Disclaimer, rating and information about spoilers can be found in the first chapter.

Notes: Here's part four, after a relatively short delay. Thanks to Roxy, for betaing and thanks to everyone who reviewed! This is a fairly music laden chapter. First song used, "Terrible Thought" by Poe, second we have "Dead Leaves and Dirty Ground" by The White Stripes, third "Ladyfingers" by Luscious Jackson, and "No One Knows" by The Queens of the Stone Age.

And on a completely unrelated note, I would like to pimp out an awesome show called Firefly. You should watch it. If it gets canceled, I will be very, very sad. Plus, I'm a Trory, so obviously I have good taste, right?

Part 4: The Forming of a Friendship…

April - Senior Year

"This was a bad idea. A very bad idea," said the voice in Rory's head. But before she could think about the possible repercussions that came with having a voice in your head, another one spoke up, "It's only a few hours, why are you freaking out?" And then another, this one reminding her of Lane, "Where have you been? It's Tristan. At any given moment, Rory's just as likely to strangle him as she is to do something equally inappropriate but much dirtier."

"What!" Rory exclaimed. And it took her a second to realize that she had spoken that one out loud. And that Tristan was now staring at her like one would a stare at a talking poodle.

"Who were you talking to? Because I didn't say anything."

"Just the voices in my head," she stated calmly.

"Huh," Tristan said, his eyes widening slightly.

"That doesn't make me crazy, you know. Everyone hears them," Rory informed him.

"Sure," Tristan agreed quickly.

"Will you stop that?" she snapped.

"I'm agreeing with you!"

"No you're not. You're fake agreeing with me. You're doing the 'let's not anger the mental patient thing."

"That's because you're scaring me," he informed her.

Rory laughed despite herself. "I think I'm scaring myself." she spotted an upcoming 7-11. "Can we stop for a few minutes? I need road trip food."

"Fine with me," Tristan agreed, wary of her sudden agreeability.

Rory herself was a little surprised, but her little schizophrenic display had made her realize something. The next six hours of her life (at least) were to be spent in the company of Tristan DuGrey, four of which in a moving vehicle.

She had limited options. She could either remain a nervous wreck, probably snapping eventually and possibly driving them off the road. Pretty fireballs aside, that option was less than appealing. Or she could call a truce. A six hour détente between the houses of Gilmore and DuGrey. Before all of the ugliness occurred, she had willingly spent time in his presence, enjoyed it, and even looked forward to it. It shouldn't be too hard to do it now, right?

Right.

* * * * *

The interior of the car was completely silent for the next few minutes. Both of its inhabitants were tense. Tristan glanced at Rory from the corner of his eye. Her hands were on the steering wheel (in the perfect 10 and 2 position, of course) in a white-knuckled death grip, and her head was jerking almost imperceptibly from side to side. As if she was talking to herself inwardly, which she probably was.

Maybe this trip hadn't been such a good idea after all. Maybe Rory's voices told her to burn things.

* * * * *

Rory pulled into the nearly deserted convenience store parking lot and killed the engine. She sat still for a moment, then turned to Tristan and spoke, "Get what you want. I'll meet you back here in ten minutes." She stared at him for an extra moment, then nodded decisively and got out, without allowing him the chance to reply.

Tristan got out as well, but before going into the store he pulled off his Chilton blazer, untucked the tails of his shirt, unbuttoned the cuffs, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. He took his tie off and tossed it along with his blazer into the back seat. He was now as comfortable as he could get while still in uniform. Then he followed the path Rory had taken. He grabbed himself a bag of licorice and then went to the back to fill up a Slurpee cup.

He glanced up as the bells above the door jangled, signaling that Rory had finished and left. Tristan began to move a little faster. Rory was acting strangely, and for all he knew, could be plotting to leave him behind.

He paid for his purchases, thanked the cashier and left.

Rory, it seemed, had resisted the urge to flee and was leaning against the car, her own Slurpee (two sizes larger than his own, he noted amusedly) in hand, white plastic bag of junk food beside her on the hood. She glanced up when he approached, eyes cautious.

He stood in front of her, knowing she had something to say. He wasn't wrong. "I think," she began slowly, "since we do have to spend the next few hours together, we should agree to be civil."

"Civil," he repeated dubiously.

"Yes. A temporary cease-fire."

"Really," he stated, rather than asked. This was a shocking new development.

"Well, we have done it before."

He nodded. "Okay."

"'Okay?'" she repeated skeptically, "That's it?"

"Were you expecting an argument?"

"Well yeah."

Tristan resisted the urge to remind her that most of their present enmity was on her part, that it was almost always she who started their fights, though usually not purposefully. That might change her mind about the truce. "Well," he said simply, "I'm not going to." He gestured to her bag of candy. "Ready to go?"

She nodded mutely and he walked past her to get into the car. "Tristan," she said.

He turned and stared down at her. "Yes, Rory?"

She looked at him, her forehead crinkled, as if she were concentrating intensely. Her expression was one of mystification as she studied him, almost as if she had forgotten what he looked like. He bore her scrutiny silently, patiently, forcing himself to stamp down the tiny flutter of hope his brain was fighting to let loose. He hated the maybes. Maybe she'll forgive me, maybe we can be friends again, maybe...

Rory shook her head abruptly, "Nothing," she said. "Just… nothing," she repeated and turned to walk over to her side of the car. Before getting in, she shrugged out of her own blazer and put it in the backseat next to her backpack, fully aware of him watching her. Tristan resisted trying to goad her into telling him what she was thinking, what she was feeling. But he knew that would have been a mistake. Rory was stubborn and needed time to figure things out for herself.

He just hoped it wouldn't take her too long.

August - Before Junior Year

"Why are we doing this again?" Lorelai asked her daughter as they exited Stars Hollow, their jeep crammed to capacity with suitcases and pillows and a rather large cooler. From the amount of luggage they had, you wouldn't be able to tell that they were only going to be gone for the weekend.

"Because Grandma had invited us to come and you accepted. This is the last weekend they'll be there so that's why we're going," Rory recited automatically for what had to have been the 30th time since they had woken up.

"Right. You should really just duct tape my mouth shut. I should not be allowed to speak. It always seems to end badly."

"You'd rip duct tape off of your mouth in 30 seconds. The only time you're ever quiet is when you're asleep, and even then you snore."

"I do not!"

"Do too."

"I am far to dainty and ladylike to snore," Lorelai retorted.

Rory rolled her eyes. "Right. It was so dainty the way you shoved half a jelly donut in your mouth this morning. And it was very ladylike of you to get the jelly smeared all over your shirt so we had to go home for you to change."

"Well, fine. But I don't snore."

"Whatever. You're as delicate as a princess is. The one with the pea."

"Damn skippy," Lorelai replied than returned to her original thought. "Right, so, I hate Martha's Vineyard."

"As I am well aware."

"I mean, rich people in Hartford are bad enough. But there? So much worse."

"Really."

"Oh yeah, you can't swing a cat without hitting one."

Rory winced. "Poor kitty."

"Yeah, I've always wondered where that expression came from. Why would anyone swing a cat around? And furthermore, I think a cat would swing pretty far, so a cat, assuming your holding on to its tail, could give you a good three or four foot diameter, so it's not like people have to be packed that tightly to get hit. I mean, why not swing a gerbil?"

"This conversation is quickly taking a turn into grossness."

"Right. Sorry. Anyway, rich people. All over the place, at least around where we'll be. And it's all rich old people, too. No one under the age of 35 at all."

"So we won't be finding my new daddy?"

"Nope. Maybe we'll hit Denny's on the way home."

"These rich old people, will we scandalize them with our newfangled music and our shocking clothes?" Rory asked sarcastically.

"Of course. They'll chase us down the streets, canes in the air."

"Good times," Rory said, as she leaned forward to switch CDs.

"Oooh!" Lorelai squealed. "I love this song, A terrible thought has moved into my mind…."

"Mom? Must you sing?"

"Aw, come on. You know you want to."

Rory rolled her eyes, but she joined in, "I must take proper measures to evict it…"

April - Senior Year

"So, who goes first?"

Rory whipped her head in Tristan's direction. She had almost forgotten he was there and let her hand fall from the ignition. "First? For what?"

"Who gets control of the music first?"

"Hmm. I vote for me."

Tristan rolled his eyes. "Of course you do. But I vote for me, and here we have a tie."

"However will we break it?"

"The Democratic way, obviously."

"Which is?"

"Rock, paper, scissors."

"Fine." She held out her fist, Tristan did the same. She narrowed her eyes at him menacingly, and he smirked back. "Rock, paper, scissors." Rory had chosen paper. Tristan, scissors.

"Scissors cut paper. I win."

"Two out of three?"

"Nope."

"Come on!" She pouted.

"It's your own fault. You're the one who told me your strategy."

May - Junior Year

"Can't we rent a movie that's actually good?" Tristan asked after Rory presented him with her movie choice.

Rory glanced down at the case she held. "It's Lake Placid. It has infinite mocking potential."

"Yes, I know. But you see, if we rented a good movie, we could actually watch it and enjoy it. No mocking."

Rory wrinkled her nose. "Your logic is strange and wrong."

Tristan sighed, knowing he would not win in an argument. "Fine. We'll go rock, paper, scissors. If you win, we watch Lake Placid. Again."

"And if you win?"

"I pick the movie."

"Do I get to veto?"

"No."

"You drive a hard bargain, Mr. DuGrey."

"We DuGrey's are known for our business sense."

"Fine. Rock, paper, scissors." Tristan had gone with good old rock. Rory had picked paper. "Paper covers rock. Alligators it is."

After checking out the movie and stocking up on snacks, Rory and Tristan began the walk back to Rory's house. "I can't believe you beat me," he said petulantly.

Rory rolled her eyes. "You're such a bad loser."

"I am not."

"Are too. Besides, I have a foolproof rock, paper, scissors winning strategy."

"Really? What is it?"

"I'm obviously not going to tell you. You'll use the power for evil."

Tristan glared at her. "I'm holding the candy. I can make it disappear."

"You wouldn't dare!" Rory said lunging for the bag.

Tristan dodged her easily. "Yeah I would. I know people." He swung the bag carelessly back and forth.

"All right, I guess I have no choice. For the good of the gummi bears. It's simple really. See, people are predictable."

"Hey!"

Rory ignored him and continued, "They always pick rock, so I always start out with paper. It almost always works."

"That's not a strategy."

"It worked on you didn't it?"

"Shut up."

Rory hid her smile so not to further damage his ego, and they continued walking.

April - Senior Year

"You and your stupid memory. You're like an elephant. I'm going to start calling you Dumbo, or Babar, or…" Rory trailed off, struggling to think of another famous elephant. "Dumbo's mother," she finished lamely.

"Oh the humanity," Tristan deadpanned as he rifled through the discs he kept in the center console.

He held one up for her approval, "Nickelback."

"Veto! Veto!"

"What? Why?"

"I don't have to justify my veto."

"Yes you do."

Rory was about to argue, but in light of their recent peace treaty, she complied. "Because if I have to here 'How You Remind Me' or 'Too Bad' again, I'm going to go on a homicidal rampage. And since you're the only person in killing range..."

"Noted. What about The White Stripes?"

"Acceptable."

"Good," he said and put the disc in.

--- Dead leaves and the dirty ground when you know you're not around / Shiny pops and soda pops when I hear your lips make a sound ---

August - Before Junior Year

Lorelai got out of the Jeep slowly and stretched. "I think we need a bigger car," she commented.

Rory glanced at the piles of stuff they had brought. "I think we need to learn how to pack lightly. She glanced up at the house. It was large, vaguely colonial and expensive looking, but not ostensibly so. It was very much what she had expected; her grandparents were nothing, if not set in their ways.

And speaking of grandparents, there was Emily hurrying out of the house towards them. Rory's eyes widened slightly as she drew closer. Her grandmother was wearing shorts. Granted, she was also wearing pearls but for Emily Gilmore, it was probably about as casual as one could get and still be proper. A man of approximately forty years followed her. "Rory, dear, it's good to see you. You look wonderful." Emily turned to greet her daughter and her voice became more subdued. "Hello, Lorelai. We were expecting you a little earlier."

Rory smiled at her mother, silently asking her to be nice, and with an effort, Lorelai managed to force herself to apologize, "Sorry, Mom. Traffic, you know."

Emily opened her mouth to respond but Rory interrupted her, "The house is beautiful, Grandma."

Emily beamed. "Why thank you, Rory. It's different from our usual place, but we've come to like it." She took Rory's arm and prepared to lead her into the house, but then remembering the man beside her, addressed Lorelai, "This is Martin, he'll show you your rooms and bring in your bags." She turned her attention back to Rory. "This house was built in 1902, by a family…"

"Don't worry about me," Lorelai called from behind them. "I'll just hang out with Jeeves, here.

Emily interrupted her architectural monologue long enough to call back at her daughter, "Martin, Lorelai. His name is Martin."

Rory glanced back at her mother, making a helpless gesture. Lorelai made an exaggerated throat slitting and gestured for her not to worry, so Rory gave Emily her full attention. "…around all summer. I'm sure you'll like him," she was saying.

Rory had not caught the name of the "him" in question, so she assumed her grandmother was referring to one of her friends, so she nodded politely, and Emily continued chatting, moving onto talk of the party preparations.

But you know what they say about people who assume things.

April - Senior Year

"Your time is up," Rory said, ejecting The White Stripes.

Tristan glanced at his watch. "Technically, I still had 23 seconds, but I'm willing to let that go."

"Way to take the high road. Could you grab my bag from the backseat, please?"

Tristan nodded, shifted over in his seat, and stretched to reach her bag in the back. His arm brushed hers, and Rory shifted away from him. Unfortunately, there was a door in the way. She glanced down, her eyes drawn to the thin, lightly-tanned strip of his stomach revealed where his shirt had ridden up as he reached over. She quickly glanced away and tightened grip on the steering wheel, swallowing hard. Rory willed her thoughts to behave themselves; she only had a little highway dementia. Tristan was not attractive, Tristan was not attractive…

He pulled her backpack from the backseat and glanced over at her, oblivious to the thoughts in her head. "Do I have permission to look inside?" he joked, probably remembering the never-look-inside-a-woman's-bag-unless-given-explicit-permission rule.

"Front pocket," she said abruptly.

He looked at her quizzically, and then writing of her demeanor as another of her frequent mood swings, opened up her bag. "What do you want to listen to?"

"Um… Luscious Jackson." He rifled through the jewel cases silently. "What, no comments?" she asked suspiciously.

"Nope," he answered simply.

"I'm probably pushing my luck here, but why is that?"

"You have an overabundance of chick rock in here. It's the lesser of the evils."

"Works for me," Rory replied as he found the correct case, slipped the CD in and pushed play.

--- If you need me to be sweet / Than I can't give you what you need ---

August - Before Junior Year

Rory slipped through the patio doors of the house, book in one hand, sunblock in the other, and a towel draped over one shoulder. It was just after nine AM, and Emily had left fifteen minutes earlier to have brunch with the society ladies. She had wanted Rory to join them, but Rory had managed to decline gracefully. Richard had taken the opportunity provided by his wife's absence to slip into the study and conduct some business, something that was verboten this weekend. Lorelai was still asleep, having indulged in quite a few margaritas the previous night. Margaritas, it seemed, dulled the torment of Hell. Hell in this case being a small cocktail party with a few of the elder Gilmores' friends.

Rory walked a little ways away from the house, chose a spot, and spread her towel out. Five minutes later, she was stretched out on her stomach, protected from UV rays, and immersed in Jude the Obscure.

She remained that way for the next half an hour, oblivious to her surroundings. It was only then that she gradually became aware of a pair of Nike sandal-encased feet standing just in front of her. She glanced up quickly, but just as quickly squeezed her eyes shut as the sun shone into them painfully. Trying again, this time with her hand shielding her face, she was met with the sight of the bane of her existence. It was none other than Tristan DuGrey. "Great," she groaned.

He smirked down at her. "Fancy meeting you here, Mary."

She pushed herself into a sitting position so she wasn't looking up at quite so severe an angle and snapped her book shut. "You know, if you're going to ruin someone's life, you should at least know her name."

He sat down beside her. "I know your name."

"Well, then use it. I didn't say you could sit, either."

"I didn't ask."

With a disgusted sigh, Rory began to get to her feet, but Tristan reached out quickly and grabbed her hand, holding her in place. "Wait," he paused and added, "Rory. Please."

Somewhat mollified by the word "please" and her own name, Rory sat back down. She stared at the waves and kept her voice polite, though not overly warm. "So what brings you here?"

"Same thing as you." He pointed down the beach. "My grandparents have a house there.

"So you came up for the weekend?"

"No. I've been here all summer."

Rory was a little shocked. "What will your minions do without your guidance over the summer?"

"My 'minions?'"

"Seemed appropriate."

"I guess it is. But I don't really know or care. I've been coming here every summer since I was nine or ten."

"And my mom said only old people come here."

"She's right, pretty much. Most people our age would do anything to get out of coming down with their families. You're one of the few people I've seen who doesn't qualify for a senior citizen's discount."

"Then why do you come?" Rory questioned

"I like my grandparents," he said simply.

Rory, unsure of an appropriate response, didn't reply. Silence reigned. It was Tristan who broke it, saying tentatively, "About that last day of school…"

"Do we have to talk about that?" Rory asked flatly.

Tristan ran his hand through his hair uncomfortably. "Well, I just want to apologize." He laughed humorlessly. "Seems like I do that a lot with you, huh?" Rory said nothing, uncertain as to where he was going. "Anyway," he continued, "I am sorry. I shouldn't have told Louise and Madeline and Paris we were going to the concert, and I shouldn't have tried to force you to go with me. I was being stupid."

"I hope you don't expect me to disagree with you," Rory told him.

"No. It's just… well, you're odd."

"Tell me that a few more times, and I might start to take it the wrong way."

"Don't. You know what I mean. You're not like most girls at Chilton. You don't care about money or any of the status bullshit they spend half their time worrying about. You're smart and damn cool," Tristan finished quickly.

"Um. Thanks," Rory stammered, obviously baffled.

"You're welcome. Anyway," Tristan sifted sand through his fingers and continued to studiously avoid her eyes, "What I'm trying to say, very, very inarticulately, is that you once offered me friendship. I'd like to try that again but with no ulterior motives and no hidden agendas this time."

Rory thought about his words; he seemed genuine, more so than she had ever seen him before. She didn't speak for a long time, and Tristan began to rise. "If you don't want to, or you need some time to think…"

Rory smiled ruefully and tugged on his hand. He fell back onto the sand, rather ungracefully. "Patience is a virtue, Tristan."

"So my grandma tells me."

"I don't need time. If you're serious, I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you and start again."

"Really?" he asked. She nodded. "You really are freakishly nice," at her glare, he spoke again. "Well, I am serious. I'll do everything in my power to make things right with Paris."

"I accept your apology, and don't worry about Paris. I can handle her."

Tristan smiled, momentarily relieved. His smile dimmed however, and he spoke again. "I am sorry for being an ass but if I'm being honest, I can't promise it won't happen again. It's kind of a character flaw."

"So I've noticed," Rory teased. "And I'm willing to be lenient, as long as you promise to be genuinely contrite after any slip-ups."

"Promise."

"Good." Rory held out her hand and he shook it. "I officially pronounce you my friend."

"Does that mean you don't hate me anymore?" he asked lightly.

"You heard that?" At his nod, she frowned slightly. "Tristan, I've never hated you. I've been frustrated, annoyed, and pissed off at you, yes, but never hated you. I'd had a horrible few hours, and I snapped."

"Okay." Tristan glanced down at his watch. "I have to go. My grandfather and I are going golfing."

Rory smiled. "You? Golfing? I didn't figure you were the type."

"What's wrong with golfing?"

"Nothing. I have a hat you'd look fabulous in."

Puzzled, Tristan rose. "So I'll see you at your grandparents' party tonight?"

"Sure."

Tristan got up and with a wave, walked down the beach to his grandparents' house. Rory sat on the beach, staring after him, their conversation re-playing in her head.

"Rory!"

Rory turned to see her mother waving at her from the patio. She got up, gathered her things and ran up to the house. "Morning."

"Who was that guy?" Lorelai asked.

Rory smiled and considered the question. "Just a friend from Chilton," she answered, smiling.

April - Senior Year

"Queens of the Stone Age?"

"Wow. A band I actually approve of! I must say, Tristan, I'm impressed."

"Well, I'm impressive."

"Or so you keep telling me."

"I'm not a liar."

"Ha!" Rory smiled, almost affectionately, and turned her attention to the road as she navigated a lane change.

--- We got some rules to follow / That and this / These and those / No one knows ---

Tristan observed Rory discreetly. It was amazing to him how easily they had tossed off their hostility. If he didn't know any better he'd think they had traveled through a time warp and made their way back to last year. He thought about commenting on the change but thought better of it. Rory looked relaxed, happy even. He had almost forgotten what she looked like that way. Rather than dwelling on it, he decided to just enjoy it while he could. "I didn't think you'd be into this band," he told her.

"Lane's rubbed off on me, I guess. She has this thing with Dave Grohl. How long do you think it will take us to get to Hartford?"

"Forty-five minutes, I think."

August - Before Junior Year

Lorelai walked out onto the patio, towards the railing where her daughter and Tristan were sitting. "Forty-five minutes since this god-awful party has begun, and I have had three not so subtle inquiries about Christopher. How do these people even remember these things?"

Rory patted her mother's head affectionately. "Sorry, Mom. Want some of my drink?"

Lorelai took her daughter's glass. "What is it?"

"Coke."

"With rum?"

"Yes, Mother, Grandma was more than happy to supply me with rum. She said a drunken granddaughter was just the thing this party needed."

"Doesn't hurt to ask." Lorelai sighed and handed back the glass. "No thank you then." She turned her attention towards Tristan, who had not spoken. "Hi. I'm Lorelai Gilmore, mother of Rory, and disgrace of the Gilmore clan."

Tristan smiled and relaxed marginally. "Nice to meet you. I'm Tristan DuGrey."

"So I've been told. What…"

"Lorelai!"

"Curses! They've spotted me," Lorelai muttered dramatically.

"Lorelai!" Emily called. "The Blake family is here. They can't wait to see you. Don't be rude."

"Help me." Lorelai pouted.

"Ask them about their grandson," Tristan advised her.

"Why?"

"Just do it, trust me."

"Lorelai!"

"Coming!" she called and with one last "pity me" look, she went back inside.

Rory turned to Tristan. "Why did you tell her to do that?"

"I'll let your mother fill you in later. Suffice it to say, big scandal and unhappy parents. They'll leave her alone as soon as she mentions him."

"Well that's rather devious."

"Well, I try. So, tell me about your summer. Did you enjoy being free of Chilton?"

"I wasn't exactly free of it. I took some summer classes."

"Why in the world would you want to do that?"

"I'm tragically nerdy," Rory deadpanned. "And let's see, I built a house with Habitat for Humanity, but that's about everything of note. Mostly, I've been hanging out with my mom and Lane and Dean."

Tristan bit his tongue at the mention of Dean's name and willed himself not to say anything.

Rory, for her part, realized her mistake and braced herself for his comments. When they didn't come, she was shocked. And a little impressed. Maybe he was being truthful when he promised to make an effort.

Tristan cleared his throat and tried to think of a better topic. What would Rory Gilmore enjoy talking about that was in no way awkward or uncomfortable? "So, what were you reading this morning?"

Rory stood up straighter, glad for a neutral, enjoyable topic. "Jude the Obscure. I think I liked Tess of the D'urbervilles, better.

"No way! Jude the Obscure is by far the better Hardy novel."

"You've read the both?"

"Even jaded rich boys learn how to read in kindergarten, Rory."

"I know that." She paused. "I just figured you'd forgotten, what with your busy schedule of tormenting new girls..."

April - Senior Year

"Do you have the paper with the directions on it?" Rory asked Tristan as they entered Boston city limits.

"Yeah, hold on a second." He opened the glove department in front of him, and papers and pens and everything else he had crammed in there in the last few months spilled out. "Or maybe more than a second," he amended as he began to sort through the mess. He muttered to himself as he sorted the junk into piles on his dashboard, "Ketchup package, homework, homework, pen, receipt, picture..." He trailed off as he stared at the Polaroid.

Rory noticed his silence and looked over, asking, "What's the matter? Who's in the picture?"

Tristan shook himself out of his frozen state, fervently wishing he had cleaned out his car. "It's nothing."

"Let me see." She reached over and snatched it from his hand, bringing it over so she could see. When she got a good look, she wished she hadn't. It was a picture of Tristan and her, both covered in tinsel and holding cookies, smiling at the camera. Her mother's scrawl across the bottom read, "Rory and Tristan, Christmas Eve, 2002." The photo fluttered from Rory's hand, onto the floor.

Rory bit her lip, willing herself not to cry. Tristan was silent, struggling with similar emotions. The tension in the car rose to an all-time high, previous banter forgotten.

Christmas Eve. The last night before their relationship was smashed to pieces.