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 (will be bumped up soon)
Story Title: Untouched
Chapter Title: Part Seven
AN: Okay, so this took a little longer than I anticipated to get up, but it's hot off the presses, as it were. I'm now back to my juggling two stories and working (I start the new job tonight), so hopefully a more set schedule will get me updating faster again. . . but who knows. Thanks for the generous reviews you guys leave, they warm my heart, truly.
He was used to keeping up pretenses.
He knew that it was unacceptable to air personal issues in a public forum. That would connote weakness. While some in his position would avoid the general public for that very reason—too much being piled upon him to ignore or suppress—he had no real choice. It wasn't just expected of him to be at every party, every opening, every photo opportunity; it was demanded.
He was a paid actor.
Quite well paid, he supposed, not that he ever really thought of it. He would subsist on quite a lot less, if he could just stop for one moment and grasp at something he wanted. To be able to include something he truly cared about in this world of fake veneers and air kisses.
The trouble was the one thing, the one person, he wanted to be near utterly despised the falsity of it, just as he did. But no one was paying her. No one was making her do anything that she wasn't comfortable with. She was able to run free, run away, run toward anything she pleased.
Right now it was all he could do to keep her in front of him.
He could see the horror of it in her eyes at his very mention of this coming evening. The turning of heads, the dropping of mouths, the static of whispers that would envelop her. For these were the things that slid off of him. She tried to keep under the radar, keeping all attention off of her, the new girl, the one they loved to hate just from her unaffected visage. Putting herself in the center ring wasn't her ideal Saturday night.
He took in the facts. Despite her continued unwillingness to agree to accompany him this evening, still here she sat, on what looked to be a foot bridge (though what it gapped, he couldn't tell you), drinking coffee, and letting him attempt to talk her into it.
It wasn't him she was denying.
Suddenly the answer became clear, how best to accommodate both of their desires. His years of working around and creating his own rules within the confines of restriction may finally be paying off. She held onto the warmth of her coffee cup as she looked up in his silenced pondering, and she gave a soft smile.
"What?"
He returned the smile. "I've just had an idea."
Her eyes widened. "That might be the most frightening thing I've ever heard in my life."
"Do you or do you not want to hear said idea?"
She set her cup down on the wooden plank in front of her crossed legs. "Is it legal?"
"Completely."
"Does it have anything to do with me in a party dress?"
"Not if you don't want to, I suppose. Do you want to know what I'll be wearing?"
"You know what, Tristan--," she began, but he rolled his eyes and grabbed her coffee, pulling it away from her.
"I have a feeling you'll be listening now."
"You think I can't get more coffee?"
"I heard that man tell you he was cutting you off, I'm feeling pretty sure of myself."
She giggled. "You don't know him well enough. He threatens me like that daily. I've never gone without," she informed him. "Never so much as a twinge of a withdrawal headache."
"I hate this town," he set her coffee cup back in front of her in defeat.
"It just takes some getting used to. A different perspective is required."
He wondered how many of her statements were invitations. "I'm guessing some valium helps, too."
More giggling. "You forget, my drug of choice is caffeine. Helps me to outrun the nutcases in times of desperation."
"Perfect, all that adrenaline should help with my idea."
"Which is what, pray tell."
He set his coffee down as well and rubbed his hands together, the warmth remaining in his right hand transferring slowly but surely to his left. She was watching him carefully, like he was about to reveal the mystery of the universe to her.
"What if there was a way for you to be at the party, without anyone seeing you?"
Now she was eying him the same way she had the man in the diner who kept asking Luke for goat cheese on his patty melt because of the inhumane treatment of bovines.
"I'm not letting you stuff me into a bag or a server's cart," she shook her head.
"No Trojan Horses, I got it," he rolled his eyes.
"How is that even possible? I mean, for me to be there without being seen? I thought that was the whole point of you wanting me to go with you, to prove that you finally wore me down, right?"
Her eyes flickered with the same cerulean cynicism that by now he should be used to from her, but for a moment he'd let himself forget. That he'd given her nothing to make her move past his surface, or just not enough to make her want to dig deeper. He'd let himself think that she might help him to find somewhere not out of their own worlds, but just off to the side, to create something new that they could both find valuable. More than money, more than comfort; somewhere they were both comfortable.
Standing and leaving this place she'd chosen to lead him, where he'd come so willingly, he shook his head bitterly.
"I wanted you there for me. Not for anyone else," he said harshly as his shoes began sounding his exit of her.
"Tristan, wait!" she called, and he soon felt a soft hand on his shoulder blade, stopping him short. He looked down, turning at first his head only, then at the look of frenzy and (dare he even think it) desire he turned his whole body into hers.
Now that he held her so tightly against him, she seemed to lose her own voice. Her lips moved as if they might help her locate where it'd gone, like a fish that had jumped suddenly out of its bowl, but thus far they proved no assistance.
He ran one hand down the side of her face, catching his fingers in the stray hairs that had wound themselves around her face, sticking desperately to her lips. He pulled the deserters out of his way, sweeping them back to rest where they belonged, and he ached to confirm that the lip he'd freed of irritation tasted as bittersweet as the coffee he had just watched her consume.
"Aren't you even curious?" he breathed, not needing to increase his volume to drive home his delivery.
She could barely move now, but he saw the slight bob of her chin as she made her best effort to answer.
"Yes?"
"Yes," she whispered. "What do you want me to do?"
--&--
He walked in through the front door with all the confidence and nonchalance that he normally carried himself with. All around him were shouts and nods of salutation, the music ahead of him swallowing those that he'd already passed. One fist raised out of habit to knock into the waiting fist of a member of his smaller inner circle of friends. Another head nod of acknowledgement and he could make his way up the stairs to check on her.
He looked up the wide, winding staircase, his hand now gripping the mahogany railing, he could feel the anxiety rising for the moment that he could open the library door to find her sitting there, waiting on him.
"Tristan!"
Cursing under his breath, he turned to find the slinky blonde advancing on him, her usual shadow in tow. Madeline and Louise flanked him, and he was overwhelmed at the perfume that rolled off of their skin.
"Ladies," he smiled, kissing each of their cheeks.
"Where's Rory?" Louise demanded. "I thought if anyone could talk her into something, it would be you."
"Yeah, well you know how she is about stuff like this. She's not much of a party girl."
"But you promised," Louise extended her lower lip, which most men would have trouble not capturing between their own. She counted on that. The only thought that registered in his mind at the moment as her delicate hand ran up his arm was that hers weren't the lips he hoped to mingle among his own this evening.
"And you have no idea how hard it was for us to keep this knowledge from Paris," Madeline gave a giggle.
"Why would you do that?" he craned his neck to view the brunette.
"You know, she tends to wig out whenever your name is mentioned in conjunction with Rory's. And they just started getting along. Well, the bloodshed has been lessened, anyhow. It was our Good Samaritan duty for the week."
"I think for it to be a Good Samaritan duty, we would have to help someone less fortunate than us," Louise argued.
"Oh, right," Madeline's eyes clouded. "Well, we did it out of the goodness of our hearts anyhow," she beamed.
"I'm sorry you guys went through so much trouble," he sighed, "But Rory's not here."
"No worries, we'll leave you to find your next victim," Louise purred. "We'll be out in the hot tub if you need some help."
She gave him a wink as the two girls slid off of his arms and allowed themselves to be consumed by the swarming crowd. Feeling the need to check on Rory was overpowering, and he turned back to the staircase unencumbered.
He looked to his right and left quickly before trying the door handle. He knew this house, as well as many of his classmates' houses, like the back of his hand. Which doors didn't lock, which ones could be pried open with a solitary bobby pin, which ones were like Ft. Knox. He wanted to chance nothing tonight, and was glad to know of a room that was both easily accessible from outside and secure from the inside.
She'd locked it. He rapped three times quickly like they'd agreed upon and instantly it cracked open, allowing him entrance. She'd been waiting at the ready for him.
He shut and locked the door quickly behind him and found she'd only turned the small Tiffany style desk lamp on, he supposed so as not to alert passersby of any occupation. He saw the closed book next to the lamp. She'd been reading.
"Did you have any trouble getting in?" he asked quietly.
She shook her head. "Just like you said. The tree was actually easier to scale than it looked."
"Louise was disappointed to see you didn't come," he grinned, still trying to hide his incredulity from when she had originally told him it was no problem for her to climb a tree. She didn't look like the outdoorsy type.
She matched his pleasure. "Oh, really? That's sweet of her to be so concerned."
"You'll never guess what else they said to me," he continued, moving over to hop up onto the edge of the desk.
"I shudder to think."
"Madeline informed me that she and Louise purposefully didn't tell Paris you would be joining me this evening."
"Interesting. I didn't think that was possible, hiding facts from Paris," she seemed perplexed at his shared information.
"Hiding things from people is often much simpler than it seems," he said, reaching out for her hand.
She let him pull her closer, and he stopped leading her when she stood still between his knees that were now bent over the edge of the desk.
"You just need some discretion."
"Is that all?"
He heard her sharp intake of breath, and then he felt her squeeze his hand that still held hers. He nodded as he began to study her face in this pale light. The yellowness of the light bulb illuminated her face, the pale moonlight backlit her hair, causing an eerie contrast, making her seem almost otherworldly.
"What is it about keeping secrets, that makes everything more mysterious?" her words brought his attention to her mouth, watching as each syllable changed its shape. "Illicit, almost. Even the most harmless of things."
He brought his free hand up to her face, feeling the slope of her cheekbone. "A secret is just privied knowledge. Say, for example, with us. Meeting here. Privately. Not because someone else can't know, but because it's something we want to keep separate."
"It's not like either of us shouldn't be here like this," she breathed, nodding slowly in agreement with him.
"Exactly. What would each of us being doing otherwise? You'd be home, alone, feeling miserable because of something that you had no control over, and me, I'd be downstairs, alone, miserable, because you weren't here."
He didn't know if he was giving away too much or not. Honestly, if given lie detector test, he would swear on his life that these were things she was thinking too. He didn't have to hide from her. It would do no good, she could see through his façade anyhow. It was what had unnerved him about her to begin with. Being around someone that saw him was unnerving.
Being here with someone that cared was elating.
"Tristan," she seemed to be grasping for thought, for words. He loved having this effect on her. On her, of all people.
"Yeah," he slid his fingertips up underneath her hairline, weaving her hair around his skin.
"Do I have to climb back down that tree later?" she gave a soft chuckle, breaking the intensity of the moment. Through closed lips, he laughed, shaking his head.
"No, they'll all be too drunk in a couple of hours to notice if the house was on fire or not. We'll head out through the front door, most likely."
"Are you sure," came her fast questioning.
"Relax, I'm sure," he said, pulling his fingers down the length of her hair. He watched her eyes flutter shut in pleasure. Every last inch of her body. He knew he was right.
"What do you want?"
Her eyes widened, and she remained stock still in front of him. "Wha-what?"
He smiled. Her mind was miles ahead of his, and for that he was grateful.
"To drink, I'll go get something. Any requests?"
"Nothing alcoholic," she looked down at her shoes, in all honesty probably willing him not to watch the blush creep up over her cheeks. He squeezed her hand lightly before letting it go and sliding up off the desk.
"I'll be right back. Three quick knocks," he reminded her, and then left her to pick up her place in her book.
--&--
"DuGrey!"
He was almost back up the stairs, two cans of soda in his hands. He was really hoping to go by unnoticed, but that didn't often happen to him. In fact, it was probably best that from now on it didn't.
"Thirsty?"
"Planning to be so soon," he smirked.
"Nice," Josh slugged his shoulder in a friendly gesture. "Who you got up there?"
"Oh, you know. One of the many," he shrugged.
"Catch you later," he patted him on the back, his official send off. He was glad his friends weren't the questioning type. Or maybe he really had just slept with every other girl in the whole damn school. Juggling two cans in one hand, he let out three short raps on the door and awaited her allowance.
--&--
She lay on the couch along the darkest side of the room, light shining from neither the lamp nor the moon over her. Her head stopped just shy of where his began, as they'd laid with their knees over each armrest of the couch. Their sodas drank long ago, and even a food run on his part had been successfully completed. He was right, it was easy to hide among the ignorant.
"So, why do you come to these parties, if you're content to be holed up away from them all night?"
"And have a DuGrey not properly socialize and appear not worthy of the adulation that comes the next day? My, my, you'd think you'd learned nothing at school," he mocked.
"Surely your family expects more of you than that. What about your grandfather?"
"My grandfather bears down on my father. Just because he's not on my case doesn't mean he doesn't think the exact same way as the rest of them."
"So, you wouldn't tell them that you hid in a room, just talking to a girl and fetching her sodas all evening, would you?"
"Would you tell your mom that you came to one of these parties and hid in a room with the most notorious boy at your school?"
"Good point," she agreed.
"Does that mean that you wouldn't do it again?"
He waited for her answer. He knew their time was growing short, and he wanted to know what her lack of reference to this evening on Monday morning would mean. When they went back to slanted insults and talk of authors' contributions to American society in front of their classmates. Nothing out of the usual.
She sat up slowly, and leaned down over his face. Her long hair fell over his nose, tickling him softly. She pulled the strands back behind her ear and peered into his eyes in the dark.
"As long as I don't have to climb any more trees," her eyes glowed with a look of conspiratorial rapture.
"I'll see what I can do. How do you feel about ladders?"
She shuddered. "Don't you know of any first floor accommodations anywhere?"
He smirked. "Laundry rooms can be fun."
"I should be getting home soon," she gave her best attempt at a suppression of his comment. Utter avoidance. Something they could work on together. He sat up, not wanting her to start closing herself off to him, not yet.
"Do you have a curfew?"
"Not really. The general rule is to beat Mom home, but she's been," she paused, looking down at her lap. She was still holding things back from him. He slid his hand over hers, and rubbed his thumb across, scraping over her knuckles slowly.
"She's been what?"
"Out. All hours of the night. She's dating a guy in Hartford."
He nodded, taking what she told him without further questioning. She'd been so kind as to accompany him this evening, he certainly wasn't going to push his luck now.
"Rory?"
She looked up at him again, not wanting his questions. Still afraid he'd push her too far.
"I'm glad you came tonight."
"Me too," she nodded softly.
He stood up, offering his hand once again to her. She took it in the spirit it was intended, to help her off of the plush couch, and she arched her back as a means to wake her body up a bit.
"You ready to see the future of America, completely trashed to the point of not being able to sit up on their own volition?" he grinned.
"You're too good to me, really, I mean, the places you take me," she teased.
Still having a hold of her hand, he couldn't resist the opportunity. He pulled her close, too close perhaps, until her chin came to rest at his shoulder. She looked up at him as if to make him aware at how shockingly close he'd brought her. She swallowed her comments as he slid a hand around her waist to tell her that personal space be damned. Secrets were made for close quarters.
"I'll take you anywhere you want to go," he spoke into her ear. "All you ever have to do is ask."
Normally when he spouted off such a comment to her, she would shoot daggers at him with just a glance. She'd turn his words back on him like a double-edged sword. It's funny the way that silence and darkness can change the perspective of things as simple as mere words.
Her hand found the solidity of his shoulder to brace herself against, instead of tossing a quippy comeback at him. She nodded into him, her cheek brushing against his chest. He leaned his head down to the point that his lips met her forehead. He held her like this, against him, burying himself in her as best he could, for as long as it took to make them both painstakingly aware of the fact that this was just another facet of their relationship now. It was in addition to all that they dealt with in their lives.
He'd finally found a context in which his behavior could break through the pretenses.