Pairing: As if you don't know me by now… R/T of course.
Spoilers: None.
Rating: I'm going to go with PG-13 to be on the safe side.
Disclaimer: Don't own them. If I did, Tristan would still be on "Gilmore Girls."
Author's Note: What you need to know - This fan fiction takes place during Christmas break of their junior year at Chilton. Yeah, I know it's not technically the Christmas season yet, but knowing how slowly I write, this fic will still be carrying along until then. The season one finale never happened. Rory never got back together with Dean, and Tristan never left, of course. Just the usual circumstances of my happy Trory world. We can't have lovely Troriness on the show, so I must satisfy myself by reading and writing fic. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this first part! Please let me know what you think by kindly clicking on the review button. Your thoughts are greatly appreciated. ;) On to the story! And don't worry, there will be more to come.
Silence of the Night
Rory trudged through the swarm of students eager to begin their long-awaited Christmas holidays. She reached her locker and rested her head against the solid, cool metal of the door, letting out an almost inaudible sigh of relief. But somehow, he heard it. She fiddled with the tricky handle, still having not mastered that one skilled fist thump that would offer her access to its confines. Finally opening the darned thing, she slid out several notebooks, dumping them into the book bag balancing precariously on her lifted knee. And not giving a thought to any curious glances that might have been thrown his way, he watched her, falling into the seemingly disinterested, yet somewhat longing stare he had developed a knack for since she had entered his life. His heart skipped an indisputable beat as her hand, which had been clutching tightly to the strap of her book bag, reached up to swipe away an errant strand of silky, chocolate brown hair that had fallen out of her barrette. He clearly felt the need to do it for her. Had long ago given up repressing it.
She hefted the heavy British History textbook out of her locker with one hand, groaning as it crashed to the black and white tiled floor in a heap of crumpled pages. Fisting her fingers in her plaid skirt she bent down to pick it up, but another hand beat her to it - one that was undeniably masculine, bearing that familiar silver ring on his middle finger.
Tristan.
She stood up slowly, focusing her attention firmly on her saddle shoe clad feet before making the mistake of raising her eyes to meet his. His eyes penetrated into hers, the deep blue hue only accentuated by the flecks of gold dancing mischievously in their irises. He saw her studying him and allowed himself to reveal in it for a moment, the smirk forming habitually on his full lips. His gaze roamed leisurely down the length of her body, satisfied with the innocent blush that spread across her cheeks. It wasn't very often that Rory Gilmore let herself be flustered, and he took pleasure in the fact that he could do that. It was almost like a feeling of protectiveness mingled with a hint of ownership. But she wasn't his. His greatest fear was that she never would be.
He handed the book back to her, purposely letting his fingers brush against hers in a lingering manner as she took the cumbersome volume from him. The electricity sparked from that simple touch, and he couldn't help but wonder if she had felt it too. Her eyes flashed up at him, her brow furrowed, as she shoved the book into her bag and zipped it closed. His gaze skimmed over her nearly empty locker before landing on the full book bag she struggled to pull over her shoulders. "Don't you know that Christmas break isn't the time for marathon studying sessions?"
She rolled her eyes at him mockingly, but punctuated it with a chuckle, letting him know she wasn't annoyed with him. Yet. "It's not like I'm going to be up all night studying."
"Right. You save the all night studying for the two hundred and some school nights, give or take the times you spend drunk at the kegger parties."
She slammed her locker door closed, turning around to face him again. "Yep, that's me. I enjoy coming home drunk and waking up with a hangover. In fact, my mom encourages it."
"Rory Gilmore, drunk. Now that's something that I would like to see. Scratch that. That's something I would actually like to experience." He accompanied the remark with that trademark leer of his, resulting in that familiar eye roll of hers.
"Not likely to happen anytime in the near future." She shrugged her book bag on her shoulders and headed down the hall towards the double doors that led outside to the courtyard, not surprised when his tall frame fell into step beside of her. He was walking inches apart from her, his arm, clad in the obligatory, blue Chilton blazer, occasionally bumping against hers. This time last year she wouldn't have thought twice about the urge she would have to jerk away from him, but now… Now, it was different somehow. She found herself fighting that exact same urge, a part of her wanting to surrender to it.
They walked past their exuberant classmates, huddled in groups in front of walls of lockers whose surfaces were plastered with patterns of paper snowflakes, their edges already curling with the wear and tear of having been up since the week after Thanksgiving. Reaching the entrance to the deserted courtyard, Tristan stepped ahead of her, holding the door open as she walked through.
She raised a single eyebrow at him, her breath already misting in the crisp winter air. "Wow," she stated simply, deliberately putting a tone of exaggerated awe into her voice.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants, preventing himself from reaching out and touching her face, rosy from the cold. "Wow, what?"
"Wow, you opened the door for me."
"I'm a guy. Guys do things like that."
She quirked a half smile at him. "Yeah, but that's not a Tristan type of guy thing to do."
"Then what is a Tristan type of thing to do?" He asked, genuinely interested in what she had to say, because, hell, she just fascinated him.
She lifted her shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. "Oh, I don't know. Staring into the mirror for hours each morning, perfecting each last strand of hair so the girls will have even more reason to swoon at your feet."
"I don't stare into the mirror for an hour." He grinned. "I've cut down to forty-five minutes," he whispered conspiratorially, jokingly. Then his eyes darkened as he stepped closer, blocking her next to the building with his hands on the wall beside her head. "You really think girls swoon at my feet, huh?"
She felt a shiver travel up her spine despite the heat radiating from his warm, firm body. "The way they flitter and flip their hair in your presence, I'd say so. Obviously," she added sarcastically but unnecessarily, her intended quip falling short of its mark.
He lowered his head slightly towards hers, treating her to a whiff of his light, spicy aftershave that had her senses reeling. "Do you swoon, Rory?"
"I don't swoon," she replied indignantly, her voice dry. Refusing to meet his gaze, she focused on the sky above his spiky, blond locks, the clouds drifting in in that fluffy, cumulous way that signaled a snowfall was drawing near.
One solitary finger trailed over her cheek to hook under her jaw, forcing her eyes to lift to his. "Bet I could change that."
Her mind searched frantically for a comeback, something she was usually never short of, but now it failed her as soon his exquisite orbs locked on hers. An unmarred, extremely perfect blue. A gasp caught in her throat as she pushed a hand gently against his chest and slipped under his outstretched arm. She walked around the corner of the building and into the parking lot, vaguely hearing his footsteps crunching on the frozen grass behind her. He caught up with her in two strides, his long legs surpassing the distance between them. When she stopped to peruse the street for her bus, he took that opportunity to confront her with the information he had discovered the other day. "By the way, I wanted to show you this." He removed the cream-colored envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.
Seeing the familiar return address of her grandparent's, her curiosity peaked. She used her thumb to flip open the envelope and slid out the invitation that had been printed on her grandmother's own personal stationary. Her eyes quickly skimmed the words printed there and then widened in surprise when she looked up at Tristan. "You're kidding, right?"
"Nope." He rocked back casually on his heels, an annoyingly pleased smirk gracing his chiseled features. Tapping a finger on his chin in a thoughtful manner, he sidled up to her, tilting his head to gaze at her inquisitively. "It just so happens that our grandfathers just closed a pretty major business deal, and the Gilmores cordially invited my grandparents to join them for Christmas Eve dinner." In a casual, but all too intimate move, he let his hand drift over her arm and down to her hand, his index finger curling lightly around her own before releasing it. "And would you believe that I was asked to come along?"
Reflexively, she jerked away from him, tucking one arm around the notebook she held like a shield against her chest. She tried valiantly to ignore the tingles that danced across her skin at his touch but failed miserably. Tracing her finger over the gold printed calligraphy on the invitation, she sent a irritated glare his way. "Key word, Tristan. Your name isn't on this invitation."
"See, that's the best part. My grandfather had mentioned before that you and I, going to the same school, more than likely know each other."
"Not by choice."
"Oh, that hurts me deeply, Rory."
"Good, now if I could just find a sword to drive that remark in even deeper."
He chuckled, amused at her antics, and that only served to rile her even more. "As I was saying, your grandmother thought it would be nice for you to make a few friends at Chilton, starting with me of course, since we all know that I'm the be all and end all of the Chilton popularity chain." He winked at her devilishly. "Plus, who can resist me?"
She scoffed, rolling her eyes dramatically. "You're embellishing. There's no way she would say that."
"What can I say? They love me already."
"The air that has inflated your head has made you delirious."
"Your grandmother wanted you to have someone your own age there."
"There's a cat that lives next door. He's almost blind in one eye and can barely walk straight, but he's sixteen years old. So, it's not like I'm not going to have someone close to my age there." She met his smirk bit for bit, challenging him in a way that only she could.
"A sixteen year old cat? That's what - like, ninety-two in human years? I'm surprised he has any fur left."
"He's actually really sweet. He'll even curl up in your lap if you give him some milk or catnip. I'll have no problems with him keeping me company."
Tristan nudged her with his shoulder, his voice suddenly taking on a husky tone. "How about I curl up in your lap instead?"
She shoved the invitation back at him, throwing up her hands in frustration. "That's exactly why they wouldn't invite you. Anyone who knew of you would realize that your main goal in life is to torment me."
"I'm sure my grandfather made me seem as perfect as possible. Though he probably didn't have to work too hard for that."
"And if I roll my eyes any harder, they're going to fall out of their sockets."
"Aw, Rory. Then you wouldn't be able to see me and revel in my incredible sexiness."
"I'll try to withhold the drool."
"Hey, is that some right there?" He reached up, rubbing his thumb lightly over her bottom lip, his eyes never wavering from hers. And, of course, the smirk was happily making an appearance.
She lifted her hand to her mouth, bumping his own hand as he quickly withdrew it, jamming it into his pocket. He ducked his head, imitating a movement of shame, but the evil twinkle in his eyes revealed to her that he was obviously faking it. She couldn't even begin to comprehend why just a simple touch from him had her stomach somersaulting all the way into her chest. She didn't even want to begin to decipher the meaning, afraid of what she might find. Watching him nod a greeting to one of their classmates in that casual, but yet in that all too confident manner, she knew that somewhere, somehow things had changed. Yes, he still had that annoying habit of infuriating her, but from that infuriation had spawned an intrigue. An intrigue that made her want to know more about the person that he was, to break down that outer shell that kept him guarded from others.
And it wasn't just the yearn for knowledge. It was a well placed, yet sarcastic remark from him, that before would have made her want to punch him, but now had her smiling upon recalling it later in the day. It was a flutter of nerves here, a tingle at a whispered touch there. And when he turned those cool cobalt eyes back to her now, it was an increased pounding in her heart. In that expert way, he flicked his eyes slowly down her body and then confidently, self-assuredly met her gaze head-on, an unashamed grin plastered on his face. His eyes searched hers, as if looking for acceptance, and she felt herself being inexplicably drawn to him. Into what was yet unknown, but begging to be given a chance for exploration.
"Rory."
Two syllables. Her name, something innately familiar, but coming from his lips, it sounded new, exciting. He made it seem like it was rare, precious, and all together his. It was said in a way that had a flush spreading across her cheeks and had her questioning the tentative friendship they had built that previous year. And exactly when it had had her toying with the prospect of more. More? Her absence from coffee for the past few hours had undoubtedly done a number on her scattered brain. This was Tristan. Nothing more, nothing less. They were lucky to get through one verbal sparring match without biting each other's heads off. He was still staring at her, one eyebrow arched in amusement, no doubt wondering what could possibly be going on in her head. If he only knew.
She cleared her throat awkwardly, averting her gaze to the several students who were straggling out of Chilton's doors towards their cars. She jerked her eyes back hastily as he snorted derisively, obviously pleased that he had, indeed, won the last word in their latest installment. "So, shouldn't you be jetting off with your parents to someplace warm for the holidays like Bermuda? Or Hawaii where there are lots of volcanoes for you to be sacrificed in?" She offered him a tiny smile, but it disappeared when she was met with a frown rather than one of his other typical remarks.
He hesitated before opening his mouth, unsure of exactly what to say to her, but chastising himself for not trusting her. "My parents are."
"But they left you here by yourself?"
"Yeah." His answer was crisp and to the point. His family was never at the top of his list for topics of discussion. He shrugged lightly in what he hoped appeared to be an act of indifference. But he should have known she, of all people, would see right through it.
"And that bothers you."
"I could care less. After all, I'm used to it. It's my little sister…"
Rory's eyes widened, puzzled. "I didn't even know you had a sister."
He ran a hand through his tousled hair, causing the blond tendrils to stick up in that messy yet still attractive way. "Proves that you don't know me as well as you think."
"I'm sorry." She frowned at her own comment, wondering why she should feel sorry for something that was not her fault. But, yet it was. She had never even given him the chance to let her know him.
"You never asked."
"I will. Next time."
He felt his heart turn over then at the possibility that she was looking ahead towards another time, and that she wanted the opportunity to know him. Unlike others, who were satisfied just to have him. "My sister is the one they hurt. She doesn't deserve to be left without her parents over Christmas. No child does."
"I can't even imagine what that must be like." And she couldn't. She had never been without someone who loved her and who wanted to spend time with her. Christmas was a time for being with your loved ones, and not having that would be unbearable.
"They make her cry, Rory."
"But they must know that this isn't right. Don't they call?"
"Oh, they call and her face lights up as they give her false promises that they'll be home the next day. Something always 'comes up' to where they are detained, and they break her heart all over again."
She placed her hand on his arm in a comforting, gentle manner, curling her fingers around his jacket. "She's lucky to have you."
"Yeah, well… I do what I can for her, but that's sometimes just not enough." He turned away from her quickly, but not before she glimpsed the anger mingled with a distinct sadness in his eyes. He wasn't accustomed to opening up to anyone like that, and now that he had, he felt slightly vulnerable. He glanced around, seeing that none of the other remaining students were paying any attention to them, an unusual blessing. Only Rory. And that was enough.
She scuffed her shoe at a frozen puddle in the pavement, sending tiny shards of ice sparkling in the sun that peeked out from behind the clouds. "You should probably come on Christmas Eve."
"Okay, now that you feel sufficiently sorry for me…" His voice trailed off, accompanied by a dry sense of humor.
"No. I want you to come, and not because I feel sorry for you." And in that moment, a part of her realized that she did want him there. If only just to see him.
"Really?" His question was tinged with doubt, and he was finding it hard to believe that she was actually standing in front of him, offering him acceptance into her world. Something that was uniquely and only hers.
"Yes. Really." She smiled at him, her eyes bright and enthusiastic. "Though, I still can't believe that my grandparents actually invited you." She made a tsking noise with her tongue, but grinned, letting him know that her invitation still followed the rules of their well-played game.
"Well, it was easy. They don't know my deepest fantasies concerning their granddaughter." He had immediately recovered from their previous conversation, bouncing back into the heavily laced innuendos he reserved for her alone.
She had been expecting that and was prepared. "Who would want to know the things that go on inside your head? A horror movie would seem like a lullaby but without the music."
"If you did know, I doubt you could handle it." He replied innocently, intending to spark her curiosity, and it was obvious by her furrowed brow and the way she chewed her lip that he did just that.
She rolled her eyes, pasting a disgusted look on her face. "I was right. I really don't want to know. It would mean risking permanent damage to my cerebellum."
"Maybe if you're lucky enough, one day you'll find out." He leered at her, placing extra emphasis on the word lucky, watching as she blinked in surprise.
She snapped out of it a second later, but not quickly enough to hide the blush that seemed to have found a permanent home on her cheeks whenever she was in his presence. "And I'm sure 'lucky' is being used in the most innocent, naïve way possible."
It was his turn to be more than a little shocked. He had thrown her a heavily veiled innuendo, and instead of brushing it off, she had played with it, turning it around to her liking and tossing it back to smack him in the face. "How can I say this? My fantasies aren't exactly PG-13. If you know what I mean."
"Oh, so they're G?"
"Not exactly." He pursed his lips, making a kissing sound.
She groaned, exasperated, but then couldn't help laughing at his 'cat who ate the canary' expression.
"Why else would I keep them hidden in my journal?"
"You keep a journal." Add that to the list of things she had learned about him, things she never thought would be a part of who he was.
"Yeah, but you'll never read it."
"What makes you think I want to read it?"
"You're a nosey girl, Rory. You want to know about my life, and your name's bound to come up occasionally." He smirked as she rolled her eyes disdainfully.
"You really are incorrigible."
"And you, Rory Gilmore, are beautiful."
Her eyes shot up to his face, searching for any sign that would show her he was teasing, falling into his self-confident, egotistical mindset that allowed him to say anything to someone of the opposite sex and not mean a word of it. Her search was futile. His eyes had taken on a serious, intense look as they pierced straight into hers, almost as if he could see into and through her. As if he were consumed by her. Their blueness appeared even darker than normal, a mix of shadow and storms as he drank her in, preparing to lose himself in her for the millionth time. There was no habitual smirk, no leer that would give away his true intentions - only a half-smile that played tantalizingly with one side of his mouth. A genuine, sincere smile directed at her.
And that rocked her to the very core.
The roar and horn of her bus echoed behind her, saving her when a smart remark couldn't. For the first time, she couldn't muster anything to say to him. She knew then, that Tristan did, indeed, have an affect on her.
He always had. She hadn't let herself feel it until now.
"I… I need to catch my bus." She motioned with her hand to the vehicle, a path of exhaust smoke trailing from behind it, but her feet remained frozen.
"Okay." He did allow a small, self-confident smirk then to, almost unknowingly, cross his face.
"I'm going to miss it." Her feet still stood motionless.
"You better go, then."
"I'm gone." One last lock of their eyes and then she was jogging off to the bus, her book bag jostling on her back. He took a few steps closer, hands in his pockets, watching her as he had countless times before, because for him in that moment, she was the only thing that existed in his world. And then he laughed.
And somehow, as she climbed up the steps to the bus and the door whooshed closed behind her, she heard it.
It was a warm, carefree sound, commiserating over things lost, and more important things that had been gained in such a short time. It was a sense of happiness, of freedom. He had been given another opportunity with her, and only a fool would let it go to waste. Tristan DuGrey was no fool.
Rory settled into her seat, trying not to, but still unable to keep her eyes from drifting over to the window and seeking out his familiar form. She rubbed her hand over the glass, clearing away the layer of moisture that marred her view. She saw his retreating back as he headed to his car, and she unconsciously trailed a finger over the glass, remembering his words from a few moments before.
Beautiful…
She shook her head, trying not to focus on it or him, as the bus carried her home to Stars Hollow, where her mom, Luke's coffee, and her flannel pajamas waited. As it took her to her place of comfort, it was also furthering the distance from him. And she didn't want to think about why that bothered her, but a part of her knew. In two nights, she would be sharing a dinner table with him, and she would be forced to confront the true meaning of those words and how they made her feel.
More importantly, she would once again have to confront Tristan.
To Be Continued…
