Author's Note - I'm a fic reader's worst nightmare. Flame me for my bad updating habits. I deserve whatever violent actions I receive.

As usual, I don't own any of these characters. They all belong to the genius that is Amy Sherman-Palladino. The title isn't even mine. Attribute that to Rob Thomas and the rest of Matchbox Twenty, because I stole the title from their song of the same name.

Comments? Reviews? Yes, please. :)

--------

Last Beautiful Girl

Chapter Four - Greased Lightning



The next morning found Rory asleep underneath her bed, the phone tucked beneath her chin, humming faintly as the batteries began to die. She twitched her nose as she became conscious of a small, sticky thing on her forehead. As she blinked, a small fluttering of yellow passed her eyes.

A post-it note lay on the floor.

Tristan called. Call him back. Do it, Ror, or I'll kick your ass. Mom.

Rory groaned. After hauling herself off of the floor and out to the kitchen, she stood in front of the empty freezer for three minutes before forgetting entirely that it was Saturday and she therefore was not missing school. Jumping jacks were attempted in front of the open breadbox, which was also empty, when she spotted another yellow sticky on the toaster.

Babe, it's Saturday. You didn't sleep through school. And if you do any homework before 7:48 PM, I'll ground you until you're 39. Now go call the rich boy with the pretty eyes.

Rory hastily drew a moustache and a top hat on the stick people her mother had drawn on the dry erase board above the potato peeler, decided on a partially stale strawberry pop tart, then settled down in front of the television set in the family room for a four hour marathon of the Grease movies when the phone rang.

Forty eight seconds later, the answering machine clicked on as the FBI warning faded and the opening of Grease began to play. Rory dove in between the couch cushions in a vain attempt to mute the movie and failed miserably, coming up with only a year old mint, three fashionably purple nickels, and one of those things that you stick on the end of corn cobs to hold them still while you eat that was shaped like a poodle. By the time she found the controller, the machine had clicked off, and Danny was singing passionately to Sandy on the beach. It was only logical that she forgot about the message within three seconds of the opening bars of Summer Nights.

Once Rory's feet began to numb during Beauty School Dropout, she remembered the once forgotten mystery message. Getting up and hitting pause on the VCR, she walked over to the machine and pressed the play button. A chill crept up her spine as a deep, pensive voice filled the room.

Rory. Look, I know the last thing you want to do right now is talk to me. But I need to. Please. Just meet me at the park near your house at 1 today. I really need to talk.

Groaning, Rory stood in front of the answering machine, willing Tristan's voice to start back up and affirm that the whole thing had been a dream. Instead, she found her hand moving towards the play button once more, unbeknownst to the rest of her body and her brain.

She listened to the message again. And again. Then after checking the blinking digital numbers on the front of the VCR, began walking towards the front door. Still in her pajamas, and not quite sure what she was doing, Rory grabbed her coat and walked out of the door, not bothering to lock it behind her.

--------

Fifteen minutes later, the little hand on Tristan's watch moved steadily towards 12. One in the afternoon. Exactly twenty-four hours since Tristan's lips last touched Rory's.

He knew it was sad; remembering the exact second he shared an innocent kiss with an innocent girl when he had done so much more with so many others. He would never admit how crushed he had been when she pulled away from him for the second time in his life. Tristan knew that that was the best way to get his ass kicked at Chilton; admitting he had fallen for some simple girl, nothing special.

But if only everyone could see in Rory what he saw. Past those beautiful eyes, the soft, smiling lips, the gentle slope of her cheeks. Yeah, she was pretty. Better looking than most of the other girls at school. She didn't require layers of overpriced makeup to create an illusion of beauty. But what Tristan loved about her wasn't her looks.

For the first time in his life, he saw who someone really was. Rory wasn't some persona set out to impress. She was who she was. Maybe she was simple; maybe she didn't judge people by the balance of their checkbook. But that was okay.

All Tristan knew was that loving her was the most uncomplicated thing he had ever done.

He tore his gaze away from his watch, down the grassy hill he was sitting on. And he saw her.

--------

She walked, head held high. Down the sidewalk, across the lawn, straight through the center of town, in front of the gazebo, up the hill towards the park. As Tristan came into view, sitting quietly under her favorite weeping willow, Rory's lip began to tremble.

Capturing it quickly between her teeth, she pulled her brown jacket tightly around the bright purple pajamas she still wore. Hatching chicks jumping out of eggs peeked out from underneath the hem of her coat, and part of the collar was upturned behind her neck.

Rory was embarrassed to be seen in such a manner. Never mind that fact that she had accosted Tristan in such a way only hours ago. She had yet to have her morning cup of coffee, her slippers didn't match, and she was on the verge of tears.

Tristan couldn't remember her looking more beautiful.

She continued to walk towards him, one foot after another, slowly and unsurely. Tufts of her hair were periodically caught by the wind, blowing it across her face, blocking her intense look from Tristan's worried face. She stopped right in front of him; sat carefully, her fuzzy slippers sticking up out of the grass like a splash of color in a sea of green.

"Hi."

Tristan tilted his head to the side, looking at Rory in part amusement, part concern.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Okay? I could say yes."

He nodded. "But you'd be lying."

She smiled, her eyes defying the gesture.

"I honestly didn't expect to see you here. You've been avoiding me."

Rory made a face.

"I mean, with good reason. But still. When you called last night, you blew me away. Now you came here... I don't know what to think." His hands ran nervously through the grass, fingering the blades.

"I guess I'm just surprising myself this week. First decaf coffee Monday morning, then a cherry danish Tuesday. I'm a wild woman, what can I say?"

"Don't forget our hot and steamy little exhibition at school on Friday." Tristan said, genuinely smiling at the memory.

Rory blushed, struggling to keep her trembling lip under control. "Yeah, how could I forget."

She moved uncomfortably, finally sitting on her hands and forcing herself to look Tristan in the eye, needing to get to the point.

"I came here for one reason, Tristan. What I did yesterday was wrong. And I'm not just talking about the kiss," she said, stumbling over the admission. "I should never have even opened my mouth. I didn't mean anything I said. I shouldn't have called you, I shouldn't have ignored your calls. I can't think of a single thing I did that was right. So please, just forget any of this even happened. Forget I exist. It's best for both of us, I..."

She trailed off. Tristan silently brushed a finger across Rory's hand, up her arm.

Coming back to her senses, she quickly shook him off.

"Please." she begged. "If you care about me at all... just don't. I don't want you to call, I don't want you to go on thinking that that kiss meant anything at all to me." She swallowed harshly. "Because it didn't. It meant nothing at all, and I know it meant nothing to you."

Rory began to choke on her words. "I have to go. I'm supposed to water Babette's tree."

She stood up suddenly, desperate to get away before accidentally blurting out just what the kiss had made her feel. Turning, she began to walk as fast as she could without running, fleeing entirely.

Tristan sat there for a moment, stunned. He stood as well, watching her walk away. The words tumbled out of his mouth, desperate to stop her, calling after her. "Rory, don't leave me. I need to tell you something."

But she was already gone.