Title: Libertad
Chapter 4: Mean Bone
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: I started this chapter so many months ago, it's really bizarre for someone other than me to finally read it. Trory will be front and center, hope that's all right with everyone
I have a right to my anger, and I don't want anybody telling me I shouldn't be, that it's not nice to be, and that something's wrong with me because I get angry. –Maxine Waters [in Brian Lanker, I Dream a World]
Mean Bone
"All right, I had a feeling they wouldn't. Thanks anyway," Tristan said before he put his phone down on the cradle. He got up and walked over to the interrogation room. Mark was inside, questioning Brian Sloan some more. Tristan knocked on the door and his partner walked out. "The prints don't match him. And he alibis out."
"That's too bad. He's kind of a douche," Mark said.
"Yeah, but he didn't kill anyone. Cut him loose," Tristan said before heading back to his desk. His cell phone vibrated from his pocket and he took it out to answer. "DuGrey."
"Tristan, are you busy?" Janlen DuGrey asked.
"Yes. I'm at work. Don't you know my work voice when you hear it? I apparently have one."
"Well, I need a minute of you time. Have you reconsidered?"
"Reconsidered what?"
"My request that you come with me to the party tonight."
"I'm sorry, but were you under the impression that I was reconsidering it?"
"Next week I'll be out of the country."
"Okay, have fun. It's not like I was planning on going to Hartford then, either."
"You know, I'm not going to be around forever. You should spend time with me before it's too late."
"You're slipping, Old Man. Is that the best you've got?"
"How about this, it would mean a lot to me if you accompanied me tonight. And I know for a fact everyone would be happy to see you."
"I doubt that."
"You don't have to stay all weekend, just come tonight."
Tristan sighed in defeat. "Fine, you win. I'll meet you there. But I'm only staying for one hour."
"Three."
Tristan scoffed. "Fat chance. An hour and a half."
"Two hours."
"Fine."
"I'll see you at seven o'clock, sharp."
"I guess you will."
"Don't sound so grim. I think you might have a nice time."
"I can guarantee that I won't."
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
Later that afternoon, Rory was sitting at her desk, typing an article. About college expenses. She had the information, so she looked up some statistics and decided to go ahead and write the article. She was planning on leaving a little earlier than usual today so she could get a train to Hartford.
She looked up when Marie walked over and dropped her notebook on Rory's desk.
"Here're your statements from the City College administrators," Marie said. She didn't sound happy as she sat down at her desk.
"What's wrong?"
"Well, when I was on campus, I saw your detective, so I thought I'd get an update for you. But he wouldn't answer any of my questions. He glanced my way and kept going."
"He did not."
"He did."
Rory shook her head and took her cell phone out of her drawer, she was about to hit the speed dial when she remembered that he wasn't going to take her call. "Can I borrow your cell phone?"
"Sure, here." Marie handed over the device and Rory dialed Tristan's cell.
She impatiently drummed her fingers on her desk as she waited.
"DuGrey."
"You are unbelievable, you know that?" she asked hotly.
"Sure, but it's still nice to hear now and then. Who is this?"
"You know who it is. Or wait, maybe you don't. I guess droves of women are trying to get a piece of you, what with you being such a catch and all. You probably can't keep track of any one woman's voice at this point," Rory taunted.
"That's right, you figured me out," Tristan said sardonically. "I really want to deal with more than one unreasonable woman. Like you aren't enough of a hand full as it is."
Rory rolled her eyes. "Why didn't you answer Marie's questions when she saw you this afternoon?"
"I thought you'd be happy about that."
"Why would you think that?"
"Well this way, she doesn't have to pay me back—tonight wouldn't really work for me anyway. I have plans that I couldn't get out of."
Rory scowled and wondered—with an annoying twang of jealousy—what his plans were. "Now see, I knew it would only be a matter of time before you were off the market, thanks to your centerfold."
"Did you call for a reason? Or was it just to make outrageous accusations?"
"Just because you have a problem with me doesn't mean you can take it out on the Daily News. I thought you called yourself a professional."
"That's the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think?"
"How do you figure?"
"Your co-worker is not the reporter on this case. If the Daily News wants to know what's happening, then I guess you shouldn't pass your work off on someone else just so you can avoid me."
"I had to go to a meeting this afternoon. Mr. Zuckerman was there. He kind of runs things around here. Say, do you know whose office is on the 'Fourteenth Floor' down at One Police Plaza?"
"Gee, I don't know. The commissioner?"
"Oh good, you do know. Now, if he asked you to meet with him, I'm sure you consider yourself enough of a badass to blow him off. But when my superior wants me in a meeting, I go."
"I'm going to ask one more time. Do you need something?"
"Do you have any new suspects?"
"For which homicide?"
"Pick one."
"No."
"Fine, for Lance Sooner."
"I wasn't saying no to picking a homicide. I was answering your question. No new suspects—for any of them."
"What about that kid—Brian Sloan?"
"It wasn't him."
"How do you know?"
"Because we followed procedure and concluded he didn't do it."
"Is Greene still a person of interest?"
"Yes."
"That's all I wanted."
"Fantastic." They both hung up after that.
Rory handed Marie her phone back and went back to her article about college. When James walked over a while later, she was just finishing her update on the homicides.
"Here," she said, handing him one of the articles while the other printed.
"What's this?"
"It's an article. That's what we do here—write articles."
"I see that. Why did you write about the cost of college?"
She shrugged. "I felt like it."
"What am I supposed to do with it?"
"Put it in the paper. I can write things on my own, you know. I don't have to go chasing after the police to write an interesting story."
"I know. I just didn't know you were writing about this."
"Well, now you do." She grabbed the other paper from her printer and handed it to her editor, as well. "Here's an update on the murders. I'm going to head out. I won't be in tomorrow."
"I'm actually okay with that. Maybe you'll have a better attitude come Monday."
She glared at him before she grabbed her bag that was stashed under her desk and left the newsroom.
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
Meanwhile, Tristan was on the phone, waiting for his grandfather to pick up.
"Hello?" Janlen answered.
"I changed my mind. I'm definitely not going to be able to make it tonight."
"You already said you were going to come. You're expected. It's too late to get out of it now."
"No it isn't."
"You agreed, Tristan."
"It was only verbal. Trust me, verbal agreements never hold up in court."
"But they hold up with me."
"Can't you just send me some contracts to look over and we'll call it even?"
"No. And you should be leaving soon, if you haven't already. I will see you shortly."
"You're going to regret it."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not promising to behave."
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
Two hours later, Rory was riding in the Jeep with her mother. Lorelai had just picked Rory up from the train station.
"I am so excited about this girl's weekend we're going to have," Lorelai said cheerfully.
"So am I. Sometimes I just can't stand the city. This is one of those times."
"And Stars Hollow is the perfect cure."
"Then what's with the detour?" Rory asked, frowning at the direction her mother was driving.
"Well, I have good news and bad news about tonight."
"Give me the good news first."
"There won't be any Friday night dinner."
"Thank God, I knew I could count on you."
"Right," Lorelai said guiltily. "Unfortunately, Mom figured out you would be in town tonight. I accidently said 'we' couldn't make it and she wanted to know who 'we' were. I tried to save face, but it was too late."
"But you just said no Friday night dinner."
"Well, there won't be dinner, but there will be a cocktail party."
"What?"
"Yeah, it's for clients of your grandfather. So it'll probably get pretty wild."
"Ah man," Rory groaned.
"Mom was really happy when she realized you'd be with me. She talked about making a call to someone. My guess is, she's finally found you a husband," Lorelai said with a smile.
"What? No, not tonight, I'm not in the mood."
"Well, until you find your own, she's going to be there with the assist."
"The point of a girl's weekend is that there are no men."
"Maybe she didn't find someone for tonight. It was short notice."
"That gives me little comfort. It's Grandma, there's no such thing as too short notice."
"Sorry."
"No you aren't. You like to watch her efforts."
"That's true. It's a schadenfreude thing."
"Well, I'm not going to make a very good first impression tonight. Plus, I'm still in the clothes I wore to work and won't have time to change. She's going to have to deal with it."
"Telling it like it is. I like it."
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
A short while later, Rory stood with Lorelai at the front door of the Gilmore house. Lorelai stalled as long as she could before Rory shook her head and just rang the bell.
"I would have rung it eventually," Lorelai protested.
"Sure you would have," Rory stated, crossing her arms as they waited for the door to open.
When it did, Emily Gilmore was on the other side. "Girls, good, you're finally here. Well come in, come in," she said, beckoning for them to enter the house.
They complied and hung their purses on the coat rack by the door.
"Lorelai, didn't you tell Rory we were having a party? She would have had time to change, if you had."
"Hello to you too, Mom. Your impression of Gran is getting really good."
Emily shook her head before turning to her granddaughter. "Rory, I'm so glad you were in town this evening."
"Yeah, it worked out pretty well, didn't it," she said, not too enthusiastically as she glanced around the party.
"Come with me," Emily said eagerly, grabbing Rory by the arm and weaving around groups of guests who were mingling around the first floor of the house.
Lorelai, not wanting to be left out, tagged along to see the pending show. Emily led Rory to a corner of the living room. Lorelai almost ran into her daughter when they stopped in front of a man wearing a three piece suit, sans jacket, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had a five o'clock shadow and he was holding a drink in one hand. His lips were set in a grim line and he fixed Rory with a steady, foreboding gaze as Emily spoke.
"Rory, this is Tristan DuGrey."
Rory glared at him before responding. "I know, Grandma, we went to Chilton together, remember?"
"Oh, that's right," Emily said with a smile. Lorelai thought her mother's surprise didn't sound genuine. "Tristan moved to Manhattan last fall."
"What a coincidence," Lorelai said with a devious smile.
Emily ignored her. So did Rory.
"He was just named one of New York City's most eligible bachelors," Emily beamed.
Rory narrowed her eyes at Tristan. "Congratulations. That sounds like quite an achievement. Who did you do to make that list?" she asked.
His eyes turned steely and he clenched his jaw to bite back a response in front of their hostess.
Lorelai looked to her daughter in surprise.
Emily didn't seem to notice their hostility towards each other, though, as she continued on with Tristan's list of accomplishments. "He went to Harvard."
"Neat," Rory said, unimpressed.
"We call that a youthful indiscretion here," Lorelai put in.
Tristan was the only one to shift his eyes in her direction.
"He also graduated from Yale Law School."
Rory saw him quickly look to the ceiling, in a mildly successful attempt to not roll his eyes. She raised a brow at him, now more fascinated in what her grandmother had to say. "Really? Well, what a coincidence, I went to Yale, too. What law firm do you work for in New York? Maybe I've heard of it," she asked him a bit too eagerly.
"I don't actually practice law," he replied, speaking for the first time. "I enforce it."
"He's one of New York's Finest," Emily explained, completely oblivious of how unnecessary an explanation was needed.
"That's a first," Lorelai said so only Rory could hear.
"Rory writes for the New York Daily News. It has the sixth highest circulation in the country. She also lives in Manhattan. You're probably neighbors and didn't even know it," Emily told Tristan with a grin. "In fact, she investigates crime, just like you."
"We're practically doing the same job," he commented wryly.
"Practically," Rory agreed.
"I am so glad we came here tonight," Lorelai commented happily as she watched her mother try to set Rory up.
"Well, I'll just leave you two to catch up. Lorelai, why don't you come with me?" Emily asked.
"That's okay, I'm all right here."
"But I really insist—"
"It's okay, Grandma, she can stay," Rory said.
Her grandmother looked a bit disappointed. "Well, all right," she grudgingly said before walking away.
Lorelai smiled at her daughter and Tristan. "Wow, your biological clock must be ticking pretty loudly in her ears these days."
"What are you talking about?" Rory asked as she tore her eyes from Tristan's for the first time since seeing him there.
"No offense," Lorelai said, looking at Tristan and then back at Rory, "but a cop? This is the first time she's ever introduced you to someone who carries around a firearm. You do carry a gun, don't you?"
"Oh yeah, I'm usually armed and dangerous. I didn't think it would be wise to have it on me tonight though," he answered.
"Good call. I often wish I could carry one when I'm here."
"I'm sorry, but what does any of this have to do with my biological clock?" Rory asked impatiently.
"Well, when you turned down a Huntzburger, it was one thing," Lorelai started. Rory glanced at Tristan quickly and saw that he had a brow raised this time. "But now Mom is just getting desperate. You will be thirty this year and haven't provided her with any great-grandchildren yet." She turned back to Tristan. "I guess it's the Yale thing that balances out the fact that you're a cop."
"Detective, to be more specific. But yeah, Yale probably is my one saving grace," he said self-depreciatively. "What kinds of guys does your mother usually bring around?" he asked Lorelai, ignoring Rory, who opened her mouth to protest.
"Oh, you know. The usual suspects."
"No, actually. My usual suspects are sometimes guilty of committing violent crimes."
"Good point, thanks for making the distinction. Let me see, the last guy was a month ago," she said with brows knit in thought. "What did he do for a living?"
"Investment banking," Rory answered hastily.
"That's what it was. I knew it was something boring. And before that it was a venture capitalist that'd gone to Princeton. I'm sure you have better stories to tell, at least."
"I could think of a few good ones," he agreed as he stared at Rory callously.
She didn't bother to look away disgracefully.
"You know," Lorelai said, looking to Rory, "if you really want your grandmother to stop bringing single men around, just tell her you've been seeing someone in New York for a few months."
Tristan cocked a brow. "A few months, huh? Does that mean I'm wasting my time here tonight?"
"Not necessarily. I'm not convinced that guy actually exists." He quickly shot Rory a dirty look before turning back to Lorelai when she continued. "I was supposed to get to meet him at Paris's wedding last month, but he suddenly 'couldn't get away'. If that doesn't scream fake boyfriend, I don't know what does."
"He did come later, Mom."
"Yes, conveniently after I had to get back to the inn."
Rory looked to Tristan, as though expecting him to back her up, but he shook his head and shrugged.
He addressed Lorelai again. "Well, maybe he exists, but she's ashamed of him." He sounded conversational, but Rory knew it was with a scornful demeanor.
"That could be, but why?" They were both looking at Rory now and she glared back at them.
"Six fingers on one hand?" he suggested.
"Horrible disfiguration?" Lorelai tried.
"Poor?"
"One arm?"
"Bad New York accent?"
"Or worse, he has bad connections. But we could be wrong. She said they work together sometimes."
"How very Lois Lane and Clark Kent," he said somewhat mockingly.
"I told you he sometimes contributes to the paper," Rory clarified.
"So, a freelance writer," Lorelai said.
Rory did look away in shame this time, for never correcting her mother's assumption. When she looked back up—with an almost apologetic face—Tristan just shook his head at her with a piteous look.
Her mother turned back to him. "Either way, she sounds happy when she mentions him. So, perhaps he is real."
"Perhaps," he agreed quietly before he took a drink of his Scotch.
"What are you doing here, Tristan?" Rory finally snapped at him in agitation. "You don't do business with my grandfather."
"No, but my grandfather does. He coerced me into coming with him," he answered, jerking his head towards an elderly gentleman a few yards away who was talking with a group of businessmen. "Trust me, I tried to get out of it. What are you doing here, Mary?"
"For the party of course. I didn't need much incentive to get out of the city."
"It can be a huge pain."
Next to Rory, Lorelai slapped her leg as though she'd just had an epiphany. The other two both looked at her questioningly. "I got it! You were the one who called her Mary at Chilton," she exclaimed, pointing at Tristan. "That's why your name sounded vaguely familiar. Let me tell you, she did not like you."
Tristan's eyes cut to Rory in annoyance.
"Yup, he's the one," she said flatly.
The group next to them was close enough that the three could catch some of their conversation. Presently, they could overhear Janlen DuGrey talking. "It was actually my grandson, Tristan, who suggested I do business with Richard again. I was so surprised he was showing any interest in something that didn't involve gun caliber or admissible evidence that I thought it was an excellent idea. Plus, he has a legal mind, so he knows what he's talking about," he jovially told the other men.
Tristan didn't try to resist this time, he rolled his eyes at the remark. "Excuse me, but my ears just started ringing," he told Rory and Lorelai before walking over to his grandfather.
"Wow, that was amazing," Lorelai said, turning to Rory in awe. "I thought I knew it all, but you have to teach me everything. I insist."
"Teach you what?"
"About grudge holding. You should have seen the daggers you were shooting at that guy," she said. "High school was pretty long ago, you've been holding on to some serious resentment."
"Oh. Well, he gave me a pretty hard time back then," Rory said as justification.
"Still. It was a long time ago. And Paris gave you a hard time, too. But you're friends with her."
"That's different."
"How?"
"I don't know, it just is. Do you want to go get a drink?" she asked, changing the subject.
"I thought you'd never ask," Lorelai said as she steered them in the direction of the alcohol.
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
Rory had been milling about the party for about an hour, making small talk with guests and mentally compiling a list of all the other torturous activities she'd rather be engaged in. When she had a moment to herself, she glanced outside and saw Tristan, alone, out on the patio, elbows propped up against the outer wall of the enclosed area. He was staring off into the darkness, drink still in hand.
Rory looked around before she walked outside, closing the double doors behind her. She walked over to the wall and stood a couple of feet from him. She glanced at him quickly, but he didn't look back at her. So she mirrored his stance and stared off into the distance. At length, neither said a word. The only sounds came from the party goers inside and the bugs chirping outside.
Tristan swirled the ice in his glass and took a drink before he finally spoke. "Your mother seems nice."
"She has her moments."
"She doesn't have any idea who I am," he said, carefully keeping his resentment in check.
"Yes she does," Rory argued, still not looking at him.
"Oh yeah, alternately as someone who may not exist and as the jerk who called you Mary."
"Well, you still do, so it's not like it's far off base," she replied, not disputing his self-inflicted insult.
"Nice."
"You heard what she said, I told her the highlights. I don't recall you caring very much when you didn't get to meet her last month." He just scoffed in response, not impressed with her lack of transparency where her mother was concerned. Rory continued to defend herself. "She and I don't tell each other everything anymore. We aren't as close now that I live in New York."
"That's a lie and you know it. You've left me on hold and then forgotten about me when you're on the phone with her."
"That happened once and I called you back to apologize. Besides, it's not like I heard your grandfather say that you suggested your girlfriend's grandfather for his insurance needs."
"Oh, so tonight you think you're my girlfriend? The other day we just had an arrangement," Tristan crossly reminded her.
"I think tonight proves that we do."
"Tonight's proving something, all right. And for your information, my sex life isn't any of my grandfather's business."
"But everyone can know that you're worthy to be chosen? All the women in New York City must be giddy with their good fortune, to have such a desirable man out there protecting them."
"You're going to bring that up—now?" he asked, unbelieving. He finally turned to look at her. "I don't even understand what your problem is."
"My problem? You can't be serious. It means you're single, Tristan—not attached to anyone in particular."
"Here's a newsflash for you, eligible is not a synonym for available. And bachelor just means unmarried."
"It's impliedthat you're available. Why would they make a list of guys who already have girlfriends? The only conclusion I've come up with is that they don't. So you must just have a thing with some reporter, who's out to get a story however she can."
"Those are your words, not mine. But there must some truth to it on your end, seeing how your grandmother has been trying to set you up with random men. Anyone with a decent last name and an Ivy League education will suffice. How is that any better than what I did?" he demanded. "If you're really that offended about the damn thing, I can go back in there and kill two birds with one stone. I'll just get everyone's attention and tell them the article was all a mistake. I'm sure your grandparents will be thrilled to learn that we already roll around in the sheets on a regular basis."
"Fine, do it," Rory challenged.
"You're bluffing," he spat. "You think you're entitled to be mad about some stupid list, but I don't get to be upset about you not telling anyone in your family about me?"
"What does it matter if they don't know about us if you don't have to tell anyone in your family?"
"I only speak to one family member," he said. "And I sometimes get the feeling he only talks to me for the free legal advice."
"Yeah, about that. Why didn't you ever mention that you went to Yale?" she asked, looking towards him expectantly.
"I don't want to talk about Yale."
"Well, I do. Do you tell anyone you went there?"
"I pretty obviously don't—if I can help it."
"Why not?"
"Because it's irrelevant. It was a long time ago and I'm clearly not a lawyer."
"It wasn't that long ago. And Yale is something we have in common. I don't understand why you don't claim it."
"Yes you do. You figured everything else out. Kind of like how you always knew I went there. I know you knew, and I'm one hundred and ten percent sure you knew that I knew you knew." He took her silence as confirmation. "Then get over it. It isn't important to me."
Rory sighed in frustration.
They stood in silence again. Tristan broke it after a few minutes. "So, what did Logan offer you?" He turned to her in curiosity. "I'm guessing it wasn't a mere date that you turned down, since your mother mentioned him in the same sentence as great-grandchildren. Plus, you committed that felony with him."
"How do you even know his first name?"
"I can find out stuff, too. So what was it?"
Rory turned back to him so she could glare at him before responding. "It was a long time ago, so it doesn't matter."
"Well now you're just being spiteful."
"Fine, you want to know? He proposed right before I graduated college."
Tristan gave a single nod of his head before he turned to continue staring into the distance. When he made no further response, Rory turned to stare at the nothingness, too.
A few minutes later his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out to answer. "DuGrey . . . Where are you now? . . . I'm in Connecticut, so it'll be a little while before I can get back." Rory turned to Tristan, listening in on the conversation. "All right, I'll be there as soon as I can," he said before hanging up and putting the phone back in his pocket. He started to walk away without a word.
"Where are you going?" she asked, offended by his abrupt exit.
"Back to New York," he answered, stopping to look at her for a moment.
"Is it about the case? Was that Stevenson? What is it?" she asked quickly.
He considered her for a second before answering. "I'm not at liberty to say."
"It is about the case. Let me go with you," she demanded, starting towards him.
"Yeah, that's not going to happen. You see, we're in a fight here and we're keeping secrets. So, just add this one to my list. I think I'm winning," he said snidely as he opened the door.
Rory thought for a moment before going back into the house and to the coat rack. She walked back into the living room and looked for her grandmother. She found her, with Richard and Janlen.
Tristan was already standing with the group. "I'm sorry to leave early, but I'm going to have to go back to New York," he explained to his grandfather and their hosts.
Emily and Richard looked disappointed by his early departure.
Rory approached the group then, talking into her phone. "You really think so? I mean, I guess I can come back, if you think I need to. Okay, bye." Tristan looked at her suspiciously, acutely aware that there was no one on the other end. Rory looked at Emily before speaking. "Grandma, that was my editor. The police just found some new information about the homicide I'm covering. So I'm going to have to go back tonight."
"You don't suppose it's the same thing Tristan has to get back for, do you?" Janlen asked, turning to his grandson.
"That's extremely doubtful. It's a big city, it has a lot of crime," Tristan answered, eyeing Rory warningly.
"Well, if you're both going back to New York at the same time, maybe you could ride together," Emily suggested, the idea clearly brightening her initial disappointment of Tristan having to leave so soon.
Rory smiled smugly and looked at Tristan, ignoring the look he was giving her. "Oh, well, I wouldn't want to impose," she said pleasantly.
"Nonsense," Janlen argued. "Of course you can ride with Tristan. Can't she?"
Everyone looked to the blonde man now. He considered the fact that all eyes were on him for a moment before answering, seeing no way out of it. "Fine. Let's go."
"Good, it's settled," Emily said with a smile, clearly pleased by the outcome. "Rory, I'll call you later next week to see how things turned out."
Rory doubted she was referring to the homicide. "Okay, bye Grandma, bye Grandpa," she said and turned to Janlen, as well. "Good bye, Mr. DuGrey, it was nice meeting you."
She had to hurry to catch up with Tristan, who had already put his drink down and had stalked off in the direction of the door. She quickly grabbed her belongings and followed him outside and into his Camaro. They put on their seat belts in silence and he started the car. His fast music blasted from the speakers quickly pulled out of the driveway. Knowing it would draw attention, he waited until he was out of the subdivision before he turned on the flashing light on the dash.
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
Thirty minutes went by with neither of them speaking. After Rory finished texting Lorelai about leaving the party, she turned the volume down as Tristan sped down the interstate. He glanced over in annoyance.
"So, it wasn't just the cop thing that made your dad change the terms of your trust fund, was it?" she asked him.
"You've proven that you can force your company on me, but that doesn't mean you can force your conversation, too," he said without answering her question, turning the music back up.
She turned it down again and he scowled. "Why do you insist on being so closed off?" she exclaimed, getting frustrated all over again.
"Just drop it, Rory," he advised.
"No, I want to know."
"You wouldn't understand, okay?"
"No, not okay. Maybe I'd understand if you'd just tell me about it."
"You don't know what it's like. You have people who accept you unconditionally the way you are. They aren't embarrassed by you and haven't disowned you for the decisions you've made. Affection—like money—isn't contingent for you. Your family doesn't think of you as one great big disappointment."
"You think I've never disappointed them before?"
"Oh, do you mean the time you briefly dropped out of Yale?" he asked sarcastically.
"How do you know about that?" she asked in surprise and anger.
"What, do you really think you're the only one who's allowed to do a little homework? It's my job to be intrusive just as much as it is yours."
"But I'm not a suspect you can investigate," she fumed.
"I didn't do any more than you did."
"Fine. Someone put it in my head that I couldn't be a journalist, so I dropped out of college for a while."
"How nice for you, to be able to leave Yale whenever you wanted."
"You wanted to?"
"Yes, but I didn't. My grandfather wasn't going take my side if I didn't."
"And now you're a lawyer?"
"We both know I'm not. But I haven't been disbarred, to my knowledge. I finished what I started and got the damn JD I'm all licensed to practice law—not that I ever have."
"Why not?"
He glanced over at her with an incredulous look. "What? Why does it matter? Would your mom have known who I was tonight if I was some silver tongued prince of the courtroom?"
"What?"
"No, I'd really like to know. Would you prefer if I sat behind a desk all day, helping to put criminals back on the streets? I'd be making the big bucks that way. That's why you turned down the other guy, right? Because he lost all of his money?" he asked in a snarky tone, aiming to sting.
"What?" she asked, infuriated by the insinuation, barely noticing the fact that he'd done some serious snooping.
"That's when he asked you to marry him, wasn't it? He lost his money around the time that you graduated."
"Yes, that's when he asked. I wanted to be able to take any job that was offered and he wanted me to go to California with him—as his wife. It was all or nothing with him, so that's when it ended. It didn't have anything to do with his money," Rory fumed. "You are out of order, Counselor. I cannot believe you would even imply that."
"Stop calling me counselor."
"Do you really think I'm that shallow?" she continued.
"I honestly don't know right now. And frankly, you're giving me a headache, one of your many talents," he answered. "But you must believe I'm that shallow—or starved for attention—if you think I'm trying to score some extra tail because of a stupid article."
"Well if you aren't, then why did you agree to be eligible?"
"Oh, because that would be the only reason to play along."
"I can't think of any other reason."
"Then just forget it. You're clearly not in the frame of mind to understand tonight."
"I understand just fine. You want to keep your options open."
"Do you even hear yourself talk?" he asked in disbelief. "I really wish I was wearing a wire right now so I could play back this conversation for you. Then maybe you could hear how ridiculous you sound."
"I sound ridiculous?"
"Yes. Not to mention obscenely jealous. And for no reason. Are you the mayor of Crazy Town, or is it an empire that you reign over as queen? I just want to know how I should be addressing you right now."
"And now I'm crazy. Great," she said sarcastically, looking out the window as they neared the city.
"You're acting crazy. Someone took my picture so now we just have a standing business meeting? If I recall, not all of our interactions outside of work requires a bed."
Rory snorted. "Is now really the time to brag about your prowess?"
"Don't give me that. You know what I mean. I can think of plenty of occasions where, some might say, we've behaved as though we have a relationship. Or had one. I don't really know right now," he said, concentrating on choosing the proper exit to take them to Lower Manhattan. "And for what it's worth, I do have my reasons, so maybe you should just have a little faith. Is that so much to ask?"
Rory just shook her head, tired of arguing. "Whatever Tristan."
"Whatever Rory."
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
"Is this a crime scene?" Rory asked a little while later, looking over at the emergency vehicles that were in front of an apartment building.
"Looks like it."
"Is it another homicide?"
"Well, I'm kind of a homicide detective, so yeah." He got out of the car and Rory followed.
"You went all this time without mentioning someone else was killed?"
Tristan looked over at her, brows furrowed. "I think you know I can keep a secret a lot longer than an hour and a half." They approached the apartment building and Tristan met Stevenson at the crime scene tape.
Mark looked from Tristan to Rory, confused as to why she was there, too. "Did I interrupt something?" he asked.
"No," Tristan and Rory both retorted.
"Okay. We haven't been assigned as the primaries on this one so far. Meyer just wanted us to take a look."
"Was someone strangled?" Tristan asked.
"Yeah. That's why he wanted us to come. It doesn't look like the others, though. It might be a copy cat—a bad one, by the looks of it. Come on," Mark said, lifting the yellow tape for Tristan to duck under. They headed to the building and Rory glanced to her right and scowled.
"So, that's your definition of professional, huh?" Wendy Lu asked.
"What are you talking about?"
"I saw you with the blonde. You came here together."
"I am not going to discuss that with you. Do you understand me?" Rory said severely. "Why are you even here? It isn't morning."
She didn't wait for an answer before walking around and finding a way into the building. She spent the better part of an hour knocking on doors and getting quotes from the neighbors. She was able to piece together what happened through their accounts. She was about to leave the building when the detectives got to the floor she was on.
"What are you doing here?" Tristan asked angrily.
"I'm finding out what happened."
"Yeah, from really reliable sources. This is a crime scene. We don't need people traipsing around."
"The crime scene is downstairs. You don't own the whole building."
"Get outside and wait for one of us to tell you freeloading jackals something," he ordered.
Rory shot him a dirty look, but went to the stairwell to go back outside.
"That was harsh," Stevenson commented.
"It was deserved."
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
A little while later, Tristan and Mark were wrapping up their discussion with the primary detectives on the investigation. They were standing at the entrance of the apartment building.
Mark looked over to the few reporters who had shown up at the crime scene. "There aren't as many of them tonight," he observed.
"Probably because it isn't at City College. They don't know it was strangulation again."
"Well, have fun talking with them. It's your turn."
"My turn? That isn't how we do this."
"Come on, you're better at it. Take one for the team."
"You take one for the team," Tristan said, retrieving a quarter out of his pocket. "Heads or tails?"
"Seriously? It's only three of them. And one is—"
"I'm going to stop you right there. It wouldn't be wise to end that sentence. Now, heads or tails?"
"Tails."
Tristan tossed the quarter in the air and caught it. He slapped it on the back of his hand and scowled down at the results. "Two out of three?"
"That isn't how we do this," Mark said.
"Fine." Tristan walked over to the reporters and they looked at him expectantly. "This was a homicide. The victim's name was Christine Shaw, and she was strangled."
"Do you think it's the same person who killed those students at City College?" Wendy asked eagerly.
"No."
"Why not?" Rory asked.
"Because. It looks like it's an isolated incident. The others didn't leave much evidence, this one did. And the victim wasn't strangled with a belt this time."
"Are there any suspects yet?" the other reporter asked.
"No," Tristan answered. "We're done here. I've said all I have to say." All three reporters turned to go, but the detective had other plans for one of them. "Mary." She turned and he motioned with an index finger for her to come back.
"What?"
"There was a struggle with this one. The victim wasn't stabbed, but there was a bloody knife in her hand."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"I'm your source. It's why you keep me around, isn't it? I'm just giving you what you want." He ducked under the yellow tape and took Rory by her wrist. He started walking down the sidewalk, towards his car.
She tried to pull her arm away, but he held onto it firmly. "Let me go," she said angrily, but he didn't acquiesce. "I can find my own way home."
"How? You aren't going to get a cab at this time of night. And you don't have any business being out alone," he said as he led her down the sidewalk. He didn't release her wrist until he had opened the passenger side door. She grudgingly got in. After they were both buckled in and Tristan had driven off, neither spoke.
They rode in silence for a while, until Rory frowned at the street signs. "Where are we going?"
"Home."
"Whose home?"
"My home."
"Maybe I don't want to go to your home."
"Then maybe you should have thought of that when you cleverly wormed your way into riding back to the city. I don't feel like driving all the way to the Upper East Side tonight." Rory sulked as she looked out the window. "Go ahead and stay mad at me. I fully intend on staying mad at you."
Fifteen minutes later they were in Tristan's twelfth floor apartment. He locked the door and turned around.
Rory was standing in front of him with her arms crossed, ready to go another round. "So, what else have you lied about?"
"Go to bed." He moved around her and started unbuttoning his vest as he headed for the bedroom.
"Answer my question," she said, following him down the short hallway.
"I've had a long, trying day. I don't feel like discussing this any more."
"We haven't discussed it, you keep refusing. Just like now, you're evading my question."
"What makes you think I've lied about anything?" he asked in annoyance as he took off his shirt and tie.
"Because you went to Yale Law School and never told me."
"That doesn't make it a lie."
"It's a lie of omission."
"I didn't have to tell you. You knew."
"But come on, Yale? Yale. I went there."
"Oh, really? I had no idea. I said I don't want to talk about it. Just because it's more awe inspiring for you than Disney World, doesn't mean I feel the same way about it," he said as he removed his pants. "I don't want to talk about me anymore. Let's talk about you."
"What about me?" Rory asked as she kicked her shoes off from the opposite side of the bed.
"For starters, your grandmother introduced us tonight. As though we were strangers."
"She knew we weren't strangers," she protested while she took off her skirt.
"But she didn't know how much we weren't strangers."
"Oh please. You don't even go to see your grandfather without kicking and screaming the whole way. How would that make me think you would ever want to go to my grandparents' house for dinner?"
"Just because I don't want to go doesn't mean I wouldn't. It also doesn't mean she should be finding other men to set you up with. If one of us is keeping their options open, it's you," he retorted, pointing a finger at her.
"I am not! How was I supposed to know you wanted to meet my family? You hate going to Connecticut and I didn't think you cared."
"That was before I found out that the other guy was good enough to bring around. It was before I found out you're being paraded around other guys. And they're probably all more suitable than me."
"It's not like I ever saw any of them again," she said as she started to unbutton her blouse.
"Well, it's not like I'm 'hiking the Appalachian Trail', like you keep insisting," he countered as he turned down the covers of his bed. "You sure know how to make me sound like the least common denominator—which makes sense. You must be desperate to associate with the likes of me in the first place. That's the word your mother used, right? Desperate?"
"That isn't what she meant."
"Why don't you just admit that you're embarrassed by me? Everyone else is."
"I am not embarrassed! Or desperate. Stop putting words in my mouth. My mom wasn't talking about me being desperate. She was talking about my grandmother."
"That makes it sound better. She was desperate enough to introduce you to me, the lowly detective. Good thing I went to Yale, or there's no way I would have been deemed worthy."
"That isn't true, quit being so dramatic," she said as she searched through a drawer for a night gown that was in there somewhere.
"It is true. It's the only reason she would make the exception for someone in my line of work," he said as he walked around the bed to approach her—slightly menacing—and took her hands out of the drawer. "But I guess I don't have a right to be angry about any of that, since you said we're just using each other. I'm paraphrasing, of course," he said mockingly. "So. I gave you some extra information tonight."
"I didn't ask you to do that."
Tristan shrugged. "Don't sweat it. I was only holding up my side of the bargain." He ran his hands down the bare skin of her torso and pulled her hips to his. "Now it's your turn to pay the piper." He lowered his head and brushed his lips over her collar bone before whispering in her ear. "That's how it works, right?"
He ran his thumbs along the elastic of her panties and then slowly slid his hands up to toy with the lace of her bra. She didn't back away, but she scowled at him, even as her breathing became labored. He sneered at her before he turned and stepped away.
But he'd stood too close. Touched just enough.
"What happened to finishing what you start?" she said provokingly, which was all he needed to hear.
He moved back and had her panties off in a second. His lips crushed hers and his tongue darted in her mouth. They kissed aggressively, as though one was going to overpower the other. She removed his boxers and let them fall to the floor. Tristan—not too gently—moved them to the bed and separated her thighs. Upon their joining together, Rory arched her back and wrapped her legs around him as he drove into her. They moved against each other forcefully until physical relief came.
When they lay still a minute later, Tristan, breathlessly, spoke. "How dare you reduce us to that?" She was expecting the anger she heard in his voice, but not the hurt. He lifted himself up and pulled the covers over her. "You should be ashamed of yourself," he muttered as he picked his boxers up off the floor. It wasn't clear which of them his comment was directed towards.
Tears gathered at the corners of Rory's eyes as she watched him leave the bedroom and close the door behind him.
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
Tristan was sitting at his desk the next day, with an elbow propped on the desk, his chin wresting in his hand. It was early afternoon and Stevenson was across from him, on the phone with one of the detectives they'd worked with the night before. Tristan could have been listening, but he wasn't.
He'd slept on the couch the night before. When he woke up that morning, it was to an empty apartment. Rory had left early in the morning. When he went back to his bedroom, the bed was neatly made and there was a note on the nightstand. It said that she was going back home. It didn't specify whether home was the Upper East Side or Stars Hollow. He had a feeling he knew which one it was. Not that it really mattered. He had no plans of hunting her down.
That wasn't to say he was especially proud of his actions from the night before. Though it had been consensual, it was still a premeditated move on his part, even if he'd intended to walk away. He felt like he ought to go register as a sex offender. He came out of his reverie when Mark put his phone down on the cradle.
"They found the guy."
"Already?"
"Yeah. The neighbors were right about the boyfriend. They just had to look up his address, he was there."
"Did he have a stab wound?"
"Oh yeah. They took him to a hospital so he could get patched up. They'll send over his fingerprints as soon as they can, so we'll find out if he's our guy."
"I doubt he is."
"Probably not," Mark agreed, standing up. Tristan took out some paperwork and picked up a pen. "Aren't you leaving?"
Tristan shrugged. "I don't have anywhere to go." But to an empty apartment. When did he get so boring and predictable?
"Want to go down to the gun range to blow off some steam?" Mark asked.
Tristan shook his head. "Not much steam left."
"Why don't we go out for a drink then?"
"It's barely past two o'clock. We start this early and I won't be able to drive home."
"Then I'll drive you."
"You can't drive my car."
"Do you really think I can't drive a stick shift? You know where I'm from, right?"
"Sure, so you probably learned to drive out in a field. In a truck."
"Hey, how did you know?" Mark asked. "Come on, it can be a bonding opportunity. And you already said you don't have anything else to do."
"Won't your girlfriend want to go out with you tonight?" Tristan asked sourly.
"She'll understand. Besides, you look like you're just going to hit the bottle when you get home, anyway. This way you won't be alone to get any stupid ideas."
"What do you think I'm going to do? Sleep with everyone in Manhattan?" Tristan asked in agitation.
"I hope not. That would be awkward for us on Monday. I was just thinking I'd stop you from getting another tattoo."
"Oh. That did hurt the next day," Tristan said, rubbing his upper arm. "Fine," he finally agreed, tossing the pen down and standing up.
"That a boy. And while we're out, if you feel like talking, I'll at least pretend to listen."
NNNNNNNNNNNNNN
"I was thinking about the town meeting tonight," Lorelai said. "Do you think we should eat before we go? Or get something and take it there? I haven't gotten on Taylor's nerves in a while—well, not too much—so we should probably eat there. Keep him on his toes."
"Hmm?"
Lorelai waved her hand in front of Rory's face. She was staring at a spot on the kitchen table, not paying attention. "Hello? Earth to Rory. Are you even listening?"
Rory sighed. "Sorry. What were you saying?"
"I was talking about eating at the town meeting."
"Taylor won't like that."
"Yeah, that's why we're doing it," Lorelai frowned at her daughter over her cup of coffee. "Hey, what's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Liar. You weren't in a good mood when you got here yesterday and now you're melancholy. What's up?"
Rory sighed again. "I've been . . . upset. I guess I could use some advice."
"Well, that's what I'm here for. Spill."
"Okay," Rory said, thinking about her words carefully. "Can I use an example? To help you put yourself in my shoes?"
"Sure, but I usually don't have any problem wearing your shoes."
"Right," Rory started. "Anyway, let's say Luke went to . . . culinary school. And for the sake of the argument, you didn't know him when he went. And he doesn't tell anyone about it."
"Why not?"
"You don't know—well, you have an idea. And even though he doesn't talk about it, you know he went there."
"But he didn't tell me."
"I know."
"Then how did I find out if he didn't tell me?"
"Because you're nosy."
"Got it, continue."
"Okay. So, Luke went to culinary school and never told you, but you know. And he knows that you know."
"Wait, how does he know that I know?"
"He just does. He knows you're nosy and probably expected you to find out. So he knows."
"That makes sense."
"Now, you know that he knows that you know."
"I'm starting to get a little confused, but keep going."
"Okay, so then, out of the blue, there's an article about Luke in the Stars Hollow Gazette and—even though he didn't want it in the paper—it says that he went to culinary school." Rory looked at her mother expectantly.
"And?"
"And, aren't you mad?"
"Am I mad that he went to culinary school?" Lorelai asked, looking perplexed.
"No."
"Am I mad that he didn't tell me?"
"You weren't before, but now you are."
"Why?"
"Because of the article."
"But you said I already knew."
"Right."
"So what am I mad about?"
"Aren't you mad about the way you found out?"
"You said I already knew."
"Well, yes. But, he told everyone all at once, including you—who he should have told before everyone else."
"It sounds like I'm the only person he didn't need to tell. And he didn't want the paper to put it in there, so that's not really his fault."
"But still, he should have told you before he told all those other, meaningless, people. He isn't in a relationship with them."
"Wait, does his going to culinary school affect our relationship?"
"Well, no. But he never said anything about it, so maybe he's keeping other things from me—I mean you."
"You know, Luke once found out he had a kid and didn't tell me for a couple months, so anything else doesn't really seem quite so bad in comparison."
"Yeah, that's true."
"And he wanted to tell me, but didn't know how," Lorelai reasoned. "You know how sometimes, when you don't tell someone something right off the bat, it gets harder to say something the longer you wait?"
"I do know. All right, fine. You might have a point there. But, what if the culinary school he went to was really important to you?" Rory persisted, through her own guilt.
"Why would a culinary school be important to me?"
"Well—Sookie went to the same one, so they have that in common. And Sookie is important to you, so. . . "
"All right, well, that still doesn't make sense. It doesn't have anything to do with us and it might make him better at his job, right?"
"Probably. But what if the article also implied that he was single?"
"Oh, well then I'd be mad."
"Thank you."
"Now, with all this talk of culinary school, I'm hungry. Want to go to the diner? We can get Cesar to cook us anything we want and make him paranoid with the possibility of us reporting back to Luke."
"Sure, let's go," Rory answered as they stood up and walked out the front door. It was nice out, so they walked to town.
"So, were we talking about your fake New York boyfriend back there?" Lorelai asked.
"I don't have a fake boyfriend and yes," Rory answered. "I do want you to meet him sometime. But we might have messed everything up. We both said some things . . . hurtful things. Mean, even."
"Well, if things don't work out with that guy, there're always the men Mom brings around for you. Like last night's guy. I know we're supposed to hate him, but he wasn't all bad."
Rory looked at Lorelai sharply. "What? Tristan?"
"Yeah. I talked to him again, when you weren't around."
"You did? He didn't tell me that—when we were going back to Manhattan."
"Too busy catching up?"
"Oh, no. We . . . argued, mostly. Which is pretty typical for us."
"Well, I did talk to him again—just for a little while. Usually the guys Mom introduces you to are all well-mannered and pretentious, or they're busy sucking up."
"I'm pretty sure Tristan is capable of those things too," Rory said. "But wait. Was he not nice to you?"
"Oh, he was nice, he just wasn't pretending like he wanted to be there. If he was, he was doing a terrible job. As you know, I can sympathize with not wanting to be under that roof."
"Yeah, you can. So, what? You bonded over that?"
"A little. It seemed like he wanted to be there less than me, so I told him about the good escape routes. I think scaling the wall from the second floor tempted him—which makes sense, he probably likes a little adventure in his life," Lorelai explained. "Anyway, he said sorry about the whole Mary thing and that he liked you in high school. Even though he usually went for the sadder-but-wiser-girl."
"The what?"
"You know—'I smile, I grin, when the gal with a touch of sin walks in'. You weren't that kind of girl, so it makes sense. Professor Hill fell for the smart girl with all the books."
"Harold Hill was a slimy con man—a liar," Rory argued. "Marian the librarian was tired of him trying to cozy up to her and did some research to find all about his deception."
"Yes, but she didn't tell anyone. She kept his secret to herself."
"What?" Rory said incredulously. Was her mother clairvoyant? She wondered.
"Yeah, because he wasn't really so bad and she liked him by then."
"So, what, you're telling me Tristan might not be a bad guy?"
"Well, from what I understand, he catches the bad guys now. So, maybe. Everybody grows up," Lorelai reasoned. "But hey, I'll still root for the alleged New York guy, if that's who you want to be with."
"I do. But, I'll uh, keep in mind what you said about Tristan."
"Sure, as a viable second option if things don't work out," Lorelai said offhandedly, Rory cringed at her phraseology.
"I can't believe you're saying this."
"I can't believe Mom introduced you to Hercule Poirot," Lorelai said with a shake of her head. "Did he show you his gun last night?"
"What?" Rory exclaimed in horror.
"Last night, he said he had a gun, did you get to see it?"
"Um, yeah. I uh . . . caught a glimpse," Rory said hastily as she looked away and bit her lip, hoping she wasn't blushing.