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Archive name: giltrob.txt (MF, affair, 1st, parody)
Authors name: Laura (luke_n_lorelai@yahoo.com)
Story title : Gilmore Girls: The Trouble With Me
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This work is copyrighted to the author (c) 2004. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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Gilmore Girls: The Trouble With Me
by Laura (luke_n_lorelai@yahoo.com)
***
Tristan and Rory meet after a long time only to become
entwined in a relationship that probably should have
happened. (MF, affair, 1st, parody)
***
"Darling, there are only so many beautiful men out there,
you know. You can't keep just throwing the perfectly good
ones away. They're in short supply."
"I'm not throwing anything away..."
"Oh come on, honey, you know all the *really* pretty ones
are gay...and to find someone as picture perfect as that
who *doesn't* check out the same guys you do? It was a once
in a lifetime chance!" Jeffrey exclaims, grabbing Rory's
hands dramatically and looking at his friend pleadingly.
"Jeff, I didn't like him. You don't date someone if you
don't really like them. Unless you're Anna Nicole Smith. In
which case you don't only date them, you marry them. I'm
not about to become Anna Nicole Smith."
"Not unless you have a serious boob job," Paris cuts in
bluntly. "And by the way, some of us are more interested in
studying than debating the merits of Peter's pecs or Sam's
smile."
"What about Billy's butt?" Jeff retorts, sticking his
tongue out at his housemate. Paris rolls her eyes.
"It's like you live to annoy me. You do, don't you?"
"It's an exceptionally nice ass. And don't try to tell me
you haven't looked. I caught you checking him out yesterday
in Media Studies." Paris shoots him a deathly glare and
returns her attention to the business ethics journal laying
in front of her on the bed. Rory turns around in her desk
chair, pulling her long dark hair into a loose ponytail.
"I'm just not really looking for someone right now, Jeff.
Where is it written that a girl must always have a
boyfriend, or be looking for one? I'm really, honestly,
quite happy without one at the moment. Really." "I almost
believed you until the second really. You almost had me.
But I see through you." Jeff stands up from his seat on the
floor, putting his hands on Rory's shoulders. "It's okay to
want a guy. It doesn't make you any less a feminist or
whatever it is you two are calling yourselves these days."
"We don't call ourselves anything," Paris says, cuttingly.
"And if Rory says she doesn't want a boyfriend, she doesn't
want one. Can we get back to studying? I have things to
learn here and you two aren't helping."
"Hey, I'm trying to study," Rory replies defensively. "It's
Jeff here that seems to have a problem focusing."
"It's not my fault. You're the one who went out with Will
Harrington and was home by ten o'clock. I think that might
be the record for the shortest date ever," Jeff sighs,
flopping himself onto the bed next to Paris. He ruffles her
papers and her glare returns. "Paris, nun that you are, you
still have to agree with me here. Do you understand what
Rory is doing?"
"Insulting me and then asking me to be on your side is not
the best tactic, just for future reference...but seeing as
how it looks like we're not going to start on our work
until we beat this dead horse into oblivion....I'll concede
that you do have a point."
"What point is that?" Rory inquires, snapping her textbook
shut and rising from her chair.
"Whenever you go out with someone, you barely give him a
chance. It's like you're looking to find their faults. Now,
I agree that it's important to fully evaluate a future
partner and keep a checklist of pros and cons in your head
while deciding whether or not to proceed onward to a second
date. But even I wouldn't scratch someone in the event of
their very first demerit. I'd wait until at least the
second or the third," Paris pauses for a moment, looking at
Rory thoughtfully. "You know, I never thought I'd say this,
Rory, but it seems like you're an even harsher critic than
I am."
Jeff stares at Paris, dumbfounded. Slowly, he shakes his
head.
"I pity the man who ends up with you, sweetie, I really
do," his voice particularly dry and droll.
"Thanks."
"I'm not *harsh*...I'm realistic. I know if something's
going to work or not. It's obvious right off the bat. It
just wasn't right with Will. He was handsome and polite,
and intelligent and witty-"
"Oh god, stop, stop! The horror, the horror! How could you
have put up with it?" Jeff cries out, putting his head in
his hands.
"Oh shut up," Rory laughs, reaching over and slapping him
hard in the arm. "You're impossible. My point was that
despite all of these good qualities, we didn't click."
"He's not a remote control. Is he supposed to click?"
"You know what I mean. It wasn't there between us."
"And you knew that from a mere cup of coffee."
"Yes, I did. It was a particularly informative cup o' joe."
"So then I assume that it didn't click with Tom Finlon. Or
Jordon Grant. Or Grant Schyler, for that matter! Or-"
"No, it didn't," Rory stops him, knowing he'd continue the
list on and on. "And Paris is right. We should be studying,
not dissecting my love life."
"Or lack thereof," Jeff points out.
"I'm seriously going to take you down if you don't stop,"
Paris snipes at him. "Now open up to page 67 and settle
down."
"Paris. Have you ever considered being a teacher? Or a
dominatrix?"
"No and no."
"You should consider it. You can make good money as a
dominatrix," Jeff informs her, finally cracking open his
textbook.
"I'll keep it in mind," Paris laughs despite herself. "Now
can we get to work?"
"If we must," Jeff begins to read, but one glimpse at his
watch and all is lost. "It's 12 already? I'm supposed to
meet Sonny to go dancing, and I've not even begun to
beautify. Gotta run, loves. See you tomorrow for
breakfast?"
"You're such a pain," Rory mutters, affectionately annoyed,
as he kisses her on the cheek. He bounces over to Paris and
then flies out of the room, grabbing his black Calvin Klein
jacket and messenger bag and giving the pair a quick wave
goodbye.
As the door shuts, Paris lets out a sigh of exasperation.
"Please remind me why we chose to live with him again?
Please? Before I pack up his stuff and put it on the curb?"
"Because he cooks pasta with vodka sauce and we can barely
make mac and cheese?"
"Ah, yes. But you know, we could just hire a cook," Paris
suggests.
"Paris. College student. Try to think like a normal one."
"Right. So...what do you want to tackle first? Ethics or-"
"He's not right, is he? I mean, you'd tell me, wouldn't
you? If he was?"
"Rory, there is nothing wrong with wanting to be alone. Our
culture has programmed us to want a guy. It's everywhere.
On the radio, in the movies, in magazines...I think it's
good that you've learned to be independent. Who needs a
man?"
"You have one."
"I have one. Don't need him."
"You lie," Rory smirks, and Paris blushes.
"That doesn't mean that you have to have one too," Paris
remarks. She pauses, eyeing Rory as she flips through the
pages of her notebook absentmindedly. "But it is okay to
want a boyfriend, if you do."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm just saying...if you did...that's okay too. I
know....I know that you've been...different since what Jess
did...and-"
"I'm not different," Rory cuts Paris off, looking hurt.
"How am I different?"
"I didn't mean it like that, I just mean that...Jess
changed you. After senior year. These past two
years...you've barely let any guy get close to you."
"What are you talking about? Jeff is one of my best-"
"A straight guy, Rory. One who would actually be
romantically interested in you."
"I've been focused on my work. You have too. It's
important. School comes first. And there was my mom and
Luke, and the whole thing with Dave and Lane, and... when
would I really have had time for a boyfriend?" Rory asks,
her mind backtracking over the past two years. First Sookie
had had her baby, and the Luke and her mom had dated and
gotten engaged in a whirlwind...the wedding had taken place
last year. Dave and Lane had gotten engaged, broken up
after Lane's family threw a fit, then gotten back together
during their band's small tour of NYC and renewed their
engagement. Last month, her mom had called to tell her that
she had a "half-sister in the oven" and that Sookie had
"her second course cooking" too. They were even expecting
around the same date.
As for Jess...she hadn't heard a word from him in a year
and a half. After one exceptionally awkward and misguided
phone call that came out of the blue freshman year,
communication was silent. It was just as well.
"I've made time for Joon," Paris points out. Ironically, it
is Paris who is dating the Korean future doctor. Mrs. Kim
still fumes over the missed opportunity for Lane. Whenever
she sees the engagement ring on her daughter's finger, she
just sighs and says "And to think you could have been Mrs.
Joon Yung," in her clipped, disappointed tone. Lane finally
learned to laugh it off after the third straight month of
hearing it.
"It's not impossible to have a guy in your life if you're
busy. I just don't think you've opened yourself up to it.
You're afraid that you're going to get crushed again. But
if you don't at least try someone out, you're going to end
up all alone in a small house with 100 cats and an unmowed
lawn."
"Don't sugarcoat it or anything," Rory remarks.
"The neighborhood children will be frightened of you."
"Thanks for that."
"They'll dare each other to go to your house on Halloween,
convinced that little Bobby who used to live down the
street ten years ago tried to go in there once and never
came back. Even though what really happened is that his dad
was sleeping with his secretary so one night his mother
took him and up and left."
"I thought you wanted to study, Paris?"
"I'm just trying to make a point."
"Point made. And I assure you, I'm not hiding some secret
desire to be partnered off. I'm really content being by
myself right now."
"If you say so."
"I do say so."
"Joon's coming up this weekend," Paris states, and Rory
sighs, thinking they had finally reached the end of their
discussion.
"That's nice," Rory takes a sip from her mug, eyeing the
door. She would give anything in the world if Paris decided
to go back to her own room to study. Paris is quiet for a
moment, playing with the corner of a page in her book.
Lightly coughing first, she looks at Rory.
"Tristans coming too, by the way."
Rory almost chokes on her coffee, and swallows fast.
"Ow, I swallowed the wrong way, that killed," Rory covers,
wincing. "So, Tristans coming? That's great. We haven't
seem him since...the beginning of last summer, right?"
"Yeah, when he helped us move our stuff in. I talked to him
last week, he was over at Joon's. It sounds like he's doing
really well."
"Oh...good. Good. It'll be nice to see him. It's been too
long."
"Yeah, it has. I hate to say it, but I miss him. I almost
wish he went here instead of Harvard. Don't you?" Paris
inquires, her voice too pointed to escape Rory's attention.
"I still think it's ironic that of all of us, *he's* the
one that ended up at Harvard," Rory states, getting up and
walking toward the door, her coffee cup in hand.
"Well, he may have been an idiot but he was never stupid,"
Paris responds.
"And if Tristan hadn't gone to Harvard, you never would've
met Joon," Rory points out.
"True," Paris concedes. Tristan and Paris had taken up
together the summer after high school when Tristan returned
from military school. Somehow graduating had mellowed Paris
slightly and caused Tristan to mature, like a strange
inverse relationship. His grandfather's death may have
played a part in their renewed friendship and in Tristan's
maturity as well, but neither Paris or Tristan ever seemed
to want to discuss it. Rory left the subject alone.
"I'm going to go get more coffee, you want some?" Rory
asks, her cup held tightly in her hand.
"No thanks," Paris responds, fully aware that Rory's cup is
still quite full, sloshing with liquid. "I'm going to start
on Chapter 7." Paris turns her face downward toward her
book, but steals a glance up at Rory as she walks away. A
small, knowing smile creeps onto Paris' face.
*******
Rory watches as the brown liquid swirls down the drain,
steam rising from the stainless steel sink as hot hit cold.
Rory closes her eyes, trying to force the panic from her
mind. She hadn't spoken to Tristan in months. Every time he
called, which had been less and less often, she had passed
the phone off to Paris with as much as haste as possible.
She leans against the counter, staring across the kitchen
into their big, messy living room. She hadn't meant for it
to happen. It just had. And it had ruined everything
between them.
The glow of the television casts a flickering blue light on
the entire room; Rory can't see what he is watching, but
from the sound of it, it seems to be a Law and Order
repeat.
Straightening out her tank top, which is twisted from all
of her tossing and turning, she approaches the couch. His
familiar blonde head twists toward hers, a surprised and
semi-sleepy smile greeting her.
"Hey..."
"Hey." Rory circles the couch, smiling faintly at him. Her
pulse quickens as his eyes meet hers; part of her knew then
that she hadn't really come out of her bedroom for a glass
of water.
"What are you doing up?" Tristan asks quietly, moving the
blanket to make room for her next to him. "I thought you
had gone to bed hours ago."
"I couldn't sleep," Rory explains, sitting down. The couch
cushions sink below her, the springs of the beaten couch
weak and old.
"Nice pants," Tristan gestures to her pajama bottoms. They
are covered in cartoon sheep wearing sunglasses.
"My mom thinks that farm animals wearing shades are
endlessly amusing."
"They are," Tristan puts his finger on one of the sheep on
her thigh. His hand moves gently against her leg. Touching
him...having him touch her...it happens more often now. In
fact, it happens whenever it possibly can. Rory didn't know
if he noticed. She had. "Why couldn't you sleep?"
"I don't know. A lot on my mind, I guess," Rory shrugs,
looking at him. He was looking right back.
"Yeah, what do you have on your mind?" He asks softly,
moving the blanket over her legs. She moves closer to
Tristan automatically, her hand brushing against his bare
leg, reminding her that Tristan only has his boxers on as
sleepwear. He runs his hand through her long brown hair as
he waits for her response patiently. Rory knows he means it
to be comforting, but it is the opposite. His caring touch
is erotic, his understanding gaze electric. God, she wants
him. She shouldn't want him.
"It doesn't matter," Rory pulls away from him, not liking
the feeling he's creating within her. Or maybe it was that
she liked it too much. Anxiously, her own fingers play with
the edge of the blanket. "It's just school stuff. Work
stuff. Nothing important."
"If it's bothering you, it's important," Tristan tells her,
his hands reaching down to stop hers from fidgeting. Rory
freezes, his skin burning against her skin. "What is it?"
"It's..." Rory trails off, her eyes settling on Tristan's
pale pink, full lips. His tongue unconsciously darts out to
wet them, and Rory can't help herself. Her lips seek out
his in the dim, flickering light and Tristan more than
willingly accepts her kiss. He pulls her to him tightly,
the blanket sliding off the couch and onto the floor.
Within minutes, they have already begun undressing one
another, clothes joining the blanket in its resting place.
"Where are Paris and Joon?" Tristan asks breathlessly as
Rory's hands tug at the hem of his loose t-shirt. She lifts
it over his head and lets it fall to the ground. Tristan
quickly takes her back in his arms.
"They went to a hotel for the night.remember? You know how
Paris is...about privacy..." Rory murmurs, letting Tristan
press her back onto the couch.
"Hmm-hmmm," Tristan mumbles back. Not that it mattered.
Paris and Joon could've come barging in and Rory would've
been lost to them. At that moment, Tristan is everything.
And that's how the delicate and chaste Rory Gilmore had
lost her virginity. On a lumpy couch in the middle of the
night with her high school enemy Tristan DuGrey; Chris Noth
interrogating a suspect about killing his business partner
playing in the background and stacks of yet-unpacked boxes
of kitchen supplies around them.
It certainly wasn't what she had ever imagined, making love
amongst criminals and cookery. Yet when it was happening,
it felt perfect. Amazing, wonderful...he had made her
forget all of her worries for a few hours.
In the morning, waking up in his arms, her worries all came
crashing back down.
And that was that. She had pried herself from his embrace
and snuck back to her bedroom, leaving him to wake up alone
and confused. She avoided him for the remainder of his
visit, carefully managing to never be alone in the same
room with him so she would have to confront what she had
done.
He had gotten the point all too well. After two days of
Rory shutting him out at every turn, he had left for
Harvard, to move into his own apartment. Paris had gone to
visit him and Joon that summer and Rory had made up some
stupid excuse not to go. Paris came back to New Haven
glowing, positive that Rory missed out on the trip of a
lifetime by not coming. Rory almost regretted it. Would it
have been so bad to visit him? To have a boyfriend at
Harvard to go and stay with? Someone to think about at
night before going to bed? But she had thrown that all away
that June morning. Or perhaps she had even thrown it away
the night before, when she had slept with Tristan in the
first place. Thinking about it could drive her mad.
Rory slams her empty cup onto the counter, getting angrier
with herself by the minute. She didn't understand why she
had done what she had done. It wasn't because of Jess. Not
only because of Jess, anyway.
"Rory, are you going all the way to Columbia to get that
coffee?" Paris' voice comes from the bedroom, shaking Rory
from her intense introspection.
"Coming!" Rory quickly pours herself a fresh cup of coffee
and heads back to her room, a long battle of wills ahead of
her. Focusing on studying would prove to be nearly
impossible.
*******
He stares out the car window, watching the streetlights go
by, burnt-out yellow against the black night sky. Not a
star could be seen. Just straight, hopeless black. That
probably wasn't a good sign.
He doesn't know why he let Paris talk him into this. Why is
he doing this? His hand slips down to the door handle,
thinking how easy it would be to just open the door and
escape. Sure, he'd get a few cuts and bruises as he hit the
pavement, but Joon is going slow enough now to keep him
from any serious injury. He'd certainly be less injured
than if he saw Rory Gilmore, that's for sure.
Realizing that throwing himself out of the car would
perhaps not be the best solution, Tristan opts to roll down
his window instead. Joon gives him a strange look, reaching
over and turning up the heat.
"It's 30 degrees out there, man. What are you doing?" Joon
asks. Tristan doesn't respond, instead leaning his head out
the window to feel the wind on his face. It stings. The
pain feels nice. Distracting. The winter air is crisp and
fresh, the kind of air that seems to freeze your lungs as
you breathe it in, sending icicles shooting through your
veins.
Sighing, he ducks his head back inside and rolls up his
window before Joon throws a fit. He pushes a windblown
piece of his chin length blonde hair out of his face and
looks to Joon, who is alternately glancing at him
questioningly and looking back to the road ahead.
"Sorry. Needed some fresh air," Tristan mumbles, closing
his eyes and leaning his head back against the headrest.
"Are you feeling all right?" Joon inquires, concerned. He
turns down the radio. "You look like you're about to throw
up."
They pass the sign welcoming them to Connecticut as Tristan
opens his eyes to respond. He quickly shuts them again.
"I think I just might," he mutters, bringing his hands to
his face. The last time he saw Rory, she had been sitting
in her bedroom, unpacking books from the boxes stacked
around her small bedroom. He had said good-bye and she had
looked at him like a deer caught in headlights. He waited
for her to respond and only received a meek, cracked good-
bye as a result. He remembers quite clearly staring at her,
not able to fathom how two nights ago they had shared such
intimacy. He had been closer to her than he had ever been
to anyone. Rory had always been able to cut him deeply.
Only she had that power to knife him right in the gut. And
with that detached, awful good-bye, she had left him there
to bleed.
"What are you still doing up?" Tristan asks, watching her
enter the living room and circle the couch, coming to a
stop next to him. He moves the heavy blue velour blanket
from that is spread across the couch and his lap, gesturing
for her to sit down. "I thought you went to bed hours ago."
Rory sinks down next to him. He tucks the blanket over her,
breathing in her distinctly Rory scent of faint vanilla and
soft shampoo. "I couldn't sleep," she explains, snuggling
her body close to his. Her proximity doesn't go unnoticed.
"Nice pants," he teases, putting his finger on one of the
white fluffy sheep wearing hot pink rimmed sunglasses that
don Rory's flannel pajama pants. Rory laughs lightly.
"My mom thinks that farm animals wearing shades are
endlessly amusing."
"They are," he replies. Not quite sure what he's doing, he
begins moving his hand in tiny circles across Rory's thigh,
tracing the patterns of sheep. He's sure Rory will swat him
away, but she doesn't. She had been allowing him to touch
her more lately, and likewise, her hands were wandering. He
didn't know what that meant. He didn't even know if she
knew the change had taken place. "Why couldn't you sleep?"
"I don't know. A lot of things on my mind, I guess..." She
sighs, looking up at him. Her eyes meet his and for a brief
moment he thinks that he sees desire. Want. Just something
different that immediately set him on fire. She moves
closer to him as he tucks the blanket around her legs, her
hand brushing up against his thigh. It sends a jolt through
his body like a bolt of lightning.
"Yeah, what do you have on your mind?" He manages to ask,
gently, letting his hand drift through her soft hair. He
has to resist the urge to close his eyes and breathe her
in, the warm, intoxicating smell of her long brown hair
wafting toward him. Instead he dips his head to catch her
eyes. Rory averts her gaze and pulls away.
"It doesn't matter," she mumbles. Tristan recoils slightly,
wondering what exactly he had done to cause her reaction.
"It's just school stuff, work stuff....nothing important."
"If it's bothering you, it's important," He replies,
reaching down and taking her hands in his. She has been
fidgeting with the blanket; it is making him nervous. He
wants her to look at him again. He wants to see if what he
saw moments before was for real. "What is it?"
"It's..." Rory starts to speak, her eyes almost coming up
to meet his. She stops short, her gaze focusing off into
nowhere. Tristan waits for a moment, wondering if she's
going to finish her sentence, but she doesn't. He opens his
mouth to say something when suddenly her lips are on his,
her tongue sliding into his open mouth and begging him to
respond. He hesitates in surprise for a second, then does
what he has always wanted to do. Shoving the blanket onto
the floor, he draws Rory into his lap, pulling her close.
His mind is a fog; the long-repressed desire to have Rory
as his own explodes to the surface. It had been simmering
underneath his skin from the second he had seen her sitting
on her bed in Paris and Rory's freshmen dorm room. He had
come to see Paris and gotten there too early. And there was
Rory, just as beautiful as he had left her the night of
Romeo & Juliet.
He had wanted her right then. But she had acted cordial,
but distant. As if she barely knew him, barely remembered
him. It had taken two years to get to this point, though he
didn't know exactly what point this is.
He presses her back onto the couch, bare chest to bare
chest, their kisses growing more passionate and desperate
by the second. He knew that he shouldn't do what was to
come next, he knew that Rory didn't really want to do this,
but the feel of warm flesh, Rory's warm flesh was over
powering.
Almost as if in a daze his hand dips into the waistband of
her pajamas, his heart beating faster as he realizes that
she still isn't trying to stop him.
Then he rolls on top of Rory's unresisting body and fumbles
with the fly of his pants; it takes only a moment, but the
moment seems like forever as Tristan fumbles with his
throbbing erection. It's seems like an eternity to the
young man as he positions himself at Rory's slit.
Amazingly, Tristan slips into her without further effort on
his part. Rory's dripping wet, her lubrication allows him
to slip in as deep as he could go and the feeling was
heavenly. Warm, wet and tight with the pulse of her
heartbeat.
Then there was no world, no light surrounding them, only
two bodies as one and Tristan began to pull out and push
in, faster and faster as if gliding on clouds. They bodies
became one, arms wrapped around backs, fingers played over
hot flesh as if they were virtuoso's playing an instrument.
Everything was perfect, everything was right.
Then Tristan's body tensed and his gasped as he filled Rory
with his cum, as his body bucked, then bucked again above
her, Rory could only hug him and lie there as his passion
crashed over her. Her feelings were in turmoil, her body
aflame, but guilt and shame fired her thoughts as Tristan
finally quieted.
Then there was nothing but the sound of two people panting
for breath and the moistness of shared perspiration and
cooling lubrication were their sexual organs met. Finally
Tristan pulled out and lay beside Rory's prostrate body.
**
When he awoke the next morning, she was nowhere to be
found. He had gotten dressed and made her breakfast, hoping
that maybe she had just gone out for a morning paper, but
she didn't emerge from behind her locked bedroom door until
Paris and Joon arrived home, well into the afternoon. Her
breakfast was long gone by then, forgotten in the garbage
can.
The next two days were utter hell. She would barely talk to
him. It was as if he had done something horribly wrong. But
she had kissed him, not the other way around. He'd waited
so long for her to make the move. She had initiated it all,
and during the night she had shown no signs of wanting to
stop, or of having second thoughts. Yet she would barely
acknowledge him, let alone the fact it happened.
It had been over half a year since that night, and apart
from stilted, awkward greetings over the telephone, Tristan
hadn't heard more than two words from Rory Gilmore. Why he
let Joon talk him into this weekend visit, he did not know.
"Would you slow down? What's the big hurry?" Tristan
suddenly snaps at his friend. Joon looks perplexed,
glancing down at the speedometer.
"Tristan, I'm going five miles under the speed limit. How
much slower do you want me to go?"
"Well... it's icy," Tristan mutters, feeling like an idiot.
"Do you want me to pull over? You really look like you're
going to be sick."
"I'll be fine. I just have a headache," he mumbles, closing
his eyes once more. "Wake me up if you want me to drive."
*******
Rory stumbles into the kitchen, almost tripping over her
bunny slippers and sliding on the slippery linoleum. She
winces as Paris bangs two pans together accidentally, then
sets them both on the stove.
"That one has to go on the other burner," Rory mumbles
through sleep. "I think...Where's Jeff? What are you doing
up so early?"
"Jeff must've met up with Morgan last night because
Morgan's shoes are by the door and Jeff's not up yet. And
I'm up to make breakfast for Joon and Tristan when they get
here. They left super early so they could be here the whole
day today."
"Oh..." Rory replies, blindly feeling her way toward the
coffeemaker. Paris puts a mug into her outstretched hands.
"Drink and go get dressed. We're going to do a lot of stuff
today. I plan to make the most out of this weekend."
"Why do I have to get dressed? Joon's not my boyfriend..."
Rory snorts, nevertheless heading back to her bedroom.
Downing her entire cup of coffee, Rory then throws on a
pair of comfortable, worn jeans and a plain white long
sleeved shirt. She pulls over a faded old Clash t-shirt
with the cover of London Calling on the front, an item she
had liberated from Lorelai. Running a brush haphazardly
through her hair, she frowns at her reflection. She has a
feeling it's going to be a very long day.
The doorbell buzzes and she can hear Paris mutter an
expletive. Knowing Paris only swore when matters were dire,
Rory hurries into the kitchen, assuming her domestically
challenged friend had alighted the kitchen in flame.
Instead of a fiery blaze, Rory finds Paris running around
from the fridge to the stove, in a blind panic.
"They're early, Rory. Breakfast is barely started. I wanted
this to be perfect!"
"Paris, calm down. I'm sure Joon won't mind waiting a few
minutes to eat. It's not a big deal," Rory assures her.
"You work, I'll get the door."
"Thanks," Paris says gratefully, turning back to the stove
just in time to see her hash browns start to smoke
horribly. "Arrrrghhh!" She lets out a yell of frustration,
turning off the burner and grabbing the pan away. Rory
shakes her head in dismay and heads toward the front door.
"You guys better have a good excuse why you're early,
because Paris is currently having an aneurysm in the
kitchen," Rory calls through the wall as she walks through
the living room. "It's not a pretty picture and I have to
say, not a very nice thing to do to you girlfriend, Joo-"
Rory opens the door, expecting to see Joon and Tristan
standing there, bags in hand. Instead, she finds the last
person on earth she wants to see.
"Jess," she finishes, her face falling.
"Rory," Jess says quietly, trying to gauge her reaction.
Rory stares at him, not able to find her voice. He looks
exactly the same and totally different. Similar clothes -
new leather jacket. Same beat up bag - but with different
band patches all over it. New haircut - same beautiful
eyes. He isn't smirking now, but Rory somehow knows that
it's surely exactly the same. "Is this a bad time?" Jess
asks finally, after Rory remains dumbfounded in her
doorway.
"Curtains on fire! The curtains are on fire! Emergency!
Rory!" Paris shrieks from the kitchen. Sounds of pans
hitting the floor and water running echo into the foyer.
"Yes," Rory responds. Jess opens his mouth to say he'll
come back later but Rory cuts him off. "But no time is
really good, Jess. Not for this." Rory closes the door on
his surprised face and hurries to go save their house from
burning to the ground.
On the front porch, Jess stands in front of the shut door
for a minute, gazing at the engraved oak panels. He is
stunned, though this is what he thought would happen.
Paradoxical. This reaction is what he deserves and he
would've expected it from anyone else. But somehow a small
part of him had thought Rory was far too.Rory to not let
him in.
Rory had apparently changed in two years. Fancy that.
Sighing, he turns and walks down the front steps. He stops
and turns back, raising his hand to knock on the door
again. Jess hesitates, his fist poised, then he drops his
hand to his side.
"Forget it," he mutters, shaking his head and walking away.
He heads down the front walk, slowing as two other men get
out of a black BMW parked on the curb and come in his
direction. Jess pauses to appraise them; one is a tall
Asian man who seems to radiate intelligence, the kind of
person you just know is part of some think tank somewhere.
The other is a tall blonde who probably could be an
obnoxious model for those annoying trendy stores if not for
the forlorn look on his face and slouched posture. His
judgment passed, Jess continues on his way. The two men
pass him and walk up the path to Rory's front door.
Jess glances back, his interest piqued. The front door is
thrown open by an annoyed looking Rory. Her sour expression
melts into happiness and she throws her arms around the
Asian man first, kissing him on the cheek and then stepping
aside to let him enter. She's left to face the other man.
After a moment's hesitation she wraps her arms around him
as well, her arms circling his neck as he pulls her close.
It is the kind of hug you give someone you used to hug all
the time, but you don't anymore. The kind of hug you give
someone when you're not quite sure if you should be hugging
at all.
Rory pulls away and says something to the man, taking his
bag from him and leading him inside. The door falls closed.
Jess stares at the house, feeling envious of those two,
whoever they might be. Rory is inside, with them. He's
outside, alone. He had done it to himself, by choice. But
he isn't planning on leaving New Haven until Rory Gilmore
invited him inside with the same warm smile that made him
fall in love with her. He isn't leaving until she's willing
to give him a second chance.
To Be Continued.
Send comments to: luke_n_lorelai@yahoo.com
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It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
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