Author Note: These are all the scenes that happen between the stories in my Tristan/Rory mystery series. They are all on my LiveJournal. I was always resistant to putting them here because they don't have a plot stringing them together, but I decided I won't be so anal about it and put them here where they'll be easier to find. They have been lightly edited. This chapter's scenes follow Contraband.
I will start posting a new Trory soon. I just have to edit and have it proofread. Actually, if anyone is good at spotting errors, I need a proofreader. PM me if interested.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.
1.1: October 29, 2013
Rory got out of the cab that had brought her to Midtown. She looked up at the tall apartment building and glanced over at the door, a pizza delivery man had just been buzzed in. She hurried over to slip in before the door closed and followed the man into the elevator. "Uh, what floor?" he asked her after pressing number twelve.
"Same." They rode to the twelfth floor silently. When the doors opened and they both headed in the same direction, Rory asked, "Are you going to twelve oh seven, by chance?"
He checked the address. "Yes."
"That's where I'm headed, I can take those."
"Oh, alright. They're already paid for," he said, handing over two pizza boxes.
"Thanks."
"No problem," he said before heading back to the elevator.
Rory continued down the hallway until she was at her destination. She rapped on the door and waited. A few seconds later the door opened. Tristan looked a little surprised to see her standing in front of him, pizza boxes in hand.
"Did someone order some pizza?" she asked. He gave a wolfish grin as he gave her a once over. She had on a dark gray dress with a jean jacket. He pulled her into his apartment by the collar of her jacket. He stuck his head out into the hall and looked both ways. "What are you looking for?"
"The film crew."
"What film crew?"
"The one that must be making the adult movie. This is how they start, you know." He took the pizzas and sat them down on the small dining room table. He pulled on her jacket again, forcing her to take a step closer to him so he could kiss her. "This is how the movie continues."
"This is probably a terrible idea," she said quietly.
"No it isn't," he argued, taking her hands and bringing them to his cheeks. "See, I took your advice. I didn't think I should take any chances."
"That isn't what I meant, but thanks, it's much better. I was talking about this—us—on a date."
"Oh, it's a bad idea because you drive me crazy?"
"You drive me crazy. But that's not what I meant, either. We established that we'll have to see each other again. It could mess up our friendship."
He stepped back. "Since when have we ever made very good friends?"
"I think our status quo has been hovering around friends."
"I disagree."
"Why?"
"Because our 'friendship' has always been tenuous, at best," he explained. "I think it's because we can only be more or less. Status quo doesn't cut it. It really never has, when you think about it."
"I guess you have a point."
"Mm-hmm. Now, take these," he said, handing the pizzas back to her and turning her around, "over to the couch."
"Alright. So this is your place, huh?" she asked as she sat down and put the pizza on the coffee table.
"In all its bachelor pad glory," he answered from the kitchen. He walked in and sat next to her on the couch and handed her a glass of wine.
"Trying to liquor me up?"
He smirked at her. "You got this far sober. I think my chances are better than ever. I knew you'd give in eventually."
"Oh yeah, you called it. And it only took thirteen years and two weeks."
"Well, I get what I want in the end. Better late than never," he said before raising his glass. "To terrible ideas—,"
"And tenuous friendships."
He nodded. "And tenuous friendships," he repeated before they clinked glasses and took a sip.
NNNNNNN
Tristan woke up the next morning to the sound of his alarm clock. He hit the snooze button and shoved his arm back under his pillow. He heard the toaster from the kitchen and lifted his head a few inches. He could faintly smell fresh brewed coffee. He looked to the floor and frowned at the dress lying next to his pants and shirt he'd worn the night before. He turned over and sat up as Rory walked into the room, wearing a red T-shirt and carrying a plate of Pop Tarts.
"Good morning, Sleepy Head," she said with a grin. Tristan knit his brows in thought. He looked down and noted that he only had boxers on. "What's wrong?"
"Do I need to stop by Special Victims before I go to work this morning?" he asked.
"I don't know. Do you?" she asked, sitting on the bed to his left.
"You tell me, what happened last night?"
"Well, you basically rocked my world," Rory answered, but she was having a hard time keeping a straight face.
"I believe you, but I wish I could remember. Are you sure you didn't slip me something when I wasn't looking?"
"Oh, I'm sure. You fell asleep, Harvard."
"I did not," he argued.
"Yes, you did. You were out like a light before the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man showed up."
"No."
"Yes."
"That wasn't supposed to happen."
"Well, you were pretty tired. You had a late night on Monday."
"I guess that's true. You didn't carry me back here, did you? I didn't think you had that kind of strength."
"No. You walked yourself. But I did help with your clothes."
"Really?" he smirked.
"Well, you got your pants off, but I helped with your shirt—it had too many buttons."
"I can almost remember that."
"You insisted on brushing your teeth."
"I'm not a heathen."
"Of course. Then, I told you I was going to go home, but you said I should stay, since it was late and—"
"There are criminals out there."
"Yes. So, I stayed."
"You stayed."
"I stayed."
"Did you sleep in here with me?"
"Well I wasn't going to sleep on the couch."
"And I didn't touch you?"
"Not once. You keep pretty still when you sleep, you stayed on your side all night."
"My side? The whole bed is my side."
"Not last night."
"Because you stayed the night."
"Yes."
"In my bed."
"Yes."
"And I didn't touch you."
"Yes."
"Huh," he knit his brows. "Are you wearing my shirt?" he asked, a little indignantly.
"Oh, no. This is my Harvard shirt," she said. "I was planning to go to Harvard for eighteen years, and I still had some memorabilia. I thought you might like it even better than anything lacy."
"You wore it for me?"
"Yes."
"Because you were planning to stay overnight?"
"Yes."
"Oh man, I blew it," he said with a groan.
"Don't beat yourself up, you were tired."
"Do you feel cheated? You should feel cheated," he said apologetically. He took the plate of Pop Tarts away from Rory and sat them on the nightstand. He took her hands and pulled her over so she had to straddle him at his waist.
"Not really, I'm pretty sure there haven't been many girls to sleep with you—and actually sleep."
"No."
"So, that's something. Plus, now you'll just have to make it up to me. I'm free Friday," she said matter-of-factly. "Put on something nice, pick me up in your car, and take me somewhere."
He was pulling her closer still. "I think I can manage that." He grinned as he kissed her.
She took her hands away from his so she could wrap them around his neck as they continued to kiss. He moved his hands down to her hips, which moved slightly against him. She stopped suddenly and looked over at the clock on the nightstand. "What day is it?"
"Uh, I think Wednesday," Tristan answered vaguely.
"I have to go," she said and tried to get up. But he held her firmly in place.
"No you don't. You have to stay." He brought his hands to the sides of her face and pulled her in for another kiss, but she moved away again after a couple seconds.
"I really have to go. I have to be at a staff meeting at eight o'clock. I'm going to be late. And you have to go to work too."
"Work is overrated. And I'm always there before Stevenson. It'll do him some good to be there first. Plus, my apartment is closer to the Daily News compared to yours. So, you've saved time already."
"Yeah, and I'm quickly losing time sitting here like this. I need to get dressed."
Rory wrestled herself away from Tristan, who glowered a little as she left the room. She walked back in ten minutes later, dressed and ready for work. "Okay, I had a nice time and I'll see you Friday. Have a Pop Tart," she told him, taking one for herself and heading for the door.
"No goodbye kiss?" he asked.
"I'm not falling into that trap. Now get ready for work." She added, "You can probably get up by now."
He peeked under the sheet. "It's possible."
"See you later," Rory said with a nice smile as she left Tristan's bedroom.
1.2: November 1, 2013
Tristan walked Rory down the hall to her apartment Friday night. They'd dressed up nice and gone out to dinner, per her instructions. They'd even made it through the night without arguing—so far. When they got to her door, she fiddled with her keys and looked up at him.
"So," she started.
"So," he repeated with a slight smirk. "Are you doing anything next Friday night?"
"I'll have to check my schedule. Why?" she answered.
"No reason."
"Oh."
"I thought, if you're free, and you want, we could do this again," he suggested coolly.
"Well, I'll have to see if I'm available. There's a pretty good chance I will be, though." She fiddled with her keys and looked back up at him. "Do you . . . want to come in?"
He looked at the door and back at her before responding. "What for?"
"What do you mean 'what for'?"
"I mean, what do you have in there that will interest me?" he asked conversationally.
"Well—"
"Oh, I think I know what you want to do."
"You don't know," she said, eyes narrowed.
"What then?"
"I could have cake in there that I was going to offer you," she suggested indignantly.
"Do you?" he asked with a smile.
"No."
"Well, then. Thanks but no, thanks."
"No?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Do you have to go to work tomorrow?"
"For a little while. But that's not why I said no."
"Let me guess, you're being a gentleman?"
"Oh. No. I'm not really a gentleman."
"Well, you had me fooled tonight. I could have sworn you were."
"I'm a good actor."
"So, you're playing hard to get."
"No, I'm pretty easy to get."
"Okay, well. You already got the date for next week—," she started.
"You still had to check your schedule, though," he reminded her.
"Oh please, that was me playing hard to get. Besides, it's not like I didn't think it went well tonight."
"Yeah, me neither."
Rory shook her head in dismay. "Alright, well, good night, then," she said, giving up, as she reached for the door knob.
Tristan grabbed her hand away, though. She looked back up at him. "I didn't say no to the good-night kiss," he said as his lips descended to meet hers.
When he pulled away a few moments later, Rory spoke, "You're sure you don't want to come in?"
"No, I'm not as sure now. But I'm still not going to," he insisted before commenting further. "Man, you must really want me."
"No! The cake—"
"That you made up," he reminded before whispering in her ear. "See, pay back . . . is a bitch." He straightened and grinned at her.
She looked back at him, quizzical. "Pay back? Pay back for what?"
"For Wednesday."
"What happened Wednesday?"
"You left me high and dry."
"I had to go to work! And so did you!"
"Still."
"Still nothing. There wasn't time. And if you think there was, then I don't think I have much to look forward to."
"You have plenty to look forward to," he said, pointing a finger at her. "In fact, just say the word and I'll be glad to go in."
"Well, I'm not going to now, I retract the offer," she said with a huff. "And you probably shouldn't expect me to say the word or make any offers next week, either."
"Well, I'm not going to."
"You're so sure?"
"I'll be good until Christmas at least," he said confidently.
"Oh, ha."
"I will!"
"Fine. Challenge accepted."
"Wait, what?" Tristan asked, now slightly worried.
Rory nodded her head. "You're on. And you're going down, DuGrey."
He nodded and kissed her again, a bit more fiercely this time. "We'll see," he said quietly before he started backing away.
"We will see." She watched him leave before turning to enter her apartment.
1.3: December 6, 2013
"See, now what's the point of this?" Rory asked as she hugged herself to keep the chill away.
"What do you mean what's the point?" Tristan asked. "You have to hit the ball into the hole. Haven't you ever gone miniature golfing before?"
"No."
"Never?"
"Not the miniature version. I've done the real thing with my grandpa at the club once. And let me tell you, I'm terrible. I don't do sports."
"This version barely counts as a sport."
"Still. I never saw the appeal. And I have to say, I understand why that is. I mean, we're just standing out in the cold. We're the only ones here."
"Yeah, I thought we would be. I was thinking it would look like I bought the place out just for us."
"But that wouldn't be true. Everyone else is just smart enough to stay home. Normal people don't do this in December."
"How do you know? You already said you've never done this before."
"Look around! That should tell you everyone else is smarter."
"Smarter? Or just wusses?"
"I'm going with smarter. Or at the very least warmer. And I saw the sign—after tomorrow they're closing for winter."
"I know, we slid in just under the wire."
"Gee, how lucky."
"Will you stop complaining and take your shot?"
"Hey, I can take as long as I want, no one else is around. I'm not holding anyone up."
"See? If it was warmer we'd have to wait on other people and then the people behind us would not find you quite as cute as I do and they'd get very impatient."
"Aw, you think I'm cute?"
"Well, you're a little cute when you get all worked up."
"So, the truth comes out. That's the real reason you brought me here."
"Yes, you've found me out. Good work, Doll Face. Now take your turn."
"Okay, now look at this, why is there a windmill? And how am I supposed to get it through that little hole down there?"
"Practice makes perfect," he answered dryly.
She snorted at his double entendre. "And you haven't had much practice in a while."
"Much? Try any. You're a tease."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Half the reason you're so cold right now is the way you're dressed. You thought you'd try to get me to crack. But you're wrong. I'm stronger than you think. Plus, if I get really desperate for human contact, I can go over to Laguardia and get a full body pat down."
"Hmm," Rory answered vaguely as she lined up her golf ball and tapped it down the green. It rolled through the small hole at the bottom of the windmill. "Hey! I did it!" She smiled and he smiled back at her.
"See, golf can be fun."
"It's okay."
"Mm-hmm," Tristan said as he took his turn. His ball missed the hole and bounced back a foot. He frowned at it.
"Don't bother letting me win," Rory told him. "You're going to lose our other game."
"What other game?"
"That game where I get to see how long it'll take for you to spontaneously combust."
"Me? That's going to be you," he said as he took another, more successful shot.
"It won't. But it's nice to know that you believe in yourself."
"No one else will for me," he said as they moved to the next hole. His phone started to buzz from his pocket and Rory looked over at him.
"Do you need to get that?"
"Probably," he answered, not reaching for it. She pointedly raised a brow at him and he sighed. "Fine, but you'll be sorry." He took the phone out and answered. "DuGrey . . . Now isn't a good time, call back later . . . Alight, fine, I'm coming." He pocketed the phone and looked back to his date. "It looks like I'm going to have to cut the evening short."
"Dead body?"
"Dead body—nothing less would pull me away."
"Well, let's go then," she said as they walked back to return their golf clubs. They went to Tristan's car, where he generously cranked up the heat.
"It's not how I was going to offer to warm you up, but it'll work," he leered.
"Who's the tease now?" she asked. "So, where are we going?"
"You're going home and I'm going to Alphabet City."
"Oh. Well, have a good time."
"I intend to."
Rory's phone rang from her purse and she took it out and checked the caller ID. "Hello?" she answered. "Jimmy, it's Friday night, I could be in the middle of something . . . As a matter of fact, I am. Do you really think I just sit around by my phone, hoping you'll call to toss me an assignment? Because I don't. I happen to have a life outside work . . . Well, what is it? . . . Don't bother, I'll cover it, but you owe me—big time . . . That'll be a start," she said before hanging up. "Ha!"
"What?" Tristan asked, glancing over.
"I have good news and I have better news. First, don't bother taking me home. I'm reporting on your homicide "Oh, well in that case, I don't need to go the speed limit," he said as he switched on a flashing light in his window. A siren came on simultaneously and he sped up considerably. Rory couldn't help but smile a little as she watched the other cars on the road move out of the way. "So, was that the good news?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"What do you mean 'how'? The date continues."
"Well, it's about to take a really romantic turn. What's the better news, then?"
"I made my editor guilty enough about making me work on a Friday night that he's going to buy me lunch next week. So, how does Monday sound?"
"For what?"
"For lunch."
"You said he's buying you lunch."
"Yeah, he can pay for mine and I'll pay for yours. The circle of life."
"More like the circle of lunch, Simba. But Monday is no good for me."
"Oh, okay, how about Tuesday?"
"I think I'll be busy."
"There are more days. Wednesday?"
"Can't."
"Thursday?"
He grinned and glanced at her briefly. "Tuesday will work, I was just wondering how far down the week you'd get. You're very determined to get a lunch date," he commented as his eyes darted left and right before driving through a red stop light.
Rory looked through the windows of some shops and sighed. "It's that time of year again," she commented grimly, indicating the holiday decorations.
"You don't like Christmas?" Tristan asked, perhaps a bit eagerly.
"I like Christmas just fine, Ebenezer. It just means that I have to figure out which gift box my mom put the Shake Weights in."
"Does she think you need to work on your upper body strength?"
"If only. But no, she keeps trying to give a set to my grandma."
"Nice."
"I don't think Emily Gilmore will find it amusing."
"That's too bad," he commented as he parked his car and looked ahead to the flashing lights of police cars. They were in front of a tall apartment building. He looked back to Rory, somewhat apprehensively. "What are you planning on doing?"
"Well, I'm not going to waltz up there with you, if that's what you're worried about. I plan on giving you a ten minute head start and then I'm going to move in to find some answers."
"Ten minutes?"
"Yup. I'll start down here, hunt down the responding officers, and then worm my way into the building to ask the neighbors what they know. I'll end with you, where I'll allow you to tell me your two cents."
"You'll allow it?"
Rory took her notepad and pen out of her purse as she looked on at the action up ahead. "Yes," she said, glancing at him. "You're welcome."
"Okay, seriously, do you take that notepad everywhere?"
"Of course. We've been through this. What's under your seat?"
"Nothing of your concern," he answered, reaching to the backseat to grab his gun belt. He strapped it around his waist and stuck a hand under the seat. He put the gun on the belt and looked back at her. "What? I never know when I'm going to need it!"
She lifted her palms up incredulously, indicating it was the same reason she always had a notepad on hand.
NNNNNNN
Later, Rory peeked into the apartment where the murder had occurred. She didn't cross the yellow crime scene tape. The body had been removed. Tristan and Mark were finishing looking around the apartment for clues and evidence. They were moving to the hallway when they saw Rory. Tristan smirked and gave her a once over—she had unbuttoned her coat, so her outfit was visible.
"Well, well, well, look who's on our case once again."
"Terrific," Stevenson said flatly.
Tristan just grinned at him and turned back to Rory. "Looking good, Mary. Hot date tonight?" he asked.
She raised a brow back at him. "I'm not sure how that's any of your business," she answered matter-of-factly. "But yes, actually."
He arched his brows with interest. "Well, now you can finish the date with me instead."
"No, she can't," Mark argued. "We have more work to do, DuGrey."
Rory shifted her eyes back to Tristan, who grudgingly gave a small nod. "Darn, you got my hopes up," she said sardonically. "Could I take a few minutes of your time before you get back to work?"
"I'd love to give you more than a few," he said smoothly and stepped over to her. Mark rolled his eyes and went to speak with the medical examiner before she left. "So, this may turn into an all nighter," Tristan told her quietly. "We have to look into a couple things tonight. Sorry."
"It's okay. But, uh, I'm going to need my purse, I left it in your car," she explained, equally as quiet.
He took his keys from his pocket and discreetly handed them to her. "I'll be down shortly. Just don't sneak off in my car. You don't know how to drive it."
"How do you know?"
"Can you drive a stick shift?"
"No."
"Then you can't drive my car."
"Fine. Your precious car is safe tonight. Now, tell me what you can about what you think happened here."
NNNNNNN
A few hours later, Tristan was standing in front of his apartment door and frowning down at his keys. One was missing. And he really needed it at the moment. He tried the door, which was locked, before checking his pockets. He was starting to think he was going to have to break into his own apartment, when the door opened. He furrowed his brows at Rory, who stuck her head out the door.
"Am I at the right apartment?" he asked, confused.
"Yes. I stole your key."
"Thief."
"Yeah, I did it for the rush. And I thought it would be awkward if you got here and had to arrest me for breaking and entering."
"I'd call it something, not necessarily awkward."
"Plus," she went on, "we didn't really end the date."
"I'm too tired to end the date—not that I was going to give in, anyway."
"I'm tired too. So, we can just go to sleep."
"In my bed?"
"It's the one that's here, so it'd be most convenient."
"That won't work."
"Why not?"
"Because you play dirty. We've tried this before, you haven't forgotten, have you? I almost hurt myself."
"We can call a truce. I promise to stay on my side of the bed."
"Your side? How did you get a side of my bed?"
"I slept there and it was so. Would you like to come in?" she asked nicely, opening the door wider for him.
"To my apartment? Yes," he answered, moving inside. He got a good look at her then, clad in a somewhat oversized Yale alumni t-shirt. He frowned and knit his brows in thought for a moment. "Where did that come from?" he asked in a neutral tone.
Rory looked down at the shirt and shrugged indifferently. "Yale, probably," she answered. "I said we could call a truce, so I put on something that you'd most likely find . . . repulsive—to be fair."
He stared at her a second and gave a single, curt nod. "Good idea. You're right, I'm not going near you in that," he said, taking off his black wool coat and moving past her. "You're getting awfully familiar with things around here," he observed.
"Why, whatever do you mean?" she asked innocently, following him to his bedroom.
"You found where I keep the coffee after being here twelve hours."
"Well, yeah. I was going to sniff that out pretty fast."
"You claimed a side of my bed."
"You told me to stay that first night! You can have a side of my bed, if it'll make you feel better."
"Do I get to pick the side?"
"No. You get the window side."
"Why?"
"That way, if a burglar breaks in through the window, you'll be on the first line of defense."
"What if he comes through the door?"
"Then we're screwed."
He nodded. "Well, at least I know what we're up against."
1.4: December 11, 2013
Rory was sitting at work late Wednesday morning, doing research on the paper's database for her current story. She took a few notes when her phone vibrated on the desk. She picked it up and saw it was from Tristan. She assumed the message would be regarding the case he was working—and she was writing. However, it was not. Instead, he asked her what her lunch plans were. She responded, saying she didn't have any at the moment. A minute later she got another message, this time with a request to meet him at his apartment in an hour. She furrowed her brows and asked why his place? A few seconds later, she read his two word response: one hour. She just raised a brow and put the phone back down.
NNNNNNN
Around twelve thirty, Rory was buzzed into a tall apartment building. She rode the elevator up to the twelfth floor and walked down the hallway. Not long after she had knocked on the door, it swung open and Tristan pulled her inside the apartment. He got her as far as the kitchen before backing her up against the cabinet.
She smiled and furrowed her brows in amusement. "What are you doing?" she said, laughing a little.
"Giving up," he answered, lifting her onto the counter and standing between her legs. "You were a worthy adversary, but we both knew I wasn't going to make it," he explained, kissing her on the mouth.
"You were doing so well, too," she said as he kissed her neck.
"I know, but I have a confession, I've been acting the last few days. It's this stupid case."
"The one I'm writing about?"
"That's the one. You're around all the time again. After lunch yesterday, I swear, I almost asked you to call in sick for the rest of the afternoon."
"Wow, it must have been getting really hard for you," Rory commented with a smile.
He smiled back and nodded before kissing her on the lips again. He moved in a little closer, so his chest was flush against hers. "What do you think?" he muttered. His arms wrapped around her so she couldn't escape. "I don't get it, you haven't even dressed provocatively this week," he said before kissing her again.
"Yeah, I know," she said when he let her up for air. "I did that on purpose. This isn't going to work today."
"Oh, it'll work just fine," he answered.
"No, it's that—"
"Come on, I lost fair and square, what's the issue?"
"It's just that it's my," she leaned in to whisper, "time of the month." She held onto him before he could step away, if that was his urge. "But, we could still do other stuff, if you're interested?" When he raised his brows, indeed interested, she pulled on his arm in the direction of his bedroom.
NNNNNNN
Thirty minutes later, Rory was sitting at her desk again, she had continued with her note taking from where she'd left off that morning. She took a bite of her sandwich as Marie returned to her desk.
She looked at Rory suspiciously. "I thought you went out for lunch," she commented.
"Nope, I just met a source."
"I thought you met a source for lunch yesterday."
"I did."
"Two days in a row, huh?"
"Things change from day to day. I have to stay updated."
"So, what's today's update, then?"
"What?"
"Where are your notes from the update? You had some yesterday."
"Oh, well, there wasn't really anything new today."
"So, it was more of a social call?"
"What does it matter? It was my lunch hour, I went out, and now I'm back."
"Yeah, and you're eating lunch."
"So? We got to talking about the case. And while the police don't have any new information today, we still talked about it, and didn't get to eat. That's all, so you can stop reading into it."
"I guess I'd stop reading into it if I wasn't aware of which detectives are on this case of yours."
"Why does that matter?" Rory asked impatiently. "And before you say anything about DuGrey, I'm going to go ahead and tell you to stop barking up that tree."
"What makes you think I was going to mention him?"
Rory just gave her a grim look. "Because you were." Before she could say any more, a messenger person walked over to her desk and asked if she was Rory Gilmore. When she gave him an answer in the affirmative, she signed for a small flat package. There was a short message on top, reading: 'Thanks for lunch. Does this really help?' It was written in Tristan's handwriting. She opened the box and grinned at the chocolate inside.
"What did you get?" Marie asked, leaning over to see in the box.
Rory put the note in her drawer. "Chocolate. Want one?" she answered.
"Sure. Who sent it?"
"No one you know. You can have some, if you stop inquiring about where I go to lunch. And with whom."
"Fine," Marie grudgingly agreed, accepting a couple pieces of the chocolate. She kept quiet and just narrowed her eyes at Rory as she picked up her phone to send a text message—of gratitude, no doubt.
1.5: December 14, 2013
Rory lay in her bed Saturday night, staring at the ceiling. Tristan was next to her, doing the same. He sighed, maybe a bit in frustration and Rory smirked a little. She turned to him before crawling over and on top of him.
"What are you doing?" he groaned.
"Nothing," she muttered innocently.
"Hmm." He placed his hands on her back and slowly moved them up and down. He inhaled the scent of her hair and both of their breathing became shallow as he continued to touch her. Rory buried her face in his neck and put her legs on either side of him. He grumbled a little in response. His hands wandered down to her smooth legs. His hands slid up the back of her legs and his breath hitched when they didn't meet panties.
At that moment, Rory started kissing his neck. "Didn't want them to get in the way," she mumbled in his ear, somewhat breathily. She felt his arousal from inside his boxers press against her and her pulse quickened excitedly, knowing full well that neither of them would be denying their desires tonight.
He put his hands on either side of her face to lift her away from his neck so he could kiss her on the mouth instead. His arms wrapped around her possessively as they kissed fervently. Rory's hips moved against his and her hands went to claw his boxers off. He rolled them over and kissed her again. Then, with her assistance, he was surrounded by her. Both breathed heavily as he began to move above her, slowly at first and then picking up the pace, until they both reached their climax.
Tristan, out of breath, collapsed next to her, back on his side of the bed. "Finally."
Rory nodded. "Yeah."
1.6: December 17, 2013
Rory was perusing the menu in front of her; while across from her, Tristan was tapping his menu on the table. She lifted her eyes and saw him glance out the window, a bit nervously. She looked back down before speaking.
"Everything okay?" she asked casually.
He looked over at her and put his menu down. "Yeah, I'm fine," he answered. But he started tapping his index finger on the table instead.
Rory closed her menu and laced her fingers together. She put her hands on the table and looked at Tristan. "Are you sure? You seem a little agitated today," she observed.
He just shook his head and watched some cars pass by out on the street. He turned back after a moment, though. "Do you have lunch with other people?"
She gave him a perplexed look. "What?"
"We've gone out to dinner every week for a month now. And we started having . . . lunch last week. Do you have lunch with anyone else?" He actually looked a little concerned.
"Well, sometimes I eat with my co-worker, Marie. She sits at the desk next to me in the newsroom. Does that count?"
"No."
"Oh, then lunch must be a euphemism for something else."
"Maybe."
"Mm-hmm," Rory said, pausing to assess her companion. "I've only gone out to dinner with you and I've only gone to lunch with you. And you have definitely been my only bedfellow. Any further questions?"
"No," Tristan answered, shaking his head. "That pretty much covers it."
"Good," Rory said before they placed their orders.
Tristan took a drink of his water before speaking again. "You don't want to ask me the same question?"
"No, I don't have to."
"You're so sure?"
"Yup."
"Why?"
"Because I went to your apartment last Wednesday during my lunch hour. If you were having 'lunch' with anyone besides me, you probably wouldn't have been so . . . hungry."
"Oh, that's true."
"It is true. You can mask your emotions all you want, but there's one part of you that's incapable of deception."
"Hmm."
"Hmm, indeed."
1.7: April 12, 2014
"Alright, Paris. I think you're all ready to become Mrs. McMaster," Rory said, standing next to her friend as they looked in the full-length mirror.
"Dr. McMaster," Paris corrected.
"Right, sorry."
"Well, you were right, officially. But at work I'll still be Dr. Geller."
"Of course." A phone chimed and they both looked over to the table it was sitting on. "Don't worry, I'll get it." Rory went over to Paris's phone and picked it up.
"If that's from Doyle and he's trying to get out of it, tell him it's too late."
Rory frowned down at the message. "It isn't Doyle."
"I doubt it's my parents, they're out of the country. I knew they would be. It's one of the reasons I picked April."
"Nope, it's not your parents, either. It's from Tristan."
"Why is he texting me fifteen minutes before I'm supposed to get married?"
Rory looked up at her. "Well, my first guess is that he wants you to reconsider and couldn't wait for the speak-now-or-forever-hold-your-peace part of the ceremony," she joked.
"Right," Paris stated dryly. "What does he want?"
"He says something work-related came up at the last minute. He'll hopefully make it by dinner, but to go on with the wedding without him," Rory read with an amused grin.
"Oh, well, I guess if King Tristan says the show can go on, then the show can go on," Paris said flatly.
"Sarcastic remark sent," Rory said dutifully, after typing and sending.
"What's the deal there?"
"The deal where?"
"You two."
"Who two?" she asked, playing dumb as she sat the phone down.
"You and Tristan. Are you two involved or something?"
"What would make you say that?" Rory asked nonchalantly.
"You're in New York. He's in New York. You're writing about crime. He's fighting crime."
"What's your point?"
"You said you took a lover."
"I did not say that!"
"Fine. You said you were seeing someone."
"So?"
"So, you were vague."
"So?"
"You sound like a parrot. I'm just saying, you're seeing someone in New York. You and he are both in New York."
"You know, he's the detective, not you. And you only have circumstantial evidence," Rory replied without batting an eye.
"I know you've seen him, outside of work even, since you first ran into him."
"Seeing and have seen are two different things," Rory argued.
Before Paris could continue one way or another, the wedding planner stuck her head in the door. "We're ready for you two," she said.
"Let's go get married," Paris said with a smile as Rory handed her a bouquet.
NNNNNNN
A few hours later, Rory was sitting at the head table next to Paris. The bride and groom were taking a break from dancing to cut the cake. Rory took a bite of her cake and looked up, her head rocking to the music a little. She caught sight of Tristan from across the room. He smiled and shook hands with a few people as he passed them, but for the most part, he made a beeline to the head table. He eyed Rory as he walked around the table. He placed his hands on the backs of her and Paris's chairs and leaned in closer to them.
"Ladies," he said in greeting. "I think one of you owes me a dance." He grinned and looked from Rory to Paris. He held his hand out for Paris.
"Fine." The bride got up and started to walk towards the dance floor.
He gave Rory a big grin. "Oh, did you think I meant you?" he asked, pointing at her. Rory shrugged and shook her head with a sugary sweet smile. Tristan stood up straight and followed their friend out to the dance floor. "Mazel tov, Paris. Nice party," he commented when they had started to sway. "Sorry I couldn't make it to the wedding."
"Don't worry. We managed to pull it off without you."
"Glad to hear," he said with a grin. "Who are all these short people? I feel like a giant."
"That's Doyle's family. He's the tall one of the clan. I'll introduce you to him later."
"And I'll leave out how we had one night of passion a long time ago," he joked.
Paris snorted. "Okay, now, you getting invited had a lot to do with me forgetting that ever happened."
"Come on, we had a good time," he protested.
"Sure, as friends."
Tristan shrugged and glanced back over to the head table. "Sorry, I liked someone else."
"Hmm," Paris said pensively, the direction of his glance not missed by her. "You know, I've been busy at the hospital and the wedding planning was making me too crazy to think of much else for the last few months. But it's over after today."
"Yup."
"Now I can turn my attention to other things."
"Such as?"
"Such as my friends."
"That's a good idea."
"I thought so. And I'll be starting with my New York friends."
"I'm flattered."
"Good. Because I think two of my New York friends might see more of each other than they let on."
"That sounds sneaky. Do you have any proof? Let's crack this case," he said, mock-eager.
"Well, they both live in Manhattan and one said she's seeing someone."
"In my expert opinion, that just sounds circumstantial."
Paris gave a wide grin. "It's funny you should put it like that."
The song wound down and they stopped dancing. As the next song started, they were interrupted. "Mind if I cut in," a blonde with a low voice asked.
They both turned to Louise. "Sure, he's free to go—for now," Paris said before walking away.
"Tristan DuGrey, it's been too long," she drawled as they began to dance.
"Louise, how are you?" he asked politely.
"Oh, I'm good. I'd heard through the grapevine you might be here today."
"Well, the grapevine told you the truth."
"I see that. You grew up nice," she purred.
"Thanks."
"Surely you aren't here by yourself."
"I came by myself."
"How surprising."
"Actually, I don't have reservations at a hotel because I have high hopes of leaving with one of the bridesmaids. So, don't let me down now, I need you to give me the low down."
"It might shock you, but Rory Gilmore is Paris's maid of honor."
"No!" he said, sounding surprised.
"Oh yes, they've been friends for years."
"That works for me. I had a thing for her anyway. Now I can finally live out that teenage dream."
"She's your only option, but Paris thinks she has some guy in New York."
"And if he's not here, then she's fair game."
"She's not quite the big time journalist she always wanted to be, you know," she explained, as though it would be a deal breaker.
Tristan furrowed his brows at the blonde woman. "Hmm?"
"She works the crime beat—police reports and whatnot."
"So?"
"So, it isn't exactly the foreign correspondent gig she wanted."
"You have to crawl before you can walk. You don't sound impressed." Louise just shrugged. Tristan looked at her coolly. "What are you doing now?" Louise gave a coy grin and held up her left hand, which had a large diamond ring next to a band with more sparkles. "Ah. Where's your other half?"
"He's over there," she answered, pointing over to a table.
"No, I meant Madeline."
"Oh, she couldn't make it. I came for both of us, to see if it would really happen."
"What?"
"To see if Paris was really getting married."
"The invitation didn't tip you off?"
"An event like this needs a witness."
"You're such a good friend," he commented wryly. He scanned the party, growing bored with his dance partner.
"So, what about you? What are you doing now?" she asked. "No, let me guess. You're a hot shot lawyer, working with your dad at his firm."
"Nope," he answered evenly. "Those crimes Gilmore reports about in New York? The ones you aren't so impressed with? I solve them," he replied. He moved his suit jacket enough for her to see his badge that he hadn't removed.
He gave her a spin and let her hand go at the border of the dance floor. Louise looked surprised before she disappeared in the crowd. Tristan turned and stalked off to the head table. He took Rory's hand and led her to the dance floor.
"Can we go now?"
"You can," she answered. "But I'm contractually obligated to be here as long as Paris is. You read the document."
"Yeah, it was lengthy and I advised you not to sign it."
"I had to."
"No, you didn't. Are you sure it was med school she went to?"
"Yup. Harvard—she plays for your team."
"Hmm."
"How's Louise doing?"
"Oh, she's fulfilling her life's potential."
"That's how Paris put it. I'm just glad she didn't wear white."
Tristan scoffed. "Good point."
"No one is allowed to look better than Paris today, which explains my dress."
"You only look slightly like you're ready for one short day in the Emerald City. It's not bad. You talked her down from a lot worse."
"True. But you aren't just being nice, are you?"
"I'm not that nice."
"Also true. Speaking of Paris, she was prying before the wedding."
"Oh?"
"Yeah—asking questions, all up in my grill. Just because you and I are both in New York, it apparently means you're getting in my pants."
"That's crazy!" he said with a grin.
"I know! Like it's anyone's business what I do in the city."
"Or who you do," Tristan leered. She raised her brows pointedly in agreement before he continued. "That's my motto, anyway. And doesn't she know you're the only one who's allowed to be nosy?"
"Right?" Rory said as a slower song came on. Tristan took a step closer to her and she slid her arms around his neck. "I told her she only had circumstantial evidence."
"I may have told her the exact same thing."
"You didn't."
"I definitely did," he said before whispering in her ear hopefully. "Can I really leave?"
"You just got here. But you're too late to meet new people any more today. So I guess you can go if you really want."
"Your mom left?"
"Right after dinner. She had to get back to the inn."
"Sorry, I guess I just missed her."
"Saved by the homicide."
He grinned and nodded. "I do plan them. Usually for job security, but today to avoid meeting the parents. I'm going to have to get up earlier in the morning to get past you."
"I guess she'll just continue to think you're a figment of my imagination."
"Oh, I'm no mirage."
"Uh-huh," she said, looking over to her place at the table. A member of the wait staff had caught her attention. "Are you hungry?"
"I could eat. Too bad I missed dinner."
"Yeah, too bad," she said, stepping away from him and walking back to her table.
He knit his brows as he watched her walk away. He followed her to the table, where she handed him a plate of food and smiled. "Where'd that come from?"
"The kitchen. I pulled some strings. I can do that—I'm the maid of honor."
"I didn't know the job came with super powers. Those weren't highlighted in the contract. But thanks."
"You're welcome," she said, sitting back down in her spot.
Tristan glanced around and grabbed an empty chair from a nearby table. He pulled it over next to Rory and sat down. He started to eat and watched as she took something out of the top of her emerald dress. She set a key card on the table and slid it over to him with an index finger. "It's still warm," he said with a grin as he took the key and put it in his pocket.
NNNNNNN
It was late at night, the reception was over. Everyone who had a room was in a room—except the bride. She was not in the bridal suit with the groom. She was knocking on the door of her maid of honor. But her maid of honor was otherwise engaged.
"Rory?" Paris called from the hallway.
"What do you want, Paris?" Rory answered incredulously, hoping not to sound out of breath as she arched into the warm body above her.
"I know it's the middle of the night, but your duties as maid of honor carry through the whole weekend. Let me in."
"Hold on, I'm coming," Rory said. Tristan laughed and nodded into her neck. "Shhh," she hissed at him. "Hurry up!"
"Don't rush me!" he hissed back. "Tell her to go enjoy her wedding night the way everyone else is."
"I have a key, if you don't let me in," Paris said from the other side of the door.
"No! Just a min—," Rory started before Tristan covered her mouth as they finished. He was breathing heavily as he got up a moment later.
He got out of bed and picked his boxers up from the floor.
"I just need to find my robe," she yelled to Paris as she turned a lamp on.
"We were roommates. I've seen you in your pajamas before, just open the door."
"Keep your pants on," she grumbled. Tristan grabbed a robe from a hook on the bathroom door and threw it at Rory before he disappeared into the small room. She belted the garment and went to open the door. "What is it?"
"What did I do?" Paris said frantically as she barged into the hotel room and started to pace.
"When?"
"Today."
"You got married."
"And suddenly, I'm aware of the antiquated tradition. I mean, all of a sudden I'm someone's ball and chain?"
"You know, this freak out is a few hours too late."
"Oh please, it's 2014. It's never too late to reconsider."
"Aw man, I knew I should have paid closer attention to the fine print on that contract," Rory groaned. "Okay, what's the issue here? Are you getting some post-matrimonial cold feet?"
"I guess. So, pretend like it's earlier and give me a pep talk."
Rory sighed. "Alright, sit down. You've been with Doyle for . . . how long?"
Paris shrugged. "A few years."
"Yeah, how about . . . eight years? Wow, that's a pretty long time."
"I guess."
"Do you love him?"
"Of course."
"Do you like coming home to him at the end of the day?"
"Yes."
"Would you rather go home to an empty house?"
"No."
"Would you rather go home to anyone else?"
"No."
"Do you remember how upset with yourself you were before choosing med school? You thought you were too young to know who you wanted to be with. Remember?"
"Yeah," Paris said, somewhat shyly.
"And here you are, on the other side of med school and Doyle is still by your side."
"That's true."
"So, here's what you're going to do. You're going to go on your honeymoon and you're going to go back to your real life. Except now you'll have a wedding band on your finger and you'll call Doyle your husband," she added, "And if he has a weird allergic reaction and has to be rushed to the hospital, they have to tell you all the details."
"I'm a doctor. I'd like to see them try to not tell me something."
"Right. But now they won't get in trouble—legally, for telling you."
"Okay, I guess you're right. But that doesn't sound very magical."
"It probably won't be. The wedding was supposed to be the magical part. I'm just trying to keep it real."
Paris sighed. "Alright, thanks," she said as she stood. "Sorry for getting you up in the middle of the night."
"No problem," Rory said, standing to walk her friend out.
But Paris paused when she caught sight of something shiny out of the corner of her eye. She knit her brows at a set of man's clothes thrown in a chair, a gold shield visible among the clothes. She looked back to Rory and scoffed. "Good night, Tristan," she called out to the room at large before walking out.
NNNNNNN
In the morning, Rory sat down on the bed so she could put her sandals on. She was wearing a blue sundress and a white cardigan. Tristan sat down beside her to put his shoes on, as well. His attire was of the walk-of-shame variety.
"Do you want to come down to the brunch?" she asked, looking at him.
"The brunch? That sounds official."
"It's just for the wedding party and family."
"I'm neither."
"But I am and I'm inviting you."
"Oh, well, then count me in."
"I need to go check out," she said, standing up and reaching for her bag, but Tristan beat her to it.
"I'll take this down to my car."
"Alright, let's go," Rory said, heading for the door.
Twenty minutes later, Tristan was seated at a prettily decorated table. He'd followed the signs regarding the wedding party and beat Rory there. He took a sip of his mimosa as Paris and Doyle walked behind him.
Paris took her seat, a chair away from him. "What are you doing here?" she asked, accusingly.
"I'm here for brunch. Nice spread, by the way."
"Today is invitation only," she countered.
"So was yesterday."
"Today is more exclusive."
"Don't worry, I was exclusively invited," he said with a confident grin.
Just then, Rory walked over. Tristan pulled the middle chair out for her and she sat down. He lazily draped his arm over the back of her chair. Paris just stared with her elbow on the table, her chin sat in her palm and her fingers curled over her mouth.
"What?" Rory snapped, glaring at her friend.
"Nothing," she answered, shaking her head. "Feel the need to make any half-hearted excuses that it was a one-night stand?"
"Nope."
"Good. I know you didn't have enough to drink for that to work."
"Got anything else to say?" Rory asked shortly.
Paris just shrugged nonchalantly and shook her head again. "You've done worse," she offered.
Rory just narrowed her eyes at Paris.
