Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Gilmore Girls.
Author's Note: I'm sorry life gets in the way of my writing and really delays my updates. But thanks for reading and thanks for the reviews!
He wasn't much of a believer in second chances. Or even second thoughts. But second chances didn't often look like Rory Gilmore and if he paid attention to second thoughts he wouldn't have obeyed the impulse to turn up on her doorstep after three sleepless nights.
As soon as he'd reached Stars Hollow, it had suddenly dawned on him that his car would stand out in the small town as though he'd arrived on horseback. Or elephant or camel or unicorn. Even though he'd chosen it with care from his grandfather's collection of classics, a vague memory of the pile of crap she'd driven before he'd left reminding him that she might be more impressed by that than his own new sports car. Not that he wanted to remember the story he'd heard in the halls, the gossip that Rory's boyfriend had loving restored a car for her. Even the spoilt little rich girls had loved that kind of romance. Funny how even after this length of time, even though he knew there had been Jess since, Dean was still some kind of thorn in his side. But there was no turning back now. He'd been standing outside her house for long enough to see the curtains twitch at the house next door and if he waited any longer he was afraid her neighbours would come out to see what he was doing there. If they didn't call the police first.
Second thoughts might at least have left him with a plan of what to say when she opened the door. If she opened the door. If she hadn't already seen him and wasn't hiding behind the door. As he leaned against his car, staring at the door, it opened and he'd have jumped backwards if only he'd had anywhere to go.
"Can I help you?"
He recognised Lorelai. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.
"I- uh- I was just here- and wondering if Rory was in?"
He hadn't sounded as nervous since- well, since forever. He sounded like the guys he'd made fun of- or rather, he hadn't, but his friends had- in high school. The guys who'd been so far beneath his notice that their shortcomings hadn't even registered sufficiently with him for ridicule. Brad, for one. He remembered the way Brad couldn't even get his words out around Paris. Then again, that had been Paris. It could just have been some kind of defence mechanism kicking in- like a hedgehog curling up or a tortoise retreating into his shell.
"She's inside. Bonus points if you can get her to leave the house," Lorelai said, coming down the steps. "I'm just on my way out- it's Tristan, isn't it?"
She held out her hand and he shook it. "Yes."
"Lorelai."
"It's good to meet you."
She looked at him appraisingly. "You too. Go on in- Rory? You've got company!" she called over her shoulder. "Good luck."
"Uh- thanks?"
He wasn't used to mothers wishing him luck with their daughters. Usually they wouldn't have thought he'd need it. Usually of course, he wouldn't need it. He was used not only to girls flinging themselves at him, but their parents pushing them in his direction. He wasn't given to self-analysis but he wouldn't have been surprised if part of the reason he'd never got Rory out of his head was that she hadn't fallen into that pattern. The chase had never exactly thrilled him, but maybe the lack thereof throughout his Chilton days had readied him for a change.
"Hello?"
He pushed the door open.
"Tristan?"
He was struck immediately by how much effort it must have taken her to get through graduation, to get to Louise's party and to turn up at his grandfather's party. She looked as bad as he could ever have imagined Rory Gilmore looking, those mesmerising eyes dulled with sadness, hair unkempt and not in any tousled sexy way, soft, sloppy clothes that hid her figure more comprehensively than her Chilton uniform ever had.
"I- was just passing."
"Through Stars Hollow?" Her eyes widened, a small flicker of amusement sparking life into them.
He shrugged. "So I came to see if you were all right."
"I'm all right."
She glanced down at herself suddenly and reddened. "But since I wouldn't actually want you to think this is just how I normally dress it's possible I've been better."
"Didn't know you cared what I thought."
"I don't."
"Right."
Leave it to him to ruin a perfectly pleasant conversation. She'd managed several whole sentences without either of them raising their voices until his voice had decided to bypass his brain. Everything with her required so much focus. He couldn't tell if she was really worth it, if his pride really demanded that she didn't think ill of him.
"I mean, if you tell Paris, she'll know I'm not more together than she is and some days that's the only way I can keep her under any kind of control."
"You think you have Paris under control?"
He must have sounded slightly incredulous as she laughed.
"To a certain extent. So, does passing through involve you leaving now or do you want to stay for a while?"
"I guess I could stay. For a while. Unless I'm interrupting you."
He was determined to give her every opportunity to get rid of him. It was likely to be the only way he could convince himself that she didn't hate his company. Then again, she was obviously in the kind of shape that shouldn't be alone. Maybe it was just that his company was better than none. Of course, he'd take that. He was pretty sure that, given the choice, she'd have taken her chances with a serial killer instead of him in their days at Chilton.
"Let me get changed."
"You don't have to."
"No, I really think I do. The couch is there, and the remote's on the end. I'll only be a couple of minutes. Watch whatever you want."
He picked up the remote and settled himself on the couch as instructed as she vanished into what he assumed was her room. He'd never been in a house quite like this one- it bore no resemblance to his own or those of any of his friends, styled and designed to be ready for whatever very important visitors might drop by. This was a home- he wasn't sure he really understood the difference but there was clutter that obviously meant something, photographs, notes stuck to dvd covers, a well-worn throw, a monkey lamp that had to have some sentimental value as it certainly wouldn't be winning any design awards.
"Ready?"
He snapped off the sofa, turning to look at her. Her hair was bundled into a ponytail, and she was wearing jeans and a light blue T-shirt. She'd managed a small amount of lipgloss and he was suddenly almost overwhelmed that she'd gone to any kind of effort, given the way she obviously felt. She didn't look great, but she certainly looked better.
"Always."
Either he was dumber than either of them had ever believed or there was something that drove him to provoke her. Being friends- though that was, after all, all he was supposed to be aiming for, was never going to be the whole option with them. Maybe he just liked seeing her blush, knowing that was one power he still had over her, wondering how far he could push before she'd snap. Maybe he still had a thing for danger.
She couldn't help but flush, just a little, enough to make her eyes sparkle, just a little. With one word he was able to brighten her day, just enough that she felt it, just enough to make her roll her eyes, though this time she wasn't entirely sure whether it was at him or her own reaction to him.
"The question is ready for what?"
He wondered with that if he'd pushed her too far although the query was fair. He certainly hadn't thought to plan what he'd suggest if she was willing actually to spend time with him.
She shrugged. "I guess it is time I left the house. I haven't been out since I went to your grandfather's. But if we hang around Stars Hollow we'll only have to answer questions about who you are and what you're doing here."
"My car is outside. We can go into Hartford or something if you want."
"Should I trust your driving? And I just got a car- I can drive."
"You think I'd let anything happen to my car? Have you seen it?"
He didn't have to force the incredulity into his voice, though he wasn't sure if it came from the challenge in her eyes or the fact that she dared to question his driving.
"All right then. Although you should know I get car sick sometimes."
He paused on his way to the door.
"Really?"
She laughed- something he'd never heard much of, and certainly not since he'd been back- and shook her head.
"Not really- or at least, only once on the way home from a fair in Hartford after too many hotdogs and icecreams. I was ten. Usually we Gilmores have stomachs of iron."
"Good to know."
He decided his custom leather seats were safe enough and led her outside, opening the passenger door. Simple politeness was no more than she expected, even from him.
"Cool car."
"Thank you."
"It's not exactly what I'd have expected."
"It's my grandfather's," he heard himself admit. She was like some kind of truth serum- he might have known exactly which buttons to push to wind her up but he couldn't be anything less than honest with her.
"I figured you for Porsche boy," she said with a laugh.
"You ever going to get over your misconceptions about me?"
"So what do you usually drive when you're not borrowing your grandfather's car?"
"That would be a Porsche," he said, refusing to sound ashamed, as she laughed. Frankly, he'd say almost anything if it made her laugh.
Laughter wasn't something he'd ever associated with Rory. She took school more seriously than anyone he'd met, except Paris, and most of the times he'd talked to her she'd been angry with him. Except for the time at Madeleine's party- and neither of them had been laughing then either.
Then again, laughter probably wasn't something she associated with him either. He'd been far too busy trying to impress- if not her, anyone else within range who'd be taken in by the rich-boy rebel persona he'd perfected. Sadness seemed to be their default setting when he wasn't trying to get into her pants and she wasn't shooting looks to kill at him. He wondered again what on earth he'd been doing, turning up at her house. What on earth made him think they had any chance of being friends?
"Coffee?" he asked, knowing it was the one offer that was guaranteed to meet with her approval.
"Coffee," she assented easily. Maybe if he kept the conversation to things that he knew she couldn't refuse this friendship thing would work. Of course, he'd tried that approach before with the PJ Harvey tickets and it hadn't exactly been a success.
"Library?"
He heard himself ask and couldn't blame her for looking at him as if he was slightly deranged.
"What?" He tried to look as though it was the most normal suggestion in the world. "You like to read."
"I could have read at home," she muttered.
"You got any better ideas?"
She blushed and he wondered for a split second if she had.
"Coffee's fine for now, mister. Now drive!"
He couldn't help the smile that made it way beyond his usual smirk.