. Org Challenge One:

Your first assignment is to write a one part future fic about a couple of your choice. It can be told in any format of your choosing, but must include the following.

A) An issue the couple is trying to get over- use your imaginations.
B) The story must take place in the fall/autumn (September-November)
C) The following words- photography, Boston, glow, asphalt, breezes.
D) The phrase "It will all be better in the morning," or some close variation.

Title: The Love Part

Author: Merel (Tinkswings)

Rating: PG - 13

Paring: Paris/Tristan

Summary: Boston, 15 years from now.

Paris Gellar makes up her life balance.

The Love Part

The city of Boston had always worked it's magic on her. The evening light spread a glow over the houses and the empty asphalt. She still couldn't believe that she'd actually moved here, after all her New York years, after everything she had to leave behind. She glanced down at her trusted, but battered camera. It hadn't failed, at least not so far. But if it had done true good? She started to doubt it, more and more.

The first years of professional journalism after she graduated from Yale, had been quite a let-down for Paris Gellar. It always seemed to be one or the other for her: either lucky in love, or lucky in work. Her Chilton years were all about being lucky in work, but the years afterwards had proven to be of a different sort. Years filled with disappointment in work, times that she was close to a nervous breakdown. Luck in love had kept her on the edge, sometimes even far from it, instead of plunging down into a depression. A sad smile softly lit up her face, when she remembered her greatest comfort during the hard years at the Times. Tristan DuGrey. A shiver ran down her spine, for which she couldn't just blame the fall breezes that Boston was known for.

But times had changed. A simple change of plans had done the trick. She remembered the first day perfectly. Tristan had held her all night, promising her that it would all be better in the morning. She'd snuggled up against him, burying her face in his long, sunstreaked hair.

"Will it be? The morning hasn't brought be much so far," she muttered with a sigh, feeling grateful for the warm body next to her that was familiar to her in every way.

He sat up, looking into her eyes. "You do remember our morning, don't you?" he asked, suddenly with hurtful eyes.

Paris pulled him closer to her. "Ofcourse, you're being silly. You're the one thing morning has ever brought me." She kissed him deeply. They'd fallen asleep, lying like that, arms and legs intertwined. As though nothing could break them up.

The morning brought a twist of fate. She'd dragged herself to work, where she was confronted with an overwhelming crisis. Their two regular photographers had called in sick with food poisoning and there was no back-up to be found.

Paris stopped the chief-editor in midrun. "Maybe I can help out?"

It had been the sentence of a lifetime. Before she knew it, her every day tasks had been pushed aside, to be replaced with countless photography-assignments. She had truly found her talent, and it hadn't gone unnoticed.

If only she had known then what it would mean to that other part of life, the part that had been lucky for almost ten years. The love part. More and more hours were spent in darkrooms, on location, at parties even. Tristan had come in second, third and finally even fourth for the first time in their relationship and it hadn't done their situation any good.

While Paris' face suddenly popped up on magazine-covers throughout the city, it seldomly appeared at home. The job-offer in Boston had been the final straw.

"What do you mean, you're not coming?" Paris asked, puzzled. She knew he wasn't happy, but she couldn't think of a reason for him staying behind.

Tristan buried his head in his hands as he sat down in his favourite chair. "I can't do this anymore, Paris. I loved you." He shook his hands and stood up again, pacing up and down the room they had shared so many days in.

Tears welled up in her eyes when she heard him say the past tense. His eyes betrayed other reasons, more passionate ones, but Paris didn't dare to ask. It really was over, then. Unfixable. Silently, she started packing. It was too late.