Pairing: Established relationships for L/L and P/J; R/T eventually
Spoilers: May reference any and all episodes from seasons 1 & 2, up to and including Lost and Found.
Rating: R
Summary: Future fic. Seven years after graduating from Chilton, Rory and Paris are business partners. What happens when they strike up a joint venture with Tristan DuGrey?
Disclaimer: All characters from the television show Gilmore Girls were created by Amy Sherman-Palladino, and are the property of Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions and Hofflund-Pollone. They are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made from their use.
A/N: I apologize for the long delay. Not having fanfiction.net up kind of stifled my motivation. This chapter's title quote is from Scream.
Unholy Alliance
By Grace
Part Sixteen: What's your favorite scary movie?
Kicking back in her chair, Rory moaned, "I surrender."
Tristan grinned at her from across the table. "What's wrong Mary? Is the brainstorming wearing you out?"
"I'm not even sure I have a brain anymore. I think it might have melted," she whined.
"Aww, poor baby. I suppose we've done enough for one day. Why don't you go home, get some rest, and we'll start up again tomorrow?"
"You," she said with a point of her finger, "are a slave driver."
He flashed a wicked smirk her direction. "I've never had any complaints before."
"How do you manage to make every little thing sound sexual?"
"Years of practice."
She sighed. "I don't know why I bother. Now come on—we'd better clean this place up, or Paris will have a stroke."
"And you call me a slave driver?"
She only smiled and began to take the paper off the walls. When she uncovered the windows, Rory let out a gasp of dismay.
"What's wrong?" Tristan asked immediately.
"Oh, nothing, really. I guess I'll just have to take the bus home today. It's pouring out."
His eyebrows went up in surprise. "I didn't know it was supposed to rain today."
"Me, either. It must be some kind of freak storm or something."
"Well, don't worry about taking the bus home. I can give you a ride."
"Oh, that's okay. I don't want you to go out of your way."
"Rory, it's no problem, really."
"If you're sure…"
"I'm positive. Now let's finish up before the weather gets any worse."
They worked diligently and in silence for several minutes, and were cleaning up the last vestiges of Play-Doh when Paris entered the room.
"Good, you two are almost done. They're predicting severe thunderstorms until about midnight."
"We'll be out of here in a couple minutes," Rory responded. "We didn't even realize it was raining until a little while ago."
"Do you need a ride home?"
"No, Tristan said he would take me."
Paris hid a smile. "Okay, then I'll see you tomorrow."
The three of them quickly said their good-byes, and ten minutes later, Rory and Tristan were getting into his BMW.
"Nice car," she commented.
"It's a rental."
"You know, normal people rent things like Dodge Neons and Pontiac Grand Ams."
"When has anyone ever accused me of being normal?"
"Point taken."
They kept up a stream of light chatter as Rory directed him through the streets of Hartford. With each successive turn, a sinking feeling began to grow in the pit of Tristan's stomach. His suspicions were confirmed when they reached the final street and Rory indicated the very building in which he himself had recently taken up residence.
Pulling the car up to the curb and shutting off the engine, he mumbled, "I'm going to kill her."
Cocking her head to one side, Rory asked, "What was that?"
"Nothing. Well, here we are—home sweet home."
"Thanks for the ride, Tristan. Now go on—you really shouldn't be driving in this weather."
"Don't worry—I live nearby."
"Really? Where?"
"Actually…I live here."
Rory paled. "What do you mean, you live here?"
"Here, as in your building. Apartment B."
Understanding began to dawn for Rory. "You're Jenny's sub-letter?"
"The one and only."
"How did you find out about the apartment?"
"Paris told me about it," he said softly.
"I'm sorry. What did you say?"
"Paris told me," he repeated, louder this time. "I swear, Rory, I didn't know this was your building until just now. If you want, I can find someplace else to live…"
Reaching across the shifter console, Rory placed her hand atop his. "Tristan, it's okay, really. So we're neighbors—big deal. I don't know why Paris turned it into a cloak-and-dagger routine, but honestly, I don't mind."
"Really?" He couldn't quite keep the doubt from creeping into his voice.
"Really. Besides, now we can carpool to work."
"Oh, I see. You're just using me for my automobile." The sparkle in his eyes let Rory know he was teasing.
"Oh, man, you figured me out!" she exclaimed. "I confess, I get such a charge out of German cars with leather interiors."
Tristan chuckled at that, and for once refrained from making an innuendo-laden comment. Instead, he said, "It looks like the rain is letting up a little. We should probably get in the building while the getting is good."
Nodding in agreement, Rory gathered up her purse and attaché case, and the two of them made a mad dash for shelter.
* * *
The first thing Rory did when she entered her apartment was start peeling off her wet clothes. Taking a nice, hot shower and then curling up with a good book sounded immensely appealing.
Twenty minutes later, she was comfortably ensconced in her fluffy terry-cloth bathrobe, scanning her bookshelves for the perfect rainy-night read. Just as she settled on Emma, there was a blinding flash of lightning, immediately followed by a crack of thunder that shook the building, and then the power went out. Calming down from the initial shock, Rory cautiously made her way into the kitchen, and grabbed a flashlight from the top of the refrigerator. Training the beam on the interior of her junk drawer, she rummaged around for a few minutes and finally came up with a book of matches.
Making her way through the apartment, she lit every candle she could find. She wasn't afraid of the dark, exactly; she simply preferred the light. After all, it was practically impossible to read in the dark.
Nevertheless, when another violent peal of thunder rattled the windowpanes, Rory sincerely regretted every horror and slasher flick she had ever allowed her mother to talk into watching. It was always during storms like these that the psychotic serial killer came to the unsuspecting, innocent young girl's home…
At that moment, there was a loud knock on the door, and Rory screamed…forgetting for a moment that serial killers generally don't knock.
"Rory!" Tristan's frantic voice echoed through the door. "Are you okay? It's Tristan. Let me in, will you?"
Her heart still pounding, Rory hurried over to the door, flung it open, grabbed Tristan by the front of his shirt, and hauled him inside.
He put his hands on her shoulders, and could feel her trembling. "What's wrong? What happened?"
Her laugh was shaky. "Nothing. It's stupid, really. Basically, I psyched myself into believing I was Neve Campbell in Scream."
He removed his right hand from her arm and swiped it across his face. "Jesus, Mary, you scared the crap out of me! I thought you were hurt, or in trouble…" Trailing off, he pulled Rory tightly to him, close enough that she could hear the pounding of his heart.
The intimacy of the moment startled her, and it took her a few seconds before she pulled away. Glancing up, she was even more surprised to see a look of genuine tenderness gracing his handsome features.
"Hey, I'm fine," she said quietly, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him. "Anyway, what were you doing pounding on my door in the middle of a storm?"
His expression turned sheepish. "Um, I was hoping I could borrow some matches or something. I haven't lived in the apartment long enough to know where everything is yet."
"Oh, sure! But, you know, if you'd rather, you could hang out here until the power comes back. Maybe order Chinese or something…"
Even in the darkness, she could see him smirking at her. "Don't want to be by yourself in the dark, huh? Need big, strong Tristan to protect you?"
She heard the laughter in his voice clearly, and reached out to smack him. "Do you even have any concept of how to be gracious?"
"Well…no, not really."
Rory groaned in exasperation. "Ungracious, but honest. I guess I can live with that."
"How comforting. Oh, and I'd love to stick around for Chinese food."
"You would? Okay." She crossed into the kitchen and began rifling through a stack of papers on the counter. "I know I have a take-out menu around here somewhere…" After going through the pile twice, she triumphantly held up a rather worn piece of paper. "A-ha!" She handed him the menu. "Here, take a look. I already know what I want."
Tristan quickly perused to selections. "General Tso's chicken sounds okay."
Nodding, Rory picked up the kitchen phone. Dialing quickly, she put it to her ear, only to discover there was no dial tone. "Um, we have a minor technical difficulty. The line is dead."
"Why don't you try your cell phone?"
"Good idea." She had tossed her purse on the kitchen table when she got home from work, and now she pulled her cell phone from it. After a moment, she announced, "I can't get a signal. The tower must be down."
Tristan pulled a small phone out of his pocket. "Here, I'll see if mine works." All too soon, he shook his head. "Apparently the storm knocked out pretty much everything."
Rory groaned. "Wonderful. Man, I really had a taste for shrimp-fried rice, too. Now what do we do?"
"Oh, I'm sure we can scrounge up something. What do you have in your fridge?"
She looked away from him, embarrassed. "Not much. I don't cook very often, and I really need to go to the grocery store."
He smiled indulgently. "Then I guess it's time to get creative."
She eyed him skeptically. "You can cook?"
"Sure. It's a great way to impress women, you know."
"Gee, I'll be sure to keep that in mind."
He chuckled softly. "Now, let's see what we can dig up?" He opened a cabinet door, discovered dishes, and moved on to the next one.
"Do you mind?" she protested.
"No. Do you want to eat?"
"Yes," she grudgingly admitted.
"Then help me rummage!"
Ten minutes later, they had come up with half a box of Pop Tarts, one hot dog of indiscriminate age, a frozen loaf of bread, and two cans of Dr. Pepper.
"You weren't kidding when you said you didn't have much! Good Lord, what do you eat?"
Rory sighed. "Take-out. Lots and lots of take-out."
He grabbed her hand. "Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"My apartment, where actual food lives."
"Tristan, I don't think that's a good idea…"
He turned to face her, inadvertently drawing her closer. "We can either stay here and go hungry, or go to my place and eat. How is that not a good idea?"
"For one thing, I'm not dressed." Even in the candle-lit dimness, Tristan could see her cheeks suffuse with color.
Slowly, he scanned her from head to toe, his gaze speculative. "I must be losing my touch, Mary. I didn't even notice," he murmured.
Nervously, she pulled free the hand she had only just realized was still clasped in his. Tugging her bathrobe more tightly closed around her neck, Rory stammered, "Why don't you, um, head over to the apartment, and I'll, uh, meet you there?"
"Okay. Where are the matches?"
"Kitchen table," she called back over her shoulder as she headed for the bedroom.
Once the door was securely shut behind her, Rory slumped against it, exhaling loudly. That had been…weird. She was used to Tristan being overtly flirtatious, to having conversations laden with sexual innuendo. By this point in time, she was practically immune to it. But the look on his face just now, when he stared at her so intently…she had felt a slow, lazy heat spread through her body. If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn she and Tristan had just shared a moment…a moment when attraction sparked and flared, and had it been another moment on another day, it might have become more than just a moment.
With a determined shake of her head, Rory yanked open the closet and a dresser drawer, pulling out a pair of shorts and a tank top. On second thought, perhaps a T-shirt would be better…
* * *
Across the hall, Tristan let himself into his apartment and slumped against the wall. What the hell had just happened over there? The air between himself and Rory had practically crackled with electricity. It had to be the lightning flashing almost continuously outside. After all—Rory was immune to his charms. Wasn't she? He shook his head. Of course she was—she had been for years.
Still, that didn't change the fact that he was anything but immune to her charms. Somehow, he had to figure out how to survive an evening spent cooking her a candlelit dinner. Okay, it was power-outage-induced candlelit, but really, candlelight was candlelight.
Groaning, he shuffled off in the direction of the kitchen. With the way his luck was going tonight, he'd probably be so distracted while he cooked diner that he would set the kitchen on fire, burn down the building, and end up having to spend the night with her in the only available hotel room in the entire city, which would, of course, only have one bed.
Tristan smirked. On second thought, maybe that wouldn't be so bad…