Author's Note: Hi everyone! Remember this fic? Yes, it's been neglected for a long time so I thought I'd give it whirl. Hopefully this chapter is not completely unfortunate. Enjoy!

Chapter 5: Never Over You

Rory was startled by the knock on her door as she stepped out of the shower. Wrapping her towel tightly around her body and then stepping out of the bathroom, she called out. "Who is it?"

"It's me," Tristan's voice called out, so familiar and so safe; so not what she needed right then. "Can I come in?"

Too late to be asking; she thought wryly. You're already in too deep. Out loud, she answered him. "Yeah, sure."

He opened the door and stepped in cautiously as if he didn't know what to expect. Self-consciously, she hugged herself – belatedly realizing that it was a bad idea to let him in when she was wrapped only in a towel. You could be wearing a parka and if he wanted to, he'd find some way to take that off too, her conscience jeered her. And you'd let him.

He stood near the door, hands in his pockets his eyes wandering everywhere except in her direction. Rubbing the back of his neck, he let out a sigh. "I'm going to go see my grandfather."

"I didn't know he was in Hartford," Rory returned with a small smile, thinking fondly of Janlan DuGrey.

"He wasn't until this morning," Tristan replied shortly. "He found out about Richard and came back. There's some trouble with the chauffer or something so I'm going to go pick him up and bring him over."

"You don't have," she said pulling her wet hair away from her face. "I mean I'm sure someone can -"

"He needs to talk to me about something," he interrupted and crossed the length of the room, coming to stand in front of her. "He specifically asked me to come. Knowing him, it's probably something important. Unless, you need me to stay."

"No," she replied quickly, meeting his gaze. "I don't need you."

His eyes turned cold and he nodded slowly. "Okay then."

She flinched a little when he turned to leave. "This morning…"

He stopped and let out a sigh but didn't turn around. "What about it? It was just…"

Anger boiled inside her. "Just sex, right?"

He turned this time, looking at her with a steely expression. Then his eyes changed as his gaze left hers and traveled down the length of her towel-clad body. Smiling a little, he reached over and let his index finger trail over the still damp skin of her collarbone. When she shivered a bit, he smiled satisfactorily. "Like it's always been, Mary."

"I just wanted to make sure," she replied, an edge in her voice as his fingers dipped lower, flirting with the knot of the towel right under her arm.

"That I didn't get any other idea," he asked absently, tugging the knot loose a little. "We've been through this part enough times. I have my lines memorized. You know them too, don't you?"

"Yes." She held the tears that were stinging her eyes at bay, as his fingers continued their ministrations and she felt her body respond to them willingly.

Now it was a battle for power. If she protested and told him to leave it would mean she cared too much. If she didn't then it would prove that she didn't care either way.

With their history, she knew the latter was much safer.

"Good." His arm snaked around her waist and tugged her to him. His lips came down on hers, hard at first but instantly softening when she responded. One of his hands slipped up between their bodies and under her towel to knead her breast. Unbidden, the tears finally spilled onto her cheeks and his hands immediately came up to her face, gently cupping her cheeks. He pulled away slowly, almost achingly, his eyes searching hers. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. Now is not the time."

Now that she wasn't helplessly kissing him back, her anger unfurled again. Tightening the towel around her body again, she scowled darkly at him. "Why not? It's never stopped you before."

He stepped away from her and ran a hand through his hair and let out a frustrated breath. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm going to go now before I say something really stupid. I don't want a house full of people after me for upsetting you more than I already have."

The last thing she was expecting from him was a genuine apology. It shocked her so much that she nodded mutely as he left her alone again, in her room. Wiping her tears away, she snapped out of her self-pity and finished dressing.

Hair still damp, she crossed the room several time looking for her shoes. She looked under the bed and then walked over to the closet, which was empty except for a few boxes and old clothes. Fortunately, her shoes were perched neatly on the rack.  As she bent down to retrieve them, her eyes flitted over to a hot pink photo box with the label "Rory" printed out in her mother's handwriting. Curious, she pulled it out and carried out of the closet and over to the bed.

A short laugh escaped her lips when she opened the lid and laid eyes on the first picture. Taken at least three years ago, it featured Luke dressed up as Santa, Lorelai on his knee and Rory rolling her eyes in the background at the hilarity. She lifted the first stack out of the box and sifted through them, memories hitting her full force. Pictures of her with Paris at their new apartment in Boston, some older pictures with her and Jess as a couple back when they were eighteen, one with Louise and Madeline at a Halloween party last year and couple with Lane in San Francisco.

Then, there were a few of her with Tristan. She was surprised that her mother had even kept these pictures, especially since she knew how Lorelai felt about him. But these pictures were taken at happier times in her relationship with Tristan, one with them under the mistletoe, one at graduation and a couple from their trip to Nantucket early in her sophomore year at college.

"We've had some great times, Tristan," she whispered to no one.

She put those away and lifted another set out, opening the envelope curiously, a small smile on her face. But the next few pictures tugged at her heart in pain rather than joy. They were ones of her with Richard in New York and Boston. Some of them were with her grandparents at various occasions in her life – Emily smiling for the camera in genuine mirth and Richard trying to remain regal but looking silly.

Lost in memories, she almost missed hearing the soft knock at the door. She looked up startled and hoped that it wasn't Tristan – she didn't need him to see her so upset. "Come in."

"Hey honey," Christopher said as he opened the door and stepped inside. "You were gone for quite a while and I wanted to see if you were okay. I saw Tristan leave a few minutes ago and figured that you'd be…"

"Upset?" she filled in with a rueful smile. He nodded slowly. "A little."

"God," Christopher spat out in disgust. "That kid doesn't give up, does he? Here you are going through hell and he just comes in here like he owns the place and tries to fix something that - "

Rory raised her hand to stop his angry tirade. "Dad, it's okay. I handled it. Not very well but it's done. I don't want to go into another saga of Tristan and Rory, okay? Not today."

Her father nodded and walked over to the bed, sitting down next to his daughter. "I just talked to Sherry. They're cutting their trip short and heading back to the good ol' US of A as we speak."

Rory made a disappointed face. "What? They shouldn't have done that; George was having fun in Europe!"

Sherry and her father had divorced, two years after the birth of Georgia "George" Hayden, Rory's eight year old half sister. Mother and daughter lived a half an hour away from Rory's apartment and two blocks down from Christopher's house. Despite the drama between Lorelai, Christopher and Sherry and the years separating both sisters, Rory loved George from the moment she saw her wrapped in a blanket at the hospital.

"Honey, they want to be here for you," he said, clasping her hand. "You know how much they love you."

Rory nodded and smiled. "I love them too. I've missed George like crazy. It'll be good to see her."

"Uplifting too, I hope."

She slipped the pictures back into the envelope and shrugged. "That might take some time, you know," she paused to look around the room and felt tears well up in her eyes again. "It's going to be hard without him. Especially for Grandma."

Christopher nodded and put an arm around her. "But it will get better, I promise. And Emily is a tough lady. Believe me, I know. The Gilmore women are a tough and rare breed and somehow you manage to land on your feet."

"Or fall flat on our faces," she said with a half-hearted laugh. When Christopher smiled at her, she took in a deep breath and asked him a question that had been plaguing her for so long. "Dad, what really happened between you and mom?"

If he was startled by the question he didn't show it. "My life has led me back to one place, one person it's your mother. Even before you were born. There are many ways to answer that question, I suppose. None of them would really explain my situation with her."

"I'll re-phrase the question. Do you love her?"

He looked at her sharply, looking her in the eyes so she knew he'd tell her the truth. "I'll always love your mother, Rory. No one comes close."

She stood up, upset. "What does that mean, Dad? How can you say that mom is the love of your life and not to anything about it? I mean if you feel so strongly and there was a time in both of your lives when you two believed you were soul mates then how can she be married to Luke while you live in Boston, being the oldest bachelor ever?"

"It's not that simple, Rory!" he protested as he stood up. "Your mother and I have a very weird history, you know that. You lived through it for so long. It just never worked – it was never the right time. I know that maybe that's a lame excuse but that's how it is. Now she's married to Luke and she's happy. I can't possibly take away from that, regardless of our history."

"I know," she sighed and rubbed her temple. "I'm sorry."

"Where did that come from?"

She didn't really know why she suddenly needed to get that off her chest but she suspected that it had something to do with Tristan's visit and the night before.

Somehow, it always came back to him.

She shrugged and went to hug her father. "It's been a upsetting week."

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Tristan idly flipped through the Forbes magazine as he waited for his grandfather to come downstairs after his shower. His eyes flitted over facts and figures without much interest because his mind was too busy processing everything that had happened ever since he came back home.

He was still thinking of Rory. Like he always did.

"Tristan darling, hello," Arabella DuGrey greeted her son as she flitted into the room, blond hair pulled back primly. He stood up to give her an obligatory hug, taking in the scent of her favorite and familiar perfume – something or the other by Elizabeth Taylor. She kissed him lightly on the cheek, pulled away and wiped off the lipstick stain she left. "What time did you get in last night? I didn't see you at the funeral until later and then you just left so soon."

"Rory needed me."

"Yes, she probably does." She nodded in understanding, brown eyes softening. His mother may have chosen oblivious to his needs and wants when he was growing up, but she was not clueless to her son's tumultuous relationship with Rory. Several times, in fact she had asked him – and then urged him to marry her. "How are Emily and Lorelai holding up?"

"Emily's quiet, mostly. Lorelai looks like she wants me to go back to New York as soon as I can," he replied with a mirthless chuckle. "I might actually comply this time."

Arabella walked over to the liquor cabinet and filled two glasses with brandy. "Something happened?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable. The only thing that his mother ever openly discussed with him was the topic of Rory Gilmore. At first he wasn't sure why but as time wore on, he realized that his mother – in all her dysfunction and neglect - wanted to see him with her, married and raising a family. And it bugged him. "The usual."

"That's usually bad," she quipped with a small smile and took a sip of her drink.

He walked over to her and picked up the other glass of brandy and swallowed it in one shot. Gripping the empty glass tightly, he frowned. "I know."

In a spontaneous and rare gesture she placed a hand on his forearm. "It will be okay."

"No it won't," a voice barked from behind them and they turned to find Janlan standing in the doorway. At seventy, the patriarch of the DuGrey family was still healthy and handsome. His once boyish good looks were now distinguished and his the unruly, trademark blond hair was now silvery and slicked back. He was a stern man with warmth in his eyes and a generous heart beating behind the tough, ruthless business-like exterior. "The boy manages to screw up every time."

Tristan smiled dryly as Arabella wisely left the two men alone. "Hello Grandfather, nice to see you too."

Janlan waved him off dismissively. "No time for silly formalities. I am here for the Gilmores in their time of need. You may have failed to officially make them relatives but to me they've always been family."

"Why does everyone treat me like I am the bad guy?"

Janlan considered that for a second as he walked into the room. "I'll give you that, my boy. That woman you are so crazy about is not entirely blameless."

"Thank you," Tristan stated bitterly.  "For the record, she drives me crazy."

"Woman have been doing that to me since the beginning of time, Tristan. Do you think that you and Rory are the first ones to ever fall in love?" he asked rhetorically. "The thing is – no one ever said love was easy. You and that Gilmore girl seem to think it is."

"Are you kidding me?" Tristan asked, incredulously. "If anyone knows how hard it is to love someone it's me."

"Then stop doing things half way, dammit!"

"Meaning?"

Janlan sighed as if he were talking to a complete idiot. "Son, every time you say that it's over or that you two will never be able to be together it turns out that the next time I talk to you, you've gone back to her. You say you're over her but the minute the two of you get into arms length of each other…well let's just say that nothing good comes of it."

"That's my fault?" Tristan asked petulantly.

"I'm not placing blame, boy. I'm merely stating that if you say you're over her than move on with your life. If you're not than do something about it. Rory is neither a mind reader nor is she clairvoyant," Janlan explained. "One of you is going to have to grow up."

"Grandfather - " he started to say but the older man cut him off with a silencing glare. "You don't understand. It's not that easy."

Janlan shook his head and walked towards the entrance of the living room. "Forget it, Tristan. Let's go. I need to off my condolences to Emily and her family. I don't have time master-mind love connection."

When his grandfather left Tristan pocketed his hands, stood in the room for a minute preparing himself to see Rory again – this time with Janlan DuGrey watching their every move. Things could not get worse.