Disclaimer, rating and information about spoilers can be found in the first chapter.

Notes: It's been forever. I've started reading fic again and I went digging through my old files and found this chapter mostly done. It's completely unbeta'ed. Enjoy. Had a hard time with the title but I've been listening to lots of Jeff Buckley lately.

Eight: Too Young to Keep Good Love

August – Before Junior Year

Tristan had picked up the phone, only to put it down without dialing, three times. He picked it up again, punched in two digits, than disconnected the line again. He threw himself backwards onto his bed in frustration. He'd been calling girls since he was twelve years old, and never before had he been such a head case about it.

She'd scribbled her number on the back of a receipt. He had the items listed on the receipt memorized before he'd even picked up the phone. Rory and her mother apparently ate an appalling amount of sugar. She'd said, "Call me," and he'd been tempted to make a joke about booty calls, but had (barely) managed not to. In truth, he had been impressed with his own restraint. That had been two days ago, as she and her mother had left Martha's Vineyard (The Yard, as Lorelai had taken to calling it, complete with thug-like hand gesture). He'd returned home the next day. Generally, Tristan stuck to the three day rule when it came to calling a girl but he figured the three day rule didn't apply. He wasn't entirely certain of this, having never actually had a girl who was actually a friend and only a friend.

So why, was he acting like a band geek with a crush on the head cheerleader? It was just a phone call. Tristan sat up, and dialed, hoping that the Stars Hollow Gilmore's were quick to answer the phone. No such luck. He chickened out and hung up at the fourth ring. "Damn it!" he chucked the phone behind him, and reached for his T.V. remote.

Not five minutes later he heard the phone ring. Tristan had become engrossed in an episode of Dr. Phil (penny-pinching mother who went so far as to buy used deodorant, fascinating stuff) that he neglected to answer it. Then, the intercom buzzed and Tristan, reluctantly, got up to answer it. "What?"

"You're wanted on the phone, Sir."

"Who is it?"

"A Miss Rory Gilmore, Sir."

Shit. His brain had temporarily erased the existence of caller I.D. And 69. And reverse 411. Damn it! "I'll take it. One second," Tristan retrieved the phone, took a few deep cleansing breaths, and waited for the click of the other receiver being hung up. "Hello?"

"You rang?"

"I rang. Which you know, thanks to the miracles of modern technology."

"For future reference, you should let the phone ring a good dozen or so times. It winds up in the weirdest places."

"I will make a note." The line was silent for a moment.

Rory broke it, "This is kind of weird, right? It's not just me?"

"Not just you." Pause. Another silent moment. "So…" Tristan began.

"The ladies said you were a smooth talker."

"The ladies were lying."

"Darn. I suppose the rumor that you don't have a belly button is a lie as well?"

"Is that actually a rumor?"

"No, I just made that up."

"Good. Because that would be weird."

"I know. What's the purpose of the belly button, anyway?"

"Lint trap?" Tristan suggested.

"An extra body part to accessorize?"

"Who knew a whole conversation could revolve around belly buttons?"

"Just stick with me kid. The possible pointless conversational paths out there will amaze you."

Later, Tristan had been kind of embarrassed by the amount of time it had taken him to work up the nerve to call her. And even more embarrassed by the fact that, in the end, he'd chickened out. After the initial awkwardness they'd talked for nearly twenty minutes about absolutely nothing of importance. Rory had to go (she was meeting Dean, his shift was over and they were going to the movies), and once again Tristan was able to not make a single snide and or disparaging comment. Perhaps he was maturing.

"I'm actually glad you called, Tristan."

"I'll ignore the fact that you sound surprised, Mary. Besides, you called me."

"That's true. So, listen, I'm going to be in Hartford on Friday, do you want to meet up?"

Tristan's eyebrows shot up and he fumbled a little, "Um yeah. Sure."

"Okay. I have to go shopping. I have very particular requirements of my school supplies and Stars Hollow is not always up to the challenge. But keep that quiet."

"It'll go to the grave with me."

April – Senior Year

"Rory…"

"Can't talk."

"Rory..."

"Can't talk. Driving."

"You can talk and drive at the same time."

"Can't."

"Can you stop being so fucking stubborn? For two minutes."

"I'm stubborn?" she exclaimed, "I'm stubborn!"

"That's what I said."

"Oh, that's it," Rory jerked the wheel, and turned off onto a side street.

Tristan groped for something to hold on to, "Jesus, Rory. Killing us both in a horrific car accident is not going to solve anything!"

Rory didn't answer him, but merely continued driving, making turns randomly. She came across an elementary school that was deserted save for a few cars. She pulled into the lot, at the far end, away from any entrances. Rory killed the engine, and turned to him, "I get to be stubborn, Tristan. You ignored me for three weeks, when I wanted to talk, didn't you?"

Tristan ran a hand through his hair, "Rory. Come on."

"No, you come on. I said what I had to say months ago. I said I was sorry, and I meant it. If you want to talk, start talking." Tristan remained silent, "I mean it Tristan. I'm offering you ten minutes of my time. This offer is one time only and it will expire in exactly sixty seconds." She wrenched her door open and got out of the car. Her whole body was shaking and the interior of the car seemed way too small to contain all that she was feeling.

Tristan followed her example and climbed out of the car, "Rory…"

She faced him across the hood, arms crossed, "Use it or lose it, princess."

August – Before Junior Year

Rory shook her head at him, "You are such a princess."

"Shut up. They're good highlighters."

"Better than the," Rory counted quickly, "fourteen varieties on this shelf?"

"Way better. Fine tipped, smudge proof. Eight colors."

"Uh huh."

"You're picturing me in a tiara, aren't you?"

"Yes. And it's hilarious. You're also holding a scepter."

"You wish you looked as good in a tiara as I do, Mary." And that was the moment that the salesgirl Tristan had dispatched to the backroom to check on his highlighters returned. She looked at him, appraisingly, and Rory turned her head and giggled as silently as she could. Tristan tried to look intimidating, "Well?"

"They just came in this morning. Haven't been unpacked yet," she informed him.

Tristan opened his mouth, probably to demand that they be unpacked immediately, but Rory cut him off. "Thanks for checking, we'll stop by later," and tugged on his arm.

Reluctantly, Tristan followed her out of the store. "What was that?"

"That was me preventing you from further badgering that poor salesclerk. Who earns minimum wage, accumulates no benefits and must be harassed by people like you every day. You will henceforth be known in that store as Crazy Highlighter Guy, you know."

"Rory Gilmore: campaigner for the weak and underappreciated."

"Something like that. Now, can I treat you to a non-fat vanilla latte, hold the whipped cream? Or would you like something a little manlier?"

Tristan glared at her. Why had he wanted to be friends with Rory Gilmore again? She had moved a little ahead of him and when she turned back and smiled at him (and motioned for him to hurry up) and he remembered that he liked the way she made him feel.

April – Senior Year

Tristan tapped his fingers against the hood a few times. Rory watched him silently.

"Tick tock, Tristan."

"You said ten minutes." He couldn't see her feet, but he imagined she was tapping one of them impatiently.

"And, silly me, I assumed you'd use them to articulate what are doubtlessly deep and meaningful thoughts."

Tristan laughed without having reason to, "You can be such a bitch, Rory."

"Way to soften me up, jackass."

"It's impressive, is all. I didn't think you had that in you." Rory didn't answer, and Tristan continued tapping. Finally, he stopped, turned, hesitated, and walked over to her side of the car. He leaned against the driver's side door. Rory backed up a few steps and wrapped her arms more tightly around herself. Tristan looked to the side, away from her, to the grey brick of the school's exterior, though he didn't really see it. "Do you remember, that day on the beach, at Martha's Vineyard?"

Rory nodded, and he must have caught it in his peripheral vision, or else he wasn't looking for a reply, because he continued speaking, "Well, I very specifically remember promising you I had no ulterior motives. Do you remember that as well, or was that just in one of the drafts in my head?"

"No, you did say that," Rory affirmed. And her traitorous heart softened, just a little, at hearing that he had felt the need to prepare for a conversation with her.

"Well, I meant that. Not so much in the sense that I didn't like you, because I did. You know that, I know that. God. Everyone knows that. I meant it in the sense that I had no expectations of us becoming more than friends. And Jesus Christ I sound like a bad emo song. I want to punch myself in the face."

"Well, then, you might as well keep going."

Tristan glanced at her quickly, then away, but continued. "Anyway, for like a year and a half, things are good between us. We talked about shit that actually matters and I trusted you. And, yeah, there were still moments when I so badly wanted to kiss you that I had to turn away and recite the alphabet backwards. In French. But I stopped myself. At first, because I knew you didn't feel that way for me, and then later because I didn't want to fuck up what we had. Because I didn't have that anywhere else. You know what things are like with my parents. And the people I hang with at school… well for the most part they're far too annoying to spend any real time with."

"Amen, brother," Rory muttered.

"And then at Christmas…" he trailed off and Rory took a deep breath, "I spent hours trying to figure out what to get you. A book was too obvious, jewelry wouldn't have been your style and then I thought of the concert tickets.

Rory took another deep breath.

"I thought it would show how far we've come, you know? I actually knew who she was, and you would actually be wiling to go with me. And then you flipped out, and I acted like an ass…"

"And I accused you of having a hidden agenda," Rory finished.

"Yeah."

"And then you let everyone at Chilton think that you only started being nice to me so I would have sex with you."

Tristan winced, "Sort of."

"Not 'sort of,' Tristan. I want to know why."

September – Junior Year

Tristan was tying up his shoes up before PE when a substantial weight plopped down beside him, "DuGrey, man. Long time no see. We thought you fell down a well or some shit."

"Carpenter," Tristan greeted, "What's up?"

Breckin Carpenter was either too stupid or too self-absorbed (or some combination of the two) to notice that Tristan's tone was less than enthused.

"Nothing much, dude. Did the mandatory two weeks with the 'rents at the Naples house, than spent the rest of the summer here. Baking and bagging the many quality ladies our lovely public school system turns out."

"Cool," Tristan was non-committal. Even the not so 'quality ladies' at Chilton had ceased giving Breckin the time of day and 'baking' probably had little to do with the sun."

"What did you do?"

Tristan shrugged, "Nothing much. Went to Martha's Vineyard, as usual."

Breckin made a face, "What a waste."

"Not really."

"Oh?" Tristan cursed himself. He knew Breckin and he knew the conclusion that his tiny reptilian brain had jumped to, "Tell me more, tell me more."

"Nothing to tell."

"Really? Cause according to the rumor mill you and the Gilmore chick…"

"Rory," Tristan interrupted.

"…that Rory chick were spotted together."

"Jesus. School only started two days ago."

Breckin shrugged, unconcerned, "You know how it is. So?"

Tristan did know. He and the Chilton rumor mill were old buddies. "So nothing. We ran into each other one weekend and hung out once or twice."

"So you finally tamed the wild beast."

"What?"

"She's your unicorn."

Tristan stared at Breckin for a second. Somehow, he got the impression Breckin spent more time with his DVD player than he'd like anyone else to know.

"What?" he reiterated.

"You know, the one girl you've never been able to bag. You finally bagged."

Tristan stood up so that Breckin had to look up at him. "There was no bagging, Carpenter. And if I hear rumors to the contrary, I'll know who to blame. His tone was harsh enough that Breckin got the threat apparent in it clearly.

"Dude, relax."

Tristan backed away, "I am relaxed. But then, I wasn't patient zero in last year's little Chlamydia outbreak, was I? And I didn't sleep with the third wife of a certain schoolmate's father, did I? A certain school mates father whose dealings are allegedly more than a little shady." Tristan tossed a towel in Breckin's face and smirked. Sometimes, he really was a little evil.

April – Senior Year

"Why…" Tristan repeated.

"Yes, Tristan, why? Why ruin what you apparently thought of as a meaningful friendship? Why betray me? Why hurt me?"

"Because you hurt me first."

"That's so…"

"Stupid? Juvenile? Self-destructive? Like me?"

"Do I have to pick one?"

"No. I just…" Tristan steeled himself, he'd already said things he'd planned on never saying, he might as well finish, "I hated that you meant so much more to me than I did to you."

Rory took a second to process his words, "That's ridiculous, Tristan."

"Please. You made it perfectly clear that night, and a million times since then, exactly what you think of me. So that's why I didn't stop the rumors. I was proving you right. I know how much you like to be right, Mary."

The nickname was somehow more insulting right then than it ever had been before and Rory's anger, which had been tempered by the vulnerability she had perceived in him, flared back to life. She clapped her hands, "Bravo, Tristan," she said sardonically, "Twenty Ways to Make Everything Not My Fault, a play in one act, by Tristan DuGrey. Impressive. You'll sweep the Tony's next year."

Tristan pushed himself upright, off of the car. "I didn't say it was all your fault, Rory."

"That's what it sounded like to me."

Tristan clenched his fists at his sides, she was so, so infuriating. "God, Rory, you're so…" he trailed off, frustrated.

"So what, Tristan. Finish your damn sentence!"

"It wasn't your entire fault, okay? Fifty percent your fault, sure. I lashed out, you reciprocated. You used my feelings for you, feelings that neither of us had acknowledged, against me. I left and didn't return your phone calls. I didn't correct people when they started making assumptions about us. You broke into my house. You've gone out of your way in the last few months to make me miserable. I think we're on pretty even ground as far as being despicable people goes, sweetheart."

"Tristan…"

"So don't be so damned self-righteous!"

"Tristan, just shut up and…"

"Just because your mother and your grandparents and that entire town put you on a pedestal doesn't make it real, Rory. You're spoiled and selfish and vindictive and mean and…" the barrage of words was stopped by Rory's lips.

Tristan would have liked to have pushed her away, would have liked to have continued yelling, would have liked to have been stronger than he was. His hands, still shaky with anger, found her hair and twined themselves around it, changing the angle of the kiss as he swiped his tongue along her lower lip, causing her lips to part. His tongue sought hers and one hand wandered down her back, pulling her more firmly to him as he leaned back onto his car.

Rory had kissed Tristan before, sweetly, tentatively, on a piano bench so long ago. And she'd imagined kissing him more times than she'd ever admit but this was like nothing she could've imagined. One of her hands was on his neck, holding him to her, the other fisted in his shirt. She used her body to trap him against the car. Rory had started this because she was angry. She had only wanted him to listen to her and now found herself completely unable to stop. She felt his hand creeping up again, under her cardigan, toying with the zipper at the side of her dress; she tore her lips from his when she felt his other on the bare skin of her thigh. No way was she going to let him win. She yanked his tie off and attached her lips to his throat, just above his collarbone and allowed her teeth to scrape his skin. His head fell back and he hissed her name and she laughed, glorying in a power she'd never felt this strongly before.

His eyes narrowed and caught hers. His fingers closed around the zipper and he raised his eyebrows in a challenging way. Rory stared back, refusing to be intimidated. Before Tristan could decide whether or not to continue, Rory's cell phone rang. Rory took a step back and Tristan pushed away from the car and followed her, his hands at her hips, maintaining contact between their bodies.

Rory brought a hand up to his chest to push him away, "My phone…" she trailed off as her hand rested where his heart was and she felt how quickly it was pounding.

He leaned in and his teeth grazed her earlobe, his tongue flicking out to taste the skin just below. "I know," his voice was low and rough and she shivered and leaned into him a little bit more, "Just… don't run, Rory. Okay?"

Rory found she was unable to speak so she nodded. That must have been good enough for him because he backed a couple steps away from the car. It took her a moment, but she managed to open the car door and dig her cell out of her purse. It was her mother, of course. Rory steeled herself, "Hello?" Good, good. She sounded more or less normal.

"Rory? What's wrong?" So, she sounded less than normal, apparently.

"Nothing."

"You sound funny."

"Really? Maybe I haven't transitioned back from schmooze Rory," Rory brought her hand up and banged her forehead against it. Being spectacularly un-witty was not the way to convince her mother that everything was hunky dory.

"If you say so," Lorelai spoke slowly, clearly not the least bit fooled. "Is it Tristan? If he did anything to you, you tell me. I'm fully willing to kick his ass."

"Mom," Rory protested, chancing a glance at Tristan. He had wandered a few feet away and was facing away from her. "It's fine." She flushed. She didn't want to explain that while Tristan had done something she'd started it. Especially when he was standing within earshot.

"Seriously. I'll have to go home and change my shoes first, because these are too nice to sully with violence. But I'm sure I've got some ugly yellow rain boots somewhere."

"Not necessary. Promise."

"Alright. Where are you?"

"Still in Boston. We got held up."

"Held up…" Lorelai blatantly fished for more info.

"Just held up. Look, I'll be a little late for dinner, but we'll talk afterward."

"I'm counting on that, kid."

"Love you, mom."

"Love you too, bye."

Rory hung up, and sighed. Tristan turned to face her. "Look, Tristan, can we just get in the car?"

"Rory…"

"I know. I know, okay? I'm not running. I just... I just need a little time. To think. So much happened that I wasn't expecting when I rolled out of bed this morning. I need to think. Please?"

He was quiet for a long moment, studying her intently, "Okay," he made his way to the passenger side door and got in.

Rory ran a hand through her hair, "Okay."