Chapter 19: If I Lay Here

There were bags under her eyes, Rory noticed as she perused her features in her vanity mirror, before bed. During the wedding the make-up and Louise's perfect touch-ups had hid the telltale signs of stress and lack of sleep. She told herself that it was due to the stress from work after coping with her Grandfather's loss and the running around she did in preparation for Paris's wedding that contributed to the dark shadows under her eyes. She told herself sternly, that the restlessness she experienced every night for the past month, even when she was physically exhausted, was because she was juggling work and handling the details for the wedding.

Rory Gilmore had become an expert liar.

Her head whipped up startled, when she heard the knock on her door. Glancing at the time on the bedside table, she reached for her robe off the bed and belted it on her way to the door. It was well after midnight and she was sure she had taken care of most of the post-reception details after Paris had tossed the bouquet and the wedding party dwindled down.

She shouldn't have been surprised to open the door to find a rumpled and very wet Tristan DuGrey. His hair was matted to his forehead, he was still in his tux but the bowtie was undone and his shirt un-tucked. Ignoring her nerves – she hadn't spoken to him in a month – she tried to keep her voice normal and civil. "Tristan, what are you doing here?"

"I noticed," he said as he stepped forward, leaving her no choice but to take a step back and let him into the apartment. As he brushed past her, she caught the slight smell of alcohol on his breath and let out a disappointed sigh as he continued, "that you didn't dance with me at the reception."

She closed the door behind her, turned to him arms folded across her chest and ignored the fact he was dripping water onto her wooden floor. "You never asked."

He raised an eyebrow and let out a mirthless chuckle. "And have you bolt in the other direction as fast as you could? My enormous ego couldn't have withstood that kind of rejection."

"I wouldn't have run."

His eyes met hers and he said, very quietly, "That's all you've ever done, Ror."

She dropped her eyes, tired. If they continued down this path, they'd fight. Really badly. And her feet were just too sore at that moment to be fighting with him. "Why'd you come here, Tristan?"

He pocketed his hands, dropped his gaze and shrugged. "Don't know, honestly. I was getting a little tipsy; I had to stop since I was driving. And I was here. Stood on the sidewalk, in the rain, under your window, and watched you move around up here." He lifted his head again, met her eyes and she watched as his lips twisted a little ironically. "What is it about you, Gilmore that has me so tangled up in knots? I've tried to figure that out since we were sixteen."

She took a step closer to him, testing the ground, herself. "I know we have to talk. I just wasn't expecting to do it tonight. Maybe we should get you out of those clothes first. You ruined a good tux."

Without thinking, almost naturally, she reached forward and tugged at the jacket of his tuxedo. She regretted her actions as soon as she looked up at him and saw the familiar gleam in his eyes. "That's my Mary, always in a rush to get my clothes off."

She shook her head, not taking the bait as she continued to wrestle the wet shirt away from his body. "Don't Tristan. Don't make this about sex."

Tristan let out a bitter chuckle and grabbed her hands by the wrists, pushing them away from him as he continued to undress. "Why the hell not? What makes tonight different from any others?"

"Because you're drunk and angry. And I'm tired."

Tristan leaned in and smirked. "Like that's stopped us before." And she couldn't say anything else as his lips closed over hers. She kissed him back, more out of instinct and habit, but the taste of vodka on his tongue had her pushing him away in an instant. He took a step back and looked at her, his blue eyes vivid with anger. "Do you think this is what I want, Rory? For us to be fuck buddies and nothing else?"

Biting her lower lip, she folded her arms over her stomach and avoided his gaze. "I don't know what to think, Tristan."

He ran a hand through his wet hair and let out a deep breath. "Me neither. I hate this cycle we're in, Rory. You were right about that. It hurts, okay? It fucking hurts. Every relationship I have – try to have with anyone else - is doomed because I'm…stuck, here in this stupid, ridiculous place with you. And I know it's healthier, for the both of us, to move on. But I can't. We can't. So I don't know what to think either. I try to drink it away and where does that take me? The one place I know neither of us wants me to be, your fucking doorstep, right at dysfunctional square number one."

During his angry spiel, Rory was fighting back tears and hurt words of her own. Gathering her courage, she opened her mouth to speak. "Tristan -"

He heard that soft lilt in her voice, the almost pitying tone and cut her off before she said something that would only tick him off more. "No, Rory, don't give me any platitudes right now. Not when my head is killing me. I'm so fucking tired."

She wanted to tell him she understood and that she knew exactly what he was feeling. The last thing on her mind was to offer platitudes. But once again her words were lost in the countless, endless sea of things they never said. "I'm going to go make some coffee. There are still some of your clothes hanging in my closet."

He nodded, picked up his wet tuxedo jacket that had fallen to the floor and avoided her gaze. "I'll go change."

Rory put on a pot of coffee and then busied herself with tidying up the sink. Her mind was whirling even as her body was fighting to rest. She knew that now, with Tristan here and their incomplete goodbye hanging over their heads; it would be a long time before she fell asleep. She only prayed that when she finally did, it wouldn't be from tears.

As she squeezed detergent onto a sponge and began to wash the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, she prepared mentally for the battle she knew was coming. It was a conversation she was dreading. For weeks, she'd felt like when the time finally came to face him again, it would be the last time. It wasn't healthy for them to carry on anymore and all the pretending they'd been doing had to come to an end.

She didn't know what shifted since the last time they'd been together but it was there and they both seemed to be truly aware, for the first time in ages that they needed to stop hurting each other. His words reverberated in her head.

Do you think this is what I want, Rory? For us to be fuck buddies and nothing else?

Fuck buddies.

No, he was never that. They were never that and she wouldn't let his hurtful words ever make her believe that he was just a fuck buddy. She had accepted long ago that he, in all his dysfunction and with all his flaws, was the love of her life - though she had never really gotten around to telling him that.

And now it just seemed too late.

The coffee pot beeped and startled her out of her thoughts. She glanced down at the sparkling clean plate she was holding under the tap for the last five minutes. Shaking her head, she quickly finished cleaning the rest of the dishes and then poured two cups of coffee and carried them back into the living room.

Tristan was sprawled on the sofa in his Yale sweats, head thrown back and eyes closed. He looked weary and tired and Rory wasn't sure how to approach. She walked over to him quietly, and placed the cups of coffee on the table.

"Tristan?" she murmured as she sat down beside him. It was then she realized that he was asleep, even snoring very, very softly as was his habit. She bit her lower lip and stared at him for a minute, unsure of what to do. Shaking her head, she let out a soft chuckle. "Jeez, when you said you were tired…"

Sighing, she lifted her cup of coffee off the table and to her lips to take a sip. It looked as if their conversation would once again, be postponed until later. She stood up and went into her room to get him a blanket and a pillow.

Once he was tucked in, she looked at him and hesitantly reached out to touch his face. He stirred a little but didn't open his eyes. Sure that he wouldn't wake up, she let her fingers run through his still-damp hair and whispered the words she could never say to him when he was awake: "I love you."

- & -

Tristan pushed through the fog in his brain as he opened his eyes, pushed through the last vestiges of sleep and the little hammer pounding away at the base of his skull. It took him a minute to take in his surroundings – Rory's living room, her sofa; the fluorescent light from the muted TV was the only illumination in the room.

Immediately, he remembered why he was there and sat up quickly. It was then he spotted Rory on the armchair next to him, curled in a small ball, sleeping soundly. Unblinking, he watched her for a minute before expelling a breath. Damn it, he had fallen asleep, right when he was ready for a knock-down-drag-out fight that, he was sure, would end the saga of Rory and Tristan once and for all.

And then maybe they'd have some semblance of peace.

He stood up and walked over to her, bent down to brush the hair out of her face. She didn't stir but he was sure that the armchair was very uncomfortable. He reached for her, hooked his arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders to lift her up, cradled against him. This time, she stirred and nuzzled against his neck before bringing her arms around him.

"Mm, what's going on? Where are we going?" she asked sleepily, without opening her eyes.

"To bed, baby," he said softly as he headed towards her bedroom.

She frowned. "We're not having sex now, Tristan."

He chuckled as he entered her room, teasing her when she was half-asleep was always fun. "Okay, later then."

She snuggled closer, sighed against his neck. "Later works for me."

He smiled into her hair and then laid her down on the bed. She opened her eyes then, looked at him through heavy lids before closing them again. Her arms were still twined around his neck and a small smile played on her lips. Unable to resist, he leaned forward and brushed his own against hers. "Sleep tight, Rory."

"Stay." She said it so softly he wasn't even sure if he heard her.

"I'll be outside on the sofa," he answered nobly, even though he was yearning to get under the covers, to hold her as she slept. "You're tired. Get some sleep and we'll talk in the morning."

Rory opened her eyes, implored, "Stay with me, Tristan. I need you to."

As always, her eyes were what got to him and he relented, slipping under the bedspread. She turned on her back, spooned against him as his arm went around her waist. Jesus Christ, he thought as he breathed her in. How was he ever going to stay away? How had he ever been able to?

"We'll talk in the morning," he said softly, in her ear.

"Mm," she answered languorously, "in the morning."

- & -

Rory stirred in her sleep, clutched onto the warm body next to her and remembered where she was and who she with. Slowly, she opened her eyes; the pearly light of dawn filtered through her windows and illuminated the planes and angles of Tristan's handsome, sleeping face. Her arm was draped loosely around his waist and the other held onto his hand under the covers. His leg was intertwined possessively with hers, and his body was warm from sleep.

She was about to get up when his voice stopped her. "Good morning, Rory."

"Morning," she answered and didn't move, didn't look up at his face. Instead, she brought her head to his shoulder and snuggled. "Have you been up long?"

"No," he said softly, against the skin of her forehead. "Didn't feel like getting up just yet, though."

She traced patterns on his chest, over the material of his Yale T-shirt. "Me neither. Thanks for bringing me in here. And for staying."

He ran his hands down her back, softly, intimately, and kissed her forehead. "Of course."

Even as his touch aroused her, Rory knew that she couldn't let it get out of hand and that they couldn't just fall back on to easy, destructive habits. They were grown-up and for once they were going to discuss things calmly and rationally. She had made up her mind. But she didn't mind having said discussion in bed, in his familiar embrace which was both comforting and safe.

"I had the weirdest dream," she said finally looking up at him. His mouth curved into a half-smile. "Paris and Jess decide to honeymoon in Hawaii and then decide to stay there - forever. Paris works on her tan and sells grass skirts to tourists and Jess takes up surfing."

He chuckled. "Yes, weird. We should call them up, just to make sure though."

"It was a beautiful wedding."

"Yeah." He shifted slightly, brought his hand to rest on the small of her back. "Your speech was…great."

"Thanks." She looked at him again, smiling. "What you did for Paris, for her father…it was just -"

"The right thing," he finished for her.

"Yeah." She nodded, rested both her hands on his chest. She watched him for a minute, contemplating. "Do you know when it was I first realized that I was in love with you?"

This time, he stiffened slightly but she kept her eyes on him, calm and unmoving. He felt something burst in his chest at her words but he was too afraid to name it. "When was that?"

"It was before that summer after graduation," she answered. "Do you remember that?"

Sex, love, solitude and peace – of course he remembered. "Yeah."

"Well I was cramming for my English final – my last one and you were done," she answered with a grin. "You drove out to Boston to keep me company – well to distract me. You never succeeded, by the way."

Now he smiled lasciviously. "Au contraire. I remember a rather steamy shower we had right before I sent you on your way."

She swatted at his chest. "That's right. And I had to run across campus so I wouldn't be late. Damn you." He lifted his shoulder in a careless shrug and continued smiling at her. "Anyway, the night before while I was studying, you fell asleep on my bed. You got bored with my flashcards."

"Well, flashcards are for wimps."

"Then I just kind of watched you for a minute," her voice softened and her eyes filled slightly. "And I just knew. It was like, bam, a revelation. I knew. I had been all that time. Like never before, I loved you. And that would never change."

Tristan waited for a minute, unable to speak around the hot lump in this throat, and shifted a little but kept his eyes on hers. "It was a little before that, for me."

"When?"

"When you walked right back into my life, changing it, ruining it, making sure I'd always be miserable if I was ever without you," he answered honestly. "It took me one second to know that, Ror. Not the last ten years that has been our life but one fucking second."

She laid her head on his chest and murmured, "You never told me."

He kissed her hair. "No, I never did. And neither did you."

This time, she sat up, curled her legs under her and let the covers fall to her waist. He propped himself on his elbows and stared back at her, waited for her question. "What does that say about us? What do we even do with that, Tristan?"

He looked at her, incredulous. "I wanted to marry you. I fucking asked you. The rest of my life, with you, Rory. That was the only way I have wanted it ever since I was eighteen."

She looked at him, anguished, and remembered how hope had soared in her for the briefest of seconds when he proposed. Remembered how she had been crushed beneath the weight of it when she thought of the baby. "I couldn't. Not when I thought it took a freaking unwanted pregnancy to get you to ask!"

"It was never about just the baby, Rory," he answered, sitting up fully. "And Goddamn it, the baby was not unwanted. Not by me."

Tears welled and fell onto her cheeks. "We couldn't have had a baby. Not then. Babies do not bring people together. They shouldn't. It's not fair."

He grabbed her shoulders, shook her slightly. "Damn it, Rory. I wanted that life with you. I would have done anything. But you ran; you didn't even let me hold you when you lost it…you just pushed and pushed. And I was tired of pushing back. Of begging you to let me in."

She pulled away from him, pushed herself off the bed and started to pace in front of him. He recognized panic when he saw it, felt it fluttering in his chest. She was breathing heavily now, her hands running haphazardly though her hair. "I wish I knew what to do."

His eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"

Rory stopped her pacing, looked at him and bit her lower lip in confusion. "Tristan – I got a job offer. Mitchum Huntzberger offered me a job."

"What the hell does that have to do with us?" he asked, getting off the bed and coming to stand in front of her. "I mean congratulations but what does that have to do with anything?"

Her eyes widened, emotions swirling in their depths. "The job's in London."

To be continued…