Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls. Amy Sherman-Paladino and the WB do. I make no claims to owning them. I do, however, wish I could live in Stars Hollow. That'd be keen.

Chapter One

Rory Gilmore sat at the table in the small coffee shop on Peach, a thick book, its pages and cover worn through years of use, was clutched tightly in her frail hands. Outside the modest warmth of the coffee shop, freezing rain came down in sheets, filling the night air with needles of ice and covered the roads in a slick patina. It turned the once comforting and quaint road—a rare thing in the bustle of downtown Boston—into a treacherous skating rink. Some would fondly call this time of year "early spring" and attribute it some romantic conceit of burgeoning love and a return to life. She, however, simply called it "hellish".

The air was cold and the wind frigid; not even the relative warmth of the coffee shop could fully drive the chill from her bones. She brought her mug to her lips and took a lengthy sip of its steaming contents, not bothering to blow on the scalding liquid. This time of year seemed to be the ugliest, worse, even than late fall when the world was filled with the reek of dying leaves. Then, vibrant colors filled the sky and the crisp air and ground crackled with the anticipation of winter. This time of year, however, was about waiting: waiting for a return of life, of beauty. It seemed she had spent a great deal of her time waiting: waiting to go to the school that would allow her to achieve her dreams; waiting for love; waiting to become the woman she hoped to be. It seemed fitting to Rory, as she waited in the small coffee shop on Peach, that she was waiting for him. She was always waiting for him. Now, after driving two hours from New Haven through freezing rain, because he had to talk to her, she was left waiting for him. Again.

Her father rushed into the shop bearing an apologetic grin and shaking ice pellets from his sportily styled hair. As quickly as he appeared, he was gone out of sight behind an influx of caffeine-addicted cattle. Rory muttered a soft "moo" and then mentally kicked her shin for allowing herself to become so spiteful. She took another sip of her mug and offered a wan smile as the man walked to her table carrying two steaming cups and another grin—apologetic, still, although holding a hint of that rakish charm he knew had served him so well in the past.

"How's the coffee?" He shrugged his jacket off onto the back of his chair and looked at her expectantly.

"It's dark. It smells like coffee. It looks like coffee." Her voice was light and airy as she carefully guarded her previous morose thoughts beneath a blanket of comfortable banter.

"Comparison stops there?" Christopher laughed and sipped at his own drink. "Gotta admit, this place is nothing like that shop you showed me at Yale. But, there chai lattes aren't that bad."

"Is that what this is?" She sniffed the odd drink her father had set on the table before her.

"Yup. It's not espresso or anything that could sustain a Gilmore Girl, but it's still nice." He took another sip from his steaming drink.

"It's barely even coffee!"

"It's got coffee; it's just smooth and contains Thai spiced tea. How can you deny the goodness of the chai latte?" Indignation ran clear in his voice. How could she insult the sweet smoothness of his favorite drink? Coffee was boring. Bitter and boring. Chai was spicy and sweet. Obviously, it was better.

"It's a bastardization of all that I hold dear!"

"Or, it's an improvement on an already perfect form, thus making it more perfect than the already pre-determined perfection of the previously agreed upon perfect form that is coffee."

"That's impossible. You can't have anything be more perfect than perfect. It's an absolute like wet, or bright, or dark."

"Those are all relative—your "bright" and my "bright" could be two different levels of bright."

"Even still, you were the one extending the relative quality beyond itself. You can't trump your own trump. Angelina can not be a better match than Jennifer." She laughed into her mug and allowed the levity to mask the sting of her coffee and the vile concoction sitting untouched before her, mocking her with its trendy sickly-sweet smoothness.

Christopher laughed along with his daughter, confident that they could reconcile, now that the pain from Emily and Richard's wedding was over. "Just try the latte! Your life will be changed forever!"

"Fine." She pouted, playing along with the game. Rory drank from her cup, and winced in agony as she forced herself to swallow. "Please don't make my try any more. That stuff is an abomination to God!"

"What are you talking about? These things are great!" He took another hearty sip as proof of his point.

"I'm positive that it's one of the tortures Dante described. Right up there with Yanni and Ulysses!" She set the cup back on the table, and drew her hand back quickly as though the object burned her with its impurity. "Whoever thought of that stuff is a sadist!"

"Coffee tastes aside; I came here to talk to you." He looked down at his hands, his lopsided grin faltering a bit. "I need you to understand that I love you and your mom, and that I never meant to hurt you two."

"But you did." She could not look at him. She could not bear to see the effect her words would have. "You came, and you hurt her. And me."

"I never meant, Rory, you gotta…"

"That's just it. You never mean to, but you always do." Her eyes followed the pattern on the table in a pathetic attempt at ignoring the pang her words caused. "You always hurt us."

"Rory, I know I haven't been the greatest farther in the world, but I'm still your dad. I still love you and your mom." He reached across the table to hold her hand and mend the rift his carelessness had caused. She ripped her hand away, and he grabbed only air.

"You, you, you. Your love, your needs." She clutched her napkin to her lap, her knuckles whitened with the force of her grip. "You want us to be a family, you need me to understand. What about me? What about mom? Where do we fit in your life?"

"With me." Christopher's words were plain, simple. For once the sporty grin was absent from his lips and his eyes were devoid of mirth and left only a tinge of fear and sorrow. In that gaze, the sad, blank stare of a boy lost in a very grown up world he could not comprehend, Rory saw a portion of the man her mother once loved, and why she could never be with him. He was a dreamer constantly searching for the conceits of a time long since passed, a time that could never be.

"Not anymore." Christopher flinched, her words wounding him deeper than anything before. "I doubt we ever did. I used to think that you and mom were meant to be and I never understood why you never put the pieces together. Now, I know."

"Rory, I'm your dad!" His voice rose to a plaintive and indignant squeak. "A girl should have her dad!"

"You're right; a girl should have a dad." She wiped her eyes and cursed the traitorous tears that fell. "But, a dad doesn't disappear for most of your life; a dad doesn't forget your birthday, or promise things and then ask for his daughter to cover for him when he can't follow through. He doesn't try to ruin the best thing that's ever happened to my mom. And, he doesn't promise to be with his daughter and her mom only to run back to his fiancée to start a new life with his new family!" She released her napkin and slumped back in her chair as she let out a sigh, embarrassed and exhausted from her speech. Judging from the stares that filled the room, she had grown quite loud.

"Rory, I…"

She waved a dismissive hand, cutting him off. "A dad wouldn't set up a meeting with his daughter in crappy weather and then make her wait a half hour before he showed up." Rory stood and wrapped her coat about her slight frame. "I've waited for years for you, Christopher." Her father recoiled at his name. "I'm tired of waiting."

"Rory, I…" Christopher's mouth worked mutely, an odd incoherent squeak the only reward for his efforts.

"I had a dad. Because of you, he might be gone. And… and just stay away from us!" She ran from the quaint coffee shop on Peach in downtown Boston, frantically wiping at the tears threatening to fall. A few moments later, she rushed back in to retrieve the book she had left forgotten on the table. "I'll see you in two weeks to hang out with G.G.!" She ran away again to her car and sped off.