Summary: Trory. Set Season One Post-TBP2 and Pre-LDAT. The Kiss at Madeline's Party never happened for the purposes of this fic.
Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything that is mentioned in my stories, including the main characters that I've borrowed for my plot manipulations.
Rating: T (might be bumped up with future chapters. The jury's still out.)
Story Title: Untouched
Chapter Title: Part Four
AN: I still maintain that you reviewers rock—the encouragement is more than touching. It's driving, seriously, because I've been unmotivated in other areas lately. So, thanks, over and over. I'm glad you're enjoying this. And I'm sorry this took so long. I had most of it done before last weekend, and then we went away, with no internet access before I got it finished. special AN: Thanks to Miel and Katherine, who will find a special, requested surprise in this chapter. Late night rambling rocks! Salute!
She kept her promises.
She was a woman of her word, always following through no matter how hectic her schedule became. She juggled an intensive homework and course load; participated in multiple charitable and social town activities; kept her mother from killing her grandmother every Friday night and otherwise occupied with movie marathons, junk food fests, and shoe shopping excursions; and still managed to have time to lay around on lazy Sunday afternoons, listening to music and swapping war stories and CDs with her best friend as they unwound down from one week and prepared to go into another.
No one was left out of her world. No one was disappointed.
She kept a balance, not only for her sake, but for those around her. Those important to her got her undivided attention, and all her goals were attended to in order of importance.
However, she was starting to notice the slight changes, after this one extra promise; this one slip into the unknown. With one smile at him she'd taken on one person that could disrupt her flow and take her away from all the others, even if it was just a little bit.
The one person that seemed hell-bent on keeping her off kilter.
The chain reaction was clear in her mind. Just having been with Tristan on Saturday night, she'd abbreviated her time with her mother, thereby cutting into her time with Lane on Sunday, which then kept her up into the wee hours of the night to get her piles of homework completed, and all this led to her sliding into her seat five minutes late to first period chemistry on Monday morning after having overslept.
"Miss Gilmore, I assume you have a tardy slip," Mr. Cox's voice rang out over the otherwise silent room. All eyes swiveled to her while she rifled through her book bag to pull out the crumbled paper she'd stuffed in there as she'd frantically ran to her locker to get the proper books and folders for her first two classes.
"Uh, yes, Sir," she said, smoothing it out as she walked up to the front to hand over the necessary form.
"Missed your bus?" he eyed her from over the top of the note.
"Um, yes, Sir. The first one ran early this morning," she lied, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
"Mmm-hmm. Well, let's not let this happen again, shall we?" Mr. Cox asked, letting her know his tolerance wore out after this first time. Perfection was expected. She nodded and scurried back to her seat, pulling on her goggles as her partner began collecting the necessary chemicals that the teacher had written out on the board.
"Buses sure aren't very reliable, are they?"
She jumped back at the sudden proximity of his voice. Her hand flew to her heart as she turned to face her fellow classmate that was hovering just above her shoulder.
"God, I need to get you a bell," she said, unzipping another pocket on her book bag to find a pen.
"You know, you should find a more dependable mode of transportation," Tristan said, not wavering in his efforts to keep her from class participation.
"What, like a donkey?"
"Nah, much too slow," he shook his head. "I was thinking more like a Mustang," he smirked.
"Right, I'll have my daddy order one when I get home, oh, whoops, how silly of me, I can't. He's in California. Looks like the bus will have to do."
"I meant get someone with a car to give you a ride," he leaned on the edge of her table with his elbows.
As if his proximity would help her harried mind come to a sharper focus.
"No one from this school lives out as far as I do, you know that," she pushed his elbows off the table so she could set down her notebook. "Shouldn't you be bugging your lab partner? Sweet-talking her to make sure she lets you sign your name to her work?"
"Just think about it, Mary," he said, taking his leave leisurely as she tried to pick up in the middle of the experiment that her partner had begun without her.
--&--
Her day was not off to a great start.
And somewhere in the back of her mind was a nagging voice that told her this was just the beginning of a very, very long week. It was only the end of third period and she'd received word of two more papers, three extra credit projects (which were things people like her never left uncompleted), and the promise of a pop quiz some time this week.
Reminding herself that this was what she'd wanted wasn't helping.
Neither were her attempts to avoid Tristan.
The very thought of his name made her groan, realizing that on top of everything else that was expected of her, there was still in the works project she had to find time to squeeze in again Friday night with Tristan after her grandparent dinner. They'd decided it was as good a time as any for them to meet, before he'd gotten in his car to leave on Saturday night.
Saturday night.
The idea of spending the following Saturday night at Louise Grant's party alongside Tristan made her stomach flutter like someone had let a cage of bats loose in there. The idea of being at one of those parties was nerve-wracking enough. She didn't see school as a social contact forum. She was here to drown in knowledge, and on days like this, she was feeling the asphyxiating effects of doing just that. But for people to see her with Tristan, that would only cause them to see her as one of his girls.
The kind of girls that he sported around for anywhere between one hour and two weeks, pressing their backs into anything solid so they can better feel the contrast of the liquid hardness of his body that he impressed into their fronts. Their willingness evident as the memories of the last time swept over their features, rolling their eyes back ever so slightly in their sockets.
She was never becoming one of those girls.
As much as she hated the idea of backing out of an obligation, it was one she'd made in obvious haste, spurred on by (what? It was that very thing that was plaguing her thoughts of late) whatever it was that made her temporarily insane. Her thoughts turned murky when she made attempts to make a solid argument for skipping out on her end of the bargain they'd struck.
Suddenly, however, she had excuses. Legitimate ones. Failure was legitimate. He took the same course load she did. He had to understand. She would go to him and explain. She couldn't fail. He would turn into the boy that seemed to look at her longer than to wonder what kind of underwear she wore under the plaid wool and see that she was a person that had needs.
And she needed not to fail.
"So, Rory, at long last we get you into our grips," came a feminine voice from the other side of her locker. She shut it to face none other than Louise Grant, self proclaimed sex kitten. It wasn't something she aspired to; it was a way of life for the girl. She had the face of an angel and the slink of a lioness. And ironically she was one of the few people Rory could tolerate at this school.
"Excuse me?"
"I hear you're finally coming to one of my parties. This Saturday?"
"Oh, uh, I was thinking about it, but," she shook her head, ready to right this wrong. She would practice her regretful declination on Louise and be fully prepared to face Tristan.
"You can come early, if you want. I mean, Madeline is constantly at my house, when I'm not at hers, and we'll be getting the house all ready," she smiled as if she was set to snag her next all-too-willing victim. "You're totally welcome. You could even borrow an outfit, if you want."
Rory blushed at the idea of wearing anything Louise might have picked out. Sure, they wore the same apparel at school, the standard uniform, but even that Louise managed to make look like she was stepping out of some middle-aged man's wet dream, where as Rory just looked like every other unfortunate sap that had to wear the standard issue prep school uniform.
No adjustments made or deemed necessary.
"That's okay. I don't think I can make it after all," she shrugged, picking her backpack up and slinging it over her shoulders.
"No! You have to come!" she reached out and touched her arm. "Tristan said you'd promised him you'd be there."
"Wait, Tristan told you?" she asked in sudden realization that Tristan had been talking to people about her. And him. And possibly their interactions the prior Saturday. She felt her hands go clammy and her blood drain from her ears. "What else, um, did he say?"
"Not much, just to expect you there, and that you didn't need directions 'cause he was going to be giving you a ride," she smirked knowingly. "Oops, I should go. See you at lunch," she clicked her tongue and took her leave, Rory now standing stupefied in her wake.
--&--
She considered her tactics.
This was going to be a volley match, she knew that. Will against will. He wasn't the type of person to let you off a hook. She took a breath, gathered her wits, and prayed that the events of last Saturday had somehow been forever misplaced in his memory.
"I need to talk to you," she informed him, businesslike and abrupt.
He turned from his friends at his lunch table where he stood, not sat, lording over his cronies. A pleased smiled overtook his face, and he crossed his arms.
"Finally, you've come to join us at the big kids' table," he nodded.
"Hardly. This'll just take a minute," she gestured toward the hallway.
Begrudgingly, he followed her away from his friends and out into the silence of the lunchtime hallway. He leaned into the row of lockers and raised his eyebrows for her to talk.
"Right. Listen. Louise came up to me earlier, in the hallway, and told me that she was looking forward to seeing me on Saturday."
He nodded and shrugged. "So?"
"So? Tristan, you can't tell people I'm going to things with you," she threw her hands up in the air in front of him.
"Why not?"
"Because, it's misleading," she was proud of herself for coming up with what seemed a solid argument on the fly. Damn the mucky, murky space that was her concentration right now.
"Misleading?"
His eyes were boring into her, watching her unravel herself from the inside out.
She took another breath.
"Yes. It gives the illusion we're together."
"Well," he began, his cocky head tilting to one side.
"Like last Saturday, you shouldn't go around telling people that we--," she gulped for air, trying to pinpoint the word that could describe the events of the prior weekend evening. No one thing had particularly happened between the two. But she couldn't say that nothing had happened either.
It'd been a shift of some kind; palpable, uncomfortable, and eye opening. An understanding, of sorts. Intriguing, perhaps. He wasn't looking like he was about help her with adjectives right now.
"You don't want people to know I came to Stars Hollow?" he asked to clarify.
"Right. I mean, not that I think you're going around telling people," she laughed nervously. "Are you?"
"Why would I do a thing like that? I mean, how would that look for my reputation?" he practically snarled, as he got her meaning. "Me wasting my time in a hayseed farm town, chasing after a Mary?"
"I just thought," she began, seeing his seething response. "Maybe I shouldn't go on Saturday."
He shook his head. "You're backing out?"
"You really want to be stuck with me all evening, who'll be having a miserable time with all the drunk idiots around her, wishing she could just curl up with a good book and disappear?"
"Well, it sure beats being sticky in a vat of pudding," he snipped.
"Excuse me?" the visual hit her perhaps harder than she wished it would have, from all the way out there in left field.
"Or is it Jell-O wrestling you're expecting? Beer bongs, mosh pits, drunken brawls, stale chips?"
"Can you make a point, please?" came her vexed plea.
"Why are you so quick to judge these parties and these people? You've never made any effort to be anywhere near them," he shot back.
"That's not--," she began, but he put his hand up to stop her.
"And don't say you've tried with me. You haven't even scratched the surface," he said definitively. "I'll see you Friday night. I have to go."
And with that, he took left her standing for the second time that day, gaping in shock.
--&--
She began to wonder if she could get herself grounded and therefore automatically made unable to go to this party. She began to think up scenarios that would cause Lorelai to ground her, but for all her effort in the last ten minutes of nothing but concentration on this one task, she came up with nothing.
At least nothing that didn't involve Tristan.
But it was a good distraction from the events of this horrible day that she literally felt like taking a long, hot bubble bath to get off of her. Instantly the idea was formed, she could take her Spanish notes in with her and knock out two birds with one stone.
"You waste a lot of time doing this, you know," came the now familiar voice that seemed to haunt her mind in-between actual run-ins.
"Your deductive skills are top notch, where did you learn that, Super Sleuth School?"
"And she finds her witty repartee," he smirked. "It's been missing all day, maybe you left it under that bus bench. You know how things fall through the cracks sometimes," he drummed his fingers on his steering wheel.
"Something I'm sure you know all about," she smiled, looking back down at her history book.
"Get in."
"No."
"Why not?"
She looked up at him again, her eyes clouded with doubt. "Because I don't need you to give me a ride home. I'm fine on my own."
"No one has to know," he said cryptically, causing her to lock her eyes on his in a moment of what she could only liken to understanding.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Get in and I'll explain it to you," he offered, baiting her.
She knew he was watching her decide. Watching her cave. He was right. The bus was the most massive waste of time in the world, as far as losing precious study time in the comfort of her own home. She'd come to think of it as a fitting transition time, the forty-five minutes each way being stuck in this place that was so generic, so devoid of labels, as she shed her home life for her school life or vice versa. Like Superman's phone booth.
"Fine," she said, not looking at him as she moved to open the door and he took her bag from her so she could ease into the seat. A feeling of déjà vu hit her as he lifted the weight that sometimes felt like the cross she bore out of her hands and tossed it easily into the back.
"This is getting to be a habit," she crossed her arms over her chest and turned to look at him. "Is this some sort of community service? You got in trouble and now you have to help someone less fortunate? Should I expect about 120 hours worth of car rides?"
"You know, you look like such a sweet girl on the outside," he shook his head, trailing off leadingly.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Why can't you just accept a ride graciously?"
"Because I know you."
He looked at her with widened eyes for a beat before returning his eyes to the road in front of him. She continued to feel the weight of his eyes even after they left her.
"You know me, or you know what people say about me?"
She had no answer for that. She hated being judged solely on appearances and social standing. It was against all she claimed to stand for. And he was calling her on doing just that to him.
"You don't seem to deny it," she said quietly.
"I'm not ashamed of my exploits," he shrugged.
"So, you're saying it's all true?"
He was right; part of her was dying to know. That was the thing about myths and legends. It fascinated her to find out the seed of truth that spiraled them into such creative, outlandish tales.
"I've never said a damn thing about any single girl I've ever been with. So, anything you might have heard is just a representation of how I make them feel when they're with me. Is there anything wrong with making a girl feel wanted in the exact way she dreams of?"
Her mouth had gone dry at his words. She swished her tongue around in her mouth in attempts to not choke on her next question.
"You're barely with these girls, how can you claim to know what each girl wants?"
"After a while it gets really easy to know what a girl wants. All you have to do is pay the slightest bit of attention. I can tell after about five minutes what it is a girl is looking for. After that, you just kind of have to let the hormones take over," he shrugged. "And voila, a legend is born."
She ignored his last comments, stuck on his revealing it just took slight attention to detail to be able to bring women to heights of such great passion they'd never before known.
"Five minutes?"
"Give or take. Some girls are much easier to read. Take you, for example."
Now she knew her cheeks were flaming. "Me?"
"To look at you, on first appearances, you look like a sweet, innocent girl that wants to blend into her surroundings. Generally, that means that you want time taken. A slow seduction. Every last inch of your skin attended to. Long, slow, sweeping motions. Being taken to the brink of pleasure over and over, starting over when it gets too much, so when you finally tip over the edge, you aren't just getting off on my touch, you're getting off on the knowledge that I found you so singularly desirable that I took the time to make you feel like the only person in this universe."
She knew he was waiting for her reaction. She felt his eyes once again on her. He saw her hands gripping the leather of the seat underneath her, the only stabilizing factor in her world right now, her closed eyes that were currently a display for the scenarios he'd been describing.
What's worse was, she knew he saw her.
"Am I right?" he asked finally, slowing the car down to the appropriate speed as he neared the street she lived on, all the landmarks looking comfortingly familiar to him now.
"I, uh, don't know," she relented softly.
He nodded and put the car into park. "I do," he brushed her shoulder with his forearm as he retrieved her bag from the back. "So, are we still on?"
She nodded, knowing he meant more than just their Friday evening study session. She took the bag from his hands and exited the car in a hurry, off to reap the benefits of his generosity.
She knew this was one promise he would hold her to.