A Slight Case of Insomnia

He lie awake, listening to the clicking of the alarm clock as the plastic minutes fell, counter-pointed by the slower tick of his father‘s old grandfather clock, and the rapid tick-tick-ticking of the clock on the stove. For a time in his life, these quiet sounds, after the din of the diner, had reminded him of all the time that had been wasted. Now though, he found their rhythms more tolerable, and--at times--even comforting.

He shouldn’t be awake. He had an early produce shipment, and he would have to get everything ready for breakfast in just a few hours.
But he was still awake.

He was a very lucky man.

Just how lucky, he doubted that anyone but himself and the woman next to him knew. It had taken them years, and many false starts, to get to this point. Now that they were here, though, he was overwhelmed with…well, there was no other word than “happiness.” He quite literally couldn’t believe that, after everything, she was sleeping next to him, each of her breaths punctuated by a tiny polite snore, wearing nothing but one of his blue button-down shirts.

He turned from his back to his side. She’d tied her hair back before coming to bed, but a lock had come loose, falling darkly against her face. He gently brushed it behind her ear. She stirred as he did so, the bed creaking softly, and smiled in her sleep.

At times, he’d despaired of ever getting to be here. He had a reputation in town as being gruff and unfeeling. In truth, he felt things more deeply than he cared to admit, and his curmudgeonly demeanor was an act, an armor to protect him from the hurts of the world. It allowed him (except for one day a year) to compartmentalize the pain he still felt from when his father had died. It insulated him from the sadness he had felt when Rachel had packed up her camera and left again.

Being seen as a surly man had helped him in other ways, too…it certainly gave him an excuse when he’d been arrested for beating up Nicole’s car, and it allowed him to take the hard-line stance that had been what Jess needed.

Sure, showing an grumpy face to the world helped…but not always. When she’d been engaged to Max, he was hurt, though he tried to hide it by building that chuppah. He’d despaired when his relationship with her didn’t work the first time. He’d blamed himself. If he hadn’t kept his daughter a secret, it might not have caused the strain that had caused her to break it off, and chances are she would not have left on that trip to Paris.

When he learned that she’d married Christopher he had--quietly, and for the first time in his life--given up.

For a while.

He’d come to realize that, even if he couldn’t actually be with her, he could still be in love with her, still do what he could to make her happy. That was why he’d fought Christopher that night. That was why he’d planned the party for Rory, and stayed up all night putting together the giant tent. That was why he always opened the diner early, or stayed late, when she needed to talk.

It was what had kept him going.

And now, after--what, seven years? Since Rory had started going to Chilton, at least--they were here, together. Finally, with nothing to come between them, no more secrets or surprises.

He knew how lucky he was to be here, and that was what was keeping him awake.

The lock of hair had fallen across her face again, casting a shadow in the moonlight. He brushed it back a second time, whispering to her as he did.

“I love you, Lorelai.”

She stirred. “It’s creepy when you watch me sleep. It makes me think you’re going to cut my face of and wear it like a mask.”

“If you keep snoring like a buzz-saw, I may not have a choice.”

She laughed, that wonderful laugh he would do anything to hear.

She rolled him back over onto his back, then moved in close to him, her head on his chest. He stroked her hair. “I’m sorry I woke you. Just because I can’t sleep doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be able to.”

She turned her face up to him, and began kissing him at the same time reaching down and into the boxers that were all he wore to sleep in. Her hand was chill--she must have been laying on it--but not unpleasantly so. He responded to the touch with a soft sigh.

“You’re the one that needs to be up early,” she said. “Let me see if I can help you get to sleep.” She did not rest her hand as she spoke.

After some time, she moved herself away from his chest, repositioning herself to sit above him.

He’d always thought she was beautiful, but seeing her like this, looking down on him with her arresting blue eyes, dressed only in one of his shirts in the depths of night, the cracks she’d made in his gruff demeanor widened a little. He allowed himself to experience the true depth of his feelings in a way he’d been scared to for a long time.

She positioned herself, then positioned him where she needed. As they joined together, she braced herself with her hands on his chest. She moved around him, and he began to move in her. She shook her head. “You always do all the work. We’re trying to get you to sleep. Just stay still.”

He tried. It was difficult for him to relax, though; difficult to resist moving with her rhythm.

She quickened her pace, beginning to tighten around him more as she neared the edge. His pleasure built until, as always happened, he could stand it no longer. He pushed as she rode, pulling her down in order to kiss her as they both finished.

After a while, she laid back down with her head on his chest again, her hand lazily playing with his chest hair.

As he dozed, finally beginning to sleep, he heard her whisper. “I love you, Luke.”

He smiled. When the alarm rang hours later, he woke with that same smile on his lips.