After Tristin performed his obligatory bureaucratic bullshit diplomatic pleasantries with the Philadelphia Police, he escorted Rory back to her apartment to gather a few of her belongings. As they approached the door to Rory's apartment, Tristin gestured for her to stay behind him. He drew his gun from the holster inside his jacket and cautiously entered the apartment. He quickly swept the apartment before he was satisfied that it was safe for Rory to enter.

Despite the severity of the situation, a small smile graced Rory's features. "When did you become all FBI on me?"

Tristin's professional mask slipped from his face. He ducked his head and his cheeks colored. "Sorry, I just had to be sure it was safe for you to be here."

Rory took in his appearance. He was dressed in a Bureau issue dark suit that nicely outlined his firm body. His face had lost it's carefree charm and instead gained a quiet intensity. Even his demeanor was different. No longer the play boy of Chilton Prep, now he was all grown up.

Rory nodded to him, letting him know she understood. Then she began zipping around her apartment, gathering some of her belongings. Tristin tried to stay out of the way while discreetly studying his surroundings. Her apartment seemed very homey. It fit her personality exactly. There were pictures of her loved ones all over the place. Bookshelves stacked with books took up most of the space in her living room. Her furniture was tasteful, but not flashy. Her computer equipment was state of the art, probably a must for her chosen profession.

"So where are we going," asked Rory tentatively.

"I can't tell you until we get there," Tristin apologized.

"Can I at least call my mother to let her know what's going on?"

Tristin opened his mouth to protest before wisely rethinking that decision. "I'll make a deal with you. When we get to the safe house, I'll call in a few favors and get a secure line for you to communicate with your mother. That's the best I can do right now."

Rory sighed. "I guess that'll have to be enough."

She looked longingly at her apartment, her haven, before sighing again in resignation. "Okay, I'm ready."

Tristin understood immediately what she was thinking. "I bet you're wishing you had just stayed home tonight."

"You have no idea."

***

The Bureau had arranged for a car to be dropped off at Police Headquarters for Tristin. After taking a taxi back to the station, Tristin climbed behind the wheel while Rory claimed shotgun. He shed his jacket and loosened his tie. "Get comfortable," he advised. "This is going to be a long drive."

Rory settled into her seat more comfortably before immediately conking out. The stress and trauma of the situation had finally caught up to her. She willingly surrendered herself to the peace and tranquillity of unconsciousness.

***

Tristin sneaked a glance at her sleeping form. Fate sure was a bitch. The person that had single handedly shaped his future, leading him to his destiny, was now the person that he must protect. In the sixteenth year of his life, Tristin Dugrey had come to several realizations. One, money isn't everything. Two, the world sucked. Three, life without passion isn't life at all. So he had found his passion. In his first year of college, he had finally gotten to the point where Rory didn't consume his every thought and action. She had broken his heart, albeit unwittingly, and he had spent the rest of his high school career madly in love and pining for her. But once at college, Tristin resolved to move on with his life. So he tucked every emotion away inside his heart. But those long buried feelings were starting to resurface. It was the first time he had laid eyes on her in nearly a decade, but he found himself falling, as if it was the first time. Rory Gilmore, he thought. What the hell are you doing to me?

***

Rory awoke several hours later, still in the car. She wearily rubbed her eyes with her hands and fought back a yawn. She looked over at Tristin. She couldn't see his face, just his profile outlined against the night sky. She dropped her eyelids deceptively, wanting him to think she was still asleep. She didn't feel like talking right away, she just wanted to think. Though she had reported and written about many murders and horrific crimes, she had never gotten used to it. And it's one hundred times worse, she reflected, when you've felt a victim's blood on your own hands, when you've seen someone else pull the trigger, when you've feared for your own life...she shuddered.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tristin saw Rory's movements. He knew that she was only pretending to be asleep. He had known the second she had woken up. He was, after all, an investigator. He knew why she was hiding from him. She was scared. She was vulnerable. She had just witnessed a murder, And now her life was in danger. He wondered what she was thinking about.

She shivered again. With one arm, he retrieved his jacket from the back seat and draped it over her. He soothingly rubbed her arm before returning both hands to the wheel. His concentration shifted back to the road and to the problem at hand. How to protect Rory from drug dealers, while simultaneously protecting himself from her.

Rory snuggled into Tristin's jacket. It smelled good, like after shave and deodorant and Tristin himself. With these comforting thoughts, Rory drifted once again into a peaceful slumber.

***

When Rory awoke again, the car was pulling up to a cabin tucked deep into the woods. "Where are we?" she asked sleepily.

"Upstate New York," he replied. "We should be safe up here."

Rory nodded her head. She reached for the door and attempted to step out of the car. Her legs quickly buckled and she began to slip toward the ground. In a flash, Tristin ran to her side and caught her in his arms.

"My legs seem to be asleep," she said sheepishly.

"Then I'll carry you," he said simply.

Rory looped her arms around his neck as he stooped and picked her up. She was as light as a feather. He cradled her body weight into his chest as he made his way up the steps to the porch. He managed to maneuver the door open, then set her down on a couch inside the cabin.

"I'm going to unload the car. I'll be back in a few."

Rory settled herself on the couch and attempted to get rid of the pins and needles sensation out of her limbs. She stood up as the feeling in her legs returned. She opened the door for Tristin as he came up the porch stairs with his arms full of supplies.

"Thanks," he said. "Now just let me make a few phone calls and then we'll have you talking to your mom in no time."

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "I appreciate everything you've done for me, and it means a lot."

"Just doing my job, ma'am," he said, while pretending to tip his hat to her.

Rory smiled sweetly at him. Tristin's breath caught in his throat. "I, uh, better go make some calls," he said, while practically running out of the room.

Rory shrugged, confused by his odd behavior. He really had changed.

***

In one of the bedrooms, Tristin tried to control the hammering of his heart against his chest. Deep breaths, in and out, in and out. The hammering gradually faded to a pronounced thudding. Tristin buried his head in his hands. Cool it, he told himself. You're a professional. Concentrate on the case. With that said, he dialed the number to his boss.

"Sir, we've just arrived," he said when the phone was answered. He listened for a few beats, while his boss updated him on the events taking place in Philadelphia. "Damn it!" he cursed. "I understand sir. I'm requesting a few trustworthy agents for back up, should the need arise."

He hung up the phone and threw it on the bed. Mendoza had disappeared, probably gone into hiding. His boss was probably looking for them now. The shit had just hit the fan.