AUTHOR: Pooh
RATING: PG
CHARACTERS / PAIRING: Tristan/Rory
SUMMARY: Tristan and Rory continue their newfound relationship. Sequel to Second Impressions.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This sequel was started almost immediately upon the completion of 'Second Impressions.' Sadly, after the first flurry of writing, it was never continued or finished. I'm sick of holding onto it, so here it is. There's only two parts, and probably will never be finished.
DISCLAIMER: It's been years since I watched a GG ep, but all the characters except Simon belong to Amy S-P, the WB, etc.

"Is this going to be okay?" Her voice, small and hesitant. Not at all the strong and assertive force he was used to when she faced him: physically, verbally, and mentally.

"I asked you to call." A gentle reminder, his voice softer and more affectionate than he had ever let himself be before. To anyone.

****

Two days after he stepped off the plane, feet firmly planted on English soil once again, he reached into the corner of his closet, where no one but he had the mind to check, and pulled out an impulsively wrapped nondescript package.

****

"How do you feel about this?" An understated question, one that was filled with an expectation of disappointment, along with an underlying desperation for the exact opposite reaction.

A lengthy pause. Too long. Bringing a fresh wave of doubt and fear.

"I don't hate it." She sounded surprisingly calm after making such a startling revelation.

****

He placed the precious package on top of the thick navy blue comforter of his immaculately made bed. Simon would be gone for another hour, participating in one of his numerous athletic activities. He didn't have that much time. With the utmost care and consideration, his long slender fingers removed the dull swath of tissue paper that had served as an impromptu wrapping paper.

****

"Simon's intrigued." A slight chuckle, a furtive glance cast in the unsuspecting roommate's direction.

"Will that be a problem?"

"He'll lose interest." Confident assurance, the tones picked up by said roommate, whose ears perked up at the statement. He was clueless. They were all clueless.

"Will you?" A quiet prod, testing the waters and the rules they hadn't yet discussed, but would eventually need. Her voice smeared with a hesitant conviction to go any further if there was a possibility that their new relationship could be considered a lost cause.

Finally, a silence broken by a definitive answer, both firm and heartening: "No."

****

The crinkled tissue paper had been thrown casually into the wastebasket by his desk. If Simon noticed it at all, he didn't bother to question it, keeping all snide remarks and rude inquiries to himself. In any case, it would have been too late. The object, so lovingly cared for until now, was no longer on the premises.

****

"My mom's not amused." A feathery whisper punctuated by a reluctant sigh.

"Will that be a problem?" An echoed question from a conversation past, uttered from a different set of lips, equally subdued.

"She'll get used to it." A determined prediction, broaching no contradictions.

"Will you?" Another repeated question, filled with the same unspoken fears as the one before.

She could have lied, but she didn't. "I already have." An unwavering admission, finally verbalized out loud, that managed to stir both hearts at the same time.

****

He had found someone to take care of the one thing that symbolized all the hopes and promises, tenuous as they may be, for any future relationship with Rory. And even if it turned out that it didn't mean as much as his heart was begging him to believe it did, then it still managed to signify a plethora of emotions that they never thought could be possible for two people who had started off so horribly wrong in the first place.

****

"Is this still a good idea?" A murmured question not meant to be answered, but one she put forth anyway.

"That's up to you." An offered answer he knew she wouldn't be expecting, slipping off his tongue with genuine selflessness. Something new. Something that had nothing to do with the immense physical distance separating them. Something he discovered he wasn't all that averse to. With her. Only her.

"Let's play it by ear, then." A compromising assessment with responsibility relinquished from either party. For now. It was always safer this way.

****

He had taken it to a specialist that weekend, afraid to wait any longer. Afraid that it would lose its magic unless he managed to preserve it in some way. The other man had assured him that everything would be all right, even as his eyes darted towards Tristan with a look that mingled amusement, curiosity, and bewilderment. Tristan had not mentioned the look, deciding that the man's confusion was a good summary of his own burgeoning relationship with Rory.

****

"You could hang up." His suggestion was made with bated breath and crossed fingers.

"What would be the fun in that?" Her remark was lighthearted, but tinged with a detectable agreement to his reluctant admission.

"What's the fun in this now?" he teased back, holding his breath in order to better hear her answer. Afraid he'd miss it. Afraid that it would be the last words she'd ever share with him.

A momentary pause. "You don't know. Do you?" Half-suspicious. Wholly sincere.

****

The object, which he had worried relentlessly over for the past week, was now back under his watchful eye. He had stopped to buy a silvery box, just the right size, and a pack of fresh silken tissue paper. It occurred to him on his way back to school that he had never behaved in such a way. Never taken so much care with one of his possessions. Never taken the time. And yet, as soon as he returned to his room, the door safely locked behind him, he placed his purchases on top of his desk, and with gentle caressing motions of his hands, he delicately wrapped the returned object within the crinkly folds of an assortment of colorful tissue paper, and then placed the bundle into the silvery box. With quick, precise movements, he knotted a red ribbon around the entire package and stepping back, eyed the entire effect with a critical eye. It would have to do.

****

"Hi, it's me."

He grinned, the first time that day, already feeling the stress slipping mercifully from his shoulders. "I know."

A sweet, musical laugh, bell-like and heartfelt in its simple honesty. "Oh, do you?"

He could picture her raising those perfect brows, an emphatic addition to a sarcastically phrased rejoinder. Months later, it still didn't surprise him that he could picture her so flawlessly in his adoring mind. "The phone rings differently when it's you."

As he had hoped, he received another treatment of her musical laugh. "Does it?" she asked, sweetly, humoring him.

Brandishing a crooked grin she couldn't see, he demonstrated for her by attempting to make a "brrrr"ing sound while simultaneously buzzing her name through muffled lips. The experiment failed miserably, but sent her off on another peal of delighted laughter. He resisted the urge to join in her laughter, but couldn't manage to keep the huge grin from appearing across his lips.

"Maybe I should hang up and try again. We can test it out," she offered, voice vibrating with the unfinished laugh.

"Rory... don't." A simple plea. A connection made was too precious to relinquish, even temporarily. Their phone calls, due to distance and expense and a 5-hour time difference, were always too short. He could talk to her forever, and for the past few weeks, he suspected that, had the circumstances allowed it, she wouldn't find the idea too horrible, either.

The smile in her voice teased him mercilessly as she skipped over the duty of responding to his remark. "We have a special ring for you, too. My mom programmed the phone to say a bad word when you call." Her voice, lilting and playful, tugged at his heart from across an ocean.

Not for the first time, he desperately wished he could be back in Hartford, exchanging flirtatious teases with her in person. He wanted to be able to catch every blink, every blush, every frustrated flash of fire through her deliciously blue eyes. And he wished he could tell her that. Instead, Tristan grinned. "She's pretty resourceful."

"She might take that as a compliment, coming from you."

"Tell her I think she's beautiful, too," Tristan suggested, offering anything that could possibly help him with Lorelai.

"I think you've already said that once before," she reminded, flashing back to a conversation one Christmas party ago.

"You're beautiful, too," he added, grinning.

"Didn't you also say that before?" she prodded.

"I believe so," he agreed, wholeheartedly.

"Did I like it the first time?" she asked, pretending to be confused and ignorant of the past. As if her mind weren't already set.

He chuckled. "Yeah. I think you did."

"Oh, well, that's okay, then," she conceded, her effusive smile greeting him.

Even though he knew she couldn't see it, he raised a brow. "Just okay?"

Her answer was punctuated by the distinct pause for a roll of her eye, as she let out a long-suffering sigh. "More than okay."

****

And two weeks after he had arrived back at school and started the chain of events that lead to that moment, his most cherished possession was now safely tucked into the corner of his closet, cuddled into the warmth of a spare fleece Eton blanket he never used, and a pile of clean sweaters. Hidden away from prying eyes. But locked in his heart and mind. Ready to be put to use when the time was right.