A Gilmore, A Dugrey and PJ Harvey

Rory Gilmore pulled her car into the lot at her apartment. Her apartment. She had just moved into the building a few days ago and was still getting used to it. After nearly 18 years of living with her mother and four years in a dorm room, she had her very own apartment. Her grandmother had insisted. If the granddaughter of Richard and Emily Gilmore wasn't going to an Ivy League school she should at least live in a nice apartment. Rory shook her head at the memory. Emily was struck speechless at the news and ready to spew her brandy across the parlor. Even Richard, her usually unflappable grandfather, had been taken aback.

"Why Rory, Harvard had always been your dream," Richard said.

Rory looked to her mother for assistance. She suddenly wished that Luke had not skipped this dinner. She found no help, as Lorelai was gleefully watching the proceedings, happy to see someone else in the hot seat. Rory sighed, "I know, Grandpa. Harvard was wonderful, the classes were challenging and the people were great, but I want to be a journalist. Northeastern has an excellent journalism program."

Richard was satisfied. As long as his Rory was happy he was too. Emily, on the other hand, was not. She turned to Lorelai. "This is all your fault. You and your 'down with the establishment' propaganda. You know you're ruining your daughters life!"

Lorelai rolled her eyes, "Yes, mother, you've found me out. I want to ruin Rory's life. I want her to meet a trucker named Moe, and have millions of illegitimate trucker babies! I want her to have bleached blonde hair and live in a trailer park in Alabama with a three legged dog!"

"Honestly, Lorelai, you're so..."

Rory cut her grandmother off before things got ugly. Well, uglier. "Grandma, Mom had nothing to do with this decision. I thought about it for a long time and decided that getting my masters at Northeastern is what's best for me. I'm sorry if that upsets you. Please understand."

Contrary to Lorelai's beliefs, Emily was not heartless. She genuinely loved Rory and trusted her judgment. "All right, far be it for me to tell you how to live your life."

Lorelai snorted loudly and was about to comment, but she was cut off. "Thank you, Grandma," Rory proceeded to smoothly change the subject. "So I hear you are headed to New York in a few weeks. Any special plans?"

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. There was a minor kerflufel when Lorelai commented on the cheese not being cheesy enough and another when Emily brought up the D.A.R. A pleasant evening by Friday dinner standards. Until, that is, right as Lorelai and Rory were putting on their coats. "I suppose we'll have to find you an apartment in Boston now, Rory," Emily stated. "We'll go down this summer, and I'll help you find a suitable place."

Lorelai's head snapped up, "Mother, you are not paying my daughter's rent. I told you two years ago, and I'm telling you again..."

"Lorelai, she absolutely cannot live in the dorms."

"Why not? She was perfectly happy in them at Harvard."

Emily let out one of her patented, long-suffering sighs. "Yes, but those were Ivy League dorms." She spoke slowly and patiently as if addressing a toddler.

Lorelai stared at her mother for a full minute. Rory glanced over at Richard who offered a conspiratorial wink before returning to The Wall Street Journal. Rory spoke up, "Thank you grandma that would be nice."

Lorelai threw a look of amazement at her daughter. Emily beamed. "That's great Rory. We can make a weekend of it, go shopping, see the sights."

"Sure. Well we had better go now," Rory gave both her grandparents kisses on the cheek and dragged Lorelai out.

"What are you thinking? Accepting an apartment! An apartment! From my mother! It's going to be a rich people apartment you know. With gargoyles and doormen in uniforms like those little monkeys with accordions. She'll probably bribe one them, and they'll tell her your every move."

Rory listened to the tirade with the patience of a person who was used to dealing with Lorelai. "Mom. Grandma is not The Mafia. Letting her get me an apartment will make her feel better about me not being in an 'appropriate' school. Think of the benefits, Lane can stay over, and you and Luke won't have to stay in hotels when you come down to visit me. There will be plenty of room for you guys."

Lorelai pouted a bit in the car. But by the time she got to Stars Hollow she was almost won over. "All right, my evil genius daughter, I see your point. But I've got one condition. I'm going with you. No child of mine is going to live in a building guarded by a man in a tacky monkey suit."

Rory smiled. "Deal, now let's go visit Luke."

After many, many arguments and even more apartments, the three Gilmores had found a place that suit all of them. Eighth floor, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, full kitchen, dining room and living room. She had a balcony and access to a pool. The building had an excellent security system. All tenants had keycards and security codes, and visitors had to be buzzed in.

Luckily they had found it on their last day in the city, so Emily hadn't been able to discuss decorating it. Rory and Lorelai had done it up right in full Gilmore girl style: funky furniture, throw rugs and lamps were everywhere, and they had a killer entertainment center. Perfect for movie nights.

Rory entered the building and headed for the elevator. She saw that it was being loaded with furniture. Someone else was moving in. She wondered whom he or she was. She headed for the stairs, waving at Mrs. Fitzgerald, who was walking her cat. Rory was reminded of Babette. Part of the reason she liked this building was the people. They were odd enough to fill even her quirkiness quotient. It was a miniature Stars Hollow and made being away a little bit easier.

She made her way up the stairs and by the fifth floor was beginning to get out of breath. "You had to live on the eighth floor, didn't you Rory?" she muttered under her breath to no one in particular. As she rounded the corner of the seventh, she saw a tall blond man struggling with a two boxes. She paused as the top one slipped and c.d.'s started spilling out. Jewel cases broke open and shiny discs bounced down the carpeted steps.

"Damn." The man quickly righted the box and stood for a minute. He bent as if to pick up the fallen items, but the boxes began to slip again.

Rory bent to help, "Here, let me." He started to turn around at hearing the woman's voice but couldn't, "Thanks whoever you are."

"No problem," Rory examined the c.d.'s as she picked them up. "P.J. Harvey, huh. I like you already."

He let out a short laugh. "You could say she changed my life."

"I love you, you idiot!" And the boyfriend kissed her. Spawn, indeed. Rory Gilmore, the only girl he had ever genuinely cared about and another guy. were making out in front of all of Chilton. Tristan DuGrey set down her stolen books and walked away.

The first two weeks of summer were awful. He sat around his big, cold empty mansion. He didn't answer the phone. He didn't even leave the grounds. Then near the beginning of the third week his grandfather, Janlen DuGrey, stopped by. Janlen and Tristan had an excellent relationship. Janlen took one look at his grandson and demanded to know what was wrong. Tristan let the whole story spill out of him. He told his grandfather everything about Rory and his feelings since she had waltzed into his life.

Her first day at school: "Looks like we got ourselves a Mary!"

Her strength and spunkiness: "The name is RORY!"

Her determination: "I would never, barring a safe or piano falling on my head, go anywhere with you."

His infatuation: "More fun than staring at Ms. Gilmore's ear?"

His attempts to make her jealous: "Move it a little to the left."

Her kindness: "I did not love it."

The kiss: "Did I bite your lip or something?"

Her oblivion: "Yeah, I'm still not over Summer."

Her hatred: "He's not my boyfriend. I hate him."

Telling his grandfather those words made it hurt even more. Never in his life would he have thought that Rory Gilmore could say them. About anyone. But she did.

His grandfather patiently listened to the story. He was glad for the change in Tristan. For too long his grandson had been emotionally detached. He was being raised to turn into his father. A man whose life consisted of money, alcohol and affairs with his servants. Tristan deserved better. But after this blow, Janlen saw something in Tristan's eyes he didn't like. Something destructive. He proposed a solution. "Why don't you go to Exeter? Your father and I went. We've wanted you to go for ages. It's an excellent school. You can leave Hartford. Get a little perspective."

Tristan considered it. Leaving Hartford. The idea had some benefits. He could get away from his parents and be on his own. The Phillips Exeter Academy was a good school. The sports teams were excellent. His grandparents were now retired and could visit him whenever. He wouldn't have to see Rory Gilmore and her boyfriend ever again.

Than he considered the downsides. He would never see Rory Gilmore again. Never hear her laugh, see her smile. Never talk to her. He rubbed the back of his neck and said. "I want to do it." Cold turkey. The only way to go.

His grandfather stood up. "Excellent. I'll make the arrangements." He left the house. Tristan fell back against the couch. "Well. I guess I'm getting myself a new life."

The arrangements were made quickly. He said good-bye to his parents. He didn't tell anyone else where he was going. At the end of the summer, Tristan arrived in New Hampshire. Miles and miles separated him from Hartford. He found himself missing home. He thought about Rory. Then he got into life at his new school. But he never became what he once was. He dated, but he dated "a different kind of girl." He was one of the top 5 students. He joined the swimming, diving and water polo teams and did very well. He graduated with his choice of universities.

He was a Princeton legacy, so he went there. He majored in business. He did, after all, have a corporation to run. Janlen wanted him to take over for him when he died. And the old man was stubborn enough to hold on until he was ready. Tristan had no problems in at Princeton. It was much the same as high school. He made good grades, played sports and had a social life. He never got serious though. In all of his relationships something was missing. He could never put his entire heart into them.

After finishing his under grad studies at Princeton near the top of his class, he decided to get his masters at Harvard. DuGrey International had offices in Boston, and he figured he could learn about the company while finishing his education. One of his grandfather's people found him an apartment in the city, and he was set to move in a few days before graduation.

Classes began in a few days, and he wanted to be settled before then. So while the movers took the furniture up in the elevator, he decided to take some personal belongings up himself. As it turned out, that was a very bad idea. By the fifth floor the boxes were slipping. Halfway up the last flight of stairs his c.d.'s went crashing down. He cursed and tried to figure out how to collect his stuff without causing more damage when a woman offered to help. He couldn't turn to see her but he thanked her anyway. After she commented on some of his c.d.'s, they started up the steps again. "So do you live here?" he asked.

"Would I be here if I didn't?" she countered.

"You could be visiting someone."

"Oh. Good point. Yes then I do I live on the..." he pushed the door to the eighth floor open.

"This floor," she finished.

"So I'll be seeing you around?"

She laughed as they stopped at his door. "Looks like it."

"Bring It On," he said automatically.

"Excuse me?"

"We had a >Bring It On moment."

"Ooookay."

He put the boxes down and fumbled with the lock. "What was so funny?" he asked absently. He had realized her voice was very familiar and was trying to place it.

"Nothing really. My place is right across the hall. It's odd that I happened to be the one to meet you on the stairs, isn't it? I also find it hilarious that you can quote a movie about cheerleading."

He opened the door and surveyed the apartment. The movers had already gotten his living room furniture up. There was a note saying that they had taken a break. "Is it? Don't knock the movie. It's a classic. Hey, did you go to Princeton?" he asked as he picked up the boxes. He was able to glance back at her, but her long dark brown hair hid her face.

"No. I went to Harvard. Why?" She was amazed at his ability to carry on a conversation with several diverging topics. Not many people could.

"You seem familiar." He set the boxes on a table and turned to face her. Her back was to him as she looked around. "I'm Tristan. Tristan DuGrey."

Her head snapped around and he saw her face. All the air was sucked out of the room. Her eyes. Her clear blue eyes. His new neighbor was none other than Lorelai Leigh Gilmore. "Rory? Rory Gilmore?" was all he managed to croak out.

"Yes it's me!" she stalked toward him, her eyes blazing. He stumbled backward. "Nice of you to remember, considering you left without saying goodbye! I thought we were friends..."

Tristan. The name sunk into her brain. Tristan Dugrey. How many people in this world have that name? She turned to look at him, tall, messy blonde hair, and stormy blue eyes. It was THE Tristan Dugrey. Her Tristan Dugrey. She was seized by the urge to hug him, but pushed it away quickly. Then came the anger. How dare he show up after six years without a word? She began to yell. "...Friends don't leave without saying good-bye. I mean, for heaven's sake, would a phone call have killed you!"

A blank look settled over his features and his eyes froze over. "Friends? Really, Rory, do you hate all your friends?"

Rory shook her head impatiently. "I never hated you, Tristan. I've never hated anyone, with the possible exception of Gwenyth Paltrow but she doesn't count since I've never met her and all. And those people who sell useless things on the home shopping network. But they deserve it. They really make you want those weird china clowns even though no one in the world has any use for tiny, breakable clowns. And the people at some coffee shops who make the temperature of the coffee three thousand degrees so you have to wait forever or put snow in the cup, which isn't..." Rory trailed off when she realized she was babbling and Tristan was looking at her with an odd expression on his face. She studied him. He looked confused. There was some pain in there and something that looked like joy. There were a million other things in there that she couldn't begin to understand.

"But... that day." He forced out the words. "At school. I asked you to PJ Harvey. You said you hated me."

Now Rory was perplexed. "First of all, you didn't 'ask me', you tried to force me to go. Second, I never told you I hated you because I didn't hate you. Sure, I'd contemplated several nefarious pranks and wondered if a judge would buy temporary insanity if I happened to gouge your eyes out with the pointy things in my geometry set, but you were an evil, evil boy."

Now he was getting impatient. "You didn't tell me you told Dean..."

"Oh, so you listened in to my private conversation."

He threw up his hands then rubbed his temples, "Please, you were in the middle of a Chilton courtyard. You couldn't honestly expect privacy. Especially with the mauling that took place afterward." Rory's cheeks flamed an angry red. "But that's not the point is. The point is you hated me."

Rory was a fairly even-tempered person for the most part. But when provoked she was her mother's daughter. "Don't you dare tell me what I felt!" she raged. "Dean was my first boyfriend. I loved him. I wanted to give our relationship another shot. I didn't care that Chiltonites were worse gossips than blue-haired church ladies! I was angry with you, yes. I may have said I hated you, I don't really remember. But in September I looked for you. I wanted to see if we could be friends because Tristan, although you were occasionally a pain, you were fun to talk to. You were smart and liked books and could match me insult to insult! I looked for you and you weren't there. I had to find out from Paris, Paris! She told me you were gone. She blamed me. And I had a really crappy day, and when I got home I cried and was sad because I had lost a friend and..." She stopped abruptly and walked out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

Tristan flopped back on his couch and banged his head against the back and muttered to himself, "Suave as ever, Dugrey."