Sixty Ways to Ditch a Bag-Boy
Disclaimer: I am not Amy Sherman-Palladino. I am not even a very good imitation. I don't want money; I don't want fame; I just want to take her characters out for a ride. I'll play nicely.
Author's Note: As I say, this is an exploration of endings. It isn't particularly anti-Dean; it certainly isn't pairing Tristan and Rory (I am a bit too snobbish to say "Trory"), other than for this part. Chapters (if more inspiration comes) will be completely unconnected and more like a series of AU vignettes. And yes, I'm a rather prickly individual, why do you ask? I don't think I mind reviews, though. Tentatively.
1: Send Him a "Dear John" Letter
"I'd kiss you good-bye, but your boyfriend's right there." He shifted awkwardly, half the cocky bastard and half as unsure as she'd ever seen him. Vulnerable, almost. Giving her the chance for the unspoken I-told-you-so--he was better than this, he had been being stupid, and now there were no excuses or ways to charm himself out of his mess. Even when she was babbling innocently--"so apologize and give back the money..."--they both knew his magic had run out. This time, there were consequences.
She ignored the mention of Dean, brushing it out of her mind impatiently in favor of the more important parts. He had a soul, underneath all the bravado, and while it might not reach Mother Theresa standards, it was definitely closer to Billy Graham than Tammy Faye Bakker. Good people weren't supposed to be punished for stupidity like this; military school was for the Junior Burglars of America and the sons of ex-Navy SEALs.
Military school was almost like going off to war; she figured he had a fifty-fifty chance of survival. It wasn't right, and it wasn't fair, and weren't soldiers supposed to have a sweetheart to come home to? She bit her lip angrily and avoided his eyes. It was far too late for I-told-you-so's.
"Bye, Mary," he said, and attempted a smile. It was a good attempt: half of it steadied into the patented Tristan smirk. It was the other half--the half the tipped down into the bewilderment and shame that Tristan couldn't let himself articulate--that broke her heart.
He shifted again and turned away, leaving her to watch the arc of his neck and back, interrupted by his jacket. It was almost an epiphany: no one else cares. No one else sees. Isn't he supposed to have someone to come home to?
"I don't care," she found herself saying, and she was relieved when he turned back.
"What?" His voice was blank and fuzzy and entirely Tristan, and she still didn't like him, but he didn't deserve this.
She could feel Dean's eyes burning into her side, and she didn't like the feeling. It was stifling. So she said it again. "I don't care."
"About what?"
"That my boyfriend's watching." She watched impassively while his brain skimmed backwards through their conversations, stopping along the way in his own versions of their silences, finally alighting on his throw-away parting shot.
His smirk returned, and she took courage from the knowledge that both sides of it held firmly. "Well," he returned, "if you insist..." But his eyes were as soft as any other time he had had all his barriers down, and she was somehow surprised that she was not confused or regretful. This was what she wanted, and she knew it.
She stood very still, with her boyfriend still staring at her from a distance, and she held Tristan's eyes until he came too close for her to focus on them any more. Then she closed her own.
He cupped her face in his hands, which were large and unremarkable and ever-so-slightly damp, and he leaned down to her and kissed her sweetly.
He had better sense than to kiss her for very long, and he wasted half a second on regret at never getting to kiss her thoroughly--never getting to trap her up against Paris's locker and annoy half the junior class, never getting to tease her along so slowly that it was painful for both of them, never getting to find the sensitive spots on the roof of her mouth. Then the regret flew out of his mind completely, because she began to kiss him back, and he begged whatever gods were watching to let him sear the next four and a half seconds into his brain permanently.
They broke apart, hearing Dean and Mr. DuGray coming to make a scene. Tristan smirked again, thoughts of military school beginning to close over the warmth in his eyes. "Bye, Mary."
"Bye, Tristan." She put her arms around him for a moment, comfortably, and then let him turn from her to meet his father half-way down the hall. She watched them for a moment, Tristan making excuses for his behavior that--perhaps the magic had returned--actually worked, and then turned to meet her boyfriend as he broke free of the crowd.