A.N. Hey Guys! Thanks for all the reviews! Sorry it took me so long to get another chapter up but my computer was being ridiculous. Anyway, hope you enjoy it!


Mona Sikes finished skimming the article in her hands before turning to the young lady before her.

"Very good, Rory. It's very well written. There are some holes here and there but surely you can clear that up."

"The second I get home from the Inauguration Ball next week, I promise, the holes will be filled. I've got my shovel and a pile of dirt ready and waiting."

"Good, good. I think covering an event this large is just the thing that could get you promoted."

Rory's heart stopped beating for a second. For the past five years she had been working her tail end off at the NYC Gazette, taking every scoop and lead that came her way. Keeping her fingers crossed, she prayed that all of her hard work was finally about to pay off.

"Promoted? Really?"

"Yes, I'm sure you would make a wonderful editor. And we've also been known to write very influential reference letters if you feel your work is calling you elsewhere. I personally would not advise this; mostly, because I'm selfish and want to keep you here. But we've had journalists who have gone on to write for the New York Times or the Wall Street Journal. We've even produced foreign correspondents and sent people on to work in the White House."

On the inside Rory was jumping up and down. This was the chance that she had been waiting for since…well since forever. She could take a job as a foreign correspondent and see the world the way she'd always wanted to. She would get to look past the landmarks and monuments that always came with touring another country. She would be able to get up close and personal with the real issues that were affecting people in other countries. And, possibly she could inspire people to take notice of the world around them.

"Mona, I'm very flattered. I would love-," Rory started to say before she was cut off.

"But of course if this piece flops, and there's always a 50 chance of that happening with any article, well, then, let's just say you might stay exactly where you are for quite some time. Not that that's a bad thing, of course. You are very valuable to our staff. You know that. And besides, traveling for the New York Times isn't for everybody. We've had people working here for over 25 years now, and they all love it!"

Rory felt herself go paler as she thought of 25 years in that tiny cubicle, with Marge, the lady with the twelve canaries and a scrapbook with pictures of every single one of them, on one side of her and Joe, the slightly neurotic man who carried a water gun on him at all times in case of an emergency, on the other side. Apparently 25 years of covering crimes had taken its toll on Joe, who was constantly imagining that celebrities were out to kill him. Last week, he swore that Danny DeVito was hiding behind the water cooler, ready to pounce on him whenever he needed hydration. Thinking about this, Rory strongly felt that she would rather fling herself off of the top of the news building, then spend another 20 years listening to "Now, Sugar likes to eat all of the birdseed, leaving none for Barney or Buster. So, I finally had to put her in her own cage, and…."

'No way am I dealing with that,' thought Rory as Mona finished speaking.

"Now, go on. Get back to work. Oh, and dear, if you see Harold on your way out, would you please tell him that I would like to see him? Oh, and if you got a chance, could you possibly refill the coffee pot? I know it's not your job, but no one else in the office can make a decent cup of coffee. Thank you darling."

Rory, still nauseous over the idea of spending the next 25 years of her life at the Gazette, nodded and left the office somewhat blindly while muttering to herself.

"Twenty-five years? I have the chance to become a great reporter but there's a 50 chance that it won't happen and I won't get to live my dream but it won't matter because I'm valuable and I can spend the next 25 years here?! At least I'd always be here to make the coffee! I would always be here to convince Joe that Mr. and Mrs. Smith was just a movie and Angelina Jolie is not out to get him! I could send Harold to Mona's office everyday for 25 years! I would always be available to run and get everybody's lunches! Forget being a reporter! I'll just become a professional lackey!" Rory muttered to herself on the way down the hall.

Rory loved her job; she couldn't imagine doing any other kind of work. But sometimes it felt like she was a reporter half the time and an intern the other half. The story on the mayor's ball was the first major assignment Rory had been given in months. She knew what she had to do, and that was put everything she had into the piece so she might have a chance at finally making her way as a journalist.


Tristan was relieved when the clock on his computer screen showed that it was five o' clock, signaling that it was time for him to leave the office. Even though he enjoyed his work, it seemed to Tristan that, lately, every day was getting more and more stressful. He felt as if he desperately needed a vacation, but at the same time, he knew that he would spend the entire time thinking and worrying about work. It was better if he just stayed in the office and got everything done, instead of letting everything pile up over a worthless week of worrying.

As Tristan reached for his coat, Sharon poked her head in the office.

"I'm sorry Mr. Dugrey. I know you're getting ready to leave, but Mr. Powers is on the phone and he insists on speaking with you. I told him that you were done for the day, but he says that it's an emergency."

Tristan sighed, as he hung his coat back up. Kent Powers was one of the most worrisome and annoying men he'd ever met. Everything was an emergency to him. He had called just last week to let Tristan know that he had gained two pounds but not to worry about raising his insurance rates, because he was going to lose the extra weight within the week. When Tristan asked why two extra pounds would affect his insurance rates, Mr. Powers replied very obviously:

"Because, I am at greater risk of a heart attack."

Tristan could hear the insinuated 'duh.'

"Of course, Mr. Powers, how thoughtless of me. Well, should anything serious happen, God forbid, of course, just let me know and we can deal with the legal matters at that time."

"Yes, yes, of course, I just wanted you to be aware of the situation."

The thought of another 'emergency' was definitely less than appealing to Tristan. However, he knew that if he didn't respond to Mr. Powers' call, he would absolutely have to deal with it tomorrow. Tristan figured it was just easier to get the phone call out of the way.

"It's okay Sharon. Put him through. But just let any other calls go to my voice mail. I'll make sure to deal with them tomorrow."

"Yes sir."

Tristan reached for the phone as Sharon quietly left his office. He took a deep breath, raised his eyes to the ceiling as a sort of prayer, and pushed the flashing button on his phone.

"Mr. Powers, its Tristan. I was told this was urgent."

"Ah, yes Tristan, you see I was going over my will…"

Twenty minutes later, Tristan stepped out of his office and headed down the street towards the local coffee shop. Although he wasn't usually one for coffee, Tristan felt as if he could use a serious pick-me-up before heading back to his apartment. Apparently, dealing with Mr. Powers after hours took double the energy needed for a phone call during working hours. Also, seeing as how the temperature had dropped to 42 degrees (or so the thermometer on the flashing AmSouth Bank sign said), a hot coffee was very much needed.


"Promoted? Really?! Are you sure she didn't say demoted because that would be totally different."

"No, Mom. I'm sure she said promoted. She also said that she would be able to write references letters if I wanted to go somewhere else. But she said that this piece pretty much has to rock."

"Well, what do you have to do in order to make it rock?"

"Put every waking second I have into it. I have to have every tiny, little, minute detail about this ball on paper. That means calling people, interviewing people, and bugging people until they feel like it's the middle of summer in a mosquito infested swamp. This town is going to be so sick of me when I get done with this piece, but I don't even care. I need this to work so much, and I don't care if people hate me!"

"Aw, that's my little sociopath. Mommy raised you right."

"I believe she did a commendable job. Anyway, I'm going to hang up now before I get any crazier."

"No! Don't hang up! We aren't going to get to talk for years apparently, since you're going to be putting every waking second of your life into the story."

"But I'm about to go get coffee, and I'll have to order, and then I'll have to carry my cup and balance my phone and my work bag all at the same time and then I'll spill my coffee, ruin my bag, and drop the phone and, with my luck and gracefulness, it'll land in someone else's coffee and it will be bad."

"…What are you doing that close to someone else's coffee?"

"I tripped while trying to balance everything and had to catch myself on their table."

"Oh, gotcha! Well go enjoy your coffee, but don't go falling onto other people's tables. Some people might not get a kick out of it like we would. Oh, and make sure you don't let this piece take over your life. Be sure to relax at least a little."

"I will, Mom. Bye"

Rory shut her phone and put it in her bag as she walked into the coffee shop. Inhaling the fresh smell of ground coffee beans, she walked up to the counter and placed her order. She set her bag on a stool and started pulling all sorts of papers out of her bag, looking for a page of notes on the new mayor's platform. Finding the page she needed, she quickly stuffed everything back into her bag. She finished just as the worker at the counter handed her the coffee.

As she grabbed the cup, she gripped the sides extra hard in order to not spill it. Of course, this plan backfired as she proceeded to make the cup overflow. She grabbed a few napkins from the pile at the counter and tried to clean up the side of her cup as she turned around, not paying attention to the person standing behind her. She ran straight into the stranger and jumped back, surprised that somebody was standing that close to her. He put an arm out to steady her, making her jump even more. This resulted in a much spilt coffee, all over Rory's notes and down the front of her blouse.

"Oh no!" Rory cried as she hurriedly tried to mop up the front of her shirt.

"I am so sorry, ma'am! Are you okay?" The gentleman asked as he grabbed some more napkins from the counter.

"Oh, I'm fine. It was my fault. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going." Rory answered, still not looking up from the mess. "But, at least my phone isn't in your coffee."

"Well, yes, I can see where that would definitely be a good thing." The man answered a bit puzzled and amused at the same time. "Can I buy you another-"

Tristan stopped speaking as he got a good look at the woman in front of him. Completely shocked, he managed to speak.

"Rory Gilmore?"

"Yes?" Rory said finally looking up from her top, realizing that a seemingly complete stranger knew her name. She looked at him, trying to place his face. All of a sudden, it came to her.

"Oh my god," she said as the wad of wet napkins she was holding fell to the floor.