Pairing:
R/T, of course, and L/L
Rating:
PG-13 at the most
Spoilers:
May reference anything and everything from Season 1
Disclaimer:
The characters referenced here are the property of Amy Sherman-Palladino,
Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, and Warner Brother Television. No copyright infringement is intended. The characters are being used solely for
entertainment purposes, and no profit is being made from them.
Part 3: The Summer
Saga Continues
or
When Thunderstorms
and Traffic Jams Mean God is on Your Side
Rory didn't hear from Tristan for nearly a week. As the date of the next poetry reading approached, she began to think that she had somehow done something wrong. She berated herself for acting like such a fool the last time she saw him. He was probably one of those guys who were only interested in girls who weren't interested in him.
Whoa. When exactly had she decided she was interested in Tristan? Granted, he'd been practically all she could think about lately, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Just because she hadn't felt even a pang of remorse about the break-up with Dean, despite running into him at Doose's Market, didn't mean she wanted to date Tristan.
Why, oh why, had she flirted with him?
Why, oh why, hadn't he called?
Her mother and Luke, meanwhile, were still in the Cloud 9 phase of their relationship--despite routine arguments over coffee. Lorelei was alternately peeved and amused that practically the entire town of Stars Hollow had participated in a betting pool for when she and Luke would finally get together. Apparently, Babette had won, although Taylor Doose groused that she had an unfair advantage, living next door. Rory had a sneaking suspicion that there was a new pool going involving a wedding date, but she didn't dare tell her mother that.
Lane had finally been released from house arrest, much to Rory's relief. Although she had been astonished by the news that Rory dumped Dean, she had been less surprised than expected when Rory explained her new friendship with Tristan. At that point, Lane got together with Luke and Lorelei to start their own little betting pool for Tristan and Rory's inevitable coupledom.
Although she hated to admit it, even to herself, Rory was relieved when she answered the phone on Wednesday and heard Tristan's voice on the other end.
"Hi, could I please speak to Rory?"
"Hi, Tristan."
"You recognize my voice, huh?"
"Well, you know I was sitting by the phone, eagerly awaiting your call."
"Aw, did you miss me? My plan is working."
"Very funny."
"Alright, I'll be nice. Are we still on for tomorrow?"
"I'm game if you are."
"Pick you up at the same time, then?"
"Sounds good. I'll bring the food, and coffee from Luke's. You're going to love Luke's coffee."
"I'm sure I will."
"It's like the nectar of the gods."
"I believe you."
"It's like the Holy Grail of coffee."
"Good-bye, Rory."
"Good-bye, Tristan. Hey, Tristan?"
"Yes, Rory?"
"Have I mentioned that Luke's coffee is really, really good?"
Click.
Rory hung up, grinning from ear to ear. Lorelei walked in, having just finished work, and commented, "Let me guess--Tristan finally called?"
Rory's grin became a scowl. "Shut up."
"No respect for your elders, child. Is your second date all set up?"
"It's not a date."
"Is he picking you up?"
"Yes."
"Is anyone else going?"
"No."
"Is there a meal involved?"
"Yes."
"Are you spending more than an hour together?"
"Yes."
"Are you going to let him kiss you at the end of the night?"
"Mom!"
Lorelei laughed. "It's still a date."
"This from a woman whose dating habits inspire betting pools."
Her mother smirked. "You better watch yourself, missy, or I'll tell Luke not to serve you coffee."
Rory gasped. "That's just evil!"
Lorelei gave her a look that said, "And your point is?"
"Call it whatever you want. Do you think Sookie would make up a picnic basket for us?"
Lorelei looked even more skeptical. "You're going on an outing with a male friend that involves listening to poetry while eating a picnic dinner under the stars, and you want me to believe it's not a date?"
"Yes. Just answer the question."
"I'm sure Sookie would be thrilled. Meanwhile, Luke really needs to start taking notes on how not to go on dates from this boy."
"You're doing that unsympathetic mother thing again."
"Ouch. Only six days this time. Although, I think the record is four hours and seven minutes."
Wordlessly, Rory picked up the phone and dialed. "Hello, Luke?" Lorelei's eyes widened in fear. "This is Rory. Do you think you could come over and make out with my mom so I don't have to listen to her harass me anymore?"
Blushing beet red, Lorelei rushed across the kitchen and snatched the phone away. "Ignore her, Luke. Rory's suffering psychiatric trauma because Tristan didn't call for six whole days."
There was a pause, then, "What? Fine." She handed the phone back to Rory. "He wants to talk to you. He says you're more mature."
Rory laughed and accepted the phone. After listening for a few minutes, she hung up and turned to Lorelei. "He says he's not giving you any more coffee today, so don't even ask. Oh, and he'll be over to make out after he closes the diner tonight."
"He actually said that?"
"About the making out? Yeah."
"No, about the coffee."
"That too."
"We'll just see about that." Lorelei disappeared into her bedroom for five minutes, and when she emerged, she was sporting a very short, very tight red halter-top and an almost indecent black leather mini-skirt. "I dare him to deny me coffee."
"Wow. This isn't even a fair fight, mom."
Lorelei flashed an evil grin. "I know."
Half an hour later, Lorelei returned, triumphant, bearing coffee, and wearing significantly less lipstick than she had started out with earlier. Rory just shook her head in amusement, and returned to her copy of F. Scott Fitzgerald's Tender is the Night.
"Men," announced Lorelei, "are very easy to manipulate."
* * *
The following evening, at 6:05, Rory sat on the couch, picnic basket by her side, tapping her foot in a steady rhythm.
This is not a date. This is not a date. This is not a date.
Once again, Rory counted her blessings that Lorelei was working late that night. The ringing of the doorbell sent her rocketing from her seat, and she had to force herself not to run. Her hand on the knob, she mentally braced herself. Would things be awkward? Would they pretend nothing had happened? Resolutely, she opened the door.
Tristan broke into a grin when he saw her. She's so beautiful. "Hi. Are you ready to go?"
"Yeah, just let me grab the picnic basket."
He waited patiently for her, and then took the heavy basket, despite her protests. His fingers brushed hers as he grasped the handle, and he felt the familiar jolt of electricity that touching her always generated.
"Thanks," she said.
"No problem. Look, Rory, about what I said last time…"
Please don't take it back, she pleaded silently.
"…are we okay?"
Relieved, she nodded. "I appreciate your honesty. I was actually a little afraid that I had upset you when you didn't call until yesterday."
The familiar smirk returned yet again. "So you did miss me."
"Well…"
"You know, Rory, phones do work both ways."
"I know, I was just…"
"Nervous?"
"Yeah."
"Me too." They reached the car, and Tristan opened her door, placing his hand on the small of her back while she stepped in, sending a tingle through both of them. "That's why I didn't call."
"Oh. Well, I glad you finally worked up the nerve. I'm really looking forward to tonight."
"You know, if you keep telling me things like that, I'm liable to start calling you every day, begging you to go to every poetry reading in the greater Hartford area."
She smiled, and he felt as if his heart would burst. What had he ever done to deserve that smile?
"I'll keep that in mind. One of these days, I might even call you."
"I'll be waiting by the phone."
"Right--Tristan DuGrey, Mr. Social, waiting for me to call? That'll be the day."
"Hey, stranger things have happened."
"Like what?"
"You forgiving me. The fact that we're here, together, and not at each other's throats"
"I guess that is something of a miracle."
"Two more and you get to be a saint."
"Like you said, stranger things have happened."
Content in one another's company, they leaned back in their seats, relaxed, and enjoyed the drive to Hartford.
This evening was almost as magical as the first one had been. Tristan told her how Paris had been a chronic glue-eater in kindergarten, and Rory regaled him with the escapades of the Stars Hollow folk. Both confessed to being closet e-mail addicts, and traded on-line aliases for future use. Tristan impressed her with his comprehensive knowledge of the works of Alexandre Dumas, while Rory stunned him by knowing all the words to XTC's "The Man Who Murdered Love." Tristan was duly impressed by Luke's coffee, and as they studiously avoided one another's eyes while folding the blanket at the end of the night, Rory wondered how much longer she would be able to deny having feelings for Tristan.
The remainder of the summer progressed in a similar vein. Hour-long phone conversations became a nightly ritual, and nearly every morning there was an e-mail message from Tristan in Rory's inbox. They traded book recommendations and borrowed CDs, and one night they had a movie marathon with Lane and Henry entitled "The Best 80's Movies That Didn't Star Molly Ringwald." They slipped into an easy pattern of friendship, but both avoided overt flirtation. Tristan began to doubt that she would ever want more than friendship from him, and Rory continued to ignore the nagging voice that told her friendship would never be enough.
The night before the last poetry reading of the summer, Rory and Tristan were on-line, chatting.
CoffeeGirl: I can't believe school starts Monday.
YaleBound: I know. I really don't want this summer to end.
CoffeeGirl: Me, either. Know of a way to stop time?
YaleBound: Sadly, no. Ready for the last Poetry in the Park?
CoffeeGirl: Yeah. Emily Dickinson is one of my favorites. Hey, this is your last chance to bring one of your poems.
YaleBound: I can't. They're not good enough.
CoffeeGirl: I doubt that. Please? Do it for me.
YaleBound: That's not fair.
CoffeeGirl: Why not?
YaleBound: Because you know I can't say no.
CoffeeGirl: So you'll do it?
YaleBound: You really want me to?
CoffeeGirl: Yes.
YaleBound: Promise not to laugh?
CoffeeGirl: If I do, may the coffee gods strike me down.
YaleBound: Okay.
CoffeeGirl: Yay! So, same time as always?
YaleBound: I'll be there.
CoffeeGirl: Good night, Tristan.
YaleBound: G'night, Rory.
After logging off the computer, Tristan leaned back in his desk chair and sighed. He had no idea what he was going to do. The only poems he had that were even close to being good enough were the ones he had written recently, and they were all about Rory. He had hoped she would forget about having him participate in the poetry reading. He just didn't think he could get up there and read a poem he had written for her and about her, without having her realize just how head-over-heels in love with her he was.
* * *
It was Rory's turn to bring dinner again, so she sat on the front porch waiting for him, the basket at her feet. Seeing his gleaming silver convertible rolling down the road, she grabbed the basket and leapt to her feet, bounding down the stairs to meet him.
"Somebody's awfully eager tonight."
"It's not every day that I get to hear an original work of poetry by Mr. Tristan DuGrey. I find it very exciting."
"Why is it so important to you?
"Because it's a part of you, Tristan. I know your favorite foods and books and music, I've heard stories about your childhood, I even heard about your first kiss. But anyone can know those things. This is…special."
"But don't you see, Rory? No one else knows all the things about me that you do. No one else has ever bothered to find out."
"Oh. I didn't realize that. Still, it doesn't mean I can't want to learn more."
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For caring enough to want to learn more."
"It's my pleasure."
He changed the topic then, knowing they were treading on dangerously serious ground. Adopting a Valley Girl accent, he asked, "So, like, what are you going to wear for the first day of school?"
Laughing, she matched his tone and replied, "I have this, like, totally killer plaid-skirt-and-blazer ensemble."
"Have I mentioned how incredibly glad I am that we're friends?"
"Not in the last five minutes."
"Well, I am, and I really hope this doesn't all change when we go back to school."
"Why would it change, Tristan?"
"Paris is definitely going to pitch a fit, and I know you were hoping you could find a way to get along with her."
"Look, my life would be a lot easier if Paris was nice to me, but if giving you up is what it takes to achieve that, then I guess she's just not worth it."
"Wow."
"Yeah, I'm pretty amazing, aren't I?" she teased.
"That was never really a question in my mind."
"Hey, why is everybody stopping?"
Focusing on the road again, Tristan noticed there were brake lights as far as the eye could see. "I don't know. Turn on the radio, see if there's a traffic report."
Rory obliged, and they caught the tail end of a bulletin, saying, "…due to a jack-knifed semi which is leaking hazardous material onto the road. Traffic is at a standstill as state police route all six lanes off the highway. Expect delays of two to three hours."
Groaning, Rory flipped off the radio. "I guess that answers that question. Looks like we're stuck here for a while. Are you sure you didn't plan this?"
"What?"
"If you think this gets you out of reading your poem, you're sorely mistaken."
"What are you going to do if I don't?"
"Sing."
"That doesn't sound so bad."
Raising her eyebrows, Rory let loose with a truly horrible rendition of "It's a Small World."
Grimacing, Tristan clapped his hands over his ears. "Fine, I'll read it! Just please stop!"
Immediately, Rory complied, and smiled sweetly. "Oh, did I forget to mention I'm tone deaf?"
"Cute, very cute. So what are we going to do while we sit here?"
"Well, we've got food, so it could be worse."
No sooner had she spoken when a streak of lightning rent the sky, followed by a deafening crack of thunder.
"It's worse," joked Tristan, pressing the button to raise the convertible top. When he glanced at Rory, he was startled to see that her eyes had widened and there was a look of abject terror on her face. "Rory, what's wrong?"
"I really don't like thunderstorms," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "The inn got struck by lightning when I was little, and the roof started on fire. I had nightmares for months that I was trapped inside and my mom couldn't get to me."
His eyes filled with compassion, Tristan reached over and wrapped his arms around Rory, pulling her close, a feat complicated by the center console between them. Stroking her hair gently, he said, "Don't worry, we'll be fine. The car is actually a pretty safe place to be during a lightning storm. I promise that I won't let anything happen to you."
Slowly, Rory allowed the feelings of safety and peace to wash over her. How could this possibly be the same Tristan who had once tormented her? She knew that, aside from her mother, there was no else she would rather be with right now.
The rhythmic stroking of her hair, coupled with the new sound of the rain pounding against the canvas roof, soon began to lull her to sleep. As her eyes drifted shut, her last conscious thought was of how much she needed Tristan in her life.
Sometime later, the soft sound of his voice broke through her sleepy haze. As she was about to open her eyes, she realized Tristan didn't mean for her to hear these words, so she kept them closed and listened.
"I promised that I would read this to you tonight, but I just don't think I can do it while you're awake. At least this way I'm sort of keeping my promise. Anyway, here goes.
The heart whose walls could not be breached
Fell the day she said my name;
Eyes that hid the darkest truths
Opened wide beneath her gaze.
And when her lips, so sweet and pure,
Mingled with my own,
I vowed at last to learn to love,
And opened up my soul.
But my name she would not whisper,
Her gaze obscured by tears;
And when her lips started to tremble,
My soul began to mourn.
Yet still my heart kept beating,
My eyes seeing the world;
My lips still long to speak to her,
For loving her, I live."
Tears began to form in Rory's tightly closed eyes, her heart wrenched by the sad beauty of his words. She felt unexpected pangs of anger and jealousy towards this girl who had so captured his heart, only to carelessly break it. But her heart skipped several beats when she heard his next words.
"You see, the reason I was so afraid to have you hear it is because it's about you."
She forced herself not to visibly react as fear, joy, and astonishment coursed through her. She had to be dreaming. It was impossible to think that Tristan loved her.
Not ready to face this newfound reality, she allowed herself to fall back into an uneasy sleep.
A sharp pain in her side caused her to open her eyes a while later, and looking at the clock, she realized she had been draped across the console, sleeping on Tristan's shoulder, for nearly four hours! His arm was still wrapped securely around her shoulders, and even though every muscle in her body was begging her to find a more comfortable position, she was loath to break contact with him. Reluctantly, she sat up straight.
"Hey there, sleepyhead."
"Where are we?"
"Almost back to Stars Hollow. You abandoned me for dreamland during a truly delightful traffic jam."
"I'm sorry," she said contritely. "I had no idea I was so tired."
"You must have been downright exhausted to sleep like that. I can't imagine it was too comfortable."
She squirmed in her seat. "No, and I'm paying for it now."
Teasingly, he leered at her. "Well, I can always give you a massage when we get back to the house."
"Okay."
Startled, Tristan asked, "Did you just agree with me?"
"Yes. I never pass up a free back-rub."
"Good to know. By the way, I called your house and left a message for your mom, letting her know what was going on."
"Thanks."
"I'm really sorry that we didn't get to go to the last poetry reading. I'm going to miss doing this every week."
"So will I. But it's not like you have any control over traffic or weather, so don't worry about it."
They pulled up to Rory's house then, and she noticed the Jeep wasn't there. "My mom must be out with Luke."
Sure enough, there was a note on the kitchen table that read, "Went to Luke's. Will be back eventually. Don't wait up."
Rory giggled. "Subtlety is definitely not my mom's strong suit. Do you want anything to drink?"
"Actually, we never did eat our dinner. How about we have a picnic in the living room?"
"Sounds good to me."
After they had finished off the last of Sookie's famous fried chicken, Rory said, "I'll be right back. I have a surprise for you." She disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, then returned holding something behind her back.
"In honor of our last poetry night of the year, I had Sookie whip up a special dessert for us." With a flourish, she brought out two small glass bowls. "Butterscotch pudding!"
"My favorite! You remembered!"
"Of course I did." She handed him his bowl, then raised hers in a toast. "Here's to new friends and old poetry."
"Here, here."
When Tristan had finished scraping the last vestiges of pudding out of his dish, Rory surreptitiously dipped her finger in her own bowl. Leaning over and pointing, she said, "I think you've got a little bit of pudding right… there!" She quickly swiped her finger across his face, leaving a streak of pudding across his cheek.
"Oh, you're going to pay for that, Gilmore!"
Grabbing a throw pillow from the couch, he launched himself at her and began pummeling her with it. When she managed to wrench it from his grasp and throw it across the room, he proceeded to tickle her. After wrestling for a few minutes, she found herself pinned beneath him, laughing and trying to catch her breath. Her laughter faded when she realized the position they were in. Rory was mesmerized by the rhythm of his labored breathing, his firm, muscular chest moving beneath the thin fabric of his T-shirt. Electric blue eyes met her gaze, and she felt a blush creep up her cheeks.
"Do you like what you see, Rory?" he asked, the sound of his voice, husky with need, deepening her blush.
"Tristan, I…"
With one fluid motion, he hoisted himself off of her. "I'm just teasing. You're obviously not ready for this, and I would never do anything you didn't want to do."
"No, I…"
He cut her off, afraid to hear her reject him once again. "So how about that back-rub?" he asked lightly.
Too stunned by what had just happened to protest, she obediently flipped over onto her stomach. When she felt his hands upon her shoulders, she melted beneath his gentle touch. His fingers deftly sought out knots of tension, soothing them away as if by magic. As he worked, her muscles became warm and supple, and she felt as though she was floating away.
Not wanting to break the spell weaving itself around them, Tristan spoke softly. "I'm sorry, Rory."
"For what?" she asked dreamily.
"For making you feel uncomfortable."
"Tristan, I don't think I've ever felt more comfortable in my entire life than I do right now."
"I meant earlier."
"I wasn't uncomfortable. I was nervous and scared, but it was good."
"Rory, are you even completely awake?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Sure you are."
When her only response was soft breathing, his suspicions were confirmed. Sighing in resignation, he pulled a blanket from the back of the couch and laid it gently over her prone form. Not wanting to leave her sleeping alone in an unlocked house, he stretched out on the couch to wait for Lorelei.
I'm so confused, he thought. She must know how I still feel about her, but she doesn't seem to mind. After all we've been through, I have a hard time believing she could be interested in me romantically. Still, on nights like tonight, I can't help but hope it could be true.
His thoughts consumed with Rory, he drifted off to sleep, hoping to see her in his dreams.
* * *
When Lorelei got home at two o'clock in the morning, she was somewhat surprised to find two sleeping teenagers in her living room. Far too tired to ponder why her daughter was sleeping on the floor instead of in her bed, and why Tristan was sleeping on the couch instead of in his house in Hartford, she simply draped a blanket over Tristan, turned out the lights, and went to bed.
Sunlight streaming through the windows awakened Rory the following morning, and for a moment she was disoriented. Seeing Tristan asleep on the couch, she quickly remembered the previous night's events. She certainly was developing quite a knack for falling asleep when he was around.
Taking advantage of a rare opportunity, Rory gazed steadily at him. His long eyelashes fanned out over his cheeks, his perpetually tousled hair even more mussed after a night's sleep. She had always known he was handsome, but seeing him like this, so at peace, she was even more drawn to him. Last night, when he had backed off so abruptly, she had seen pain in his eyes—pain that she felt responsible for. She berated herself silently for not admitting that she was attracted to him. How much longer was she going to go on like this, too afraid to own up to her true feelings?
Suddenly in desperate need of coffee, she threw off her blanket and got to her feet. Impulsively, she bent over Tristan and brushed a feather-light kiss across his cheek. Frightened by the intensity of her feelings, she retreated into the kitchen.
Tristan was having wonderful dreams. As she was most every night, Rory was the central figure in them. He smiled in his sleep, because he and Rory were together, and she loved him, and all the coldness and emptiness had gone out of his life. And when, in the dream, she kissed him on the cheek, he could almost believe it was real.
A loud crash woke him up, and glancing around, he realized Rory was gone. He got up and headed toward the noise, which led him into the kitchen. Tristan found Lorelei standing forlornly in front of the stove, a broken bowl at her feet, oozing what appeared to be pancake batter across the floor.
"Morning, Ms. Gilmore."
Jumping slightly, she turned to face him. "Morning, Tristan. Please, call me Lorelei."
"Okay. Um, is there anything I can do to help?"
"Can you cook?" she asked hopefully. "I'm pretty much a disaster in the kitchen, as you can see."
"I can cook a little. Scrambled eggs and pancakes are about the limit of my breakfast repertoire, though."
"That's more than I can do. I tend to burn, well, everything, but in particular pancakes, and my eggs are always either runny or crunchy."
"So why the urge to cook today?"
She shrugged. "I thought it would be nice, since we have a guest and all. By the way, how did you sleep?"
"Fine. Sorry about crashing on the couch, but Rory fell asleep, and I didn't want to leave her alone…"
"It's okay. You really care about her, don't you?"
He nodded. "I've never known anyone like Rory. She's amazing."
"Yes, she is. Are you in love with her?"
Looking like a deer caught in headlights, he glanced furtively around the room, as if he expected Rory to come popping out of one of the cupboards.
"Don't worry, she's in the shower."
Slowly, he said, "Yes, I love her. I love her more than I ever thought myself capable of loving someone. After what happened with Dean, I know love isn't an easy thing for her. But I'll wait, as long as it takes, forever if I have to, because even if she never loves me, she's the best thing that's ever happened to me."
Tears welled up in Lorelei's eyes. "You're pretty amazing yourself, kid. I honestly don't know how Rory feels about you. I'm not sure she even knows that. But I think if you love her as much as you say you do, and you're patient with her, you both might be pleasantly surprised."
"Thanks, Ms…Lorelei. Would you like me to make some breakfast?"
"Oh, you're definitely amazing. Just let me get that mess cleaned up."
When Rory emerged, showered and dressed for the day, she found her mother and Tristan laughing and talking like old friends. Lorelei was sitting at the kitchen table sipping at her ubiquitous cup of coffee, while Tristan was at the stove, cooking pancakes and eggs, which smelled delicious.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize that the kitchen door was a portal into the Twilight Zone."
"Good morning, my child. You're just in time for breakfast, and I'm in the middle of telling Tristan how you stood in the center of town and sang 'Daydream Believer' when you were two."
"Based on what I heard of your singing yesterday, I'm kind of glad I missed it."
"Like you could have done any better," said Rory.
"Hey, I can sing."
"Prove it."
"Some other time. I wouldn't want you to swoon and make me burn the eggs."
Scowling, Rory said, "If you weren't making me breakfast, I'd smack you."
"Somebody's in a delightful mood this morning. You really should be more polite to our guest."
"Sorry. Tristan and I just naturally antagonize each other, right, Tristan?"
Glancing up from the stove, his blue eyes burning into hers, he said, "Something like that."
Seeing the smoldering gaze that passed between them, Lorelei quickly changed the subject. "I'm taking the day off so Rory and I can do some school shopping, Tristan. Would you like to join us?"
"I'd love to, but I can't. I have a few things I need to take care of myself."
"Okay. How are those eggs coming?"
"Done, actually."
As Tristan served up breakfast, Rory had a sudden vision of herself and Tristan at another breakfast table in another kitchen, taking turns feeding a blonde baby girl in a high chair, while a dark-haired little boy banged on pots and pans on the floor. Not sure where the image had come from, and frightened of what it meant, Rory focused intently on her food.
"Tristan, this is delicious!" exclaimed Lorelei. "How would you like to move in and become our personal chef?"
"As tempting as that offer is, I think you'd get tired of pancakes and eggs pretty fast."
"Well, it was worth a shot. I guess we'll just have to keep eating at Luke's. What a hardship," grinned Lorelei.
* * *