CHAPTER 5

"We are so lost," Rory cried out after they've been walking around the La Rambla strip. Despite the jovial noises of tourists and performers on the sidewalk, she was miserable.

"So what do you suggest we do, genius?" Tristin sarcastically remarked.

"I don't know," she replied, taking a seat on the side of the road. She took off her shoes and started rubbing the soles of her feet.

It had been three hours since they arrived in the city. With tourists and churchgoers mingling around, Rory was not in the mood to join in the festivities the place offered.

"Let me see that clue again," Tristin ordered as he sat right next to her.

Unfolding the handmade blue paper, he read the instructions out loud.

"People that knew I frequent this confinement are Connoisseurs of Atrocity, Shame, Selfishness and Oppression. I am unimportant. Find me." Tristin read.

"Whoever wrote the clue is obviously deranged," Rory commented, putting her head in her hands.

"Or brilliant," he said. He rested his hands on his knees and looked at the people milling around. "We are definitely missing something here."

"If you're unimportant, why go to the trouble of finding him or her?" Rory tossed the question out for Tristin to answer.

"Maybe that part's not really important. Maybe that line's supposed to throw us off," he hypothesized.

"It's a Sunday. With the exception of the tourist establishments and restaurants, everything is closed," Rory replied.

"So we know for a fact that this person, alive or dead, would have to be easily accessible as a Sunday clue," Tristin added.

"How sure are you sure?" Rory asked. She definitely questioned the wisdom of his deductive skills.

"I've played this game at least once," he stated. "How 'bout you?"

Rory made a face at him. He stuck his tongue out at her in retaliation.

"Well, we've gone to the park, seen Columbus and Placa del Rei and that's inaccessible..." Rory listed.

"Whom else have we overlooked?" he asked.

Rory reached into her bag and realized she'd eaten her last candy bar. She was hungry and thirsty. "I never thought this thing would be so difficult. Whatever happened to just giving us the list of things to find?"

"Then that doesn't teach you anything about the country and its culture," he replied.

Rory raised an eyebrow at him. "So this is supposed to be a history lesson?"

"Something like that," he answered.

"Well, I am hungry," Rory moaned. She flipped through her travel guidebook to Barcelona to find a place to eat. "Are you and adventurous eater?" Rory asked.

"I like Spanish cuisine, if that's what you're asking," he quipped.

"Well, the book suggests this place-," Rory cut herself short. She paused to read a page off her book. "Oh my God. Let me look at the clue."

Tristin handed her back the note as she scanned the clue.

"I think I know where we're supposed to go from here," Rory replied with renewed determination. "Come on!"

She extended her hand to Tristin. As soon as she was able to pull him up, she dragged him along, not letting him go for a second.

"Slow down, Speed Racer!" he teased as he pulled her back to him.

"I know where we're going," she said excitedly.

"So, are you going to let me in on it?" he asked. He led her to the side of the road to let the pedestrians pass by.

"Look at the clue," she suggested, handing him the now crumpled piece of paper. "What do you notice?"

"It's small?" he guessed.

"Try again," she said.

"It's blue," he added.

"What else?" Rory prodded. Her eyes twinkled in excitement.

"It's got three sentences?" he inquired.

"Look at it," she urged. "Very carefully."

Tristin stared at the piece of paper and tried to notice a pattern. "The words... Capitalized… On blue paper. Picasso... Picasso!"

"See? And Picasso used to hang out in one of the restaurants close by. It's called..." she flipped through the book to be more precise. "Les Quatre Gats. Four Cats. It's a Spanish expression meaning 'a few unimportant persons'." She handed him the book for them to study.

"Are you sure?" Tristin asked, his heart was beating fast. He tried to downplay the fact that he felt a warm sensation as her hand lingered on his forearm.

" Les Quatre Gats, famously known for Pablo Picasso's hang out is also currently famous for its relaxed pub atmosphere and tapas," he read out loud.

"Catching on, my friend," Rory teased. "So, did you bring your appetite?"

"Stop me from devouring your food and mine!" he said excitedly, lacing his fingers with hers. "Let's go!"

The couple sped down the street, exhilarated with the fact that they had picked up on the clue. With it being past two, they figured the lunch crowd would've died down.

They stood right outside the pub, staring at the menu that was displayed by the doorway.

"Look!" Rory pointed to Tristin the small Picasso drawing at the corner of the display case. Tristin leaned over and touched her on the shoulder. He absentmindedly rubbed the exposed skin with his thumb sending goose bumps throughout her body.

"Well, I'll be," he replied.

"Let's go in," she suggested. She made sure she kept some distance from him. She knew him as the rival team and a former schoolmate. Not someone to get excited over.

They got seated in near the opaque colored windows. There were a few patrons sitting in the pub. The conversations in Catalan were hushed but animated. Both Rory and Tristin just absorbed the energy.

"You know, if you were hungrier earlier, we would've figured out the clue a lot faster," he teased as he took a gulp of his bottled water.

"It was your brilliant idea that Columbus stood for all things that consumerism had brought," Rory teased him.

"Well, the clue said confinement and you thought of the park!" he pointed out her mistake, too.

"Touché!" Rory giggled. She was just glad that the finally found the place they were supposed to get the souvenir.

"Dos cervesas, por favor," Tristin ordered along with the tapas.

"We're not supposed to drink!" Rory hissed under her breath.

"Don't worry. I'm buying," he said.

"You know what I mean," she replied.

"Are you over eighteen?" he asked. She nodded. "Okay then."

The waiter brought them the cold brew. "If you don't like it, I'll drink it," he offered.

Rory took the drink and placed the tall container in front of her.

"Salud!" Tristin raised his mug in toast.

"Salud!" Rory said back, knocking his mug with hers. She had to admit; the drink was refreshing to the back of her throat. The amber liquid had a sweet aftertaste so different from the brews she had at Yale.

The food followed the drinks shortly. They sat in silence and ate the Spanish cuisine until they were sated.

"This is the life," Rory muttered, polishing off her drink.

"What, the running around?" he asked.

"No, the food!" she pointed out. She watched Tristin signal the waiter to bring them more beer.

"I'm just glad you're enjoying yourself," he commented.

"Well, you seem like a good sport about the whole thing," Rory complimented her partner.

"I have my moments," he replied modestly.

"So, what do we have to do next?" Rory asked. On a drop of a hat, she froze. Instead of listening to Tristin's explanation, she noticed the barkeep lock them in. "What's happening?"

"It's three o'clock," he said. "Siesta."

"Siesta?" she asked. "It's Sunday!"

"All the better," he replied, getting another refill on their drinks. The barkeep told them it was on the house. Kind words were exchanged in rapid Spanish. Rory was amazed with what transpired between her partner and the old man. Once the conversation was over the man looked at her, smiled, said something in Catalan and walked away. Tristin thanked him for his generosity.

"Hello, Mister Politician," Rory teased him.

"He knows we're American and that we don't quite get the siesta thing," he said in humor. "So he said he was locking us in until opening time again."

"When will that be?" Rory asked.

"Five-ish?" he said. A plate full of food was served at their table. "Eat up."

"What?" Rory asked. "I'm stuffed!"

"Don't turn it down. It's impolite in the Spanish culture," he replied in mock whisper.

Rory took another swig off her drink. "You're an enigma."

"Is that an insult or a compliment?" he asked.

"A compliment I guess," she replied.

"It comes with the territory, I guess," he humored her.

"Not everyone has conversational skills as good as yours," she pointed out. "I was able to understand the conversation but I don't think I would've been able to speak that fluently or rapidly."

"Well, it's not like everyone is getting a degree in International Business Law while minoring in Foreign Languages either."

"Is that what you're doing in Stanford?" Rory asked, surprised.

"That's some of it," he said. "I've also been raised by my Spanish speaking nanny whom I call Abuela and I've been taking Spanish classes since I could remember."

"Interesting," Rory said.

"So, enough about me. What's new in the world of Lorelai Gilmore?" his baritone voice asked.

"There's nothing new with me," Rory politely tilted her head to the side. "I'm still the same old Rory."

"The same old Rory would've not brought up a Puff reference," he said.

Rory smiled, opened her mouth only to close it again. "How'd… Oh, the conversation with Logan."

"So, did you become Francie's friend or foe? I know she could be a little holy terror," Tristin reminisced.

"Hmm, she stopped braiding my friendship bracelet when I told her to shove her Puff powers where the sun doesn't shine," she replied.

Tristin laughed, slapping his thigh in delight. "I would've wanted to see that."

"Headmaster Charleston chewed my head off for participating in hazing rituals," Rory chuckled, looking back at one of the few times she actually was chided by a person of authority. "When I told the Headmaster that he has to make a decision whether or not my social life in Hartford should include illegal activities, he backed off and said I was exempted since I had a life back in Stars Hollow."

"Things I would've wanted to see," he chuckled.

"Maybe if you were there, the whole student body election would've gone differently," she thought back.

"Tell me…" he started asking. In the next hour or so, both of them got caught up, talking about the past and what the intended to do after college, carefully leaving out Logan or what they both were carefully tiptoeing around. Amazingly, they were able to set aside their differences and let their guards down.

The afternoon sun was casting long shadows from the window signaling the end of the day. For a split second, Rory didn't want the day to end. She watched at the barkeep unlocked the doors again to welcome in the evening diners. With a sigh, Tristin stubbed out the cigarette in his hand on the ashtray filled with half smoked sticks.

"So, what are we supposed to get from here?" Rory asked.

The waiter came to the table with the bill and a replica of the menu believed to be Picasso's work.

"This is for you to take back," Tristin handed her the pamphlet.

Rory was in awe. "So who gets the point for today?"

"Your team," he replied, folding his wallet and shoving it back into his cargo pocket. "After all, you deciphered the clue."

"Oh," the sound escaped Rory's lips. "What happens now?"

"I know that not too far from here we can catch a bullfight," he indicated. "Wanna see one?"

Rory ruffled her eyebrows at him. "That's cruel and inhumane!"

"But it's part of the culture," he replied.

After they thanked the barkeep and asked for directions to the ring, the couple left the pub and Tristin continued talking about the bullfight.

"Bullfights are more popular in the south, like Madrid. Barcelona, for the most part does it for the tourists' entertainment and hold on to it as part of tradition," he added. "If you don't want to see it, it's fine by me."

Rory hesitated for a moment. "I think I want to see it."

Tristin smiled and said, "Let's go."

He was physically tired but at the same time contented. He didn't delude himself when it came to his truce with Rory. He lost her once and she's not hers to claim with. Worst of all, she was his and he does not plan to stoop to his level. She smiled at him as she put up a brave façade. He took his hand in hers as they walked through a maze of people headed towards Placa d'Espanya.

The first bull was introduced to the ring. Tristin took it upon himself to educate Rory on the art of bullfighting from the capeadores, the picadors, and bandilleros, to the matadors themselves.

"Ole!" the crowd roared.

"Why did they say that?" Rory asked, her head emerged from behind Tristin's shoulder as she tried to avert her vision from the bull being prepared to be slaughtered.

"The matador just got the bull to pass through his red cape," he informed her, holding her against him protectively.

Rory watched the bloody ritual in front of her as she clung on to Tristin. There was some sense of comfort when he told her to look away when the matador went through with his kill. Rory's heart sank when she heard the crowd cheer as the dead bull was dragged away.

"I want to leave," she finally said.

"Are you alright?" Tristin asked, collecting their belongings. Not once did he let go of her hand.

She just nodded. Nausea filled the back of her throat.

As soon as they exited the walls, Rory emptied the contents of her stomach on the side of the road.

Tristin grabbed her hair and rubbed her back until she was able to stand. "I should've not taken you to see it."

"Don't blame yourself," she sighed, wiping her mouth. "I wanted to see it. I guess I can cross that off my list of things to do before I die."

"I'm sorry," he sympathized. He opened a bottle of water and handed it to her.

"What happens to the bull?" Rory sympathized with the slaughtered animal.

"Well, since it was a good kill, the matador probably will get the ear and the tail," he stated. "Tomorrow, the bull's to be sold in the meat market."

Rory nodded, taking in all the information he just fed her.

A little boy came upon them selling posters of the evening's performers. Tristin purchased two posters and handed her one.

"Just a little memento," he jovially teased her. "It's not every day that a girl runs away from me spewing."

"I'm sorry," she apologized.

"Don't," he said, still rubbing her back. "I'm just glad I was with you."

Rory stared at Tristin. She was rather surprised and curious about his confession. Leaving it at that, she said, "Let's get back to the hotel."

Slowly and silently, they walked back to the bus stop, awaiting their ride for the night. Unlike their animated ride to the city, they remained silent throughout the trip.

Tristin held out his hand to her when they got off the bus. She flashed him a tired sigh before accepting it. Right before both feet touched the asphalt, Logan's voice broke the trance.

"There you are!" he replied. Right behind him were Jared and a few members of both teams. "You should've been back a long time ago."

"I'm sorry, it's my fault," Tristin apologized.

"I know I should've called," Rory said at the same time.

"You should have!" Logan chastised her. "I was worried." He took Rory in his arms while he eyed Tristin suspiciously.

"Well, did you figure it out?" Nate inquired in suspense.

Rory pulled herself away from Logan so she could produce the menu from her bag. When she raised it, the brigade yelped in excitement.

"One- Love," Finn announced. "At least someone figured their clue out."

The LDB walked back to the building to commence the drinking while the Knights congregated by the parking lot.

"Good job, Gilmore," Jared commended. "It proves you are a formidable opponent."

"I had a great partner," she lauded Tristin who blushed in the night. "So, same time tomorrow?"

Tristin just nodded to her.

"That's settled," Jared replied. "Good night, folks."

"Good night," Logan uttered. He put his arm around Rory's waist and braced her against his side. Both of them watched the Knights pull away into the dark.

Once left alone, Logan kissed her long and hard on the lips. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," she sighed, leaning up against his chest. She snuggled up against his warmth, trying to forget the violent visions she saw that afternoon.

"Do I take it you're too tired to go out tonight?" he inferred as the strode toward the building.

"Let's get some room service," she suggested.

"Sounds like a plan," he agreed. "Then you can tell me how you deciphered your clue."