Author: Summer
Title: Drain the Glass
Rating: PG-13, for now
Chapter Title: Semper Fidelis
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: Lorelai sets Rory up with a guy; Amelie thinks Tristan has cold feet; Rory and Emilie have a heart to heart.
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. ;)
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Valentine's Day was fast approaching when Rory got a call from her mother. "You'll never guess who stopped by," Lorelai said, half-giggling, half-serious. "Do you remember Noel Harding?"
Rory pursed her lips, thinking. "Is he the guy Grandma tried to set me up with the summer before I started college?" Rory scowled.
"Yeah. Anyway, he was in town, and he tried to check in on you."
Intrigued despite herself, Rory furrowed her brow. "How's he doing?"
The last she had scene of Noel was the pained expression he'd held when she'd realized the whole evening had been an elaborate setup of Emily's and stormed out of the date.
"He's... gorgeous, Rory. If I were a little younger and I didn't have Luke, of course, you'd have to fight me off. Polite, too."
"Why are you telling me this?"
Rory could almost feel Lorelai's shrug over the phone line. "I just thought it's been a while since you've gone out with anyone, hon. That you could loosen up a little. And even if your grandma did pick him, he seems nice."
It couldn't be a coincidence that Lorelai was calling her with this news two days before Valentine's. "You didn't..." Rory groaned.
"Of course not. I'm not my mother." Lorelai snickered. "But I told Noel you didn't have a boyfriend and he should see what you were up to."
Rory bit her lip, embarrassed by her mother's meddling. "Mom..."
"It's up to you, Rory."
"It doesn't feel like that," Rory grumbled.
"Sweetie, I just think it would be good for you to get out. When's the last time you had a date?"
"You sound like Jordan," Rory grimaced.
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It had been over a month since he'd kissed Rory, but Tristan still felt abnormally guilty about it. He'd avoided her as much as possible since their talk after the kiss, feeling the more distance he put between them, the less he'd be drawn to her.
It hadn't worked very well, so far.
Instead, he found his mind wandering at work, thinking about Rory's smile or the way her eyes flashed when she argued with him, or the way her lips had felt against his.
He was snapped from his thoughts by a timid voice that particular afternoon.
"Mr. DuGrey?"
Tristan glanced toward the doorway, where his secretary Joan stood, half hiding behind the door as she looked in on him. "I'm sorry. What were you saying?"
"I- Costa del Sol's called to confirm your reservation. I okayed it for you. I hope that's okay."
Tristan nodded. "It's fine." When she didn't leave the doorway, he looked back up at her. "Is there something else?"
Joan gulped, looked at him uncertainly. "No. I was just... surprised."
Tristan smiled kindly, secretly wishing his secretary had more of a backbone. "About what?"
"I was... I thought you and Miss Rousseau would go somewhere more sophisticated for Valentine's Day." Her face became pallid as she realized what she had said and shook her head quickly. "I don't mean that you aren't sophisticated people, and you're not stuck up or... oh no."
Tristan tried not to smirk as Joan glanced down at her feet, too ashamed to meet his gaze. He pursed his lips. "Costa del Sol was where Amelie and I had our first real date," he explained
Joan seemed to settle down a bit, looking back up at him and smiling. "So you're going back there for Valentine's? That's so romantic," she breathed, her voice carrying the same quality as a schoolgirl's.
Tristan smiled. "I guess it is."
"Amelie's lucky to have you, Tristan," Joan offered sweetly, her cheeks pinkening with her words.
Tristan's stomach dropped at the simple comment and he shook his head. "No. I think I'm the lucky one."
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Amelie twirled a finger through her hair as she chatted on the phone idly with Allison. Her sister had called nearly an hour earlier, and the conversation had yet to come to a head.
"Listen, sis," Allison was saying, her voice almost too light, "I was trying to decide between red and black for Tuesday. The black dress is more classic, but the red dress is clingier, sexier. What do you think?"
Amelie rolled her eyes at her sister's question, wondering if real issues would ever reach Allison's mind. "You're going with Max, right?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"Then I'd say the black one," Amelie pursed her lips. "He's a teacher, and a nice guy. I'm sure he's not expecting you to go full vamp for the night."
"God, Ames, he's such a nice guy. I'm not used to having a guy who's so... well, there for me. It's kind of nice."
Amelie smiled. "You deserve it, Allison. So don't screw it up."
Allison let out a little laugh. "Thanks for your vote of confidence," she responded. "I won't be."
Amelie glanced at her watch and frowned. "Allison, as much as I love talking to you, dinner starts in five minutes, and I promised the girls I'd eat with them."
"Where's Tristan?"
"Working," Amelie sighed.
Allison noticed the sigh and lapsed into silence for a minute. "Is something wrong?"
Amelie shook her head vigorously before realizing Allison wouldn't see her response. "No. At least I don't think so. He's just been working a lot lately."
"Cold feet?"
"I don't know. Maybe. He does seem to want more time to himself lately."
"So talk to him, Ames. Let him know that he's not the only one going into this thing. Everything will be fine," Allison said, her voice oddly reassuring.
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Later that night, Rory was cuddled under her blankets reading the copy of Anna Karenina Tristan had given her for Christmas when there was a knock on her door. Furrowing her brow, she glanced over at the clock. It was nearly 11:00. "Come in."
The door squeaked open slowly and Emilie poked her head in, blonde ringlets surrounding her face. "Hi," she whispered, sidestepping into the room.
Rory pushed back the covers and started to get out of bed, but Emilie rushed over to her side. "You don't have to get up," Emilie said, her tone still quiet, "I just wanted to talk."
Rory frowned. "Em, why didn't you talk to me earlier? You have school tomorrow, and you're supposed to be in bed."
Emilie bit her lip. "I meant to, but I forgot. Then I couldn't get to sleep, so I came up here to see if you were awake."
Rory sighed, patting the space next to her on the bed. "Come here."
Emilie smiled and crawled up onto the bed. "I feel stupid."
"Why?"
"Because Normandy said I was being stupid."
"What's going on, Em?" Rory asked, genuinely concerned.
The six-year old's face crumpled at Rory's stare. "Roger pulled my hair on Friday, and I turned around and slapped him."
Rory didn't recognize the name, but didn't let on. "Did you get in trouble?" she asked, catching Emilie under the armpits and pulling her up so she was sitting next to her.
"No," Emilie said, tossing her head side to side to emphasize her point. "But Normandy said he pulled my hair because he likes me."
"Oh."
Emilie bit her lip, glancing up at Rory with big blue eyes. "Do you think that's why?"
Rory shrugged. "It could be, Em."
"I don't like him," Emilie complained. "He's a buttface."
"Hey! That's not nice," Rory reprimanded, surprised to hear such language from the normally sweet girl.
"I'm sorry, Rory," Emilie cried, features caving in on one another. "Roger told me I was mean, too. I'm a bad girl, aren't I?"
Rory sighed, wrapping an arm around Emilie's tiny shoulders and pulling her into a hug. "Shh. Shh. No, you're not, Emilie. It's okay," she murmured, rocking the girl back and forth slightly.
Rory wasn't sure if she was more upset because Emilie was upset, or because Emilie hadn't even thought to go to her parents. Long after Emilie had fallen asleep in her arms, Rory was still considering this.
Had this been how Tristan had grown up? In the uncaring arms of Mrs. Ashford and the equally distant ones of Mr. DuGrey?
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"You're staying here tonight?" Tristan questioned as Amelie changed into her nightgown, her back to him.
Amelie nodded. "I'm too tired to drive to my apartment, and I've been staying here a lot lately anyway. We might as well get used to living together all the time. We'll be married in three months."
Tristan watched her as she slipped the fabric over her head and began to brush her hair. "I can't wait until you're my wife," he told her.
Amelie paused mid-stroke and turned to face him, her expression unreadable. "Really?" she asked.
Tristan frowned. "Yeah, really."
Amelie's face broke out in a grin and she made her way over to the bed. "You have no idea how happy I am to hear that."
Tristan mirrored her grin, casting an appreciative glance at her legs. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you in that nightgown."
Amelie blushed, shaking her head. "Don't embarrass me like that."
Tristan held up a hand in mock resignation, before quickly reaching out and grabbing Amelie's wrist, pulling her down against him on the bed. "Can I at least give my bride to be a kiss?" he murmured against her neck.
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