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 15

The music was loud and pounding as Tristan left the comforting side of Rory to go search through the masses of teenagers to find his friends. Flashes of Rory's dark hair, and navy silk camisole top that hugged her curves raced through his mind, but as they faded to be replaced by images of Summer he did nothing to stop the loss.

"Hey Tristan." Came her siren song, but now he was immune to it.

Looking her over, she was merely another girl to him. Long legs, designer clothes, with desire shinning through her eyes. It was then Tristan knew tonight was his chance to get back at her. Put her back in her place, to finally show her what were the consequences for messing with a DuGrey. He was the master of the game they all played, and it was time to get his title back.

His retribution was long over due.

So was her comeuppance.

Pushing her into an empty bathroom he crashed his lips down on hers, kissing her hard. His hands were rough, but her groans and guttural moans told him she liked it. She always did. Hitching her dress up over her hips, he gripped her tightly. He made sure to bruise her skin.

Rory bruised so easily.

Summer didn't, so he was forceful. He wanted to bruise her, he wanted to hurt her. As he took her up against the cool white tiled wall, he felt detached. When he was with Rory she was always pulling him closer, drawing him in, never letting him be what he was about to become here; detached. He always lost control with Rory, always breaking as she lay kisses along his jaw, and whispered his name like a secret in the dark.

"Trist," she whimpered.

He didn't lose control when Summer moaned his name though.

Sucking and licking his skin in an effort to mark him, Summer tightened her arms around his back, but before she could do any damage, Tristan stopped her. Biting her shoulder until he tasted the coppery metallic taste of blood on his tongue he heard her let out a yelp. Her eyes seemed to change as she looked into his, as she realised the tables had turned. She understood then he didn't want her to leave any mark on him.

Not even one.

As he finished Tristan pulled away with disgust. Coldly, and clinically, he cleaned up, and neatened his ruffled appearance. Slowly, she slid to the floor, her once perfect dress still pushed up her hips, and her heels half undone on her feet. Her eyes had a dazed look as she watched him leave, as though nothing had happen.

"I'll tell her." Summer threatened.

Tristan laughed, it was hollowed and unafraid, "She would never believe you. You're just the jealous slut to her Summer, and I'm the trusted Tristan."

"Bastard."

"And you're a bitch Summer. But you already knew that."

That's how the game worked.

There was a winner, and a loser.

It was easy to see who played which roles that night.

Easy.

Easy . . .

Easy?

Tristan had won, and she was back where she was before she had dated him. Or maybe she wasn't, maybe she was lower, or maybe she just a messed up mess of a girl with her bright lipstick smudged and the taste of second hand smoke polluting her mouth. She didn't stand, she didn't move, but she wanted too. She wanted to push him aside, to paste an indifferent smile on her face as she moved to glare into the bathroom mirror, straightening her cloths like he had straightened his, and make some meaningless comment that would match the meaningless encounter.

But she couldn't.

Because the encounter wasn't meaningless.

What a sadistic bastard.

What a callous bitch.

Couldn't those bright young things act atrocious when they tried?

Walking out of the bathroom, Tristan instantly found Rory standing with her friends. Smiling and laughing, lovely and everything mixed into one. His heart jumped, as she turned and smiled at him. Walking over to her, he slide his arm around her waist, skimming under the silk of her top to feel the warm porcelain skin that he had burned into his memory, held twined in his soul.

Kissing the base of her neck, her pulse quickened, and her breathing went shallow for a few seconds. As Summer staggered out into the room he caught her eyes, and made sure she saw him with Rory. Summer's eyes flickered and flashed with immense hared, something so potent and dangerous he almost thought he imagined the slip as she turned and stalked away. Almost. Loosening his grip on her waist, Tristan began to move away, but the light pressure of her hand on his arm stopped him.

"I'm tired, will you drive me home?" she asked softly, her voice sweet and alluring with it gentility.

He nodded, unable to say no to her. Following her as she grabbed her coat, and made her way out of the masses of people until they were outside in the cool late night air. Latching on to his arm she leaned into his chest then slipped around like a dancer, and grazed a light kiss on his lips, smiling the entire time.

"I should offer to drive you home more often." He mummered into her hair as he laid small, gentle kisses along her neck.

Pulling away, she linked her hand with his, and smiled a small secret grin that she only gave him and laughed, "I don't want to spoil you."


Arriving outside the cozy home, Rory gave Tristan a secret smile that he couldn't read, before inviting him inside. Walking across the lawn she pulled off her heels, and pulled the hair clips out of her hair. Tristan watched her carefully; it had become a habit of his to watch her. Reaching the door, Tristan smirked at Rory, before laying a deep kiss on her lips leaving her dizzy and weak-kneed.

"I'll see you soon."

"Lorelei's at a conference this weekend.' Rory told him, letting him read between the lines.

A talent of the younger set.

"Ror, your town is like the Italian Mafia, they know everything. They are the sole reason phone companies make so much money. Once one person knows a secret, every knows five minutes later."

Pouting almost too saccharin sweetly, she spoke again, "I could say you were sleeping on the couch because you were sick, and me being the Good Samaritan couldn't let you drive all the way home with you being all green around the gills, cause that would just be unsafe, and I could never let a nice person I like be in an unsafe position-"

Tristan cut her off, "There's a reason I'm know as the Evil One in this town, I'm sure everyone is just waiting for me to lead you into temptation."

Smiling, she laid her hand on his chest, and whispered coyly, "What if I lead you this time?"

Gulping, Tristan nodded, he found himself once again unable to say no to her seduction. Such a seduction from a lovely girl. Such a seduction to a striking boy. He was awkward and wrong as he fumbled trying to reply appropriately to her. Instead he settled on following her into the dark empty house. Silently he watched her pull a fluffy pink blanket and matching pillows out of the pantry and set them out on the couch. He didn't want her to touch him, as if she might be tainted by any remaining traces of Summer, but as Rory looked at him, with her shimmering eyes he was undone, and left to her once more.

"Just in case someone look in the windows." She told him after a beat.

Only after a beat.

"Very smart." He told her, trembling a little as he felt her fingers undoing the buttons of the soft blue shirt covering his form. Pausing until she gave him silent permission, he unzipped her top and let it float to the ground.

Distractedly she replied, "Well I am an extremely intelligent girl, comes with the territory cause of my giant brain power. You don't know how I suffer . . ."

"Woe is you," he replied almost jumping as he felt her cool fingers sliding under the waist of his jeans.

Gently pulling him by undershirt she led him into her room, and pushed him on her bed. Climbing on top of him, Rory moaned his name as his hands traced her curves. Undressing each other slowly, Tristan was losing his mind at every soft, fleeting touch, damp kiss.

As he tried to deepen the kiss, Rory broke away, and mumbled, "Slow."

Catching her eyes, Tristan waited for her to set the pace. Waited with hazy eyes. Her touches were brief, and so fragile. It was as if she was treating him as though he was glass, and at any moment he could shatter. He felt his control weaken, and his resolve break as she placed his hands on her back and allowed him to trace the arch of her spine. She wanted him, and took care of what they needed so she could have what they both wanted.

Before he knew what was happening he was inside her, groaning her name in the dark, he heard her respond as she moved slowly above him. Writhing, with shallow breathing and a light sheen of sweat, Rory was lovely to Tristan. Tenderly she kissed him, her motions removed from anything he had felt in the past, and he was lost. Misplaced among her fragile touches and hushed whispers he clung to her. His mind was more than a little mislaid as she whispered his name, and all he could do was knot his hands in her hair, bringing her closer. Everything was fading, everything had gone astray including him as she kissed him, her dark hair falling in a knotted and kinked curtain around his face.

He was lost.

He was warm, and he was reaching for her.

Reaching.

Waves of pleasure crashed over the two, as they reached there crescendo. She fell on his chest, her limbs sprawled and intertwined without any grace in the mint coloured sheets. Gradually, she almost slipped to his side. Kissing his crown, her soft breathing slowly returning to a steady constant pace that calmed him as he tried to regain his footing after losing all control. Her soft body curled into his side, and with a rush he cradled her in his arms, needing the contact probably more than she did. Her sleep hazy eyes folded and unfolded him, silently questioning, yet never voicing any of her queries.

Folded.

Unfolded.

Such a lovely girl.

Such a dangerous boy.

He was the first of the two to submit to sleep, but he could feel her eyes watching him even as his mind shut down for the night. Her cobalt eyes tracing each feature on his face, watching his as he slept. Something about Tristan's actions worried Rory. There was something about the way he touched her, as if she was going to disintegrate. Normally he always was carefully with her, but tonight he had a different sort of caution about him. Rory wondered what had caused it; it was probably the Dean and Lindsey wedding. Dean was always seemed to have an adverse effect on Tristan.

Rory wanted to believe that was it. That Dean was the underlying issue. But somehow she couldn't. She knew more about him than he wanted. She knew that he hid what he felt, but although she could translate some the unarticulated mess in his mind, he was far to complex for her ever to understand him. His secrets seemed to bind him together, and make him who he was. Or at least he believed this was so.

In his sleep his face was far from innocent. He almost seemed restless, as if ready to awake at the first signs of disturbance. In her small bed she traced her name onto his skin, soon at an impasse between consciousness and unconsciousness, with her mind half awake and half asleep. She wanted to understand him, and to some extent maybe she did. An unacknowledged truth perhaps. Or maybe it was acknowledged.

She didn't know.

But something was off, and she could feel it, even now with his breath skating across her collar bones. Something had altered between them, and the feeling of unease whispered in hushed tones to her as she lay among her childhood toys and the slate eyed boy. She didn't know what to do. She was clueless. So it was easier to pretend. To ignore the feelings that were seeming through her veins. It was easier this was. It was only then, only when she'd given up any hope of deciphering him, did Rory allow her eyes close, and let her mind drift into a deep slumber.

But like Tristan it wasn't a restful one.

As much as she wanted to ignore what she felt, she couldn't.

But that didn't mean she didn't try.


It was the dim, hazy light that greeted Tristan as he was jolted into consciousness. The sleeping form of Rory clung to him, her soft scent on his skin, and the even breathing being the only sound in the otherwise empty house. She mumbled into his ear, riddles and codes, random splatterings of words. It was early, and the soft light seemed to illuminate too much.

Her cobalt eyes opened as she felt his hand skin along her form, tracing patterns on her skin idly. She smiled that smile that made his heart skip a beat or two; then rested her head on his shoulder. She smoothed a kiss into the crook of his shoulder. Perhaps it was tangible tenderness in her motions, but something was startled in him. Not quite used to her gestures. Not quite used to her. No words were spoken, nor were they needed at this point.

Both parties content with the situation at hand.

Tristan seemed calmer this morning, more resolved as Rory gazed at him.

His strength was visible in his eyes as they stared, focusing on something in her room.

"Morning Mary." He mumbled kissing her temple softly.

Smiling, she stretched like a cat, hearing Tristan catch his breath for a second, her smile widened, "I thought I stopped being a Mary to you,"

Rolling on top of her, he caught his weight on his elbows, careful not to crush her, "You'll always be my Mary. Well, unless you finally decided to do that thing involving-"

Laughing, Rory cut him off, "Idiot."

"You're not nice, did anyone tell you that?" he teased moving back to her side so she could breath freely again.

Pausing, Rory smiled angelically at him, "And you're a good person."

His eyes seemed to widen with shock, and glimpses of panic and anger were visible. Pulling away from her touch, he muttered, "No I'm not."

Surprised by his reaction, she placed her hand on his arm, trying to pull him back to her, "Yes you are. There's a goodness in you that will never go."

Breaking away from her hold, he pulled on his clothes hurriedly, "I'm not good." He said more to himself than to her. "I'm not."

Slipping on his shirt that he had forgotten in his rush, Rory followed him out of her room, unsure of what was going on. Tristan had never reacted like this. She found herself unable to read him. Like an outsider she watched him move, trying to get away from her as quickly as he could.

"Tris?"

"Not now Ror, just . . . just, I need to go." He told her, his eyes looking everywhere but at her.

Flashes of slate and mussed blonde hair seemed to add to his state of being. He was rushed and chaotic. She felt like she was scrambling to catch hold of him even through she was stationary. She didn't understand, and she felt useless and desperate as he zipped his pants, and grabbed his shoes. It was like she was sectioned off from him, like a bystander watching the scene play out.

"What's wrong?" she asked tentatively, knowing her words had sparked off his actions.

"Nothing, I'll see you at school Monday."

Then he left.

Then she was along.

Alone once again.

She heard his car start, and drive off, leaving her standing, dressed in his shirt in the middle of the living room. Wrapping her arms around her chest, Rory warded off tears, knowing instinctively that something was defiantly wrong.

No longer was something 'off.'

No longer could she ignore the unarticulated.



Next Chp: The only constant is change

"Don't ignore me," she whispered, her voice becoming lost by the time the remaining murmur reached the ears of the eavesdropping towns people. "You don't have to say anything but . . ."


Thanks to Belle and all my reviewers.