Chapter Eleven: Out in the Cold

A/N: Sorry for the long wait...life got in the way of my writing. There is plenty more to this story, though, so thanks for sticking with it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any characters associated with the show.

Tristan opened the door to his hotel room shirtless, and Rory gave up. In the days that had passed since she had gotten her period, she had sworn to herself that she wasn't going to have sex with Tristan again. It wasn't worth it. Besides, sex was turning out to be a whole lot of complications for a few minutes of pleasure.

They were in Barcelona. The Dugreys had returned from their trip. And here she was, standing in the hallway with a bottle of champagne in one hand and two glasses in the other. The gesture, which she had intended to be purely celebratory, now seemed to her blatantly sexual. Especially when he stood there half-naked. Her mouth went dry as nerves washed over her. She took in the sight of his toned chest muscles, the trail of hair leading below the waistband of his sweats. She hadn't seen him naked in their one frenzied hook-up. Just as he hadn't seen her body either. The thought made her shiver, from fear or desire she would have to figure out later.

"We are celebrating?" he asked in greeting, nodding towards the champagne. She nodded. He wrapped one strong arm around her and pulled her to him, crushing his lips against hers, kissing her deeply. He let her go and took the champagne and glasses from her hands. She closed the hotel room door as he crossed the room to the writing desk to open the bottle and pour the drinks.

"How was your trip?" she asked casually.

"Fine."

She waited, hoping he would expound on that point. He didn't. She didn't pry.

He turned back to her and handed her a glass of champagne. He raised his own in a toast. "To no more teen pregnancies," he said, a dark smile gracing his lips.

Rory raised her glass and bobbed her head in acknowledgement. She sipped her champagne, the bubbles erupting in her mouth and leaving a hot trail down her throat as she swallowed.

"What did I miss around here?" he asked, lounging back on the bed.

Rory joined him, sitting with her feet curled under her. "Your mother spent several very long evenings telling us tales about her new husband's yacht."

"You met my mom?" he asked. Rory smiled a little at the crack of vulnerability she heard in his voice.

"Yeah. She shared a dinner table with us the whole time you were gone. I think I know more about your stepfather's stock portfolio than he does."

"Christ," Tristan swore. He took a drink from his champagne. "The woman just doesn't know when to shut the fuck up."

"Hey!" Rory scolded gently. "She's your mom."

"So? You don't agree?"

"You can't talk like that about the woman who gave you life."

Tristan snorted. "That is some pretty heavy feminist shit."

"I'm just saying."

"Aren't you on pretty bad terms with your own mom right now?" he shot back at her.

"Yeah, but that's not any reason to be mean."

He took another long pull from his glass as he studied her. "Then clearly our mothers are from two completely different categories of mothers. What could she have possibly done? I thought you guys were all proud of how you were like sisters and shit."

Rory debated avoiding the question. But after everything the past few weeks, what was a little honesty now?

"She didn't like that I slept with Dean."

"Shocking. A mother doesn't want her daughter to be some married dude's mistress."

His statement was simple, but its straightforward nature cut through her. She took a sip of her champagne, then another.

"So you make one bad call and its, what, over between you guys?"

Rory shrugged. "Seems like it."

"Come on. That's stupid."

"I agree."

"And the beloved Dean. Where does he play in?"

"What do you mean?"

"I guess I'm asking you if you are with him or something."

"Oh," she said softly. She paused, over what she wasn't sure. "No. I'm not."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Yeah. Because if your mom is already pissed that you're sleeping with a married guy, she'd probably be really pissed that you're sleeping with me on top of that."

"I'm not sleeping with you."

"Oh really? Then how did you think you almost got knocked up?"

"That was a one time thing."

"Which is exactly why you showed up to my bedroom wearing that little thing."

Rory looked down at her dress that Tristan was ogling. It was a sundress, nothing special. So maybe it did show off some of her curves nicely. She had worn it all day. It wasn't like she had put it on for him. She looked back up. He was watching her. His "good" from a moment ago echoed through her mind. Was that more possessive than he had let on?

He had put his glass down on the bedside table, and he was sitting up, closing the distance between them. And then he was kissing her, and she was on top of him, and he was peeling off her dress. He moved his hands to the clasp of her bra, which snapped her mind back into reality.

"We can't," she said softly.

"Why not?" he asked, trailing kisses down her neck but dropping his hands to the narrow curve of her waist.

"We barely dodged a bullet."

"I bought out Spain's supply of condoms."

She smiled a little, rolling her eyes at him. "Tristan-"

"I'm not done with you, Rory."

There was an earnestness in his voice that made her believe him, made her feel like she had never been so desired in her life. And so, despite the promises she had made to herself about "the right thing," she reached her hands behind her and unclasped her bra before bending down and giving him an inviting kiss.

Afterwards, they stayed in bed for a while, naked, watching a Spanish cooking show on television. She delighted in the feeling of his hands tracing slow, light lines over her bare flesh. She took pleasure in the feeling of his legs entangled with hers under the crisp hotel linens. This kind of lingering intimacy was new to her, matched only by the few minutes she had stolen with Dean that first time. Eventually she must have succumbed to the heavy, drifting sleep that nagged at her.

"Mare-"

"Hmm," she grumbled softly. There was a firm hand rocking her shoulder. She cracked an eye open. Tristan. "What?" she asked, annoyed to be woken from her sated slumber.

"Don't you need to get back?"

"What?"

"Your room...your grandmother?"

She rubbed a hand across her eyes and sat up, clutching the sheet to her bared chest. "What?" she repeated.

"Won't your grandmother notice you gone?"

No, she thought firmly. She hadn't paid enough attention to Rory's whereabouts to deduce any of her clandestine meetings with Tristan up to this point.

Oh my God, he was trying to get rid of her.

"Um, yeah," she answered lamely. "Thanks." Thanks?

She slid out of bed, gathering her articles of clothing quickly, trying her best to avoid looking at him. He was still in bed, surely watching her. She pulled on her dress, stuffing her bra and panties into the purse she had brought with her.

"Well, goodnight," she said quickly.

"Hey."

She turned to him, expecting him to be proving her wrong.

"Put out the do not disturb sign on your way out?"

She stared at him for the briefest moment, lying in bed, too distant to even give her a proper goodbye. Something inside of her felt suffocated. She turned and walked out the door without saying anything further to him.

She put the tag on the doorknob anyway.