Title: On Wings of Feather and Glue – I have an obsession with mythology, particularly Greek. Figure it out.

Rating: PG - This chapter takes it down a notch. I think.

Pairing: R/T - I'll say it for now, but I have no idea where this is headed.

Author's Note: Ok... So, sometime last year, life got in the way of writing. Or, possibly, the season kinda struggled so there wasn't much temptation to write. Either way, I never finished this story. I did, however, have this chapter available, which I never ended up posting. As such, I present to you, un-beta-ed and mostly incomplete, an additional chapter to a story I quite possibly may never finish. I'll be honest: I'm completely sold on Logan, so it's hard to write Tristan when you have a much less jerky version of him to work with. That said, I hope it's enjoyable, and there may be some R/L fics in the future...

Original Author's note (at time of writing): A few things. First off, I'm sorry to anyone who cares that this hasn't been updated in a while. My academic and financial lives have put a permanent dent in my free time, in addition to a visit from my friendly neighbourhood writer's block. I'm assuming that science students have arts requirements, which is why Paris and Rory share a class. Also, the previous chapter was not quite meant as a script style; rather, I envisioned a darkened stage, with a faint pair of spotlights fixed on two characters, the audience merely eavesdropping on their conversation. Sorry if it was less enjoyable!

Disclaimer: Don't own Gilmore Girls or any characters therein. I do own the ones you don't recognize, but not as in own them own them because that's plain wrong.

III. Digital Hermes

The angle was hell on her neck, but Rory didn't care. Legs crossed on the hard, wooden chair, her upper half lay over the table, arms sprawled across her notes. The soft cotton of her sweater acted as a pillow to her weary head, partially muffling the sound of Paris's voice. Nothing short of an old fashioned air raid alarm could drown that voice out completely, of course.

"And then we'll move on to Faulkner, sound good? Good. Okay, turn to page 76."

"Mmmffffttt." Rory couldn't suppress her groan.

"What is it, Rory?" She could feel her roommate's sharp gaze boring through the back of her head. "Speak up, we have readings to cover."

Sitting up with a sigh, she let Paris see her annoyance. "Can we please take a break? It's been four hours!" Her hair was tied back lazily, short strands escaping at random, and there were dark smudges of make-up around her eyes from frequent rubbing. She glanced at the darkened campus outside their window, and then around the near-deserted library pointedly.

"You just had a break." The reply was curt as Paris continued to leaf through her notes, barely acknowledging the request.

"No, no, I didn't. I went to the bathroom. An hour ago. For four minutes. That, Paris, that is not a break unless you work in a Gap sweatshop in Thailand in which case it's not even a break, it's nap time. Last time I checked, Yale was not an active member of the textile industry."

Paris shrugged casually in that way that Rory knew was anything but. "Suit yourself. I thought you had aspirations beyond becoming a CNN mail clerk but I guess I was mistaken. Go on, take your little break, live the high life, party hard and all that, if that's what's important to you. Just don't expect a shoulder to cry on for you and your sub-4-point-o GPA."

Standing, Rory grabbed her wallet and phone with a grumbled, "Sometimes I really miss Terrence."

"What? What was that?" Paris's voice was sharp. "I told you that name is not to be mentioned ever again!"

"Whatever," she muttered, feeling slightly guilty.

"Hey, guys, what's up?" A cheerful voice broke the tension.

"Jay!" Rory grinned, giving her friend a quick hug. "What are you doing here?"

Removing his hat, he ran a hand through his short dreads and fixed sparkling brown eyes on her. "Rehearsing for my circus audition. Wanna see?" He winked and added, "What are you kids up to? Nice sweater marks, Ror," he indicated her cheek.

She made a face at him. "The foreman over there has put a ban on breaks. We were negotiating a new contract." Her darkening mood had been completely dispelled by Jay's arrival. He seemed to have the ability to lighten her up in the most trying times, a talent for which she became grateful as her workload began to increase.

"Sorry for the inconvenience, Norma," Paris snarled.

"Paris, Paris, Paris," Jay murmured, shaking his head. "I don't know why you insist on pretending like these courses actually require studying."

Head bowed over her binder, Paris ignored his comment. Rory couldn't suppress a grin as he continued to needle her.

"I mean, some of those math and science courses you take, sure, they might have a bit of work, and I use the term liberally, but Lit?" He scoffed. "Could you get any more elementary?" Rory nearly choked, used to this line of teasing.

Paris's head snapped up. "Look, Jay, if your program is so very challenging, why do you have time to come here and harass us? Shouldn't you be designing a bridge or something?"

"Ah, my poor, naive Paris. Someone of your vaunted intellect should be aware that civil engineers design bridges, not electrical. And I have time because I've been blessed with something beyond charm, brains and good looks." He leaned forward and whispered softly. "Perspective."

Standing, Paris slammed her notes shut. "I'm going to get a drink. You better be back here in twenty minutes." She stalked off, muttering, "Just don't blame me when you fail your midterms."

Rory finally burst out laughing. "Thanks, Jay, I owe you one."

Sketching a mock bow, he responded. "I live to serve, kid. And enjoy serving if it involves fucking with Paris."

"Where have you been all my life?" she drawled.

"I should get going," he said, covering a yawn. "My work here is done."

"Later, Spock."

"Later, Janeway." Her blank look gave him pause. "Captain Janeway? Of the Voyager? Star Trek of the nineties?"

"You know, Jay," Rory mused, tapping her index finger on her lip. "There's a reason you ended up in Engineering despite your protestations otherwise."

He gasped in mock horror. "How dare you!"

"Bye," she smiled sweetly.

"Bye," he replied, ruffling her hair. "Don't let Paris get to you."

"I'll try." She watched him leave, and then stretched, sighing. Once in a while, she received a vibe from him that she thought might indicate interest beyond mere friendship, but she never allowed herself to respond. She knew she wasn't ready yet, and was hesitant to risk their friendship. He was sweet, though, and as bright, charming and attractive as he'd claimed. Sometimes, he reminded her of Dean, sometimes—she hesitated—of Jess. There was a cocky charm there that was familiar, as well, but she couldn't place it.

Sauntering over to the computers, she logged on and checked her email. Scrolling through the usual, non-descript university notices, a subject line stood out. "Sidekicks don't kiss!" Clicking to open the message, her face lit up at Tristan's greeting.

Yo, Mar!

Yeah, so I know you hate the name but try to think of it has an endearment, okay? Before you assume I'm stalking you or something—Rory winced, remembering her accusation—Izzy sent me your email address. I had to offer her my cooking services in return, so I hope you appreciate this. Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were still alive and kicking (hopefully not at Paris) because I know what a bitch midterm season is. I have two on Thursday. I mean, is that even legal? I swear, I should check the charter of rights or something for Jersey. Izzy also mentioned that you'll be in the vicinity of Hartford during Thanksgiving and there's a rumour circulating about a Chilton reunion party at Madeline's. Now, before you make a face—Rory realized she was grimacing and stuck her tongue out at the monitor—consider it. Izzy will be there, and Vidya's coming over for the weekend, and you'll get to see everyone again, and hey, maybe Paris will make someone cry! You know it's worth it. Keep an open mind, and bring Lane. Okay well I'm going to bed now. Take it easy,

Tris

p.s. if you guess the source of the subject line, your drinks are on me!

Grinning widely, Rory immediately started a reply. It amazed her how much she enjoyed her exchanges with Tristan, considering their relationship during high school. If she was honest with herself, she granted that they had gotten along well enough when at peace. The fact that he had a girlfriend relieved a lot of potential tension between them, while Izzy's childhood anecdotes made it difficult to hold a grudge. He played with Barbie's? Nothing could compete with that kind of ammunition.

They'd talked a few times on the phone until the beginning of the month, when studying had precluded anything but perfunctory communication. Catching up had been interesting, as he told her about North Carolina and she filled him in on the last years at Chilton. Their conversation never lulled, always peppered with current events and random stories. He'd told her how he met Vidya, and she'd mentioned Jess briefly, surprised to find that she still had difficulty talking about him. It was a shock when they realized they'd been in Rome at the same time over the summer.

Yo, Dris!

My apologies for the nickname, but I assure you it's meant affectionately. Really. The Tick wouldn't approve of me drinking underage, so you'll have to determine another reward for my vast knowledge of all forms of television programming.

Sorry I haven't called. The work has been piling up steadily, and living with my roommates is becoming...

...a call when you're back in Hartford and I'll see if I my mother will release me from her hold long enough to attend. Offering some of those cooking skills in her direction might benefit your cause...

Take care, and good luck,

Rory

Tristan smiled at the emphasis on her name. She was still too easy to tease, though he noted she had matured quite a bit since junior year, not reacting as harshly. He wondered what that ex-boyfriend of hers—Jesse? Jess?—had had to do with it. Rory seemed to have residual feelings for the guy, and though Tristan was fascinated by the character who had succeeded where he'd failed, he wasn't about to press her for details.

His monitor flickered uneasily in the dark room, casting shadows worthy of science fiction status along his postered walls. She was always entertaining, he reflected. It had been a unsettling when he realized how much he missed her calls, but he'd chosen to ignore the concerning possibilities hovering around that emotion and acquired her email address, instead. Izzy hadn't bugged him at all about his request, not even expressing interest in his reasons, which was all the more meaningful. He was sure she had her suspicions, which led him to question his own motives more seriously. Or to think he should question them. Should he? His brow furrowed, considering the situation.

A snore from the other side of the room interrupted his thoughts. Turning in his chair to face the bed, he shook off his self-doubt. How could Rory compete with the beautiful, brilliant girl currently tangled in a knot of covers? She lay on her side, facing the wall, dark curls tumbling over her shoulders. Her bare arms, bronze-coloured and soft to the touch, were tightly hugging the pillow beneath her head and an audible, rhythmic breathing sound rose with her chest. Chuckling, he turned off the monitor and crawled in behind his girlfriend, pulling her back against him and kissing her shoulder softly.

"Mmmfftt?"

"You were snoring."

"Was not," she mumbled sleepily. "Not my fault nose stuffy."

Tristan moved a few strands off the back of her neck aside and nuzzled her nape. "Drooling, too."

"Shhh. Vidya sleep."

Giving her a last squeeze, he let the darkness overtake him, warm and content.