Dare You To Move

By: aspdstra

RATING: M

PAIRING: R/T

SUMMARY: Rory has a bad day, and Tristan gives her a ride home.

DISCLAIMER: No. I wouldn't even go there. So don't you.

Chapter 1: Rainy Days and Fridays Always Get Me Down

Why was this happening to her? Andrew Jackson and his valuable contribution to American History as well as any goings-on this class had to offer were of no consequence. Why was this happening to her?

Of all the people in the world this day could've happened to, it had to happen to Rory. She was sure it was punishment for returning the videos to the video store without rewinding them; it was the first time she'd ever done it, not rewinding the tapes, in all her years of video-watching. But she had been pressed for time and couldn't sit and wait for her VCR to rewind the tapes so she'd just put them in their respective cases and gone about her urgent business. Now she instantly regretted her rash and unprocessed actions because karma was being unrealistically cruel by inflicting upon her the pain and toil this day had mutated into.

Not only did she do horribly (in her mind) on an important test for the first time in her life, not only had she had a discussion with Dean last night about college and all her plans and all the great classes she could take, which had escalated into a fight about commitment and their undecided future as a couple and had ended with yelling and childish behavior, therefore spilling over into and complimenting the nightmare this day already was, not only had her mom, Lorelai Victoria Gilmore, her maternal figure and partner in crime, deserted her and gone to London with her grandparents for a jolly old funeral while she remained behind so she could take the oh-so-crappy SATs with the rest of her class she didn't even know, but to add to the monstrosity, she had had no coffee. None, all day, not a drop, nothing. She was completely devoid of her sacred life blood and it was all kinds of wrong.

Of course, waking up late, rushing out the door to make the bus with no time for Luke's and a broken cappuccino machine at school would make for a no-coffee predicament, but this was the day from Hell after all, such hijinks and mishaps were expected. Honestly, the twilight zone and all its abnormal, nonsensical glory would've been more than welcome at this point and time. She would be sure and willing to take killer robots who stole peoples' eyes and a whole crop of radioactive corn that turned normal human beings into zombies instead of being forced to live through this day. Thankfully, it was almost over. All she had to do was get through this class then gather her things from the locker and head out to the bus stop where the rest of the misfortune this day had in store for her could be unleashed in all its fury from the comfort of her own living room.

Success, the bell was ringing! That's it, Rory! Maneuver your way through the crowd, dodge all obstacles, let nothing come between you and your goal! Eyes on the prize, eyes on the prize, eyes on the p—

Oh. Paris.

"Rory. There you are. I have something imperative to discuss with you."

"Do you think it could wait, Paris? I'm kinda in a rush and I really need to leave to make my b—"

"I'll only be a minute," she interrupted, preparing her presentation of sorts.

Rory rolled her eyes, shaking her head while she dropped her bag and entered her combination. "Never mind, now's a perfect time."

"I wanted to inquire about your work on the newspaper."

"Inquire about it?"

"Yes, as in ask questions about it and have you respond to said questions with affirmative and hopefully satisfactory answers."

"Well, what's wrong with it?"

"I never said anything was wrong with it."

"Actually, you haven't said anything about it, I was just preparing myself for the worst, because you have that look," Rory informed, a little distracted with the activity of loading up her bag.

"What look?"

"The look."

"Again, what look?"

"That look you get when you're about to relay something negative and unpleasant, your face flattens and your eyebrow does this occasional twitch, I can't believe you've never seen it in the mirror when you look at yourself and chant ego-inflating incantations at your reflection."

"I'll let that one slide since you're flustered and clearly not thinking with the rational part of your brain."

"You're too kind," Rory quipped.

"I like to think so," Paris returned.

Hurriedly zipping her backpack, Rory started off, her watch indicating that speed was required to meet her deadline in a timely fashion.

"Okay now you're just being rude," Paris snapped, inevitably trailing behind.

Rory stopped her super-walking just shy of the exit and faced her pursuer head on. "I'm sorry, Paris, I just have to make this bus or else I'll have no other way of getting home for at least another two hours because it's the weekend and all the buses have funny schedules on the weekend and they stop running after a certain point in the afternoon because it's Hartford and maybe they figure everybody suddenly sprouts car keys and a car come Friday and no longer require public transportation, I have no idea, I just know I can't miss this bus, I can't!"

"You're testy, why are you testy?"

"Paris, please tell me what's wrong with my work on the paper so I can leave and fix it at home."

"Like I said before, Rory, there was never any mentioning of anything being wrong with it."

"And, like I said before, you haven't actually said anything about it either, which is leading me to believe you don't really have and never had anything valuable to say about it to begin with! What is it, is it the topic?!"

"No..."

"Because if you don't like my coverage of the assembly on sexual education, that's just tough, because you gave me the student life section knowing there was only so much I could do with it, I mean you had to know, look at the population of Chilton, all it consists of are snobby upper-class socialites and insane amounts of extracurricular activities that look good on a high school transcript, there's only so many angles you can put on that!"

"That's not it..."

"It's the ending! You didn't like my anecdote about the girl who had the sex talk with her counselor and ended up resigning her self to complete and total celibacy after hearing about the side effects and symptoms of syphilis! I was sure that would've made the article worth reading, something to send the audience away with an - intelligent sobriety, I can't believe you didn't like the ending!"

"I never said I d —"

"Oh no, my bus!" Rory exclaimed, and she jetted from the premises just in time to see her only hope for survival grunting off into the distance without her in it. Fan-fucking-tastic. This just got better and better.

"Paris?! You made me miss my bus! Do you see it driving away?! It's gone!"

"Rory, I believe you made you miss your bus. If you had stopped ranting long enough to hear what it was I had to say, this conversation could've been over and done with minutes ago."

"And what was it you had to say, Paris?" Rory questioned through a clenched jaw.

"You work was good — exceptional, in fact. While the topic, in all its raw teenage, hormonal imbalance couldn't have been avoided, you handled it well. I should like to see more like it in the days ahead."

Rory's burnt nerves almost snapped into crispy ashes at Paris' revelation, and she nearly had a conniption when Paris handed her her copy of the print.

"One thing though, you might want to check on the spelling of syphilis, I believe it's a 'y' instead of an 'i', but that's an honest mistake. The ending is catchy, though, very insightful. Well, I won't keep you any longer, have a nice weekend, see you Monday."

With that, she was off, her hips switching as if to say, 'Haha, you fool, your bus just left you and I could care less!'

Rory was stunned. Why had Paris caught her right at the end of the day to talk to her about the newspaper? As obsessive-compulsive as Paris tended to be about trite matters, it just didn't add up. Not only that, why had she made it seem like she was going to spout an endless string of criticisms concerning her work then changed and suddenly given her accolades in such a sickeningly-obliging manner?

Realization dawned on Rory as she recalled the events involving some boy with blonde hair and a smirk for days who attended Chilton that Paris liked and had asked Rory to a concert, well, forced an invitation on her and she'd rejected him, but not before the damaging news had reached a concerned and extremely angry party. As lame and demented a plot as it seemed, Rory could've called Paris intentionally making her miss her bus. The switch in her hips had vocalized a mocking statement telepathically after all. She'd heard it.

No matter, what's done is done. Now all that was left for Rory to do would be to roam the halls of her prison until some kind soul took pity on her or until she struck Hartford gold and suddenly sprouted car keys and a car like everyone else on Fridays. Her backpack seemed uncharacteristically light. She was missing text. Seeing as how she had time to burn, this problem could be remedied. Arriving back inside Chilton, she headed to her locker, only to find Tristan waiting for her, holding what seemed like a very familiar stack of books.

"Hey," he greeted timidly.

The nerves were severed. "Oh dear God. Have I done something so inexcusable to deserve this? The last time I checked, not rewinding video tapes before returning them was not a capital offense!"

"What?"

Bothered by his simply being there after only seconds of interaction, she dropped her bag and wearily entered her combination again.

"First, I have no coffee all day because of my stupid alarm clock and the stupid broken cappuccino machine, then I do poorly on my Physics test, I had the most pointless fight with my boyfriend last night about nothing, not that that's any of your business, my family went to London for a funeral and to visit my great-grandma and I couldn't go because the lame SATs are tomorrow, Paris slithered out or the woodwork and bombarded me with these — well she didn't actually say anything meaningful. But she wasted my time again with idiotic comments about her precious newspaper, therefore making me miss my bus and only ride home, and now I have you, the bane of my existence, skulking around my locker like — like some annoying squirrel at the park that keeps coming back once you feed it. Why can't everyone just leave me alone?!"

Tristan wore a concerned expression on his face, not knowing what button he pushed. "I was just coming to say hi. And to give you your books back…that I stole," he confessed, deliberately mumbling his last words.

Rory snatched the reading material extended, glowering in contempt. "Wow, that new artificial heart the Great and Powerful Oz gave you must be working better than the other stone one you had."

He chose to ignore her snipe, as well as the bitter smile that threatened to approach on his face, and refocused his attention. "Do you need a ride or something?"

"No."

"Bu — you said you missed your bus."

"I don't need a ride, Tristan. Not from you."

Abruptly, she started off to avoid the seal of doomed fate on her afternoon. He didn't take the hint that she didn't want it to include him.

"How the hell are you supposed to get home?"

"I'll walk."

"From Chilton?"

She stopped to ensure the discourse they were engaging in didn't tray on longer than need be. "The only thing that'll stop me would be gigantic balls of fire shooting from the sky, marking the Apocalypse and the end of mankind. Please go away."

"Rory..." He struggled to keep up with her newly started quick pace. "I'm trying to be nice here."

"Try all you want, nothing you've done, are doing, or will ever do could be considered nice. I suggest you give up while you're ahead. No, how about before you get further behind."

"Clever, think that up all by yourself?" he retorted, somewhat unimpressed.

"I hear the wind but know not where it comes from..."

"You can't just walk home, I'll give you a ride."

"I'll try my luck with one of the club members, thank you."

"W — half of them don't even get out 'til 6:00 or 7:00, you wanna wait," he paused to check his watch, "almost four hours?"

"I'm desperate."

"So let me take you then."

"I said desperate — not suicidal, not poverty-stricken, and certainly not pathetic."

"You obviously need a ride, why won't you let me give you one?!"

The fact that he was so passionate about it only made her more vexed instead of enamored. "I will never need anything from you! If I was suffering and dying from an incurable disease and I required an organ donor, and you were a perfect match, I still would need nothing from you, and frankly, I'd like to keep it that way! I hate you, I don't want anything to do with you, leave me alone!"

Rory then stormed away and left a wounded Tristan to look morose while swallowing the lump in his throat and regretting being so taken with a girl who despised him.

[-]||[-]

A presence in the room caught her attention, and she couldn't help but feel a little guilty when the presence breezed by as if she wasn't there. She was very relieved to see it, the presence, for her patience was wearing thin and she wanted to go home. When it headed over to the make-up work bin, she tried to make herself more known giving the presence pointed looks. Since it wasn't getting the non-verbal messages from her body language, or chose not to, she became bolder and walked up to where it stood.

Nothing.

Clearly words were needed in this predicament. "What're you still doing here?"

Tristan knew not to be baited and kept up his guard. Rory, however, didn't give up so easy. "I thought you would've left by now. Have a meeting with Charleston or something? I know how that is."

"None of your goddamn business."

Oh. Didn't see that one coming. She tried not to pout and lessened the widening of her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said meekly.

Tristan looked up from the stack of papers while she glanced around nervously. How did she do that? Make him feel like the villain when she had been so nasty to him? He hated himself for feeling bad. "You still need a ride?"

His inquiry threw her off, but she was happy to respond. "Yeah. I mean, that is, if your offer is still standing and…valid...is it valid?"

When his eyes locked with hers, he was tempted to concur. But all the memories from earlier came roaring back with a vengeance, toughening his resolve. "No, it's not."

Any hope on Rory's face grew wings and flew away instantly. "Bu—"

"You hate me remember? Ask somebody else."

Stunned by his coldness, Rory fell silent, and he left without another word.

Another twenty or so minutes of fruitless searching came and went. Rory began to believe she was destined to spend the night at Chilton. She'd bored herself silly with Solitaire, and the Internet is only so fascinating for so long. Wandering the halls aimlessly, no one was more surprised than she was upon seeing Tristan, going through his locker and looking quite put out. Logic and reason told her to steer clear of any situation involving an irate high school boy and his attitude. She would've been inclined to listen. Emphasis on the 'would've'. By now she was beyond that. She could've called herself being on the border of insanity, and she didn't even want to breach the subject of her lack of coffee intake. Drastic measures needed to be taken, and she found her feet carrying her to his location.

Upon reaching it, and it was obvious she'd reached it, he pretended not to see her. So she just stood there. Eventually, he got annoyed and looked in her direction. Sadly, she'd managed to appear even more cute and innocent than she had earlier, and he hated himself again for being so attracted to her. But still, he said nothing.

After a couple more moments of silence and uncut staring, Rory gave in. "Do you want me to beg or something?"

"It might help, yeah."

"Well, I'm not going to."

"Wouldn't be the first time," he jabbed with harsh finality and began walking.

Now seeing her pending fate looming before her, she took action, not caring what a sad sap she made. "Fine. Tristan, can I please have a ride home?"

"Said you didn't want one. In fact, your exact words were you would never want anything from me even if you were dying from an incurable disease and you needed an organ…or do you not remember saying that?"

"I changed my mind," she deadpanned, not enthused.

Tristan stopped trailblazing and stood in front of her. "Oh. Well I guess since I'm the aimless, thick-headed puppy dog in this warped acquaintance we have and I can't help but bend to your every whim, I'm just supposed to accept that."

"I never said you — God, why do you always have to be such a spoiled, immature, circumventing jerk?!"

"Same reason you're a holier-than-thou, mulish, persnickety bitch."

Rory's mouth just went agape. Did he just call her… "Did you just say the word 'persnickety'?"

"I did say that word, and you heard me say that word. Because you just repeated it back to me."

"You probably don't even know what it means," she said smugly.

He quirked an eyebrow, and the smirk he gave her she actually found attractive. What the living hell. "Very particular and obsessive about details, also known as damn near impossible and difficult to please; exacting and often making rigorous demands. Got something else you wanna throw at me, because I've got a whole hell of a lot more where that came from."

Damn. Score 1 for Bible Boy.

"You should be doing your homework thoroughly, because that's an SAT word," he returned just as smugly.

Bastard. "I am not…persnickety…"

"Yeees, you are persnickety Rory."

"And where did you get mulish from? I am not mulish."

"Oh without a doubt."

"You're comparing me to a barn animal, you're calling me a mule?"

"Yes, referring to the phrase, 'stubborn as a mule', can we just…move this along please? I have a life to get back to."

"How could anyone be more mulish than you? You can't even accept that I'm here, making an effort, trying to work this stupid thing out!"

"Well, I think maybe your effort sucks and you could work a little bit harder than that, don't you?"

Tristan and his flame of spiky blonde hair had a point. She had been quite unpleasant earlier and she had expected to magically find herself back in the courts of his good graces, accompanied by a flourish of trumpets, without a lot of effort. "I'm sorry I was rude before, I was just…frazzled...but I would really appreciate it if you could give me a ride home."

Damn it. He didn't think that would work. But it did. With a clench of his jaw and a slow nod, he started walking toward the parking lot. But he wasn't being followed, so he stopped. "Are you coming?"

Rory remained immobile, and his patience was also wearing thin, so he grabbed her arm and dragged her along.

"Ow! I'm perfectly capable of walking," she snapped, yanking her arm away.

"Maybe that's what you should've been doing instead of standing there looking like and idiot."

She halted and stared at him, hurt by the snide remark. He stared back for a moment then looked down, clearly worn out. "I'm sorry…I didn't mean that."

She appeared to be skeptical.

"Please get in the car," he begged without an ounce of desperation, so it sounded more like a sigh with words accompanying it.

No movement.

Tristan made the short distance to the car, opening the door and holding out his hand, waving her in. Finally, she complied and joined him, ducking into the passenger seat. He slammed the door, walked around to the other side, got in and started the engine, revving it to release some tension. Must've been a guy thing. Having pulled off and made his way out of Chilton and all its counterparts, he noticed Rory looking rather uncomfortable with her gargantuan backpack.

"Would you like me to put that in the back for you?"

"I'm fine, really," she brushed aside, still struggling.

Tristan snatched the bag from her and threw in the back anyway. Rory glowered at him, shooting back in the seat when he gunned off the line at the change of the traffic light.

"I said I was fine."

The glare he gave her could only be characterized as fatal, and she thought it best not to press the matter, facing front and falling silent. As the car merged off onto the interstate, stretching straight and narrow in front of them for miles, it began to rain. He saw her shiver to justify tucking her hands away under her arms.

"Are you cold?"

"No," she corrected before she gave him a chance. Enter fatal death glare, which made her rethink her stance on the topic. "A little."

Satisfied she was no longer trying so hard to be enigmatic, he put on the heat, laughing to himself. She couldn't resist taking note and her curiosity immediately got the better of her. "What?"

"Nothing."

"What?"

"It's nothing, really."

"Why are you laughing, oh High and Mighty Tristan?"

He laughed a little more at her droning, shaking his head. "I just find it amazing how quick you are to disagree with me."

"Maybe it's because you've never given me a reason to agree with you about anything. And honestly, do you blame me?"

All light-heartedness in the conversation swiftly left. "I guess I wouldn't have the chance with you throwing my alleged faults in my face every time the opportunity presents itself."

"Please. Do not expect me to feel sorry for you. You single-handedly massacred the only pending friendship I had at that God-forsaken school and practically threatened me into attending some lame concert that I didn't even want to go to."

"Give me a break, Rory. The only reason you wouldn't go and thought it was lame was because I asked you and you know it. If Mr. Effeminate Hair-do, Paper-or-Plastic Bag boy had asked you, you would've gone in a heartbeat."

"He's my boyfriend, of course I would've gone with him. And besides, you had raunchy, ulterior motives of sabotaging our relationship. I said I'd never go out with you and I meant it!"

"Actually he wasn't your boyfriend at the time but that doesn't even matter. I wasn't trying to be your boyfriend and I certainly wasn't trying to replace him, I just wanted to be nice! Clearly, you can't see past your high opinion of yourself to realize that!"

"Oh this from the poster boy for all things self-involved? Spare my tortured soul from the irony!"

"At least being egotistical suits me!" It was a dicey move to dance like a madman over a minefield like he was currently doing but at that point he was going for broke.

There was no telling where he was going with that train of thought and her expression flattened. "You're speaking in mind-numbing subtext again."

"Let's just say I have it on good word that you have a pretty salacious origin story. Oh, that's right, your parents never did get married or do much of anything besides make you. Where is your dad, Rory, by the way?"

The fire of a thousand hells blazed within her eyes. "You asshole! Don't you dare act like you have some sort of dirt on me just because my parents aren't together. At least they love me, which is more than I can say for you. I'm almost positive no one loves you. First of all, why would they want to, and second how could they, since you make it damn near impossible for anyone to love you but yourself!"

Back from its short hiatus, the death glare fell on the unfortunate Rory, and she immediately regretted saying anything negative toward him.

Too late, though. Swerving madly off to the shoulder, he shut off the car and turned to face her. "Okay, let's get something straight. I don't care if you hate me, I don't care if you insult me. Hell, I don't give a rat's ass if you reject me until you're blue in the face. But do not for one fucking second pretend to know me or anything about me, because you don't, and at this point I don't want you to. 'Frankly', it sickens me that I'm infatuated with you, but, I'm a guy, being stupid comes naturally."

"W-wait — did you just say you're infatuated with me?"

"Don't repeat it, it makes me look like even more of a loser."

"Oh, so only losers can be infatuated with me, is that it?"

"Your words, not mine."

She scoffed out loud in annoyance at his flippant attitude. "You just said that to score you points because you think you brood well or something deranged like that, I'm not falling for it. And you need a new act. Sober and emotional doesn't suit a heartless bastard, for obvious reasons."

That comment drove the nail home, and he became exhausted and aggravated beyond belief simultaneously. "Get out."

"What?"

"Get out."

"W — you're leaving me here?"

"Did I stutter Rory? Get out of the car." He then began fishing through the back for her stuff.

"You're ditching me at the side of the road, some...deserted, back road, straight out of a bad horror movie I might add, because I have an opinion?"

When all he did is stare at her, she became afraid, even more so when he reached over her, opened her door for her (not to be polite), and threw her bag outside.

"You're serious about this, aren't you?"

"Get out."

She gave him a cautious look after glancing at the weather situation. "I…it's raining."

"God I wish someone had invented something to protect people from the rain. Why oh why hasn't that been thought up yet? That just kills me. Assloads of innovative talent gone to waste, I'm absolutely gutted!"

"You're not funny."

He checked his reflection in the rear view. "Am I smiling? Is there anything on my face even remotely resembling a smile?"

"I don't have an umbrella."

His face withered. "Y'know, I'm feeling something. I'm not…quite…sure…what it is, but… Oh, I don't care. That's it. Yeah. Get out of my car."

"But…I…"

"Rory, get the fuck out of the car!"

Not needing to be told twice, Rory stumbled out of the car into the torrential weather. "I don't know where I am, what if I get lost…or abducted?"

"Close the door."

"Tristan…"

The pleading tone did nothing for her in his book, and he snatched to door shut.

"You can't just leave me here!"

He paid no attention to her muffled demand and sped off in his silver BMW without a second thought to the contrary.

Rory couldn't help but stand there, looking stunned. Basically, that stunned feeling escalated into a scared feeling, and everything around her began to seem a lot bigger and towering, namely the trees surrounding the wilderness she was in. Her lip began to tremble, and she swore to herself she wouldn't cry, but she couldn't help it and relented, sitting in the rain on top of her gargantuan backpack drenched in grassy goodness and sobbing uncontrollably. Seeing as how she was in Nowheres-ville, USA, she figured she'd better try and find a Somewheres-ville if she had any hope for survival. Tristan certainly wasn't any help. But then again, that was her fault. There was no telling if she would ever admit that to him, but she could at least admit it to herself. Gathering her strength, she dragged herself and her bag in an undetermined direction