luke with you! Now when I think of you or see you or hear your name, that's all I can remember! It makes me sick, can you understand that? Right now, standing here, I'm not thinking about having Rory or the first time we danced together or riding on your motorcycle! All I can remember is that I used you and it ended up hurting Luke! It kills me, do you get it?"

His mouth was compressed into a thin, tight line. "There's always going to be an 'us.'"

She sighed and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. When she opened them she was calmer. "I hurt all of us," she said softly. "I didn't see the big picture at all. That's why I'm here to apologize. All of the years we've been friends, or lovers, or one of the most important people in each others lives ― It's gone, Chris. I ruined it. Our one stupid night wiped out all of our years of friendship."

"That's not true," he said flatly. "I don't see it that way at all."

"Well, unfortunately, I do." She squared up her shoulders as she looked at him plainly. "That's why I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He shook his head in disgust. "So have you apologized to him yet?" he sneered.

"Not yet," she said, inching towards the door.

His mouth dropped open in incredulity. "You're going back to him?"

"There's no going back." She paused, her hand on the doorknob. "The second I came here that night, I knew he'd never take me back."

"But yet you still love him?" His voice was mocking.

"Yeah." She wanted to cry, so she laughed instead. "I'm pretty screwed, huh?"

She started to open the door but he was beside her in two long strides, his hand pushing the door back closed. "Look, I'm sorry you feel bad about it, but what happened, it doesn't change anything between us, don't you see that? We're still the same!"

She looked at him, so very sad. "It changed me."

"Lorelai ―" he began, petulantly.

"There's probably no reason for G.G. to remember me," she broke in, wanting to wrap this up now and get out of his apartment, "but would you apologize to her for me sometime, too? Tell her I'm so sorry she saw me that morning. Tell her I'm so sorry that I tried to mess up her life, too."

"You're being ridiculous."

She stared at the grain pattern in the dark mahogany door. "I'm being responsible," she told him. "There's not much I can do about the huge mistake I made except apologize. So that's what I'm doing. I'm sorry, and I hope one day you can forgive me." Her eyes flickered over to his face, and she saw that he was still glaring at her in a mix of anger and skepticism. "I'm sorry," she said again, and walked out the door.

She kept her shoulders straight as she walked down the hall and took the elevator to the lobby. She crossed the entry quickly and bolted outside. She didn't start to shake until she turned the key in the Jeep and had pulled out into traffic.

About an hour outside of Boston, it hit her that Chris had one thing in common with Luke, after all. He hadn't come after her, either.

The sun was low enough in the sky that the alley behind the diner was shot through with shadows. If she stood up, one last ray was positioned to hit her right in the eye, so she sat instead on the steps to the back door.

In her hands she clutched a brushed aluminum travel mug, imprinted with her father's company name and contact information. Sipping at the coffee in it gave her something to do, something to think about instead of where she was and what she was waiting to do.

Caesar probably would have given her some coffee to fill it, if she'd been brave enough to step inside. But she wasn't. Not yet. It was all she could do tonight to lurk in the shadows of the alley and wait for him to return.

She watched the dust float through the last bit of sunshine. She watched a slight breeze blow through, making a few tall weeds shiver. But she didn't rehearse. She didn't list in her head the points she was hoping to make. She just waited.

It might have been 10 minutes later when her ears picked up the sound of his truck. The gravel crunched as he turned into the end of the alley. She saw the look on his face as he registered her presence. She saw the way he shut down.

The motor of the truck pinged and knocked as it cooled. Dust that had been stirred up by the tires settled back onto the ground. Luke stared straight ahead, his hands still locked on the wheel.

She stood up slowly, taking a moment to wipe off the seat of her cut-offs. She couldn't actually feel her feet as she made her way to the driver's side of the truck, but she knew what she had to do. She'd gone through it so many times in her mind that her body was automatically putting her through the paces now.

She looked through the open window at the man she still loved so much. His profile punched her in the heart, and the rough whiskers on his cheeks made her feel like it was scratched and bleeding.

"Hi," she said. She'd intended to add his name, to say 'Hi, Luke,' but that was too much. She surely wasn't expected to do that.

He was still staring straight ahead, his jaw tight, so she launched into some small talk. "It's Tuesday night, so I figured you'd be taking April home. How is she? Is she having a good summer?"

He gave no indication that he'd even heard her, so she rambled on, pretending that he'd answered her. "Is her swim team having a good season? I know she was really looking forward to that. She and her friends were talking about it that night. At her birthday party. They were..."

She paused again, taking a breath and trying to recover. She knew he wouldn't be happy to see her, but the totality of his ignoring her was starting to chip away at bravery she'd slathered on. She needed to do this now, before she turned and ran.

"Listen, I'm sure you're wondering why I'm here." Her nerves almost made her giggle, as she heard that piece of ridiculousness come out of her mouth. To her surprise, he turned and looked at her. Disgust layered over his mouth. Something that looked like hate poured out of his eyes.

"Yeah," she breathed, clutching at the truck door with her free hand, trying not to let that look knock her down. "I'm here to say I'm sorry. I want to make sure you know that I'm sorry."

Shock pushed the disgust off of his face. "You've gotta be kiddin' me," he muttered, and jammed open the door.

She jumped back, trying to avoid getting hit. "I know it's too little, too late, but you've got to hear me. You've got to know how sorry I am."

He slammed the door shut and started to stomp towards the steps leading to the diner. "Wrong. There's nothing I've 'got to' do for you ever again."

"Luke, please." She'd said it without thinking, and the repercussions of saying his name nearly tore her in two. She pressed one arm over her chest, trying to staunch the pain and skittered after him. "Please let me say this. Please listen. Just for a minute."

He stopped at the top of the steps. He turned back, looking over her head, far away down the alley. She could tell how much he wished he was far away from her. "One minute," he said, gruffly.

"OK." Now that she had her chance, everything she'd wanted to say had slipped away to some dark crevasse in her brain. She licked her lips nervously, trying to recall something, anything.

"I'm sorry," she began, desperately. "I'm sorry I hurt you. What I did was so, so awful that I can't believe sometimes that it really happened. It's like a bad dream, you know? It's like I'm in the middle of a really awful horror movie and I can't get up and walk out. I have to sit there and watch it over and over. I can't get away from it. That's one of the worst parts of it, knowing that it really happened."

"Wow, sorry it's been so rough on you," he said sarcastically, turning to the door.

"No!" She leaped over to the old wooden stoop and reached through the railing, actually grabbing his arm for a split second to stop him. "Please listen to me. I'm trying to tell you that I know how much I hurt you. I know how horrible I was. I know what I did was unforgivable. I know you didn't love me by then, but what I did to you was so terrible. I'm sorry I didn't try to talk to you before. I'm sorry I made it into an ultimatum. I'm sorry I walked away."

Her breathing had grown so ragged she had to stop. Her chest wheezed as she tried to choke down some air.

Luke had grown very still. Eventually his eyes closed and his head tilted down.

"I'm sorry," she said again, her heart in those words. "I'm so, so sorry."

He nodded once. She saw the muscle in his jaw flex as he swallowed hard. He reached for the door handle.

"Wait!" She had one more thing on the agenda.

"What?" he muttered, sounding absolutely exhausted.

She sat down the travel mug on the edge of the steps and plunged her fingers into the small watch pocket on her denim shorts. "Here," she said, gingerly reaching towards him, her engagement ring still managing to twinkle in the light of the setting sun.

"No!" He recoiled, almost pressing himself back against the door. "Get that thing away from me!" he spat out.

She drew it back, hesitating for a moment. Then she offered it again. "I can't keep it. You know I can't keep it."

He was angry again. He rose up to his full height, towering so far above her on the steps. "I am never touching that fucking thing again. I don't give a damn what you do with it, but get it away from me!"

She shoved it hastily back into her pocket. Although she'd been known to drop an f-bomb in front of Luke from time to time, mainly for the shock value, he'd never before uttered it in her presence. She knew to take his message seriously. She'd have to figure out another way.

He fumbled for the door without giving her another look and practically threw himself inside. The door clicked closed, leaving her alone once again.

Lorelai picked up the coffee mug and stumbled to the street on numb legs. She was amazed when she emerged from the shadows into the soft golden glow of evening. It felt like she'd been secreted in the dark pain of the alley for hours.

She stopped for a moment in front of the electronics store. She looked at her reflection and pulled herself together. She walked home, nodding hello to various townsfolk as she passed them.

She hurt. She was shaking from the emotional scene she'd just instigated. But at the same time, she was exhilarated. At least she'd taken the first steps with Luke. Whether he'd ever forgive her or if they'd ever reach some sort of friendship again was beside the point. She was doing what she needed to do to live with herself.

There was a chance she was actually going to be Lorelai Gilmore again after all.

The phone trilled shrilly, and Lorelai flailed at the back of the couch, trying to keep herself from tumbling off it onto the floor. She'd fallen asleep on the couch and now the phone had nearly given her a heart attack.

Her hand connected with the phone and smacked it out of the base unit. She scrambled to pick it up. "Hello?"

She listened for a moment, one hand pushing back her wild curls. She was breathing hard, and she was convinced she couldn't be hearing what she was.

"Babette. Babette, slow down. What do you mean?" She was shuffling towards the front door as her neighbor continued to give her the lowdown. "That doesn't ― that doesn't make any sense, Babette."

She tucked the phone under her chin as she pulled open the front door.

Her teeth started to chatter so loud in her head that she thought for sure the flannel-clad person sitting on her steps could surely hear them.

"Yes, Babette, you're right," she said into the phone. "It is Luke sitting on my steps." She listened a little longer. "No, I don't know what he's doing here. I'll talk to you later, Babette. Thanks for the call."

She tossed the phone on the entry table and stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind her. She didn't think anything about the fact that she had on nothing but a tank top and sleep shorts until the cool morning breeze made her shiver. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at the bare head of the man sitting on her steps.

Luke didn't seem to be aware of her presence, but then he shifted over, making room for her to sit down beside him.

She was confused. She didn't know what to make of his being here. She didn't have a script in her head for this anomaly. Finally she padded over to the steps and sat down, leaning her shoulder against the railing beside her, keeping as far from him as she could.

He didn't say anything for a long time, and she kept quiet as well. She'd learned not to rush him.

"Last week, when you came to talk to me..." he began, finally. He kept his focus straight ahead, maybe on the mailbox.

She nodded, watching him, aching to touch him. She wanted to hold him so much, to somehow take the pain away.

" ...you said something about how I didn't love you."

"What?" she asked, shaking her head. She was so flabbergasted by his presence on her steps that she could barely remember her name, let alone anything she might have babbled to him a week ago.

He cleared his throat, shifted his legs awkwardly. "You said that night, when you went to ― when you went away from me. You said you knew I didn't love you by then."

"Oh, right." The words came back to her then. "That." She decided to pretend that they were just having a normal conversation. To pretend that each of these words weren't in fact making her die a little bit more. "Yeah, see, when your fiancé doesn't want you to meet his daughter, or even be really involved in his life anymore, that's usually what it means. Sorry. I just ― I didn't understand. Well, more like I didn't want to believe it, I guess. I'm sorry I was so dense."

"Will you stop apologizing?" he snapped out.

Her impulse was to instantly say 'sorry' again, so she clamped her lips closed, rubbing the goosebumps on her arms.

Luke appeared to be regrouping again. He looked down at the board under his feet. "So that night; that crazy night out in the street, when you kept asking me if I loved you ..." He paused for a beat, shaking his head, almost as if he was trying to make sense of it all. "You were serious about that. You honestly thought I didn't love you?"

She felt her throat closing up on her. She didn't dare do anything but nod.

He glanced over at her and then looked away. His fingers gripped his kneecaps, and she wondered if it was just the early morning shadows making his face look so haggard.

"It's ―It's OK," she said a little desperately, wanting more than anything for that look to leave his face. That handsome, strong, wonderful face. That face that had once looked at her with such love. "Really, Luke, it's OK."

She thought he tried to say something a couple of times, but nothing came out of his mouth. He pulled himself up from the steps and stood on the sidewalk in front of her, his hands on his waist as he looked at the ground.

"Well, you were wrong," he said hoarsely, and then he walked away as fast as he could.