First off I want to thank everone for the wonderful reviews! You made me feel very welcome in a new fandom and it inspired me to finish up this story.

Please enjoy! I own nothing and mean no harm and as noted above reviews feed my muse:)

"Hello?" As surprised as she had been at the hour at which her phone was ringing, nothing could have shocked Rory more than the voice on the other end, "Offspring."

Double checking her watch, just to be sure it hadn't stopped; she didn't bother to hide the surprise from her voice, "Mom?"

"Of course it's your mother."

Smiling, Rory took a seat on the edge of the bed, attempting to put on her shoes and balance the small phone on her shoulder. "What are you doing up so early?"

The groan on the other end of the line was expected, "The question is how you can be so awake this early?"

"Ah, I see. You called thinking I was going to be asleep, therefore waking me up, devious wench. What brings Lorelai Gilmore to the land of early morning sunshine?"

"Something about a towel crisis at the Inn, but by the time I got there, Michel had it sorted. I swear I think he does that just to irritate me." Rory smiled at statement, not bothering to deny her mother's observations.

"I thought for certain you'd be asleep, you are, after all, on vacation." Snorting, Rory reached for the hair brush.

"Mom, I told you this isn't a vacation, I'm just…" "I know I know. You're getting a feel for the lay of the land, blah, blah, blah. That's all very good, but it's New York City! There should be late nights and clubs and, and well late nights." Rory couldn't help but smile as she thought of the late night that had turned into an early morning.

"What is it?" Startled by the question, she frowned at her reflection, hand pausing mid stroke. "What?"

"You were smiling." The accuracy of her mother's comment amazed her and her face went from frown to fish. "Come on Rory, spill. What naughtiness has ensued since our last conversation?"

Rory saw no reason to deny the fact, "Yes, Mother. I was smiling."

Lorelai's sharp intake of breath gave Rory every indication that a switch had been flipped in her Mother's head, "What happened to you last night?"

Even as she opened her mouth to continue, she was cut off, "You sound different. I talked to you yesterday and you sounded like Rory and now you sound like Rory, but different."

Rory couldn't help but roll her eyes. "That makes no sense."

Her mother was not to be deterred however, "A-Ha! I knew it! No denial, just a weak attempt at misdirection."

Sighing, she put the forgotten hair brush back on the dresser and reached for the over priced mini-bar water, "You're right Mom."

The admission came with silence, but when her Mother's voice came back over the line it was considerably softer, "Rory."

This conversation had been so long in coming that she didn't know what to say now that she was faced with the moment.

"After Logan," his name was still a painful set of consonants and vowels, "and Yale I've felt different. Like something was off."

She paused, picking through her mental thesaurus, hoping the right words would be highlighted.

"I couldn't place it or even give it a name." At that point her voice tapered off, she wasn't sure what else she could say, "Mom?"

"I'm here."

Rory could feel the shock rolling off her Mother through the phone line. There was a possibility that what she was, would, say could hurt her Mother and that was not her intention, but now that she had started the words wouldn't stop coming.

"Yesterday, right after I talked to you in fact, I got some advice. A way for me, to maybe, get past what was throwing off my groove," as she spoke the clearer it all became.

"That's it," her voice becoming louder as the idea sunk in, "My groove was off. Logan and the mess with school had knocked something off line." The technical reference may have been lost on her Mother but she was too excited to clarify, "and so, yes, I was smiling because I feel more, more…"

"…online," the word she couldn't find had apparently ended up with Lorelai, "exactly."

Taking a deep breath, heading out of the bathroom she had no recollection of walking into, she heard Lorelai take a deep breath of her own.

"Am I crazy Mom?"

"No, honey, you're not. It's just…I'm just…I'm so sorry Rory."

"Mom…"

"No, you're right. You have been different and I should have been paying more attention."

The playful tone that had been in Lorelai's voice was gone now and Rory knew that making her Mother feel better at this point would be no small feat. Rory didn't want her Mother's guilt; there had been enough guilt, enough angst the past year to last them clear into the new decade.

In true Gilmore fashion she would need to steer the conversation into more light-hearted topics before they would both be to emo to be of use to anyone other than Ben & Jerry's today.

"I met a guy." Lorelai's jaw audibly dropped, the statement was as effective as ice water on the sleeping.

"What!" Not giving her Mother any time to recover, she launched into an explanation.

"Well actually I re-met a guy. Either way it was so great Mom. There was food and kissing and magnets," before she could go any further she was cut off.

"Re-met?" Of course her Mom would focus on that tiny detail.

"Yeah, re-met, although I don't think that's actually a word."

"Rory…"

"Okay Mom, geez, I found Tristan." Cringing, the words had sounded better in her head, probably didn't have a possessive or something.

"Tristan…"

"Chilton, Mom, Romeo, Satan…"

"Oh! Satan. Wait, Satan made you smile?" Smirking, she knew Tristan would just love to hear this conversation.

"Yeah, he did." Whoa, her voice hadn't sounded that soft, that wistful in so long, hardly felt like hers.

"Whoa," Lorelai's telepathy chose that moment to kick in, "So that was creepy."

"What?"

"Uh, nothing, Mom…" "Did you say something about kisses?" on its way to pick up her watch, her hand froze.

"Uh, Did I?" "Yeah, you did." As glad as she was that her distraction techniques had worked and her mother was no longer on the verge of tears and ice cream, she had no time to start this conversation.

Taking a deep breath, she counted to three, gathering the highlights with each number and let it all out.

"Yes, there were kisses, plural. Yes, Tristan is a great kisser. Yes, I'm obsessing over it. Yes, I'm going to see him again, in about ten minutes actually. No, I don't know what, if anything, will come from this. Yes, I know what I'm doing. No, you can't talk to him yet. And yes, I'm okay with everything, really okay with it. Oh, and yes you'll get all the details when I get home." Drawing in a much needed breath, she was certain she had caught everything, but just in case, "Am I forgetting anything?"

"Yes," of course she was, "What?"

"Is he as hot as he was back at Chilton?"

Red creeped up her neck, "Oh, Mom. You have no idea."

"Good. That's good. Do everything I would do Rory," only her mother would say something like that, "I love you offspring."

Rory smiled, "I love you to Mom."

She felt good. Yes, there was more they had to discuss, but it would be easier now, and that felt good.

The knocks on the door were a clear signal that she was going to be feeling even better, very soon.

Six months later

"Just one hint," Rory had been doing her best, for the past hour, to get him to spill one tiny detail, "Please."

No one could resist that voice, those eyes, she knew well enough the damaging effect her baby blues had, but all they earned her was a smirk.

"Nice try, but I don't think so," calmly Tristan settled back into the seat of the cab.

"Fine," in a huff Rory crossed her arms. Convinced her pout could get something out of him, she turned it on full force, and "I really didn't want to know anyway."

"Sure you didn't," great now he was laughing at her.

Whatever he had planned it was big, she could feel it. Regardless of her demeanor, inside she was as excited as she could remember being. He had a surprise for her; A surprise.

Christmas was a week away and they, she, had laid out specific rules and guidelines to be followed for the holiday. Presents and parties; visits and signatures; each item had been discussed and agreed upon.

Tomorrow they were leaving for Star's Hollow; he had not had a problem with spending Christmas at her Mother's, attending a week's worth of festivities, no complaints. Not one; so long as he had today.

In all the time they had dated he had never been so secretive, so demanding. Tristan had told her when to be ready, 2pm, what to wear, warm but not fancy clothes, and she had to bring her camera.

Not just any camera, but the one her Mother had insisted she get that had all the memory and all the features for her to document her move and life in the big, bad NYC.

As it turned out, her prospects had panned out nicely that weekend once upon a time. She had gotten taken the job she really and truly wanted and made the move to New York.

The decision had not been an easy one, true, but having Tristan, well having him in general made it a whole lot easier.

It was Tristan who had helped her scour the papers for just the right place, then helped with the weekend's worth of moving.

It was Tristan that had helped her, over one frustrating week, full of phone calls and texts' learn to maneuver through the subways and cabs.

It was Tristan who had reminded her, through kisses, touches, laughs, who Rory was.

Sighing, she uncrossed her arms. The memory walk had made her feel guilty. Pouting would only sour her outlook, especially since it had no apparent effect on his mood.

What seemed like the longest ride ever had finally come to a stop. Maybe twenty minutes out from her place, and the traffic had cooperated, but it was a part of the city she was not familiar with.

Tristan helped her from the cab, she was careful not to step in any of the slush that hid the curb; she took a moment to survey her surroundings.

Lined up and down both blocks were brownstones. Frowning she looked for a shop hidden in a nook or a restaurant in a cranny, but came up with nothing.

Having paid for their ride, Tristan's attention turned her way.

"Ready?" his hand was on her arm and she couldn't believe the excitement in his voice.

"I guess so," each word was hidden in a puff of white. The news had said to expect a drop in temperature; she was grateful she had worn several layers, as it was better to have more and need less than be without.

Following his lead, they crossed the street, she was still uncertain of where they were headed.

Expecting to head further up one way or another, she was surprised when he headed up the front steps of the closest façade. He had merely slid the key into the lock, when her heart began to pound.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. "Rory," his voice pulled her from her overreacting brain, "are you coming?"

There, five steps above her, smiling as big and bright as the night she had confirmed the fact that she was for all intents and purposes his girl, was Tristan. She was making no sense, having realizations that were keeping space between them.

Urging her feet to work, she nodded and skipped up the steps.

Before her the mahogany and beveled glass door swung open; Tristan ushered her inside, followed, and then closed the door behind him. Just as her mouth opened, questions and thoughts finally formulating, she felt a cold finger press against her lips.

"I know you have questions, and if I know you, a lot of them, but just let me explain," God, how could she resist, his eyes were twinkling. It was just unfair that he had twinkling eyes and a whole big plan and she couldn't even speak.

Even so she felt herself nod and damn him, his grin grew wider.

"Close your eyes," that little cheater!

"Tristan, you said you were going to explain, how is me closing my eyes, going to explain anything." She knew she was maybe being a little bit difficult, but it wasn't fair.

"Come on Rory, just a little longer, I swear." Great, now he had twinkling eyes and he was pouting. How exactly had she ended up with such a convincing and beautiful boyfriend?

"Okay, Okay, enough with the lip," eyes closing, she heard another door open.

Hands came up to cover her eyes and she bit back a smart comment, she would try to be good. The mantra began to repeat itself in her head.

"That's it then, just take a few steps forward," she gave him four, "now to your right," this time three, "and once more forward," with a sigh he got four.

"Perfect," if she had expected him to uncover her eyes, which yes she had, she was to be disappointed.

Maybe he wanted to drag out the tension, although it was tight enough to snap on her end, or maybe he was nervous, which was would be so very out of character. Tristan was one of the most confident and assured people she had ever known.

His innate knowledge of self-worth had worked wonders on her self-esteem; to think that he doubted now, well it quite simply floored her.

Subdued somewhat by the seconds that passed, even more certain of her latter assessment, she was on the verge of asking him if he was okay when his hands lifted.

Still shocked by what had happened, something so small, but so very telling, that her eyes stayed closed.

Feeling foolish, she realized he was probably waiting for her to see and react to whatever it was he had done; she opened her eyes.

The view around her settled into her head. So, okay, whatever it was she had thought she was going to see the paint splattered floors and unfinished walls were no where on the list.

As her gaze turned upward, delighting at the gothic moldings, he began to speak.

"You know if you Google the address and mix it with yours and mine, you'll find that we are standing on one of the half-way points."

Caught somewhere between the curving arch ways and the massive fireplace, his words slammed into her. Turning on her heel, noting that once buffed and polished the floors would be shiny and beautiful, she stared at him; hands in his pockets, gnawing on the perfect lip, he stared back.

Of course they had talked about maybe the possibility of sometime moving in together. She was confused, she needed clarity.

"You bought this?" her heart gave a little tug when he grinned sheepishly; running a hand over his short, short hair.

"Yeah, I guess I did." She would need more than that, with eyebrows rising dangerously, she hoped he got the message.

"It's just you seemed hesitant to move into my place, and yours, although great," wise man this one, "hardly holds all of your stuff much less mine."

What he said made sense, it really did, it was just so big, so big her head couldn't see around the other side.

"Just think of it Ror," the excitement was back full force, "this place is unfinished, we could make it be whatever, however we wanted it to be."

Unfinished, something begun but never completed. How many things had she left unfinished? Nearly snorting at the completely unnecessary self-analysis, she took a second look around.

The walls needed work the floors too, but there were touches she already liked.

"I checked the distance; it's only a little bit further for both of us to get to work if we get creative with our routes," she could do creative.

Warming to the idea, she let him talk.

"There are three floors, plus a basement, oh and you'll love this, there's roof access," yes there was a lot of space, a ton from the way it sounded, but it was the last part that had her smiling towards the wall opposite her.

"It'll be a mess, but do you want to see?"

Did she need to see?

"No."

Really, she hadn't meant for it to come out so cold, so final. Watching everything on his face just fall had her throat constricting.

"Rory…" not able to keep her face straight, she broke out into the biggest of smiles.

The steps that separated them couldn't be crossed fast enough. Before he could say another word she was on top of him. With a scream she jumped into his arms, confident that he would catch her, she wrapped her arms and legs around him.

With a grunt he caught her, caught her and squeezed her tight. "Ro…"

"Shut up Tristan. Shut up and let me tell you how much I love you."

Kissing his lips, his cheeks, his chin, anything in her reach, she felt rather than saw him smile.

All of this, him, them, it was everything she had, could want.

"It's perfect Tristan; perfect. You are perfect."

Everything that had fallen in his face had picked up again. The room began to spin and she squealed, yes squealed, and held onto him tighter.

"I cannot believe you did all of this."

Resting her head against his, she took a breath, drawing in his scent, his joy and smiled. She didn't think she would ever stop smiling.

"So you like it? Cause if you don't I'm sure we can find somewhere else."

Rolling her eyes, she pulled back enough so he could see her face, read her eyes, "I love it."

He seemed to believe her then, because his smile was dazzling and his kiss was mind blowing.

Although kissing Tristan was a joy in itself she wanted to see, to explore what it was that was theirs. Pulling back, enough to formulate words, she tugged on his ear when his lips pressed into her neck.

"Come on, show me our home, Tristan." The words had their desired effect as his lips halted and he let her slide down his body with only a small groan.

Grabbing his hand she slipped her free fingers into her pocket; fist curling around the camera he insisted she bring. That he knew her so well made her grin.

With a much practiced movement she flipped it on, bringing it up to snap a shot of the fireplace.

"Are we really going to do this?" Looking over her shoulder, she snapped a picture of him.

Tightening the grip she had on his hand she pulled him after her, recording each step. Her Mom would want to see every inch of the place on her shiny new laptop.

"I really think we are."

The rest of the day and into the evening they laughed, planned, plotted and dreamed. In her head she could already see how it would be how it could be and she was half in love with the place when they left; driven out by the dark and cold.

Riding up the warm elevator back in his building, she replayed the day's events in her mind. Wrapping her arms around him, she dropped her head in between his shoulder blades.

Had it only been six months ago that she had ridden up this elevator; looking for something, something that didn't have a name?

Hearing the bell sound their arrival she thanked her lucky stars that she had found a name; Tristan DuGrey.