A/N: I don't know if anyone will still remember this story. But I have long been promising that it isn't over. Here is the first push in an attempt to once again give it life. Your thoughts are much appreciated. ;-*

(Side note: Originally this chapter's title was going to be the title of the whole fic.)

Chapter 32 - But Only When He's Sober

After the ball is over...and the chat over coffee, too:

Luke must've heard her pull into the driveway because he was at the kitchen door before she'd hardly made it up to the house.

"Wow! You look…" he gestured, taking in the length of her dress, "…fancy! You have a good time?" Luke asked as they entered the expanded kitchen.

Rory felt the blank smile spread itself onto her face - not the one she'd had at the party, but the stiff-upper-lip one Luke could probably see right through - and felt her telltale too-rapid blinking before the words even left her mouth. "Yeah, it was…definitely fancy - dancing and champagne. You'd have hated it." She nodded and her eyes found the floor.

Luke smiled in return, the kitchen light glimmering yellow on his grizzled face. Without a word, he took an uncooked hamburger patty and bun from the fridge and put them into a grilling pan on the stove that seemed to be oiled and waiting. It only took a moment to realize that it had been. Luke always knew. A mug of dark liquid appeared in front of her on the counter. "Decaf, so you can get some sleep tonight. No complaining."

Rory's closed lipped smile mused at certain similarities as the empty cardboard cup that said 'Cindy' took its place nestled beside her purse.

She was a little surprised not to be pounced upon by two excited boys as soon as she entered the house, but it had been a long enough night that she didn't question the quiet, only enjoyed the brief respite and the opportunity for companionable silence with Luke. Since she was a little girl, there were, every so often in the course of her lifetime, occasions when she just needed Luke. He almost never really had to say anything. At least not much. There was more understanding in a moment of Luke's silence than in hours of most people's conversation.

When Rory had devoured the burger, remembering halfway through to put her pinky up, even if Luke wouldn't actually understand [like the meatball, it was a mother/daughter thing, but she made it a tradition…the tradition of the white poofy dress and the cheeseburger-good tradition to have], Luke smiled at her again. It was his you-don't-have-to-explain-a-thing smile; and he nodded like he didn't have a clue what was really going on with her, but somehow stumbled on just what she needed…which he did. He always did.

"You prob'ly wanna take a look on the couch," he told her. And, in it, she heard his voice from when she was sixteen and he told her to tell her grandfather she didn't want him to die, because "people like to hear that."

She stood up, stretching her slender limbs in a way that would have felt swan-like in her white plumage if she hadn't been so tired, and headed for the hall so she could take in the sights Luke indicated she would enjoy. He wasn't wrong. Kate and Ingrid were like collapsed bookends slumped inward from the armrests of the couch. Trent and Mikey dominoed toward the sleeping Lorelai in the center with Chase flopped crosswise in her lap. The entire sofa breathed in rhythmic unison.

Rory smiled involuntarily, taking a step closer. She leaned in, biting her bottom lip, smoothing Chase's silky brown strands and Trevor's light curly ones, each in turn. She watched Ingrid's eyelashes tremble like butterfly wings with her dreaming. Mikey squirmed a little, but didn't disturb anybody.

Stepping back, she removed the phone from her purse as quietly as possible and tried at several angles to capture the scene and its details.

Judging from the pile of disc covers on the floor, one of which she had nearly stepped backward onto, they'd made a movie musical marathon of it.

The light from the television flashed a series of colors over the children, like a flickering candle through stained glass. After watching for long seconds the dancing rainbows play across her mother's cheek, her sister's shoulder, and her little boys' sprawled limbs, a half-reverent smile upon her lips, she turned slowly as if pulled by an invisible thread toward the source of the dappled light.

The scene was so familiar, but Luke must've turned down the volume so as not to disturb the tranquil menagerie, as she could hardly hear the words. She stepped closer with cautious tread, avoiding open DVD cases and a few pieces of popcorn, and stood directly in front of the television.

"But Mama, the men she finds! The last one was so old and he was bald. He had no hair."

"A poor girl with no dowry can't be so particular. You want hair, marry a monkey."

A smile flashed across Rory's face and a giggle welled up at the long-ago memory of Lorelai rehearsing for her part in the kitchen, bearded and padded to duplicate Tevye's paunch, stomping and swaying, belting out: "If I were a rich man! Yubby-dibby-dibby-dibby-dibby-dibby-dibby-dum. All day long I'd biddy biddy bum, if I were a wealthy MAN!" She would stamp her foot so hard each time at the word 'MAN' that the glasses in the cupboards rattled. And, as much as she and Lane had rolled with laughter as they took the place of her audience, it was impossible to deny that she'd nailed the part. Rory had heard that Kirk had since reprised the role, but absolutely NOBODY could out-Tevye Lorelai!

"Tzeitl, you're the oldest! So they have to make a match for you before they can make one for me."

"And then, after her, one for me."

Oh, had she and Lane practiced those lines! They weren't old enough at the time to be cast as Tzeitl, Hodel, or Chavala. Those roles went to Patty's advanced ballet students, even if there was only ballet dancing in one scene of the original. Lane in particular had begged to play Chava, the religiously oppressed daughter who had most strongly rejected arranged marriage-though she told her mother it was because she was the only one of the girls who married a Christian.

In the end, though, Rory and Lane were only chosen to be in the "the daughters" segment of the opening number; but that didn't stop them from rehearsing the main characters' lines and dances as faithfully as they could, secretly calling themselves "the understudies' understudies" and wickedly praying for an accident.

As it turned out, the only accident had been their own. Oh, what a time they had of it, though!

Matchmaker, Matchmaker, I'll bring the veil, you bring the groom, slender and pale. Bring me a ring for I'm longing to be the envy of all I see.

For Papa, make him a scholar. For Mama, make him rich as a king. For me, well, I wouldn't holler if he were as handsome as anything.

Patty would have been proud to see the passion they put into their acting, even if their dancing and singing was done with far more exuberance and enthusiasm than talent. They'd been practicing this very scene, for probably more than the 40th time, and had gotten to very nearly the end with no mishap (though a Lucille Ball vase had been a twirling casualty in a previous run through)-but just at the point in the last sequence where each of the girls leaps onto the bed on their stomachs, looking out the window, Rory's bed frame collapsed beneath them, causing a violent collision with the window frame that left Rory with an enviably theatric black eye, and Lane with a split lip that caused her mother to ban her from the Gilmore home for two whole weeks, and from performing in the play entirely.

"Since when are you interested in a match, Chava? I thought you just had your eye on your books."

Without Lane by her side, the prospect of twirling around on a stage singing about the man you might marry someday, and the pros and cons of having a matchmaker find one for you, lost its charm. To Patty's dismay, she decided not even to participate in the opening scene, preferring to watch her mother argue with God from the footlights, so to speak.

Despite the accident, the song would always mean to her twirling through the living room and her bedroom with Lane, dreaming of taking the stage, and how swept away the audience would be, how they'd laugh and cry, dreaming of the men they'd fall in love with someday, with fate as their only matchmaker…

A smile on her lips, Rory turned and began picking up the scattered leavings of the movie night her kids had contributed to, stacking discs and collecting littered popcorn.

You've heard he's got a temper. He'll beat you every night. But, only when he's sober, so you're alright.

Popcorn and paper scraps slipped from Rory's hands, and her eyes turned back to the screen, wide and hurt filled. Tears brimmed.

Did you think you'd get a prince?

Well I'll find the best I can.

With no DOWRY, no MONEY, no FAMILY BACKGROUND, be GLAD YOU GOT, A MAN!

Stumbling backward, Rory sank to the floor beneath her, a hand pressed against her mouth, gagging back a sob. She couldn't do this. Not now. Not with her boys right there on the couch.

But she felt like she'd been scalded.

Dear Yente, see that he's gentle. Remember, you were also a bride. It's not that I'm sentimental. It's just that I'm terrified! … Matchmaker, matchmaker, plan me no plans. I'm in no rush. Maybe I've learned, playing with matches a girl can get burned-

Throat swollen and shoulders jolting silent spasms of tears - Rory's trembling fingers jabbed at the eject button frantically, snatched the disc out with more force than necessary, and without thinking, snapped the thing in half.

"Hey, I'm shutting down the in-house chapter of Luke's Diner for the night - so goodnight. We open again at nine. Burgers won't be on the menu until-whoa…"

Luke warily approached Rory, who had slowly stood and turned to face him when he said the word burgers, only to display what appeared to be jagged pieces of a broken CD or DVD gripped in her hands.

Luke took in her appearance. She wouldn't look at him, only down at…what? The floor beneath her? Her hands? He couldn't even tell. Cautiously, he cleared his throat. "You're not gonna cut me with those, are you?"

"I broke your movie," she faintly whispered.

"It was an acciden-" His words halted when she slowly shook her head.

"I'm sorry."

Luke stepped closer to Rory. The stiffness in her posture, the pain blasting from her eyes when she looked up at him - it made him want to protect her - to find out what happened to make her suddenly snap.

"Hell," he gruffly blurted out. "You did me a favor."

Rory tried to laugh, but fell apart instead. She gratefully melted into the warm flannel that wrapped itself around her - meekly relinquished the sharp plastic shards Luke's hands confiscated before she could grip them in anger and mangle her palm and fingers - let herself be led into her old room - and drenched one shoulder of the soft plaid with salt water.

A/N: Reviews help my muse come out of hiding.

Thank you for reading.