Disclaimer: I own the world, or haven't you heard? Nah, just kidding. I don't own them, okay? Get off my case. They belong to Amy Sherman Palladino and the WB.

Rating: R

Pairing: R/T

A/N: Yes, this is a new fic. I hate my life. Anyway, I seem to have been bit by the writing bug and instead of helping me finish my other fics, it has me writing a new one. Go figure. The readers of Whatever Tomorrow Brings and Then Came You should know that I will be finishing those fics as well. Somehow. This fic is set in the future so the characters might have changed and evolved a little – but that just makes it all the more real, right? Enjoy and remember that feedback is cherished!

You Got Away

Prologue: Homeward Bound

An errant ray of sunlight peeked through the curtains and hit twenty-six year old Rory Gilmore with its cheerful intensity. She groaned and buried her face in her pillow not wanting to leave the delicious warmth of her comfy bed. But her internal clock was ringing and her mind was already buzzing with activity. She let out a strangled whimper and threw the covers off her body. She stretched leisurely and then quickly darted off her bed. If her mind was going to get a head start for the day, she figured that she would nourish her body with some coffee to even the odds.

Humming, she slipped into a furry blue robe and glided into the living room of her apartment, only to find Paris Gellar and Jess Mariano intertwined on the sofa, lips locked and hands in places she knew they had no business being in so early in the morning.

Rory rolled her eyes and cleared her throat for the benefit of her friends. Paris who had some amount of shame broke away from her fiancé and looked in Rory's direction with a sheepish yet thoroughly sated expression. Jess continued kissing Paris' neck, barely acknowledging Rory's presence. Paris finally pushed him off and he looked up grinning. "Hey Rory."

She muttered something about men being sex-addicts and headed for the kitchen as the two of them straightened themselves out. Paris followed her roommate into the small kitchen, a small smile on her face. "You're rather grumpy this morning."

The brunette sighed and flicked on the switch to the coffee maker. "I was trying to write last night and lost track of time."

"An article?" Paris asked buttering a piece of toast.

"My novel," Rory replied with a grunt.

"How is that going?"

"Nowhere," she said and headed for the fridge in the well-spaced kitchen.

She and Paris had bought this apartment in upper Boston and moved in together when they had graduated from Harvard. They had been enemies and friends through Chilton and most of Harvard. As circumstance would have it, the two were thrown together so many times that somewhere a long the line they had formed a bond that neither anticipated but both readily accepted because of their history and at the prospect of having someone familiar to hold onto while facing the scary albeit exciting future ahead of them.

And they were soon going to be family, as Paris was engaged to Rory's step-cousin, Jess.

"You worry too much," Paris reprimanded and handed Rory a mug of coffee.

"Right back at ya," she replied taking a sip of the dark liquid and sighing in pleasure. "My mind is a complete blank. Why did I ever think I could do this?"

"Because you can," the blonde replied just as Jess walked into the kitchen. Paris leaned in to kiss him lightly on the lips and then addressed him. "Jess, Rory can do it right?"

"Do what?"

"Write."

"Of course."

"Guys," Rory whined and bit into a Pop Tart. "You don't understand. Writing a novel. That's real tough. And scary. And I don't know if I'm strong enough to do it."

Jess patted her on the shoulder. "You're very unattractive when you're low on self-esteem."

"Well wouldn't you be if you were low on sleep, food and coffee, working overtime all the time, trying to write a novel and not getting past the first sentence, having no social life and no love life whatsoever?" she complained and then pouted.

"Well you know, you can solve the whole love life problem if you just pick up the phone and call a certain guy…" Paris trailed off with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Rory knew that Paris was talking about Tristan DuGrey but before she could retort, the phone rang and she reached over the microwave to answer it. She picked the receiver and pushed all thoughts of the charming, sexy man who had made her life hell ever since he'd stepped into it and smiled brightly. "Hello?"

"Rory," Luke said from the other end.

Her step-dad's sounded rougher and more raw than usual and she immediately furrowed her brows in worry. "Hey Luke, what's wrong?"

"Richard's in the hospital," he answered sadly and Rory gasped, causing Jess and Paris to look at her with concern. "You gotta come home quick."

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Brooding was one the things Tristan DuGrey did increasingly well.

That and arguing about everything under the sun until he had convinced everyone – from his family, friends and a jury of strangers that he was right and they were wrong. Of course it helped that he had a charming personality and a killer smile, but he knew that his powers of persuasion were very well honed.

As were his brooding skills.

Right now, he sat in his office in downtown New York as it poured outside, still steaming from his most recent argument with his father, William DuGrey. He wasn't sure who started the argument this time  - and in the long run he knew it didn't matter. Somehow, according to his father he was responsible for the rift that had torn apart father and son so many years ago.

That was something else Tristan couldn't isolate – when it was that they had come to the point where he could no longer be with his father without getting into a heated fight. A few times, they almost even came to blows.

Whether it was about school, which college he wanted to go to, what job he wanted, how he led his life or the women he dated, William had found something indisputably wrong with Tristan's choices. And he had no problem voicing his opinion.

Back then when Tristan became too troublesome, William carted him off to military school – just like people take their dogs to obedience school. Now, he just called and annoyed the hell out of his son. Tristan didn't know which was worse.

Tristan's grandfather, Janlan was usually the one who settled debates and sent the two men off into separate corners to cool off. But lately the patriarch of the DuGrey clan's health was failing miserably and William had taken advantage of this time to irritate his son.

Janlan's ailing health was something else that Tristan had been brooding about when the intercom buzzed. "Mr. DuGrey?" Alice's voice came through the intercom and flitted through his quiet office. "Mr. Mariano is on the telephone for you."

"Thank you," Tristan said absently as he pressed the button and picked up the receiver. He smiled. "Mariano, what can I do for you?"

"You can get on a plane to Hartford for one thing," the man on the other end answered gruffly. "Today, if possible."

Tristan remained unperturbed. "Now why would I do something like that?"

"Because Richard Gilmore passed away this morning," Jess replied. "Heart attack. The funeral's tomorrow. She might need you there."

He took in a sharp breath as self-preservation kicked in. "She might not."

"Would you stop being a selfish bastard and - "

"I'll be there," Tristan interrupted.

"See you then," the other man replied sounding relieved. "Bye."

"Yeah, bye."

As the phone clicked back into its cradle an image of the last time he had seen Rory Gilmore, wide eyed and furious with him, flashed through Tristan's mind and almost made him debate his decision to go.

She might need you there.

He shook his head and set his mouth in a grim line.

He was going home.