Author's note: Thank you all for each and every review, the ones that just let me know you've read and liked the latest chapter and the ones that are long and wonderful and often better written than the story itself. I love when something resonates with you or you find some hidden element or theme that I myself haven't even considered knowingly.

hereforthe: Losing sleep to read a new chapter? Now that's a compliment

jordana60: I love your insight and take on things. You are now my indicator of whether I have managed to make Tristan's character truthful and believable.

lost0and0found: You are so, so kind, thank you for your words. I have started writing these stories because I myself have longed to read something deeper and more consuming with these characters that still occupy my mind after all these years, so to know that you appreciate it for the very same reason is really awesome.

Alright, enough sappiness, onto straight up angst. I'm not gonna lie, this is gonna be brutal.

"We could have taken a flight Rory" he sighed, glancing at her fingers digging into the side of her seat and she had to make a mental note to try to relax.

Sitting in a car was still overwhelming for her, even as his stoic demeanor gave her an infallible comfort.

He looked relaxed, his arm resting on the window rolled down in the summer heat. His AC was broken, they had realized after ten minutes on the road.

"I like having road trips with you" she reassured him and perhaps herself.

"Besides, it's easier for you to handle the panic attack I'm inevitably going to get when we cross into Connecticut" she joked, making her voice light, even though she wasn't sure that what she'd described wasn't a distinct possibility.

His hand reached out to find hers and she squeezed his fingers, wiping the sweat off her neck with her other hand.

"You know what else we could do while we're in Hartford?" she asked, her voice light and joking.

She watched as he ignored her.

"Do you ever think to look them up?" she asked, her voice small as she furrowed her brows, looking ahead in the shining summer heat.

"No" he replied, his voice unaffected, sure.

It was definitive, the way he said it and it made her falter, if only for a second.

"Why?" she asked, turning to study his face.

He was supporting his head on his left hand, his elbow resting on the rolled down window again, while his right hand moved back to hold the wheel loosely.

"We're done with each other, Rory" he said quietly, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

She tried to identify feelings on his face, somehow needing a task to immerse herself into, but his face was unreadable, as always.

"Why is that?" she pushed, pulling her left leg up, turning in her seat to be able to fully study his reactions.

She saw him take a deep breath, as though he were collecting his thoughts, but his answer was short, clipped.

"They gave me a choice and I picked what I picked" he said.

"The army?" she offered, giving him a chance to elaborate.

Another beat of silence followed, but he spoke finally, his words slow, careful.

"Yeah. They had another path for me, but even then I couldn't imagine it. I felt like I had to go see."

"Why?" she insisted, trying to understand his motives.

He glanced at her for a second, his eyes squinting as if he were trying to understand her sudden urge to dig into his past. Up until now it was something she hadn't pushed him about, perhaps avoiding the topic in order to not have to think about family at all.

She watched him as he sighed, dropping his head back slightly against the seat behind him, his hand on the wheel flexing aimlessly. He shook his head lightly, as if the explanation was elusive to himself too.

She thought he might not even answer at all, but then he started to speak, his words slow, careful.

"Military school was like drowning. I felt like it was me being pushed under water" he said as she looked at him, holding her breath.

"But the thing is, when you are drowning, you become disciplined. You anticipate being able to take a breath, and you don't waste your energy on anything else, it's the only way you can stay alive" he went on, with a humorless chuckle.

She swallowed hard, listening to him describe the experience in such a graphic way.

"That's how it was for me" he went on. "It gave me structure, it calmed me down, it made me focus. And I realized that the things other people wanted me to focus on didn't matter to me. I looked at my parents and their lives felt foreign to me. My life felt foreign to me."

She listened, an uneasy feeling creeping into her bones as she imagined what it must have felt like for him to struggle with these feelings, when her biggest problem at the time was whether to choose Harvard or Yale.

He went on, his words flowing more freely and she stayed quiet, not wanting to disturb his flow of thoughts.

"September eleventh happened that year. It was strange to be there with these legacy kids, all ready to go to arms instantaneously. But it made me see the power of people having a shared goal. People being motivated to fix something. Looking back now, I think we were naïve. Misguided and misinformed. But at the same time, we all suddenly had a direction, and we had our own will to take responsibility. It gave me a sense of purpose" he said, finishing his monologue, his eyes focused somewhere in the distance.

Several moments passed and she felt the urge to make him continue.

"So, you decided to enlist?" she asked quietly.

"Yes. My dad was furious, but he bargained with me. He wanted me to go to college" he replied, his words now tired somehow.

"And you?" she asked, her voice a quiet whisper.

"I had a friend that helped me a lot when I got to the school, Tony" he said, a small smile playing on his lips as though he were recalling pleasant memories.

"He was a year ahead of me, an army brat, huge family, legacy kid. He said he'd enlist right away. He talked about the service, his dad, how the thought of college made him restless. He wanted to not waste his years in school" he explained, and Rory listened again with her breath held.

His face became troubled as he went on.

"He enlisted right after graduation. He got shipped out six months later to Afghanistan. He died his first month."

Rory took a deep breath, feeling her chest constrict.

Tristan was silent for a second, the summer light bouncing off the windshield and reflecting on his face; a stark contrast to his quiet monologue.

"It made me falter. I thought about calling my dad. I thought about going to school. Becoming a lawyer or whatever he would have liked" he continued, his words uneven, rambling a bittersweet smile playing on his lips.

"It lasted all but a day I think. I woke up the next day and I knew I had to go try. Had to go see. Not because it was my legacy but because I couldn't see myself doing anything else. I thought, if I go and become a lawyer, I'll feel like a part of me died anyway. And if I go fight and die the first month, then that's that" he finished with a finality and acceptance that was uniquely his and still so foreign to her.

There was something in the way he said that. That strange sense of calm that seemed to take over him when he talked about his job. Acceptance? Predestination?

"You didn't" she said quietly, somehow trying to reassure herself.

"No. I didn't" he nodded with a shrug as if he weren't talking about surviving in the face of incredible odds.

"I just went through it the same way I avoided drowning. Focused on the next breath, the next task. I never looked back. Never thought about college again. It made sense to me, this life. And if there's a war, advancement is easy, making decisions is easy. I just went on the tour. And went on the other. I did what I was told. I did Ranger school because they told me I had what it takes. And then they picked me out for Delta. It made sense. I just did whatever came next. I didn't falter. I didn't dread stuff" he explained.

He was watching the road again, his left hand taking the wheel as his right hand wiped the sweat off his face.

"Did that change when you crashed?" she asked timidly.

She saw him take a deep breath, as though he were planning to ignore her questioning. When he finally spoke, his words were calm again, slow and deliberate.

"No. I wasn't scared of dying. When I came to and I had tubes everywhere and I couldn't move or speak, I was scared of staying like that. Of staying alive like that. I fought my way out of that bed because there was either dying or there was going back" he said, his words making her shiver.

"Do you still feel like that?" she asked and she saw him look at her, a flash of worry or guilt or something she couldn't identify in his eyes, before turning back to focus on the road again.

"I feel like I have to do it. I feel like there's more for me to do still" he said finally.

She studied his words for clues. As though she could retrace them back to his brain, back to the feelings that he held inside himself. She tried to remember how he worded this answer a couple of months prior, tried to see if there was a change there, if there was hope.

She shook her head, feeling a headache coming on.

"So we're not going to have dinner with your parents?" she asked, trying to lift the heavy mood.

She felt him relax, and she realized how tense his body had been throughout their conversation.

"Maybe after drinks with Emily" he replied, a chuckle breaking from his lips.

She snorted in response

"You think drinks is all she has planned?" she asked, her voice uneasy.

He glanced at her again, his eyes once again showing concern.

"Did you talk to her?" he asked her, his words careful, probing.

She shook her head.

"No, but I'm sure the lawyer tipped her off that we're coming" she shrugged, the light feeling disappearing altogether as slow dread filled her.

"There is gonna be an ambush. I can feel it in my bones" she murmured.

"I know you're mad at her. But she loves you. And she's your family. I think she's afraid of being alone. Of leaving you alone" he said, his words slow, careful.

She knew what he was hinting at. Emily looked frail when she showed up at her apartment. She had been too worked up to see it then, but now sitting here, recalling the way she looked, her pale complexion, the thin arms, the strangely lifeless face under the thick coating of make up, it was an unnerving picture.

"I don't doubt that," she said, "but she wants me to do things I can't" she said, brushing off the uneasy feeling the memory of her image evoked in her.

"Like what?" he asked, glancing at her again.

She sighed, knowing full well what that list was compiled of.

"Go back to Stars Hollow. Sell that house. Plant daises on the grave. Get over it. Stop traveling. Settle down. Act like what people expect me to act like."

"I don't think she expects all that. Not all at once. But I think she's worried she's running out of time to be able to talk to you about her" he said, his hidden meaning once again apparent.

She swallowed, feeling the lump in her throat as memories of her mother, that house, that town rushed her.

She had to close her eyes in order to steady herself, willing all the rampant memories back into their usual place of seclusion.

"It hurts to think of her" she whispered, not trusting her voice. "I can't think of her because it hurts too much. So, I can't deal with that house or those memories. I can't deal with those people. I can't deal with the grief in my grandmother's eyes" she went on, knowing she must sound hysterical. He listened in silence, his eyes fixed on the road, but she knew he was focused on her every word.

"And I realize all of the things I'm missing out on. I realize I'll never be able to slow down. If I slow down, I think of her. It'll never not hurt to think of her. So I can't. As long as I'm moving, I'm fine" she finished her rambling whisper, sucking in air in order to keep the emotions at bay.

He looked at her for a second longer she thought was safe before taking a deep breath and turning back to focus on the road.

"We're a great pair" he murmured.

She shrugged, letting out a surprised chuckle.

"I've seen worse" she said, her voice playful.

"Have you really?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"No" she sighed, sinking back into her seat with a cynical smile.

She had been watching the scenery fly by quietly when the nauseating feeling hit her full force.

She felt her heartbeat slow and her head become lightheaded before her heart launched into a racing rhythm.

"Stop the car" she choked out, her voice sounding strange to her own ears.

"Rory?" she heard his concerned voice.

"Stop the car" she repeated forcefully and this time he reacted.

He pulled over, watching her with concern. Her hands were shaking as she undid her seat belt and got out of the car.

"Rory, what's wrong?" she heard him but didn't respond.

She walked off the road, her steps faltering, her body looking frail as though she were collapsing under an invisible weight.

Tristan got out, walking around the car, keeping her in his sight as she made her way towards a dried out tree.

The tree was in bad shape, its trunk destroyed almost completely on one side, the splintering bark hollow and black there. But it was alive still, you could tell as much by the two scrubby branches on the other side, with leaves stubbornly green flicking in the wind.

She reached the tree now, her hands tracing the damaged bark and she felt him watch her as she stood for a long time, quite sobs raking her body.

They had been sitting in the gloomy office of the attorney for twenty minutes now, looking at the vast expanse of documents spread out in front of her, the monotone explanation of Mr. Snyde making her headache worse. The cool air of the office initially felt great on her overheated skin, but she now felt goosebumps rise on her skin and her mind was slowly awaking too, confusion taking over her.

"I'm sorry" she shook her head. "What exactly is this?" she asked, placing her finger on one of the many documents on the desk.

Tristan was sitting next to her, silent since they had come in, his concerned eyes not leaving her face. She had been ignoring him since they stopped at the tree, his wordless questions unanswered by her.

"It's Mrs. Gilmore's will" Mr. Snyde said, his face surprised as if by a question of a dense child.

"Mrs?" Rory shook her head still not understanding.

"Yes. I thought this was clear" the man before her sighed, seemingly at the end of his patience.

"She's alive" she gritted out, the uneasy feeling returning to her chest. She saw out of the corner of her eye as Tristan looked at her wearily.

"She wants to put her things in order. She wants you to be the official beneficiary so there isn't any confusion after..." the attorney trailed off and Rory felt her stomach turn into a knot.

"After what?" she asked, her tone clipped.

"Miss Gilmore. Surely you know that she's ill?" Mr. Snyde asked, his tone more careful, controlled.

There was a heavy silence in the room, a silence she knew from her childhood, from her grandparent's house, from Chilton, a silence with weight, actual and burdensome weight.

"Ill?" she asked, her hand grasping the arm of the mahogany chair as it creaked in protest.

"Yes. She is getting treatments, but the prognosis is not good. I know you two have a strained relationship, but you are the only heir to what, due to the unfortunate deaths in your family, is a considerable amount of fortune" the man sitting across from her went on, his words flowing easily, despite the heavy meaning.

She felt her throat closing in, suddenly unable the swallow.

"I don't want all that money" she shook her head, her fingers grasping the wood.

The attorney looked at her, his face part annoyance, part patronizing concern.

"She has very specific instructions about the properties and the art and all other concerns. Trust me, if you want to deal with the least amount of issues when the time comes, signing this is the way to go" the attorney tried again, his tone softer as he went on, trying to make his point.

Rory's hand went up to her eyes, massaging them, as if the splitting headache could be wiped away.

"A fucking ambush" she whispered.

"Miss Gilmore, I assure you, this is all going to make your life easier..."

"Fine. Where do I sign?" she asked, her voice shrill.

"Miss Gilmore, there is a lot more we should go over..." he interjected.

"Where do I sign?" she repeated herself, her voice raising and the man sighed, turning the pages to where she needed to sign.

She took the pen from his desk, her movements violent as she scribbled her name to all the lines he pointed out, then got up without a word as he folded up the documents.

She walked out of the office, hearing Tristan quietly say farewell to the surprised man rising from his desk.

She felt the summer heat hit her full force as she stomped out of the office, squinting in the strong sunshine.

She stopped, letting the heat envelop her, warm her, restarting the circulation that seemed to have been contained to only vital organs inside the dark and chilly office.

"Rory. Rory" she heard him call after her. "Would you stop for a second?"

"This... this is just like her" she turned around to yell, the tension breaking from her chest.

"Rory. She's sick" he said, his expression concerned as she studied her walking up and down like a caged lion.

"No. This is another one of her elaborate plans" she shook her head.

"You saw her" he said, his reasoning leaving her without ammunition.

She was reminded of how she looked. Thin and frail, but still just as determined and unyielding as ever. She shook her head trying to shake the picture.

"I... can't do this..." she yelled.

"I know" he said calmly, watching her hysterical movement.

"No, you don't!" she yelled at him, suddenly all her anger finding an outlet.

"You think this is the same?" she screamed at him, feeling her face go even warmer.

"You built a fucking fortress around yourself and never looked back. You can never hurt yourself because you never let anyone in" she went on, her words rushed, unfiltered.

He stood there without any reaction, his expression unreadable.

"I don't have a fortress" she went on, her fingers pointing to her chest. "I have to fucking open the door to everyone that fucking picks to die on my doorsteps!"

"Rory" he said, his voice quiet, calm, but instead of grounding her, it only made her angrier.

"Do you want to do something brave? How about you go and deal with your shit for a change?" she walked up to him, her voice less loud, but seething with anger and he stood motionless as she stared at him, her breathing heavy.

His eyes held her gaze and his face showed no emotion.

"Fine" he said, turning towards the car.

He drove in silence and she felt more unsteady by the minute.

The rage, hurt and anger were all swirling inside of her, but she knew already, in the back of her mind that she was being unreasonable.

She saw the big house, a distinct memory in her head she couldn't recall she actually had from her childhood.

He pulled the car up on the graveled driveway and got out of the car instantly, leaving her to try to catch up with him as he rang the front door.

She had half a mind to stop him, to drag him back into the car and drive back, surrounding themselves inside a bubble she was longing to be back in, back where it was only the two of them, before they let others in, others and their curious, dark and unrelenting hold on their souls.

By the time she reached him, a maid opened the door and he gave her his name, a flash of astonished surprise passing through the young woman's face.

They were walked into a sitting room within a minute, with the same obnoxious silence she had noted before and she suddenly felt horrible, watching his whole body in rigid anticipation.

"Tristan" she heard a cool voice call out and she turned around, seeing a tall blonde woman, in her late fifties. Her face showed shock, his eyebrows arching in a painfully familiar fashion. Her face, her reaction, the small flashes of her eyes; they were all something she was familiar with, their uncanny resemblance with Tristan taking Rory by surprise.

"Mother. How are you?" Tristan greeted the woman, and Rory looked at him studying his face. He showed no emotion, but the blue of his eyes, the pale and sad blue matched the woman's.

"Your father is at work" the woman said, her face back to a controlled facade.

"I figured. This is Rory Gilmore" he said, nodding towards Rory and she felt her face warm, as though the simple introduction had identified her as the orchestrator of this strange tête-à-tête.

"Oh. Emily are Richard's granddaughter. What an unfortunate turn of events for you" his mother said and Rory felt her head nod, not knowing how else to react. It was certainly one for the books, this reaction, it's flippant acknowledgement of all the pain she had endured packed into a socially presentable package, but she had no time to dwell on the intricate indifference of Mrs. DuGray, as she seemed to be one to cut to the chase.

"What can I assist you with?" she said, folding her delicate frame to sit down on a chair while she motioned for them to do so as well.

"We were in town and wanted to come say hello" Tristan replied, taking Rory's hand and pulling her down to sit next to him and suddenly she had a flash of what he would have been like had he chosen the intended path: cool, compliant and accommodating on the surface, the indifference underneath barely hidden. She felt her gut twist at the thought and she felt the overwhelming urge to run.

A strange silence fell over them and Rory watched as Tristan's mother studied him, her expression calm, almost indifferent.

"Is it money you need?" the woman asked, her face unchanged, but her tone icy cold.

She froze, not quite sure she had heard her correctly, and she glanced at Tristan, his face a steely resolve.

"No" he said simply as if he were playing a part in a stage play, the farce unfolding before her eyes.

"You heard about the adoption" the woman went on, assuming or simply propelling the conversation forward, Rory couldn't say.

"The adoption?" Tristan shook his head, his brows furrowing and Rory felt herself swept up by the drama slowly unfolding.

"Yes. Your father adopted Daniel Matthews, his colleague. He is someone that he took great pleasure in mentoring" she explained.

Rory saw Tristan tense barely noticeably, his back straight as a rod even as he sat on the soft cushions.

"Sounds about right" he murmured.

"For your information, the will is untouchable. And you signed the papers back when you did" the woman said, her words fast, an accusing tone in them.

"I did" he nodded.

Rory felt her mind race with the information that was hitting her and she shook her head trying to catch her bearings.

"I'm sorry, but what the hell is wrong with you?" she asked, her voice shrill, cutting through the sluggish silence of the room.

Two sets of blue eyes focused on her as she felt bile rise in her throat.

"This is your son. He almost died last year" she said, her voice shaking as she tried to reign in her emotions.

The woman looked at her for long seconds, her eyes not leaving hers.

"I'm sorry to hear that" she said with the same masked indifference, still not looking at Tristan.

Rory shook her head, unbelieving.

She turned to Tristan, her face contorting in pain.

"Let's go" she whispered, her whole chest vibrating with rage and she saw a faint smile cross his features, a moment of tenderness in the suffocating atmosphere.

"My pleasure" he murmured as he grabbed her hand and got up, walking out towards where they came from just minutes ago, leaving a perplexed Mrs. DuGray behind them.

She had to quicken her steps to keep up with his long strides and they were out of the front door within seconds, his aim on his car as he was digging into his pocket for his keys.

"I'm sorry" she whispered, both her hands gripping his arm.

"It's not your fault" he replied, his face emotionless as he guided her to the waiting car.

"You should eat more. You're rail thin" he said quietly, his voice calm as though he'd not lived through the infuriating experience they just did.

He stole a fry from Rory's plate, basically untouched while his was already wiped clean.

"How are you not mad?" she scoffed, watching as he chewed and swallowed.

"I swear you weigh less than in high school" he murmured, ignoring her remark.

"How are you not mad?" she repeated her question, louder this time and he looked at her, eyes flashing.

"I told you. I am done with them" he replied, voice quiet but warning.

"But how does it not piss you off?" she half yelled, making the patrons around them turn uneasily in their seats.

They were sitting in a restaurant about twenty miles outside of Hartford, the summer heat creeping into the old beat up diner.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked and she noted his tone was still calm.

"I want you to acknowledge that they're horrible people" she said, gesturing in vain to nowhere in particular.

He regarded her, with the pale blue eyes she knew, the pale blue eyes that were strikingly similar to his own mother's, but somehow so much more warm, so much more expressive.

"I have. I'm passed all this Rory, you're about ten years too late to the party" he replied, taking another one of her fries.

"You are her son. And she barely batted an eye when I told her you almost died" she went on, her voice shaking as she tried to keep it more in check.

"I think I was already dead to them" he explained, his voice almost wistful and she looked at him in shock.

"Why? Because you wouldn't do what they expected from you?" she shot back.

"You are ready to condemn them because they don't act like you expect them to" he replied with his brows furrowed and she leaned back in her seat, perplexed.

"That's...that's not the same" she shook her head, defeated.

"Why? You have to stop wanting things from people who clearly can't give you what you demand" he said, voice unaffected but eyes flashing dangerously and she wondered if he was talking about more than his parents.

"I hate it when you're right" she whispered, resolve faltering.

"I don't argue if I'm not right" he replied and it shattered the rest of her conviction.

"I just thought..." she tried but trailed off, blinking rapidly as she felt her eyes water.

"You're just trying to distract yourself" he pointed out, unvarnished and undeniable, launching a counterattack without any seeming effort.

"Tristan" she sighed exasperated, knowing what he was referring to, the argument valid without him even trying to explain further.

"I understand what you want Rory, but I feel like you are going to regret not making amends" he said, seemingly not wanting to waste time with reasoning and instead going straight to his conclusion.

"How can you say that when you are so indifferent about your own parents?" she asked, incredulous, even as she felt the weakness of her defense.

"It's not the same thing. There is nothing there anymore. I don't want anything, they don't want anything. That's not what I see when I watch you and Emily" he pointed out and she closed her eyes, feeling the feelings stirred up into a raging storm inside herself.

"I can't deal with this, I don't want to" she shook her head closing her eyes.

"When did your grandfather die?" he asked, his voice softer as he grabbed her hand, making her open her eyes as she focused on his face.

He was looking at her, his face soft, his eyes pleading.

She took a deep breath, taking her time to answer him.

"Last year" she replied, her voice small.

"How did that feel?" he asked and she felt the urge to close her eyes again, the blatant manipulation he was doing overwhelming.

"It was swell" she replied cynically.

He waited a second, not matching her tone when he finally spoke.

"Tell me you didn't regret not speaking to him" he said, voice eternally soft.

"I didn't. They did a horrible thing" she retorted, her insides threatening to spill onto the diner's floor.

"Wanting your mother buried with them while Luke would be elsewhere?" he asked and she looked at him in shock. Even with his careful attention to detail, his quiet intelligence, she wondered how he'd pieced all that together, from that one heated visit of Emily. She felt exposed, as if he could read her with his pale blue eyes.

"Yes" she confirmed with gritted teeth.

"Because they thought it was the right thing" he half asked and it gave her a chance to focus her rage on something.

"Is that how you excuse your parents? They thought they were doing the right thing?" she shot back.

He leaned back, letting go of her hand.

"Yes. It is" he said, studying her face no doubt, wrecked with emotion. "I went to see them after I joined Delta. Just to make sure. They asked whether I'd changed my mind, I told them I didn't. They had me sign a waiver that I renounce any claim to their estate and I did. It was a clean break. No emotions left, no reason left to be angry" he went on, his voice so calm that he might as well have been describing a movie plot.

"But I made the effort to come to that decision. And I was sure. We all were" he went on, making his point even as his voice stayed void of emotions.

She felt surrounded by his reasoning, her own arguments deceiving her, left with nothing but the utter and uncontrollable feeling of hurt and anger that she somehow had to channel lest she was ready to explode.

"You know what I think?" she said, her voice shaking with the sheer emotion. "I think that you have managed to kill every single feeling inside you, so it's easy for you to be indifferent towards your own life. You've dealt with it all, by letting go of the pain and not giving anyone any chance to cause you any more. So it's a little ironic when you want to convince me that I need to do better" she lashed out.

His face turned concerned, a slight frown appearing as he sighed.

"I... I'm not trying to convince you to do anything. I want what's best for you" he said, his words faltering for the first time during the discussion.

"Do you?" she shot back, feeling the upper hand for the first time in the conversation. "Why do you care? You're going to go back anyway" she accused.

He sighed, his face becoming sullen and she felt like she won and lost at the same time, her victory coming at the cost of exposing another weakness.

"Rory" he said, his voice a halfhearted plea.

"No. I'm done talking" she said pushing her chair back. "Let's go home."

"Okay" he gave in, tossing bills on the table as he followed her.