Disclaimer: The characters of Tristan DuGrey and Rory Gilmore do not belong to me. They are the property of the WB, Amy Sherman-Palladino and affiliates.
Author's Note: B's fault. Go complain to her.
A World Washed Clean
Most of the warm colored leaves had fallen and the trees were tall and bare; their branches, thin and spidery, grasped at the nothingness. While on the ground below, the grass had lost its hue of green and was a sad mixture of yellow and brown. It was nearing winter in Boston and the world was overcast, the sky an endless white.
She had taken the T out of Harvard and after wandering aimlessly around the city, killing time, had eventually made her way to the Commons. Sitting down on one of the benches, with a view of the lake, she pulled out a book to read. The book was obviously well loved; its spine was creased, the edges were bent and the paper was browning. Re-wrapping her striped scarf of red and pink so that the bottom half of her face was covered, Rory commenced reading.
Pages were turned and words absorbed and she became oblivious to the quiet, constant ticking of her watch until a voice rudely interrupted: "How did I know I'd find you here reading?"
She scowled, refusing to look up at the intruder. "Because it helps to pass the time."
"There are better ways to pass the time, you know."
Sighing, Rory slammed her book shut and buried it back into her bag. "Not when you're not around. Bah, double negative."
He grinned his annoyingly cocky and lecherous grin, "Are you saying that…?"
"Shut up, Tristan. The double negative demonstrates that I wasn't in my right mind."
"You know, I get the feeling that you don't respect me. And my psychologist says that my self-esteem is incredibly fragile and needs constant stroking and…"
She rolled her eyes and sighed, and then grabbing Tristan by the collar of his shirt pulled him down and thoroughly kissed him. "Good, you've finally shut up. And you're not seeing a psychologist, DuGrey. I know."
"Okay, okay…you've got me. It was this pretty blonde psychology major who told me about my low self-esteem."
"Really? What was her name?"
"Why, Gilmore, do you automatically assume that it would be a 'she'?"
"Hah. Right. Like you go around describing guys as pretty."
"Well, I think Jess is kinda…"
"You were not going to say Jess is pretty! Grouchy, gruff, rugged, I'd accept. But not pretty!"
"Yeah, you're right, I suppose. Pretty is reserved for that girlfriend of mine," Tristan commented lightly as he wrapped his arms around Rory.
In turn, Rory made a face and skittered away. "Argh. Please."
"You don't like being called pretty? You're an odd one, Gilmore."
"And you should know better."
"So I stand corrected."
She smiled, satisfied. "Duly noted. Meanwhile, what took you so long? Now that I look at my watch, you're almost an hour late."
"I know. I'm sorry. Although in my defense I did call, only someone's cell was switched off."
"Sorry," Rory managed to look contrite, "However, that still doesn't explain why you were so late."
"I was held up," he started, and seeing Rory about to make some smart comment quickly added, "By one of the professors."
"Really? What did they want?"
"Uh, nothing. Just something about some internship thing," he mumbled.
"What? Internship? That's great!"
"Yeah, whatever."
"How can you be so blasé about this all, Tristan?" demanded Rory.
He shrugged, "I don't know. Maybe because it isn't such a big deal?"
"One of your professors speaks to you about an internship and it's no big deal?"
"Yeah."
"Okay then, which professor?"
"Copeleand."
"Tristan!" Rory narrowed her eyes, "I know exactly what internship you're talking about. And I also know for a fact that people have been vying for a position. There are only two spots available, aren't there? And he offered you one? You do realize that this is a big deal. A huge deal in fact!"
"Wait, I never said Copeland offered me a position."
"Fine, whatever. But did he?"
Tristan sighed before reluctantly admitting, "Yeah. He did."
"You accepted, right?"
"And if I didn't?" he challenged defensively.
Rory blinked, a little taken back. "Okay, there is more going on here because you did not just snap at me over my asking if you accepted a great opportunity a la Copeland's internship."
He exhaled, blowing out a stream of warm air into the coldness and running a hand through his hair. "Look Rory, I'm sorry. I'm just…please don't question me about this."
"You're doing it again," she tried not to sound hurt.
"Doing what?"
"Doing that shutting out thing again."
"I don't mean to."
"Yes, but that doesn't change the fact that you do."
Awkwardly he fumbled for the words to explain the why of his life. Like why this world was only a prison to him and all he wanted to do was break free. Or why he snapped at her, he didn't mean to take his frustrations out on Rory but she was often there and convenient. And more significantly she was perfect, with direction, ambition, knowledge of self and everything else he lacked. He wanted to explain how being with her pushed him to be better, to be the person she thought he was; the person he was not. If language wasn't so inadequate Tristan would have divulged to Rory how sorry he was and how much he loved her. And how scared he was that one day it might not be enough. For her. For him. For both of them.
But he didn't have the words; he came up empty handed. And feeling the emptiness in his palm, he sought her hand and squeezed it tightly as if to convey in that touch all the things he ever wanted to say.
Fat drops of water began to fall: on his hair, on his clothes, on the exposed skin of his neck and on the apple of his cheeks. She smiled a little sadly and wiped the rain away and kissed him lopsidedly, narrowly missing his lips. "Hey, there."
"Hey." He looked into her eyes and saw this understanding that made him grateful and humble and overwhelmed. "It's raining."
"Yes, it is. Dance with me?" She held her arms out and he took her into his embrace and they swayed to the rhythm of water falling down upon them. It was a little awkward and lacked grace but it was natural. And freeing. They swirled and stepped into puddles, splashing water. Laughter gurgled out of their mouths and they kissed a little and danced some more, their clothes clinging to their skin.
Tristan closed his eyes because it hurt to see all the beauty around him, in its most simple and pure form. "I don't mean to be the way I am sometimes. And if I could…I would, you know."
"I know." Rory squeezed his hand hard, letting him know all the unspoken things she had never said. "Copeland's internship, it doesn't matter."
"I might accept. Maybe." He opened his eyes and twirled her around, watching as Rory spun; his world spinning in imperfect circles. "Pretty. You are pretty."
She only rolled her eyes and then stood on the tip of her toes to kiss his lips. The rain poured furiously down upon them and they were drowned rats although they didn't mind.
"You didn't bring an umbrella, did you?" she queried, more for the sake of asking than actual want.
"Yes, but I don't think it'll do us any good now. Plus it'll make dancing awkward."
"I think you might be right."
They continued to waltz and swirl, ignoring the disbelieving looks of passers-by scurrying about with a death-grip on their umbrellas. And then, just as it had started raining, it stopped.
"So," he gazed speculatively around, "no more rain."
"It looks like it," she sighed a little wistfully and broke away. "I'm all wet though."
He leered, "I made you wet?"
"Yes," Rory began, then quickly stopped as the implication sank in. "You're so obscene. And juvenile."
"But you love me for it anyway?" Tristan asked, although what he was really asking was whether she loved the flaws that would one day crack the perfect mirror image of Tristan DuGrey.
"Do you really need to ask?"
"No, I don't suppose I do," he replied, feeling the warmth of her hand entwined with his.
The temperature suddenly dropped considerably, almost like with the threat of snow, and the air contained a chilling bite to it. Rory pulled her soaking winter coat tighter around her and sneezed.
"Home," her teeth chattered. "Hot shower. Dry clothes. Cup of coffee."
"Let's go." Tristan said as he wrapped an arm around Rory's waist.
As they left the Commons, Tristan briefly closed his eyes and saw a vision of Rory and him dancing in the rain. When he opened his eyes, there were only droplets clinging to the bark of trees, water-drenched-grass, an overfilled lake, puddles scattered across the paths that needed to be avoided and an endless blanket of white sky. The reminders of a world washed and cleaned. And he smiled inspite of himself.
The End