AUTHOR: The Corruptor
RATING: G/PG
CHARACTERS / PAIRING: Tristan, Rory, Lane, Henry, and others
SUMMARY: Picks up a few months after The 3rd Lorelai (b/c all other eps that happened after that one cease to exist in this author’s universe). Rory and Tristan are friends, trying to decide whether or not to go to a Chilton dance.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Some of the characters may be slightly “off.” I had to borrow Henry and give him a last name (since the GG writers don’t seem to like to give their characters last names), and I didn’t really want to introduce any other new characters. And yes... *groan*... the use of the way overused "school dance." For anyone who needs audio aids, I was thinking along the lines of "Helplessly, Hopelessly" by Jessica Andrews for Part 5. :-P
DISCLAIMER: I wish I could have HA all to myself, but these characters are owned by Amy S-P, The GG, and the WB.
FEEDBACK: Yes, please! Click on the box below, and please don't forget to write the title of fic in the subject line. Thank you!

Lane had seemed more agitated than usual when Rory had opened her front door to find her sitting on the steps. “Hey,” Rory greeted. “I thought we were going to meet at the library.” The surprise was evident. Along with the confusion as to why Lane had not just entered the house, as she was more than welcome to do.

Lane jumped up from where she had been sitting, her knapsack still on the porch. “I think your room is more conducive to studying, don’t you?” she asked, by way of return greeting.

Rory shrugged, stepping aside to let her best friend into the house. “Um… sure. What’s up?”

“Nothing…” Lane picked up her bag of books and sidestepped past Rory. “I was talking to Henry before I came over.” She paused unnecessarily. “You know Henry, right?”

Rory was confused and she let Lane know it. “Yeah. I think I may have met him once or twice before,” she joked, wondering where her friend was taking this conversation. They went to her room and Lane immediately plopped down on Rory’s bed.

She ignored the look of bewilderment on Rory’s face. “He goes to Chilton. That’s your school,” she pointed out.

Rory couldn’t help but smile, too puzzled to do anything else. “I seem to vaguely recall that as being correct,” she teased. “Lane,” she finally blurted out, “What are you talking about?”

Lane grinned, and gave her a little pat on the knee. “Nothing. Just checking.”

Rory shook her head, still puzzled, but deciding that she would leave this conversation alone. She pulled herself onto the bed beside Lane and the two of them began to study. They were silent for a good ten minutes before Rory had the distinct feeling that Lane was paying more attention to her than to her own textbook. And it was an action that was beginning to unnerve her. She glanced up to see Lane, where she was now sitting, cross-legged at the foot of Rory’s bed. “Lane.”

Lane looked up. “Yes?”

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Lane assured.

Sighing, and accepting the answer, Rory turned her eyes back to her history book. Lane’s eyes remained on Rory.

Finally unable to contain herself any longer, Lane leaned forward. “Rory?”

“Yes, Lane,” Rory responded, looking at her friend over the top of her book.

Lane hesitated. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Rory lowered her book and fluffed her pillows. “I don’t think so…”

“Are you sure?” There was an anxious and impatient look in Lane’s eyes, and her voice conveyed doubt in Rory’s response.

“Well…” Rory racked her brain. Then smiling, “I once snorted chocolate milk up my nose,” she piped up, cheerfully.

Lane rolled her eyes and guffawed. “Yeah. I was there, remember?”

“Oh, right,” Rory recalled, slowly, but she was grinning devilishly at the memory. “Then… nope. There’s nothing I have to share.” She gave her head a quick shake, sending her ponytail flying.

“Ok… So, um…” Lane waited until Rory was looking at her once again. “Henry was telling me about this thing at Chilton this weekend.”

Rory looked at her suspiciously. “Since when did you become so interested in Chilton?”

“Since I live vicariously through you, and you go to the better and more interesting school. And since Henry goes there. And since I met those really interesting people at that party.”

Rory shrugged. “It’s just a dance,” she informed, casually.

“He told me it’s different. It’s a girl-ask-boy dance,” Lane informed, just as nonchalantly. But there was an excitement there that she could not hide.

Rory narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “He did, did he?” And her tone of voice suggested that perhaps Henry should not be trusted.

Lane grinned. “Yes. So what do you think?”

Rory pursed her lips before smiling good-naturedly. “A nice modern twist to the woman-is-superior theme, but a depressingly huge waste of time, and one that should be banned in all schools for causing the emotional distress of shy girls everywhere.” She gave a triumphant nod of her head at her argument.

“So now you’re the anti-Gloria Steinem?” Lane asked, amused.

Rory pumped a fist in the air, and gave a righteous nod of her head. “Down with feminism and the take charge attitude. And you can forget about girl power, too. It’s overrated.”

Lane’s grin deepened. “So you’re not going,” she concluded.

Rory sighed. “Lane, if I want to go, I’d have to ask someone to go with me.”

“Hence the concept behind a girl-ask-boy dance,” Lane mused, making fun of her friend.

Rory ignored the jab. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Lane whined despite herself. “You asked Dean to the last dance.”

Her invoking of Dean’s name did not faze Rory. “Who could I ask to go with me this time?” she asked, rhetorically.

“You could ask Tristan,” Lane suggested, daring to evoke Rory’s ire for even mentioning Tristan’s name in a date context. “I bet he’d do anything you asked him to.” She grinned, knowing Rory would go into denial mode and refuse to believe there could be any romantic potential between her and Tristan.

“I highly doubt that,” Rory huffed. She would not let Lane trick her into admitting anything.

Lane was unconvinced. “Are you sure? If you looked up the definition of ‘whipped,’ his picture would be next to it.”

Rory laughed. She couldn’t imagine anyone using the word “whipped” to describe the charmingly overconfident Tristan DuGrey. “And you’re basing this on what hallucinogen-induced logic, pray tell?” Rory asked, pointedly.

Lane shrugged. “Just a feeling.”

Rory pointed an accusing finger at her, squinting knowingly. “The last time you had a ‘feeling,’ it turned out to be because of your mom’s tofu surprise.”

Her friend resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Yeah, but she hasn’t made it in a week. And the last time you introduced me to him, he couldn’t stop looking at you,” Lane pointed out.

Rory refused to be baited. “He’s always coming up with ways to humiliate me,” she confessed, dejectedly.

“Is he?” Lane pondered this, weighing the truthfulness of the statement.

“Take the last few days, for example. He’s been trying to help me pick a guy to ask for the dance.”

“That’s helpful,” Lane admitted, wryly.

“And I just know it’s because he wants to embarrass me in some way, just because I amuse him. And I have yet to figure out exactly what he’s up to.” Rory frowned.

“Hmm,” Lane thought, ready to make some suggestions to further Rory’s confusion in regards to Tristan’s actions. “Maybe he’s waiting for you to ask him,” she offered, helpfully.

“Me?” Rory couldn’t keep from sounding incredulous. She shook her head, refusing to believe that that could be the motive behind Tristan’s actions. They were friends. Why would he want her to ask him to the dance? And she silently berated herself for even thinking she could ask him. Or that he would even say yes to her invitation. To even think such an idea would be conceited of her. “Granted, I’m the only one to ever turn him down, but we’re friends now. We’re beyond things like that. And besides, Tristan doesn’t date girls like me. He goes out with the gorgeous, rich, popular and experienced ones. The only way he’d go out with me is if he feels sorry me.”

“I don’t think he does,” Lane was quick to object. And she really didn’t think he did. She had seen the looks he had directed at her best friend. Looks that Rory was, for some reason, immune to. Or had just missed catching.

“I don’t think he thinks of me in the way you think he does. Other than as a friend. If at that,” Rory assured. She wanted to get off this subject as quickly as possible.

Lane shrugged casually. As if she didn’t believe Rory, and that action alone annoyed Rory. “Well, he sure likes to hang out with you. And he bugs you a lot for a guy who doesn’t even like you as a friend. Or anything else.” Rory could tell by the teasing tone of Lane’s voice that this subject would indeed not be dropped for awhile. “Doesn’t he drive you home sometimes?” Lane asked, as if this concept of friendship had evaded her.

“Only because he’s obligated to. He’s usually the one who makes me miss my bus,” Rory answered, sourly, as she tried to privately convince herself that a sense of obligation was the only reason he drove her home whenever she needed the ride. She knew where this was going. But she refused to believe that just because he always made himself available to her every whim, he was smitten with her. Guys like Tristan DuGrey did not view girls like Rory Gilmore as anything more than friends or conquests.

“Why is that?”

Rory didn’t think she liked the exaggerated innocent inflection in Lane’s question. “Lane,” she complained. “It’s just not possible, okay?” She especially didn’t like how Lane’s knowing looks had made her feel… What? Hope? It was impossible. Why would she even feel that? They were merely talking about Tristan.

Lane shrugged. “Whatever. But don’t you think the least you could do is ask him?”

“He already has three offers,” Rory informed, candidly. “That he admitted to. I’m sure there are plenty more that he’s not telling me about.”

“Wow. At least three, huh?” Lane was impressed. “And he hasn’t said yes to any of them?”

“Lane, I’m trying to figure out why girls with boyfriends always feel the need to set their friends up.” She paused, making sure they would not be discussing Tristan any further. “So? Are you going with Henry?” She grinned, knowing how excited Lane would be to attend a Chilton dance.

Lane suddenly became reticent. “Well, you see… that’s a problem,” she informed slowly.

Rory was confused now. “What’s the problem?” She didn’t think there would have been uncertainty in whether or not Lane went to the dance with Henry.

Lane slid off the bed and began pacing, anxiously, threading her fingers in a nervous gesture. “You don’t understand. This is like our first big crisis. Do I go or not? What we do now is going to decide what happens the next time there’s an event we can’t go to together.”

Rory furrowed her brow, still confused. “And?”

Lane stopped pacing directly in front of Rory. She gave her a triumphant look, and Rory knew she would not like the answer to her question. “We need you to help resolve it,” Lane revealed.

Rory shook her head adamantly, immediately sensing dread. When Lane got a silly idea in her head, she usually ran with it, no matter how stupid it turned out in the end. And usually, Rory was dragged along for the ride. “Me? Why me?” she asked, incredulously, refusing to meet Lane’s eyes.

“Because you’re my best friend. And because you go to Chilton. And you’re a girl,” Lane revealed, as if those reasons should have been just as obvious to Rory as they had been to her.

“Hmm. Really. See, I never even noticed that,” Rory teased, keeping her voice edged with playful sarcasm.

Lane turned slowly, lost in thought. Then just as quickly, she swiveled on her heels, meeting Rory’s look of surprise at the sudden move. “Oh!” Lane exclaimed, fraught with hand gestures. “You could go with Henry!” Her eyes flashed brightly. Too brightly and too excitedly for Rory’s tastes.

Rory was immediately off the bed and on the defensive. “Uh, uh. No way.” She shook her head forcefully, holding up a hand to ward off the inevitable. “That’s a bad idea.”

Lane held out her hands, confused. “Why?”

“He’s your boyfriend,” Rory pointed out, frowning.

“So?”

Rory gave a dumbfounded laugh. “So… you should go with him.”

Lane frowned. “Rory, you know I can’t go with him,” she reminded, wondering why her friend was being so resistant.

“Why not?” Rory demanded.

“Because I don’t want to be that girl.” And before Rory could ask her what she meant, she continued. “The girl that tags along and does everything with her boyfriend. Even though no one else wants her around. I’ll be the outcast. The pest. The one who takes it upon herself to invite herself where she doesn’t belong and isn’t wanted” Lane sighed, sadly, despondently.

Rory refused to believe her friend could even think that. “Lane, you could never…”

Lane cut her off. “It’s a girl-ask-boy dance, Rory. I don’t go to Chilton, and I don’t want people staring at me.”

“Lane, they wouldn’t…” Rory began to protest once more.

And once again, Lane interjected, “Hello, I’ve met these people at Madeline’s party.” She knew that not only would they stare, but they would also snicker and talk behind her back. And for some reason, Lane didn’t think she’d be able to handle that.

Rory did not have a good comeback. Lane was right. To a point. “True…” she agreed, reluctantly. “But Henry’s your boyfriend,” she pointed out, reminding her with an unforced smile.

Lane fell onto the bed, staring dejectedly at the ceiling, and let out a soft groan. “He said he wouldn’t go without me, but I don’t want him not to go. It’s his friends. Do you understand?”

And strangely, Rory did understand. But it didn’t mean she was going to give into whatever insane plans Lane had for her. “Um… okay. I think so,” Rory said, after a brief moment of silence. She sat down gingerly beside Lane on the bed.

Lane sat up, now smiling shyly. “So I think you should go with him. I trust you.”

“Thanks,” Rory remarked, rolling her eyes, but grinning. “But he’s still your…”

Lane turned to her, eagerly. “We share clothes. We share everything. You’re just borrowing him for a bit.”

“Like babysitting?” Rory quirked an amused brow.

“Like dog walking,” Lane corrected.

Rory gave her a dubious look. “I’m not sure he’d like being compared to a dog.”

Lane only smiled, exasperated. “I know, but my brain is all over the place, and I couldn’t think of anything else. My mom got a juice maker and she’s been experimenting with carrots.”

“I thought carrots were supposed to make you smarter,” Rory mused, prolonging the tangent in hopes of distracting Lane from discussing the dance.

Lane only nodded in agreement. “I think it’s in my genetic makeup that I’m immune to it or something.” But the digression had not distracted her enough to forget her mission. “So you’ll do it?” she asked, hopefully.

Rory balked. “Lane, I really don’t think…”

“He’ll be fine with it,” she assured, sensing defeat in Rory’s slumped shoulders.

Rory gave a sympathetic smile. “As much as I would love to watch him for you, I don’t want to take your place.”

Lane gave her a look of affection. “Aw, that’s really sweet, but totally unnecessary,” she assured hastily.

Rory chuckled nervously. “Lane, this has to be one of your worst ideas.”

“Here,” Lane jumped off the bed, ignoring Rory’s last comment. She rummaged through the pile of clothes and books on Rory’s dresser and found the cordless phone. She held up the phone triumphantly. “We’ll call him. I have his cell phone number. Besides, if he wants to be my boyfriend, he has to get along with my best friend or else there’s no reason for me to keep seeing him. You’re an important aspect of my life.”

“Okay,” Rory rolled her eyes. “Why do I feel like I just walked into a Spice Girls song?”

Lane ignored her, punching in the digits to Henry’s cell phone. “I’m dialing,” she informed, unnecessarily.

“I wish you wouldn’t.” Rory bit her lower lip, watching Lane with trepidation. She really did not want to get involved in Lane’s wacky idea.

Lane held up a finger to silence her. She immediately beamed, and Rory knew it was because Henry had just come on the other end. “Henry! Hi! It’s me, Lane,” she greeted enthusiastically, before qualifying it with a, “Lane Kim. From Stars Hollow.”

Rory bent her head closer to Lane’s free ear. “Are you sure he’s your boyfriend? Because I’d think he’d know who you are by now,” she murmured, teasingly.

Lane threw her an unamused look, pulling the phone away from her mouth for a brief second. “I’m just checking,” she attested, conscientiously. She went back to the conversation with Henry. “Hi, remember how we were talking about the dance this weekend?”

Rory sighed. “Lane,” she called, calmly, trying to dissuade her friend from pursuing this plan of hers any further.

Lane ignored her. “I have the perfect solution,” she told him, ecstatically. “Take Rory.”

“Lane,” Rory tried to get her attention once again.

“No really…” Lane continued into the phone. There was a pause of a few minutes, which Rory could only assume was Henry listing all the flaws in her crazed idea. And as Lane pursed her lips thoughtfully, Rory could only hope that Henry had the sense to talk his girlfriend out of it. “Uh, huh,” Lane’s voice interrupted Rory’s thoughts. “Well, I don’t want you to miss out on the party just because I can’t ask you.”

“Screw convention, Lane,” Rory whispered, agitated. “Show up anyway. We’ll just ignore all the people who want to make a big deal out of it.”

Lane turned her attention to her friend, eyes wide with shock. “Great. Then I’ll seem pathetic because I have nothing better to do than crash a Chilton dance,” she whispered back fiercely, just as firmly and pointedly.

“Hey,” Rory reminded, matter-of-factly. “I don’t even want to go.” She stood up, wanting to seem decisive in her decision not to attend the social function.

Lane went to her, phone still clutched in her hands. “I can live vicariously through Rory,” she assured both Henry and Rory at the same time.

“Lane,” Rory practically begged.

“Here.” Lane held the phone out to her. “Ask him.”

Rory shook her head. “Lane!” She couldn’t believe it. Lane had finally lost it.

“Rory, ask him,” Lane pleaded, using her best pouting expression on her.

Rory sighed. She could never say no to her best friend. Grumbling, she jerked the phone out of Lane’s grasp, directing a dirty look at her as she did so. “Um…” She heard Henry greet her apprehensively. “I’m sorry.”

Lane frowned, hands on her hips. “That’s not asking,” she chastised, disapprovingly.

Rory continued, keeping her eyes on Lane, but not paying attention to any of the gestures meant to encourage her to speed up the asking process. “I really don’t know what gets into her sometimes. And she does this every once in awhile,” she told Henry. “Are you sure you still want to date her?”

Lane’s frown deepened. “I said, ask him, not turn him against me,” she scolded lightly.

Rory covered the mouthpiece. “Lane, I’m working up to it,” she seethed, through clenched teeth. Then rolling her eyes, she returned to the conversation. “So… I really don’t want to go…”

Lane was not impressed. “Wow. You’re really bad at the asking thing.”

“Shut up,” Rory retorted, meeting Lane’s now smiling face. “And Lane thinks it’s important that you go. I’m not sure why…”

“Because I don’t want to seem too dependent and pushy,” Lane answered for her, loud enough for Henry to hear on the other end.

“Too late,” Rory teased, quirking a brow at her.

“He needs to know that he can still hang out with his friends without me. I don’t want to be overbearing,” she pointed out.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” Rory emphasized, sarcastically. Lane only stuck her tongue out at her. Sighing, Rory acquiesced. “You seriously don’t mind?”

Lane gave her a confused look. “Well, of course I do. But it’s you.”

“Thanks,” Rory groused, knowing Lane was only teasing, but feeling the need to make her miserable for taking advantage of their friendship anyway.

Lane quickly qualified her statement. “I just mean I’d rather he go with you than some other skanky prep school girl.”

Rory laughed. “Lane, this is ridiculous. No one is going to care if you show up.”

“I’ll care. Now ask,” Lane gestured for Rory to return to the phone conversation.

Rory gave her a dirty look, one that was dutifully returned by Lane. Sighing, she gave in, knowing that Lane would not let up until she did. “Henry… do you want to go with me? And you don’t have to say yes just because this scary and crazy girl beside me is making you.” She cautioned a look at Lane from the corner of her eye.

Lane was not pleased with Rory’s elaboration on the invitation. But she jumped up and down excitedly. “Yes! He’ll go!” she answered for him.

Rory kept her eyes on Lane and smirked, hearing the hesitant and resigned affirmation on Henry’s end of the conversation. “Okay, fine. I’ll work out the details with you tomorrow when I don’t have Loony Lane yelling in my ear,” she informed him. She dutifully handed the phone back to Lane, smiling at the evident joy on her best friend’s face. “I’ve never seen any girl so happy to push her boyfriend on another girl,” she murmured, amused.

Lane ignored her with a dirty look. She took another few minutes to murmur into the phone with Henry, obviously pleased, before hanging up. “See?” she began, turning to Rory, thrilled. “That was painless.”

“Says you,” she teased.

Lane wagged an accusing finger at her. “I’m not crazy or scary. Or loony.”

Rory nodded in agreement. “Well, you did a very good impersonation of it.”

Lane was suddenly quiet, the grin fading just a few notches. “You think I was stupid to do that, instead of just sucking it up and sneaking into the dance?” she asked, self-consciously, tilting her head contemplatively.

“The word ‘duh’ comes to mind.” Rory grinned, knowing that Lane would waver between confidence in her decision and self-doubt, before she settled on confidence.

“But seriously,” Lane continued, her expression one of utter solemnity. “I don’t want people to point and stare at me and whisper that I’m the girl who weaseled her way into a girl-ask-boy dance when I don’t even go to Chilton.”

“Honestly,” Rory assured, “they couldn’t hate you as much as some of them hate me.”

“But you’re friends with Tristan now,” Lane reminded, puzzled. She followed Rory back onto the bed, preparing to return to their studies once again, now that their dilemma was resolved.

“Yes,” Rory answered in agreement, hesitantly. “Well, that in itself may have garnered me more enemies than not.” She really didn’t want to discuss and analyze all the disadvantages of being Tristan’s friend versus not being his friend. As far as she was concerned, the pros outweighed the cons by far.

“Oh! You mean…” Lane’s voice trailed off.

“Yeah.” And Rory definitely did not want to talk about that. So she changed the topic. “Well, one good thing has come out of this,” she chirped.

“Oh yeah?” Lane’s face brightened, ears perking up. “What’s that?”

Rory beamed. “Now Tristan can’t bother me by pretending to help me when he’s really just trying to humiliate me for his own enjoyment.”

“See…” Lane cooed, proudly. “There was a method to my madness.”

Rory rolled her eyes, teasingly. “Yeah… but not that much.”

His eyes lit up, seeing her traverse her way across the campus. She was early, and her head, as usual, was buried in a book. Absently excusing himself from the group of friends he had been joking with, his eyes never leaving her graceful figure, he cut through the throng of students milling out in the warm morning sun before classes, and sidled up to her. A grin automatically took over his face, as he jammed his hands into his pants pocket and fell in step with her. She never looked up. He whistled a few bars of utter nonsense, hoping she’d make the first move. When she didn’t, he nudged her with his arm before bending his head towards her ear.

“So, Rick… Is the game afoot?”

“You’re mixing up your references,” she informed him, not breaking her stride, eyes still concentrating on the words in front of her.

The grin never left his face. “What are you talking about? Rick’s from Casablanca. You mean to tell me that Louis never said that line?” He was teasing her, but he knew she would not be able to avoid any opportunity to correct him and prove him wrong. Teasing or not.

That stopped her in her tracks. She lowered the book, her expression one of disbelief. “I let you borrow my tape,” she reminded, nonplused.

He shrugged, ignoring her look. “Next thing I know, you’re going to tell me that the line ‘Play it again, Sam’ isn’t in the movie.” He watched as her face turned red, and tried not to smile at how easily she let him needle her.

“Did you even watch the tape?” she asked, incredulously, irritated.

He shrugged again. “Yes. And it’s sitting on top of my TV. Maybe you better come over later and watch it with me so I know what to look for.” He gave her his infamous smirk, letting her know he was baiting her. “We’ll pop it in, get in the Jacuzzi…” He let his voice trail off for effect.

She had been ready with an insulting comeback that would not have fazed him the least bit. But instead, merely rolled her eyes. Any comebacks she had would only encourage him further. “No, thanks,” she declined. “If you need me to babysit you through a classic, then you’re hopeless.” She lifted her book once again, ready to continue walking.

But he had other ideas. “All right, Rick,” he emphasized his new nickname for her. “So what’s the other reference I mangled?” Tilting his head to one side, he waited for the book to come back down.

She gave him a look of exasperation. “Sir Arthur Conan O’Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes,” she informed, pertly. She knew he was only playing with her. He couldn’t have gotten this far at Chilton without knowing something about literature. And the perpetual smirk on his face told her that she was correct.

“Ah! Right!” He snapped his fingers, as if suddenly remembering that little piece of trivia. “So I’m Sherlock, and you’re…”

“You’re Watson,” she corrected, before he could even finish. She was annoyed, and he was amused.

He seemed to contemplate this news. “Why do I have to be Watson? I should be Sherlock,” he informed, mock haughty tones reverberating in the air.

She raised an amused brow. “Narcissistic reason?” she prompted.

He only grinned, as if the answer were obvious. Puffing out his chest, he answered her. “I’m smarter and more superior.”

She groaned in response. “There’s nothing wrong with your ego, is there? But remember who got a higher score on Mr. Medina’s English midterm,” she reminded, a pleased grin spreading across her features. If he was going to needle her, she could return the favor. After all, she could, and often did, play this very game with him.

He lifted a finger, pleasantly surprised by her sass. “But… who kicked ass on the bio exam… and who didn’t?” he countered. Tsking softly with a gentle shake of his head, he gave her a mournful look. “A ‘B,’ Miss Gilmore,” he reminded, filling his voice with mock disappointment. “Some guys have it, and some…”

She frowned. “What you have is a lot of bull,” she retorted.

He raised his hand to his heart, as if she had wounded him. “Oh, you don’t know how that pains me… So, fair maiden? What about the game?” he asked, bringing the conversation back to the topic they had been dancing around for the past week and a half.

“There is no game, Tristan,” she informed, with some finality. She turned on her heels and began to walk away.

Tristan watched her take a few steps. He loved how she walked away from him, brimming with confidence where he was concerned. Before, in their fragile adversarial relationship, she had often slunk away, trying not to gain his attention. But now, she seemed to taunt him. Matching both verbal and physical banter with him. “Are you walking away from me? You know I’ll just follow,” he called out.

She turned on her heels to face him once again. A grin lit up her pretty countenance. “Yes, because you’re like my loyal lapdog.” The visual amused her, and the grin grew wider.

Tristan directed a lascivious leer towards her, taking the few steps to bridge the distance between them. “I can’t think of any better place to spend my time than drooling on your lap.”

Rory didn’t know whether to laugh or groan. She settled for a half-annoyed, half-exasperated look, as she tried desperately to hide the grin from reappearing on her face. “Foaming is a sign of rabies. And no one knows where you’ve been and what you might be carrying. I should do the whole world a favor by putting you to sleep.”

Tristan didn’t blink. “That’s funny, Rory, but I know what you’re doing,” he revealed, voice lowered in confidentiality.

She placed her hands on her hips and watched him dubiously. “You’re going to tell me what you think I’m doing anyway. So go ahead. Don’t leave me in suspense,” she challenged him, lifting her chin up at him in defiance.

He shrugged. “Avoidance.” He made the word sound dirty.

Her mouth dropped, incredulous. “What are you talking about? I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

He shook his head at her, a sorrowful expression on his face. “I’m not talking about avoiding me. I’m talking about avoiding the subject of the dance this weekend. And you’re deflecting the fact that you still don’t have a date, and you feel uncomfortable asking for my assistance.”

She did groan this time. “I feel uncomfortable, Tristan, but not because I can’t ask you to help me get a date,” she assured, pleasantly.

He glanced around, pretending to take in the sight of all the other students laughing and joking outside. Lowering his voice and head, he grinned. “Oh, I know that… But I didn’t want everyone else to know the real reason is because you have an unquenchable thirst for a little Tristan DuGrey.”

She snickered at his pleased look. “I assure you, it’s a thirst that can be satiated by a gallon of battery acid or a shot of hard liquor.” She gave his chest a little jab with her finger, pushing him away. He was suddenly standing too close to her, his lowered voice causing her heart to skip a beat. The nerve. Accusing her of longing for him when they were just friends. When the actual accusation had caused her to feel a sudden rise in temperature in the already too warm morning sun.

“Hmm.” He straightened, rubbing his chin while considering her statement and the image she had presented. “Rory Gilmore drunk.” This concept seemed to amuse him. “I can picture you dancing on the table, half-naked, with your panties on top of your head.” He smiled to himself, reveling in the visual.

“Hey!” she called out, trying to catch his attention once again. For some reason, having him think about her in that way, while standing beside her, made her flush. “I never asked you to share your perverted fantasies with me.” She stomped her feet, annoyed. And… embarrassed. Because now, when he turned his eyes back to her, they sparkled as if he could see through her. She bit her lip, wondering if she would forever feel as if he were undressing her with his eyes every time he addressed her again.

“Trust me,” he assured. “That one fantasy is downright dowdy compared to the others floating in my head.” He chuckled, seeing her blush so easily.

Then, gaining control of her emotions, she straightened, and met his eyes confidently. “Oh? Besides, who said they’d be my panties?” She managed to make it sound innocent, but secretly delighted in the startled, yet pleased, look that had appeared in his intense blue eyes.

“Ah. Touché.” It was all he could utter, surprised that she had taken their banter that far.

She smiled triumphantly. “Well, I’ll leave you to ponder that for a bit,” she informed him, turning on her heels once again.

He reached out and grabbed her arm. Ever so gently. Ever so lightly. Ever so possessively. He heard her inhale sharply as she slowly turned back to him. He could barely distinguish the fading blush from the rest of her normally rosy cheeks, but it was there. He stifled a chuckle at the effect he seemed to have on her, even though she would never admit to it. And secretly, he was delighted. Because she had the same effect on him. “Hey, not so fast. You’re doing the avoiding thing again.” They both glanced down at his hand, still holding onto her arm. Embarrassed, he let go, blushing himself.

Dazed, she was unable to comment on the quickly appearing and disappearing warmth on his face. Then she remembered why he had stopped her. “Am not,” she replied, indignant.

“Are too,” he responded, just as insolent.

“Am not…” She sighed. “Fine. I’m not even sure I want to go. And you can’t make me,” she informed. She stared at him curiously, wondering whether that had actually been a hint of panic in his eyes. And wondering, confusedly, why she had been so pleased to see it there.

“Sure I can,” he told her, simply. “You’re going, even if I have to go to your house and throw you over my shoulder kicking and screaming… Hmm…” He paused to think about what he had said. “Actually,” he began again, the mischievous twinkle reappearing in his eyes, “that does seem like a fun alternative.”

She shook her head, suppressing a grin at the elated smile on his face. “Why is it so important that I go?”

“Because I need to have someone intellectual to talk to after I’m done making out with whichever girl I choose to take to this dance.”

The disgust on her face was clear. “Have I ever told you how slimy, sleazy, and…”

He shrugged, rakishly. “Yes, I vaguely recall you mentioning it before.” He did not want to go into details about a conversation they had had months ago, before they were friends. “So what do you say? Stimulate me at the dance?” He quirked a brow at the sexual overtones, throwing her a lecherous grin.

She shook her head again, amazed at his ability to use double entendres so freely. And yet, she couldn’t stop grinning with exasperation at him. “You have this perverse talent of making everything that comes out of your mouth a thinly veiled innuendo. Does everything you think about have to be about sex?”

His leer only grew wider. “Only when I’m around you.”

“I don’t know whether to thank you for the honor, or knee you.” The constant leer was infuriating her, and she wished she had the power to wipe it off his face with a well-timed retort.

“Hey, if I knew you liked it rough…”

Her eyes widened, innocence showing through. “You are amazing!” she groaned, dripping with sarcasm.

“So I’ve heard,” he responded, taking it for a compliment, and knowing it would only annoy her further. “But you forget. I’m multitalented.”

Even though she knew better than to play into his hands, she couldn’t help but take on the dare he had set forth in his posture and tone of voice. Challenging her to question his insinuations. Testing to see just how innocent she really was. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He beamed, and lowered his voice, as if they were sharing an intimate secret. “You could ask me to go with you. Then we can have a deeply intellectual conversation during the hot and heavy make-out session.” The low murmur of his voice sent tingles up her spine.

She tightened her grip on her book to keep from shivering in his presence. Tilting her head defiantly, she added sarcastically, “While we happen to be dancing, too, I suppose.”

Tristan laughed, before shrugging. “It can be arranged. But a word of caution, my dear. I’ve been known to make girls’ knees go weak with one of my kisses.” He tapped a finger against his lips, pensively, before waving it towards her. “You remember that, don’t you?” He quirked a brow, suggestively.

Without any further prompting, Rory’s mind immediately recalled the night of their kiss. At Madeline’s party. And all the sensations that had coursed through her body during that magical, but mistimed, moment. She didn’t remember whether her knees had gone weak, only that she hadn’t been able to feel anything except for the waves of tingles that had flooded her nervous system from his touch. She blushed, unable to stop herself, hoping that by adding playful sarcasm to her voice, he would mistake it for annoyance. “I seem to recall getting nauseous, if that’s what you mean,” she retorted, boldly.

But he had seen the flush. And the beginnings of a smile that had inadvertently fluttered across her lips, unbeknownst to her. “Hmm. I know you’re prone to forget how wonderful I am. But we may have to try it again. My powers might have been on the fritz that time.”

This time, the irritation with him was real. “How very conceited of you.” She rolled her eyes, causing him to laugh.

“Fine,” he said, changing the subject. “So let me help you… and you can owe me one.”

“I do not want to have another conversation about repayment for services you think you’ve provided,” she teased. “But if you must know, I have a date.” She was pleased by the abrupt disappearance of the DuGrey leer. Which was quickly replaced by a frown. Followed quickly by a mask of nonchalance and disinterest.

“Oh?” He raised a brow. Acting only curious.

She was not deceived, and her triumphant grin told him that. “It kills you, doesn’t it? Knowing that I won’t owe you anything.” She wagged a finger at him, enjoying his sudden discomfort.

He tried to affect a playfully detached façade. “Come on, Rory. I would never have held you to it,” he assured.

She shrugged, thoroughly relishing her newfound power over him. “We’ll never know,” she remarked, flippantly.

He swallowed with some difficulty, wondering when she had decided to change every single rule they had been following since the beginnings of their friendship. “So?”

“What?” she asked, playing ignorant.

He frowned again. “Who’s the lucky guy?” He almost demanded it, but managed to temper his voice with faint curiosity.

“Why do you want to know?” she asked, again not giving him the answer he desperately wanted. Needed.

He grinned, knowing she was stringing him along. And this was a game he knew how to play. “So I know who to threaten about not harming a hair on my pretty Rory Gilmore’s head.”

“It’s… uh…” An image of Tristan standing up for her had popped into her head. It was an unwelcome image, if only for the feelings of affection it conjured in her. Feelings that should not have been there. Feelings that were illogical, given the degree of friendship – and not romance – that was explicit in their relationship. And his intense gaze of her, his deep and unabashed concentration of her subsequent reaction, was not helping matters.

The stammering was new for Rory, who never had any problems telling him exactly what she thought of his flirtatious attitude towards her. Or of his choice of words when teasing her. His lips curled into a wry but amused smirk. “Speechless? Maybe there is no guy and this is just your way of asking me to go with you. In that case… my answer is yes.”

The affected arrogance in his voice was enough to snap her out of whatever reverie she had been lost in. “How very chivalrous of you,” she noted, sarcastically, directing one of her own smirks at him. Then, nonchalantly, she teased him. “But I thought you wanted to be Sherlock. Here’s your chance. Dazzle me with your powers of deduction.” Her tone of voice suggested that he would fail miserably if he chose to take her up on her challenge.

“I’d rather dazzle you with my other powers.” The smirk grew wider. And he let his eyes roam appreciatively down the length of her body for good measure.

She flushed, but did not flinch. She would not react this time. She would not let him see just how much power he had over her. How much power he had been gaining recently. “Right. If you think I’m falling all over myself because of the cocky attitude… well, not so much.” And she let her eyes flit across his body, showing him that she could play whatever game he threw at her. Only, she wasn’t as skilled as she would have preferred, quickly averting her eyes, the blush threatening to become brighter.

He pretended not to notice for her sake. There were plenty of other opportunities to tease her. “Well, I was thinking cocky, but… I wouldn’t be referring to my attitude.” And there was the leer again. He waited for her to respond to his lewd remark, as she was apt to do with an abusive stinging remark.

Only none came. She needed to change the topic. Quickly. “It’s Henry,” she said, suddenly, catching him off guard.

“Henry,” he echoed, flatly, a dubious frown on his face.

“Yes. Henry Lee,” she informed, watching his reaction carefully. For some reason, she was loving the way his face fell. And the way he tried to hide it behind a mask of detachment.

Tristan bristled, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He did not look or sound happy to be the recipient of this information. “I know who Henry is.”

Secretly, she enjoyed seeing him suffer like this. Seeing this control she had over him. With something as simple as this. Something that should not have affected him at all if they were truly just friends. “Well, who’s speechless now?” she teased, ruthlessly.

Tristan took a deep breath and succeeded in regaining some semblance of control. “I thought you said Henry was seeing your friend.” There was some doubt and uncertainty in his voice as to the truthfulness of his statement.

Rory’s grin faded a notch. Trust Tristan to pick up on all the little details. “He is,” she admitted, quietly.

And seeing her hesitation, he pounced. The full smirk was back. And so was the amused lift of the brow. “Well! If I knew you were that kind of girl…” He let his voice trail off, assured that she would fill in the blanks herself.

Which she did, as evidenced by the reappearance of the blush. But just as quickly, she leaned closer to him, directing her own self-satisfied smirk in his direction. “Jealous?”

He was surprised by her boldness. As a result, his voice faltered. “Why would I…”

She wiggled a brow at him. For once, he was losing at his own game. “Elementary, dear Watson. Because you just turned this really uncomplimentary shade of green.”

“Rory Gilmore,” he lashed back, playfully. “Could you just step down from whatever pedestal you’ve put yourself on so I can tell you to have fun with Henry at the dance? You’ve picked a better man for the job than I could have. Even if he is someone else’s boyfriend. When did you become the little tramp?”

She frowned. “I knew you wouldn’t let that go. Lane just didn’t want to show up at the dance because she doesn’t go here. And she didn’t want Henry to miss out.” For some inexplicable reason, she felt it necessary to explain the situation to him. Felt it necessary that he understand.

“Hey, you don’t have to explain anything to me,” he assured.

“Really?” She didn’t think she liked the smile that was adorning his face. It was too compliant. Too sincere. Too forgiving.

“Really.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. “You’re not going to try one last ditch effort to get me to go with you?”

He seemed shock that she would even think such a thing. “Did you want me to?”

“No,” she replied, sounding harsher than she had anticipated.

“Thanks,” he remarked, dryly.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she assured, hastily, trying to appease him.

He held up a hand and shook his head. “That’s okay. I’m going to go to my corner and sulk now.”

The faint traces of a smile played at the edges of her mouth. “Don’t be difficult. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you.”

“No, you’re not.” He frowned, showing her his best wounded look.

The faint smile became a full-blown one. “Okay, but I feel bad.” The lighthearted expression on her face contradicted her statement.

Tristan rolled his eyes, strolling away. “Rory, get over yourself,” he called over his shoulder.

Rory watched him head towards the main building. She was exasperated, and yet, she couldn’t make the grin on her face disappear. Stomping her feet, she let out a groan of frustration with him and shook her head in wonderment, before following the path he had taken to get to class.