Such Sweet Sorrow

by AmandaSpencer

Rory and Tristan are haunted by the past. Originally stated by Jennieln and continued with her permission

3. Strange Dreams

Title: Such Sweet Sorrow

Disclaimer: It must be mentioned for legal purposes that I do not own the characters of Gilmore Girls. This is merely my attempt to right a past wrong.

Author's Note: As I've mentioned, this story is the original idea of Jennieln*s and the first part is entirely hers, she has given me permission to continue so this is my poor attempt to live up to the brilliance she began. Hope you all enjoy it! And special thanks to Nel, my beta who while forcing me to see the error of my ways also drives me to be a better writer. Thanks Nellie.

Chapter 2: To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

"William? William, where are you?" Isabella called softly. She didn't want anyone to overhear her. Calling his given name would dismiss her from the staff.

The garden was silent but overhead, dark clouds gathered and growled threateningly. Isabella glanced warily at them before venturing further into the garden. Large hedges created a maze of twists and turns that had become a private hidden world for the two of them concealing them from the Manor house only a hundred yards away. William had left her a note in the vase that they had chosen. Atop the mantle, the beautiful centerpiece had remained empty until he decided to leave the first note there for her to find.

Afterward, she began checking the vase everyday and left her own unsigned notes in response. Today when she checked, she found William's note filled with urgency. She had rushed toward the garden as soon as she could slip away unnoticed.

Dearest Bella,

Meet me, at our place, as soon as possible.

W

"William?" she called again in a loud whisper.

She rounded another corner in the garden and found him sitting dejectedly on a bench. His head snapped up at her arrival, the look in his eyes making her stomach drop. "William, what is it? What has happened?" Isabella said softly, rushing to him, her heart started pumping furiously at the dejected pose he struck. He stood at her approach and pulled her into his arms.

"Isabella, I can not take this. They will not listen!" William growled in frustration, hugging her tightly.

"Your parents?" she asked, awkwardly wrapping her arms around his waist in return.

William had become her closest friend in the two months since that first meeting, and she had become accustomed to his frequent touches. She knew it was the height of improper behavior but she couldn't prevent herself from touching him in return.

Moments like these when the need for comfort overrode all sense of propriety was still rare. She relished the opportunity to lean against him and offer her support.

William nodded, his face buried in her hair.

"They insist the wedding will be in six months, as soon as Rachel makes her debut. She's barely out of the schoolroom!" he muttered in disgust.

Isabella pulled him back to look into his eyes. "You mustn't let your parents vex you so. Perhaps you will like Rachel; you do not even know her," Isabella pointed out reasonably.

He smiled grimly in return.

"She's probably a silly chit, concerned only with the flounces on her gowns and the catching a husband of means so she can buy more flounces! How will I bear the breakfast table each morn? I can not do this, I will go mad!"

"William, you can do anything you wish. I have listened to your opinions for nearly two months now. I know how very intelligent you are. Though it may not be fashionable in the Ton, you can make your own way if you work hard and plan cleverly," she lectured sternly, disregarding his use of inappropriate language towards the girl.

She felt the tension melting away in him, his body relaxing steadily beneath her hands until he was gazing at her with subtle admiration.

"How did I ever become fortunate enough to have found you, Bella?" he touched her hair gently, brushing it away from her face."I want you to come with me, my friend, my Bella," William told her suddenly, grabbing her arms excitedly.

"What?! What are you- I cannot go with you! William!" she said, surprised. Isabella shifted away from his hold unsuccessfully.

"No, Bella, listen to me. Please? I cannot do it without you. We'll be partners. You won't have to clean anyone's house but your own!"

"And where will I live? How do you explain my presence? Am I to become your sister? Your mistress? I may not have much as a maid but I do have pride, William. Would you take that from me?" she turned away unhappily, finally freeing herself from his hold.

His eyes flashed with confusion and than something hot flared in the now icy blue depths of his eyes.

"I could tell them you're my wife?" William answered, hesitantly. He avoided her gaze and hid the hope he knew was in his eyes.

She took a step back from him and sank onto the bench, staring at him in surprise.

"Your wife? That isn't clever, William. I thought we were friends."

"We are I mean to say... I don't understand. I was not joking," William frowned, moving closer to her, trying to decipher her mood. He sat down next to her, close, but not close enough for him.

"You don't wish to marry. Ever, you said. Why are you saying this now?" Isabella demanded.

She was bewildered with millions of thoughts swirling in her mind. Her chest was beginning to hurt with repressed tears.

He was ruining everything. If he said he loved her for real, perhaps she could risk it. But she knew fear motivated this farce of a proposal and she ached with the knowledge of it.

William looked away from her penetrating look as his mind raced with possible arguments to convince her to run away with him. He knew a lifetime with her would never be enough, but he knew she still clung to boundaries society set.

"Isabella, I told you. I cannot do this without you," he repeated, looking studiously away from her.

"I feel as though you are the only real person in my life. I will not leave here, without knowing I can't leave you without choices. Would marriage to me be so horrid? You said you care for me as no other," he reminded her gently.

She flinched at his softly spoken words and tried not to hate him for using her tenderness against her. Isabella took a deep breath, swallowing the lump that was choking her.

"No, William. I will not be saved by you. Not from my poor existence in trade for a loveless marriage to save a friend. What happens if you fall in love? What of the children you spoke so freely of? You would sacrifice it all because of a need to defy your parents' edict? If you need to marry someone, why not Rachel?"

His head swung around and he glared at her.

"I am not a willful child, throwing tantrums. I am a man capable of making his own decisions and I wish to live my own life. Is that so wrong?"

"Only if you think living your own life must included saving me from mine. I am not your friend so that I may be rescued. I have no wish to be any man's convenience," she spat at him, impassionedly.

Isabella took another deep breath and calmed herself.

"In these past two months I have felt for the first time that someone, you, saw me as an equal. Not because of monies I have or do not have but simply because of who I am, the mind, the opinions or convictions I hold. I have not had that with anyone since the loss of my parents five years ago. It is a gift far too precious to give away. I won't risk that for a marriage you do not even truly want. I'm sorry William," she told him, sadly.

Standing, she watched him stalk to the edge of their little clearing in the entangled garden and shove his hands into his pockets angrily. Isabella shook her head unhappily and started to walk away when his voice froze her.

"Is that it? Is our friendship over already? Are you leaving me alone, Isabella?"

"No! I want to remain your friend, I will always be your friend if you wish it. I wish your parents would listen to you, but please don't try to punish them and save me in the same moment," she answered wearily. "I do not think you mean to pain me, but you are managing to do so."

William nodded slowly, still not facing her.

"I won't suggest it again. I'm sorry. Bella, forgive me. I need to ask of you one last favor," he said quietly.

Straining to hear him, she moved a couple steps closer and nearly tripped as he swung around to face her.

William saw her stumble away from him and grimaced at his foolishness.

He was making a mess of everything all on his own. There wasn't even a need for his parents' interference. Standing there, listening to her lecturing him, anger and sorrow vibrating through her words, he felt shame and desperation wash through him. Not even a thousand harsh words from his parents could do that to him.

Somehow, he had to convince her not to run away from him. Even so, the past two months had strained his control and he needed her to acknowledge the chemistry that thickened the air with passion between them whenever they met.

He stared at her, watching her face light slowly, like a burning candle, with hope at his question and regretted that she would probably feel angered all over again by his request.

"I want you to kiss me, Bella. Just once. I have imagined it for so long. I cannot bear it any longer. I won't speak of my parents again, nor Rachel but I need this. Please?"

Isabella stared at him, surprise widening her eyes as she listened to him pleading with her, sincerity written over his face like one of their treasured books.

"A-a kiss? Why?"

"Just answer, yes or no, Bella. Will you give me this one treasure to me?" he wiped the desperation from his face and repeated his questioned more flatly.

Staring at her, willing her to give in to him, hiding the hope that flared as she blushed.

"All right I suppose Y-yes." she stammered, watching him with giant frightened eyes.

He crossed the ground over to her instantly and she took a step back before she realized what she was doing and stood her ground. After all her best friend was leaving. And what harm could a kiss do?

She expected him to grab her but he brushed a hand over her hair, gently, as he had done a thousand times before. Inexplicably, she relaxed, leaning into his touch and he smiled down at her.

William stared into her luminous eyes, waiting for a sign that she welcomed his touch, even to the smallest degree.

He saw her eyes flicker up to his lips and nearly groaned with the need to drown himself in her. Slowly, he leaned forward, touching his lips softly to hers, he saw her eyes widen in surprise and he moved closer to her.

He waited until she relaxed, adding her own slight pressure against his lips before opening his mouth a fraction, inviting her in. He heard her gasp of surprise, and quickly slid his tongue inside her mouth.

He waited, not moving, not daring to breathe, holding his tongue still, inside her mouth, repressing the urge to taste her, to seek her own tongue.

William heard a muffled sigh before he felt a hesitant touch against his tongue, slowly, trying not to startle her he responded with his own flicker of movement and almost lost hold of her as she sank against him.

Allowing himself a half-second of triumph, he gathered her in close in his arms and kissed her as he had dreamed for the past two months, unleashing the passion she stirred inside him.

She slid her tiny hands over his shoulders gripping him tightly as her mouth clung to his and he silently promised her that one day he would not pull away.

Reluctantly, he eased the frenzied kisses, soothing her with softer touches on her face as he pulled out of her arms.

"We have to stop, Bella," he said, between the kisses traveling over her face like rain.

"I don't wish to stop but we must," he told her breathlessly.

Slowly his words sank into her head and she frowned, eyes closed, as his kisses stopped. Gazing up at him in confusion and wonder, she saw his eyes sparkling back at her with a mixture of happiness and terrible sadness.

"Are you all right?" he asked tenderly. He didn't move her warm hands from his shoulders. His hands wouldn't budge from her hair and slim waist.

"What? Yes, I'm fine," she answered automatically. Her mind beginning to clear the cobwebs his kisses had spun.

He leaned forward to give her a quick kiss on the lips, but pulled away almost instantly.

"I had to stop, I didn't want to scare you. Promise me you will kiss me again and I will let you go," he said, tightening his hold without any promises.

Isabella sighed. Her brain felt like mush and her body felt too heavy to stay upright any longer. She leaned against him, pressing her face against his soft coat. "Is it always this way?" she wondered aloud, mumbling into his clothing.

"Is it what way?" William queried, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

"Kissing, does it always feel like this? It's as though I've been twirling and twirling around, until my brain can't stop spinning and my heart is racing. I feel so weak, as though I've been ill but my skin feels as if I will burst and go flying off in a thousand directions," she admitted dizzily. She rather felt like she was in a romantic poem, but she couldn't stop her mouth from speaking like this. It was all too much.

William felt his stomach clench at her words and tried to explain how wonderful it was, for him as well. He suddenly felt as though he was sullied by the touch of all the others before her and only now did he begin to have an inkling of what the poets seemed to understand so much better than he.

"Not always, Bella. Only once in my lifetime. Only... with you."

She nodded against his chest, but said nothing, just feeling the importance of it. Isabella was content to be in his arms, listening to his heart pounding beneath her ear. Her heart was racing so quickly, she thought she would collapse. Perhaps it would not be so horrible to collapse in William's arms.

Neither of them noticed the face that peered out darkly at them from behind one of the bushy hedges. Neither saw the way eyes narrowed angrily on the two entwined figures and hatred burned in the black depths.

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

"R-R-I-I-I-NG!"

Rory sat up gasping, her chest was squeezing painfully against her rib cage. She sat trembling in her warm bed, waiting for the feeling to fade. The alarm clock rung loudly in her ears and suppressed the urge to smack it.

Slowly, she felt the familiar lethargy invading her body, stealing over the shaky limbs until the trembling subsided.

She dragged herself out of the bed and winced at the painful joints aching throughout her body. It felt like she had just run two marathons, without water.

Rory rubbed a fist over her eyes, yawning broadly as she heard her mother pleading with the coffee maker and sighed heavily.

Shuffling toward the bathroom wearily, she wondered how Tristan was faring.

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

Hartford

Tristan rolled out of the bed, landing on his feet, breathing heavily.

His entire body was shaking, his muscles clenched for a fight that didn't exist.

Methodically he loosened each set of muscles until his tired body took over and started feeling the sluggishness that was weighing him down.

He groaned as he lifted a hand to rub wearily over his face. Turning, he headed for the shower to drive some of the numbness from his brain and wondered dimly how Rory was coping.

Chilton

Tristan was already leaning against her locker as she made her way tiredly down the crowded hall.

"Same dream?" Tristan asked when she got close enough to hear him. He shifted off the locker onto someone else's and she reached for the lock.

"Yeah, I guess," Rory nodded tiredly, shoulders slumping.

"We need to figure this out. I'm serious. Can you come over tonight?" Tristan turned sideways, facing her, propped up against the locker.

Rory hesitated, "I don't know"

"Oh, come on, Rory! Do I look like I could do anything at this point?! Look at me, I'm the walking dead. I just want to figure this thing out, that's it, I swear.," Tristan whispered desperately, wary of his friends overhearing him.

Rory nodded slowly in understanding.

"Okay. I'm sorry. Listen, I'll call my mom at lunch. How are we supposed to figure this out, anyway? I don't think my brain'll be much use," she admitted.

"I figured we'd try to find something on the net. We can get together at lunch, go over everything we can think of, write it down and start searching," he shrugged.

"Do you want help with that?" he asked finally, watching Rory struggling to hold her pack and open the locker.

"No, it's fine," she told him even as he reached across her.

Hooking the bag with two fingers on his left hand he straightened and slugged the locker with the flat side of his right. The metal shuddered and popped open. Rory gaped at her locker.

"It never opens for me," she told him thoughtfully, she blinked and smiled at him gratefully. "Thanks."

Tristan lifted her pack and placed it inside, nodding away her quiet gratitude. "We should go, the bells are gonna ring any second."

"Yeah. I mean, hang on a sec. I need my book," she said, reaching into her bag to pull out the English Literature textbook.

He paused a foot away from her and waited until she fell into step beside him to resume walking toward class.

Quietly, they discussed the odd dreams plaguing them, oblivious to their fellow peers, curiosity as to what Tristan DuGrey was doing with Rory Gilmore.

After School

"This is ridiculous. We aren't getting anywhere!" Tristan burst out angrily, glaring angrily at his Mac G4 Cube.

He was sitting at his computer desk, poking away at the keys, while they fruitlessly searched for some minuscule connection to explain what was happening to the two of them.

Rory looked up wearily from her sprawled position next to the coffee table nearby. "Do you want me to try? I mean, my brain isn't squeezed completely dry." she offered.

"What's the point?" he turned, frustration pouring off him in waves.

"I've tried every connection I can think of. William + Isabella, dream interpretations, shared dreams, psychic links within dreams. Hell, I even tried telepathy hoping one of us was dreaming and the other was just getting sucked into it. Nothing!" he rubbed his neck, grimacing. "You have any other suggestions?"

"One," she smiled at the way he slumped dejectedly at her words. "You look exhausted. We've been at this for two hours already. Why don't you take a break?"

He returned her smile wanly but gratefully, nodding slowly.

"Sounds good to me, I've got a kink in my neck from sitting at the computer for so long and my back's killing me. How 'bout I go make us some coffee?"

Rory's head snapped up eagerly. "Coffee?" she repeated hopefully.

Tristan laughed at her pitifully desperate expression and stood, stretching the muscles in his back and in his shoulders. He caught Rory watching him and winked at her, making her frown at him before she looked away.

"Okay, I'll head down to get us some coffee and something to eat. You try to think of new search paths to check out," Tristan instructed her, heading for the door.

"No," Rory answered suddenly. He turned around to frown at her.

"Why not? No, what?" he demanded, a little angry at this reemerging of her fighting him over everything.

"We've searched everything we could for the moment. I think my brain needs a break. Plus, I still have homework to finish, and I bet you do too."

Rory eyed him expectantly as she lifted her own Chemistry textbook to flash at him.

"Oh, yeah uh do you want a lift home?" Tristan asked dully, hiding his own surge of disappointment as she shrugged at him.

"If I could use the computer for a bit I can stay here. I thought we could help each other." Rory looked up, catching a fleeting look of relief cross his face. Why would he be relieved? she wondered curiously. Maybe he's too tired to drive me home...or maybe he just doesn't have a date for tonight and he's afraid he'll be bored, she answered herself, rolling her eyes.

"Sure, stay as long as you like, computer's all yours," Tristan waved his hand toward the desk and smiled warmly at her.

For the first time his smile was open and friendly with none of the usual teasing or seduction behind it and Rory felt her heart quicken before ruthlessly scolding herself.

"So, you go get the coffee and I'll get started," she instructed crisply.

Tristan saluted her, backing out of the door and into the hallway.

"Yes Ma'am. I'll be back in five," he told her as quietly as he could, closing his bedroom door behind him.

She stood up after he left, relieving some of the stiff muscles in her own back as she wandered around the large room.

No wonder he's such a playboy. His room looks like a hotel suite! she snorted derisively.

The room was separated into three parts: a bedroom, a living room/work area and the private en-suite bathroom which she hesitated to go near.

The section where his king sized bed was situated a single step higher than the living room, like a smaller bedroom without a door to separate the two spaces. The bed was decorated in colors of burgundy and green. Rory didn't have to look to see that there were probably silk sheets underneath the bed coverings.

Next to the bed on the left side was a small night table with a phone, lamp, and alarm clock/radio.

To the right of a bed was a large walk-in closet, which she deliberately kept her distance from, half afraid that several supermodels would pop out at any instant.

But it was the living room which had shocked her when she first entered.

Instead of the self-indulgent pampering of an expensive hotel, something she expected of Tristan DuGrey, the room was comfortable, functional and simple.

He had a couch and two black Lazyboy overstuffed chairs placed around a plain black coffee table. A small fridge sat on a microwave stand in the corner and a computer desk stood in the opposite corner.

A discreet entertainment center finished off the circle, housing a TV, VCR, stereo, video collection and several thousand CDs- a collection that would shame even Lane.

While that alone was enough to shock the rest left her speechless. His book collection, while, small and scattered throughout the room contained books she herself, had read, or wanted to read still. An open book lay on the small bedside table where he'd probably put it down last.

She wandered around, noting familiar authors and titles.

Tristan seemed to have collected everything form science fiction to horror novels to biographies and philosophy. When she'd noticed them, laying around, her mouth hung open in shock, he'd simply shrugged carelessly, dismissing them with a simple, "Don't look so shocked. I don't actually read them. I just collect them for show."

She'd let the obvious lie stand, but now she looked closer at them, pulling them out to flip through them, spotting the dog-eared pages of some and she rolled her eyes again. Tristan was such a contradiction.

"Hey?" Tristan called out pushing the door open. He carried two steaming mugs and Rory quickly went to take one from him. She sniffed, inhaling appreciatively before taking a gulp.

"Wait! Rory, it's hot!" Tristan said, alarmed, reaching for the mug quickly.

Hunching her shoulders up she turned away just as fast, protecting the mug as if it were precious.

"No! It's good," she took another big sip, pushing his hand away. "Ah..." she sighed happily.

"You're nuts, you know that? You're going to burn yourself doing that," he admonished, walking over to one of the overstuffed chairs.

"S-h-h you can't speak ill of the coffee. You'll anger the coffee god and he'll punish us," Rory answered sternly, stroking the side of her mug as if it were pained.

Tristan set his mug down on the coffee table.

She ignored his snort and continued. "I didn't think of it before, but should we start on homework or get our own dream work out of the way first?" she asked.

"Dinner."

Tristan flopped into the chair and into the reclining position, propping his feet up of the slide-out footrest. He looked like a big, lazy cat that way.

"What about it?" Rory moved over, claiming the second chair and mimicking his relaxed pose.

"Dinner first. Gretchen's gonna bring it up in a sec. She has to leave soon, but she won't go until she knows I've eaten something," Tristan shrugged.

"She sounds nice. We have a Gretchen, except he's a Luke and he doesn't come to us. We go to him. He runs the diner in Stars Hollow, but he's always checking up to make sure my mom and I eat," Rory explained, comfortably. "Not that he forces us to eat I do that very well on my own."

"Luke, huh? He your mom's boyfriend?" Tristan inquired casually between sips of his coffee.

"No, I think sometimes there's moments when he'd like to be but we depend on him so much. If he and mom got together and it didn't work out, then it'd wreck everything." Rory admitted hesitantly. She had never said that to anybody but Lane.

Tristan stared at her for a moment before nodding. "What about your mom, does she like him?"

"She loves Luke, he's really been the most constant guy in her life but, she can't be in love with him. I mean, she could. But she wouldn't."

Rory sighed, sinking into the luxurious chair.

Again, Tristan watched her silently, carefully weighing his words before speaking. She glanced over at him and saw him watching.

"Sounds like she's afraid to admit she wants him," he told her slowly.

She started to open her mouth to protest and he continued.

" I'm not saying I'm "Dear Abby" or anything, but if I wanted someone I'd just walk up and tell them. No point in playing the game while the other player doesn't even know your playing too. Besides, no guts no glory, right? So you either risk it and potentially find something great, or you don't and then there's no chance of you getting hurt or finding out if it could be great."

Rory stared at him in disbelief until his gaze grew defensive.

"What?" he asked, eyebrows knitting together.

"Who are you? Do you even know Tristan DuGrey? King of Chilton, Mr. I-am-the-best- thing-that'll-ever-happen-to-you-babe-DuGrey?" Rory asked suspiciously.

Tristan grinned wickedly and winked. "So, you have noticed."

This time Rory laughed at his evil leer.

"You're a fraud, DuGrey, spouting nonsense about fear blocking the path of true love. I guess the reason you date every girl who crosses your path because you're searching for true love?" Rory scoffed disdainfully.

Tristan's grin faded slowly and he glanced away.

"You don't know anything about me." he told her coldly.

He turned to look at her, his face, closed, unreadable.

"You know nothing about my life, you don't want to know anything about it. Your happy in your safe little world, where I'm the evil kid at school who torments you but is really a sad, one dimensional villain, that you can throw cruel one-liners at without fear of hurting someone's feelings. Because I'm not real, am I, Mary." he sneered at her. "I don't have emotions and I don't know anything about what it is to be a real person. How do you explain this one, Rory? Sharing the same dreams as me, the evil villain. Am I invading them with my wicked powers? Are you succumbing to my dark seduction?" he laughed contemptuously and she flinched.

"Tristan..." she tried to think of something to say and found her brain frightfully blank. "Its not-I didn't cast you that part, it's the one you're always auditioning for, the part you always play. You want people to see you as more than then the bad guy, stop acting like Darth Vadar and drop the heavy breathing. She lectured. Tristan glared at her for a moment before he smiled slowly.

"Your going to be terrible for my image you know, no heavy breathing, hands off rules, I'll never live it down." he shook his head sadly and she laughed reluctantly.

"Your just as crazy as I am." she muttered, still smiling. "Oh, God, my Mom would probably like you." she bemoaned. Tristan snickered, his anger gone as quickly as it had come.

"Too bad I'm not interested in older women, well..what's your mom look like?"

"Eww, keep your heavy breathing off my Mom!" Rory shrieked, tossing a cushion at him.

"Here we go," another voice entered the room as the door swung open again and Gretchen came in.

Rory sat up causing the chair to swing upright and she flew to her feet. "Is that dinner? God, that looks great. I hope you didn't go to any trouble," said Rory, a little nervously.

Gretchen smiled warmly as she laid the tray of food on the coffee table next to the empty coffee mugs. "No trouble at all hon, I was fixing Tristan's dinner anyway. Easy as pie to make an extra plate. There are always leftovers."

"Doesn't it look delicious, Tristan? Don't you want to thank her for making such a lovely dinner?" Rory asked turning to send him an expectant look.

Gretchen hid her smile as she watched Rory try to force Tristan to be polite.

Rory couldn't know that with her, Tristan was always respectful, and always kind.

However, she enjoyed watching the girl make demands of him. So, this is the one, the girl Tristan mentioned in the passing last month.

A Mary, he'd told her, stamped with "Innocent, Pure and Proper" and then nothing.

At first she was relieved, he was leaving the girl alone, leaving her to her innocence, but he'd grown quieter, spending more time at home, brooding, his laughter growing hollow.

She should have guessed how the innocence would draw him, moth to the flame. He, who'd been given too much material wealth too fast, and so little guidance or love to retain his own innocence.

Tristan had become a man before he'd ever been a boy and he'd grown wild until her love and discipline became the last wall between the untamed boy he was and the truly horrible man he could become...until now.

Gretchen studied Rory as Tristan glared back to her, muttering his own gratitude resentfully.

She looked like a nice girl, smart, if she was at Chilton without the rich parents. Stubborn, if she could resist Tristan when he was trying to charm. Daring, to push him, demand he act maturely, responsively.

She'll either make him the wonderful man I know is inside him, or destroy the tiny shred I have left, Gretchen reasoned finally, sighing silently at the way fate's fickle hand played.

Gretchen knew she could do nothing to interfere but hesitated still, unwilling to leave the fate of her boy in the hands of stubborn teenage emotions.

Tristan finally stood from his own chair and walked over to the table. "It's great, Gretchen, thanks," he told her honestly, smiling at her.

"You just make sure you eat the whole thing, Tristan Jalen DuGrey. I find you hiding your vegetables again and I'll tan your backside," she warned menacingly, winking her left eye.

Tristan's cheeks flushed and he glanced at Rory, who was hiding her smile.

"I was five!" he retorted defensively, but he was smiling too..

"And you need your vegetables a lot more now than you did back then, so eat up. You need anything else, you just let me know-but let me know in 15 minutes, because then the kitchen is closed," she told them both, heading out.

Tristan waited until the door shut behind Gretchen to face Rory.

She was still standing there, grinning widely at him.

"I was five!" he repeated, exasperated.

"I didn't say a word," she answered, widening her eyes innocently.

"I hated peas... they looked like shriveled up tennis balls or something," he admitted.

Rory laughed aloud and he chuckled.

"Gretchen's an evil woman. She just had to bring that up in front of you. I'll never live it down," he sighed.

"Come on, let's eat before she thinks of something else and comes back," he invited, seating himself on the floor beside the table.

Rory crossed her legs and sank down next to him.

Gretchen had fixed sandwiches. Ham and cheese, peanut butter and strawberry jam, sliced fruits and vegetables, a carafe of coffee and two bowls of steaming tomato soup.

Rory reached for the coffee immediately while Tristan distributed the sandwiches.

As he worked, he started telling her stories of all the times Gretchen had decided to embarrass him for his own good.

The two of them laughed as they swapped embarrassment stories, finishing dinner quickly before digging out textbooks and paper. Working companionably, next to one another, they exchanged ideas, pointed out errors and challenged theories, settling into a comfortable flow as if it were something always done.

Slowly they began yawning, blinking frequently to force their eyes to stay open, neither one mentioning the hour growing late, until finally Rory leaned back, inadvertently laying her head on Tristan's shoulder, and fell asleep.

Tristan blinked at the sudden weight against his arm, he saw Rory leaning against him and pulled her closer even as he shut his own eyes and drifted off.

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

Someone was thumping something right under her ear.

Rory grumbled unhappily as she tried to burrow deeper into the warm pillow she was hugging, trying to escape the rhythmic drumming.

The pillow beneath her moved, forcing her to shift again and she tightened her grip even

as the word penetrated her sleep fogged mind.

The pillow moved... a pillow doesn't move the thumping...it almost sounds like a..heartbeat.

Slowly, opening one eye she peered at the pillow suspiciously and saw a button.

She leaned back to look upward and saw a throat above the button and then Tristan's face, in profile as he lay sleeping beneath her.

His chin was turned away, his mouth open slightly as he breathed deeply in his sleep. Hah! Tristan breathes through his mouth when he sleeps, thought Rory blankly, overcome by feelings of sleep.

For a moment, she was caught by the softened features of sleep, without the leer, or exhaustion as of late, hardening his features.

He was quite handsome, she realized with faint surprise. She knew that every girl at Chilton chased him, or at least wanted to, but she wondered how many got to see him like this.

Vulnerable, infinitely more attractive, almost younger. It was as if when he was awake, his innocence was already a thing of the past but in sleep, he was a boy once more.

Rory stretched out a hand, touching his face gently before she realized what she was doing and snatched it back as if she'd been burned.

A wave of heat poured through her as it sunk in that she was laying on top of him, his arms wrapped tightly around her, pressing her against him even as he slept.

What are you doing? Get up! Get out of his arms! Dean! God, you are such an idiot, Rory!

Her brain screamed at her. Slowly, trying not to wake him she tried to unwrap his arms. Tristan's left arm was like a steel trap wrapped around her waist, trapping her against him. As soon as she tried to move, the band tightened, holding her in place until she stopped struggling.

His hand was curled over her left hand, pressing it against his chest an inch from where her head lay.

"Tristan," she whispered, shaking him gently with her left hand. He groaned, pulling her closer.

"Tristan? Wake up," she told him.

He inhaled, raising her along his chest before slowly opening his eyes, blinking sleepily at

her.

"Rory" he smiled, lifting his right hand up to brush her hair back, until she froze.

He felt Rory stiffen above him and forced the sleeping form his mind.

"Rory?" he repeated, confused at finding her laying half on top of him.

"We fell asleep," she blurted out, her eyes darting away from his.

"Oh. Right. Sorry," he mumbled, realizing finally how he was holding her and releasing her. She sat up, moving away quickly and he ignored the flood of embarrassed that slid through him.

"How long." he glanced toward the clock and blinked again.

"Dammit, Rory. It's almost ten thirty. I better get you home before your mom comes after me with a shotgun."

"I better call her. I didn't tell her exactly, that I'd be here, with you."

Rory flushed guiltily as Tristan frowned at her. "I told her I had an assignment to work on and I was going to my partner's house to work on it. I didn't want to explain everything over the phone, and you don't know my mom it's scary how her mind works plus she sorta...knows about you," Rory finished lamely, standing up slowly and heading towards Tristan's phone on his night table.

"She knows what about me? Why, exactly, couldn't you tell her you were here?" Tristan asked, rising to his feet.

"She knows your name. I told her about you bugging me. She'd want to know why I was coming here, if we had a chaperone, if I wanted to get out of it, why I didn't want to get out of it. I didn't want to go into the whole thing," Rory insisted.

Then she stopped. She didn't have to explain to Tristan, of all people.

Tristan stretched his stiff muscles, still frowning vaguely.

"Call her, then let her know I'm bringing you back. You better mention that we fell asleep studying or she'll have harder questions than that. You're going to have to think of something to tell her until we get this sorted out," he reminded her.

Rory nodded.

"I know, okay." Rory felt a little cranky. He was ordering her around. She hated to be ordered around.

Tristan rubbed the back of his neck and headed toward the bathroom.

He paused halfway there and turned to look at Rory. She was gathering her books and shoving them into her pack until she heard him stop for a second. She looked up questioningly, and he frowned.

"Did you dream?" he asked suddenly.

"What? No. No, I didn't. I mean I don't remember anything, but I feel like I actually slept this time. You didn't dream, either?" she looked surprised, hopeful.

He shook his head.

"No. Nothing. Maybe it's over," he suggested.

"Maybe," Rory echoed quietly.

They stared at each other a moment later before Tristan turned away. Rory picked up the phone.