Author's note: Thank you for sticking with this story and thank you for the reviews letting me know it gets you in the feels. Oh, did you think we were only visiting Angst City? No, no, no, there's a bunch of stops on this tour. Next up: Anguishville.
She heard the key turn in the lock and she closed her eyes cursing silently.
He hadn't been around for days, but of course he would show up at the most unfortunate time.
She saw him as he stepped inside, his body freezing as the man sitting across from Rory turned around to regard him curiously.
She saw his eyes flash to hers, his face emotionless, but his eyes full of question and something that she only remembered seeing when Logan came to visit. She did an involuntary eye roll and had to bite her lip to keep herself from releasing an annoyed chuckle. She figured he'd had preconceptions about the way she'd lived her life, but this was stretching it by even her standards.
"Tristan" she sighed, letting her displeasure show, "this is my dad. Dad, this is Tristan."
His eyes flashed back to hers and she wondered if anyone's eyes could be as effective as Tristan's conveying emotion. There was shock, surprise and an apologetic look, all within a matter of seconds.
Her father got up from the stool, smiling uncomfortably as he stepped towards Tristan to shake his hand.
"Apparently, Emily was displeased with my Hartford appearance and sent in the big guns" Rory said, her eyes rolling as she rested her chin on her hand, watching Chris discreetly size up Tristan.
There was plenty to see, Rory realized, especially since he'd been back on active status. Even she could see the change when she came back from a couple of days of assignment, he always seemed to be getting stronger, his muscles tensing under his long-sleeved shirts. He still covered up though, all the muscles apparently not enough in his mind to keep people from wondering about scars.
"Ror, she didn't… I was in town and I thought I'd come see you. I'm allowed, no?" Christopher said, his eyes tearing from Tristan reluctantly and focusing on her daughter, drawing Rory back to the strange meeting taking place in her kitchen.
"It's not illegal, no" she replied, failing to keep her voice from sounding bitter.
There was another look from Tristan, like he was reading the situation just from her annoyed remarks and she realized she'd probably never mentioned her father to him and he'd just assumed he was out of the picture.
Truth was, Christopher was someone who had so many of her conflicting emotions, memories and fears tied to himself, that it was hard for her to engage with him, in presence or even in thought. It was always disarming, his easy charm, his familiar banter drawing her in at first, but the bitter aftertaste, her fluttering anxiety reared its head within minutes, their conversations stalling and becoming uncomfortable as soon as his worry for her made itself evident by his searching gaze and probing questions.
She was sort of relieved to have Tristan arrive in that regard, happy to be off the hook and focus on a different type of awkwardness instead.
Christopher focused on the key in Tristan's hand.
"So, you guys live together?" he asked.
She felt Tristan glance momentarily at her and then back at her dad and she had to bite back another chuckle ready to escape.
"Tristan has a key, he takes care of my plants when I'm away" she said with a dry tone.
She could see her father glancing around the apartment, no doubt observing the distinct lack of plants of any kind and then give her a look that made her feel like she was back in high school, even though he had never been much around to give her those looks even back then.
"What are you in town for?" Tristan asked coming to stand next to the counter, with the ease of someone who had broken the tension in social situations daily. Chris reclaimed his seat and Rory moved to pour them all drinks.
"My other daughter, Gigi, she's in town for a debate championship, I came to cheer on her" Christopher said, opening his valet to show him a picture of Gigi.
"That's nice. How old is she?" Tristan said, glancing at Rory who was lining up cups.
"She's twelve, really smart. Makes me wonder how genetics really work, cause man, both my daughters are geniuses and they certainly don't get it from me" Christopher laughed.
"Well, you must have some effect apparently" Rory murmured cynically, sensing Tristan's searching gaze on her as she poured drinks into the aligned cups for each of them.
"What's this?" Chris asked, looking into the cup of curious liquid.
"It's ginseng tea" Rory replied.
Christopher looked at Tristan with a dumbfounded expression and he shrugged in response.
"It's…a… interesting" Chris said, after tasting the concoction.
"I'm trying it out" Rory said, sitting back across from them.
"You know I still have a bet going with myself when you'll finally go back to the hard stuff" her father said, his tone light, but he might as well have stuck a knife in her chest and twisted it slowly.
"I mean, I think it will be the only thing to convince me you're over it" he said quietly.
Tristan didn't look up, but she noted his jaw tensing barely noticeably.
She couldn't analyze his reaction because she was too busy staring at her own father. She couldn't quite tell the purpose of the comment. Whether it was a jab because of her cold tone or an unreigned wish, slipping though his composure, all she knew is she felt nauseous and tired, wishing she'd be alone in her apartment or better yet, halfway across the world.
"Well I'm glad you are, dad. I'll try to keep it in mind that the clock is ticking" she said, looking back up at him with an expression she knew would effectively silence him.
Chris looked at her as if he'd just realized the way his comment sounded, slowly shaking his head as he opened his mouth, ready to explain himself but then thinking better of it.
Tristan cleared his throat.
"I actually like ginseng tea" he said, "so much better than last week's reishi" he said, his attempt at lightening the mood seamless even as father and daughter remained staring at each other with visible tension.
And there is was really, the impasse they always came across: things left unsaid and unsettled, buried by things that were tragic and insurmountable, with some thoughtless and tense filled words slapped on top for good measure. She wondered if he felt it too. She wondered why he still tried nevertheless, engaging in the decade old practice of showing up and then fleeing disappointed.
"Well, I should go. It was good to meet you Tristan. Nice to see you Rory. Keep in touch, okay?" he said, rising from his seat.
"Sure" she nodded, acknowledging both his leaving and their unavoidable dynamic with one resigned gesture.
She followed him out and held her face out for him to kiss goodbye, then closed the door behind him, doing her best to avoid Tristan's searching gaze.
"You okay?" he asked, sitting on the stool that her father occupied up until now.
"Yeah" she said, successfully avoiding his gaze as she went to clear off the counter.
"Your sister… she looks a lot like you did, back in school" he went on, his words careful, his tone soft.
She arched an eyebrow.
"That is your type" she snorted and he gave her a look.
"Do you see her much?" he asked, trying to stir the conversation back from insanity, no doubt.
"Not for a while now, no" she shrugged, taking the used cups and putting them into the sink.
"You want to go see her?" he went on.
"No, I've got to fly out tonight" she replied, opting to wash the cups to occupy herself.
"Tonight? I thought it was next week" came his response and she sighed, turning to finally face him.
"No, we had to reschedule, because of Jimmy" she said, gesturing with her hand.
"Really?" he asked, studying her.
"Yes, really" she replied, her tension rising.
"Okay. Let me drive you" he said calmly, getting up from the stool.
If there was a drift between them before, the knowledge he was back at work made the distance even more pronounced. On the surface nothing changed. He still came to her home, spending most of his nights with her, still made love to her in the same insatiable way. But she felt like they were walking on eggshells, the tension always threatening to explode but never quite actually manifesting in a cloud of smoke.
She'd been saying yes to projects without really contemplating, the resulting packed schedule not going unnoticed by him.
"You've been gone a lot" he said, as he watched her pack her bag.
He was leaning against the door frame, his favorite spot to have a conversation from. She wondered if it was because he liked to keep a line of escape open at all times.
"Yeah, I guess. Everything just piled up" she agreed, her tone indifferent.
"Rory, if you don't want to do this anymore..." she heard him say and she turned around, eyebrows raised.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, her expression.
"Our relationship" he replied, matter of factly, his stance sure.
"Don't you think you're overreacting?" she spat, giving him a menacing look that effectively made him quiet.
He dropped his gaze on the floor, contemplating her answer.
"Look, you do what you have to do, I do what I have to do, okay?" she bit out, turning back to the task at hand.
"Okay" he sighed, "I should go."
"I think you should stay" she shot back without turning to look at him, knowing it would be easier to let this conversation and him go, but somehow not wanting to.
She felt his eyes on her, his form stoic and silent as she moved about, packing things, his eyes silently following her.
"Is this because I'm back at work?" he asked, his voice so quiet but still powerful. She froze, turning to face him.
"Is what about you being back at work?" she asked, her tone taunting.
"You being gone a lot" he clarified, his voice calm.
"You think I'm traveling more because I'm what? Trying to get back at you for going back to work?" she asked, purposefully making her words cynical.
"I think you're traveling more to put distance between us" he corrected her.
"Says the guy who might jet off any given moment for missions I don't even know he's gonna survive" she murmured, knowing full well he could hear her every word even as she disappeared into the closet.
"So, it is?" he asked, ignoring her comments and focusing on his own question.
"You know, you are really something. This is my life okay? You're not the only one who doesn't want roots, Tristan" she said, walking back out into the room, throwing more stuff on the bed.
"So, this is about you proving to me and yourself that you don't want roots?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders. His style of argument, like always, unnerved her, her reasoning dissolving in his line of questions.
"You know what? I changed my mind, I think you should go" she said, her eyes flashing as she looked at him.
"I love to be around you" he said suddenly, taking a step towards her and the earnestness in his voice made her stop dead in her track and inhale sharply. She looked into his eyes, a swirling blue, and she took another faltering breath, trying to reign in the instant wave of emotions his declaration set off within her.
"I love when you walk around in your robe and have the news on and do about four different things at the same time" he went on and she studied his face, a soft smile playing on his lips despite the tension of the argument.
"I love when you work and you don't look up from your computer for hours at a time. I love to have dinner with you even if we don't talk. I love to be near you" he went on, taking another step towards her and she felt more disarmed by each sentence.
"Going back to work doesn't change that. If anything, it makes me appreciate the time we have that much more" he finished his speech, his hands reaching out to brush hair back from her face and she felt defeated, her unease suddenly feeling unjustified.
"Why is my work any different from yours?" she asked defensively, clinging to her argument, even as her voice softened, the bite gone.
"You've been working a lot. And you weren't before. It's a change, I'm trying to understand" he explained, his tone eternally soft.
"I wasn't working as much because... I enjoyed being here more" she said, shrugging her shoulders in defeat.
"And now you don't?" he asked, brows furrowed, stepping closer as his arms snaked around her.
"No, it's not that. I guess I'm just bracing myself" she said, dropping her gaze as she swallowed hard.
He nodded.
She felt his warmth surround her, the tension from her chest gone and she sighed, surrendering.
"Your grandmother called" he said and she looked back up, trying to decipher the sudden turn of the conversation.
"What?" she asked, not understanding, taking a step away from him, his hands slipping from around her.
"On your landline. I picked it up" he clarified, his face unapologetic.
"You what?" she asked, shaking her head, still reeling from the information.
"It was the third time I heard her leave a message, Rory, so I picked up" he defended himself.
"Jesus" she sighed, turning back to the half full suitcase.
"She was worried" he went on.
"I'm sure she was" she shot back.
"Rory, you're going to have to face this, if you still want to…" he pushed, his tone pleading.
"Can we please not talk about this now?" she said, stressing the words as she stuffed another sweater into her travel bag.
There was a moment of silence before he spoke again, his voice laced with defeat.
"Sure. Do you want me to go?" he asked and she faced him, her anger boiling softly under the surface.
"No, I don't want you to go, but I want to stop having futile discussions" she spat at him.
He nodded, his face tense.
"Alright," he said, "as you wish." He stepped to where she was standing, pulling her close with a sudden motion.
She gasped. He kissed her, hard and rough, his hands grasping her arms and through the sudden confusion a flash of arousal shot through her. She felt her mind protest, her thoughts still jumbled from the argument, but the feelings he induced in her by touching her seemed to flood her consciousness, leaving all protests and reasoning without merit.
"This is what we do, when we don't wanna discuss stuff, right?" he murmured in between kisses, his voice gruff, pointed and she felt anger and lust wrestle inside her even as she was unable to protest.
He backed her towards the bed and laid her down, climbing on top of her. He tore her clothes off, hastily getting rid of his own, all the while kissing her hungrily. She watched as he stood up putting a condom on, all muscles and strength and unyielding tension, then pulled her to the edge of the bed without warning, staying on his two feet while he raised her hips slightly and hooked her legs over his shoulders.
He fucked her hard, relentlessly pounding into her, his fingers aiding her pleasure by assaulting her clit continuously. She came within minutes, but his pace didn't falter, his body a tense machine as she moaned arching into his thrusts. She heard him mumble, but she couldn't make out the words, her body floating in a constant state of bliss, even as she felt the anxious tension between them. She felt him move her slightly, changing the angle as he slid into her further and she cried out, another orgasm hitting her.
Her body was limp, but she felt him go on, unfazed, his strong arms lifting her and turning her around, positioning on her hands and knees as he covered her back with his body, his skin sweltering. She felt her head spin and her arms felt weak, but he steadied them with his own, keeping her upright as he whispered into her ear, a shiver running down her spine as he did.
"Hold on" it was a warning and an order in one and she braced her weight on her arms as she felt him enter her from behind with a stifled grunt. She heard her own cries intensify, her mind releasing the last of her worries, her tension, her unrealized hopes and hidden resentments and for a second she felt liberated and free.
She moaned his name and it seemed to reach him, because his rhythm faltered as his fingers dug into her hips and she felt him come inside her with powerful jerks of his hips, the feeling enough to send her into her own repeated release, gasping in his arms as he collapsed on to top her.
She got back in the middle of the night to find the apartment empty. She wasn't surprised but it still made her stomach churn. She studied the room and gathered he probably hadn't even been back here since she'd left over a week ago. She opened the fridge, fishing out a bottle of green tea that was one of the few things sitting in there. She opened the can and took a drink from it, frowning as the sour taste hit her tongue.
She sat on the stool by the counter and checked her messages absent minded.
She scrolled to his number in the contacts and called him, thinking she'd leave a message. To her surprise, he picked up on the second ring.
"Hello?" she asked dumbfounded, glancing at the oven clock, informing her it was 2:34 am.
"Yeah?" he asked, tone clipped but alert.
"Hey, sorry, thought I'd leave a message, didn't think you'd be up" she mumbled.
"You back?" he asked, his voice void of emotions.
"Yeah" she said, clearing her throat.
There was a silence on the line and she wondered if he was at work, on the base.
"Where are you?" she asked, the words slipping out before she could stop herself.
There was no reply on the line and she sighed.
"I'm in town until Wednesday, if you feel like meeting up" she stated matter of factly, ready to hang up.
"I'll come by the apartment" he replied and she nodded, ending the call.
She dropped the phone on the counter taking another sip from the green tea.
She frowned again, deciding to dump it down the drain.
He walked into the apartment seeing her at the kitchen counter finishing up the article she was working on.
He dropped his keys on the counter, car and apartment, and sat on the stool facing her.
"I'll be just a second" she called out not looking up.
She didn't see him move and it gave her a weird feeling.
She abandoned her unfinished paragraph and looked up, seeing his face serious, contemplative, his eyes studying her.
"Hey. What's up?" she asked, an uneasy smile on her face.
There was a moment of silence, his strong, unmoving form looking almost comical, perched on the small kitchen stool.
"I'm being deployed" he replied finally, as if he were sharing a minuscule detail, his voice unaffected, steady.
She felt her heart falter, the silent grip inside her chest formidable and stared at him, her eyes darting over his features, checking for any signs of relief, joy, anxiety or fear. She saw nothing.
"When?" she asked, the smile still frozen on her lips.
"Now" he replied. His face was unchanged, but his eyes were swirling with something that made her want to look away.
"Now? As in right now?" she asked, the ground feeling unsteady below her.
"I got a car waiting outside" he clarified, his tone becoming softer.
"Jesus" she released a breath, her chest swelling, her head feeling light, the room swaying softly.
She had a myriad thoughts swirling in hear head, mostly angry, accusatory. She replayed the last couple of weeks, most of them spent apart because of her trips and suddenly she felt like she was suffocating, the memories, the thoughts now morphing into a different picture, one where his declaration didn't seem like such a shock.
She stared at him silently, his pale blue eyes holding her gaze without a flinch. She wondered if he knew exactly what she was thinking even as she stopped herself from throwing the angry words in his face.
"You knew this would happen" he spoke quietly, calmly.
"I was hoping you'd come to your senses" she retorted, her words biting.
"No, you didn't, Rory" he sighed, almost reverently, "this is why you like me in the first place" he added, almost as an afterthought.
His comment felt strange, almost flippant, so uncharacteristic of him.
"That makes no sense" she shot back at him, her anger bubbling to the surface.
"Really?" he asked, glancing at her. She could see the calm slipping.
"You need a fucking excuse. To go on living your life the way you are" he said, his face in a frown.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, her insides clenching.
"You need to be the martyr. You need to mourn, you need to not have anything meaningful so you'll never be in danger of losing it again" he said, saying the words with contempt. She felt her breathing becoming labored, as if she were swimming in a tidal wave.
"Do you even grasp how ridiculous you are right now?" she asked, incredulous.
He looked at her for a second as if contemplating whether to go on.
"This is exactly why you like me. you knew from the beginning that I would go back, that I would always go back. Chances are my luck is going to run out one of these days..." he said, his tone cynical and she realized, if only for a split second, that he was reeling, his words accusing and not well thought out.
"You have got to be kidding me" she interjected, feeling nauseous.
"It's so much safer to invest in me, because you are never going to have to play anything else than the martyr, than what you are used to" he finished his accusations, the ensuing silence of the kitchen deafening in her ear.
She stared at him, blood pulsing in her ears and her breathing ragged.
"Fuck you" she whispered, her eyes meeting his fiery gaze.
"Why do you feel like you can't be happy? Why do you feel you are not meant to have a family?" he asked, his tone hostile.
"Why do you?" she shot back, the question underlined by the deep silence that followed.
They stared at each other, their breathing labored, their eyes locked in a heated exchange.
He finally dropped his gaze, climbing off the stool.
"I'm sorry. Take care of yourself" he said walking to the door and opening it. The words seemed to pass straight into her body, penetrating into her insides and leaving a horribly exposed ache in their wake. She tried to steady herself even as she felt the wave of adrenaline flood her body, her limbs heavy as stone.
She didn't look up, staring at his keys on the counter even as he felt him turn back and study her for long seconds.
She heard the door open and he was gone, the door closing behind him with a soft thud.
She let the sobs break from her chest and her tears fall.