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.

For once, Rory was glad to have spent ten hours at work on a Monday. She volunteered to stay late and help get some extra editing done. It cleared her mind and brought a welcome break in the massive amounts of thinking she'd done on Sunday about the kiss and what that meant for her and Tristan. As she hung up her coat, she looked over at her spastically blinking answering machine—it looked pretty full. She knew most of those calls she wouldn't want to return, but hoped that just one of them might be from him. After all, despite all her trying to get her mind off of it all day—they had to talk about it, didn't they?

She gave the machine the evil eye as she passed it quickly, lest it reach out and make her listen. She moved into her bedroom to pull on jeans and her favorite warm sweater and get out of the stuffy business clothes she'd worn today. She pulled her hair back with one hand, securing it with a rubber band with her other as she looked back at the blinking machine, walking a little slower this time. She went into the kitchen, and grabbed a soda and made yet another lap past the source of her anxiety. Realizing she had nothing else pressing to do instead of checking the machine, she slowed to a stop in front of it, and pressed play.

"Rory, it's Mom. Just checking to see how things are. You know, just the usual worrying mother routine. So call me about things." Beep!

"Smooth, Mom, smooth," Rory replied to the empty apartment, shaking her head at her mother's message.

"Rory, darling, you never called me yesterday! Are you alright dear? Well, I hate these machines. Call me." Beep!

Rory cringed, feeling badly for not calling her grandmother to explain. But what would she tell her?

"Me again. Not to bug you, just wondering how you are. So, call me. Love you, kid." Beep!

Rory waited for the next message, hoping it wasn't just Lorelai for the umpteenth time.

"Rory, this is Daniel. We met all too briefly at the Museum benefit in Hartford the other night. Your grandmother gave me your number; I hope it's all right that I called. I live in New York as well; I was hoping to get to see you sometime. Somewhere a little less stuffy preferably. Well, give me a call, if you'd like. 555-0930." Beep, Beep, Beep!

The triple beep signaled the end of her messages. She sighed as she sank down in her favorite armchair and pulled her knees up to her chest. She had to admit to herself that she was more than a little disappointed that he hadn't called. She knew rationally she should just call him, but instead she found herself dialing another number.

"Hello?"

"Daniel, it's Rory," she bit her lip as she waited for him to respond. They talked for a few moments, as she apologized for being rude the other night. He seemed every bit of the nice guy he'd been Saturday night, so when he asked if she wanted to meet now for a cup of coffee, she agreed.

Staring at the phone for the trillionth time today, he decided it was time to quit procrastinating. He knew it was fear that kept him from calling her, and that pissed him off. There was nothing to be afraid of. Fear wasn't an emotion he gave validity to. He reached for the phone before resting his hand on the receiver. Suddenly he had a much better idea. This wasn't a topic for a phone conversation—this was a face-to-face conversation. Gathering his coat and wallet, he left his apartment and set out for supplies.

Rory enjoyed the feeling of spending time with Daniel. He looked a lot more her type out of the formal gear that was required at the Hartford social scene. It turns out that his mother was of course in the DAR with Emily. He had been single for a few months now, and his mother had labeled him fair game with her friend's single daughters, nieces and granddaughters. He'd been expecting the worst, as she had been. They had a good laugh over their mutual relief over coffee. When they finished their first cup, he asked if she'd like a second, and her mind wandered.

This perfectly wonderful guy had no idea who she was. He didn't know that for her to cut off coffee at a single cup was genetically impossible. He didn't know that she liked PJ Harvey and The Bangles equally. He didn't know that she talked to her mother 147 times a week. He had no idea that she couldn't cook if it required doing more than boiling water.

Perhaps most importantly, it wasn't he who kissed her last Saturday. That kiss that she couldn't get out of her head, no matter what she did. Everything reminded her of it. Movies, music, books, everything she tried to use as distraction. This man was great—perfect on paper even. A relationship with Daniel would be clear-cut, and organized. Getting involved with Tristan would be confusing, hard and challenging.

She declined the second cup of coffee and he just smiled and walked her home.

He rounded Rory's block, his selection of DVD rentals in hand, trying not to think at all. Going over in his head what he wanted to say had been driving him crazy and he figured the words would come to him when the time came just fine. He heard his grandfather's voice in his head, and he smiled knowing tonight could be one of those potentially life changing evenings. One he would tell his own grandkids about.

He was whistling to himself, his unoccupied hand stuffed in his jacket pocket to keep it warm when he saw them. It was Rory and the guy from the museum, Daniel something or other. She unlocked the main door to her apartment building and he held it open as she walked inside, giving him a smile as she passed him. Tristan felt his stomach turn and harden as he stood staring at the door that swung shut behind them.

Had he been wrong? Had she not felt the same things he'd felt in the car the other night? He gripped the movies tighter and turned back down the block. Was he really supposed to call her later and listen to her regale him with the tale of her first good date in months? Or is this his sign from the universe saying to give up?

He turned back towards her apartment, in defiance of his last thought. He didn't give up. He'd never given up on anything that he felt so strongly about. And after all, she'd come after him on Saturday. Now it was his turn to come to her. He got near her door when he saw Daniel reemerge and walk out to the street, his hand outstretched for a cab. Tristan couldn't really read his face, and he took that for a good sign. The guy obviously wasn't overjoyed, and he'd only been there. . . four minutes according to Tristan's watch. He took another deep breath as Daniel's cab pulled into traffic and he rang her buzzer.

Daniel had just left, and she was almost sure it couldn't be him at the door again. He hadn't left anything behind, and she'd made her feelings perfectly clear. She pressed the intercom, to figure out the mystery.

"Hello?"

"It's me."

Two words sent shivers up and down her spine. Her stomach instantly felt like someone had let loose a cage of butterflies inside it, and she realized she was breathing like she had just ran up her stairs instead of taking the elevator.

"Hi," she managed, starting a conversation, forgetting that he was standing in the cold waiting to be let in.

"Can I come in?"

"Oh, yeah, come on up," she offered, pressing the door entry release. She moved to unlatch her front door, knowing he'd be up quickly and hesitated. She didn't want to open the door; that might seem too anticipatory. But she knew he was on his way up, so it would be silly to make him knock. She should appear busy, and call for him to come. . . she looked around for something that could seem to be keeping her occupied. Her unusually clean apartment was lacking in things to occupy her hands. Having run out of time signaled by the knock at the door, and she made her way to let him in.

Opening the door she found Tristan, with DVD rentals in his hand. She looked at him quizzically and neither of them moved. Her phone began ringing, but she didn't seem to hear it. Finally he spoke up.

"Are you going to answer that?"

She looked over her shoulder at her phone, knowing that with one more ring, the machine would pick up. Whoever it was couldn't be more important than this. She shook her head and stepped back, allowing him to come into the warmth of her apartment.

"So, I brought movies," he held up the stack for her to see.

"Oh, um, okay," she furrowed her brow and took the stack from him as she headed over to the entertainment center. Just as she was placing the stack down, she heard her caller start to leave a message. It was Lorelai, again, and she felt badly for not having called her back already.

"R-orrrrr-yyy! So, I'm dying here! Have you talked to Tristan or not?" came the voice from the box on the table. His head snapped towards it and she raced to pick up the phone before her mother could utter anymore of her embarrassing tirade. Squeezing her eyes shut so as not to look at the face Tristan was no doubt making, she began speaking to her mother in hushed tones.

"Yes, I'm here. No, I'm sorry. He's here, mother. Yes. Yes. No! Okay, phone time over. Goodnight," she got off the phone in five seconds, but it felt like five hours. She knew he was just standing there, staring at her, and that made her blush even more.

"So, that was?" his amused voice interrupted her mental breakdown.

"Uh, that was my mom," she confessed.

"How does your mom know my name?"

She opened her eyes, and she had been right. A rather self-satisfied grin was covering his face, and he had his arms crossed over his chest. She wanted to take him down a notch instantly—she couldn't believe she'd been nervous about seeing him.

"I was staying at her inn this weekend."

"Oh," he nodded, realizing that she'd told her mother what had happened between them. That they'd talked about him and the kiss that they'd shared. They had the sort of relationship that he had with his grandfather. He wondered what Lorelai's sage words had been. Probably to ignore him and forget the night ever happened.

She got nervous again at his simple comment, and the fact that he looked terrified suddenly. Well, terrified for Tristan, which was unsure for most people. She knew he liked to be in control, a thought that had fueled her fantasy life for the last week or so. She realized that he wasn't able to say what needed to be said now, so in a rush of bravery, she decided to help them both out.

"Tristan, we have to talk about this," said bluntly. His eyes lowered to meet hers and he nodded.

AN: Ah, another chapter. If I continued on from this point, I felt this chapter would get too weighed down—it was better to break it in two. A HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed, you guys are honestly the best. The support I've been getting for this story is overwhelming, and very motivating!