perhaps it was the constant nagging and bitching.

perhaps it was the glow of the fluorescent light in her eyes when she was already tired.

perhaps it was her own confusion and carelessness that led her to drift off tiredly as they worked that Tuesday, turning inwards to herself. it was all too hard, to difficult to contemplate. Tristan seemed to stop at nothing, and she didn't understand why; anyone else would have known, but Rory being Rory, she decided to ignore all options and put it on hold until she spilled it to the coffee and to her mother.

As Tristan sped away from the house that night, Rory stumbled into the living room, haggard.

"Hey," greeted Lorelai cheerily, and turned concerned as she saw her daughter's face. "Is this the night of the living zombies? Cause you look like you're about to bite someone's head off. Don't even try it, I'm very stringy..you wouldn't like me at all....."

"Whatever," mumbled Rory wearily, and headed for the coffee pot.

"Well, that's no way to respond to a psychotically stalker mom who wants to know all the details. Work progressing?"

"No."

"Is he behaving?"

"No."

"Is this the Practice?"

"No."

"Does that mean you can stop the 'unwilling witness under cross questioning' act?"

"No."

Sighing, Lorelai poured her daughter another cup. Sympathetically, she led her to the couch and put her arm around Rory, letting the poor defeated darling slump onto her shoulder.

"C'mon smart girl, it can't be all bad. At least you get to look at him. He's very nice to look at. And you get to use your verbal skills a lot...."

"I don't know, my vocabulary trend towards him usually always seems to end up somewhere between 'cocky jerk' and 'arrogant asshole'."

"Well, you could always waste some time with me thinking of more elaborate intelligent insults. Has that school taught you nothing?"

"Hmmm, you're right," managed Rory with a small smile. "Nefarious malefactor."

"Good job, I have no idea what you just said," deadpanned Lorelai.

"That's the idea," grinned Rory for the first time that evening. "Maybe I'll survive. But if he doesn't get his act together soon I might have to rip off a few of his fingernails."

"Why limit yourself? Go for limbs."

"I want to torture him, not kill him. What's the satisfaction in that? Tristan is killing me! When he's not making overly flirtatious and disgusting comments he stares at me funny and he takes special pleasure in insulting me...and calling me Mary.....and teasing me.."

"And pulling your pigtails and ripping off your Barbie's heads and pushing you off the swings and always throwing the dodgeball at you?" said Lorelai.

"Something like that," muttered Rory.

Amused, Lorelai went to refill her mug.

"If I didn't know better I'd say he liked you." she told her daughter, who stared at her with an incredulous expression.

"Tristan will never be capable of liking someone truly. He's probably slept with so many people that if you highlighted their names in the Hartford phonebook it'd be like another whole Yellow Pages." she sighed, and Lorelai laughed.

"Woe to the virgin daughters of Hartford, a DuGrey, Tristan has been reported on the loose...."

"See that's why we live in Stars Hollow," said Rory. "To be safe from predators. It's like little red riding hood inviting the big bad wolf into her house. I will be so glad when this is over."

"Really?" asked Lorelai, a tiny amused look on her face.

"What do you mean?" asked Rory suspiciously.

"Hmm.....never mind. I think you know better than me." said Lorelai mysteriously, and raised an eyebrow.

"Goodnight," answered Rory promptly and vaulted up the stairs.

"20 dollars says you know what I mean, little red riding hood." she said to her coffee, and laughed to herself.

Dumping her backpack on the grass, Rory Gilmore plopped down thankfully in her hiding spot by the tree. Chilton had not been kind to her that day. Although Paris had started gradually thawing, and the rest of the students were becoming accustomed to her face, it was small consolation. The world passed by her everyday in that school, and sometimes she wished she weren't so....sidelined.

She hadn't seen Tristan that day, and the fact seemed to intrude on her peace. Frustrated at the tiny idea that probed her like a needle, she pushed it aside. Who cared where he was? Certainly not her. And yet, she found herself going out of her way hoping to get a glance of him in one of their classes....but, to no avail.

That afternoon, when the phone didn't ring, she felt that unsettling feeling again.

She waited.

5 o'clock came and went, the evening settling into the air outside. Distracted by a load of homework, she suddenly realized it was 6. Still no phone.

Strange, she thought. We were supposed to work on it tonight..

7 o'clock.

The phone was silent, and Rory was bursting. Cautiously, she picked up the handset glaring at it as though it were guilty. With great difficulty, she pressed the numbers written down on a paper, and waited nervously for someone to pick up.

5 rings.....maybe she should hang up....

"Hello, DuGrey residence." spoke a cold voice.

"Hi, can I ....can I speak to, Tristan please? This is Rory and-"

"I'm sorry he's not available." the voice severely cut her off.

"Do you know where he is?" asked Rory carefully.

"Hartford Hospital, with his grandfather. Will that be all?" the voice answered rudely.

"Yes, thank-" said Rory, before hearing the click.

Hanging up the phone, she looked at it dazed.

What had happened to his grandfather?

Something so huge that he would have forgotten to call Rory,...and in her own mind, even Rory knew there was a problem. And suddenly, she knew what she had to do.

Grabbing the keys to the Jeep and writing a note, she raced out into the driveway. Climbing in, she pulled out and sped away, getting on the interstate.

Someone needed her.

Across town, Janlen DuGray was dying.

The old man took ragged breath after ragged breath, struggling to hold on to what life was left. His chances of making it were pretty slim, they all knew

But only one didn't believe.

Tristan stepped out into the quiet corridor for a second, heading for the water cooler. Drinking a cup, he leaned against the cool tile wall, his eyes closed, trying to sort out the turmoil in his head. His mom had gone to eat dinner, his dad was away on a business trip and still waiting to catch a flight down.

"It'll only be two seconds, I'll be back," his mother had told him. It' had been half an hour. Not that it mattered, she wasn't his daughter. The only thing Monica DuGrey was thinking about was inheritance. He'd spent the last half hour just watching the old man. And his heart was breaking. Sure, maybe Tristan had been an unfortunate by-product of a loveless life and a cold school that spit out already psychiatrically dependent graduates. But in Tristan DuGrey's life there had been one place that he could find one bit of solace, one pair of welcoming arms. And that place was empty now, the welcoming arms resting listlessly on the metal bed. A tear threatened to escape, and he valiantly held it back. The smell of his grandfather's leather chair, the expensive and old smell of the books and the varnish in his study suddenly flooded him. Memories of climbing up into the man's arms and looking at the business ledgers and letters flooding the desk, joking about his father and stealing candy from the little dish Janlen kept on the sideboard.....he knew his grandfather had grown less and less proud of him as time wore on and the effects of the coldness set in. But that did not deter the old man from still reaching out the boy with the frozen heart, and thawing it time to time. Crushing the cup in his hand, Tristan let it drop to the floor and leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed, to hold back the tears forming.

It was this way that she found him, and she just stood at the end of the hallway watching him for a second.

Still in his Chilton school shirt, the sleeves rolled up and the top buttons undone, the tie loosened the boy leaned against the wall. The blue hospital light outlined the strong, clean cut jaw and the chiseled features that gleamed luridly in the antiseptic shadows; his hair was tousled and his lips slightly trembling. She watched him squeeze his eyes shut trying not to think ...not to remember......

Lightly she stepped up to him, and touched his arm.

Startled, his eyes flew open wide with shock as he saw her standing there. Nervous, suddenly he backed away along the wall.

"Rory? What are you doing here?"

The girl smiled shakily, trying to show how affected she was by the picture she'd just seen.

"Wow, you do know my name," she said dryly, and her voice shook a little, but he managed a small smile.

"I knew you'd be here. I just wanted to see how you were." she said simply, and he took a few seconds to register it. He just took her in, and thought for a while.

"Why do you care?" his voice came sadly from the shadows, even though he tried to mask it.

"I don't know..." was Rory's honest answer, but to them, it held a promise.

Slowly, she wrapped her arms around him and he pulled her close, and they hugged tightly in the hospital corridor. He held her tighter, as though afraid she might slip away, and she comforted him best she knew how, whispering little reassurances in his ear. The two of them just held on, his hands splayed on her back, his body trembling from pain and exhaustion and sadness against her soft and comforting one. Pulling back finally, she took in his face, and said only three words.

"You should cry."

The words swept through him strangely, and almost made him shudder.

What had been the last time he cried?

He couldn't remember.

Be a man, snapped his father. Don't be a bitch. Hold your tears back.

Cry.

The word seemed almost ludicrous to him.

But as his eyes slipped towards the room where the quiet beeping of the heart monitor came through the open door, and as she embraced him again, holding him tightly to her, he felt a deep, racking sob shudder inside him and cling its way up to the surface.

No terrible crying ensued, no wrenching sobs, to avalanche. Instead, he felt a tear flow down his cheek as he shuddered in her embrace. Then another, and another and before he knew it, they rolled down his cheeks and into her hair, down his face in floods; more and more tears just pouring out, saved for years and years on end. Inside him, the cold was slowly draining away, warmed by the hot tears dampening her hair, her shoulder, and his fingers just spread in arcs along her back.

After a good while, he stood back and looked at her quietly, solemnly, asking her with his eyes to promise: promise not to tell.

She reassured him with a wistful glance, wondering what was the last time he cried.

Squaring his shoulders and taking a deep ragged breath, Tristan looked up and wiped his face.

"Wanna meet Janlen DuGrey, my grandfather?" he asked Rory quietly.

She nodded, and taking her hand, they went into the room together.

An hour later, Rory stumbled into the hallway and called her mom from her cell phone.

"Rory?" was the concerned answer on the other line.

"Yeah, it's me. I'm still at the hospital."

"Are you alright?" said the worried voice on the line.

"No, but I will be," replied Rory softly. "I think I'll stay here with him tonight. He's by himself with his grandfather and I don't want him to watch Janlen alone. If he dies, he might drive off to God knows where and do God knows what."

On the other receiver, Lorelai sighed.

"Since when did you start caring?" she asked, knowing the answer.

"It doesn't matter," replied Rory simply. "Bye, mom. I'll call you again in a few hours."

"Bye Rory," replied her mom, and slowly hung up.

It was 3 o'clock in the morning, and Janlen DuGrey was still breathing.

The nurse looked in and raised her eyebrows in amazement. Paging the nurses desk, she asked them to put the doctor on the line to come down to room 317 on the fifth floor.

At 4 o'clock the doctor declared it a miracle and made sure the patient was stabilized.

Rory and Tristan wearily smiled at each other, and continued to keep watch. They spent the hours talking, Tristan telling her about the times he'd go to his grandfather's office just to see him, the stories the old man told about the war, about Kennedy, about Vietnam and about the business; stories about Tristan's father. Rory smiled at the picture of the little boy Tristan sitting on the huge mahogany desk and curiously digging through Janlen's files, the two of them laughing together. Tristan talked, and talked, and Rory listened and understood.

5 o'clock, the two had falled into a fitful sleep in the chairs, Tristan's head lolling on Rory's shoulder as hers rested against the wall, his hand tightly grasping hers.

6'o clock and the old man was breathing steadily, a little color in his face.

Rory and Tristan were shooed out at 6:30, and told to come back in 4 hours; Janlen was being taken down into special surgery. The two exited the building, dazed, confused, and dying of tiredness. Finally managing to find where they had parked, they looked at the situation.

"I don't think I can drive," said Rory ruefully, looking at her Jeep. "I'm afraid I'll fall asleep at the wheel."

"Same here...." yawned Tristan.

It was still dark outside, and the streetlights shone through the still purple morning mist.

"How bout we crash at my place and you tell your mom to come get the Jeep. That way you can keep me awake on the way home......." said Tristan, not really thinking about what he was saying.

"Sure," said Rory, too tired to realize what she was agreeing to.

Leaving a message for Lorelai, Rory climbed into Tristan's Porsche. Driving through the empty streets and then roads, they finally pulled up in front of a huge stone house with impeccably manicured lawns. Crawling out, they wearily staggered towards the front door.

The first rays of sun were feebly starting to breath through the lavender dawn; entering the house, Tristan looked at the living room.

"Whatever," he muttered, and headed for the den. He crashed on the couch, and Rory fell next to him.

"Hey look it reclines," he said, pressing a lever, and the two found themselves stretched out in a second.

Rory let out a tired giggle, rolled to her side and fell asleep almost instantly.

Two minutes later, Tristan followed.

The clock chimed 12 when she opened her eyes. Frozen still, she carefully studied the unfamiliar sight......of Tristan's neck and shoulders right next to her.

Stifling the urge to jump up and scream, she took a deep breath and let it all sink in. Oh yeah........ her brain said, and suddenly, she realized where she was.

In a strangely close....strangely comfortable situation.......

Breathless, she realized that they were somehow closely sleeping together. Their foreheads had been touching, his body dangerously close to engulfing hers in it's innocent craving for warmth and protection, his innocent features calm in his sleep. His hair stuck up all over the place, and she couldn't help one tiny smile that came to her face at the sight of the perpetual mess. A thick fringe of eyelashes rested above his sculpted cheekbones, and his mouth murmured silent phrases in his sleep. The early afternoon sunshine poured calmly through the massive windows, and bathed them in it's strange flood. It was odd waking up at midday, not to mention next to him....

Chilton!

The word sprang into her mind, and she groaned, closing her eyes. The workload when they got back would be immense. Janlen. Her eyes sprang back open.

Oh, God, let him be alright. Just for Tristan. Let him be alright.

The phone rang shrilly.

The house never seemed so immense, so lonely as when that single sound jangled and echoed through it's empty rooms. Frightened, Rory looked at it.

It's the hospital. He's dead. Or maybe he's fine.

Looking back at Tristan, surprised, she suddenly saw his eyes were open. He was watching her with a soft expression that she could not place, and his eyes were clear and full of feeling.

"Answer it," he told her quietly, and it was so that Rory Gilmore picked up the receiver, took a deep breath, and answered.

"Hello?"