Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any of the characters associated with the show.

Chapter Five: The Song Remains The Same

Tristan watched Rory as she walked out of the building, just a step or two in front of him. It was a confident walk. And he couldn't help but notice how her slacks hugged her hips, or how her heels made her legs look miles long.

"Your girl is lovely, Hubbell," Rory said over her shoulder. Her eyes sparkled a bit in the light from the lobby chandelier.

"What?"

"Carly," Rory said, grinning widely. "She is really cool. I have to confess, I was surprised."

"That she's great?"

"I have never really known you to date girls with any kind of substance."

"Not for lack of trying," he said. She held his gaze for a moment, then turned ahead, breaking their glance. Damn, he thought. He needed to stop straddling this line. He couldn't flirt with her like that. He could see it in her eyes. Something in her was more susceptible to his charm than she used to be. And Tristan was very much with Carly.

"I took Paris out that one time," he said quickly. She laughed.

"Ah yes, a true meeting of minds," she said dryly. They passed through the glass doors of the main lobby and found themselves on Sixth Avenue. "Where's lunch?"

"Uptown. Just a few blocks, we can walk. A place called Red Zeppelin."

"Original."

"It has great lunch service and is not one of the spots clogged by the corporate crowd."

"Just the yous and the Carlys of the world."

"And the Rorys."

She smiled again and turned right, towards uptown. "So where is your office?"

"Sixth. Between 42nd and 43rd."

"Bryant Park?"

"Bank of America Tower. You a fan of Bryant Park?" he asked

"No more than the average Image employee."

"Touche."

"Why?"

"You just seem pretty familiar with that part of Sixth."

They paused at a corner, letting a stream of taxis and delivery guys on bicycles fly by. Tristan craned his neck, but didn't see any more traffic crossing. Rory hopped lightly off the curb, deftly avoiding a sludgy puddle that smelled vaguely of piss.

"I lived on West 4th and 6th for about 6 months last year, right before moving to Boston to work for the Herald."

"By Washington Square Park?"

"Yup. By the park."

Tristan thought about that for a moment, surprised by what he had just learned. He watched her as she moved uptown. She didn't have the air of a tourist. She wasn't distracted by the tall buildings or exclaiming about the smells wafting from the vendor carts on the street. She was a New Yorker. Little Mary from Chilton, a seasoned New Yorker.

"How did you end up down there?"

"In that neighborhood? Well, I only really had a week to move myself to New York and that was the only neighborhood I had ever explored. So I narrowed my Craigslist search and reached out to some very desperate NYU kids until I found a room to sublet for the length of my assignment."

"What were you working on?"

"Eh, some independent newspaper hired me to edit copy. Like, literally spell check and grammar check."

"And you left when you weren't editor in chief after six months?"

Rory sighed. "I'm clearly not that picky, Tristan."

That had struck a nerve. Noted.

"They laid me off after five months. Then I only had enough money for the rent in my shoebox for another month, so I packed up and found the job in Boston. Where I worked until they fired me. It is a pattern lately."

"At least it is something to depend on."

Rory snorted. They walked in silence for another minute. "Is that it on the corner?"

"Yeah," he said. They crossed the final street and Tristan held the door open as Rory passed into Red Zeppelin.

True to his word, the place was crowded, but not with suits. The place was dark even though it was a clear day outside. People were packed in the entrance, and Tristan pushed through them determinedly, Rory nudging her way behind him.

"Dugrey, reservation for two."

"We were just about to give away your table."

"Well, I'm certainly glad you didn't."

"Is your entire party here?"

"Right here," he lied. Rory looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"Right this way," the hostess said, grabbing two menus and walking towards the back of the restaurant.

"They'll grab a chair for Carly when she gets here, it's the only way we will ever get seated."

"Got it," she said.

They sat down and Rory busied herself in her menu. "Everything here is a pun on a Led Zeppelin song."

"Like the name of the place."

"Consistent," she said, still scanning the menu. "That's it, it's settled."

"And it will be?"

"Stairway to Bacon."

"What is that?"

"A terrible pun that presumably involves bacon."

Tristan read the description. Oddly enough, it was a salad.

"So back to Carly," Rory said, settling into her seat. "What's your story?"

Tristan immediately felt little pringles of sweat bead around the collar of his shirt. "Carly is my girlfriend," he said simply, flipping the page of his menu. Hmm, maybe he would go with the Glazed and Confused pulled pork.

"Why, thank you, Captain Obvious," she said playfully. Oh good, she was teasing him. Maybe he wasn't really in the hot seat after all.

"Carly is my girlfriend. We met senior year of college in LA. We were both at SC. She was sorority president, I was in the frat next door...one thing led to another and here we are."

"Bada bing…"

"Bada boom."

"You moved to New York together?"

"She was offered a job at Images and I joined my family's firm. We moved here simultaneously, but not together."

"Do you live together now?"

"43rd and 10th."

"Ugh, Hell's Kitchen?"

"It's not that bad. It's up and coming."

"Isn't there a giant McDonald's on 43rd and 10th?"

"No, that's a couple of blocks up, on ninth."

"Ah."

The little sweat beads grew. Tristan adjusted his tie a bit. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Not a fan of Hell's Kitchen?"

"I'm not a fan of living in a neighborhood that is one big Madison Square Garden parking lot, no."

Tristan chuckled. "It's industrial but it's not that bad."

"I'm sure," she said dryly.

"I'm sorry it's no Washington Square. We can't all be Edith Wharton."

"I never said we could," she said.

Tristan turned back to his menu.

"I'm just surprised, is all," she said. She wasn't dropping it, apparently.

"That?"

"Of all of the neighborhoods in Manhattan that you could live in…"

There was a funny emphasis on the you. So that's what this was.

"Carly insists on being able to pay for her half of the rent. She has a fancy title at Images but she's not exactly Anna Wintour-yet. Rent is good, commute is doable, and there is actually closet space for her shoes."

"That closet space is a hot commodity around here," Rory said. She busied herself in her menu, Tristan took her lead and did the same.

"So it's pretty serious?" She wasn't looking up from the menu.

"You could say that."

"Serious like there will be a ring, and a cake, and a stroller?"

Little beads of sweat again. "Not for a very long time."

"The stroller?" she asked, looking him in the eye with what could only be her investigative stare.

"Any of it. We're 25. Not 35."

"Why didn't you tell me about her?"

There they were. Big beads of sweat now. He stalled. "When?"

"When? Oh, I don't know. During the drinks, or the dancing, or maybe even the dinner?"

He was cornered. And he had known that she was going to ask these questions. And he had suspected that she would be mad about the whole topic, any self-respecting woman would be.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you think there was something there between us, is that where this was coming from?"

As soon as the words were out, Tristan wanted to bite his own tongue. She looked stricken.

"No, I…"

His phone rang. Ungallantly he dug for it in his pocket as quickly as he could.

"Hey."

"Hey babe, I'm not making it to lunch. I'll make it up to you at dinner."

"K."

"Treat Rory, ok? And invite her for lunch Wednesday, I promise I'll be able to slip away then."

"Ok."

"I love you, Baby."

"Love you too."

"She's not coming?" Rory asked.

"Not today but she wants to try again Wednesday."

"Ah."

Rory turned the pages of the menu slowly.

"Rory, look…"

"I'm going home," she said, interrupting the words coming out of Tristan's mouth.

"Hey, Rory, I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said."

She stood up, threw her napkin down on her vacated seat. "It doesn't matter Tristan."

Tristan stood up too. "Rory…"

"I'll see you Wednesday."

She strutted out of the restaurant, righteous. And she had every right to be. Just like always he shut down communication between them. Just like always, she ran out.

You are with Carly, and you are with her for a reason.

The thought drifted through his mind lazily and stuck around for a moment or two. When he finished acknowledging his own wisdom he realized he was still simply standing in the middle of the crowded restaurant by his empty table. He pushed in his chair and walked out. He'd grab a sandwich from the cart back in his office.