Hey people I'm back after a much deserved sabbatical. Much had happened during the past four months and I'm slowly trying to build up to my previous level [keyword: slowly]. In the mean time, expect some redundancy and occasional crappiness [Who am I kidding … LOTS!]. Constructive criticisms will always be appreciated. Sporadic updates not withstanding, I hope this will turn out to be a pleasant experience for you guys.

Disclaimer: I do not own many things. The CSI soundtrack, a single functioning black pen, the concept of Gilmore Girls and HA [I wish!] are a few among many others. May the big moolah above not smite me by flooding me with lawsuits.

Metamorphoses

01 ~ Aisle 1, Kitchen and Bathroom Tiles; Aisle 2, Light Bulbs … and First Love?

New York City was not Stars Hollow. It's not supposed to be. A fact that Rory Gilmore long acknowledged before she moved to the city that never sleep. Stars Hollow was the quintessential small-town USA with a timeless quality in the air. New York was a city of constant evolution and it expected its residents to move along with it. She expected the lack of the inquisitive and good-hearted neighbors. She expected the noise and the crazy cab drivers. She also expected the occasion bouts of homesickness.

No matter how hard she tried, she still missed the Stars Hollow troupe. Taylor's totalitarian attempt to control the town, Babette's assortment of gnomes and cats name after fruits or desserts, the mysterious town troubadour around the gazebo, and Miss Patty's up to date gossips among many others. But the one thing she missed the most was Luke's. She missed the coffee, the gigantic portions, the artery clogging cheeseburgers, and the most of all, a certain dark haired waiter of her own age.

Not anymore. Rory smiled knowingly as she opened the door to her well-lit upper west side apartment. At least now, she has a small part of Stars Hollow living underneath her roof.

"Nice digs." Jess surveyed as he walked towards the balcony, leaving Rory to deal with his heavy bags at the door. She barely pulled his worldly possessions pass the door when Jess asked, "You sure it's okay for me to live here?"

"Why not? I have a 3-bedroom apartment and I can barely take advantage of that with my 18-hour workdays. You on the other hand, are going to spend at least half of the year traveling to exotic places around the globe. We are the ultimate combination. Why pay extra rent when this place is readily available."

"I don't know. With our history, you think it's that brilliant of an idea to have us live together."

"We'll work out the kinks as we go. Besides, as the landlord, I can always kick you out when I'm tired of you." They both chuckled at the thought. "You want something to drink? Preferably coffee because that and water are the only thing I have."

"Coffee then." He made himself comfortable in the living room and slowing sizing up his new home. A huge jar of jelly beans sat amongst the chaotic assortment of In Style, Cosmo, Vogue, New Yorker, Newsweek, Time, and National Geographic. He wasn't at all surprised by the girl's collection. Jess picked up a random magazine and leafed through it. "Still can't believe you're a home owner."

"My grandmother insisted on buying me a place as my graduation gift. My frustrating years of living in a dorm with no privacy just flashed before my eyes and before I knew it, I accepted the offer. You should have seen the first place she first picked out. The batcave looks like a dump besides it." Rory said over the whirring of the bean grinder. "This place is actually her fifth choice and it's the only place that doesn't come with it's own butler."

"What did your mom say? I have a feeling that she's not overjoyed by this arrangement"

"As expected, mom and grandma fought. Grandma later compromised later by only paying for the down payment. I'll have to make the rest of the payments on my own." She walked out and set the cup of steaming liquid in front of Jess. "This is where you come in."

"You need me to help you with the payment seeing that an upper west side 3 bedroom apartment with a Central Park view in New York City isn't one of the cheapest accommodations possible."

"See that's why we'll be great roommates together! You read my mind perfectly." Rory gulped half of her coffee. "That, and you talk at my speed."

"I feel like being used." Jess joked as he sipped the extra strong coffee. "But seriously, how's your uptight, old-money grandparents think of this arrangement."

"I told them I'm living with a roommate."

"You didn't withhold the part where this roommate of yours happens to be a male roommate, did you?"

"I'm sure it'll come out in one of those dinners sooner or later."

"Ahh, how rebellious of you. What about Lorelai? She's not exactly the president of my fan club you know. Should I be aware of any sudden sharp pain on my back as a result of her pinning a voodoo doll of my likeness."

"She was strangely calm and collected when I told her. I managed to pacify her and confiscated her flaming darts collection before I left. But no guarantee on the voodoo bit. Leave a bottle of Motrin on your bedside table just in case."

"Great." Jess finished the coffee. "You don't have to attend to me. I can unpack and make dinner on my own. Why don't you go dress up for you date tonight."

Rory looked at him with her trademark blank stare, which spurred Jess to re examine what he just said. Then she laughed so hard, she curled up to a little ball on the couch.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Two thing. First, you said date."

"So?"

"I don't have one."

"That's kinda surprising seeing that this the city in Sex at the City. Shouldn't you be out drinking cosmopolitan while meeting tall, dark handsome investment bankers?"

"Life isn't an HBO show, a fact proven by many angry Italian Americans. Also, my work schedule is so hectic that I barely have time for regular meals. Any form of relationship or dating is pretty much impossible."

"You should get out more often."

"Easy for you to say, Mr. Lonely Planets traveling correspondent."

"It's traveling correspondent slash contributor. If you're going to say it, say it right at least." Rory responded by sticking her tongue out at him. "What are you, five? So I said one thing wrong, what's the other?"

"You said you're going to make dinner."

"Something I'm more than capable of seeing that I lived above a diner for a few years. I also worked in the said diner during those years"

"Oh no, I do not doubt you culinary capacity. You made the crispiest curly fries that I've ever had. It's more like the lack of ingredients."

Jess looked at her with disbelieve and walked towards the kitchen with Rory close behind. Half of his suspicions were confirmed as he saw the spotless countertop, stainless stovetop, and the little container of potpourri tucked away in a corner. But he's was not truly convinced until he opened the fridge and found one of the largest private collection of take out containers inside.

"You're right when you said you don't have anything raw or anything that isn't doused in sesame oil."

"I do have five flavors of Ben and Jerry in the freezer."

"That doesn't count. It's a wonder that you look more Gwyneth Paltrow than Camryn Manheim with the kind of diet you have. That's it, you have to throw out anything that's been here for longer than a week."

"How about two weeks." Rory pouted in hope of winning the bargain.

"One week, no bargain. This is not the time for your freakish attachment towards politically incorrect Chinese food to run amok." Jess said as he retreated out of the kitchen. "I'm going to take a shower now and then we'll go shopping for real food."

~*~*~*~

Rory had traveled throughout the city to long forgotten corners for her New York Times articles. She had been to homeless shelters, neighborhood free clinics, volunteer centers, and local charity galas. But she had honestly never, in her life, set foot in a hardware store. Luke's didn't count. Contrary to Taylor's opinion, everyone knew it's a diner behind that hardware store sign.

Their scheduled grocery shopping tour had been momentarily delayed by an equally important hardware store shopping excursion. Apparently, the bathroom light bulb had burnt out and Jess was forced to shower in the dark. Afterwards, a half irritated-half amused Jess decided that the luxury of spare light bulbs was more important than food. A decision no doubt influenced by the numerous cuts he accumulated while shaving.

"People actually buy nails and screws by the pound?" Rory asked as she examined her surroundings.

"Stop touching everything!"

"I still don't understand the big fuss you're making on the crack of your bedroom ceiling. It's really not that big."

"Trust me, it feels a lot bigger if you're sleeping underneath it. I don't want to worry about the room caving in on me in the middle of the night. Spackling the ceiling will make me feel much better." Upon looking at Rory's quizzical face, he hastily added, "Humour me."

"Whatever." She shrugged. "As long as this spackling process will not interfere with my much needed concentration. I can't write with background noise. It'd taken me a while to get use to New York traffic noise, so don't add to the distraction. Also, don't expect me to help out."

"Deal." He took a glance at his watch. "The place is going to close down soon. Let's divide and conquer, you get the light bulb and I'll get the spackling compound."

~*~*~*~

To be honest, Tristan DuGrey wasn't a hardware store kind of guy. Despite of the inherited Y chromosome, he saw no joy in handling power tools. But then again, it's probably the DuGrey part rather than the genetics part that made him loath DIY faucet kits. If his maid weren't off today, he wouldn't even be here in the first place.

He stared the wall-to-wall selection of light bulbs. Even though he had a pretty clear idea of the kind of light bulb he needed, he was still overwhelmed by the variety. Clear or soft white; standard or halogen; 75 or 100 watt, GE or Philips? The choices were endless. He had to sudden urge to ditch all of this and leave a note on the fridge for the maid. She could deal with this.

Just when his indecisiveness nearly got the better of him, something happened. A hand reached out of nowhere and dislodged a package of light bulbs from the display rack. His surprise did not originate from her selection, but rather, her identity. He took another peek just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. The girl who's reading the fine prints on the package was indeed the same person he had in mind. Same concentration, same milky complexion, and still the same chocolate hair.

He took a deep breath and lightly tapped her shoulder. "Rory Gilmore?"

The girl looked up and stared at him. Blank stare. Her reaction chased away the last vestige of his doubt. This person had to be Rory Gilmore. Everything was the same … down to her oblivious approach to him. There was a short pause before she spoke up.

"I still have no idea who you are. But you do look familiar. So, either you tell me who you are, or we'll have to try the 20-questions approach."

"I'll give you a hint, Mary."

"The name is Rory!" She replied instinctively. Then the relevance slowly dawned on her. She looked at the face before her more carefully this time and the telltale signs began to surface. The smug face, the blond hair, the way he leaned against the display rack. All trademark Tristan. "Tristan DuGrey, right?"

"Ding, ding, ding. My lord, I think she finally got it."

"Do I get a prize?"

"Go buy yourself a box of Cracker Jack." He paused. "That didn't come out right." They both started laughing heartily at his lame comeback. They laughed so loud that a few shoppers didn't hesitate to cast their disapproving glance at their way. They finally stopped, not because of those shoppers, but because of the need to breathe.

He looked around them and sighed inwardly. Of all the possible scenarios, he couldn't believe they'd find each other in a hardware store. He should be wearing an Armani tuxedo instead of the faded Harvard sweatshirt and wrinkly jeans; she should be wearing a cocktail dress instead of a simple hooded sweater accompanied by a pair of khakis. They would meet in a party or a high school reunion or something with jazz music in the background. Not next to an endless row of light bulbs with the kitchen tile section in the next aisle and the weekly table saw demonstration clearly audible over their conversation. Also, shouldn't there be a gazebo somewhere in the vicinity?

"So how are you?" Rory asked.

"Not bad. And you?"

"Same." Just then, she saw Jess's familiar figure standing semi-discretely at the end of the aisle. "You know what, it's nice meeting you. But I've gotta go now." She picked up her package of light bulbs and started to head away.

Tristan was left standing there to watch her move further and further away. Inside, he knew that if he didn't get her number at this moment, he'd probably never see her again. Maybe not never. But knowing his luck, it would probably be another 10 years before he found her in another unlikely location. It was then and there he made one of the easiest decisions in his life.

"Rory." She stopped and turned around. He walked up to her briskly and summoned enough courage to ask her the question. "You want to have dinner together sometime?"

"Dinner? You and me?"

"Yeah. You know, nothing extravagant. Just want to catch up on the stories." A DuGrey never stuttered, but Tristan nearly broke the cardinal rule. He saw the flash of hesitation in her eyes and half expected her to refuse the offer. But once again, he was pleasantly surprised by tonight's occasion.

"Sure." She fumbled around her messenger bag in search for a writing utensil. She finally pulled out a pen in triumph. "You got paper?"

He did a similar search on his pockets. But unlike Rory, he came up empty handed. He knew that Rory wasn't the kind of girl that would scribble her phone number on his hand. Also, he wouldn't risk doing that just in case he accidentally washed his hands and lost it. Out of a moment of sheer brilliancy (or lunacy), he blindly grabbed a package of light bulbs off the shelf and handed it over to Rory.

"Just write it on there." Rory raised an eyebrow at him and shrugged. She neatly scribbled her number on the bottom of the box.

"Here. I really have to go now." She started to walk away but it wasn't until she had taken a few steps when she turned back and yelled out, "I have a voice mail box. Leave a message if I'm not in. Call me!" She waved before she turned around the corner.

Despite of the PA announcement of the store closing hours, Tristan continued to stare at the spot where Rory was standing. He took a long look at the package. It was a 4-pack of soft white GE 75 watt bulbs. He chuckled at it. If he didn't believe in destiny, he had better start now.