You can’t stand to see the myriad of emotions uncertainty, shock that run across his face and as you softly close the door to his apartment, you realize that the most prevalent emotion fear is your fault, which makes you remember the events of a half an hour ago when he blurted to you “Ihaveadaughtershe’sten.” that you had simply sat there, stunned.

You can remember how he’d immediately gotten up from the couch in the living room (that you still can’t decide how to paint) and left, mistaking your shocked silence for anger at him.

And you can’t be angry at him. He’s your anchor. He sat with you for hours in Rory’s bedroom last week as you stared at Paul Anka. He’s been so utterly patient with the situation with your daughter that there is no way that you are going to abandon him as he finds out that he has a daughter of his own.

And you know that he has just found out, because there is a weight in your head that has bold lettering on it: LUKE WOULD NEVER HAVE KEPT THIS FROM YOU.

Interrupting your own runaway thoughts, you see that he’s still staring off into space; he hasn’t noticed your presence yet and you don’t want to startle him. After, softly setting your purse down on the floor next to the door and toeing off your shoes so as not to startle him with the sharp heel clack that would have been on the hard floor, you pad softly to him and kneel in front of his legs, putting your hands on his knees. You’re relieved when his eyes flit to you, but that melts when his gaze goes straight back to the arm of the recliner.

“Luke,” you whisper softly, “look at me.”

“Lorelai,” he protests, disobeying your order (you knew he would), but you put your hands to his face and gently, but firmly, turn his gaze to your own eyes.

“Luke, I’m not mad at you. I was just shocked. You have a daughter. I have a future stepdaughter of my own. Hey, we match!”

He sighs, ignoring your humor in the situation as he sometimes does. “You have every right to be shocked. I shouldn’t have just…left like that, but, you don’t have to-"

Knowing exactly what he’s about to say, you shush him, getting into serious mode. “I’m helping you in this, Luke. And, while we don’t have to tell her just yet, we can do that when you’re ready, I know Rory would want to help, too.”

You can see that he’s about to crack, and this is further cemented when he, very unconvincingly, says, “This isn’t your problem.”

You would be frustrated by his stubborn and irritating inability to share his problems with you if you were so used to it. Though ‘sharing your damn feelings thing’ (as he once called it) has gotten a lot easier as the time you’ve been together gets longer and longer.

“Babe, you know I can be just as stubborn as you. Need we go over my refusal to not put whipped cream on my chocolate chip pancakes? If I have to sit here, on your lap, until you tell me everything so that I can help you find the woman who kept this from you, I will. Oh, wait, you might actually enjoy that…hmm…”

By some miracle, you get the smallest of grins from him as he stares down at his fingers, which you are now wrapping in your own.

“You’ve been so great, Luke, when I have needed you with this…thing with Rory. In fact, you have been fantastic to me for the last ten years. But the Rory Thing is done. Over. Kaput. We’ve talked all that out. You and I are now on a set road to getting married. You need me. So, I’m here. Spill, my handsome diner man.”

He looks at you, firmly and lovingly, this time, relief flooding every pore of his face.

And he tells you everything he knows.

End