Author: Summer
Title: Drain the Glass
Rating: PG-13, for now
Chapter Title: Roots of Love
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: Rory returns to work, has a run-in with Tristan, and Amelie visits Max
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. Basically, I own nothing except my mind's eye. Yes, scary thought. ;) And the song is David Gray's "Roots of Love."
Author's Note: To Joan. Because we never seem to have time to talk anymore.
SPECIAL NOTE: The chapters should start flowing quickly now. Thanks for being patient.
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If the silence doesn't kill it / Then illusion will / Well we're staring at the sky
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When they were dating, Dean had always told Rory the only thing worse than returning to work on a Monday was returning to work after a vacation. Acting as governess to the Danvers children was the first real job she'd held, but Rory couldn't help but agree.
But it wasn't the job itself Rory was dreading. As she paced nervously in her room in the mansion, every creak seemed to send a jolt through her nerves.
Would he be the first to see her? Rory took a deep breath, trying to reassure herself she was overreacting. There was no reason to feel like this. It was just a painting. It wasn't a betrayal of her new friend, or anything more significant than oil on paper. It was just a painting.
Rory jumped as her door creaked open, spinning around so quickly she got lightheaded.
"I didn't mean to scare you."
Amelie. Perhaps Tristan wasn't the worst possibility. "Oh. Hi Amelie. No, don't worry about it. You didn't. I was just-" She babbled nonsensically.
Amelie smiled. "Sorry, again." Amelie came further into the room and perched on the end of Rory's bed. "How'd your Thanksgiving go?"
"It was nice. I had a great time with my mom."
"That's good." Amelie glanced at Rory's alarm clock. "Emilie has to be picked up from a dance class in like, half an hour. I'd told her I'd get her but… something came up. Would you mind?"
"Sure, no problem. But why isn't she in school?"
"The teacher's going away so it's going to be the last group practice before the production. There's a paper on the table with the directions. Hartford's Children Ballet. You can't really miss it."
"Okay."
"Oh, and Rory?"
"Yeah?"
"You and Tristan… I like that you're trying. I noticed a tension between you after you realized you went to high school together, and… well, I appreciate it."
Rory's smile faltered. "Thanks."
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With her curly blonde locks and pink tutu, Emilie was the epitome of childhood innocence. "I thought Amelie was supposed to get me," she said when she reached Rory's side, lugging a gym bag half her size behind her.
Rory smiled, picking the gym bag up off the floor. "She had something else to do, and I wanted to see you anyway." Rory paused as Emilie grabbed her hand. "How was your class?"
"It was good. I kept doing the jumps wrong though, and messing up my sur le cou-de-pied."
"When I was little, I only took ballet for a little while and I was horrible at it. What's a sur le cou-de-pied?"
"I had to land my jump, and rest my other foot against the calf of my working leg."
"Oh." Reaching her car, Rory swung the passenger's side door open for Emilie and helped her get in. Throwing the bag in the backseat, she added, "You have to be very graceful to do ballet. I'm not graceful."
Emilie giggled. "That's what Normandy told my mom when she wanted to quit."
"Normandy took ballet?"
"Normandy's done everything. Ballet, jazz, flute, clarinet, piano, painting." Emilie's eyes shone with pride as she discussed her big sister. "She always stops though."
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"I don't understand the logic behind such controlled herding," Normandy said as she completed the fifth jogging component of her gym class's walk-jog cycle.
Ethan groaned. "Can you stop comparing us to cows?"
"I feel about as in shape as one," Normandy pointed out, rolling her head to stretch her neck muscles as she walked.
"The whole class should be done away with," Anna added solemnly from behind the two as she caught up.
Ethan scowled, but chose not to respond. "How was your mom over the break?" Ethan asked Normandy in an abrupt topic change.
"She locked herself in her room on Friday with another migraine. Came out mid-Saturday."
"Geez. And I thought my Thanksgiving was bad."
"What happened?"
"Mom's on bed rest, so we just kind of sat around all day. And then she was crying and-"
"Ethan," Normandy said seriously, looking him in the eye. "My brother's offered. If you and your mom want, you can stay with us until the baby's born."
"No, we'll be fine. It's not too much longer now anyway, just a few more weeks. I can take care of her."
Normandy sighed. "Okay." The whistle blew and Normandy rolled her eyes as the class started to jog again. "Maybe a horse analogy would be more appropriate."
"Walk, trot, canter, gallop," Ethan nodded.
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He was due back at work… fifteen minutes ago. Tristan hurried toward his study, unable to care he was making a lot of noise. "Just find the paper, find the paper," he muttered, opening the door and rushing in.
"It has to be here somewhere," he added to no one, pulling open a drawer. "Find the paper, find the paper."
It wasn't there. He swore under his breath, his eyes falling on the clock. He had a consultation at 3:00, and it was almost 2:30 now. "Where is it?"
"Where's what?"
Tristan's head snapped up and he found Rory standing at the door, Emilie at her side. "Have you seen my paper?" he asked. Upon her blank look, he added quickly, "Um. It's a consultation form. Filed by a Julie Hanlon. Have you seen it?"
Rory shook her head, nudging Emilie. "I'll meet you in your room, Em," she said to the girl. Once Emilie had left, she entered his study hesitantly. "Do you need help looking?"
Tristan frowned at her tone, his eyes swiping over her. She looked nervous. "Uh, yeah, sure." He scratched his neck, holding her gaze. "Is something wrong?" he ventured.
Rory looked away. "No. Not at all. I just, uh, wanted to thank you for… the gift."
Of course. The painting. It hadn't been an appropriate gift; he'd realized that too late. "Oh, uh. Yeah. I wanted to talk to you about it." He glanced at the clock again. He wouldn't make the meeting anyway. "I'm sorry."
"Huh?" Rory shook her head. "Don't be sorry. It was really good, Tristan. I didn't know you painted."
His lip curved up in a modest smile. "Only on the side. I don't paint much, anymore."
Rory nodded, picking up a handful of papers. "Why not?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the papers.
He looked at her. "I haven't been, uh, very motivated to." As soon as the words were out, he realized he should've phrased it differently.
"Oh," she said, her eyes flitting over his face before quickly glancing away. "I-uh, I should go. I promised Emilie I'd read her a book."
"Yeah. I have to get going anyway."
He reached for the papers in her hand, just as she started to flip through them. As his hand touched her arm, he felt her tense. She raised her eyes slowly, and Tristan studied her. Her eyes were wide, lips slightly parted.
Almost unconsciously, he started to raise his hand to her face.
"Tristan…" she said softly, dropping her gaze.
"What?" he asked, brushing her cheek with his thumb.
She opened her mouth to speak, but the words died on her lips. Her eyes searched his, unsure of what to do. She blinked, and the moment was over. "I- I think you were looking for this," she said, her voice shaky, taking a step back and holding out a sheet of paper.
He'd barely taken the papers when she rushed from the room. He glanced down at the one she'd singled out. Petitioner: Julie Hanlon.
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Room 126. This was it. Amelie raised her hand to knock, but paused in mid-air. She knocked quickly, before she had a chance to chicken out again.
With her hand still resting against the door, she debated running for a second. Instead, she let her gaze drift to the diamond on her ring finger, and her mind drift to Tristan.
Things had already been set in motion. He'd already set everything in motion. There was no turning back now. She couldn't.
She heard a thud from deep inside the room, followed closely by a, "Coming."
She shifted from one foot to the other, her brain mapping out the possible escapes. There weren't any.
Did she really want to do this? It didn't feel right, at least not morally. She bit her lip, about to run.
Then, the door swung open and she was greeted by a huge grin… and a bare chest. "Amelie! Come on in."
"Hi Max."
And there's teardrops in the treetops / The wind is whistling through the mountain's teeth / A song for every wounded dove