Rory had no idea how her mother had worked as a maid for so long. The routine of her day varied, but the tasks never did, and her mind was fast cycling through numb and approaching non-existent.

Lorelai had been prodding at her all day, hoping that she'd split and all the beans would come tumbling out, but she'd managed to avoid it so far. It made for a very uncomfortable ride home, as Lorelai's frustrated curiosity took the form of a whole lot of whining.

Rory knew she'd have to give her something, but she needed to fix this first, so that she wouldn't be lying any more than she had to.

Lorelai had trailed off into dissatisfied growls by the time they reached their street, so Rory was immediately fearful when she made a little noise of pleasure and sped up. They were only a couple of houses away from their own, and the car jerked violently as Lorelai swerved into the driveway and hit the brakes.

Satisfaction was coming off her in waves, and her door was already open, and Tristan's car was parked on the street and he was climbing out of it.

Rory sank back into her seat, instinctively crouching down, but she didn't have the time to gather herself; she couldn't leave her mother alone with Tristan, because she had no idea what he'd say.

And it was a shock to see him again, to be able to look at him, and to know that he was looking at her. And she had been — she had just been hoping, she supposed, that he would go away, and she wouldn't have to deal with this.

Because if Luke was willing to ignore it, there was no real disaster. She had been wrong, so wrong, but she could fix it. This didn't have to be the end of the world.

Tristan was moving towards her, undaunted by her mother's preparation to pounce, and she could still feel his pull. She wanted to go to him. Something in her shifted, and she felt like she'd stepped closer, and maybe she'd just leant forward, because she was rooted to the spot. The ground was tilting, and balance was a distant memory.

"Tristan!"

"Lorelai." He stopped. Lorelai was so obviously thrilled to see him that it would have been churlish not to.

"Long time no see."

"I just talked to you yesterday."

"I'm more of a visual person. I'll be expecting you to pay much more attention to my needs in the future."

Her overriding need at present appeared to be to ruin her daughter's life. "Mom—"

Lorelai slid a frantic glance at her, sensing the opportunity slipping away.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Good. I thoroughly approve of your agreement with me in all things. So, uh—we should go inside and have a nice little talk about Rory. That is, I will talk and you will agree."

Horror spread across Tristan's face. He didn't know what Lorelai was talking about — Lorelai didn't know what she was talking about — but his conscience, if he had such a thing, must be suggesting terrifying subject matter for that talk.

"We'll have a nice little talk about your choice of nighttime activities, hmm? I've already been over it with Rory, but I have the feeling we need to give it a good going over too. We should all sit down and do it together."

Rory could almost see the excuses and apologies scrolling through Tristan's head. He choked, puzzled by the excitement running below Lorelai's faux-stern manner, and looked to Rory for guidance.

"Mom. I really need to talk to Tristan. Alone. You know, that thing where you're not here?"

Lorelai's lower lip slowly slipped out, the happiness fading. She glanced from Rory to Tristan, apparently unwilling to trust them to run their own lives satisfactorily. "Fine," she muttered, without bothering to pretend that it was anything of the sort. She squinted suspiciously at Rory for a moment more. "Don't make me have to set up visitation."

And finally, she flounced off to the house, leaving the promise of a sulk behind. Rory frowned over that last comment, and even though Lorelai hadn't specified who she was talking about, she couldn't help visualising her mother trying to spend as much time as possible with Luke while she spent even more trying to avoid Jess. And that would never work. That could never work.

"What was she—"

Tristan was wide-eyed, still verging on panic. "She was talking about the drinking. And she was fishing. Can never forget the fishing."

"So she doesn't know? You didn't tell her?"

And that wasn't anything close to the real question; Tristan was fishing too. "Luke didn't tell her, no."

"And he's not going to."

"I don't know. I don't know, Tristan."

"Rory, Luke won't want to hurt you. Just don't give him a reason to. Break up with Jess, and—"

"No."

It stopped things like a slap. Tristan looked shocked, for the first time in as long as Rory could remember, and she was right behind him. There was a second when the word hung in the air, when she thought she could take it back, and she wanted to.

"What?"

"No. I'm not going to break up with Jess. I can't do this, Tristan." He gathered breath, but she couldn't let him speak, she couldn't listen. "You can't ask me to do this."

And she knew that she was being unfair, that she was assigning blame where none existed and refusing to accept responsibility, and it was all hers, all hers, but she wouldn't be able to do this if she thought that. And she had to do this. If she could just get through this everything would be fine, things would be back to normal, and in a few minutes she'd be in her house with her mother, she'd be safe, and none of this would be happening to her.

"I can't—" Emotions spilled across his face, blending together until she couldn't isolate a single one; but he was under control in a second. "You're telling me not to ask you to choose me, because you're not going to. Is that what it is?"

It took two tries before her voice would work. "Yes."

He laughed, and it hurt to hear, or maybe she just needed a reason for the pain. "And what were you planning to do about me?"

"We're friends, Tristan. We should stay friends."

"We're friends. And what are you and Jess?"

"He's my boyfriend."

"Right. And you're his girlfriend. Did you forget that, Rory? Or does Jess just allow you the odd little diversion here and there?"

"Don't do this." She couldn't deal with this; she didn't know how she had ever thought she could handle Tristan — handle him, like she could just brush him off, like he was nothing, this was nothing. He had to stop. She needed him to stop.

"And you know, I could have sworn you made your choice when you fucked me."

And she hadn't—hadn't been expecting that, and that had been a mistake, should have known better, because it slammed into her, made her body tense with pain or hope, same difference, made her heart ache in her chest. She thought she'd cry, and she thought she'd choke, but she was speaking anyway, in a slow tumble. "That was a mistake."

"Where have I heard that before?" He started to pace, short angry steps to the road and back, and she could hear metal clink when he whipped around. He pulled up, staring at her house. "Your mother's watching us."

Distant interest in his voice, and it was a few seconds before she could convince herself to care about anything but that and when she turned to look there was nobody there. She faced away from the house, not sure how much Lorelai could see, not sure how much she'd be able to read anyway, but she didn't want her mother to know this about her.

He followed her, and she could feel his body against hers, a spreading line of warmth that she didn't move away from. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. "I don't think you understand this, Rory. We had sex. You can't wish it undone, and regretting it doesn't make it any less of a betrayal. You can't make this any less real, and it's not going to go away."

Tristan did, though, air that shouldn't have felt cool breezing against her skin. Halfway to his car, he turned back to smile at her, and it was far too bright. "But you will understand. You can only lie to yourself for so long."

She watched him leave, and she wasn't lying, wasn't, because if she was lying then all this would be for nothing and it would matter that she was watching his lights flash as he rounded the corner, watching streetlights reflect on windows that she couldn't see him through. It would matter that she wanted him back to hurt her some more so that he'd be with her, that tears were starting to leak from her eyes, that there were too many things that she couldn't think about anymore. She wouldn't let it matter. She wouldn't let that happen.

She dashed the wetness on her cheeks away, slowly making her way up to the door. She still had to face her mother, and she couldn't afford to let herself lose control like this.