DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. These are fictional characters created by someone who isn't me, but used in an even more far-fetched situations to satisfy my own sick ends.

Rory knew this proper conversation of niceties was going to get to a point soon. A point that she probably wouldn't like, and would have end up with her making plans to do something that would involve her in an evening in a dress she will hate, and talking to people that make her long for her robe and slippers. And a lobotomy. Emily's conversations always ended up with Rory promising to do something dreadful involving Emily's various social engagements. Her 'responsibilities' she called them.

"So, dear, how is work lately? They're treating you right?"

"Yes, Grandma, they're treating me right. My assignments are getting more interesting and they're starting to give me more responsibility."

"Well, it's about time they realize what kind of talent they have on their hands," she commented, sounding very much the part of a proud parent.

"Thanks, Grandma. How's Grandpa doing?"

"Oh, who knows! He's in his study now more than ever; I can't imagine what he could be doing in there hours on end. I tell you, ever since he retired, I see him less now than when he was working."

"Well, at least he's relaxing," Rory offered.

"That's true. Now, dear, what are your plans for this weekend?"

Ah, the true reason for the call. Rory knew Emily would only make small talk as long as she felt it was necessary to make the call appear to be not just about whatever it was she was actually after. Rory prepared for the worst and opened her closet as she rummaged around in search of her favorite t-shirt to pull on for an evening of relaxing herself. She'd just gotten home barely thirty seconds before Emily called—she swore this woman had some sort of radar on her movements. Lorelai had been swearing this for years, it was only since Rory turned 25 and was still single that Emily kicked in with full force with her.

"Uh, I'm not sure yet, Grandma, why?"

"Well, it just so happens that the Hartford Historical Society is throwing a gala to commemorate the addition of the new wing, you know, sort of a grand reopening deal to the Revolutionary War Museum here. Well, I'm on the committee for the Gala and I need to supply people. I was hoping I could include you on the guest list?"

"Uh, well, I can come, but I don't think I'll be able to scrounge up a date by this weekend," Rory added, hoping Emily got the point that her usual invite of one meaning a commitment of two guests as seat fillers couldn't be taken for granted on such short notice.

"Oh, Rory, that's fine. In fact, there is someone that will be in attendance that you might actually find interesting."

Rory could hear the scheming in her grandmother's voice. Emily was planning a set up and, after all the set ups she'd been on in the last few months, she was left feeling weary. Too weary to argue with such an admirable competitor. Maybe Lorelai could get her out of it after the fact.

"Is that so, Grandma?"

"Well, you never know, right?"

"Yeah, you never know."

"You aren't seeing anyone, are you?"

"No, I'm not," she reiterated, as if her prior comments hadn't been enough to insinuate that fact to Emily. Even at her age, she missed nothing and was determined to see Rory married and get to see her first great grandchild or die trying. She was pacified for a while when Lorelai got married, but after some gloating at the fact that she'd called her on the fact that the 'diner man' had been in love with her years ago, she turned her attentions to Rory. No, Emily definitely never missed a beat.

"Well, then I guess we'll see you Saturday evening at the Museum?"

"Yes, I'll see you then."

With that, Rory hung up the phone and threw her nice dress shirt off, pulling the comfortable t-shirt on over her head in one swift motion. She shimmied her skirt off, and pulled her favorite sweatpants off her bedspread and pulled them up over her hips before leaving the bedroom and heading into the kitchen. She grabbed leftover Chinese food, an almost constant staple at her house, and a fork before heading to the couch to flip through the channels on television for a while. After five rotations through the entire gambit, she gave up and picked up the phone again. She was in a talking mood, and figured the call would come through to her soon enough if she didn't make the first move.

"Hello?" came the low voice she was just getting used to hearing coming over the receiver.

"Hey, Luke. Is Mom around?"

"Oh, hey Rory. Yeah, just let me pull her out from under the sink."

"Wait, Luke—um, what?" Rory couldn't imagine what Lorelai could be doing under a sink. In fact, the only reason to be under the sink was to fix it, take out the trash or grab the dish soap. All of which were things that weren't Lorelai friendly.

"It's a long story. It started with a supposed sighting of a mouse, then talk of mousetraps and the inhumane treatment of rodents—to make the story short, she's convinced she can reason with the critter and get him to crawl back out the way he came in."

Rory smiled, realizing that her mother was just getting crazier now that she lived with Luke. But she figured her antics were more to entertain Luke than anything else.

"Yeah, I probably shouldn't have asked."

"Hang on a sec," he instructed, and Rory heard some muffled voices and her mother was shortly on the line.

"Hey!"

"Hey, Mom. How's Mickey?"

"Morty."

"Morty?"

"Definitely a Morty."

"I see. Should I ask why?"

"Probably not. What's up?"

"Well, I was just wondering if you'd mind if I came home this weekend."

"Emily called you."

"You going?"

"Uh, well, see, I would, but Luke has this diner convention in Atlantic City, and wives are obligated to attend," she did her best to keep a straight face and unwavering voice.

"Tell me Grandma didn't fall for that."

"Oh, of course not. But she can't prove anything, and I plan on bringing a top of the line spatula to the next dinner I attend at her house as proof."

"Very original."

"I try."

"So, I have to go, and there's someone I 'might just find interesting' that will be there, too."

"Ah, good old Emily," Lorelai commented, smiling into the phone.

"Mom, how do I get out of this? I've been on so many blind dates lately, and I just don't think I can take another one."

"Bring Tristan."

"What?"

"Well, aren't you two friends? He's your partner in crime in bad dates, right?"

"Mom, I can't ask him to do that," Rory informed her.

"Why not?"

"'Cause it would seem like a date."

"It'd be a pretend date."

"Mom, it's just not a good idea. We do better on the phone than in person as far as a friendship goes."

"Still no in person contact since the night of weird vibes?"

"I shouldn't have told you about that."

"What? Hey, it happens to all people who are secretly attracted to each other but are trying to repress their feelings and be friends."

"Wow. Been waiting to say that long?" Rory teased.

"Honey, I know you think you two are better off as friends, but why else would it have been weird if there was nothing there?"

"I really shouldn't have mentioned it."

"Well, I think it's admirable of you to try to be just friends with a hot guy."

Rory rolled her eyes. "Well, thanks, Mom. But if you can't be any service in my getting out of this Emily obligation, I think I need to get some work done."

"Are you staying here or at the Inn?"

"I think I'll stay at the Inn. Luke in his boxers freaks me out."

"Oh, it was just that once!"

"One time too many, thank you."

"Fine, baby, I'll save a room at the Inn. All weekend?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Mom."

"Bye, hun, love you."

"Love you too."

With that, Rory hung up the phone, giving a brief thought to what her mother said about the last time she saw Tristan. After that night, she couldn't shake the weird feeling she had, so she'd called her mother at 1am, rambling out the whole story of how they met up again and their friendship that developed largely over the phone up until the night of the disastrous double date. Lorelai had listened, asked if she were sure there was nothing there, and all Rory could answer was that she wasn't Tristan's type. She asked her mom if she'd ever had a strictly platonic relationship with a man, and she said that she'd had that with Luke before they came to their senses and got together. At that point, Rory hung up and tried to sleep. She'd talked to Tristan a few times since, it had just been a week ago since he'd come over, flower in hand looking apologetic. Their phone calls since had been different—as if both were treading lightly around topics they would normally think nothing of teasing the other about. They spoke nothing of dating, sticking mainly to work and other safe topics. Topics where no double meanings could be deciphered. It was unnatural to say the least.

She looked back at the phone, thinking it wouldn't be so bad for Tristan to join her this coming weekend. Maybe they could work out the weirdness and get back to the good foundation of friendship they'd been building. It was late notice, just a day before she would leave for Stars Hollow, but having him there would take all pressure off her from her grandmother, and he would fit into that crowd nicely. She felt the surge of courage coarse through her veins as she dialed quickly before she could get the sound of her mother's voice suggesting this out of her mind.

"Hey, Rory," he answered. It had freaked her out the first time he did that, as she hadn't counted on him checking his caller ID every time he answered his phone. She has the function on her phone too, but she rarely remembers to check it before answering.

"Hey," she retorted, smacking a hand to her forehead due to the lack of words coming to her mind.

"What was that?" he asked, concerned about the smacking noise he heard.

"Oh, that was the thing on the thing, uh, so I have a question for you," she covered badly and got to the point. She wasn't one to beat around the bush like her grandmother.

"Shoot," he encouraged her.

"Uh, it's just that I've been roped into this obligatory function thing this weekend and I was wondering if you wanted to join me and help me appear not too pitifully single to all the meddling people at said function."

There was a brief silence on the line, as if he were truly trying to decide. She was pacing, running her fingers over the spine of her books as she moved past one of her many bookcases that lined the walls of her apartment.

"Well, I would, but I have plans this weekend. If it was something I thought I could get out of, I would definitely cancel and help you out," he assured her.

"Oh, no, it's no big deal. It's last minute, I figured you'd have plans," she reasoned.

"Yeah, well, I am sorry."

"It's fine, really," she said, allowing the silence between them to build for a moment after her decorous last comment. They were still being painfully polite to the other, and it was starting to irk her. She wondered how he himself could stand it; it went against everything their entire relationship was based on.

"So, other than getting roped into that, is everything else alright?"

"Oh, yeah. You?"

"Yeah. I'm good."

"Good," she agreed.

More silence. She wanted to pull her hair out by the roots just to have something else other than the audible silence to focus on. Maybe her worries that there was something more developing here last week really were crazy. They could barely speak to the other.

"Well, I should get going. I have an early meeting tomorrow," he said at last.

"Oh, right. Well, I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah. Night."

"Night."

He heard her bid him goodbye, hung up the phone before throwing it next to him on the couch. He put his head immediately into his hands, rubbing his temples with his index fingers slowly. He hated this awkwardness that was between them now, and he felt completely responsible. He knew the flower was too much when he was standing outside her door, but at that point, he couldn't get rid of it. . . And her invitation was the perfect chance for him to make things normal again. But no, he had these stupid plans he'd been suckered into. Shaking his head, he walked down the hall into the bedroom, turning out the lights before pulling the covers up over his head to block out the light from the street.