Title: I Read The News Today, Oh Boy
Author: Carrie
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Lorelai has called off her engagement to Max. Rory and Dean have broken up. Fumigators come to the house so they spend the day at the country club.
Disclaimer: Gilmore Girls and its characters belong to Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions and Hofflund/Polone in association with Warner Bros. Television.

Chapter One

Life at the Gilmore house had become a festering hole of wallow-dom. Lorelai had called off her engagement to Max, citing irreconcilable irreconcilabilities, whatever that meant. Basically, she wasn't sure she wanted to be with Max for the 'death do us part' gig and, well, that is sort of irreconcilable. Luke had nothing to do with it she claimed. Uh huh.

Meanwhile, Rory had her own problems. A new guy had shown up and Dean didn't care for Rory's attention to said new guy. It didn't help that he was Luke's nephew. She saw him all the time. Not that anything happened. He wasn't really her type. That didn't seem to make a difference to Dean. They fought more than ever and things finally came to an end during one of their more hurtful fights. The trust was gone. The love was gone. The relationship soon followed.

Its occupants in such a state, the house seemed to rebel. Things broke with regularity. Pop tarts burned. Coffee wouldn't heat. Things mysteriously disappeared. Miss Patty was called in for consultation. Her remedy: Fumigation.

"Fumigation?" said Lorelai in disbelief.

"Yes, fumigation."

"Fumigate it with what?"

"Love."

"I'm sorry. Did you say love?"

"Some incense too," continued Miss Patty. "And a bug bomb wouldn't hurt. You'll have to move out for a day."

"You have got to be kidding?"

"I'll call my people in. We'll do it Saturday."

"Your people?"

Miss Patty ignored her and walked to the door.

"When we're finished, your house will be better than ever."

Miss Patty passed Rory on her way out.

"Hi, sweetie. I'll see you Saturday."

"Okay," said Rory, confused. She turned to her mom who was picking up the phone. "What's Saturday?"

"I'll give you a hint," said Lorelai while dialing the phone then bringing it to her ear. "What's better than dead bugs covered in love?"

"I give up."

Lorelai turned her attention to the phone.

"Hi, mom."

Emily suggested that they go to the country club while they were visiting and spend a day pampering themselves. Lorelai jumped on the idea, especially since it didn't include her mother. It would be just a day of Lorelai and Rory... and Orlando, the masseuse.

After they each had a massage, they decided to go out to the pool and catch some rays. Both walked out wearing bikinis. Although Rory, being the more modest of the two, had her towel wrapped around her. They found two chaise lounges and Lorelai draped her towel over her chair while Rory just looked at hers.

"Come on, Rory. You look fine. You look more than fine. That suit looks great on you."

"I'm so white."

"That's sort of the point of laying out, to be less white. Maybe by the end of the day you'll be off-white or even mother-of-pearl. Would you like to be mother-of-pearl?"

"The sun causes cancer."

"Yeah, I hear whistling does too. Now, come on. We won't stay out too long."

Rory finally relented and took her towel off, draping it over her chair.

"Hello. Hottie at four o'clock," announced Lorelai.

Rory sat down and tried to figure out where Lorelai was looking.

"Huh? What?"

"For Pete's sake, that large, wrinkly guy with the comb-over is standing in the way. Move large, wrinkly guy."

To their surprise, the man looked over.

"Excuse me," he said.

"Oh, I was just talking to my daughter," she covered. "I said if you don't put on sunscreen you'll turn pink and fry."

"Hmmph," he replied and walked away.

Rory stifled a giggle.

"Ah, there he is. The one that looks like Ricky Martin. Mmm. I'd liked to shake his bon bon."

"Mom!"

"What? I'm recovering from a heartbreak. Cut me some slack."

"That doesn't mean you have to drool."

"I wasn't drooling. I was admiring. Nothing more than that. It doesn't hurt anyone. Don't tell me you never check out guys."

"I check out guys," said Rory defensively.

"You check out what books they're reading."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. I'm just curious to know whether you ever look at a guy for more than innocent reasons."

"Mom," Rory whined.

"Okay, so you don't. No big deal. And as your mother, I'm happy that you don't. But...as a woman, you have no idea what you're missing."

Rory's brow crinkled in thought.

"Hey, none of that."

"None of what?"

"None of that thinking stuff?"

"No thinking?"

"Okay, no deep thinking. We're in a place where we don't really belong and it's all paid for so let's play. We're no longer Lorelai and Rory. We're Thelma and Louise."

"We're not going to drive off a cliff, are we?"

"Not unless my mother shows up," said Lorelai. "Okay, now let's look for a Brad Pitt to teach us how to rob a convenience store with a hairdryer."

Rory looked around at the people milling about the pool. The terrace was an area engulfing a large, not quite olympic-sized pool. Children and adults filled almost every chair that wasn't occupied by towels or discarded clothing.

"Okay," said Rory. "How about the guy over by the whirlpool in the red trunks?"

"Hmm. Not really a Brad Pitt. More of a Billy Bob Thorton. I'll have to pass."

"I didn't realize how particular you were."

"And I didn't realize how blind you were. I said Brad Pitt."

"He has nice shoulders," commented Rory.

Lorelai's mouth dropped open.

"Huh, so you do notice body parts not attached to books. And shoulders. Good choice. I'm partial to them myself. Okay, next victim."

They both returned to scouting for the next babe to admire.

"Ooo, check out the guy in the pool," prompted Lorelai.

"Where?"

"With his back to us. He's getting out on the other side."

A set of muscular arms rose out of the water and planted hands on the concrete walkway. As he pushed himself up out of the pool, Rory watched as water cascaded down his well-defined shoulders and back. He definitely had a body that was drool-worthy. Following her mother's advice, she allowed her thoughts to stray down a lust-filled road that she had never ventured before and quickly found out that it was a rather pleasurable path.

The scene seemed to play out in slow motion as the guy came to his feet, the water dripping from his body and forming small puddles on the pavement. She imagined what those droplets might taste like on his sun-kissed skin. The cool water combating the heat of his flesh on her lips. Exploring the hills and valleys of his back and chest. Feeling the strength of his arms as they wrapped her in a wet embrace. The gentle touch of his hands as they caressed her bare skin, pulling her tight against his own. Lips wandering up to meet his in a soulful tangle of tongue and teeth and lips and neck and ear and oh boy, Rory found herself heating up by the second.

By this time he was out of the water and reaching for a towel. She silently willed him to turn around so she could put a face to her fantasy. And almost as if he had heard her, he did turn around. But upon seeing his face, Rory's trip down lust lane came to an abrupt, head-on collision sort of halt.

The object of her wanton desire was none other than Tristan DuGrey, lord of all misery where she was concerned. Before she had time to react to this revelation, he caught her gaze and blinked in shock at her presence. She quickly averted her eyes and turned beet red, crossing her arms over her front in an effort to return to her usual modest self.

"Well, he's a little young for me," said Lorelai, "But you..."

She then noticed Rory's reaction.

"Hey," she continued. "Your face is all red. I thought you put on sunscreen. You look like a tomato. Granted, a very pretty tomato with beautiful eyes and hair and, okay, you don't look anything like a tomato, but you are getting red. Maybe we should get out of the sun."

"I'm fine," replied Rory in a shaky breath.

Lorelai looked at her quizzically.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she affirmed, attempting to sound a little more certain.

"Okay, well, I think I'm going to get a drink," said Lorelai, standing up. "You want anything?"

Rory wasn't really paying attention.

"I'm fine."

"So I've heard. I'll be back in a minute."

Lorelai disappeared into the clubhouse and Rory finally dared to glance across the pool. Tristan was nowhere to be seen. She should have felt relief but instead she felt an odd sense of disappointment. Upon this realization, she became annoyed with herself. She should never have listened to her mother. She should never have had those thoughts, about Tristan no less. He was cute. Okay, he was more than cute but cute didn't tell the whole story. It was just further proof that you couldn't tell a book by its cover. No matter how much that cover looked good enough to lick. God, she had to stop thinking like that. She shook her head in an attempt to clear her thinking. She needed to find something else to think about. Books. Nope. Food. Oh no. Kittens. Yes, fluffy little kittens that mewed and licked...ugh! Hormones suck. Guys suck.

Rory decided she needed to go for a swim herself. If for nothing else than to cool off and forget about the images that kept replaying in her mind, and who starred in them. As she surfaced and began a lazy stride from one end to the other, Tristan silently watched her from a window that looked out over the poolside terrace, his expression a mixture of pain and longing. He didn't realize how long he'd been standing there until the voices from a group of people coming around the corner roused him from his voyeurism. Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself from the window and disappeared into the clubhouse.

The plan was to stay at the country club for as long as humanly possible, or at least late enough for Richard and Emily to be asleep when they rolled in to crash for the night. Neither felt like entertaining them with tales of their failed relationships and receiving the unsolicited advice that was sure to follow. Nope, late would work. Then they would skip out in the morning after a quick breakfast and even quicker made up stories about how much fun they had at the country club.

But for the evening, they had each brought a cocktail dress in order to attend the club's weekly soiree that was a bit pretentious but also the perfect excuse to get grandma off their backs and allow Lorelai to continue with her "let's pretend we're someone else" shtick. The shtick that Rory had given up on hours ago.

They had eaten dinner and entered an expansive ballroom where a few people were dancing but mostly everyone else was talking politics or finance, fashion or foibles. All dressed to the nines. All wealthy beyond belief. It was definitely not their type of crowd.

A light cloud of cigar smoke that hung over the room gave a surreal feeling to the scene which seemed more than appropriate. Lorelai pulled Rory to the side.

"Okay, who do you want to be?" she asked Rory.

"What?"

"I thought I'd tell people I was a pirate."

"A pirate?"

"You wanted to be the pirate?"

"No."

"How about a wheelbarrow mechanic?"

"Mom..."

Lorelai raised her eyebrow at Rory.

"What is wrong with you? You wanted to play earlier."

"Well, I don't want to play now."

Rory's mood had not improved since the pool incident and her voice reflected that.

"Fine," responded Lorelai. "I'll just play by myself."

"Fine."

"Good."

"You do that."

"I will."

They stood like that for a minute, Lorelai trying to understand what happened to cause Rory to act this way. She figured it must just still be her reaction to the breakup but was surprised to find that it was directed at her. Well, she'd eventually get over it. In the meantime, Lorelai had her own breakup to get over and she was going to have some fun doing it.

"I was going to go with assistant crack whore," commented Lorelai, "but I thought that would be a little much."

"I'd have to agree with you," replied Rory without so much as cracking a smile.

Before Lorelai could come up with another comment, an older gentleman approached them. He wore a dark suit and bow tie.

"My word, if it isn't Lorelai Gilmore," he said.

"I'm sorry, and you are...?"

"Leonard Robbins. Your father and I play golf together."

"Oh, of course," she replied in mock understanding.

He turned his attention to Rory.

"And who is this young lady?"

"This is my daughter Rory. She attends Chilton."

Rory smiled meekly.

"How wonderful. It's a pleasure to have you here. You should come more often. I don't think I've seen you here in years, Lorelai. What have you been up to?"

"I'm a pirate."

Rory stood long enough to see his mouth drop open and then quickly turned and walked away from the scene. She just couldn't take a night of playing games. She had too much on her mind. What she really wanted was to be alone and wallow for a while. She needed some ice cream and a comfy couch. Since both of those were suffering from the fallout of a bug bomb and some unknown incense, she'd have to settle for a soda and an overstuffed chair in the corner. She headed to the bar for the soda. A young bartender came over as she approached.

"What can I get you?" he asked.

"A soda."

"What kind?"

"I don't care. Surprise me."

He chuckled at her response.

"Okay," he said and filled a glass with some ice. Rory paid little attention.

"So, what's wrong?" he inquired as he went about making her drink.

"Nothing," she replied despondently.

"Nothing always means something. I'm a bartender. I know these things."

She looked at him skeptically.

"I'm serious," he continued. "You can talk to me if you want."

"I don't really want to talk about it. I kind of just want to forget."

"Oh, I see. Well, maybe I can help with that too."

He added a little something extra to her drink, but she wasn't attentive enough to notice.

"Here you go. This might do the trick," he said, placing the drink in front of her and giving her a wink.

She looked at him strangely and picked up her drink off the bar.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Just let me know if you still have trouble forgetting and I'll set you up."

She had no clue what he was talking about. She walked to the side of the room and found a chair to become invisible in. Taking a sip of her coke, she realized something wasn't right. It looked like coke. It sort of tasted like coke. Maybe it was a different kind of coke served only to rich people. Finally, Rory's synapses kicked in and the bartender's words made sense. It was alcohol. The realization shocked her at first. She didn't drink. She had no desire to get drunk. Wait. Why not? What could it hurt? As long as she didn't let it get out of hand, what difference would one drink make?

She took a bigger sip of the drink. It didn't taste that bad. Maybe there wasn't that much alcohol in it. She took another swig. By the time she had reached the bottom of her glass she found she was feeling pretty good, very relaxed. That wasn't so bad. If this is what one drink felt like, maybe another would even be better.

A drink and a half later, Rory found the room intolerably hot and the cigar smoke at a choking level. She left her drink on a table and decided to go outside for some air. Walking didn't seem to be as easy as it usually was. Must be the shoes. She made her way to a patio and though her eyelids were drooping somewhat, she could make out a figure leaning up against the stone railing. It occurred to her that the scene was right out of an episode of "The Love Boat" or maybe some bad fiction. And, if she didn't know any better, she'd have said that the person looked a lot like Tristan. At this point, since she didn't know any better, she approached him.

Hearing her shuffled footsteps, he turned and was shocked for the second time that day to see her. His voice faltered as he struggled to figure out how to respond. It seemed too late to run away, and wouldn't be at all manly, but the thought did cross his mind.

She took in his appearance and was immediately regaled with the emotions that taunted her earlier that day. He was wearing a black suit with a white shirt that was open at the neck allowing her a glimpse of his chest. The chest she had ogled just hours before. Boy, it was hot outside too.

"Hi," she greeted quietly.

He watched her for a minute before responding.

"Hi."

"What are you doing?"

"What do you care?"

It was probably the alcohol but she, for once, felt like playing this game with him.

"Maybe I do care."

"Why? You hate me, remember?"

"When did I say that?"

"Right before you and your boyfriend devoured each other out in front of Chilton."

"Oh," she said, suddenly remembering. "Yeah, I did say that, didn't I?"

He turned away from her.

"Yeah, you did."

"Wait, you were the jerk. You and your P.J. Harvey tickets and telling Paris I was going with you. Don't try to make me into the bad person. You're the jerk."

Tristan took a deep breath but didn't turn back to her.

"I wanted you to go with me."

"You couldn't have thought of a better way to ask me?"

He turned to face her.

"Would you have said yes?"

She was surprised by the earnest expression in his eyes. This was not the Tristan she knew.

"I was with Dean."

"If I remember right, you got back together with Dean AFTER I asked you."

The alcohol was really doing a number on her response skills.

"And there was Paris..."

"If there was no Paris," he interrupted, "Or Dean. Would you have said yes?"

She was quiet for a minute.

"No," she stated simply.

The pain cut through him and he turned his back to her so that she wouldn't see it. She watched as he placed his hands on the stone wall and dropped his head in defeat.

"Because you still don't get it," she continued, stepping up to the wall next to him. "You think you can do whatever you want, get people to do whatever you want. I don't know why. Maybe because people let you. I don't know. And I'm sorry but that doesn't work with me."

He didn't even raise his head. He took another deep breath.

"What does work with you?"

She shrugged.

"A civil conversation," she replied. "It's really not that hard. I seem to remember that we actually had one once."

They stood quietly for a minute. Finally, he raised himself up and turned to her.

"So...how are you doing?" he asked.

"What?"

"How are you doing?"

A puzzled look etched her face.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to have a civil conversation. You said it wasn't hard. I'm beginning to wonder."

"Oh, well, start over. We'll try it again."

"Okay," said Tristan, taking another breath. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," she said as her mouth quirked into a grin at his effort.

He rolled his eyes at her response.

"Fine. Make fun of me."

"I'm sorry. Go ahead."

He looked at her.

"That's all I've got," he said.

This time Rory laughed out loud. It was just too much, the two of them unable to come up with something to talk about. Her laugh was infectious and Tristan found himself chuckling as well.

"If you're so smart, why don't you start the conversation," he suggested.

"Okay, let's see."

She tilted her head to ponder.

"Oh, did you know that they've genetically altered salmon to grow to three times their usual size?"

"No."

"Well, they have."

"That's interesting."

"Yeah."

They were both struck by another bout of laughter.

"This is pathetic."

"Yeah, it is."

"You know, I've never seen you here before. I wouldn't think this was your crowd."

"It's not really."

"So why is today special?"

"They're fumigating our house."

"Who are 'they'?"

"The fumigators."

"Ah."

"We're staying at my grandparents for the night, but we're avoiding them."

"You and your mom?"

"Yep."

"Where is she?"

"Inside somewhere pretending to be a pirate."

"I beg your pardon."

"It's a thing we do. I think it comes from eating too many pop tarts and not enough fiber. We've developed our own food pyramid. Actually it's more of a pentagon. Anyway, it's a thing we do."

"Do you do a lot of 'things'?" he asked.

"Yes, and sometimes when we're really bored, we act normal."

"I'd hate to see that."

"Mostly we just hop on one foot talking about chickens in Spanish. Or Spanish chickens... Or, wait, let me see."

He didn't know what she was doing but she started hopping up and down, muttering to herself in what sounded like Spanish. Unfortunately, her equilibrium not being what it usually was, she began to fall. Tristan reached out to catch her and pulled her up in front of him. She steadied herself on his arms. He stared at her for a second.

"Have you been drinking?"

"Just a coke and a smile," she replied.

"I'll bet."

He let go of her.

"It's the shoes," said Rory.

She leaned against the wall and took her shoes off. He stood close to her, ready to catch her should she fall again.

"There. That's better."

He searched her face and noticed her droopy eyelids.

"You have been drinking."

She looked away from him.

"So?"

"It's just... I would never have guessed that you drink."

She shrugged.

"I don't. I just had one or two tonight. It's not something I really planned."

He tried to read her expression.

"Then why did you?"

"I just felt like it."

"Uh huh," he said, not believing her.

He tried to figure out what the cause was since she apparently didn't feel like sharing. It wouldn't have to do with school. They've been out for over a month. So, unless Paris was going out of her way to annoy her over the summer months, there was only one thing he could think of that would make her upset enough to drink. He decided to test his theory.

"How come you came here to hang out all day," he inquired. "You could've been with your boyfriend?"

She sighed heavily and then chuckled wearily at the irony of their discussion.

"I could've," she responded slowly. "But he's not my boyfriend anymore."

Tristan's heart skipped a beat, not just because of what she said, but at the words she used. They were reminiscent of a certain conversation and event that happened between them previously.

"Yeah? How come?" he murmured nervously, repeating the words spoken so long ago, wondering if she would remember.

She looked into his eyes, sweet and vulnerable.

"He didn't want to be," she replied softly.

It didn't matter that the words weren't true. Their conversation had nothing to do with Dean or the breakup or anything. Rory was tired of thinking, tired of being sad, tired of trying to forget. As she looked into his eyes, the emotions from earlier that day came back unbidden, but more than welcome. She leaned closer to him.

Tristan couldn't believe her words. Her actions. What was she doing? Was she just playing with him? His mouth went dry and his breathing was way out of whack as he forced out the next word in a husky voice.

"Idiot."

Rory dropped her shoes and stood up on her tiptoes to brush her lips across his. He closed his eyes and drank in the sensation of her. She waited briefly for a response but his eyes remained shut. Taking his jacket in her hands, she reached up again and sucked gently on his bottom lip. Tristan needed no more encouragement. His lips responded in kind, testing her resolve, seeing if she would pull away like she had the last time. His hands went to her waist as hers crept up to his neck and around the back of his head. With each nibble, the kiss became deeper and more passionate. And when his tongue sought out hers, he was in heaven to find it a willing participant. Unfortunately, the taste of spiced rum brought him back to his senses.

He took her arms and pushed her away from him. They both stood looking stricken, trying to catch their breath.

"What?" Rory asked.

He was still finding it difficult to breathe.

"Why don't you tell me," he rasped. "Why don't you tell me how you can hate me one minute and kiss me like that the next."

She only stared at him.

"Well, I'll tell you how," he growled. "Because this has nothing to do with me. You're drunk. You wanted to kiss someone. And my lips happened to be convenient. Just like last time. And like last time, it didn't mean a damn thing. God, I don't know why I don't learn."

"Tristan..."

"Go home. Go home, Rory, and sober up."

"I'm not drunk."

"That's not what I'm talking about."

He turned and stormed off, leaving Rory to slouch against the wall, tears already forming in her eyes.

What was she doing? She seemed to keep repeating the same mistakes. Maybe forgetting wasn't such a good idea after all. Maybe remembering was the kind of hard thing you had to do in order to move on in life. She lowered herself until she was sitting on the ground, shoes in hand. Remembering. And Crying

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