Disclaimer: I do not own GIlmore Girls or any character associated with the show.

Author's Note: Thanks for putting up with the long hiatus! Summer has slowed down my writing a bit, but I should get several chapters up this week.

Chapter Eleven: Aftermath

"Rory..."

What was that?

"Rory..."

Her name pulled her from her sleep slowly. Who could possibly be calling her name? And where was she?

"Rory!"

"Fuck off, Tristan," she mumbled. Wait, Tristan. Why was he back in here? She had kicked him out just a few minutes ago.

"It's 6 a.m. I have to drive you home if you want to make it to work on time."

She cracked one eye open, disbelievingly. But sure enough, the faintest light was peeking in through the blinds on the window.

"No work, wrong day," she said, closing her eye again and wishing he would disappear.

"It's Friday."

"No."

"You spent half of dinner telling me about the vapid assignment you need to cover at the office today. Come on. Get up or we will both be very late."

Oh God, the Spring clothing lines were coming in today and she was supposed to live tweet as the staff reacted to unpacking the new trends. She didn't want to get up and face Tristan. She didn't want to face a car ride home with him. She especially didn't want to go to work. But she didn't have much of a choice.

Wordlessly, she sat up, rubbed her eyes, and swung her legs off the bed she had fallen asleep on. She focused on locating and pulling on her boots while wondering where Tristan had spent the night. God, her head hurt.

Tristan waited for her in the doorway, watching her. She grabbed her bag and headed to the door. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Don't even," she warned and pushed past him, leading the way downstairs. They tiptoed through the living room where several bodies were passed out. The front door creaked angrily when she pulled it open, but she didn't look back to see if anyone stirred.

The driveway was full of fine cars. Thankfully Tristan's Porsche wasn't blocked in. Tristan unlocked his car by remote and she sank into the passenger seat. Rory flipped down the visor to look in the mirror. She was a mess. She wiped under her eyes, trying to rub off some of the smudged makeup. Then she fished through her purse to find a hair tie to pull her hair back into a pony tail. She watched as Tristan climbed into the driver's seat. His shirt was a little wrinkled, but other than that he hadn't betrayed a sign of any lingering effects of the last night's revelries.

"Are you okay to drive?" she blurted out.

He smirked at her. "You outdrank me two to one, Mare."

She scowled at him.

Tristan started the car and backed out of the driveway. They drove through the neighborhood in silence. As much as she had drank, Rory had a clear memory of her argument with Tristan. She was still angry. She could admit to herself that he was right about some of it, well, most of it maybe. Like the parts about her wanting him. But he had no right to call her a victim, not when she was trying to just be a decent human being.

The residential streets turned into busier roads. Rory spotted a sign for the I-84 onramp. Tristan pulled into the right hand lane at the stop light. He turned on his blinker.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking you home."

"You're getting on the highway."

"Right. Because I'm taking you home."

"There's no coffee on the highway," she said, speaking to him as if he were a silly child.

"Get a coffee at home. Or the train station."

She fixed him with a cold stare. "Oh no. Not an option. I need coffee now. I can't wait a half hour."

"Withdrawals kick in?"

"Yes! And I already have enough of a headache from your gin concoctions. "

"They have twelve-step programs that help junkies."

"Go straight, there's a Dunkin Donuts down the road. It's Satan, their coffee is crap, but it will do in a pinch."

To her relief, the light turned green and he went straight.

"Did you see Finn this morning?" He asked, changing the subject.

"What was on his face?"

"His losses written in Sharpie."

She grunted, indicating her disgust. "Why?"

"Well, last night after we-" he cast a quick look in her direction. "After you went to bed, things got pretty heated downstairs between some of the guys. I guess they didn't believe Finn would pay up. So after he passed out they decided to humiliate him a bit with their permanent marker artwork."

"Typical," she responded.

Tristan pulled into the drivethru of the Dunkin Donuts. It was early so they seemed to be ahead of the rush.

"A large black with two Turbo shots," she mumbled to Tristan as she cradled her head against the window.

"Two? You'll get holes in your stomach."

"Show me some cold hard data and I'll change my order."

"I don't keep files on espresso in my glove compartment."

"Then mind your own beeswax."

"Welcome to Dunkins. How can I help you?" blared the voice in the intercom. Rory noticed Tristan wince at the harsh noise. Selfishly, she felt smug that he had cracked and shown his first sign of hangover weakness.

"Yeah, hi. Two large coffees, black with two Turbo shots each. And two bagels, plain, no cream cheese."

"Hey!" she cried softly.

He smirked at her in return. "I'm not letting you go down by yourself."

There's no moral police here, he had said last night. You can't pin this all on me just to take the high ground.

He held her gaze a moment too long, his smirk fading. Was he remembering last night too? He pulled his attention back to the drivethru. He pulled up to the window, paid, and handed Rory her coffee and a bagel.

"I don't need the bagel."

"Eat it," he said gently.

"Really."

"Come on."

"I'm fine."

"Rory..."

"I don't need the damn bagel!" she snapped.

He pulled out of the parking lot, quiet. Rory sipped her coffee. The silence was deafening. Tristan turned on the radio. It was tuned to a morning show that Rory particularly hated. She took the liberty to reach over and change the station. She eyed Tristan, gauging his reaction.

He stayed focused on the road. "Were you listening last week when they prank called that guy and he ended up confessing that he was cheating on his wife?"

Rory sipped her warm brew. "Yeah, and in the background you could hear the wife swearing at him. I don't know why they didn't cut to a commercial."

"Are you kidding me? That was ratings gold," Tristan said. He reached into the fastfood bag and grabbed his bagel.

"That's like a few weeks ago when they called the guy who ended up totally being some kind of drug lord..."

"Oh yeah, " Tristan said, his mouth full of bagel. "That was so sketchy. They hung up on that guy."

"Definitely a liability."

"And they haven't mentioned it since."

"Hey, you know what would go really good with this coffee," she asked.

"What?" he responded, somewhat wary.

"That bagel."

Tristan shot her a look of complete disdain. But he handed her the bagel. She got to work eating it happily.

"Look, Ror," he said slowly as they approached the turnoff for Stars Hollow. "I know you have work today. What I told you last night about Carly and the job in Germany...you're not supposed to know."

"I won't say anything at work, if that's what you mean," she responded.

He nodded. "I don't know what is even going to happen."

Rory studied him for a moment. He kept his eyes glued to the road, avoiding her. What was he referring to? Carly's actual interview? His relationship with her? His relationship with Rory?

She chose not to ask. It was better not to go down that path. She balled up the wax paper from her bagel and tossed it into the empty paper bag.

"Rory..."

"What?" she asked, feeling very tired again all of a sudden.

"About last night..."

"No, Tristan-"

"I know that I need to-"

"Tristan-"

"And Carly and I have-"

"Tristan! STOP."

He shut his mouth and glanced at her quickly, before turning his attention back to the road.

"We're done seeing each other, Tristan," Rory said. "We both know that we can't be friends. So from now on, whatever happens to Carly and her career, whatever it is that we are doing here is done."

They were turning on to her street, then they were in her driveway. He parked.

"I don't want to be done," he said gently.

She held his gaze for a moment, before unbuckling her seat belt and opening her door.

"Wait!" he said, reaching out and putting a hand on her arm.

She shot him a dangerous look.

"I have your poker winnings," he said simply.

"Keep it. I don't want their money."

She closed the door and disappeared into the house.

Tristan couldn't focus on his meeting. He hadn't been able to focus on much of anything, other than his blinding headache. To be honest, he couldn't tell if it was the hangover or the searing pain of Rory's rejection that was causing this persistent ache behind his eyes.

So that hadn't gone according to plan. Not that he'd had a plan, exactly. But what he had been imagining the past few weeks never ended with Rory slamming both a bedroom and a car door in his face. Never had he imagined that when he told her that he and Carly were over that she wouldn't take his word. Nor had he thought that her moral compass would not only put the breaks on all of the things he had wanted to do to her in that bedroom but also make him question his own actions.

He checked his phone under the table as McMillan droned on about expenditures. Carly hadn't contacted him today. He knew he needed to call her, talk to her, figure out once and for all where they stood. But the thought of that made his headache roar to the forefront of his mind. He knew he wanted to have sex with Rory. And he knew that he wanted her for more than sex. She had challenged him mentally, verbally, and sexually since they had met as teenagers. And it seemed to grow every time they saw each other. He knew he wouldn't stop chasing Rory until he got a taste of having her in his life, making her his completely. But there was a history there with Carly that he couldn't ignore. Years together that made Tristan nothing better than a filthy cad for the way he had been pining for Rory.

He sank deeper into his chair, slipping his phone into his pocket. Now wasn't the time to worry about his romantic endeavors, he decided. He should really listen to the expenditures report.

Somehow, painfully, the day passed. Rory made it into the city on time. She made it through the boring assignment. She even made it through an office baby shower at lunch in only minimal distress. Carly had been on her mind all day. If Carly truly left Images, it would mean a major reshuffling of staff. At the shower luncheon, Rory looked around at the other women who were working below Carly.

It was obvious that Chelsea Cosgroves was a shoe-in for Carly's position. No one else was nearly as experienced. And then that position would be open. Who would fight for that spot? Rory searched the room. Beauty was an in demand department. Many girls would love to transfer into it.

Jaqueline O'Riley. Pop Culture Editor. She was sidling up to the Beauty Department girls like Rory had never seen before. Of course she would want her foot in the door. She would willingly work Chelsea's job.

Rory thought about her own future at Images. She liked her colleagues. She enjoyed working in the city, even if it meant the commute. If she tried to compete for a full-time position, she would be able to afford to live in the city again, even in something very modest. It wasn't exactly world-class investigative journalism that she would be working on, and she didn't love fashion, but she could see herself trying to slide into an open position in the Pop Culture department. Writing reviews on best sellers, movies, and CDs wasn't out of her comfort range. And every so often a Pop Culture team member collaborated on feature interviews.

Rory grabbed another Bellini and crossed the party to go make nice to the Pop Culture team.