Disclaimer: See Part One
Author's Note: Bet you thought you would never see the next part of this fan fiction, did you? Well, let me start off by saying that there was a time when I seriously considered not finishing this story. I had hit a funk where Rory and Tristan were concerned. That can be blamed on the whole Chad/Dawson's Creek factor, or that I was just simply burnt out on writing. It was more than likely a combination of the two. Since I have never been one to quit something that I have been in the middle of, I've decided to give this story another chance. Plus, I didn't want to leave you guys hanging. ;) I still don't think that I "feel" Rory and Tristan like I have before in my previous fanfics, and once you read, you'll probably see what I mean. I'm still a Trory, but their relationship doesn't seem to flow as smoothly for me anymore, hence the burnout. But I plan to stick it out and finish the story. This part is rather short and mainly POV, but it is necessary to develop what is going to happen in the third, and final, part.
I want to thank all of you for the kind reviews you have given this story so far. Your opinions are definitely appreciated more than you could know. So, don't hesitate to let me know what you think about this part as well. Feedback is a fiction writer's pay.
The shards of ice crunched on the sidewalk with each step of her feet, the shattering of it echoing harshly in the brisk Christmas Eve air. She pulled the collar of her coat closer to her body, the fleece edging providing little relief from the freezing breeze that wafted around her legs and fluttered the simple, black skirt around her knees as she hurried back to her house. The numbing in her fingers signaled her foolishness at deciding not to wear gloves. The tiny lights decorating the trees of Stars Hollow were the only glimpse of stars that were visible since the sky was washed in a sea of clouds, blocking out the light from the heavens. A development that surely had the weathermen gushing the possibility of a white Christmas. As she passed Luke's, windows ablaze with warm light, she contemplated indulging in a mug of coffee, at the very least hot chocolate, but her weariness protested otherwise.
*****
The long evening came rushing back to her, when only hours before, she and Lorelai had been preparing for dinner at her grandparents' in Hartford. It seemed like days ago. As she had put on the pearl earrings her mother had lent her, she had caught her reflection in the mirror, noting a crimson glow that had unknowingly crept across her cheeks. She had tilted her head from side to side, wondering what others saw when they looked at her. Wondering what he saw. She had abruptly turned away from the mirror then, chastising herself for even caring what he thought of her. His opinion didn't matter. He didn't mean anything to her. She had lost count of how many times she had to convince herself of these facts, but she knew it was futile.
Her mother had called her name, and she had hurried down the stairs, the butterflies in her stomach finally awakening and stretching their wings, as if in anticipation of seeing him again at dinner that night.
Then the phone had rung.
Lane had been in a panic, her words tumbling over the other as she desperately tried to explain her predicament to her best friend. "Henry… Christmas Eve… dinner… plane to Korea."
"You and Henry are eloping?" Rory had joked.
Lane took a deep breath, letting it out in a whoosh of air. "We might as well be as far as my mother is concerned. Henry called earlier and mentioned that he really wanted to spend Christmas Eve with me, and I just kept thinking about how sweet that was. So I told him that he could come to my house for dinner. My mind didn't process the fact that my mother doesn't know, and I will more than likely be shipped out on the next plane to Korea. Goodbye Rory. It was nice knowing you. I'll leave you my entire hidden CD collection."
"Lane… Lane, calm down. There's no reason to start making your will yet. Just tell Mrs. Kim that you invited him to dinner."
"Rory, this is my mother we're talking about here. The one who likes to keep Kim Christmas Eve dinners a private matter, barring the occasional plethora of relatives that stop by. And her plans do not include a boy. Especially not a boy who her daughter is semi-dating, when she believes that said boy will stop at nothing until he turns me into one of those other wild teenagers who disobey their parents by staying out until 1:00 in the morning!" Lane's voice rose steadily with each word, prompting Lorelai to bend her head down closer to the phone so she could hear bits of the conversation.
Rory chuckled despite her friend's hysterics. "Yeah, I'm sure Henry is going to introduce you to the dark side right before he has his way with you."
"That's exactly what my mother thinks! I'm surprised that she hasn't been watching America's Most Wanted every week for his picture. Rory, you have to come."
Rory bit her lip, shooting a glance at Lorelai who shrugged her shoulders, smiling sympathetically. "Lane, my grandparents are having their dinner tonight and…"
"If you come, then it won't seem like a date, because you'll be there. Hopefully that will provide my mother with some sense of comfort, so she won't be searching for the cheapest one-way ticket to Korea for me."
Rory frowned thoughtfully, feeling torn. She had never missed a dinner on Christmas Eve at her grandparents' house, and she didn't think they would take it too well if she started now. But Lane was her best friend, and they had always been there for each other, no matter the circumstance. She clutched the phone tightly in her hand, gazing at Lorelai questioningly. Lorelai nodded with conviction, silently gracing her daughter with understanding. Rory lifted the receiver back up to her ear. "I'm on my way." After her friend's rush of frantic thanks, she sighed deeply, turning to Lorelai with an apologetic smile.
Lorelai greeted her with an amused grin, wrapping an arm around her daughter's shoulder. "You know, I should start taking some cues from you. Sookie and I need to consult about her calling due to some unknown, mysterious problem so I can start getting out of Friday night dinners. Tell me, oh wise one, how do you manage to escape the night of endless tortures?"
Rory groaned, giving her mother a gentle push towards the door. In the rush of confusion, it had somehow slipped her mind that her grandparents weren't the only ones who would be affected by her absence that night at dinner.
*****
Now, as she shoved open the door to her empty house, regret and apprehension washed over her like a heavy wave, intent on dragging her down to the bottom. She stripped off her coat, slinging it on the hook in the closet as she made her way to the living room and collapsed on the couch. With the click of a switch, the lights on the Christmas tree sparkled on, providing the barest hint of light in the darkness of the room. She rested her head on the back of the couch, the sweet, spicy scent of pine tingling her nose.
And tried to think about anything, everything but him. She didn't want to focus on the fact that he was there at her grandparents' house, eating dinner. She didn't want to remember the way his face had immediately brightened when she had finally given in and invited him to spend Christmas Eve with her. Or the way her knees had automatically, irreversibly weakened in response. Her guilt was only barely placated by the notion that he had probably skipped the dinner in order to attend some girl's holiday party. In fact, he was probably cuddled up with her right now…
She winced, feeling a sharp, unfamiliar burning in her stomach that worked its way up to claw at her heart. The thought of him with another girl suddenly made her nauseous. She shoved her fist repeatedly into the pillow at her side, frustrated at herself for turning into one of those jealous girls whom she vowed she would never become. Especially over someone like Tristan DuGrey.
"And you, Rory Gilmore, are beautiful."
With something resembling an annoyed growl, she attempted to drive his words from her mind, but they had already been permanently branded there. She had done the only thing that should have been considered. She had helped her best friend out when she had been in need. Dinner at the Kim's had gone rather smoothly, only marred by Mrs. Kim's look of disdain when Henry had entered with Lane, but she had seemed reassured slightly when Rory had followed.
She had been there when her friend had needed her the most, but in the process she couldn't help but feel that she had let someone else down. Someone, who somehow in the course of the past year, had become almost a friend. But is that really what Tristan was? Friends don't make your heart feel like it's beating our of your chest at just a simple touch. And they certainly don't have you toying with the possibility of experiencing their kiss again. Just one more time to feel his smooth, full lips against yours.
Unconsciously, she lifted her fingers to her own lips, remembering the soft, gentleness of his kiss from that night at Madeline's party. She shook her head slightly, attempting to banish those thoughts from their endless circle in her mind, if only for a moment, as she took in the glorious sight of the Gilmore Christmas tree. Each ornament had been hung with care, the occasionally expensive glass figurine, dispersed among childishly creative ones that Rory had made in elementary school. And there, near one of the very top boughs, hung the solitary angel, his arm stretched out to the side with open hand beckoning, as if he were searching for something that only he could find when the time was right. He was only one half of a pair, incomplete now for so many years. She and her mother had searched antique stores year after year for the other angel, but their quest had thus far been fruitless. So the figurine floated alone, not unlike the young girl curled up on the couch, feet tucked under her legs and locks of hair draped over her face like a canopy, who appeared to be lost in a fog of tumultuous thoughts. Thoughts of a tall, blond enigma who had suddenly turned her world upside down, rocking her to the very core.
*****
He tugged off his jacket and threw it angrily on the plush couch, catching a glimpse of his dejected features in the gilded mirror that hung on the wall, among a dozen other valuable prints from various artists. He almost laughed mirthlessly at the fool he had become. Since when did he, of all people, moon around over a girl because she didn't show? But she wasn't just any girl. Normally, he would have shrugged it off, joining one of the many females that worshipped him at their house, and doing whatever the hell he wanted. Yet, when Lorelai had entered Richard and Emily's house without Rory, his heart had tumbled over in defeat, a feeling once foreign to him. His initial reaction was that she had bailed because of him, then Lorelai had explained the true meaning behind her daughter's absence. It was just like Rory to care so much about others, even if it meant sacrificing spending Christmas Eve with her family. And if it were possible, he fell even harder.
He wasn't supposed to be experiencing this wide range of emotions, especially when it came to her. He had adapted his game with stealth precision, so these hindering feelings, if they ever attempted to strike, would do nothing but bounce harmlessly off the strong wall he had built. Leave it to her to break that wall. In fact, not only had it been broken, but the bricks had been crumbled into a fine dusting at the mere touch of her gentle hand. He didn't know how it had happened, nor did he want to dwell on why. One day, one silent moment, she had glanced at him with those captivating blue eyes, and he had lost himself to her. Tristan DuGrey's heart had finally been stolen. Only the thief didn't want it.
He stood in front of his family's Christmas tree, the excessive array of presents obligatorily piled beneath it. He had always been selfish, a characteristic that often led to him not caring about the feelings of others. If that sort of thing could be hereditary, the shift of the blame would be on his parents. The sparkle of porcelain ornaments defined what they were - a classy, seemingly picture-perfect family, supported by the levels of society, but with one shift of the branch, they would fracture, exposing their deep, inner rifts. He reached up, closing his fist around the bone-chillingly, cold porcelain, an ornament that had more than likely been shipped over from France or another exotic location. One slip and it would shatter. If it weren't for fear of upsetting his sister, who was sleeping quietly up stairs, or sending a flurry of hired help running, he would have done it. Just for spite. Heaving a disgruntled sigh, he padded back to the parlor, the freezing marble floors sending goose bumps peppering his skin. The sudden dip in temperature wasn't due to the threatening snow storm, but because of everything the mansion stood for. The kind of cold that hurts, branding a searing, physical pain in your heart in the absence of what should be actual familial love.
He picked up the tiny package that had been resting on the entry table, it's deep green wrapping paper and golden satin bow sparkling in the dim light from the shaded lamp. He tossed it from hand to hand, delicately, almost reverently, pausing to examine the simple name that had been scrawled on the gift tag. A rueful smile twitched at his lips as he slid open one of the drawers, his hand containing the gift hovering over the gaping, dark void, almost as if he were contemplating disposing of the package. One hand still holding the gift, he braced his other arm on the table, his forehead pressed against the cold, sturdiness of the wall. No force from the expensive heating system could fill the DuGrey mansion with the quintessential warmth that it so desperately needed. This warmth is spawned from love, not a word that is just uttered meaninglessly as a habit, and above all else, the simple gift of acceptance. He had never been one to dwell on the impossible. But now he found himself needing this, craving this. From her.
His fingers around the package loosened slightly, before closing around it again, as if in comfort, as he slid it into the pocket of his pants. In a hasty decision, he grabbed his keys and jerked open the front door, retreating into the twilight.
To Be Continued…
