The Space Between

Chapter 2
by give_me_back_me

But will I hold you again?

These fickle, fuddled words confuse me

Like 'Will it rain today?'

Waste the hours with talking, talking

These twisted game we play

We're strange allies

With warning hearts

What wild-eyed beast you be

The Space Between

The wicked lies we tell

And hope to keep us safe from the pain

Will I hold you again?

Will I hold…

So stupid! Tristan silently reprimands himself as he pulls into the Chilton parking lot and parks next to the already loaded busses. In a rushed state of near hysterics he gathers his things and rushes to the nearest teacher with a clipboard, barely finding a moment to click his BMW locked. He is just about to set his bags down when the teacher makes a sound of disapproval in her throat.

"Tristan DuGrey I presume?" she questions looking over the tops of her oval spectacles. Trying not to appear too sheepish he nods methodically, thinking up excuses in his mind.

"Don't even bother with your bags. The only bus with room left is the blue bus, in the back. Take your things and board quickly," she explains sounding peeved. "Oh, and do try to be more timely from now on," she continues scathingly. Silently rolling his eyes at the teacher's obvious displeasure, he brushes off all previous anxieties and makes his way to the bus. After dropping off his bags he climbs in with every intention to sit the farthest to the back as possible. As soon as he is in full view of the patrons of the bus, though, his hopes fall as he notes the bus filled to near capacity.

"Just great," he mumbles while he makes his way down the aisle. Coming upon an empty seat towards the middle he begins to seat himself when he suddenly realizes the other occupant. Shaking off the sudden chills running down his spine, he smirks.

"I think I deserve a reward," Tristan says with a sly grin, swinging into the empty seat next to Rory. Her head whips away from the window in surprise and Tristan suddenly finds himself staring into the eyes of a very annoyed Rory.

"What?" she snaps back at him, her vehemence catching him off-guard. Startled by her reaction, Tristan gives her a concerned look.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice steady but light. She glares at him for a moment before letting out a deep breath. Her expression softens as she tucks stray strands of chocolate hair behind her ear.

"I'm sorry. I've been having a bad day," she explains, somewhat forced. Tristan studies her as she shifts around in the cramped bus seat. Her body language seems different, he thinks to himself as he observes her straight back, pursed lips, and clenched hands. Feeling disturbed by her sudden change, he wonders what could have happened to upset her so much. She always seems like the type that's in control of their emotions, he ponders.

"Why do you think you deserve a reward?" she questions, interrupting his thoughts. His grin instantly reappears and he leans a little closer to her, his intentions to charm.

"For playing the good guy this past week. I think such a strain on someone deserves a little reward at the end, don't you think?" he leers at her, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Rory's frowns disapprovingly and rolls her eyes.

"In your dreams, DuGrey," Rory says, the sarcasm oozing from every syllable.

"They who dream by day have all the fun, Gilmore …" She stares at him wide eyed, her expression causing him to snort with laughter.

"Get out! Get out of my seat! Mixing Poe with lewd comments?" she exclaims in frustration, pushing against his arm. Finding humor in her severe reaction, he nearly doubles over with laughter.

"Dammit Tristan, I'm not kidding. I'm in no mood to deal with your immature antics," she explains, rather pissed off by this point.

"Mary, you're never in the mood," he comments as his laughter begins to die down. They catch each others' gazes for a moment before she slumps back in defeat.

"Ah, come on, Gilmore. It's only a couple more hours until we reach D.C. and then you'll be rid of me." Rory continues to look forward for a moment until she slowly meets his eyes.

"What's your room number?" she asks, entirely at random. Tristan blinks at her, having not expected those particular words to come from her mouth. Unable to resist the tempting dilemma she has set herself up for, he smirks broadly.

"Why? Will I be receiving some late night visits?" She glares.

"If anyone comes to your room late at night, DuGrey, it will be the police." He glares.

"Yeah, wouldn't expect a prude Mary like you at my door." She frowns.

"No, I just wouldn't show up at your door." He frowns.

"You can't deny the truth, Rory." He smirks.

"And neither can you, Tristan." She smirks in return.

"Yeah, but…" She interrupts him.

"I have a boyfriend, you know." He blinks at her, shocked. Her lips are set in a thin line, but her eyes refuse to meet his.

"So whatever you're up to…" she glances at him but quickly looks away, "it just needs to stop."

"Fine," he replies shortly, erasing all emotion from his voice. He stares forward, ignoring her figure lingering in the corner of his eye. He finds himself wondering one more question, though.

"Why did you want to know my room number?" He continues to look forward, but he can sense her looking at him. She pauses for a moment, and he assumes she is deciding how to answer.

"I wanted to make sure our rooms were not even remotely close to each other…" she lets her words trail off. His expression turns grim.

"Well, Mary, you won't have to worry about that now, anyway," he comments, trying not to sound bitter, though knows he probably does.

"I know," she responds, her voice quiet. Hearing the rustle of her shifting in her seat once more, he feels her gaze leave him, and suddenly he feels a deep sense of loss.

Ignoring her while sitting next to her for the next couple of hours is going to be more difficult than it's been ignoring her this entire past week, he silently thinks to himself. With an inward groan he pulls out his MP3 player and headphones. Just as he puts on his headphones, the bus lurches forward.

And they're off.

***

A sharp searing pain suddenly rips through Tristan's shin, causing his eyes to fly open.

"Ow! Fu-…"

"Watch yourself, there's teachers around," interrupts a voice. Rubbing his shin viciously he looks up to the keeper of the voice and glares into her blue eyes.

"Damn Gilmore, why'd you do that?" Tristan questions sardonically, now glaring at her booted feet.

"It's time to get off the bus," she replies simply, holding her pack closer to herself and wrapping her hands around a paper cup of coffee. Returning his eyes to her face, he notices her eyes seem dimmer and her hair flatter. She looks exhausted, he silently observes. Deciding to cut her some slack he stands and moves into the aisle, giving her room. She glances at him for a moment before hurriedly following suit.

"Thanks…" she begins but abruptly stops when his hand reaches out, catching her arm. Well, not that much slack.

"No problem, Mary. I'll see you tonight." He winks at her, removing his hand which has seemingly grown searing hot from the touch. To his disappointment, she brushes off the comment, too fatigued to give him any type of response. Unexpectedly finding himself confused and wishing, he watches her walk down the aisle and off the bus.

Knowing all too well the feeling of desire and longing, Tristan has yet to become accustomed to the effect the feeling has on his mind and heart. From the moment he first saw her, every thought concerning her has caused him to feel as though if only his aching heart could brush against the warmth that is her, then maybe he would be saved. If maybe that one brush would wipe away all the confusion and the pain, and leave him with an unclouded soul at long last.

No lingering touch on the arm, or physical contact of any kind, has purged this single notion, but instead has left Tristan wishing for more. Oh how the touch of his hand to her arm leaves him aching, silently reaching, for anything solid to grasp; anything that he can hold on to, tightly, and without slip.

And every fiber of his being wants nothing more than for that solidity to be her.

But, no longer can he run away from it, or hide behind distance. Because distance no longer separates them, and he is rendered defenseless to his own heart. No longer can lies keep the bad-boy safe from the good-girl and the near agony he endures from watching her heart belong to another. A wishful man in love is doomed a self-destructive fate.

If only…

So overwhelmed by this point, Tristan walks numbly out of the bus and gathers his bags from the storage compartment. As if programmed, he methodically begins to follow the other students across the parking lot, his expression grim and his emotions rioting within him. It's not until he nearly reaches the overhanging roof that he notices the drizzling rain running through his blonde locks and staining his Gucci leather jacket. Pausing, he looks to the sky, blinking as droplets tenderly kiss his face with their cooling touch. As the shower trickles down his cheeks, a sudden thought occurs to him.

What if he doesn't stand by like he did before? What if he goes deeper, past the "touch", and actually "feel"? He knows all too well that he feels for her, but could Rory ever feel for him? Had he ever really given her a chance to feel before he ran off, cradling his wounded ego and heart? Does he really have the power to change everything? Does anybody really have the will to pursue what they know they want, despite fears and pains?

Yes.

This single thought, this single word, rings solely in his heart, mind, body, and soul and suddenly Tristan feels a lightness filling him. As if the clouds themselves are parting and the sun's glorious rays are shining only for him.

I have nothing to lose, he thinks to himself. He feels a magnificent smile finding his lips, and his heart flutters within him, as if brought back to life.

This is my final chance to take what I know, with every part of me, that I want. And dammit, I won't let this opportunity pass me by like it did before.

His eyes slowly lower to the hotel in front of him--to the doors leading into the hotel. When I walk through those doors… he thinks to himself as he begins stepping forward, I will stop at nothing to get what I want.

Stepping at last through the sliding doors, his grin melts into a smirk. Besides, DuGreys always get what they want.

***

Finding his room hasn't been a problem. Getting unpacked hasn't been a problem. Preparing for their elegant first dinner in the prestigious hotel restaurant also hasn't been a problem. What does this equation add up to? Zero problems.

Just the way I like it, Tristan thinks to himself with a smirk. Searching for his placement card amongst the numerous round tables, Tristan catches Rory entering from the corner of his eye. As he continues his hunt he observes her unobtrusively, she too looking about for her seat. He finds his and picks it up, gently fingering its edges, silently waiting for her to find her own. When she at last seats herself, he palms his card and nonchalantly approaches her table, his hands pocketed in his pants. Doing his best to appear uninterested he silently walks behind her and around the other side of the table, discreetly reading the name cards placed on it. He smirks, seeing the name of one of his friends.

Just then a tapping noise sounds through the nearby speakers, and all eyes, including Rory's, turn to the front of the room where a teacher stands holding a microphone. Seizing his chance, he slips his card in the place of his buddy's.

"Welcome students, to Washington D.C., our great nation's capitol," the teacher says with a broad smile. "There are just a couple of things we need to discuss before we jump into dinner. I know you're all starving so I'll make it quick," she explains at the sound of audible groans passing through the audience. She continues, "Every day at breakfast myself or another teacher will give you a brief overview of the places we will visit that day. Don't be alarmed, though, all of you will have the freedom to roam about freely on your own. So everyone needs to please be up here for breakfast, 7:30 sharp, tomorrow morning." Finishing her speech, the teacher steps down from behind the small podium and the murmur amongst the student resumes.

As if on cue, Tristan's "placement card friend" approaches the table, looking rather excited.

"Hey man," he says, noticing Tristan's gaze on him. Tristan flashes a confident grin before pulling him to the side.

"Could you do me a favor?" Tristan asks, his voice low. He pulls out his friend's name-card and places it in his hand.

"Sure, what do you need?" his friend asks, looking to his card with a puzzled expression.

"Would you switch seats with me? My old seat is over there," Tristan explains, nodding to the empty chair a few tables away. Giving him a questioning look his friend opens his mouth to speak; but seems to decide against it and simply nods.

"No problem," he says, walking away and leaving a pleased Tristan behind. Smirking at his cunningness, Tristan spins around on his heel, saunters back to Rory's table, and slips into his seat. Rory immediately notices him, looking at him with a quirked eyebrow.

"That's your seat?" she asks in disbelief, causing his smirk to broaden.

"That it is, Mary. How lucky for you," Tristan comments in a snarky tone. Rory simply rolls her eyes, turning her attention to her silverware. She begins to mindlessly finger her fork, her blue eyes observing everything in the room except him. Her gaze eventually comes to rest on her glass of water, and she stares, distant. Tristan feels his heart suddenly flurry in concern, and his smirk fades into a soft expression.

"Are you alright?" he asks her, his voice gentle, caressing. At the sound of his voice, her eyes snap away from the water and meet his. Though less distant, they remain unfocused. Unintentionally, his brows furrow and this seems to snap her from her daze.

"That's the second time you've asked me that," she comments bluntly. "You make it sound as if you actually cared, DuGrey." Her biting tone pierces through his lowered guard, and he visibly winces.

"Well do a guy a favor, then, and answer his question before any more damage can be done," he utters with a seriousness that appears to startle her. She looks at him for a moment longer, as if determining his true intentions, before sighing softly.

"It's nothing," she quietly explains, running her hand through her hair.

"Come on, Gilmore…"

"Tristan, why the hell should I tell you anything? You've never given a damn before and frankly you're not the type of person that I would confide in." Her expression turns grim. He purses his lips, trying to control his swirling emotions.

"Rory, you don't know a thing about me. So you can't judge whether or not I'm someone you can talk to. So just try me." He stares at her intently, willing her to talk to him. When she continues to play with her silverware his mind begins to race. His eyes suddenly move beyond her face and travel down the rest of her. Her long black dress fits her in the right places, yet presents her with a sensible elegance that causes his blood to start pumping. Tristan has to bite his tongue to keep from gasping, or groaning, out loud.

"You look beautiful." The words tumble from his lips without a second thought. Startling himself, he nervously fixes his gaze to hers, which now rests on him in wide-eyed shock. Surprisingly, he notices her cheeks begin to pink and she shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

"Thank you," she mumbles quietly, fixating her gaze on her fidgeting hands. Both caught in the uncomfortable moment, they remain silent throughout the ordering process. Finally, as their food is being placed in front of them, Tristan decides to play his hand.

"Looks like we ordered the same thing," he comments, looking at the fried chicken on her plate. Beginning to cut her food, she looks up to him and presents a small smile.

"Fried chicken is the only way to go," she quips, taking her first bite. A grin instantly materializes on her face. "Oh man, and it's good fried chicken." An unexpected wave of relief washes over Tristan, and he too grins.

"We're two of a kind," he utters before shoving large forkfuls of chicken into his mouth. As the flavor practically devours his senses whole, Tristan notices the unmistakable feeling of hunger coursing through him. Geeze, she even makes me forget to eat, he remarks to himself.

"You know," she quips, "I'd have to argue that." He gives her a questioning look.

"You and I are nothing alike," she continues.

"En contraire, Gilmore, we are more alike than you think." She eyes him suspiciously.

"What are you up to DuGrey?"

"Nothing. Just making a point," he explains, taking his last bite.

"Which is…?"

"That we're alike."


"Which was already established. Are you going anywhere with this?" Her annoyance is beginning to creep into her voice, causing him to smirk.

"Not at the moment, no. Our similarities will show…in time." At this she snorts, forking her last piece of chicken.

"Trust me, time is not all that separates us, DuGrey." He raises a brow.

"Yes, well, things change." Her eyes snap to his.

"And some things don't," she states bluntly, sounding tired. He stares intently at her for a moment, attempting to grasp all mysteries that concern her.

"Mary, you're unusually pessimistic tonight. Actually, you have been all day. Which means something is wrong." Her eyes narrow.

"You keep talking as if you know me, but you don't." He bites down on his cheek to keep his emotions from controlling his mouth…for once.

"You don't know me either. But like I said before, things change." There, safe response.

"What things change? What the hell are you talking about?" Or maybe not. Letting out a frustrated sigh, Tristan runs his hands through his hair.

"Do we really need to go through this again?" he questions tiredly. Her narrowed eyes are suddenly ablaze, angry, defensive.

"God dammit! You're so infuriating! With you it's never simple. You twist and you-"

"Is that why you're with Dean?" he interrupts, not desiring to hear her insults. "Because everything with him is so simple, safe?" Her mouth remains agape from when her previous sentence was cut short. She simply stares at him before looking down at her hands.

"I'm not with Dean anymore," she says quietly, but the words hit his ears as if they were being screamed into his head from a mere inch away.

"You're with somebody else?" he asks, somehow finding his voice, though it hurts to speak. Slowly, she brings her eyes up to meet his.

"Yes. My boyfriend's name is Jess. We've been together for about a month now…" With each passing moment of silence Tristan feels his insides twist and wrench, nearly to the point of nausea. Swallowing, he attempts to ignore the punishing emotions coursing through him.

"So is that why you're so upset? I didn't think it could be Dean, because he is perfect. Or so I thought until a second ago…" Tristan stops his babble, but looks her in the eye.

"What happened?" he asks. Her brows crease in confusion.

"What?" He licks his lips, internally building up his walls to protect himself from whatever answers he may receive.

"What happened between you and Dean?" Though his voice is sincere, the fire in her eyes returns.

"That's none of your business," she snaps defensively. Oh this is where we're alike Rory, he silently tells her. You're defensive like me-- only trying to protect yourself.

"Okay. Then what happened between you and Jess?"

"That's also no-"

"None of my business right? Well, excuse me for wanting to know what reasons could drive you to treat me even crappier than usual." His justification seems to cause a little voice in her head to snap her back to reality and her expression softens.

"I'm sorry Tris-"

"It's fine," he interrupts, giving her a small smile. Her eyes, full of mysterious emotion, gaze deeply into his. Feeling as though she is looking into his most intimate depths, he looks away.

"Tristan? Why are you being so nice to me? Because you're entirely correct, I've never treated you right." His small smile twitches upwards a little further.

"Yeah, well I've never treated you right either…" He let's his voice trail off, feeling waves of guilt pour over him. She respectfully remains silent.

"We have one messed up relationship," he carries on, trying to lighten the mood.

"I'm beginning to think all of my relationships are messed up." At her confession, he returns his eyes to hers, a small smirk playing on his lips. She sighs, and suddenly he has the intense urge to take her hands into his. But he refrains.

"Tell me about it, Gilmore," he says playfully at first but his expression soon turns serious. "Honestly, you can tell me about it." She bravely holds his gaze.

"I might just take you up on that, DuGrey. I just might."