Pairing: Established relationships for L/L and P/J; R/T eventually

Spoilers:  May reference any and all episodes from seasons 1 & 2, up to and including Lost and Found.

Rating: R

Summary:  Future fic.  Seven years after graduating from Chilton, Rory and Paris are business partners.  What happens when they strike up a joint venture with Tristan DuGrey?

Disclaimer: All characters from the television show Gilmore Girls were created by Amy Sherman-Palladino, and are the property of Dororthy Parker Drank Here Production and Hofflund-Pollone.  They are used without permission.  No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made from their use.

A/N: Okay, I really don't know anything about brainstorming sessions in the business world, because mostly I just do what my boss tells me to do.  But, I took some of the stuff I learned in college—like the fact that there are no bad ideas when you brainstorm—and went a little nuts.  I wanted the whole thing to be a creative, tactile experience.  I hope you enjoy it.  Also, there's a lot of R/T interaction in this section, although probably not of the type you're hoping for.  This is turning into something of an epic saga, so the payoff may be a long time coming, but rest assured that it will come.  Then again, so will the Apocalypse…

This chapter's title quote is from Someone Like You, which is worth viewing several times for the sheer joy of seeing Hugh Jackman in boxer-briefs.

Unholy Alliance

by Grace

Part Fifteen: Oh, that's rich coming from an emotional moron who is working his way through Manhattan, using women like ATM machines…

                Heaving a tired sigh, Rory entered her apartment on Saturday night.  The rest of her day with Ryan wouldn't exactly qualify as a complete disaster, but it certainly hadn't turned out the way she had hoped.  Conversation during their picnic lunch had been undeniably strained.  Rory had tried to rationalize it, telling herself that he was probably just one of those people who got cranky when they didn't eat at regular intervals.  That theory didn't hold water, though, when his mood failed to improve as the day progressed.  To top it off, he decided to return to New York, rather than stay the night as he had originally planned.

                Depositing the picnic basket in her tiny kitchen, Rory then meandered into the living room to check her messages.  There was only one.

                "Rory, it's Tristan.  I finally have a place to call home for the next few months, so I'd like to get started on the project Monday.  Give me a call, and let me know if you have a free day for a brainstorming session."
                After deleting the message, Rory decided to wait until tomorrow to return the call.  She was too tired to deal with Tristan tonight.  No sooner had the thought gone through her head when the phone rang.

                "Hello?"

                "Lorelai?  It's Ryan."

                "Oh, hi," she responded, somewhat stiffly.

                "Look, I just wanted to tell you that I'm really sorry for acting like such a jerk today.  It was completely uncalled for, and it had nothing to do with you."

                Immediately, she became concerned.  "Is everything okay?"

                "I got a call this morning from my mom back in Illinois.  She told me my grandfather is in the hospital.  They're still not sure what's wrong."

                "Oh, Ryan, why didn't you tell me earlier?"

                "You were so excited about today—I didn't want to burden you with my problems."

                Her voice was soft, but mildly reproachful.  "That's part of what being in a relationship is about, you know—supporting each other through the difficult times."

                He sighed.  "I know, and I should have said something sooner.  I really am sorry, Lorelai."

                "It's alright.  Just don't let it happen again, buster!"

                He chuckled quietly.  "I won't.  I should go, though—I'm almost to the interstate."

                "Drive carefully.  Will you call me when you get home?"

                "Sure.  I miss you already."

                "You could always turn around and come back, you know."

                "Normally I would, but I really wouldn't be much fun the rest of the weekend."

                "Okay.  Let me know if you need anything."

                "I will, thanks.  Goodnight, Lorelai."

                "Goodnight, Ryan."

*              *              *

                Monday morning came all too quickly for Rory's liking.  She had spoken to Tristan on Sunday afternoon, and was now completely terrified at the prospect of what he described as a "typical brainstorming session."

                She had spent the remainder of the day talking on the phone with her mother and Lane, and cleaning her apartment from top to bottom—a sure sign that she was agitated about something.  Only problem was, she couldn't put a finger on what was bothering her.

                The nagging anxiety had kept her awake half the night.  Well, that and the new neighbor who was moving in none too quietly.  She hadn't actually met the guy yet, but Jenny couldn't seem to stop gushing about his considerable physical attributes when Rory ran into her in the hall Sunday morning.

                It was no surprise, then, that her eyelids were at half-mast when she stumbled into the office on Monday.  Rory's lethargy instantly evaporated the moment she stepped off the elevator, however.  The seductive aroma of freshly-brewed coffee immediately assaulted her nostrils, and she eagerly followed the scent.

                Her eyes widened even further when she stepped into the conference room.  Its interior had been completely transformed from its normal appearance.  The windows had been covered with heavy, opaque white paper.  Several of the sheets already had headings written on them in black permanent marker.  The conference room table was covered with various colorful toys—Play-Doh, crayons, markers, LEGOs, wooden blocks, finger paints, and more.

                These items weren't what captured and held Rory's attention, though.  Not, what had her so captivated was the sight of Tristan clad in threadbare jean shorts, a faded New England Patriots jersey with "Brady" on the back, and a battered blue and red Chicago Cubs baseball cap.

                After staring open-mouthed for a good thirty seconds, she could no longer contain herself, and burst out laughing.  Startled, Tristan looked up from the Rubik's cube he had been playing with.

                "Morning, Rory.  What's so funny?"

                She choked down a loud guffaw.  "Doesn't your new apartment have any mirrors?"

                Glancing down at his outfit, Tristan grinned.  "What, not a fan of my new look?  I told you to dress comfortably, and I did the same."

                "When you said 'comfortably,' I didn't realize you meant 'rejects from the Salvation Army.'"

                He feigned a hurt expression.  "I'll have you know that all these clothes came from my own closet."

                "Impressive," Rory giggled.  "Exactly how long have they been in your closet?"

                "A while…I only bring them out for special occasions."

                "I feel so privileged," she commented dryly.

                Tristan looked her up and down appraisingly.  "You, on the other hand, have a rather different definition of comfortable."

                "What's wrong with my outfit?" she asked defensively.

                "You're wearing a dress, Rory."

                "So?"

                "So, I just didn't think you would pick a dress as being your most comfortable item of clothing."

                "Men!"  Her exasperation was apparent.  "It's a sundress, Tristan.  A simple, cotton sundress, with no itchy seams, no tight top, no restrictive waist.  It is easily the most comfortable thing I own."

                He raised his eyebrows suggestively.  "In this quest for ultimate comfort, did you also decide to forego underwear?"

                She flushed scarlet.  "You are impossible!"

                "I was joking, Rory," he said gently.

                She headed for the coffeepot in frustration.  "I'm sorry.  It was a difficult weekend."

                "Trouble in paradise?"

                "No, not exactly.  Ryan and I are doing fine; I just have this nagging feeling that everything could blow up in my face at any moment."

                "Isn't that usually the way life works?"

                "Yeah.  That doesn't mean I like it."

                "No one does."

                "I guess.  Do you want to get started?"

                "Definitely."  Crossing the room, he closed and locked the door, and then took a seat at the table.

                Rory took a sip of her coffee, and eyed the door warily.  "Okay, now you're starting to make me nervous.  Am I not allowed to leave?"

                "I'm not trying to keep you in; I'm trying to keep everyone else out.  This method works best without distractions."

                She looked at him in disbelief.  "You don't want distractions, but you filled the room with toys?"

                "Ah, but these are all part of the creative process.  Today, anything goes.  It's all about ideas.  There are no bad ideas; there are only ideas.  The toys also come in handy when you get the urge to throw things at me."

                Laughing, Rory replied, "Good to know.  What's the paper on the windows for?"

                "Dual purpose.  One, to keep out the distraction of a beautiful summer day.  Two, I like to use it for free association."

                "How did you come up with all this?"

                "Trial and error, primarily.  That and an urge to write on the walls left over from my childhood."

                "Sounds like fun.  Where do we start?"

                "Pick a word, any word.  We'll go from there."  He tossed her a marker.  "Write it on the wall."

                Hesitating only slightly, she uncapped the marker, approached the wall, and wrote clearly and deliberately, "Coffee."

                He grinned.  "Predictable, but we can work with it."

                "I'm so glad you approve."

*              *              *

                Four hours later, Paris stood outside the conference room, holding two pizza boxes and shaking her head.  The sound of uproarious laughter could be heard from behind the closed door, and she really didn't want to know what was going on in there.  Resolutely, she knocked firmly on the door.

                When there was no response, Paris knocked again, harder this time.  The laughter quieted, and after a brief pause, Rory opened the door, still giggling softly.

                "Hi, Paris!  Ooh, is that our lunch?"  Taking the pizzas, she mumbled "Thanks," and quickly shut the door, leaving Paris staring dumbfounded and empty-handed.

                Setting the food on the table, Rory paused a moment to take in the havoc they had wreaked on the room.  The paper on the walls was nearly covered with countless words; some circled, some crossed out, some connected by solid or dashed lines.  There were rough sketches as well, geometric doodling, caricatures, even stick figures.

                There were Play-Doh sculptures littering the table, along with towering LEGO structures sporting architecture that was best described as "whimsical."

                "Wow, we really trashed this place," she remarked.

                "Yeah, isn't it great?" Tristan replied with unbridled glee.

                Opening one of the pizza boxes, Rory inhaled the delectable aroma before speaking again.  "Do any of your clients ever object to this somewhat, shall we say, chaotic method of idea generation?"

                Tristan grabbed a steaming, cheesy slice and shrugged.  "I can usually tell from the initial meetings with our clients whether or not they're open to this kind of thing.  For instance, if Paris was heading up this project, I doubt I would have done anything this extreme."

                Raising her eyebrows, Rory asked, "What made you think I'd be up for it?"

                "For one thing, the preponderance of toys in your office.  You must have them in there for a reason.  Besides, I've met your mother, albeit briefly.  I figured you had inherited some of her, um, colorful personality quirks."

                Rory chuckled.  "That's a rather diplomatic way to phrase it.  You're right, though—this really appeals to me.  How does Ryan feel about it?"

                "RJ prefers to walk a more straight-and-narrow path.  He's a lot like Paris in that respect.  I usually bring him along to what I call the 'boring brainstorming sessions,' to try and keep me in check."

                "How come you call him RJ?"

                "That's what he introduced himself as to me.  They're his first and middle initials."

                "What does the 'J' stand for?"

                "Oh no—that's for him to tell you.  I value my life."

                Rory pouted.  "You're no fun."

                "Yep, that's me.  Tristan DuGrey, fun-killer."

                "Ever the witty one, aren't you?"

                "I try.  So how come RJ calls you Lorelai?"

                "He just likes the name, I think."

                "And that doesn't bother you?"

                "Not really.  It is my name, after all."

                "True.  I guess you'll just always be Rory to me."

                She snorted indelicately.  "Funny, since you hardly ever called me that."

                "I only called you Mary to antagonize you.  In my mind, you were always Rory."

                "Do I even want to know what I was doing inside your head?"

                "Probably not.  Like I told you before, I value my life."

                "If you truly valued your life, you wouldn't have even told me that much."

                "Oh, I don't know about that."

                "Really?  How come?"

                He leaned across the table until their faces were only inches apart, purportedly to grab another slice of pizza.  "Because by telling you that much, it makes you think about me thinking about you in compromising positions."

                Rory turned beet red and nearly choked on the bite of pizza in her mouth.  "Are you kidding me?"

                Tristan burst out laughing and sank back into his chair.  "You are so unbelievably predictable, Gilmore!  That is the exact reaction you would have had when we were sixteen!"

                She glared at him.  "You suck!"

                "Very eloquent, Rory."

                She took a ferocious bite of pizza, and then said with her mouth fill, "You still suck."

                "Aw, but isn't that why you love me?"

                "You're delusional, DuGrey."

                "Yeah, but the voices in my head make for such good company."

                She tried to maintain her stern expression, but eventually she couldn't hold in her laughter any longer.  "You take great pleasure from baiting me, don't you?"

                "Sure.  But it would be even more fun if it wasn't so easy."

                She threw a green lump of clay in his direction, missing completely, and the two of them dissolved into laughter.  Tristan scooped up one of their more pathetic sculptures and whipped it at her, and soon there was a veritable tornado of clay flying through the room.  Their shrieks and laughter continued to escalate in volume, and neither of them noticed when the conference room door opened and Paris stepped inside.

                "What the hell is going on in here?" she shouted.

                Tentatively, Rory crawled out of her defensive position behind the credenza, while Tristan poked his head above an overturned chair.  "Oh, hi, Paris," he said, chuckling uncomfortably.

                "I repeat, what the hell is going on in here?"

                Pulling herself to her feet, Rory replied, "Um, we're expressing our creative differences?"

                "You know, I had my reservations about the two of you working together…"

                Tristan stood up quickly.  "Okay, calm down.  Rory and I have actually gotten a lot done today.  We're not fighting; we're just blowing off some steam.  Everything's fine."

                Paris' expression softened.  "Are you sure?  You guys just have such a checkered past…"

                "But that's the past," Rory said softly.  "I promise—we'll make you proud with this project."

                The other woman sighed.  "Okay.  I'm just still not very good at this whole delegating authority/trusting in others thing."

                "Your kid is going to be so neurotic," Tristan laughed.

                "Like your offspring will be perfectly adjusted?" she shot back.

                "Oops, I forgot—never mess with a hormonal pregnant woman."

                Scowling, Paris stomped out of the room.

                Rory gazed admiringly at him.  "You said that just to get rid of her, didn't you?"

                "Tactical strategy I learned in North Carolina."

                "Nicely done."

                "Thank you.  But enough chit-chat—we have work to do!"

To be continued…