Title: Sway
Author: Coralfly
Rating: PG
Summary: After two years in military school, Tristan's back in Hartford for one last summer before college.
Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me. They are the property of the WB, Amy Sherman-Palladino and affiliates.

Chapter Three

He passed sparsely filled lanes despite the lure of heated, chlorinated water. For though, there were only ten people swimming in the indoor pool, it was ten too many. Instead, Tristan headed to where the empty, outdoor pool was situated. Although it was six am and although it was summer and the sun was out, the morning air was crisp and cool. He shivered slightly as he casually tossed his towel onto a nearby chair, noting the tiny goosebumps forming on his arm, before padding over to the water's edge.

Gazing into the water, he saw a man with perfect hair, perfect skin, perfect bone structure, perfect eyes and a perfect mouth. The perfection was false, deceptive. It did not show the imperfect boy within. He thrust his hand into the water marring the image of the too beautiful man - his own reflection - and quickly stood up, snapping his goggles into place. A few seconds later and Tristan had plunged into the pool.

The water was colder than the morning air, but after a few warm-up laps he had adjusted to the temperature. He spent the next hour-and-a-half swimming, gathering a rhythm of legs kicking, and head turning side to side every now and then for a breath. While some people used running as a means of release and escape, Tristan preferred swimming.

Stroke after stroke he lost himself. He wasn't the child sitting in a hotel room, in France, all alone, playing with the latest, most expensive toys while his parents dined with friends on Christmas morning. Nor was he the thirteen-year-old in a dark secluded corner making out with a pretty blonde, one year his senior. Not the boy who was sent off to military school as a form of discipline and punishment. Not the just-turned-seventeen-school-kid, lying on his bed, fingering the impersonal birthday card written by his father's secretary, and desperately wishing for something. Something intangible, something more, something... And he was definitely not the almost-man whose brief encounter with Rory Gilmore, last Friday night at Rick Madden's, had him torn apart, his world jumbled and his life reassessed.

He hated that she could do such things to him. That she had this unexplainable power that wreaked such havoc and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing he wanted to do about it. He hated her beauty, her cozy world of love and friendship, which he was not a part of, could not be a part of. He hated her intelligence, her kindness and compassion, and the way she smiled. Absolutely loathed the fact that her presence in his life had caused him to see things, to feel things. He hated that he could still, very possibly, love her. He hated that she was still with Dean.

Kicking his legs harder, Tristan propelled himself towards the end of the pool. He tried not to think. Empty his mind. Rid himself from thoughts of her. And just when he thought that he might have succeeded, a left turn of the head, for air, revealed a glimpse of Rory sitting on a chair, book on her lap, watching him. His body stilled momentarily and Tristan lost his rhythm, and then he sped to the nearest edge and pulled himself out of the water. Too late. She was already gone. Or perhaps she had been a figment of his imagination. Too much water in his brain. Wrapping his towel around his shoulders Tristan headed to the showers. He had lost his urge to swim.

A shower and a steam later and Tristan entered the dining hall a new man. Choosing a table outside, with a view of the luscious lawns of the Hartford Country Club, he ordered his breakfast. It arrived on silver platters. Crispy fried bacon with a side serving of scrambled eggs, slices of tomato and two thick pieces of toast. There was half a mango - the flesh slit into perfectly sized cubes so that each cube was a delicious mouthful easily removed from the skin - adorned by three plump strawberries, sitting on a bowl of crushed ice. Another bowl filled with creamy cultured yogurt, and finally a plate of four fluffy pancakes with a dollop of melting butter on the top accompanied by a small jug of maple syrup. He had also ordered a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and a cup of the club's renowned gourmet coffee.

"Hey, you eat a lot."

Tristan looked up from his food to see the figment of his imagination staring down at him. "Rory?"

"Ah ha! So you do know my name." He stared at her quizzically wondering what she was doing, standing there trying to talk to him. "I just wasn't sure if you actually knew that my name was Rory as opposed to Mary."

"I know."

"Well, good."

"Is there anything in particular you want?" He was curt. He had to be. It would be too dangerous to be friendly, too easy to be sucked in and forget himself. To let his guard down.

"Well, I just wanted to say hello."

"So now you've said hello..." He paused to stare at Rory. He wasn't sure but it looked like she was sniffing his coffee. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry, it's just...do you mind if...?" Before Tristan knew what was happening, Rory had claimed his cup and was sipping his coffee, a content smile on her face. He felt an irrational sense of happiness in seeing Rory smile, and tried to suppress it. To frown or scowl. Instead, he found himself grinning back at her as she continued to talk. "My mom would love this. I think she would even endure the evils of the club for a taste of this."

"The evils of the club?"

"Oh, haven't you heard? Apparently, the Hartford Country Club is a guise for a satanic cult. Membership entails giving a pint of blood."

"Funny, I don't remember that particular requirement."

"Ah, yeah, well, as the son of Satan you're exempt."

"So basically you're saying that all the people here are actually here to worship me."

"No, your father."

"Same difference." Tristan's eyes glinted as he asked his next question. "So, are you a member, Rory?" A rosy pink crept across her face and tinged the tops of her ears. Absolutely adorable. And the pitter-patter of his heart and the crumbling of his walls were deafening sounds. He watched, as her face grew more and more flushed until eventually he took pity and changed the subject. "So, is there anything else of my breakfast you would like besides my coffee?"

"Uh, no. I really have to go..." She made a move to turn around and leave but he grabbed her hand and gently pulled her into the chair next to him.

"Try the pancakes. You'll love them. I promise." He pushed the plate towards her and waited expectantly. When she made no move for the food, Tristan cut a triangular piece of the pancake, and poured some maple syrup over the top before dangling it in front of Rory. "Take the fork and eat. Unless, of course, you want me to feed you. Which is a pleasure in itself and will add a whole new flavor to the food..."

Rory quickly grabbed the fork away from Tristan and popped the pancake into her mouth. He chuckled having suspected that his words would induce such a response from her. "It's good!"

"You sound so surprised. Like you were half expecting me to poison you or something."

"No, you just have questionable taste. Except, perhaps, when it comes to cuisine. But even then I'm not entirely ruling out the possibility of food poisoning."

"Well, it's a slow acting poison. A month from now you won't know what's hit you. Nobody will ever be able to link it back to me."

"Yeah, well, I'll know. Since you've kindly informed me that if any misfortune or ill health were to befall me, one month from now, you'll be solely to blame."

"And yet, you still continue to eat the pancakes."

"It's not my fault. They're kind of addictive. I'm sure you've put something in these pancakes to get me hooked on their light, fluffy texture mingled with the sugary liquid goodness that is the maple syrup."

"It's all part of my evil plan. Once you're helpless, willing to do anything for another bite, then I'll have you in my clutches..."

"Are you sure they sent you to a military school and not an institution for the mentally unstable?"

Almost imperceptibly, Tristan's jaw tightened at her mention of military school. Memories and emotions flooded his mind. Not that it had been horrible there. Just lonelier. Looking into her dancing blue eyes, he felt the sudden urge to open his mouth and tell her things. To confide the secrets of his soul and reveal the many cracks within. His mouth twitched and she sat next to him, waiting.

"Maybe they should have."

"What?"

"I wonder how you'd know if you were slowly going insane."

"I'm not sure if you ever do know," came Rory's hesitant answer.

"Maybe it's not me. Maybe it's the world going mad. Of course, what would I know? I wasn't bred to think. I was bred to be. To be the best. To be the best of the best. To carry on the DuGrey legacy. And I failed. But, North Carolina wasn't that bad a place. Scenic. Lots of empty spaces with nothing to fill the gaps. A lot like Hartford in many ways, and yet not."

"I can't really imagine any other place but here. Hartford and Stars Hollow. They're the only places I've ever really known."

"There's a lot of world out there. It's easy to get lost."

She looked at him thoughtfully as he played with the remaining food on his plate. "Are you? Are you lost?"

He shrugged trying to be nonchalant but not quite pulling it off. "Maybe. I don't know. All I know is that I refuse to become one of them." He gestured to the people around them, some of Hartford's elite.

"You're not."

"Are you quite sure?" he smirked, deliberately slipping in some of his characteristic cockiness.

She placed a hand on top of his and spoke insistently, passionately. "You're not, Tristan. You're not one of them. You're different."

"Thank you." They shared a smile. An understanding.

As he opened his mouth to speak again, he was interrupted by an overly refined, female voice, "Why, if it isn't Tristan DuGrey. How is your grandfather? And your parents?"

"They're fine, ma'am. And how are you? You're looking lovelier than ever."

"Why, Tristan," the woman, Gloria, laughed, "You're such the charmer. Very much, like your grandfather, Janlen. And I heard you did very well in school. Congratulations."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Well I must go. Send my regards to your parents and your grandfather." She gave a short wave before disappearing inside, stopping every now and then to greet someone.

Tristan turned to look at Rory, the need to divulge once again suppressed. Instead, he whispered conspiratorially, "And that was-"

"The most odious woman alive," Rory finished.

"How did you know?" He stared at her in surprise.

"I'm in with the Hartford gossip mills. I know everything. I could tell you things about these people that would shock you."

"Somehow," he laughed but there was a bitter edge to it, "I doubt it. There's not much about these people that I wouldn't believe."

"Well, have you heard the latest about Mr. Moulton? I warn you, it's not for delicate ears."

He smirked and answered, "I think I can handle it." Nevertheless, Tristan couldn't help the widening of his eyes when Rory whispered the dirty deeds of one of Hartford's society members, and shook his head in disbelief. "Okay, you were making that up, weren't you?"

"Was not," she denied.

"Was too."

"Was not."

"Was too," he contradicted, "Besides, where would you get such information? And in so much detail?"

"Oh, didn't you know Tristan? The women's bathroom is a great source of information." She grinned wickedly as she added, "You should hear some of the things they say about you."

He gasped, pretending to find her words absolutely scandalous. "I'm amazed. I'm disgusted. I'm offended. Okay, okay, I'm intrigued. Rory, you cannot say such things and not tell me."

"My lips are sealed."

"Rory," growled Tristan.

She shook her head adamantly, "Not saying a thing."

"I swear you're going to get it, Mary." He stood up and out of his chair, towering over her with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"My name's Rory!" she shot before leaping out of her chair and running out to the safety of the lawns, Tristan in high pursuit.

They ran through the lawns dodging people and golf carts. While Tristan's long legs should have given him an advantage, Rory was just quick enough that he was still some distance away. However, the gap was slowly narrowing; she was only a step away and he lunged forward to grab hold of her. A swift side step on Rory's part and Tristan was grasping at empty air and, a millisecond later, he was tripping over his own right foot and tumbling to the ground, face first. Rory stood over him clutching her stomach as she laughed helplessly.

Still flat on his face he looked up, grass stains on the right of his cheek and grumbled. "It's not funny."

"O how the mighty have fallen," she quoted in between laughter.

"I'm glad to be such a source of entertainment for you. You know you could do the proper thing and help me up."

"Sorry. Can't." Rory refused. "I'm too busy laughing here."

"Well, since you're not going to help me up it looks like I'm going to have to help you down," he stated as he grabbed hold of her legs and pulled so that she fell forward.

She shrieked curses at him as she toppled onto his body, missing the hard ground. "I hate you."

"Now, now, is that something to say to a person who so kindly acted as a cushion to your fall?"

"Well, I wouldn't have needed a cushion if you hadn't made me fall."

"Sure, sure, whatever you say," came Tristan's infuriating reply.

"It's true!" Rory protested as she hit him lightly on the chest.

"Resorting to violence now, Mary? I'm disappointed."

She hit on the chest again, this time harder. "My name is Rory."

"Mary. Mary. Mary. Mary had a little lamb. Mary, quite contrary. Mary, Queen of Scots. Mary. Mary. Mary..." chanted Tristan.

"My." Slap. "Name." Slap. "Is." Slap. "Rory."

"Ouch," Tristan frowned, "That actually hurt. Did you have to hit me so many times?"

"Do you have to call me Mary?"

"Yes."

"Then yes, I have to hit you so many times." She chose to emphasize her point with another thump to his chest.

"You know, I'm beginning to think I'm a victim of an abusive relationship."

"Poor little boy got beat up by a girl?" she baby-talked to him.

He grinned lavishly, noting how Rory was still lying on top of him and how comfortable it was to have her so close. She seemed not to have noticed the position they were in, had been in for the last ten minutes. And while he knew his next words would make her self-conscious, he couldn't resist saying, "I'm a big boy, Rory. A very big boy."

Her cheeks quickly grew flushed and her eyes wide when the innuendo sunk in. As he suspected, she suddenly became acutely aware of their compromising position and quickly rolled off him. "I-I-"

"Cat got your tongue?"

"No! I just didn't deem it worthy of a reply," she stated airily, her eyes intent on the sky above.

Still lying on the grass, Tristan rolled over to face Rory. "Su-ure. So what's so interesting about the sky?"

"I think the clouds are laughing at us."

"What?"

"The clouds. They seem to be laughing at us."

"No, just at you," he retorted. Watching her, he couldn't get over just how amazing Rory Gilmore was. If love was rose-colored glasses, finding beauty in flaws, then he was in love. Had always and would probably always be a little in love with her. If this was love. Perhaps it was just infatuation. An obsession. Maybe an addiction. Like the fact that he could never grow tired of looking at her. He was fascinated by her. Like the way her ear was curved and rounded, and yet there was a hint of a point at the top. Pixie ears.

She continued to study the clouds as he continued to study her. They lay on the grass for several minutes until she sighed in exasperation and asked, "What? What is it?"

"What?" he mimicked.

"You were staring at me." Rory stated though her eyes had never strayed from the sky.

"How-?"

"I could feel you staring. So what's wrong? Is there something on my face? My hair? A bug? Is there a huge, crawly, icky bug on me?"

He chuckled as she progressively freaked herself out before finally shaking his head, "No. No bug. I was just..." He paused, more like hesitated, before asking a question he knew he shouldn't but couldn't help asking. "So, you and Dean?"

"Me and Dean...?"

"You've been together for like two years now?"

"A little over," she admitted.

"Wow. Two years. That's a long time."

"It only seems like a long time because you've never dated a girl for over a month. You really should try dating a girl with more substance like-"

"And before you continue down that path, can you please remember how badly that went last time."

"That's only because you were stupid enough to tell Paris that it was my suggestion."

"So, not only do I have bad taste in girlfriends but I'm also stupid? Has anyone ever told you that you're great in the whole compliment department?"

"It's my biggest asset."

A smirk crept up his face, "Well, I wouldn't know if I'd say it was your biggest asset. I'd be more inclined to say that-" She smacked him hard on the head before he could finish his sentence. "Ouch! Now that really hurt! Would you stop doing that?"

"Nope. Not until you stop with the obscene innuendoes."

"Well, for your information, Magdalene, I was going to say that your biggest asset was your brain."

"Oh, you were not!"

"I was too. It's not my fault you have a dirty mind."

"Kids today! No respect. Just look at those two going at it on the lawn!" An indignant, elderly voice whispered loudly to her golfing partner.

"Absolutely outrageous," the partner agreed, "Someone should report this to the committee."

"And their parents."

Both Tristan and Rory turned around to look for the scandalous pair of teenagers, only to discover that they were only youths in the vicinity. Tristan grinned as he leaned over and whispered into Rory's ear, "Looks like you're not the only one with the dirty mind, Magdalene." And as soon as the disgruntled pair of elderly ladies had disappeared, he broke down into laughter.

"It's not funny!" protested Rory, disturbed about being caught doing seemingly unmentionable things.

"Yes it is."

"What if they tell somebody? What if they tell my grandfather? I've got to find him and tell him that nothing happened."

"Nothing did happen."

"My grandmother is going to hear about this. And she'll freak. And then she'll tell mom and mom will freak. My whole life is ruined! And will you stop laughing!"

"Not until you admit it's funny," he refused. "You know you want to laugh, Rory." He poked her in the ribs making her squeal and let out a little giggle. "That's more like it. Now just a few more from where they came from..." He continued to poke and tickle her until she erupted into a chain of giggles.

"Stop that!" she demanded as she swatted his hand. "I'm laughing. There, are you happy now?"

"Ecstatic. Now shouldn't we go find your grandfather and tell him about our non-rendezvous?"

They found Richard Gilmore in the clubhouse, where they discovered that the story had been mangled and modified to include the pool boy, the Swedish masseuse and a bunch of drug addicted, heavy metal, hormonal teenagers. It led to all three swapping the most outrageous rumors they had ever heard; Rory winning with the Mr. Moulton one, which she had divulged to Tristan earlier. The rest of the day was spent with Rory and her grandfather at the club. They golfed, they ate and they talked. It was the most real day of Tristan's life, and it felt like a dream. And when Richard Gilmore invited Tristan to spend tomorrow night out with them, at the annual Hartford carnival, he couldn't help but say yes. After all, was it too much to ask for another day with Rory Gilmore?

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