Chapter 21

"He's ready to come home, Michael!" Janlen argued.

"No he's not. He's still acting like a spoiled little rich kid..."

"He is a spoiled little rich kid! That's how you raised him!" Janlen yelled.

"He didn't get what he wanted from me so he went behind my back to you."

Janlen sent an icy glare in his son's direction. "That's because you wouldn't listen to him! He's not asking to come home permanently, he just wants a weekend."

"I don't have to listen to him. I'm his father! Not the other way around."

"One of his friends is in trouble and he..."

"And he what? Feels left out?" Michael snapped sarcastically. "I won't bring him home so he can join in on all the fun."

Janlen rolled his eyes. "That's not what he wants!"

Michael shook his head irritated. "You don't know what he wants. You only hear what he wants you to hear. He knows how to manipulate you, Dad! And he takes full advantage of it."

"No!" Janlen bellowed slamming his fist down on the table. "He's not working me! You don't understand!"

"Then explain it to me," he snapped.

"He's genuinely concerned for his friend."

"The one who's in trouble?"

"Yes. The one who's in trouble. He wants to help."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Who's the friend?"

Janlen hesitated. "Is that really important?"

"If I'm going to consider letting him come home to help his "friend," then yes, who it is really is important."

"Rory Gilmore." Janlen mumbled softly. He knew Michael was still steaming over the Gilmore girl's public tantrum that had been directed at him.

"Classic Tristan. It's always about some girl," he said annoyed.
"Yes well, she's in trouble..."

"Wait..." Michael interrupted.

"What is it? Janlen sniped.

"That's the girl who tried to humiliate me in front of everybody at the Gilmore's party last week."

"Michael..."

"Absolutely not! He's not coming home for her. I could care less about that girl."

"But Tristan cares about her. That's what matters. And according to everyone I know, the Gilmore girl is never like that."

"I don't care." Michael said standing up intending to end the conversation. "Tristan never reveals the whole truth. He always leaves out some key detail; and before you know it, I have to go down to the Hartford Police Department and bail him out again. It's not happening, I already know Bruce Marquis more than I'd care to. He stays where he is."

"Oh shut up! Who cares that you had to get to know the Police Chief. Besides, it isn't going to be like that. I'll take full responsibility..."

"He's using you! I don't see why you can't see that! I'm not bringing him home, even if it is just for a weekend, and not even if you take responsibility for him."

Janlen glared. "Well that's just to damn bad, because if you don't I will!" he snapped standing up and opening the first door.

"You can't do that."

"Watch me," he threatened before shutting the door behind him.

xxxxxx

Tristan sat silently on his bed wringing his hands nervously. Going over his father's head had been risky but he didn't have a choice. His grandfather was his last resort. If Janlen couldn't get him out of here, he'd have to find a way to make a phone call to Rory good enough.

Janlen had been against sending him to North Carolina, that much he knew. But at the time he'd been too ill to help him. But now he was fully recovered and had been eager to help. Especially after he'd told him about Rory.

His eyes lingered back over to the phone, willing it to ring. He hadn't intended to tell Janlen everything that Paris had told him but once he started talking he couldn't stop. Knowing that Rory thought she was responsible for his current predicament was eating at him. The phone rang and he stared at it nervously. He knew this phone call could go either way. He tentatively reached out and answered it. "Hello?"

"You have one weekend," Janlen informed him happily.

Tristan smiled widely as his heart raced. "You got him to agree to it?"

"No," Janlen said softly, "but I decided that I'm overruling him."

"Can you do that?"

Janlen shrugged. "Sure."

"Really?" Tristan said with more hope in his voice than he knew he could muster

"Yeah I'll pull some strings. I'll have you out next weekend. Is that good enough?"

"Are you kidding? It's perfect. Thank you so much." Tristan beamed.

"No problem. Just don't screw this up Tristan. Don't make me regret this."

"I swear I won't."

"And you are in no way to put your hands on Duncan or Bowman, do you understand me?" he said forcefully.

"Yes sir."

"And don't mention Rory to your father. They had an altercation at her grandmother's party last week."

"They did?" he asked confused, "Paris didn't say anything about that."

"He was witness to this newfound attitude you claim she has. She made it perfectly clear that she knew exactly where you were and not in Switzerland. He's livid, you know you weren't supposed to tell anyone where you were going."

Tristan sighed. "I couldn't leave and not say goodbye to her. She's important to me."

Janlen nodded. "I understand. I'll pick you up at the airport Friday. I'll have your tickets delivered over tonight."

"Thank you," Tristan said graciously.
"You're welcome. Give the girl some closure. All I can guarantee you is a weekend."

xxxxxx

Three hours later, true to Janlen's words, he was holding a plane ticket to Connecticut. It wasn't first class, like he was accustomed to, but that was irrelevant. He was going home. Home to fix the damage he had caused before he left; to fix what he'd broken. He refused to entertain the notion that he couldn't fix it, that the mess he'd created for her was too extensive. He didn't care what he had to do, as long as he helped her.

He was staring at the ticket, his own personal lifeline to Rory, when Sam walked in.

"What do you have there?" Sam asked curious of the piece of paper that Tristan hadn't removed his eyes from.

Tristan looked up. "Oh, it's a plane ticket home."

"Cool, when do you leave?"

"Friday. Really early too."

"How early?"

"5:50. So not really early for here but still."

Sam nodded. "You gonna take care of your girl?"

Tristan sighed. "I told you she's not my girl."

"Still..."

"I'm going to try," Tristan said softly. "I'm going to try."

xxxxxx

Monday rolled around and Rory was finally able to go back to school. She entered and was immediately met by Paris. Paris had been acting strangely all weekend. She had been yoked to her phone, and had even snuck away several times to have secret conversations. Rory mused that maybe Paris had a secret boyfriend, but Paris had shot that theory down flat. "What's up Paris?" she said confused.

Paris shrugged. "Thought you shouldn't have to go in alone."

Rory smiled. She hadn't thought it was possible but Paris had really stepped up to be her friend. Ironically, it was Tristan that had been keeping them apart and now it was Tristan that had brought them together. Thinking of Tristan made her frown, but she had resolved over the weekend that she couldn't keep doing this.

She had to be stronger. No one was going to back off unless she made them. And that meant no more crying over Tristan. No more screaming matches with Summer, or Duncan, and Bowman. And no more staring off at Tristan's table or lingering by his locker. She couldn't keep putting herself out there only to be kicked by Chilton. Getting suspended had been the last straw for her.

She was so deep in her own thoughts she hadn't realized Paris had been talking to her. "Huh, what? I'm sorry, what did you say Paris?"

"I said, incoming Summer at 2 o'clock."

Rory shrugged and continued walking past Summer. She pushed Summer's voice out of her head and bit her tongue to distract herself. Before she knew, it they were in class and Rory could let the breath she hadn't realized she was holding out.

"I'm impressed," Paris said.

"I can't keep crying here," Rory said quietly. "I can't keep setting myself up for these people. I got suspended Paris."

"I know."

"That's going to go on my permanent record."

Paris nodded.

"Harvard is going to see I got kicked out of school for fighting!" she said suddenly realizing it.

Paris was about to comment but the teacher came in and started the class. Paris sighed nervously. Rory seemed to be turning it all around on her own. Maybe she had made a mistake calling Tristan so soon.

AN: FYI Hartford's police chief at the time this story takes place was really named Bruce Marquis. I didn't make him up. And there really is a flight leaving Wilmington (which is where I decided Tristan was) and heading into Hartford next Friday at 5:50 AM with plenty of seats available incase you want to call your travel agents...