Once again, Nat gets like 99 of the credit for this (dude, I get the 1 'cause I'm just special). She practically WROTE this entire chapter AND then she checked it for spelling and grammar mistakes. AND she's still talking to me after all my "Ok, what should happen next? And after that? What should he say?" I'm so co-dependant. Thanks Nat kisses

And also this is most likely a temp title, just so you don't get confused if there's a chapter two.

Enjoy.

"So what if I was a bastard in high school! You're a bitch now! I grew out of it, but you're growing into it!"

Another shirt was grabbed off a metal hanger and shoved angrily into the leather suitcase sitting on the bed.

"You're growing OUT of it? Please! You are and always will BE a bastard! It's in your genes!"

The shirt was yanked from the suitcase and folded before being shoved back in.

" You are so fucking pretentious you can't even see beyond anyone but yourself! Take a look in the mirror, you're not freaking perfect!"

This time it was a pair of jeans that fell victim to the harsh treatment.

"I know I'm not perfect! And I've accepted it, but you... you keep trying to live up to," wild exaggerated flailing of hands "something and you don't even know what it is! What are you trying to prove?"

Once more the garment was grabbed out and folded before being thrown back in with its counterparts.

In a resigned voice she continued "You can't keep doing this Tristan. I don't understand why you do."

Momentarily, it seemed like the anger had fled from his system, but she should have known better, with one sweep of his arm he knocked the entire suitcase to the carpeted floor sending clothing sailing out and landing in crumpled disarray. He continued his assault, kicking his feet into it until it lay against the wall, one side of the expensive piece of luggage caved in.

Rory jumped back, not used to such displays of rage from her seemingly stable soon to be husband. Where did this come from?

Tristan turned from the ruined suitcase toward the dresser, lowering his head in defeat before the mirror. He stood there silent, breathing hard.

She took a step closer, hoping to calm him before he did anything stupid. Opening her mouth to speak she was disgusted to find that her voice, meant to come across as strong and in control came out soft and whispered, "Tristan? I-"

He lifted his head, first staring at her form in the mirror and than at his own reflection. Rory had the sense to step back just as his face contorted into rage and before she could comprehend what was happening, millions of pieces of glass lay shattered on the floor and Tristan's hand was covered in blood. He stared down, dumbfounded by his own actions as Rory wordlessly left the room to retrieve a first aid kit.

She gently led him over to the bed, wincing at the bloody mess. Tiny shards of glass glittered at her and she held back the urge to throw up and instead set about getting them out as gently as possible.

"Ow."

She smiled slightly at his whimpered objections but said nothing. Tristan tried desperately to regulate his breathing and concentrate on anything but the pain. He settled for losing his uninjured hand in her long curtain of silky brown hair, comforting himself as she worked methodically on making him better. His self-pity and anger slowly ebbed away and gave way to shame and guilt.

"I'm sorry."

Rory didn't stop her work, but he felt the bare hint of a nod.

"It's just-... I don't think it's justifiable. The way I acted. But I am sorry."

Finishing the job on his hand, she finally turned to face him. "I know you are Tristan. But I- I can't help noticing that these arguments are becoming more and more frequent. And I can't even remember what started this one. Maybe," she looked down "maybe it's a sign." The words were rushed and quiet but Tristan heard them as if they were being screamed repeatedly in his ears.

Standing up, Rory packed away the first aid and began her way to the bathroom. It took Tristan less than a second to catch up with her.

"What do you mean a sign?"

She refused to meet his gaze, settling for a stray sock lying at the foot of the bed. "We fight all the time. We can't be together for more than a half hour without arguing. And tonight..."

"That's like our thing, Ror. Other couples do the 'cupcake, shnookums' thing, we do the 'bastard, bitch' thing. It's actually quite kinky if you think about it." His voice trailed off with a suggestive tone, a ready smirk gracing his face.

Rory shook her head, "No Tristan. It's 'our thing' when we argue about who's the better James Bond. It's completely different when it's...this" she gestured to around the room, taking in the clothing and glass littering the floot.

He stepped closer, one arm going around her waist pulling her into him while his other lost itself in her hair. "Babe, we're going away to stay with my parents. For a week. That's enough to make anyone crazy. Lucky for me, I've got you to keep me in line."

"I didn't keep you in line, Tristan. I just stopped the blood."

"Well then lucky for me I've got you to keep me bandaged and out of hospital." He felt her chuckle at that and let out a sigh of relief. "I really am sorry. But we are NOT breaking up over this. And that's final."

Rory pushed him away, looking indignant "I'm sorry, you think you have ANY say over this? If I wanted to break up, we'd break up. I don't need your permission and the fact that you think I do is not only offensive, it's laughable and-" she stopped abruptly, realising he was deliberately riling her up.

"See? If we didn't fight there would be only one other way to get such a passionate response from you." A naughty grin appeared on his face and Rory suddenly found herself lying naked on their bed.

"Brad is Vanilla. Josh is..." a contemplative silence, "Josh is Triple Fudge Choc."

"In the way that Brad's bland?"

"In the way that, comparatively, Vanilla is very normal, missionary sex."

A gasp, "And Triple Fudge?"

"Triple Fudge Choc would have to be tie them up and fuck them from behind until they can't walk then fuck them again and again."

Another pause of great deliberation, "I'd go with Josh."

"Yeah."

Rory glanced away, embarrassed to have overheard the conversation. The two women in front of her continued giggling and exchanging looks, discussing the merits of different positions and trading tips.

She always hated the line for a toilet in the plane.

"Tristan."

No response.

"Tristan." A little louder.

Still nothing.

"Tristan!" A harsh whisper and an elbow jabbed in the ribs did the trick.

Tristan awoke immediately, startled out of the dream he was having. The very, very, very good dream he was having. He briefly wondered if he could talk Rory into joining the Mile High Club, but dismissed the thought. For the moment at least.

"What? Are we landing?"

"Not for another four hours. I need to ask you something."

He yawned and stretched out in the luxurious first class seat before turning his face toward hers. "Ask away. But first, how big are the bathrooms on this plane?"

"They're pretty large as far as plane- wait...why?" Rory knew him well enough to realise that he was up to some- "I am not having sex with you on the plane, Tristan!" She glanced around, checking no one had heard her, luckily the plane lights had been turned off in favour of sleeping and they were doing a wonderful job.

"Hey, I was just wondering..." Noticing he was about to fall asleep, Rory leaned over and poked his chest, assuring he would stay awake for the duration of the conversation.

"Am I vanilla?"

"Hmmm?"

"Sit up. This is serious."

Hearing the urgency in her voice, Tristan knew immediately what it was about. She needed to be reassured that she was the most beautiful woman in his world - no, in THE world. A task he had mastered quite easily seeing as he honestly believed that. Complying with her request, he sat up and donned his Serious Face.

"What's up, Mar?"

He could not have said anything more wrong.

Rory gasped sharply and turned away from him, quickly situating the head phones on her ears and pretending he didn't exist.

Tristan sat, momentarily stunned. What had just happened? This was supposed to be cake. He'd say a few kind words, tease her a bit, she'd roll her eyes and sit back, sufficiently satisfied. If he played his cards right, he might even get a kiss out of the whole thing. Where had he gone wrong?

Where had she gone wrong?

While Tristan was pondering his dilemma, Rory was having trouble with her own.

She was vanilla. She was definitely vanilla. At least compared to The Ex. It was certain. Tristan was a Double Fudge Choc Espresso Mocha with sprinkles and cream. At least he was for her.

Her mind wandered to last night's argument. It always came down to one thing. Always came back to The Ex. Rory had met her on too many occasions for her liking. Exactly what she had expected of the Tristan Dugrey Type, Nicole was a leggy (leggy, leggy, LEGGY) blonde (blonde, blonde, BLONDE). Her chemically straightened hair always styled with such precision Rory thought the hairstylists must have glued it together with crazy glue. Her clothes always form-fitting always toeing - yet never crossing, the thin line from sexy elegance to skanky ho-iness. Despite her bleached hair and fake tan, Rory found it hard to comprehend how she always managed to look so natural.

It was easy to see Tristan's initial attraction to the blonde. Hell, the entire Dugrey family was attracted to her. She was the pure-bred heiress to a crucial alliance of his father's business. She was smart, beautiful and Tristan's perfect match in every which way. In their eyes Rory - no matter how well connected - was the heathen that had seduced their boy and led him away from a life of riches and luxury to a life of, well he still had the riches and the luxury, but his wife wasn't going to be blonde. Or tanned. The worst thing about Rory was that she wasn't Nicole Belling.

"Ror? Baby, what's wrong?"

Thinking it better to talk this out rather than sulk, she slipped the headphones off and turned back to her fiancée.

"It's Nicole."

Tristan barely controlled the urge to roll his eyes. "What about her?"

"She'll be there, Tristan." Was he being purposely slow?

"Yes, yes she will. She IS, after all, Danielle's best friend. And the maid of honour." He gently reminded.

"I know, but...your mother has probably already planned to keep me busy or lock me in a cellar in the middle of the night. Nicole will enter your room and you'll think it's me and then I'll happen to conveniently walk in on you two and think the worst-"

"You always think the worst of me, Gilmore." Was that a hint of bitterness she detected in his voice? "And besides, now you know if you ever walk in on me and her, it isn't my fault."

Rory stared at him, hurt by his callousness. Didn't he understand this was serious? She picked up her book and got back to reading.

Tristan sat silently for moments. She had no right to do this. Granted his mother would jump at such an opportunity as what Rory had just described, but she really should think more of him at this point. They were getting married, and that wasn't going to happen if there wasn't any trust. And Tristan knew she trusted him and would always give him the benefit of the doubt, no matter what. Which was why he couldn't understand the problem. It wasn't as Nicole was LIVING with them. The longer he sat, the angrier he got. Finally, being able to stand it no longer, he leaned forward and snapped her book shut, letting it drop to the floor with a heavy thud.

He pulled her to face him, whispering angrily "'It's not my fault. I have no control over Danielle and Richard's actions - I can't stop them from getting married, nor do I have any control over Nicole's actions. Pull your head out of your ass Rory, this isn't a grand conspiracy on my parents behalf for them to get me to dump you and marry Nicole!"

Rory pulled her chin out of his grip before facing him again. "Every time Tristan! Every single time we meet your parents and she's even within a hundred mile radius they find as many reasons as they can for you to spend time alone with her! It might not be a 'conspiracy'" she spat, "but it's more than coincidence. This isn't just one of those things where it'll stop as soon as we get married. That won't be the end and you know it. And I would much rather call it off now instead of having to get a di- instead of during the marriage. It would save us both a hell of a lot of heartbreak and humiliation."

She watched his face carefully for any clues as to what he was thinking. There was a scowl- that pretty much gave it away. Tristan however, always full of surprises, responded by grabbing her hand, checking up and down both aisles and pulling her into the toilet with him.

They walked out ten minutes later, still pissed at each other, dishevelled and thoroughly satisfied.

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