Title: It's Five O'clock Somewhere

Chapter 5: Alien

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

You should never say anything to a woman that even remotely suggests that you think she's pregnant unless you can see an actual baby emerging from her at that moment. –Dave Barry, "Things That It Took Me 50 Years to Learn"

Alien

Rory held the door of the cafe open for her mother to follow her out onto the sidewalk. They were met with a cold gust of wind and both quickly wrapped their scarves up around their ears.

"I should have worn a hat," Rory said. "Isn't that your job as my mother, to tell me when to wear more layers before I go outside to the Arctic?"

"You've always been the more sensible one, telling me things like that," Lorelai reminded her. "So I trust your judgment about what weather you can handle."

They continued down the busy sidewalk with all the other pedestrians. Some people with farther destinations opted to hail cabs. Rory wondered where her mother planned to shop today, because she wouldn't mind a warmer means of travel. Plus, they'd eaten a lot for brunch, so walking sounded exhausting. She sighed heavily. "I'm stuffed. We should have scheduled a nap before the shopping."

"We slept until eleven," Lorelai pointed out.

She was partially right. Their day so far had consisted of drinking coffee at home in their pajamas, arguing over who would wear what, and taking a cab to a restaurant for a late breakfast. "You did. I got up at ten," Rory said.

Dryly, Lorelai said, "My mistake, you're clearly an early riser."

"I don't know how you slept later than me," Rory said. "You went to bed first. I thought people need less sleep as they age."

"Maybe I'm aging backwards," Lorelai said. "Like Merlin or Benjamin Button. Get Sutton Foster to play me when they turn my life into a movie. She's like me, but can dance."

"Is the story of your life going to involve a dance sequence?"

"It will if you can get Sutton Foster to play me. The whole thing could be a musical, actually. Maybe it could be a Broadway show that gets turned into a movie—or vice versa, I'm not picky." She asked, "Who should we get to play Luke?"

"We could probably wait until we get there to burn that bridge." Rory shook her head. "I don't think you're aging backwards anyway. It's more likely you didn't go straight to bed after you retired for the night. Maybe you got distracted and really stayed up later than us."

"I wouldn't rule that out." They joined a group at a stop light and crossed the road when the signal told them it was safe. Lorelai gave Rory a sidelong look. "So tell me, have you been napping a lot lately?"

"Yeah, I'm always tired," Rory answered. "I think winter is making me want to hibernate."

"Sure, that makes sense. You're like a bear. What other reason could there be?" Lorelai asked rhetorically.

"The days are short. I get tired when it's dark."

"Right, and it's always dark. Totally understandable," she said, rolling her eyes, annoyed. "So where to first?"

They started their shopping excursion in Herald Square, hitting the big department stores before heading to Fifth Avenue for some classic window shopping in the freezing cold. They were oohing and awing over a pair of diamond earrings and matching necklace when Lorelai's eyes lit up. "Hey, I know what we should do."

"What?" Rory said, looking at her mother for what was sure to be an exciting idea.

"We could go downtown to see how Tristan and his dad are doing in court."

Rory's smile slipped. "You want to go to court?"

"Yeah. It'll be exciting to see them in action."

"They haven't even started the trial yet. They're just asking ordinary people questions to pick a jury. I'm going to go Monday."

"But I won't be here Monday," Lorelai reminded her. "Come on. You're never around for town meetings anymore. This could fill the void."

Rory protested, "Court is not going to be like a town meeting."

"Uh, let's see," Lorelai said. "There'll be an old grey haired guy up at the front with a gavel and seats for an audience to watch the presentation of the facts, waiting for the inevitable argument. Those are important components to any town meeting. I'm sure it'll be very reminiscent of our dear Stars Hollow."

"I guess we can go," Rory said, still doubtful. "But don't say I didn't warn you when no one stands up to yell 'I object!'"

"I could always yell it."

"And then the judge will send you to a tiny cell hidden somewhere in the bowels of the courthouse."

"Ew, don't say bowels." Lorelai waved her off. "What kind of snacks do you want to take along?"

"We can't take snacks to court," Rory said, exasperated. Then she muttered, "I feel a rendition of Cell Block Tango coming on."

"That'll be great in the musical of my life!"

"No, it'll be copyright infringement."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

"Excuse me, can I get through?" Lorelai whispered to a man sitting in one of the back rows of the courtroom. He turned to the side to allow the two women to get by. She struggled to squeeze by a few more people, and whispered, "Sorry, sorry." When they reached an empty space, they sat down and put their bags at their feet. Lorelai frowned and darted her head left and right.

"Sit still," Rory whispered sternly.

"I can't see. This guy's like a tree," her mother said, indicating the tall man in front of her.

"Then just listen."

"Switch places with me."

"What? No, then I won't be able to see."

"Come on," Lorelai insisted.

"Ugh, fine." Rory quickly stood for her mother to slide over.

The courtroom was nearly full, with people of all walks of life sitting in the rows. Rory could see Tristan sitting at the prosecutor's table up in front of the judge. He glanced up at the person sitting in the witness stand. It was a middle aged woman with long dark hair and wire rimmed glasses. He looked down at something in front of him and then back up at the woman, asking, "Ms. Feldman, have you read about Jonathan Newman in the newspaper?"

"No. I don't really read the paper. I don't have time."

"What about broadcast news? Did you hear about it there?"

"I heard about it right after it happened," she answered. "But I don't remember the details—just his name and that the police were questioning him about a murder."

Tristan made a note and moved on to his next question, "Do you believe you can follow and apply the law to all the facts of the case?"

"Yes."

"Are there any religious beliefs that prevent you from passing judgment on another person?"

"No."

He asked the woman a few more questions before he looked over to the judge. "I have nothing further." He looked over to the defense table where his father sat.

The older man asked, "Would you believe the testimony of a police officer based solely on his position as an officer?"

Ms. Feldman considered the question for a moment before she slowly answered, "No."

"Do you think that a person accused of a crime is probably guilty?"

"No."

Lorelai tilted her head toward Rory. "I don't like her."

"Why?"

"She looks like a bored housewife. She's probably here to get a book deal. Isn't that frowned upon?"

"Yes. But you have no reason to think that's why she's here."

"That's because you're too trusting. You believe everyone has good intentions, when they don't," Lorelai said. "I'm telling you, she has ulterior motives. I can see it in her eyes."

A woman seated in the next row turned to glare at Lorelai.

"Shhh," Rory hissed when she saw the evil eye. Her heart beat uncomfortably fast as she glanced at the judge, hoping the honorable man couldn't hear her mother's chattering. She also looked over at the bailiff, the man who'd drag them out for disrupting the proceedings.

They watched Harrison DuGrey finish his questions before the woman was allowed to leave the stand. The next jury candidate took the stand. It was a twenty-something man who had not gone to the trouble of dressing up much for the occasion. Father and son once again each took a turn with their questions.

Lorelai leaned in again to whisper, "Do you think Tristan's dad would bribe a jury member?"

Rory glared at her. "What?"

"Do you think he'd offer to pay one of the weak looking jurors to persuade the rest of the jury that his client isn't guilty?"

"No, I don't think he'd do that."

"But I've heard he's a manipulative bastard. You can't take that lightly."

"Be quiet." She looked around the large room to see how many people were getting annoyed with her mother. "You're bored, we should go."

"Why do you think I'm bored?"

"Because you keep talking."

"I'm always talking. You can't say I do it just because I get bored."

"Either way, you can't sit her and talk. Come on, let's go." They stood and went through the same process as when they came in, this time Rory apologizing profusely.

"Well that wasn't nearly as fun as I thought it would be," Lorelai said when they were back out on the street. "If I had to be on that jury, I would have fallen asleep."

"I told you. It was just jury selection," Rory reminded her. "You didn't really think it would be like a town meeting?"

"Part of me knew it wouldn't be exactly like that. But I was hoping for more audience participation. I was kind of expecting the judge to stand behind a pulpit, wear a cardigan, and lording his power over everyone else in the room a little more."

"So you were expecting Taylor?"

Lorelai nodded. "In my head, yes, the judge did resemble Taylor in more ways than one." She continued, "You know he's threatened to throw people in jail before. And mostly for minor infractions. Like the time Kirk went skinny dipping in the lake like the Polar Bear Club. Here in the city, it's just a thing. But in Stars Hollow, Taylor Doose thinks it's a punishable offense. He wanted to toss Kirk in the one-celled jail and I quote, 'throw away the key.'"

"In Taylor's defense, it is Kirk we're talking about. No one wants to see him naked for any reason."

"Still, he almost hired an artist to make Most Wanted signs with Kirk's face and a reward, as though everyone in town doesn't know what he looks like."

"How much was the reward going to be?"

"Taylor wanted it to be $20,000, but we'd have to organize a massive fundraiser to come up with the money. No one minded that part of course, and we had it narrowed down to either a biathlon or play Justin Bieber's Baby, Baby over loud speakers for the whole town to hear."

"What would that accomplish?"

"People would have to pay to stop the music. It'd drive everyone so crazy, they'd put up the cash, no problem."

"Ah, that does make sense." Rory nodded once in understanding. "I guess that would be effective."

"But it wasn't interactive where we all get together, and no one in Stars Hollow is athletic enough for a biathlon. So Taylor just decided to drop it. We were kind of disappointed, because we were thinking we'd try to contact an Olympian to come out."

Returning to the original topic, Rory said, "Anyway, the trial will get to the good stuff next week. Tristan and his dad are being very civil, so that's good."

"Yeah, it would probably be a bad idea to air out family grievances in front of a judge."

"God, I hope they don't do that. He needs to make a good impression if he's thinking about becoming a prosecutor. A petty argument with his dad won't look good."

"Hey, I didn't say it would be petty to argue with his dad. Tristan is probably completely justified. I know I would be. I'm sure a judge and jury would sympathize with me if I got the chance to testify against my parents. Especially my mother."

"Good thing you'll never get that chance," Rory said dryly.

"Good for Emily," Lorelai muttered. "I have stories on her that would make a jury's skin crawl. They wouldn't be able to sleep at night."

"Right."

"I feel like you don't believe me," Lorelai said. "I resent that." She got back on topic, "So what's the guy on trial for?"

"Murder."

"I know that, but who did he kill?"

"He's being prosecuted for murdering his neighbor." Rory led them to the Subway, fully intending to unload their purchases back home before they went anywhere else. With any luck, her mother would agree to stay in to watch movies for the rest of the evening.

"You say that like he maybe didn't do it."

"Because he maybe didn't do it."

"But the prosecution thinks he did."

"That's where their evidence points, yes. But Tristan still has to prove it," Rory said. "He isn't allowed to throw people in jail whenever he wants."

"It would be so much easier though."

"That it would be."

"I guess the media would have a field day though, without due process."

"Yes I would."

"It's good you keep him honest."

"That's what I'm here for."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Later, Rory and Lorelai were in the middle of a movie marathon inside the Upper East Side apartment, warmth provided by the fireplace. Rory poured herself another cup of coffee and glanced out the window over the kitchen sink before heading back to the living room. "I'm surprised it hasn't snowed yet," she commented.

"Why?" Lorelai asked from her place on the couch.

"The other night it smelled like snow." Rory joined her, pulling the blanket back over her legs as she took a sip.

"Here? In New York?"

"Where else?" she asked with a frown. "Yes, here in New York. It was cold and it smelled like snow."

Lorelai furrowed her brows and shook her head. "No. It smells cold here, but there's definitely no snow in the air."

"What's the difference between cold smell and snow smell?" Rory asked.

"If I have to explain it to you, it's no wonder you don't know the difference between the two," Lorelai said. "Just because it's cold doesn't mean it's going to snow."

"Well I know that."

"I have a very nuanced sense of smell. Yours must be off for some reason," she said, somewhat pointed.

"I don't think that's true though," Rory protested, setting her cup on the coffee table. "Just last week I was at work and Kyle's cologne was so strong, it made me sick. But everyone else said it was fine. I obviously have a heightened sense of smell usually reserved for those who've gone blind."

Lorelai gave her daughter a sidelong look, not for the first time that weekend. "His cologne made you sick, huh?"

"Yeah. Ugh, I had to run to the bathroom. It was embarrassing."

"Have you been feeling sick a lot lately?"

Rory shrugged her shoulders and rocked her head back and forth. "Off and on. There's a bug going around the newsroom. But it's winter, so it happens," she said. "Sometimes a co-worker leaves because they're sick, so I start thinking I might feel nauseous too, but then I'm fine later. I've only had to leave a couple times. I've always been fine the next day."

"Oh come on," Lorelai said impatiently, stopping the movie. "How far along are you?"

Rory's brows creased as she looked from the TV to her mother. "Far along with what?"

"You're obviously pregnant."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Meanwhile, Tristan made it back to the precinct now that it was after six o'clock. He stepped off the elevator and went over to his desk. He sat down with a heavy sigh, flopping his stack of files on top of the desk. Across from him, Mark was filling in the boxes of a report. He had to have noticed his partner's presence, but wasn't acknowledging it.

Tristan glanced around the papers on his desk and started shuffling them around to get his bearings on where they were with the Avery Fox case. As though reading his mind, Mark reached over to set a new stack of papers under Tristan's nose. He scanned the first page and leafed through a few more. He frowned. "What's this?"

"All the people that came in today to clear their names. Word got out about Sean Adams and they didn't want to go down with him. It was a circus here today."

Tristan read a few of the statements. Sean Adams had a diverse clientele, from what it looked like. They all had at least one thing in common though: there was someone in their life they wanted to get rid of. And Sean Adams had delivered for them. None of them knew how he disposed of the bodies, or where he did the job. But they all had defensive descriptions—or justifications—for why they called on the hit man's services.

"Looks like you've had a busy day," he commented. He pulled out his phone to check for messages, but there weren't any. He already read the one Rory left him earlier that morning, but the day had passed without any updates from his partner. Mark continued the case without him and appeared to have gotten along just fine.

Good. That was good.

"Yeah, I'd have two in line to talk while I was still finishing with someone else," Stevenson said. "I had to recruit a couple other guys to help me with interviews."

Tristan nodded. He leafed through the papers some more and commented, "They're all getting deals."

"Mm-hmm," Mark said grimly.

But they were back at square one with Avery Fox, since their main suspect was cleared from that particular murder. They were going to have to regroup and find another angle to work from. Such is life.

He rested his chin on his fist and drummed his fingers on his desk, unsure what to do. Mark had done the interviews, so he was stuck with the paperwork. Tristan wasn't needed here. He wouldn't mind talking about how his day in court went, but Mark hadn't asked. That would just have to wait until he got home. Tristan rubbed his face in his hands. He was tired, he wasn't getting enough sleep. He kept going to bed too late, and then he tossed and turned for a while. The captain's speech kept repeating in his head. He didn't know why he was wasting time flipping a coin when he had other things to worry about—the trial itself and his detective work. It was stupid that he was even taking what the captain said to heart. Of course there was no decision to make. He already made his career choice. He already had the job he'd set out to get, regardless of what certain parties wanted. And he decided a long time ago there was no looking back. To do so would be submission, and Tristan wasn't going to do that.

So he didn't need to flip a coin anymore. The decision was already made. He glanced over to the captain's office door, but didn't make a move toward it to declare his intentions. Instead he sat back in his chair and looked around the squad room, where a few of his colleagues were still toiling away. His gaze wandered back to his partner and he asked, "Why did you become a cop?"

Mark glanced up with a frown. "What?"

"I don't think I've ever asked you, why did you want to be a cop?"

One of Mark's eyebrows lifted out of his frown slightly. "I have two uncles who were cops." He shrugged. "I wanted to help people like them."

Tristan nodded once. Helping people, that was noble, and a perfectly good reason to choose this profession.

"Why?"

"Just wondering," he answered, gathering his things. "I think I'm going to head home since you have everything under control here." He remembered his mother-in-law was still visiting, and while he didn't have a problem with that, a drink before going home sounded good. He stood, but before leaving, asked, "Do you need to go over your testimony again?"

"Nope," Stevenson answered, most of his attention still on his work.

Tristan joined a uniformed officer on the elevator and pressed the button for the first floor. As the doors closed, he asked the other man, "Hey, why did you become a cop?"

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Rory stared at her mother blankly.

"Hello?" Lorelai said, waving a hand in front of her daughter's face. "Still there?"

Rory blinked a few times. "What?"

"How pregnant are you? I know people wait a few months to make the big announcement to make sure everything's okay, but I thought you'd at least tell me as soon as you found out." Lorelai went on, "I was going to play along and let you tell me, but I can't take it anymore. You can stop with this game."

Rory frowned deeply and looked at her mother like she was crazy. "I'm not playing a game, and I'm not pregnant. Why would you say that?"

Lorelai started ticking off a checklist on her fingers. "You're tired all the time, you had Brussels sprouts for dinner last night like it was no big deal, you haven't been feeling very well, the smell of cologne made you sick. All signs that you have a bun in the oven."

Rory got up from the couch to pace in front of the lit Christmas tree. Concern covered her features and she held her hand to her cheek, which was now flushed with worry. "Those are all coincidences. We aren't having a baby. We haven't even talked about it."

"At all? Ever?"

"Well, there was a brief mention before when we got engaged that whatever children would be our mutual children, but there weren't any on the horizon." She stopped and put her hands on her hips, facing her mother. Panicked, she went on, "At the grocery store last week, there was this little girl whining while she and her mother were in line, and I said she should just give her kid the candy to get her to stop crying. Tristan insinuated the kid would grow up spoiled."

"I let you have candy at the store and it didn't spoil you. I can see his point, but you're different, you're Rory."

She pointed at the tank near the hallway. "We're not ready to raise a child. We can't even raise fish!"

"Calm down," Lorelai said. She glanced over at the aquarium. "The fish look fine. There are two, like always."

"Tristan already replaced them. Trust me, they were both dead a couple days ago. You can't replace kids like that. At least, not without raising serious questions." Another thought occurred to her. "There are guns here. I don't even know how many, because I don't want to know. But there's Tristan's service gun and at least one more—except it's probably more like two. What if a baby found one? We clearly aren't suited to raise a baby!"

Lorelai took her arm. "You can lock up the guns. And you should probably find out how many are here." She added, "You can do it. There are two of you. I was sixteen and I did it. You guys have the combined total age of a 66 year old. You are capable of it."

"You're just saying that."

"No, I'm not," Lorelai said. "I could be wrong anyway. Why don't we go down to the supermarket and get a test? Maybe you have nothing to worry about," she said. "I didn't mean to freak you out. I thought you knew."

"I don't even know when—how?"

"How?" Lorelai said flatly. "I really thought you knew that part, at least."

Rory continued to rant, her eyes growing wide, "Pregnant woman aren't supposed to drink coffee. I've been drinking lots of coffee!"

"You can still have it—in moderation."

"Oh sure, because when people think of us, they think coffee in moderation. And how am I supposed to stop drinking it when I've been so tired? I can't be exhausted and go without caffeine at the same time! That isn't fair!"

Calmly, Lorelai said, "You shouldn't have soft cheese either, but we can make a list of foods to avoid later, when you aren't busy freaking out."

Rory shook her head. "Let's go to the store." They put their coats back on and hurried out the door. They went to the same supermarket she'd gone grocery shopping with Tristan the week prior, Lorelai following Rory to the family planning aisle.

Twenty minutes later she stepped out of the bathroom to join her mother, who led them back into the kitchen and set the timer on the microwave.

"You know, I'm really too young to be a grandmother," Lorelai said.

"That's your own fault. How old was Grandma when you made her a grandmother?" Rory thought about it. "She wasn't even forty, was she?"

"Yes she was," Lorelai said indignantly. The she admitted, "Just about. So what do you want it to be?"

"I don't know."

"You only get two choices."

"I know, positive or negative."

"No, I already know the answer to that one. The symptoms are all there. What is it you two do for a living?" she asked rhetorically. "I meant boy or girl. Which would you rather have?"

Rory blew out a breath and shook her head slowly, staring at a spot on the wall. "Girl, I guess. I don't know anything about boys."

Lorelai tilted her head thoughtfully. "They're lower maintenance, actually."

Rory frowned. "Hey, I wasn't high maintenance."

"I didn't think so either, until I had someone to compare you to."

"Did you also factor in that you were comparing single parenthood to parenting with a spouse?" she asked. "I would imagine that makes a difference, no matter the gender of the kid."

Lorelai nodded contemplatively. "That is true, it does take some of the burden off to have a partner to divide the responsibility. And you have Tristan, so you'll be fine. You don't have to do it on your own."

"That's true."

"So, girl?"

Rory shrugged and gave a small nod. "Paris had a girl. And Lane got a girl. I guess it's in the water." She pointed to the refrigerator, where there were photos of the two baby girls that came in the respective families' Christmas cards the previous month. "That means I should get a girl too."

"Lane deserved a girl," Lorelai said in a tone suggesting it should be common knowledge.

"A girl has to be earned?" Rory asked. "I don't think it works like that. And what happened to girls being more high maintenance?"

"She had twin boys, so the comparison changes," Lorelai answered simply.

"Is there a conversion chart whereby one boy is lower maintenance than a girl, who is still easier to care for than two boys?"

"Don't forget to divide by the number of parents."

Rory opened her mouth to continue, but was cut off by the timer on the oven. She glanced at it in surprise and then to her mother, slightly panicked. She went to the bathroom to retrieve the stick and returned to the kitchen. As her heart raced like she'd just run a marathon, she glanced at her mother again and exhaled heavily before looking down at the results.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

On Monday morning, Rory was sitting on the bed, finishing getting dressed while Tristan stood in front of the full length mirror. He was staring at his reflection blankly. He was fully dressed, save his suit jacket. Just as he thought would happen, he and Harrison had finished filling their jury in only two days. They would start the trial today with their opening statements.

"Are you okay?" Rory asked as she pulled on a pair of wool socks before her shoes.

He made eye contact with her in the mirror. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said, though he sounded uneasy.

She stood up and went to his side to get a closer look at him. "Are you sure?"

"Mm-hmm." He looked back at himself again. "It's just—"

"What?"

"What if I'm not good?" he asked. "What if I've been all talk this whole time, and I actually don't know what I'm doing? I might be terrible."

Rory put her hand on his shoulder. "You know what to do. And you've been pouring over the evidence ever since you took the case. You just have to present it and argue with your dad. Those are both things you can do."

Tristan took a deep breath to calm down, but he still had a nervous look in his eyes. "I don't want to fail in front of everyone."

"You won't," she insisted. "You've been interviewing witnesses for years, and that's all the prosecutor does too—he just does it in front of a judge and jury. And you know why you're looking at particular evidence, because you always make Jacobs tell you what he's going to do with it."

"I guess." They were quiet for a moment. Then he went on, "You know, in the movies, the defense lawyer is usually the good guy, not the prosecutor."

"What movies?"

"A Time to Kill, A Few Good Men, To Kill a Mockingbird. Dad is the protagonist. He's Atticus Finch and I'm the bad guy, with a wrongful conviction."

"You are not. You're the good guy." She confidently added, "You've got this."

"Okay," he said finally. "Thank you." He turned to look at her in person rather than the mirror and gave her a kiss. He grabbed his jacket from her vanity chair and went to the door, pausing to say, "Dark and sinister man, have at thee."

Rory followed him out of their room and down to the kitchen. She went to the counter, where her cellphone was charging and saw there was a text from her editor. She pressed the speed dial number assigned to him and waited for him to answer.

"Hey, Gilmore," James said meekly. "I can't make it in to work today."

"Why not?"

"I'm not feeling well," he answered. "I need you to be me."

"But Jimmy, we don't want reporters to be confused about who they answer to." In a loud whisper, she said, "It's you, if you forgot."

"I know, but there's no way I'm leaving my couch today. Trust me, no one will want me around."

Rory looked over at Tristan, who was starting the coffee maker, and bit her lip. "Uh, actually, I was hoping I could get down to the courthouse this morning. The trial is starting and I want to be there for Tristan."

"Sorry," James said. "But you can't today because of your pesky job. Maybe you can go another day this week, if I make it back."

"If?"

"I do not feel well," he stressed. "I got whatever you all have been passing around. Thanks, by the way."

"I think mine was a different strain."

Apparently not hearing her, he said, "I'm not sure I'll be back tomorrow."

Glancing at Tristan again, she slowly said, "Okay. I guess I'll head out now."

"Thanks," James said before they hung up.

She clapped her hands once, authoritatively. "All right, so there's been a change of plans," she told her husband. "Jimmy is sick, so I have to be him today. I won't make it down to watch you in action."

Tristan poured himself a cup of coffee. "Oh, okay."

"I'm really sorry, I wanted to be there."

"It's all right, duty calls. It happens." He blew on his coffee before taking a sip. He sat his cup down to fill her trusty travel mug as Rory layered for the elements. He met her at the door and handed her the coffee.

"Thanks," she said with a smile, accepting it and a kiss goodbye.

After a subway ride to work, the travel mug remained on her desk all morning, only to sadly grow colder. Still feeling guilty about not being there for Tristan, Rory desperately looked around the newsroom for an empty handed reporter. Her first choice was Marie, but her desk was unoccupied, its owner already out on her assignment. For whatever reason, her gaze found Kyle next. She knew he was finishing an article, just proofreading his final copy. "Kyle," she barked, rather editor-like.

"What?" he answered, lifting his head with a start.

"Are you almost done with that?"

"Yeah, I just have one more paragraph. Do you need me for something?"

"Yes," she said, then bit her lip. "It's personal though."

"What is it?"

"Could you go down to court today? The trial is starting and I want to know how it goes."

Kyle sat up and raised a brow. "And you want me to do it—go in your place?"

"If it isn't too much trouble. Just for the morning."

"No, no. It's no problem," he said. Eagerly, he asked, "Does this mean you trust me?" At her hesitance and silence, Kyle gasped and his eyes widened. "You trust and respect me." He smiled widely.

"You don't have to make a big deal out of it."

He pointed a finger at her. "You will not be sorry." He returned to his work to finish up, then bundled up and headed out of the newsroom.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Tristan read through his opening statement again, sitting at his place at the prosecutor's table. His heart was beating too fast considering his at rest physical state. He hadn't been this nervous due to inexperience in years. He wished Rory could have made it this morning. Seeing her would make him feel better. He turned to take what he hoped was a casual look around the courtroom. Before he turned around far enough to see the people sitting behind the prosecutor's side, a woman sitting on his father's side caught his attention. Tristan wasn't sure why, since he couldn't see who she was under her sunglasses and the scarf that covered her head, but something was familiar about her. He frowned slightly as he continued to crane his neck around. He was surprised when he saw a young man waving eagerly at him. Kyle.

Tristan frowned, this time deeply, as he grabbed his phone from his pocket. He had it set to silent, so he hadn't noticed the message from thirty minutes ago. Rory sent someone in her place. Kyle wasn't his first choice, but he had to admit to an odd feeling of comfort to have a familiar face on his side.

Suddenly, the bailiff walked through the door, ordering everyone to rise for the judge. Tristan's heart pounded harder. This was it, no going back. In what felt like seconds, he was standing in front of the judge and jury for his opening statement.

"Ladies and gentleman of the jury," Tristan started, going on to outline his case against the accused. The more he talked, the easier it was. The nerves wore off and he comfortably talked in front of everyone in an authoritative manner.

Relief washed over him as he took his seat. His heart was still racing, like he had just chased down a suspect. And Rory was right, now all he had to do was present the evidence and question witnesses. He could do that.

In the middle of Harrison's opening statement, it struck Tristan that this was the ultimate test. This could be the deciding factor. If he lost the case, then he obviously didn't have what it took to be a lawyer, and he should stick with detective work. With a new level of confidence and determination, he sat up and jotted down some notes while his father spoke to the jury with practiced ease.

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Later that afternoon, Rory hung up her phone after speaking with the managing editor of the Daily News and she gave instructions to one of the reporters. When she finished, she went back to Kyle's desk to look over his shoulder. "What have you come up with?"

Kyle tapped his pencil on his desk, eraser side down. "Not much. Councilman Peter's charity really does help the people his wife and website said they do. I talked to kids who credit him with getting to college, and adults who saw the neighborhoods improve. They all said it was because of Peters. He's a saint."

"Sure, except for his relationship with that woman."

"Right, that woman."

Rory chuckled lightly.

"What?"

"Nothing, that's just what Tristan's mom calls his dad's second wife. Well, his second ex-wife now."

"Oh. I saw his dad talking to a lady when the judge called for a recess today. They were out in the lobby. I thought it was his wife."

Pained, Rory asked, "What did she look like?"

He shrugged one shoulder lightly. "I couldn't tell since she had on sunglasses and a scarf over her head. She had the lips of Angelina Jolie though. They looked like they were close. I saw her sitting on his side in the courtroom."

Rory smacked her palm against her forehead. In a whisper, she hissed, "Eileen."

"Who?"

She shook her head. "No one, never mind."

Kyle went back to his research. "Anyway, Peters' taxes are in order, too. I don't think there's anything here for someone to find and expose."

Rory sighed in disappointment. "All right, that's okay. There's still Thaddeus Black."

"Yeah," he said slowly. "I was actually thinking we should try to find out what happened with the car the victim was found in. You said it was stolen?"

"Yeah, last fall. It was the middle of the night. The only one who heard anything was the psychic upstairs."

Kyle's eyes grew to the size of saucers. "There's a psychic upstairs? We have to go talk to her."

"The psychic?" Rory shook her head. "Psychics aren't real." She was suddenly glad she hadn't mentioned this part to her mother over the weekend. Lorelai wouldn't have let it rest until they'd gone to see the clairvoyant woman.

"Have you ever been to one?"

"No."

"When Jimmy gets back, we have to go see her."

"The police already talked to her and she didn't have any information."

"That's okay. We'll just let her read our fortunes then," Kyle said eagerly. "So it'll still be worth it." He tapped his fingers on his desktop for a moment, apparently in thought. He sat up suddenly.

"What?" Rory asked.

He held up a finger and turned to his computer. He clicked a few times and browsed a list of documents on his hard drive. He found what he was looking for and opened it. He pointed at the police blotter he'd written some time back. "I reported on some burglaries and one of these things was not like the others."

Rory read what he pointed to on his screen. "All home invasions except for a car that was stolen."

"Yeah. I can't remember if the police ever recovered it, I'll look into it. Maybe it has something to do with the car they found Avery Fox in."

"That's good," Rory said. "It was a 2006 red Dodge Stratus. Let me know what you find." She checked her watch. "I need to go to a meeting."

"Okay. And just know we're still going to see the psychic no matter what," Kyle told her as he picked up his phone to dial the police.

It was later in the day when she checked in with Kyle again. She was having major caffeine withdrawals and just wanted to go home to sleep. "Find anything?" she asked.

Kyle rocked his hand back and forth. "The police never found the stolen car, but I looked up all the used car lots in Manhattan. I think it'll be worth looking into the shady ones, to see where they get their cars. I also found the address to the psychic."

She deadpanned, "How will that help us?"

"It'll be easier to find her with her address," he said. "I told you, we're going. My guess is the police dismissed her as a hack, but that doesn't mean she doesn't know anything."

"Maybe."

He held up a spreadsheet with car makes and models. "These are the cars that have been stolen in the last six months. We might find some matches when we compare them to the car lots."

"All right, that's good. We'll make some rounds as soon as Jimmy gets back."

Kyle shook his head and stood up, pulling his coat on. "I can get started now. You can join me when Jimmy gets back."

Rory watched him go, wishing she wasn't stuck in the newsroom all day.

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Tristan unlocked the apartment door that evening and went in not to find Rory asleep on the couch, but awake in the kitchen. Not only that, but for once, she wasn't mashing potatoes or boiling noodles for macaroni and peanut butter. She was checking what smelled like a roast in the slow cooker. He inhaled the aroma deeply as he took off his coat and gloves. "It smells good in here," he said, joining her to look into the pot.

"Thanks. I thought you'd be late, so I went ahead and made it after work so it'd be ready when you got home."

"Perfect timing, I'm starving."

"How was court? Kyle said you were doing well, fitting in like you belonged there."

He raised his brows. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, he said you're a natural."

"I always liked Kyle."

"Right," she said dryly. "So give me more details, what happened?"

Tristan took a seat at one of the island stools. "Well, there was this one witness Dad had on the stand, and I was planning to discredit her because she wouldn't talk to me before the trial started—that showed bias for the defense. Except as she was talking, she said something that supported one of my points, so while my dad was asking his questions, I was coming up with new ones."

"I'm on the edge of my seat," she said. "Did it work?"

"I won't really know until the jury decides, but I was happy with my cross-examination."

"That's great. See, you were worried about nothing this morning. You can do it."

It appeared he could. Once he worked through his nerves during his opening statement, it had seemed easy. Jacobs had been right about using words everyone knew. His father never used fancy terms, keeping things simple for the jury to understand. Tristan was surprised he'd never noticed before now.

"Have you talked to your partner today?" Rory asked as she took two plates down from the cabinet. She got forks and gestured for him to come help himself.

"My partner? That's impersonal. You aren't using his name now?"

"He's drawn a line between us. He doesn't trust me." She shook her head. "He's completely stone walling me. I had no idea he'd do that."

"He doesn't like reporters, as you know."

"Yes, but I'm different."

"That's true, he tolerates you, for me. But that's as far as he goes."

She sighed heavily. "So do you guys have any new leads since Sean Adams has an alibi, inconvenient as it is?"

"No, not yet. Mark has been busy interviewing all the people who used Adams' services. The feds are probably going to take over any day now. There are dead bodies everywhere." He asked, "Why, do you have anything you'd like to share?"

She brightened. "Do you really want to know what I've come up with?"

"Can't hurt," he said, not entirely motivated to turn back to the case. Maybe she could help him get back into it.
When they were finished eating, she led him over to the living room. He sat on the couch and she knelt down on the other side of the coffee table. "Okay, so Kyle and I investigated Councilman Peters and found out he's having an affair with the woman who used to run his charity," she explained. "However, we don't have any proof Avery Fox knew about it, so she may not have been a threat."

"How'd you find out about the other woman?"

Sheepishly, she answered, "We followed him."

He nodded. "Oh good, you're tailing your suspects."

"It was Kyle's idea. I thought it was crazy. So the other council member I'm going to look into is Thaddeus Black."

Tristan rested his chin in his palm. "What made you decide to look into these two?"

"I was tipped off."

"By?"

"By someone who had regular contact with Avery," she said. "Kyle is looking into used car lots, to see if we can find out anything about the stolen car."

"That's not a bad idea."

She smiled. "Thank you. I didn't get any more done today since Jimmy was out. But I want to read through Avery's articles some more." She gestured to the newspaper clippings on the coffee table.

"All right," he said, picking up a clipping. "Let's get reading."

They silently read for a while. "Thaddeus," Rory said contemplatively. "That's kind of a cool name. Unique, but not made up."

Tristan frowned slightly. "Uh, sure."

Rory read through a few more articles and then commented, "I'm thinking about hyphenating my name."

He looked up at her. "Really?"

"Yeah, it's been two years. I think it's time." She tried it out, "Rory Gilmore-DuGrey. How do you think that sounds?"

"Good. I like it." Then he said, "You're still using your stripper name for work though, right?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"And you're Mrs. DuGrey socially. When will you use it hyphenated?"

"It'll be the legal one, on my Social Security card. The legal name is the one that matters."

He shrugged and went back to reading articles. "I'll take it."