Title: No Angel
Author: Coco
Disclaimer: Me not own.
Classification: Rory/Tristan, baby, yeah!
Rating: I'd say maybe heavy PG - 13 to mild R for content and
languagehard to tell at the moment.
Summary: What would happen if Rory suffered the same fate as her
mother? Kinda AU
Spoilers: General Spoilers for all of season one, changed the
kiss scene just a teeny bit, 'cuz it fit into my evil fic plans.
Distribution: Anyone who wants it. Give me credit, and it's all
yours. If you plan on telling me about it, great, if not, it's
no biggie.
Feedback: Lorelai may be a coffee junkie, and by that standard,
I am a feedback junkie. Gimme. No substituions, exceptions, or
refunds:)
Author's Notes: My little Trory heart wept after last night's
episode, so I decided to write something to patch up my poor hurt
feelings.
` A Warning: It's a bit dark in some parts. Sorry 'bout that.
I've been working it through my head for the last couple of days,
so I think it came out all right.
Lyrics and title truely belong to Dido. I'm only borrowing 'em.
I took out parts of it 'cuz they didn't suit my purpose. Hope
nobody minds:)
Oh, also, I may not have portrayed NYC accurately, since I don't
live there, but I'll try my hardest. Okie doke?
I'm sorry for my weary life
I know I'm not perfect, but I can smile
And I hope you see this heart behind my tired eyes
If you tell me that I can't, I will, I will, I'll try all night
And if I say I'm coming home, I'll probably be out all night
I know I can be afraid, but I'm alive
And I hope that you see this heart behind my tired eyes
I'm no angel, but please don't think that I won't try and try
I'm no angel, but does that mean that I can't live my life?
I'm no angel, but please don't think that I can't cry
I'm no angel, but does that mean that I won't fly?
I'm no angel, but please don't think that I can't cry
I'm no angel, but does that mean that I won't fly?
-Exerpts from Dido's song "No Angel"
She was caught. Caught up in the gleam of the flashing stage
lights, the smell of the sweat pouring off the ten bodies of the
dancers, her self included. They all twirled and moved in a way
to make any one person extremely dizzy, yet she felt no need to
sit down.
She smiled seductivly at the men when they leered up at her,
watching in awe as she danced seemingly bonelessly on the stage.
She tossed her once light bown hair over her shoulders. It was
now dyed a platinum blond. She leaned over far enough so they
could see her bulging cleavage. Usually, she would have slapped
anyone who had tried to so much as glance in the direction of
her chest. However, desperate times call for desperate measures,
and she was a desperate woman. She needed the money badly, and
not only for herself.
Power. In her position, dancing on that stage, there was a feeling
of absolute power. You had the control. Control over all the men
watching you dancing, you had them wrapped around your little
finger. You had their entire attention, not to mention their money.
What more could a girl ask for?
Much more, a little voice whispered in the back of her head.
She shook it off. She couldn't even go there again. She had gone,
left it behind, there was no more to say. She had left one world,
and entered another. The other was behind her, totally and completely.
The music ended, and they walked off the stage, swaying their
hips and winking at random men. As the reached the back room though,
the ten women transformed. They were no longer sexy and energetic,
but sweaty and exahausted. Most slumped down in the chairs, taking
pound after pound of padding out of their bras, counting out their
tips for the evening.
She gathered up her tips, and stuffed them in her jacket poket,
intending on counting them later. Much, much later. Right now
she was going back to her appartment and taking a long relaxing
bath.
She shuffled carefully along the dark, but busy streets, making
sure not to give anyone the wrong impression. You could never
be too careful in New York City. She walked down the stairway
that led to the subway, the listening to the metal's audible clanking
as her boot-clad feet hit the steps.
Usually, the subway station was teaming with people, like a
mini airport. However, this late at night grand central station
was a little more vacant. Most sensible people had gone home,
and were sleeping in their warm beds, or watching the late night
movie.
She bought a ticket, gave it to the ticket man, took the stub,
found the subway train, got on. She was so exhausted that she
was acting on autopilot. She knew the subway system through and
through, although she hadn't been there for very long, only about
a month. She supposed, sometimes, that she could always take a
taxi, but always ended up thinking 'Why bother?' They costed too
much and it took too long to find one.
She found a seat with out too much trouble, and sat down. Reaching
into her hand bag, she felt around for a moment, and then retrieved
a rather thick book with the title Moby Dick on the cover. She
smiled, content, settling back in her seat, opening the book to
where the bookmark marked her page. What better book to have with
her on the long subway trip home than her first and very favorite
Melville?
******
One month earlier
Tristan Dugray sat down in class on Monday morning, dreading
it as usual. Ever sincewell, Rory had been avoiding him,
let's just say, and it had not been pleasant. Before she would
at least argue with him, she would react to him. Nownow,
she was like a stone wall. Nothing passed her. Nothing got to
her. She wouldn't talk to him, or even look at him. It was pure
torture, hell on earth.
He remembered a quote from somewhere"The opposite
of love isn't hate, it's indifference." Oh, how he wished
she could at least hate him againfeel something when he
teased her, called her Mary.
But Rory wasn't there. When their homeroom teacher called roll,
she was absent. She didn't show up in any of the other classes
that he had with her either. A week passed by. He shook it off,
thinking that she must be sick or something, but ther was a sinking
feeling in his stomach.
Then three more weeks passed by and Rory still hadn't returned.
The teachers didn't bother to call her name duriong roll anymore.
He was shocked to even find that her name had been removed from
the class list. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.
It was a Saturday day afternoon when he drove to the little town
outside Hatford called Stars Hollow. He searched it, street by
street untill he found the one he was looking for. Then he droved
slowly down til he found the correct house number. He stopped
the car, parked it, and shakily got out of the driver's seat.
He walked up the driveway and rang the doorbell, half expecting
Rory to answer the door and say, "What the hell are you doing
here?" She didn't.
Instead, a woman who couldn't possibly have been older than her
early thirties opened the door, her eyes sad. "Hello,"
she greeted wearily.
"Hello, is Rory there?"
The woman's eyes teared up, but he only had a moment to think
about this before a man he hadn't noticed before pushed him roughly
up against the wall. "Rory? Do you know where she is? Tell
me!" He shook Tristan's shoulders none too gently to emphisize
the last point.
"I, noum, I came to see why she hasn't been in school
latelybecause, well" he trailed off.
The look in the older man's eyes softened, but he still stared
at Tristan, this time seemingly sizing him up. Seeing if he was
good enough for Rory, Tristan assumed.
"Luke" the woman gently grasped his shoulder,
pulling him away from Tristan. Then she turned to Tristan, her
sad eyes focusing on his own. "I'm sorrywhat did you
say your name was again?"
He hadn't, told her his name that was, but he spoke it softly
anyway. "Tristan DuGrey."
"OK," she swallowed, and he could see this was hard
for her, and wondered not for the first time exactly what was
wrong.
Suddenly her eyes looked cold and hard, and they stared into
his, determined to get through with this. "I'm sorry Mr.
DuGrey, but Rory ran away without a word about a month ago. Good
day." And with that she shut the door in Tristan's shell-shocked
face.
TBC
