Chapter 4: Comfort, Connections and Complications

Rory slipped out of the guest room Tristan was staying in when he went to shower. Knowing that it was late enough for everyone to be awake – and any one of the houseguests could be wandering around, she peeked out first and made sure it was safe. Sighing, she walked quickly over the carpeted hallway and headed for her room.

"Good morning, sweetie."

Rory cringed as she heard her mother's casual greeting from behind her and turned slowly, feeling like a teenager sneaking out of her boyfriend's room. Which, in a sense she was.

Lorelai was leaning against the door of her room, mug of coffee in her hand. Her brow was arched expectantly and Rory could see slight traces of disappointment in her mother's usually amused and forgiving eyes.

Rory straightened her hair out and tried unsuccessfully to suppress the flush of her cheeks. Thinking quickly, she came up with one of the worst possible things to say in this situation. "Hey Mom. You're up early."

"It's 9:30. Breakfast is being served in five minutes," her mother informed calmly, lifted her mug and then took a sip of her coffee. "And this is my second mug."

"It smells good. I'll go put on a robe and get myself a mug before someone else does," Rory said quickly, turning slightly to indicate that she was leaving.

"Rory, just tell me you didn't."

"I can't," Sighing, Rory closed her eyes, opened them and then met her mother's gaze, nodding slight. Lorelai frowned and took another sip of her coffee to distract herself. Rory wrung her hands together and walked over to her mother, trying o explain. "I couldn't sleep and I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean to have slept - " 

Lorelai stopped her by nudging her in the opposite direction. "Okay, not a good idea to talk about this in your grandparents' home, much less in their hallway with rabbit ears Beatrice around. Go put on a robe, come down for breakfast and act normal. We'll talk about this later."

Once in the safety of her own room, Rory leaned back against the door and let out a frustrated sigh. She was twenty-five years old, how the hell did she get in situations like this? Without thinking of the consequences of your actions, her conscience answered. Like you always do when Tristan is around.

She ran a hand through her tousled hair and when that didn't help settle it down, she walked over to her dresser and ran a comb roughly through it. Staring at her reflection she wondered if anyone would be able to tell what had happened. "Of course they will! You always have sex with Tristan when he gets within ten feet of you!"

She truly had no explanation for the mysterious pull Tristan DuGrey had over her. She wished she could write it off as lust and be done with it. But it was more than that. She just wanted to get out of their cycle – the sex, the inevitable fighting, the bad timing and the stupid connection that never seemed to wear away with time. It was destructive, addictive and completely…physically satisfying.

When they had been younger - when they could barely stand each other – she had been going through her first break-up and he was the person she ended up seeking comfort from.

"You're very odd, do you know that?" he asked softly and she turned to look at him, their faces inches apart. He looked so different with his attitude and ego stowed away.

"Thank you," she said with a slight smile, wondering why her heartbeat was speeding up while his lips inched closer to hers.

"You're welcome."

And their lips finally touched. Without thinking, she responded and all of a sudden everything hit her.

Dean had broken up with her. She was kissing Tristan. He was comforting her.

The tears had just started to sting her eyes and she pulled away with a small whimper. He looked surprised, confused and regretful. "I'm sorry, what did I do? Did I bite your lip or something?"

"No it's not you."

It hadn't been him the next time, either.

Looking critically at herself in the mirror, her upper lip curled in disgust. "Is it possible for someone to get stupider with age?"

Because that's what she was beginning to think. At least when she was sixteen she had the sense to know that kissing him while mending a broken heart was wrong. At least she knew when to walk - or run – away.

Rory shifted uncomfortably in her sleep, her head pounding unbearably. When her eyes shot open she groaned loudly at the sudden attack of light. Mumbling, she sat up in bed, looked at her clothes from the night before and leaned against the headboard for support.

Then she remembered she didn't have a headboard.

Her eyes opened cautiously this time and she took in the unfamiliar bedroom. Before she could remember what happened, the door opened from the right and Tristan walked in, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, a mug in his hands and an amused smile on his face. "Morning Mary."

Her eyes narrowed immediately and she ignored the throbbing at her temples at the effort. "What am I doing here?"

"You don't remember?" he asked innocently. "Well you got drunk at a frat party, I rescued you and brought you here, you tried to jump me and then fell onto the bed sighing and mumbling something about Mark Paul Gosselar."

She was about to open her mouth and retort that she would never do such a thing when she remembered she had. Mortified she covered her face with her hands, about to cry. "Oh my God!"

She felt him sit down on the bed beside. His voice came out reassuringly but she knew that he was amused at her expense. "It was nothing. At least you're here with me rather than that carrot top guy that was trying to pick you up."

"If you're trying to make me feel better, it's not working," Rory said as she looked up at him miserably.

He handed her the mug and then wagged a finger at her. "See that's why I have a contingency plan. Just in case my charm and charismatic good looks didn't do the trick. Although that's never happened before."

Smiling despite her embarrassment, she took in a deep breath of coffee. "Ah, that smells wonderful. You're a Godsend."

He smirked. "I know."

"I was talking to the coffee," she shot at him before taking a sip.

"Still odd. Mental faculties working perfectly. No harm done."

After a few relaxing minutes with her favorite drink she finally looked at him sheepishly. "I really am sorry for…well getting drunk. It was stupid and something I will never do again."

"Hey you're talking to the king of overindulgence," he stated with an understanding smile. "You don't have to explain."

She gave him a grateful smile in return and without thinking she spoke. "Let me take you out to dinner." His brow arched and his lips started curving. "You're here for a few more days and I thought we could…hang out. And I could repay you for making sure I didn't leave with Carrot Top."

"Well you don't need to repay me." Her heart sank. "But I'd be stupid to turn you down when you're asking me out."

"Smooth." Rolling her eyes she finished the remaining coffee.

The events of that night had been the catalyst for permanently rooting Tristan DuGrey in her life…and, if she was honest with herself – her heart.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Paris glanced up from the newspaper as Lorelai walked into the dining room just as breakfast was about to be served in the Gilmore mansion. The older woman looked worried as she stopped at the breakfast cart to fill herself some orange juice. Over the years, Paris knew that Lorelai only looked like that when her reason to worry had something to do with Rory.

Seeing that no one else was in the room, thus making it easier to discuss the issue at hand, Paris folded the newspaper and placed it on the table as Lorelai sat down. "Good morning, Lorelai."

"Hey Paris."

"How are you feeling?"

Lorelai took a sip of her juice and shrugged her shoulders. "Empty, kind of. Like there's a hole in my heart that won't close up."

"It gets better." Knowing the words were trite, Paris gave her a look of genuine concern and understanding. Clearing her throat, she thought of the best way to approach the subject without saying the wrong thing. "Is Rory okay?"

Lorelai's expression turned almost bitter. "Well she better be after what happened last night."

Feeling like she knew where this was headed, Paris plunged forward. "What happened last night?"

The brunette met her gaze looking defeated. "She went to Tristan's room. I saw her coming out when I went to call her. She claims that it was because she couldn't sleep. But with those two nothing's ever - "

"Innocent," Paris finished with a sigh. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the chair contemplatively. "Well, maybe it isn't a big deal. They've done things like this plenty of times before. She'll be okay."

"That's just it," the other woman said, shaking her head. "I don't want her to 'be okay' every time they have a tryst and he leaves her. I want her to have some kind of reaction…some kind of conviction. I want her to learn her lesson. God, sometimes she reminds me so much of - "

"You?"

"I hate when you finish my sentences for me like that," Lorelai stated with a small huff. "But yes, I wish she were a little less like me when it comes to men. This is me and Chris all over again – same plotline, different dialogue."

Paris made a mental note of that statement, hoping to analyze it later. "Maybe because they're so much like you and Christopher they'll always be a part of each others lives. Especially after what happened last ti - "

She trailed off when Tristan sauntered into the room, followed by Jess and Christopher. At the same time, Emily and Luke entered from the kitchen and Lorelai threw Paris a look that asked her to be quiet.

"Mom," Lorelai asked softly as everyone took a seat. "Aren't you going to have something?"

Emily looked at her daughter and then glanced at the empty place that Richard usually occupied. "I'm not hungry."

Paris reached for Jess' hand under the table as an unusual silence fell over the guests. He glanced at her and then stroked her knuckles with his thumb, reassuringly.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Breakfast at the Gilmores' for Tristan was one of the most uncomfortable experiences of the morning. Rory sat across from him but he might as well have been invisible. She didn't bother to acknowledge his existence. That meant she wouldn't bother to acknowledge the sex.

That was fine by him.

Because acknowledging what they did would mean it actually happened - and it would be easier for him to return to New York if he could pretend it never did.

He was not going to make the same mistakes over and over again.

He turned around and looked at her as she emerged from the room, dressed and looking anxious, confused and somewhat afraid. "Rory? You okay?"

She looked at him blankly "I have to leave."

"I got that from all the nervous energy you're exuding. But why?"

"Because we had sex. And that was bad. Well, not the sex. The sex was very good - " When he looked at her with a confused and offended expression, she trailed off. Sighing, she sat down on the couch and he followed suit and sat down beside her.

"What's this about?" he asked, looking at her sideways.

"This isn't the right time. I see you after a year all of sudden - you came to Boston to take care of something for your grandfather and I got drunk at a college frat party – and we ended up sleeping together. I was upset, Tristan. Last night shouldn't have happened."

"But it did happen, Rory. You can't run away from that."

"I'm not running," she replied indignantly. "I'm telling you that I just had an ugly break-up with my boyfriend and a fight with my grandmother and I got drunk…I'm not in that place where I can plunge into another relationship. And you were talking about moving to Boston this morning…"

"And you think that I shouldn't?" he asked, his face expressionless.

She looked at him, eyes imploring him. "I don't want you moving here thinking that something might come out of this. I don't want us to have this stupid, dependant, Dawson Leery-Joey Potter angst-filled, can't-live-my-life-without-my-neurotic-self-proclaimed-soul mate type of relationship where we keep each other from living our lives..."

As she blabbered on, his mind was replaying another similar incident where once again something about their relationship meant more to him than it did to her. He thought about the time she had come to him in the middle of a crowded Chilton hallway to ask him not to mention their one, brief, high school kiss to her then boyfriend Dean.

"Look, things are really good for me and Dean right now, and I don't want anything to mess that up. Especially not something that meant nothing at all to me and I wished had never happened in the first place."

That kiss had meant nothing to her and he had been burnt. Now she was sitting in his living room telling him that their night together had meant anything to her either.

And this time, he had learned his lesson.

"Don't you think you're getting a little ahead of yourself, Mary?" he said suddenly, putting emphasis on her nickname.

She looked up at him startled by the aloof, cold tone of his voice. "What?"

"Like you said, it was sex. That's it," he answered with a small grin. "My moving to Boston had nothing to do with you."

"I – I'm sorry, I assumed that you... after this morn -" she looked away from him rubbing the back of her neck.

"It was pillow talk," Tristan answered as if speaking to a child. "It usually follows after what we did. What you think I'm just some hopeless guy who uproots his life because you dangled a carrot in front of his face for a night? It was sex - pure and simple. You have a lot to learn, little girl."

He could see the hurt flash across her face for a brief second but he was too angry to care. She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath and then got off the bed. When she spoke, her voice was as distant as his. "Well, now that that is settled. I'll leave. Goodbye, Tristan."

"Goodbye Mary."