AUTHOR: The Corrupter
RATING: PG-13
CHARACTERS / PAIRING: Um... I forget... started this so long ago... senility...
SUMMARY: Continuation of Part 6, which was a continuation of Part 5, which was... It's party time. Excellent. All those who feel uncomfortable and out of place in Stars Hollow... raise your hand. Tristan, put your hand down!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Some things to address… yes, many coinky-dinks and overused plot devices in this part, but I’m writing a soap so whatever. A non-NC-17 soap, mind you. Tsk. Tsk. I’m trying to wrap up some loose ends from the show last season, but overall, this is pretty much veering into very alt-timeline crap. My longest part yet, and I think I'm going loco. Part 7 is pretty long (well, it's pretty ugly, too... a train wreck, actually) and to think, it was supposed to be part of Part 6. Yikes! Now I’m pooped (you think it's easy writing Dean? Hello!). No more for me. I know the ending, and I’m not sharing. Blah. Ok, maybe after I recover with some one-armed (or two) loving. Hehe. Me. Cracked. Yes.
DISCLAIMER: Again, one more time, but this time with feeling. All characters belong to GG, Amy S-P, WB, etc, and those who do not fully appreciate the wonder that is Tristan. :-P

“Rory.” Neither one knew who had uttered it, just that her name seemed to have passed both their lips at the same time.

“What’s going on?” Her tone of voice was hesitant, confused, but still managed to demand an answer.

They both stared at her, faces caught in expressions of guilt. Frozen in place, they gawked at each other, then at her. Tristan was the first to recover, but it was Dean who spoke first.

“I found this guy lurking outside,” he informed, authoritatively. As if he had just caught a criminal trespassing instead of an invited guest. His voice practically begged Rory to yell at Tristan for showing up.

Rory tilted her head to one side, giving each a contemplative look. She turned to Tristan first and with an expressive look, warned him against speaking. He obeyed dutifully, keeping his lips pressed tightly shut. Sighing, she then glanced at her boyfriend. “Dean, I think my mom needs something off the top shelf in the kitchen. Could you help her?” she asked, quietly.

Dean stared at her, eyes wide in disbelief. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She actually wanted to be alone with Tristan. Without him. He should have been furious. He should have thrown a fit. He should have done many things, but his mind had failed to fully comprehend what and why she was asking him to go back inside. Alone. “Rory, I don’t think you should invite this guy inside,” he sputtered, the words incoherent to his own ears.

Tristan smirked at Dean’s reaction. It was too bad the guy never learned about control. He was pathetic, really. Tristan glanced at Rory, the edges of his triumphant smile playing on his lips. He was immediately humbled by a dark look from Rory. Once he averted his eyes in penitence, she turned her attention back to Dean, who had not yet budged from his position at the bottom of the stairs.

“Dean,” she began slowly, almost willing him to understand her motives. Even if she didn’t know what they were. Even though she could hardly hear over the tumultuous and conflicted beating of her heart, which hadn’t stopped yet since first walking upon their interchange. She was sure she would die from the shock, and yet, here she was. Still standing. And telling her boyfriend to leave her alone with his sworn enemy. She begged for understanding even though she couldn’t really expect any. “Don’t worry. He’s a good vampire.” She realized that there was a light condescending tone to her attempt at humor which he might not have liked, but she was beyond caring now. It was her birthday party and she wanted to enjoy it without worrying about the possibility of fights. “I’m just being nice,” she added, as an afterthought.

It didn’t seem to help calm him. Leaving Tristan standing on the path, Dean trudged up the steps to stand in front of her on the porch. “Being nice is saying ‘hi’ in the hallways. It’s not inviting him to your house,” he informed gravely, bending down towards her. Then lowering his voice to a confidential murmur, he insisted almost inaudibly, “You don’t even know what he’s up to.” He squinted his dark brown eyes suspiciously at Tristan, who merely rolled his eyes and exuded boredom. The act made Dean want to pummel the rich boy into the ground.

She sighed, tired of the games. Tired of the hostilities. Tired of always having to explain her actions and of being placed in the middle. Constantly. Just once she wanted to be able to do something without either one of them questioning her. “I already know about his serial killer past,” she quipped, trying for playful and desperately attempting to diffuse the hostilities permeating the air around them. From the rigid manner in which Dean held himself, she could tell that he was still tense, still ready for a fight. Rory continued, anxiously trying to inject some lightheartedness into the awkward situation. “Besides, he just got bumped from the FBI’s 10 Most Wanted List by some crazy stalker lady from New Jersey.” She grinned and waited for him to return it. He didn’t, but his stance had relaxed a bit. It was a start. “I’ll be okay,” she assured, placing a hand gently on his arm. “And we’ll only be a minute.” It was an unnecessary addition, but one she felt needed to be made in order to assure him that she wasn’t planning on taking any extended midnight walks with Tristan.

Dean looked down with some semblance of shame, unable to meet her eyes, as he placed his hand over hers and gave it a comforting squeeze. Clenching his jaw a few times, he seemed to deliberate the sanity of the situation. And whether he should be jealous. He was, but he felt the need to at least appear as if he understood her motives. When he looked back at her, his dark brown eyes flashed, needing more assurances. Needing explanations and reasons and, preferably, other options. His mouth opened, ready to argue with her.

But Rory cut him off. “Dean.” Now there was no mistaking the firmness with which she spoke his name. Their eyes met, and he was immediately repentant. “Could you please go inside?” She would tolerate no disappointment regarding this request.

Grumbling, he threw Tristan one last dirty look before heading inside. Rory barely flinched when the screen door banged shut after him. Alone now, she directed a cool blue gaze at Tristan, crossing her arms in front of her, as if ready to pass judgment. He merely glanced up, eyes hopeful and arms held out, almost in supplication. Uncomfortable and tense, he resisted the urge to shift on his feet, waiting for her to make the first move.

“Hi.”

He blinked, refocusing on her. She still wasn’t smiling, but she also wasn’t frowning. And her voice was carefully neutral. Clearing his throat, he offered a shy smile. “Are you going to lay down the ground rules now?” Tristan raised a brow, expectantly. Playing their game. Familiar ground, now that Dean was out of the way.

She gave a noncommittal shrug, as if bored and humoring him. “Sort of.” But there was no mistaking the twinkle that had suddenly appeared in her bright blue eyes. The intellectual stimulation and anticipation of their effortless banter always did that to her. It was a thrill she had to work hard to get from her conversations with her boyfriend. It wasn’t Dean’s fault, really; Tristan just played the game better than he did.

Tristan grinned and hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “I could just go,” he offered, even as his voice begged her not to make him do so.

Another shrug, and a look of consideration. “No, everyone’s welcome.”

“I’m sure you don’t mean that,” he chided, teasingly.

She rolled her eyes. “Not always, but tonight’s different.” Now the playfulness started to seep into her voice. All thoughts of Dean’s anger had faded into the background. Rory was doing what she excelled at - playing the back and forth banter with Tristan. And she was loving it. “I’m on a sugar high,” she revealed, as if that made any difference.

“What?” Tristan shook his head at her, marveling at how Rory had switched so seamlessly from being angry and upset at both Dean and him to being practically giddy in his presence. She was driving him nuts with her about-faces, and he didn’t want it to end.

“Lots of Sookie’s cookies.” She paused, biting her lower lip. “See?” she asked, scrunching up her face. “I made a rhyme. A really bad one, too. That’s never a good sign.”

He chuckled. “I suppose not.” When had he lost all grasp of the English language? What happened to witty comebacks and sarcastic rejoinders?

“You look…” Her voice trailed off.

Tristan’s head snapped towards her, his breath lodged in his throat. He was waiting for her to tell him to leave. It just wasn’t possible that he could be at her house and she still hadn’t lashed out at him. Strangely, a part of him knew it would never come, and yet, he couldn’t help but expect it. Rory didn’t say anything, her head tilted again, as she pondered something in her overactive mind. She looked confused and troubled.

“What?” Tristan asked, suppressing the anxiety that threatened to spill out.

Licking her lips slowly, Rory opened her mouth to speak. Only her reply never came. They were interrupted by a soft argument that was slowly becoming louder. The very participants were coming up the walk, oblivious to the two teenagers that occupied it at the moment. Their voices were lowered in intimate tones and their argumentative, yet playful, words belied the heated nature of their conversation. To anyone else, the two seemed to be on the verge of having a full-blown fight. To someone who knew them, they were merely exhibiting the teasing spirit that made up the foundation of their strong relationship.

“I told you if we left just five minutes earlier, we would have missed that traffic accident and arrived on time. Taking that phone call from Jonathan was an unnecessary action.”

“If you were ready five minutes before that, I would never have known that Jonathan called.”

“I was getting ready for our granddaughter’s 17th birthday.”

“You tried on three different outfits. Rory doesn’t care how you look.”

“Well, I care. Can I help it if I want to look presentable to my granddaughter and to my husband?”

“Emily, you’re a natural beauty. You certainly do not have to try so hard.” The statement garnered a shy smile and a blush from the outspoken woman, as their argument petered out into a loving stroll up the walk towards the house.

Rory stared, wide-eyed. “Grandma. Grandpa.” Her eyes darted around, as if looking for a place to hide. Or at least some place to conceal Tristan. A useless notion, now that both her grandparents turned their attention to her. And to her friend.

“Rory, happy birthday.” Her grandfather met her by the stairs and placed an affectionate kiss on her cheek. He beamed down at his granddaughter, forgetting about the argument.

The verbal exchange had also slipped Emily’s mind as she discovered a new topic to content herself with. As expected, her eyes immediately lit upon Tristan. “Hello,” she greeted, in a tone that was meant to pass as friendly, but still managed to sound curiously pleased. She smiled knowingly at Tristan. Without taking her delighted eyes off him, her smile widened. “Rory, dear. Who is your friend?” A loaded question if ever there was one.

Rory blushed, hearing the implied connotation behind her grandmother’s emphasis of the word “friend.” The quick but meaningful look Emily directed at her also did not help matters. Rory shifted on her feet as Richard’s attention was now inevitably drawn towards the boy. “This is, uh, Tristan,” she managed to introduce without stammering too badly. The looks both her grandparents were giving her, as well as the one the two adults shared with each other, made her want to scream that there was nothing going on between her and Tristan. Only she was well aware of what her grandparents thought it looked like when they had found the two standing outside in the dark by themselves.

“Tristan,” Emily echoed, forming his name on her lips with a sound of approval.

Tristan cleared his throat and held out his hand. “Tristan DuGrey, ma’am. A pleasure.” The introduction was made with an engaging smile, which won over Emily without fail.

Emily’s face brightened as soon as she heard Tristan’s last name. She exchanged a look with her husband before gracing Tristan with an ecstatic smile. “Charmed, I’m sure.” She took the proffered hand, and managed to blush, enchanted, when Tristan placed a light kiss on the back of her hand. “Oh my,” Emily uttered, completely beside herself. Rory rolled her eyes at Tristan, who had caught the gesture out of the corner of his eye. He only smirked at her before directing his most appealing grin at Emily. Emily made as if she were about to swoon, and gave her husband another look of appreciation. Now it was Richard’s turn to roll his eyes at his wife.

“DuGrey, we meet again,” Richard interrupted, stretching out his hand, which Tristan took without fail. Richard nodded to himself. “Your handshake is still firm, I see.” Something bordering on pride resounded through his deep voice.

“Yes, Sir,” Tristan answered, politely. Charismatically. He directed an innocent look at Rory, as if this was how he behaved all the time. His mischievously twinkling eyes dared her to contradict him in front of her grandparents. Knowing he was trying to bait her, she moved to stand behind her grandmother’s back and simply stuck her tongue out at him.

“How’s your grandfather?”

“Richard,” Emily interjected, before Tristan could reply. She had caught the look of dismay on Rory’s face, and immediately misinterpreted it as a desire to continue her private tête-à-tête with Tristan. When Richard turned to face her, she conveyed her message to him through a simple gesture of her head. “We should go inside and let Lorelai know we’ve arrived. Goodness knows she’s probably worrying herself to death.” There was a light sarcastic tone that managed to filter through her secret happiness at seeing Rory with a boy of good breeding.

“Ah, of course. It was, after all, quite a harrowing drive down here,” Richard agreed, chuckling, having already caught the true meaning behind Emily’s statement. He gave Tristan a look of appraisal, nodded to himself, and took his wife’s arm. Then he placed another kiss on Rory’s cheek. “Happy birthday, Rory.”

As Richard led her up the porch steps, Emily smiled knowingly at Rory, making her nauseous with dread. Her grandmother was reading way too much into the innocent outdoor meeting. True to her nature, Emily ignored the blush that crept up Rory’s cheeks, again misreading the reason for its presence and called out over her shoulder. “Young man, I hope to see more of you around. And remember, it’s ungentlemanly behavior to keep a young lady outdoors for any length of time in this kind of weather.” Then giving Rory one last bright smile, she entered the house.

Rory grimaced and waited for the door to close behind her. After hearing the satisfying sound, she cautioned a glance at Tristan. The jerk was grinning broadly at her, although he was generous enough to at least appear slightly embarrassed. They stood awkwardly for a few tense moments, unable to meet each other’s eyes. Tristan was the first to break the silence. To her surprise, he apologized.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, looking away.

“For what?” she asked, incredulously, her own embarrassment forgotten.

“I should have said something. They probably think there’s something going on…” Tristan didn’t finish, letting his voice trail off. Better not call attention to what he thought might have been going through her grandparents’ heads, especially if there was a distinct possibility that Rory would laugh at his conceit.

“Probably,” Rory agreed, mentally berating herself as she flushed once more. “But it won’t make a difference. They’re in there making wedding plans already.” It was meant to be a joke, but as Tristan inhaled sharply and stared at her, Rory felt her own breath catch in her throat. She stammered quickly, “If you… we… went in there and… and told them it’s not true… they just might go into shock. And they wouldn’t believe us… you… anyway.” She bit her lip to keep from continuing.

Tristan glanced down at his shoes so Rory wouldn’t see that he was smiling at her. Her stammering was a rare, but endearing, characteristic. When he looked up again, he offered her a sympathetic look. “Would that be a bad thing?” There was a hint of promise in his voice that sent a shiver up her back.

Rory smartly ignored it and didn’t say anything, aware that there was nothing she could say that wouldn’t earn her a leer and a flirtatious remark. She chewed her lip, wondering if there was an easy way out of the awkward conversation. She didn’t even dare turn around to see if her entire party was watching them from behind the lace curtains. “Oh, hey, you look… different,” she finally said, changing the topic and settling on a word that managed to convey how she felt, and yet still did a poor job of it. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t noticed it before, or why it had just suddenly hit her. Maybe it had something to do with trying to appease Dean, and then deal with her grandparents. Now that they were alone outside, she had finally taken a good look at Tristan. Wearing a pair of jeans and a forest green sweater, he looked like any normal teenage boy. And even though it technically wasn’t the first time she had seen him out of uniform, it occurred to her just how harmless he could appear. Just how normal and un-Tristan-like he could be.

He glanced down, grimacing, the light joking tone immediately replaced by something more serious. Maybe his first and fifth instincts had been right and the outfit hadn’t been good enough. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to confuse you by not wearing my Satan uniform, and my tux is at the cleaners.”

The hurt in his voice, though he thought he had hidden it with self-deprecating humor, made her chuckle. “It’s just that seeing you dressed like this… I almost mistook you for a normal human being.” She could be sympathetic, but she didn’t have to let him know it. Besides, her grandparent’s unexpected arrival and interruption had already allowed him to have too much fun at her expense.

The smirk returned. “Where’s your birthday suit?” he asked, an innocent inflection to his voice, despite the content of his question.

Exasperated, Rory rolled her eyes, ending with a glance skyward for heavenly intervention. “And the moment of insanity has definitely passed,” she snickered. “Your horns are showing.”

His grin grew wider. There was something about her exasperation with him that always amused him. “Rory, you’ll always look sexy to me no matter what you wear.” He hadn’t been able to let the moment pass without one more lascivious remark.

And he was duly rewarded when Rory blushed in spite of herself. It must have been a record for the both of them. Tristan couldn’t recall ever having this much of an effect on her, and Rory couldn’t remember ever being this flustered around him. They both blamed it on the cookies she said she had ingested prior to his arrival, and he idly wondered if there was a way he could ask for the recipe for the magic sweets.

“You can tie your bull to the tree over there,” she advised, pointing a finger towards the yard.

“So I pass inspection?” He raised a brow, daring her to reply in the negative.

“Just barely.” Rory took a tentative step backwards on the porch, eyes never leaving his. Then giving her head a gentle nod towards the house, she gestured for him to follow. “Come on in.”

Acceptance. It was what he had been hoping and waiting for. Grinning wide-eyed and enthusiastically, Tristan bounded up the steps, eager to follow her anywhere, but mostly anxious to be invited into this part of her life. Rory, not quite as keen on taking this next step in their friendship, experienced a momentary bout of panic. What in the world was she doing? This was Tristan; she was Rory, and never the twain shall meet…

Stopping abruptly, Rory swiveled quickly on her heels to face him, her hands shooting out and landing unexpectedly on his chest. Able to feel the solidity of his body even through the thick green fabric, in her mind he immediately stopped being a distant and detached Tristan. Instead, he became a living human being. She frowned, distressed. And mortified. Her fingertips were burning up from the contact, the heat shooting straight up her arm and directly into her cheeks.

Tristan came to a sudden stop, barely managing to avoid running right into her. Noticing how close he was to her - she could just about feel his startled breathe on her face, not to mention the warmth of his beating heart though the cableknit sweater - Rory hastily dropped her hand, embarrassed, and took a swift step backwards, increasing her distance from him. She half-expected Dean to come rushing out, enraged, and tackling Tristan to the ground for her inadvertent actions. She waited for the shouts and the ensuing fight. Only none came. She didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until she heard herself exhale a long, unsteady gasp.

“What’s wrong?” Tristan asked, breathless. Her handprint still burned against his chest. And even he had stolen a quick, nervous glance towards the front door, bracing himself for an attack. Death by bagboy. It was the last thing he needed, but knowing the jealous and protective leanings of her boyfriend, Tristan expected no less.

Rory couldn’t hide the flush from her face. Despite the briskness of the night, she was burning up. “Nothing,” she assured softly, just as agitated as Tristan. Swallowing with difficulty, she raised her voice back to what she hoped was a more normal sounding level. “You’re going to behave, right?” she asked, eyeing him carefully.

Surprisingly, Tristan didn’t roll his eyes or scoff at her question. “Yes,” he promised, earnestly. “Best behavior. Scout’s honor.” He held up his fingers, a grave look accompanying the swear. Rory began laughing; she couldn’t picture him as a Boy Scout. Grinning along with her, Tristan lowered his hand, automatically reaching down to rest at her elbow, as if ready to lead her into the house. In hindsight, Rory realized that she should have called attention to it. Yelled at his nerve. Pulled away with a disgusted look. Instead, she found herself staring into the depths of his deep blue eyes, pulled in against her will. They were light blue, but even in the dim lighting of the porch, she could see them shifting shades right before her own eyes. And before she knew it, those very eyes were only inches away from hers. “Happy birthday,” he breathed, smiling affectionately.

He leaned in, almost instinctively, as if to give her a kiss. Not knowing why she did so, her lips parted instinctively, ready. But something changed in his demeanor, and Tristan pulled back hastily. He had remembered, before it was too late. Even as every fiber in his body protested, he knew better than to let his heart take over so foolishly. She wasn’t that kind of girl. She was Rory. Any attempts by him to breach whatever trust they had built since their conversation at his grandfather’s house would not be appreciated, and just might have the right effect of reminding her that he really did not belong there.

For some absurd reason, as Tristan’s head had dipped towards hers, Rory’s mind had been reflecting on butterflies. The ones that adorned the wrapping paper that had covered his gift to her. The one that was lying sandwiched between two dictionary pages, marking the word “beautiful.” The ones that were fluttering angrily in the pit of her stomach. She blinked, and he was gone, having dropped the hand he had placed against her elbow and taken the prerequisite two steps away from her, relinquishing her personal space. Now, without his nearness, Rory felt the cold night air seeping through her light green knit top. She shivered reflexively.

“What’s that?” she exhaled, not realizing once again that she had been holding her breath in anticipation. It was better not to call attention to the almost-kiss. Especially since decorum dictated that she ought to lash out at him in disgust, even when she felt no such thing. Although Rory couldn’t begin to speculate how she felt at that moment, various unwanted thoughts tumbled through her distraught head, causing the pacified butterflies in her stomach to act up once more.

Tristan stared at her for a brief moment, wondering what the heck she was referring to. Then understanding, he glanced down at the item he held in his grasp. He met her eyes, blushing sheepishly. “Present.” Then, seeing the objection in Rory’s face, he realized that she thought he was lavishing her with gifts. “For your mother,” he qualified, hurriedly.

“For my mother…” she echoed, confused. Rory shook her head, not understanding.

“You said to bring her a present and then she’d like me,” Tristan reminded, conscious of how ridiculously hopeful he sounded. He had never needed material gifts to win women over; his charm had often been enough, but for some reason, he doubted very much how effective that would be in this particular household.

Rory arched a brow, trying to decide whether he was mocking of her. “And you did.” There was undisguised astonishment in her voice. She couldn’t believe he had actually listened to something she had mentioned facetiously and taken it at face value. Even so, there was something endearing about both the gesture and the hesitantly optimistic expression creasing his brow. Or it would have been had she been able to overlook the fact that it was Tristan DuGrey standing before her. On her porch. In front of her house.

As if sensing that reality was threatening to overtake her, Tristan held out the present. Reluctantly, Rory accepted it, turning it over in her hands. The wrapping was plain compared to the one he had used for her gift, and the package itself was bulky and awkward. Rory raised an eyebrow, silently questioning him about what was underneath the paper. Tristan only shrugged and rolled his eyes, wordlessly teasing her about her penchant for trying to open gifts without actually undoing the wrapping.

Groaning good-humoredly, Rory tore into the paper, exposing the top half of the package. Immediately, she rolled her eyes at him. Punctuating her exasperation with a maddening sigh, she nodded towards the door again. “Let’s go. Before people start to wonder what we’re doing on the porch.” Fat chance of that happening, she thought to herself, positive that once the partygoers had seen Dean’s livid face, they had all crowded around the window to watch the exchange. Rory stepped through into the warm glow of the house, not bothering to check whether he would follow. She already knew he would.

Rory was only partly correct. Her guests were not huddled against the windows, watching their every move. Her guests were busy enjoying the party, laughing and joking amongst themselves, lost in their own worlds. Only one member chose not to participate. Only one member had seen Dean’s livid face as he burst into the house and made a beeline towards the kitchen, grumbling angrily. Only one member had watched the proceedings outside with a puzzled expression on her face. Only one member accosted Rory and her new guest as soon as they entered the house. Or would have, if she hadn’t been stuck behind a wall of guests.

Inhaling sharply, Rory saw her mother forcing her way through the party to reach her. Rory quickly twirled towards Tristan, wondering what she was going to do with him before Lorelai could reach them. Relief washed through her as she spied a likely and willing accomplice.

“Rory, dahling, this is an absolutely wonderful party.”

Rory smiled warmly. “Miss Patty, I’m glad you could come.” As if there was a chance the residents of Stars Hollow would pass up a party, especially a Lorelai Gilmore party.

“My,” the large woman exclaimed softly, awed. A gentle hand was placed over her heart, as if she had been shocked speechless. She gave Tristan a rapacious once-over, and smiled appreciatively. “Who is this handsome young man?”

Tristan was on edge, immediately gulping down a breath of air. He could have sworn the older lady had winked at him. Seeing Tristan’s discomfort, Rory smirked, wishing she could have more time to enjoy his distress at being introduced to the dance instructor. But at the moment, she could not afford to indulge in such a frivolous waste of time.

“This is Tristan,” Rory introduced, hurriedly.

Tristan offered a weak smile, and watched as Miss Patty’s eyes practically devoured him. “A great pleasure,” Miss Patty purred.

Rory started, as if an unexpected idea had just popped into her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Lorelai hurrying over. “Why don’t you introduce him to some of the other guests,” Rory suggested. “I need to help my mom and Sookie with some things in the kitchen.” The idea was meant to accomplish two things: interfere with Lorelai’s inevitable need to find out everything about Tristan and why he was currently standing in their living room, and to keep Tristan occupied for the duration of the party. It also didn’t hurt that she would be able to enjoy watching his uneasiness at being fawned over by Miss Patty.

The woman beamed. “What a lovely idea,” she cooed. She slipped an arm through Tristan’s.

He turned to her, hints of panic in his blue eyes. Rory only smiled. “That’s Miss Patty. You’ll be in good hands. She’ll take good care of you,” she assured, resisting the urge to double over in laughter at the fearful expression that fluttered over his features.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” he whispered, tentatively.

Rory wasn’t allowed to assuage his concerns. As soon as he had finished uttering his concerns, Miss Patty had pulled him into the thick of the party, dragging him behind her. A giggle escaped Rory’s lips as she watched the scene unfold before her. The soft giggle soon became a full-fledged laugh as she watched Michel walking through the center of the party. The Frenchman had paused to give Miss Patty a distasteful look - one that was duly returned by the woman - and a bewildered look at Tristan.

“You look and smell like you have money,” he drawled, eyeing Tristan suspiciously. “What are you doing here?” Tristan must have mumbled something, but Miss Patty immediately took over the conversation. Bored and having lost all respect for the two, Michel sauntered away.

“What are you laughing at?” Lorelai had finally made it to Rory’s side. She reached out and affixed a party hat on her daughter’s head. Then playfully, she blew a noisemaker into Rory’s face.

“Nothing,” Rory assured, even as she grinned broadly. She swatted at the offending party item.

Lorelai shrugged, then glanced around the room. Her eyes stopped as soon as they spied the occupants of the couch. “Rory, daughter, love of my life…” She started slow, as if hesitant and puzzled. “Who’s that?” In the air, her finger jabbed in the general direction that Miss Patty had taken Tristan, who was now sitting sandwiched between herself and Kirk. “And why is he at my party?” Lorelai frowned, then turned an expectant look at Rory.

Rory swallowed. She knew this discussion would come up; she just never realized how much she was dreading it until her mother had actually started it. “That’s Tristan,” she chirped, matter-of-factly.

Lorelai’s eyes narrowed. When she suggested that Rory invite Chilton friends, Tristan had obviously not been one of the people she had been considering. “That’s evil Tristan?” she squeaked.

Rory shifted uncomfortably on her feet. “Yes,” she mumbled, glancing down and looking away from her mother.

“Foul Tristan?”

Rory frowned. “He doesn’t smell.”

Lorelai smirked. “Unpleasant, revolting, nasty, obnoxious Tristan?”

Holding back a groan, Rory rolled her eyes. “Yes,” she stressed, hoping it would stop her mother from continuing.

There was a second of silence as Lorelai stared at Tristan from across the room. “Okay,” she finally muttered. “Why is vile Tristan at my party?”

Rory threw her an anxious look. If Lorelai kept this up, it was going to be a long and uncomfortable night for all of them. “You’re not going to be referring to him with ‘evil’ descriptors before his name all night long, are you?” She couldn’t help the pleading tone from seeping into her question.

Lorelai was startled by the tone of her voice. Rory never begged for anything, especially anything that had to do with Tristan DuGrey. Her eyes narrowed once more. “Maybe…” Lorelai pondered it for a second. Then slowly, she repeated her initial question. “Why is… Tristan… at my party?” She had to pause in order to remember not to add another synonym for “evil” before his name, per Rory’s request. And having that fun exercise taken away from her, Lorelai employed another method of torture. She emphasized Tristan’s name, suggestively, and added a leer for effect.

It did not go unnoticed by Rory, who let her mother know that she did not appreciate her new game. “It’s my party,” she reminded, haughtily. “And I invited him.” There was a triumphant lilt to her voice, knowing that Lorelai could not argue with that point.

But it wouldn’t stop her from trying. Lorelai quirked a brow. “So when did you become a sado-masochist?” she twittered, enjoying the flush that had suddenly appeared on Rory’s cheeks. Interesting, given the fact that her daughter had a devoted boyfriend at her beck and call. She turned her eyes back on the attractive young man sitting on her couch, practically squirming under Miss Patty’s attentive interest. Maybe Rory wasn’t so strange after all. Lorelai opened her mouth, ready to make a crack about Rory apparently being quite alive in the “noticing boys” department, only to be cut off by said daughter.

“I’m being nice,” Rory informed, smugly. “And I thought I’d introduce you to a new plaything you can have fun with.”

Lorelai’s eyes widened in shock and protestation. “Okay. How did you manage to make me sound like Mrs. Robinson?” she demanded, pouting.

Rory laughed and rolled her eyes. Wracking her brain for a quick excuse that would persuade her mother to leave Tristan alone, she pulled out the trump card, the one thing that even her mother, who could be cruelly sarcastic in her teasing, would defer to. “Mom. His grandfather…”

She didn’t have to finish. Lorelai moaned and absently waved her hand in the air. “Okay, okay. I’ll be nice,” she grumbled, as if the effort to be nice to Tristan was much too taxing for her.

“You should be,” Rory wagged a brow at her. “He brought presents.”

That caught Lorelai’s attention. She faced Rory, a look of overt and childish joy on her face. Rory almost burst into laughter at her mother’s expression. “Ooh. What?” Lorelai asked, excitedly.

“Gourmet coffee beans,” Rory informed, merrily.

“Ahh. The good stuff. A man after my heart. I give him your hand with all my blessings,” Lorelai teased, affecting a solemn air.

“Mom!” Rory frowned. Her mother was not playing fair. She crossed her arms in front of her, directing a deadly look at her mother to let her know that she was not amused.

Lorelai rolled her eyes and sighed. “What else did Juan Valdez bring?”

Rory gave her mother an exasperated look. “His donkey,” she smirked, readily. “But I told him to park it outside.”

“Good thinking,” Lorelai snapped her fingers. “Wouldn’t want it to make a mess in the house. And what color, pray tell, is said donkey?” She arched a brow and waited.

“Silver,” Rory answered, without missing a beat.

Lorelai pursed her lips approvingly. “Very nice,” she cooed. She beamed at her daughter, nodding to herself. “Well… carry on. I don’t see you celebrating.”

Rory rolled her eyes and gave her mother a mock salute. “Aye, aye.”

Lorelai started back towards the party, but paused a minute longer to direct another curious glance in Tristan’s direction. Rory gave her a helping push towards Sookie’s direction. Growling unappreciatively, Lorelai complied and rushed over to her best friend, eager to share in her newfound information. Rory herself glanced around, suddenly unsure what she was supposed to be doing. Taking a deep breath, she was soon lost within the throng of family and friends.

For once, the companionable silence was disconcerting.

“That’s Tristan.” Off-hand. Plaintive. Matter-of-fact.

“Yes.” Equally blasé.

They stood near the kitchen, where they could speak without worrying about the blare of the stereo. Rory heard Lane take a deep cleansing breath. “He’s the guy who made your life miserable last year?” Another deep breath. “The guy who kept bugging you for a date. The one always flirting with you. The one you’ve been worried about this year?” There was a hint of incredulity in Lane’s voice.

“Well…” Rory was about to object, but realized there was no reason for her to do so. Even if she didn’t like the skeptical tone of Lane’s voice, her friend had not said anything that was untrue. “Yes.” Rory sounded defeated.

“The one you swore you would never go out with,” Lane added.

“This isn’t a date,” Rory complained, grousing. “I just invited him to my birthday party.”

Lane glanced at her sharply, as if Rory had not managed to effectively convince her of the difference between a date and a birthday party. When Rory refused to respond, Lane turned a cautious and thoughtful gaze on Tristan, who was still sitting on the couch. She tilted her head contemplatively. “He’s the guy we saw get dumped at Madeline’s party last year,” Lane said, more to herself than for confirmation.

“Yes,” Rory repeated.

Lane chewed on her lower lip. “So that Tristan…” She gestured at the boy sitting on the couch, and was momentarily distracted when Henry appeared out of nowhere to greet him. For a brief moment, Tristan actually appeared relieved. And at ease. The contrast between a relaxed Tristan and an anxious Tristan was perplexing. Lane continued, “…and the bad Tristan… are one and the same?” She quirked a brow in disbelief. “He didn’t look so evil…”

Rory squirmed under Lane’s intense scrutiny. “Well, you’d hardly expect him to be evil when he was being dumped. In public.”

“He’s sitting in your living room,” Lane pointed out, unnecessarily. “On your couch.”

Her exclamation managed to jar Rory. Exactly what had she been thinking when she invited Tristan to her party? She must have been out of her mind. Still out of her mind. The knowledge irked her. “Yes. How did you…” Rory furrowed her brow and aimed a questioning look at her best friend. It occurred to her that she had never introduced Tristan to Lane. She had spoke of him, but never really described him before. Lane had seen him at the disastrous party last year, but hadn’t asked for specifics, especially after Rory had gone to her in tears. In the aftermath of her wallowing, Lane had forgotten to ask about the boy who had been notoriously and unceremoniously dumped in front of all his friends.

Lane rolled her eyes. “Give me some credit, Rory. He doesn’t go to Stars Hollow, and the only time I’ve ever seen him was at Madeline’s party. So I asked Henry, and he told me. And now… I want to know why you didn’t tell me.” Lane frowned. She wasn’t so much upset at the fact that Rory hadn’t introduced him to her at the party, but that Rory hadn’t even bothered to inform her that she had invited him in the first place.

“It slipped my mind,” Rory apologized, smiling hopefully, knowing how lame she sounded.

Lane sighed, unable to hold a grudge. “Does Dean know?” Trust Lane to ask all the important questions.

Rory averted her eyes, cheeks reddening in embarrassment. “I found them having a… conversation… outside.” Was that what it was? A conversation?

“About you,” Lane stated, matter-of-factly, even as her dark eyes danced brightly. There was something romantic about the idea of two boys fighting over her best friend that excited her.

“No!” Rory protested, weakly. “Not about me…” She flushed again, self-conscious. “Lane…” she tsked, evasively.

But Lane was no longer listening. As far as she was concerned, Rory could object until she was blue in the face. Lane was concerned with more immediate things. For instance… She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Why didn’t you tell me he’s hot.” Statement. Not a question. She turned a blank expression at Rory.

“He’s…” Lane’s statement had caught her off-guard. “He’s not… He’s… That wasn’t important!” she blurted, as if the thought had never crossed her mind. Mortified, Rory found herself blushing again. Even as she tried to contradict Lane’s observation - and failing miserably at the attempt - she couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment.

Lane pretended not to notice Rory’s weak assertions that nothing was going on between her and Tristan. “I mean, now I know why Dean doesn’t like him and feels threatened by him.” Lane smirked.

“He’s not threatened,” Rory huffed, wishing Lane would stop tormenting her. She didn’t need to be reminded that Tristan was good-looking, but even good looks were not enough to neutralize an obnoxious personality. Not that Tristan had been exhibiting an obnoxious personality the past few weeks… Rory made a face. She also did not want to be reminded about Dean, who had been putting up a temper tantrum by avoiding her.

“He’s hot,” Lane maintained, now actively beaming mischievously. “You agree, though, right? That he’s hot? I mean, Dean hasn’t totally blinded you to that, right?” There was a nervous quality to Lane’s questions that made Rory want to chuckle. It was almost as if Lane needed her to agree.

Despite herself, Rory smiled slowly, sensing the action light up her face. Abashedly, she agreed slowly, knowingly. “Yes… he’s… not bad,” she conceded, giving an embarrassed shrug.

Lane’s eyes twinkled. “Wow,” she teased. “Don’t let me force it out of you.”

Rory tried to frown, but was unsuccessful. Once the smile graced her lips, she found it hard to get rid of it. “He knows it. He doesn’t need my affirmation,” she remarked, injecting as much annoyance as she could muster into the timbre of her voice.

Lane turned her attention back to Tristan. She watched him for a minute before saying anything. “He looks kind of sad still… and… uncomfortable.”

Rory choked on her cup of punch. “He’s sitting between Miss Patty and Taylor,” she pointed out, laughing. It was mean of her, really, but she had enjoyed the look of horror and agony on his face as the person sitting on one side of him kept changing while Miss Patty remained a constant fixture on his other side.

Suddenly, Lane brightened. “I’ll go make him feel better,” she offered, cheerily and eagerly. Lane took a bouncy step in the direction of the couch.

For an insane second, Rory was struck by another panic attack. Unconsciously, she reached out and grabbed at Lane’s sleeve, hauling her forcefully back. Lane turned, puzzled, although the glimmer in her dark eyes danced amusedly. “Lane, you have Henry,” she reminded, stressing the boyfriend’s name.

Lane directed a strange look at her, as if she didn’t recognize the Rory that stood before her. “Wow,” she breathed. “When did you become so possessive?”

Rory blanched, frazzled. It wasn’t the response she had been expecting. Incredulous, Rory frowned, wondering when Lane had turned into Lorelai with her retorts. “What? I’m not…” she protested, voice faltering.

Lane merely tsked, distractedly. “Yes, you are. You handed him over to Miss Patty and you just know that no other girl will go near him with Miss Patty around. Besides, Henry will understand. I’m just being friendly,” she asserted. “If he’s not going to be jealous, you shouldn’t be either.” She grinned brightly, as if there was nothing odd about her taking steps to become acquainted with Tristan.

“Very funny.” Rory frowned, even as Lane’s accusation hit her hard. Was she jealous? It was impossible. She had a boyfriend who managed to make her heart flutter, managed to make her smile even through the doldrums of one of her worst days, and unselfishly brought her coffee to cheer her up. And yet, she couldn’t discount the heavy fretful feeling that had weighed down her heart when Lane had so enthusiastically volunteered to keep Tristan company. Nor could she stop the recently dormant butterflies in the pit of her stomach from demanding her attention once again.

“Where’s Dean?” Lane blurted, asking another one of those annoying questions that brought Rory’s attention back to reality.

“He’s… uh…” She didn’t like the knowing look Lane aimed at her. As if she knew exactly what Rory’s mind had been on -- a certain someone whose name did not start with Dean.

Lane quirked a brow, smiling innocently. “Right there?” she asked, nodding imperceptibly towards the stairwell, where Dean was pouting, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, staring blankly at Tristan, as if on watch.

Rory snapped her fingers, as if she had known the answer all along. “Right.”

“Go,” Lane ordered, giving her best friend a push towards the upset boyfriend. Lane then turned her bright smile towards Tristan. “I’ll talk to this one,” she said, to no one in particular. It was, after all, a sacrifice she was willing to make.

It wasn’t as if he had put forth the effort to seek her out. Rather, he seemed to have made a conscious attempt to avoid her, believing that she was still upset from the conversation they had had outside earlier that evening. It was her birthday party and he should have left things alone. Only he hadn’t, and he was certain that she was holding a grudge. She hadn’t even bothered to glance in his direction since she had walked back into the house. Granted, she was too busy with her other guests to worry about him. And luckily, she hadn’t bothered to stay by the other boy’s side either, leaving him to his own devices. Still, she should have at least attempted to speak to him at some point. Until then, he was ready to sulk in the corner, keeping a vigilant watch over the other boy.

She didn’t know why she had evaded him. She only knew that it had been more fun watching Tristan squirm under the intense scrutiny provided by the local townsfolk than patching up any hurt feelings that may have resulted from her attempt to welcome every single one of her guests. Welcome? Was that what she had done? Rory winced, unable to shake the nagging feeling that maybe she had shown Tristan a little more welcome than she had shown her other guests. Than she had shown Dean. Of course, there was also the minute part of her brain that chided her for having defended Tristan to Dean. It wasn’t the way a girlfriend was supposed to behave, not where Dean and Tristan were concerned. She couldn’t, however, return to the past and change anything. What was done, was done. And letting Tristan’s discomfort in being found out of his element entertain her… well, even Dean should have been able to understand that.

Entertained, she was. It never ceased to amaze her how Tristan could handle himself with such aplomb even though his apprehension was evident. The boy who hid under a charming façade during school, winning over teachers and other students alike, was now dumbfounded and reticent in his current position. There was something very impressive about watching him deal with such strange environs. With her mind preoccupied, she hadn’t found it necessary to worry over whether Dean was enjoying himself. After all, wasn’t that what her grandmother had wanted from her at her last birthday party? To be the good little hostess? And didn’t being a good hostess necessitate making sure all her guests were having fun, not just concentrating on the whims of any one particular person. Or at least that was what she had told herself. Still, Dean was her boyfriend…

Rory walked up to him, dipping her head and offering a shy smile. “Hey.”

He stood straighter, the knowledge that she had been the one to make amends making him less tense. “Hey,” he returned. There was something awkward about this greeting that wasn’t usually there. Both knew they had played a part in creating the tension. And while Dean understood why Rory would feel defensive about having him accept her guests, he couldn’t make himself understand why one of them had to have been Tristan. Still, she was standing before him and not sitting beside Tristan. That had to count for something. He smiled at her. “Having fun, birthday girl?”

She grinned brightly. “I’d have more fun if I got my birthday kiss,” she prompted, giving him an expectant look. She pouted pertly at him, exaggerating her rosy lips.

Dean laughed. Reaching out with one arm, he pulled her towards him, holding her close. She snuggled into the crook of his arm and wrapped her arms around him. Lowering his head, he placed a tender kiss on her upturned lips. They lingered in that position for less than a minute. Pulling away slowly, she cuddled up to him once again, reveling in his warmth. This was how it was supposed to be: no fighting, no anger, no unfounded jealousy. Just the two of them. They had strayed from this feeling and this comfort level the past few weeks, and Rory was eager to return to it. Eager to remember that Dean was her boyfriend, the one who had the power to make her feel crazy and loopy and insanely giddy. Not Tristan, she reminded herself, fruitlessly. Especially not Tristan. Just for a few minutes, she wanted to be able to remember that and believe it, and banish all thoughts concerning Tristan DuGrey out of her mind. Even if she was finding it impossible to do so with him so near. There was something very simple and uncomplicated about the yearning to return to their old ways. As she prayed the moment would last, she didn’t notice that Dean had placed his chin against the top of her head, his eyes inevitably wandering in Tristan’s direction. He wished the rich boy had been watching so he could see the green glow of envy wash over Tristan’s face. Unfortunately, luck was not with him that night. Tristan, engrossed in a conversation with Lane and Henry, had missed out on the intimate gesture between Rory and her boyfriend, and even if he had been witness to it, he would have been hard-pressed to react, especially in front of such a pro-Dean gathering.

He would have been put off by the kiss, of course, but would have suffered in silence. What was one more pain to append to the growing list of hurt Rory inflicted on him. However, had he been able to sit through the intimacy, the subsequent scene would have interested him greatly. While Dean stared disgustedly in his direction, Rory’s shiny blue eyes were cautiously following his own actions. Closer examination might have convinced Tristan that he had seen what might have been defined as jealousy in those bright blue eyes.

Only Tristan would never know. Both Lane and Henry had full command of his attention, which he was suitably grateful for. Miss Patty had commandeered his attention long enough, making him uncomfortable and wishing desperately for Rory, or even Dean - anyone but the rambunctious former dancer - to rescue him.

Sudden laughter of three intermingled voices broke into Rory’s concentration. Her eyes glanced sharply at her three friends on the couch. Lane and Tristan were deep in an animated conversation, her hands flying all over the place in a wild pantomime, as Henry guffawed heartily. Tristan, still uncomfortably out of his league, was more reserved, though his entire body language had relaxed a degree. His eyes gleamed brilliantly and the overconfident grin had returned to its rightful place on his full lips.

With a heavy heart, Rory realized that they were having a fun time. Laughing. Joking. Surprisingly, Lane had lost most of her shyness around strange boys. It might have been a side effect of having Henry nearby, but the scene was still disconcerting to Rory who had only ever seen her best friend tongue-tied in front of boys. And Tristan was amazingly sincere in his laughter. She watched as he behaved charmingly, attentive to every word Lane uttered. She hadn’t thought it possible for him to act in such a way, especially with people he did not know and did not need to manipulate into falling for him. And yet, there he was. Sitting on her couch. Surrounded by Lane, Henry, and Miss Patty. Not smirking. Unconceited. Displaying certain awkward gestures, but definitely - impossibly - enjoying himself.

With an instant grasp of the peculiar feeling that had surged within her, settling disturbingly in the pit of her stomach and displacing the equally annoying butterflies, Rory became conscious of the fact that she wanted to be across the room, experiencing this new Tristan. She wished she could be certain this was the real him, the one he kept hidden from all the other poseurs at Chilton. She wished she could hear what they were saying, what they were laughing about, what they were so engrossed in. She wished that Dean’s arm around her hadn’t tightened instinctively upon seeing where her eyes were directed.

Rory was jealous. She could finally admit it to herself. But it wasn’t jealously borne out of Lane getting to know Tristan better than she had ever allowed herself to. She was merely jealous because she was missing out on a good conversation. That was it. It had to be it. There shouldn’t have been any other rationale.

“Hey,” Dean called out, gaining her attention. He watched her pull her eyes away with some difficulty. Tamping down the irritation welling up inside him, he gave her a little squeeze. He continued when he saw her confused look. “We haven’t had any time to hang out alone tonight. How about we go outside for a little while?” he suggested.

Rory smiled. “Sure,” she agreed, trying to be enthusiastic. In reality, she welcomed the suggestion. If she stayed indoors any longer, she knew she would inevitably be drawn towards the threesome gracing the couch. And if that happened, she didn’t think Dean would be able to pull her away, short of a physical fight.

Dean smiled, relief etched across his face. It was good to have his girlfriend back and her mind solely on him for once that evening. Cutting through the crowd, he led her out the front door and into the brisk night air.

The first thing that pierced Lorelai’s reverie was the warm breathe of air caressing loose strands of hair by her left cheek. She continued staring out into the living room, unperturbed. The puff of air occurred once more. As if dealing with a pestering fly, her hand shot out, absently waving away whatever was causing the movement. The strands of dark hair moved again, tickling against her cheek. Annoyed and frowning, her hand swatted the air again. It wasn’t until the fourth time that she snapped her head around, ready to lash out at whoever it was that insisted on standing in such close proximity to her.

“Excuse me, pervert. I’m standing in this space right now,” she growled, irritated. She turned. To face an unamused Luke.

Unimpressed and not feeling the need to entertain or care about Luke, Lorelai rolled her dark brown eyes and turned her attention back to a corner of the living room. She edged up against the doorframe, hiding halfway behind it in the confines of the kitchen. Luke, interest piqued, stepped up behind her and peeked over her shoulder. He had no idea what he was supposed to be staring at, and Lorelai did not seem interested in explaining. A moment later, as his suspicious dark brown eyes roamed the crowded living room, he found it.

“Who’s that?” he asked, loudly, making no attempt to hide his irritation at seeing a stranger at Rory’s party.

Lorelai cringed, hearing Luke’s loud tenor voice crackling directly into her ear. “Shh. Not so loud,” she admonished, whispering. “I think that’s Tristan.”

Luke had eavesdropped on enough Lorelai/Rory conversations regarding the student population of Chilton to immediately recognize the name. It was not one to be revered, nor was he impressed. Frowning parentally, he glared at Tristan from his hiding place, his eyes never leaving the unsuspecting Tristan’s carefree face. “I’m going to have a talk with him,” Luke announced, stepping out to pass Lorelai.

Grabbing his flannel sleeve, furiously, she yanked him back into the kitchen. “You’ll do no such thing.”

“That guy’s nothing but trouble. The way he treats Rory…” Luke stabbed his finger in the air at Tristan’s unsuspecting form.

“Sure. You get to play hero by going out there and reaming him, but I’m the one who ultimately gets the full brunt of Rory’s wrath. You acting all protective is cute. When I do it, it’s ‘Mom’!” Lorelai ruthlessly mimicked her daughter’s aggravated voice. “And believe me, coffee man, if she takes it out on me, I’m taking it out on you.” She snickered evilly.

Finally, assenting with a reluctant grunt, Luke resumed his position behind Lorelai. His gaze of distrust lingered on Tristan, watching as the boy chatted with Henry and occasionally exchanged a few thoughtful words with Miss Patty. A second later, Tristan’s eyes flickered up, wandering around the room and resting on Rory. An embarrassed look crossed Tristan’s face and he quickly ducked his head, controlling himself before carrying on the conversation with his friend. Instantly, Luke’s gruff features softened. The transformation lasted for mere seconds, before the distrust creased his brow once again. Following Lorelai’s lead, he employed the use of an exaggerated whisper. “Does he know?”

Rolling her eyes, Lorelai broke her concentration on Tristan, having found that her telepathic powers of persuasion to have him meet her eye from across the room had failed. She turned to Luke, giving him an incredulous look, as if humoring a small child. “His name?” she squeaked, whispering in disbelief. “I would think so,” she tsked, disappointed in him.

He threw her a dirty look that was tagged onto the tail end of his own eye roll. “What’s wrong with him?” he demanded. And fed up with the clandestine conversation, “And why are we whispering?”

An annoyed sigh passed Lorelai’s lips. Luke would never be good at playing spy, and the petulant pout of her lips at his refusal to continue playing her game informed him of that. “He has other things on his mind, and we don’t want him to know.” Her voice was back to normal now, having realized that no one would be able to overhear them over the blare of the stereo.

“That he has other things on his mind, or that we’re talking about him?” Luke asked, face neutral and expressionless as he humored her.

She gave her head a shake, throwing him an evil look. “Both,” she stressed, smirking.

He allowed a quick grin to cross his lips as she whipped her head around, her attention refocusing on the boy sitting on her couch. Leaning closer to her, he dipped his head to her ear and whispered conspiratorially, “He seems oddly harmless.” The tone of his voice contradicted the sentiments conveyed by his words. And just in case she had missed it, he qualified his statement for her. “We better watch out.”

Not bothering to face him, Lorelai rolled her eyes at no one in particular. Scrunching up her face, she tiredly intoned, “Leave him alone.” There was silence behind her and she took the opportunity to squint her eyes at Tristan, willing him to turn his head and see her evil glare from behind the doorframe. No such luck.

“Like you are?” Luke asked, mocking her.

Another sigh. As if they had gone through this already. “I’m the mother,” she reminded needlessly, bored. “I have a right to stare at him all night until he can’t take it anymore and runs screaming out of the room.” She grinned to herself and threw a casually mocking evil glare back in Tristan’s direction, enjoying the visual her words produced in her over-caffeinated brain.

Luke was not amused. “Why is he here?” he insisted on knowing. There was something about Rory that tugged his oversensitive paternal side out to the surface.

“His grandfather’s sick. Or was sick. Or died. Or something,” Lorelai informed, flippantly.

“So he’s partying it up?” A hint of incredulity and deep mistrust. The boy was obviously up to no good. He could tell that much just from the preppy way the kid dressed. Anyone trying that hard to make a good impression did not deserve to be given the benefit of the doubt.

“Oh, yeah. He looks like quite the party animal, doesn’t he?” Lorelai snickered. So far, during the entire course of the party, Tristan had remained firmly planted on the couch with Miss Patty sidled up next to him. As if her uncomfortable proximity were not enough, the idea of wandering into the heart of the party by himself had seemed a much scarier prospect than dealing with the exuberant woman. Much like Rory had moments before, Lorelai loved every minute of watching him squirm.

“You know what I mean,” Luke groaned. Getting any information out of Lorelai was like having his teeth pulled, one by one, without the aid of anesthesia.

Lorelai bounced on the balls of her feet as she simultaneously twirled around to meet his gaze. She was grinning wildly. “He’s about to get up and break dance. You ever see a rich boy do the caterpillar? Not fun.” She shook her head, feigning sadness and solemnity.

“You’re just a belly full of laughs, aren’t you?” Luke deadpanned, not blinking.

Lorelai directed a look at him, scolding him for not playing along. “Rory just thought he’d like to be cheered up, and God knows there’s nothing like a Gilmore birthday party.”

He only stared at her. “Does she know?” he asked, cryptically.

“That he’s here? That he’s been sitting on my couch and hitting on Miss Patty for the past hour?” She rambled teasingly, rolling her eyes for emphasis on exactly what she thought of his question. He kept staring at her, expressionless, enduring her mocking tones. “She invited him, genius,” she trilled.

He waited until she was finished. When she signaled to him that she was done, he simply replied, “No, that he likes your daughter.”

The response made her pause, finally cutting into her already muddled brain. Taking a deep breath, she favored him with a strange look, wondering if they had been staring at the same boy for the past few minutes. “Okay,” she started, slowly, careful to enunciate every single word. “See… this is what happens when you drink too much of that tea you keep trying to hawk on me.” Giving her finger a reproachful wag in his face, she tsked softly. “This is the only PSA I’m giving you tonight, so listen closely. Tea. It warps your brain.” Then placing her hands at her hips, she gave him a look of delirium. “What the hell are you talking about, Earl Grey?”

Seeing the proud look on her face, Luke couldn’t stifle the desire to burst her bubble. “Look at him,” he gestured, towards the living room. “Look at the way he looks at Rory. When she walks by.”

Grumbling, Lorelai looked out into the living room, locating both Tristan, who still remained seated on her couch, and her daughter, who was partaking of the chips after having just reentered the house moments before. Nothing happened. And as Lorelai gleefully reminded Luke, nothing was supposed to happen. Tristan was lost in a stilted conversation with Henry and Miss Patty. He didn’t even bother to glance up and locate Rory. Lorelai frowned, perplexed, and turned back to Luke. “I don’t need to look. I already know you’re crazy. Do the words ‘vacation time’ mean anything to your overstressed brain?” she rebuked, feeling guilty for having stared at her daughter and her recent enemy, hoping for something dramatic to happen. “There must be residual paint fumes from last year. See, that’s what happens when you buy cheap paint,” she grumbled.

He growled. “You brought the paint. And it didn’t affect me.”

“You sure?” Lorelai arched a perfect brow, needling him.

“Funny.”

She broke out into a smile. “I thought so…” she agreed, mainly to herself.

“Look,” Luke stressed, drawing out the words. He reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders, twisting her around in a not so gentle maneuver.

Lorelai’s eyes instantly found her daughter again. Interesting. Rory had finally made her way towards Tristan. In what was their first indoor contact of the evening, she waved and greeted both Chilton boys upon her approach. Lane had disappeared for some reason or other, and Rory scooted in front of Tristan to take the vacated seat beside Henry. As she carefully made her way through the sliver of space between Tristan and the coffee table, trying hard not to get her clothes snagged on either one, her head dropped down, eyes locked onto the ground in an attempt to seek out any obstacles that would hinder her movement. Rory had missed the look entirely. When she passed him, Tristan’s head had snapped up, his eyes locking onto her averted face. It was hard for Lorelai and Luke, even from that distance, to miss the expression of utter admiration and awe that had fluttered across the boy’s face. The gentle smile of adoration playing at the corners of his full lips was enough evidence for the two adults to know that something - at least on his part - was clearly there, if not cloaked away in the recesses of his heart. As Rory sat down and finally faced him, his tender smile was replaced by the habitually overconfident grin, even as his long lashes beat back the affection that still shone through his cobalt blue eyes.

“Hmm.” Neither a sound of consent nor a catalyst for reprisal.

After all they had just witnessed, that one word, spoken so noncommittally, irked Luke. “That’s all you have to say? Hmm?” he inquired, peeved.

Lorelai gave her head a sharp sarcastic shake. “Well, happy, happy, joy, joy was already taken,” she snickered, giving a short snort of a humorless chuckle.

When Luke glowered at her and turned away to mutter his exasperation, Lorelai frowned to herself. She should have been upset. She should have rushed over there, wiped the smug grin off his face. She should have pulled Tristan to his feet and not so kindly advised him to keep his wandering eyes to himself. Informed him that Rory had a boyfriend already and did not need his attentions. Only she couldn’t. He seemed so incredibly lost in his own awe-induced thoughts that she had too much compassion to break his heart. Let the boy lose himself in his own fantasies. Rory would not be swayed by anything less than genuine heartfelt affection. Trusting Rory knew more about her own heart and would not appreciate her assistance, Lorelai refrained from stepping into the fray. But mostly, Lorelai needed to think.

Besides, Luke was doing enough worrying for the both of them. “I don’t like that look,” he muttered, shaking his head in aversion and undisguised wariness. He turned to Lorelai and wagged a finger at her. “It’s bad enough that punk bag boy is dating her… doing God knows what with her…” He didn’t finish the sentence, seeing Lorelai’s face scrunch up and hearing her mutter the word “Gross.” “The last thing we need,” he continued, firmer, gaining her attention once more, even as she rolled her eyes in boredom, “is this rich snot hanging around her.”

Lorelai’s eyes sparkled with unfettered awe as the beginnings of a playful smile tugged at the edges of her lips. “You’re amazing,” she intoned breathlessly, making it sound as seductive as possible, trying to distract him from whatever ridiculous scheme she was positive was formulating in his mind.

Luke glared at her, comprehending the tactic she was utilizing. He knew she thought he was insane, caring much too deeply for Rory even though technically, he had no reason to. The fact that Lorelai didn’t seem to be worried, however, grated on him. She was Rory’s mother. She was supposed to rant and rave and worry over the tiniest details regarding her daughter. “And you don’t care?” he inquired, cynically.

Lorelai shook her head. “I’m not worried, if that’s what you’re getting at,” she assured, offhandedly. “She has a boyfriend,” she was quick to remind.

Luke stared at her, disbelief written all over his scruffy face. His face creased with worry. “Oh, what? Like having a boyfriend ever stopped a guy from liking a girl,” he scoffed, throwing her a strange look.

“What?” Lorelai choked, laughing, unable to understand why Luke was so worked up. And now… it didn’t even seem like they were discussing Rory anymore.

“What is it with Gilmores and their obliviousness?” Luke continued. The peculiar distant glaze remained over his dark eyes.

She bit her lower lip, contemplating him for a brief second. No, she was positive they were no longer discussing her daughter anymore. “Luke,” she started off slowly, tempering the desire to tease him over his somber mood. “Is there something you want to tell me?” She wiggled a brow at him.

As if yanked out of whatever faraway thoughts his mind had been consumed with, Luke stared at her, a vacuous expression stealing over his rough features. Repressing whatever he had been about to say, he gave a deep huff of annoyance, as if frustrated with Lorelai’s laidback parental skills. “Just be careful,” he advised, grumpily. He brushed past her, lowering the ever-present baseball cap over his face.

Lorelai closed her hanging mouth as Luke left her standing by herself. Squinting her eyes in confusion, she stared after him. Then remembering that she had other things to worry about, she turned her attention back to her daughter and the rich “snot” who obviously had more than just friendly eyes for Rory. Sighing, she groaned and retreated back into the kitchen. Luke had worked her over, messing with her mind, and now she couldn’t even enjoy herself without suppressing the urge to rush out there and insist on knowing what his strange look had been about. Mumbling to herself, Lorelai went in search of coffee.

There was a moment of awkwardness as Henry stood to rejoin Lane by the stereo. She had gestured frantically to him as soon as Rory had sat down beside him, leaving Rory alone with Tristan. If it had been a calculated move on the part of an abnormally devious best friend, neither Rory nor Tristan brought it up. After all, there was still the matter of Miss Patty to be dealt with. However, as the fates would have it, a loud debate a few yards away, taking place between Taylor and Luke, managed to catch her interest. Scurrying away, she left the two to their own devices. If Rory hadn’t been one of the parties involved, she might have found the situation comical. But now, without Miss Patty present to steer the conversation, or interrupt with her thoughts regarding any other topic of interest, Rory and Tristan sat in relative silence despite the fact that the room was reverberating with music, laughter, and discussion. Rory sat paralyzed in her spot, a good seat cushion away from him, until Kirk managed to squeeze into the tiny space between her and the armrest, effectively forcing her closer to Tristan. She didn’t dare move, conscious of the two inches of sofa that delineated the boundary between awkward friendship and embarrassing more. Tristan, on the other hand, found his eyes gravitating to the frustratingly minute distance between them. For some reason, as soon as she had scooted over with an apologetic smile, the temperature in the room had been kicked up a notch. Or a few hundred degrees. The thick sweater he wore was now too much, trapping him in an envelope of his own heat while simultaneously managing to soak up whatever warmth was emanating from her directly into his skin. It was becoming unbearably hot and suffocating.

The same goal of alleviating the uncomfortable silence crossed their minds. They opened their mouths at the same time, wanting to say something to ease the tension. Catching each other’s open mouths, they both hesitated and shared a nervous laugh. Rory glanced down, blushing. Tristan, likewise, averted his eyes, glancing away, trying to regain his composure. For some reason, he was scared of her. Scared to breathe in case the jarring movement inadvertently caused him to brush up against her. Scared to be this close in proximity to her in front of all her friends and family. Scared of being pulled out of his seat by his collar and thrown out of the house, forbidden to return, as soon as they all saw through him. He was ultimately scared that Dean had been right -- that everyone, including Rory, knew what he was really up to, even if he himself had no real clue.

Rory tried again, seeing that Tristan would defer to her and force her to make the first move now. “Well, you don’t look so distracted and uncomfortable anymore,” she noted, wryly. The same could not be said about how she herself was feeling. She tried not to concentrate on that, telling herself that it was only a byproduct of having to entertain Tristan outside of school. Voluntarily. She made a mental note to psychoanalyze herself later after everyone else had left.

He grinned. “So you liked me in my vulnerable state?” Having not spoken to her since his arrival, he automatically reverted back to his usual playful attitude with her. It was so simple. So natural.

She was immediately game, recognizing his lighthearted, yet lightly sarcastic tone. Their familiar sport, as usual, effortless. “More like pitiful,” she bemoaned, dramatically, teasing him through the use of her twinkling eyes.

A mischievous gleam danced across his face, the familiar smirk settling comfortably on his pouting lips. “You could kiss me and make me feel better,” he suggested, leering at her, despite the fact that they were sitting out in the open, where her boyfriend might overhear. But with her deep blue eyes locked on him in that way… he didn’t care if Dean suddenly popped up and pummeled him. It would be worth it if Rory would only keep smiling exasperatedly at him.

“That would defeat the purpose of seeing you suffer,” she snickered, thoroughly enjoying herself and the lively sparks his spirited retorts generated in her.

He pretended to be shocked. The expression suited him and she was almost convinced of its sincerity. “Rory! I didn’t know you were so vindictive,” he teased.

“Among other things,” she agreed, wondering where that response had come from. When had she started playing their game by his rules?

Delighted, Tristan opened his mouth to lavish her with one of his predictably lecherous remarks, but was cut off by the dimming of the overhead lights. Plunged into a shadowy darkness, the thought of edging up against her, thereby eliminating the maddening space separating them, crossed his mind before he angrily brushed it away. It wasn’t right to take advantage of her in that way. Not that Rory would have noticed. Her eyes were the size of saucers, immediately drawn towards the kitchen, where her mother had suddenly appeared, cradling a two-tiered white frosted cake out before her. Sookie and Luke crowded behind her, trying to anticipate a slip or a trip that would send the cake flying and splattering to the ground.

There would be no bad omens that night. Seeing the procession, Rory stood up and groaned in utter humiliation. Tristan took advantage of the darkened room to steal away into a corner, his legs protesting their initial use after having been inactive for so long. There had been a strong urge to separate himself from the festivities. No matter how much he tried to acquaint himself with the people surrounding him, Tristan was conscious of how alone he was in the crowd of family and friends -- people who had known Rory for years and who were blessed with her unquestioning esteem. He was not one of them. Not yet. Maybe not ever. And as such, he felt it necessary to distance himself. Slipping into the shadows, he rested his head back against the wall, hands rammed into the pockets of his jeans. After the way he had treated her in the past, he felt guilty about being allowed to take part in this private celebration.

She was gorgeous. As she stood before the cake, her mother’s arms around her, and the dancing lights from the candles flickering across her innocent features, he felt the throbbing pain inside him. A familiar heaviness that had become commonplace in recent months. It wasn’t the ulcer. This was different. As he watched her giggling and rolling her eyes at her mother’s antics and heartfelt, though mocking, speech, his arms ached to hold her. He wanted to be the one standing beside her, the recipient of her glow and her heavenly smile. He wanted to be where Dean was standing, arm carelessly draped around her waist, fighting Lorelai for Rory’s closeness. He wanted so much. And yet, he had relegated himself to the corner to watch the proceedings, having deemed himself not yet worthy of being a component of her happiness.

He needed to get out of there. He was suffocating, drowning in her unrequited affections and admiration. He desperately needed to return to the cold, to the loneliness, to his own thoughts. She had never needed him. Never wanted him. Never asked for him. The invitation to her party was made out of whatever obligations she might have felt towards him, brought on by his expensive present. Nothing more. Nothing less. The sooner he remembered that and convinced himself of that, the better off he’d be. He just needed to break free of her magnetic pull first.

The lights had sputtered back on again, and Tristan took that as his cue to leave. It was still a half hour drive back to Hartford and he was certain he had already overstayed his welcome. The only other person who actually seemed genuinely ecstatic to have him around was the crazy dance instructor, Miss Patty, and while flattered at the undue attention, Tristan was afraid he could not return her advances. After a few hours of being the object of her undivided notice, Tristan was sure he would have preferred dealing with Dean instead.

Rory helped her mother dole out the slices of cake as Sookie cut into the magnificent confection with deliberate strokes of the long knife. As she returned from handing out a plate to a grudgingly accepting Luke, Rory was intercepted by Miss Patty’s wide girth.

“Rory,” the lady started, pulling her off to the side. “That’s such a nice boy.”

Rory raised a brow. “Tristan?” she asked, dubiously. Using the word “nice” to describe him was a stretch, but Miss Patty was given to over-exaggeration, and as such, was easily forgiven.

The dancer continued, not hearing or confirming the question. “You should bring him by more often.” Her eyes lit up brightly, hopefully. “Maybe he would like to take some dance lessons,” she suggested, chirpily, nodding eagerly to herself.

Furrowing her brow, Rory directed a skeptical look at the older woman. “I think he knows how to dance, Miss Patty. I’m pretty sure it was beaten into him when he was a baby.” The idea of Tristan learning how to dance with Miss Patty created a ridiculous visual of the older woman engulfing the young man in a bear hug and dragging him aimlessly and helplessly around the dance floor. The image caused a bubble of a giggle to escape from Rory’s lips. She would have paid to experience it, but doubted that Tristan, while having shown some willingness to humor her in the past few weeks, would agree to a price she would be able to afford. The mental picture of a grownup Tristan learning to foxtrot in Miss Patty’s arms was soon replaced by a vision of the irresistibly adorable baby swathed in soft blue blankets. She flushed, recalling the photos she had been privy to while at his grandfather’s house.

The blush immediately faded when Tristan made his way across the living room to stand in front of her. Seeing the earnest expression on his face, Miss Patty wordlessly excused herself and stepped away, no doubt ready to spread gossip about a fictional torrid love affair between the two teens. Rory clasped her hands together, not knowing what to do and feeling self-conscious with the way he was gazing at her.

After some time, he finally spoke. “Rory, I’m going to go now,” he informed, quietly, determinedly. He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Thanks for inviting me. I…” He didn’t know what to say, never having found it necessary to express his gratitude for being invited to a party before. And how did he feel during the party? He was glad he came, that was for sure. But was he happy with the results? That he didn’t know. “I had fun.” Unlike at other parties, he meant it.

She aimed a knowing look in his direction. “Are you saying that just to be nice?” she reprimanded pleasantly.

“No,” he assured, chuckling at her grave tone. Tristan tilted his head towards the front door, letting her know he was going to take his leave. “Thanks again.”

Rory waited until he stepped past her. Every fiber in her body told her to let him leave quietly. Not to make a big deal out of it. It was only Tristan, and the fact that he had actually taken her up on her invitation was his own fault. She should have gone back to taking care of her other guests, but there had always been something unexplainable about the draw she felt towards him. Even when he was making her miserable and she was fuming at him, she could never disavow the existence of that inexplicable pull. She was skilled at ignoring it and pretending it wasn’t there, but she could never deny it.

“I’ll see you out,” she piped up, surprising both of them.

His candid expression of astonishment at her offer was genuine. Stepping aside, he waited for her by the door. Together, they stepped outside into the brisk night air. Rory shivered once, but she couldn’t be certain whether it was due to the sharp wind that had greeted them as soon as the door had opened or the fact that she was once again alone outside in the dark with him. They strolled casually to the end of the porch and he took a few tentative steps down to the walk. Lingering, he turned on his heels to face her, mouth parting as if ready to speak.

Lorelai grinned complacently as she snuck up behind Miss Patty. The older woman was staring fixedly out the window. “Down, Miss Patty,” Lorelai ordered, laughing at the startled look on the woman’s face.

“Oh, my,” Miss Patty exclaimed dramatically, placing her hand over her heart, as if in shock.

The younger woman grinned, bouncing past her to glance out between the part in the curtains. She turned away, satisfied that Tristan and Rory were merely talking at the edge of the porch. Any sign of physical contact would have necessitated immediate action. Her qualms were duly squashed. Even so, Lorelai couldn’t help but take a second look. And then a third peek. Just in case. Her curiosity sated, she turned to Miss Patty.

“What you’re contemplating is illegal in about 45 states,” she rebuked, teasingly.

Miss Patty arched a brow, playing along. “Only 45?” she purred.

Lorelai shrugged, suppressing the urge to crack a smile. “Well, there’s a couple of southern states that I’m a little iffy about,” she twittered.

“I’m just curious,” Miss Patty explained, smiling innocently.

Lorelai chortled. “No… asking his name is being curious. What you’re doing is two steps away from stalking. Miss Patty, you know better. Now behave.” She wagged her finger in warning, an appropriately scolding gesture.

The other woman did not dispute Lorelai’s claim. “He’s cute,” she remarked, instead.

The look of reproach on Lorelai’s face softened into a weary smile of agreement. “Yes…” Her eyes flickered back towards the window. “That he is,” she acquiesced, unhesitatingly.

Rory wrapped her arms around herself against the cold. Catching the teasing glint in his deep blue eyes, she rolled her own blue eyes. “You’re not going to tell me I’m odd again, are you?” she mocked, before he could taunt her about her party and her guests. She had a retort all ready just in case he decided to make fun of her mother’s idea of a wild bash, even as she silently prayed she would not need to use it. He had behaved wonderfully all evening, with the exception of the first few minutes when she had discovered him in a verbal contest with Dean.

“No…” he began, slowly, truthfully. “Compared to them…” His eyes flickered towards the curtained windows. “You’re normal,” he admitted, ruefully. As if he were saddened to learn that Rory was just an average teenage girl. No magical aura or spells that warranted his inexplicable attraction to her.

She laughed. “Just think. You would never have known that if you never came.”

Tristan grinned, appreciatively. “Well, you know… seeing how I paid a fortune for your gift, I needed to get something in return.”

The laughter died on her lips, having been reminded of the costly present lying on her bed upstairs. “Tristan…”

He shook his head adamantly, refusing to listen. “We’ve been through this, Rory. I’m not taking it back.” He frowned with exaggerated disapproval at her. “Besides, you need it.” At that, he grinned.

Rolling her eyes with exasperation, she merely snickered, “You gave me a used dictionary.”

“Just helping you out,” he merely replied, matter-of-factly, instinctually knowing she was referring to his liberal use of stickers and a butterfly bookmark.

“You think you’re quite jocose and perspicacious, don’t you?” she asked, adding the right amount of indignation to assure him she was only joking.

His eyes widened in feigned disbelief. “I stand corrected. You do know all the words in the English language,” he remarked breezily.

The compliment, which it was, made her chew her lower lip in consternation. Dipping her head to focus on her shoes, her loose hair cascaded down, flowing over her ear and veiling the bright rosy flush that had appeared. It had nothing to do with the biting wind that seeped through her thin shirt, causing goosebumps to surface on her arms and legs. She smiled to herself, flattered by the admiring comment he had disguised behind a playfully glib remark. Tristan’s eyes caressed her shy figure, taking it all in and memorizing how her hair only did a halfhearted job at concealing the blush that had crept over her cheeks. A swell of pride and emotion coursed through him. Again he had had the power to do that to her. It almost made him wish, with smug triumph, that Dean had been around to see how he affected Rory.

Rory finally glanced up, the blush having faded to a light rosy complexion, which may have reasonably been blamed on the cold. She jammed her hands nervously into the pockets of her slacks. “Well… be careful driving home,” she advised, more out of a need to say something than out of any concern she may have felt towards him.

Now that he was standing outside, freezing in the night air, he suddenly didn’t want to leave. It was strange how the urgent need to rush out of the house only minutes earlier, was now replaced by the desire to stay. He stood rooted to his spot. “You want to take a walk?” he asked, quietly, hopefully. “I’m not trying to hit on you, I swear.” The last part had been tacked on as an added precaution.

She glanced around, bringing her arms around her to ward off the wind. “I… better not.” There had been hesitation, but not enough to warrant any hope or further attempts on his part to broach the subject.

The disappointment lasted momentarily. He broke out into a grin and held up a finger. Wait. She did as he silently asked, and watched as he jogged over to his car. Deactivating his car alarm while he was still two yards away, he yanked open the door without ceremony. Rory suppressed an apprehensive chuckle as she watched his head disappear into the dimly lit interior of his sporty silver car. She shifted on her feet, not sure she was going to like what came next. In fact, she was almost absolutely certain she wasn’t going to like what he had planned.

In the second she took to dip her head and brush her hair absently behind her ear, he had reappeared in front of her. His hands were hidden snugly behind his back, and a deliriously pleased smile had encompassed his handsome features, finding a permanent home on his lips. The smile did wonders to his looks, making him look even cuter than he usually did. He ran a distracted hand through his already tousled blonde locks; the other hand stayed securely concealed. She tried to twist her body to the side in order to sneak a peek behind him. Only she was standing too far away from him and he shifted his body accordingly. Frustrated, she directed a petulant yet wary look at him.

“What do you give the girl who has everything?” From the sudden question, she knew there was no need to correct him. Implicit in his tone was the comprehension that he was not referring to material wealth.

“A really good dictionary,” she quipped, not missing a beat.

Her perky response, affirmation that she was still participating in their game, managed to extract a chuckle from him. Tristan shook his head. Wrong answer. “After the dictionary,” he prompted, jovially.

Her smile faded a notch. “Nothing. Once a person has everything, they can’t have anything else.” She was being difficult because she could, and because she knew it would irritate him. And what else did she have to live for if not to see him upset? She waited for an annoyed grunt and derisive rejoinder.

Only Tristan refused to let the heartening evening degrade into an unnecessary argument. They could bicker all they wanted during school, but for the moment, he wanted her to remember him in a good light as long as he was still standing in her front yard. “Hey, when I come to a birthday party, I bring a present,” he joked.

“But you already did,” she reminded him, ineffectively. “You brought one for my mom…” She had a very bad feeling about this. Giving a quick glance behind her, she wondered if it would be in bad taste to rush back into the house, pretending that the conversation was not taking place. She couldn’t accept another gift if she hadn’t been presented with one. Well, not technically.

Tristan hastily brushed aside the inconsequential objections. He pulled his arm out from behind him, and held a fluffy object out to her. A sacrificial lamb or peace offering, she couldn’t be sure. Her brain visualized a flash of red, black, and golden honey yellow. It took a moment before the item, approximately a foot in length, registered in her brain. Shocked, she reached down from where she stood at the top of the porch steps, and he transferred the present into her possession. Delicately, she gripped the object in her two hands. Holding it out in front of her, she examined it, unable to keep the silly smile from gracing her face. For some reason, she just couldn’t shake the silly notion that Tristan had given her a stuffed toy. A stuffed Winnie the Pooh bear, to be exact. The fur was silky soft, as if it had been worn down to baby fuzz through countless cuddles. There was a slight, almost unnoticeable tear by the left ear. Bringing it closer, she gazed at him over the top of the yellow head, her eyes blinking at him in a playful reproach.

“We really need to work on your problem with regifting,” she informed, matter-of-factly. She fingered the left ear.

He shrugged, embarrassed. “I’d like to say it’s an old family heirloom, passed down from generation to generation, but… it’s just mine.” There was a tremor of hesitation, as if he had been unsure whether or not to reveal the toy’s ownership to her.

From his tone of voice, she recognized the stuffed bear as one of his beloved childhood toys. Even as her mind wrestled to picture the impossibility of a young Tristan DuGrey clutching the stuffed bear protectively within his grasp, she knew she could not accept the gift. She held it out at arm’s length. “I can’t accept two gifts from you. Especially not one that you’ve had forever.”

“Just take it,” he told her, dismissively. “Besides, it’s kind of late for me to give you those PJ Harvey tickets now.”

He hadn’t meant it as a jab, but she flushed anyway, this time the creeping redness signifying her anger. “How dare…”

Tristan shook his head quickly, contritely. “That’s not what I meant,” he assured, hurriedly. “Just that the concert is over and it would be in bad taste to give you something you can’t use.” He cleared his throat, waiting for her to lash out at him.

She took a deep breath, relatively appeased. Then, curiosity getting the best of her, she asked timidly, “You didn’t go?”

A simple neutral reply. “No.”

“Why not?” she demanded, adamantly, as if he had owed it to her to attend the concert. “Those were good seats.”

He wished he could chuckle at the insistence in her voice. Too little, too late. “I barely know any of her songs,” he protested, weakly. Not that the excuse would have held up had she accepted the tickets and his accompaniment.

She shook her head, perturbed and perplexed. “But then why did you…”

“It doesn’t matter,” he declared, breezily.

“Of course it matters,” she insisted, even though he was right. It didn’t matter. Unfortunately, once she decided to push across a point, she hardly ever let up. Blame it on the stubborn genes she had inherited from both her parents. “You paid a lot for those.”

“I thought it was my daddy’s money.” He smirked, reminding her of those hurtful words that had passed her lips months ago. Practically a lifetime ago. The now-familiar telltale sign of a flush overcame her pale complexion once again. He found he was becoming accustomed to it now. Was there anything he could say that wouldn’t elicit the response? He was probably going to find out in the course of this very conversation.

“So you didn’t even use them?” It was only supposed to be a question of disbelief, and yet, it somehow ended up sounding like an accusation.

“I got them for you,” he admitted, casually, adding a shrug. Tristan wanted to stop this conversation desperately, but already knew she wouldn’t let it go. And for some strange reason, he needed her to know.

“Why?” She tilted her head, curious, eyeing him through perplexed eyes.

His face was blank, and she found she couldn’t read anything in his eyes. He was back in control. “Because you like her.” As if he were stating that the sky was indeed blue.

Her eyebrow quirked, skeptically. “And you don’t?” Almost as if accusing him of lying, which would have been impossible. He hadn’t even known that he was actually a she.

Another noncommittal shrug. “I don’t know.” His eyes never left her face, and even though she was positive she was the one who was actually in charge of this impromptu interrogation, for some reason, Rory felt as if she were being observed. His intense gaze made her squirm uneasily.

But as usual, curiosity won out over self-consciousness. “You could have gone or taken someone else. You would have liked it.”

She sounded so sure of herself. He didn’t have the heart to point out that it didn’t matter what she thought anymore. It was useless to argue. The concert had long since passed. She hadn’t accepted the tickets, and consequently, he hadn’t bothered to go. After the encouraging past few weeks, the tickets that had once been jammed into the corner of his bedroom mirror as a reminder of his own failings, had long since been buried under a pile of junk in his desk drawer, having outlived its morbid purpose.

“That’s not why I got them, and it wouldn’t have been the same.” He sounded almost bored.

She was confused, and the vexed expression on her face projected her sentiments to him. “So you wanted to go with…” Rory didn’t finish. “Oh.” The word dropped neatly out of her mouth, barely audible. She had seen the look in his eyes, and he didn’t even have to verbalize what she already knew. Tristan had wanted to go with her. It was a distinction she hadn’t thought he was capable of making. When he had first waved the tickets in front of her face, she had been absolutely certain he was simply angling for a date. She hadn’t even thought that it mattered whether or not she agreed to a date, as long as he had a date. But now… Giving her head a firm shake to clear it, she tried to argue with the emotions flashing out at her from the depths of his roiling blue eyes. “But if you don’t even know her, or like her… what would you have done during the concert?”

The innocent question almost made him chortle. Tristan was certain that if she thought about it long enough, Rory would come to her own infallible conclusions. What else would a guy like him do during a concert with a girl he was hopelessly and inexplicably attracted to? Tristan didn’t answer. To do so would have gotten him an undeserved and unbelieving snicker. And probably a slap across the face. Instead, he only looked at her. Intense. Conveying all his feelings to her through the veil of the deepening gloom of night. It was as if he were memorizing her. Caressing her. Drowning in her. Devouring her. All with a simple heartfelt, unwavering gaze.

Rory damned the blush that comfortably settled on her cheeks again, spreading down her neck and sending tangled shivers of goosebumps and tingles down her arms and legs, ending with pinpricks of sensation in the tips of her extremities. She knew. What would he have done during the concert had she gone with him? Exactly that. Exactly what he was doing now, even as the night air threatened to mask the enlivened gleam in his eyes. Watching her. Scrutinizing her. Imprinting her into his indelible memory. And meeting his eyes straight on after coming to her shocking conclusion, she realized that she would have done exactly this. Melted in the liquid depths of his sea-blue eyes.

“Oh… Oh!” The same word, first as a breath of a stunned whisper, ending in a loud pointed exclamation. If the logical and sane half of her brain hadn’t managed to remind her that it was Tristan DuGrey standing before her… doing this to her… she would have had a heart attack. Or fainted from disbelief and, quite possibly, utter humiliation. She berated herself, trying to burn into her memory that Tristan had a knack for throwing her off-balance and messing with her head, all for the continuation of the game. But even through the haze caused by his unspoken admission, she knew he was being sincere. It ultimately frightened her.

Awkward silence reigned for a span of a few seconds, which seemed to stretch out infinitely. Finally, realizing she was still clutching the stuffed bear to her chest, Rory held it out again, gesturing for him to take it. After some consideration, she had deemed it too personal and intimate a gift. There was no reason why Tristan should have given her something like it. And the subsequent look he had directed at her, probably unconsciously, at the tail end of their conversation, had cemented the fact that the bear was wholly inappropriate for her to accept. Not if she wanted to keep up the façade and charade of a tame friendship between the two.

“You should take this back,” she said, neutrally.

He threw her a look of feigned hurt. “I gave it to you,” he reminded her, pulling his hands back, resisting the return of the once-cherished toy. Cherished now, but for other reasons he could not humble himself to explain to her. Not unless he was ready to be ridiculed by her.

She took a step down from the porch, coming towards him. The bear was still dangling from her outstretched hand. “But it’s yours. It must have a lot of sentimental value…”

“Not really…” he insisted, shaking his head. As she came towards him with the purpose of forcing him to take the gift back, he took a few steps backwards, maintaining the distance between them. Under any other circumstances he would have loved the irony of his actions. When was the last time Tristan DuGrey actively tried to get away from Rory Gilmore?

Another step forward. Playful. Her forehead crinkled in thought as her lips quirked into a teasing smile. “Oh. So I get to be the recipient of your trash.”

Her giddy countenance was contagious, causing him to break out in a smile. “It’s not like that,” he assured, holding onto plausible deniability. “I… I spent my allowance on that other present, and I didn’t think I should come empty-handed.”

“Tristan.” Her voice wavered. She had taken another step closer to him before realizing that he had stopped moving. And instead of both of them working to maintain the minimum three feet distance between them, Rory had inadvertently closed the gap.

His eyes never left her. “It made me happy when I was little,” he revealed, softly.

She rolled her eyes at him, head tilted back so her long brown hair pooled around behind her. Tristan gulped and memorized her like that, taking another mental snapshot to be filed away and enjoyed later. “So you want to give it away?” she asked, chuckling in disbelief.

Her laughter was infectious, causing him some consternation. “Well, you’ve been trying to make me smile the past month or so…” he sputtered, falling under her spell over and over again. He felt like a complete idiot. Maybe the impulsive act of presenting her with his old childhood toy had been not only presumptuous on his part, but also ridiculous. What could she possibly want with a used toy anyway? Tristan wasn’t sentimental, and even if Rory was, there was no reason for her to look upon the personal gift with affectionate acceptance.

“I’m not sure I was successful,” she trilled, ruefully. Her eyes glanced sadly at the bear, her fingers splayed around it, gently caressing the light yellow fur and tugging at the prerequisite shrunken red shirt.

“You always are,” he whispered, thinking she hadn’t heard.

She had. “I beg to differ,” she remarked, frankly. It wasn’t until she met his eyes once again that she was aware of her rapidly beating heart. The butterflies had reawaken, annoying her with the urgency of their fluttering wings. Rory tried to ignore their persistent flapping. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she indulged him with one of her rarer smiles.

Tristan sucked in a sharp breath, inhaling deeply. “Rory…” He supposed it was now or never, although perhaps later in the isolation of his parents’ large house, he would rebuke himself for having been a little too aggressive and forthright. A few minutes of unconditional friendship did not guarantee a lifetime of happiness. In hindsight, it would be too early, but in the passion of the moment, he forgot about taking it slow, about working at it, about being cautious. Instead, he jumped. Headfirst. “You make me happy.”

There was an almost somber tint to his admission, one that made Rory’s knees weak. She wanted to open her mouth and contradict him, but no words flowed. She was speechless and dumbfounded. Tongue-tied. For the life of her, Rory could not recall the last time she had felt this way. Certainly the first time she had met Dean, but even that did not compare to the extreme nervousness she felt at this very moment.

Sensing her discomfort and hesitation, Tristan coughed loudly, clearing his throat, and quickly diffused the situation. “It needs a good home. Besides, how uncool is it for a guy to have that?”

Rory burst out into bewildered laughter. “I just… I…” Absolutely flabbergasted.

Her current mood was not, however, due to the reasoning behind the presentation of the gift. No, it was something more earthly, more primitive and physical. She had suddenly found herself standing much too close to Tristan, the warmth emanating off him in waves and cocooning her in an ardent embrace. Similar to earlier that evening when she had nearly tripped him on the porch steps, her lips virtually landing on his, Rory found herself sucked back into the depths of the expressive blue pools of his eyes. There was something there that she couldn’t quite read, couldn’t quite put her finger on. And yet, it didn’t matter. With some degree of admitted cowardice, she found it so much easier to go about it blindly than allow herself to fall willingly. It detracted from the magic if she forced herself to admit that she had been the one to set the events into motion. To feel… so much easier than to analyze or to deliberate. And before she knew it, her lips had parted in anticipation along with his. The mist from their collective breaths intermingled between them, twisting playfully into one, before evaporating into space. Tristan leaned forward, his movement imperceptible, as Rory’s head had tilted up, expectantly.

The snap of a twig brought them back to their senses, yanking them back into harsh reality. Dry leaves crunching under the steady tread of heavy footfalls alerted them to another’s presence. Without hesitation, they jumped away from each other, refusing to meet the other’s imploring eyes. What had been about to happen? The absurdity of having been interrupted the second time that night made Rory groan in frustration, before she regained her faculties and remembered that she wasn’t supposed to feel anything for Tristan. She should have welcomed the interloper. Should have been grateful. Should have.

Except the person who had caused both of them to jump two steps backwards from each other was none other than her boyfriend. Dean. The name screamed in her brain, a grating admonishment against the palpitations of her heart. The first thought that ran through her head was that she was a bad girlfriend. The second one, falling so fast on the heels of the first thought that it was practically tripping over it, was that it had all been Tristan’s fault. Hurriedly, she erased those thoughts. It was no use. Rory had to accept part of the blame if Dean confronted them.

“I’m sorry!” Dean’s apologetic voice carried from around the corner of the house.

“Were you spying on us? Don’t tell me. My mom paid you to keep an eye out on us. But that would be impossible because my mom hates boys. Well… except for Henry.” Teasingly hysterical. Feigning upset. Lane.

In her haste to get away from Tristan, Rory had forgotten to control her composure. As Dean came around the corner, eyeing them suspiciously, the first thing he noticed was her flushed countenance and her averted gaze. Even if he railed against it, he couldn’t help but think that the word “guilty” was flashing in bright neon signs. A part of him shriveled up and died. But there was still hope. There was always hope. A slight chance he was seeing things, blinded by his irrational jealousy and fear. Even as a tiny part of him mocked him for believing there was anything irrational about it.

“What’s going on?” he asked, surprised at how calm he managed to sound. His own voice sounded foreign to his ears.

Lane, with Henry in tow, unsuspectingly followed Dean into the front yard. Seeing Rory and Tristan already occupying the front walk, she came to an abrupt stop, causing Henry to run directly into her. To her credit, she did not say anything, only offering Rory a wide-eyed, gaping mouth expression. Rory stared back, equally horrified, and hastily looked away, unable to meet her best friend’s questioning gaze.

“Wow. This is…” Lane’s eyes darted swiftly between the triangle that stood before her. “This is…” She didn’t get to finish, feeling the furious tug on her hand.

“Let’s go, Lane. I think I want some more cake,” Henry mumbled, pulling on Lane’s hand, dragging her against her will back towards the house. He didn’t know what was going on, but he had an idea, and he knew he did not want to be a witness to it.

Fighting it, Lane tried to hold her ground. “But… but…” She gestured towards the threesome, gasping with the need to know.

Henry ignored her protests, pushing her up the porch steps. Reluctantly, Lane allowed herself to be pulled back into the house. It wasn’t until the door had closed behind the couple that Rory hazarded a glance up at Dean. As she met his dark, emotional eyes, she had to glance away again.

Dean repeated his question, trying to suppress the bitter accusation. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Rory mumbled. She didn’t stir, and Dean reluctantly moved to her side, squinting at Tristan with utter hate and distrust.

“Didn’t look like nothing,” he groused, testily, still affecting a calm demeanor, although it was getting harder to do so. Especially with Tristan smirking guiltily back at him. He racked his brain, trying to come up with a suitable explanation for what he might have just missed witnessing. The two were agitated enough to be guilty of committing, or on the verge of committing, some sort of heinous act. But he had to remind himself that this was Rory, his girlfriend. No matter what powers of persuasion Tristan DuGrey thought he possessed, Dean couldn’t believe that Rory would ever allow herself to be swayed by his phony charm and false flattery.

“It was nothing,” Tristan muttered. Even though he was oddly thankful that their near-kiss had been interrupted, he was still upset at the intrusion. Had the kiss been completed, he was afraid that Rory would hold him responsible for it. Especially after the blissful high from sugar and caffeine had worn off and reality once again crept back in, assaulting her mind. His composure back under control, he directed a grim, mirthless grin at Dean, practically daring him to challenge their versions of the truth. When no fight, verbal or physical, was forthcoming, his smirk grew. Then, turning a gracious smile at Rory, he thanked her once again for the invitation. “I’ll see you at school on Monday,” he told her, before taking his leave and trudging back to his car.

Dean didn’t wait until Tristan’s silver Porsche had pulled out onto the street. He turned sharply to look at Rory, positive he had just given himself whiplash while executing the motion. “What was that?”

“I told you,” she assured, giving her hand a curt wave. “It was nothing. He was just saying goodbye.”

“It didn’t look like he was just saying anything,” Dean sniffed loudly. His mind couldn’t wrap around the idea of Rory letting Tristan get close enough to try anything physical, and yet, he couldn’t be sure any more. So many things had changed since they had first started dating. So many things had changed, albeit undetected, in the course of the past month or so. It was almost as if he hardly knew her.

“Dean.” She said his name, injecting it with the right amount of exasperation to make him feel silly for having questioned her loyalty to him.

Hearing his name uttered made him pause. Maybe he was looking too hard for another reason to hate Tristan. Another reason to beat him senseless should the opportunity arise. “It had to be something,” he insisted, even while his brain advised him to shut up. Garnering Rory’s ire during her birthday party was not a smart move. “You even matched. I liked your coordinating outfits,” he mocked, despite every effort to stop talking. He was referring to the green knit shirt Rory had chosen after much deliberation, and the forest green sweater Tristan had been sporting. Rory blanched, then turned bright red, peaked. “Isn’t that supposed to be a sign or something?”

The sneer finally did her in. “Whatever delusions you’re harboring… Let me assure you just how wrong you are,” she snapped, sourly, her happy mood having evaporated.

“I’m only making an observation.” He was immediately contrite, lowering his voice soothingly.

“It’s not like we planned it,” she explained, unnecessarily.

“I know that.” Now he was becoming upset, even though he had been the one to initiate this vein of conversation.

Rory sighed, exhausted. “Forget it. It’s been a long night. Let’s go back inside before everyone starts to wonder where we are.” She trotted up the steps back towards the house. Trying to make it up to her, he lengthened his stride to catch up to her, placing his arms around her and pulling her close. He had been too preoccupied with trying to piece together what he thought he had seen happen between Tristan and Rory that he never noticed the small stuffed bear in Rory’s other hand. The one she half-hid behind her back.

“Actually, I have to head home. Gotta wake up early tomorrow. I’m helping Taylor open the store,” he revealed, regretfully. Now that they had made up, he was hesitant to leave. As it stood, they had barely spent any time together during the party, and he wished he could make it up to her.

She was too tired to argue. “You sure? There’s still some cake left.” She arched a brow, expectantly.

It would have been so easy to give in, but Dean knew all too well how Rory felt about following through with responsibilities. He shook his head. “I’m sure. Wouldn’t want Taylor to fire me or anything.” He reached for her hand and was loath to release it. Giving it a gentle swing, he bent down and kissed her. “Night.”

“Good night,” she called out after him, as he dropped her hand and skipped down the porch steps. She watched his retreating figure until he was indiscernible in the darkness. Then turning back to the house, Rory hugged the stuffed bear to her chest and returned to the party, which had already started to disperse.

Loud giggling erupted in the living room, causing the two teenage girls sitting at the kitchen table to exchange meaningful looks. Sookie and Lorelai had volunteered to clean up after the party, but the laughter indicated that something other than tidying was going on. Rory was too tired to play the grownup. Instead, she and Lane worked diligently at polishing off the remainder of the delicious birthday cake.

“So…” Rory started, nonchalantly. She dipped her finger into the creamy frosting and brought it to her lips, relishing the excessive sweetness.

Lane had an idea what direction Rory was headed in, and pretended not to have heard the unspoken question that lay in waiting on Rory’s tongue. If she in fact had no clue, then her casual evasion of the prompt was due to genuine ignorance of the conflicting thoughts now dueling it out in her best friend’s head. Lane waved her fork in the air, carelessly. “Mmm. Sookie really knows how to make a cake,” she joked, licking her lips and savoring the tiny crumbs that decorated her bottom lip.

“Yes, she does,” Rory agreed heartily. Then in a roundabout manner, posed a different question. “Did you have fun?”

Lane looked shocked, wondering why Rory would find it necessary to ask her that. “Did you not see the delirious grin plastered on my face? My mom always warned me against crossing my eyes too long, but I think she needs to hear about over-smiling, too. I thought I was going to have to walk around looking like an idiot.”

“Henry?” Rory asked, unnecessarily. Her lips quirked into a teasing grin. Lane could be so transparent sometimes.

Lane blushed. “Maybe,” she retorted, defensively, but unable to hide the pleased expression.

Rory laughed. “Good. I’m glad he makes you happy.” Then, as an afterthought, she added, “And I’m glad you had fun.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Lane twittered, concerned.

Opting for a blasé demeanor, Rory shrugged. “No reason. I just thought that maybe you felt like you were obligated to… talk to people you don’t normally talk to. Or would want to.” Lane arched a questioning brow, but Rory continued, pretending not to notice the smug grin that now adorned her best friend’s face. “I imagine it would be incredibly boring to spend the whole night talking about Chilton or the weather or something.” She gave a half-shrug of indifference. As if she had only been concerned about whether Lane had found someone interesting to talk to during the party. Rory didn’t bring up the topic of the awkward encounter Lane had walked into in the front yard when Tristan had taken his leave; likewise, Lane had the delicacy not to jump all over Rory right afterwards, even though she was dying with the need to know.

Lane’s mouth opened, finally understanding what Rory was hinting at. It had taken all her willpower not to demand answers when Rory had reentered the house moments earlier, but it didn’t mean she had forgotten about the event all together. If Rory wasn’t about to volunteer any information, then Lane was prepared to drag it out of her one way or another. Then, matching Rory’s pretense of apathy, she chirped brightly, “We talked about you.”

The offhand manner in which Lane imparted the information made Rory do a stunned double take. “You what?” she sputtered, frowning. Her hands, which had been reaching for a second helping of icing, had stilled in shock.

The Korean girl giggled, playing off Rory’s reaction. There was no way Rory could deny that there was something going on between her and her avowed Chilton enemy. And even if Rory kept refuting the existence of anything other than a mere friendship, Lane would refuse to believe it. Too many significant looks had passed between them, and although Rory had a boyfriend, Lane was sensitive to the delicate matter of discussing Tristan. However, even with her status as Rory’s best friend, she was not above baiting her; it was just too entertaining. For an insane moment, Lane thought she understood why Tristan behaved the way he did towards Rory.

“And I’ve already cast him as the bodice-ripping protagonist in the Harlequin romance novel I’m planning on writing.” Lane licked her fork and smacked her lips soundly. She waited for the inevitable reaction.

Instead of crying out in abject horror, Rory managed to disappoint her by tempering her response to a snort of sarcastic disbelief. “You’re doing no such thing,” she remarked, wryly, rolling her eyes.

“I already told him, and he loved the idea.” Lane fluttered her dark lashes beautifully, eyes wide with innocence.

Now Rory was mortified. “You didn’t!” she exclaimed, the red flush creeping up her face. She turned her head, ashamed of her overreaction, when she realized she had walked right into Lane’s trap.

“Okay, no…” Lane conceded, matter-of-factly. “But I asked him telepathically, and he smiled back. So I’m taking it as a sign of consent.” She hummed softly to herself, pretending to be indifferent to Rory’s feelings.

There was a moment of silence as Rory deliberated the tack to use in response to Lane’s teasing. “You hate writing,” she reminded, flippantly.

Lane was ready with a reply. “I’ll make an exception.”

“You hate me, don’t you.” Not a question, but a grunt of passive acceptance.

Lane’s head bobbed up and down. “It’s beginning to look that way, isn’t it,” she deadpanned.

The two girls grinned evilly at each other. Then, giving her head a somber shake, Rory tsked softly. “What will Henry think?” she chided, directing a look of disapproval at Lane.

The self-assured grin on Lane’s lips never wavered. “He’ll approve. After all, I’m casting you as the busty and independent heroine who changes our haughty leading man into a sensitive hero.”

“Lane!” Rory didn’t even bother masking her discontentment. “How could you even say that? Why would you even think that’s a good…”

Lane watched with undisguised amusement as Rory’s face turned bright red right before her eyes. “Rory, chill,” she ordered, in the tone that suggested she knew what was best for her friend. “I’m just joking.” She aimed a strange look at Rory, causing the flush of agitation to change immediately into one of humiliation. “What’s going on?” she prodded, gently. Her hand reached out and settled reassuringly on Rory’s arm.

“What’s going on?” The question was echoed by a louder and higher-pitched voice. Lorelai.

Lane shifted in her seat to see Lorelai enter the kitchen, arms laden with plates and utensils. She dropped them responsibly into the sink with a loud exaggerated pout before stopping beside her daughter. Absently ruffling Rory’s hair with one hand and swiping a chunk of vanilla frosting with her other, she gave Lane a curious glance, repeating her question wordlessly. Lane’s dark eyes flickered hesitantly towards Rory’s, meeting the flashing blue eyes. It was a cue to remain quiet. Yet, Lane had backup now, and she was a fool to let such a golden opportunity pass. Letting Rory know her intentions, Lane smiled sweetly at Lorelai.

“We want to turn Tristan into Fabio,” Lane chirped, melodiously, ignoring the glare Rory directed at her. Sensing movement under the table, Lane shifted her legs before Rory’s foot could make contact with her shin. Lane wagged her eyebrow at Rory, censuring her method of dealing with Lane’s rogue behavior.

“We?” Rory squeaked, upset. She frowned, vexed. Lane was her best friend. She should have supported her no matter what. She was not supposed to be leading the frontal assault.

Lorelai’s brown eyes twinkled devilishly, and Rory groaned. “Ooh,” Lorelai bounced up and down. “Can I play, too?”

“That is so wrong on so many levels,” her daughter muttered, turning her glare onto the patterned tablecloth. The tablecloth was smart enough not to join in the conversation. At least something was frightened of incurring Rory’s wrath.

Sookie bustled in, streamers tangled around her body. In one hand, she clutched a heavy black garbage bag. She set the bag down gently by the back door and clapped her hands together. All eyes were now on her and she smiled nervously in response, wondering what she had missed. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Lorelai shared a knowing look with Lane before turning a smirk in Sookie’s direction. “Lane wants to…”

“Can we please move on?” Rory interjected, pouting. The silent but expressive look Lorelai directed at Sookie was not lost on Rory. The rest of Lorelai’s interrupted message had been relayed and received. She was certain of it. Sookie’s eyes had taken on a delightful sheen as soon as Lorelai returned her attention back to her ranting daughter. Frowning disapprovingly at all three of them, Rory stood up, her chair scraping angrily against the kitchen tiles. “I have a boyfriend,” she reminded pointedly. Somehow, she wasn’t sure whether the reminder had been more for her sake or for their benefit. Lane looked about to speak, but Rory’s death glare stopped her.

Screwing up her face, Lane decided to risk it anyway. “Speaking of which… I thought I saw him moping outside just now. Doesn’t Stalking 101 dictate that he should not be that obvious?”

That surprised Rory. She had been under the assumption that he had gone home. Her eyes brightened. “He doesn’t mope,” she insisted, feigning a threatening posture. “Or stalk,” she added as an afterthought. Sighing, she headed out the back door, grabbing the trash while she was at it.

“Denial,” Lane spoke up, shaking her head sadly.

Lorelai’s head also shook, sadly. “Denial,” she agreed.

Sookie was puzzled. “What are we in denial about?” She waited eagerly for someone to fill in the blanks.

Rory deposited the trash into the metal container. As she closed the lid, the scent of a spicy aftershave assaulted her nose prior to a pair of arms engulfing her from behind. She closed her eyes and leaned into the hug. “Hey. I thought you went home.”

“I started to, but then I remembered something.”

Without breaking contact, she twisted around in his arms so she could face him. “Really? What?” she teased, confident that everything that had plagued her through the party -- all the butterflies, the knot of tension, and the conflicting thoughts - had disappeared into the night. She relaxed considerably in his strong hold. Reaching up, she placed a soft hand against his cheek. The resentment he had felt all evening had also been erased from the creases of his face. Things were once again right in their world.

“Your present,” he murmured into her hair.

She laughed softly. “You don’t need to give me a present. I have you already.” A quick roll of her eyes informed him she knew exactly how lame that playful remark was. After all, Rory Gilmore was not that kind of girl.

Dean chuckled. “You’ll probably like this much better.”

“Probably,” she agreed, not skipping a beat.

He crinkled his face, accepting the jab. Letting go of her, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny package, wrapped in Sunday’s comics. The gesture was endearing, and she let him see her goofy grin. “Here.” He handed her the package, excitedly.

“Oh.” Rory pretended to hesitate, as if she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “But I’ve already read these…”

“Ha. Ha. Open it.”

Ripping into the paper dutifully, she extracted the gift within. A homemade necklace that went with the bracelet he had given her the year before. She held it up in the beam of the outdoor light. A thin strap of leather had been fitted through a tiny silver medallion. Instinctively, she knew he had spent a great deal of time on it. “It’s beautiful,” she gushed, wrapping her arms around him.

Beaming, he took the gift and clasped it around her neck. “You’re beautiful.”

Rory blushed again, but for entirely different reasons than when she