Author: Summer

Title: Drain the Glass

Rating: PG-13, for now

Chapter Title: Crazy Ghosts

Summary: When Rory Gilmore's broke, she's desperate enough to do anything- even be the nanny to the family of her roommate. But it's the blonde boy she runs into there that makes the story interesting…

Disclaimer: Don't own Gilmore Girls, obviously. Um, own Jordan and the rest of the Danvers, as well as Sinclair, Amelie, and Corina. Don't own Raspberry Rain, nor Christine's faux last name. Err, Nabokov owns that. Nabokov owns my soul too… long story. Also don't own Procol Harum's One Eye on the Future, One Eye on the Past.

Author's Note: To Joan, possibly the biggest Trory I know. And Chris, 'cuz, well, Chris is what makes the world go 'round… err, right? And Cathy, 'cuz her videos are bringing out my Trory side again, lol.

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We'll raise our toast to pleasures past / They came so quick and went so fast / Idle

boasts, crazy ghosts
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Jordan Danvers glanced over at her roommate. The girl hadn't moved in the last eight hours, or at least not much. She'd changed out of her pajamas before crawling back into the security of her own bed, whimpering. Jordan sighed. "Rory."

Rory Gilmore turned her head slightly, meeting Jordan's gaze. She mumbled something, but Jordan couldn't understand what she had said.

"What?"

"Don't want to talk." Rory glanced past Jordan, at the wall behind her. Rory had perfected the art of not meeting a person's gaze years ago. And she'd managed to make it appear like she was staring into the person's eyes months ago.

Jordan, of course, knew her too well. "Rory…"

Rory groaned, bringing her eyes down to meet Jordan's worried gaze. "I'm fine, Jordan. Really. I just want to be left alone."

"You missed class," Jordan said, raising an eyebrow. "That's not a Rory Gilmore-ish thing to do."

"How do you know I missed class?" Rory asked.

"You're in my Creative Writing class, Rory. You weren't there. And considering you only sit two seats from me, I don't think I could've overlooked you."

Rory groaned. "Fine. I didn't go." She paused. "Still don't want to talk about it, though."

Jordan shrugged. "Fine. Your loss."

Flashback: 9 months before; October 2005; New Haven, CT

"I'm broke," Rory announced, plopping down on Jordan's bed.

Jordan glanced up from her magazine, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. "What's new," she answered, somewhat sarcastically. "Rory, you say this every other week."

Rory groaned. "I mean it this time. I don't even have money for lunch."

Jordan raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious?"

Rory nodded. "Yep. Buying those new books for Lit broke me. Do you want to see how much money I have?" she asked, starting to rant. She grabbed her wallet from her purse, unsnapped it, and held it upside down. Two quarters, a dime, and three pennies fell out. 63 cents.

"Um. Whoa. Okay, I'll pay for your lunch." Jordan paused. "I know where you could get a job," she said hesitantly.

"I'm not going to work at McDonald's or Dunkin Donuts, Jordan." Rory rolled her eyes. "Too many people skills needed for a job like that."

Jordan laughed. "You could never deal with that. I was thinking more along the lines of a nanny."

"Me? Taking care of kids?" Rory laughed. "Have you heard the sock puppet story?"

Jordan nodded. "Multiple times. And it seems to me that you're a natural with kids."

Rory paused. "I do need the money." She was considering this? She didn't mix well with kids. They'd probably end up dead when the day was done.

"The family's rich," Jordan hinted.

Looking after kids and getting paid a lot for it. Yeah, it was worth it. "How many kids? How old?" she asked hesitantly, still not completely sold on the idea.

"Two kids. Five and seven. Emilie and Mandy."

"How do you know them?"

"Family friends." Jordan shrugged. "Don't worry. They're sweet kids. Here's the number to call if you want to…" She handed Rory a business card and grabbed her bag, heading for class.

Sigh. "Thanks Jordan."

"Sir, there's someone on Line Two." The jumpy secretary said, popping her head into the office.

The blonde man glanced up, nodding. "Thank you, Joan." He watched as she disappeared into the hallway, frowning. She'd been there for almost three months, and she was still as tense as the first day.

Pressing the button for line two, he answered the phone. "Danvers and Associates."

"Danvers? Whoa. Um, okay," came a nervous female voice.

He smiled. "May I help you?"

"Um, yeah. Jordan. Jordan Danvers, I mean." The woman paused, and there was a muffled 'Are you a Danvers Danvers?" So this was a friend of Jordan's. Just great. So he should expect a maniacal caller.

"Ma'am?"

"Oh, yeah, right. Um, sorry. It's just… know what? Never mind. I'm calling because Jordan told me you were looking for a nanny."

His eyes widened. Leaving Emilie and Mandy with a friend of Jordan's didn't sound very safe.

"Sir, I know I may not have come across as… completely sane, but… I was surprised. And I'm good with kids." It was like she'd read his mind.

"And Jordan would trust you with Emilie and Mandy?" There had to be some sense of family loyalty, even if he didn't always agree with Jordan's choices.

"Yes. She's the one who told me about them."

"Okay then. You're hired. But the first few weeks… they're tough on the girls. So… could you stay in the house? It's just temporary, and it's close to Yale. Which is where I assume you're going if Jordan's with you right now."

"Yes. And I guess the staying there will be okay. For awhile."

"Good. The family chauffeur will pick you up at six this evening. Unless that's too soon for you."

Rory's eyes widened. "Um. Nope. Not at all."

"Good. Then it's settled. I won't be there when you get there, but Amelie and Corina should be there. They'll help you get settled."

"Um, okay. Thank you."

Even after Rory took a leisurely walk around campus, Jordan still wasn't back from class. Rory'd hoped to have a chance to ask Jordan a few questions she'd forgotten to ask Mr. Danvers, such as who Amelie and Corina were.

Rory sighed, glancing at her alarm clock. It was quarter past five. Exhaling, she threw a suitcase onto her bed, and randomly threw in a few pairs of jeans, shirts, pajamas, socks, and underwear. Couldn't forget underwear. She knew from experience forgetting underwear wasn't fun. She'd done that once at a sleepover at Lane's in junior high, and Mrs. Kim had made twenty dollars off of her. Apparently, it cost $20 for a pair of Hanes.

After running around hurriedly for other items, such as her toothbrush and cosmetics, Rory grabbed a protein bar from Jordan's desk, and scrolled a note to her roommate.

5:55. She hurried out of the dorm, dragging her heavy suitcase behind her. She'd started to over pack recently. She was becoming more like her mother. She sat down on the step in front of her dorm, and swore as she saw a black limousine come around the corner.

It stopped in front of her, and a man stepped out from the passenger's seat. "Hello, Ma'am," he started, his voice heavy with a French accent. "My name is Sinclair Rosemont. I'm an employee of the Danvers family." He paused long enough to take her suitcase from her. "I'm sure you'll enjoy it at the Danvers' residence."

Rory followed him to the limousine, and he opened a door in the middle. She hesitated, then sat down. He closed the door and she watched through the tinted windows as he brought her luggage to the back.

Not even her grandparents were this showy. It was now Rory realized how little she knew her roommate.

Mandy and Emilie looked as alike as night and day. Literally. Both had startling blue eyes, but that's where the resemblance stopped. Mandy, the older of the two, had dark brown hair and milky skin. She sat reading a newspaper, frowning.

Emilie, the five-year-old, jumped up when Rory entered the sitting room, her blonde tresses bouncing. She was more tan than her older sister, and seemingly much more good-natured. "Hi. You must be Rory," she greeted, bringing her index finger to her chest. "I'm Emilie Rose."

Mandy glanced up now, as if seeing Rory for the first time. "Did you know Dow dropped ninety-three points today?"

The girl was far too serious for her own good. Rory shook her head. "No, I didn't. I don't know much about the stock market though."

Mandy nodded. "I could've speculated that."

Speculate. Not guess, but speculate. Rory knew enough to know that speculation was a large part of the stock market.

"I'd be Normandy Annabel, by the way."

Normandy. So the family was definitely French. "I've always wanted to go there."

Stupid thing to say to a worldly seven-year-old. "I was born there," Mandy responded.

"Should I call you Mandy?"

She shook her head. "No. That's what my mother started calling me. The nickname's horrid, yet I can't seem to conquer it."

"Oh. Okay, Normandy." Rory smiled tentatively.

Rory was already settled in bed reading Raspberry Rain, by Christine Phalen, when someone knocked on the door of her new bedroom. Rory set down the bestseller, staring at the door. There was no way she was going to get out of this comfortable bed and open it. "Come in," she called.

A young blonde man, probably about her age, opened the door tentatively, peeking in. "Hello, Miss…" he trailed off.

"Gilmore. Lorelai, but you can call me Rory."

The man nodded. "Okay, Rory. Sinclair told me that you met the girls tonight."

Rory nodded. "Yes, Mr. Danvers." Upon the young man's laugh, Rory's expression grew confused. "What? Aren't you their father?"

He shook his head. "No on both accounts. I'm their brother, and Danvers is my mother's last name. My father's is DuGrey."

It sounded somewhat familiar, but Rory couldn't place it. "DuGrey," she said slowly, letting it roll over her tongue.

"Yes. Tristan. My mother was taken ill, and she and my father are at a hospital in Switzerland right now. I'm looking after my younger siblings, but I can't do it alone."

Rory stared at the man. Tristan DuGrey. Disheveled blonde hair, striking blue eyes. He looked familiar too. It annoyed her when she couldn't place someone.

Tristan DuGrey slipped into bed after speaking with the new nanny. It was odd. She seemed familiar to him, yet he couldn't place why. Perhaps he'd met her sometime during his slightly drunken high school days of junior year.

It would be plausible for him to not remember her if that were the case. Gilmore. So she was probably related to Richard Gilmore, a business partner of his grandfather's.

"What's wrong?" Amelie Rousseau asked sleepily, turning toward him.

Tristan smiled at his fiancée, shaking his head. "Nothing, Amelie. Go back to sleep. We have an early start in the morning." He watched as she followed his advice, resting her head on his chest, sighing contentedly.

"Night, Tris. I love you."

"I love you too, Amelie," he responded, kissing the top of her head. "Good night."

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We'll make our toast and drain the glass / We're know we're out of favour / We can't expect no saviour / We're looking to the future but we keep one eye on the past

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