My Brother

Disclaimer: See first chapter.

Setting: See first chapter.

"…So class, is that explanation enough?" the History teacher's voice rang out across the classroom, disrupting Tristan's thoughts. He had been gazing absentmindedly at Rory for a while now and hadn't heard a word uttered by the teacher, who'd been rambling on for half an hour. His thoughts were directed towards Robert, Rory, Lorelai, his parents…

"Yes," the unified voice of the students replied monotonously, their heads drooping and their pencils doodling on their notes. The teacher nodded his assent, and then seemed to notice that Tristan, who was sitting up straighter and gazing at him determinedly, hadn't said anything and had been, for the past half-hour, daydreaming.

"DuGrey?" the History teacher called out, his eyes fixed on Tristan's face. A groan escaped the boy's lips; he didn't want to be sent to the Principal's office just now. "Did you hear what I said?"

The teacher was challenging him. Normally he would have found this great sport, but now Tristan was weary and wanted to go home, have some coffee…"Uh, yeah, you said: 'so class, is that explanation enough?'."

"And before that?" the teacher queried, clearly amused by this confrontation. "What was I explaining, Tristan?" He would wait and wait and wait for Tristan to answer, and then, when he couldn't, the Bronze Moment would arise and he would say, "Well?" and Tristan would admit he didn't know. Then, the Silver Moment, when he would change gears and sound frosty and say, "Mr. Charleston will know. Why don't you go ask him?" And finally, the Golden Moment, while he would watch DuGrey slink out of the room, shoulders hunched, defeated. Ah, his job was a good one.

"You were explaining about the Ancient Mayas and how we would have to do a History Project on them due in a week," Paris Gellar's voice replied promptly. For the first time that year the History teacher was severely irritated with his best student, Paris. Now he couldn't prove that Tristan didn't know, and now there would be no Bronze, Silver, or Golden moment. He scowled.

"Yes, I was. But when did your name change from Paris to Tristan, may I ask, Miss Gellar?" he demanded, watching with little satisfaction as Paris's face turned red and she bowed her head in the direction of her notes, embarrassed but pleased that she had done something to help Tristan. "Now, before that scandalous interruption, I was about to announce the partners. Yes, this is a Partner Project," he confirmed amidst the groans of his weary students. Partner Projects weren't popular. "Now…Madeline and Richard, Louise and Emma…"

Tristan waited for his name to be called out paired with Paris. He was always paired with her; the smartest, most efficient student with the smart and yet care-free one. All the teachers seemed to think that she could straighten him out somehow. He was very surprised to hear, "…Tristan and Rory…" called out. At first Tristan didn't know what else he felt apart from surprise. Was he happy? Mortified? Ah, yes, there it was: he was happy; he had hope, because maybe now he could redeem himself in her eyes.

Tristan glanced self-consciously over at Rory, who was bent over her notes, her lustrous brown hair a curtain shielding her emotions. But at the moment that he looked at her she looked up, and he saw the flush of red in her cheeks, saw that her blue eyes were slightly glazed and stormy. She was angry at having him for a partner. She probably thought he would ruin the whole project and she would get an F because of him. But he was determined to make this succeed.

(…)

"Tristan." Rory stated it as a fact while she approached his locker, so inconveniently close to her own. He looked up at her and smiled that smile that she'd always seen as his 'cocky smirk'. Now, somehow, it was different. It was a genuine smile now, an offering of peace…

"Yes, Mary?"

Her anger flared. "We have to do a project together, Tristan. This is the time to learn my name!" she snapped, resisting the urge to march away in a dignified manner. Tristan smirked again, and for the first time Rory considered what could be hidden behind that smirk. Was he using it as a mask? Was he, for example, really in love with Louise and he just used the smirk and that haughty manner to disguise it? Or did he really like Mr. Medina and pretended to be arrogant and disobedient just to hide it? Was there more to Tristan than she'd thought at first?

"You'll always be Mary to me," Tristan told her in what she knew he thought was a gentle, consoling, seducing manner. She closed her eyes briefly to illustrate the fact that she was grappling with impatience and she was losing.

Tristan had moved closer. His breath was on her face, his arm was inching over to drape itself around her shoulders…Rory started and stared at him, aghast. "I only came here to say that studying at my house tomorrow would be convenient. As partners, Tristan, it would be helpful if we didn't argue with each other. That way we might have a chance at a D-." She was carefully leaving something unsaid. And it would also be a bonus if you would stop trying to seduce me.

"Your house. Tomorrow, AKA Saturday. Got it," Tristan parroted. As Rory nodded and moved to turn her back on him and leave, he managed to grab her wrist, and, spinning her around, took hold of her other wrist. Rory was shocked and surprised and didn't know what he was doing yet, so this was his chance. Hastily, Tristan pulled her to himself and kissed her on the lips, letting his mouth linger on hers for as long as he dared. Then, gently, while he was kissing her, he released her wrists, giving her a chance to pull away if she wanted to.

For a while longer, perhaps because her mind wasn't functioning and she hadn't realized that her wrists were free, Rory stayed where she was, her eyes open and bewildered while her mouth was pressed against his. Tristan dared to wonder for a moment if she wanted this. But then, quickly, she pulled away, rubbing her wrists and staring at him with surprise and a hint of anger.

"I…I didn't know I could pull free," she stammered as a way of explaining why she hadn't run away as soon as he let go of her wrists. Tristan smiled gently at her, and for some reason, perhaps because she wanted to believe it, Rory thought of it as an arrogant smirk.

"If you liked it, we can do it again sometime," Tristan told her in a low voice, inching just a little bit closer. Panicking, Rory bolted down the corridor, away from him. But if the scene was replayed a thousand times, Tristan wouldn't have done it any other way.

"Tristan?" a hurt, puzzled voice asked hesitantly. Paris stepped out from behind the open locker door that had concealed her from their view and stared at him out of very confused, pained eyes. "Did you just kiss…kiss Rory Gilmore?" she asked in a hushed whisper, as though she couldn't believe it.

His mind on Rory and nothing else, Tristan nodded. "She's so beautiful, don't you think?" he murmured, forgetting that Paris was there, forgetting everything but the sight of Rory and the feel of Rory and the smell of Rory and the taste of Rory… "Yes…I kissed Rory Gilmore."

Tristan was too deep in his reverie, too absorbed in replaying the scene again and again in his mind, to notice that the smartest girl in class had slammed her locker door, grabbed her backpack, and bolted down the corridor with tears streaming down her face.