Title: The Worst Guilt

Chapter 3: That Old Parable

Rating: Pg-13 for now, haven't decided exactly where it will go

Disclaimer: If I actually owned the show…ok, the dialogue wouldn't be as good, but the plots would be better this season.

Summary: Tory, not exactly AU, just future fic. Not a triangle fic. The plot is based VERY loosely on a book I read, so I can't take all the credit. Oh, and I'm making the corporate centre of the Huntzberger empire in New York. For any minor necessary plot points, see previous chapters.

A/N1: Sorry about delay. Being home for the holidays was crazy, but here's a longer chapter. Actually, it might be a bit wordy in some places.

A/N2: I had originally considered making this 2 chapters, not because of length but because of the obvious difference in subject between the first and second part, but since I didn't want to dwell on the first part too long, I put it all together.

"So, where are you off to?" the man in the seat beside him asked jovially, his port belly hanging out slightly from the Hawaiian shirt he was wearing. Tristan had already heard the story of how he and the missus (who was currently doped up on Gravol) were headed for their second honeymoon in Hawaii.

Tristan pointedly ignored him, pretending the headphones he had put on deliberately just a few minutes ago were drowning the man out. The flight to Florida stretched out agonizingly long in front of him.

He closed his eyes, trying to nap, but all he could think of was Rory's voice on the phone when he had called her yesterday. Even the music in his ears couldn't drown out the sound of her voice.

"You're what?" she said the words as if she couldn't understand what he had just told her.

"I'm going down to Florida. My great-aunt Elizabeth moved down there a couple years ago. But I just got a call from her doctor; she's very sick and needs someone to take care of her. She's sort of estranged from the rest of the family, a little bit like me, so there's nobody else. I can't just leave her like that." He knew he was rambling slightly, knew that liars always added a little too much detail, but he couldn't stop.

"I understand," but of course she didn't. She barely believed he might be telling the truth. He knew she was thinking that he was abandoning her but he wasn't, he was making the best choice for the both of them, even if she would never understand why. "I suppose I should be grateful you called to say goodbye," her words were slightly sarcastic.

He had squeezed his eyes shut before replying, "In regards to the company, I feel horrible leaving at a time like this, but she's pretty much all I have left for family, I can't say no. I give you sole discretionary power to appoint whoever to take over," he was about to say 'in my absence', but had to accept he may be walking out forever by leaving. "I know you have your own job to worry about, but the company will go on, it always has." He realized after that it made it sound like he was calling only to talk about business matters.

"We'll manage," was all Rory said briskly. "I hope everything goes well with….your aunt."

And then she had hung up, without another word on either side.

He just looked at the lights of New York, disappearing as they ascended rapidly, and thought about exactly what he was leaving behind.

Rory stood in the middle of the house she and Logan had shared, the phone still in her hand from her conversation with Tristan. Despite the cool tone she had worked hard to maintain over the phone, her chest was almost heaving with emotion as she breathed heavily.

There was nobody save her in the house. Her mother had left for Stars Hollow earlier in the day. The silence stretched before her, endless.

Somehow she knew that she wasn't thinking clearly, but it didn't matter. All she could focus on was that everyone had left her. She was utterly alone, for the first time in her life, and she had never thought that this moment would come. Always before there had been someone there. Her mother, then Logan, and even her grandparents in between. There had even been Tristan, an integral part of it all. But none of that mattered now when she was standing there, utterly alone with nobody to fall back on.

In that moment she hated them all for leaving her, even though it wasn't like that. But strangely enough her anger wasn't focused on the two who had left willingly, it was focused on the one who had no choice. Even though her mother and Tristan had unwittingly triggered this meltdown, they weren't who she hated in that moment. All the anger she felt was at Logan.

"How could you leave me like this?" she demanded of the empty apartment, still filled with the essence of him. All the reminders she hadn't been able to bring herself to remove. Her mind wanted to believe she was only angry, and she didn't notice the tears streaming down her cheeks.

And then she wanted to remove any reminder of him, like she was a scorned wife; in that moment she didn't think she could stand being in the same room as anything that indicated he had ever been there. Because he had left her, alone, with no warning, when he had promised to be there for her forever. Even the thought of his toothbrush in their….her bedroom sink bothered her.

If she had been thinking with her normal logical and reasonable mind she would realize that this overreaction was what came with repressing emotions, bottling them up inside until they spilled out one day, magnified tenfold.

But she wasn't, she was grieving in an uninhibited way she hadn't allowed herself too yet.

She went around the apartment, destroying or throwing away everything that reminded her of him. Which, in their apartment, was nearly everything. Nothing escaped her notice, from the frying pan he had cooked her eggs with one morning to his alarm clock that she threw against the wall.

It was as she was poised to cut up her wedding dress that had been hidden in the back of their closet, tears streaming down her face, that she realized exactly what she was doing, and she set it gently away from her, putting the scissors on the table.

"I hate you," she muttered once again to the dead Logan who wouldn't even grace her with his presence, pathetically, trying to reclaim the anger that she had felt just moments before. It was an easier emotion to deal with than anything else.

Because in that moment, as she looked at the destroyed bedroom around her, the only person she hated was herself.

Four Years Later

Rory wanted a husband.

No, not a husband exactly, she was just used to thinking in the permanent sense. It was more than she wanted someone; the marriage aspect was not the essence of it.

She had been feeling this way for quite some time, but it was only in recent months that she had begun to admit it to herself. To acknowledge that traitorous little longing for what it was always seemed like she was dishonouring Logan's memory.

She supposed the desire not to be alone had been there all along. The first time she had noticed it was visiting her mother and Luke in Stars Hollow this summer. She had seen their togetherness, the only way she could thing of to describe it, and had felt a pang in her heart was she watched them. It had only escalated from there, with every couple she saw strolling in the park or the engagements section in the newspaper, culminating when she had been maid of honour at Paris' wedding.

It wasn't the same as just after Logan had died. She'd hated that adrift feeling then, had even resented the happy couples around her, but it wasn't the same. Any thoughts she had of ever being happy again revolved around thinking of him. She didn't know when exactly she had transitioned into imagining the possibility of someone else, but that thought was there now, and she couldn't escape it.

She had her friends, she had her family, she had her job, but she yearned for more than that again. It wasn't as if she was without human contact in her life. Lane came to visit fairly often, Paris lived in the city as well, and she had other more casual friends that she saw often. She spent every holiday back home with her mother and Luke, visited her grandparents, but when everyone else went to bed she was on her own again. There was nobody for her to belong to, nobody to belong to her. And then she always ended up back in her apartment, silent save for the television she always kept on to fill the void.

And now, all that she could think about was that life was passing her by, and if she didn't do something she'd die this way.

Alone.

She was still shy of 30, an awfully young age for such maudlin thoughts, but she knew she couldn't mourn Logan forever. In that first while it had seemed such a betrayal to him any time she laughed, or any time her thoughts strayed from him for more than a few minutes. She just felt so alone every time she had to go home to her empty apartment at night, or every time she had to go eat a meal alone in a restaurant. Living in a big city somehow made it all the worse, it was too easy to become just one in the crowd, noticed by nobody.

It wasn't that she was depressed; she had people who cared about her, and a job to immerse herself in every day. She had managed to find contentment in the life she had built after Logan's death. It was something she hadn't initially thought possible, but she had through trial and error found herself a place in the world. She was content, and could carry on this way if she chose, but she wasn't truly happy. She knew what happiness was, and wanted a chance to find it again.

She found enjoyment in her work. As much as she had hated Tristan for leaving, running the Huntzberger empire gave her a purpose in life, a calling. There had been nobody suited to taking over when Tristan had left, and with his departure she had controlling interest of the company entirely on her own. This wasn't what she had thought she'd be doing with her life, or what she had really wanted, but she couldn't just let the company go to ruin when it was her husband's legacy and bore his name. She knew the industry, and had found that she had more of an aptitude for the business aspect than she had thought.

Her traitorous mind pointed she was probably better at this than she was at being a reporter, even if she squashed that thought down. Even dead she didn't want Mitchum Huntzberger to have the satisfaction of being right; at least she took solace in the fact he was probably turning over in his grave seeing her run his company.

Tristan's leaving had devastated her, but once the shock of his leaving had worn off, she realized that her taking on this much responsibility had actually been the most precious gift he could bestow, even if he had never thought of it that way. It gave her something to do, an ultimate goal beyond wallowing in pity.

A reason to stop staring at the ceiling as she lay in bed, pretending he was beside her. She was able to work herself until she was too tired to keep sleep at bay.

So, she had friends, family, and a challenging and fulfilling job she was good at. Once she grieved for Logan, she should have been happy.

And she was, mostly.

She just didn't want to be alone anymore.

Nobody had ever mistaken Rory for a stupid girl. She knew that first and foremost she would have to date again. She would have to kiss another man. She would have to sleep with another man. She would have to love another man, because she couldn't accept less than that. And while the thought didn't bring her to grief like it might have even a year ago, it felt….strange.

And she accepted 'strangeness' was something she would have to get over.

It was time to get some new clothes. It wasn't as if she'd worn black for the past 4 years, but she couldn't remember the last time she had bought herself an outfit that actually made her feel like a woman. Business suits, or the sweats she wore around the apartment, did not constitute dating attire. She hadn't been that active socially, outside of intimate gatherings, and she knew that too had to change. She knew it had been too long when she actually blushed at the thought of wearing a scarlet dress she had seen in Sak's last week.

"Mrs. Huntzberger?" the slight knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and Janice, her assistant, peaked her head in the door, and she felt a little awkward at the use of her married name when she was even now contemplating dating again. "I have the quarterly reports you asked for."

"Thank you Janice," Rory replied gratefully, reaching her hand out for the pre-offered papers.

And she went back to work, but not before making a note in her day planner to go shopping that Saturday.

The lights around her were off when she exited her office; everybody else had gone home for the night. She could have left hours ago, but hated the thought of her empty apartment and had finished work that she should have delegated to Janice tomorrow. It was a common occurrence, her the last person in the office save for the cleaning staff and security guards. She did have a lot of work, but it was usually more an avoidance technique than anything.

She stood waiting for the elevator, her fingers drumming restlessly on her briefcase. She noticed a movement out of the corner of her eye, someone entering the floor from the staircase, and she turned to give a cursory 'hello', assuming it was one of the security guards doing a sweep of the building.

But it wasn't, it was Tristan.

Tristan, who she hadn't seen for four years. Tristan, who hadn't written or called in four years. Any information she had learned about him was through Paris who he had kept in touch with. Oh, she had got an obligatory e-mail from him once in awhile, cc'd to the upper management of the company, but it hardly meant anything.

They both stared at each other in shock.

Tristan knew that his return to New York was well over due, but it had been remarkably easy to put off. What had become an excuse to leave for a few months had stretched into four long years. He had kept abreast of life in New York through Paris, and according to her, the company which had been his responsibility was thriving under Rory's management. He had never thought his leaving would force her to step into that role, but he should have foreseen it. He had nobody else in the city who was dependent on him in any way, and the rest seemed to be faring better with his absence. So, as he tried to convince himself every night, there was nothing to feel guilty about.

It was true, he had spent the last four years in Florida where his great aunt Elizabeth had retired. She was the only one of the DuGrey clan who hadn't essentially disowned him, and she was the only one he could really stand. At the very least she was amusing in her bitterness towards her brother Janlan, his overbearing grandfather. But it wasn't to look after her while she was in ailing health, the old bitty would probably outlive him. It was an escape, plain and simple. Elizabeth hadn't asked any questions, just took him in at her condo while he looked for a temporary place of his own, which had turned into his home for four years.

But eventually he had come to the realization that he should have close to four years ago: one could only run from their life for so long. As he neared his fourth year in the warm climate of Miami, he realized that wasn't his life, not the way it was supposed to be. His time there had healed him in a way, gave him a sense of peace he might not have achieved had he had stayed in New York, but he had stretched it years past that. It brought him a sense of peace in that he could grieve Logan without having to spend every day living his life, but most of it helped in the knowledge that Rory wasn't just around the corner, tormenting him in wanting answers he couldn't give her, and his wants he could never fulfill.

Life wasn't better with thousands of miles between him and Rory, but it certainly was easier.

But it was past time to get back, past time to get some balls and suck it up. As much as he had needed this time in Florida, as much as he had actually come to love his great-aunt, it wasn't his life. Not there, where the closest friend he had to his age was above the age of eighty.

He'd have to face her of course, there was no escaping that. He'd have to look at the face that taunted him endlessly, and try and be her friend. It was what she had wanted in that horrible time following Logan's death, and he couldn't give it to her because he was the biggest prick who ever lived.

Maybe now with the distance, and the ever healing constant of time, he could manage it. Somehow he knew that these four years wouldn't have changed how he felt; he had tried for years before to stop being in love with her, his estrangement wouldn't have changed that. But maybe now, when his grief wasn't so raw, he could be her friend without feeling like he was a thief, trying to steal something he had wanted for so long.

He didn't know what he was going to do in New York, he hadn't thought that far ahead. Not just in the immediate, but in the long term. Theoretically the job as CEO of the Huntzberger empire was his for the taking; he knew they had listed him as on 'compassionate leave' or some such nonsense when he went to stay with his "ailing" relative. But the job wasn't his anymore, it was Rory's. He felt some underlying guilt that she had given up writing for this, but it was what she had now; he knew her boss would never take her back after such an absence, and she hadn't been in the business long enough before to build a reputation.

So when the cab driver at the airport asked him where he wanted to go, he hadn't honestly known. Sure, a hotel was the most logical choice, but he wanted to go back to the office. He still had his security pass, technically he was on staff there. In some ways he wanted to see again what he had given up for the sake of getting some peace. If he had stayed there at that time, living the life that had been Logan's, he would never have been happy. But at the same time it had been his dream job, and he had to accept he could never get it back.

So that's how he found himself at the tall building in downtown New York. He could see the security guard startle as he read the name on Tristan's security pass, but he hadn't said anything beyond 'have a nice evening sir'. For some reason he had taken the stairs, wanting the physical exercise. He had left his bags at the security desk.

And that's how he found himself standing on the 20th floor, staring at the woman who he had spent the last 4 years avoiding.

"Tristan?" her voice was almost like a whisper the first time she uttered his name.

"Rory," he started, since he had to say something. And then he had no idea where to go from there. "What are you doing here?" he asked dumbly.

"I work here," her voice was a little sharper than she had intended, "And I'm not the one who is supposed to be in Florida. What are you doing here?"

"Figured it was time to come home," he was satisfied at the attempt to make his voice sound as glib as it used to be.

Rory knew she was clutching at her briefcase as if her life depended on it, but she just didn't care. "You could have called….written….something." Belatedly she realized she should have inquired about 'great-aunt Elizabeth', but she somehow doubted the woman's very existence.

When he had called her before he left, she had known he was lying, she knew him that well. As much as his leaving hurt her, what had really hurt was not knowing why he was leaving. She had always figured it was somehow her fault, something she had done or said. She knew she had hurt him the last time they had seen each other, but she had apologized, and thought he had understood.

"To you?" he raised an eyebrow. He hadn't talked to her in four years. He had tried calling once, more out of obligation than anything else, and she hadn't answered, having mastered the art of call screening.

"To anyone," was all she replied. "Someone would have picked you up at the airport at least."

It seemed absurd that this was the type of conversation they would have after all this time. When Tristan had pictured his homecoming, this was not how it had gone. Actually, he didn't know what he had expected, but this inane conversation was not it.

"So what are you doing here?" she cleared her throat.

He didn't know if she meant New York in general, or at the office building. "Aunt Elizabeth is better now," of course she had never been sick, despite the fact he had made it sound like she was at death's door four years ago, "She doesn't need me anymore, and I knew it was time to come home."

They both stood there in silence for what seemed like an eternity, before she finally said, "It's good to have you back."

"Thank you," he replied cautiously, "It's good to be back in New York, I hadn't realized how much I missed it."

"It's been a long time," she said awkwardly, as if in explanation.

"I know, four years I believe."

It wasn't supposed to be this awkward. This was Tristan. He had been one of her closest friends for so long, it wasn't supposed to be so hard to be in his presence. They had parted on bad terms, but that had been at the worst time in both of their lives. She, at least, had been in pain then, lashing out like a wounded animal. It wasn't supposed to be this awkward now. Whenever she pictured their reunion, it wasn't like this.

When he had first left she had been angry, the reality of a sick aunt irrelevant. But she had come to realize her feeling for the selfishness that it was. Even if he didn't have a sick aunt, even if he was lying through his teeth, it was his life, and he felt leaving was something he had to do. He wouldn't stay away forever, she had known that, and every day she had hoped for him to come back so they could rebuild something between them.

"You'll be wanting to get back to work soon?" she asked, making the question all business when in truth they should have at least continued with the pleasantries for awhile. "As I'm sure you heard, I stepped in during your absence. Everything will be in order when you take up your position again." Even if she had no idea what she'd do now, without the hassle of her job to take up her days.

"I'm not back to take your job Rory," he replied gently. "I just….I don't really know why I came here tonight, but it wasn't because I expect to come back. I knew what I would be giving up when I walked away four years ago."

"Nonsense," she tried to make her voice firm, "The job is yours, it always has been. It was what Logan wanted. I just took over when there was no other choice. And you did what you had to do." Sick relative, time away, it was what he had had to do. Sometimes she wished she had had that luxury at the time.

Tristan shook his head; the job was not what he wanted, but tonight was not the time to discuss it, not like this. "Let's talk about this later Rory."

"Okay," she agreed dumbly. "You look good." She added the last part after a long hesitation. And it wasn't just that he looked good, he looked different. There were the obvious differences; lighter hair, the tanned skin from living in Florida. But that wasn't the main difference. Tristan, who had always seemed to comfortable in his own skin seemed almost…..nervous, and unsure.

"You too," the smirk that accompanied his reply was a pale shadow of what it used to be.

They were getting nowhere, she thought, talking like this. "Where are you staying?" He had subletted his apartment when he had left for Florida.

He shrugged, "I hadn't figured that part out yet."

"You'll stay with me," Rory told him firmly. She didn't know how much he had learned about her through Paris, "I've moved. I couldn't stay….anyway, I had to move. I'm actually in an apartment not far from where you used to live."

"You don't have to…." He began, but she cut him off. "Of course I do."

They spoke little until they got to her place, still not knowing quite what to say to one another. While everything seemed so similar, it had been so long, and things had changed for the both of them.

He followed mutely behind her as she slid the key into her door and let them in. "Home sweet home," she said wryly, kicking off her high heels as she led him into the apartment.

They place was nice. It certainly wasn't the decadent house that she had lived in with Logan, but it still screamed 'money'. It was easier to come back here with her to a place that was obviously hers.

"I don't really know what I'm doing," he admitted as she flicked on all the lights. "I just came back….I haven't figured it out from there."

He knew she wanted to talk about the company, to talk about how he would be going back, but she held to the suggestion they leave that discussion for a later time. "You'll figure it out," she said simply. And then, as she walked over to him, she finally smiled in a way he hadn't seen her do in a long time, "And you can stay here as long as you need to," and she put her hand on his arm reassuringly.

It wasn't as if she had never touched him before, but Logan had always been there, the buffer between them, and he fought not to pull his arm away from under her simple touch. And then she was stepping away from him, releasing her hair from the tight arrangement it had been in from work, letting it cascade down her back as she headed to the kitchen, "You hungry?" she called back over her shoulder.

He shook his head before he realized she wasn't looking at him, "No."

Tristan had been deluded before when he thought that nothing about her had changed. There was something unexpectedly different, something that shook him. It was a sense about her – all in his mind, but that didn't make the feeling any less real. There was an air of availability about her in a way there hadn't been since high school, brought on the knowledge that Logan was well and truly gone, and the only thing stopping him from going after her was his own conscience.

It was amusing, in a pathetic and torturous sort of way.

She walked out of the kitchen, sipping from a juice box of all things, and motioned to a door right at the end of the hall to her right, "The guest bedroom is just right there if you want to toss your stuff in."

And she still had no idea that all he wanted to do was find her bedroom with her. She had no idea that there was a man standing not a few feet from her who wanted nothing more than to remove every layer of concealing clothing from her body and sink into her until they were both screaming. And then he wanted to have breakfast with her, marry her, and grow old with her.

Fuck, was all he could think. Four years was supposed to have stopped this.

"You okay?" she asked, concerned. He supposed his indecent thoughts had put a rather odd expression on his face.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat, trying desperately to think about something else, anything else but the sight of her naked.

And again, they stood there in the awkward silence that seemed to hit them at every turn. "We need to talk you know," she said finally, "really talk." Not just for personal reasons, but for practical ones.

"I know," he replied in an almost weary tone fiddling with a coin in his pocket.

"I'm ordering Chinese takeout," she said suddenly. As she grabbed the menu from its honoured position on the coffee table, she assured him, "Don't worry, I'll get some lemon chicken."

Four years, and she still seemed to know about him than any other woman did.

She went into the kitchen to order, then came back out carrying two beers, and handed one to him, motioning for him to sit down as he continued to stand there like a jackass. They sat there for moment before she said rather suddenly, "I was rather angry with you for leaving."

An understatement if there ever was one.

Trust her to go with complete honesty than simply anger.

She was continuing, "I know you said….your aunt….and well, anyway, I didn't mean to feel that way. But I was really pissed at you for leaving."

"I'm sorry," the words were inadequate, but in truth he wouldn't have changed his actions. He had wanted to leave, he had needed to leave. It might mean he was the biggest chicken-shit in the world, but he hadn't been ready and able to deal with everything. He knew Rory probably had little clue as to why he had left. She didn't know that he loved her, she didn't know how guilty he felt at the idea that he was just stepping into Logan's life. The feeling that he had caused it somehow by his traitorous thoughts. Under all that, he couldn't have ever been happy when there had been no time or space to just 'deal'.

But none of it was her fault, and she had been left feeling alone and abandoned by a person who should have been there for her in the worst time of her life. "I'm sorry." He said again.

She just nodded, having long since accepted his absence. "I'm sorry I never called," she told him awkwardly. "But I was angry for so long…and then it was too late…and, every time I thought about it all I could think of was the last time I had saw you and accused you of being so uncaring. So I decided just to leave you alone, and give you your space."

"My leaving had nothing to do with anything you did," he answered honestly. "Listen Rory, my aunt Elizabeth does live in Florida, and I did go to stay with her but….let's just say I didn't have to be there for four years. I know it makes no sense to you, but I needed that time. I'm not going to pretend to understand how hard it must have been for you that first while with Logan gone, he was your husband, but you have to understand, he was my best friend, and when I took over…..let's just leave it at I needed some time."

"I miss him, you know," her tone was wistful. It was the first time she had talked about him with anyone else in months. "We used to be so close, the three of us."

God he felt like a shit for leaving. "Yeah, we did."

She seemed to snap out of her reverie of past memories, "Listen, it's your first night back, let's not make this all depressing. Tell me all the exciting stories you must have from Florida."

Somehow he didn't think she meant the games of Canasta played with Elizabeth and her friends, "Come on Mary," he deliberately pulled out her old name from high school, "I don't think you're ready for that."

And she smiled, "Fine, have it your way. Save it until you can find one of your male friends to brag about your sexual prowess. But know this, if any of those girls who you left broken hearted in Florida come sniffing around New York for you, I require you find a hotel to conduct your 'reunion'."

Ah yes, back the role of consummate playboy. He hadn't been celibate for all the four years, but it had been close. Back to the role of shallow charmer. "Nah," he deliberately made his words drawl out, "I'll find a whole new bevy of females right here in the city."

And she laughed, like she always had when he made such comments. "You haven't changed Tristan."

"Nobody every really changes Rory," he lied, giving her what he hoped was a wolfish smile.

"It's good to have you back again," she told him. But then the light in her eyes dimmed just a little as she added – as if she needed to convince one of them, he wasn't sure which, "It really is."

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. As someone else put in their story once, 'reviews are like crack to writers'.