Author: Summer

Title: Drain the Glass

Rating: PG-13, for now

Chapter Title: Crystal Village

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: Tristan and Rory go to an ice show while Amelie and the girls visit Amelie's grandmother.

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. Don't own Pete Yorn's "Crystal Village" either. Basically, I own nothing except my mind's eye. Yes, scary thought. ;)

Author's Note: To Rebekkah. Because she'll be a cool sister-in-law, and is already one of my best friends. .
.

Take my hand / Come with me / Into this crystal scenery / And wait, til I retain the ticket / You would never have the time

.
.

There was something natural about Amelie laying in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. Tristan sighed, thoroughly relaxed.

"What was that for?" Amelie murmured, half asleep.

"Nothing. I'm just happy," he answered honestly, kissing the crown of her head.

Amelie smiled. "So am I."

"Are you looking forward to the ice show tomorrow?"

Amelie paused. "That's tomorrow?" she asked, and something in her voice made Tristan nervous.

"Uh, yeah. The 28th, remember?"

Amelie bit her lip. "I totally forgot. I'm so sorry, Tristan. I promised my father I'd check in on my grandmother for him. She's been sick lately, and…"

"It's okay," Tristan said quickly, "We can do it next year."

Amelie smiled. "I like the sound of that."

Tristan nodded, trying not to let Amelie know how much it did matter. It had taken him almost three months to get the tickets, and even then they'd been $500 each. "So do I."

Amelie propped herself up on one elbow, an idea brightening up her eyes. "I know what you can do. Take Rory! I'm sure she'd love to go and that way my ticket doesn't get wasted…"

Tristan's stomach flipped. He hadn't spoken to Rory since the kiss two days before, and he didn't think spending all of tomorrow with her was a good idea. "I don't know, Amelie… she has to watch the girls and-"

"I'll take the girls with me. My grandmother is great with kids. I'm sure they'd love her."

"Amelie, I don't think-"

"Shh. It's perfect, Tristan," she said, rolling back over onto her side. "I'll ask her in the morning-"

"You don't have-"

She held her fingers to his lips. "Shh."
.
.
.
Ever since she'd kissed Tristan on Christmas Day, Rory couldn't seem to think of anything else. She brought her fingers to her lips, remembering how his had felt against hers, what it had felt like to have his hands on her cheek, her back, her neck.

Guilt washed over her immediately and she looked down at the kitchen table. Tristan was Amelie's fiancé. Her friend's love. Her employer.

"What are you thinking about?" Amelie asked as she walked over to the table, a peeled orange in her hand.

Rory blushed. "Nothing."

"Ooh. A boy?" Amelie asked, picking up on the blush.

"Yeah."

"Who? Do I know him?"

Rory bit her lip, trying to picture how Amelie would react if she learned the truth. "I doubt it."

"Ah, oh well." Amelie sat down, holding out an orange slice. "Want one?"

"Thanks," Rory said, taking it and biting into it. "I swear all you eat are oranges."

Amelie laughed. "And ice cream." Amelie paused, looking at her. "I need you to do me a favor."

Rory nodded. She felt so guilty she'd do almost anything. "Sure."

"I need you to go to the ice show with Tristan today."

Rory's eyes widened. Almost anything. "I don't think that's a very good idea. I mean, I'm supposed to be watching the girls and-"

"That's all taken care of. I'm going to take the girls to my grandmother's house today. I completely forgot about it, and I don't want the ticket to go to waste…"

"I don't know…"

"You know, Tristan was just as hesitant about it. But he gave in. It's not a big deal, Rory." Amelie smiled. "Stomach him for a few hours? For me?"

Rory sighed, realizing Amelie wasn't planning on giving in. "Fine…"
.
.
.
"Change of plans, girls. You're gonna come with me to my grandma's today," Amelie chirped as Normandy drank her orange juice.

"Have we ever met your gran, Amelie?" Emilie asked.

Amelie shook her head. "Nope. But she's dying to meet you two."

Normandy glanced up. "Is that an attempt at dark humor, Amelie? I'm assuming your grandmother would have to be at least seventy, given your age and your father's age, so death… it could've been droll if you'd done it right."

Amelie laughed. "No. I'm just saying she really wants to meet you guys. And since Rory has plans today, it will work out perfectly."

"What's Rory doing?" Emilie asked, "I thought she was going to be home today."

"Rory's doing me a favor and filling in for me at the ice show. She's going with Tristan."

Normandy raised an eyebrow. "Oh."

Amelie frowned. "What?"

"Nothing. I just find it interesting you're sending another girl out on a date with my brother."

"It's not a date," Amelie rolled her eyes.

"You know best."

Amelie smiled. "I do… So are you guys up for coming along?"

"Yes!" Emilie exclaimed, grinning, "Does your gran have candy?"

"Boatloads." Amelie turned to Normandy. "What do you say?"

"I might as well come, even if it's only to supervise Emilie's candy intake. You know, her crankiness when she doesn't eat could suggest a blood sugar-"

"Okay, good. And Normandy? I can promise you we won't kill your sister today, okay?" Amelie said, smiling at the young girl.

Normandy shrugged. "If you say so."
.
.
.

"This wasn't my idea," Tristan said as he and Rory drove through Hartford, the wipers going full blast as snow continued to fall.

"I know," Rory said, her first words since she'd gotten into Tristan's car.

"Yeah. Well…" Tristan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Rory…"

She tensed. "What?"

"Well, I just… we were… I mean, it was just a holiday cheer, don't break tradition, mistletoe induced kiss…. right?" He glanced over at her and quickly looked back at the road.

Rory looked at him. His jaw was tensed and his lips set in a thin line. His gaze was hardened. She gulped. "Yeah."

He looked over at her. "Good."

Rory nodded, studying him. Something had flickered in his gaze, and she wasn't sure what it was. Could it have been sadness? Disappointment? Or was it relief? Did he care about her at all? "Uh.."

"We're almost there. Another fifteen minutes, probably."

"Good," Rory said quietly, and the two lapsed back into an awkward silence.
.
.
.

The first time she'd ever done this she'd been sixteen and just as nervous. She'd never been an innocent flower, and certainly not a Virgin Mary. But it was times like this when she wished she'd been a little more innocent, or at least a little more careful.

Jordan swore under her breath, her legs shaking as a tear ran down her cheek. She threw the stick against the wall, bringing her head to rest in her hands.

She'd never wished so much for blue to fade to white, for positive to be negative, for life to rewind to six weeks ago.

She sighed, standing up slowly. She walked calmly back to her room and picked up the telephone next to her bed. She dialed a number she'd recently learned by heart. "Is Andrew there?" she asked, her voice shaky.

She sniffed as she sat down on her bed, waiting for him to come to the phone.

"Hello?"

"It's Jordan," she said weakly, bringing her knees to her chest. "Can you come over? I need to tell you something…"
.
.
.

"My, you two must be two of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen," Grandmother Rousseau said, her voice trembling slightly with age. "Aside from my beautiful granddaughters, of course."

Amelie smiled fondly at her grandmother. "This is Normandy and this is Emilie," she said, gesturing to each of the two girls.

"My, and the come from the same parents? They look as different as night and day," Grandmother Rousseau murmured, looking from one to the other.

Amelie bit her lip, surprised by her grandmother's bluntness. "Their mother's very fair, like Emilie, and their father has the dark hair."

Normandy nodded. "It's possible, you know, to have a blonde child even if there hasn't been one in the family for generations. It's about recessive traits, and you can see how in would happen when you make aPunnet Square…" Amelie raised an eyebrow and Normandy shrugged. "Learned it in Biology."

"You learn Biology at your age?" Grandmother Rousseau asked, "The wonders of private schools."

Amelie smiled, looking over at Normandy. "Normandy's in all advanced classes," she said.

"Of course she is!" Grandmother Rousseau smiled. "She's related to Tristan DuGrey after all, is she not?"

Emilie grinned. "He's our brother!"

Normandy cleared her throat. "Half-brother."

Emilie shrugged. "Whatever." Turning her attention back to Grandmother Rousseau, she added, "He's the nicest and coolest and smartest big brother in the whole world. Have you met him?"

Grandmother Rousseau nodded. "A very nice young man. You should consider yourselves very lucky." She met Amelie's gaze in a pointed stare. "So should you, young lady."

And Amelie's heart sank as she realized her grandmother's gaze was flickering from her eyes to her ringless finger.
.
.
.

"God, they're all so beautiful," Rory murmured, taking in all the intricately carved ice sculptures.

Tristan smiled. "Yeah, they are. Last year we saw one of a polar bear. All its fur was- I don't even know how to describe it. It had all been sculpted, though. It all had texture. I don't even want to imagine how long it takes to make those things…"

"I don't have that kind of patience," Rory said, reaching out to touch the face of a deer sculpture.

"This is the kind of thing I could actually picture myself doing," Tristan paused, "If I could stand the cold, I mean."

Rory laughed, but it sounded almost as fake as the conversation. For two people between whom conversation usually flowed so easily, it was difficult to continue with such a forced silence.

Rory crossed her arms over her pea coat, trying to protect herself from a cold gust of wind. "I'll be right back. I'm going to go buy myself a cup of hot chocolate."

"I was just thinking the same thing," Tristan smiled.

They walked to the vendor in silence.

"Two hot chocolates," Tristan told the man, fishing out his wallet as the drinks were made.

"That will be $12.50," the vendor said, pushing two Styrofoam cups across the counter.

Tristan's eyes widened but he paid the man. As they walked away, Tristan muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Rory asked.

Tristan sighed. "$12.50. That's $6.25 a cup. It's a rip-off."

"Oh. I can pay-"

Tristan shook his head quickly. "No, no, no. I didn't mean that. It's just everything about this place is a tourist trap."

Rory smiled. "If you want to leave…"

"I didn't mean-"

"I'm fine. We can go back home, or just-"

"Do you want to go out to dinner?" Tristan asked suddenly.

Rory blinked rapidly, surprised by his invitation. "Um…"

"I don't mean… I'm just starving. So if you want to…"

Rory bit her lip, trying to clear her thoughts. She wanted to go to dinner with Tristan, but that wasn't her brain talking. But what was the harm? "Okay."
.
.
.

"Where… have… you… been… all… my life," Andrew Tarlatan said between kisses, running his hands down Jordan's sides.

Jordan pulled back uncomfortably. "What are you doing?"

"You said you wanted to talk," he said, leaning in again to kiss her neck.

Jordan shook her head, pulling back again. "It's not some code, Andrew. I really want to talk."

"Oh." Andrew took his hand off her waist, giving her a serious look. "What's wrong?"

Jordan sighed, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger nervously. "I- uh, well, I'm not positive yet," she started.

"Jordan, what's going on?" Andrew asked, taking her hand in his. "I'm sure whatever it is-"

"I'm pregnant," she interrupted.
.
.
.

"I'm pretty sure this is the best place in the area," Tristan said apologetically as he led Rory into a seedy pub. "Unless you want to go into the city."

Rory shrugged. "As long as I can buy a burger I'm fine."

Tristan nodded, glancing around. It was the stereotypical biker bar, with a pool table in the corner and trashy girls in leather miniskirts walking around. "We should've just gone home."

Rory smiled. "It's fine. Really."

They sat down at a small, sticky table and Tristan grimaced. "A burger sounds good. I wonder if they would make it to go."

"Oh, come on," Rory laughed, "Soak up the local atmosphere."

"I'm already being drowned in it."

"What can I get for ya?"

Tristan glanced up at the waitress. She wore fishnets and a red miniskirt with a see-through black lace skirt. "Two burgers, a Coke and…" He trailed off, looking at Rory.

"I'll have a Coke, too."

"Okay. Wait time's, like, ten minutes."

"Great." Tristan scowled as the waitress walked away.

Rory laughed. "It's weird to think that just a few miles away is the prettiest display in Hartford."

"There's prettier things," Tristan said.

"Right," Rory blushed. "Anyway, how bad can it be?"

Tristan shrugged as he noticed a man watching them out of the corner of his eye. "I don't know."
.
.
.

Normandy yawned as Grandmother Rousseau and Amelie discussed the latter's wedding plans. The topic had been the same for the last hour, and Normandy was starting to wish she'd brought Madame Bovary, which she was half through.

"Darling, ivory is always the better choice," Grandmother Rousseau was saying, "It's classic yet elegant. And traditional. And there's a reason traditions stay, Amelie."

Normandy rolled her eyes. "Where's your bathroom?" she asked suddenly, desperate to escape the room, as Emilie had done nearly half an hour earlier.

"Up the stairs and around the corner, darling. Third door on the right."

"Thanks," she said, standing up.

She went up the stairs, but didn't go into the bathroom. Instead, she opened each door, looking for a bedroom.

Sure enough, Emilie was laying on the bed of the room closest to the stairs. "Hey," Normandy said as she entered.

"Nothing interesting," Emilie complained, not providing any further explanation.

Normandy knew what her sister was talking about. "Nothing?" she asked, heading over to the bureau. She slid open the top drawer. Pushing aside the socks, she frowned. "There's some creepy little figurine," she said, holding up a tiny clown statue. "And a couple books." Normandy pulled one from the drawer. "Lover's Quarrel," she read, glancing at the cover, where a busty blonde clung to a man with an over defined chest. "Harlequin. Lovely."

Emilie shrugged. "I found a couple old records."

"Anything interesting?"

"Nope. It's jazz."

"Even Dad has a more interesting sock drawer."

Emilie shrugged. "Well, there's nothing very interesting about the lady."

"She had candy."

"Which you wouldn't let me eat," Emilie complained, sticking out her tongue.
.
.
.

"Good burgers. I might actually come back here just for the burgers."

Tristan looked up at Rory. "Please tell me you're joking."

Rory laughed. "Well, kind of. But they are good."

"Not worth this though," Tristan complained, gesturing to the other diners.

"Be nice."

Tristan sighed. "Fine. But you owe me."

"What do I owe you?"

"Can I get back to you on that?"

Rory rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sure." She leaned forward, suddenly serious. "I still feel guilty."

Rory's honesty had always been a trait he admired in her, but in this circumstance he couldn't help but wish she'd been less direct. "I know. So do I," he admitted.

"I'm not that kind of girl. I'm not the other girl. I've done that already, and I hated it."

Tristan raised an eyebrow. "You've been the other girl? My innocent little Mary?"

Rory laughed. "Oh, you'd be surprised."

"When? After I left Chilton, I'd assume."

"Actually, pretty recently." She paused, as if debating how much she should tell him. "Dean got married."

"Dean? Bagboy?"

"Yeah. Right out of high school. Anyway, last summer… well, you can probably picture it."

His eyes flickered over her. "I wish."

Rory flushed, her gaze dropping toward the table. "Tristan…"

"I know. I'm not- well, I am. But I'm not being serious. It's harmless."

Rory didn't get a chance to respond. The man Tristan had noticed eyeing them earlier was suddenly at Rory's side. He was leering at her, and he'd reached out for her arm. "Hey gorgeous. How 'bout you leave the accountant here and I'll teach you things only a real guy knows."

"I'm fine, thanks," Rory said, pulling her arm away.

"Aw, c'mon, you aint no better than me. We all come from the same blood, ya know. Adam and Eve and all that shit."

Tristan raised an eyebrow. As much as he wanted to get the guy away from Rory, he didn't want her to think he didn't think she could take care of it herself.

"I said no," Rory said calmly, looking directly into his eyes.

"Baby, I can tell you're dying for a good roll in the hay. He probably don't give you any, huh? Well, let me tell you, with that hot little body of yours I could keep you going all night long."

"That's enough!" Tristan said as the guy tried to grab Rory's shoulder.

The guy turned to Tristan and laughed. "And who's going to stop me? Not you…"

Tristan shook his head. "I'm not going to fight you, if that's what you mean." He stood up quickly, pushing the guy out of Rory's way. He reached out for her hand and pulled her to her feet. "Lets get out of here," he muttered, leading her from the pub.
.
.
.

"Thanks," Rory muttered as she climbed into Tristan's Porsche. "I could've taken care of myself though, you know."

Tristan nodded. "I know. I couldn't stand watching that though."

"He was drunk, Tristan. Probably won't even remember it in the morning."

"That doesn't excuse it. The way he kept grabbing at you…" Tristan shook his head. "I couldn't watch it."

"Oh."

"He doesn't deserve a girl like you, Rory. He should stick to his own species."

Rory laughed. "You're making a bigger deal out of this than I am. Do you realize that?"

Tristan sighed, turning the key in the ignition. "You didn't deserve that."

"Yeah, but it's not-"

"I don't like you having to go through that. It makes me feel dirty… and it makes me want to punch the lights out of the guy."

Rory raised an eyebrow. "I'm okay. Lets just get out of here."

Tristan glanced at her. She looked worn out and delicate, not at all like the girl he'd seen just moments before, defending herself from her harasser. He remembered all the times he'd treated girls like they were a piece of meat, all the times he'd treated Rory that way, and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

Rory smiled, patting his hand. "It's okay. Lets just go home, Tristan."

As he pulled out of the parking space, her words rung in his ears and he wondered why it affected him so strongly when she referred to his house as her home.
.
.

I would love to change your mind / You were there / And it was good in the beginning

.
.