Tristan walked out of his office building, annoyed at the sight of the noon crowd. Living in New York City meant a constant confrontation with the mob of vacationers and apparently it was always vacation time somewhere.
He maneuvered his way through the crowd to be able to turn the corner to walk down to the small diner hidden between the large skyscrapers.
He breathed in deep, enjoying the way the cool air seemed to burn his lungs. It helped clear his head and shake off the warm comfort of the office that he was sure slowly destroyed every ounce of toughness left in his body. Hell, he would have jogged to the diner just to flex his muscles, if the Armani clad runner wouldn't have made a laughing spectacle out of him.
Instead he walked as brisk as possible, his muscles remembering the early morning jog that he still stuck to, even if it was now pitch dark and pretty darn cold when he got up each morning. He did it though, because he felt strangely good working up a sweat. With goals like that - run a mile, run three, run ten - it was hard to fail, and clear to see. With everything else, life wasn't as straight forward. He missed the uncomplicated physical goals in life. He chuckled as he recognized the nostalgic feelings that rushed him regarding military school. Who would have thought that he'd miss parts of it.
He looked both ways before crossing the street coming to stand in front of the window of the diner. It had become a custom for them, to have an early lunch together before Rory would start her shift at the coffee shop a couple of blocks away. It was now the beginning of December, the last couple of weeks passing them by in a steady rhythm.
He focused on her, sitting at the table by the window on a bar chair, immersed in thought as she scribbled away on a piece of paper. He stared for a moment, a different type of nostalgia hitting him, seeing her write. He hadn't seen her do that since she showed up at his place declaring she'd quit the Times. He didn't bug her about it, figuring she needed some time away, the way top athletes needed a break after conquering the world championship. But seeing her now, like that, her eyes shining with a feverish determination as she bit her lower lip slightly, he wondered how she'd gone this far without writing.
He took a deep breath and pushed the door of the diner open, stepping in as the welcoming bell rang marking his entrance.
He reached her table and kissed the top of her head, disturbing her peace. She looked up confused, hiding the piece of paper she'd been scribbling on.
"Hey" he greeted her, sitting down next to her "what are you working on?" he asked, his voice strangely optimistic.
She shrugged.
"Christmas list" she replied "you're not supposed to see" she continued with a coy smile.
She smiled at him, leaning in to kiss him and he felt a strange hope that she'd been lying.
He watched as she stuffed the paper into her bag, turning to him once again.
"I ordered the ham sandwich for you, if you don't mind" she said.
"Ham's fine" he sighed, taking a sip from the soda that was already waiting for him.
"You seem tired" she noted.
"I'm not tired enough" he mumbled and she looked at him with a curious smile.
"Nevermind. What do you have planed for today, young lady?" he diverted the subject.
"Well" she said, using a dramatic voice "I have an extremely interesting afternoon shift coming up, hopefully with neurotic customers and wet dogs thrown into the mix".
"Wet dogs?" he asked, not following.
"Remember how this one customer brought in three dogs when it was raining last week and they broke their leash and I had to chase them through the shop?" she laughed.
"Right" he said not particularly impressed, remembering the evening she told him the story, in an animated fashion.
"You sure, you're okay?" she asked, her voice worried.
He sighed, nodding, forcing out a smile to prove his point.
"You have to work this much?" he asked, out of the blue. She turned to her arching an eyebrow.
"I don't work that much" she replied.
"You're in there six days a week" he countered.
"Well, only if the others can't take the shift" she reasoned, her demeanor getting defensive.
"You are too nice to them" he scoffed "you don't have to take their shifts".
"I don't mind. Mornings are free. And I can use the money. Tips aren't as good as you would expect from these snotty New Yorkers" she replied playfully, seemingly desperate to lighten the mood.
"You don't need the pay" he replied offhand, noting the sudden silence that followed.
"I have rent" she replied, and he could tell her tone was weary.
"You could move in, you're practically living with me anyways" he said and this time the silence was longer, more uncomfortable.
He turned to her, studying her face, checking for signs of panic.
She stared at her own soda.
"I don't want to be an incon..." she started to mumble, but gave up, probably realizing the absurdity of the excuse as Tristan looked at her accusingly.
He scoffed and turned around glancing at the kitchen to check if their order was arriving any time soon. He didn't have such luck.
"Tristan" he heard her careful voice "I..." she trailed off and he closed his eyes.
"You want an escape route" he said with a bittersweet smile.
"No" she cut him off "I just didn't want to push my luck" she said.
He looked at her not understanding.
She sighed, obviously feeling uncomfortable.
"Look, I didn't feel like I had the right to bring that up" she finally blurted out, and he could swear she was blushing as she turned away, trying to hide her face.
"You have been thinking about moving back?" he asked, his voice masking his hidden hope.
She shrugged.
"You said it, I practically live there" she mumbled.
He took a deep breath, suddenly feeling bad about accusing her, when it was obviously hard for her to talk about things like that.
"I'm sorry" he said furrowing his brows as he felt the tart taste of regret.
"No" she shrugged again "I mean it's silly, I just feel like I don't have the right to bring up stuff like that" she repeated herself.
"Hey" he said pulling her close "you have the right, okay?"
She swallowed hard, her face troubled.
"Okay" she mumbled.
The waiter disturbed them, setting their order in front of them on the table.
She pulled away, making room for the ham sandwiches.
"We'll get your stuff tonight" he said as the waiter left and another uncomfortable silence settled over them.
Rory looked up at him with a worried expression.
"Are you sure?" she whispered.
He touched her face, caressing it lightly.
"Yeah" he said.
He watched as she blushed slightly and it all felt wonderful for a second, as if the two of them really were making a small, but significant step in a fresh relationship and not passing some undefinable point during their roller coaster of a ride.
"Please don't take any extra shifts" he said, breaking the silence, his voice pleading, soft.
"I don't mind, Tristan, you've been pulling late nights anyway, I would just be waiting for you at home" she explained.
"You could be doing other things, Rory" he sighed.
"Like what?" she asked, seemingly genuinely curious.
"I don't know" he laughed "see friends, redecorate, go to museums, read books, write them" he listed the options, not entirely kidding.
She brushed him off with a laugh, turning to her sandwich.
"I mean it" he said after a moment of silence, his voice turning serious.
She looked at him, her eyes worried.
"Don't you miss it?" he asked.
"Miss what?" she asked, her voice uneasy.
"Writing" he replied simply.
"No" she replied, perhaps a bit too eagerly.
He raised an eyebrow trying to show he saw through her.
"Maybe I wasn't supposed to do writing" she said, her voice defensive.
He sighed wearily and disenchanted, as if that one breath he let out could rid him of all those uneasy feelings that seemed to be settling in on him ever since they got back together.
It was an effort, a true effort to watch her slowly throw away all the accomplishments she'd worked for. He did it because he knew that was his part, his task at hand, and because he knew that she deserved unconditional love and support, even if it was hard to give, even if it made him frustrated and unnerved.
He would lay in bed, watching her through the darkness, trying to decipher the invisible signs that her body exuded, as if he could collect them and translate them, into readable reasons, that would help him figure out a way to make her sound again. It wasn't just the fact that she gave up on something, even if it was scary in itself: Rory Gilmore giving up something. It was that he didn't see her getting better because of it. If it would have lifted some invisible weight off her shoulders, if it would have made her more loose, more content, he would have let it all happen, he would have let her work at a freaking coffee shop for the rest of their lives. But he knew it didn't. It made her numb, it made her reserved, an calm even in some way, but he could tell it didn't make her happy.
And finally it was worry. Not just for her, but for himself. He was worried that this was just a process of her slowly fading. Away from life, from work, from him. He was worried that this was a pathomechanism, that he would only be able to see clearly in hindsight, when it would be too late.
"I'm gonna go back" he said slowly, pushing away his untouched food.
She watched him with what looked like quiet worry as he rose from his chair.
He leaned in, kissing her head lightly, the same way he greeted her, and she didn't protest, obviously knowing when to leave him be.
He walked out of the diner, the cold air outside now not just burning, but stinging and bruising his lungs. He walked through the crowd, the people slowly fading into a colorful blur around him, as the noise of the city seemed to mix into one robust hurricane of sounds.
He came to a sudden halt, his ears deaf to the sounds, his skin immune to the cold, and he looked up towards the white sky, unconsciously obeying some silent call.
The first snowflakes landed on his face.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
He closed the door behind him, tossing his key onto the table standing by the entrance, not bothering to put on the lights. He listened to the quiet of the apartment for a minute, his eyes adjusting to the dim light.
He looked around the apartment noting the subtle changes of the last couple of weeks.
There were books. Not his neatly lined up new editions, but her ones, of different shapes and sizes and origins, left carelessly around the apartment, half read, re-read, over-read. And her clothes. Not in piles of messy heaps like he was used to seeing in Stars Hollow, but uncomfortably abandoned articles nevertheless. He never quite knew how to handle them. Were they used? Ready for laundry? They never smelled used. They smelled like Rory. Vanilla and purity and incomprehensible lust in one. There were pieces of paper. Always. Even know. Lists, notes, mostly for everyday life. 'Pick up laundry' or 'Make appointment with dentist'.
There were signs of Rory's capricious shopping habits. Ball point pens. A bunch of flowers. A bag of Tootsie Rolls. He even spotted a styrofoam coffee cup.
These objects were not enough to make a certified mess, but he could tell it anyways: slowly, but surely chaos was seeping back into his apartment, back into his life.
The knowledge gave him some deep, indescribable joy warming his frozen body from the inside.
"Hey" she said, looking at him strangely and he realized he'd been standing in the middle of the living room studying the setting for long minutes.
"Hey" he replied, fixing his eyes on her. Her clothes were wet, her hair towel dried, her face pink hued from the cold outside and he could tell she just got in.
The two of them stared at each other for a long moment and he felt a foreign buzzing in his limbs.
"It's snowing" she said, her voice full of some childish amazement he knew only she and her mother could possess when it came to the first signs of winter.
He smiled a knowing smile, studying her movements carefully. Her breathing was faster than usual, more shallow and her hands were slightly shaking, as if the cold precipitate outside had awoken something within her, stirring up her insides and igniting her thoughts.
"Didn't you have work?" he asked, and his voice was careful, almost silent, as if he were talking to a startled beast, trying to calm it enough as to avoid an attack.
She didn't answer right away, swallowing hard.
"I called in sick" she finally said, turning away form his gaze slightly.
He held his breath, knowing this had to mean something, this had to be for a reason, this had to prove she was thinking again, feeling, on the brink.
"It's incredible when it comes..." she started, and her voice rang out loud and clear, seemingly making sense for the first time in such a long time, it gave him goosebumps "every time, I am reminded of the first time I saw this city in snow. It's incredible how the color, or the feel of it, or the smell can take you back" she paused for a moment and he wished he could melt into his surroundings, his apartment's stylish walls in order to not disturb her, in order to not block this stream of honesty that seemed to break to the surface from deep within her.
"And it feels like another life, because I must have been another person. I was younger and so eager to be alone and in quiet, so eager to hear my own thoughts, and the city seemed to be a refuge, a hidden labyrinth of quiet streets only for those who needed the space to get lost and to think. Have you ever noticed how it can feel like you are stuck back in time somewhere when you're walking in some part of town? Like parts of it are just from another time altogether?"
"I walked today, and it felt like that first winter, when I came here, suddenly, without a job, or an opportunity. Just some unreasonable dedication and irrational feeling of knowing this is what I had to do. God I was so full of hope! Was it only four years ago? It's impossible" she laughed, distracted for a minute.
He felt his heartbeat pick up as he watched and waited for her to go on.
"I lost all of that, didn't I?" she said suddenly, her voice becoming small, lost.
"No" he said carefully "you just lost sight of it" he added unsurely, his voice quiet.
"It felt so much easier back then, I had all these thoughts and" she went on, her voice frustrated "I had a... voice".
He took a sharp intake of breath, watching her frustrated expression, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she stood, breathing heavily in the middle of the room.
He took a step towards her, his hand reaching out to clasp around hers. He ignored her confused expression as he pulled her with him, heading towards the study that was hardly used anymore. It used to be Rory's favorite room, full of books and an old desk that reminded her of Yale's library desks.
He pulled her after him, coming to stop in the doorway of that room, as if an invisible force field were holding her back. He looked at her slowly as she stared at her laptop sitting on the top of the desk, under the huge window.
She turned to him, a questioning look on her face. He guided her inside the room, himself not taking the step inside.
"Write" he said simply, staring at her confused face.
She scoffed, slightly incredulous.
"I don't think this is how it works, Tristan" she mumbled, burying her face in her hands in frustration.
"It does" he replied, determined.
She looked up, shock evident on her face.
He took a deep breath, knowing this was his chance, this was her chance, this was the moment in time when everything could be lured back onto the right track, because god knows it was time.
"Rory, you have a voice. You always had a voice" he said, his voice calm and cool, his face frozen in icy determination "You sit down and let it come out. I don't care if it takes you hours or days, or if takes all your sanity and all your strength. You sit down and write".
"Write what?" she asked, her voice shaking from anger.
"I don't care" he shot back, his voice matching her emotions "You write what you just told me, you write about New York, or snow, or what it all fucking feels like. You write about your mother, or me or you or growing up or disillusion and disappointments. You write whatever comes out, because it has to".
He turned around, swallowing the incredible urge to comfort her, pulling the door shut behind him. He rested his body against the door, part expecting her to tear the door open and dash out like a hurricane, but there was no noise coming from inside the study.
He took a quite breath and prayed that was a good thing.
xxxxxx
He stretched, stirring from sleep, and his head, dull with dreams scattering slowly in the quiet of the room, was slowly clearing. He made out some sounds, that no doubt had been the reason for his waking up and he concentrated on them, blinking repeatedly to try to regain his sight. His eyes adjusted to the dark of the room and he could now identify the noise as steps coming towards the bedroom. He saw her appear in the doorway, her form illuminated by the dim light coming from somewhere in the apartment.
"Hey" he murmured, his voice groggy from sleep as he sat up, supporting his weight on his hands.
She stopped in the doorway and he squinted his eyes, unable to make out her expression.
The events of the evening registered in his mind and he glanced at the clock on the nightstand, realizing it had been 5 hours since he forced her into the study and about two since he must have drifted off to sleep waiting for her in the bedroom, not wanting to disturb her.
He couldn't tell for sure if she was working or just sitting in that room thinking, but he had hope and a quiet excitement inside his body. He moved around the apartment silently, as if afraid that all noise would make her lose her concentration, if in fact she had any in there.
He held his breath and the two stared at each other in the dark of the room. He saw her move towards him, her movements rushed.
He swallowed as she climbed onto the bed, moving to straddle him.
He had no time to think as he felt her lips on his, her mouth opening instantly and her tongue asking for permission. He groaned, allowing her access, his hand going around her back to hold her close to him. Her kiss was rough, fast and for a moment he scolded himself for not being strong enough to be more perceptive when it came to understanding what was happening. Truth was, when Rory was like this, imperative and peremptory, it was hard to resist, or think even.
Truth was, her skin was like velvet and her warmth contagious, her hair flowing and tingling and her shy, soft mouth enragingly sensual. Her small hands were persistent and they danced on his skin, setting fire to every part of his body.
He felt his erection grow by the second and he knew she was determined as she ground into his lap. He broke the kiss, dropping his head back to let out a long groan, feeling blood rush to certain parts of his body.
He heard her ragged breathing and felt her hands go under his shirt, slowly pealing it off of him. He let her do it, laying back on the bed as she moved over his body, undressing him.
He exhaled, letting her take his pants off as he closed his eyes, giving full control to her.
His eyes snapped open as he felt the warm confine of her wet mouth around his cock.
"Holly shit" he muttered, his hands going to her shoulders, taking all his strength to pull her off of him and up to level with him.
She let out a little sound of protest and he couldn't help but chuckle at the fact that she got especially demanding and controlling when she wanted sex to be a distraction.
"Hey" he whispered "what is this?" he asked, taking all his might to control himself.
There was a couple of seconds of silence and he could faintly make out the small smile that crept onto her face as they watched each other, from merely inches away.
"I love you" she said and he froze.
The room seemed to spin around him even though he thought he got the last remnants of grogginess out of his head seconds ago. He felt his own heartbeat, registering every pulse wave traveling through every part of his body, and he held his breath as if the world was threatening to melt into nothing around him.
The words reverberated inside his head and he felt his muscles tense.
He was overwhelmed and taken aback, his body remembering with painful nostalgia how many times he'd heard these words and spoke them before... before it all collapsed around them.
He had to rebuild his world, his sanity, every brick placed there by excruciating effort and determination, and 'I love you's were not a part of the mortar.
Tristan wasn't one for verbal declarations of love. Not because he was insecure or too manly for them. But simply because he thought it didn't give the cause justice.
Words were never his fort. He mastered their system, able to use them in his work to fabricate arguments no one could contradict, but when it came to expressing what it felt like to wake up next to someone you want to spend the rest of your life with, to express your mirth and anxiety and flurry about being around them and feeling that security, he thought words were underrated and overused. So he rarely used them. The times he did say it, he wanted to feel like it meant something.
The fact he hadn't, nor did she, showed just how unratable this term had become to him and to the both of them.
But now, her words ringing soft and true in the quiet of the night, it shattered the last of his resistance. He knew he was unguarded and unprotected when it came to her and he realized there was no need for security. This was his fate and his path and no matter where it lead, there was no point in trying to protect himself. He was back here at her mercy because there was no other place he could have ended up.
He sighed, feeling the tension break from his chest as he heard her repeat the sentiment and he closed his eyes, unable to contain the feelings taking over his senses. He felt her guide him inside her and he groaned out again as she melted into his hold, whispering in his ear. He felt the warm darkness envelop him, dissolving the last of his being into the air around them. Her quiet mantra rang in his ears and he let his body be lost to her wonder, to her power, to her command.