AN: This chapter is Trory-centric, for those of you who dig that. :) And for those of you who don't, well, then you're probably looking for another 'shipped story. Enjoy, and send some love to those review buttons. . .

The three had exchanged pleasantries and the usual greetings and inquiries into the well-being of her grandparents, whom of course Janlan Dugrey was acquainted with. It seemed she would never meet anyone that didn't know of her grandparents. He led the way of the young couple into the main sitting area, where another servant (all called in anticipation of this weekend occupation) met them to take drink orders. They sat and Tristan took hold of Rory's hand innocuously.

"So, Gramps, how was Tokyo?"

"Cramped and dirty."

"Excuse me?" Tristan took a moment before bringing his drink to his lips again.

"They wanted me to sleep in a cabinet and eat raw fish off of a young woman. I took the next redeye flight after my meeting, instead of staying one more night. Thus making plenty of time to visit my grandson in beautiful, spacious England."

Rory blushed, but couldn't help smiling. Tristan held in full-force laughter at his grandfather's statements, but was trying to be polite, seeing as the older man was clearly unhappy with his foreign accommodations.

"This house is beautiful," Rory agreed.

"That it is. One of my better investments," he took a drink of his scotch. "So, how are you two liking the university program here?"

"Not bad. A nice break from the overachieving conservatives of Harvard," Tristan nodded. He felt Rory shoot him a look, but she answered as well.

"I got an opportunity to intern with the BBC," she answered proudly.

"The BBC, that is impressive. You want to be in the news business?"

"I do. An overseas correspondent, to be exact."

"That's a lofty goal. Sounds like a woman as intelligent as yourself would know better than to get involved with my grandson."

Rory laughed. "Well, he can be a rather formidable opponent at times."

"Should I leave the room? I mean, do you two really need me for this conversation?" Tristan asked, but Rory squeezed his hand.

"You can get no better compliment from a woman such as Ms. Gilmore here than what she's just given you. Be grateful, don't slink away," Janlan informed him.

Rory smiled at Tristan, and he nodded in consent. "Trust me, I know that. She's not always so agreeable."

"Should I leave the room?" she asked, jokingly.

"If you wouldn't mind," Tristan smirked, but held her hand tightly. "So, you're back to Hartford, next?"

"I have a meeting first thing Monday morning. Something your father is supposed to be at. Any word from them?"

"They were in Italy, last I heard from them. He hasn't been in contact with you?"

"He has no financial say in my life, Tristan, remember, it's the other way around. He hasn't willingly called me since you were born."

Rory was unsure exactly what it was the two men were or weren't talking about. Their actual conversation didn't seem strained, but the topic itself seemed to be, if that were at all possible. She would wait until Tristan talked about it to her to find out details, but in the mean time she wished she weren't sitting here while their family matters were discussed.

"I wish I were so lucky. So, what would you like to do while we're here?"

"Sleeping in a real bed and having a conversation with two intelligent kids that speak my language fluently will suffice, I believe. And of course, a meal with cooked food served on plates sounds good, as well."

The conversation flowed more naturally from that point on, steering clear of Tristan's parents until the maid came in to inform them that dinner was being served. They got up and headed into the dining room, the same room that Rory and Tristan had eaten in the night that they'd first consummated their relationship. Rory hoped she wasn't noticeably blushing at the memory this room held for her, as wonderful a night as it was, bringing that up now probably would make Janlan want for the accommodations he'd had in Japan.

"So, Rory, you followed in Richard's footsteps, how are you enjoying Yale?"

"It's wonderful. I'm on the paper, and my classes are incredible."

"Tristan mentioned that you'd been Harvard-bound back at Chilton."

"Well, I was, but when it came down to making the decision between Harvard, Princeton, and Yale, Yale just seemed a better fit."

"You got into all three? Impressive."

"Thank you," she blushed.

"So, Tristan, how are you planning on keeping up with this talented young lady after you get back to the East Coast?"

"Excuse me?" he looked up from his plate, having enjoyed the fact that his grandfather was enjoying getting to know Rory. He couldn't imagine any other girl that he'd 'dated' being able to sit and talk with the older man and keep his interest peaked. Hell, no other girl had kept his own interest held for more than a couple of hours, either. But now, he'd been addressed and time was passing too quickly as he didn't answer.

"I asked, how do you plan on bridging the gap between Boston and New Haven."

"Uh, we're still, working out the kinks there."

"I see. Should I have not mentioned," he began, looking between the two that were also exchanging looks.

"No, no, it's fine. We just, it's just that," she hedged, before making up her mind. "We just started dating."

"Oh. Well, I guess I got another impression from my grandson."

"Oh?" she asked, clearly intrigued.

"He didn't have his hearing aid turned up enough, that's all," Tristan interrupted, not wanting his grandfather to pontificate upon this topic to her waiting ears any more. He needed to do some serious memory clearing in the bedroom, surely that would do the trick. Because this was just getting embarrassing.

"That's enough out of you," Janlan said with parental authority. "So, perhaps you two should take a walk, and figure out what story you'd like to agree upon?"

Rory smirked at Tristan, and he hung his head for a moment. His grandfather was the one person, besides Rory, that had always been able to best him. He didn't mind it, he figured he was learning things from the old man. Maybe he'd be able to do the same for his grandchildren. He heard the giggle emit from Rory's throat, and the thought of grandchildren didn't wane.

"Yeah, fresh air doesn't sound like such a bad idea. Shall we?" he stood up and offered his hand to the lovely woman sitting previously across from him. She accepted the offer and soon the two were wandering around the darkened grounds, lit only by moonlight. There were no clouds in the sky, and she marveled at the first real sight of the stars in this area of the world. It was too bright and busy in London to get a good view. Out here it was clear and brilliant.

"It's so beautiful out here," she breathed, leaning into him as she looked up, letting him guide her path.

"That it is. And the fresh air, you can't beat the fresh air," he mocked.

"I was being serious!"

"I'm sorry," he pulled her in closer to him, halting their steps. "The fresh air is nice, and wait, do you hear that?"

She paused with him and waited. "What? Tristan, I don't hear anything," she whispered, because she felt the need to.

"Exactly. Nothing. No grandfather out to embarrass his grandson," he whispered into her ear.

She pushed his arm with her hand. "He wasn't embarrassing you."

"He was about to."

"By telling me that you like me? You might think you're suave and mysterious, but I did sort of figure that one out on my own," she teased.

"He's into forward-thinking. He sees us together now and wants to know what it means for the future."

"Yes, that generation seems to share that particular disease," she said with distaste, "But he didn't seem so oppressive about it. He was genuinely curious."

Tristan nodded in agreement, but didn't let her go. They'd stopped out in the middle of the gardens, on a winding dirt path. "He also seems to think you make me happy."

"Well, is he right?" she hedged, biting her lip.

"I suppose happy would be an adequate word to describe it. Though it doesn't quite cover it completely."

She tilted her head to the side, eager for him to continue, smiling with sweet satisfaction. "Really? What words would completely cover it?"

"Completely, hopelessly in love," he said after a moment of consideration.

"Is this what your grandfather would have told me had we stayed in there a minute longer?" she asked, as her mind began to contemplate the fact of what he'd just revealed to her.

"I figured it was better for you to hear it from me first," he nodded, looking at her lips.

"Probably."

"Rory," he whispered.

"This is so fast," she managed. "I would have never thought I'd even see you again, let alone be here like this, feeling like this," she rambled, falling further into him as she spoke. His hands were holding her close, supporting her while all her focus was fighting for eloquence.

"And now, after everything that's happened, all the reasons I've given you to run away screaming from me, you're here, holding onto me, telling me you love me, and," she knew she was losing this battle. She wanted to tell him to take her upstairs where words wouldn't matter. Suddenly being here, fully dressed in front of him, she'd never felt more exposed. "I love you."

He moved to kiss her, but her lips started moving again. "What is going to happen to us?"

He ignored her question, at least in the most conventional sense. He continued his original plan of attack, and kissed her. She had so many questions in her, things she hadn't let herself think about in view of everything else in her life that swamped her mind and kept her running 24/7. Being here with him, allowed to focus on nothing else, she got an ache in the bottom of her stomach that she couldn't shake.

"Tristan," her voice pleading with him.

"What do you want me to say? It's not for months," he reasoned.

"Tristan," she said more definitively. "I'm serious, we can't ignore this. December is just sitting there, waiting like a big black hole."

"You want me to transfer?"

She looked at him in surprise. "What?"

"To come to Yale?" he reiterated.

"Do you want to?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly.

"Don't do that, go around making offers you aren't willing to make good on," she shook her head, stepping back out of his arms. "Don't."

"Rory, calm down, we're just talking, not signing anything in blood."

"I mean, you can't go making promises to be with people, when you have no intention on following up on it," she said, sounding more harassed, and less in their actual conversation.

"What exactly did I do? I don't have my life mapped out; I didn't expect to find you here, or for you to ever really want to speak to me," he said, getting a little worked up at her accusatory nature. "I just told you I love you, which, believe it or not, was not the easiest thing I've ever had to do, and now you're getting mad at me because I've made promises to you that I can't keep?"

"I don't want to talk about this," she said, turning to face the house.

"No, we're talking about this. Right now."

"Tristan," she warned, but it didn't work. His hands were on her shoulders, turning her back around.

"What have I done?"

"Nothing! This isn't about you."

"Like hell it's not! We're talking about us. I need you to focus on that and leave whatever baggage you have out of it. Look at me," he said lastly, his tone softer.

She complied, looking up with glassy blue eyes. "I don't know how to separate out like that."

He nodded. It was a skill he'd perfected over his lifetime, compartmentalizing his pain. Unloading unprovoked issues on others had landed him in military school, and he'd since learned to keep it in check, unless drunk enough to forget such lessons.

"I want to be with you. It's not a promise, it's a statement of fact. I don't know how long distance relationships work, or if they work. I know I like having you close now," he smiled, trying to find a similar expression grace her face.

"I don't want to transfer to Harvard," she combated.

"That's fine. They have cars, trains, and planes that frequently travel the distance between the two cities."

She smiled, at his gross oversimplification of the nature of their problem. "You don't say."

"And I can see no better way to spend my money than coming to see you. Or better, yet, letting you come to me, so you can study on the way, which you seem to be rather partial to. I would hate to take away from your unbelievable unique ability to squelch motion sickness and read in fast moving vehicles."

Her smile widened. "It actually helps," she shrugged.

"And we won't be in school forever. Just three more semesters. Unless, you know, you're on the five-year plan, trying to take all the classes the university offers."

"Shut up," she tried not to smile.

"Hey, I know a guy that's been at Harvard for eight years."

"No, doing what?"

"He changes his major every couple of semesters," he shrugged. "You'd like him, he's interested in everything."

"How'd you do that?"

"Do what?" he asked as she took a step closer to him. If she took another step, he could kiss her without moving too far.

"Make it seem easy, like it'll just—happen."

"Because it's what I want. Do you not remember what I told you when we came out here?"

"I seem to remember something about you loving me," she teased, taking that next step.

"Remember that," he suggested, leaning down slightly and kissing her reassuringly. He was really good at that. She slid her arms around his shoulders, placing her cold fingers on his warm neck. He shivered at the contrast, and pulled her closer, into his embrace. When they pulled back, he slipped his hand down to lace through hers.

"We should get back inside, he'll get suspicious."

"Yeah. I have a reputation to uphold," she smiled, pulling his hand as she moved down the path.

He pulled back. "So do I. Maybe we should stay out here a while longer."

Her mouth gaped open. "I want him to like me!"

"He already does. And you just want to go sneak a call in to your mother."

"What makes you think you know me so well?"

"She's going to be fine."

"I hope so. She deserves to have it all."

"So do you."

She looked up at him and smiled. "Let's go back inside," she suggested softly. He leaned down to kiss her one more time before consenting to being pulled back up into the house to catch up with his grandfather.