Spoilers: Nothing specific, but it's set in the glory era of the first three seasons where everything was still beautiful, and Lorelai just wanted her damn coffee.
Word Count: 998
Summary: Luke tries to introduce Lorelai to the glories of herbal tea. Lorelai demands caffeination. The stage is set for the ultimate showdown, or possibly just liberal amounts of banter.
Author's Note: I wrote this for a fic meme in a comment for cryssa last summer, and just stumbled across it again. After my traumatic GG-watching experience last night, I felt strangely compelled to spiff it up a little and soothe my weary soul.
He guesses he should have known it wasn't going to work.
She flies up to the counter, like a (relatively attractive) bat out of (an uncommonly generous) hell and slams the mug down with what he suspects could be called righteous fury.
"This is herbal tea," she informs him, and the way she's looking at him makes it seem like he's committed the worst act of betrayal imaginable.
He decides to play it casual. "So?"
"So?" she repeats incredulously. "So? So in what universe, exactly, is it okay to give a Gilmore herbal tea? Because even that alternate dimension where Willow was a dominatrix vampire and Buffy wore combat boots was not so – so cruel and unforgivably twisted!"
“It’s tea,” he reminds her wearily, deciding it’s probably best not to even comment on the Buffy thing. “It’s not like I kidnapped Rory and now I’m demanding ransom.”
“No,” Lorelai agrees, considering it for a second. He almost thinks maybe he’s got her pacified. “This is not my Rory ransom face. My Rory ransom face involves more of a . . .” She frowns a little, thoughtfully, then fixes her mouth into a perfect ‘o’ of melodramatic distress. Her lipstick’s really red, not that he’s paying attention. “Oh! Gasp! You’ve taken my only daughter, the light of my life, the center of my soul, and I have no way to provide the eighty billion dollars you’ve required! What to do, what to do? I’m going to have to start whoring myself on the streets of Stars Hollow, hoping that a wealthy Richard Gere-esque businessman will appear one night and—”
“Okay,” Luke cuts in, glancing at the roomful of confused stares she’s starting to attract. Shouldn’t everybody be used to her by now? “I get it.”
“That’s my Rory ransom face,” she explains unnecessarily, “with accompanying anguished dialogue! This,” she says, and there’s the righteous fury expression again, “is my ‘give me coffee or perish, puny mortal’ face.”
“My mistake,” he deadpans, and turns away from her. He starts shoving stuff around on the back counter, for no particular reason other than to piss her off.
“Uh,” she says after like eight seconds have passed, “maybe you missed the ‘perish’ part, because—”
“No, I picked up on the ‘perish’ part,” he assures her.
“Then why is this still tea?” Lorelai demands, slamming the cup against the counter. “Come on. Caffeine me up, baby. You know you want to,” she throws in coquettishly. He turns back around to see her batting her eyelashes at him, her lips parting slightly. It’s at times like these when he figures it’s a good thing that he doesn’t look at her mouth.
“Let’s get this straight,” Luke says dryly. “You’re trying to seduce me so you can get coffee.”
“Depends,” she replies, all shamelessly breathy and completely goddamn ridiculous. “Do you want me to be?”
He scowls at her. “No.”
“Then no,” she says easily, slipping right out of seductress mode. “And how dare you insult my virtue in such a manner, Mr. Danes.”
He rolls his eyes at her. "You do realize that it's a sick, sick addiction, right?"
"That's how I like it," she responds, grinning fiendishly.
"I bet you do," he grumbles, but can't bring himself to give in just yet.
"So, come on!" she urges, drumming her hands impatiently against the counter. (The last thing the woman needs is caffeine.) "Let's get rid of this sissy peppermint crap and get to the good stuff!"
"It's echinacea," he informs her warily. "And I think you should try it."
She wrinkles her nose. "You would."
"It's good to try new things."
"Oh," she says, and he immediately regrets it. "You say that now -- but who knows where that might lead? Next it could be Wal-Mart jeans! Ultimate Frisbee! Crystal meth! Maybe even Scientology."
"If you embrace L. Ron Hubbard as your personal lord and savior, I'll be sure to feel bad about it," he tells her impatiently. "Until then, just try the damn tea."
"Wait, I think you missed something. Because you see, the Wal-Mart jeans was supposed to be the truly harrowing part—"
She pouts. "You're a crappy enabler."
"Drink it," he orders, pressing his knuckles against the table and leaning forward to look at her.
"Come on, one sip."
She glares at him, and then the cup. "Ohh, all right," she finally capitulates glumly. "But it's just because I can't resist a grumpy man in flannel – famous last words, by the way."
"It's good for you," he informs her. "It'll make you live longer."
"And thus be able to annoy you for coffee longer," she deduces.
"Exactly," he confirms. "And we'll all live happily ever after."
"Aw, Luke, that’s so Disney of you."
"No, I mean it. You're a regular Prince Charming—"
"Drink your tea."
"Normally, I'd say the one from Cinderella, but I think you've got more of the Sleeping Beauty Prince Charming's edge—"
"Do I need to give you coffee to shut you up?" he cuts in sharply.
"Maybe," she coyly responds.
"Fine," he snaps, grabbing the mug of tea from her a little more violently than necessary and pouring it down the drain. "But if you're dead in five years, don't blame me."
"Thank you, Prince Charming," she sings out; her eyes are all bright and triumphant, and she's smiling at him, and he can't help but be a little annoyed by it. He thinks maybe if he were as gorgeous as she was, he might actually have a chance at winning some of their battles occasionally.
"One cup of coffee," he announces gravely, pushing it over the counter toward her.
"Mmmm," she breathes reverently, closing her eyes and pulling the cup to her. "Luke Danes, I think I love you."
He doesn't respond, and definitely doesn't feel his face heat up, and decides instead to focus his attention on more important stuff, like arranging the doughnuts.