Author's note: This story was originally conceived years ago and it changed a lot from the original concept, but it is set from 2013 to present day and ignores AYITLO completely.
Summary: Until a certain point in her life she knew no real pain or defeat. That all changed with a phone call. What happens when Rory's life stops being magical?
He's been through hell and has only one goal in sight. Until she crosses his path again. Is there a way to heal for them or does fate have other plans?
AU Trory. Angst like you wouldn't believe. Very M. You know how this goes.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
She'd been craning her neck to spot him again since their eyes met in the crowd after his name was called.
Hers must have conveyed surprise, while his showed only a flash of what she thought was annoyance, like he had been caught.
She could have decoded that as a warning, as a firm sign to stay away, but her nature, curious as it was, would yield to no such secret warnings, no matter how stern his face was.
She made her way towards the other end of the large hall, where people were slowly filing towards in an effort to vacate the premise and she came to stand by the rail that separated the hall from the exit below. It was a good vantage point, her back towards the glass railing over the dizzying height. Her eyes searched the crowd, trailing over groups of people in animated conversations and heartfelt greetings.
She spotted him finally, in a brusque walk, heading not in the direction of the stairs leading towards the exit but the opposite way.
"Were you not going to say hi?" she said, her tone slightly scolding as she called after him, in a hurry to pass her by. She didn't feel the need to raise her voice, knowing he'd hear her anyway, his demeanor somehow letting her know he was aware of her, fine tuned to her, even if he had been hoping that wasn't the case for her.
He froze, his back straight as a rod in the dark blue uniform and she counted the seconds for his next move.
There was a soft sigh as he slowly turned to face her. Her eyes drank in the sight of him, eagerly, his features strange and familiar at the same time. She saw a faint smirk when he came to stand next to her as she remained leaning casually on the glass rail.
"I didn't think you recognized me" he said, his voice deeper than she remembered, his eyes downcast.
She realized that it had been 14 years and the voice she remembered was that of a child, while he was a grown man now, his face more angular, his features more worn somehow.
"Of course I recognized you" she retorted, her voice more sullen as her demeanor unconsciously adjusted to the air he exuded.
He looked up at her finally and she was suddenly reminded of the striking blue paleness of his eyes. She felt an inexplicable surge from deep within her abdomen, making her inhale sharply. She took a steadying breath, dismissing the moment as nostalgia. She returned her full attention to him, his eyes studying her silently as the soft smirk she knew from memory appeared.
"Rory Gilmore, sweet as a Mary" he murmured softly.
She felt her cheeks flush and it surprised her, the notion having turned foreign to her in the last years of her life.
"Tristan DuGray, king of Chilton" she replied.
He shook his head, an amused expression on his face.
"Another lifetime" he said curtly, his voice quiet.
Her eyes studied his face, his boyish looks morphed into more defined edges, his shining blue eyes serious and captivating, his hair a dirty blond, peeking out from under his beret. Her eyes traveled down to his torso, lean and muscular, clad in his impeccably kept dress blues, his chest adorned with colorful decorations.
"Now it's Tristan DuGray...," she said, her eyes squinting as she studied his rank, "master sergeant."
He nodded, a moment's surprise passing over his face.
"You know your ranks" he said and she felt his searching gaze on herself.
"Yeah," she shrugged, "I did a piece on troops stationed in Afghanistan..."
"I know" he cut her off, his voice quiet, but slightly cold.
She narrowed her eyes at him.
She was always surprised by the fact people knew about her work, read her work. Yes, the point was to write for people, for them to read her musings, but she wasn't any less surprised to find out the words she put down on paper weren't just solemn shouts into the night, but words that reached people, had consequences. If there were any words of hers that this was true for, it would have been the article in question, she knew. Still she was surprised. Also, this wasn't the usual reaction to this particular set of words.
"You read that?" she asked, her voice perplexed.
He glanced around not holding eye contact with her and not bothering to answer her question.
"And apparently wasn't a fan" she said, trying in vain to lighten the mood, while she felt the sting of the moment.
She glanced around as well, seeing the happy and proud families greeting their awarded soldiers. He looked even more particular standing alone in the crowded ceremonial hall of the Pentagon.
She looked back at him.
He was silent as his eyes landed on her again, the reappearing smirk not quite enough to sooth her doubts.
"I got a Pulitzer for that, you know" she said, suddenly feeling self conscious.
"Huh" he murmured, his smirk growing more pronounced. His reaction was a clear indication he knew exactly what kind of response that article garnered but was definitely not on the same opinion.
"What?" she asked, irritated, suddenly remembering the feeling this boy used to give her back in high school. Feelings of insecurity, a need to be on guard at all times.
"It was well written" he replied and it felt like placating.
"But?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"It's what people want to read about Afghanistan" he shrugged, voice unaffected.
It was a special kind of skill he possessed, putting her down with just a mere amount of words, yet having her stand speechless in his wake.
"Really? I thought it was exactly what people didn't want to read. The human side of it. The hopelessness of it..." she launched into her explanation, feeling defensive.
"It was romanticizing" he cut her off, his voice still soft, but it might as well have been loud because she felt the knee jerk reaction of anger rise up within her.
She scoffed.
"Care to elaborate?" she gritted out, knowing she was letting him get under her skin and she was showing it.
He studied her for a beat, his face calm, amused even.
"I think it's what people want to hear about war. That we go there, bright eyed and bushy tailed and then realize that life is more precious than anything else, that family is more important than anything else. You found someone you could project these clichés onto. A weak link" he replied, his words measured. His eyes focused on her as he spoke, giving her a strange feeling, as though she were armorless under the scrutiny of those pale orbs.
She scoffed again, the air leaving her lungs in a stunned breath. His words stung but also left an uneasy feeling inside her and she wondered how they've gotten to this point in a conversation in a matter of minutes.
She was once again reminded that he was standing alone, fleeing, in a sea of families.
"A weak link? He seemed pretty brave to me. He lost so much and the only thing that kept him going was focusing on what he had back here..." she said, her voice faltering slightly as she gestured around her.
"See that's it. It's what people want to read, that he had to have something to keep him going," he replied moving slightly closer to her, "other than just determination."
The indifference in his voice, the restrained way he made his argument unnerved her.
"You are saying that he is made to be seen as weak because he is motivated by his family?" she deadpanned, her forehead scrunching in concentration.
"You don't need a sob story to do your job right" he replied, conviction in his voice.
"I don't understand" she said shaking her head as she studied his face.
"Yeah, I know" he said, without hesitation, letting her words be her own conviction.
"Hey" she scoffed, a little more hurt than she would have liked.
"I am not trying to be disrespectful" he smiled softly, raising his arms in a gesture of defense.
"You are not being very respectful either" she murmured, turning to absentmindedly place a hand on the rail as she took a break from focusing on his unyielding face.
He didn't answer but studied her face instead, that amused smirk appearing again.
There was a moment of silence which felt oddly calming to her, despite the annoyance she should have felt as a result of his words.
"So you don't worry about your family?" she asked quietly, looking down into the lobby swirling with people.
"I don't have a family" he replied, void of emotions.
She glanced around again, seeing the happy families clear the room. Wives, children, parents and friends. Why did he have no one here?
"You have a mom and dad and grandparents" she probed, unsure if she should push further.
"Yeah" he agreed, not elaborating.
There was another silence, not the first occurrence, and he seemed to be more comfortable with them whereas she had an urge to speak and break the anxiety.
"You must think of them when you are out there..." she went further feeling as though she was venturing out on thin ice.
"I think about doing my job" he cut her off. "And staying alive. Anyone who tells you he can think of anything else while out there...," he trailed off for a second and it made her think about what 'out there' must have meant, "is lying" he finally finished his sentence. The finality of his words overwhelmed her, silenced her.
She looked at him, studying his face. It was back to calm, but his eyes seemed unreadable.
"Anyone who's been there and reads your article...," he shrugged, "knows it's about as close to reality as any of these movies they make" he said, his voice contemplative and she wondered about what he had seen.
"For the rest of the world, I can understand why it's Pulitzer worthy" he said calmly.
"It is well written" he added, his smirk back in place.
She stared at him unable to reply.
"I am not trying to be disrespectful..." he repeated.
"What happened to you?" she cut him off, her question anxious in the silence, her eyes squinting as she focused on his eyes as if she had the ability to see into his head.
He glanced at her, his face emotionless.
"Nothing" he replied, his tone slightly defensive.
"You got a Purple Heart" she said pointedly, her eyes unconsciously skimming his figure.
"Just now. You got a Purple Heart. It means you got shot" she continued her argument.
His face hardened infinitesimally.
She waited, for a confirmation or denial or him to turn and walk away, she wasn't sure. Long seconds passed and she felt like he was not going to budge.
"Are you on leave?" she asked, trying another route, knowing she was onto something, feeling the power balance shift for the first time during this whole strange exchange.
He faltered for a second.
"Yes" he replied, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.
"Medical?" she asked.
"Yes" he sighed, barely noticeably.
"How?" she asked, feeling like how she usually did when she felt she was making a headway during an interview, finally feeling the other person cornered.
"How what?" he asked back, annoying her in the process.
It was stalling on his part, the first time he let that annoyingly efficient mask of calm slip. It didn't make her giddy. Instead she felt a pang of worry, of hurt, her eyes searching his quietly.
"How were you hurt?" she elaborated, her tone still calm, as if she were nudging a petulant child.
"I was on a mission" he replied with a shrug, his cynical tone a clear indication he felt uneasy having to share.
She looked around again, seeing soldiers in animated conversation with each other introducing each other to family members.
"The rest of your troop?" she asked as she studied his face once again, her eyes narrowed.
She thought she saw something flash in his eyes, but a sudden laugh from him made her unsure she did.
"Oh, so you are a psychologist too?" he chuckled.
"No, but it doesn't take a lot to figure out..." she started, driving her point home.
"Figure out what?" he cut her off looking into her eyes.
She noted that even now, he showed no emotion, his voice remaining calm, but still she felt her whole body chill, her determination wavering.
"Rory, I am not your next subject for a sob story" he said, his voice suddenly tired.
"I am not looking for a sob story. I report reality. That's what I do, I am not a fiction writer" she said, a little too defensive to her own ears.
He nodded and it infuriated her as much as though he had contradicted her.
They stared at each other as the crowd thinned around them and she felt like the sudden silence was taking over them, numbing them.
"Are you going to go back?" she asked, a strange sense of unease stirring within her.
"Yes" he replied without missing a beat.
"Why?" she asked, not able to hide the astonishment in her tone.
"Because it's what I do" he replied simply.
"When?" she asked.
"I don't know yet" he replied, after a slight pause.
"They are not letting you?" she said, more a statement than a question, going on a hunch, her mind in investigative mode. It occurred to her that she was overstepping but she seemed to feel no restraint, their conversation filled with a strange intimacy despite the ten odd years they've not spoken to each other.
"I am scheduled for an assessment..." he said, clearing his throat.
"How bad were you hurt?" she cut him off again, that uneasy feeling once again filling her chest.
There was silence, too long to be coincidental, she thought, before he finally answered. His eyes were trailed on her hand on the rail.
"Not that much" he finally said, his voice once again controlled.
"It must have been worse than that if they are not letting you back" she murmured quietly.
He ignored the remark.
They stood silently, bodies unknowingly turned towards each other, even as they built walls in between themselves from words. She felt a strange kind of feeling, pulling and pushing in between them, something she recalled having experienced the first time he was present in his life, albeit briefly. It made her feel nostalgic and something else she couldn't name. Safe almost? As if this limbo of words was still more reliable than anything out there waiting for her.
"I'm gonna go change," he said quietly "are you in a hurry?"
She was taken off guard and her mind raced to catch up to the sudden turn of the conversation. She swore she heard a hint of insecurity in his voice but it was such a contrast to what she'd seen from him in the last couple of minutes.
"Change where?" she asked confused looking up at him as she shifted her weight.
"I have an office" he said, gesturing towards wherever he was first heading to when she stopped him.
She looked on confused.
"I work here" he gave as explanation, reluctantly looking into her eyes.
"You work at the Pentagon while you're on medical leave?" she asked, her brain churning.
"I'm an advisor" he said as if that would be enough of an explanation. He was already turning away from her, his movements indecisive. He glanced back at her as if he wasn't sure what they'd agreed on. She wasn't either, to tell the truth.
"I'll be back in ten minutes if you're not in a hurry" he said, a quite declaration laced with a myriad emotions she could not identify.
"I'll wait here" she replied, giving up trying to explain the course of events. He nodded, turning to walk away.
She was standing close to the wall of the lobby watching the last of the happy families depart.
Her mind was churning, trying to recall memories from that one or two years that she knew him. It was a painful process as she had to reign in her memories, not used to letting them unleash and wreck havoc within her. She concentrated on memories inside the halls of Chilton, her mind suddenly vividly remembering the stony smell of the courtyard, the hollow echoing of the halls. She remembered him, an annoying coolness desperately trying to hide the insecurity and, she guessed, neglect, his relentless pursuit of punishment no doubt a cry for help. Somehow she had a hard time trying to connect the two dots: spoiled society scoundrel and decorated war hero.
"You ready?" she heard him ask and she turned to him startled.
He changed into jeans and a blue shirt, buttoned all the way up, with a leather jacket covering it. His beret gone, she could see that his hair was longer than she remembered, slicked back in a vain attempt to control the messy locks. Her memories of his tall and lean form contradicted his current build, his shoulders broad and his arms stretching his jacket sleeves.
"Take a picture, it'll last longer" he murmured and she shook her head in embarrassment.
"I'm sorry. It's just weird to see you all grown up" she smiled.
He returned her smile.
"I know what you mean" he said slowly, his eyes traveling over her figure, making her blush again.
She felt self conscious, glancing down on her white shirt, pencil skirt and flats. She was holding onto her trench coat, her bag slung over her shoulder.
"Did you come with a car?" he asked his pale eyes glancing towards the exit.
She shook her head.
"I don't drive" she said as an explanation, but she already felt uneasy, knowing it was an opening to topics she'd rather not get into.
"You?" she asked quickly instead.
"Nah, I walk whenever I can" he said and she looked at him, her own curiosity ignited. "It's good exercise," he added, "plus I live right on the other side of the river."
She turned, glancing towards the direction he was pointing at vaguely, as if trying to identify the place he was referring to.
"Where are you headed?" He asked, making her turn back to her.
His eyes were focused on her, making her feel a strange warmth spreading beneath her skin.
"Georgetown" she replied, suddenly not in a particular hurry.
Her eyes were glued to his, as if he had some strange magnetic pull and she wondered why the extended eye contact didn't make her feel uncomfortable like it usually did. Having him know her, know her past, yet knowing nothing about her present made her feel brazen and relaxed at the same time. It was a strange whirlpool of feelings and she didn't mind the pull of the current.
"You want to walk? If you're not in a hurry?" he asked, his voice once again laced with a hint of insecurity.
"Yeah, sure" she smiled a weary smile as she opened the glass doors leading outside.
They stepped out into the bright and windy afternoon, a stark contrast to the gloomy, silent interior. She lifted her coat to slide her arm into it and was surprised as she felt him take it and hold it out for her, his closeness behind her sending a chill down her spine. She stepped away as if to break free of the sensation of his proximity and he nodded as she finished tying her belt around her waist.
They turned towards the cemetery and she noted how he carried himself. He was calm and collected, perfect posture with slow but purposeful strides, but there was something about his gait, something about his steps, something strange that she couldn't pinpoint.
"It's a two hour walk to Georgetown, you know" she pointed out, letting her voice tingle playfully.
"Hmm" he nodded.
"At least, do I get to ask more questions?" she asked as they strolled.
"I knew better than to strike up a conversation with the press" he chuckled. "Why were you here anyway?"
"The guy I interviewed, the weak one," she emphasized using air quotes, "got a Medal of Honor."
"Good for him" he nodded.
"How many of those do you have?" she asked remembering his many decorations.
"A couple. They dish those out left and right" he shrugged and she couldn't help but roll her eyes.
"Can I ask which division you're in?" she said as they made their way carefully towards the lush green pastures of Arlington Cemetery. She looked at the distinct white of the rows and rows of identical headstones, it's structure filling her with a lulled sense of peace despite the overwhelming burden of their meaning. It always astonished her and she wondered if that was the point - counterbalance pain with order, with a pattern, with repetition. Much like the army itself.
There was a moment of silence as they both stood studying the cemetery with each of them lost in their own thoughts.
She looked at him and realized he still hadn't attempted to give an answer to her question. She wondered if he was uncomfortable talking about it. It seemed strange to her, most of the soldiers she'd met proudly proclaiming their information to her as if they were rattling off achievements.
"160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment" he finally said, his voice quiet, calm.
"The dudes on the Black Hawks" she said, surprised.
She saw him turn to her in surprise, his eyes squinting slightly.
"You really did your research for that article" he murmured.
"The Night Stalkers. Rescue missions, special operation raids" she said, turning to him, concentrating on the lines of his face.
"Yeah" he said slowly, carefully and without further explanation, walked through the southeastern gate.
She followed him, speeding up her steps to catch up.
"So what happened?" she asked.
He looked at her for a moment as he walked, his face showing no signs of emotions.
"Nothing. I got hurt. I am on medical leave" he said, and she had a distinct feeling that it was a bluff. She opened her mouth to ask the next question but he cut in before she could get it out.
"What about you? You are a reporter. Like Ammanpour. That was your dream, wasn't it?" he asked, eyeing her from the corner of his eyes.
She registered his latest maneuver to change the subject and sighed, pushing the play button for this particular answer.
"Yeah, something like that. I graduated from Yale. Started reporting during the Obama campaign and then got a job as White House Correspondent. Did that for three years and then started doing freelance. Mostly based here, but I travel a lot" she said, nodding.
"Hmm" he studied her. "Like to Afghanistan" he said.
"Yeah" she agreed.
"Doesn't your family worry?" he asked.
"I don't have a family" she said, her voice suddenly sounding harsh to her own ears.
He paused for a second to study her and she looked around uneasy, feeling like he was trying to analyze her reactions.
"You have a mom and a dad and grandparents" he said, and she couldn't tell if he was being cynical or not, repeating her lines from earlier.
She felt faint for a second, her ears ringing slightly, but she shook her head, taking a deep breath. She didn't feel the need to correct him.
"Yeah. They worry" she said mechanically. She frowned, trying to keep her head clear.
"I thought you would be married by now" he said and she looked up, almost gasping in surprise, his voice bringing her back to the conversation.
He narrowed his eyes as he once again studied her sudden reaction and she felt a flash of annoyance.
"I am happy with my life. I don't think a husband would appreciate me jetting off for weeks at a time."
He nodded.
"What about you?" she asked, absent minded. "No wife waiting for you back on the home front?"
He looked at her, his eyes resting on hers and she realized for the first time how old his looked, worn and sad.
"No" he said simply, his face once again blank.
She thought about the way he said that but didn't press further. The conversation they had seemed relaxed and volatile at the same time, switching from one to the other in mere seconds. It left her feeling uneasy.
He resumed walking, navigating the paths with ease and she fell into step next to him. The wind blew in persistent spring bursts and she tightened her trench coat around herself.
"You seem different" she said absent minded.
He chuckled, the sound warming her ears.
"That's probably a good thing" he said. "I was a jerk back then."
"A jerk? No" she mused. "Why, just because you picked a fight with my boyfriend in front of the whole school? And annoyed me every chance you got?"
He stalled closing his eyes with an embarrassed smile.
"I was hoping you forgot some of that."
He resumed walking and she studied him.
"Was it military school? Is that what changed you? Is that why you chose to do what you do?" she asked, trying to trace the unknown occurrence of events between that rebel of a boy she remembered and this man walking next to her.
"Yeah, I guess. It was a shock for sure. But it made me see things differently. Gave me a chance to meet people that I somehow managed to relate to."
She concentrated, but still couldn't see the process.
"And you? Have you changed?" he asked, amused.
She took a deep breath looking around and spotting the Unknown Soldier Monument, it's circular walls and white steps standing weary in the distance.
"I'm sure I have" she shrugged "who really survives growing up unchanged?"
They had been walking for hours now, she knew, but somehow she didn't feel tired or bored. The spring light was turning into an orange sunset, painting the streets of Georgetown in a glowing light.
Their conversation was a strange rhythm of staccato and she felt she had to be on guard at all times, because his questions were strangely to the point, stirring emotions inside of her that she didn't want unchecked. She felt he had the same issues, as most of her questions regarding his job were met with curt and unyielding responses.
They found a safe topic when he asked about her work.
"Do you enjoy the travel?" he asked.
"I do" she shrugged "I know people like their own space and their own well worn things, but there is something liberating about not knowing where you're going to sleep next week and who you're going to meet. If I'm traveling, it's always a new task, a new list of things to see and do, new people to interact with."
She looked around, studying the busy riverfront walk as they descended the steps to the river.
He was a couple of steps ahead and he looked back up at her carefully descending the steep steps to the water.
"Your mom must worry" he said and she lost her balance instantly, the world spinning in chaos.
She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing counting to herself.
When she opened them he was steadying her with his hands on both her arms watching her curiously. She braced herself for questions but he stayed quiet. He lifted her suddenly, it seemed without any effort at all, and placed her down on the last step. She looked up, his closeness clouding her senses again. She felt the hard muscles of his arm under her fingers and she felt an instant urge to step closer to him and avoid any further chances of difficult turns of conversation by giving into the strange pull she felt towards him.
She took a breath, taking a step back to put distance between them, turning to stare at the river. She didn't need to make a bigger mess than was necessary.
She closed her eyes, registering the noises of the busy park.
"Do you go back to Hartford a lot?" he asked and she felt panic inside of her, as though he was onto something. She suddenly had an urge to flee, putting an end to this strange meeting.
"Not so much, no. You?" she countered taking another steadying breath.
He shook his head.
"I don't keep in touch" he said quietly.
"Do they not approve?" she asked and she saw his jaw tense. She studied his face, as if set in stone and she thought she recognized the same panicked feelings stirring beneath his surface that she herself just battled a few moments ago. It made him seem strangely sympathetic and she felt that strange pull towards him again although he wasn't standing nearly as close to her as the previous times she'd felt it.
"I guess" he shrugged. "Doesn't really matter."
She knew the curtness of the answer, she recognized the deflection as her own and she knew it masked a myriad of indescribable emotions, of pain and hurt and angst, all ground together into a steely resolve.
She saw him tense under her scrutiny and he turned walking up the stairs.
"Come on, let's get a coffee" he said without looking back.
She took a deep breath, needing to close her eyes again to calm herself, but it only took her a moment before she turned and followed him, carefully ascending the stairs.
He was much quicker and he was already at a cart that was selling beverages by the time she caught up.
"Two coffees" ha said, searching for change in his pocket.
"Tea for me" she corrected him and waited patiently as her order was handed to her.
She started walking north, heading toward the exit of Waterfront Park as he finished paying.
"Didn't you use to drink coffee by the bucket?" he asked, his voice amused.
"Another lifetime" she quoted his words, her tone bittersweet.
They exited the park, making their way towards the colorful streets of Georgetown. She loved the always lively streets, the crowds and the noise. It made her calm, the happy chaos lulling her senses and always managing to drown out the noise inside her head.
She glanced at him and she realized that the neighborhood didn't have the same effect on him. His posture was stiff, his gaze wandering constantly as if checking for imminent danger. She wondered for a second and she realized how this lively, colorful scene must look like to someone with the unwavering resolve to go back to where there is only shades of sand and dirt.
"It's weird to be in this city after coming back from the other side of the world. It's like a dollhouse. Everything seems unreal" she mused trying to connect to him and also lift the heavy mood suddenly bearing over them.
He listened to her, his eyes studying her for long seconds, showing no reaction.
"It must be even worse for you, after such a long time" she went on, once again trying to steer the conversation.
"It is strange" he agreed, not elaborating further.
She wondered if there was a door on his miles and miles of walls. She felt like she was trekking the circumference and every time she thought she spotted one it turned out to be bolted shut from the inside.
"When did you come back?" she asked him, trying again.
"I was in Germany for a while, came back 7 months ago from there" he replied.
"Why were you in Germany?" she asked latching on.
He walked silently next to her, as if contemplating his options and she wondered if he was going to ever answer the question.
"It's where they treated me" came his response, quiet.
It made her feel uneasy. A while.
"How badly were you hurt?" she asked again, worried.
"Do I look badly hurt?" he asked smiling.
She looked him over. He didn't look hurt. If anything, he looked healthy, strong. No signs of injuries. None that she could see.
"No" she said.
"I wasn't then" he chuckled.
She studied his face, totally cool, unyielding and she wondered if there was truth to that. That if one did not look hurt, one was not hurt. She pondered if a person could truly get through an injury of that nature, however small or insignificant without his soul injuring as well. There was silence again and she felt like she should stop trying to probe.
"You don't talk much" she pointed out.
"No" he chuckled again.
"I feel like you are this other person" she murmured, surprising even herself with her blatant words.
"I am" he replied honestly and she squinted at him again, as if she could see into his brain.
"This is me" she stopped and watched as he looked up absent minded.
"Oh" he said, looking up at the brownstone.
They stood in front of the building, regarding each other curiously. She looked at this man, so familiar, but still so very foreign and she wondered for a second about the absurdity of life and how unpredictable people's travels turn out.
"It was... weird to see you, Tristan" she said quietly and he chuckled again.
"You too" he said, voice soft.
"If you want to get a drink or something...," she rambled, fishing into her bag, "here is my card with my number."
The moment his fingers took the white card from hers she felt unsure, ridiculous. For a second it crossed her mind that he probably won't call, that they'll probably never see each other again. She wasn't sure if that wasn't how it should be anyway.
He looked at the card with humor, nodding.
"I'll see you around, Mary" he said, his eyes still on her card. He looked up with his smirk in place then turned without saying goodbye. She watched his form disappear into the darkening street, his gait once again catching her attention. She studied the way he moved, tall and stiff, his steps measured as if the mechanics of walking were sharply controlled by him and not just an automatic function of his nervous system.