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.
Her mood shifted from light to confused to downright furious in the short time that was their conversation. Her hands were still pressed firmly into her hips, and she watched as his back disappeared into the crowd of people in evening attire. She wasn't expecting to see him tonight—it simply never occurred to her that this would be what his plans were. She was here to be set up by her grandmother, and even though she would have rather spent the time with Tristan, Daniel was a wonderful man. He had gone to Yale, graduating two years before Rory had. He was much more attractive than the usual pedigree that she saw at these parties Emily dragged her to. He had a sense of humor and let her talk, which was refreshing. He was just fine. She wanted to run after Tristan and yell at him, tell him all this and keep talking until he realized how rare those qualities in a man are. To ask him why he can't just be happy for her.
"I thought you were going to the restroom," came Daniel's voice from beside her.
"Oh, right. I forgot," she shook her head, looking into his eyes. They were friendly eyes, and he gave her a confused smile.
"Okay. . . . Rory?"
"Yeah?" she looked up at him, her eyes wide.
"Are you okay?"
She looked at him for a beat longer, and then glanced at the direction Tristan had fled once again. She wasn't quite sure what to say, and her thoughts were swimming. She heard his biting words over in her mind, and desperately tried to figure out exactly where their conversation had made that turn into bitterness and anger. Perhaps he was already there before she approached him tonight.
"Rory? Did that guy upset you?"
She looked back at Daniel, biting her lip for a moment. She shook her head slightly and put her hand out on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Daniel. I have to go," she said simply before turning and disappearing into the crowd herself. She walked quickly, lest anyone stop her. She knew her coat was somewhere up near the front—Richard had checked all their coats at the door. If she hadn't been wearing such a sheer dress in winter, she wouldn't have bothered. She tapped her foot on the marble floors as the attendant took her ticket and began searching through the sea of black dress coats.
"Rory!"
Giving a silent groan of frustration, she turned slightly towards her grandmother who was advancing quickly.
"Hey, Grandma," she acknowledged.
"Where are you going? Daniel just came up to me and informed me that you just took off. Are you sick?"
"No, Grandma, this was a lovely event, but I have to go," she said, grabbing her long awaited coat from the teenaged attendant.
"Rory, I demand you tell me what is going on!"
"I'll call you tomorrow, Grandma, good night," she said, kissing her grandmother's cheek before sprinting out the door as fast as her heeled feet could take her.
She half expected to emerge into the bustling streets of New York, only to hear the relative quiet of Hartford. She pulled out her cell phone, unsure of exactly where to go. She went for the obvious and scrolled down to his name and pressed Send. She stood in the cold night air, pulling her coat closed around her as she began to pace back and forth as it rang on. Finally she got his voicemail and left a message to call her as soon as he got this. She stopped pacing and tried to think. She'd never been to his family's house in Hartford—all she knew in Hartford was Chilton, the mall and her grandparent's house. Sighing, she moved back into the museum to seek out some help.
It took her a moment, but she caught sight of him and wove back quickly through the crowd still in her coat. She waited politely for the men to reach a natural lull in conversation and put her hand on his arm.
"Rory, I thought you'd left," Richard said, turning so he could put his hand in the small of her back.
"Well, I was going to, but . . ." she looked around and leaned closer to her grandfather. "Could I speak to you in private for a moment?"
Richard followed her back towards the entrance, and after she spoke briefly he rifled through his wallet and handed her a business card. She hugged him gratefully and bid her goodbyes as she raced back outside and hailed a cab. She gave the address to the driver quickly, unable to settle back and enjoy the short ride. She tried to sort out her thoughts, but found them too tangled like prey in a spider web. She felt like she was sliding down a cliff, finding no handholds on the way down. She decided to take a deep breath to find she hadn't really been breathing at all.
The cab pulled up in the driveway, she paid the driver and got out. He asked if he should wait, but she insisted he head off even though she didn't even know if she would find what she was looking for here. The house looked very dark, and she made her way slowly to the large oak front door. She pressed the doorbell and waited, checking her cell phone for any activity.
By the time the door opened, her teeth were chattering in the air that was growing frosty. She could see her breath, and wished for her hat and her warm scarf. She'd expected a maid to answer, but instead standing in front of her was a disheveled Tristan. He was still in his dress shirt and pants, but the tie and jacket had been long since discarded. The shirt was open to almost half down his chest with the sleeves unbuttoned at the cuffs and his hair was rumpled.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, completely surprised to see Rory standing in the doorway to his grandfather's house.
"Can I come in?" she asked bravely, almost positive he would say no but hoping he would let her into the warmth if only to call another cab.
"How did you find me?"
"Can I please come in?"
He noticed suddenly that her teeth were chattering and her face was flushed from the cold air that was starting to get frosty and windy. Her breath was coming out in long puffs that almost reached him before the warmth was sucked into the cold air again.
"Yeah, come on in," he said, stepping back to allow her into the hall.
She looked around the looming house, noticing you could probably fit two of her grandparent's house in this particular mansion. She'd been in houses this big before, but only a small number of times. She didn't take her coat off, as she was still cold; instead she stood there rubbing her hands down her arms to warm up. He gestured to the main room, and led her towards the already lit fireplace.
"That's what I was doing when I heard the door," he explained as she looked gratefully at the fire.
"Oh," she said, sitting down on a chair next to the fireplace.
He watched her as she bit her lip, wondering if she was going to speak. He couldn't believe she'd sought him out—he didn't deserve it the way he'd acted at the museum. Perhaps he should say something, he thought, but he didn't even know where to begin.
"I'm sorry for barging in on you," she finally said.
"How did you know I was here?" he asked quietly as he sat on the couch opposite her chair.
"I asked my grandfather for the address. I know you've said that you prefer to stay here instead of with your parents when you're in town," she explained.
"Yeah," he nodded. "Rory, I'm sorry."
"For what?" her tone wasn't that of ignorance, but of real wondering. She wanted to see what his motivations for acting the way he did were. He had always been sarcastic with her, but never biting or mean.
"I shouldn't have been so angry with you—you didn't do anything wrong."
"No, I didn't," she agreed quietly. "Did something else happen to upset you?"
He shook his head, unable to look her directly in the eye. He began to fear that if he looked her in the eye, she'd be able to read everything he was feeling. He wasn't quite sure himself how he felt, so he kept his gaze on the fire cracking in the hearth.
"No, nothing happened, I was just—being an ass."
"Tristan," she barely spoke his name, her tone was barely a whisper. He looked into her eyes and for a moment they both looked like they desperately needed to say something to the other. He couldn't avert his gaze, she looked as if she were about to cry; but there was something else in her eyes.
"Yeah?"
"Can you show me to the bathroom? I never did make it at the museum," she said finally, looking away from his gaze first. He nodded before leading her towards the closest bathroom and then he moved to the kitchen for a drink. Anything to occupy some time.
She looked in the mirror after she washed her hands, and decided to splash some cool water on her face. There was something in his eyes just now that haunted her. He looked like he was about to unburden himself somehow, but something inside her broke and she asked for the bathroom before she made a fool of herself. She had to go back out there, and the tension between them was immeasurable. She wasn't sure how, but all she wanted to do at the moment was get back to the easy friendship they'd fallen into the last few weeks—before he came over to her apartment the week before. The tension had been mounting with every conversation and meeting they'd had since then. Taking another deep breath after she toweled her damp face off, she turned the knob slowly and headed out into the hallway.
He was nowhere to be found when she emerged. She followed the path back to the living room, and looked around for a moment, before seeing him come back in with two steaming mugs in his hands.
"I looked for coffee, but the servants have the night off and I couldn't find it, so I made hot chocolate," he explained, holding out a mug for her to take.
"Thanks," she smiled and pulled the mug close to her, wrapping her hands around it. She looked into the warm brown liquid, watching with fascination as the mini-marshmallows dissolved into the sea of chocolate.
"Rory," he sighed, putting his mug down on a side table. He turned to face her, noticing she'd taken her coat off after returning from the bathroom. She was still in that slinky black dress—he noticed in this light that it was nearly see through the material was so sheer. It'd seemed almost reflective in the bright lights at the museum. He swallowed hard, and put his arm over the back of the couch.
"Look, I just wanted to make sure that we're still okay," he phrased his words carefully, not wanting her take anything the wrong way.
"We're okay," she nodded. "Just. . . Did I do something to make you angry?"
Her eyes were concerned, growing wider by the moment. He hated himself for making her feel as if she were to blame for his fit. "No, you didn't do anything. I've just had a lot on my mind lately."
"Oh, work?" she managed, still clasping desperately to the mug in her hands.
"Yeah, work," he lied, hoping the universe wouldn't strike him down for telling a necessary falsehood.
"It's been crazy for me, too. All this week I've been killing myself, trying to make up for the week I was out of the office, then Grandma called to set me up at the museum tonight—all I wanted to do was hide in my office this weekend under the mountains of paperwork to alleviate the craziness," she explained.
"So, tonight was another set up?" he tried again to sound supportive, and it worked much better this time around than it had at the museum.
"Yeah, that guy, Daniel. I have to admit, he wasn't as bad as what everyone else has set me up with," she gave a small smile, unsure of how much of this to share with Tristan. Before, she gave no thought to giving him full details on her bad dates. But the way he'd reacted to her, whether it was really work-stress induced or not. . . she felt weird telling him that she had a good time on a date. Even if it was just for fifteen minutes.
"I didn't, I mean, you left him to come here?" he grimaced.
"It's fine," she assured him.
"No, you can still go back," he tried.
"Look, you and I, we needed to get whatever that was cleared up. You're my friend and if you need someone to talk to, I'm glad to help you out. Besides, I'm sure Grandma's already given him my number," she rolled her eyes.
He nodded, appreciative of her wanting to be there with him. He felt a slight burning in his abdomen when she mentioned this guy getting her number. He took a drink of his hot chocolate as she did the same.
"So, you'll see him again?" He didn't want to hear the answer. Either way she answered led to possibilities he didn't know if he was ready to face. He liked this limbo they existed in the last few weeks, sans last week, having the other as a confidant.
"Oh, I don't know. He was nice; smart, funny, attractive. But I don't know, there was just something missing, you know?"
Again, those blue eyes were mesmerizing him into nodding and keeping silent. He had no more words tonight; he just knew he needed to get away from her. This conversation was going to continue to get more tension filled, despite the lightness they were both pretending to be maintaining. Their topics of conversation almost seemed dangerous, as if both could be hurt at any given moment by the other's reactions to probing questions.
"Yeah, I know," he managed. "It's late. Do you need a ride somewhere?"
"Oh, I'll just call a cab," she said, setting her drained mug down on the table and standing to look for her coat which held her cell phone.
"I'll give you a ride," he insisted.
"No, Tristan, I'm staying at my mom's Inn, in Stars Hollow," she explained. "I'll be fine in a cab."
"I won't hear of it, let's go," he stopped her as she had started to dial, and she smiled gratefully as he moved to pull his shoes and jacket on. He led her back through the house and out into the garage, where his car was parked next to a Jaguar and a Rolls Royce in the four-car garage. She would never get used to seeing such luxury strewn about in the midst of someone's everyday life. Tristan led that kind of life from birth, where he would never look twice at such things. They were a part of his landscape, like her mother's mannequin for dressmaking was in her own. She felt at times like this that they were from different planets, not just zip codes.
She slid into the familiar leather interior, feeling comfortable immediately. She liked Tristan's car, having ridden in it a few times at this point. The first time was after their disastrous double date. He got in next to her, and turned the ignition on, and immediately his hand reached out to turn down the volume on the stereo, which had obviously been blaring at top volume when he'd last emerged. She gave a snicker at the action and he pulled out into the streets.
Very little was said on the ride. He knew how to get to Stars Hollow, but she navigated him through to the Inn, and he pulled up in the lot and turned off his ignition. He turned to face her in the bucket seats, and she gave a smile.
"You really, didn't have to do this," she reiterated.
"I know, I wanted to."
"It's so late," she said, checking her watch.
"It is late," he concurred.
"So, I'll see you back in the city?"
"Yeah," he agreed again. He wanted her to stay, just a moment longer, hoping he'd crack and confess the thoughts he'd been having about wanting to be the guy she'd been having fun with earlier in the evening. Ever since he'd gotten to his grandfather's house, he'd been superimposing his own image of that of her escort, and chastising himself for that and they way in which he'd spoken to her.
"Thanks, again, for the ride," she said, now feeling rather stupid. All that was left was for her to get out of the car, but she couldn't make her hand reach for the door handle. She wasn't quite ready yet.
He nodded, noticing her stalling. His breath stopped, and he watched as his hand reached out to lift the strap of her dress that had began to fall down her shoulder. She'd not put her coat back on, as they walked through the house into the garage without ever being outdoors. She had it securely in her lap, grasping onto it like a safety bar on a roller coaster. He noticed her eyes close as his fingers brushed her skin, and he couldn't have stopped his next action if he'd realized he was doing it.
He leaned over the console and brushed his lips to hers. He suddenly became hyperaware of his heart beating almost out of his chest, the feel of her lips moving softly against his in response, then his hand coming up under her hair and weaving into it. He was fully back into his body by the time he leaned back, and her eyes opened.
Her eyelids fluttered opened, and she couldn't quite believe that not a second before, his lips had been on hers except that she could still feel them as if they'd been burned onto her own. As his hand ran through the length of her hair, she gave a slight shudder until it fell away and back onto his lap.
"Night," she whispered before reaching for the door handle and letting herself out of his car. She closed the door softly, not waiting for a response from him as she made her way up the steps of the inn. She noticed the car was still sitting in the lot when she turned to pull the door shut behind her. Making her way into her room, she lay over the covers and touched two fingers gently to her lips.
AN: this was a long one, no? hmm. Well, there you go, and no, we're nowhere near done. At least, I have a few more things in store, I'll say that much. But I can only hear you request "GET THEM TOGETHER ALREADY" so much before having to give you a little taste, right? Anyhow, thanks for all the reviews, all are appreciated; I love your reactions and all that. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!