DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. These are fictional characters created by someone who isn't me, but used in an even more far-fetched situations to satisfy my own sick ends.

He politely studied the new additions to the collection. He'd been in this particular museum more times than he cared to count, on various school outings and social functions. It was a popular site for fundraisers, as the New England set seemed to like to revel in the fact that they have the oldest American artifacts. He'd been in the museum about thirty minutes this evening, and had just gotten away from his mother and the people he was obligated to meet just five short minutes ago. His grandfather was there, as well as his parents. He knew both had given a lot of money, probably even some in his name. His mother seemed unable to sign any card or charity offering without all three of their names, it was just too engrained in the movement of her wrist. She'd been doing it since she found out she was pregnant with a boy. He moved to the next exhibit, pretending to study it with great interest until he heard the clinking of glasses signifying the need for everyone's attention to be turned to the main podium.

He stood behind his mother, glass of champagne that had been distributed throughout the crowd by waiters in tuxedos. The curator went on and on about the generous contributions that made the new wing possible and the amazing turnout tonight. He looked about, noticing the room was filled with people his parents' age and up, with a few people thirty and under scattered about. Those who were brought up in money or went out and made theirs fast. He belonged to both categories, and gave a sigh, letting his mind slip back to Rory's voice asking him to accompany her this weekend. He'd wanted to go, but couldn't back out of a promise to his mother. He would never understand why these infernal events were so important to her, but the body count seemed crucial for some reason. She'd asked for him to bring a date, to which he normally complied. She had sounded surprised when he said that he'd be coming alone tonight. Not that he really thought his parents approved of his choice in women. Well, his father might. It's not like he brought these women to these functions to meet his family. They were obligations, something that couldn't be avoided, and then they split to have a good time afterwards. The next weekend brought another woman. It'd been this way since Tristan was old enough to date. In fact, he'd never brought the same girl twice.

He raised his glass as he saw everyone else doing it, and brought the smoothed out edge of the fine crystal lip up to his mouth as the curator finished her speech with a toast. He had the chilled bubbles up to his lips when he saw a familiar but somehow out of place figure on the other side of the room. Her long brown hair was pulled up in some sort of twist. He wasn't sure the name of the hairstyle, but he always liked how the hair falls out in an almost circular drop before splaying about the shoulders. He let his imagination run off for a moment, imagining how good it would feel to run his fingers through her hair as she let it down at the end of the evening. He blinked, as he pulled his attention back to the present. She was leaned up against a partial wall, one that opened out into the next room of displays. She was wearing a slinky black dress, one that hugged her in all the right places before flaring out a little above the knee and stopping shortly thereafter. She looked amazing, to say the least, and her eyes were all lit up as she laughed.

She was laughing, and reached out to stabilize herself on the person that seemed to be initiating the laughter. He watched her hand on this man's forearm, and it lingered there as the guy glanced down towards the connection and smiled warmly at her. He nodded, and opened his mouth again to continue. She looked happy, completely enthralled in what this man was saying and immediately his heart sank. Tristan felt claustrophobic suddenly, a sensation he'd never experienced before in his life. He had just been about ready to approach her, but now felt he should walk out of the room before she noticed him.

Then it hit him. Perhaps she had noticed him. Maybe she'd seen him and not wanted to leave this new man to say even a simple hello. He downed the rest of his glass, allowing the animated liquid to tickle his throat as it made its way down. He needed to get a grip on himself. Rory wasn't the kind of person to ignore someone she knew, especially a friend. And that's what he was; he was her friend. This wasn't a big deal; after all, he'd seen her on dates before. Plenty of them. He'd never felt this way before.

But he'd never seen her look at someone like that.

Making his way back to the room he'd been in before the toast, he busied himself with looking concentrated on the displays again. This was the surest way not to be disturbed and roped into boring shoptalk. Even though he liked his job, he loathed telling his grandfather's friends about his job. He was deciding how long he needed to stick around before he could be in the clear to escape. He might be able to handle a Rory-free hour, but with her here looking like that on the arm of some guy she liked—he figured maybe twenty more minutes if he had no direct contact with her. That put him at about an hour, and that was all his mother needed from him.

"Tristan?"

He closed his eyes, not wanting to turn around. He plastered the most of a smile as he could manage before turning towards her and faking the same level of revelation.

"Rory?"

"What are you doing here?"

He smiled and pointed in the direction of his folks. "Family dragged me. You?"

She blushed and nodded. "Yeah, my grandma's pretty relentless."

"Your grandmother? You looked like you were on a date," he mentioned, trying to sound carefree, but it came off more bitter than he'd intended.

"Oh, you saw Daniel?" she gave a half turn from the direction she'd just come from, he figured looking for Daniel's whereabouts.

"Yeah, I did."

"Why didn't you come say hello?"

"You looked like you were having a moment, I didn't want to interrupt." Again with the bitterness. She was beginning to lose the ability to ignore his tone.

"There was no moment," she said defensively. He couldn't blame her for reacting to his attitude.

"Look, it's fine."

"Tristan, there have been no moments. We've just been talking for ten minutes. Louise and Madeline didn't even move that fast."

He wanted to smile at the reference to their slutty high school friends, but he remained stoic and unwavering. He wasn't going to show more emotion, and he scolded himself for letting his voice tell on him.

"Well, I guess you should be getting back to him. You didn't need to come all the way over here to keep me company."

"First of all, I wasn't over here to see you. I was looking for the bathroom when I saw you. Secondly, I guess I should leave, I wouldn't want Barbie to get the wrong idea."

Now her tone was as biting as his, and he wanted to climb under the buffet table on the opposite end of the room. He could take angry clients, his father when he was drunk, and any general scathing comments from any enemies he'd managed to make over his lifetime. But from her, it was different. It was like being cut with a razor sharp blade instead of a pair of grade school safety scissors.

"Barbie?"

"You know, whatever the dumb blonde's name is," she rolled her eyes.

"I'll have you know I'm here alone, as a favor to my mother. This is why I couldn't help you out this weekend, but I'm glad to see you aren't going to be lonely. Good evening," he pushed the words out of his mouth as quickly as he could manage and turned to find his jacket. He left her standing there, mouth gaping and hands on her hips watching as he walked away through the crowd of Italian suits and designer gowns.

AN: Hehe. I feel evil, and I admit, I do like it. I'm still working on the intricacies of this evolving feeling on both their parts. . . and here you all thought he was going to be her date! I love it! Thanks to EVERYONE for the wonderful reviews, I enjoy seeing that you are enjoying this. The stress of life is calming down, so hopefully I'll be able to get writing at a more preferable pace for me.