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 8: Linguists
It was the afternoon before Rory finally relaxed enough to stop dropping her books whenever someone startled her. Coffee seemed to have the exact opposite effect on her as usual, and it felt like she was on a permanent high that involved her speeding around like someone was chasing her in those crappy B horror films. She felt like a wanted criminal on the verge of getting caught, and the police attendance during that day did nothing to help her frazzled nerves.
"I need to talk to you."
Came the hushed whisper behind Rory's ear, as she packed some books into her bag to take home that night. Jumping, she dropped her school planner and Closed for Winter; a lit book that gave her headaches when she bothered to read it. Mumbling profanities softly, she retrieved the books and squeezed them into her already overfull backpack. It was Tristan. Only he could manage to startle her like that whenever he wanted.
"What about? My bus leaves in 10 minutes so make it quick bible boy." Rory replied snappily, to Tristan as he towered over her, pinning her against the locker with merely his presence.
"I'll drive you home. Tell your mother we're working on our Legal Studies project." He said decisively.
"Lie?" Rory questioned, "No, I'm already on thin ice as it is. Remember that little suspension on my permanent record? It could stop me from getting into Harvard."
Tristan grabbed her backpack out of her hands and spat, "Then think what would happen if you have arson on your criminal record."
Opening her mouth as if trying to say something, Rory was stunned into unwilling silence. How could he know? How could he know anything? Tristan could never understand her, she tried to remind herself, and Rory hated herself when she questioned the statement that she had been repeating over and over in her mind.
"Come on, we'll talk later, where it's safe." he told her, leading Rory to his car.
The drive was filled with silence and quiet thinking. Rory was trying to discover how exactly Tristan had found out about her setting the fire, or if he was merely bluffing. If he was telling the truth Rory knew she needed to go on the defensive quickly, but knowing Tristan, and how he got under her skin, it might be safer to go on the offensive.
Parking the car on the roadside, Rory gulped as she saw the burnt building and the endless stretches of land that she loved. Somehow knowing Tristan's family owned the property, changed her opinion of it, now it just seemed sad, as if it had been abandoned. Seeing Tristan in the landscape made her wonder why he fit so perfectly, in a way that paralleled the way she was so comfortable while on the space of unfilled land.
"So, your family owns this." Rory mumbled following Tristan out of the car, and sitting next to him on the bonnet of the vehicle.
"Yeah, it was the original settlement of the DuGrey family. I'll inherit it someday. My brother was meant to get it but he preferred an increased percentage of the family business." He told her as she looked over the marred piece of land, his eyes distant and untranslatable.
"I didn't know you had a brother." Rory said redirecting the conversation.
Tristan merely grinned, with his eyes reflecting into hers somewhat sadly, "Daniel's a lot older than me. If we're doing twenty questions here, I also have an older sister, Elspeth, another black sheep like me. But unlike me, she avoided the Military School endeavor, and when straight on to some posh English University which she hated. Finished?"
"Nice to know." Rory commented, not knowing exactly how to respond.
"Now, I want you to tell me the truth. I saw how you acted in class today, and innocent people don't act that nervous. Did you play with matches Mary?"
"Nervous? I wasn't nervous. I just don't mesh with law enforcement. After that time Lorelei and I got thrown in jail overnight for a little count of public mayham you'd think it'd be expected for someone to be a little shifty around the choppers, but no, you get all suspicions."
"Answer my question. Did you burn the house?"
"What do you know anyway? Do you have any proof that I did it? No! So mind your own bees wax!"
Tristan jumped off the car bonnet, and pulled Rory towards him, so they were only inches apart. "Look Rory, I've been watching you since the moment I first saw you. I know when something's up with you, and I'm asking you now to tell me the truth."
Rory was too angry to notice he'd called her by her real name, not the one he'd gave her, "What should I tell you? What you want to hear? All so you can go back to your father like a good little trained puppy?"
"Like I would tell my father anything! Not everyone has the picture perfect relationship with their parents like you do. Don't pretend to understand my life." Tristan yelled, his grey eyes turning into cold steel, "I just want to know if you burnt the house down. I'm not going to tell the police or my family or anyone."
"Why?" Rory asked crossing her arms over her chest defensively. The skin of her arms brushed up against the material of his blazer, and she wished she could pull away from him without her actions looking like a weakness she was trying to hide.
"Because I like you alright. I think you're different than everyone I've ever met and even if you hate me forever and never like me-"
Breaking into his answer, Rory mumbled, a little stunned, "I like you Tristan, I would never hate you."
"The thing is, I notice you when you're not around, and I never do that. I know how you act when people are watching, and how you are when people aren't keeping their eyes on you." Tristan ranted, with his eyes showing marinades of emotions that Rory was afraid to read.
He was annoyed with her, that much she got without having to read too deep; he hated the way she made him feel. Or maybe that was what she was feeling reflecting back at her like some demented film of images.
Rory had always thought Tristan's eyes were blank, and closed off, she knew then, in that moment, that she just hadn't known how to read him. There was something that told her that she could trust him, a raw honesty he kept hidden from everyone, something that endured him to her. Something that made up for his cruelty and his disregard for others, something that made him worth her attention, that made her feel like there was something worth being effected by in him.
"The day I was suspended, I drove out here. I was so angry, and out of control, and I got a can of petrel and set fire to the house. I didn't know it belonged to your family, I didn't know any of the history about this place. I just come here when I'm sad or when something bad happens. I'm sorry if my actions hurt you and your family." Rory stuttered, looking down at her hands, playing with her expensive toy of a wristwatch.
Whoever said the truth will set you free lied. It left you uncomfortable and vulnerable. Twisting her hands nervously, Rory avoided looking into Tristan's eyes. She didn't want to see the effect of her words, but at the same time she did. It was like a train crash, and Rory felt like a bystander unable to do anything to prevent it.
After Rory's omission Tristan stopped moving, and his body relaxed, his hands stopped shaking in fury, and his face took on a soft look that made her heart skip a beat without her permission. His eyes found hers, and although she wanted to look away, she couldn't. Smiling a perfect smile, which showed his white straight teeth obviously thanks to thousands in orthodontic bills in his early teens, he seems to be taking her words in, making sense of them, and ordering them to fit into the different sections of his complex mind.
"I always hated that house. It was a metaphor for how my family acted. Leaving there past behind without a thought, so they could move on to a bigger and brighter future." He stated as he took a seat back on the bonnet of the sports car. "But I always like the land around it. It was never landscaped into the fashionable garden of the various times. It was always left to itself. The DuGrey's were never interested in gardening when there was money to be made." He joked as he pulled out a packet of cigarettes.
"Neither are the Gilmore's. But then again, we seem to break that mold." She said, and for a moment she saw his eyes soften.
Rory watched his movements carefully, waiting for the ulterior motive to become apparent, but as time past on, she found herself trusting his word not to use the submission of guilt against her. Unknowingly her words complimented Tristan, just knowing she thought he was different to his family, even without her knowing them, made the weight on his shoulders lesson for a second. He spent half his time being what his parents wanted, and the other half trying to undo the damage of his actions.
"I understand what you mean about this place, it's . . ." she seemed to struggle to find words that wouldn't leave her vulnerable to Tristan's whims, "calming to be here. Something about the wilderness, even this tame variety of it, makes our problems seems meaningless in the long run."
"I came here a lot as a child. But I haven't been here since before I left for Military School." He told her watching her blatantly, not trying to figure her out, just watching her because it felt strange not to.
Rory eyed him out of the corner of her eye as he 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?"
Pushing him away, she tried to get her footing back, still not immune to his sexual innuendoes, "You shouldn't smoke. It's a disgusting habit."
Flicking the cigarette away, he grinned a faraway smirk she failed yet again to read, "There are worse habits to have in this world."
"Like what?" she countered challengingly.
Leaning over until they were only inches apart, she felt his breath on her face. Unmoving she watched his eyes, trying to predict what his next move would be. She made no move to pull away, maybe a little infatuated with the charm he exuded over her. Maybe a little more than infatuated.
"I think you're gorgeous and lovely." He told her defiantly as if it was a fact set in stone, "This would be a lot easier if you weren't so stubborn."
Narrowing her eyes, Rory tried to navigate a response. He was confusing, and always changing the rules of engagement on her. With Dean she knew what to say, and even with Jess there were limits, and subjects that were not spoken of. Tristan seemed to discard rules rather than make them, and as he looked at her, his gaze telling her things she wasn't ready to know, she felt like she had jumped into the deep end of the pool and didn't know how to swim. Suddenly, he broke away, with his eyes shining with an emotion that looked vaguely like shame, or something along the lines of regret.
"Sorry." He told her.
"It's okay."
She stated softly, gently, but for what she was forgiving him of she didn't know. Looking down at her hands she tried to think of something that Tristan would want her forgiveness for. But she couldn't discover anything. Tristan wasn't a person that asked for forgiveness. He merely wanted acceptance, never forgiveness. He didn't need it to function, he didn't need to be loved or to be liked, and she could never understand why.
"No it's not. You're still with bag boy, and I know you don't do things like that." He stated, looking over to the dead house; burnt a mournful black, it was as if weeping for its lost importance to a family that had forgotten it.
His words should have surprised her. They should have, but she felt numb as they passed over her. Shock maybe. Or maybe she was giving him too much credit. Rory didn't know how to take his apology. She wondered if this was another scheme or plan to get to her. But she knew somewhere in her mind he didn't work like that. He didn't play the sympathy card, or pretend to be sensitive and caring with her; he was how he was, and he didn't change for people, no matter who they were.
"I'm not with Dean anymore." Rory told him, and not knowing why she added, "I'm not with anyone at the moment."
Smiling once more, Tristan leered, "Wonder how long that will last?"
Letting his comment slide, Rory changed subjects, "Do you want to know a secret?"
Watching the blue eyed girl smile an enigmatic smile, Tristan couldn't say no.
Continuing, Rory slid closer to the blonde haired boy, just close enough to smell the soft scent of his after-shave, and the mix of soap and him that held to his clothes. "You can't tell anyone if I show you."
Tristan bit back a comment he knew would throw her, and instead nodded, agreeing to her terms. Wondering what secret she could possibly have hidden away from the rest of the world. She didn't hide things, or so he once thought. He once believed she was an open book. He believed without a doubt that she would tell her best friend and her mother everything that happened in her little life. But mostly he believed that she was as happy as she seemed from the outside, that she did have that great life that he saw as he looked in. But each moment he was with her, he was starting to understand that what he saw was just that, an act, or maybe a facade she believed in at the most.
Unclasping the Cartier watch on her right wrist, she carefully undid the complex clips and clasps of the elegant piece of jewelry that suited her so well. Finally, she pulled off the watch, and handed her wrist over into his soft hands. Underneath the band of the watch, lay a small, neat tattoo, which ran the length of her underside of her wrist. In blue black ink, it spelled the word, 'Cellar door'.
"Cellar door?"
"A famous linguist once said, that out of all the word in the English language, and all the combinations of words, cellar door was the most beautiful." She told him softly, as he ran his fingers gently over the soft skin at the base of her wrist.
"I didn't think you'd be the type to get a tattoo." He told her, "But it suites you in a way."
He meant what he said.
It did suit her.
It was totally unexpected and he loved it because it shattered any theories he had about her good girl image. She seemed to be made up of all these little parts that contradicted each other all the time, but managed to work together to product a weird fairy princess ideal of a girl he was so attracted to. He wanted her then, more than sexually, which at first, was his only plan for her. But then, as he held her wrist in his hand, feeling the gentle beat of her pulse, he just wanted to stay next to her, just in her presence where things seemed better, where he didn't feel so unpardonable.
"Louise and I got tattoos one night after some party. I never told anyone about it, apart from you." She almost whispered, feeling a little too fragile at that moment for her liking.
"So your mother doesn't know?"
"No, I'm going to tell her when we go to Europe. Say I got it done in some hole in London or something. She's never seen it. Sometimes she sees flashes of it when my watch slips, and if she asks, I just say blood veins or it's a bruise."
"Why are you telling me this then?" he asked lightly, but his touch told her otherwise. "You like me that much now?"
"You have trusting hands." She said with a joking smile telling him to disregard her statement even if it was true, "Maybe you're not as bad as you used to be."
"I'm bad to the bone Mary." He told her in a mock serious tone. "I better take you home now. I don't want your mother to worry."
"I'm with you. I'm pretty sure she's already worrying." Rory laughed as she slipped back inside his car.
Next Chp: St Jude.
"If I tell you something, you have to promise you won't laugh, or act like Lorelei." Rory said seriously,
Paris smiled, pretty sure she knew how her friend was talking about, "I can't promise you that!"
Smiling a secretive smile that Rory knew would annoy her friend, she replied, "Then I can't tell you."
Another thank you to Belle for all her help.
