AUTHOR'S NOTE: Again, we own nothing except the plot, which isn't much but
we would be supremely upset if you stole it and would come after you with
flaming torches. You have been warned.
~~*+*~~
Rory froze.
There was a snigger behind her, and a waft of pungent aftershave nearly made her ill. She could feel the blood draining from her face. The hand tightened its grip and ground unpleasantly into her collarbone.
"A little late for a walk, princess?" The voice was dry and mocking, drawling over its words, taking its time while Rory, too scared to squirm, began to shiver. "Had a tiff with a boy, perhaps?"
"Bound to have," snorted another, deeper voice behind her. "Pretty one like her, wandering all alone- boy's broken her heart, I'll bet it." There were grunts of laughter and Rory felt petrified to the spot. There were five of them, four if she was lucky. Four grown men, one of whom had a steel grip on her shoulder and seemed to be grinding her bones to dust.
"Well, we can't have that, can we, boys? It being Valentines' Day and all." More laughter. A chin scraped against her cheek, gravelly and covered in stubble which ripped at her flesh. A breath, stinking of whisky, rushed over her as there was a harsh whisper in her ear.
"Don't worry, princess- the lads and I will take good care of you. very good care." Rory's eyes closed in an agony of terror. She felt hands fastening around her arms and pulling her to her feet, and she was immobile, a puppet, unable to do anything except give in to the icy fingers clamped on her shoulder.
Suddenly a voice cut through the haze.
"Let her go."
The sniggers stopped abruptly, and she could feel the attention moving off her like a high-power spot beam onto the disturbance. She recognized that voice, but the panic rushing to her ears blurred the memory so it felt like the fragments of a dream, half-recollected, in her mind. The hand, however, tightened its grip so intensely that she felt as if her bone would break. She gave a weak cry of pain.
In the next instant an explosion of pain ripped through her head as a fist made contact with her cheekbone. She fell, lifeless.
Tristan stepped forward out of the shadows.
"I said, let her go."
"C'mon," muttered the guy with the stubble to his crew. "She's got a boyfriend." Some murmurs of protest rippled through the motley crowd, but in the next minute they had melted into the shadows once again.
Tristan glared after them menacingly, then dropped on his knees beside Rory's crumpled form. He fingered her cheek, which had a long gash along it- the legacy of the punch which had felled her. Then he helped her onto the bench and held her protectively, his eyes still staring out into the night.
There was a whisper from the parted lips.
".Tristan?"
"I'm here. They won't be back." He rocked her gently, then held her under her lolling head and examined her cheek. "This needs a doctor. Let's go- there's a clinic near here-"
"No." She cut him off abruptly and her eyes refocused for a moment as she looked up at him. "No doctors."
He sighed.
"Well then, let's at least get you home."
Another slight shake of her head, a movement which brought crinkles of pain to her eyes. "I can't- go home. Not now."
"Are you sure?"
"Sure." The word was slurred. Her head rocked forwards and her eyes rolled backwards onto her head.
"I'll get you to the car now. Then we'll figure out what to do. OK?"
There was a slight flicker of movement, but no other signs. "I'll take that as a yes."
He slipped one arm around her shoulders and held her hand tightly. "Can you walk straight?" There was a mumbled reply. "Then let's experiment."
Carefully, one step at a time, they made their way out of the darkness.
~~*+*~~
Rory sank her back into Tristan's sofa. It was warm in his house, probably due to the fire crackling in the grate. Her head was still spinning from the crack on the head. She gingerly felt her cheek, which was beginning to swell.
She looked up as Tristan entered the room, carrying a small box. He sat down on the coffee table, opposite her.
"All right. Let's see what we've got here." He gently inclined her head one way to look at the wound in the light. She gasped with pain as his fingertips, gentle though they were, touched her cheek. His eyes were narrowed with fierce concentration.
"Rory, can I ask you a question?" He dabbed a balm on the cut, causing it to sting slightly. Rory hissed in pain and clenched her fists.
"Sure," she managed hoarsely.
"Why were you wandering in the park alone at night? It's not something you'd usually do." Rory looked at him suspiciously, but his eyes were innocently directed on her cheek, where he was now applying a dusty antiseptic.
"Oh, I had a fight. With Lorelai." She bit her lip, the pain of the evening coming back to her.
"What about?"
"Is it really any of your business?"
"Hey, I saved you. A little courtesy would be nice. Hold still."
"Since you insist on being curious. It was about this whole Valentines Day thing. It was stupid, really." She looked down at her hands. "Someone left a flower in my locker and we were discussing who it could have been when the tables turned. Suddenly it wasn't about the flower any more. It was about. everything. About Jess."
"Jess?" There was a strange edge to Tristan's voice, but his hands were gentle as ever.
"He's Luke's nephew. A friend of mine, but my mother," she took a deep breath, "doesn't trust him. He's not exactly the diamond in the rough, if you get what I mean."
"I see," he said, leaning back as he surveyed her face. "Some people would take that as flattery, getting an anonymous flower on Valentines Day. But you always strive to be different, right?"
"Yeah," she said, half-smiling at him.
"Well, I prescribe bed-rest and plenty of fluids. Hot chocolate?" he asked, getting up.
"If it's not too much trouble, that'd be great."
She clasped her hands in her lap and looked around his living room. The fire was dying gradually, setting soft shadows dancing around the walls. In the kitchen she heard bangs and crashes. Eventually he re-emerged, carrying two mugs with steam pouring off them. The smell of hot chocolate filled the room, and some of the colour came back into Rory's cheeks as she smelt the air. He grinned.
"Here. Oh-wait-" As she warmed her hands around the mug, he set his down on the table and rummaged in the first aid kit, producing a packet of tablets. "Guaranteed to make you a sleeping beauty in no time. Do you mind if I." She shook her head slightly, and he dropped two tablets into her mug. Then he took a long draught out of his own, and leaned back, looking at the fire.
They sat in a comfortable silence for a minute or two, sipping their chocolate, each absorbed in their own thoughts- or so Rory thought. She was so engrossed in working out what had happened to her that she failed to notice Tristan's bright blue eyes gazing at her from under half-closed lids.
Eventually she leaned forward to set her mug on the table, biting her lip. She suddenly became aware of how close their faces were, and how small the gap between them was. Their eyes met, searching for a flicker of consent; then, as if this were the only action in the world that would make sense, Tristan leaned forward and kissed her.
It felt like it had lasted an eternity when Rory's eyelids drooped and she fell asleep, falling away from Tristan's lips as her head rolled onto his shoulder.
~~*+*~~
P.S. That review button's feeling lonely. Come keep it company.
~~*+*~~
Rory froze.
There was a snigger behind her, and a waft of pungent aftershave nearly made her ill. She could feel the blood draining from her face. The hand tightened its grip and ground unpleasantly into her collarbone.
"A little late for a walk, princess?" The voice was dry and mocking, drawling over its words, taking its time while Rory, too scared to squirm, began to shiver. "Had a tiff with a boy, perhaps?"
"Bound to have," snorted another, deeper voice behind her. "Pretty one like her, wandering all alone- boy's broken her heart, I'll bet it." There were grunts of laughter and Rory felt petrified to the spot. There were five of them, four if she was lucky. Four grown men, one of whom had a steel grip on her shoulder and seemed to be grinding her bones to dust.
"Well, we can't have that, can we, boys? It being Valentines' Day and all." More laughter. A chin scraped against her cheek, gravelly and covered in stubble which ripped at her flesh. A breath, stinking of whisky, rushed over her as there was a harsh whisper in her ear.
"Don't worry, princess- the lads and I will take good care of you. very good care." Rory's eyes closed in an agony of terror. She felt hands fastening around her arms and pulling her to her feet, and she was immobile, a puppet, unable to do anything except give in to the icy fingers clamped on her shoulder.
Suddenly a voice cut through the haze.
"Let her go."
The sniggers stopped abruptly, and she could feel the attention moving off her like a high-power spot beam onto the disturbance. She recognized that voice, but the panic rushing to her ears blurred the memory so it felt like the fragments of a dream, half-recollected, in her mind. The hand, however, tightened its grip so intensely that she felt as if her bone would break. She gave a weak cry of pain.
In the next instant an explosion of pain ripped through her head as a fist made contact with her cheekbone. She fell, lifeless.
Tristan stepped forward out of the shadows.
"I said, let her go."
"C'mon," muttered the guy with the stubble to his crew. "She's got a boyfriend." Some murmurs of protest rippled through the motley crowd, but in the next minute they had melted into the shadows once again.
Tristan glared after them menacingly, then dropped on his knees beside Rory's crumpled form. He fingered her cheek, which had a long gash along it- the legacy of the punch which had felled her. Then he helped her onto the bench and held her protectively, his eyes still staring out into the night.
There was a whisper from the parted lips.
".Tristan?"
"I'm here. They won't be back." He rocked her gently, then held her under her lolling head and examined her cheek. "This needs a doctor. Let's go- there's a clinic near here-"
"No." She cut him off abruptly and her eyes refocused for a moment as she looked up at him. "No doctors."
He sighed.
"Well then, let's at least get you home."
Another slight shake of her head, a movement which brought crinkles of pain to her eyes. "I can't- go home. Not now."
"Are you sure?"
"Sure." The word was slurred. Her head rocked forwards and her eyes rolled backwards onto her head.
"I'll get you to the car now. Then we'll figure out what to do. OK?"
There was a slight flicker of movement, but no other signs. "I'll take that as a yes."
He slipped one arm around her shoulders and held her hand tightly. "Can you walk straight?" There was a mumbled reply. "Then let's experiment."
Carefully, one step at a time, they made their way out of the darkness.
~~*+*~~
Rory sank her back into Tristan's sofa. It was warm in his house, probably due to the fire crackling in the grate. Her head was still spinning from the crack on the head. She gingerly felt her cheek, which was beginning to swell.
She looked up as Tristan entered the room, carrying a small box. He sat down on the coffee table, opposite her.
"All right. Let's see what we've got here." He gently inclined her head one way to look at the wound in the light. She gasped with pain as his fingertips, gentle though they were, touched her cheek. His eyes were narrowed with fierce concentration.
"Rory, can I ask you a question?" He dabbed a balm on the cut, causing it to sting slightly. Rory hissed in pain and clenched her fists.
"Sure," she managed hoarsely.
"Why were you wandering in the park alone at night? It's not something you'd usually do." Rory looked at him suspiciously, but his eyes were innocently directed on her cheek, where he was now applying a dusty antiseptic.
"Oh, I had a fight. With Lorelai." She bit her lip, the pain of the evening coming back to her.
"What about?"
"Is it really any of your business?"
"Hey, I saved you. A little courtesy would be nice. Hold still."
"Since you insist on being curious. It was about this whole Valentines Day thing. It was stupid, really." She looked down at her hands. "Someone left a flower in my locker and we were discussing who it could have been when the tables turned. Suddenly it wasn't about the flower any more. It was about. everything. About Jess."
"Jess?" There was a strange edge to Tristan's voice, but his hands were gentle as ever.
"He's Luke's nephew. A friend of mine, but my mother," she took a deep breath, "doesn't trust him. He's not exactly the diamond in the rough, if you get what I mean."
"I see," he said, leaning back as he surveyed her face. "Some people would take that as flattery, getting an anonymous flower on Valentines Day. But you always strive to be different, right?"
"Yeah," she said, half-smiling at him.
"Well, I prescribe bed-rest and plenty of fluids. Hot chocolate?" he asked, getting up.
"If it's not too much trouble, that'd be great."
She clasped her hands in her lap and looked around his living room. The fire was dying gradually, setting soft shadows dancing around the walls. In the kitchen she heard bangs and crashes. Eventually he re-emerged, carrying two mugs with steam pouring off them. The smell of hot chocolate filled the room, and some of the colour came back into Rory's cheeks as she smelt the air. He grinned.
"Here. Oh-wait-" As she warmed her hands around the mug, he set his down on the table and rummaged in the first aid kit, producing a packet of tablets. "Guaranteed to make you a sleeping beauty in no time. Do you mind if I." She shook her head slightly, and he dropped two tablets into her mug. Then he took a long draught out of his own, and leaned back, looking at the fire.
They sat in a comfortable silence for a minute or two, sipping their chocolate, each absorbed in their own thoughts- or so Rory thought. She was so engrossed in working out what had happened to her that she failed to notice Tristan's bright blue eyes gazing at her from under half-closed lids.
Eventually she leaned forward to set her mug on the table, biting her lip. She suddenly became aware of how close their faces were, and how small the gap between them was. Their eyes met, searching for a flicker of consent; then, as if this were the only action in the world that would make sense, Tristan leaned forward and kissed her.
It felt like it had lasted an eternity when Rory's eyelids drooped and she fell asleep, falling away from Tristan's lips as her head rolled onto his shoulder.
~~*+*~~
P.S. That review button's feeling lonely. Come keep it company.