AN: What can I say, the reviewing motivates the writing—plus this is my only story right now. Thus the chapter crank out. Some of you have asked. Plus, I have two hours to kill before a new eppy on tv. . .Enjoy!

Time seems to stop in the middle of the night. The sun will never come up, and everything is masked in a sinister shadow. He used to love the nighttime for its mysterious qualities, and the romantic pleasure the never-ending time provided him. No more was this the case. Everything that hung in time now for him were things he wished he could forget. He turned up his radio, and bumped his headlights up to hi-beams, ready to just lie down. It was his own fault he was coming back so late. He'd had no real interest in finding jobs in Boston, but went to check out a promising lead from an old friend. After that he'd just wandered around downtown, aimless and anonymous. No one knew him here, and he could start over, that was for sure.

Of course, he'd thought that of every place he'd been stationed all over the world.

Nothing had brought solace.

He pulled into the garage of his grandfather's house at nearly two in the morning. No light left on for him, just a darkened house to greet him. Obviously his return wasn't expected until the next day.

He walked quietly to his room, not wanting to wake his grandfather, who slept just down the hall. He'd loosened his tie in the car, and lifted it easily over his head. By the time he turned to the bed, he'd completely undressed down to his usual attire of boxers. He looked at the bed for a moment, blinking to make sure he'd not fallen asleep on the walk up the stairs.

He was sure he must be dreaming.

She was there, lying in his bed. Sound asleep, oblivious to his presence. He knelt down on the floor, just in front of her face, and brushed his fingers down her cheek. She stirred, but didn't open her eyes. He hated to wake her, but had to touch her. To make sure she was real.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave a smile. He smiled back, continuing his feather-light touches.

"You're back."

"I'm back."

"You must be exhausted."

"Something like that."

"Come to bed."

"Rory, what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you, but you were in Boston."

"Ever heard of a phone?" he asked jokingly, his tone still just a whisper.

She ignored his jest. "Janlan offered to let me stay, and showed me in here. You mind?"

He shook his head gently. "Never."

She moved to sit up, so she could slide over, but he shook his head. "Just, stay there."

He walked around to the other side of the bed, and moved underneath the covers, sliding up against her backside in the large bed. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against him like a life-sized teddy bear. She melted into his embrace, warming his cooler frame.

"Rory?"

"Hmm?"

"Should we talk now?"

"Tomorrow. Sleep now, you're exhausted."

He nodded, pulling her tighter, glad to just relax with her. He was so relieved she'd come back for him, he didn't even care what she'd come to say, or if her invitation to join her came from her sleep-induced state. He buried his face in her hair and fell asleep.

-

A knock came at the bedroom door early the next morning. The sun was shining brightly through the east-facing window, casting a large sunray over the foot of the king-sized bed. The door opened at no answer, and Janlan poked his head in, surprised to see not one, but two forms on the bed. He moved to close the door unnoticed, but Tristan's head raised up before he could.

"Gramps?"

"Sorry, son," he said, acknowledging his grandson's presence.

"What is it?"

"I was just going to tell Rory that breakfast was being served. Take your time. I'll have the maid save some."

"Thanks."

Rory stirred at their voices, and opened her eyes as Janlan shut the door again. She rolled over, yawning to get the sleep out of her system, and stretched her back.

"Morning."

"Morning."

"Was that about food?"

"You hungry?" he smiled, glad that some things never change.

"A little, but it can wait."

He nodded, scratching the back of his head.

"This is weird."

"Being in bed like this?"

"The whole situation. I don't think I can tell you what I have to tell you in bed."

He nodded. "Where do you want to tell me?"

It was a question she had no answer for. Perhaps this was as good a place as any. She had no idea. She sat up a bit, still next to him in the middle of the bed. Huge expanses of empty space open next to each of them. She used to love staying over in these beds. They were perfect for pillow fights. Not to mention other activities.

"This isn't easy. You told me why you left, and I'm sure that wasn't easy for you," she paused, and he nodded in agreement.

"First, I just want to ask you, to be fair—if there were things from back then, things you didn't know about, would you want to know about them now?"

He thought for a moment, considering what she was really asking. "That depends."

"On what?" she hedged.

"Well, it's a different prospect if you're going to tell me that you secretly hated my choice of locker decoration than you admitting that you were cheating on me."

She laughed for a moment. "It was no secret that I hated your choice of locker décor."

He smiled. "So, you weren't cheating on me?"

"Oh, God, no! I couldn't have ever. . ."

"Then, what is the big deal? Nothing you could tell me would change how I felt about you."

"How you felt?"

He looked at her, knowing what she was asking. She hadn't offered up any words of still undying love for him, and he was hesitant to tell her how he was feeling.

But then again, she'd come back to him.

"I think we should take this one piece of life-altering information at a time. We owe that to each other, don't you think?"

She nodded, understanding his thought process. It'd been nine years, and even though it was obvious they still had the connection they once had, they still had a lot to sort through.

"Okay, so, you want me to tell you?"

He nodded, leaning back against the headboard. She pushed her hair that had fallen down loosely around her face behind her ears, preparing herself for her speech.

"I don't remember the accident. I remember headlights, but that's all," she began.

It was unreal, the car coming towards them at break-neck speed. It was coming for her side of the car, and all she could think was—this is it. She screamed, or tried too—she couldn't remember if she'd imagined that or not. All she knew was there was a lot of hushed tones of voices from people in the room with her, and someone had their cold hands on her arm.

When she opened her eyes, she saw her mother, father, Luke, and her grandmother.

"Where's Tristan?"

"Rory!" a general chorus responded, as everyone moved marginally closer to the bed. It had been the nurse, who was checking her vitals, with the cold hands. She felt like she needed to sleep for a month—she was unusually aware of not being able to feel certain parts of her body. She would later find out that she was heavily sedated and on a lot of pain medication so that she couldn't feel those areas.

"Mom, where's Tristan?" she asked again, using all her strength to single out her mother and ask in full sentences.

"Oh, honey, we were so worried about you, thank God you're awake!"

Her mother moved and leaned down, hugging her as best she could. Her grandmother was on the other side of the bed, Christopher by her mother, and Luke down by the foot of her bed. She heard the clicking noise of the nurse's shoes against the hard tile floor as she left the group to go get the doctor. They'd all have to leave again soon, so he could examine her.

"Mom?" Tears came to her eyes, instantly worried as to why Lorelai was evading her questions. That usually meant one thing—bad news.

"Honey, just try to rest. Don't worry about anything right now, except getting better."

She wanted to sit up and make her mother tell her what was going on, but she was out again before she could form another syllable. The doctor came, and they all left, but she didn't wake up for another seven hours.

This time, only Lorelai was in her room. She looked pale, worry lines creasing her forehead. She was sitting in the chair next to the hospital bed, watching Rory as she lay there motionless.

"Mom?"

"Hey, kid. You're back," she said wearily.

"I'm thirsty."

"Okay, hang on a sec," she said, moving to pour some water out of the standard plastic pitcher that inhabits all hospital rooms into a paper cup.

She helped her daughter lift her head a bit, and put the cup up to her lips. Rory managed a little sip; just enough to wet the inside of her mouth and lips, and could take no more. She was being 'fed' intravenously, but her mouth felt like someone had shoved cotton balls into it. The water just made her feel better.

"Where is everyone?"

"I sent people home. I'm sleeping here."

"Why won't you tell me?"

Lorelai sighed, knowing what was on her daughter's mind. "I have to tell you something."

"Is Tristan okay?"

"He's fine, honey, but you have to listen to me. I have to tell you something, about the accident."

It was strange to hear her mother say those words, 'the accident', something she couldn't remember, though it had obviously been something that had happened to her. She didn't feel like an active participant, though she lay in this hospital bed as a result. She felt like she should remember something so life-altering.

"You had a lot of internal injuries, and you lost a lot of blood. They had to do emergency surgery when you got to the hospital, and it was successful."

Rory felt relief sweep through her—that meant she was going to be okay, she would get up and find Tristan, and it would all be okay.

"Honey, I don't even know how to say this," she paused, her tone giving away the tears that were threatening. "The accident caused you to miscarry."

Confusion swept over her—surely the doctors had misinformed her. "No."

"Did you know?"

"No, no, no," Rory mumbled, not wanting to stay conscious now. None of this could be happening.

"Honey, stay with me," she moved forward, now holding Rory's hand.

"Mom, I didn't know," she said, tears streaming down her face. Lorelai moved closer and hugged her, holding her as best she could despite the restrictions of equipment and the weird metal bars on the bed.

"It's okay, I'm here."

They cried together, grieving a loss of so many things, until Rory managed to make her voice work again.

"Where is Tristan?"

"He left, honey."

"When?"

"After he got checked out, after the accident. He hasn't been back."

"Does he know?"

"I don't know."

She cried until she fell back into her sleep, letting her broken body heal. Nothing would be the same again.

He sat, speechless, next to her. She sat motionless next to him, unsure of what to say or do next. He looked at her, shaking his head now. He cleared his throat.

"You thought I knew?"

"I thought—maybe they told you, and you couldn't handle it. I guess I couldn't have blamed you."

"Rory," he whispered. He put his hand cautiously on her hand, as if he'd never touched her before, and unsure how she'd react.

Her only response was to throw her arms around him, clinging to him. She cried, finally letting herself grieve their loss together, and he stroked her back with both hands, holding her to him. She pressed her face into his shoulder, like she'd wanted to do once upon a time, when Lorelai first told her. When they'd needed each other the most.

"She must have known, when Mom found out, that's why she did what she did."

"Emily?"

"Yes. She said you wouldn't have stayed with me anyhow, if you found out," she choked back a sob, not wanting him to confirm it.

"When did you talk to her?"

"Yesterday. I confronted her. She did this, all of this."

"Rory," he said again, trying to keep his tone calm despite his inability to see straight. "Don't worry about her."

"How can you say that?"

"Because I need you to hear me say this," he pulled her back, and made her look into his eyes. He held her chin in place with one hand, the other still on her back. "I would never have left if I knew about that. Even if you'd been the one to tell me to leave."

"Oh."

They continued to look at each other. She blinked tears away, only one question in her mind.

"Do you want me to go?"

He shook his head, and she moved back into his arms. It was the only thing they knew to do now. It was the only thing that made sense.

There were no words.