Author: Summer

Title: Drain the Glass

Rating: PG-13, for now

Chapter Title: Abyss of Time

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: More people find out, Tristan thinks about Rory, Amelie talks to a wedding planner

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 The Calling's "Lost" either. Basically, I own nothing except my mind's eye. Yes, scary thought. ;)

Author's Note: The eating of my words is seriously starting to irritate me. I may be setting up a section on my site purely for my fiction because of that. Keep an eye out.

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"I'm pregnant and I'm fat and I hate my life," Jordan complained for the hundredth time that morning, collapsing onto Rory's bed. "And morning sickness is not just in the morning."

Rory rolled her eyes, barely looking at her friend. "You aren't even showing yet, you're skinnier than me, and you haven't had morning sickness."

Jordan heaved a sigh. "God, in all the good movies, they let the pregnant girl complain, and no one ever calls her on it. Why can't you be like that, Rory? I'm hormonal."

"No more so than usual. And I've seen you scarier than this." Rory bit her lip, glancing up at Jordan. "Can I talk to you about something?"

"We were talking about me," Jordan whined, perking up anyway. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. Or- yeah, it's nothing. I just wanted to talk about it."

Jordan raised a perfect eyebrow. "You want to talk about nothing."

Rory exhaled heavily, making a 'pffft' sound as she did. "I kissed Tristan," she muttered, her voice barely audible.

Jordan jumped, eyes widening. "You- you what? Weren't you just telling me that you and Tristan are just... well, nothing?"

"Yeah, I was. We are. It was just a New Year's thing."

Jordan frowned. "Does Amelie know?"

"I don't think so. There's not really a reason for her to, you know? It was just a 'ooh, it's midnight and there's nobody better' kind of thing."

Jordan stretched out on Rory's bed, studying her intently. "What kind of kiss was it? Like, a peck?"

"Yeah. Well, the first one was."

"The first one? There was more than one?" Jordan asked, incredulous. "And you think Amelie doesn't need to know?"

"There's no reason to hurt her for nothing. It isn't going to happen again."

"It isn't?"

Rory shook her head vehemently. "No. It's not."

"Whatever you say, Rory. Although..."

Rory perked up despite herself. "Although what?"

"Well, Tristan really loves Amelie. So unless there's... something there, I can't really imagine him kissing you." Jordan crinkled up her nose. "Eww. Can you picture that? You and my brother? Ergh. My friend and my twin. Is there a way to clean out your brain?"

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"Do you wanna hold her?" Ethan asked Normandy, holding his little sister out at arm's length. "Babies are weird."

Normandy rolled her eyes and intercepted Lily. "They smell weird and they look weird. That doesn't mean they are weird."

"She smells? Does she need her diaper changed?" Mrs. Calhoun called from the next room.

Normandy grimaced. "No. She just smells like powder and... baby."

Ethan laughed, poking at Lily's stomach. "Why didn't you call me back the other day?"

"I had.. stuff going on," Normandy answered vaguely, shrugging.

"Stuff? What stuff?"

"Nothing. Just Tristan being a nitwit."

Snickering, Ethan said, "You're the only person I know who says 'nitwit.'"

"Jordan, says something like it sometimes. Only 'nit' is replaced by the F-word."

"I should remember that."

"I'll stop being your friend."

"So why didn't you call? You never answered my question."

Normandy glanced up at him, a question evident in her gaze. "If I tell you, do you promise not to tell anyone? Especially not Amelie?"

Ethan shrugged. "Yeah. Sure."

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Tristan hesitated outside of Rory's door before finally bringing his hand up and knocking, not giving himself a chance to pull away.

He heard a fumbling from within and then she stood there in jeans and a burgundy shirt that showed off her figure so... Tristan looked away quickly. He had to stop thinking of her that way. "Can I, uh, talk to you for a minute?"

Rory frowned and nodded, glancing over her shoulder. Tristan followed her gaze to see Jordan sitting on Rory's bed with a knowing smile.

Great. He half-tugged Rory out of the room, glaring at her. "You told her," he accused.

Rory frowned. "What? No? No I didn't. I wouldn't-"

"She sure looked like she knew."

"And she didn't say anything to you?" Rory crossed her arms over her chest. "Are you sure she knows?"

Huh? "Are you even talking about Jordan?"

Rory flushed. "I thought you were talking about Amelie... why'd you come up here, anyway?"

"I was thinking," Tristan said, shifting from one foot to the other. "It's not right for you to leave because of that. I know it wasn't your fault. I was just being a bastard."

Rory blinked. "I'm not leaving."

"What? You said you were going to pack up-"

"Um, yeah. After you told me I'd planned the whole thing out because I was secretly in lust with you."

"Well, yeah. I'm sorry about that."

"Whatever. It doesn't matter now. The point is, I'll stay here." Rory looked up at Tristan, eyes narrowed. "As long as you don't come anywhere near me."

"What? I thought you said everything was fine?" Tristan asked, confused.

Rory smirked. "I don't know if I could keep myself from throwing myself at you," she responded sarcastically, turning on her heels and slipping back into her room.

Tristan wondered if there was something wrong with him that the idea turned him on.

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"I think you should go with an ivory. It's classic yet thoughtful, and everybody loves ivory. What do you think, Amelie?"

Amelie shrugged, not caring for the details much, and having even less of a clue as to what she was supposed to be discussing. "Uh, it sounds good."

"And the print? I'm thinking a medium gold in a script-y font."

Text. Amelie frowned. So she was supposed to be talking about either wedding invitations or thank you cards. "That sounds lovely, Marguerite. I trust your judgment."

The wedding planner looked up, a question burning in her eyes. "You're the first bride to not obsess over the details. Is something wrong, Dear?"

Amelie shook her head. "The big wedding ceremony's more for our families than us. I'd be happy to just elope or something. The pomp isn't important to me."

Marguerite heaved a sigh, setting down her pencil. "Ah, to be young and in love. You need to get on the ball, darling. This is supposed to be the wedding of the year. And having a disinterested bride..." She trailed off, letting her words sink in.

Amelie shrugged. "I can't wait until it's just over."

"You just want the certificate?" Marguerite asked, flabbergasted. "What about the one of a kind Dior gown with the 25 foot train? The seven tier wedding cake? The orchestra?"

"I'll still go through with the wedding," Amelie said quickly, not wanting the wedding planner to keel over dead. "I just... all that matters to me is I'll be Tristan's wife, and we can start a family."

"It sounds like you actually love him."

Amelie smiled. "I do."

"Wait 'til your wedding day for that one, Dear. I don't see this often in my line of work."

"What?"

"People like you marrying for love."

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Tristan had been trying to push what Normandy had said that night out of his head for days now, but in those empty moments, like now, as he showered, his brain kept coming back to it.

Could Rory have really liked him in high school?

Sure, they'd had their moments, but none had ever come close to genuine affection.

Except...

Tristan lathered soap onto a facecloth as he considered his past with Rory, mind pausing at the kiss they'd shared on a piano bench all those years earlier.

She'd run away crying though, and soon after, she'd been back together with her boyfriend and telling the world she hated Tristan.

But that didn't explain the passage Normandy had read from Rory's- what was it? A diary, a journal, a log, a letter? He wished he knew.

He ran the facecloth over his chest, the scent of Irish Spring overpowering his nostrils.

How was he supposed to deal with this? He was getting married in about four months. But with Rory always nearby and constantly underfoot, how was he supposed to ignore her, and not wonder? Ever since the kiss he'd wondered what it would be like to pull her to him again, to bite her bottom lip and peck at her jawline.

He felt instantly guilty and sighed. He loved Amelie, he really did.

That was it, he supposed. It would have to be enough.
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