Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any characters associated with the show.

Chapter Six: Party in Da Club

Rory sat stiffly on the bed of her hotel room. She was dressed in what she considered to be a rather tight dress, and she had blown out her hair. As the minutes ticked away she started to severely question why she had agreed to go out with Tristan tonight. Her bed looked very inviting. She ran through the conversation that had lead to this incident, which went something like this:

"So what are we doing tonight?" Tristan had asked as he watched Rory scarf down a chocolate pastry on a park bench.

"I'm having dinner with my grandmother."

"I meant after."

Rory shook her head as she ripped off a piece of flakey dough and popped it into her mouth. "Look, I don't mind you tagging along with me on my afternoon walks, but I'm not hanging out with you tonight."

"Come on. You have dragged me all over Zurich, Geneva, and Munich. I haven't complained once as we toured endless churches and fountains and stick figure sculptures."

"A. You have complained. Endlessly. B. You have a nasty habit of inviting yourself along on my afternoon walks. If you don't share my idea of a good time, then by all means, entertain yourself elsewhere."

Tristan grabbed a piece of her pastry and stuffed it in his mouth. She pouted, and he smiled at her maliciously as he chewed. "Well fine then," he said, swallowing. "Since you have shown me such a good time, I want to show you a good time."

"I don't think I'm interested."

"Don't you trust me?" he asked, playfully.

"Not in the slightest." She looked at her watch. "It's almost five," she said, standing up and brushing the crumbs off of her lap. "My grandmother will be up from her nap soon. It's time to go back."

Tristan stood, shoving his hands in his pocket as they strolled back in the direction of their hotel. They walked in silence for a little while. Rory peeked over at Tristan. Suddenly she began to wonder where he went when they weren't together. She felt like they had been spending a lot of time together, which was true. He had taken to joining her every afternoon between her morning sightseeing with her grandmother and the dinner engagements Emily and Rory always seemed to have. And she didn't mind his company. But he always looked like he had just rolled out of bed when he met her in the lobby around two every day. He had alluded to the debaucherous ways he had spent his evenings. And now, strangely, Rory's curiosity was peaked.

"So what do you do at night?" she asked finally.

"Party."

"By yourself?"

"I know people."

"That's vague," she had responded, miffed that he was suddenly acting so aloof.

"Your grandmother isn't the only person who has friends traveling Europe in the summer."

"So you have this whole secret life after dark?"

"It's not very secret if I am trying to invite you to come join it."

Rory couldn't deny to herself that she wanted to go out and feel young. She had been feeling trapped the past few days, her only relief from the oppressive feeling came when she broke free from her grandmother and wandered the city with Tristan.

"It's okay to let go sometimes, Mary."

His words had stopped her in her tracks. Tristan had stopped too. He had cracked a smile as she opened and closed her mouth a few times.

"You are totally freaked out that I just called you out."

"You think I'm uptight?" she had asked, more righteous than incredulous.

His smile only grew. "Well, you are."

And so, inexplicably, she was here, perched on the edge of her bed, waiting for him to knock on her hotel room door. When the knock did come, her heart flopped heavily in her chest. She had heard enough snippets about Tristan's lifestyle to make her nervous about what the night would entail.

"I can always take a cab back to the hotel," she thought as she grabbed her clutch and tiptoed awkwardly in her heels towards the door.

"You look beautiful," Tristan said as she stepped into the hallway and shut the door quietly behind her. She had expected him to say that. She found that she enjoyed it anyway.

It was late, past eleven. Rory didn't recognize the nightshift concierge who hailed them a taxi. Tristan's eyes traveled up and down Rory's body slowly as they waited in the lobby.

"What?" she asked, growing uncomfortable under his gaze.

"I didn't think you owned a dress like that."

Something in his look reminded her of the way Dean had looked at her that night, several weeks ago now. And instead of feeling a wave of longing for Dean she felt a wave of power stemming from her ability to bring that look into someone else's eyes. Even if it was Tristan's. Maybe especially Tristan's, a known playboy.

The cab arrived and she slipped across the back seat, Tristan following next to her. He rattled off an address to the driver and settled back against the seat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two nips. He held one out to Rory.

"What is it?" she asked, reaching for the bottle.

"Tequila," he responded in a low voice. She frowned. "This is my travel itinerary now. And I know how much you like to adhere to a schedule. Eleven twenty-seven says drink the nip."

She twisted off the tiny cap, clinked her little bottle against his, and downed half the contents of the nip.

"Gah!" she hissed, screwing up her face. Tristan laughed and took his own.

"So what is your drink going to be tonight?" he asked, shaking off the burn of his own tequila shot.

"Well, what does your itinerary say?"

He laughed. "Does that mean you want me to choose for you?"

"This is your night."

"Don't give me too much power," he teased. He said it lightly, but Rory interpreted the look in his eye as a warning.

The club was in a nondescript building on a busy street in Berln. Rory hadn't even realized they were close until the cab pulled over. She allowed Tristan to pay the fare, then slipped out onto the street. Tristan put his hand on the small of her back and steered her towards the front of the line. Tristan gave the bouncer a name she did not recognize and the man unhooked the rope blocking off the door, granting them entrance.

The club was loud, steamy, and blaring techno music. Rory immediately began to question her decision to sneak out and partake in the evening. She looked around, taking in the vaulted ceilings and writhing bodies on the dance floor.

"We have a table upstairs," Tristan yelled, leaning in close so she could hear him. She nodded and allowed him to lead the way through the crowd toward the VIP tables. Once upstairs he clearly recognized his friends. He walked quickly towards them, Rory following close behind him.

The table of young guys spotted him and shouted out "Dugrey!" warmly. Tristan shook hands all around. He then stepped aside and put an arm around Rory's shoulders. "This is Mary," he said simply. The guys nodded politely, then turned back to their previous conversations.

Tristan and Rory slipped into vacant spots around the table. "Do you even remember my name?" she asked.

"Of course."

"Then why don't you ever call me by it?" she asked.

"What are you drinking?"

"You're changing the subject."

Tristan beckoned the cocktail waitress over. "A margarita for the lady and a gin and tonic for me."

Rory waited expectantly for him to answer her question.

"So Mary, tell me a story." An arm slipped around her shoulders. She turned to her other side to find out who was talking to her.

"How about you start," she said.

"Alright then," the stranger obliged. He took a big swallow of his drink and recited:

"Mary, Mary, quite contrary how does your garden grow…"

"That's not a story," she scolded.

"It is if you feel like answering the question, Love."

Rory tossed a look over her other shoulder to Tristan. "Quit asking her about her garden, Finn."

"Apologies," he said in his thick accent, Australian, maybe. He removed his arm from Rory's shoulder. "I didn't realize you were tending to her flower."

He turned away, and Tristan leaned in. "Are you ever going to tell me who the lucky guy was? The curiosity is killing me."

She forced what she hoped to be a coy smile and shook her head.

Their drinks arrived. Rory was surprised to see that her margarita was served in a tall, skinny glass. Not the kind the kind that show up at Mexican restaurants. She took a sip. She could tell that the alcohol was strong, but it was delicious.

Time began to tick away as Rory and Tristan chatted with the boys at the table. Periodically one would slip off in pursuit of an attractive lady. A few more girls had joined the table by the time Rory finished her second drink. By the end of her third she had learned that Finn was a fellow Yale student in exile in Europe for the summer. From the stories he was telling about his last semester, she was unsurprised that she had never crossed paths with him on campus.

By the end of the fourth margarita, Rory's head was swimming pleasantly. And so when Tristan leaned into her ear and asked, "Do you want to get away from this techno?" she didn't hesitate before following him out of the booth and across the room.

It was clear at this point that Tristan was familiar with the club. He took her hand and led her to the third floor. The atmosphere was distinctly different. The dance floor was crowded in here, but instead of the blaring techno, the DJ was playing the familiar sounds of last year's Top 40 hip hop.

Tristan stopped first at the bar, getting them a fresh round of drinks. Rory was unsure about drinking another margarita, but as soon as Tristan clicked his glass against hers she threw caution to the wind. It wasn't like she was driving or anything.

He took her hand again, pulling her out onto the dance floor.

"Show me your best move," she challenged as 50 Cent blared over the speakers. He pulled her tight against his body and started to try to grind against her. Rory laughed, placing a hand against his chest and pushing herself out of his grip. "No! A real move."

Tristan thought for a moment, then proceeded to pantomime some kind of gesture. He looked so ridiculous with his arm extended and feet shuffling. She laughed again. "What the hell was that?"

"Walking the dog," he said, a genuine smile spreading across his lips.

The song changed, Nelly's Shake Ya Tailfeather spreading across the room. Tristan grabbed her hand again, this time spinning her around the dancefloor. They danced, keeping a distance between them but cracking each other up with their moves. Before long Tristan's friends joined them and formed a dance circle. Somewhere in the middle of Get Low Rory spilled her drink. She hardly noticed. One guy whose name she had missed pulled her into a dance towards the end of Beyonce's Baby Boy. By the time Ignition came on, Tristan had pulled her back to him, his arms firmly locked around her waist.

She stayed pressed against him, and she could feel the way his hips moved against hers behind her. At times he sang the ridiculous lyrics of the song lowly in her ear, making her smile. Even when the song switched yet again to a Chingy song, Rory did not pull away. Tristan turned her so that they were now face to face. They locked eyes and she smiled. He reciprocated, warming her towards him even more. She felt the sway of their bodies, his shirt damp with sweat, his hands traveling lower until they slowly grazed her ass. She looked up at him again. He was going to kiss her. And she made the split decision to let him.

His lips were warm and firm and slow. It wasn't a hurried kiss, and they didn't stop moving to the music. She let her hands trail from where they were resting on his arms up his frame and around his neck. Maybe it was the tequila, maybe it was the heady atmosphere, maybe it was the tension that she knew had been slowly building between them for the past three weeks. But she felt like she was melting under an intense heat.

"Come home with me tonight," he said at last, breaking their kiss. Straight to the point. No room for any misconceptions.

She looked up into his eyes, saw them heavy and glazed, much like her own. She nodded.

He smirked. "Then let's get out of here."