Disclaimer: I don't own any Gilmore Girls characters, plot lines, settings except those that I make up.

Dedicated to: Papa

Chapter One: Defiantly His

It was one of those tolerable days where even the corniest music sounded decent to the ears. The sun was shining vehemently down upon the paved, gray cemented lots of the town, but it was still reasonably cheery outside. Some people would say the sun would be the reason it was cheery outside. Bobbey disagreed.

Truly, she took her father's car in the midst of a lucky span solitude to get away from the house and get inside a dark, secluded theatre to watch a newly released horror picture. She ended up walking out before the first scare rattled the audience.

Robin Tally DuGrey had never been one to do anything rash or exceptionally rebellious. Her grades proved that she spent most of her time in the shelter and confines of four walls experiencing books and knowledge rather than hands-on life.

Walking to her car, she listened to her shoes squeak with every step she took as her socks rubbed up against the worn heel of her tennis shoes.

She didn't know why she took her car. Of course, she knew why at the time, but it wasn't like she'd been dying to see an English remake of a Japanese film. She wanted to get out of the house, out of the still seclusion that was her calm room, calm kitchen, humid living room and claustrophobic halls. And that was ironic because her house was larger than a good percentage of her nation.

Turning on the ignition, Bobbey adjusted the rear-view mirror and stared at the striped surface of the car's back window.

She knew why her subconscious couldn't stay still, couldn't sit down and study for the next math test she was wearily expecting that Monday. She knew why she took her father's new BMW even though she didn't even have an instructed driving lesson yet.

She also knew that running—or driving—away from the problem wouldn't do her any progress, and the smart thing that had to be done would have to be in the presence of her father.

She backed out of her parking space cautiously.

The smart thing to do.

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"Do anything while I was away?" Tristan DuGrey inquired, distractedly leafing through the coupon books and bills that made up his total day's mail. His eyes strayed to his nearly stoic, pensive statue excuse of a daughter.

She looked at him blankly.

"Homework." She paused. "Not much else to do. Study, study, study, right?"

He licked his bottom lip. "Nothing? Didn't call any friends, invite anybody over?"

"No, father, I didn't. Just like I said before, I did homework."

Dropping the mail on the counter with a satisfying slap, Tristan leaned his palms against the kitchen counter as he attempted to catch Bobbey's eye.

"Not that you're not good at it, but you're taking the whole teenage angst rebellion thing entirely too far, Robin," he observed, sighing at the insulted glint in her eyes combined with her refusal to speak. "We used to talk."

She looked up at her blond-haired father figure and curled her lip in defiant disgust.

"We never talked, dear father, because if we had, you'd know that your daughter has never taken any teenage angst or rebellion to any sort of abnormal level. I was a perfect little angel. I was a parent's dream. When you went on your stupid business trips, I never had parties. I rented a movie at worst and ordered pizza. I never defied you." She slipped off the kitchen stool and headed upstairs. "And it's Bobbey. Mom named me Robin."

Tristan expelled a breath and hung his head at the difficulty of being a parent. Everyday was an uphill rock climb and that was on the good day. Without murky waters and troublesome fronts ahead. He had a feeling his rock climbing skills weren't going to be up to par for what emblematic troubled waters had promised.

"What's this about?" Tristan yelled up to his daughter after skipping a beat and following her upstairs. "You were fine this morning before I left for work and now what? You suddenly have a reason for this attitude?"

Bobbey stopped at her door and bore an expression of disgust. "How do you know that I was fine this morning? You barely said good morning before you high-tailed off to your precious office. You know nothing about me."

Tristan's eyes couldn't help but roll toward the ceiling.

"Of course. Of course I don't know a thing about you. I'm only your father who lives with you and provides for you by giving you food and shelter everyday of the week. And because I have to attend a job to make money for those provisions, I suddenly don't know you? Your logic does not resemble our normal, human logic, Robin, I must say."

"I can't believe you!" Bobbey's voice heightened. "Where do you get this shit? Dr. Phil? 'I have to provide for you, why do you resent me for working?' This isn't providing anymore. This is your upper white class, must-keep-up-with-the-rich-old-Joneses complex you've had going for you since I can remember. This isn't about providing, because if it was, we could have provided for, like, nine third world countries right now."

Tristan's eyes hardened. "So it's my fault for wanting you to have an above-average lifestyle, so you could be comfortable?"

Bobbey snorted.

"That's it, I've heard enough. I don't need that look, Robin. I don't know if you're on your..." he waved his hand dismissively, trying to avoid saying the term, "...monthly cycle, but I expect that tone of voice to drastically change for the better the next time I see you." He turned, heading down the stairs.

"I not on my 'um, um, monthly cycle,'" Bobbey blurted out before she thought about it, "and I won't be for quite some time because I'm pregnant. So whatever tone of voice I have, it's not going to change and you're just going to have to get used to it for next nine months and probably after that since I'll go insane carrying for whatever it is will come out of me."

Tristan stopped cold. Turning, his face seemed to hold no color. After a period of time Bobbey could not have measured, her father pressed the back of his hand to his mouth.

"Oh, my God," he whispered, the words muffled by his hands. He removed his hand. "How long?"

Bobbey rolled her eyes. "Nine months, I hear."

"How. Long."

She sighed, shrugging her shoulders in defeat. "Three or four weeks?"

"Is that a question or an answer?" Tristan inquired in a dead voice.

"It's an answer."

He nodded once. "So. So you've taken a pregnancy test."

Bobbey thought of including more sarcasm, but the relief of revealing her secret caused her extreme fatigue and distress from playing any more games. "Yeah."

"One?"

She rubbed her eyes. "Four."

"And..."

"And four out of four is pretty convincing."

Tristan leaned back against the wall and slid down, sitting awkwardly on the stairs. He stared straight ahead with Bobbey sneaking cautious glances at him, expecting him to blow up at any moment.

"You had sex?"

Bobbey closed her eyes rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly hating her father a fraction less than before and wondering how deep this really cut him.

"You had sex," he repeated. "In this house."

"Not in this house," Bobbey corrected.

"You had sex," Tristan continued as though he'd never heard her. "With whom?"

Bobbey cleared her throat. "You don't know him."

"I'm going to. I'm going to very, very soon." He continued staring before finally bringing his gaze to his daughter. "You had sex with this... person. Surely you can introduce him to your father."

"Dad. Stop," Bobbey shook her head, leaning her back against the wall and folding her arms across her chest. "You're..." She expelled a breath. "You're lucky I even told you. I—I wasn't going to. I haven't told him yet either so if I tell you who he is and you go over there making death threats, it won't even be justified." She pursed her lips. "At least until he knows about it."

Tristan pondered her words. "You're my daughter."

Bobbey inhaled, a tear running down her cheek. "I know."

"How is my daughter going to have another child?"

She wiped her eyes. "I know."