AN: Happy Memorial Day, everyone! Thank you to each and every reviewer who's been so diligent in encouraging this story! I hope you enjoy this new one. EDIT--had this done on Memorial Day, but as you probably know, the site has been down a bit. Relief is here!

Rory sat in her supervisor's office, awaiting his no doubt frantic entrance. He was always on the move, never slowing down from the time he arrived to the time he left—though in all honesty, Rory had never seen either occurrence. He was there far before the interns arrived and left (presumably) far later. She'd often wondered if he ever left the building, in fact. She had a professor back at Yale who was rumored to sleep in his office, as his home life wasn't the best. Supposedly he didn't get along with his wife, and had begun telling her years ago he had to work late, staying later and later, and that led to him taking over the couch in his office as a now near-permanent residence.

Her train of derailed thought was snapped back to the realities of life as he at last came sweeping into the room, the door closing shut loudly behind him. She gave a small jump at the sudden movement, but smiled back at him as he took a seat on the corner of the desk directly in front of her.

"Ah, Ms. Gilmore. How is the home situation? Everything in order?"

She had to think a moment. Was everything in order? The whole Paris trip had been so surreal, and Tristan hadn't said another word about his parents since their discussion after his meeting. They'd spent one more evening in Paris, alone, before returning back to London. He'd made a few hushed phone calls, she believed to his grandfather, but he had not discussed anything further with her on the topic. But the two of them, they were fine. At least, so she hoped.

"Yes, thank you."

"Good. I'm glad to have you back."

"Thank you Mr. Hall," she smiled.

"Call me Colin," he reminded her, as he'd instructed all the interns to do on the first day, despite his use of their formal names. "Tell me, do you like working here?"

Rory's eyes widened a bit in surprise. It wasn't a question she'd thought she'd be asked. The interns were thrown projects with the barking instruction of a time and a place for them to be returned to someone with a title and a salary. Their opinions weren't a normal consideration.

"Of course, I love it."

Colin smiled. "Good. I must say, you've been noticed around the office. I got all kinds of complaints of your absence. Bevins couldn't find anything the entire time."

Rory tried to hide her pleasure, though it was one of the best compliments she'd ever received. It definitely didn't suck to have your work appreciated. "I thought it was weird that he hugged me when he got in this afternoon," she shared.

Colin laughed. "You add to this office. I was wondering what you'd think to being given a bit more responsibility?"

"That sounds amazing," she nodded fervently.

"It wouldn't be much, you'd be in the research department to start out with, I know you still have classes until the end of the semester, but after that," he rambled.

"I'm sorry, but did you say after that?"

"Well, I suppose you might want to go home for the Christmas holiday, but what I wanted to propose to you was the possibility of your coming back. It would technically be another internship, but it'd be paid and you could also earn some journalism credit for school. I'm sure you'd have time to squeeze in a couple of other courses as well, if you like."

"Oh, wow," she said, clearly floored by the offer.

"Now, I understand that this is perhaps a big decision. Take some time. Think about it and get back to me by a week from Friday. Fair enough?"

Rory nodded and stood, feeling as if she should hug this man, but instead she stuck out her hand in thanks. He smiled back and shook her hand, already now on his way back out to put out yet another editorial fire.

"Excellent. Now, back to work. And let me know if Bevins hugs you again. No one should have to put up with that behavior," he joked before he disappeared out of the office.

XXXX

"You okay?" Dan asked, munching on a Pop tart. Rory had been chewing on the eraser end of a pencil while Dan had been filling her in on the soap opera that was his love life.

"Hmm?" she said, her eyes widening as she looked up at him. She looked almost surprised to see him sitting on the foot of her bed, but shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Yeah. I'm sorry. What were you saying?"

"Rory, come on. My stories don't get any better than this."

She let out a long sigh, and grabbed a Smores Pop tart off the plate, and tore a piece off of the edge of it. "I'm sorry. I just have a lot on my mind."

"Rory—you've got my salaciously delicious story, and your mother sent you Smores Pop tarts. What could be better or more important?" he teased.

"Promise you won't say anything?" her tone took on a much more serious tone than he'd expected. He set his pastry back down on the plate between them and nodded, giving her his full attention.

"I promise."

She took a deep breath. "Well, you know that I went to Paris, and we made up," she said slowly.

"I gathered from the obnoxiously lethal precious jewel on your finger there," he referred to her ring.

She glanced down at it, as if she'd forgotten it was there. "Yeah. Well, after that, he went to meet his father, and his mother showed up at our hotel room to talk to me, to get me to make Tristan see reason and to talk him into going into business with his father. I told Tristan about it later, and he explained that his dad is doing some potentially illegal stuff—he didn't go into detail, but he did say he was completely out of it, he basically cut himself out of his parents' lives."

"Wow. That's, wow," Dan said, picking his Pop tart back up and taking a bite while he continued to take in what she'd said. "What happened after that?"

Rory shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing. I think he's been talking to his grandfather, but it's like it never happened. He's . . . fine."

"That's strange."

"Yeah. I mean, it's good that he gets away from all that, right?"

"Sounds like it," Dan agreed. "Is that all that's bugging you?"

"Sort of. I can't really talk about the other thing. I just want to be there for him, but he doesn't seem to need me."

"That's not true. In fact, he should be here any second to kick me out so he can spend the night in your room," Dan said knowingly.

"I don't mean like that. I don't know," she said, shaking her head again. "So, Elisa did or didn't have a boyfriend?" she asked, turning the conversation back to Dan.

A wide grin spread over his face. "She did. He's back in Montana, but she called him last week and broke it off. She said she hadn't meant to get involved over here, but she said by the time she realized it was happening, it was too late. Then she sort of freaked out when she ran into her friends, because they know him too," he explained.

"So, you two are blissfully happy now, all out in the open and everything?" Rory asked, scrunching her nose up.

"We are. Oh, and do me a favor?"

Rory nodded. "Anything, after all, I do owe you big for finding that plane ticket."

"Hide your ring when Elisa's around. I don't want her thinking all men have that kind of spending cash."

Rory smiled. "Of course."

A knock came to her open door, and they both looked up see Tristan leaning in the doorway. "Can I cut in?"

"I guess. She's out of Pop tarts anyhow," Dan shrugged, causing Rory to swat his leg.

"Nice to know my friends enjoy spending time with me because of my witty conversation skills," she pouted.

"Ah, you know I care about you. If I didn't, I'd stay and make it impossible for you and him to suck face," he smirked as he made his way to stand next to Tristan.

"Your staying wouldn't impede that activity," Tristan informed him.

"Right. See you two later," Dan said, taking his leave of the room and shutting the door without being asked. He'd told them once before he did that for the greater good of the floor. He said if he left it open, they'd have to charge for the show, and the University didn't condone such money-making activities on school grounds.

Tristan moved to sit next to Rory on the bed, and slipped an arm around her shoulders. He kissed the top of her head before resting his cheek against it. She could tell he was tired when he appeared in her door frame, but had said nothing about it. She knew he hadn't slept last night.

"How was your day?" he asked.

"Oh, fine. You know, same old, same old," she said, not willing to get into the conversation she'd had with Colin at the moment. She wasn't even sure she was considering this yet—there was no need to get him into it with all the other things he had going.

"I'm so beat."

"You look tired," she said, pulling back to run two fingers down his face. She frowned when he shut his eyes and pulled her against his chest after he repositioned himself so that he was leaning back against her headboard.

"I am. I have that test on British Parliamentary Procedures tomorrow," he yawned.

"Want me to quiz you?" she offered, not feeling the least bit tired. Ever since Colin had made her the offer, the very thought of it increased her heart rate and made her feel like she'd had a triple shot espresso.

"No, I want to sleep. For a very long time," he protested.

"Tristan," she started, but hesitated for a moment, unsure of how she wanted to continue. Part of her wanted to share her news with him, but the other half of her didn't want to burden him with it. "Is everything else okay?"

"Yeah."

"Have you been talking with your grandfather?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"So, he knows about what happened in Paris."

"We don't have to talk about this."

"We should, don't you think?"

He gave a sigh, and opened his eyes again. "Okay. He knows what my parents did. He said he'd back me in whatever I needed. I've always spent my time in Hartford with him anyhow, they've never really been in my life much," he explained. "Oh, and he wants to see us both over Christmas."

She nodded. "Of course."

"Anything else you'd like to know?"

"No," she said quickly. "Well, I mean, have they contacted you at all?"

"My parents? No. They won't, not for a while. I know how this goes," he assured her. "Don't worry about it. Honestly. They're nothing if not predictable."

She nodded, "And you're okay?"

He looked into her eyes, knowing she was worried about him after what had happened. It surely would be a different case for her if she'd cut off ties to her parents. "I'm fine, believe me. I've dreamed of this day," he said sincerely. "Besides, I'm not without family. I have my grandfather."

"And me," she said, sitting up and swinging her leg over to the side of his body, to straddle his lap. "Don't forget that."

He leaned up to meet her lips brashly, letting her know that her words were burned into his brain. He slid his hands over her back, holding her closer against him, coaxing her in toward him.

"I thought you were tired," she murmured against his mouth.

"Shh," he quieted her, reminding her of her promise and bringing her into the heat of the moment.

XXXX

"Okay, Mopey, you're going to tell me what's wrong in the next thirty seconds, or I'm sending the National Guard over to bring you home."

"I don't think the National Guard would dispatch people to come and bring me home because you say so."

"Uh, Stars Hollow's National Guard would come in a second at my command."

"Stars Hollow doesn't have a National Guard Armory."

"Oh contraire, my dear girl. We do now."

"Oh no. Don't say it."

"Kirk."

"I told you not to say it."

"9, 8, 7," she counted down.

"Fine. I might have gotten an offer from the BBC to do another internship there next semester."

"They want you to stay in London to do another unpaid internship?"

"No, this would be paid, and I'd get journalism credits."

"Wow, are you kidding?"

"No. I have until next Friday to give my supervisor an answer. He said I was indispensable and he wanted to give me more responsibility."

"That's amazing! I want to throw you a party—that's it, we'll have a big party to celebrate, a Welcome Back/Christmas/Bon Voyage Again/Congratulations Party. Give me Tristan's number so I can coordinate my big fancy plans behind your back!"

"No, Mom, you aren't calling Tristan," she said definitively.

"I promise not to do the overprotective mom bit. I got that out of my system with Logan, I swear. I just want to plan the perfect shin-dig. Besides, he might throw a little money into this, we can get the good party favors this time around," she added.

"No, Mom, I don't want him to know about this yet."

"He doesn't know? How is that possible? Wasn't your meeting yesterday?"

"Yes."

"Rory, what's up? I don't get it."

"I just—he's dealing with all the stuff with his parents, and I might not do it," she explained.

"What? You might not do it? Why?"

"Well, I mean, I haven't even thought about it. I would have to be away from Yale, only taking two courses, that will put my graduation off possibly, and Tristan and I have been talking about how to be together when we get back," she gave her mother all the reasons she might not take the opportunity.

"You aren't serious. Rory, this would be a huge step up for your career, for your options once you graduate, right?"

"Well, yes, but," she began, but her mother's good sense cut her off.

"And do you really think that taking this means that it's over with Tristan?"

"Well, no, maybe not," she said.

"I mean, if he wouldn't support you, that sounds like Logan, not what you've told me of Tristan."

"Mom, I just don't want to think about this right now, okay? I want to let it sit for a couple of days, let it mull."

"Just promise me you'll actually give this the full consideration it deserves. Your life will be waiting here in June just the same as it would be in December."

"I know. I will."

"Good," Lorelai paused. "I wasn't kidding about Kirk by the way."

Rory giggled. "What else is happening?" she asked, reveling in losing herself in her mother's stories from home. She did miss the small town life, so used to being able to visit whenever she wanted: whether school was going well or not, whether her love life was going well or not. Home was always a comfort. For now she'd have to settle for her mother's voice and the letters that continued to pour in from likely and unlikely sources from her small town life to fill that particular void.