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Christmas Gifts
AUTHOR: The Corruptor
They had agreed on presents. After all, they were now very good friends, and friends exchanged presents for Christmas. There had been no discussions. No questions as to whether the other was going to get a present. They had simply skirted the issue and showed up at school the last day before the holiday break, each armed with a gift. They knew, and they were prepared. And even if it was unnecessary, there was a fierce competitiveness in their friendship that would not have allowed one to gloat about having been thoughtful enough to secure a gift for the other when the other one hadn’t. He stood waiting for her at her locker. He was nervous. No, he was beyond nervous. Because this would be the first present he ever exchanged with her. Had they been anything more than friends, he would have had no qualms about lavishing her with gifts at every opportunity. Even though he knew she wouldn’t have appreciated the expensive and showy gestures. It was the thought that counted, and the fact that the gift came from the heart that mattered most. As friends, they were only afforded two opportunities to shower each other with gifts: birthdays and holidays. He wanted to make this opportunity count. It had been excruciating for him as he agonized over picking the perfect gift for her. He didn’t want to seem too flippant in his choice, and he hadn’t wanted to scare her off. And though he knew she would never really accept a lavish gift, he had chosen simply and elegantly, and from his heart. She would have to accept. Because not accepting it would mean not accepting him, and they were beyond that point already. And he experienced some regret that the price tag was probably more than what she could comfortably return in comparison with her own gifts to him. But what was the use of having money if he couldn’t use it to show her how he felt. She would accept it and love it. Because it had come from his heart. And because he had spent hours searching for it. And because he was her friend. And as her friend, the only things they had exchanged so far had been several playful pushes and nudges, many smiles, and the occasional eye roll. Not to mention that one kiss. But gift giving was an intimate act. Kisses, hugs, and nudges were fleeting. Presents lasted as constant reminders of what was and wasn’t there. She came around the corner. Seeing him, she couldn’t help but smile. He seemed anxious and impatient, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other in anticipation. She had never seen him like this before. He usually exuded overblown confidence and charm, even when he didn’t feel it. Even when she would call him on it and tease him ruthlessly for it. And she had fully expected to see him leaning against her locker, hands in pockets, a cheery smirk spread across his face. Only right now, he wasn’t smirking. He was uneasy. His face held an expression of self-doubt. His eyes, however, did light up upon seeing her. He pushed away from her locker, hands fidgeting inside his pants pocket. “The final bell rang two minutes ago. What took you?” he asked, trying to keep his impatience in check. She gave him a sympathetic smile. “I had to walk from class.” There was a note of patronizing humor, added only to irk him. “I’m in your class,” he reminded, teasingly. “I know,” she said, ignoring his tease. She opened her locker. “I had to stay behind and ask Mr. Cromwell a question.” “You needed to ask him a question on the last day of school?” he asked, amused. “Hey, are you going to stand here all day and make fun of me? Or was there a point to this?” They had steered clear of the gift exchange issue all week, and they hadn’t even mentioned it at all that day. It was as if they had an unspoken agreement that if any presents would be exchanged, it would occur after the last bell. And it would have to be that day. Rory was planning on spending her holidays at home with her mother, save for the occasional visit with her grandparents. And Tristan, though they were friends now, would not wander to Stars Hollow unless she asked him to with an outstretched invitation. Even though he had been there once before. So the way things stood, they would not be seeing each other again until after the break. It would be an all too excruciatingly long wait for him. “You’re mean,” he observed, facetiously. “And you’re impatient.” He looked offended. “I’m not impatient. I’m merely… very anal about time.” He shrugged, knowing his self-deprecation had fallen flat. But she laughed anyway, because he was cute when he tried to be self-effacing. “So you’re punctually anal?” Her eyebrow lifted in amusement. He rolled his eyes, but smiled anyway. “So now you’re not only making fun of me, you’re also belittling me. I could sue you for character defamation and slander, you know.” He shook an accusing finger at her. “But I’d win,” she pointed out, chin out defiantly. “Okay. Let’s just agree that I’m punctual,” he urged, grinning. He wanted to whisk her out the door so that they could start their break. The sooner the break started, the sooner he would be able to see her again. He was already getting antsy thinking about how he would get through the next day without her. She glanced at him, raising a brow. She had noticed the telltale bulge in his blazer, where the inner coat pocket was located. The lump hadn’t been there until now. It was a good-sized protuberance, and she had an idea of what it was. A present. For her. And the thought of him being considerate enough to have bought her something -- actually went shopping with her in mind and thinking about her -- brought a smile to her face. But she pretended not to have noticed. She needled him some more because it was fun, and because he let her. He let her get away with practically anything in their friendship, and many times, she had almost warned him about spoiling her with his concept of what a friendship should be. “Do you have to go to the bathroom?” she asked innocently. “What?” He looked at her incredulously before grinning at her illogical jump in thought. “Well, you’re bouncing up and down like a four year old in need of a…” she pointed out, but had to stop due to laughter. He gave her an exasperated eye roll. “I’m not, okay,” he assured hurriedly. She nodded, as if it had made perfect sense. “Then are you late for something?” she asked, feigning ignorance. “Yes. I am. I’m late… in giving something. To you.” There. He said it. He grinned eagerly. “Oh. Really?” she teased. “You’re finally going to give me my freedom and leave me alone?” He rolled his eyes, ignoring the question. “Do you know what holiday is coming up?” “Independence Day?” she asked, innocently. “Rory.” She smiled. If she kept it up, he’d really throw a fit. But it was the last day of school before the holidays, and she would let him off easy. This time. “Now that you mention it, I have something for you, too.” She reached into her locker and pulled out a flat rectangular object, wrapped in a cheerful outer covering of red, specked with tiny reindeers. It was large. And it was heavy. “Here. Take this and open it before I drop it.” He hefted the object in his arm, and gave her a dubious look. “You got me a brick?” He turned it over in his hands. “I mean, I know you still hate me, but…” “Don’t worry, Tristan.” She rolled her eyes. “I got you a pretty brick.” She watched as he took it from her, still hesitantly. He held it reverently. “Okay, but I have something to give to you.” He reached into his blazer, and pulled out a small package from the inner pocket. It was a small square box, wrapped in a beautiful shimmery silver paper. A tiny red bow topped it. He placed it in her open palm and she cradled it there. “Wow. It’s beautiful,” she breathed. He chuckled. “Rory, that’s the paper. Your present’s inside.” She glanced up and gave him a look. She was always giving him one of those looks. “I know that, stupid. It just looks too pretty to open.” He sighed, exasperated. “If I had known that, I would have just wrapped it in newspaper.” She frowned. “Maybe we should keep our presents and open them Christmas morning with the rest of our presents,” she suggested, knowing he wouldn’t like the idea at all. “That wouldn’t be any fun,” he said, meeting her frown with one of his own. “Sure it would,” she chirped, enjoying his perplexed expression. “But then I wouldn’t get to see your face when you opened my present,” he said, only now slowly aware that she was teasing him. “Nothing’s going to jump out at me, will it?” she asked, chuckling. He grinned slowly. “I’m going to take my present back and give it to someone more deserving. Someone who will actually appreciate…,” he threatened, laughing. “Okay. I’ll open it,” she assured, teasing. The box was too small and she was almost afraid of what she’d find inside. “Look at you. You’re absolutely giddy.” He rolled his eyes. “Tristan DuGrey does not do giddy,” he assured. She smiled. “Well then, why are you smiling like that?” “Like what?” he asked defensively, but laughing softly at her incredulous look. “Like you’ve never given anyone a gift before.” She was stalling. She didn’t know why, but she was scared of what she would find within the prettily wrapped box. “This one is special,” he said. “You’re my friend. I like being your friend. I like that you’re my friend. And as such, I wanted to give you a special present. To celebrate the birth of Christ.” She raised a brow, but held the laughter. “As such?” She echoed his choice of words, rolling her eyes. “Okay. On the count of three.” “Three,” he said simply, skipping the other numbers. She laughed, but they ripped into their presents. She watched as Tristan found his hard copy of Pride and Prejudice. The book was bound in a beautiful outer shell with gold engraving. He lifted the front cover and saw the brief inscription, written with a loving hand. It simply read: To Tristan, the biggest pain in my neck. Love Rory. Simple. Elegant. And even though she had probably written the love part unconsciously, he cherished it. “I hope you like it. It’s one of my favorite books. And I thought you would like reading Jane Austen. It’s got a really nice binding and all.” She shut her mouth, realizing that she was babbling. It was an automatic response. She always babbled when she was unsure of herself, and she was unsure because Lane had once cautioned her against giving books as presents. And because she wasn’t sure if Lane’s advice pertained to her relationship with Tristan. And because she didn’t know how he would feel about receiving a book. From her. But it was exactly for that very reason that he loved it. He turned the book over in his hands, feeling the delicate binding. “You got me a girlie book?” He raised a brow teasingly. She rolled her eyes. “Tristan.” There was a scolding tone to her voice that he loved to hear. He became serious. “I love it. Thanks.” How could he not? It was from her. She could have given him a garbage bag full of Styrofoam peanuts and he would have loved it. Cherished it. But the book meant more. Because she was a bookworm, and books were who she was. It had come from her heart, come from part of her, and he would love it. Because she had essentially offered him a piece of her. He glanced at her expectantly. His look of delight was genuine, and it made her blush. She herself had stopped in mid-unwrap as soon as her fingers had hit the distinct packaging of a jewelry box. She stilled her hands, wondering what he could have possibly gotten her that could fit in such a delicate box. And what he could possibly get her -- a friend -- that would be in such a package. “I…” “Open it,” he insisted, sensing her hesitation. He resisted the urge to open it for her. She did as he asked. A thin gold bracelet shone up at her from the cushions of the box interior. Two tiny gold charms in the shapes of an open book and a coffee mug dangled from it. She looked at him questioningly. “Tristan…” “It’s pretty, don’t you think?” he asked, hopefully, skirting the issue of whether or not she had thought the gift appropriate for their level of intimacy. It was pricey, he knew, but money had never mattered much to him. And it really shouldn’t have for her. After all, it was his money, and he had the right to spend it however he chose fit. And he chose to spend it on her. “Tristan, I can’t…” He didn’t seem to hear her. Or rather, he ignored her. “And don’t worry about the price. As you know, money’s not really too important to my family. I just thought you would like it.” He took the bracelet out of the box and clasped it around her wrist while her protestations and objections were trying to make it out of her mouth. It dangled delicately from her wrist. She glanced at it, still in shock. “It’s too much.” “Nonsense. It’s pretty like you. It’s a… friendship bracelet. It’s not like it’s an engagement ring or something,” he said quickly, now unsure if he had crossed some barrier that would leave him hanging out there by himself. She still looked skeptical. “I got you a book,” she said flatly, suddenly realizing just how inappropriate her gift was in comparison to this. He chuckled. “Yes. I know. I love it. And I thank you for it.” She didn’t know if he was teasing her. “You got me a bracelet.” Again, her voice was flat and low, as if she couldn’t decide whether to be upset with him, or extremely embarrassed. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to view the gift. The bracelet, despite his assurances that it merely signified their friendship, seemed like more than just a friendship thing. And she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. He grinned at the shell-shocked tone of her voice. “Yeah. And don’t make me return it because I spent three hours in the store picking it out, and I think the salesclerk hates me. And also because it took me forever to find those damn charms to put on it.” He raised his voice slightly in a lilting growl, as if he were pretending to threaten her. The admission was supposed to elicit a smile from her and wipe away the look of panic that had started to overtake her face. It did exactly that. The idea of Tristan taking three hours to pick out a bracelet amused her. The idea of him scavenging stores to find the perfect charms tickled her. It didn’t seem like Tristan. And yet, it seemed like the Tristan who was caught up in their friendship to want to do anything and everything to please her. She laughed. “What’s so funny?” he asked, laughing with her, pleased that the panic had disappeared. “Nothing.” She shook her head, and then looked at the bracelet. “It’s just that I got you a book.” “Yes,” he agreed, once again, watching her curiously. “And you got me a bracelet.” “Rory, are we going to be doing this all day?” he growled playfully. “Because I have a hot date tonight and…” That got her attention. Her eyes flashed brightly, as a teasing grin overcame her nervousness at trying to decipher the meaning behind his present. “I’m sure the blow-up doll can wait a few more hours,” she retorted. “Rory,” he sighed, tsking softly, “If you’re going to make fun of Mandy… You know…” He lifted a finger, warningly. “She’d probably enjoy my gift more than you.” She doubted it, but it managed to shut her up. “I love it. Thank you,” she assured, contritely. Then impulsively, she leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek. It took him by surprise. And literally took his breath away. One little peck on the cheek. It wasn’t anywhere near the kiss he had given her at Madeline’s party. But then again, she had initiated this one all by herself. It was amazing the power and control she had over him. He stood frozen to the spot. She flushed, embarrassed, and bit her lip, trying to decide whether she had been wrong to do what she had done. “Wow,” he breathed. “Sorry,” she mumbled, not wanting to meet his eye. “Was that my second gift? Because I only got you one,” he said good-humoredly, trying to diffuse her embarrassment. She blushed brighter. “Stop it.” She had quickly averted her eyes and had missed the look he had given her. Wistful, serious, delighted. “Would you be terribly upset if I said that I liked that better than the book?” He was making light of it, knowing that she would berate herself for having been so impulsive. And the sooner he put her at ease, perhaps the sooner it would be for her to feel comfortable doing it again. She glanced up quickly to see if he was teasing. He wasn’t laughing, but there was an extra shine to his eyes. He only glanced at her contemplatively, head tilted to one side. “Very funny. I love the bracelet,” she assured. He grinned. “Yeah. Just wait ‘til next year. I’m working on getting you a car.” Now he was teasing outright, grinning amusedly at her chagrin. He knew how ridiculous a gesture it would be considering how much difficulty she had in accepting even a tiny bracelet from him. But her face fell immediately, recalling another incident and another present where a car had been discussed. He caught the look before she could recover. Before he could call her on it, she brightened, shaking off the dour remembrance. How was he supposed to know. “And maybe we shouldn’t be friends anymore,” she mused to herself. He laughed. “Fine. I’ll just get you the engine. You can get the rest of the car yourself,” he teased, slowing his stride so he could walk beside her as they headed out of the school. She stuck her tongue out at him. “Promises, promises. The next time I get you a book, I’ll just give it to you one page at a time just to see how you like that.” “Rory Gilmore, has anyone ever told you that you’re such a tease?” he quirked a brow, amused. “Yes, and they never lived to see another day.” “Well, that’s comforting,” he said, smiling, as she broke out in laughter. “Now… about that car…” “Forget the car, Rory.” He placed his arms around her, leading her towards the front doors, towards the bus that would take her away from him for the next few weeks. “Let’s discuss the next present you’ll give me. The kiss on the cheek in front of your locker was nice… but let’s try to be a little more creative, shall we? I’m thinking heavy make-out session in the janitor’s closet.” “Oh, you are, are you?” She giggled despite herself. “That can be arranged… but I’ll have to check with the janitor to make sure he’s free on that day.” Tristan groaned, shaking his head. “Rory, what am I going to do with you?” he asked rhetorically. She only beamed up at him. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
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