orchid fever

by darasun

TRORY...Those who love orchids, love them madly.

1. orchid fever

For Marguerite

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I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together again and tell myself that the mended whole was as good as new. What is broken is broken -- and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken places as long as I lived.
~ Margaret Mitchell

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Pepper. And those sequinned butterflies courting.

Lorelai's perfect nails gripped the angry face of the steering wheel rather sharply, her back slightly hunched in the smooth leather of the interior.

She gave an irritated grimace, her laugh stopped short, or was it her short laugh stopped?

Either way, Paris rolled her eyes, her face caught in reflection as she retorted curtly, proving her point by mere superiority and the obvious tone she so effectively used. 

Lane hummed along to the tune on the radio, nameless, yet humming seemed to be a sensible choice to Lane, her reasoning less callous than what she was feeling while watching Rory out of the corner of her eye.

Rory stared.

Her head, a slight angle, a slight cock, her face motionless; a pebble left alone.

Lorelai doesn't try to say anything to Rory, not because of lack of affection, but possibly because of too much of it.

Paris realises her words are too jagged for the occasion and engages Lorelai in a playful bickering of knowledge.

Lane has given up on the nameless song with the smothered lyrics and is instead concentrating on the beautiful strumming of acoustic guitar.

And Rory stares.

Her head, a slight angle, a slight cock, her face motionless; the shadow of an antique doll.

Lorelai loosens her grip on the steering wheel for a brief moment as Paris lets out a squeak of panic converged with astonishment as the car skids for a pins-drop length of time.

Lane snorts, amused for a moment, drums her fingers along the stiff seat; the rhythmic pitter patter of infants.

And Rory still stares.

Her head, maybe a lesser angle than before, maybe a less dubious cock, yet her face is motionless; the last fishing boat out of the horizon, silently waiting for that last ripple of lively herring.

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I have found the paradox that if I love until it hurts, then there is no hurt, but only more love.
~ Mother Teresa

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A musical note swam gently across her, the coolness of the breeze surprisingly gentle.

Rory blinked and to those in the car, that said it all.

Lush green.

Entwined and weaving like coils around thick trunks that showed the magnificence of age.

A flutter of birds so quick it was maya; their beaks sharp and unforgiving yet loved by their delicate motions…and those wings, strung together by hands that made the flowers stem in wild, so wild, the tendrils of lust itself.

Blooming.

Aching.

Satisfying.

They turn ever so slightly towards the sun, vast in mass to feast upon the bright globe that held the magic of the lush green.

Dirtily winding.

The pebbles straining until the rubber, hard; spotlight of pain.

Glinting softly, piles and piles and suffocating and journeying and reaching up and realising, inside, it was so black.

And the tyres would never know, this darkness, their rubber ebony; charcoal sentenced to burn.

The road hauntingly easy to predict, the simplicity of it astounding, the destruction of it less so.

And the sky, such a glass ceiling blue; the perfect wallpaper for newlyweds.

Blueness all day long, even when there was pepper – Rory blinked again; the brakes hit hard and fast – …And those sequinned butterflies courting.

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Neither a lofty degree of intelligence nor imagination nor both together go to the making of genius. Love, love, love, that is the soul of genius.
~ Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

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A musical note swam gently across her, the coolness of the breeze surprisingly gentle.

 

She was seated by the balcony; peacefully.

And yet there was this feeling, a feeling she couldn't shake that stifled like fog on humid days, she struggled to breathe, and yet, she knew she could breathe perfectly.

The pale, almost transparent curtains quivered, as if in understanding.

And the sprinklings of pepper did nothing to hide the half full moon, a half clowning smile.

Rory shivered discreetly.

She thought to herself  silently.

"Love is patient.

Love is kind.

It does not envy.

It does not boast.

It is not proud.

It is not rude.

It is not self-seeking.

It is not easily angered.

It keeps no record of wrong doing.

It does not delight in evil, but rejoices in the truth.

It always protects, trusts, hopes, perseveres."

- Corinthians 13

Such angst.

And she could hear the footsteps coming up gently behind her, a silent joy she had.

His big hands coming to rest on her fragile shoulders, her hair flickering ever so slightly into his cashmere.

He gave a heavy sigh, and Rory wished she could utter something to stop those sighs, because they came too often these days.

And yet she couldn't, and the half moon seemed to widen.

Her mind yelled hoarsely in desperation, vying so say something, anything.

And yet her mouth moved without music.

Her lips played a solo act.

His lips, suddenly, maybe hearing these horrible thoughts, came floating near, and she almost cried trying to understand why.

Mint.

Truffle.

Caramel.

And he pressed them against her forehead, fleeting, but insistent enough to calm her, little as it may.

The moon bared its teeth.

And maybe it was the moonlight, and the fact that she wanted to be saved, but the prayer just blurted out of her, a stream.

He didn't notice and for that reason itself she asked herself, and maybe god, why the silence was so heavy and why she was helpless to stop it.

Rory envisioned herself laughing, so she tried to bare her teeth back, but failed.

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If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. And if they don't, they never were.
~ Kahlil Gibran

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I paused, my throat constricted.

My thoughts racing with possibilities and yet, I could only see one outcome, a rarity for me.

My eyes swam dizzily around the room.

No prying eyes?

Good, good.

I eased the tape out of my wrinkled pants, my hands trembling as I did so.

Just behind the vase I left it, concealed but only to the obvious eye.

The coffee table's dignity did not fade as I left the Dugrey mansion, the gravel under my feet, hopefully, applauding.

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Love seeketh not itself to please, nor for itself hath any care, but for another gives its ease, and builds a Heaven in Hell's despair.
~ William Blake

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Let me just inform you the basics, for that is all you will need.

This story is not about me.

This story will remain with me until I cannot remember it at an old age and yet I will struggle to remember what it was like to feel such emotions.

It is to relive and live and to have lived.

My name - don't expect anything fancy - is Andrew Gautier.

I had gotten a call, wildly unexpected a certain day, (I cannot remember what date but for what is the difference?), a sunny day, and I rushed off, having to double back to get my jacket.

Penny, in the office across from mine, looked puzzled at my sudden departure. 

The information was vague.

A woman was driving with three other passengers and ran into a fallen tree.

No grievous injuries, which was surprising, and actually, the other three people only had minor scrapes to contend with.

Not interesting?

One year, three months.

The wood chippers Mill in Glendalk had been hungrily eyeing the acres of forest there for exactly that long.

One year, one month.

How long the protestors had campaigned since it had leaked out.

Although not one for biased opinion, this piece of news might have finally ended their war…that is, if my article - which would soon be written - was up to scratch.

Purely unbiased surely.

And so maybe I could finally work on some adventurous material, god knows I've down enough run of the mill pieces.

No pun intended.

My rickety old ford sped along the curved road, as I attempted to glance at the address held in my fist, hastily scribbled.

I entered the street and I cannot deny my eyed widened slightly as I stared at the mansion looming before me.

The black gates guarded it, unmoving.

There was something cold about this place.

And maybe at that moment, I first questioned my motives for coming here.

Slowly the gates grudgingly welcomed me and I drove around the immaculate fountain to rest my rickety old ford before it burst open at the seams.

Useless thing.

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Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of withering, of tarnishing.
~ Anais Nin

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The first time I met Rory Gilmore I noticed two things.

One, she seemed as fragile as an antique doll, and two, when she spoke; it was like that lost antique doll was being brought forward by the current resurfacing in the river.

Her eyes were crystal blue, full of foreign understanding and unwritten loves.

"Rory Gilmore."

Her hair came to rest gently past her shoulders.

Her head swaying daintily, her pale lips welcoming in their slight twitch.

"Andrew Gautier," I almost felt the need to tip a hat, "…Let me explain why I'm here."

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Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
~ Kahlil Gibran

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"Andrew Gautier." I said, to the blonde sitting by the entrance.

She was smoking, almost too quickly to be calming.

"…Are you alright?" My brow furrowed.

She looked up at me, and it was clear it was wonderment in her eyes.

"Those things are going to kill you one day." I noted softly towards her, rather than directly at her.

She snorted.

"I don't smoke." She said ironically as she took another puff.

I left her outside as she seemed to register me as a stranger. "Wha-"

Obviously the cigarette was not keeping her occupied.

I kept walking.

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Love one another and you will be happy. It's as simple and as difficult as that.
~ Michael Leunig

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There was silence, too tiresome to fill in, but too full of unspoken words to try and cover up.

I shivered unexpectedly.

A vibe.

A feeling.

A stirring sinking in the stomach.

I discovered that day I pace a lot.

"My mother…" Rory looked up from her seat on the side of the bed, "…She's okay, isn't she?"

I nodded my head, rather harder than necessary.

For a reason unbeknownst to myself, I found that her face seemed already too full of unsaid words to be cluttered with an expression like worry.

"She'll be perfectly fine."

"…Where's Paris?"

"You mean the girl smoking?...." Rory looked confused for a moment, then just apprehensive, "Outside."

Rory smiled, a little sadly, a little warmly and a little of something else I couldn't decipher.

She stood up suddenly and went over to the dressing table, and stroked the petals of a vase of orchids.

The colour of snow.

They seemed to purr at her touch.

I cleared my throat. "…You live in this big house all by yourself?"

"Oh no," A soft expression now as she turned and pin pointed my eyes with hers, "My husband's away on business."

I looked around, yes, the room did look more occupied than singular.

An Armani suit draped across the bed.

Shoes peeking out of the closet; blindingly buffed.

Blue ties; hanging.

Picture frame next to the bed.

She turned to look at what I was tilting my head at.

"Your husband is Tristan Dugrey?"

Surprise in my voice, a familiar name in the vast city of New York, as too many crimes were committed to have a shortage of lawyers.

I frowned to myself. 

She was silent, and I was suddenly aware that perhaps I had offended her.

She seemed to have a hard time swallowing, and a look of utter sadness crossed her features, I hesitated, and begun a half step towards her, the little comfort I could give.

But as soon as that expression appeared, it disappeared.

She cleared her throat quietly.

"That's Tristan." She agreed, and I couldn't seem to understand why her voice seemed to quiver at the name.

"Is he…aware of the accident?"

"I believe he's on his way home now."

"From business?"

"I think so."

My brow furrowed. "You don't know?"

She smiled, a little embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I'm feeling a little overwhelmed today."

"Aren't we all."

I laughed but stopped when she didn't join in.

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Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.
~ Aristotle

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"Dugrey and Sons, Christie speaking, may I be of service?"

"Hello, this is Paris Gellar, is there any way I could contact him through the office??"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dugrey is currently away on business and won't be back in for another three days."

"This is kind of urgent…do you know of any way I can reach him? I've called his cell…but its switched off. I'm calling on behalf of Mrs. Dugrey."

The woman paused.

"If you leave a message, I'll get it down to Mr. Dugrey as soon as possible."

"Could you please tell Tristan to get the earliest flight home… his wife's been in a car accident."

"Is she alright?" Concern crept into Christie's voice.

"She's actually quite fine, a little shaken, but fine…she's at home, resting." Paris replied slowly.

"I'll be sure to get that message to him. Send Mrs. Dugrey my regards."

"Thank you."

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Love is much like a wild rose, beautiful and calm, but willing to draw blood in its defense.
~ Mark Overby

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I paced a little.

I seemed to be unable to draw upon the skill of speaking.

An utmost sincerity hung in the air.

I wasn't aware I had cleared my throat.

"Yes Mr. Gautier?" She asked kindly, "... Did I pronounce that correctly?"

She actually looked concerned.

"Actually, yes, you did. But call me Andrew."

She ducked her head, her nimble fingers wiping quickly, etching into my mind those first few tears of many to come.

"-You can call me Mr. Gautier if you like-" I hurried.

A sunny chuckle, even in the gloom of her cry. "-Oh no, it's not that."

"Can I be of any help?" I felt slightly useless to be truthful.

"I'm sorry, I'm being silly," She smiled, the wetness of her pale skin already diffusing into the air, "I don't know what I'm thinking…" Another chuckle, "…There's nothing wrong."

"Should I be asking…?"

Curiosity.

She was staring at the picture frame.

The conversation was taking a strange turn, so I changed it back to what I considered a safe topic.

"Where was that photo taken?"

A twitch of a smile, a sadness I couldn't understand.

Quiet.

It was okay though, I was patient.

"Tristan and I go on spontaneous trips to the Greek Islands…I like the perfect white sand," An impulsive explanation, "Well, actually, we used to go, before I-"

The door creaked open.

The girl, I think Paris was her name, raked over Rory with her eyes again and blinked numerously.

She looked in need of a cigarette yet again.

She opened her mouth, and made a noise.

She tried again.

"Um, Mr…." She seemed to have forgotten my name, "Could I – Could I please speak to you in the kitchen?"

Rory was staring at her with doe eyes; I could tell out of the corner of my eye.

She took three steps towards Paris and Paris seemed startled.

Rory frail arms wrapped themselves around Paris and the blond seemed to choke at the action.

She returned the affection and I looked away, feeling intrusive on such a private moment.

Rory stepped back.

Paris seemed so defeated.

Her momentary weakness hardened and she regained her composure, yet her shoulders still slumped.

She motioned for me to follow her.

I turned to glance at Rory, who nodded ever so slightly.

Her assurance was comforting.

I walked out, the oak doors I briefly left behind closing with age behind me.

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Falling in love consists merely in uncorking the imagination and bottling the common-sense.
~ Helen Rowland

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"Would you like something to drink?"

"No thank you." I declined, wondering what this was about.

"Are you sure? Orange juice? Water?...Whisky?" She shrugged.

"At this time of the day?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Strange days call for strange behaviour."

"…So I've noticed."

"Let me get straight to the point-"

"-Please do-" I added, not impatiently.

"-I don't want you writing this article." She gave me a look which I couldn't rather misinterpret.

"May I ask why?"

"I don't think Rory has time to be answering questions."

"Is today some kind of special occasion?"

She gave me a funny look. "Why do you ask?"

"Why wouldn't I ask?" I gave her a meaningful look in return.

She gave a short sigh. "Please, this interview isn't a good idea."

"Miss Gellar, let me assure you, I will be strictly professional. And this greenpeace debate has been

going on for absolutely ages and quite frankly, I'm sick of it. This article could be very useful to many people."

"…That would be the last thing on Rory's mind today."

"And would you care to explain why that is?"

Curiosity gnawing at me.  

Paris turned to give me a long stare.

And by long, I mean this was no wistful stare.

This was agonisingly, strangely, testy and patronising all at once.

Her eyes bore into mine and I must admit, I felt interrogated, even in the silence.

The glint of the shiny kitchen made the atmosphere positively uncomfortable.

The beautiful marble bench, rainbow swirls made by the glare of the sunlight.

The perfectly clean floor, wooden, polished, composed.

Very unlike me.

The sink, the high tech fridge which had about six kinds of ice programmed stared mercilessly back at me, the whe-

I frowned in a calculating manner at it.

A pause.

"If you don't mind me asking, whose is that?"

I felt my neck prickling.

Another long look.

Then she closed her eyes briefly, before spearing me with them once again. "Rory's."

I was confused.

"…I wasn't aware she needed a wheelchair."

"…And up until a few hours ago, I wasn't aware she didn't." Came the answer.

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Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs. Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes. Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall and a preserving sweet.
~ William Shakespeare

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"Tell me about Tristan."

She was sitting across from me, and for saying his name I was blessed with a smile.

"Tell you about Tristan," She echoed thoughtfully, "I don't know where to begin."

She gave a contemplative grin.

I gestured for her to begin wherever she wanted.

She gave me a quizzical smile.

"Aren't you meant to be doing an article on the wood mill?"

"Oh," I waved my hand, "I'll wait until your mother and your friend are back for that. It'll be faster."

Blunt excuses.

Careless, drifting.

"Why do you want to hear about Tristan?"

"…I have nothing else to do."

Another grin.

"Do you always like to listen to boring stories of marriage?"

"Is it boring?"

Pondering, then the answer.

"No, not really."

I smiled dutifully at her. "Then I would like to listen to the un boring stories of marriage."

"Thinking of getting married?"

She tilted her head, her eyes sparkling in mock teasing.

"Not any time soon, although if you would like to change my mind…"

I was falling in love with her already.

"Why Andrew, are you proposing?" She said, her eyes widening comically.

I couldn't help but let out a snort of laughter.

"…Stalling?"

She gave a long suffering sigh. "You're a reporter indeed."

There was still a twinkle.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

I gave a slight nod of my head accompanied with a twitch of a smile.

She was thinking about how to begin.

And then she started, and the words flowed out of her like honey, patent and aching all at once.

A sigh, the release of harmonious chords strung together by the air.

"…I met Tristan when I was four years old."

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Love is a friendship set to music.
~ E. Joseph Cossman

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No, screw the wood chip.

 This is going to make me reporter of the year.

Eddy is going to be crazily jealous.

That sick bastard, taking away the Carmen piece that was supposed to be mine.

I put on a cool front.

"I won't write a story."

Paris gave a sigh of relief.

"Thank you. I really appreciate this."

"But, if you don't mind, I would like to speak to her."

Suspicion. "Why?"

"I want to hear the story."

"Why?" Again.

"Because I'm a reporter, that's what I do."

"…But you won't write it down?"

"Not a word," I placed my notepad and pen on the cool surface of the marble, "Today I'll just be Andrew Gautier, curious."

"Luckily you're not a cat."

Paris sighed, and I could tell she'd given in.

I give a nod of thanks, putting my hands into my pockets at the same time, jiggling the small tape recorder I had gotten countless Christmases ago with my left hand.

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Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.
~ Antoine de Saint-Exupery

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I listened.

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Lorelai bit her lip. "Are you sure she'll be okay?" She asked.

"She'll be right as rain." The other woman assured, watching the little girl approach the sand pit.

Lorelai nodded.

To Rory, this seemed just like a larger version of the playground.

She stared fascinated at the sand pit.

"What are you looking at?"

Rory turned her head and found herself looking at a boy, no taller than herself, with the messiest blond hair she'd ever seen.

"What's wrong with your hair?" She asked.

He wiped at his nose with his arm. "What's wrong with your eyes?" He challenged.

"Nothing." Rory said, screwing up her face.

"They look funny to me." He said, and then climbed into the sand pit.

Rory watched him for a while, as he shovelled sand quickly.

"What are you doing?" Rory commented.

"Digging a hole stupid."

"You're mean." Rory said, her fists clenching.

"Want to help or not?" He asked, eyes fixated on the sand, concentration unwavering.

Rory thought for a moment, then shrugged.

"Fine, but you better be nicer to me…"

"…Or what?" He scratched at his head, obliviously and effectively getting sand stuck.

"…I'll…I'll tell my mom." Rory stuck out her tongue.

The boy stared at her.

"That's stupid." He clarified.

"No its not." Rory shot back.

"Fine," He watched her for a moment, as she moved small clumps away with her hands, "…Work faster than that or we're never gonna get this hole finished."

"I'm just as fast as you." She argued, hands on hips.

He gave a long sigh, a child's frustration.

"Girls." He muttered.

"You're annoying." Rory decided.

The boy seemed genuinely confused. "No, I'm Tristan."

"I'm Rory."

"What kind of name is Rory?"

"What kind of name is Tristan?" She shot back.

For a moment, Rory almost triumphantly caught a smile, but it disappeared quickly.

"Keep digging." He instructed.

They almost made it to China before the bell rung.

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My most brilliant achievement was my ability to be able to persuade my wife to marry me.
~ Winston Churchill

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"This is my room." Tristan said proudly.

"Your house is really big." Rory said, eyes wide.

"My daddy owns his own business."

"Where is he?"

"He's busy so we have to be quiet."

"Why?"

"Because he just came back from somewhere and he's tired."

"Oh."

"C'mon, let's go watch tv."

"Do you have any books?" Tristan wrinkled up his nose and stared at the little girl.

"No," He said shortly, "I hate books. They're stupid."

"They're good," She argued, "You have to have at least one book!"

He shrugged. "My dad has some in his library. But they're this big." He held out his hands in an completely exaggerated estimate.

"They can't be that big." She scoffed, already looking around.

"Yes they are," He said defensively, "I'll show you."

He grabbed her hand.

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I met in the street a very poor young man who was in love. His hat was old, his coat worn, his cloak was out at the elbows, the water passed through his shoes -- and the stars through his soul.
~ Victor Hugo

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"Rory…hey…Rory…" Tristan turned around quickly to glance at the petite brunette sitting behind him.

"What?" She whispered.

"What's twenty-four divided by three?"

"Eight. Now turn around and listen." She told him.

"How do you know that it's eight?"

"Because."

"Because what? That's not a reason."

"I actually do my homework."

"You're always at my house, and I never see you do any."

"I'm not at your house all the time," She rolled her eyes at him, "And I did my homework last night."

"You're such a teacher's pet." He shook his head.

She kicked his leg swiftly. "Take that back." She hissed.

"Maybe I don't want to." He grinned at her fiercely.

She pointed at his hair. "Did you even brush it today? You look like some kind of crazy person."

He ran a hand angrily through it. "I can't help it. It doesn't stay down."

"Because you're yucky and don't brush it."

"You're the one that likes the taste of coffee." He whispered.

"Mom says that its-"

"-Rory, Tristan, stop talking. You can stay in for lunch today." Mrs. Griffin said strictly from the blackboard.

Rory kicked Tristan again as they both tried to stifle simultaneous grins.

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Everyone admits that love is wonderful and necessary, yet no one agrees on just what it is.
~ Diane Ackerman

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"Hey Tristan." Lorelai said, as she stared, glued to Dawson's creek re-runs.

"Hey mom."

"Hey Lorelai." Tristan said, munching on a biscuit.

"We're going to the gazebo." Rory told her.

"Okay." Lorelai said, dazed as she watched Joey pace her room.

"Let's go." Rory hissed, already out the door.

"I want to go to Taylor's."

"Are you crazy?" Rory asked him.

"Let's steal one of his chairs." Tristan grinned, "He'll go mad."

"You mean, he'll get mad."

"Well, going to the gazebo's boring."

"Its not boring. And your idea's stupid."

"Stupid is a stupid word."

"Tristan!" Rory said, exasperated.

"What?" He asked innocently.

"I'm going for coffee." She announced.

He groaned. "Rory…"

"You have to help me convince Luke."

"He'll never give you any."

"I'll get some. And if not, you can help me steal some."

His grin was infectious. "Okay."

"You're crazy." She said, shaking her head.

"And you like coffee, so you're crazy too."

"It tastes good, I can't help it." Rory told him.

"So we're both crazy…no wonder we're friends." He threw up his hands and began walking.

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They do not love that do not show their love. The course of true love never did run smooth. Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love.
~ William Shakespeare

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"Um…truth." Emma Harris looked around excitedly.

"Who do you have a crush on?" Wendy asked; eyes bright.

"I'm not telling." Emma said indignantly.

"You have to tell." Rory pointed out.

"Okay…I kind of think Gary's cute."

The girls laughed and squealed.

"Rory's turn," Emma said, turning towards her friend, "Same question as me. Who do you like?"

"I haven't even said truth yet."

"Well, you wouldn't pick dare, would you?"

"No." Rory admitted.

"Okay. So, who do you have a crush on at our school?"

"I bet I know who." Wendy hissed.

"Yeah, me too." Jordy watched Rory intently.

"I don't like anyone."

"Liar." Emma squealed.

"I don't!" Rory protested.

"Everybody knows you like Tristan!"

"You guys are gonna fall in love and make babies!" Jordy pronounced.

They let the laughter die down before they continued.

"He's like a best friend," Rory said, looking around the circle, "I don't have a crush on him."

"How do you know he doesn't like you?" Wendy asked, pointing an accusatory finger.

"Because Tristan…Tristan wouldn't like me. He likes Sasha right now."

Jordy wrinkled up her nose. "Ew."

"That's what I said." Rory added.

"What did he say to that?"

"Kind of laughed and then we went for ice-cream."

"I don't like Sasha," Emma announced, "She thinks she's so good." She mused.

"Yeah." All the girls chorused…including Rory, perhaps more glum than the rest, but then again, that might have been Emma's imagination.

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He loves but little who can say and count in words, how much he loves.
~ Dante Alighieri

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"Tris…hurry up." Rory watched him slowly pack his bag.

"I'm going, I'm going." He muttered.

"You're so slow." Rory said, annoyed.

"Okay, I'm done. Happy?"

"Sort of…hey, I've got to talk to you about something."

They walked out of the school, Tristan saying goodbye to a great many number of people whereas Rory gave a farewell to a select few girls.

"So?"

"My dad wants me to go to Chilton prep for high school."

"But…" Rory frowned, "…We were gonna go to Answorth together."

"He wants me to go to a private school."

Pause.

"But," Tristan said hurriedly, after seeing her crestfallen look, "I was hoping that you could go to Chilton with me."

"My mom wouldn't be able to afford it."

Rory bit her lip.

"Listen Ror, they've got entrance tests coming up soon. Come with me, you can worry about money later."

"I've already got my name down for Answorth…"

"Rory," Tristan pleaded, "Chilton's really good. You'll like it there…they're all into books and stuff like you."

She smiled.

"They're all book-worms."

A loft smile.

She gave him a light whack on the arm, which made him laugh.

"I'll think about it." She said to his delight.

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LOve is never lost. If not reciprocated, it will flow back and soften and purify the heart.
~ Washington Irving

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So?"

Rory waited with baited breath.

"You go first." Tristan said anxiously, holding the phone tightly.

"…No, you go first."

"Rory."

He groaned.

"…I got in."

She paced.

He released his intake of breath.

"Me too."

Silence.

"We're going to Chilton." Rory said in awe.

"Its gonna be great Ror." Tristan promised, grinning.

"I'm gonna convert you into liking coffee."

"I don't think so," He snorted, "…What did Lorelai say?"

"She's going to go talk to my grandparents this afternoon."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"Let's go celebrate."

Rory laughed. "And do what?"

"Come to my house and Rita will make our dinner. Chocolate mousse for dessert, of course."

"Do you have any more of those coffee beans I love?" Rory asked excitedly.

"Rita brought more for you."

"Cool."

"Andrew will come pick you up, I'll see you later Ror."

"Bye Tris."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Some say it is a sin to love, I never did ask why, But if I sin in loving you, I'll sin until I die!"
Author Unknown

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Give me back the book."

Rory glared at Jonathan Reid, who was tauntingly holding her book out of reach.

"Reading's dumb," He declared, sneering, "So maybe, I should throw this book in the bin?"

"No." Rory cried, lunging at him again.

He held the book threateningly, laughing.

"That's a first edition Jane Eyre!" She said, distressed.

"You're so lame, Rory."

He leered.

"Hey Ror, what's going…" Tristan trailed off, looking at Rory who was nearly in tears.

He glared at Jonathan.

"Give the book back John."

"Make me Dugrey."

Tristan rolled up his sleeves.

"Tristan, don't." Rory said quietly.

"Yeah, Tristan, don't." Jonathan mimicked.

"I don't want to fight." Tristan said.

"You chicken?"

"No. But let me just remind you that you may never be able to afford that again as your dad works for mine and that I can make life very unpleasant." Tristan said grimly.

Jonathan's nostrils flared as he dropped the book and walked off, followed by his friends.

Rory swallowed, going after the book.

She dusted it off silently.

He approached her after watching her. "You alright?"

"Yeah."

"Hey," A smile, "Is that the one I got you for Christmas?"

"Yeah."

He cuffed her affectionately around the neck. "I could have gotten you another copy."

A pause. "Thanks."

"Don't you dare." He joked, shaking his head at her.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"In your absence my heart grows stronger. In your presence I fall in love again."

- unknown

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Rory!" Tristan complained.

"Huh?" Rory stuck her head out of the brightly lit bathroom.

"I hate this tie!" He said grumpily, pouting.

"Hurry up or we're never going to get to graduation!"

"Where's your mom?"

"Downstairs, talking to your dad."

"It scares me how well they get along." Tristan commented.

"Looking forward to tonight?"

"No. Sasha hates me for breaking up with her."

Rory shrugged.

"So I guess I'll be hanging around with you most of the night."

"Wow, thanks."

He gave her arm a squeeze.

He smiled, which, she had begun to notice, lately had turned into a quizzical grin, almost cat like and lazy.

A smirk, if you will.

"Rory…" He coaxed, "Can you help me with my tie?"

She gave a long, insufferable sigh.

"You're hopeless." She pointed out.

"That's why I have you to assist me." He pointed out back to her.

"Aren't you lucky."

"Mmmm-hmm."

"…What are you going to do with your hair?"

"Wanna help me cut it?" He offered.

"Wouldn't your dad hate that?"

"Its my hair." He argued.

"Can't you just…flatten it?"

"Nothing works."

"Then just leave it…there, tie all done."

He inspected her work in the mirror. "Not bad."

"Better than yours."

"I hate ties. Why do I have to wear one anyway?"

"Because your dad told you to."

"What did Lorelai tell you to do?"

"Spike the punch at the after-party."

He laughed. "I can be your accomplice."

"No way, I need to you bail me out of jail."

Silence for a moment. Then, "I can't believe we're going to high school."

"Yeah. Chilton's big."

"I know. I'm glad you're going there too." He added.

"It's going to be fun."

"I know."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Trying to forget someone you love is like trying to remember someone you never met."

- unknown

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hi, is Tristan there please? Its Rory."

"Hello Rory," James, Tristan' father said pleasantly, "How are you dear?"

"I'm good, thanks."

"I heard about the move, you'll love New York…though I'm afraid Tristan might get a little upset. I

assume you've called to tell him?"

Rory just mumbled.

"Tristan!" James called away from the phone, "Rory's on the phone!"

Rory waited.

"Hey Ror. What's new?"

"I'm not going to Chilton."

A pause.

"Where are you going then?" He asked curiously.

"I'm moving. My mom and dad have gotten back together and I'm going to go live in New York."

"You mean you're just going to be gone?"

"Yeah. I'm not gonna see you again."

"Do you have to go?" Whining in his tone.

"I think so."

"When?"

"Three weeks, I think."

"It won't be any fun without you." He said, somewhat sadly.

"You'll make new friends." Rory pointed out slowly.

"Yeah, but they're not you…are you packing already?"

"Mom's started."

"Do you want to come over?"

"Um…I shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"She says I need to start labelling boxes."

"Do you need some help?"

He could hear her voice brightening even with the lack of happiness in her tone at the beginning of the call.

"Sure."

"I'll be over soon."

"…Hey Tristan?"

"Yeah?"

"…Thanks."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Don't ever give up if you still want to try, don't ever wipe your tears if you still want to cry. Don't ever settle for an answer if you still want to know. Don't ever say you don't love him if you can't let him go."

- unknown

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I lost track of him at that point onwards."

"You didn't try to keep in contact?"

"It was hard. But I did eventually move back."

"And?"

"And…he'd changed."

"For the better?"

She gave a small laugh. "Quite the opposite."

"Were you still friends though?"

"Oh no, he didn't have time for me, and after a while…I just…stopped trying."

She saw the contemplative look on my face and tried to justify.

"…I gave up too easily."

The fishermen saw the silver mad dash of swimming fish.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"If you love someone, you should just say it out loud right when you feel it, or the moment will just… pass you by."
 - My Best Friends Wedding

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Rory?" Tristan frowned, and took a step back.

"Hey." She smiled at him.

He was suddenly aware of his friends surrounding him.

Kevin gave him a shove.

"Tristan, you're a dog." He grinned, shaking his head and loosening his tie all in the same step.

"Prowling on the new girls before they've even found their way to class." A boy with piercing green eyes rolled his eyes at Tristan, a sly smile. 

They waited for Tristan to say something.

He looked at her.

She looked at him.

He looked at his friends.

"Prowling a Mary?" He snorted, a smirk spreading over his once friendly features, "Yeah, right."

He shook his head and hesitated only once before walking away and leaving her standing there in the midst of a bustling corridor; alone.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sometimes we must get hurt in order to grow, we must fail in order to know, Sometimes our vision clears only after our eyes are washed away with tears."

- unknown

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

" I started going out with a boy named Dean… I think I loved him… but I don't really remember these days. It doesn't make much of a difference. I believe it would have turned out the same way anyway."

"And how was that?"

"For the better," A small shrug of those shoulders, "Tristan and I…we kind of ignored each other. Maybe because it was awkward, I don't know.  Something was different, something was wrong with him…or maybe it was just me…Tristan," A sad laugh, a tear jerking, "He was so arrogant. I think I hated him…but I don't really remember…these days."

"Something happened."

"Why do you say that Andrew?"

Eyes.

Blue.

So much.

I looked away.

"I'm a reporter Rory. Making wild guesses hoping they pay off is what I do."

"There was a party….then a piano room…a completely unplanned kiss. Dean and I had been fighting. I don't know what I was thinking. All of a sudden, things were complicated."

"Why?"

"Because I missed him."

"Dean?"

"Yes…but not the way I missed Tristan."

I waited.

She took a breath. "And I never realised it until I was alone with him…but he was exactly the same as when I'd left. He'd just…put on a mask."

I waited still.

"It's because he was afraid of getting hurt. I didn't actually realise how much my leaving had hurt him," A deepening pain, "…I was selfish like that."

I waited still.

"He was so sorry about my first day. But it was alright, I'd forgiven him for it a long time before."

I opened my mouth to say something, but she filled in the gap.

"And then it happened. The worst thing that could've at that time of my life, when things were going so well…I had Dean, Stars Hollow was great, I was doing well at scho-"

"-You fell in love with him?"

She stopped.

A slow nod.

Then, "…Fell is a good expression."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Some love lasts a lifetime. True love lasts forever.
~ Unknown

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"It didn't happen straight away…" Rory remembered that blond hair, mussy and glorious, "…I was late for class…" She remembered that arm reaching out to help pick up her books, "I was clumsy, and dropped my books…" She remembered smiling at him and getting a slow but cheeky smirk in return, "We didn't have any words…but there was something about him right at that moment," The overwhelming red of the letterman jacket as he straightened up, "…that reminded me of Tristan as a four year old," She looked into those eyes all of a sudden, murky and blue and unforgiving, and then she knew, "…I understood what he was unable to say because his eyes said it all."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Love can sometimes be magic. But magic can sometimes... just be an illusion.
~ Javan

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And Rory fought it.

Of course she fought it.

It was those moments, when she was sorry, that she felt weakest.

He was always there.

And when she slept at night, his smile burned in her dreams and when she wasn't thinking about him she was trying not to.

And there was Dean.

Sweet Dean.

When Rory kissed him, she sometimes imagined that it was blond hair she was running her hands through, and not brown.

And she always blushed in disgust; Dean thinking no more of it than a boy blindly in love with a girl would.

And sometimes, when Rory closed her eyes, she imagined that he would forget about her so that she wouldn't have to feel this guilty.

And then she would see him again and he would offer her that same questioning glance, and she would look at him, such sad eyes, and he would nod, disappointed.

And Rory didn't know what it was that had hit her, with so much force that it sickened her, but she couldn't concentrate.

When Lorelai spoke to her, she found herself licking her lips thinking about him, when the teachers droned on about the cold war, she found herself wishing he would look at her some more.

And when he did, when he snuck those glances, she felt a warm feeling rising inside her and she knew she was turning red.

When she had asked, he had told her that he found it endearing.

She tried not to hope he would, but always disappointed herself.

This feeling was gnawing at her, and then the excuses began.

Slowly at first, water trickling from a wall barely cracking at the edges, but soon it was everyday, the dam had burst open, flooding.

And sometimes there were tears, but only when she was alone.

Dean wondered why she was busy all of a sudden, she told him that she was busy with the Franklin.

It was a terrible excuse, but her mind reamed images of him¸ and she couldn't think about much else.

And then she would see him again and he would offer her that same questioning glance, and she would look at him, such sad eyes and he would nod, disappointed.

Only now, Lorelai wondered why Rory's teachers called saying that she was always absent.

And when Rory kissed him, it was like liquid fire, and no matter how hard he pushed against her, she would push back harder, because she never knew what it was like to lose such control.

And Dean, when he called sometimes while she was kissing him, sounding so pleading, that she would stop, and that guilt came rushing back as loud as a tidal wave.

He would grasp her hand and stare at her, because sometimes there were tears, but only when she was alone.

And it wasn't always reckless abandon, it was sometimes just silence.

Silence, when he took her to his favourite place and she gazed in marvel at the tall trees and lush greenery.

And Rory loved the silence just as much as she loved the heated moments, because sometimes things were better said without words.

He would brush away the hair from her face as she leant into him, as she got a coiling in her stomach, a panicked butterfly desperate to escape from the jar.

And sometimes she would leave, without giving reason or excuses (never to him), and she wouldn't look back.

She probably never heard him sigh, but he seemed to understand and they left the questions lingering in the trees.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You come to love not by finding the perfect person, but by seeing an imperfect person perfectly."
--Sam Keen

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Occasionally, she would be wracked with doubt.

Maybe it was guilt disguised, but at times like those, Rory felt as if she couldn't breathe.

And if you can imagine, it was at times like those she began to become afraid.

When he would call at night and Lorelai would ask who it was.

Rory would blink at her, and the lies came flooding out of her, and she didn't even have time to feel bad because she was so happy he'd called.

And she was afraid, because he made her laugh.

It might sound silly, it probably does, but everything that he said would delight her, so like it once did.

And sometimes she wondered if she made him happy the same way, but she could never muster up enough courage to ask, and the laughs and lingering questions were still there.

They chose to ignore those, maybe because they were too hard to answer or maybe it was that sometimes, that doubt really disguised itself as guilt and Rory was plagued with it.

Tristan, she never knew.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach..."
--Elizabeth Barrett Browning

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Another day, another lifetime ago, Rory would have been listening to Mrs. Norton explaining log graphs.

In this lifetime, in which she found herself clutching at reality, she was in the arms of a blond boy, who was so quiet when it came down to it, so calm and comforting when she needed it and sometimes when she didn't even realise she did.

Her head nestled under his chin, as he thoughtfully stared out into the distance and Rory didn't even realise how beautiful these moments truly were, when she could only hear the thudding of her own heart, sometimes even his.

She never offered a reason, and he never asked for one, but sometimes…she thought he would ask, something, anything, to make sense of anything they were doing, but his smile would drown out her voice and his arms holding her as she pulled out tufts of grass out of the ground would keep her in the silence.

She wanted to know what he was thinking, but she was scared that if she did, it would ruin this perfect picture she had in her mind of their story, and she was scared of too many things already.

And when she tried to get up, because she needed to go back to school, she wasn't this girl who gave up her life for a boy, he would let her go. Soon, at those times, she begun to look back at him, at his lopsided grin, and be tempted.

He never urged her to stay, and she could admit that it hurt.

At a time when she wasn't hazy with his cologne, she asked, and he had only chuckled at her playfully, saying that he didn't think she would want to.

She had frowned at that answer, and she smelt that delicious scent of rain, forgetting again.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"The hours I spend with you I look upon as sort of a perfumed garden…"

After that, when she looked back at his lopsided grin, she couldn't help but give a sigh, at how strange her life had become, and join him again.

"…a dim twilight, and a fountain signing to it...you and you alone make me feel that I am alive..."

Soon after that, she didn't bother getting up at all.

"…Other men, it is said, have seen angels, but I have seen thee and thou art enough."
--George Moore

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lorelai was angry and Rory couldn't offer any explanation.

Her teachers had been calling.

Rory felt stray,

Derailed.

Lorelai shook her head and asked for the truth.

And it was on the tip of her tongue, it truly was, but somehow, it refused to go any further, and Rory found herself telling her mother, her best friend, that she had been visiting her dad in New York.

Lorelai was surprised, but no longer angry and Rory gave a silent sigh of relief at the change of emotion.

Rory was in a daze, she couldn't even think about what she was saying, all that she knew, was that after she had finished talking, Lorelai looked concerned, but reasonably calmer.

Rory promised not to do it again, and she almost bit her tongue because she knew how much of a lie it was.

When she got to her room, there came tears, always when she was alone.

She stared at the girl in the mirror, with the long chestnut hair and the red rimmed blue eyes, the defeated look in them terrified her.

She called him and he answered almost straight away, alarmed at the tears in her voice.

She couldn't really understand how he did it, but a warm buzzing grew as he told her nonsense stories about a far away, non existent land, until that buzzing feeling enveloped her.

She murmured, suddenly feeling the exhaustion on her shoulders, and he stayed with her until she was asleep, from the sound of his husky voice whispering into her ear.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Within you I lose myself. Without you I find myself wanting to become lost again."
--Unknown

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rory knew she was gone.

It came one afternoon, Chemistry, when she was blowing softly on dandelions, when she became afraid again.

And this time, this feeling didn't go, or hide, or do anything but be blatantly obvious.

And in those silent moments, normally in true silence, they would enjoy nature, and the quietness of being in each other's presence.

She thought he was mumbling to himself, and she had almost smiled, until she had caught the brute end of the sentence.

She didn't think that it would ache so much, because it seemed too final and she felt so young.

He almost breathed it and shamefully, she pretended she didn't hear.

His breathing evened, and from the uncomfortable air being to mist over them, she still thought that he was as much relieved as he was disappointed.

She wasn't concerned for his heart, and as selfish and thoughtless as that was, she couldn't help thinking that way, because she knew she was lost and only relied on herself to look.

She knew he would live through this, but she was afraid, maybe afraid she couldn't if she said those three little words back.

So it was silence again, and Rory hoped he couldn't hear her heart beating so fast.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I love you, not only for what you are, But for what I am when I am with you."
--Roy Croft

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first time Rory truly thought about what she was doing with this boy, was the afternoon that Dean broke up with her.

Rory envisioned herself crying, pleading, stamping her foot…anything but the strange coldness in her acceptance.

He seemed surprised himself.

Rory knew she deserved it.

She was never there.

Never at home, never by her phone, never there for him.

And it was okay, because Dean needed someone worthy of him, and Rory knew she wasn't that girl.

On the walk home, Rory's thoughts wandered, her throat funnily dry at the anticipation of adrenaline she suddenly felt, at the fact that no, life never was simple, but she cared so much for him, and maybe it wasn't what he wanted yet, but it was the best she had to give.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Love is a butterfly,
which when pursued is just beyond your grasp,
but if you will sit down quietly it may alight upon you.
~Nathaniel Hawthorne

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And wasn't it ironic, that he was the reason she was missing school, and lying her way through her classes…that he was the one who gently told her he wasn't any good for her.

After all that time, she felt numb, and she fought with her mind, praying that it wasn't some excuse to leave her.

Tristan watched her face, and when he didn't see any sorrow, any remorse, it just made his receding footsteps heavier.

And when Rory finally found something to say, when she finally knew what she had wanted to say in the midst of the shock, she looked up and he wasn't there.

And so she thought, and pondered, knowing what her mother had given up to send her to the school, and what she had given up, and that flickering of doubt, started to burn brighter.

She straightened up, and was suddenly glad he made the decision and not her.

It was so much easier.

And so that was that.

And sometimes, she saw him in the halls, when he thought nobody was looking, she saw how empty his eyes were.

And she was tempted.

But her marks lifted, and Lorelai was back to her old self, Rory thought it for the best.

And sometimes, she saw him in the halls, when he thought nobody was looking, she heard his echoing laughter, such a perfected fake.

And she was tempted.

But she thought about what she had been like, what she had turned into, how many people and morals she had turned her back on, and grit her teeth.

And sometimes, when he thought nobody was looking, he stared at her retreating back, knowing she knew how empty he was.

And sometimes, Rory wondered if it saddened him to know that she knew…and didn't do anything about it.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You're nothing short of my everything."
--Ralph Block

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Speaking to her history teacher, Rory lost track of time.

And as she rounded the hall, checking her wristwatch and cursing silently, she craned her neck, hoping her bus hadn't left without her.

Her hurried footsteps resounding down the stone steps, the books in her back hitting her back at every impact.

She sighed, leaning back against the bench.

She stared out into the distance, closing her eyes for a second, and she didn't know if her sub conscious wished it, or if she had said something out loud, but she heard the hum of a engine.

Relieved, she opened her eyes.

She saw his face and Rory felt a pang. He gave a half smile, not the one she adored, but close enough to offer a feeling of familiarity, as he offered a ride.

She hesitated.

He looked so calm, as if her answer wouldn't matter.

Rory didn't know if it did, but she accepted. And the second she got into that car, it began all over again.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There is no remedy for love but to love more.
~ Thoreau

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He tugged on her hair.

And Rory could truly say, that she had never felt so at a loss for emotion.

She was mad.

And angry.

Mostly at herself.

And she was so smitten, and during that car ride, being so close to him was like a waft of air through the shutters.

When they got to a red light, it seemed as if the silence was deafening, no tidal waves, but close enough to feel claustrophobic.

He sat and she didn't dare glance over to see if he was looking at her, in a way, she didn't want to know, because she didn't know how she would react.

He finally said something.

And Rory didn't even realize it was the tears that had made her vision suddenly blurry until almost tentatively, he touched her hand.

And Rory didn't even realize she had blinked the tears away to stare into his dark eyes.

And Rory didn't even realize she had replied until his lips met hers half way.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Won't you come into the garden?
I'd like my roses to see you.
~Richard Brinsley Sheridan

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And sometimes, Rory wished it hadn't happened like that.

That she hadn't been walking in the dark.

And with all the clichés, she knew she needed him.

That day in the car…Lorelai wondered why she was so late. Rory had opened her mouth, lips so bruised, and stopped herself.

They were going to go somewhere different this time.

No more lies.

And so she told her.

And she apologized, in a desperate way Lorelai had never seen before, for the excuses, and the lies.

And Lorelai, thought for a long time, and remembered what it was like for her and Christopher.

Finally, Lorelai remembered the little blond boy from Rory's childhood and Rory almost cried in relief.

When Rory had asked Tristan, he was surprised; pleasantly.

He agreed almost instantly, and didn't consider it a commitment until later that day, when he realized he was going to meet Rory's mom again, after all that had happened…and he begun to feel nervous.

He arrived at the door, and felt more at ease in seeing Rory's smiling face.

She was happy to see him.

Lorelai was kind.

He was that little boy, only older and smitten with her daughter.

Tristan nervous, although soon, Tristan fell more into ease, and Rory glowed when Lorelai gave small twitching smiles at his obvious rekindled charm.

It was a good night.

And so from then on, sometimes, Tristan came to movie nights, and it became a favourite past time of Rory's to throw popcorn at him and watch him smirk.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They are but beggars that can count their worth,
But my true love is grown to such excess,
I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.
~William Shakespeare

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Chilton years were the best." Rory said wistfully.

"Did the relationship suffer from all the time spent apart?" Brow furrowed.

"We were different. We'd come far from when we were four…but we were the same as well. He was just as great to talk to as he was when we were little."

"Did you change?"

"Everybody changes. But he was my best friend again. And something a bit more."

Another smile.

They were really beautiful I'd seriously begun noticing.

"You married your best friend." I mused at the fairy tale quality.

"It was a bit more complicated than that." Another smile.

Yes, beautiful would be a suitable word.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Love doesn't make the world go round. Love is what makes the ride worthwhile.
~ Franklin P. Jones

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"How so?"

"We broke up before Yale."

"Why?" I frowned.

"We didn't think it would work."

"So you dated other people?"

"But they didn't really compare."

"So why didn't you get back together?"

"I didn't want to ruin our friendship again."

"When you broke up…weren't there any tears?"

"There were too many," She remembered the hollow voices, the matching empty blue eyes, not that she could really see, with the blurry vision and all, "... But I wouldn't have wanted it to happen any other way."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you have Love, you don't need to have anything else, and if you don't have it, it doesn't matter much what else you have.
~ Sir James M. Barrie

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"And he," She hiccuped, "-He said-"

He hugged her again.

His strong arms never feeling better. "I'm going to beat the-"

"-Don't do anything." She said, her eyes staring at him, before she huddled back into his embrace.

He leant back into the bedhead as he gave a deep sigh. "Mare, he's an idiot. If he doesn't realise what

a great person you are, then its his loss."

"What's wrong with me?" She gave another hiccup, "Why do I always go out with these…these…"

He grit his teeth at the bundled form in his arms. "That idiot didn't deserve yo.. Don't forget that."

"You have to say that." She sniffled.

"Where in the rule book does it state that?" A small smile.

"Because we're friends. So you have to."

"I don't have to anything. I believe everything you do about yourself. You're the best. He's blind, and really, he was doing you a favour."

Rory suddenly got a very deep, stirring feeling in her stomach.

She frowned mentally.

Tristan smiled at her, his blue eyes piercing.

Her brow furrowed slowly, but she found herself bringing her face closer to his.

His eyes widened for a moment, but to her relief and mortification, he didn't move away.

She blinked and his eyes were suddenly so clear, as if the clouds were clearing over.

Rory didn't know what was going on, but it didn't really matter did it, when her lips finally reached his and everything became suddenly so simple.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

But true love is a durable fire,
In the mind ever burning,
Never sick, never old, never dead,
From itself never turning.
~Sir Walter Raleigh

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Simple?" I raised a sceptical eyebrow.

Rory's lips twitched and she closed her eyes, shaking her head in amusement.  "When I woke up in the morning I wanted to kick myself. It was such a cliché."

"Did you stay?"

"I bolted out of there as quick as possible."

"Why?"

"I was afraid he was going to wake up that minute and ask me about that night."

"But he didn't."

"Actually, I don't think he ever has." She mused.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"A failing love is like desperately hanging on to something precious, not wanting to give up but your hands feel the pain. And when you finally let go, you're free from any pain but your hands are empty."

- Unknown

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I was silent.

"I tried to avoid him after that, and he let me."

"You would have run into him around campus."

"Yale's big." She stated simply.

"So what happened?"

"I'm not sure."

"You're not sure?"

"I was…lost, without him."

"And what did you do?"

"I showed up to his apartment."

"Was he surprised to see you?"

"If he was, he didn't act it."

"What did he say?" I leant forward, entranced.

"…He looked like he wanted to say something, but he changed his mind."

"And what did you say?"

"…Nothing at all."

She smiled as she remembered the insistent kisses, the doorframe.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Definition of forgiveness: The perfume a flower leaves on the shoe that crushed it."

- unknown

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"We were friends again."

"Just friends?"

"We were…complicated. I knew I was in love with him, but what could I say to him? I'm not sure whether he felt the same…" Hesitation, she wasn't sure how to continue, how to convey, "…I've never asked about how he felt when I showed up at his apartment. I've always wondered what his words would have been."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

True love is like ghosts,
which everybody talks about and few have seen.
~Francois, Duc de La Rochefoucauld

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What happened after Yale?"

"Orchids." A secret smile.

"Orchids huh?"

"Mm-hmm." A sparkle in her eye.

A quick tuck of hair behind the ear.

"Care to explain?"

"…No." Another secret smile.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When I saw you I fell in love.
And you smiled because you knew.
~Arrigo Boito

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rory,

I miss you already Mare.

 Since you liked those island orchids

So much I decided to get you some.

 Like them?

I'll see you tomorrow, lunch, don't forget!

I'll have coffee waiting :)

- T

Rory's co-worker stared at the extravagant display of three hundred orchids now splayed across every available space in Rory's office enviously.

Rory just smiled and tucked the note into her drawer, whistling the oopma loompa theme song in the process.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thou art to me a delicious torment.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What happened?"

"Angela happened."

"Who's Angela?"

"Tristan's then fiancé." She was frank about it.

I was surprised yet not shocked. He scratched his chin. "…But did he love her the way he loved you?"

"And how's that?" Curiosity reversal.

"Unconditionally?" I gave a gesture.

She had a kind expression. "You've been talking to me for a little over two hours Andrew, and you haven't even met Tristan, but you can tell that he loved me unconditionally?"

"It's not in what secrets you haven't said-" I began, reflecting on something I'd someone say someday.

"-But in how you say the obvious words…" Rory finished, "…I'd almost forgotten that."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Love remains a secret even when spoken,
for only a true lover truly knows that he is loved.
~Rabindranath Tagore

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I remember him saying, 'Rory, I'm going to get married', and he seemed to hold his breath, as if waiting for me to scream or to congratulate him," Her brow was furrowed, as if just recollecting the moment, "I chose the latter. He seemed happy and disappointed all at once. I didn't know he was so serious about her," Rory shrugged, staring into space, "She was gorgeous, no doubt…but she didn't really suit him."

"Why not?"

Rory was quiet as she thought about her answer.

"…She wasn't you." I answered for her.

She looked up, and I knew I was right.

"It was strange, seeing them so happy."

"I don't think he was."

"Why do you say that Andrew?"

I smiled at her. "Where am I right now?"

She smiled back.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A successful marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person.
~ Germaine Greer

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"…And then?"

"And then what?"

"What happened?"

"The same thing that happened last time. I opened the door and he was…just there. He said nothing at

all."

"Except?"

"Why do you assume he said something else?"

"That look on your face right now."

"He blurted out those words…I knew what had happened. He didn't seem terribly upset though, which I thought was strange. He brought orchids," A fleeting look of affection, "He kissed me and I knew it was going to be alright from then on."

"Were you friends again?"

"Not this time around. We were…" Softness in her voice; velvet, "…better."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The most eloquent silence; that of two mouths meeting in a kiss.
~Unknown

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"…He got down on one knee," She was laughing, "And everybody in the restaurant was staring at him…."

I listened intently.

"…And then they all applauded."

A huge sigh.

Contentment rekindling.

"…How was the wedding?"

"Truthfully, I remember feeling sick." A grin, "But it was wonderful. My dad walked me down the aisle…" A fluttering of memories, "…and it was so full of orchids it looked like the church was filled with snow."

"That sounds beautiful." I said honestly.

"It was beautiful." She agreed.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The madness of love is the greatest of heaven's blessings.
~Plato

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Love." She said simply.

"What is it?" I leaned back on my chair, my glasses hanging slightly crooked.

"I'm not sure."

"You're not sure?"

"Trust…I believe in Tristan more than I've believed in anyone in my entire life. There's fun times…even when we're just sitting, staring into the fire…" She laughed, "He almost burned the house down one time when we were trying to roast marshmallows."

I chuckled.

"Ever been in love Andrew?" She asked softly.

"…I'm not so sure anymore." I answered truthfully.

"…There's this…funny feeling…I mean, it's horrible to be so dependant on one person…but its also nice. I never thought something as cliché as love could feel so ironic. And then there's devotion." She stopped.

I was silent again.

"…When-" She took a breath, and then surged ahead, afraid she would reverse the spell she was under, "When we went to the Swiss alps, I was…so excited about skiing…and sad when we had to leave…"

"…And then…and then I just had to go for one last ski run before we left," Slightly bitter, slightly resentful, but mostly just aching, "…I don't remember much. But it hurt."

"…Your back?" I asked slowly, sympathetically, my thoughts seeing that wheelchair lying so uselessly in the kitchen now.

"…The look on his face when he was calling the ambulance." She hung her head, jaw clenched in bitterness.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
~William Shakespeare

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So."

It was had been quiet for the last five minutes.

Rory seemed to be contemplating.

"You know, it's funny when you hear those stories, those wild stories on the news," She finally said, "About miracles and…those kind of things."

"You weren't a believer?"

She sat there, leaning back into the chair, obviously uncomfortable, not in the conversation but in her lack of familiarity with the furniture.

"In fate. But miracles seemed to be an excuse for something."

"And now?"

I ran a hand through my hair and she caught my eye; I stopped mid motion then dropped my arm.

She suddenly blinked, and her lips twitched in an almost smile.

"And now?…I'm glad someone else believed in miracles for me, because I couldn't."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To love one who loves you,
To admire one who admires you,
In a word, to be the idol of one's idol,
Is exceeding the limit of human joy;
It is stealing fire from heaven.
~Delphine de Girardin

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What do you remember from the accident this afternoon?"

"I was riding in the car," She frowned, trying to remember, "And then I remember getting up and not realising I was doing it. Lane and my mom were being led into the ambulance car and Paris looked dazed for a moment, then openly stared at me. I didn't even realise why at first."

"What did you feel at that exact moment?"

"For a moment there actually…I thought I'd…well, that…I'd died." A shrug, as if it was an ordinary assumption.

"And when you realised you hadn't?"

"I started laughing, because I haven't been able to do it for so long."

And just to prove her point, the low laugh that emanated from her struck a chord inside me and I suddenly felt warmer.

Maybe it was the heating.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Love begets love, love knows no rules, this is the same for all.
~Virgi

l

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I can't wait to show him."

"Now that, was a story." I scratched my arm, catching that grin.

"I never thought it was that great." She laughed.

"Well, you've never heard it for the first time before." I answered nonchalantly.

Silence reigned again.

"So…how were you like before…well, before today?"

"I was…" Searching, longing, grasping, "…Empty, for better use of the word."

I frowned now. "A…?"

"…A shell." A small gasp.

I felt a sad swelling within myself at the woman before me.

A few tears.

Unless you can love, as the angels may…

It was a burst. "And do you know what I hated most? He didn't know, because I didn't say it enough…."

With the breadth of heaven betwixt you…

"…And I thought he would have left, because all I…all I could do was sit there…so silent…."

Frustration, "I hated everything. My wheelchair….the fact that I could never say anything….do anything..."

Unless you can dream that his faith is fast…

A choked back tear.

Andrew felt an aching.

"…But I loved him. And you know what? He stayed with me…."

More tears.

Through behoving and unbehoving…

"…The kind of devotion that takes I'll probably never know. He gave up so much for me, and when he brushes back my hair and…." A shuddering of words.

Unless you can die when the dream is past…

"…I know, I know,"  She was so upset, "I know how much he loves me. And it kills me that I could never tell him how much I know, and how much I love him too…."

Oh, never call it loving!
~Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Andrew took a breath. "…But now you can."

Calming. "I guess...miracles are excuses for those who didn't believe anymore…."

A hiccup.

Cheeks rosy with christened water.

"…Hey Andrew?"

That porcelain face staring at me, tear streaked. "Yeah?" Those ice blue eyes.

"Thank you for listening."

I couldn't even open my mouth to say 'you're welcome.'

I think she understood though, because she nodded ever so slightly.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For you see, each day I love you more,
Today more than yesterday and less than tomorrow.
~Rosemonde Gerard

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lorelai arrived.

I stood up.

She looked at Rory and almost staggered.

I left the room, but even afterwards, I could hear the tears through the walls.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear:
because fear hath torment.
He that feareth is not made perfect in love.
~1 John 4:18

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm standing in their living room.

I felt someone behind me.

I turned, Lorelai is staring at me.

Her eyes are red, her face weary, but she looks…light.

Like someone who's lost a weight on her shoulders.

"Tristan." Lorelai says, shaking his head.

"What about him?" I ask.

She couldn't find the words to respond.

We stared at each other, a mutual weariness.

A mutual feeling of wonderment.

It was better said, without words.

And yet, I wanted to ask what I had wanted to ask since I'd arrived.

"…What's he like?"

"He's…" She shrugged helplessly, "He's just Tristan."

I raised an eyebrow.

She took the hint.

She gave a helpless shake of the shoulders.

"There's something…so….calming about him. He doesn't act any differently around Rory. I love that about him." She mused, trying to make me understand.

What she didn't realise was, I already did.

"So I take it he's a good son in law?"

"The best," Her laughter was preventing her from weeping, "Even though sometimes he's too cheeky for his own good. Rory and him as kids…" An affirming snort, "I would never have thought…this many years down the track…"

"It's a movie." I added quietly.

She nodded.

A deep breath.

"This is…the most I could ever wish for…I don't even know who to thank."

Her lips curved at the corners and I followed her gaze.

Coffee table.

She seemed to hear my question before I even said anything.

Maybe a shared feeling of sadness heightened understanding.

Whatever it was, she answered.

"Oh…nothing."

I raised an eyebrow.

"She used to sit there." Lorelai said softly.

I glanced at that spot on the couch.

It felt alone.

I wait.

"I come over here sometimes…and watching him look over at that table, expecting to see coffee there, it's horrible. Because his face…it would just…fall."

"Always coffee huh." I swallowed.

"She's a Gilmore." A smile.

The explanation was perfect.

My lips curve up.

"This is real, isn't it. Because a dream can't be this cruel." She said.

"Life is cruel sometimes."

"And Rory used to always say that things happened for a reason," Lorelai said, brow furrowed, "And I don't know whether she believed it or not after the accident."

From her tone it was obvious to both of us that she did now.

And Lorelai had tears too, but she didn't bother wiping them away.

But then again, I feel a wetness on my own cheeks, and follow her example, the two of us just standing there, staring at the antique couch and enjoying the moment when Tristan will see his wife sitting there again.

Sipping on coffee like she used to, like a Gilmore would.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You will find as you look back upon your life
that the moments when you have really lived,
are the moments when you have done things in a spirit of love.
~Henry Drummond

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Bible boy, what are you doing?"

"Homework." He said, grinning at her as he leafed through business papers.

"Homework? On a Saturday night?" She gasped in mock horror.

He gave a exaggerated sigh in response. "I'm getting old."

"And gray." She commented with his smirk, sipping on coffee.

"Thanks Mare," He smiled, "Do you want to highlight things?" He said slowly to her.

She made a face as he laughed.

"Come sit with me."

"You look comfortable there by yourself."

"I'd be more comfortable if you came for just a moment."

He walked over and sat down as she snuggled into him.

He breathed in content.

"Obviously I'm going to get no work done tonight."

"You got that right, mister."

She took the mug from the coffee table and took a low sip.

"That mug is going to leave a permanent mark." He smirked.

"Really?" She looked up at him.

He kissed her nose and stared into the fire.

"But then you'll know I'm always here." She argued softly.

His arms tightened around her.

The lofty glow from the fire place flickered every so slightly; a camera snap in time.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Real love stories never have endings.
~ Richard Bach

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 I heard a smash.

I look at Lorelai, who looks back at me with fear in her eyes.

I have a sickening feeling in my stomach as I walk tentatively upstairs.

I hear crying.

I open the door and my heart stops.

Paris weeps, "She just…she just wanted… some coffee."

The spilt liquid is on the floor, the mug in pieces.

Rory is sprawled on the ground, and her eyes…I can't describe them.

It was a vast emptiness.

That antique doll…she was gone. 

The river had swallowed her up.

My heart grew cold from the current.

Lorelai fell to her knees.

And I must say, at that moment, I did too.

The sound of Paris's tears echoed around the room.

And that room, it was suddenly so big.

And I suddenly realised…I couldn't see the orchids anywhere.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others,
and the delight in the recognition.
~Alexander Smith

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We're in the living room again.

Rory is back in the wheelchair.

This woman, vibrancy radiant, is silent again.

I felt heavy.

They found the tape.

Lorelai is angry.

"Get out. And I thought you were just here to…god, get out."

She stares at me furiously.

I had completely forgotten I had that stupid thing in my pocket.

I pull it out feebly.

"You did this for your career? I can't believe you. Just…leave."

And I wanted to argue, but I was suddenly so tired.

And my complaints over my rickety old jeep seemed so meaningless at that moment.

So as she left, wiping her face furiously, I reached inside my pocket and did the only thing that made any sense to me.

I paused, my throat constricted.

My thoughts racing with possibilities and yet, I could only see one outcome, a rarity for me.

My eyes swam dizzily around the room.

No prying eyes?

Good, good. I eased the tape out of my wrinkled pants, my hands trembling as I did so.

Just behind the vase I left it, concealed but only to the obvious eye.

The coffee table's dignity did not fade as I left the Dugrey mansion, the gravel under my feet, hopefully, applauding.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You don't love a woman because she is beautiful, but she is beautiful because you love her.
~ Anonymous

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tristan sat up again.

He ran his hands roughly through his ruffled blond hair.

He turned and stared at Rory, who was sleeping peacefully.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

When he'd gotten home a strange ford had been pulling out of the driveway, but Lorelai told him it was a salesman.

For some reason, Tristan wasn't sure he believed her.

He was startled to see how red her eyes were, but she gave a Lorelai laugh and when he saw Rory he pretty much forgot everything else.

He gazed at her.

His elbow propped up against the pillow.

That soft breathing.

That perfect nose.

Her eyelashes fluttering.

Those lips, always in a motion of a half kiss.

And what did it matter, all that had happened…Tristan couldn't live without her, nor would he want to.  

She was beautiful.

He missed her wit of course, but strangely, he could always hear her words, even if she couldn't say anything.

It comforted him to know that he loved her.

But he missed those words returning to him.

When he wasn't at home, his office contained dozens of fresh orchids, just so he could be reminded.

The smell was lulling.

Even asleep, Tristan adored her, and that, he supposed, was what his love for Lorelai Leigh Gilmore was all about.

She saw Lane, and Luke, and Dean, all of them smiling at her.

 She blushed.

 And she noticed all those orchids.

 Their bloom symbolising every bit of happiness she was feeling at that very moment.

The church organ echoed.

A t that moment, Tristan thought he heard something.

Frowning, he got out of bed.

…And she looked up, a veil of white giving her discreet vision…and she saw his face…

He flicked on the kitchen light.

The marble floor strangely warm.

…she saw him bite his lip at the sight of her…and she blushed as he smiled at her ducking her head..

He flicked on the living room switch.

Nothing.

Sighing, he turned it off…but on instinct, he looked briefly at the coffee table.

His brow furrowed as he noticed a small object partially hidden.

The white of the petals contrasting.

…She climbed the steps and stood opposite him, his hands visibly trembling as she took them within hers…

He found a cassette player and put the tape in.

Do you, Lorelai Leigh Gilmore the second take Tristan Janlan Dugrey to be your beloved husband, to have and to hold, until death do you part?

He pressed the stop button, the end of the tape clicking in its finality.

…I do. And with the power vested in me, I pronounce you…

He sat back, stunned.

He hadn't even noticed his own tears until he noticed the small imprints of watermarks left on his T-shirt.

…husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Love is life.
All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love.
Everything is, everything exists, only because I love.
Everything is united by it alone.
Love is God, and to die means that I, a particle of love, shall
return to the general and eternal source.
~Leo Tolstoy

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She was awake.

His hands came, shaking.

He tenderly pushed back some chestnut strands behind her ear and kissed her forehead softly.

And yes, it was liquid fire all over again.

Rory burned.

She could feel the imprint of his lips, the warmth she felt of running back to his side.

It was to be a free child running down the green hills of Capri with a high kite.

Rory gave a content sigh, which conveyed every blueness she'd ever felt in the past six years.

"…That day," He whispered softly, gazing down on her affectionately, his eyes actually brimming, "At Yale…when you showed up at my apartment…. I-" He hesitated," - I wanted to say something that I'd heard someone say a long time ago…that…" A deep shivering breath, "…that love is a temporary madness…"

And as Rory listened to his quiet words, her heart was suddenly so light.

Because finally, it wasn't silent.

He didn't wipe the escaped tears away.

He felt raw and Rory was free.

He kissed her forehead again.

And for once, since there were no words that needed to be said or were to be spoken that could convey their history in that single solidary kiss, Rory was glad she had orchid fever.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

…Love is a temporary madness.

It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides.

And when it subsides you have to make a decision.

You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part.

Because this is what love is.

Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion.

That is just being "in love" which any of us can convince ourselves we are.

Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.

And maybe in the future, you and I will have it, so we can say that we had roots that grew towards each other underground…

… And when all the pretty blossoms had fallen from our branches…

 We found that we were one tree and not two.