Author: Summer
Title: Drain the Glass
Rating: PG-13, for now
Chapter Title: Gloomy Sunday
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…
Chapter Summary: Reactions… concerts… funerals
Disclaimer: Don't own Gilmore Girls, obviously. Um, own Jordan and the rest of the Danvers, as well as Sinclair, Amelie, Corina, and Julianna. Also don't own Procol Harum's One Eye on the Future, One Eye on the Past. Nor do I own Heather Nova's Gloomy Sunday. Basically, I own nothing except my mind's eye. Yes, scary thought. ;)
Author's Note: To Joan. Just 'cuz.
Feedback is always appreciated. You guys know me well enough to know I'd never hold back a chapter over it… err, with the exception of Loz and Joan, lol, but it does make an author more enthused. Plus, I'm the kind of person who will comment on good feedback in an author's note, maybe pimp a fic.
Dreaming, I was only dreaming / I wake and I find you asleep / In the deep of my heart here
Rory stood wide eyed in the parking lot. She didn't think her feet would work if she tried to move them. Tristan DuGrey? This wasn't right; it couldn't be right.
Tristan DuGrey, the epitome of the hellish side of Chilton. The arrogant and fickle playboy who'd made Rory's life a living hell. On purpose. The boy who'd disappeared in the middle of her junior year, due to the appearance of his true colors. The boy who'd made a name from the bible one of Rory's most hated words. Mary ranked right around the names Adolph Hitler and Joseph Stalin.
This wasn't possible. Rory'd always had good instincts when it came to people; she'd always been able to separate the good from the bad. And Tristan was bad.
But this couldn't be Tristan DuGrey. Her boss- the attractive man so kind and loving to his sisters and his fiancée, so patient with her- this man could not be Tristan.
"No," she stated, her mind boggled.
Tristan frowned. "What?"
"You aren't him," Rory sputtered, shaking her head. "It's just a coincidence. You share the same name. You look alike. But-"
Tristan just stood there, laughing. At her. This angered Rory immensely, and she crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "You're just a clone," she babbled on, almost incoherently, aware she was making no sense. "Your parents have enough money. They had you cloned. To see if they could work the kinks out."
"Kinks? My, Miss Gilmore, you're being absolutely kinky today. Care to take it to the backseat?"
Rory shook her head quickly, her cheeks flushing scarlet. "No. I don't know you. I can't know you." She bit her lip, glancing away toward the two young girls, standing off to the side, confused. "Normandy, Emilie, go get in the car. I'll-"
Tristan sighed, running a hand through his hair. So this was the way it was going to go. Rory living in her make-believe world, ignoring him every chance she got. Well, it wasn't much different than how she'd treated him in high school. He could deal with that.
Normandy sat in the backseat next to her sister, her brow furrowed as she glanced from her brother to her nanny. Apparently the two knew each other from Chilton. Meaning they couldn't have been more than juniors- say 16 or 17- when they met.
Normandy had a perfect view of her brother's face due to the position of the mirrors. He was grinning, occasionally shaking his head and saying something, goading the nanny.
Miss Gilmore, on the other hand, was scrunched back in her seat, sulking moodily and looking out the window. When Tristan said something, she'd snarl yet not turn her face to look at him.
Normandy'd heard Miss Gilmore refusing to accept Tristan's identity, which made little sense to the girl. The nanny had known Tristan's name for days now, and never commented before. Normandy pondered this for a while, before finally deciding it mustn't be the name at all, but something the nanny associated with it.
Turning her gaze on Emilie, she noticed her sister sleeping, her head bowed toward the side window, away from Normandy. As she listened to Emilie's soft, steady breathing, Normandy frowned. She wondered if Emilie had caught the tense feeling of the car. It was certainly hard to overlook.
Normandy stayed quiet for an additional ten minutes, until she cleared her throat and glanced at her brother. "You missed the exit," she spoke up, knitting her brow. Tristan wasn't usually this off the ball.
"Shit," Tristan mumbled, whipping the car over into the side lane.
Well, this should be interesting. Whatever was going on between her brother and the nanny… had officially started taking time out of her life.
"We're going to be late."
"No we aren't," Tristan answered quickly, glancing from his watch to the traffic jam ahead of him. "Shit, yes we are."
"I told you," Normandy said ominously, rolling her eyes. "You're always late. If you were Corina, you'd leave early so that I-"
"I'm not Corina." Tristan glanced back at Normandy and Emilie, glowering. He hated it when the girls compared him to the 'perfect' cook. "I'm sorry, I was out. I left as soon as I could."
Normandy glared back at Tristan. "Perhaps you wouldn't have been out if you'd made other arrangements, or actually kept an organized schedule. I've been after you for months to-"
"Mandy! I'm not Corina, you are not my mother. You're my little sister. You're seven years old!"
"I'll be eight within the month," Normandy answered, surprisingly coolly. "Or perhaps you forgot that as well." She leaned against her seat, staring out the window.
He had to hand it to her. Normandy certainly knew how to end a conversation.
Three freaking hours. Tristan clapped yet again as another song performed by a group of tone-deaf, overdressed grammar school students came to a close.
Normandy's solo hadn't come yet, so it wasn't even like he could leave the room. Two more songs first. He glanced over at Rory, who'd made a point of staring straight ahead, and sitting as far away from Tristan as the adjoining chair would allow.
She'd pulled her hair back into a loose bun for the event, and she was wearing a blue dress. She wore very little makeup, with the exception of lip gloss, but she didn't need to. The blue hue of her gown brought out her eye color wonderfully.
Tristan jerked back in his seat, realizing where his mind was going. He couldn't allow it to. Rory may have resembled his fiancee a little, but his lust for Rory had ended back in high school.
He had to overcome these strange feelings. They could seriously throw him off his game. He loved Amelie. Like he'd told her millions of times, he didn't need anyone else.
Tuesday morning was bleak and dreary, and Rory winced as she looked out the window. The weather reports were predicting a downpour, and Rory had no umbrella. Worse, she'd be stuck with Tristan in the rain. Fun, fun.
He came downstairs as Rory was swirling a spoon in her coffee absently, staring out the window. He watched her as he tied his tie, shaking his head. "The weather's not too promising," he said, making a first attempt at conversation since Sunday night.
Rory glanced over at him. "Yep," she answered simply, before turning her gaze to her cup of coffee. She raised the cup slowly, took a delicate sip. "I don't have an umbrella."
"I do." Tristan paused. "What time does the funeral start."
"Ten-thirty."
"Oh." There was an uncomfortable silence, and Tristan watched Rory as she continued to swirl her coffee around. "Well. We should be going then." He turned, grabbing his car keys from the counter he'd left them on the previous night. "You ready?"
"Sure."
It started to rain at 11:30, right as the burial was being commenced. Rory stood with Paris, unsure whether she was more wet due to the rain or the tears that wracked her friend's body. She hugged Paris supportively, wondering whether Paris could support herself on such wobbly legs.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she whispered, crying herself now. It was an odd quirk of hers. When someone she knew was crying, she cried too. Her mother had always told her it was a good thing, that it meant she cared. Rory wasn't so sure now, as it grew increasingly hard to support herself and her friend.
Between sobs, Paris managed to mumble, "Thank… you… for… coming."
Rory smiled sadly, shaking her head. "Don't thank me, Paris. I had to come." She paused, glancing over at Tristan who stood to the side, staring at Rory and Paris. "I care too much about you not to," she said simply.
Tristan stared at the two women, clinging to each other as they cried, barely able to stand. It was a depressing sight. He remembered that during his time at Chilton, the two had despised each other. Paris had made Rory's life a living hell. Because of him.
Tristan shook his head, remembering how he'd led Paris on, letting her think she'd had a chance. Telling her Rory had set them up. He'd been an idiot. He'd known Paris since they were in diapers, yet he hadn't thought about what her reaction would be, how she'd treat Rory.
Rory had every right to hate him. Narrowing his gaze so he was just looking at the brunette, he sighed. Her hair, which had been soft and wavy earlier in the morning, was now unkempt and dripping. Her black dress was soaked as well, and she was shivering.
Glancing up at his umbrella, he sighed. He turned toward them, making his way around the stragglers still at the burial ground.
When he reached them, both girls glanced up. They looked absolutely miserable, and Paris' mascara had run down her cheeks, leaving behind a river of black, running to her chin, curving away from her nose. She was leaning heavily against Rory, and Rory seemed to be struggling to keep her standing. He stepped between the two girls, and he instantly found Paris' arms around his neck, her head against his chest. He stared solemnly at Rory as she stepped under the umbrella, running a hand down Paris' back and whispering words of solace.
As Rory tucked an arm around his back and leaned against Tristan's shoulder, he had to remind himself it was a sad occasion. Rory was only seeking comfort because she was upset. She would've leaned on any other man just as quickly.
Tristan wondered why this upset him so much.
Darling I hope / That my dream never haunted you / My heart is telling you / How much I wanted you