A movie, still-photograph,
Through a martyr's eyes I can see,
I've seen the best of love, the best of hate, the best reward is earned,
I've paid for every single word I've ever said.

Rory shut her eyes and feigned sleep for a full two hours until her mother finally left her room, satisfied she wouldn't start convulsing.

She continued to lay in silence for another half hour, just in case. Once her patience had run out, she leaped out of bed and stuffed the covers in the format of every movie that involved a sneaking-out scene. Carefully picking up her keys so they wouldn't jingle, she opened the window and exited the room with a certain silence and determination that was surprising given that this was her first time doing anything of the sort.

Praying that her mom wouldn't hear the noise of the car starting up, Rory pulled out of the driveway and sped out of Stars Hollow. She broke every speed limit between her house and Hartford Hospital, but she barely registered that this was the most reckless act she had ever committed.

Screeching the car into a parking space, Rory threw herself towards the entrance of the hospital. She ignored the bewildered admonitions of the nurses and doctors along the way, ignored that it was nowhere near visiting hours, ignored that running down the hallway was dangerous for everyone.

She stopped in front of the door that would lead to a cocky blond boy she used to hate.

She stopped in front of the door that would lead to a close friend and an almost lover.

She stopped in front of the door that encapsulated so much heartache and yearning that she thought her chest might explode from the pure emotion of it all.

Exhaling, she knocked on the door and opened it without waiting for a response.

Rory walked in and felt warmth spread all over her as she saw Tristan lying in his bed, sound asleep. He was beautiful and he was peaceful and he was free from the worry lines that came when he was awake. Walking over to his bed, she wrapped both her hands around one of his.

He woke up. Blinking in confusion for a few seconds, surprise and undeniable joy and recognition lit up his face. He was beautiful and he was happy and he was awake .

"I'm sorry it took me so long." She whispered. "I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Shh." He said comfortingly, squeezing her hand. His eyes could look at nothing else but her. "It doesn't matter, Mary. You're here now."

"I hate you, you know." She clung to his hand for dear life. "I hate you. I think I lov-"

"It's okay." He smiled. "I know." He sat up in his bed and with no hesitation, kissed her gently, his fingers caressing her cheek.

She cried out of sheer happiness and she wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed in that laughing way that only comes from derisive bliss. He was beautiful and he was hers and she was his.

"I was so worried I would be too late, I was so worried you wouldn't forgive me, I was so worried, Tristan."

"Everything's gonna be okay, Rory." He took both her hands and kissed them. "Please know that. No matter what happens, you'll be okay."

"What do you mean?"

"Everything's gonna be okay." He smiled.

-

She stopped in front of the door that encapsulated so much heartache and yearning that she thought her chest might explode from the pure emotion of it all.

She stopped in front of the door and shook her hopes and fantasies out of her head, smiling at the memory of them and knowing that the real Tristan was far superior to any persona her imagination could conjure.

Exhaling, she knocked on the door and opened it without waiting for a response.

Her eyes blinked in confusion for a moment. She was disoriented. There was no sleeping Tristan, no arrogant angel, lying in the bed. The hospital bed was well made and empty. The room was empty. There were no books or magazines on the side table. She blinked.

Her first thought was that she had run to the wrong room, but that was not possible. She could make it to Tristan's room blindfolded. The back left of the corner still had a small chunk of wall missing, the blinds on the window had the familiar broken dent in the section where Tristan had thrown a book at it in a half-asleep attempt to make the daylight go away. The bed still had a yellow smiley face etched on the headboard in paint, Tristan's attempt to make the room more homey.

This was his room. But the fact remained that the bed was empty.

It wouldn't make sense for his bed to be made if he had just gone a walk around the hall to stretch his legs or get something from the vending machine.

A fluttering of hope blossomed in her stomach when she realized that maybe, maybe he had defied all the stupid odds and all the thunder-cloud talk of the doctors. Maybe, maybe he had gotten better after all and had gone home.

A nurse walked in behind Rory and frowned.

"Excuse me, if you're waiting for someone who is undergoing surgery, you should be in the waiting room. If you're trying to visit a patient, you'll have to wait until the morning."

Ignoring the annoyance in the nurse's tone, Rory turned to her and asked, "Why is this room empty?"

"Oh, the family already collected all the personal effects of the last patient. I'm sure the room will be filled soon enough."

"Where's Tristan Dugrey, the patient whose room this is?"

Another nurse entered the room and it was a woman Rory knew. The nurse's eyes widened when she saw the girl and heard her question. Quietly gesturing for the other nurse to leave, Lucy met Rory's gaze with an almost pitying expression.

"Rory, it's been a while."

"Yes, it has. Where's Tristan?" Lucy was one of the supervising nurses and had grown quite familiar with Tristan and by association, Rory.

"Honey, Tristan passed away three days ago…" Her hand was on Rory's shoulder, her eyes full of concern.

The words didn't register. Rory stared blankly at the woman for a beat, before laughing.

"Excuse me?"

"He lasted much longer than anyone projected." The nurse continued, "But it was his time."

"What are you talking about?" Rory was still smiling.

"He was terminally ill, sweetie. You knew that."

The smile broke. Falteringly, Rory protested, "But I'm here. I'm here now. I came back."

"I'm sorry, Rory. I know how close you two were."

"No! No, I'm here. I came back. I'm here. No. Where is he? Where is he?" Confused tears were cascading down her cheeks and she couldn't breathe. "No, he has to be here. He's supposed to be in that bed and he's supposed to smile when he sees me and then we'd hug and I'd tell him how sorry I am and he'd smile, he'd be here, he's supposed to… this isn't what… this isn't right!"

"Rory…"

"You're lying!" She whimpered, "You're lying! I want to see Tristan. I want to see him."

"Honey, he left something for you." The nurse unlocked the drawer of the bedside table and retrieved an envelope. "He told me to make sure you got it, whenever you came by again."

"What if I hadn't come back, huh?" Rory asked angrily. "What would have happened to the envelope if I never came back?"

"Tristan knew you'd be back." She said simply, giving her the envelope.

Staring at the Manila paper in her hands, listening to the crinkling of the paper, feeling the absolute emptiness of the room when no Tristan Dugrey inhabited it, Rory collapsed against the wall and cried.

"No, no, no, no, no." She sobbed, bordering on hysterical. "This wasn't how it was supposed to be. No, no, no…"

"I'm sorry." Lucy the nurse softly repeated.

"Were his parents here? When it happened?"

"No, they came as soon as they could but no."

This information twisted at Rory's insides and she stood up and walked right out the door without another word.

xXx

Lorelai woke up that morning to find Rory sitting bolt upright on the living room couch, her eyes empty as endless tears flew down her face.

"Babe?"

"He's dead." Her voice was metallic. "He's dead, mom. Tristan is dead." The words sounded so callous, so harsh, so acidic.

In a heartbeat, Lorelai's arms were holding Rory tightly and the contact broke Rory's trance and the girl held on to her mother desperately, her sobs echoing all across the house and out into the near silence of the neighborhood.

"I snuck out, I'm sorry, I had to see him." She choked into her mother's sleeve. "He wasn't there. Everything was gone. He's gone, mom."

Lorelai could think of little she could do to comfort her daughter, and so she just held on to her, her heart breaking right along with Rory's.

"He was supposed to be sleeping. He was supposed to be sleeping and I was going to wake him up and he'd tell me everything was okay, that it was okay that I took so long. He was supposed to hug me and tell me everything was okay and it didn't happen, mom, it didn't. He's gone, he's gone, he's gone." Trying hard to breathe, Rory couldn't stop talking. "I should have been there. Why am I so stupid, mom? Why am I so selfish?"

"Honey, this is not your fault."

"He died alone. He died alone in a hospital room with no one there, not anyone, not his parents or any friends or me. He didn't deserve that, he didn't deserve any of it. It is my fault. I deserted him during his last days on earth. It- is- my- fault."

"You made his last days worth living, Rory. You know that. You made that boy so, so happy." Lorelai smoothed back Rory's hair, desperately willing every ounce of warmth she had to pass to her daughter. Desperately trying to fill the gaping hole that had become of Rory's chest.

"I left him. I left him." Rory was weeping uncontrollably. Her fingers clung to her mother's arms tightly, her breathing coming in erratic little bursts. "You t-told me not to, you begged me not to… I'm such a- I'm so-"

"Shh. No, sweetie. You were scared. He would have forgiven you for that."

Rory just shook on the couch, her sobs the only noise that could be heard for several houses down.

xXx

It did not take long for the concerned neighbours to consult each other and whisper to others in the town. Worry coated Stars Hollow- there wasn't a soul there who didn't adore Rory. No one dared bother the house so early on- even Patty knew that knocking or calling at this time would be intrusive.

Luke tensely closed the diner at eleven that morning, exhausted by the flow of questions his customers poured into him. Lorelai had called him with the devastating news when Rory went to the washroom for a few minutes, a half hour after Rory got home. He was slightly panicked with worry by that time but despite his relief at getting an explanation, explaining to the town was not something he wanted to do several hundred times.

Wiping down the counter, he eyed Jess, who was staring absently at his hands. Dean refused to leave the diner and was also staring absently in an adjacent corner. Somehow, both boys knew that if any news were to come or any call for help sent out, it would be here. And despite Luke's general loathing of Dean – a dislike that had intensified greatly when he found out the details of the break-up incident- the man could not turn away the boy who had such genuine concern.

"She'll be okay." Luke broke the silence of the diner finally, throwing the cloth he had been using over his shoulder. The counter was glistening and he was not going to waste time and effort on a task that was done, regardless of his anxieties.

"She hid herself in a state of emotional shock for the last few months because of this guy." Jess looked up at his uncle, his expression clearly saying that he was not going to be comforted by petty falsities.

"She really cared about him." Dean said, his voice strained.

"I'm not saying she'll get over it in a day. I'm saying she'll be okay." Luke sighed, not altogether surprised that this was when Jess and Dean would agree on something.

"We should visit her." Dean said, sending Jess a quick glance before he went back to staring at his lap.

"You think I didn't want to be over there the moment the first person barged in here, telling me that you could hear Rory crying from four houses away?" Luke said with more than a little impatience.

"Has she ever had to deal with death before?" Jess asked quietly after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence.

Luke blew out a breath and shook his head.

"Fuck." Jess sighed almost inaudibly, letting his head fall back against the wall.

"None of us even met the guy, maybe this isn't as big of a deal as we think it is…" Dean tried half-heartedly to reason.

"He was stuck in a hospital bed the entire time Rory was friends with him." Jess pointed out. "And she wasn't exactly going to march us all down there for a sit-down meet-and-greet."

"He knew Lorelai. I think that tells you everything you need to know about how much he meant to her." Seeing the worried frowns grow deeper on both boys' faces, Luke tossed a nearly empty napkin dispenser to Dean. "Do something useful, refill the napkins." Handing some order forms to Jess, he instructed his nephew to do an inventory of the stock in the kitchen and write down anything that needed re-ordering.

As the teenagers silently did as ordered, Luke glanced at the phone one last time before he picked up the cloth and wiped the nearest table.

xXx

A few days later, Lorelai sat beside Rory as she handed her an elegantly designed envelope. It was essentially a cue card with a few sentences informing them that Tristan's funeral was to be in four days. It was from Tristan's father, and judging from the fact that it was slipped under the door, it had been hand delivered. He had written that Tristan requested Rory to be told before the official obituary was published, before the information was available to the public.

Sure enough, when Rory scanned the Hartford newspaper the next day, it was the first day Tristan's obituary appeared. Seeing his not-quite serious face in the flat, flimsy newspaper stabbed at her heart. The details were sparse: birth and death (oh god, that word made her want to go catatonic again) date, parents' names, the fact that he went to Chilton, and the fact that he had passed away "peacefully" at Hartford Hospital after a long illness; he would be missed by his mother, his father, his various extended family members, and his esteemed classmates.

Rory closed her eyes. The fact that they couldn't even write 'friends' instead of classmates made her clench her jaw. Nonetheless, she carefully cut the article out of the paper. She would have it laminated.

That afternoon, a few Chiltonites called her from various places, having read the news of Tristan's death. Yes, Rory had heard. Yes, Rory had known that Tristan was seriously ill. Yes, Rory had visited him many times. Yes, Rory was upset. Yes, Rory would be okay.

Paris called from her second house in New York and was surprised to hear her voice soaked with crying. She would be flying back for the funeral and everyone else was too- anyone who didn't have the respect to come back, she would personally decimate.

For the first time in a long time, Rory realized that perhaps she wasn't the only person that would miss Tristan.

The day of the funeral came. The days before it had been mundane, lifeless- much like Rory herself had become. The Gilmore residence had been shrouded in sorrow and minimal contact with the outside world had occurred. Rory's grandparents pulled up in a chauffeured Bentley an hour before they would have to set off for Hartford. The two had been told by Lorelai before the news spread through the Hartford grapevine of Tristan's death and the enormity the fact held for Rory. As often happened when it came to Rory, their sense of almost cold propriety melted away when they heard of their granddaughter's pain and became once more doting grandparents.

Emily and Lorelai both took one of Rory's arms in their comforting grip as they made their way to the car, and Richard's hand was a steady rock against his daughter's back.

The church was absolutely overflowing with people. Rory was stunned to see that almost all who were of her grade and many who weren't had flown back from whichever corner of the world they had been vacationing in to pay their respects. Older business people swarmed the pews, something Rory attributed to the fact that Tristan's parents were obviously well revered in the community. The Chiltonites seemed to instinctively drift away from those who were clearly there for Tristan's parents; the youth was largely gathered in a clump to the centre of the church.

The church itself was a handsome building, ornate and ancient. A sizable portrait was placed up front by the podium, by the…coffin. Tristan looked faintly amused in this picture, the corners of his lips were just barely turned up into a smile, but his eyes were dancing.

Biting down on the inside of her cheek, Rory made her way towards her classmates. Most looked genuinely distraught. Sitting down next to a silently crying Paris, Rory understood for the first time that she had been foolish and selfish to believe that she was the only one crippled by the loss of Tristan.

Once everyone was seated, Tristan's parents stood at the front of the church and for the first time, Rory noticed a large screen had been erected.

"Thank you all for coming. Tristan made me swear to show this video for you all here today before we begin with the proceedings. With all that has happened, I- we- owe him this much."

Rory felt a lump develop in her throat. Lorelai's hand was over hers in a heartbeat.

The screen came to life; Tristan's face amplified for all to see. His hair was as full as it had been the day he left the school, his face as animated. This was clearly filmed very early into his stay at the hospital.

The Tristan on screen broke into a wide grin, "Hey, all. Don't I look pretty?" A sob echoed across the room. It took a moment for Rory to realize that it had come from herself. The grin eased into a light smile. "If you're watching this now, it means you're all sitting in a church dressed in black. And I think I owe a shitload of you an explanation. Sorry dad, FYI, I'm gonna swear in this a bit. So, almost none of you knew I was even sick so this whole 'hey, guess what? Tristan's dead' thing probably shocked the hell out of those of you cared. And I'm sorry. I really am. I knew about this for a long, long time and it really would've just been well, fair, for me to give you guys a heads-up too. I'm sorry for the rude awakening. I just wasn't- I didn't want people knowing early on and, you know, feeling bad for me or treating me differently or whatever. Don't feel bad if I didn't tell you I was sick- I only told those I was boxed into telling.

So, I was diagnosed with something that would kill me last year- pretty much around the time my "suspensions" started… That reminds me, let the fuck up on Duncan and Bowman, hey? Those two saved my ass a lot- they were my alibis for hospital visits, usually. So stop being uppity pricks to them."

["Well, well, well. Look who's back from suspension." Louise had said.

"Tristan got suspended again? What did he do?"

"Took apart Mr. McCaffey's car and put it back together in the science building hallway."

"You're kidding."

"Yeah, well he didn't do it by himself. Duncan and Bowman were there too."

"Hey, anyone stupid enough to hand out with Butch Cassidy and the Sun-dunce kid deserves whatever they get." Paris had said. How could she have said that, how? Paris heard her own words ring in the recesses of her memory like a pebble thrown over static water. How could she have said that?

"How did he fall in with those guys?"

"The new year started and there they were, all three of them, side by side." How they could have been so stupid?

xXx

"Are you all right? …A lot of stuff's been going on with you lately, huh?" Rory had asked him

"Meaning?"

"Just, you know, the car thing, the suspension thing, a lot of drama."

"Well I get bored easily."

"Just doesn't really seem like you."

"And you know me now?" Fool, fool, fool for ever assuming she understood one thought that went through Tristan Dugrey's mind at that time.

"I know you don't get suspended for stupid pranks."

"I pulled stuff like that before I knew Duncan and Bowman, all right?"

"Well, if you did, you didn't get caught. You're getting caught a lot."

"Your point being?"

"Maybe Duncan and Bowman aren't the best people to be hanging out with. They're not as smart as you Tristan, they don't have what you have going for you. They…"

He must have hated her then. He must have hated her at that moment.

"You know, I'm gonna have to bail before we get to the whole hugging part. And ask your boyfriend to remind me when it's coupon day, okay?"]

"So, six months of treatment, of arcane, of radical, of foreign, of far-fetched, of expensive treatment was given to me. Didn't take so well. So 'cause I'm a selfish little prick, I told you guys that I was booted to military school. That was actually the first night I checked into Hartford Hospital. That was when the real hard-core treatment would take place, the shit I wouldn't be able to hide or lie away. I'm sorry, Paris, for ditching on the play. If Harvard rejects you based on that, send them a copy of this tape. They can't very well deny you on principle of dying-boy.

I pretty much have no idea what day it is you all are seeing this right now, but I hope I didn't kick it during a holiday and permanently screw it up for you. This church better be damn well full to bursting, by the way. And not just with people from DuGrey Industries- because, with all due respect, this message is for my friends, my minions, my frenemies, my groupies, my fellow debauchery-indulging adolescent awesome-makers. If all of Chilton isn't here, I urge the rest of you to pillage and burn those who suck dick enough to stand me up.

Anyways, don't feel too bad, okay? Yeah, dying at sixteen blows, but I've had a year to come to terms with it. I'm rather confident that as you hear this, I'm having a blast with some other hot dead people in a bad ass after life. So, don't be too torn up. I mean, every single one of you better miss me, bitches, but don't get too sad. I'm gonna be okay and I hope you will be too. I grew up with a lot of you, and this is probably going to remind you of your own mortality and blah blah blah. Well, I lived a pretty awesome life so you guys better get your ass in gear doing the same. Do dumb shit- but do it intelligently. Do random shit- but make sure you plan for them to happen. Be crazy- but never lose your hold on sanity. Spend money like you're shittin' it, but only on what makes you happy. Fuck like rabbits, drink your liver black - but never, ever forget who you are kiddies. Lie, cheat, and steal- break every fucking moral and legal code there is- except for your own.

I'm gone, man. Remember my rock star charm and my movie god looks, laugh at my genius ploys and learn from the ways of me. Eat the food at the wake, cry on each other's shoulders, have a naked orgy in memory of me. But then go back to school. Go back to work. Go back to life. Okay? You all better promise me that. Or I'll haunt your asses. And not in a sexy way, either.

Love ya, but not as much as you all love me, peace babes."

Tristan's animated face broke out in a fresh laugh as his arm swung into view to turn the camera off.

If Rory had looked around, she would have realized that tears were streaming down the faces of everyone in her Chilton section.

xXx

The service was not special. It was not moving, but perfunctory. When it ended, everyone was given the chance to see the open casket and say their goodbyes.

Pairs of the teenagers in front of her cried as they leaned over the casket; boys with their arms around their girlfriends, boys with their hands stuffed in pockets, girls who could barely breathe due to their sobbing, girls unable to look at the casket.

When it was her pew's turn, Paris couldn't seem to stand up. "I have known Tristan my entire life. No, sorry, my life up to now. I've known him his entire life. I don't have a memory that stretches back before I knew him. I don't have a memory before meeting him in that sandbox over a decade ago. We were supposed to be spoiled and pampered and privileged together. We were supposed to graduate together. He would be the class clown, I would be valedictorian, it was always meant to be like that. The inevitability of that meant we would go on pretending like I didn't use to tutor him, that he didn't use to verbally eviscerate anyone who mocked me. He would pretend like he didn't know I liked him deeper than I liked any other male, I would pretend like I didn't know he never could like me as more than childhood-friend-Paris. I've known him forever."

Rory gently took the girl's hand in hers, her other hand still in Lorelai's, and the three of them made their way together. "I can't." Paris muttered.

"He would want you to." Rory answered.

"This was the church we both had our first communion, you know." The blonde girl whispered. "Everything is shrink wrapped in tradition." Clenching her fists, her face impassive, she said, "I want to burn it all to the ground." Without another moment of hesitation, Paris led the rest up the final steps to the casket.

His body was adorned in a very fine black suit. The make-up meant to soften the blow of the deceased pallor only made it more garish. She knew he was blue underneath it all. He was cold as ice. A lifeless mannequin.

Rory touched his cheekbone, the face she had loved, and thought she might collapse.

Paris beat her to it; the girl's knees buckled and she let out a low keening noise. For the first time, Rory was forced to be the strong one. And this, in an ocean of tactics used to try to help her heal, saved her the most.

Helping the girl to her feet, Rory hugged Paris against her as she let herself truly breakdown. Snivelling, sobbing, grasping- it didn't matter. This was Tristan Dugrey. Here he was, the man she had practically moved into Hartford Hospital for, the man she almost killed herself to see at five in the morning.

Here he was, and he would never do or say or think or hear or feel anything again, not ever.

There's never been a promise of forever,

But don't feel sorry for me, baby.

Death's only the next frontier for me.

Don't cry too hard, baby. You know I'll be fine.

AN: I know pretty much all of you were banking on Rory getting to Tristan on time and on the two of them having a period of happiness together, but I've had this tragic thing planned from the get-go, and I'm sorry for all whose hearts are breaking right now. No, Rory's state last chapter was not a dream, she was remembering past events- they were indeed flashbacks.

Now, this story is not done. Tristan is gone, yes, but there are still strings to be dealt with. Plus, this story is the type that begs for an epilogue. So there is still a bit left to be told.