Title: Nine Months.
Author: Professional Scatterbrain
Rating: PG - 13
Couple: R/T
Summary: Tristan returns to Chilton, and to the game, but Rory's not playing.
Note: Tristan left later on in Rory's first year at Chilton, so therefore the whole nine-month thing works (a little hint, it's a metaphor for the fic). After Tristan left Rory formed a fledgling friendship with Paris, Louise and Madeline, and by the time senior years rolls up there good friends, well, most of the time at least. Everything that happened with Dean and Jess happened except it happened all before senior year. At the end of the year before Rory told Jess she loved him, and he left suddenly straight afterwards.
I made Chilton darker, because I found the whole picture perfect school depicted on the show nice, yet unrealistic. I tried to model it around my High School, showing the competitiveness, the cruelty, and self delusion within my environment. I go to a girls' school though, so the guy thing still might take me a while to work out. Suggestions would be nice as this is my first GG fic.
Chp 7: Hangman's robes
The next few days of school continued without notation.
Classes came and went, each more boring than the last.
It seemed to Tristan nothing changed since he left for Military school nine months previously. But he had wanted it to change. If the situation was altered, even in some miniscule way, then that might have made it easier not to fall back into old habits. But as each day ended, Tristan fears faded, no longer bothering him, leaving him no longer trying to stave off the inevitable falling back into bad graces.
He joined the swim team. The coach was ecstatic, apparently he got hold of the Military school transcripts and saw the record times. Not that it mattered to Tristan. He swam in Military school as a diversion, back at Chilton his diversion of choice were girls.
As he finished yet another worthless drill that left his head dizzy he waited for Coach Andrews to say something. Maybe a word of praise would be thrown at him? Or maybe it would be criticism aimed at getting his focus back on track? Neither affected him anymore, years of fake smiles, and carefully placed compliments had desensitised him to peoples edited opinions of him. While the Coaches words may change day to day, to Tristan, the older man always said the same thing; little more than a variation on the theme.
"Good time DuGrey." Coach Andrews noted, his eyes on his stop watch, "Work on your tumble turns, they're slowing you down."
Nodding, Tristan continued, feeling the soft ebb of pain filtering into his muscles as he worked on another set of drills. Drills were easy, they were repetitive, and by the end of the hour an urban rhythm would play like a record in his mind, acting as the commentary to his precisely executed moves. Yet again Tristan found himself placed in the fast lane again. Sometimes he could get out if it by arriving late, but that stopped working after Andrews figured out that ploy. He hated it; sharing a lane with three of the fastest swimmers on the school team meant he had to work twice as hard. That was the simple part; he was the better swimmer, with the talent, but in everyone else's eyes, he squandered it with his lack of commitment.
"Twenty seven seconds per fifty meters. Freestyle. Remember to keep the strokes clean and fast. " Brad announced from another lane. As team captain he took over practices whenever Andrews headed outside for a smoke. Such as now.
Sighing, Tristan turned his head, and waited for the other three swimmers to leave the deep end of the pool before he did. Freestyle wasn't his favourite stroke, but he got some of his best times for it. It was necessary to participate, and in doing so Tristan felt the familiar overtones of tranquillity taking him over. This was what he liked about swimming. The losing track of time, the soft repetitive sounds of water rushing past his ears. The way the world was disorientated in the few seconds he took to do a tumble turn, and the reassurances of breathing every four strokes, always breathing on the left side of the pool.
Unlike the past few practices where he had sprinted off as soon as the clock signified the end of the hour, Tristan continued, unwilling to give up the serenity that was flowing through his veins, and overriding pain. Maybe if he kept swimming long enough he might forget, if he was lucky he could block out the other stuff that made him lay awake at night. But today wasn't one of those days, and no matter how far he pushed, he couldn't forget the life he hated.
"DuGrey!" Andrews yelled from the edge of the pool, "My office now!"
Pulling himself out of the now calm water, Tristan felt the cold air hitting his skin like knives.
The cold weather was setting in, and with the large windows opened, the pool was freezing. Fatigue rushed into his limbs, and for a second Tristan considered heading home and bunking school for the day. It wasn't like anyone would notice he thought idly, but the sane part of his mind he knew better; his friends would notice, and knowing his luck it'd come back to bit him on the ass someday.
Waling towards the swimming coaches office, he smelt the faint stain of cigarette smoke, the lingering voices of there shared addiction. The coach had the sort of office that announced that, unlike the majority of schools in the world, sport was not given the first priority when funding was handed out. This could have been because for years Chilton advertised itself with grade point averages instead of sporting trophies, or more probably the lack of any real sporting achievements apart from the odd win or two against the weaker opposing school teams.
"DuGrey. Your times are down." He stated not bothering to sugar coat the information or offering any polite courtesies to soften the blow, "Even your meet times are now only marginally better than the practice times you've been setting.
Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Tristan wondered why he was so insulted and guilty by Andrews' words, as if he could be doing better, as if he was failing. Was this just another disappointment to add to the list? Perhaps it would be just another venture that would be forgotten about, or reinvented by his family's public relations firm? Or just another thing that would keep him awake at night making promises he couldn't keep?
"I've looked at your files. Your previous coach noted that you spent most of your free time doing drills and sprint laps in preparation for meets."
"I had more free time on my hands then." Tristan muttered darkly, his muscles tensing as he extended to his full hight, no longer blending in with his environment. He had the look of a killer toying with his prey, but this time, something was lacking, and he felt detached from the scene around him, like he had suddenly become a bystander watching everything yet seeing nothing.
"You've got talent." The older man stated, "But you're wasting it."
"I'm doing my best."
"No you're not." Andrews stated bluntly, obviously used to seeing through the bullshit students threw at him, "Staying after practice once since joining the team is not putting in extra effort."
"What do you suggest?" Tristan asked sharply.
"I'm not going to suggest anything, as it's clear you don't want to do anything extra."
Coach Andrews' words stuck in Tristan's mind all day. Finally when the final bell sounded he ambled his way out of the school to his Porsche. Unable to stomach heading home, he drove around aimlessly. The dreary light filtering past the lacklustre grey clouds made links in his mind he wasn't able to figure out. Something about Andrew's statement lingered, its meaning applying more broadly that it had been intended.
Maybe the world was filled with squandered talent, maybe the old man had a point, or maybe Tristan was realising just how tried he was of all the shit in his life.
It was late, and Stars Hollows was quiet and slumbering in peace while Rory sat up, stuck in a nocturnal somnambulistic side of reality, alone with her thoughts. Lorelei was off on a date. Maybe it was Jason this time, or maybe Lorelei just needed to get out of the house. They hadn't really spoken since they fought. All they were left with was silence, and meaningless chatter. Each night Rory would go to her room and read, while Lorelei would watch TV. Sometimes Rory would venture out and sit with her mother but they couldn't say anything . . . well, not anything that mattered.
Feeling the weight of the quiet become unbearable, Rory slipped out of her room, and sat on the front porch. She held a book in hand; the kind of classic that had a title that carried more importance than the actual plot. That probably was a new metaphor to add to the rest referring to the state of her life at this moment in time.
With the outside lights on, Rory read late into the night, with moths flittering in and out of the light, like mythical creatures from her imagination. It was about 1am when Lorelei arrived back home, her clothes smelling like the old spice cologne of some male that had touched her just that little bit too much, matched with her bruised blood red lips, and her eyes bright and alive.
"Hey little grasshopper, isn't it a bit late for you. School tomorrow," she chided gently, still elated from her date.
Rory looked up, smiling a sad half smile, "Just wanted to make sure you got home safe,"
Lorelei face brightened for a second, as if seeing that old Rory again, but that girl flickered away from her as soon as Rory stood up and stretched in that overtly mature way of hers. Lorelei wasn't a fool. She saw the looks Tristan and other guys like him gave to Rory. In the past, the other guys never mattered. Rory ignored them; they didn't ever cause a blip on her radar. But what scared Lorelei now was how her daughter responded to Tristan.
Only him.
He was the only guy Lorelei had ever seen get such a reaction from her daughter. When he was around Rory, she just seemed to be too sexual, too adult and out of Lorelei's reach. Tristan made Lorelei see all the things that Rory hid in her mind. He had a power over her, able to make her do things that were out of character and her upbringing.
The worst thing was, Lorelei knew Rory liked it. Although Lorelei could see how carefully and beautifully he treated Rory, and the parts of him that had attracted her, he was still an interloper on the neatly built life Lorelei had created for the two of them.
"You have a good time Lorelei?" Rory asked softly, a timid look in her eyes.
"Yeah, Jason and I when to this new restaurant in Hartford, very fancy. He got told off for not wearing a tie, and made me flirt with the manager to let us in." Lorelei told her daughter in a fairy tale voice, "Then this old lady, one of the country club set insulted my shoes, you know my lucky ones, and Jason was my knight in shinning armor and said he liked them."
"Nice guy," Rory replied.
"Yeah, he's one of the good ones," Lorelei muttered as she entered the small house with Rory following her, "His got a cousin about your age; he suggested we set you guys up. Knowing the gene pool of his family the kid must be at least cute so you might get lucky,"
"No thanks."
Rory's answer was sharp, and decisive. Maybe too abrupt, but she couldn't take it back.
"Oh . . . That's okay . . ." Lorelei muttered, her face falling.
Silence reigned once again.
One of them had to leave before it became unbearable.
Rory distracted her mother from that choice she didn't even know she was presented with by turning to go to her room. Rory flinched lightly as she heard her mother sigh. Rory wondered what had happened with them. Lorelei was meant to understand, but suddenly, just when it counted, she didn't, and the only person who can close to understanding was Tristan, the boy that was too much like her paradox for Rory to ignore.
"Tomorrow," Lorelei called out, stopping Rory's exit, "You can take the jeep, I'm getting a lift with Sookie early."
That was how the day ended; cold and silent; two things that should never have been let into there relationship.
Each of the young women returned to their rooms, feeling more alone than they would admit. Lorelei in her bitter and regret, dreamt blank dreams of her past, each reel of memories haunting her of what might have been. While down stairs Rory lay awake, unable to fall into slumber, to afraid of waking up to find everyone gone, and scared to admit if things didn't change it wouldn't mater if people were around her or not, as she feel a thing anyway.
Returning to the dungeon of a home late that night after another wild party at some Chiltonites mansion, Tristan paused. Outside the mansion of a house sat his Grandfathers car, and several others he didn't recognise. This was never a good sign. Nine months ago the entourage had been there to farewell him to Military School.
Hopefully this time is wasn't as life altering.
Moving swiftly into the formal dinning room, Tristan confidently tossed his bag on the long table. He was in his element. It wasn't like he had done anything wrong, unlike other times in his past. Well, he hadn't done anything that wrong recently that needed to be reprimanded from his family anyway.
"Hello brother." echoed the mature voice of Daniel DuGrey as he walked into the dinning room.
For a moment Tristan wondered how he was meant to greet his older brother. They had never been close. The only member in the extended fucked up family Tristan called a friend was his older sister Elspeth, and that had only been a recent development. Knowing her, she was in some country another continent away leaving her favourite brother in the presents of the perfect older son. Daniel smile that toothy smile of his, that smile that apparently charmed his wife into marring him, and waited for his younger sibling to speak.
"Daniel, good to see you. How's Annabelle?" Tristan asked more out of courtesy than interest.
"Ask her yourself. She's in the sun room with mother."
"What's going on?" Tristan asked bluntly the moment the small talk was over, "I saw all the cars outside, and I know I'm not the draw card this time so I'm thinking it's either Elspeth again or Jaylen retiring that hangman robes of his."
Daniel stiffened, it was obvious to Tristan how much Daniel disliked conversing with his brother from this one action, "It's neither. There was a fire on the old DuGrey property. Arson. The original house was burnt to the ground."
"I hated that wreck." Tristan muttered smirking.
"You shouldn't say that around father." Daniel warned crossing his arms over his chest defensively.
"Why? Going to give me a speech about how the DuGrey's migrated from the mother land where they were royalty, and worked there way to the top? I've heard it all before."
"They found a Chilton badge, and a burnt piece of paper with class notes on it. Your year. If I were you I'd think of an alibi before father comes and questions you."
"Even if I did set a match to the hell hole what could he do? It'll start a killer rumor if the DuGrey's youngest, misguided son was suspected of burning his founded fathers house." Tristan leered, his older brother merely stiffened and turned those jade eyes he inherited from their mother to look past his younger sibling.
"Maybe so. But don't think he won't try everything else in the book to get to you."
"I didn't do it so I have nothing to worry about."
"Good, let's just pretend this conversation didn't happen." Daniel stated sharply, ending the conversation with a flourish of rarely seen anger
It was her first day back from her suspension.
All in all, Rory was getting the hushed whispers and glares she had expected. Paris had eyed off a few more daring people that had come forward to comment of the indiscretion to Rory's face, which Rory was internally grateful for. Walking into the Legal Studies class, she scowled as she saw her normal seat taken, by none other than the spawn Satan himself.
Paris noticed the razor grip her friend had on her battered textbooks and suggested somewhat bluntly that Rory get over it. Paris had moved past her infatuation with Tristan, and now looked upon him as a friend of sorts. But that didn't mean she'd allow him to get in the way of her achieving perfect marks. With Rory worrying about her seat being taken by Tristan it could only lead to distraction.
"Ladies and Gentlemen." Came the voice of the Principal as he walked into the classroom, exuding the out of date power that people only obeyed out of courtesy, never out of respect.
In a rush of blue uniforms and stationary, the class found seats, knowing just how rigorous and austere the ancient Principal could be. Each of them wondered why he was in there class that morning. Some guessed it was about uniforms, others supposed it was about the issue of students driving cars to school and the overcrowded parking lot. The same load of crap teachers rambled on about. But in the seat near the window, Tristan DuGrey knew exactly what the stuffy Principal had ventured out of his den like office to speak about.
The fire on the DuGrey estate.
This knowledge was soon verified as two police officers followed him into the room like vultures following the scent of death.
"Well, students of Chilton, it is not a happy task I have today. Earlier this morning I was notified by the police of an arson attack on a property belonging to the DuGrey family. We have reason to believe this crime was committed by a member of our student body, in particular a member of the senior class."
Taking a look around the room, Tristan eyes fell on the form of Rory Gilmore, only a few desks away. Strangely her normally wide blue eyes were panicky, and her knuckles were white from gripping the edges of her desk. Her porcelain skin appeared pasty and grey. Something was up with that girl and he had the ominous suspicion it may have to do with the unexplained fire.
"I want each student in the class to come forward when I call your name and write this sentence on the board." Ordered the older, more senior looking police officer after he had finished coping what looked like a fragmented sample essay question from a Humanities class onto the black board.
As each student came forward one at a time, Rory seemed to get more and more flustered, and Tristan tried to logically work out what was wrong with her. Rory wasn't the type of person prone to random acts of arson, or anything of the non-illegal variety.
She was seldom naughty.
Rory's idea of rebelling was pretending to be sick so she could stay home and watch a 'Charlie's angel' marathon, and that only happened after her mother had pulled the 'stretch marks from giving birth' card. But given the incident at the assemble his assumptions about the cobalt eyed girl were being revised, and suddenly, he was given a flash of understanding he would have rather lived without.
"Gilmore, Lorelei Leigh." Announced the officer as Gamier, Mark finished copying the question. Looking around the room, the officers eyes fixed on Rory as she shakily stood up, accidentally knocking some pens off her desk, turning bright red as the clattered to the floor.
"Here, uhm, well you know what cause of the fact I stood up, not that I'm second guessing you. I don't second-guess, no, not at all. Okay, so I just have to write that again." She rambled on and on, much to the amusement of everyone in the class.
Tristan's mind returned to the incident in the Assembly once more. He had never seen Rory act like that. Something about her seemed dangerous, and almost scary. Normally these words would seem ill fitting in a sentence containing Rory, but that day, something must have cracked. Tristan remembered in words, sounding so calculated and calming leading swiftly into a trap. Looking at her now he wondered what else she might have done on that fateful day.
Next Chp: Linguists
Rory eyed him out of the corner of her eye as his lazily smoked a cigarette, "I don't know if you've changed in Military School. Sometimes you seem . . . and sometimes you don't."
"Seem what?" he asked, cracking a smirk which at any other time would have made her blush and stutter. Leering at her, he whispered into her ear, "Are you trying to tell me something my Mary?"
Thank you to Belle for helping with this fic.
