Such Sweet Sorrow



Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from Gilmore Girls. If I did, I would have signed CMM to a five-year contract, as well as have kept Tristan on the show!

Author's Note: This is my second fanfiction ever, and my first Gilmore Girls fic, so be kind and review! Also, my chapter three is a continuation from Jennieln's story: Such Sweet Sorrow from where she left off at chapter 2. I have her permission to continue and hopefully I'll do this incredible story justice. Thanks to Nel for Beta-ing this, even though I'm horrible to work with and absolutely hate tinkering with it once it's done your suggestions were right on and I NEEDED the help. LoL, and enjoy the fanfic

Chapter Three: Meeting the Past

One Month Later

She was sitting in the garden, reading as she waited for him. He paused at the entranceway as he remembered their first meeting and all the times that followed .She always sat reading until he arrived. When she caught sight of him, her cheeks would flush and she would look away shyly before greeting him. In his turbulent life, she'd become the one sweetness for all the bitter. Her beauty drew him even as her purity kept him from attempting her. For all his faults, he couldn't bring himself to destroy her innocence as he had with the other young servant girls.

Isabella looked up and caught William watching her again, and looked away quickly growing suspiciously enraptured by the fountain in the center isle. He quickly stiftled the arrogant mocking that sprang to his lips and glanced toward the bubbling water.

"Hello, my lord," she greeted demurely. She was, yet again, the cause of his smile.

"Hello, my Bella. I thought I had asked you to call me William," he reminded her as he took the seat next to her on the tiny bench. Around them the garden walls blocked the view of anyone nearby, leaving them enclosed in their own private cocoon. A gentle breeze carried the perfume of flowers already half past their bloom. Birds perched in the nearby tree chirpped gaily in the sunshine but William saw none of this as he watched the beauty beside him, while she in turn attempted to evade this quiet moment of intimacy.

"You know, 'tis improper for me to informally address you. What if someone were to hear?" she queried lightly, gazing down at the book she was gripping tightly.

"Well, as I am the future employer of any staff members who could overhear and since I am a member of the upper eons, should anyone of my station catch such a inconsequential slip, I feel certain no one would report you," he boasted, a little arrogantly.

She frowned at his casual attitude. "I am not at all certain it is wise to continue our meetings at all. If someone were to discover us, thus I could be turned out and I need this job, my lord."

"Isabella, I would never permit you to be harmed from our association. I consider you a friend. I hope you look on me the same?" he asked, watching her expectantly.

Her eyes brightened and she gave him a sweet smile. "It would be my honor to call you a friendWilliam."

He resisted the sudden urge to cup her head in his hands and to kiss her. Instead, he touched her hand gently, turning her book over so he could read the title.

"Ah, poetry.. .you enjoy Keats, then?" he asked.

"From your tone I gather you do not?" she countered, studying him from the side.

"I confess, while the professors droned on and on about Wordsworth and Tennyson, I found it rather amusing that for men of little means they seem to expound on all and sundry," he admitted disdainful.

"Having little means does not limit the scope of the imagination or intelligence, my lord, it is simply the station to which one is born. Surely with all your means you can find some poem that reaches past your cynicism to touch your soul? Have you read Endymion, for instance?" she asked quietly, but with a barely visible undercurrent of vehemence.

William shook his head regretfully, reaching to take her hand in his. "I did not think. Forgive me for my arrogance?"

She gave him a determined smile and nodded hesitantly. "I understand, it's all right." However, she was silent, still. William cleared his throat roughly.

"What is the piece you mentioned? Endomian?"

"Endymion," she laughed. "It is a wonderful poem of Keats'. The beginning is the most beautiful verse."

"Beautiful.." he echoed absently, staring at her . Her whole being seemed to be lit from the inside as she passionately spoke of her love of poetry. It made his chest hurt just to see her. Her eyes were alive and flashing, as she laughed, everything inside of her suddenly coming to life and making her appear far more beautiful than he had ever realized. This tiny scrap of a girl barely out of the schoolroom, no fortune or family titles and she was more alive over this bit of poetry than he had ever felt in all his days.

"A thing of beauty is a joy forever/its loveliness increases; it will never/Pass into nothingness; but still will keep/A bower quiet for us"

After reading the passage, she looked up at him for a reaction. He looked at her in surprise, and she frowned at him.

"What? Don't you like it?"

"What? Oh yes, I think I could come to love... poetry." he answered slowly. She smiled at him encouragingly and he realizes it was going to be his greatest challenge to win her, but if he was clever, she could melt the ice around his heart.



***********************************************************

As Isabella sat in the garden waiting for William's arrival, she stared blankly down at the book in her lap. Although she read it countless times, it had always managed to carry her away. Today, it held little interest. Her mind seemed to have stored up tiny bits of memory of these stolen moments with William. Refusing to obey her attempts to deny his entry into her mind, she instead thought of the way his hair caught the sun or his smiles, he had a hundred different smiles. His slow smile as he charmed her, or his quick flashing grin when something truly amused him or his arrogant lord-of-the-manor smile that cut her to the quick. All these played in her mind over and over until the words before her ceased to exist.

William kept asking her to meet him, and though he never attempted anything except friendly conversation, she was growing uneasy. As her employer's son, he had the power to order her presence. He could even decide to turn her out if she refused him.

That wasn't why she kept meeting him here in the garden, beyond the tall hedges that blocked out the rest of the property and gave them their own concealed little world to hide in. She sighed. Isabella enjoyed talking to him, as he was amusing and kind even though he could be arrogant and cynical. She found herself wanting to befriend him, and wanting to show him the beauty around him before his heart grew too cold to see it.

Suddenly, she stiffened. Feeling someone watching her, she looked up and found William's eyes on her. She looked away quickly starring blindly at the fountain to their right.

"Hello, my lord," she spoke quietly, afraid of stumbling over her words.

"Hello, my Bella. I thought I asked you to call me William."

He sat beside her and she barely resisted the impulse to jump up and flee.

"You know 'tis improper for me to informally address you. What if someone were to hear?" she asked inanely, trying sever the connection he was attempting to make. Every time they met she seemed to end up lecturing him and he teasing her.

Listening to him haughtily reassure her that no one would question him, she frowned. He was always so casual, as if nothing touched him. She knew better.

"..I consider you a friend, I hope you look on me the same," he said uncertainly and she felt her heart pinch painfully. She knew he was trying to play on her soft heart but she also saw the hint of vulnerability he tried to bury. Some part of him beneath the Lord-of-the-Manor mask he wore was a boy who needed somebody.

"It would be my honor to call you a friend...William," she told him hesitantly using his name and furthering their secluded intimacy. Isabella saw his eyes focus on her lips and felt her mind freeze as she realized he was going o kiss her.

Oh God, do I want him to kiss me? What if he ruins me like the others? Should I stop him? Do I want him to kiss me? Her mind raced so quickly she was already leaning forward as she felt him touch her wrist gently.

"Ah poetry...you enjoy Keats, then?"

Her head snapped up and she tried to focus on what he was saying... Keats? He was asking about her book. Right.

"From your tone, I gather you do not?" she asked at last, studying him sideways. He was wearing his arrogant smile now, full of his own importance and contemptuously waving away the toils of lesser men.

"I confess, while the professors droned on and on.."

She heard him answer breezily, and arrogantly as if this, too, was something meaningless and she began to wonder what, if anything, he held dear. His cruel dismissal of "men of little means" caused a flood of anger to flow through her and she wondered if perhaps he saw her the same as he did the teachers, as someone too poor to know anything.

He apologized immediately, and even as she tucked away the flash of concern in his eyes as he realized his error she nevertheless remained silent, still hurt by his words. There was a sobering flicker in his eyes as he asked for forgiveness. At last, a true emotion.

She ended up lecturing him about Keats and poetry, watching as his eyes began to glow with curiosity and she almost smiled smugly to herself. She quoted her favorite verse to him and looked up to find him watching her with some fire in his eyes that she didn't recognize, but it made her head spin "What? Don't you like it?"

"What? Oh, yes. I think I could come to love poetry," he answered, watching her. closely.She ignored the emotions in his she couldn't or wouldn't name and smiled at him warmly, grateful that he hadn't laughed. At the times when his arrogance showed, she often wondered why she continued to meet him.

Then, there were moments like these when she would explain about the things she loved and he would simply listen. Stolen moments filled with laughter and heated discussions of opposing views, that made her feel more alive. Isabella looked up and caught his smiling eyes watching her intently, and the maid knew her life would never be the same.

********************************************************

"Rrriiinnnngggg!!"

The alarm screamed loudly, dragging Rory out of the drugging sleep . Blearily, she reached over to her night table, hitting the snooze button to put the contraption out of its misery.

With the clock finally silenced (at least momentarily), Rory turned over, fighting the day's pull. She heard her mother singing in the kitchen and groaned.

She sat up, her eyes still shut as she felt her way toward the kitchen. The sleepy girl winced as she bumped into the doorway and squeaked as she felt something furry brush her foot.

"Mornin', hon," Lorelai called out cheerfully. Rory groaned again at the earsplitting cheerfulness of her mother's voice.

"Need. Coffee," she mumbled, stepping into the kitchen.

"Aww, sweetie, rough night again?" Lorelai ask sympathetically, leading Rory to a chair.

Rory slumped into the seat and dropped her head to the table top.

"Hurmph."

"Here."

Rory heard a mug bumping the table and sighed, reaching blindly for it. Her fingers curled around a large heated cup and she dragged it forward, drinking quickly before forcing her eyes open.

"Mornin'," she blinked at her mother, lifting the cup for another quick gulp.

"Rory- you look awful, babe. That dream again?" Lorelai asked eyeing her daughter with concern.

Rory nodded slowly. "It's not the same one, just the same people. It's like I'm watching scenes from a movie, but only one a night and it's taking forever to get to the ending," she grumbled through another huge sip of coffee.

Lorelai sat across from her, gripping her own mug in both hands as she watched Rory with growing concern. "Maybe you should go see Dr. Bobby."

Rory looked up and frowned at her mother. "What? Why?" Rory hated doctors.

"Cause, you look like I just dug you up after burying you in the yard last year? 'Cause you're sleeping nine hours a night and you look like one of the creatures from "Buffy"? Maybe Dr. Bobby can prescribe something to help you sleep better or maybe he knows someone who knows Buffy?" Lorelai suggested eagerly.

"Please... no way does Dr. Bobby know anyone who carries stakes and wears all that leather. Besides I don't like pills. I'm okay, I'm just a little tired. The dreams'll probably end soon," Rory reassured her. Lorelai watched her for a moment before nodding slowly.

"Okay, babe, your call. Promise me if it gets worse you'll talk to someone who's not muttering under their breath with a cat on their head."

"I promise. I should get going; I need to get ready for school," Rory said, standing and slowly shuffling away from the table.

A moment later, Lorelai looked up from the paper as Rory walked back into the kitchen. Her daughter picked up the forgotten mug and poured another cup of coffee before turning away again.

Lorelai smiled. "That's my girl."



**********************************************************

Tristan's hand smacked down brutally, smashing the alarm clock. He grunted, rolling onto his back and debating the possibility of going back to sleep before Gretchen made it upstairs to drag him out of bed.

Reluctantly, he swung his legs over the side and dragged himself up off the comfort of his bed. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to ease the gritty-sand feeling from his eyes. Last night he'd gone to bed early, trying to achieve even a semblance of rest. So far, the dreams were leaving him exhausted. He headed for the shower, hoping the hot water would clear his foggy head.

Twenty minutes later, he stepped out of the shower feeling slightly more awake.

Wrapping a towel around his hips, he wiped the steam from the mirror and chuckled at his own reflection. He stared at the mirror image of his wet locks sticking up in all directions and heavy-lidded eyes that had nothing to do with seduction and everything to do with feeling like he was dying. "Damn! Even when I feel like shit, I look good," he mocked at the face in the mirror.

Using a comb to tame his hair into a more organized disarray, he added some mousse to hold it, before slipping into his uniform. Adjusting the tie to look rakishly disheveled, he slung his heavy pack over one shoulder and headed downstairs.

"Good morning .You get any sleep last night?" Gretchen asked, glancing over her shoulder to get a good look at him.

"It's all those naughty dreams, keeping me awake," Tristan grinned, winking at her .

She clucked at him before setting the plate of pancakes in front of him.

"Maybe I should have a talk with your folks. They can get someone for you to talk to," she fretted, making Tristan snort cynically.

"Like who? There's no way they'll risk sending me to a shrink, just think of the embarrassment. What will the people at the country club say? The DuGreys are not crazy. Cold sons of bitches, yes, but not crazy," he muttered.

He saw Gretchen bite her lip and instantly regretted the outburst.

While his parents didn't care what he did in his spare time or what happened to him, as long as he wasn't a public embarrassment, Gretchen truly wanted him to be happy.

Tristan suspected she wouldn't even have stayed with the family if it weren't for him, it made him smile charmingly at the woman now.

"It's okay, Gretchen. I'm a little tired, I'll survive. Besides, I've got you to talk to, haven't I?"

She smiled at him, despite the worry still in her eyes, but remained silent.

********************************************************

Later At School

Rory glanced up at the clock for the millionth time, and barely resisted the urge to moan pitifully.

Four cups of coffee and she was still having trouble focusing. She knew the notes she'd jotted down would make little sense later and idly wondered if someone in class would lend her their notes to copy. She smothered a sigh as she recalled how well that had gone the last time she'd needed to borrow notes and Tristan had offered his, kinda.

Mr. Medina was explaining the new section of poetry as they moved into English Literature of the 19th century, when she heard a familiar name and her head snapped up towards her teacher.

"Some of you may have read Keats' Endymion" Mr. Medina said as he held up a book of poetry.

His voice faded away along with everything else in the Chilton Academy classroom, and she could hear birds chirping, and feel the gentle breeze as it played with her hair.

She smiled over at William.

"A thing of beauty, is a joy forever" she quoted softly.

"What was that, Miss.Gilmore?" William asked, and she frowned.

She blinked and instead of William, she saw Mr. Medina and the whole class staring at her expectantly.

"Uh a thing of beauty the-the quote from Endymion," she repeated the quote hopefully.

Mr. Medina smiled, to her good fortune.

"Yes. Miss. Gilmore is obviously a fan of his work as well. As I said, Keats' work in this period plays a vital role" and Mr. Medina's voice went on about the poet's many accomplishments.

Rory slumped down gratefully in her chair as the attention turned away from her. Maybe she should go see Dr. Bobby if she was going to keep having spells in class. She laid her suddenly heavy head against her hand, propping it up as she listened to Mr.Medina's deep voice.

She didn't notice when her eyes slid close and she fell into a deep sleep, hardly caring of her GPA, or all the information she would miss if she did fall away.

************************************************************

Tristan gave up any pretense of paying attention to Medina's lecture after Rory's sudden outburst. He'd seen her eyes stare blindly into space for a moment as Medina talked about Keats and he'd smiled.

'She must like Keats,' he reasoned in his mind, before his own dream had come flooding back.

'Isabella liked Keats, she'd been teasing him-no, not him, William- with Keats,' he recalled with sudden clarity.

Tristan was still thinking about the dream when he heard Rory speaking and he sat back in utter surprise as she quoted the same line from his dream.

'What the hell?' he thought furiously. 'Okay, DuGrey, just chill out. Obviously, you know the quote from somewhere, and it just came up in the dream. And, Rory knows every line ever written- no surprise there. After all the time she spends reading, of course she would know it,' he nodded slightly to himself, it sounded reasonable and not a bit crazy.

'Not yet, anyway,' he thought grimly.

The scruffy-haired boy saw Rory scrunch down in her seat and he considered teasing her about not paying attention again. Maybe after class.

Sometimes he didn't know why he bothered taunting her, but some part of him ruthlessly drove him to seek her out and force her to acknowledge him.

Rory's posture slackened further and Tristan leaned forward to see her a bit better. He choked back the laugh that threatened to take over his body as he realized his Mary had fallen asleep.

He glanced toward Medina and saw him turn to write instructions on the board and Tristan quickly decided to let her sleep.

'She didn't look well this morning, anyway,' he mused, ignoring the part of his head that whispered, 'Liar.' He settled back to watch her and felt the now familiar tug at his heart as he studied her.

She wasn't really that beautiful. He'd seen other girls, slept with other girls who were more beautiful and yet he watched her. In the month she'd been at Chilton, he had quickly discovered that whenever Rory entered a room, his eyes automatically strayed to her and refused to obey his commands to stop straying.

Unlike any other girl who caught his notice, she seemed immune to his charm. He had finally got the message that not only did Rory Gilmore not want to go out with him, she barely knew he existed.

So he'd done the only thing a mature high-school boy could do in his situation. Tristan teased her and taunted her until she'd finally seen him, and now he had a place in her life; her tormentor. It wasn't a place he particularly liked, but at least he wasn't invisible to her anymore.

Tristan studied the side of her face that was turned toward him and wondered if her skin was as soft as it always looked. Everything about her was so soft, gentle, delicate and yet she had a fierce enough spirit to fight with him, to draw him in.

He watched her take in a slow breath and felt his own breathing slow to meet hers. He was staring so hard that when his eyes slid shut he could still see her form in his mind.

***********************************************************

She was smiling at him again, having successfully argued the boy into conceding that land management required personal supervision rather than the shiftlessness of the ton in handing over everything to the estate managers.

He couldn't stop his own smile from forming even as he attempted to think of another opposing argument. She did that to him; made him want to smile even when he wanted to curse the world. His smile faded as he thought of his parents. William's parents had asked their "friends and their lovely daughter" to visit the country house next week. He knew his parents wanted to announce his engagement to the "lovely daughter" but he had no intention of marrying her. It made him angry just by remembering the last argument about the upcoming betrothal.

"Why the frown, William?" Isabella asked, drawing his attention back to his surroundings. She was watching him, concern in her lovely brown eyes. He smiled at her again, more in reassurance than in reply to her question.

"When you smile at me, I cannot think of a good reason to frown." he answered suavely.

She gave him an exasperated look. "Stop trying to charm me and tell me what is vexing you."

"You think I'm charming, Bella?" he countered seductively.

She laughed, swatting at him gently before giving him a stern look.

He sighed reluctantly giving in to her silent demand.

"My parents... they wish me to marry," William admitted quietly.

She glanced away before nodding slowly in understanding.

"And you do not wish to marry?"

"I am only seventeen; I have no desire to settle into a loveless marriage of the Ton. They would have me marry and live a life like theirs; a life where my wife is a politely distant stranger and my children merely pawns brought out for inspection once or twice a year," he retorted bitterly, before looking back at her.

She was looking at him sadly, and he groaned."I'm sorry, Isabella. I should not have told you of my troubles, they are but my own."

William took her hands in his and reached out to caress her cheek with the slightest touch of the back of his hand.

"Life can be so unjust when your choices are taken from you. I understand this better than you may imagine," she told him quietly.

He peered into her eyes and saw the sorrow that she hid there. So many times he had spoken to her as an equal. Not thinking of her as someone who cleaned his home, someone whose life was not her own. She never complained about the difficulties in her own life. Isabella only tried to comfort him and share the things she loved. Only now could he see the pain in her.

She was one of the most intelligent people he had ever met, and one of the most beautiful inside and out. And in what did her future hold? Marriage to another servant? Spinsterhood until she would retire in poverty, alone? Ruin at the hands of some other gentleman?

Suddenly, he hated this world he had been born into, this world that told him she was beneath him. They were wrong, it was he who was undeserving of her notice.

He regarded her silently a moment longer before leaning forward and touching his lips to hers in the sweet and painful way that would be their first- and might be their only kiss.

*******************************************************

"BR-R-R-R-R-R-ING!"

Tristan jumped, startled as the bell rang, signaling the end of class. He glanced up at the clock and realized he'd missed the last twenty minutes of class. Around him people were beginning to shift as they gathered their things to go.

He glanced over at Rory and saw her clap a hand over her mouth as if she were stifling a scream and her glanced around quickly to see if anyone noticed.

The rest of the class filed out, ignoring him and Rory as they stayed in their seats.

He saw Rory scramble to gather her things, and he smiled as he thought of telling her they'd slept together. He was about to lean over when he heard Mr. Medina clear his throat at the front of the classroom.

"Mr. DuGrey, Miss Gilmore, if I could have a moment of your time, please?"

Tristan muffled the sigh that threatened to escape the confines of his lungs and glanced at Rory as he stood; she was frozen and she looked as if she were about to panic.

Ignoring the impulse to say something comforting, he headed for the front of the room and leaned against the desk in the front row. He stiffened infinitesimally as he felt her stand next to him, but kept his eyes on Medina.

"I

saw the two of you napping. I was planning to wake you both rather rudely when the bell beat me to it," Mr. Medina told them when the last student had left the room.

He came around to the front of the desk and sat down on the corner of it. "You want to tell me why two of the brightest kids in this class just happen to be sleeping through it?"

Tristan snuck a glance at Rory and saw her shoot him a horrified look.

"Sorry sir, haven't been sleeping well. It won't happen again," said Tristan.

"Me, too. I mean, I haven't been sleeping well, by myself, I mean," Rory stuttered, her face turning red.

Medina discreetly coughed and hid his smile while Tristan openly smirked at Rory's inadvertent suggestion.

"All right, I'm going to call this your one and only verbal warning, because I do not want see this behavior again. I don't want to punish you for what was most likely a harmless slip. You'll have to borrow the notes from someone and catch up on the assignment, but if this happens again with either of you I'll take it directly to Headmaster Charleston. Do you understand?" Medina asked, looking between the two of them.

"Yes, sir, " Tristan nodded.

"Yes, sir," Rory echoed, more quietly.

Medina nodded, dismissing them and Rory raced out of the room, grabbing her backpack before Tristan could think of something to say to make her feel better.

'Face it, DuGrey, you just would've ended up pissing her off,' he told himself, grimacing at the thought even as he accepted it as probable.

Tristan picked up his bag and headed to his own locker, thinking about the dream he'd just had. It had left him feeling anxious, as if something important were slipping by him. He shook off his tension as he approached his locker and saw his friends gathered by it. Donning his familiar smirk, he nodded at them.

"What's up?"

"DuGrey, man, you are the craziest bastard. I saw you snoozin' through Medina's class! So, what's up? Your date exhaust you last night, or what?" John said, slapping him on the back. He gave John a rueful look as he ran a hand through his hair. John was a good guy, probably his closest friend and he already knew all about Rory and Tristan's fascination with her but he couldn't bring himself to admit he'd fallen asleep watching her. John was standing next to Mike and Eddie was leaning against the lockers forming a circle around him and he ignored the impulse to keep walking. Instead he shrugged indifferently as he put away his books.

"Nah, I've just been having some weird dreams lately," he admitted.

"Nightmares plaguing you, Tristan?" John asked, snorting derisively

"Yeah, right. Nah, just the usual Lord of the Manor seduces pretty new young maid. That sort of thing," he answered dismissively. His friends laughed, teasing him about his love life all being in his head. Mike, another one of the guys, nudged him and nodded behind his friend.

Tristan turned to see Rory standing at her own locker a few feet away. Her books were lying sprawled on the floor as if she had dropped them. She stared at Tristan in shock.

He frowned, wondering what her problem was now. Mike elbowed him.

"Uh-oh, DuGrey, you've done it now. Looks like you've shocked the little Mary."

Tristan eyed Rory speculatively.

"That right, Mary? Did I shock you?" he called out, provocatively.

Instead of retorting with a cutting remark of her own, she bent down to pick up her books before hurriedly shutting her locker and rushing away from them. Tristan's friends laughed.

Tristan watched her retreating figure, confused by her reaction to his friends' teasing. After a moment he shrugged, banishing her from his thoughts and smirking at his friends.

*******************************************************

Rory sat in class, trying to pay attention to the teacher's lecture on dynamics of Trigonometry, but her mind kept wandering back to Tristan. She had not meant to listen to him, and his friends especially, when they mentioned his date from the night before. Her locker was close enough to his that with no effort she could hear every word. It was the words "weird dreams " that had caught her attention.

.

Then, she heard him tell his friends that he wasn't suffering from nightmares. He was suffering from Lord-of-the-Manor seduces pretty, new, young maid dreams. Rory saw William's face flash in her mind.

Her mind had snapped back to the sounds of her books hitting the ground, but she had stared at Tristan, trying to understand why he would say that, trying to figure out if it was possible the two of them were having similar dreams.

She saw him call out to her, but the words seemed muffled and she ran, suddenly afraid of the possibilities. It was ridiculous.

'We probably saw the same movie, or read the same book, or something. I'll just ask him to describe the dream and then I can go back to being the mental case my mother adores. Then he can go back to beingCampus Stud,' she nodded, satisfied at having come up with a reasonable solution and she turned her attention back to Trig.

********************************************************

Later that day, in the library.

Rory waited until John had left the table he was sharing with Tristan. She wanted to speak to him without the disruption of his friend.

She had to wait until after he ducked out of lunch with his friends.

Now, it was the last period of the day and she knew that if she did not confront him right now, she probably would not bother questioning him at all. She needed him to confirm that it was just a coincidence; that the two of them were not experiencing similar freaky dreams for no reason.

She had to talk to him.

"Uh, hi."

Tristan's head snapped up and he glanced at her in mute surprise.

"Mary?"

"You know, that's actually not my name. Is it okay if I sit down for a sec?" she asked him hesitantly.

He waved toward the empty chairs and Rory slid into the one across from him.

Tristan looked at her expectantly and she shifted uncomfortably in the chair. She saw him smirk at her nervous fidgeting and she stopped.

"Why so nervous, Mary? You know you can tell me anything. So what's going on? No, wait, I got it. You're finally giving in and admitting how bad you want me. Tell you what, I'll make it easy for you. Just say; 'Tristan, you are my god, let me worship you,' and I'll pick you up at 7."

He sat back in his chair, watching her coolly. Her eyes narrowed.

"Does your head hurt?" she asked, suddenly.

"What? No, why?" he frowned, a little confused by her question.

"I figured with all the inflating, your brain must be ready to explode," she sniped, rising to her feet to get away from him.

"I don't even know why I bother. My head must need examining. Stupid me."

"Wait, Rory."

Tristan reached out and grabbed hold of her wrist, restraining her from leaving.

"I'm just teasing; if you need something"

Rory turned back, looking at him searchingly and saw the sincerity in his eyes. Slowly, she sat back down across from him and he released her wrist.

"I just I heard you talkingabout your dreams. How well do you remember them?"

"Want to know if you're in them?"

She glared at him, and he held his hands up in surrender.

"Sorry, habit. Um I don't really remember a lot. Bits and pieces, really, and it sucks 'cause I feel like I haven't slept when I wake up. Even if I sleep for ten hours. Why?"

Rory was peering across the table at him now, more intensely.

"I don't- I've been having weird dreams I'm so tired it's like my brain is playing this movie and it won't let me rest until I get to the end credits. It's- I was wondering if there's a connection; some reason we both are having similar experiences."

"What do you remember from your dreams?" he asked, quietly.

"A girl. A maid in his parents' home. He'sdifferent with her than with the others, they're friends. I think. He- the way he looks at her sometimes I don't know, it's stupid, but they fit. He belongs to society ,but when he's with her, he's just William," she said, breathing the name.

Tristan's head snapped up at the name and if he hadn't been staring at her before, he was now.

"Isabella," he answered, stunned.

They stared at each other as it donned on them both. They weren't having similar dreams.

They were having the same dreams.