Author: Sunday Rain

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Second season.

Disclaimer: Don't own em.

Summary: Rory has to deal with her past, while Tristan has to deal with the present.

Better Days

Chapter 5: Unwelcome Discovery

That night, Rory went home in a happy mood.

Her work was hard, true, but when all was said and done, her career was indeed her dream. No matter how hard it was, she loved it, nonetheless.

Moving to New York was hard, but when she had to move to Boston for Harvard, it was even harder; she had never left home before. And before she even moved to London a few years ago, she moved to Atlanta, Georgia, where the CNN headquarters were located. That was hard, because at that point Rory realised she was moving on to the "real" world.

NYC was not bad, quite nice, bustling, but then again after Stars Hollow's quiet, tranquil and gentle pace, everything is much more busy in comparison. Her apartment wasn't very spacey, Rory had to admit, but New York City certainly did not have such a luxury to spare. However, it was very cosy and in a safe building. There were two small bedrooms each with their own bathrooms and a living space conjoined with the kitchen and dining areas. Loftish—but not in the artisan Paris-chic…

There was a guard downstairs, surprisingly enough for Lorelai, Rory had chosen the one building on their list of potential homes that had a nice jolly man (who could possibly double as Santa during Christmas seasons) that actually wore a penguin suit. Rory chuckled, remembering Lorelai's horror.

Flipping on the light switch in her room, she kicked off her stuffy business attire and got into her favourite sheep pajamas. Grabbing a book off her bedside table, this time it was One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez (an old favourite) she headed back out into the living room.

Just as she was about to get settled into her favourite brown, tattered reading chair, stolen from her grandfather's study a few years ago, she noticed the answer machine light blinking, indicating that, she did indeed have a message.

Grunting in the effort, she leaned over to push the button to play.

"…Hey, this is Lorelai and obviously I'm not here at the moment, so do your thing. Beep."

"Hey Lorelai. Its me Lorelai too! I mean, of course not Lorelai too as in the second, just Lorelai…as well…ouch. I just gave myself a headache with that. Anyway, baby doll, fruit of my loins, child of my…OK, to the point. Call me, babe, miss you much and need to hear your voice! Love, your mother. Beep."

Rory didn't hesitate even for a millisecond to pick up the phone and punch in her childhood phone number. She smiled as she counted the number of rings it took before anyone answered.

"Ugh. Found it!" Luke yelled over his shoulder, as he leapt over the couch, landing in a not very comfortable looking position, legs up in the air and face smushed in the cushions. "Uhm. 'Lo?" He mumbled, his face stuck to the receiver.

"Luke?" Rory's voice asked, a little unsure. "You sound…weird."

"Hey Ror!" Luke replied, trying to reposition his body into something more physically logical. "Ow. Its that damn woman's fault. If she would just put the phone back where it belongs, then I wouldn't have this potential back injury."

"Oh, ouch," Rory grimaced, across the line.

"How are you?" Luke asked, concerned. Even though he was wasn't even yet a step-father to her, he still felt like he knew Rory like a father would his daughter.

"Actually, better than the last time we spoke," Rory replied. "Now that your coffee supply is safely stored in my fridge and cupboards, there is little more I need to survive in this concrete jungle. New York's not bad. I even met an old friend."

"Well that's great, sweetie." Although Luke had a gruff voice, whenever he talked to Rory or Lorelai, it would be soft and caring. "Tell me about—" Luke was cut off when a leaping Lorelai flew across the living room and stole the phone away from him before he could protest.

"Wha—?!"

"Babe!" Lorelai shrieked into the phone. "Oh you wouldn't believe the day I've had!"

"Mommy!"

"Ah… First, this rich couple checked out early, complaining of some nonexistent problem which took nearly two hours to resolve, the substitute receptionist double booked a bunch of people, Michèl quit—which makes it three times this week, more than his usual two, and Sookie nearly set the Inn on fire!"

"Oh, don't exaggerate, Lor," Luke scoffed. "She just set two pans of brownies on fire, that's all."

"Well tell that to the fire department," Lorelai retorted. "We had to pay a fine."

"Well maybe if you all would be a little more careful…"

"Shush man."

"Mom!"

"Oh, what?" Lorelai had nearly forgotten that she was on the phone. "Silly me, I got carried away. So, enough about me, what about you? Have you gotten semi-settled in yet? I don't understand why you wouldn't let me have a housewarming party for you."

"Well, mom, first of all, a housewarming party has a working definition of a 'party' that just so happens to be celebrating moving into a new house, which means we would actually have to plan it. Secondly, a party generally implies that more than the hosts will be there. Considering I knew no one in New York, that would be rather boring as its just me…and you."

"So? Since when did we ever need anyone else to have fun?"

Rory sighed in exasperation. "Well, to get back to your first and more sane question, I have yet to get settled in completely. Just when I had gotten used to the right-hand driving of England I move back here and am constantly terrified I might be killed by the cars, before I remember that I am actually in the States. So, that's one problem. But I've met an old friend!"

"What?" Lorelai asked. "I didn't think you knew anyone there. Excluding teacher Jess, cos obviously he is not there. By the way, I talked to him yesterday, he says he loves teaching smartass Yale-eans."

"Could that possibly be because he himself embodies the very same trait you just mentioned?"

"I'll pretend I understood that," Lorelai grumbled. "Anyway, so who's this old friend? Do I know her? Paris, perhaps...?"

"No no, its most definitely not Paris, she's in…Paris, I think, haha," Rory said. "And you don't know him, I can guarantee."

"So, it's a male, hrrm? Who?"

"He was a Chiltonite."

"Ah, rich snobs 'r' us. Again, I ask you, who?"

"Tristan Dugray."

"Dugray…As in 'Dugray Group' Dugray?" Lorelai was surprised; she didn't remember—oh, wait a minute. "Tristan, the guy who tormented you the whole first year, called you Mary, became the failed Romeo to your Juliet and then disappeared never to be heard from again?"

"Well, apparently, he was not 'never to be heard from again', we bumped into each other at this grocery store, traded cards and the next thing I know, we're laughing hysterically at a memory of Il Duce over cups of coffee at this cool little place."

"Wow, my little girl's growing up," Lorelai teased. "She's on her own, makin' friends in the big bad city…"

Rory ignored her. "And the owner of the café, Mark is the nicest person in the world. Very cool, you'd like him, he loves coffee just as much or more than we do—which was a very big surprise to me by the way, who knew?"

"Wow, you must introduce me!"

"I will. Oh and Tristan has the most adorable daughter," Rory added.

"He's married? How'd he manage to do that quietly?" Lorelai wondered. "I must ask him for some tips, you won't believe the amount of people who are expecting invitations to ours!"

"No he isn't, but he has a daughter… He and his fiancée split a few months before their wedding and she left him with the baby."

"What kind of mother would do that?!" Lorelai asked in disbelief.

"I don't—" Rory was about to say something when she felt something underneath her.

The phone was hooked between her neck and her shoulder as Rory attempted to reach under the reading chair cushion. She succeeded only in pushing the mysterious unknown object further down.

"…What is this?" She stood up and yanked the pillow off the chair, and, there, hidden underneath was an empty photo frame.

Rory froze as she recognised it, her mother's voice on the phone was distant. She remembered the photo that should have been inside the frame. She knew where it was now. But the question of what this frame was doing in her apartment, across the ocean from where it was supposed to be remained.

Rory picked up the object of her attention with shaky hands and turned it over.

Just as she knew and remembered would be there, engraved on the back was:

Lorelai Gilmore, Will you marry me? —Colman Turner.