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

Chapter Twelve: The Files

By one o'clock, Tristan couldn't bear to sit in the boardroom any longer. He excused himself from the presentation, although he was the one being presented to. His employees exchanged looks as Tristan walked out of the room. He knew they were murmurring about him, probably complaining about the amount of work that had gone into the presentation. Which was a valid complaint. But right now, it was impossible to follow protocol and stare at excell sheets of numbers.

He closed the door to his private office and sank into his desk chair. The leather cushions hissed softly as he leaned forward and grabbed the phone. Steeling himself, he punched in Carly's number before he could chicken out.

It rang three times. He allowed himself to hope that she would miss the call. But in the middle of the fourth and final ring, she picked up.

"Hey," she said, sounding preoccupied.

"Hey," he responded.

There was background noise and he could hear Carly's muffled voice talking to someone on the other end. "Sorry," her voice said, coming in clearly through the receiver. "I was talking to the taxi driver. What's up?"

"Just calling to check in," he responded simply. He took a breath. "How was your interview?"

"Well, I don't know really. Good, I think. But I won't find out for at least a week."

"Did the job appeal to you?"

He could almost hear her roll her eyes on the other end. "Of course, that's why I flew out here to interview for it," she retorted.

He hated that tone of hers. "I meant, did you like the offices and stuff? Was it what you had imagined?"

"Yeah," she said vaguely. There was a long pause. "I'm going to take it if it is offered to me."

"And if it isn't?"

"Well, I'll come back to New York and figure out my next move. You know I feel stuck. I can't stay there forever."

Tristan knew that she was referring to her job, she was always complaining about the lack of potential upward mobility in her office. But the word stuck ricocheted through his brain. They were stuck. And he wanted to be unstuck. He had been wanting to be unstuck for months, years maybe. And his desire to do the right thing always held him back. But what was the right thing? Them marrying? Having a marriage that had used up its intimacy in their college days?

"I'm done, Carly."

Another long pause.

"Look," she said evenly. "I get that the prospect of me moving to Germany means a huge shift in our relationship. But we both work so much already. We can totally do long distance, rack up some frequent flier miles-"

"What are you fighting for?" he asked.

"I just think that a little space wouldn't be bad for us," she responded simply.

"I don't think there really is an us anymore."

There was a lethal silence. Finally she said: "We have been in a relationship for over five years. We live together. How can you think there is no us?"

"We're roommates!" he cried out. "We are friends who live together. We don't have sex anymore. We don't make time for each other...we've allowed ourselves to become these workaholics and part of me thinks that we do it so that we don't have to come home and face the fact that the spark between us died years ago!"

"Fucking hell, Tristan. I don't want to talk to you about our sexual problems while I'm in a fucking cab!" she spat back.

"It's now or never, Carly."

"Fine," she said. "You think life is about spark? You think that people sustain the spark for fifty year marriages? Then fine. Go off and go back to your playboy ways and have fun seeking sexual thrills."

"This isn't about anyone else-"

"Oh really?" she snapped. "You're little night out with Rory is all over Facebook. So don't even."

Tristan scratched his chin, absently noticing how thick his stubble was growing in today. God, he was a mess. And Carly knew it from thousands of miles away.

"Nothing happened with Rory."

"Oh yeah? There was no spark?"

"What do you want me to say Carly? That I want to fuck her? Do you really want to hear me say that?"

"Well you basically just did-"

"You don't want me!" he yelled, oblivious to the fact that he was at work, and there were dozens of nosy ears just outside his door.

"Of course-"

"Cut the bullcrap, Carly. If you wanted me, really wanted me, the way someone who is committed to building a life with a man wants him, then you wouldn't have taken a job interview abroad without talking to me about it. You wouldn't have pulled away from me physically. You wouldn't be dangling Rory under my nose like she was some kind of bait."

"You asked me to give her the job."

"But she kept popping into my life by your invitation."

A long moment passed with nothing but dead air between them. "So who's the victim here, Tristan?"

He sighed. "Don't make it like that," he said. "If we stayed together, this would only be the beginning of a long life of playing games. I know, I've seen my parents do it my whole life. Is that what you want? To keep me around just to fuck with my head?"

"No."

"We're not right for each other, Carly. I loved you, I did. We were so perfect on paper. But then we grew up."

"You haven't made me happy in a long time," she conceded.

Tristan closed his eyes. He let the silence sit between them for a minute or so. "I'll have my things out of the apartment by the time you get back to the States."

"Fine."

"Good luck with the job, Carly."

"Thanks," she said coolly, and disconnected the line.

Rory stood at her grandparent's front door hating the fact that she had agreed to come over for Friday night dinner. She didn't feel hungover anymore. Burying herself in work had helped her forget last night, and this morning. But the two hour commute home left her with nothing to do but think about everything that had happened between her and Tristan in the past twenty-four hours.

What echoed in her mind the most was his simple I don't want to be done. And as much as she had fought to keep him away last night, she didn't want to be done either.

Inevitably, the doorbell opened and the maid ushered Rory inside. Her grandparents greeted her with their usual warmth. Richard mixed her a drink. Emily initiated small talk about work. Rory floated through the beginning of cocktail hour on autopilot, Tristan's words still at the forefront of her mind.

"So, Rory," Emily said, changing topics and pulling her granddaughter's attention to the moment at hand. "We have invited you here with an ulterior motive."

Shocking, Rory thought, her heart skipping a beat.

"Richard do you have the files?"

"No, Emily, they are in my study."

"We were supposed to be prepared!"

"We are prepared. They just happen to be where I do my preparations."

"Well go get them so that we can begin!"

Rory watched as Richard hurried off to his office to obtain the files in question. She sipped her gin martini slowly, preparing herself for whatever was to come. She wished her mother were here.

Richard sat back down and gave Emily a nod. She smiled and began. "Well, as I'm sure you're aware, your twenty sixth birthday is right around the corner."

Rory nodded. She sipped.

"You may not be aware that your trust fund matures on your twenty sixth birthday."

Emily paused dramatically. Rory blinked. "My what?"

"Your trust fund." She studied her granddaughter. "Why do you look so surprised? Surely you knew that we had prepared a trust fund for you?"

Rory opened her mouth and shut it again, truly speechless. "Well, no Grandma-I mean, you guys never…" She looked down at her martini glass as if the olive would give her the words she needed.

"Richard, fix Rory another drink, please. I do believe we have shocked the poor thing."

Richard chuckled. He happily grabbed Rory's glass and set to work making the drink.

"I could have sworn this had come up over the years," Emily said, sipping her own drink. "I feel dreadful that I caught you so off guard."

Rory eyed her grandmother. She looked completely pleased with herself. Rory accepted her fresh drink from her grandfather and took a long sip. That seemed to fortify her.

"What exactly are the terms of this trust fund?" she asked, skeptical.

"I have the most recent statement right here," Richard answered. He picked up the file he had just retrieved from his study. He moved so that he was sitting next to Rory on the sofa. Emily joined him on Rory's other side. Richard opened the folder and passed it to Rory.

She took a deep breath and looked at the balance. There were seven figures. Seven. Her head started swimming. She took another sip of her martini.

"Now, we started this when you were born," Richard explained. "Your mother refused hers, so we added those funds to your account."

Rory nodded absently at her grandfather.

Emily chimed in. "Then when you refused the donation to the Yale building, we added that money to your account as well."

"It's a bit of a hodgepodge," Richard said jovially. Emily laughed.

Rory blinked. "I don't know what to say," she said stupidly. "Thank you?"

"Ah well, the pleasure is all ours, my dear girl," Richard said warmly, patting her on her knee.

"Shouldn't some of this go to Mom?"

"Your mother?" Emily snorted. "You know she would rather die than accept our money."

Rory flipped through the pages of the file. "Then what about Matthew, or the new baby?"

Emily sobered a little. She put down her cocktail and turned to her granddaughter. "Rory, we love your brother and will love your new sister. But being a part of your life, your education, your family has meant more to your grandfather and I than you will ever know."

Emily sniffled and used her cocktail napkin to dab at the corner of her eyes. Rory watched her, somehow managing to feel even more stunned than a moment before.

"Your grandfather and I are not fools," Emily continued. "We know that we will never have the same opportunity to be close with our new grandchildren."

Rory opened her mouth to protest, but Emily cut her off. "You know it is true. Your mother will never want anything from us, the way she needed us when you were a teenager. I know there will be Christmases and Easters…" she dabbed again at her eyes.

"What your grandmother is trying to say," Richard said, picking up Emily's train of thought, "is that there will be money for your siblings. Just like there will be an inheritance for your mother. But you are our dear girl, and we want to continue to watch you take life by the horns. And it seems like you are in a point in your life where you need a little help."

"I'll be fine-"

Richard shook his head firmly. "This money has always been yours," he said. "You will just now have access to it starting in about a month."

Rory, completely overwhelmed by the figures in the folder, by her breakdown with Tristan last night, by her grandparent's kind words, put her head in her hands and started to cry.

Rory, to her grandparent's total delight, had made her way through dinner punctuating the meal with little hiccuping sobs. Her grandparents were through the moon that she was so touched by their gift.

Really though, Rory wasn't entirely sure she could accept the money. She just hadn't been able to form the words to express that at dinner. What was she going to do with several million dollars? The thought made her want to throw up, and it wasn't from excitement.

She had excused herself as soon as dessert had ended. But she couldn't go home. SHe wasn't ready to face her mother and explain the recent change in her financial situation. She couldn't walk into that house and say "Hey! I'm an heiress!" and then settle into her regular routine. On the bright side, the little devil on her shoulder countered, now she could afford to move out.

Her head swimming, Rory drove aimlessly around the dark streets of Hartford until she found herself in a seedy part of the city. She clicked the lock button on the doors, and turned her car around. She needed a destination. The first place that popped into mind was the little bar that she used to go to with Logan when she lived in the pool house. She turned the car and headed for a night cap.

Tristan headed out of the city. He had left work shortly after his phone call to Carly. It was clear that there was no work to be done that afternoon. So he had made good on his promise and headed to his apartment to pack up his stuff.

Most of what he owned was now in the small trunk of his Porsche. The rest he had already arranged to be picked up by a professional moving company. He had gotten on the highway and turned towards Connecticut without even thinking about it. He didn't want to spend a night in a hotel. He wanted to go home. Even if that meant his parent's empty house in Hartford.

But after opening up the empty house and dropping his stuff off in his childhood bedroom, he realized he couldn't sit still in the deafening silence. So he got in his car once again and headed to the only bar downtown that wasn't full of pretentious suits.

He saw her almost the second he walked in. She was by herself at the bar. And he felt like something missing clicked into place.