Title: 447 Days
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters and places from Gilmore Girls they belong to Amy Sherman Palladino and the WB.
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Season Four never happened, considering I started writing this before it started. Actually I started before season three but I'm still not sure how that fits in because it can take place after it. Basically Rory's graduated high school; it's the summer before college. She and Paris are friendly, but what happens when Tristan returns?
Pairing: Your not so basic Trory. It'll get there eventually.
Dedication: To Jamie for being the most supporting encouraging beta ever, and convincing me to actually post this. Surya for just being general greatness and the best personal cheerleader a girl could have. And to Janine for being the coolest llama this side of the Sahara ;-)
Chapter 1: The King's Return
Four hundred forty seven days he had been gone, and yet it was all the same. One would think that in the span of so many days, so many hours, minutes, something would change; but as he looked around it became blatantly clear that nothing had. There was a time when this would be comforting, when the idea that he could just slip back into the spot he vacated all those days ago without a backwards glance would have left him content but this was not one of those times.
He slowly made his way into the overly crowded room, hoping that if he moved slowly enough no one would notice his presence. Of course that was an impossible task to be had, within moments he was surrounded by old classmates engaging him in mindless chatter and asking series of inane questions. He was right where he had left off, the center of attention, the most popular guy in the room, surrounded by throngs of girls wanting him and guys wanting to be him. All he could do was wonder why he had come in the first place.
He had had every intention of not showing up, he had just used the party as a reason for leaving home, for getting away from the isolated castle his parents had left him in for the summer. He was going to just drive, drive until he reached a destination, any destination. Instead he came here, to a party thrown by someone he had once known and he couldn't even explain why, just that something inside of him had told him to go. Though now that he was here he was seriously wondering why any part of him had wanted to be here. What did he think would happen? Who did he think he would see? Did he really expect anything to be different?
He had barely spoken three words since he had entered the room and yet the crowd around him seemed to be growing thicker by the second. It wasn't that he had nothing to say, because he had lots to say, millions of things he wanted to share; it was just that these people would not care. So, he remained silent, trying to concentrate on the conversation around him, always coming up short.
It wasn't until he felt a tugging on his hand that he paid any real attention to those around him, but there were too many. Too many people looking at him, smiling at him, too many to figure out who the insistent tugging was coming from. He did the only thing he could do, politely excuse himself and follow the hand that had attached itself to his own. Once he had made his way past the crowd that had surrounded him, he lifted his eyes from the delicate hand adjoined with his to find who had rescued him from the maddening crowd.
"Paris," he acknowledged, wondering how he should feel about this turn of events.
"Nice to see you too, Tristan," Paris responded coolly, staring at the boy before her intently. She watched him carefully as his eyes fixed on a point on the opposite wall. Following his gaze she noted that it was not fixed on anything in particular. "That bad, huh?"
His head snapped towards her as her voice penetrated his wandering mind, "What are you-"
"You're different," she cut him off, getting right to the point. He smirked, for the first time that evening glad that some things don't change.
"I don't know what you're talking about Paris," he responded feigning innocence.
"Cut the crap DuGrey. I'm not them and I know you better than that. You're different," she repeated the words for good measure letting him know that she wasn't going to let him brush her off.
He sighed, running his hands through his already messy hair. "You're right," he conceded ignoring the twitch of Paris's lips as she fought off a smile. "Did you really expect me to be the same?"
"No," she replied, looking him in the eye for a moment before she started to walk off.
"Par," Tristan called after her, wondering where she was going and why she was leaving. When she didn't turn around, he followed her as she moved through the house opening the back door and stepping out into the yard.
"I don't need a puppy," Paris stated finally turning back to Tristan.
Smirking he couldn't help leaning into her as he responded, "hmm, I always thought of myself as more of a tiger personally, but if puppy works for you…" he trailed off as he noticed the fire in the blonde's eyes.
"I'm sorry I tried," she stated dismissively, trying her best to keep her anger in tact as she spun around once more attempting to leave him in her wake. Only this time he had anticipated her action, catching her arm before she was out of reach.
"Paris, wait, I'm sorry, okay," his voice pleaded with her, effectively stopping her in her tracks. The tone of his voice, it reminded her so much of a child but then she remembered who she was talking to Tristan, the master of manipulation and her gaze turned icily upon him.
"I'm sorry too. I'm sorry I thought you were different, that you had finally realized that you weren't like them," she ranted waving her arm in the direction of the house, "but I was wrong. You haven't changed, and I'm not sure you ever will."
He was too stunned to respond, he wanted to explain to her that he had changed, that he wasn't the boy who left all those days ago but when he finally found the words, she was gone. He didn't try looking for her knowing it would be no use. Instead he sat on bench just before the garden, hating himself for it but wallowing in self-pity all the same.
Paris had offered him friendship, or at least a chance at understanding and he had turned her away. The one thing he had been looking for, hoping to find she was offering in a way only she could and what did he do? He acted like an ass, he acted in the same manner he would have before he left, in the manner he had promised himself he would avoid. Yet the moment he was confronted with the possibility of opening himself to someone however minutely he ran away scared.
At his last thought something inside of him snapped, he couldn't explain it but before he could think about what he was doing he was off the bench heading determinately back to the party. He shrugged off his admirers as he searched the crowded room. When they finally fell upon her, he couldn't stop his mouth from opening in shock.
"You know it really isn't polite to stare," his head whipped around at the sound of the voice so close to his ear, he hadn't realized anyone was behind him.
"I wasn't staring, I was observing," he replied smoothly, openly running his eyes over his distracter's form.
"Well you can see how one might easily mistake one for the other," she replied a spark flashing in her eyes as she baited him. "So, who is she?"
"Excuse me?"
"Who were staring...observing so intently? Don't worry, I'm sure she will fall victim to your charm; not all of us can be immune."
He smiled, "She is."
The brunette raised an eyebrow inquisitorially, "And here I thought I was the only one."
"You were never immune, Mary," he replied leaning into her. "Just too scared to admit otherwise."
He watched her waiting for her retort anticipating what she would say next. When she said nothing, he couldn't contain the smirk that graced his features, "Loose your wit while I was away? Perhaps you would like a personal tutoring session to bring you back up to par?" He wasn't sure what had come over him, why he kept reverting back to his old self. It probably had something to do with being surrounded by the people who knew the old him, but somehow he knew there was more to it than that.
"Wanna dance?" her question broke his revere, startling him as tried to understand her request.
"Excuse me?"
"I asked if you wanted to dance," she replied, a blush creeping up her neck as she pushed a strand of hair out of her face.
"Why?" He could have smacked himself, the one girl he had wanted more than anything had just asked him to dance and he asked her why. But then this was not like her; she would never ask such a thing of him.
She shrugged, "Just feel like dancing."
Doing the only thing he could, he took her hand and started to dance as a slow song streamed in through the speakers. He allowed himself to pull her close and forget about everyone else for a moment before he spoke. "Paris, I was looking at Paris."
"Oh," she replied, unsure what to do with the information he was divulging.
"She's different, more confident," he noted.
"She's always been confident."
"Not like this…" he trailed off, watching as Paris danced with a boy he didn't recognize. "Who's he?"
Taking a glance over his shoulder as he turned them so she was now facing Paris she quirked her eyebrow looking at him inquisitively before responding. "Jealous?"
He let out a chuckle before replying, "Curious, not jealous. I never wanted Paris, you know that," he continued pointedly.
"Yeah," she confirmed.
Smirking he watched amused as she suddenly became shy, attempting to hide behind a veil of her own hair.
"So, you never answered me, who is he?" Tristan asked again, not completely sure why he cared but needing to know.
Rory shrugged before responding, "He transferred in the beginning of the year. His name is Matt or Mark, I don't actually know him."
Tristan nodded, turning his attention away from Paris and back to the girl at hand. After all this was his chance, she had asked him to dance and so far he hadn't screwed up.
"Why are you all by yourself? Last I saw you had your own personal lap dog." Of course, it only took moments for his mouth to get him into hot water.
If she was affronted or surprised by the invasion she didn't let on. "Dean and I broke up." Her answer was simple, said as if she was talking about the weather.
Unsure of how to handle her blasé attitude he said what seemed to be appropriate, "Sorry."
She laughed a moment before looking him in the eye, "No you're not."
Smirking he conceded, "You're right."
Smiling at his concession they danced the remainder of the song in silence, both oddly content for the time being with the last exchange.
As the song ended he released her
from his embrace, thanking her for the dance as he moved to the outskirts of
the room, all the while aware that she was following him.
She jumped almost knocking him over as he stopped walked and quickly turned around facing her. Her breath caught in her throat as she noted their proximity to one another, even closer than when they were dancing and she thought she might never breathe again as her gaze caught his.
They stared at each other for moments that seemed to stretch on forever, blue on blue, neither of them wanting or willing to be the first to turn away.
"So, what is this some kind of staring contest or wait, I know, you two are communicating through mental telepathy."
As the voice penetrated their thoughts both heads swiveled to face the interruption.
"What can I do for you Paris?" Tristan questioned wearily, trying to figure out why Paris had sought them out, especially after leaving him so abruptly earlier.
"For starters you can move about four steps to your left." When she received blank stares from the two sets of eyes she continued with a wave of her hand, "You're standing in front of the drinks."
"Sorry, we didn't realize. We'll just move over here, out of the way, so that people can get drinks," Rory rambled, a blush creeping up her neck as she realized both how inane she sounded and the position Paris had found them in.
Looking up she noted that Tristan had yet to move from his spot; instead a lazy smirk crossed his lips as he began to lean closer to Paris. She groaned inwardly as she realized what he was about to do. In an effort to avoid whatever he was about to say she quickly grabbed his shirt, pulling a surprised Tristan away from Paris and inadvertently into herself.
Smirking he looked down at Rory's flushed face. Seizing the opportunity he lowered his head to her ear, "forceful, I like it," he commented with a low growl, nipping at her ear to accentuate his words.
Chastising herself for her hastiness in getting Tristan way from Paris as well as the involuntary shudder that ran through her as his breath tickled her flesh; she looked him in the eye, "I always knew you were one for being dominated."
"Kinky, Mary. Perhaps you're not so innocent after all."
She smiled ready to respond with a retort of her own when they were once again interrupted by the petite blond.
"If you don't mind," she said curtly indicating the table they now blocked, this one holding various finger foods.
This time it was Tristan who moved out of the way, weaving his way to the other side of the room as Rory stood steadfast.
"Have your legs stopped working?" Paris questioned impatiently.
"What is wrong with you?" Rory hedged ignoring Paris's question.
"I have no idea what you're talking about. Now, if you could just move," Paris responded heatedly.
"Don't plat innocent Paris, it doesn't suit you," the brunette replied. "Why are you being so hostile? You know, he was staring at you."
"Who?"
A laugh escaped Rory's lips before responding wondering how the answer was not obvious, "Tristan."
"He was only staring because I left him outside." When Rory didn't respond Paris added hastily, "besides, it doesn't matter why or even if he was staring, not anymore."
"Huh?" Rory questioned honestly stupefied by Paris's response.
"It doesn't matter because I don't care, not about him, not any more," Paris explained her voice indicating her growing annoyance and agitation.
"Liar," was Rory's simple response, before she took off in the direction she had watched Tristan go minutes earlier leaving a slightly stunned and very upset Paris in her wake.
It only took a moment before Paris stalked off after Rory, wanting to dispel any misconception the brunette seemed to have about herself and Tristan. Then, just as abruptly as she started after her, she stopped, wondering why she even cared what Rory thought about the situation in the first place. Sure, they might have forged a friendship over the past two years but what did it really matter what Rory thought about her? Of course Paris couldn't quell the taunting voice in the back of her head telling her that it was because Rory's observation was dead on, and she knew it. Exasperated Paris turned around heading back towards the now unobstructed table of food.
Rory searched the crowd of people within the room she had just entered, realizing that Tristan was nowhere in sight and that she actually had no reason to be looking for him she sighed heavily before heading back the opposite direction from which she came. Having been to a few parties there she quickly navigated her way to the library, no longer in the mood to be social, yet not quite ready to leave either.