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 Four

TRISTAN'S HOUSE

Carrying his book bag, Rory opened the front door to the house and walked in as Tristan hobbled in on his crutches behind her. Rory looked up in awe. The entryway itself was incredible. Two marble staircases arched to a second floor. A large chandelier sparkled overhead. An ornate and immense vase filled with fresh flowers sat on a table just off to the side.

Before she could take in anymore, the gentleman who usually helped Tristan out to the car came to meet them. He was an older man with kind eyes and round spectacles. Wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he looked more like a scientist than some form of servant. However, the apron at his waist gave him away.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't hear the car pull up. Here, let me take that from you."

He relieved Rory of Tristan's bag.

"Emmet," said Tristan. "This is Rory."

Emmett extended his hand and greeted her with a warm smile.

"A pleasure to meet you, Rory."

"Nice to meet you, Emmett," she replied with a smile.

"We're going to study in the solarium," said Tristan.

Emmett turned to Rory.

"Will you be staying for dinner?" he asked.

"I..."

"Yes, she will," Tristan answered for her and received a glare for his efforts. "Could you tell Hilda that there'll be another person?"

"Of course," replied Emmett.

"Could you also show Rory to the solarium?" asked Tristan as he headed toward the staircase.

"Where are you going?" inquired Rory in annoyance.

"I'm going to change."

"Why do you get to change? I can't change."

Tristan sputtered for a second and then looked to Emmett for help but Emmett merely raised his eyebrows and smiled.

Tristan sighed in defeat and finally turned to head further into the house.

"I didn't realize there were rules for this sort of thing," he muttered.

"Of course there are," she said and followed him. "I'm a guest. You have to be just as uncomfortable as I am."

"Doesn't being on crutches and in a cast count?"

"Nope."

"Then maybe I should go change into my plaid skirt."

"What you do on your own time is none of my business."

Emmett chuckled from behind them and they both stopped and turned to see what he thought was so funny. He merely cleared his throat and smiled back and they continued on their way.

If Rory was impressed by the entryway, she was struck dumb by the beauty of the solarium. It was a room encased in glass that could also be opened to the outdoors. Its floor was slate and plants interspersed the room without making it feel like a jungle. Furniture that looked like you could just sink into each piece faced each other at the center of the room. The view made the experience even more stunning as you looked out upon a terrace that dropped down to a small lake and gardens that laced around the terrace.

Having seen the view thousands of times before, Tristan slowly took the steps up to a table at the raised end of the room. Emmett set his bag down at the table and disappeared. As Tristan started getting his books out of his bag, he noticed Rory standing in a trance by the sliding doors that opened to the terrace. He followed her gaze and noticed for the first time in a long time just how beautiful the landscape was. He turned back to Rory and realized what a contrast it was between their two homes.

"Hey!" said Tristan. "When I was at your house, you got to change."

She dropped her gaze in thought.

"Huh. You're right," she remarked. "Okay, you can go change."

"You're too kind."

He removed his jacket and tie as Rory slowly made her way around the room, admiring the design of the room.

"You have a beautiful house," said Rory.

"It's not mine. I only live here."

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"No."

He began pulling out his books and setting them on the table.

"What do your parents do?"

"Did you come over to study chemistry or my family tree?"

Rory stopped in front of a small pool of water that lay at the bottom of a rock wall. Suddenly a stream of water began falling from the top of the wall creating a gentle waterfall. Rory looked up to where Tristan sat and saw that he was pointing a remote control at where she stood. He then set it back down and turned to his notes.

"I usually leave it off, " he explained. "It just makes me have to go to the bathroom."

Rory climbed the steps to join him at the table.

"What did you say your parents do?"

"I didn't say," he replied without looking up.

"Sorry," said Rory, for the first time realizing that it was for some reason a touchy subject. "I didn't mean to pry."

She set her backpack down and began taking out her own books. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

"I don't know what they do half the time," he murmured. "It's a symbiotic relationship. He makes money. She spends it."

Rory felt a little uncomfortable at his statement but was saved when Emmett appeared carrying a tray that had two glasses, a pitcher and Tristan's prescription on it. He set it down on the table.

"I was going to bring some snacks but Hilda doesn't want you to spoil your appetites," said Emmett. "She's made a roast and it will be done shortly. In the meantime, I thought I'd bring you something I concocted."

He began pouring a strange-looking liquid into each glass.

"What type of juice is it this time?" asked Tristan warily.

"It's apple, orange, celery, carrot and spinach," he replied and turned toward Rory. "I got a Juiceman Juicer for Christmas. It's marvelous. Go ahead. Try it."

They both take a sip of their drinks.

"Wow," said Rory. "That's, uh...different."

"And incredibly healthy for you too. If you drink this everyday, Tristan, I bet you'd be back on your feet in no time," he continued. "Speaking of which, when was the last time you took your medication?"

"I took some at school," he replied evasively.

Emmett turned toward Rory.

"I didn't see him take it," she said.

"I'm fine."

"The doctor said..."

"I am fine," emphasized Tristan.

"You're not fine," stated Rory. "No one says 'fine' and actually means 'fine'. It's usually what people say when they mean the opposite."

"So, I should say I'm miserable?"

"Are you miserable?"

Emmett's eyes went from one to the other like a ping pong match. Tristan looked at Rory pointedly.

"I'm getting there."

She glared back.

"Don't hold back for my sake."

"What do you care if I take it or not?"

"It was prescribed for a reason. Maybe it will make you less cranky."

"I'm not cranky."

"Please! You're the ruling leader of Crankistan."

"How clever."

"See. Cranky."

"Gosh, and I have no idea what would make me be so cranky."

"The fact that the largest tendon in your body was severed?"

"That wasn't what I was referring to."

"Oh? And what were you referring to?" she challenged him.

"You're bright. You figure it out."

"Why don't you just tell me."

He turned to look her straight in the eye.

"Maybe I wouldn't be so cranky if you just left me the hell alone!"

"I can leave."

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

Both slightly confused by the meaning of their argument, they sat quietly catching their breath. Equally confused and surprised by the exchange, Emmett stood contemplating the two. Finally, Tristan grabbed the prescription bottle and popped a pill into his mouth, washing it down with the colorful juice.

Emmett placed the container back on the tray and picked the tray up from the table.

"I'm...I think I'll go check to see how dinner is coming," said Emmett. "If you'll excuse me."

Emmett left them sitting in a heavy silence.

"Why was that such a big deal?" inquired Rory.

Tristan ran both hands through his hair and rubbed his eyes.

"I can't concentrate when I take that stuff. It makes me all loopy."

Rory was baffled by his answer.

"Why didn't you just say that?"

"I just did, okay?" he replied in exasperation. "Do I constantly have to explain myself?"

Tristan had one last, long sigh before directing his attention to the homework in front of him.

"Can we study now?" he said

Rory just stared at him, unable to fathom what went on in his head. He could feel her questioning look.

"What?" he asked.

Rory shook her head.

"Nothing."

Rory turned to her notes. The room was silent except for the trickling sound of the waterfall. It was incredibly soothing she thought. She felt a calmness settle over her. No wonder people liked to listen to the sound as they fell asleep. Then suddenly, she turned to Tristan.

"Can I ask one more question?"

He let out a breath and his shoulders sagged.

"What?"

"Where's your bathroom?"

RORY'S HOUSE

It was dark out when Rory dragged herself in the front door. Lorelai was watching TV on the couch.

"Well, goodness gracious," said Lorelai. "If it isn't my daughter. Hello daughter."

"Hello mother."

Rory dropped her bag on the floor and slumped onto the couch, closing her eyes.

"Boy, did you have a long study session. It's almost ten."

"Neon," said Rory.

"I'm sorry."

"Neon. The element neon has an atomic number of ten. It was discovered by Sir William Ramsey. It's a noble gas with two energy levels."

"That's very interesting. Did you know that I once rode in a Dodge Neon?"

"I'm tired."

"Tired. Dodge Neons are tired. They have four of them. They turn."

"Please stop," groaned Rory.

"Stop. What I don't plan on doing until you tell me about your study session with Tristan."

Rory opened her eyes.

"What do you mean 'tell you about it'? I told you on the phone. We have a test tomorrow in chemistry and he asked me to help him study."

"So, you really have a test?" asked Lorelai.

"Yes, I have a test tomorrow. What did you think I meant?"

"I'm sorry but when you said 'I'm going to study chemistry with Tristan' I kind of thought..."

"I'd lost my mind?"

"Actually the opposite," replied Lorelai. "The boy is cute."

"The boy is a prep school Hugh Hefner."

"Ooo, does he walk around his house in a silk robe?"

"Mom."

"Rory," mimicked Lorelai. "You can't tell me that you don't find him attractive."

Rory was set to protest as Lorelai raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Yes, he's attractive. And if that was all I was looking for in a guy, he'd be at the top of my list but..."

"You have a list?" Lorelai interrupted.

Rory stared at her in exhaustion.

"I'm going to bed," declared Rory rising from the couch.

"Bed," Lorelai called after her retreating figure. "The place you go to dream about studying chemistry at the playboy mansion."

Rory entered her room and shut the door soundly behind her.

"Huh," mumbled Lorelai. "I don't have a list."

TRISTAN'S HOUSE

The next morning, Emmett answered the door and was surprised to find Rory looking sheepishly up at him.

"Rory," he greeted with his usual smile. "Good morning. You're here early."

"I know. Traffic was good for a change. I could just go wait in the car though."

"Nonsense. Come in, come in."

He ushered her in and shut the door behind her.

"Can I get you something? Maybe some coffee?"

"It's not some healthy kind of coffee that would come out of a juicer is it?"

Emmett laughed.

"Follow me."

Rory followed him down a hallway and through a swinging door. Inside was an expansive kitchen and a short, plump woman with graying hair sitting at a small table, sipping coffee and watching television.

"Hilda, this is Rory."

Hilda set her coffee down and advanced on Rory.

"How wonderful it is to meet you Rory," spoke Hilda in a slight German accent. "You must sit down."

Emmett was already pouring a cup of coffee for Rory as Hilda dragged her over to the table. She sat Rory down and turned off the TV.

"Can I get you anything? Have you had a breakfast?"

"I had a Pop Tart," replied Rory.

Hilda was aghast.

"A Pop Tart?"

"It had fruit in it."

"That is no breakfast for a young woman. No wonder you are so thin. Here now, what can I make you? Eggs? Waffles? An omelet? What would you like?"

"I'm fine. Really."

"Scrambled eggs it is," smiled Hilda. "Unless you tell me differently."

"I..."

"Just don't tell me no."

"I..."

"You must eat or there is no coffee."

"I would love some, thank you."

Hilda smiled and whirled into activity. Emmett placed a mug of coffee in front of Rory.

"There is cream and sugar but try it first to see if you need any," he suggested.

Rory took a sip of the coffee and was speechless.

"I thought so," said Emmett in satisfaction.

"You've ruined me for all other coffees," said Rory.

"Perhaps not all but we'll save that for another day," replied Emmett.

"How do you get coffee to taste this good?"

"Ancient Columbian secret," said Emmett. "And about forty dollars a pound. The perks of working for the wealthy."

He winked at her and Rory smiled, remembering where she was, in Tristan's home, in his kitchen, drinking his coffee. She looked at her watch.

"Tristan won't be down for another ten minutes. He usually eats down here but since his injury we've served his breakfast in his room," he explained.

As if conjuring it out of thin air, Hilda set a plate in front of Rory covered with scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, hash browns and fresh fruit. It was unbelievable.

"Don't stare at it, child. Eat," said Hilda. "You need your energy."

Rory began eating and Hilda resumed her seat at the table. Emmett refilled each of their cups and then joined them.

"Promise me you will come early enough for breakfast every morning," said Hilda.

"Oh, I don't..."

"Ah, ah, ah. Promise me."

Rory smiled gratefully.

"I promise. Thank you. This is delicious."

"The house is too quiet," added Emmett. "We love having visitors."

Hilda raised her mug in a toast.

"Here is to more noise in the house."

"Yes, more noise," smiled Emmett and clanked his mug to hers.

"More noise," said Rory and clanked her mug as well, only louder. Catching on, they each continued to clank their mugs loudly together and started laughing heartily, until Rory caught something out of the corner of her eye.

Tristan stood in the doorway with a look of confusion on his face.

"Tristan, good morning," said Hilda, getting up from the table.

"Good morning," he mumbled in return.

"Did you get enough to eat?"

"Yes, thank you."

"I will get your jacket."

Tristan was disoriented by Rory's appearance. He was used to having her in his thoughts on a regular basis. But here she was in the flesh, in his kitchen, looking like she lived there. He didn't know how to react to that.

Rory herself was uncomfortable. She didn't belong there.

"Finish eating," Emmett said to Rory as he got up from the table. "I'll get your things, Tristan."

Suddenly, Tristan and Rory were alone in the kitchen. He stared at her while she stared at her plate.

"Traffic was good so I was....I got....I'm early," she said by way of explanation.

"I see."

The uncomfortable silence overtook them again then he turned and went out of the room. Rory wiped her mouth on her napkin and followed.

"Here is your jacket," said Hilda, helping Tristan get it on while balancing on his crutches.

Emmett set down Tristan's bag and went back into the kitchen.

"Now, make sure you get a good meal in the cafeteria. Rory, make sure he gets a good meal," lectured Hilda. "And you too, my dear. The better you eat, the better you will study."

As Hilda continued speaking, Emmett reappeared with a travel mug filled with coffee. He handed it to Rory who acted like he had just handed her gold bullion.

"Thank you," she mouthed.

He just smiled, picked up Tristan's bag and led the way out to the car. Outside, he put the bag in the back seat and watched as they got in the car.

"Have a good day at school now," said Emmett.

"Thanks," they both said in unison, awkwardly trying to cover, "you, um..."

Emmett pretended not to notice and shut the door. Rory started down the driveway. Their discomfort with each other was more amplified usual.

"I didn't mean to show up in your kitchen this morning."

"What?"

"I didn't show up early looking for breakfast or anything."

"I didn't think you did."

Silence again.

"Hilda made me promise to come early enough to have breakfast everyday, but if you don't...if you..."

"If you made a promise, then you should keep it."

"Oh, um, okay. Thanks."

Rory noticed that he seemed a little off as he stared out the window.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I don't feel very well."

"Did you not get enough sleep?"

"I don't know. My ankle has been bothering me."

"Did you take your medication?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Is it hot in here? Are you hot?"

He lowered his window and shut his eyes as the cool air filled the car. She looked at him with concern and then turned her attention back to the road.

CHILTON HALLWAY

Tristan was rummaging through his locker in frustration as Rory approached.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Have you seen my chem homework?"

She looked at him strangely.

"We didn't have any."

"Then what's this?" he inquired, pulling out a piece of paper from a folder and holding it up for her to see.

"French notes," she replied.

He turned the paper so that he could look at it and his face scrunched in confusion.

"What's wrong with you?" asked Rory.

He shoved the paper back into the folder and tossed it in his locker.

"I knew I shouldn't have taken those stupid pills. I can't concentrate like this. How am I supposed to take the test?"

He ran a hand over his face.

"Your hands are shaking," she noted.

He brought his shaking hand down and clenched it in front of him.

"I break into a sweat just trying to get my eyes to focus."

She regarded him for a moment.

"Maybe you should go home."

"Dammit!" he said and slammed his locker shut.

Tristan closed his eyes and leaned over his crutches, resting his forehead against the cool metal of the locker.

"God, I hate this."

Rory had never seen him act like this before. She didn't know what to do.

"Just relax. Take a deep breath."

Tristan's eyes flashed open when he felt her hand lay gently on his shoulder. No medication could thwart the attention that that simple gesture caused in him.

"You'll be fine. Chemistry is your last class and you know this stuff. You'll do fine," she said, in an effort to calm him. "But if you don't start feeling better by lunch, we'll talk to Mrs. Hitchcock and see if you can take the test another day."

He was surprised by her physical contact but he was flabbergasted by her use of the word 'we'. He could only look at her in confusion.

"Okay?" she asked, dropping her hand from his shoulder.

He could only stare at her through the haze and wonder at her actions.

"Okay," he replied.

She gave him a small smile and they started down the hall.

TRISTAN'S HOUSE

After school, Rory pulled up to the front door and Tristan started getting out of the car.

"Where's the nearest gas station around here?" asked Rory.

"What?" asked Tristan.

He looked at the gas gauge and saw that it was almost in the red zone.

"Get out of the car," he commanded.

"I beg your pardon."

"Get out of the car."

"Why?"

Emmett came out of the house and Tristan got up on his crutches and approached him.

"Can you take the car and get it filled up?" asked Tristan.

Appalled, Rory jumped out of the car to join them.

"I'm perfectly capable of getting gas," she declared.

"It's probably due for an oil change as well," said Emmett.

"Are you listening to me?" questioned Rory in irritation.

Tristan turned to her.

"Emmett can take care of it."

"He doesn't need to take care of it. I can take care of it."

Emmett saw that the conversation was escalating into an argument and decided to diffuse it before it got out of hand.

"Rory, I take care of all of the cars here," explained Emmett. "It's something I rather enjoy. Cars are a passion of mine and I'm sure you'll laugh but I've even missed not having the car around. Why don't you let me fill her up and check her out and make sure she's running the way she should."

Rory couldn't help but smile at Emmett.

"I didn't realize the car was a girl," said Rory. "Although, considering its owner, I'm hardly surprised."

Tristan was about to respond to her dig but Emmett interrupted.

"How is the car running? Is there anything else I can check on?"

"Actually it was making this annoying sound," said Rory.

"What are you talking about?" asked Tristan. "I didn't hear anything."

"That's it! That was the sound."

Tristan rolled his eyes and Emmett stifled a chuckle.

"Oh, how was the chemistry test?" asked Emmett.

"I aced it," replied Tristan casually. "I don't know about Rory. She seemed distracted for some reason."

Rory's mouth dropped open.

"Yeah, distracted by you," she responded indignantly and turned to Emmett. "You should have seen him this morning at school. He was so out of it. He went into the bathroom to run some water over his face and got lost. In the bathroom!"

"Hey, it wasn't my fault. It's that stupid medication. It also didn't help that the only idea you could come up with to help was to have me drink a ton of water to wash it out of my system."

"It worked didn't it?"

"Yeah, but I spent half the day in the bathroom. I'm not taking that stuff anymore."

"Well, see how you feel," said Emmett. "I can call your doctor and get a different prescription if you need it. "

He then turned to her.

"So, how did the test go for you, Rory?"

"Good. I think I did really well on it."

"I'm glad," said Emmett. "Maybe you should study together more often."

Emmett looked from one to the other but neither Rory nor Tristan responded to his suggestion.

"Well," continued Emmett. "I'll take care of the car. Why don't you go inside and get something to eat. I'm not sure what Hilda's been cooking but it smells delicious."

"Thanks, Emmett," said Tristan.

"Yes, thank you," added Rory.

"I'm happy to do it," replied Emmett. "Now go inside."

Disappearing inside, Rory allowed Tristan to go change while she sought out Hilda in the kitchen. After Hilda made her promise she would stay for Chicken Kiev, she was shooed into the library. The shelves went from the floor to the ceiling and had to have been at least fifteen feet tall. Leather furniture met at the center of the room. There were no windows and the room was mostly lit by the reading lamps that accompanied the furniture. She walked over to the books and wasn't surprised to find that most of them were very old. She ran her hand along their spines as she checked out the titles. Most of them seemed to be legal in nature.

"If none of those books interest you," said Tristan from the doorway, "I could show you where the children's section is."

"No, thanks," she responded. "I don't need to see your room."

Tristan entered and walked over to a different section of books.

"You might find these more interesting," he said.

She walked over to join him. She was stunned as she looked at all the titles.

"Are these all...?"

"Yep, first editions."

She pulled Moby Dick off the shelf and held it in her hands in awe.

"It's not a holy relic," said Tristan. "It's just a book."

"But it's a first edition."

"It's still the same book about a guy looking for a white whale."

"Leave it to you to simplify classic literature."

"Why shouldn't it be simple? Why do we have to seek some deep symbolic meaning in the coil of a deck rope?"

"That's the challenge of a good book or otherwise, why read? It's thought-provoking, insightful, a way to broaden your perspective..."

"It's tiring," he interrupted.

She gently placed the book back on the shelf.

"Sorry. I forgot who I was talking to. The poster boy for R.I.F. Reading is fun for the mental."

"That's right," he played along. "I need pictures. And small words."

He turned to her.

"I do read you know."

"Penthouse letters doesn't count."

"Funny girl," said Tristan. "I bet you can't guess what story I'm writing my essay on for lit."

"Little Women?"

"I'm writing about The Fall of the House of Usher."

"Edgar Allen Poe?"

"No, Po the Teletubby. Do you really have such a low opinion of me?"

"You're the one who said you don't read."

"I like his stuff. It's creepy."

"I see."

"Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is another cool author. I read Hound of the Baskervilles when I was young and had nightmares for weeks because of it."

"So you like the horror element."

"Yes, I find it thought-provoking, insightful, a means of broadening..."

"I get it."

"Oscar Wilde is good too."

"You just want to be entertained."

"It helps," he replied. "So who are you writing your essay on?"

"Dorothy Parker."

He chuckled.

"What?" she inquired.

"Nothing. It just makes sense."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Although, her work isn't necessarily fraught with deep symbolic imagery. In fact, if I had to categorize, I'd say she would fall into the entertaining column of literature."

"Just because I can say Moby Dick without snickering doesn't mean I don't enjoy humor when it's written well."

"Well, where is it?"

"Huh?"

"Are you done with your essay?"

"Nearly."

"Go get it," he said with a slight smirk. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Rory was surprised by the innuendo. Although it used to be a common occurrence, he had all but stopped directing such comments at her for a while now. He watched her reaction etch across her face and came to the same realization that she had. He abruptly got up on his crutches.

"You don't have to get yours," he said. "But I could use another opinion on mine."

He left the room and Rory sat there for a moment digesting their conversation. Their interaction was consistently inconsistent. One minute she's worried he's passed out in the bathroom at school, the next she wants to take his crutches and push him down.

"He's tiring," she mumbled as she left the room to grab her backpack.

Unfortunately, she missed the deep symbolic meaning of her own words.

TRISTAN'S HOUSE

As promised, Rory showed up early enough for breakfast the next morning. She barely got in the door before Emmett was handing her a mug of coffee. She couldn't think of a better to start the day, but when she stepped into the kitchen, she was thrown by the sight of Tristan sitting at the table. He looked up at her expectantly when she came in.

"Good morning, Rory," greeted Hilda. "How are you doing today?"

"I'm doing well. Thank you."

"Good, good. Have a seat. I've made French toast for you both so I hope you're hungry."

Rory walked over to the table.

"Hi," she said to Tristan.

"Hey."

She sat down and an awkwardness settled over them.

"I like French toast," commented Rory.

"Yeah, Hilda's are the best too."

More awkwardness. Which made no sense really, considering the amount of time they spent together.

"I didn't expect..." Rory stammered. "I mean, you didn't have... Um, why are you down here?"

"I live here."

"I just thought you had been having breakfast in your room."

"I have been, but as much as I enjoy having Katie Couric with my bowl of Cheerios, it's kind of nice to have someone who's interested in what I have to say."

"Oh, well, when that person gets here, he or she can have my seat."

"See, Katie would never insult me first thing in the morning."

"Bryant might."

"True."

They both smiled.

"Now that is what I like to see," said Hilda, setting down a platter full of French toast. "I never see you two smile. Maybe I should make French toast more often."

They smiled again as they slathered their breakfast in butter and syrup.

CHILTON LIBRARY

During his free period, Tristan sat in the library working on his homework for pre-calc. One of his football buddies slid into the chair next to him and dropped a copy of 'The Franklin' over his work.

"You read this?"

Tristan grabbed it.

"Did this just come out?" he asked.

"Hot off the presses. First edition of the year. And your little girlfr..."

Tristan glared at him.

"I mean, intrepid journalist Rory Gilmore wrote a glowing article about the football team."

He lowered his voice as Tristan searched for the article.

"She also had some glowing words for you."

"What?" said Tristan in surprise.

His friend patted him on the back and stood up.

"Just read it," he said and left.

Tristan anxiously read the article. It was good. Good for someone who just picked up the game. However, he could tell where she had filled in her gaps in knowledge with some imaginative prose. Though he doubted that anyone else would notice. He stopped short when he found his name and the phrase 'outstanding wide receiver'. She had gotten some flattering quotes from the coach also about his absence from the team.

He read it over several times and when he was done reading, he found he was all warm and tingly. He had read articles written about him before but this was different. This was Rory Gilmore. He suddenly felt the need to see her. Not caring, he left his things where they were and headed out of the library on his crutches with the paper tucked under his arm.

Rory had Spanish and that's where he headed. As he turned the corner just outside her classroom, he ran into Paris. She was surprised to see him, mostly because he actually looked like he was in a good mood for a change.

"Hey, Tristan."

"Paris," he replied distractedly.

He was about to move past her when she noticed what he was holding. That's when it clicked.

"So, you read the article," she said.

"What?" He stopped and looked at her.

"The article. Rory's article."

"Oh, yeah, I did."

Paris was pretty sure she may regret what she was about to do but she did it anyway.

"It was nice."

"Yeah, it was a good article."

"No, I mean it was nice of her to mention you."

He blinked in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, well, I just mean that since you got injured and can't play, it was nice that she included you."

The good mood was immediately erased from his face and Paris knew she had hit her mark.

"I was going to be starting wide receiver."

"Oh yeah, you deserve to be in there. And you two have been spending a lot of time together, what with you helping her with the football and all...the least she could do was give you a write-up. Everyone would wonder if she didn't, you know. The rumors in this place practically have you married."

"We're not a couple," he asserted.

"I know that. I mean it's obvious you two don't get along, which is why I was a little surprised that she put you in the article. Although, I guess, with your injury and all, she probably felt that she should be nice or she felt like she owed you or something. I don't know. But it was nice of her, don't you think?"

"Yeah, nice," he mumbled. "I've got to go."

He went back in the direction he came from. Paris watched him go, not feeling any satisfaction from what she just did. Oh well, he didn't seem too upset.

CHILTON LIBRARY

Tristan was back in the library working on his homework once again when Rory came in to retrieve him.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey."

She noticed the newspaper sitting nearby.

"Where did you get this?" she said grabbing the paper.

"Someone gave it to me."

Anxiously, she flipped through to find her article.

"It's on page eight," he stated.

A warm feeling went through her as she saw her name in the byline. She didn't need to read it. She knew what it said. She'd read it about a hundred times before submitting it. Now she just needed some affirmation.

"So," she looked at him. "What did you think?"

"It was good."

She felt a swell of pride.

"For a first attempt."

The swell immediately deflated.

"What?"

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You read so much."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I just thought you were taking journalism, not creative writing."

Rory was struck dumb. He might as well have taken a bat to her head.

"I'm sorry I'm not Mitch Albom," she choked out.

"It shouldn't sound like Albom," he said, raising his voice. "Or Steinbeck, or Hemingway, or any one of the Bronte' sisters. It should be Rory Gilmore on football."

Tears threatened to steal from her eyes.

"I don't know football," she responded weakly.

"That's more than obvious. But if I'm going to be a part of this charade, that's not going to happen again."

Rory blinked at his comment and the anger seeped in.

"Are you suggesting that you..."

"Everyone knows I'm helping you," he growled. "This is not just a reflection on you."

"You arrogant..."

Tristan angrily grabbed his crutches and stood up.

"I am well aware of your feelings towards me. That's just more old news. I suggest you get ready for the football game Friday night because by the time I'm finished with you, you're going to be able to talk football with the best of them."

He left her standing there in a cold fury. What did he know about writing? Who was he to make her feel so horrible? It was a damn good article. It didn't matter what the hell he thought.

RORY'S KITCHEN

"This is a good article," stated Lorelai.

"No, it's not. It's crap," replied Rory.

She took the newspaper from her mother and threw it in the garbage.

"Why? Because Tristan said so?"

Lorelai picked it out of the garbage.

"This has nothing to do with Tristan."

"Who else thought is was bad?"

"Nobody."

"And did anyone else say that they liked it?"

"Yes."

"So Tristan was the only one who criticized it?"

"Yes."

"But it has nothing to do with him?"

"Right."

"Oh, I see now."

"See what?"

"That you've lost your mind."

Rory turned from her mother and went into the living room.

"I mean that in the most loving way," added Lorelai following her and joining her on the couch. "No matter how many good things people say about it, you're going to focus on the bad things. You just have to rise above it, like yeast."

"I need to write better."

"Yeast might help."

"Learning football would be a bigger help."

"So, who's going to help you?"

"Jackass is."

Lorelai's mouth dropped.

"Did you just swear?"

"Yes."

"Wow."

"He is a jackass."

"Then why is he the one who's going to help you?"

"I don't know. Who else would be willing to sit out in the cold on a Friday night and describe a football game to me?"

"When you put it that way, he doesn't sound like much of a jackass."

"He's sneaky that way."

"Oh, so he's a sneaky jackass. Thems are the worst."

"Don't I know it."

TRISTAN'S HOUSE

The next morning, Tristan had been sitting at the table in the kitchen waiting for Rory but she had yet to show up. He knew she was doing it on purpose which just made him angrier. He refused Hilda's attempts at getting him to eat.

Recognizing what was going on, both Hilda and Emmett left the room when Rory finally appeared.

"You're late."

"No, we'll just make it to school, but we've got to leave now," she replied casually.

She noticed the clean plate sitting in front of him.

"You weren't hungry?" she asked innocently.

"I was waiting for you."

"That's your own fault."

"I was trying to be polite."

"You be polite? That's a laugh."

He got up from the table and moved past her to the door.

"Did you bring extra clothes for the game?" he asked.

"No. I figured I'd have time to go home first."

"Not if we're going to catch the other team practicing."

"Why do we need to see the other team practicing?"

"So we know what to look for during the game. It's called scouting. Write that down."

"Yes, mein Fuhrer."

Emmett met them at the door with Tristan's bag and Rory's usual travel mug of coffee.

"I put a blanket in the car for the game," said Emmett. "It's supposed to be chilly tonight."

Hilda rushed in with two containers of food.

"Both of you must eat," she declared, handing the food to Rory. "Otherwise, you will have no strength to yell at each other."

Emmett was the only one who smiled at the joke. Rory and Tristan merely looked at her and then disappeared through the front door.

FOOTBALL GAME

Rory and Tristan sat a short ways from the student section where they wouldn't disturb anyone with his game analysis and her questions. As it got later, it got colder and Rory was wrapped up in the blanket that Emmett had been kind enough to throw in the car. It still didn't seem to do the trick considering she was still in her school uniform. She was miserable and either Tristan didn't notice or didn't care which made her that much more aggravated with him.

"Did you see that?" he asked, after a flagrant penalty wasn't called.

"S-s-see what?" she chattered.

"Aren't you paying attention?" he asked. "Why aren't you writing this down?"

"I can't write it down. My f-f-fingers are numb."

"What? Where are your hands?"

He pulled the blanket open and found her hands.

"Jesus," he said upon finding her fingers were like icicles.

Without any thought to the intimacy of the act, he wrapped her hands in his warmer ones and gently began rubbing them. Rory didn't care either. She just wanted to be warm again.

He kept up his ministrations while turning his attention back to the game. Rory tried to do the same.

"Hey, DuGrey," came a voice out of nowhere.

They both looked up to find a fellow Chiltonite, Graham Landes, sitting down next to them.

"Hey, Graham," replied Tristan. "What's up?"

"Good game, huh?" said Graham with a leer.

Neither understood the comment until they realized where his gaze was directed. They looked down and realized Tristan's hands were both hidden from view in the folds of the blanket wrapped around Rory. Abruptly, they pulled apart, irritated and embarrassed.

"Yeah, good game," said Tristan.

"So, are you guys going to Orson's after the game? It's gonna be wild."

"I didn't realize that was tonight."

"It's the biggest party of the school year. You've gotta come. Everyone's going to be there. So what do you say?"

Rory had turned away from the conversation, pretending to be entranced with the game.

"Yeah, of course, I'll be there," said Tristan.

"Cool," said Graham. "I'll see you there. Later, man."

Graham got up and left. Tristan turned back to the game.

"Do you want to go to the party?" he asked without looking at her.

"No," she said simply.

"I'll get a ride."

Rory shivered through the rest of the game, which thankfully didn't last much longer. She was too cold to care about any party. They parted from each other without so much as a goodbye and Rory stumbled to the car on frozen feet. She sat in the car for a good twenty minutes with just the heat on before she felt good enough to drive home. The last thought that went through her head before she made the drive back to Stars Hollow was how much she hated football.

PARTY

Tristan felt good at the party. He hadn't been out like that in a long time, cutting loose. He had a few drinks, chatted up more than a few of the girls who made their presence known to him. Being on crutches apparently just made him more irresistible. And who was he to decline their advances. It had been too long since he had the opportunity to enjoy a good grope and make-out session. This was where he belonged. This was where he was king.

One particularly buxom beauty ushered him through a side door where they could continue their 'session' undisturbed. He was more than happy to comply until he realized the room he had been pulled into. It was the library. He chuckled to himself.

"What?" she asked, giggling herself and dragging him further into the room.

"You had to pull me in here?"

"What's wrong with here?"

"The books are watching us."

"They are?" she asked drunkenly and stared at the shelves. "Cool."

She backed up to the couch and grabbed his shirt, pulling him on top of her. She ran her hands down his chest and pulled his shirt out of his pants. He responded to her kisses at first but then pushed himself up from her when he felt her hands on his bare skin.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Your hands are cold."

"That's why I need you to warm them up," she breathed.

She kissed him again and he was intent on forgetting everything but the girl in front of him. Unfortunately, he didn't have enough to drink to do that. Or maybe he had too much. It was hard to tell. He pulled away and sat up.

"Am I doing something wrong?" she asked.

"No," he replied, running his hands through his hair. "No, it's not you."

He thought for a second, alcohol swimming in his veins.

"Actually, it is you."

"What?!?"

"You just had to make me think of her, didn't you?"

"Her who?"

"Christ!"

She grabbed for his shirt again.

"Tristan..."

He pulled her hands off of him.

"I can't even go a few hours without her nagging and moaning and 'oh, I've got cold hands'."

"I can't help it. I've got bad circulation."

He looked at her like she was crazy.

"For God's sake," he hollered. "Would you just get out of here and leave me alone?"

She let out a squeak and looked like she was going to cry as she got up and ran from the room.

Tristan sighed heavily and lay down on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. He turned his head and noticed a book sitting on the table in front of the couch.

"Stop looking at me."

RORY'S HOUSE

They sat in the living room. Rory was snuggled into a big quilt on the couch. Lorelai sat down next to her.

"You bought two coffees on the way home?" asked Lorelai. "You're never going to get to sleep."

"I didn't drink them both. One was for consumption. The other was just to warm my fingers in."

"Why didn't you just go in the bathroom and run them under warm water?"

Rory just stared off as if she hadn't considered that option.

"The logical part of my brain was frozen too you know. I can't be expected to think properly under those extreme conditions. My neurotransmitters stopped mid-synapse to wait for the ski patrol."

"Well, next time you're either going to have to bring extra clothes or we're going to have to see if The North Face makes plaid skirts and saddle shoes."

"I don't want there to be a next time."

"Uh oh, what did jackass do now?"

"Well, he purposely didn't tell me I wasn't going to have time to come home after school to change..."

"Did you talk about your plans beforehand?"

"No."

"Don't you think you should've?"

Rory glared at her mother.

"I'm just trying to act as the rational part of your brain," explained Lorelai, "Until we hear from the ski patrol."

"Can I have some more cocoa?" asked Rory.

"Absolutely," said Lorelai, getting up from the couch. "We'll send in the mini marshmallows. They'll get those neurotransmitters going again."

On her way to the kitchen, the phone began to ring. Lorelai looked at her watch and then back at Rory.

"This isn't the cops calling to tell me that you're a clone and my real daughter is buried alongside a highway somewhere?"

"I don't think so," said Rory. "I buried her pretty deep."

"Good. Just like I taught you," said Lorelai and picked up the phone. "Good evening, Gilmore residence."

"Is Rory there?" asked Tristan, still lying on the leather couch in the middle of the library.

"Yes, she is. And what kind of deranged lunatic would be calling my one and only daughter at this incredibly late hour?"

Slight pause.

"It's Dean," he replied.

"I like that," she chuckled. "Here she is."

She handed the phone to a curious Rory.

"It's jackass," explained Lorelai and left the room.

Rory sighed and put the phone to her ear.

"What do you want?" she asked glumly.

He chuckled quietly.

"Glad to see you made it home safely."

"Yes, your car is all tucked in. Did you call to say 'night, night' to it? I can hold the phone out the window."

"Are you done?"

"What do you want?"

"You're missing a great party."

"If it's so great, why are you calling me?"

He had no answer.

"Are you feeling back to normal?"

"I beg your pardon."

"You were cold at the game. Are you warm now?"

"Have you been drinking?"

"Is that the reason you think I called?"

"Is it?"

Rory could hear him sigh.

"What are you doing Sunday?" he asked.

"Why?"

"Do you want to study?"

"Study?"

"Yes, study. With me. I know it's torture but it has to get done and we make each other do it," he said, a little exasperated. "Do you want to study?"

"Fine."

"Good."

"Oh, wait, I can't."

"Why?"

"We used to have Friday dinners with my grandparents but because of the football games, we've changed them to Sunday so I have to go to that."

"What time?"

"Four o'clock."

"Why don't I have Emmett drop me off at your house around noon. We can study until you have to go and then you can just drop me off on the way to your grandparents."

"Oh, yeah," said Rory with a general lack of enthusiasm. "I guess we can do that. Let me run it by my mom."

For the life of him, Tristan didn't know what exactly prompted him to call or how he even remembered her number. He just felt the need to hear her voice.

"My mom wants to know if she can drive your car."

"It's a sports car. I don't think three people are going to fit in it."

"Not on Sunday. She just wants to know if she can take it out on another day."

"Sure, she can drive it whenever she wants. I don't care. I told you that before."

"You told me. And I told you I wasn't going to drive it anywhere else. And I haven't."

"I don't doubt that."

"But now you're letting my mom drive it."

"She asked. Besides, someone ought to get some enjoyment out of it. You drive like my grandma."

"I'm a safe driver!"

"Don't I know it. You drive so slow that the deer hit you."

"That wasn't my fault."

"I would have loved to have heard you explain that to your insurance agent. 'Yes, sir," he chided in a higher voice. "The deer hit me. No, I didn't hit him back. I don't believe in violence...'"

Rory rolled her eyes.

"Is there anything else you wanted?" she asked.

"No, I guess not."

"Then I'm going to hang up."

"Okay, well then, I'll see you Sunday around noon?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Okay, see you then."

"Good night."

"Good night, muffin."

"Did you just call me 'muffin'?"

A pause.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I'm drunk."

"Oh."

Click

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