AUTHOR: The Corrupter
RATING: PG? Bad words? Can’t remember.
CHARACTERS / PAIRING: La la la… Pooh/Tristan… J/K!! We all know already! Sheesh.
SUMMARY: Gilmore Girls: The Neverending Soap Opera. Hint: See Part 1 for the general gist. See Author’s Note specifically for this part.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: You thought Part 5 was long? HA! I laugh in your face. Few things to keep in mind. 1) The time factor. Messed up in GG world; messed up in mine. Yes, the way this fic is going, they should be in mid-April by now. But seeing how this is my fic, time ceases to exist. (Besides, what is time, anyway, if not a figment of our imagination?) It’s only mid-October - perfect time for Rory’s birthday, don’t ya think? 2) Let’s say that Christopher never returned to the bookstore with a non-evil credit card (or should all working plastic be considered evil?) and purchased Rory’s “dream book” for her. Granted, it might not be a stretch. Did they ever mention it again after he got rejected the first time? 3) Nope, you’re not seeing things… Tristan went from angsty to sentimental. Yes, I’m slowly killing his character. Stop me if you can. 4) If you can find the reference to moi, your favorite author, in this fic, give yourself a gold star. PS. The longwinded length can be blamed on The Instigator for encouraging The Corrupter to test the boundaries of Pooh lengthers. The butterflies are for Meg.
DISCLAIMER: One more time for those sitting in the back... not mine. Thank GG, Amy S-P, etc... and pray for the quick return of Tristan to his rightful place beside Pooh... I mean, Rory. Yeah, that's it. Der.

It was beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous. And Rory was in love.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of dry colored leaves flitting towards the ground, lifted gently by the wind from where they dangled atop tree branches and down to the already colorfully padded lawn. The breeze carried its own fragrance, unique to this time of year: promises of cold winter nights, mugs of steaming hot chocolate, a warm knit throw wrapped around her shoulders, the spicy aroma of holiday desserts, and gatherings by the soft glow of a fire burning in the fireplace. Rory loved autumn, especially when the leaves started falling. Opening her eyes, she let her gaze linger absently on the picturesque scene surrounding her. A brisk wind passed her, bringing goosebumps to the surface of her skin and causing her to pull the sleeves of her sweater over her hands. She crossed her arms over her chest, in an attempt to ward off the growing chill for just awhile longer before being forced back inside.

The screen door banged closed. Two seconds later, her mother was beside her, playing with the faint smoky wisps of warm breath that lingered in the nippy air when she exhaled. She shivered dramatically for effect, and couldn’t help but add a touch of a whine into her voice. “It’s cold.” She rubbed her hands together quickly.

Rory only grinned and closed her eyes again, breathing in the familiar scents of the fall -- a heady mix of crisp dry leaves and hints of snowy dampness. “Then go inside.”

“I don’t wanna.” Lorelai did a little jig to keep warm, her hands secured tightly under her arms for maximum heat retention.

Rory opened her eyes and directed a pointed look at her mother. “Go. Inside,” she ordered, playfully.

Lorelai bit her lip and didn’t say anything. Rory went back to taking in the darkening scene before her, enjoying the peace and calm. Finally, Lorelai tapped her arm gently. “Hey, kiddo,” she interrupted her daughter’s reverie. When Rory’s eyes fluttered open and met hers, she tilted her head towards the front door. “Walk with me.” Sighing, Rory allowed her mother to drag her back inside. As soon as they stepped into the warmth of the house, Lorelai raised her hands, gesturing wildly at the living room walls. “Imagine this… blue and green streamers, sea-green colored lights, seashells scattered all over the place…” Her voice had taken on an authoritative air, but one replete with an undisguised giddiness.

Rory didn’t let her finish, her face in a mask of feigned horror. “Oh, god.”

Lorelai’s head bounced up and down in response. “Yep.” She grinned devilishly. There was a faint undertone of a threat to her agreement. “It’s that time of year again.”

Rory grimaced. “So you’re planning an Under the Sea theme,” she stated, flatly, rolling her eyes for effect.

Her statement only made Lorelai’s grin deepen. “I want to dress up like a mermaid,” she confided, lowering her voice.

Rory’s blue eyes widened, mortified at the thought. “It’s not supposed to be a costume party!”

The childishly playful grin caught a malicious edge. “Says who?” And she refrained from adding an evil cackle.

“Says the guest of honor,” Rory pointed out, sticking her chin out in defiance.

Lorelai grabbed Rory’s arm and pulled her to the other side of the living room, pointing out how they would decorate the room. “It’ll be so cool,” she assured.

“It’ll be tacky.”

Lorelai sighed, loud enough to get across just how annoying Rory could be when she refused to play along. “Okay, fine,” she huffed, as if put out. But having known that her daughter wouldn’t accept her first party theme, she was prepared, immediately surging ahead to Plan B. “We’ll get rid of the green lights, throw in some UV lamps, put a layer of sand down, get some beach balls…”

Again, the voice of sanity interrupted. “Okay, Annette. You’re getting way too excited about this.”

Lorelai pouted, with a look that would have melted any man’s heart. Unfortunately, she was dealing with her daughter right now. “Frankie, my baby’s 17th birthday only happens once. And I’m kind of in the mood for Beach Blanket Bingo.” Lorelai wiggled her butt, moving to the beat of whatever bizarre music played in her head.

Rory stared at her for a second before bursting out into laughter. “You’re crazy,” she intoned, shaking her head in disbelief at her mother.

“I’m caffeinated,” Lorelai quickly corrected.

Rory rolled her eyes. “They don’t serve coffee at the beach,” she informed.

Lorelai’s mouth dropped open. “What kind of cruel world do you live in,” she demanded to know, as if Rory had just told her the world was actually flat. A knock on the door kept Rory from responding with a smart reply. Lorelai’s head snapped up, eyes focusing on the front door. Immediately, a bright chirpy smile lit up her face. “That must be Sookie. Come in!”

A moment later, a loud crash in the hallway announced Sookie’s entrance. Both Rory and Lorelai flinched automatically, before the loud “I’m okay” assured them that they were not needed to perform any lifesaving rescue operations. This time. A second after that, the ever-cheerful chef popped her head into the living room area. The familiar, bubbly voice greeted them. “ Hi, girls!” Her cheeks were glowing from the brisk wind outside and the obvious exertion it had taken for her to lug her baggage from her car into the house. Strawberry-blonde windblown hair framed her soft features, giving her an even younger and girlish flush. She dropped her shopping bags behind her in the hallway and rushed into the room, arms outstretched, and heading straight for Rory. “I’m so excited!” she exclaimed, and nothing in her expression or body language contradicted her sentiment. “Hey, sweetie, happy early birthday.”

Rory smiled broadly, and then gasped for breath as Sookie enveloped her into a strong embrace. She glanced over the older woman’s shoulder, towards the hallway. “Hey, Sookie. What’s that?”

She didn’t even have to turn around to know what Rory was pointing at. Instead, she was preoccupied with her fingers, twisting and twirling her hands in front of her face in a nervously restless and giddy manner. “The menu for your party,” she informed, gushing, and unable to hide the conspiratorial giggle that emitted from her lips. In an utterly endearing gesture, her right hand immediately came up over her lips, stifling the squeal that had threatened to erupt. Fluttering, she grabbed Rory’s hand and pulled her towards the hallway, where her precious secret ingredients lay in wait. “I’ve got crabcakes, fishcakes, lobster… what?” She was interrupted by Lorelai clearing her throat loudly. Turning to face her best friend, Sookie’s face was one of pure innocence and confusion. As if she had done something wrong without knowing it.

Lorelai let her head hang, giving it a sorrowful shake. “Ix-nay on the underwater theme,” she ordered, in an exaggerated whisper.

Immediately understanding, Sookie’s face fell. Then, her eyes lit up once again, even though her voice betrayed her disappointment. “What about the beach party?” She didn’t really need confirmation; she already knew.

Lorelai rolled her eyes and directed a glare at Rory, as if to say “see… you did this to Sookie.” Rory remained unaffected and managed to return the eye roll, knowing Sookie never stayed upset for long. Lorelai gave her hand an absent wave. “Little Miss Sunshine wants to have a boring party.” Her lips gave a peculiar quirk at the word “boring.” She gave a fleeting thought as to whether Rory had been switched at birth.

A frown tugged at the corner of Sookie’s lips. “But I got all those little umbrellas to stick in the drinks…” she started, voice trailing off. Her fidgety fingers pretended to stick nonexistent colorful umbrellas into invisible glasses of fruity concoctions. She repeated the futile gestures a few more times, as if doing so would get both Rory and Lorelai to change their minds. Seeing no turnaround in sight, she bustled towards the kitchen, mumbling to herself about having to change all her plans.

Both Gilmore women were barely aware that Sookie had left the room, so intent were they at staring down each other. “Mom, your parties are never boring,” the daughter pointed out dutifully.

Lorelai responded with a sigh, but there was no denying the mischievous glint that lit up her eyes. “I know, but I got this great bikini, and I wanted to wear it.” Again, the well-practiced whine that was supposed to melt Rory’s hard heart and force her to submit to her every whim.

At least, that was how it was supposed to work in theory. Instead, Rory only stifled a short burst of laughter. “That’s a visual I need. My mom prancing around my birthday party in a two-piece.” The achingly familiar eye roll. Shot down once again.

Lorelai only tittered. “Hey, what did we say about my prancing?” She quirked an innocent brow at her.

“What would Grandma say?” Rory shot back without missing a beat. She smirked triumphantly.

The older Gilmore merely placed a hand on her hips, posing for the younger. “Who do you think I got my figure from? Grandma would love to see her genes on display.” Lorelai stuck out her tongue for good measure.

Rory groaned, trying to figure out when their conversation about her impending 17th birthday party had deteriorated into such a childishly verbal argument of one-upmanship. If her mother pulled her hair, she was going to spend the night at Lane’s. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s what she’s afraid you’d be displaying.” Another smirk.

Lorelai returned the smirk. “Party pooper.”

Rory, afraid her mother was two steps away from wiggling her hands by her ear and running away, found salvation on the coffee table. She swooped down and brought her mother’s mug of coffee towards her, almost as a sacrificial lamb. “Here, have some coffee.”

Lorelai took the mug, greedily taking a gulp of the still warm bitter liquid. It went down smoothly. “Ooh. Blackmailer,” she cooed, softly. “Fine. We’ll have your kind of party.”

Rory grinned. Crisis averted. “Thank you.” She nodded once to herself.

Lorelai took another sip of the lukewarm liquid, letting it swirl in her mouth as she thought. “Well, since we’re having a boring party, maybe you’d like to invite your friends.”

There was an evil glint in her mother’s eyes that Rory did not like. And her incredulous response with regards to the suggestion showed it. “You’re kidding, right?” Her voice came out sounding almost like a high-pitched squeal, something she was not proud of.

This time, Lorelai did cackle. “Nooo. I do not kid.” And suddenly, her face was a mask of seriousness.

Rory took a deep breath, disbelief that her mother would dare suggest such a course of action. It was bad enough that she hardly had any friends from Stars Hollow High, but to even consider asking anyone from Chilton… It was absurd. “Who would I even invite?” She could humor her mother for a few minutes.

Lorelai shrugged, nonchalantly. As if she hadn’t been thinking of it for days. As if it had been an impulsive concept. “Oh, I don’t know… someone from Chilton, maybe?” Her eyes sparkled deviously.

“Lane’s bringing Henry,” Rory reminded, quietly. She swallowed with difficulty.

The corners of Lorelai’s mouth curled into an amused quirk. Her eyes tsked at Rory. “You know what I mean.” She looked away, trying to drag out her daughter’s torture for a little while longer. She took a few steps towards the other end of the room, as if contemplating party decorations. Then slyly, she tilted her head and threw an innocent look over her shoulder at her daughter. “What about Paris? I’m sure she’d like to come.” The statement was voiced with a flippant tone, but was meant to be anything but that.

“I’m also sure she’d like to have anesthesia-free root canal in a back alley.”

The grin Lorelai directed at Rory was humorless. “Wow. The girl knows how to party,” she murmured.

“She’s a regular party animal. I hear she clubhops every weekend, dancing up a storm,” Rory quipped. She hesitated, chewing her lower lip. Finally, she sighed, pensively. “She’ll say no.”

“You don’t know that,” Lorelai insisted.

“She’ll say no,” Rory repeated, flatly.

“And she’ll probably laugh in your face,” her mother added, smiling crookedly. The gesture was met with a groan from the birthday girl. Lorelai shrugged. “But I hear things are going well, so it couldn’t hurt to ask.”

Rory placed her hands on her hips, cocking her head to one side. “You’ve obviously never been on the receiving end of one of her looks,” she remarked, snidely.

“That painful, huh?” Lorelai quipped.

“Like having an eighteen-wheeler run into you head on.” And before Lorelai could object and insist that it wasn’t that bad, Rory hastily added, “While your back is up against a brick wall.”

Lorelai made a face. “Rory pancake.”

Rory nodded to herself. “Rory splatter,” she corrected, morbidly.

Lorelai rolled her eyes. “So dramatic! Humor me.”

And just as Lorelai had suspected, Rory hesitated. She knew all along her daughter would rant about the suggestion, but in the end, Rory had a soft heart when it came to giving people multiple chances to enter her good graces. “I don’t know…” The girl pursed her lips and chewed on her lower lip, pondering, mentally making pros and cons lists to her mother’s proposal.

Without warning, Lorelai grabbed Rory’s hand, gasping with newfound enthusiasm. “I’ll even help you make invitations.” She nodded eagerly, and perhaps with an exaggerated psychotic edge, in response to Rory’s adamant shake of her head. She ignored the horror etched across her daughter’s forehead, and pulled her towards the writing desk. “We’ve got pretty construction paper and stencils…” Lorelai pulled open drawer after drawer, pulling out supplies as she listed them. Her fingers touched cold metal, and her head snapped up as she absently waved the gleaming scissors in the air. “And I know I’m not allowed to handle scissors anymore… after that Valentine’s Day fiasco… but I think we can make an exception,” she babbled, animatedly. “So what do you think?”

Reaching with her free hand, Rory cautiously extricated the scissors from her mother’s grasp, careful not to make any sudden moves. “I think I’m not five anymore.”

Lorelai, not realizing that the scissors were no longer in her hands, banged her palm up against her forehead. “Of course! How could I have forgotten? But think of it as a Gilmore project.”

Rory stared at her. “Just because Grandma agreed to keep her own party to just a few people this year, you’ve decided to pick up the slack, right?” Rhetorical question not meant to be answered.

A proud grin adorned Lorelai’s face; she had always loved a challenge, rhetorical or not. “A Gilmore mom’s job is never done until her daughter is utterly humiliated.”

Rory tried to disengage her hand from her mother’s. “I’ll be sure to carry on the tradition then,” she sniffed, as she returned all the supplies back to their rightful drawers.

Lorelai’s grin deepened. She opened her mouth, ready for another playfully sarcastic sling in her daughter’s direction, when she was interrupted by the loud crash of metal against tile. And then another clang of metal against metal. Lorelai and Rory exchanged looks. “What was that?”

Rory wasn’t given an opportunity to reply. A whimper came out of the kitchen, followed by a plaintive and muffled plea from Sookie. “Can someone help me? I think something jumped out of your oven and tried to bite me!”

An eerie silence reigned in the desolate corridor. Overhead fluorescent lights reflected brightly off pristine black and white checkered floor tiles. Only the faint but crisp ticking of the hall clock managed to interrupt the afternoon stillness, acting as an ominous countdown. Suddenly, the shrill shriek of a bell pierced the unnatural calm. As if on cue, doors opened and gaggles of students poured forth, laughing and talking loudly, escaping from the stifled atmosphere of Chilton classrooms. Locker doors slamming, snippets of conversations, and afterschool plans permeated throughout the once-empty corridor, emphasizing the end of the school day.

Rory squeezed through a small gathering of blue suits and plaid skirts, trying to fight her way towards her locker. She could already picture the large steaming mug of coffee Luke would have waiting for her as her reward for getting through another day at the prestigious prep school. And even though her head throbbed gently from overuse, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders. She had gotten through her history exam relatively unscathed, and decided that now was not the time to dwell on how well she had done. It was another thought for another day. She could just about taste the rich brown liquid slipping down her parched throat.

“So what did you think of the test?” the figure beside her asked, voice rising almost imperceptibly over the din of the hallway.

Rory pursed her lips. “I think I could have studied a little more,” she admitted, ruefully.

“I know,” the girl nodded, agreeing heartily. “There were a couple of essay questions I don’t think I got right.”

Rory paused in the middle of the hall, giving her companion a knowing look. “You did fine,” she assured, voice full of conviction. If there was anything Rory was sure of, it was that. She tilted her head in the direction of their lockers, and the two girls cut across the hall, barely missing being run over by two guys built like football players.

Paris arched an anxious brow. “You think so?”

Rory rolled her eyes as she played with her lock. “You always do,” she chirped, helpfully.

The hesitancy disappeared from Paris’s worried face. She turned to her locker and mimicked Rory’s actions. “Thanks.” There was relief in her voice - relief Rory wished she could also imitate, given the weight of the exam towards their semester grade.

Instead, Rory shrugged. “No problem.” She gave the perfectly lined-up books in her locker a disgusted look, and sighed.

Paris didn’t notice the dejected look, managing to continue their friendly chatter. “And now we have a chem test on Friday.” She groaned for effect, throwing a quick look at Rory to make sure she was still paying attention.

“I know,” Rory mumbled, feigning aggravation. “Don’t the teachers know we have other things to do instead of studying?”

“Speak for yourself.”

Rory’s head snapped towards Paris, trying to decide if she had heard a sarcastic edge to the statement. But Paris was only grinning shyly, as if afraid her attempts to be humorous with Rory would be taken the wrong way. After all, it had only been a few weeks since she had first gone to Rory and offered her the music column, and less than two weeks since they had come to a mutual agreement to work towards being friends.

Rory smiled. “I was,” she teased.

That earned her an eye roll from Paris. Shutting her locker, Paris hefted the strap of her messenger bag over her shoulder. “Well,” she began, throwing a reluctant glance down the crowded hall. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Rory nodded, absently. She was too busy trying to get all her books into her bag. Somehow, the sound of Paris’s saddle shoes clicking on the cold tiles managed to get her attention. Her head snapped up as her hands stilled from zipping up her bag. “Oh, wait!” she called out.

Paris stopped and turned, a quizzical expression on her face. Rory bit her lip and blushed, aware of the absurdity of what she was about to do. When Rory didn’t speak for another few seconds, Paris took the few tentative steps back towards her.

Rory glanced down at her shoes. When she looked up again, there was a fine rose shade to her complexion. “Um… I’m going to do something right now, and I don’t want you to think that I’m being way too presumptuous.”

“Okay…” Paris eyed her with suspicion. She couldn’t understand the reasons for the hesitance in Rory’s voice, or why she would even think she was being presumptuous. If Rory didn’t look so uncomfortable, Paris might have had a field day slinging sarcastic remarks in her direction. Only Paris held her tongue, curiosity keeping her from enjoying such childish behavior. And the fact that the normally verbal Rory was having a hard time expressing herself, piqued Paris’s interest.

“Well…” The discomfort was becoming more evident. Finally, taking a deep breath, Rory surged ahead. “My mom is throwing me a birthday party this weekend and…”

Only part of the words registered with Paris, as she cut Rory off. “Right,” she snapped her fingers, remembering. “At this time last year, this fancy card came in the mail.”

Rory let out the breath she didn’t know she had been holding. Here was something she could do. Friendly teasing. Nevermind that she was supposed to be inviting Paris to her party. “Which I’m still surprised you didn’t burn on sight,” Rory added, playfully.

“Well, my mom got to it first, and I didn’t have any matches,” Paris added, cheekily.

“Yeah, well…” Rory ducked her head, grinning, remembering the events of her last birthday. She met Paris’s eyes once again and shrugged, nonchalantly. “This year, my grandmother is forbidden from throwing a hoity-toity coming-out party disguised as a birthday party.”

That seemed to surprise Paris, who had become accustomed to such so-called hoity-toity parties. “That’s too bad. It was kind of fun,” she admitted, giving a one-shouldered shrug.

“Really?” Rory grimaced, shocked, raising a brow in disbelief.

Another shrug. “Yeah, well… in a mommy dearest kind of way.”

Rory laughed at Paris’s matter-of-fact expression. “If you liked that, you’ll really like my mom’s version of a birthday party.”

Paris was unconvinced. “Really?”

Rory’s head bobbed up and down, enthusiastically. “Well, there probably won’t be any exploding heads or uncontrolled outbursts… unless Luke and Sookie are duking it out over who’s bringing what.”

Her laughter was contagious, as Paris broke out into an amused grin. “Luke?” she asked, puzzled.

“Coffee guy,” came Rory’s simple reply.

“Oh.” Paris’s mouth formed a perfect O-shape, as she wondered exactly where Rory was taking this conversation.

But Rory only smiled, reassuringly. “There’s nothing like a Lorelai Gilmore party after a stressful week of horrendous tests.”

Reluctant acceptance was written across Paris’s perplexed features. “If you say so.”

Rory beamed. “Skeptics are especially welcome.”

The implications of Rory’s statement settled into Paris’s brain. Her brow furrowed, thinking quickly. “You didn’t happen to send a card, did you?” There was an imploring edge in her voice, practically begging Rory to squelch that possibility. Paris hated to think what her mother would do if such an invitation came in the mail. Going to the Gilmore manor was one thing, but traveling to Stars Hollow was a whole other matter all together. And she would have liked the option of going without her mother’s interference.

“Well, my mom thought it would be funny to make my own birthday cards, but… no,” Rory informed, smiling a little at her mother’s peculiar ideas. “It’s word of mouth invite only.”

Paris suppressed the grin that threatened to break through her nervous expression. Instead, she shifted on her feet, tilting her head to one side and affecting an almost bored indifference. “So I should feel special.”

Rory saw through the act immediately, as Paris knew she would. “I think you should remember this moment and worship me from now on,” she teased, playfully sardonic.

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up about that,” Paris shot back, lightly.

“Didn’t think so…” Rory remarked, sarcastically, even as a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. She shrugged. “But I’d love it if you came.” There. The invite. Unofficially asked, but officially out there.

Paris looked shocked, and tried to hide it. Badly. There was no pretending that she hadn’t been startled by such an offer. “Yeah?” Hopeful, even as she tried to keep it out of her voice. After all, this was Rory, and even if they were now reluctant and tentative friends, there was still a power struggle to consider.

Rory nodded, resolutely, leaving no room for argument. “Absolutely. It’s on Saturday, 7 pm. You know where my house is… and be prepared to be gawked at, ridiculed, teased, and talked about.”

The other girl tried not to laugh at the warnings. “Wow. Your other friends are that bad?”

This time, Rory shook her head, adamantly. “Nope. That’s just my mother.”

And now, Paris did laugh. She remembered Lorelai. “Oh. Right.” She pursed her lips, as if entertaining second thoughts. Finally, she smiled brightly. “Okay. I’ll think about it,” she assured.

Rory nodded to herself. Inviting Paris hadn’t been as bad as she initially thought it would be. “You do that,” she agreed, but with a hard edge to her voice that would provide Paris an excuse not to come, if she decided against accepting the invitation.

Paris seemed on the verge of saying something else, but thought better of it. Giving Rory a hopeful look, she turned. “Well, see you tomorrow, then.”

Rory stared at Paris’s back as the other girl walked down the hall. She gave her head a little shake, as if questioning the sanity of what she had done. “Bye.” She took a deep breath, assuring herself that she had indeed done the right thing, and then picked up her bag, ready to rush home. That steaming mug of coffee never sounded so good, and had never been considered a greater reward until now.

Rory groaned mentally, running the periodic table through her head. Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium, boron, carbon… She swore if she had to pull another all-nighter again, she’d drop out of Chilton. She broke off that thought to continue matching atomic numbers and weights to their respective elements. She was so engrossed in her mental quiz that she didn’t hear her companion until it was too late.

“Ready for the chemistry test?”

Breath from the huskily asked question, along with the scent of light cologne, feathered across the strands of hair by her ear. She did a double take, startled, and twirled on her heels towards the origin of the voice.

Pulling back quickly, Rory just missed butting heads. “Oh!” She flushed, then opted for a neutral and bored expression, instantly dismayed that she had lost her place in her mental periodic table. “Hi, Tristan.”

Leaning casually against a locker, but staying within her personal space, his eyes lingered on her face. “That was pretty enthusiastic,” he observed, wryly.

She shrugged. Appeasing and entertaining Tristan were low on her priority list at the moment. She had an exam to worry about. “I’m trying to remember whether cobalt is number 27 or 28 on the periodic chart,” she mumbled, trying to concentrate. She could barely remember if she had forgotten to drink her morning coffee earlier that day. If she hadn’t, then she hated to think what kinds of caffeine withdrawal symptoms she would experience during the test.

“It’s 27,” Tristan informed, matter-of-factly.

She threw him a grateful glance, aware that it was probably the first time she had directed one of those at him. But there was no time to dwell on that. He didn’t seem to notice, and she wasn’t about to call attention to the softer attitude she was beginning to subject him to. “Thanks. At least you’re good for something,” she remarked, flippantly.

There was a pause, as if he couldn’t believe she had given him such a huge opening. But the surprise dissipated as old habits kicked in. “Well, Rory…” He dipped his head towards her again, and she was once again aware of his cologne. Not too overwhelming. Not too light. Just perfect. “I’m good for a lot of things.”

She bit her lip forcefully to keep from laughing out loud at his ego. “Do you really have a one-track mind or is this part of your blonde ditz act?” Rory tilted her head and dared him to contradict her.

“Do you really want to know?” he teased, grinning.

She changed the subject quickly. “I take it everything’s good now? Your grandfather up and running?”

His smile widened. “Why do you say that?” he asked, innocently.

Rory rolled her eyes. “Because the brooding is gone.”

Her response elicited a smirk from him. “You liked me like that? Dark and brooding?” His voice lowered with the last part, sending strange chills up her back, which she promptly ignored.

Pursing her lips, she pretended to organize her thoughts. “Why not?” she asked, as if the answers should have been obvious. “James Dean was a brooder, and he died young.” A pause. “We can only hope.” She let her breath out in an exaggerated, wistful sigh.

He suppressed a chuckle. “That’s mean,” he reprimanded lightly, even though he didn’t sound offended.

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah. You’re not nearly as good-looking as him.” She chuckled at the surprised look on his face.

Sheepishly, he let his head hang, as if having been properly whipped. “I think my self-esteem took a hit,” he mumbled sadly. He raised his eyes just enough to look at her, head still lowered, as if still reeling from the rejection.

She rolled her eyes at his attempt at wounded hurt. “Gilmore, 1. DuGrey, 0,” she announced, triumphantly, relishing the feigned pain that crossed his features.

“So we’re keeping track now?” he asked, incredulously, although undeterred. “I don’t think that’s fair for me. I already started in the red.” He pouted.

“And whose fault would that be?” She tilted her head and eyed him, expectantly.

He let his head hang again, shamed. Only this time, when his blue eyes met hers, they were twinkling mischievously. She immediately felt uncomfortable, shifting on her feet and praying the bell would ring. But before she could indignantly ask what was going through his head, he broke out into a secretive grin. “I have something for you,” he murmured, unable to hide the boyishly excited smile.

She eyed him suspiciously. “Unless it’s a copy of the restraining order I’ve placed on you, I’m not really interested,” she informed, slowly, while trying to determine exactly why his eyes were twinkling so.

He didn’t flinch, and continued to grin at her. “Come on.” And chancing it, he reached out and gave her a little nudge in the arm with his hand. He pulled back quickly, and absently, lest she protest and do him bodily harm for breaching the remaining few inches between them. “What happened to the beginning of our beautiful friendship?” he asked, rhetorically. “What is this… our fiftieth attempt?” He arched a brow, waiting for her to correct him.

Which she promptly did. “48th,” she corrected, without missing a beat. She enjoyed the look of awe that fluttered down from his blonde lashes, ending in a crooked grin on his full lips. Knowing that he probably wouldn’t let it go, she sighed dramatically. “Okay. What is it.” Not a question. More of a bored invitation for him to continue. “And please don’t tell me it’s a copy of our chem test.”

Tristan shook his head. “Nope. That’s gonna cost you a hundred dollars, and I’m not helping you cheat.”

Rory threw him a dirty look, letting him know that she would never cheat, and that he would be the last person she would go to if she had even considered it. Strange how he had suddenly developed a conscience. She glanced at her watch, exasperated. “Tristan, we have a test in about five minutes. I don’t have all day to play What’s Behind Door #2 with you.”

Tristan sighed with just the right amount of frustrated irritation. “Rory, you take all the fun out of being friends,” he pointed out, furrowing his brow.

She shook her head at him. “I’m still not sure you understand the meaning behind that word,” she noted, but with a playfulness to her voice.

He chuckled, not contradicting her. After all, she was right. He’d never had female friends before. Still chuckling, he reached down and grabbed his bag, pulling out a large wrapped rectangular gift. It was almost as thick as two of their textbooks put together, and she wondered how he had gotten it into his bag in the first place. He held it out to her.

She stared at it, refusing to take it. “Tristan… what’s that?”

“That, my dear, is a red bow. You like? I put it on there myself,” he joked, purposely evading the real question.

It wasn’t until he cleared his throat to gain her attention again, that she realized her mouth had been hanging open. “No,” she qualified. “What’s that?” She pointed an accusing finger at the large package.

He tried to push it towards her again, unsuccessfully. “Try not to look so disgusted,” he reprimanded, lightly. “Your birthday is this weekend,” he reminded, as if he, of all people, should have known that off the top of his head. He lowered his head and his voice simultaneously. “You didn’t think I’d forget… did you?” He arched a knowing brow, as if berating her for even suggesting he would have done such an incomprehensible thing.

“I… um… didn’t even know you knew…” she murmured. There was no way she could hide the blush now.

He shook his head, tsking softly. “Rory… I don’t forget anything that has to do with the bane of my existence.”

She frowned, although not upset. “I thought you were the bane of my existence,” she amended for him.

He rolled his eyes, gazing skyward. “And I feel the unconditional love already.”

She swallowed, unable to keep her eyes off the huge present, tastefully wrapped in a butterfly pattern in hues of purple, and topped with a large red bow. What could possibly be in that thing? She was almost afraid to find out. “Tristan…” she began.

He could hear the rejection at the tip of her tongue. Deciding to cut her off before she could finish by turning down his gift, he continued teasing her. “I circled the date on my calendar with a big red magic marker.”

That got her attention. Her blue eyes flashed brightly. “You did not!”

He smirked. “Come over to my bedroom and I’ll show you,” he suggested, adding the prerequisite leer that was obligatory with such a remark.

“You never stop, do you?” she snorted, eyes narrowing.

He shook his head again. “Nope. I’m good for hours of your visual enjoyment and listening pleasure.”

She took it for exactly what it was. A not so thinly veiled innuendo that was supposed to make her blush an even brighter shade of red. And succeeded. “Now would be a good time for me to go blind and deaf,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“You’d still look gorgeous,” he assured, casually.

She groaned. “Flattery gets you nowhere.”

He hefted the package in his hand, calling her attention back to its presence. “Open it.”

She gave her head a wary shake. If she didn’t take the package and open it, he would never leave her alone. And, she reasoned, it wasn’t as if she had to actually accept it after she had opened it. She pursed her lips, debating her options. “Nothing’s going to pop out at me, right?”

He responded by nudging her with the gift. “If you don’t take it, I’ll be forced to sing Happy Birthday to you,” he threatened.

She accepted, begrudgingly. “You wouldn’t,” she remarked, unsure of just how psychotic he would choose to be at that moment. He only shrugged, even as his face lit up at her acceptance of the gift. “This is heavy,” she noted, with a hint of surprise in her voice. Now she was sure she really didn’t want to know what was underneath the fairly innocuous looking wrapping paper.

Tristan laughed. “It’s a gold-framed picture of yours truly.”

Doubtful, considering the thickness of the package. “Great. I always wanted a dartboard,” she replied, sarcastically, even as she rapped her knuckles against it. It was solid. Not a box.

His grin widened. “I’m way ahead of you,” he revealed. “I already drew in the bull’s-eye.” He watched with undisguised interest as she turned the gift over in her hands, trying to figure out what it was without going through the trouble of actually opening it.

“How thoughtful,” she murmured, too caught up in her own thoughts.

He shrugged. “So I’ve been told.” He watched as she turned the gift over in her hand for the tenth time. He rolled his eyes exasperatedly, sighing impatiently. “Are you going to…”

She threw him a look. One that warned him against finishing his question. She was going to open the gift when she was ready. And apparently, that time had finally come. Taking a deep and uncertain breath, she ripped into the wrapping. Producing a very large book. But it wasn’t just any book. “…Tristan…” she breathed, not sure what she should say. She glanced up quickly, meeting his eyes, but just missing the look of unmitigated awe that had crossed his face from seeing her look of wonder at opening his present.

He shrugged, attempting to exude an air of indifference. So what if his heart was actually beating a mile a minute? “Yeah, well… It’s no big deal,” he informed, even as the expression in his eyes said just the opposite. “I just wanted to give that to you.”

Her eyes roamed from the book, to his face, and back down to the book. It was certainly a huge book. But then again, the book - one Compact Oxford English Dictionary, to be exact - was a duplicate of the same one that her father had almost bought for her during his visit. Her “dream” book. There was no way Tristan could have known, other than an incredibly lucky guess. And of course, given the price tag for such a gift, no possible way she could accept.

“Tristan, I…” Her voice caught. He was obviously pleased to be the bearer of this gift. But they didn’t have that kind of relationship. Then again, she wasn’t sure what kind of relationship they had, if they even had anything that could be called a relationship. “It’s too much.”

“It’s a dictionary,” he replied, simply, not even bothering to address her fears.

“Not just any dictionary,” she pointed out, her tone of voice practically stressing how inappropriate his choice had been.

“Hey,” he said, suddenly uncomfortable, and a little peeved. “You’ve used a dictionary before, right?”

She nodded, swallowing reluctantly.

“Well, I just got you a bigger and better one.” Again, the same matter-of-fact tone. As if he spent hundreds of dollars on gifts for everyone he knew.

“Tristan…” She scolded herself for even sounding like she might be giving in, and yet, what could she do. She was certain he wasn’t going to take the present back. Even if she pushed him to return it, she had a feeling it would just end up in her possession once again by the end of the day.

“You’re always reading, and I figured you can’t possibly know every single word there is to know. Right? I mean, let’s not kid ourselves. You’re smart, Rory Gilmore, but you’re not that smart.” He wiggled a brow at her, causing her to almost laugh, despite her distress.

She bit down on her lower lip, keeping her giggle at bay. He was incorrigible. And why was it he could make her feel so guilty about questioning his gift, even though they had only been “friends” for such a short time. “When you decided to splurge on such a disgustingly expensive gift, did you happen to give it a test run and look up the words “friend” and “jerk”?” She arched a brow at him, challenging him.

“Actually, I did,” he played along. “I saw my picture beside both entries.”

She rolled her eyes. “There’s no pictures…”

He continued, ignoring her. “I also looked up the word “beautiful” and…”

Rory interjected, quickly. “Stop, you’re making me swoon,” she retorted, sharply.

He laughed softly, shaking his head at her tactics to throw him off. “Not yet, but all in due time,” he promised, winking at her.

She honored him with another one of her eye rolls, then sighed. Pulling the dictionary closer to her, she offered a tiny smile. “Thank you,” she said, quietly.

He seemed surprised that she would remember such etiquette, especially for him. “No, thank you,” he assured, just as quietly and sincerely. “For… you know… trying to make me feel better before. I know you’ve encountered some… obstacles… about that. And not just from other people.” No, most of the obstacles had been self-inflicted. They were both very aware of that. He glanced at his watch. When had five minutes ever passed so slowly, and yet so quickly, before? He glanced at the bell on the hallway wall. “We should probably get to class. Chemistry test,” he added, unnecessarily. For some reason, he felt uncomfortable, which was odd since he was talking to Rory. Making her feel uncomfortable was the norm, but feeling awkward himself was something he had never experienced until now.

She let him take a few steps past her before she turned on her heels to face him again. “Tristan, wait.” She couldn’t believe she had just done that.

He stopped, an expression of surprise etched on his face. Then snapping his fingers, he nodded. “Right. I forgot to collect my thank you kiss.” He took the few steps back towards her, but amazingly stopped just outside her personal space.

She didn’t have time to analyze that. He was looking at her expectantly, waiting to hear why she had called him back. “No… I’m, um…” She glanced down at the tiled floor, feeling suddenly warm and self-conscious. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” she mumbled, more to herself than to him. Then taking a deep breath, she glanced up. “But… seeing how we’re friends… though the definition of the word, as it pertains to us, is still debatable…” Her voice trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

“Of course,” he assured, quickly. He’d agree with anything she said, as long as they kept having moments like these.

“And seeing how you’ve been kind of down lately… and the fact that you’ve been relatively… well, not so bad, recently… I mean, just the fact that you were able to show compassion…” She was rambling, and she didn’t know how to stop.

He quirked a brow, amused. “I behaved so you’re going to give me a treat?” he teased.

She threw him a dirty look, not appreciating the humor, although it had the right effect of getting her mind back on track. “I’m having a birthday party on Saturday, and… maybe you’d like to come?” she blurted out, hastily, annoyed that the last part had come out sounding a lot more hopeful than she would have liked. It was just Tristan, after all, and she was supposed to hate him, and he was supposed to say no.

Only he didn’t say anything at all. Rather, he directed a strange look at her - one that she could not decipher.

She bit her lip and almost asked him if he were in shock. Because if he wasn’t, she was. She was still reeling from hearing her mouth voice the invitation aloud. And then, just when his silence was beginning to grate on her, she broke it. “Is that a ‘no’?” she asked, pointedly.

“No…” he began. The strange look remained, and was starting to make her very uncomfortable. “I’m just waiting for the punchline.”

She let out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding. “You’re going to wait a long time. I’m being serious,” she assured, even as her mind wondered whether she had truly gone insane. If a dictionary was enough to get her to invite him to her party, she didn’t want to know what jewelry would have done to her sanity.

“Rory,” he addressed her, saying her name slowly, as if dealing with a small child. Thankfully, the strange look had disappeared. “You remember who I am, right? I mean, don’t let the glint off your present blind you.”

At the mention of the present, she glanced down at the dictionary, still clutched to her chest. Her eyes skimmed over the lettering. Bright gold letters that boldly proclaimed that it was indeed her dictionary of choice. Hastily, she put the dictionary in her locker and closed the locker door. “Of course, I remember,” she tittered, with a hint of aggravation. “And if you must know, after I get home, I plan on checking myself into an asylum.”

Tristan shook his head, thinking to himself. “I don’t know…”

His hesitation threw her for a loop. She expected that he would have jumped at the opportunity to go to her party. And for some reason - in a part hidden deep down - she was a little disappointed that he found it necessary to have to actually contemplate whether or not he thought it would be wise to accept. “I mean, you gave me this dictionary. It’s the least I could do,” she threw out there, hoping it would help him decide.

It didn’t. “It’s kind of sudden…” he hesitated once more, but only because he was certain he might have inadvertently forced her to make the invite. The dictionary hadn’t been part of a manipulation tactic; it was merely a present, and definitely not a trick to finagle an invitation out of her.

“You don’t have to,” she assured, quickly. Then giving a nonchalant shrug, she added, “I’m just trying out this friends thing, and I’m not even quite sure I’m liking it.”

He finally met her eyes. The hesitation was gone from his eyes, but still present in his voice. “I thought you hated me,” he reminded her. “Now that my grandfather is better, I thought the Tristan pity party was over.”

She sighed, resisting the urge to swivel on her heels and leave his indecision behind her. “Tristan… The self-deprecation is not going to make me like you any more.”

“What about your mom?” he asked. “I’m sure you’ve told her all about me.”

Rory flushed, not denying the accusation. But she also didn’t want to get into just how much she told her mother regarding him. “She’s fickle and bribable. Bring a present and she’ll like you,” Rory joked.

“What about your boyfriend?”

The real question. The one reason why he had been reluctant to accept in the first place. Rory ignored the harshness with which the word “boyfriend” passed his lips, along with the sudden pang that had hit her in her chest when he had done so. “It’s my party,” she informed, haughtily, her chin raised in defiance. She didn’t need Dean to okay her guest list. And she certainly did not appreciate Tristan suggesting he did. “You can bring him a present, too… but I’m not sure he’ll like you.”

“I don’t…” Still hesitating, although he wasn’t sure why anymore.

She cut him off, annoyance evident in her actions. “I’ll give you directions. You don’t have to go if you don’t want.” Taking a pen and a piece of paper, she hurriedly wrote down her information. That completed, she held the slip of paper out, dangling it between her fingers. Before he could grab it, she pulled it back, eliciting a smile from him. “Could you remember something? Just because I’m nice to you doesn’t mean I want to sleep with you or even go out with you.”

“I know.”

“Because I don’t. Want to. Sleep with you. Or go out with you.” She fumbled with the words as she repeated her warnings.

He picked up on her verbal miscues. “Okay, that’s not secret Rory code for ‘Yes, I do,’ is it?”

“In your dreams,” she snickered, holding out the proffered slip of paper once again.

He reached out and smoothly snatched it out from between her fingers. He grinned at the annoyed flash in her eyes, a direct response to his overconfident smirk. “We’ve already discussed my dreams,” he reminded, offhandedly.

Her eyes narrowed. Yes, she must have made a huge mistake in extending the invitation. “Just in case you were thinking I was… I’m not,” she reasserted, firmly. And her expression warned him against trying to change her mind.

“I know,” he sighed, pretending to be irritated and bored. As if they had gone through this a million times already.

She nodded, as if finally satisfied that she wasn’t entirely out of her mind for bothering to be so nice. “Okay. Good.” She paused, watching him memorize her address. “Blacktie optional.”

He glanced up. “So we’re slumming it, huh?” he teased.

“Only you,” she assured, grinning. She sighed and turned towards class.

“So it’s a date,” he called out, slipping the piece of paper into his suit pocket.

Her head snapped back, silky brown hair flying out behind her. “I don’t believe you. How could you…” she seethed, although not entirely angry with him. After all, she expected this much.

He tried for an innocent look. “I got you a present. It’s the least you could do.”

She shook her head. “If you want to live to see tomorrow, I think you should concentrate on the test now. Remember… cobalt is atomic number 27; nickel is 28.”

Tristan chuckled to himself, watching as she turned once again towards class. “Right. Good luck,” he called out, unnecessarily. They were in the same class and would see each other in another minute anyway.

“You, too,” she threw out over her shoulder, mentally blocking out the last few minutes and returning to her periodic table. She gave a silent prayer that she hadn’t been too forgiving when she had invited him. After all, what were the chances that a popular boy like Tristan would opt to spend a Saturday night in Stars Hollow, with people he never met before. And then, the prayer done, she turned her concentration back to the impending test, already anxious to start the weekend.

Rory fluffed her pillows, propping them up against the headboard. Satisfied, she settled into bed, leaning into their soft cushiony comfort. Sighing wearily, she pulled her comforter up to her waist and dragged one of her textbooks that had been lying at the end of her bed onto her lap. Idly, she flipped through the book, eyes barely registering the text swimming in front of her. Bored, she closed the book and threw it towards the other end of her bed, where it landed with a soft plop amidst her thick comforter and other books. She stretched and yawned, lazily glancing at her clock. It was still too early for bed, and she had finished all her homework. Then, as if the thought had just occurred to her, she reached over the edge and hefted her bag onto the bed, groaning with the exertion.

Using both hands, she extricated her birthday present from her bag. And while doing so, she couldn’t help but give a snort of disbelief. Just remembering that Tristan had the presence of mind to get her a gift, much less one that was thoughtfully practical, still managed to make her wonder if she had fallen out of bed that morning and had caused irrevocable brain damage. But then, the recollection of his look when she had finally and reluctantly accepted… Rory decided not to dwell on that, giving her head a firm shake.

She gingerly fingered the delicate lettering on the binding and across the front of the book. In a testament to her bookworm nature, she had always wanted to own a copy of the thick dictionary, but had never imagined she would actually have one in her possession. Just knowing that Tristan, of all people, had put it there… Again, she pried her mind away from those thoughts. Tristan had made a lucky guess. There was no way he could have known she had wanted the dictionary. No way he could be considerate and thoughtful enough to have gotten her something she could actually use without embarrassment. No. There was probably a much simpler, yet entirely convoluted, reason for why he had chosen to present her with that particular gift.

It was a joke. It had to be. She hadn’t had time to skim through it or use it yet, having only received it that morning. But she had a feeling that when she did open it, she would find only blank pages. A carefully planned hoax. Or perhaps he had diligently gone through the text and highlighted all of the bad words. A typically juvenile action that she would not put past him. But what it all came down to… the gift had to be a joke. There was no other explanation for why she now held the book in question in her grasp.

She ran her fingers over the edge of the book, delaying the inevitable moment when she opened it for the first time. For some reason, she was scared of discovering that she had indeed been the victim of some elaborate ruse masterminded by the overly obnoxious Tristan DuGrey. She didn’t know what she would do if the scenarios running through her head turned out to be true. Sighing again, her fingers skimmed over the top of the book, sensing the crisp edges of each individual page.

Rory frowned, her face creasing with confusion. Her index finger had passed over a slight protrusion within the pages that she hadn’t noticed before. Wondering if Tristan had lied and something was undeniably ready to pop out at her, she pulled the heavy book closer for inspection. Her studious eyes easily found the foreign object that had been slipped between two seemingly random pages. What she saw was the tip of a flat silver clip.

Knitting her brow warily, she ran her finger along the edge of the book, slipping it between the two pages. Curiosity getting the best of her, she flipped the book open. And smiled, almost embarrassedly. She refused to believe her eyes. Refused to think that Tristan could be anything but the devil in disguise. There was no way he could have chosen that particular dictionary for her birthday gift. There was no way he could have been that thoughtful and that knowing to have done so. There was no way he could have been so infuriatingly considerate and tasteful to have placed the extra gift within the first. At least, not without some kind of evil force behind his intentions, driving him to be what she didn’t think he was capable of being. But there it was. Clipped to a few pages, holding her place. Staring up at her, innocently.

It. A pretty silver butterfly bookmark that looked more fragile than functional. She unclipped it from the page and held it up, warily examining it in the glow of her bedside lamp, and hating herself for harboring suspicions. The wings were delicate and etched with an intricate design, filled in with various translucent colors. Before she could convince herself that he had accidentally placed the object in her gift - or, most likely, had relinquished the gift from a former female owner, thereby practicing the art of regifting - her eyes lit on the one detail she had managed to block out so far. And her breath caught in her throat. The name “Rory,” in an elegant cursive, had been engraved across the body of the butterfly.

And unless Tristan knew another girl named Rory…

She dropped it hastily, watching as the butterfly fell onto the open page. It wasn’t until then that she noticed the other addition to her gift: a bright red sticker tab that conveniently covered one of the entries. A quick glance down the page already told her everything she wanted to know. She didn’t really have to remove it to know exactly what word he had hidden. And yet, she couldn’t help but pull the tab.

Beautiful.

Rory snorted, groaning loudly at his audacity, even as she felt her heart flutter. Making an unspoken promise to herself to yell at him tomorrow during her party, she startled herself in discovering that not only did she expect him to show up, but that she was actually looking forward to seeing him there. She berated herself for even having those sentiments, again giving serious consideration to the idea of being institutionalized. When had he ever had the power to manipulate her thoughts, even when he wasn’t in the same room with her? That jerk. She chuckled, surprising herself, as she wondered vaguely whether he had chosen to highlight that particular word while he had been at it. She didn’t bother to check. If he had left any other surprises within the large tome, she would have to find them another time.

Glancing at her clock, she noted the time. It was getting late and she needed her rest. After all, there was no telling what her mother had planned for her party tomorrow night. She returned the butterfly bookmark back to the place she had found it, and closed the dictionary. Reaching over the edge of her bed, she placed it on the floor, near a stack of books that were always in constant use. Then rolling her eyes at the ceiling in memory of all the events that had passed that day, she reached out and flicked off her lights, settling into the depths of her comforter. Within seconds, she had drifted into a restful sleep.

“That is not a birthday outfit.”

“You’d rather I wear my suit?” Rory asked, sardonically.

She was greeted with a dirty and pointed look from over the rim of a dark green coffee mug. “That’s not a birthday outfit,” Lorelai repeated.

The two Gilmore women stared at each other, neither one blinking. They ignored Sookie’s oblivious humming as she sorted through the supplies that were scattered around the kitchen table. In typical fashion, the absentminded chef was lost in her own world. Sighing, Rory glanced from her mother’s look of disapproval to her clothes. She had dressed in a pair of jeans and a light blue sweater that highlighted the color of her eyes.

Frowning, she directed an incredulous look at her mother. “What are you talking about?” She directed a hopeful look at Sookie, who had arrived earlier that morning and was currently sitting at the kitchen table, rummaging through her list of last minute birthday menu ingredients.

“I remember when you used to wear that little princess costume for your birthday party,” Lorelai cooed. The wicked gleam in her eye informed Rory that Lorelai was on her third cup of coffee that morning. She was impossible to deal with when that happened. Lorelai turned to Sookie with a conspiratorial grin. She placed a hand on Sookie’s arm, catching the other woman’s attention. “Do you remember that? She looked so adorable.”

Sookie giggled. “The white dress with all the tulle and the plastic wings…” She gestured animatedly, cheeks flushing brightly in giddiness.

“Nooo. That was her fairy costume. I’m talking about the pink one she used to wear with the sparkly shoes…”

Rory rolled her eyes. “Mom! I was seven.”

Sookie’s eyes widened with delight. “And Rory used to twirl around in it…”

“Sookie,” Rory scolded, lightly, as if the other woman should have known better. Sookie was not helping with her mother’s delusional flashbacks.

Sookie laughed. “But you were so cute!”

Rory rolled her eyes once again. “I’m leaving.”

“It’s your birthday,” Lorelai reminded, all seriousness now. “Even Cinderella had to do her chores on her birthday. Feed the chickens. Sweep the hearth. Do the laundry.”

“We don’t have chores. Or chickens,” Rory scoffed, a pointed reminder that cleaning in the Gilmore household was a spontaneous act.

“It’s not like it’s a law or something,” Lorelai twittered, rolling her eyes.

Rory directed an innocent grin at her mother. “Maybe you can start by cleaning up this mess.” She swept her hand in a wide arc, encompassing the chaotic order that had settled into their once neat kitchen.

“Weren’t you leaving?” Lorelai huffed, in her best put-upon teenager voice.

“Yes.” Rory chuckled. “I’m just going to go see Lane.”

“And Dean.”

“What?” Rory turned innocently.

“And Dean,” Lorelai repeated, simply. Her eyes had already returned to the list Sookie had been putting together. “You’re going to go see Lane, but you’re really going to go see Dean and get an early birthday present.”

Rory blushed at her mother’s matter-of-fact tone. “No, I wasn’t…” Her voice faltered.

Her mother gave her a knowing look. “Please, I know all about the birthday smoochies. I was your age once, remember?” She raised a perfectly arched brow.

Rory smirked. “Yeah, but you never had a real 17th birthday party. Remember?”

“Oh. Low blow.” Lorelai feigned hurt.

“Yup,” Rory chirped.

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. Two could always play that game. “Oh, right. I forgot. Birthday smoochies are for the sixteenth birthday, but birthday sex is reserved for the seventeenth.”

Rory grimaced, trying to keep the disgusted look off her face. “So you were ahead of your time,” she retorted, covering up her discomfort with the familiar use of sarcasm.

“Just slightly.” Lorelai returned the smirk.

Rolling her eyes, Rory groaned loudly. “I’m leaving now. And don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone.”

“Smooching,” Lorelai interjected, quickly.

Rory ignored her, even as the two older women began to giggle. “Bye.”

“Don’t forget,” Lorelai called after her. “Cake is at 8 o’clock sharp. With or without you.”

As soon as the sound of the door closing resonated into the kitchen, Sookie leaned across the table towards Lorelai. “Think we can change it back to the beach party theme and get away with it?” she whispered, unnecessarily. There was no one around to eavesdrop.

Lorelai’s eyes twinkled, devilishly. “We’d be stupid not to.” With that, she reached under the kitchen table and pulled out the large shopping bag from where she had hidden it before Rory had come out of her room. Dropping it onto the table with a flourish, she wiggled a brow at her best friend. “I think we owe it to the world.”

Sookie nodded, satisfied. “And we wouldn’t want to disappoint the world, would we?”

“Definitely not,” Lorelai agreed, as the two women shared another look and then broke out into cheerful laughter.

It was the fifth time he had stood in front of the mirror. The fifth time he had turned away in dissatisfaction. The fifth time he had tried again, ending up with the same results. The fifth time he thought he was going to go insane.

He didn’t know what he was doing. He had never been placed in these circumstances before. Parties were supposed to be no-brainers for him. Dress nice. Pick up date. Arrive. Mingle. Make-out. Go home. He didn’t know why this party should have made him such a nervous wreck. Or why he was having more problems than usual in getting ready.

But of course, he easily comprehended all the reasons. This wasn’t just any party. This was Rory’s birthday party. Rory’s house. Rory’s town. Rory’s friends. Dean. He shook his head and tried not to think about that. Whatever intrigue and pull she had on him was not conducive to his mental preparation for the party. And for the fifth time that night, his hand automatically reached out towards his phone and lingered just above it. Each time he had contemplated calling her and telling her he wouldn’t be able to show. Each time his hand had paused just centimeters away from touching the phone. Each time his hand had drawn back, as if burned. Because he knew the truth. It didn’t matter if he showed up or not. It didn’t matter if he even bothered to inform her of his decision. His presence was not going to make or break her party. Whether or not he was present, she was certain to have a good time, although the chances of that happening were more favorable with him out of the picture.

And yet, he felt the intense urge - no, need -- to go. To make his presence known. To incorporate himself into her other life - the one away from the stuffy confines of Chilton. To let her know that now that she had given him a temporary greenlight to continue on the path to true friendship, he wasn’t going to go anywhere. Not until whatever it was that hung between them - the irrefutable tension that lingered in the air - was finally surmounted, solved, and settled.

There was no question about it now. He had to go, but there was no denying how scared he was of actually proceeding. Sighing again, he turned to face the mirror for the sixth time that night. What he was wearing - jeans and a green sweater - would have to do; it would make him inconspicuous enough, blending into the Stars Hollow crowd. And not for the first time during his preparations, he realized that he had never been this nervous before. In fact, his hands were starting to sweat just thinking about the reaction he would receive and the treatment he would be subjected to once he arrived. He was more than certain that Rory would let him suffer instead of rescuing him from being out of his element. But if there was one thing he was acutely aware of and took comfort in, it was that he was a survivor. He’d survive seeing Dean. He’d survive the talk and the glares and the stares. He’d survive Rory’s party, and he’d survive their friendship. Everything depended on it.

Hastily, he ran a comb through his tousled hair, making it even messier. He took a deep breath and willed himself to move, offering silent encouragement to the tense man reflected back to him in the large mirror. That man merely smirked back at him, enjoying the discomfort Tristan was feeling, and undoubtedly would be feeling in less than an hour. Trying to avoid staring at his reflection and being goaded into having a personally degrading conversation with himself, he shifted his eyes, and instead found them locked on the small yellow bear that sat on the other side of his room.

Apparently, everything was talking to him through his mirror now. The bear’s reflection simply stared back, mocking him again, as it had over a month ago. That night before the first day of school. Before she walked back into his life. Before he became a sentimental fool. And when exactly did that happen?

“Mirror, mirror,” he muttered, the first line of the popular fairytale quote running ironically through his head.

He groaned and aimed a dirty look at the bear’s reflection. He could have sworn it snickered back at him. Placing the palms of his hands flat on his dresser, he stuck his tongue out at it disdainfully. Then taking one final cursory glance at himself in the mirror, he let his head hang and took a deep breathe. With a silent pep talk that lasted for only a few short seconds, he glanced up and offered his reflection a confident grin.

Much better.

There was no way he was going to screw with his own mind, and there was definitely no way he was going to let a childhood toy mess with his mind either. Already feeling closer to normal, he grabbed his keys and headed out the door with a jaunty stride. A second later, and muttering under his breath, he barged back into his bedroom, grabbing an object off one of his shelves and tucking it under his arm. This time, he left, face set with determination and legs displaying a purposeful conviction. He didn’t turn back.

The frustrated groan was loud enough to be heard over the giggling in the kitchen.

Lorelai dropped the cookie sheet topped with dozens of oversized chocolate chip cookies on the range top, and hurried to Rory’s room. Her head peeked around the corner. “What? What is it?” she asked, quickly, concerned.

Rory turned from where she had been standing, staring dejectedly at the growing pile of discarded clothing on her otherwise immaculate bed. She held a sweater and a blouse limply in each hand. Giving her mother a pathetic look, she sighed. “I don’t know what to wear,” she groused.

Lorelai looked at her strangely. “What do you mean you don’t know what to…”

“I just don’t,” Rory whined, ashamed at how she sounded. It was her party. She was supposed to wear whatever she felt like, and yet, there was the absurd notion of needing to dress for her guests’ approval. But not just any guests. Chilton guests.

The corner of her mother’s mouth quirked up into an amused grin, and Rory could tell that she was trying hard not to laugh. Apparently, her mother found her predicament funny. Lorelai took a deep breath to calm herself. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lorelai snickered, keeping the incredulity out of her voice. But just barely. She mentally filed the scene away, ready to be retrieved for a future “remember when…” moment.

“I don’t have anything to wear, and we have sand in our living room,” Rory grumbled. She tossed the blouse onto the bed. After a moment’s hesitation, the sweater followed.

“Hey, I put the tarp down,” Lorelai reminded. She walked further into the room and surveyed the contents of the bed. “Let’s see…” She picked through the discarded clothing, then placed her hands on her hips. “You’re right. You have nothing here.”

“Mom!” Rory twirled around and flopped backwards onto her bed. She needed to get her head checked. Why was she even bothering to find the perfect outfit anyway? Why did she even feel like she needed to dress for Tristan. And Paris. Paris was also coming. She had to remember that. The knowledge that she had thought of Tristan first left a peculiar impression in her already overloaded brain. Closing her eyes, she wondered if anyone would notice if she remained in her bedroom during the course of the party.

Lorelai tilted her head to one side, pondering the situation. “I’ve got that mermaid costume upstairs if you…”

She didn’t get to finish the sentence. Rory shot up, focusing her patented death glare at her mother. She failed to see the humor in her predicament. “I can’t wear a mermaid costume. Paris is coming. She’ll laugh, and then she’ll tell the whole school.” She was pretty sure she knew how Tristan would react to seeing her in said costume. He’d probably think it was his birthday. Then again, the way he had been behaving lately…

Her mother only rolled her eyes. “So dramatic. Honey, I’ve got to get back into the kitchen. Sookie’s alone with the oven.” She didn’t move.

“Help me,” Rory pleaded. She grabbed the two nearest items of clothing. “How about this?”

A tremor went through Lorelai’s facial features as she suppressed her snicker. “Well… sure… but you’d look awfully funny wearing a skirt and jeans and no top.” She paused and watched the horror settle on her daughter’s face. “Then again… what kind of party are we having?” Lorelai mused, loudly.

Moaning disgustedly, Rory threw the clothes down and crossed her arms in front of her. “I invited Paris,” she informed, as if she hadn’t done so already.

“Yes,” Lorelai agreed, nodding. “And you want to look good for her.” A thoughtful moment of silence. “I honestly didn’t know the two of you had that kind of relationship.”

Muttering to herself, Rory pointed sharply to her door. “Go now, please.” Her face was a mask of barely concealed annoyance.

The smile on Lorelai’s face was one of pure innocence. She bent down and placed a consoling kiss on her daughter’s forehead, affectionately brushing her hand down Rory’s hair as she did so. “You always look good, hon,” she assured, before leaving Rory to her own misery.

The doorbell rang just as Rory drifted out of her room. She paused long enough to place an affectionate kiss on Sookie’s cheek while the chef mixed the bowl of punch. After accepting the woman’s birthday wishes for the tenth time that day, she breezed into the living room, where the sound of the front doorbell had been replaced by a firm knock.

“Mom,” she called out, wondering why her mother hadn’t answered the door yet.

She got her answer as soon as she stepped into the living room. Lorelai was busy juggling three bowls of chips and dip. Her entire body was a study in conflict, head whipping indecisively back and forth from eyeing the door and the coffee table, even as her feet tried to do the opposite. Get the door or figure out the best placement for the chips? She muttered a vitriolic comment about people who had the nerve to show up on time. But as soon as she saw her daughter, a huge grin stretched across her lips. Before she furrowed her brow with uncertainty.

“Are you wearing that?”

There was just the right amount of doubt and insincere concern to assure Rory that her mother was only practicing the right to harass her. Still, she couldn’t help but turn her eyes downward, taking in the simple pale green knit top and khaki pants. There shouldn’t have been anything wrong with her choice of clothing. She had contemplated a skirt, but knowing that there was a possibility of both Paris and Tristan attending her party, she had quickly skipped that idea.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? I’m comfortable.”

“Didn’t we discuss the princess outfit?” Lorelai quirked a brow, needling her.

“You discussed. I stopped talking.” Rory started towards the door. She padded carefully through the room, mindful of the ridiculous “beach” look her mother had insisted on transforming it into. Rory hated to think about the cleanup after the party, even with the tarp spread out under the sand.

“Are you still going to wear that?” Lorelai asked in a sing-song voice.

Rory recognized the attempt to throw her off-balance. “I’m getting the door,” she informed, firmly.

Lorelai placed the food on the coffee table and stepped back to admire her handiwork. A second later, she heard Rory greet their first guests amidst a burst of celebratory laughter. Nodding to herself, she grinned and looked around the room. She had gotten her theme party wish, and she was going to make sure that Rory’s 17th birthday party was one to remember.

It was a mistake.

From the outside, the house was vibrant, brimming with life. It seemed as if every single light had been turned on. In his mind, the warm yellow glow reached as far as the farthest car parked at the edge of the property. It was practically bright enough to make out the chipped white paint that adorned the quaint two-story building. It was a home. There was love. And there was nothing fake or spoiled about it, or the people currently inside. Just from their silhouettes through the drawn curtains, he could tell that they were laughing and joking and enjoying themselves.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had been that carefree. This was no place for someone like him. He was a stranger. Out of his element. On the surface, a part of his brain told him he could enter the unknown and charm everyone, making them fall for him. But deep in the recesses of his heart, he already knew that he didn’t belong. Probably never would belong. Even as he desperately wished to.

His hands had been gripping the steering wheel for the last five minutes, unable to disengage themselves. For the second time since he had parked his car in front of her house, he contemplated turning around before anyone caught him sitting outside like an idiot. It was the same thought that had haunted him during the half hour drive from Hartford to Stars Hollow. He was lucky he had been so thorough in memorizing her directions, having driven on autopilot, afraid to think too much lest he make an abrupt u-turn and return to the safety of his boring, artificial life.

He was vaguely aware that he was glad he had showed up. And yet, he couldn’t make himself get out of the car. Control was so important to him. In there, he would have none. Out here… He gave a harsh, choppy chuckle. Who was he kidding? Even out here, there was no control. If he had any, he would have made up his mind already, finally deciding to face Rory. Or run.

When had running become an option? Tristan DuGrey was not a quitter. He’d hang back and wait for weaknesses to surface before going in for the kill, but he would never accept defeat. At least not where Rory was concerned. It occurred to him that somewhere along the line, it had stopped being just about her. He needed to join that party and prove to himself that he had the potential to be part of what Rory had. No more going through life faking it. No more accepting himself as what people wanted him to be. No more living life under a cloud of manipulation. He wanted to live. He wanted to be.

He wanted to see Rory.

Taking a deep breath, he felt the tension slowly ease out of his fingers and felt his grip relax. His hands slid down, off the steering wheel and into his lap. Closing his eyes, he muttered a silent prayer that also served as his second pep talk of the night. His eyes fluttered open. He could do this. He was, after all, Tristan DuGrey. He opened his door, simultaneously reaching for the items that were in the passenger seat. Then before he could hesitate, he quickly exited the car.

Rory was grinning, and she didn’t think she could stop. Didn’t even think she wanted to stop. Birthdays always made her this way. She felt loose, giddy, and for at least one night out of her stressed life, she didn’t have a care in the world.

Lorelai stopped besides her, holding a plastic cup of orangey-pink punch, topped with a bright yellow umbrella. They exchanged glances, speaking volumes without ever moving their lips. Once their silent conversation was over, she placed a loving arm around Rory’s shoulder and pulled her close. Then her eyes roamed along the same path as Rory’s, taking in the celebratory chaos that reigned in their house. The two women reveled in the laughter and general cheerful atmosphere Lorelai’s theme party had created. Even as they stood in the center of the room surrounded by friends - who were more like family - large colorful beach balls flew through the air. One bounced off the top of Sookie’s curls, just as she entered from the kitchen, carrying a tray of finger foods. The impact sent her feet sliding on the loose sand that had collected on the floor near where she stood, causing her to slip and land on her rear. Miraculously, the tray of food remained unscathed in her hands. The moment caused another loud uproar from the people mingling closest to her. And after a second of making sure she herself had not been hurt, Sookie joined in the laughter, giggling cheerily. The next victim of an errant beach ball was not quite as laid-back. Luke’s snarl had been clearly heard over the din of conversation and music. Clutching a bag of pretzels in one hand, and a bag of ice in the other, his eyes darted around him, suspiciously, attempting to discover just who had managed to hit him on the side of his face. When no one stepped forth to take responsibility, he growled and continued towards the kitchen, his gripes concealed under the beat of the music.

The two Lorelais exchanged looks and giggled. Rory’s lips quirked into a proud smile. “I think you’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

Lorelai shrugged, feigning boredom, even as her eyes betrayed just how happy she was to hear Rory’s approval. Especially after their initial arguments regarding the beach party theme. “You think?” She was generous enough not to remind Rory of the irate fit that had been thrown earlier that day when she had returned from Dean’s house, only to step in a pile of delicate white sand. In the middle of her living room. After all, birthday girls were allowed their transgressions on their special day.

Rory nodded enthusiastically with a child-like purse of her lips. “I think,” she responded, firmly.

Lorelai pulled her in for a hug. “Happy birthday, sweetie,” she cooed, into Rory’s silky hair. She lifted her eyes, ears pricking up. Tilting her head to one side, she listened again.

Confused, Rory pulled away from the hug and examined her mother’s distracted look. “What is it?”

“Phone’s ringing,” Lorelai informed, simply.

How her mother could hear the phone over the cacophony of music and endless chatter, Rory didn’t know. Groaning, she disentangled herself from her mother’s grasp and went in search of the phone. She found it in the kitchen. Apparently, her mother had superpowers when it came to hearing. “Hello?” she chirped into the phone before it could ring again.

Lorelai was in the midst of a teasing, heated argument with Luke regarding the sudden appearance and appropriateness of crabcakes, courtesy of Sookie, at a 17 year old’s birthday party. Rory rolled her eyes, seeing the back and forth banter between the two. She didn’t know why they bothered; no one ever won any of those disputes. Lorelai, fed up, turned towards Rory for relief. “So who was the party pooper?”

“Paris.”

Lorelai smirked, waving her hand absently. “Old joke. Heard that one before. No, really. Who was it? What did they want? And why aren’t they here to partake in the gloriousness of a Lorelai Gilmore birthday party?”

“No,” Rory shook her head, chuckling. “She really can’t make it.”

“Why not?” Lorelai snapped, pretending to be upset.

Rory frowned. She didn’t know if she was relieved or that Paris couldn’t make it. “Something about her mother dragging her to some social function.” Apparently, against her will.

Lorelai sighed. “Oh.” She watched Rory’s reaction and decided she couldn’t tell how her daughter felt about this news. Over the past two days, Rory had wavered between lingering doubt that she had done the right thing in inviting the girl, and a maddeningly inexplicable need to ensure that Paris would have fun at Rory’s own party. “She knows that she’s missing out on a Lorelai party, right?”

“Yes, and she’s absolutely heartbroken,” Rory deadpanned, meeting her mom’s smirk with one of her own. It was pretty close to the truth. She had detected the disappointment in Paris’s voice as the girl complained that she would not be able to make it. Not that she had expected Rory to care - an opinion that Paris had unflinchingly expressed, and one that Rory had deftly assured her was untrue.

“You tease,” Lorelai joked. “I’m thinking of holding back Sookie’s cake, then. No cake for you!”

“You wouldn’t!” Rory feigned shock.

“I would, too,” Lorelai shot back, putting a comforting arm around her and leading her back into the heart of the party, where they were accosted by Lane and Henry.

Tristan stopped just a foot shy of the front steps, paralyzed. It wasn’t exactly fear, though he could feel his pulse pick up in speed. Clutching his package to him, he took a deep breath. For some reason, the bright cheeriness was daunting to him. He was afraid he’d get lost in there. And then discover he didn’t want to leave. It was a scary prospect, especially since Rory had made no steps towards being anything other than acquaintances. True and easy friendship was still a long way off. He took another deep breath. Maybe he was rushing it. He probably shouldn’t be there, and the invitation had most likely been given impulsively, a side effect from the shock of receiving his unexpected present. He took a step back from the light emanating out from the house.

“You’re going to stand there and stare at the door?”

Tristan didn’t need to turn. He recognized the disdain in the nauseatingly familiar voice almost immediately. “Dean.” He might as well have greeted the other boy by spitting at his feet.

“Tristan.” Both Dean’s voice and posture reflected the same sentiments back to Tristan. At least they had something other than Rory in common. From the looks that Tristan was throwing him, the rich boy was not impressed, and Dean didn’t care. “You don’t belong. You know that, right?”

Dean had hit a nerve and he relished the power that came with that knowledge. Tristan’s body tensed, hearing Dean voice the very thoughts that had eaten away at him since he had gotten out of bed that morning. “I was invited,” he informed, caustically, flatly.

There was no humor inherent in Dean’s sudden outburst of laughter. It was abrupt, harsh, sharp. “She felt sorry for you,” he snickered, rolling his eyes at the rich boy’s naiveté.

“Well, now we know why I’m here. What’s your excuse?” Tristan retorted, ignoring Dean’s stab. It was nothing he hadn’t already considered.

Dean snorted. He couldn’t believe he was actually having this conversation with Tristan. “I don’t need a reason to be here.”

Now it was Tristan’s turn to roll his eyes, scornfully. “She’s your girlfriend. She obviously loves you.” Tristan was an excellent actor when he chose to be. This time, he couldn’t hide the acidic sarcasm that dripped so freely from his tongue. Not that he wanted to conceal his feelings towards Rory’s choice of a boyfriend. “God knows why. And yet, you feel insecure about me. Why is that?” he added, injecting the right amount of innocence into his voice to infuriate the other boy. Tristan savored the dark expression that had overcome Dean’s face. It really was too easy.

Dean fumed, wishing there was some way -short of physically removing him - of making Tristan leave. “Oh. So you’re an accountant and a psychotherapist.” He loved the way Tristan’s eyes flashed angrily. The accountant dig hadn’t sat well with Tristan the first time he had used it, and it seemed to affect him more so the second time around. “Why don’t you do the whole world a favor and get back in your daddy’s car. Go home.” He took a step closer to Tristan, marking his territory. Lowering his voice into a threatening growl, he voiced another concern that had tormented Tristan on the drive there. “Rory doesn’t need your friendship.”

Who was the psychotherapist now? “I think Rory should be the one to decide.” Tristan didn’t back down.

To his surprise, Dean merely shrugged with a nonchalance that did not reach his eyes. “She’s going to see through the act. You can try to pretend that all you want is her friendship, but I’ll know. They’ll know. And she’ll know.”

Tristan rolled his eyes. “Hey, all I want is cake.” The flippant remark was enough to spur his feet into action, moving him almost instinctively towards the house. As if he belonged.

Dean spun around, refusing to let his eyes leave Tristan’s figure. “I’m watching you,” he called out, hoping he sounded imposing and fierce enough to get Tristan to rethink his current actions.

“You might learn a thing or two.” Tristan smirked beautifully, and watched as Dean’s hands clenched and unclenched, most likely with the urge to pummel the smug look off his face. Knowing this, Tristan’s grin widened. If Dean wanted to be provoked, he was game. After all, Dean had managed to goad him into doing plenty of stupid things in front of Rory. It was about time Dean learned: payback was a bitch.

The taller boy took a deep, noisy breath, trying to calm himself. There was no way he was going to get into a fight with Tristan in front of Rory’s house. Rory would never forgive him. “Doubt that,” he managed to remark, just as glib as Tristan.

“Slow learner, huh?” The look on Tristan’s face was infuriatingly sympathetic. It made Dean flinch. And for the millionth time in the past few minutes -- ever since he found Tristan staring idiotically at the front door -- Dean wondered exactly what harm there was in skewing Tristan’s pretty boy looks with his fist. Only he never got the chance to find out, being reminded, instead, of the first thing they had in common.

“What’s going on?”

Rory.