Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Authors Note: Sorry for the lack of updating, I've been busy trying to get my university courses/schedule organized. . . who knew it would be so difficult to try to get ten classes that I need, without having their times and days clash. . . blah. . . I did get this idea from an episode of Dawson's Creek (a guilty pleasure, I admit), and I do not own anything to do with the show.
Coincidence Casualty - - - Thanks for the tip, I see where you're coming from :) I remember reading a fic. a while ago, where in every chapter they showed the same scene twice from two different points of view, and it was rather irritating.
Sleepneeded911 - - - I'm glad you find the story humorous, that's one of the things I'm aiming for. Thanks!
To everyone else who took the time to review, I love you guys so much! It means a lot to know that you guys are enjoying what you're reading, and if you don't like something, I'll try my best to see what I can do. I love to write, and I'm happy that I am holding your interest with this.
* * * * *
Rory sighed as she looked down at the crisp white sheet in front of her. 'Five months to go and then you're done, Gilmore,' she thought silently to herself as she opened her can of Frutopia. Idly munching on a potato chip, she chewed thoughtfully before thinking about how she was going to pull this semester off without throwing herself off a cliff.
Advanced Calculus. She was good with numbers and graphs if she really thought about it and applied reason to the problem before she began to jot anything down. 'McKiel,' she thought, thinking about the professor that taught the course. 'Good guy if you do the work expected. Shouldn't be too hard.'
Her eyes skimmed down the list of other courses that she would be expected to complete during the next semester.
Advanced Chemistry.
Cellular Biology.
Advanced Physics.
Modern Literature.
And finally, her independent study. . . Journalism.
The final two courses were the only ones that brought any indication of a smile to her face. She had heard from the students at Stars Hollow High that the final year of Chemistry was almost impossible to pass, and with the standards at Chilton, it would be more than impossible. Grabbing her headphones and pulling a book out of her book bag, Rory tried to focus on something else other than the vehement urge to bang her head against the wooden cafeteria table.
Just as she was getting into the plot, she felt an arm sling around her shoulder. Without having to glance up, she knew who it was; she could almost feel the smirk he was sending her way. "I'm busy."
"Too busy for your boyfriend?"
Taking his hand, which was gently massaging her shoulder, she distastefully dropped it onto the table with a thud. "You," she began, feeling a smirk of her own begin to take shape on her lips, "are not my boyfriend."
"Mary, you wound me," Tristan replied, his lips sloping into a frown.
"Mary?" Rory questioned, her eyebrows raised.
"Think about it," Tristan said, and then let his gaze avert to the schedule that sat beside her tray. "Well, well, well. . . looks like starting next week, we will have three classes together," Tristan said with a self- satisfied smile. "Maybe some of your smarts will rub off on me, huh?"
"Nothing that has to do with me. . . will ever rub off on you," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some reading to catch up on."
"Wait, before I go. . . will you help me with something first?"
Rory sighed. "If it will get you away from me any faster, sure." She plastered a fake smile on her face. "What can I do for you?"
"Well, I'm having trouble deciding what I'm going to do this Friday night. My father was supposed to come home from New York to visit this weekend, but surprise, surprise, he can't make it. Now, I was asked out by Jennifer and Courtney, but if the right offer arose, I might just be able to make myself available. . ." Tristan let his voice trail off, and stared pointedly at the brunette who was fiddling with the thin pages of her book.
"Well, I think I help you with that. . ." With a defiant smile, Tristan began to speak of a movie they could see when Rory cut him off. ". . . flip a coin; heads is bimbo, tails is skank." She shot him a sarcastic smile.
Tristan sighed, defeated. "Ouch, where's the love? Well, what are your plans for this glorious weekend?"
"My plans for this weekend consist of a relaxing little encounter known as Mr. Medina's term paper."
He flashed her a bored look, and then after a few moments of silence, his gaze fell on her lips and he subconsciously licked his own. He began to lean forward, and Rory could feel her determined demeanor begin to fade as her breath began to quicken. Her anticipation deflated as his lips dodged hers and went to her ear. "See you in Chem," he whispered before pressing the play button on her disc-man and heading out the doors of the cafeteria.
* * * * *
Tristan casually strolled down the deserted halls later that day. Mr. Medina had asked Rory to go to the storage room in the basement of the school to get the box of textbooks they would be needing for their final assignment, and Tristan had caught a glimpse of her on his way back from the bathroom walking down the marble stairs, and decided to follow her.
Whistling a tune, he finally came to a stop outside the door in the musty lower level. He could see her figure through the narrow slit between the door and the frame, reaching up to the top shelf to get access to a large box. The only thing keeping the door open was a wedge of wood being used as a stopper. Tristan quietly entered the small, dimly lit room and kicked the block away, letting the door close with a quiet 'click'.
Rory quickly turned around and upon seeing who had joined her, scowled. "What are you doing down here?"
"I was sent to help you," he lied, crossing his arms over his chest. "Although I'd prefer to just stand here and watch."
"Well I'd rather you didn't, thank-you-very-much. If you're not going to help me, you might as well just leave." Rory turned back to the shelves of boxes and books and stepped up onto the first wooden ledge to reach the one she was aiming for. Tristan moved forward and took a gentle hold of her hips so that she wouldn't fall backwards.
Finally getting a good grip on the cardboard box, she brought it close to her body and clutched it to her as Tristan slowly let her down from the structure. She let the books drop to the floor with a loud thud and then turned around, brushing the dust off of her hands onto her skirt. "Okay, let's go."
After fumbling with the handle for a second, Tristan sighed and turned around. "Well, Mary, it looks like we have a problem."
"What?" Rory asked, irritation ringing in her voice. Her eyes widened when she saw Tristan hold up the handle to the door. "It just came off," he tried to explain.
Rory's eyes narrowed. "You did this on purpose," she accused, pushing him out of the way. She tried to reattach the door handle, but after several clumsy attempts, she threw it to the ground in frustration. "What are we going to do?"
"Well, Mr. Medina will obviously notice that you didn't come back from your little excursion, and he'll come down to the storage room and let us out." Tristan pulled a box off of the bottom shelf and sat on it.
"Right. We won't be down here for longer than a few minutes," she tried to reassure herself, following Tristan's idea and taking a seat on the floor.
"You know," Tristan began, leaning forward to make eye contact with her. "I could think of a few things we could do to pass the time."
Rory narrowed her eyes. "I loathe you."
* * * * *
"Hello?" Rory called, pounding on the door, her motions slow and tired. "Help, please!"
"You're going to hurt yourself," Tristan sighed from his place sprawled out on the gray cement floor. His arms were crossed behind his head, acting as a pillow, and his feet were propped up on a box full of poetry books.
"I'm going to hurt YOU if you don't shut up," Rory sighed. Finally admitting defeat, she turned and slid down the length of the door. She glanced at her watch. Four-fifty-five. They had been down there for two hours, and there was still no sign of Mr. Medina. "Why didn't he realize that I didn't come back?" Rory pulled a barrette from the side of her head out of her hair and began to twist it.
"What are you doing?" Tristan asked, sitting himself up and watching her in interest.
"I'm going to try to pick the lock," she said as though it was the most obvious solution.
"With a barrette that looks too big to even fit in the lock?" Tristan smirked.
"Well, do you have any better ideas?"
Tristan remained silent.
Rory nodded, running her hands through her hair. "That's what I thought. What if we don't get out of here until tomorrow? What are we going to do for food?"
"Relax," Tristan replied. "I have altoids."
"Oh, altoids! I will never be hungry again. . . note the sarcasm." Rory pulled her book bag closer to her and rummaged through it's contents. "Okay, I have a twinkie and two slim jims."
"Great, we can share those, and have fresh breath for other activities we may want to engage in," he replied with an infuriating wink.
"Who says I'm going to share with you?"
"Fine, I'll just stick to my altoids." Tristan sighed as he unenthusiastically popped one into his mouth and began to chew. "When did you develop such an attitude?"
"I do not have an attitude," Rory replied indignantly.
Tristan raised his eyebrows at her. "Oh really?"
"Really. Only with you, because you drive me crazy."
"I know another way, other than our verbal spars, that I can do to drive you crazy," he implied.
"Why do you have to make every thing I say turn into something sexual? Is that all you ever have on your mind? You know, if you could actually hold a decent conversation with me other than treating me like your next conquest, I might actually consider being a friendly acquaintance of yours." Rory peeled back the wrapper on one of her slim jims and took a bite. Making a face, she forced herself to swallow. "Ew, it's old."
Tristan laughed. "It's better than breath mints. . . and I don't want to be just a friendly acquaintance of yours."
"Well, I don't want to be just a number on your list of girls you've managed to get under your spell and then ditch after a week or so. I'm better than that, and I don't appreciate being treated like a piece of meat."
Tristan sighed, his eyes taking a sudden interest in his shoes. "I'm sorry."
"No, you're not," she scoffed, handing him the half eating pepperoni stick. "No need for you to starve."
"Yes, I am. You want to know something funny?"
Rory shrugged. "I guess."
"When I first met you, I thought you were a ditz." Tristan looked mildly amused. "Turns out you're in the top three percentile of the most prestigious private school in Connecticut. First impressions can be deceiving, and I think you have the wrong impression of who I am."
"I don't think so. You're obviously a player."
"If you want to call it that." Tristan finished off the snack. "Maybe if you got to know the real me, you'd think otherwise."
"Well, if you would take a break from the crude comments, and pulling me into classrooms, maybe I would get to know the 'real you'." Rory started to unwrap the vanilla twinkie, but Tristan stopped her. "Save it for later."
"Do you really think we'll be in here all night?"
"It looks like it," Tristan replied, looking down at his Cartier watch. "It's already quarter to six."
"My mom is going to be so worried," Rory said, chewing absently on her fingernail. She let out a sigh and leaned her head against the door, closing her eyes.
"So what's the deal with your family?"
Rory's eyes flew open. "What do you mean?"
"Well, is it just you and your mom?"
"Basically, yeah." Rory brought her knees up to her chest and crossed her ankles. "It has been since I was born. My dad proposed to my mom when he found out she was pregnant but she didn't accept. . . they were so young."
"How old?"
"Sixteen."
"Wow. . . that's rough."
Rory nodded. "Yeah. A few years ago, I'd get a phone call every now and then or a card for Christmas, my birthday, Easter, whatever . . . Lately he's been getting better about calling more often and sending me e-mails. I wish I got to see him more, but I'm happy with the way things are. My mom gives me everything I need and more. She's the best."
Tristan smiled. "That's nice. . ."
"What about you? What's the deal with your family?" Rory mimicked, smiling. She actually liked being able to talk with Tristan. When he wasn't driving her crazy, he was actually pretty decent.
"My mother is an uptight snob who pays more attention to planning her next party or spending all of Daddy's money than to her own son." Tristan smiled bitterly. "And my father. . . well, he spends most of his time at his office in New York City and I hardly ever see him. He seemed like a pretty cool guy until I caught him on my mother's new tiled floor with someone who was most definitely not my mother."
"Oh," Rory said, grimacing. "I'm sorry." She shifted her body slightly closer to him so that they were both leaning against the same shelf of books.
Tristan shrugged, turning his head towards her. "It's okay. I think he's part of the reason why I act the way I do. . . I build this wall around myself that I don't let anyone see. I saw how he hurt my mom. She used to be a great mother before she found out about his affair. They're still married, but you'd never know it if you saw them together. They fight like nothing I've ever seen."
Rory's expression was sympathetic. "I don't really know what to say."
Tristan smiled. "That's okay. You listening is enough. I'm surprised you're actually taking interest in anything I have to say with the way I've been treating you."
Rory smiled slightly. "Well. . . when you're not pushing me up against a wall trying to devour my face, you're actually a pretty decent guy, Tristan."
Tristan laughed, and then smirked, patting her knee. "I know you liked it."
Rory felt a blush creep into her cheeks. "I did not."
Tristan put an arm around her shoulder. "Denial. . . is not just a river in Egypt, my friend."
* * * * *
So what did you think? Hurrying them into a friendship to quickly? Too cliché having them locked in a storage room? It was the only thing I could think of that would make Rory actually hold a conversation with him. See the pretty "gray" review button? OoOoOoo. . . click it! I'd love to hear you're response, so do your
Authors Note: Sorry for the lack of updating, I've been busy trying to get my university courses/schedule organized. . . who knew it would be so difficult to try to get ten classes that I need, without having their times and days clash. . . blah. . . I did get this idea from an episode of Dawson's Creek (a guilty pleasure, I admit), and I do not own anything to do with the show.
Coincidence Casualty - - - Thanks for the tip, I see where you're coming from :) I remember reading a fic. a while ago, where in every chapter they showed the same scene twice from two different points of view, and it was rather irritating.
Sleepneeded911 - - - I'm glad you find the story humorous, that's one of the things I'm aiming for. Thanks!
To everyone else who took the time to review, I love you guys so much! It means a lot to know that you guys are enjoying what you're reading, and if you don't like something, I'll try my best to see what I can do. I love to write, and I'm happy that I am holding your interest with this.
* * * * *
Rory sighed as she looked down at the crisp white sheet in front of her. 'Five months to go and then you're done, Gilmore,' she thought silently to herself as she opened her can of Frutopia. Idly munching on a potato chip, she chewed thoughtfully before thinking about how she was going to pull this semester off without throwing herself off a cliff.
Advanced Calculus. She was good with numbers and graphs if she really thought about it and applied reason to the problem before she began to jot anything down. 'McKiel,' she thought, thinking about the professor that taught the course. 'Good guy if you do the work expected. Shouldn't be too hard.'
Her eyes skimmed down the list of other courses that she would be expected to complete during the next semester.
Advanced Chemistry.
Cellular Biology.
Advanced Physics.
Modern Literature.
And finally, her independent study. . . Journalism.
The final two courses were the only ones that brought any indication of a smile to her face. She had heard from the students at Stars Hollow High that the final year of Chemistry was almost impossible to pass, and with the standards at Chilton, it would be more than impossible. Grabbing her headphones and pulling a book out of her book bag, Rory tried to focus on something else other than the vehement urge to bang her head against the wooden cafeteria table.
Just as she was getting into the plot, she felt an arm sling around her shoulder. Without having to glance up, she knew who it was; she could almost feel the smirk he was sending her way. "I'm busy."
"Too busy for your boyfriend?"
Taking his hand, which was gently massaging her shoulder, she distastefully dropped it onto the table with a thud. "You," she began, feeling a smirk of her own begin to take shape on her lips, "are not my boyfriend."
"Mary, you wound me," Tristan replied, his lips sloping into a frown.
"Mary?" Rory questioned, her eyebrows raised.
"Think about it," Tristan said, and then let his gaze avert to the schedule that sat beside her tray. "Well, well, well. . . looks like starting next week, we will have three classes together," Tristan said with a self- satisfied smile. "Maybe some of your smarts will rub off on me, huh?"
"Nothing that has to do with me. . . will ever rub off on you," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some reading to catch up on."
"Wait, before I go. . . will you help me with something first?"
Rory sighed. "If it will get you away from me any faster, sure." She plastered a fake smile on her face. "What can I do for you?"
"Well, I'm having trouble deciding what I'm going to do this Friday night. My father was supposed to come home from New York to visit this weekend, but surprise, surprise, he can't make it. Now, I was asked out by Jennifer and Courtney, but if the right offer arose, I might just be able to make myself available. . ." Tristan let his voice trail off, and stared pointedly at the brunette who was fiddling with the thin pages of her book.
"Well, I think I help you with that. . ." With a defiant smile, Tristan began to speak of a movie they could see when Rory cut him off. ". . . flip a coin; heads is bimbo, tails is skank." She shot him a sarcastic smile.
Tristan sighed, defeated. "Ouch, where's the love? Well, what are your plans for this glorious weekend?"
"My plans for this weekend consist of a relaxing little encounter known as Mr. Medina's term paper."
He flashed her a bored look, and then after a few moments of silence, his gaze fell on her lips and he subconsciously licked his own. He began to lean forward, and Rory could feel her determined demeanor begin to fade as her breath began to quicken. Her anticipation deflated as his lips dodged hers and went to her ear. "See you in Chem," he whispered before pressing the play button on her disc-man and heading out the doors of the cafeteria.
* * * * *
Tristan casually strolled down the deserted halls later that day. Mr. Medina had asked Rory to go to the storage room in the basement of the school to get the box of textbooks they would be needing for their final assignment, and Tristan had caught a glimpse of her on his way back from the bathroom walking down the marble stairs, and decided to follow her.
Whistling a tune, he finally came to a stop outside the door in the musty lower level. He could see her figure through the narrow slit between the door and the frame, reaching up to the top shelf to get access to a large box. The only thing keeping the door open was a wedge of wood being used as a stopper. Tristan quietly entered the small, dimly lit room and kicked the block away, letting the door close with a quiet 'click'.
Rory quickly turned around and upon seeing who had joined her, scowled. "What are you doing down here?"
"I was sent to help you," he lied, crossing his arms over his chest. "Although I'd prefer to just stand here and watch."
"Well I'd rather you didn't, thank-you-very-much. If you're not going to help me, you might as well just leave." Rory turned back to the shelves of boxes and books and stepped up onto the first wooden ledge to reach the one she was aiming for. Tristan moved forward and took a gentle hold of her hips so that she wouldn't fall backwards.
Finally getting a good grip on the cardboard box, she brought it close to her body and clutched it to her as Tristan slowly let her down from the structure. She let the books drop to the floor with a loud thud and then turned around, brushing the dust off of her hands onto her skirt. "Okay, let's go."
After fumbling with the handle for a second, Tristan sighed and turned around. "Well, Mary, it looks like we have a problem."
"What?" Rory asked, irritation ringing in her voice. Her eyes widened when she saw Tristan hold up the handle to the door. "It just came off," he tried to explain.
Rory's eyes narrowed. "You did this on purpose," she accused, pushing him out of the way. She tried to reattach the door handle, but after several clumsy attempts, she threw it to the ground in frustration. "What are we going to do?"
"Well, Mr. Medina will obviously notice that you didn't come back from your little excursion, and he'll come down to the storage room and let us out." Tristan pulled a box off of the bottom shelf and sat on it.
"Right. We won't be down here for longer than a few minutes," she tried to reassure herself, following Tristan's idea and taking a seat on the floor.
"You know," Tristan began, leaning forward to make eye contact with her. "I could think of a few things we could do to pass the time."
Rory narrowed her eyes. "I loathe you."
* * * * *
"Hello?" Rory called, pounding on the door, her motions slow and tired. "Help, please!"
"You're going to hurt yourself," Tristan sighed from his place sprawled out on the gray cement floor. His arms were crossed behind his head, acting as a pillow, and his feet were propped up on a box full of poetry books.
"I'm going to hurt YOU if you don't shut up," Rory sighed. Finally admitting defeat, she turned and slid down the length of the door. She glanced at her watch. Four-fifty-five. They had been down there for two hours, and there was still no sign of Mr. Medina. "Why didn't he realize that I didn't come back?" Rory pulled a barrette from the side of her head out of her hair and began to twist it.
"What are you doing?" Tristan asked, sitting himself up and watching her in interest.
"I'm going to try to pick the lock," she said as though it was the most obvious solution.
"With a barrette that looks too big to even fit in the lock?" Tristan smirked.
"Well, do you have any better ideas?"
Tristan remained silent.
Rory nodded, running her hands through her hair. "That's what I thought. What if we don't get out of here until tomorrow? What are we going to do for food?"
"Relax," Tristan replied. "I have altoids."
"Oh, altoids! I will never be hungry again. . . note the sarcasm." Rory pulled her book bag closer to her and rummaged through it's contents. "Okay, I have a twinkie and two slim jims."
"Great, we can share those, and have fresh breath for other activities we may want to engage in," he replied with an infuriating wink.
"Who says I'm going to share with you?"
"Fine, I'll just stick to my altoids." Tristan sighed as he unenthusiastically popped one into his mouth and began to chew. "When did you develop such an attitude?"
"I do not have an attitude," Rory replied indignantly.
Tristan raised his eyebrows at her. "Oh really?"
"Really. Only with you, because you drive me crazy."
"I know another way, other than our verbal spars, that I can do to drive you crazy," he implied.
"Why do you have to make every thing I say turn into something sexual? Is that all you ever have on your mind? You know, if you could actually hold a decent conversation with me other than treating me like your next conquest, I might actually consider being a friendly acquaintance of yours." Rory peeled back the wrapper on one of her slim jims and took a bite. Making a face, she forced herself to swallow. "Ew, it's old."
Tristan laughed. "It's better than breath mints. . . and I don't want to be just a friendly acquaintance of yours."
"Well, I don't want to be just a number on your list of girls you've managed to get under your spell and then ditch after a week or so. I'm better than that, and I don't appreciate being treated like a piece of meat."
Tristan sighed, his eyes taking a sudden interest in his shoes. "I'm sorry."
"No, you're not," she scoffed, handing him the half eating pepperoni stick. "No need for you to starve."
"Yes, I am. You want to know something funny?"
Rory shrugged. "I guess."
"When I first met you, I thought you were a ditz." Tristan looked mildly amused. "Turns out you're in the top three percentile of the most prestigious private school in Connecticut. First impressions can be deceiving, and I think you have the wrong impression of who I am."
"I don't think so. You're obviously a player."
"If you want to call it that." Tristan finished off the snack. "Maybe if you got to know the real me, you'd think otherwise."
"Well, if you would take a break from the crude comments, and pulling me into classrooms, maybe I would get to know the 'real you'." Rory started to unwrap the vanilla twinkie, but Tristan stopped her. "Save it for later."
"Do you really think we'll be in here all night?"
"It looks like it," Tristan replied, looking down at his Cartier watch. "It's already quarter to six."
"My mom is going to be so worried," Rory said, chewing absently on her fingernail. She let out a sigh and leaned her head against the door, closing her eyes.
"So what's the deal with your family?"
Rory's eyes flew open. "What do you mean?"
"Well, is it just you and your mom?"
"Basically, yeah." Rory brought her knees up to her chest and crossed her ankles. "It has been since I was born. My dad proposed to my mom when he found out she was pregnant but she didn't accept. . . they were so young."
"How old?"
"Sixteen."
"Wow. . . that's rough."
Rory nodded. "Yeah. A few years ago, I'd get a phone call every now and then or a card for Christmas, my birthday, Easter, whatever . . . Lately he's been getting better about calling more often and sending me e-mails. I wish I got to see him more, but I'm happy with the way things are. My mom gives me everything I need and more. She's the best."
Tristan smiled. "That's nice. . ."
"What about you? What's the deal with your family?" Rory mimicked, smiling. She actually liked being able to talk with Tristan. When he wasn't driving her crazy, he was actually pretty decent.
"My mother is an uptight snob who pays more attention to planning her next party or spending all of Daddy's money than to her own son." Tristan smiled bitterly. "And my father. . . well, he spends most of his time at his office in New York City and I hardly ever see him. He seemed like a pretty cool guy until I caught him on my mother's new tiled floor with someone who was most definitely not my mother."
"Oh," Rory said, grimacing. "I'm sorry." She shifted her body slightly closer to him so that they were both leaning against the same shelf of books.
Tristan shrugged, turning his head towards her. "It's okay. I think he's part of the reason why I act the way I do. . . I build this wall around myself that I don't let anyone see. I saw how he hurt my mom. She used to be a great mother before she found out about his affair. They're still married, but you'd never know it if you saw them together. They fight like nothing I've ever seen."
Rory's expression was sympathetic. "I don't really know what to say."
Tristan smiled. "That's okay. You listening is enough. I'm surprised you're actually taking interest in anything I have to say with the way I've been treating you."
Rory smiled slightly. "Well. . . when you're not pushing me up against a wall trying to devour my face, you're actually a pretty decent guy, Tristan."
Tristan laughed, and then smirked, patting her knee. "I know you liked it."
Rory felt a blush creep into her cheeks. "I did not."
Tristan put an arm around her shoulder. "Denial. . . is not just a river in Egypt, my friend."
* * * * *
So what did you think? Hurrying them into a friendship to quickly? Too cliché having them locked in a storage room? It was the only thing I could think of that would make Rory actually hold a conversation with him. See the pretty "gray" review button? OoOoOoo. . . click it! I'd love to hear you're response, so do your