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 13: Complicity
Another society dinner.
Yet again.
Seated on a glittering table Tristan face was expressionless, as he waited for Rory to arrive. Always waiting. But not always for her. He sat, glacier eyed, with his parents, while his brother and his stunning wife were dancing. Daniel danced with the air of someone who had that ability forced on him from years of social engagements. Annabelle danced like liquid, her body moving with the music only she could hear; a parallel song much greater than the one being played by the inept musicians.
Tristan found himself watching; strangely entranced by the couple.
Watching the swirl and curling of Annabelle's chiffon dress. Watching Daniel's hand. Always at the base of her spine. She was colours and light, torn wings of butterflies and gilded eyes. She would either be romanticised or mocked at the end of the evening. Daniel was stiff, unyielding, yet, with these calculated moves he was the one people would watch, another boy only worth a passing glance by his elders.
Glancing away, boredom rapidly overtook Tristan's mind.
Neither gilded eyes nor an unyielding brother entertained him.
Rory was apparently meant to make an appearance, but knowing her mother it was unlikely that the two women would arrive on time, nor stay beyond dessert. Tristan felt his mind slip into the game as he looked over at Louise and Lemon's group of friends. The group of stunningly gorgeous creatures were just another cliche of vapid girls. One Louise was intent on becoming one of. The fiery blonde was always looking for a chance to move up.
A chance to move up.
It might actually happen.
It probably would by the looks some of the wealthier men were giving her.
It probably wouldn't by the looks some of the wealthier boys were giving her.
Oh the young set and there toys.
But, Tristan reminded himself as she winked playfully at him, Louise was never a toy.
Never just a plaything.
She preferred dictating actions rather than playing the part of a mignonette.
From his side, Tristan watched his father converse with Paris father. Another bastard of a man. Hawk eyes in a gucci suit. Another cut out that matched the rest. Sharing the same story line of many; a bitch of a wife that he would never leave, and the constant rotation of pretty faced young women for him to fuck each time he felt bored.
Bored.
Paris had left the table, her stiff body frozen as her mother told her to smile and go dance with the young gentlemen. Mrs. Gellor was just another version of Frances DuGrey. Only more of a bitch. If that was possible. Or maybe it wasn't. Frances was the vapid one out of the two, and as they talked on and on, he watched the surgically youthful of his mother babble and gossip.
"Go and mingle darling," Frances told him, her cold powder blue eyes poisoning him with there hypocritical intentions. "There are lots of pretty girls here, why don't you go and have some fun,"
Fun.
He smirked at the double meaning of her words that obviously was lost on her. Many things, however, were lost on her. Not that she minded. Not that he did either. Her wide eyes glanced at him, god, why couldn't she just keep one face. Just as he got used to a new smile, a new almond shaped eyes she had to change it.
But, smirking that same smirk he managed to leave the table with a charming indifference, then melting with practiced ease into the crowd of colourful dresses, and dark suits. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed his grandfather talking with a group of wealthy out of touch old grey haired men. Son of a bitch. Those mean eyes, those slate eyes that were now shared by Tristan looked at the youth, then he dismissed the blonde, returning to his cigar smoke and business deals. The slate eyed boy wondered what the bastard would say about Rory.
Rory.
He hadn't told his parents about her.
For some reason he couldn't let this just be him asking how high when they ordered a jump. The insurance deal was still being dealt; Richard Gilmore stealing every cent like the money whore that Rory would never see. But Tristan knew the deal would go through, but sides would sign on that dotted line grinning charmingly, both believing they'd screwed the other. Grinning Charmingly. Charmingly grinning. What a lark it would be. Prostituting there values and morals without even realising. Another habit that Tristan would most probably receive somewhere along the line. Hand in hand with the trust fund and some job much higher than Elspeth would ever reach. Automatically, Tristan allowed a cellophane grin to pass over his face as Janlan nodded to him knowingly.
Another cellophane smile.
Another cellophane smirk.
Another cellophane grin.
Another cellophane boy.
"Cheer up Bible boy, didn't anyone ever tell you to look on the bright side of life?" came Rory's dulcet voice as she stepped to his side.
Her hand straying onto his arm for just that second too long to be perceived by outsides as a platonic touch.
Platonic?
Far from it, well as least he preferred to see it like that.
"I would have though Monty Python would have been too risqué for Stars Hollows," he retorted, his eyes glinted like chandeliers.
Pushing her into the only blind stop at the corner of the room, he kissed her hard, wanting to try and remember what it was like to be so warm. His hands slipped under her satin top, just enough to feel her skin but still remain diluted enough for any possible interruptions. But her bones still turned into water, and he still held her that little bit too tight. Finally, running her hands through his hair, she tried to smooth the waves in the blonde mess she had caused. Giving up, she stepped back and out of that blind spot Tristan wanted to stay in all night.
"So, this is what the rich and the dammed do,"
Her lazily voice, too tempting and too vivid washed over him. She stood, head cocked to the side, observing the torn butterflies women, and the black abyss men in their dinner suits. Her hips were angled just that little bit back. Idly he examined her. She didn't look quite the way Lorelei wanted her anymore. But Tristan didn't bother much anymore with what Lorelei wanted.
He didn't smile at her words, nor did he feel anything, "You get used to it."
Taking his hand for a second, she kissed his scarred knuckles, "No we won't,"
What a cliché of words.
It almost felt sick on her tongue, and she found herself blushing after the words had left her mouth. She smiled a sad smile, bitting her lip, trying to forget that she had let him know she already understood he'd fallen into the routine that she was beginning to become part of. What a silly girl. Silly girl and her silly words. Glancing over to the middle of the tables of powerful people, Rory face took on that cover of a look he now recognised.
Following her gaze he spotted her mother.
She was beautiful, stunning and untouchable, taunting and unattainable. Never aloof, she looked more like the college student visiting their old high school. Seeing the same buildings and pretending they were smaller. Pretending the old uniform were light years away from the gleaming new fabrics covering the same skin and the same person.
Pretending.
Believing in the pretend.
But she still was beautiful.
Rory crossed her arms over her waist. It seemed lovely wasn't quite enough when place in the same room as that glittering butterfly. Tristan scoffed as Lorelei teased Emily, the older woman's face tightening. Lorelei was too brash, too bold, her actions unplanned. She may had gotten what she wanted all those years ago, but it seemed she still felt the need to fight for it.
Maybe she still needed convincing.
Maybe her choice didn't matter.
Instead of being a DAR darling she was a Stars Hollow Sweetheart.
She played another version of the same act. She acted the same version with the same conviction as a young actor trying to convince the world that his new teen romance really was different to the others that had come before it. It was painting by numbers all over again. But Lorelei was beautiful, even as she joked uncouthly. Rory shuffled, turning her shoulders away from the mother that somehow over shadowed her, even though she appeared to be everything Lorelei should have been.
"You don't have to be like her," he told her.
"Yes I do," she whispered, "It's too late for me to change that,"
She wasn't perfect, and she wasn't sweet and kind all the time. Rory hated how Tristan had to see the parts of her she hid. He wasn't meant to see her angry or cruel, yet he always did. He saw the parts of her that she had always perfected in concealing from Dean, Jess, her mother, her father, everyone. He made her feel like it was okay to act in ways a girl like her shouldn't act. She sometimes hated him for that. She wasn't meant to be as she was, she was meant to be better than that.
Better than that.
Better than what?
Another question she never could answer.
Another question she pretended not to be bothered trying to answer.
"I have to go," she told him, her eyes not meeting his.
"God Ror, stop doing this," he mumbled, his tone somewhat harsher than he would have liked, his eyes creasing. "Stop punishing yourself; you always blame yourself for everything. You don't have to be what she wants, or what anybody wants. You're so worried about people stopping loving you. You don't have to act or do what people want to be loved. Not everyone will love you, but the people that matter will,"
She looked at him, distancing herself from him and the truths she should had acknowledged long ago.
"Why can't you just let me be?"
"Because." He answered somewhat childishly.
She felt herself get angry, but before she could snap at him, Tristan pulled her to the side of the dance floor. From there he pointed out his brother and his beautiful wife. Rory wondered if he was only doing this to show her the comparison in his life; how he wasn't like his brother or father. But maybe it was the opposite, and maybe she was another Annabelle ready to be wooed by a DuGrey smile and a few charming words.
Maybe she'd already been charmed.
She didn't want to be 'charmed' though. She didn't want him to have that effect over her. He already had too much power over her already. She wouldn't give permission to allow him even more influence over her. He was bright and stunning, but he was also stark and dangerous.
He pulled her onto the dance floor.
His hand lay in the small of her back, and she was beyond nervous. She fumbled, and couldn't seem to remember any of the steps. She couldn't seem to remember anything. Nothing came to mind as she was spun round and round. He guided her, like a blind girl being pulled into the crushing masses.
She felt terrible.
She felt wrong.
Gawky and lanky she was far from the gilded perfection of Annabelle. The Fijian glided and smouldered, elegant and alluring, a mix of everything unthinkable, while Rory felt pale and sickly in comparison. Her mother laughed from the sideline, teasing and testing her parents, while Emily looked on, with that proud smile on her face as her granddaughter danced with the only boy that seemed good enough in her eyes for the saving grace of the Gilmore family.
The voices, loud, excitable, and pounding all blurred as he spun her.
The lights and smells, alcohol and white candles became a mess of splattered colours as Rory was dipped.
Falling backwards to the floor.
But he caught her, just before she herself convinced he wouldn't.
Rory clung to Tristan then, as the music slowed, and as the singer took hold, the clear voice spearing the suddenly sodden air. Her fingers dug into her suit, the fabric rough and obviously expensive under her finger tips. The unexpected flash of light erupted to the left of her, and Tristan smirked, his lips brushing too close to her skin as he leaned into her neck, whispering.
"Smile pretty for the society page."
She wanted to close her eyes. She wanted to pretend. But she didn't because it was stupid to pretend. It was stupid. Despite being a silly girl, she did have her limits. So she clung to him, pulling him closer, wanting to feel his breath against her skin, willing the music to cease, and willing it to continue.
She felt sick, and she felt alive, and she was on overload and she had no idea why.
"Can we go outside," she found herself thinking.
But her thoughts seemed to have articulated themselves without her permission, and soon she was lead outside. But then she realised the music hadn't stoped, and that she was the one who had lead him off the dance floor and through the glittering people to the outside world. His eyes, dark and still that slate colour that haunted her were blank as she led him out into the cool air and sparkling water of the county club pool. He didn't ask her anything, instead, he just followed, but in a way, it felt like she was the one following him. Following him into another blind spot. Following his lead and imaging charming words exiting his smirking smile.
Maybe she was already charmed a little even without the imagined words.
More than a little.
So there they where.
A doll like girl and a glacier eyed boy.
He seemed to glow with a charisma she had never seemed to inherit from her mother and father.
Legs swung over the side of the diving board as the boy flicked water up at her from his position at the edge of the pool. His dancing, untouchable eyes looked down at her, and she pretended that he was telling a secret, making him a promise, but quickly her attention wander over to the masses of other people on the grounds.
Another meeting of the bright young things of their chosen society.
The slate eyed boy jumped off the ledge of the pool to relative safety; enjoying the attention he received at the completion of the action. With the seamless strength of a seasoned swimmer, the blonde ran a hand through his hair. Someone called out to him. A figure of some obvious importance that Tristan felt the need to respond too.
Silhouetted against the night sky, with torches lit around the expansive garden, the cobalt eyed girl, followed the boy into the jaws of civilisation, stretching her face into a forced smile as they reached his friends. His friends. Hazy eyed girls and boys dressed in designer one offs. Glowing skin and breath stained by peppermint chewing gum, covering the shared vice of cigarettes, alcohol, and other substances that weren't quite as semi legal to use.
In the corner of her eye, Rory paused, seemly imprisoned in immobility as Daniel led Annabelle out to there waiting car. She really was something ethereal; something far more beautiful than torn butterfly wings and calculated actions. Turning a little, Annabelle smiled, waving out to Tristan.
"Lucky bastard," Tristan told her, stepping close in the muted lights of the grounds.
"I like her," Rory replied, her eyes still fixated on the couple as Daniel placed his jacket over her shoulders.
They almost looked young. They almost looked like teenagers. She made them look younger. She pulled Daniel closer, her curves and soft smiling face smoothed his ridged angles, hiding some of his nature. She glittered, and somehow Rory believed, in that second, that she truly was gold, that Annabelle was real, and that it wasn't a happy ending Rory needed to imagine. But late at night, sitting stiff and cold in her living room, Rory knew she would doubt what she saw, that she would doubt the fairy tale, not knowing why she was picking apart something that had seemed so beautiful hours before.
But that would come later, and now, as Tristan waved back to the illuminating Annabelle, Rory didn't care.
She pretended that it was nothing more than what she wanted, and that it was nothing less than what she saw.
She just didn't know why.
She just didn't know why it seemed so utterly important to believe, to have that happy ending.
So, as he joined a group of youths, one she didn't know, and ones that didn't know her, she smiled, nervously, brushing her hair behind her ear, trying not to stand out, while he laughed, leered, and did everything in his power to be the centre of the growing attention. At that moment she was just a visitor to his world, another pretty girl his friends assume he was leering into his bed. They could have been correct. Depending on his mood he could be anything he wanted or others wanted him to be. But in the ends, he always was the same thing. He was the leader, the chosen elite royalty, holding all the necessary credentials needed to be the alpha male in there pack of pretty young things.
But in the end, weren't they all the same?
Weren't they?
"Rory dear," came Emily's silver tone, "We're leaving darling,"
The sound of her Grandmothers voice released her from the unnoticed state, allowing her to break away from the group. But still, she found herself blushing, somehow embarrassed of the faults she knew the blank eyes of the teenagers found as they, picked her up, examining her, finding all the faults she tried to hide with their all knowing eyes. She was 'that girl'. Tristan nodded at her, kissing her cheek, knowing she'd escape.
Not all habits had been ended as of yet.
She somehow felt rechart atrocious as Tristan turned away from her, and trailing her grandparents, silently trying to mirror and memorise her Grandmother's strength and her Grandfather's knowing nature, only seemed to compound the feeling. She tried to forget the feeling of his breath on his neck, and the tattooed feeling of his hands on her skin. Emily and Richard took her, their saving grace, tightly holding her. She tried to mirror and memorise them. She tried. But it seemed like the good features that would be remembered while the bad would be whitewashed into obscurity. She pretended that she was conditioned to bells and lessons times, not the sometimes fickle desires of others, but it was obvious.
However, that didn't mean she could try.
"Did you have fun tonight?" Richard asked with a sparkling shift and matching electric blue eyes.
"Meet any new friends dear?" Emily questioned, looking pointedly at the slate eyed boy's parents as they exited the estate.
"Not really," Rory found herself replying as she intently watched the chaffer driven BMW draw closer and closer.
"Your mother's waiting," Richard stated in that unidentifiable tone of his before he wished her good bye, his worn hands grasping Rory's comfortingly.
Yes, Lorelei was.
The two graceful entities by Rory's side kissed her cheeks.
They kissed her cheeks, and whispered promises of dinners and lunch dates.
Finally, they disappearing into the night.
"Took your sweet time," Lorelei muttered from inside the jeep, with a laughing smile pasted onto her heart shaped face.
But as Rory slipped into the car, she knew her mother was irritated, annoyed, and as the sickly sweet musk perfume perpetrated the air, filling the car, somehow, Rory felt ashamed. It was stupid, driving home. Yet, all Rory could do was look at her hands, unable to say anything of any meaning. Glancing into the side mirror, she paused, catching her tried expression. She was utterly tired. But that was her fault.
Silly girl.
In her high heels, and painted face she was very much the chine doll Emily described her as. Just another still life on a shelf. She was a girl playing dress up, and in her shimmering dress that slide over her hips, she was an object that was on its way to its final evolution as the pretty Sabrina that Rory was repeatedly told she looked like.
Just another silly girl.
Next Chp: Hold my hand because I'm . . .
No preview, you'll just have to wait and see.
This chp is dedicated to Belle who got me writing again.
Sorry for the wait, I had my end of year 12 exams, and thus, spent all (and I mean all) my time studying like I have never studied before, and after that I when on Schoolies with my friends, and I've only just got back. I would like to thank everyone who has taken the time to review my fic, and I hope this chp makes up for the wait.
Thanks again for your patience,
Professional Scatterbrain
