❝WHEN LUKE MET LORELAI❞
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⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ chapter six, pre Gilmore Girls
March 2nd, 1996
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[ LUKE'S POV ]
THE DINER IS PACKED DURING LUNCH which is something I hadn't anticipated.
I'm already panicked and stressed, pacing up and down in frustration as I move from table to table. I'm running on minutes of sleep after staying up all night with a very sick Lucy who insists she doesn't need me to shut down the diner to take care of her, but I'm skeptical to leave her alone.
I go up every ten minutes to check on her even if I'm with a customer, and even if the diner is bustling with people. However, every time I go up, Lucy is curled up in bed and is sound asleep.
She has a fever. Her temperature is high, and I believe she has the flu or something similar. I've called the doctor and they told me to keep her rested and hydrated, insisting that she'll be completely fine in a few days but I've never been more panicked.
She was so pale last night, her body was trembling and the only thing I could do was curl her up in my bed and hope that she falls asleep. I refused to close my eyes in case she stopped breathing or she desperately needed me for something.
I've never been more scared in my life that something could happen to her.
I decided this morning that I'm closing the diner early today, and that I will check on her repeatedly throughout the day.
In fact, I need to check on her in a minute. But I just need to put this order through before I rush off for the millionth time today.
I rush over to a customer who had placed himself at a table for four, and usually I'm against singles sitting at a table for a family but I didn't have the strength to argue with him. I just need him to order and I need him to order fast.
"What can I get for you?"
"Turkey burger on—"
"Excuse me!" The shrill voice of a woman sounds behind me, catching me completely off guard. She's jabbing her finger at my shoulder, trying her hardest to catch my attention.
I spin around to face her, coming face to face with wild blue eyes. "I need coffee. Now. I need coffee, like, right now. I need—"
"Coffee, I heard you." I really don't have the patience to listen to her beg.
"Well, I was going to say I want coffee and a muffin but I mainly want the coffee and—"
"You'll have to wait your turn," I deadpan.
I turn back to the customer I was dealing with before, scribbling down his turkey burger order before I rush off towards Caesar.
I expect this woman to take a seat at the counter but she doesn't. Instead, she decides to follow me as I make my way towards a table with plates of food.
I take no notice of her, not until she starts rambling in my ear incessantly, "Look, I really need coffee. I'm running on two hours sleep because I'm moving into my house and I'm tired and I really, really need coffee and I hear this place— your place— has coffee and I need it. I don't care how you give it to me, I just need it, and I would really appreciate if I could have coffee in a jug, bowl, mug, whatever right now."
She's talking a mile a minute which makes my head spin uncomfortably. I stop in my tracks, her body hitting my back abruptly with an oomph. "You're being annoying," I say, turning to face her. "Sit down, shut up, I'll get to you when I get to you, okay?"
She furrows her eyebrows, acting as if she doesn't understand me. "When's your birthday?" she asks which only confuses me.
"What?"
"You have a birthday, don't you? When is it?"
"I'm not telling you," I insist, refusing to give a stranger my birthday because I don't wanna know what she'll use it for.
"Is it, like, embarrassing for you? Were you born on a holiday like Christmas or Thanksgiving or Valentine's day or— Oh, were you born on February twenty-ninth because that—"
God, I don't have the patience for this but maybe she'll go away if I just tell her.
"November 7th," I reply hastily, wishing I didn't have to give in but I desperately need this woman to leave me alone.
This woman then snatches the newspaper off the counter— a newspaper that a customer was reading— and she flicks through it until she reaches the horoscope page. I don't know why I don't just walk away, especially since I've been complaining about her the second she walked in, but for some insane reason, I want to see what she wants.
She finds the page, places the paper on the counter before snatching the pen out of my hand and scribbling something down.
I watch, utterly confused and mesmerised at the same time.
The mystery woman then tears off the piece that she scribbled down on, hands it to me, and watches as I look down to see what she's done.
I look from this crazed woman to the piece of paper in hand, and I find that she had written, "You will meet an annoying woman today. Give her coffee and she'll go away," under Scorpio, my beloved star sign.
I'm trying to fight the grin on my face as she says, "Hold onto that. Put it in your wallet or something, and carry it around with you. One day it'll bring you luck, I promise."
I don't know how much luck it'll bring me but I tuck the note into my back pocket, making a mental note to put it in my wallet. I'm not sure why I would listen to her, not when she's acting crazy in my extremely busy diner but I find myself feeling oddly intrigued by her.
She's fiery and it's obvious that she can get everything she wants simply by snapping her fingers together, and I fall victim to her charm as I pour her a cup of coffee into a to-go cup.
When she thanks me, she says, "I'm Lorelai."
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I DIDN'T KNOW THAT, WITH BEING A FATHER, I'D BE MORE PRONE TO PANIC ATTACKS.
I'm not usually an anxious person, mainly because my life has been so carefree and easy right until the moment it was announced that I have a daughter, one that is currently sick and in desperate need for my attention.
I shut the diner at five, refusing to stay open any longer since I couldn't be away from the sick girl in my bed.
The second I closed, I rushed up the stairs without a second thought. I didn't even wipe down the tables or the counters or check if the lights were off, I just rushed upstairs to sit alongside her as she struggled to sleep.
Lucy's head lay against my lap, my hand moved through her hair as she fell in and out of consciousness.
She mumbles incoherently, her eyes blinking open to look up at me. "Daddy?"
Her voice sounds so broken, so sore. She's been sipping at her water over the last few hours, but she hasn't touched any food I've brought up to her. "Yeah, kid," I reply.
"I don't feel well," she whispers, her eyes coming to a close again.
I run my knuckles over her forehead, wincing when I feel just how warm she is. I swear she's warmer than she was before but I can't be sure. Maybe I should grab the thermometer and check her temperature but I don't want to move from her side.
She feels really warm. Too warm.
Maybe I should take her to a hospital or am I overreacting?
I already called the doctor three times yesterday, and they assured me that Lucy would be absolutely fine in a few days. I accepted that she'd be fine but there's this bubbling feeling in my chest that something is seriously wrong with her.
I've never had anyone to be concerned about until Lucy was born.
The last time I panicked like this, Lucy was two and she had bumped her head pretty hard. She wouldn't stop crying, screaming and spluttering at me, and the guilt forced me into the truck and into the hospital where the doctors reassured me— a father who was very close to a heart attack— that Lucy was okay. Kids bump their heads all the time and she was absolutely fine.
Nine years later, I'm still overwhelmed with fear that something could happen to my daughter if I don't take care of her properly. I haven't had the fear of failing her since she was born, but now I'm scared that I'll do something wrong and she'll be suffering in pain like she is now.
I reach over and snatch her glass of water off the bedside table. I hold the straw to her mouth, letting her take a sip before I place it back down.
She groans, her head burying into my lap. "Sweetheart, do you want something to eat?" I ask, desperately hoping that she says yes because I really need her to eat something, even if it's just a single fry.
She shakes her head. "No."
I sigh in defeat, my knuckles brushing against her cheek. "You need to eat, Luce."
Her arm falls around my leg and she cuddles into my side, her eyes squeezing shut in exhaustion. "I'm not hungry," she claims, my hand running up and down her back soothingly.
"Do you need anything?"
"Sleep." And with a final yawn, Lucy falls asleep against my leg, her arm cuddled around my leg.
And Lucy sleeps for a total of two hours before she's scrambling out of my arms in a hurry. She throws me off guard, my eyes shooting open and following after Lucy who rushes to the door, her padded feet skidding across the floor.
She's rushing to the bathroom, her body slumping over the toilet as she hurls forward and vomits.
I scramble off the bed, my body crashing into the door as I rush to the little girl who is currently hurled over the toilet seat. I fall to the floor, my hand grasping at her hair and pulling it away from her face as she leans forward again, a retching noise leaving her throat as she vomits all the water she had drank throughout the day.
She spits, her throat bobbing as she attempts to cough it all up. Her eyes are burning with tears in frustration because she's struggling to vomit, and all I can do is hold her unwashed hair back and hope she doesn't choke on her own sick.
"It's okay, sweetheart." I run a hand down her back, rubbing soothing circles as she coughs and splutters. "It's okay. I'm here."
Her head falls against her arm that rests on the toilet bowl, and she cries softly. She hates being sick, I know she does, especially when she struggles to get it all out. The last time she was sick like this was a couple years ago and I did the same thing I'm doing now. I sat here, rubbed her back, and waited until she felt better.
But this time, something feels different and odd. She's crying against her arm, her body is shaking, and her skin is burning up.
I need to take her to the hospital.
I don't care what the doctors said. I need to pick her up off the floor, carry her to the truck, and get her to a hospital. There's a strange, niggling feeling in my stomach that's screaming at me to do something.
I guess I'll call it a father instinct that I know there is something seriously wrong with Lucy's health.
"Lucy..." I lift her head up, my hands holding her burning hot face. "Okay, I need you to hold on to me, okay?"
She nods, her body leaning towards me on instinct. I collect her in my arms, lift her off the floor carefully, and Lucy wraps her tiny arms around my neck, her head burying into my chest.
I'm immediately on my feet, Lucy clutched in my arms.
I'm kicking open the bathroom door, snatching a blanket off the bed, pushing my feet into my shoes quickly, and I'm racing out of the apartment door and down the stairs into the diner that I need to clean.
When Lucy is in the truck, I don't waste anytime in getting to the hospital.
We arrive at Stars Hollow hospital ten minutes later. I broke several traffic laws to get here because I'm stressed. Lucy's body aches when I lift her, and her eyes water because of the pain she feels in her muscles.
She winces, her head falling against my chest as I lift her into my arms. I cuddle the blanket around her, unsure if she's too cold or too warm anymore. All I know is that she's sick, tired, and in desperate need of real care.
"Come on, honey. Come on." I push the truck door shut with my foot before I rush off towards the entrance of the hospital.
Thirty minutes later, Lucy is resting on a hospital bed with an IV placed inside the vein in her arm. According to the doctors, Lucy is seriously dehydrated, and that's because she's vomited three times since we arrived. She's fainted twice, and I was close to tears when she started crying again because of how weak she feels.
They're giving her fluids through an IV because she can't drink anything without being sick, and all I can do is sit alongside her, my hand over hers as she tries to actually sleep.
People tell me I've changed since I've become a father, and sitting here right now, I can't help but agree with them.
I've never been so worried about another person in my life. Sure, when my dad was sick, I was afraid of what would happen to him, but it was inevitable that he would eventually pass, seeing as he was constantly sick and exhausted. He hated living for the last two years of his life, and I hated watching him suffer.
But now, my eleven-year-old daughter is crying because of the pain she feels in her body, and I feel completely helpless and I'm overwhelmed with fear. I've never felt this nerved in my life, and my stomach aches just looking at my daughter.
"It's a good thing you brought her here," the doctor told me a few minutes ago. "She's severely dehydrated and without you, it could have been a lot worse. You're a good dad."
You're a good dad.
Why don't I feel like one?
I chose to work all day instead of taking her to the hospital sooner. I knew instead of calling the doctor, I should've forced myself into the hospital and demanded that somebody see to her. Yes, I may be sitting here now, but I'm useless. It doesn't matter if I brought her now, I still feel as if I should've brought her sooner.
There's only a few times in my life where I felt as if I've failed her.
Today is one of those times.
I haven't had this gnawing feeling about being a failure of a father since she was two and she bumped her head.
I'm ashamed to say that there's times where I think about whether or not she'll be better off without me. I know it's a ridiculous thought to have but sometimes I'm afraid I'm going to screw her up. I want her to have a better life, a life that is exemplary from mine. I want different for her, and I'm afraid I won't be able to give her that life if she stays with me.
But I can't let her go. I can never let her go.
I love her. She's the light in my life, the person who brings smiles to my faces, and who makes me feel loved and acknowledged. I love this kid, and I promised her that I've never, ever leave her.
Her mom— if she should even be called that— left her days after she was born. Her grandpa died, and on that day, I promised Lucy that I would always be there for her, and I will be there for her no matter what.
I do not give up, not on somebody as perfect as my daughter.
I look towards her. Her eyes remain closed, her chest lifts up and down as she breathes carefully, and I squeeze her hand to reassure her— to reassure myself— that I'm not going anywhere.
"I'm not going anywhere, kid." It makes no sense why I would even consider leaving, not when she's the only part of my life that makes the most sense. "I promise."
She knows I'm not going anywhere but I feel I need to remind her over and over again.
You're a good dad.
"I hope I'm a good dad," I say, unsure on whether or not she can actually hear me. "Sometimes I feel like I'm doing it all wrong, like I'm going to fail you one day, and you'll never forgive me..." I sigh, my other hand rubbing my temple to ease the tension. "I don't want you to resent me when you grow up, you know? I want to be the one you always come to whenever you need me, even if you're upset or mad at me. I want..." I don't know what I want. "I just want to be here, okay? I'm not leaving, kid."
I sound ridiculous, talking all sentimentally with my eleven-year-old who is currently sleeping. She probably doesn't care about a word I'm saying so I continue to talk, acting as if she won't hear me.
But she is always listening.
"On a happier note, I guess, I, uh, met this woman today who— Well, I didn't meet her really. She was bugging me for coffee, and clearly she's crazy, but she's the first woman I've really... I don't know..."
Rachel left at the start of this year, surprising both me and Lucy seeing as me and Rachel were relatively happy for nearly three years. Our relationship was strong, and some part of me actually believed I'd marry her one day. But all good things come to an end eventually, or so I've learnt since Rachel left.
"Since Rachel, I've not had that feeling towards anyone but, I don't know, this woman intrigued me, I guess," I laugh because I sound completely stupid. "I think you'd like her. I think she's new to town or something and I— I don't know, maybe I'll see her around town..."
When I met Lorelai earlier, I had that odd feeling in my chest. It was the same feeling I had when I was with Anna and Rachel, it felt safe and warming. Honestly, I don't know why I had the feeling because this woman was insanely annoying but her annoyance didn't stop me from slipping the horoscope note inside my wallet. It might be silly to hold onto it but I have a feeling I won't regret holding onto it in the long run.
With all this silly thinking I'm doing, I don't even realise that Lucy's eyes have blinked open and she's staring at me. "Was she pretty?"
I catch the soft smile on her face. She already looks better— healthier and happier— and that eases some tension in my chest.
"Yeah. She was," I say, struggling to fight the smile on my own face.
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authors note:
i'd like to think luke and lorelai met like this idk
this is the 2nd to last chapter of pre-gilmore girls chapters btw