Holy Mary

By Bethany Inc

Summary: AU Trory: How to get the Mary to get over The Yale King, and fall for The former King of Chilton.

Blue eyes are a striking feature when mixed with tousled brown hair, and alabaster pale skin. They pop when they connect with other sets of eyes – they demand attention and claim the room as they graze a path across it. When paired with a million dollar worth smile, it can easily make the owner the most ravishing, perhaps even dashing human being in the room.

But tonight, a pair of blue eyes that would have had any person willing to fall were blood shot, and watering. Black lashes closed themselves over the orbs of cerulean, shielding the hurt inside of them from the outside world. Salty seas of tears spilled from the corners, making tributaries down the apple cheeks – rosy from that salt seeping within the pores.

A sniffled escaped the young, blue eyed, brown haired woman as she brought a soft, cotton tissue over her face, using her fingers to massage the cloth over her eyes and cheeks to absorb all of the salty moisture. The tears, and the actions of the woman weren't what some would deem typical. She was strong, and independent. She was able to hold her head high when someone tried to put her down with measly, meaningless words. She knew what she was capable of, and if someone told her different then she'd just set a path to prove them wrong.

God forbid someone would ever try and make her feel inferior. Inferior and Rory Gilmore never made a positive sentence. She was too amazing to be inferior – so what had her crying on this deceitful evening? A mediocre, insipid, foolish jackass.

"What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she said, her voice shaky and unstable. She sniffled again, wiping her nose free of bodily murk, before curling her head deeper into the armrest cushion of the caramel, suede of the couch.

"Don't, or won't?"

"Both."

The blonde that had been sitting with the young woman for over twenty minutes now, huffed, and crossed her lean arms over her chest, letting her brown eyes befall on the mess of the woman that had her legs curled in her lap. She wasn't used to playing the dutiful friend when one was in emotional pain, "He's not worth it, Rory," she cooed softly, reaching over and stroking soft, brown strands of hair away from her friend's face, "If he's making you cry then he's not worth the tears."

"When did you become Dr. Phil?" the brunette deadpanned. Her body shook with another outburst of salty tears. She sat up slowly, positioning herself on the couch, and running a pale, soft hand through her hair. "When did I become this type of girl?" She asked, biting her lip and pulling it into her mouth.

"What type of girl?"

"The kind of girl that becomes an emotional wreck because a boy doesn't like her."

"You're far from being an emotional wreck."

"Yeah? Then why am I sitting here and crying? Why am I wondering what I did wrong?"

"Because you just had a guy that you've been crazy over for a little less then a year break up with you, that's why, Rory." The blonde rose an almost perfect eyebrow that complimented the cold brown eyes she usually had, "You did nothing wrong, he's just a jackass. He's just… ah, I don't even know what he is!"

"He's incorrigible."

"That's one way to describe how idiotic Huntzberger is."

"I feel like an idiot."

"Well…" she started, shrugging, "you know what they say."

"No… what do they say?"

"Women fake orgasms but men fake entire relationships."

Rory let out a watery laugh, albeit a very weak, and rickety one. She piled all of the dirtied tissues in her hands, and closed her eyes as if internally letting the realization of being single wrack over her for once, and for all. She stood, and stretched her back as she stood in front of the couch, letting a yawn escape her lips, "I'm going to bed."

"It's nine o' clock on a Saturday night, Rory. It's a bit early, even for me."

"I'm tired," she tells her friend, "Crying for the first time in ages can do that to a girl, you know."

"I know."

"I'll see you in the morning?"

"I'll be the girl watching CSPAN," the blonde laughs, standing and walking towards a closed, brown, wooden door, "Rory," she says, and turns around, her left hand resting on the cool brass door handle, "You can talk to me anytime you want, you know. I may be a bit cranky, but I'll still lend you an ear."

"Thanks, Paris," the brunette smiles, tossing her tissues away in the stainless steal trash can that stood at the end of the kitchenette counter. "'Night."

"Good night, Gilmore."

---Gilmore Girls---

"Cheyenne," Rory smiled, opening her apartment door, allowing the Caucasian male to enter. He carried a tray of four coffees in one hand, and a bag of, what Rory presumed were, pastries in the other, "do you need any help?"

He didn't bother looking back at her, he just merely placed his goods on the coffee table. Making sure everything was steady on the pile of books, magazines, papers and the box of tissues that became Rory's best friend the previous night, he sighed and placed his hands on his hips. "You had me worried sick!" He exclaimed, turning to face her, his eyebrows raising in concern, "You did not call me when you got home last night, young lady! For all I knew you were abducted by Harvalites and forced to dress in a horrible Pilgrim costume!"

Rory shook her head, and tucked hair behind her ears, letting out a long, suffering sigh, "That would have been a pleasant time compared to what happened last night."

Cheyenne plopped down onto the couch, and patted the comfortable cushion next to him, "Come sit next to Chey – he'll make it all better."

Rory crossed her arms, and made her way to the couch, plopping unceremoniously down next to her friend, and sighed yet again. "He broke up with me."

"I bet he's gay."

Rory opened her mouth in horror, and tears stung her eyes, threatening to fall. "Are you trying to say I turned him gay?"

"God no, honey," he said, wrapping his arm around her, and pulling her into a tight half hug, "I'm just saying with a body like yours, any guy would have to be gay to break up with you."

"So I've turned all three of my boyfriends gay?"

"Are you that horrible in bed, babe?"

"Ugh," Rory cried, burying her head in her hands. She shook her head, and let out a rickety chuckle, "I've only slept with two guys, Cheyenne!"

"I should teach you the trick of the trade."

"I don't want to pick up gay men."

"Honey, you don't know what you're missing."

"Potential homicidal thoughts?"

"Besides those."

"Uh huh," she laughs, leaning forward and snatching the pastry bag into her hands, hurriedly pulling the top apart and peering inside, "Banana?" She cried, "Why are you contaminating my apartment with healthy food?"

"It has sugar in it!"

"But not enough to cancel out the healthy!"

"When you're two hundred and fifty pounds don't come running to me."

"I think I'd have heart failure if I tried to run and I weighed that much."

"Is Rory Gilmore becoming a cynic?"

"I live with Paris."

"Ah, point taken."

Rory bit into the banana muffin, and gave Cheyenne her Bambi eyes that Lorelai had taught her to use on the opposite sex, "Will you get me a napkin?" she pouted, blinking her eyelashes at him.

"Honey, I'm gay." He sighed, clapping his hands onto his knees, and stood, making it overly dramatic.

"Oh no!" Rory cried, in mock hurt, "You're gay? Oh the agony! The agony!"

"I'm so sorry you had to find out this way," Cheyenne said, frowning, but his laughing hazel eyes gave away his current state of emotion. He stroked hair away from her forehead, and cupped her face with his hands, "Are you feeling better?" He asks as he makes his way towards the kitchenette to grab her a napkin.

"A little bit," Rory mumbled through the banana muffin in her mouth, "My heat will mend."

---Gilmore Girls---

He didn't know exactly how he'd ended up here. He knew how he was transported here, but why this place? Why this school that hadn't ever conquered his thoughts – why was he being shipped off to this place? It was too close to home for his comfort: he'd liked the idea of being free to wander and fuck around with people who would never have the chance to inform his parents of his reckless behavior.

But being within the same state as his family, as lovely as they were, didn't appeal to him at all. It was different, living under the same roof with them, but once you'd tasted freedom, and it was within your grasp, to suddenly be yanked back into familiar territory was something a young man of twenty two didn't, and would never want.

"Watch it," someone snapped as they bumped into him, going the opposite way, "are you blind? You honestly couldn't see me there?"

Tristan rose an eyebrow and took his accidental attacker in, and let out a short laugh, "Are you serious?" he asked rhetorically, "Who could miss that sweater? What? Does your mother still pick out your clothes?"

"You think you're so funny, don't you?" the guy in the sweater seethed, two guys walking up beside him, "You should start watching where you're walking – wouldn't want to get on the bad side of people."

"Is this still High school? Last I knew I was at college – I must have jumped back a few years."

"Colin, who're you talking to?"

"Some jackass that needs to watch where he's walking, Huntz," the sweater guy, now deemed as Colin said, his eyes focused on Tristan.

"Ah," he said, nodding and taking Tristan in, "New guy? Logan Huntzberger," he said, holding his hand out for Tristan to shake.

"Right," Tristan rose his eyebrows, nodding, "Tell Mr. Rodger's here to back off – I have a feeling his bark is bigger then his bite." Shrugging, Tristan gave a glance to each of the three guys, letting his eyes linger over the shoulder of the one who hadn't spoke, "If you'll excuse me, I see someone who's worth my time."