-It's been waaayyy too long. I know. Also just for those of you reading Drowning. Another chapter IS in the works I promise! This chapter turned out to be a million different things I didn't expect it to be. But I like it. I hope you guys do too. Anyhow...on with it!-

Chapter Three: When The Dance Is Through It's Me And You

Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls (obviously.)

Tristan stood in front of his bedroom mirror, pulling at the tie around his neck. He groaned in frustration under his breath and grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his desk chair, pulling it over his shoulders and straightening the collar. He hated these parties. He hated these miserable, desperate, attention starved elitist morons. Every single person down those stairs would be discussing money, or power, or labels, or all of the above.

He ran his fingers through his hair and stared at himself in the mirror, taking in his reflection. He was wearing a black suit, white shirt, black tie. Only the best of everything. Tailor made to fit him perfectly. He sighed. Just once in his life he wanted to get ready for a Saturday night putting on jeans that hung too low for his mothers liking and a shirt that didn't require a tie. He reached up to adjust the one around his neck. He fucking hated wearing a tie.

"Tristan." He turned at the sound of his name and turned back just as quickly at the realization of who it was.

"Mother." He practically spit the word from his mouth. She didn't seem to take notice of his tone and took a step into his room.

"We have guests waiting."

Tristan cocked an eyebrow. "No," he corrected. "You have guests waiting."

She crossed the room towards him and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him around to face her. "Fix this tie," she said, reaching up and pulling it tight against his neck. She took a step back, nodding to herself. "Much better." Tristan shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away from her. "Now hurry up and get downstairs. You have people to greet, young man."

He stood in silence, waiting for what he knew she would say next. He watched as it crossed her mind and he could almost see the thought move itself through from her brain to her pursed, over colored lips. "We can't have you disappointing your father." There it was. He couldn't help the smirk that made it's way to his face. He turned away from his mother and ran his fingers through his hair again.

She grabbed his arm once more, turning him around to face her. "Tristan Janlan Dugrey, so help me God you will put on your best smile and you will be polite to every single person that steps through that door." She locked her eyes on his and he held her gaze. When he gave no sign of confirmation she reached up and grabbed him by the tie, pulling him down so they were at eye level. "You listen to me, Tristan. This is a very important evening for your father and you will not do anything to compromise that. Do you understand me?"

Tristan pulled himself away from her grasp. "Yes." He spoke through gritted teeth. "I un-der-stand you." He spoke each syllable slowly, biting it out. "But keep in mind that after what he pulled at that business dinner on Monday night, I plan on doing nothing more than staying as far away from him as I possibly can."

His mother reached up and pushed his tie back into place against neck before stepping back from her son. "Be on your best behavior, Tristan."

He turned away from her and she left his room without another word. He faced himself in the mirror again and loosened his tie. He took a few deep breaths to prepare himself for a night of misery before making his way out of his bedroom and down the stairs.

He moved gracefully through the crowd. He greeted the faces he could remember and gave a pleasant nod to the ones he couldn't. He never wavered, never faltered, keeping up his smile, shaking the hands of any secretary fucking businessmen he ran into. He was en route to the bar. The greetings on the way were merely mild annoyances in comparison to the hell he would walk through if his father happened to find him.

"Ah, Tristan." He turned at the familiar voice, a smile coming to his face. The first one all night that he really meant. He reached out and shook the older man's hand.

"Hey, Gramps," he greeted, his smile turning into a grin. Janlan pulled his grandson into a brief hug. "How have you been?"

Janlan gave a wink and patted Tristan's shoulder. "I get by," he said. "What about you, young man?"

Tristan's face fell slightly and he shrugged. "Fine," he said.

Janlan raised an eyebrow. "After this long in society I would have expected you to be a better actor, my boy."

Tristan laughed lightly but said nothing. The two men stood in silence for a few moments, watching the people in the crowd interact. Money. Power. Labels. It never changed. Someone always made more money. Someone always got that big promotion. Someone's wife always got a new something or other that worked so much better and cost so much more than someone else's. Tristan sighed and Janlan glanced over at him. "Rough week, son?" he asked.

Tristan gave a half smirk, but nodded, letting his hands find his pockets. "You could say that."

Janlan reached out to put a hand on his grandson's shoulder. "I heard about Monday evening."

"The great William told you all about how his mistake of a son screwed up a meeting with Princeton?" Tristan didn't look over. He kept his eyes trained on the crowd. Watching everything. Absorbing nothing. Hate coursing through his veins.

"He did," Janlan confirmed. "I have to say you must have put on quite a show, Tristan."

He shrugged heavily. "It's not what I want, Gramps." He ran his fingers through his hair and then balled them into a fist, desperately pushing away the urge to punch something. Anything. "I don't want to go to Princeton. I never have."

Janlan nodded, his face grim and thoughtful. The way it always was when he was about to tell Tristan something he didn't want to hear. "Sometimes it isn't about what we want, son. Sometimes it's about what keeps the status quot."

Tristan shook his head. "No." His voice was firm, angry, betrayed. "I won't do it, Gramps. I won't go to Princeton for him." He let a deep sigh fall from his lips and he shrugged his shoulders desperately. His voice came out small and quiet when he spoke again. "I can't."

Janlan sighed. "I know you have your own dreams, Tristan. And it would be a waste for such a bright young man like yourself to give them up just to please anyone." He paused and looked over to his grandson. "But you know his threat as well as I do. And you know it isn't an empty one."

Tristan nodded. "I know."

Janlan reached over and patted him on the back. "Just think about that," he said. "I've got to make the rounds." He nodded and watched his grandfather continue with his circuit around the room. Tristan turned, once again working through the crowd to the bar.

After shaking the hands of four or five affair wielding businessmen he reached his destination. He leaned up against the bar, reaching behind it and pulling out a bottle of scotch and a glass. He winked at the bartender, who shook his head but allowed Tristan to do what he pleased. They always did. It was his father's alcohol after all.

He poured himself a drink and leaned back against the bar, downing it in two swallows before pouring himself another. He set the glass down and removed his jacket, draping it over the stool next to him. He rolled up the sleeves of his white button up and reached up to loosen the tie that his mother had been so god damn precise about. He picked the glass up again and took a drink. It burned down his throat. He took another drink, finishing it off and reaching around to pour himself another.

"Your mother's looking for you." Tristan finished pouring and glanced over, watching as she leaned herself next to him and nodded at his drink. It was definitely not his first and that worried her a bit. She knew that if he hadn't already, he would be drinking until he was numb. And that was never a good thing. Especially for Tristan. And especially here. "I don't know if I would be holding that when she finds you," she added and he shrugged, finishing off the glass.

He set it down on the bar and let his eyes drink in her appearance. He hid his surprise at her association with him in front of so many people. He studied the way her hair was swept up into a graceful pin at the back of her head. Her dress was black and hit her at the knees. Loose enough to be classy. Tight enough to be mind blowingly sexy. He averted his gaze before she caught his stare and shrugged. "She doesn't actually care where I am," he said and Rory looked up and met his eyes. "Just putting on a show." His voice was bitter and rough. He reached back to pour himself another glass. This one he downed in one long pull before slamming his glass against the bar.

Rory watched his movements. His actions were firm, unfeeling, and as bitter as his voice had been. She wasn't sure how many glasses of scotch he'd had but with a look at the bottle she guessed it had probably been full when he'd started. "Tristan." She said his name like a warning. "Don't." He looked down at her and cocked an eyebrow. She shook her head. "I know you better than anyone, Tris. And I know what you're thinking." He looked up and away from her. "Don't do anything stupid."

He reached for the scotch again. He always drank scotch when things were bad. She sighed. Things must have been worse than she thought. "I didn't expect you to be here, tonight." He paused to let her speak. When she said nothing he continued. "You came with your grandparents?"

She nodded. "And Mom too. You know Richard and Emily. Can't pass up a chance to show off their miraculous heirs." She smiled and leaned over to nudge him in the ribs. He looked down at her and nodded.

They stood in silence for a few moments before she spoke. "I can't get you to smile can I?" her voice was small and sad. "I remember when I couldn't get you to stop."

Tristan looked over at her. He shrugged slowly before taking another drink. She watched the glass meet his lips and the liquid run into them slowly. He pulled the glass away from his mouth and noticed her gaze. "That was a long time ago," he said, voice laced with finality. He tipped the glass towards her in offering. She shook her head, making a face. "Not much for scotch?"

She shook her head again. "Not at all." She watched as he down yet another glass in two gulps. "Tristan," she said and he looked over to her again. "Maybe you should slow down on the alcohol." He looked over to her and smiled lightly. He was already past drunk, she could see it in his eyes.

He cleared his throat and shook his head. "If I have to be here," he said winking at her. "I'm at least going to get trashed while I have the opportunity." He sighed. "Makes these affair wielding businessmen a little more bearable." He took another drink. "Besides, a few more of these and I won't even remember this in the morning."

She reached up and pulled at his tie, loosening it further. That got his attention and he put the glass down and turned towards her, placing his hands on either side of her, trapping her against the bar. "You want to see a show, Mary?" He whispered, his voice dangerous. He lowered his mouth to her ear, his breath tickling her skin, making her crazy. "This party needs a little something. Don't you think?" He winked at her again, pushing off the bar. She took a deep breath.

"Tristan." She reached out for his arm and he turned his head. "Please don't do anything stupid."

He smirked. "No promises." He turned back towards the crowd and made his way, unsteadily now, towards a large group of people. His father, she realized, was in the middle.

Rory looked around the room, desperate to meet the eyes of her mother. Finally she landed on them and Lorelai looked up, feeling eyes on her. She noted the look on Rory's face and made her way quickly over towards her daughter.

"What's up babe?"

Rory nodded towards a drunken Tristan, approaching his father. "He's going to do something really stupid."

Lorelai nodded, watching him. "Did something happen?"

Rory sighed and pushed her hair away from her eyes. "He's drinking scotch, so that means it's bad. And he's approaching his father in the middle of a very large party full of very prestigious elitists. So that means his parents have everything to do with it." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "He's going to regret this in the morning."

"I doubt he even remembers it in the morning, sweetie." Lorelai watched Tristan come up on his father.

"He's such an idiot," she mumbled, pushing herself off the bar and turning to her mother. "I have to stop him."

Lorelai said nothing but nodded her understanding and watched as her daughter took the same path through the crowd, following quickly after Tristan.

Rory reached Tristan just as he was tapping his father on the shoulder. William turned around and Rory put a hand on Tristan's arm. He glanced over at her but shook her off.

"Tristan." William's voice was icy and unwelcoming as he turned away from his group and towards his son. Tristan let a grin spread across his face as his father greeted him.

"Hey, dad." His voice was high and pleasant. Dangerously so. Rory reached towards him again. This time he didn't pull away but let his hand slide into hers, as if he had been waiting for her hand. As if he needed the comfort of someone on his side.

"I'm in the middle of something Tristan." William let out an annoyed sigh and crossed his arms across his chest.

Tristan chuckled. "Well this won't take long," he slurred. "I just wanted to make sure that all your secretary fucking friends know what a disappointment your son is." He smiled, putting an arm on his father's shoulder. William pulled it away, gripping Tristan's arm in a warning. People were turning. Including the men he'd been standing with, who no doubt had heard exactly what he'd called them.

"Tristan you will not do this here."

Tristan laughed. "Do what? What am I doing?" His voice dropped it's pleasant act and he took a step closer to his father. "Afraid that all these power hungry elitist bastards will find out what a fuck up your son is?"

His voice was growing louder and William was past furious. Rory pulled at his arm desperately to get him to turn around. He pulled his arm away from her completely and took another step towards his father. Rory knew that if she didn't do something he would hit him. And then complete and total hell would break loose. Not that William didn't deserve it. But she couldn't let Tristan do that to himself. She pushed herself in between the two men, facing Tristan and bringing her hands up to his chest to push him back.

"So help me God, Tristan you will lower your voice." William was dangerously close to a threat. Any threat. She could hear it in his voice.

"Or what," Tristan spat.

"Tristan, please," Rory begged, pushing at him to walk away. "Please just walk away." He looked down at her then and smiled lightly as if he was just realizing that she was there. "Please, Tristan," she whispered.

"I think you'd better listen to your girl, Tristan." William's eyes were so angry they could've been on fire.

By now more people were turning to witness the commotion. They wouldn't let this go any time soon. Not a fight this public. And in his drunken stupor, that was exactly what Tristan wanted. "Rory stay out of this," Tristan warned, removing his hands from him.

"No," she said, her voice firm enough to make him look at her. "Tristan come with me, please. Don't do this here. You don't want this."

He let out a dark laugh, his eyes going back to his father. "The hell I don't."

"Rory." Lorelai's voice broke into whatever William was about to say. Rory turned to see her mother, her eyes pleading for help. Lorelai came closer, standing behind Rory, facing Tristan.

"Tristan come on, let's go." He looked over at Lorelai and let out a defeated breath but shook his head. She reached up and pulled him down by his tie.

"What is everyone's fucking fascination with this damn thing tonight?" He mumbled, his words slurring.

"Tristan, honey. Walk away. Please don't do this now." Lorelai pushed him back and he took a few steps away from his father. "Ror, sweetie get him out of here."

Rory nodded, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him through the crowd, into the kitchen and toward the back stairs. "Let's get you upstairs, okay?"

He let his eyes pull shut and his brows furrow. He nodded slowly, pushing Rory against the kitchen wall. "Upstairs," he mumbled, pushing his body as close to hers as he could.

"Tristan," she breathed. But she couldn't get out another word before he pushed his mouth to hers, kissing her hard. His kisses were fast and needy. He was pushing for something that he couldn't quite seem to reach, leaving her breathless and wanting.

She pushed him away from her slowly and let out a shaky breath, trying to clear her head. "Tristan," she mumbled. "We need to get you upstairs."

He nodded slowly, his head falling against her shoulder. "I need you," he whispered and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

"I'm right here." She pulled at his hand, leading him up the stairs and towards his bedroom. She pushed open the door and led him inside, pulling it closed behind them. He stumbled over to the bed and sat, pulling her to stand in between his legs.

"I need you," he mumbled again and she let her hands come up and run through his hair.

"I'm here," she whispered back and he pulled her closer against him. She let her forehead drop to rest against his and he shut his eyes tight. "I'm right here."

"I just want him to love me." Tristan's voice was soft and filled with misery. Rory pulled her forehead from him and put her hands on either side of his face.

"Oh, Tristan," she whispered, pressing her lips to his forehead.

"He thinks I'm a mistake. Why doesn't he love me?" He murmured, falling back onto the bed and sliding his hands underneath his pillow.

Rory sat next to him on the bed, pushing his hair back from his forehead. "They don't deserve you, Tristan." She let out a deep sigh and let her fingers lace into his sandy hair. "You're amazing. Don't let them take that away."

He reached a hand up and gripped the one she was running through his hair. Tristan opened his eyes and looked up to meet hers, moving his hand up and to the back of her head, pulling her towards him until his lips were able to meet hers. She kissed him back slow and soft, letting him kiss her the way that he needed, the way that she knew would make him forget. Make everything okay again. Even just for a little while.

She pulled back slowly and he let his head fall back into the pillows again, his eyes closing and his tongue coming out to run over his lips. "You're the only one who wants me."

Rory went back to running her fingers through his hair. "Tristan, no. That isn't true." She let out a deep sigh. "I had no idea it was this bad," she mumbled, more to herself than to him and he gave no sign that he even heard her. "Tris, why didn't you call me? I would've been here."

Tristan cleared his throat but his eyes remained closed. "Bad week, baby." He groaned and rolled over. She let her eyes rake over him. One of the few times he became vulnerable was when he was drunk like this. But she'd never seen it this bad. He always kept it together in public. She'd never actually witnessed him pick a fight with his father like this. She sighed, moving off the bed. He was practically asleep now. She moved and pulled off his shoes and pants, then awkwardly sat him up enough to pull off his button down shirt and tie, leaving him in his boxers. She pulled the covers over him and pressed her lips to his temple.

"It's okay, Tristan," she whispered. "It's all going to be okay." She moved to the door, looking back at him shortly before leaving the room and closing the door behind her. She went back down the stairs and met up with her mother.

"How is he?" Lorelai asked and Rory shrugged her shoulders.

"He's miserable," she said, throwing her hands up in the air. "He's so upset and defeated." She shook her head. "God, I could kill him."

Lorelai frowned in confusion. "Tristan?"

Rory shook her head. "William," she clarified in disgust and Lorelai nodded. "He told Tristan he was a mistake."

Lorelai's eyebrows shot up in horrified surprise. "He didn't," she said, her voice laced with anger.

"Yeah." Rory sat down on the steps and Lorelai followed suit, putting an arm around her daughter. "He did." She shook her head and put her face in her hands. "How do I fix this?" she asked, her voice desperate. "How do I save him from this?" She sighed and ran her fingers up into her hair. "He's so broken."

Lorelai reached over, pulling her daughter into an embrace. "Just be there for him, sweetie," she said, sighing shortly. "That's all you can do."

–

Tristan woke up with what felt like an elephant stepping on his skull. He opened one eye just to make sure there was nothing there and he groaned at the realization that he must have gotten absolutely trashed the night before. He let a hand go up to his head, as if it could take the headache away. He let out a sigh and sat himself up slowly, knowing if he didn't get to the bathroom for some asprin it wouldn't be getting any better.

"Fuck," he muttered as he brought himself to his feet. It felt like his brain was sloshing around inside his head and he closed his eyes, wanting to enjoy the darkness of his room before he had to turn on the bathroom light.

He stumbled miserably across the room and flicked on the light switch in his bathroom, keeping his eyes closed as the light hit his eyelids. He opened them slowly and groaned at the discomfort, stepping in and looking up to see how horrible he looked. But his eyes were met with a piece of notebook paper and a familiar scrawl. He pulled the paper down, setting it beside the sink and dropping his head to read.

Tristan-

Take some asprin. Get a shower. Avoid your parents at all costs. And then call me.

Rory

He frowned in confusion, raking over his memory, trying to recall the night before. He vaguely remembered drinking about ten glasses of scotch. He frowned at himself in the mirror, his hand going up to rub the back of his neck. He paused, mid motion, and sighed. He closed his eyes, his face contorting at his inner pain. Now he remembered. That damn tie. Everyone was so concerned with his fucking tie.

He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair and groaned. He remembered everything up to the scotch incredibly well. After that it got a bit fuzzy. He shut his eyes tight and forced himself to think. Scotch. "Rory," he mumbled. Rory leaning up against the bar. More scotch. "Damnit," he whispered in realization. His father. He tried to single out his father in public. In front of his colleagues. Shit. He took a deep breath and shook his head at himself in the bathroom mirror.

He reached around himself to turn the water for the shower on, pulling off the boxers he'd been left in and stepping under the warmth of the spray. He let the water glide over his body, washing away the smell of alcohol and the lightening the pressure on his head. He ran his hands over his hair under the water. God, what was he thinking? He could have single handedly started world war three last night. Fuck, he probably did.

Tristan stepped out of the shower a few minutes later, shaking the water from his hair before remembering that he still had a substantial headache. He moaned lightly in pain and reached for the asprin bottle in the mirror cabinet. He shook a few out of the bottle and into his hand, filling a paper cup with water with his other hand and downing the pills quickly.

He walked back into his bedroom, a towel around his waist. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a long sleeved black shirt. He towel tried his hair and ran his fingers through it, not bothering with a brush. He grabbed his cell phone off the dresser and pocketed it.

He moved out of his room and down the stairs as quickly as he could manage. He would do well not to be noticed, and he assumed he wouldn't be anyway. They were leaving for Paris this afternoon. He just had to play the avoiding game for the morning and then they'd be gone for a few weeks. Plenty of time for his father to cool off. He grabbed his keys off the table in the foyer, his hand reached out to grab the doorknob.

"Tristan."

So fucking close. Hand on the knob, he stopped at the sound of his name. Coming from the mouth of his father it was less than a pleasant noise. He didn't turn around, but continued facing the door.

"We'll be leaving in a few hours." William's voice was cold and hard. Tristan still made no move to face him. "We will be gone three weeks." He paused again. Maybe waiting for Tristan's response, maybe letting his words sink in. "While we're gone there will be no trouble from you. After your charade last night you would do well to stay on the beaten path. Do you understand me?" Still, Tristan did nothing.

After a few seconds of silence he heard his father's footsteps getting closer. Quickly. William grabbed his arm and spun his son around to face him.

Tristan looked up at his father, expressionless. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd shocked him. "You listen to me you pompous little jackass." William grabbed him by the neck of his shirt and pulled him closer. "You will do as you're told." Tristan looked up and locked eyes with his father, unthreatened. "You will cause no trouble, Tristan. You know what the consequences will be." He let his shirt go and pushed him back slightly. "Do you understand me?"

Tristan plastered on his society smile and nodded his head once. "Yes, sir," he spat. "I understand you."

They stood in silence for a few moments, just staring at each other. As if both were trying to see through the other. To will each other into nonexistence. But as much as Tristan wished it, his father remained. Cold. Unmoving. Unfeeling.

William took a step away, breaking eye contact with his son and shaking his head in disappointment. Tristan reached for the front door again, throwing it open and letting the hard wood slam closed behind him. He turned, thrusting an open hand against the brick of the house. "Fuck," he cursed, pushing himself off the wall and running his fingers through his hair.

He hated that man. He hated him with every fiber of his being and for once in his life he wanted to be able to put him in his place. He wanted William Dugrey to fall from his pedestal. Lose everything. He wanted his father to feel, just for one day, as insignificant as he made Tristan feel. Fuck him. Fuck all of them.

Tristan threw open his car door and pulled himself inside, putting it into gear and letting the tires move as fast as they could underneath him. He drove faster than he ever remembered driving, burning cigarette after cigarette, radio silent. Just the sound of the road beneath him.

He must have driven no where for hours before he ended up in her driveway. He was angry. And frustrated. And upset. And miserable. And he needed her. He shut off the engine and made his way quickly up the stairs knocking hard on her front door.

After just a few seconds the door opened and his eyes met hers. She didn't say anything, just looked at him. Watched him. As if making sure he was all there. And after a few moments of silence she held her arms open just slightly and he threw himself into them, moving her back into the house. They stood there, neither of them speaking, front door open. She held him against her tighter than she ever dreamed that she could and he buried his face in her hair. Inhaling her scent, memorizing her body with his arms.

He pulled back, pressing his forehead to hers. "I need you," he mumbled. His voice was soft and vulnerable. Almost frightened. She let her hands come up to rest against his face. She knew how hard it must be for him to admit this sober. While he knew exactly what he was saying. So she merely nodded against him. "Now," he whispered and she looked up at him, moving slowly to shut the front door, never leaving his embrace. She wanted to stay as close to him as she possibly could. Not that he would've let her go. He couldn't have done it if he tried.

She let her hands wind up through his hair and he closed his eyes tight, moving in to press his mouth hard and hot against hers. She kissed him back, fighting for control, pulling at his hair. He moved his arms around to her waist, lifting her to wrap her legs around his own waist. He moved them quickly into the living room, leaning up against the nearest wall to support both her weight and his own. She moved her lips to his neck and he let his head fall back. Her hands worked to pull his shirt up and over his head, which he allowed as quickly as her fingers could move.

When she had his shirt on the floor he moved his hands to hers, pulling it off and letting it join his on the floor. She slid down to the ground again, taking his hand and leading him to her bedroom. He followed her inside and closed the door with her body, pressing her hard against it and letting his hands roam anywhere he could reach.

In seconds the rest of their clothing was in a heap on the floor and he was laying them down on her bed, moving over her. He reached to her nightstand and it wasn't a second after the wrapper hit the floor that he was moving inside her. She thrusted against him, moving to meet his every move. He let his head fall to her shoulder as he quickened his pace.

"Tristan." Her voice came out as a breathy moan and it seemed to only excite him. He pressed his mouth, hot and open against her neck, sucking at biting as he moved against her.

"Fuck," he cursed as she wrapped her legs tighter around him, her breathing coming in moans against his ear. He gave one final thrust as they both came crashing down. She held onto him, shaking as she tried to regain her breathing. He let himself collapse against her, rolling onto his side and pulling her to him.

They lay there for what felt like forever, just holding onto each other. After a few minutes she propped herself up on an elbow and looked at him, reaching out to brush his hair back from his forehead. He looked up, meeting her eyes. "Hey," he whispered.

"Hey," she mumbled back, waiting for him to say something that mattered.

"I'm sorry," were the first words that came to his mind. So that's what he said. He watched as her expression became surprised.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for, Tristan."

He chuckled lightly. "Not even last night?" He asked, rolling his head over to face her. She smiled but shrugged her shoulders.

She leaned over, pressing a kiss against his temple. "Tristan," she started and he sighed. "What happened?"

He let out another deep, long sigh and pulled her to rest against his chest, his fingers running slowly through her chestnut hair. "I don't know," he muttered. "I just lost it. I couldn't handle it anymore and I just couldn't control anything." He shrugged. "I just wanted the world to know what a bastard he is." Rory nodded against him. "I don't know, Mar. I just couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't be the elitist son. I couldn't just make him happy."

"They don't deserve you, Tristan," she mumbled against his chest and he smiled softly. "You're amazing."

He laughed and sat up, bringing Rory up with him. "Thank you."

She frowned. "For what?"

Tristan shrugged, shaking his head lightly. "For being here." He kissed her hair. "You're always here when I need you."

She smiled, curling against him. "Where else would I be?"

He said nothing, merely pulled her in as tightly as he could. The world was still out there, on the other side of her bedroom door. His shirt was still on the living room floor. Her mother could come home any minute. His father couldn't stand him. His mother was a drunken wreck most of the time. The girl in his arms was the one thing on the planet that mattered to him and he had no idea what he was doing with her. When they weren't fucking they were fighting. And he had no idea how they were going to get past that. Or why he needed her the way he did, or wanted her more than anyone. Or anything. His life was a mess. But his life was outside that bedroom door. For now he was holding everything that mattered. Right now everything was alright. And for just a few wish fulfilling moments, he wanted it to stay that way.