Title: Gone

Author: Hito

Feedback: Please. Abuse at will.

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Rory/Tristan/Jess

Disclaimer: Not mine. Damn it.

Author's Note: Sequel to "Girlfriend," and begins directly after that fic ends. The rating will almost certainly rise. I think I'll tell you now that it's not going to be a Jory. Thanks to Rianna for the beta.

***

Tristan wasn't sure what had woken him.

Rory was fast asleep, draped over his body, her breath tickling his neck. Maybe it had been the clothes between them, folds digging uncomfortably into his chest; perhaps just the lightening of the sky.

He wasn't complaining. A careful shift brought Rory further into his arms without disturbing the rhythm of her breathing, brought her lips against his skin, and that hadn't happened often enough to be anything but cherished.

Even if she didn't know she was doing it. She had known, and had done it; had chosen it, him. And that was more than he had ever thought to be given.

Body memory jostled for space in his mind as he fell into reverie and she sank into him. Flashes of feeling that were nothing like vague, anything but blurry, sharp as pain. Clarity proved reality, if Rory in his arms hadn't already done so, but he couldn't think about it yet. Shockingly stark, it had actually happened and he would have to deal with it, but-not yet. Not just yet. He had come so impossibly far so fast; he had too much to assimilate already.

Life had taken a deliciously unexpected twist last night. If he'd thought there was a chance in hell of this happening he might have been better prepared, but as it was he'd just have to wing it.

And if he was going to be totally honest with himself, which was probably his only chance at surviving this, he really hadn't expected ever to get the chance. Rory had proved irritatingly loyal to Jess, and he had been on the verge of abandoning his pursuit. He knew she hadn't intended this. Hadn't believed that he could push her into choosing him, but had had to try.

And he had done it. He had won. And now, unbelievably, he had Rory. Impossibly. Victory snatched from the jaws of defeat, and he couldn't quite hold in a smile at that. It was all too like a stupid sports movie, one that he would have thought himself too old for before he reached double figures, except with sex, which admittedly, might have been a draw-

It was then that he realised that his hand was smoothing over her back, under her shirt. He pulled away quickly, but it was too late. And it was a whole new kind of jolt to realize that that could become instinct. That he was close enough to her not to mark the intimacy. And if he'd known this time yesterday that he'd be thinking like this he would have committed hara- kiri before he ever got out of bed. He would have missed out on a hell of a lot.

He didn't know why he was being so-schmoopy, about it; it wasn't as if- well. Maybe it was. Had to be, to make this so special. To make him care that her chest was rising and falling against his, that she was curled into him, that her hand was heavy on his shoulder. Their legs were tangled up together. Such little things, but they mattered, all of them. She mattered. And he cared, far too much. He did.

That pulled at him a little, and he tightened instinctively around her. Too much. She was stirring. Rory's eyelashes fluttered as she stretched against him. He watched as her eyes blinked open, watched the haze pass, saw the moment when memory returned. She stiffened. Disbelieving too, she turned her face up to him, eyes impossibly wide.

"Rory. Good morning."

"Tris-" She sat up, scrubbing her hands over her face. "What-?"

He wasn't going to supply difficulties. And this wasn't a position he had ever been in before, really.

His muscles ached as he pulled himself up, and maybe they should have gone back to her place after all. Too late to worry about that and there was no way on earth that things could have turned out any better than they had.

Her hair was a little tangled and he smiled as she tried to comb through the snarls with her fingers, halting her hand with his. He curled around her, resting his chin on her shoulder. She was still out of it, unfocused, and eventually he just grabbed her chin to get her attention.

"Rory. Hey."

And she was looking at him, finally, a smile trembling behind her mouth, and that was just too much for him to resist.

She was warm and welcoming, almost familiar, and it didn't hurt at all when she drew back.

"Hey. We-"

And he wanted to answer, even though he knew she was in her own little world again, wanted to voice this ridiculous joy. He didn't speak, but he couldn't quite bring himself to temper it. She was shaking her head a little, still smiling; he could relate.

"Tristan-" Sudden movement and she was on him and, God, she had never been this warm before, this-this was-

Rory looking at him, sighing through that same smile, and his cheeks would hurt before the morning was out.

"Hmm. Tristan." And it was stupid, to be so pleased that it was his name that satisfied her like that, that it was him. Stupid to be so-blitzed. "What time is it?"

His watch had remained on his wrist. "Six thirty. Why?"

"We should-" And suddenly she was gone, halfway across the room, searching for her shoe, and that was just wrong, so he followed her.

"What is it?"

"We have to go. Here."

A sock thrown back over her shoulder at him and she was frantic now. Little snap of comprehension and maybe she wasn't the only slow riser here. Tristan slowly joined in the search, finally unearthing Rory's other shoe behind the counter; he had no recollection of how it had ended up there.

He sat staring at it, mind blank. It wasn't as if he had never seen out the night before, but he usually slept until noon afterwards. He couldn't remember ever waking up this early, actually.

He ambled over to the windows and let the blinds whoosh up. The world was still washed-out and silent, but the sky was glowing, the sun pushing at the edges of the town, and it looked like being a wonderful day.

Rory was quietly going insane behind him, and he had to overcome a faint impulse to go and calm her down, watching as golden light inched over the row of shops.

"Tristan!" He turned, instinctively catching the shoe that was flying at his face. "Come on."

Obediently bending to tug it on, he missed the other and had to scramble half-way across the room for it. Then he was done, really, although it felt like he was forgetting something. The candles were guttered; the lights were off-the blinds. Pulled them back down, Rory was waiting with the keys in her hands and still there was a nebulous, niggling something anchoring him there.

Tristan crossed the room to her with feet of lead and tugged her back into his arms. Rory tasted of cinnamon and some spice he didn't recognize, and everything that he wanted. Everything good, and coffee too, and beneath it all there was happiness and he didn't know whose it was. Could have been hers by the look on her face when his eyes flickered open briefly, but it felt like it was his.

Thought maybe he heard a door open. Didn't let her go.