❝SHANGHAI PART TWO❞
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⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ chapter thirty-eight,
Gilmore Girls — Season Two

December 20th, 2001

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[ LUKE'S POV ]

     WHILE DINNER WAS A DISASTER, I still decide to stick around and help in the only way I know how to. I decide to help Mary Dugray — Tristan's mother — wash the freaking dishes. While she doesn't look like she does this often, I still appreciate her wanting to try. After the disaster that was dinner, I'd do just about anything to escape, and if cleaning the dishes is my escape, I should've run away hours ago.

     Lucy is upstairs with Tristan much to my disapproval, but we're leaving in an hour whether she likes it or not.

Thankfully, Geoffrey is nowhere to be seen. I think he's in his study, but I couldn't care less about where he is. I mean, the way he spoke about my kid in front of everyone like she wasn't sitting right there was disgusting. I knew the second I shook his hand that Geoffrey Dugray would be a nightmare, and I was right. A handshake can tell a lot about a person, as I've told Lucy before.

Geoffrey is cold, heartless and cruel. He's ruthless and brutal, especially to his son, but I see something in Tristan that Geoffrey obviously doesn't see. I truly believe that Tristan will be different, and I hope he is because he's dating the most important person in my life, and I'll bury him in the ground alive if he hurts her. I hope, for his sake, that he doesn't turn out like his father.

Mary, on the other hand, seems kind. She seems genuinely interested in knowing us, and while she's sometimes quiet and reserved, she's also not afraid to speak. Earlier, she defended herself and her son like a parent should do, and I admire that. She didn't cower away from her husband despite how careless he is, and I respect her massively.

That's probably why I'm helping her clean.

She dismissed the maid, and I now stand with my sleeves rolled up as I attempt to wash the dishes in the sink. Mary is aimlessly cleaning the counters with a dishcloth, and I look over at her every now and then to see she's still wiping the same spot.

I clear my throat. "You okay?" I ask — I don't know why, but I feel I should be kind to my daughter's boyfriend's mother.

"Your daughter is wonderful," is all she says, and I look away to stare at the soapy water in the sink. "I mean, my kids are incredible — I don't know how because they were raised by us. We hardly pay them attention, which sounds horrible, I know, but it's true. Yet, they're still happy and safe and incredible. How does that even happen?"

This woman is ranting at me — the man who isn't really good at the whole "comforting" thing, but I wipe down my hands and lean back against the counter with my arms crossed over my chest so I can respond properly.

"Your kids are great," I reply, supporting her claim as I really don't know what to say. "And I barely had to do anything with Lucy. I mean, she was just born brilliant."

Mary smiles sadly, finally letting go of the cloth she's not even using, and she turns around to face me. "Tristan never shuts up about Lucy. Seriously, he's in love, and I want that for him, you know? Look at me and Geoffrey, we loathe each other, but my son can still love, isn't that what every mother wants?"

"That's all I want for Lucy." I want my daughter to be happy, and if somebody like Tristan makes her happy, that's all I want. "Every parent just wants their kid to be happy."

"She's truly wonderful," Mary chuckles. "I wasn't the most sociable, I know, but she seems great, really."

"I'm pretty fond of her," I admit, smiling because there's nobody I love talking more about than my own kid. "She means the world to me. She's a really smart kid, and kind and just... She's just made my life better since entering it."

Mary sighs, her lips turning upwards into something of a smile. "The way you talk about her..." She chortles, shaking her head. "I've never heard anyone talk so passionately about their kid. It's nice."

"I used to worry that..." I pause, shrugging my shoulders. "Because Lucy doesn't have a mother, she'd struggle to find herself. Hell, when she was born, I asked so many doctors if she'd ever suffer the repercussions of her mother abandoning her. Apparently, I freaked for no reason."

Mary chuckles softly, leaning back against the counter. "You're a good father," she offers, and I thank her. "Do you know where her mother is, if you don't mind me asking?"

I've been asked that question several times over the past few years, and I always have the same answer. "Haven't spoken to her in eighteen years," I reply bluntly. "She doesn't even know my daughter's name. She never will."

"I think she does perfectly fine with just you anyway." I agree with her, because I do believe Lucy will be fine with just one parent for the rest of her life. Besides, she has so many people in her life that love her. She doesn't need a mother, and her mother definitely doesn't deserve her.

I look over at Mary, and I ask a question that's been on my mind all night, "No offence, but how are you married to Geoffrey? If my partner spoke about my kid the way he does, I'd be..."

"Pissed?" she interrupts, and I nod. "And no offence taken, trust me. You're not the first person to ask that question. Actually, my son was the first person to ask that question." She laughs sadly, her head falling into her hands in frustration, and I fear I've overstepped but I don't say anything.

She sighs, lifting her head back up. "Geoffrey and I have been married for nearly thirty years." Long freaking time. "I was twenty-three, freshly out of college and prepared to help my brother with one of the many companies he owns when I met Geoffrey. He was older — six years older, to be exact — and he showed me an ounce of attention, but that was enough for me to marry him. I introduced him to my family, and he met my father's business partners, and he was able to create the Dugray Company pretty easily with my help. I bought this house, I bought the furniture, and I work as an assistant at my own husband's company that I basically started."

She swallows, her eyes staring down at the ground, and I feel a ridiculous amount of sympathy for this woman in front of me. "I was thirty-four when Tristan was born, and Geoffrey was so happy to have a boy because he had somebody to take over the company. When Tristan was younger, Geoffrey acted like he did when we first met until..." She lets out a shudder, her body shaking at the remembrance of something. "Then I had Lisa when I was forty-one, and it was horrible. I nearly lost her, and Geoffrey wasn't even there, and since then, he's never been there. He's just a different man to what I remember, I guess."

"I'm sorry," I whisper, shocked that she shared that much with me — a complete stranger, but also grateful that I get to understand this woman just a little bit more. "Truly, I'm sorry."

She shrugs, half-smiling. "Thank you, but it's okay because my kids turned out fine, and I've learned to handle everything alone. I'm okay."

"I know it might not mean anything to you but..." I pause, looking over at her but she keeps her eyes on the floor. "For as long as Tristan is in my daughter's life, you'll be apart of our lives, so if you need anything, I'm happy to help."

She looks up at me and smiles a real smile, similar to the smile she showed earlier this evening when she met us. "Thank you, that's very nice. You and Lucy, you're lovely people, really."

"Never heard that one before," I chuckle.

"I think Lucy is good for Tristan, and I hope she doesn't plan on going anywhere."

"I don't think you have to worry."

Something tells me that Lucy and Tristan will last longer than I ever imagined for my teenage daughter.

And I'm surprisingly fine with the fact.

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[ LUCY'S POV ]

     I MOVE AROUND TRISTAN'S ROOM, my eyes scanning the gigantic space that he calls his bedroom. I've been here once but I didn't really get to explore the space. We were... well, a little preoccupied, but now I get to view the simple yet elegant space.

     His room suits him if that's the correct way to phrase it.

     What I mean is that every piece of furniture in here says something about Tristan, I can't really explain it. For example, the shelves that line his walls are covered in books, highlighting the classics such as Fitzgerald, Dickens, Hemingway, and he even has several Jane Austen novels. I know he's a wannabe writer, but I had no idea he read this much. He has more books than me.

     I move my finger over the books, noticing the creases which signify that he reads — and I mean, he really reads. Wow.

     I step towards his desk which is littered in textbooks, papers and notes. My eyes hone in on a familiar notepad — the one I bought him for our one-year-anniversary, and I see that he's wrote a few things down.

     He's writing down ideas. Ideas.

     I smile warmly, tracing my finger over his handwriting. He's got unusual handwriting, and while it's odd and squiggly, it's curved and bold, and very easy to read.

     "Whatcha doing?" Tristan sneaks up behind me, his arms engulfing my middle to pull me flush and back against him.

     Tristan moves my hair to one side, and he pushes a delicate kiss against my neck, his hand pressed against my stomach. I place a hand over his, leaning back into him and sighing softly at the newfound feeling. "You're writing," I say softly, grazing my fingers over his knuckles.

     He hums in response. "Just wrote a few things — ideas if you will," he chuckles, pushing another kiss to my neck.

     I stare forward, catching his eyes in the mirror that hangs above his desk and I stare at the pictures he has stuck to the glass. There's one of him as a boy, and I assume the baby in his arms is his little sister. I move my eyes towards a photo of him — aged eleven — standing next to another blonde boy who I think is Logan.

     "My God, you and Logan looked like twins," I remark, staring intensely at the photo. They look freaking identical. "You could totally be each other for a day, and nobody would realise."

     "But then he'd get to kiss you, and I don't share." Tristan's lips reattach to the side of my neck, and my eyes flutter shut at the sensation of delicate lips against such a sensitive spot on my neck. "I'm so glad you're here, Blue."

     "Thank you for inviting me," I say, my body slumping into his. "Your family..."

     "Should be admitted," he interrupts, and I roll my eyes at him in the mirror.

     "They're nice. Your mom is lovely, and your cousins are great and..." I pause, my eyes staring straight ahead at the photo of me and him from the night of our one year anniversary when I used the camera he bought me to take a sweet photo of us. "My dad's right, you know? You won't be like him — you won't be like your dad."

     Tristan drops his chin to rest on my shoulder, and I feel him tighten his hold on my waist. "I'm so sorry my dad acted like that," he apologises again, but it's unnecessary. "I told them to not say anything about you or college or..." He sighs in frustration. "I'm just sorry."

     I shrug. "It's okay," I assure him. "I expected it, I guess. But don't worry, it's completely fine."

     "You met my family though," he chuckles lamely, and I frown. "I'm just sorry. I'm afraid that's what they're like."

     I then wiggle free, turning my body so I can face him. I lean back against the desk, and my hands touch his face softly, lifting his face so he can look at me properly. "I love you," I tell him, moving my thumb across his cheekbone. "And I don't care about your family, okay? I want to be with you. Your family doesn't define you, Tristan. You're your own person, and a pretty damn good one at that."

     Tristan reaches out, his palm engulfing my cheek so he can hold my face. His thumb brushes against my lower lip, and his attention is trained to my mouth. "You always know what to say," he says, his voice entirely breathless. "And I love you so, so much. Thank you for still loving me."

     He tilts my chin with his knuckle and thumb, and he lifts my face up and presses his mouth to mine. It's soft and intimate, timid yet eager. He steps a little closer, his hand sliding around the back of my skull to thread into the hair I spent hours perfecting. Bastard.

     He pulls back, his forehead pressed to mine. "You look unreal tonight." A lonely kiss is pushed to my lips quickly. "That dress is..." He blows out a ragged breath. "You look edible."

     I snort out a very unattractive laugh, and Tristan grins widely, his forehead still pressed into mine. "Edible?"

     "I'm not taking back what I said," he whispers, one of his hands touching my waist softly. "You look heavenly, Blue."

     "Well..." I look him up and down, admiring him just like I had done earlier. Since the start of the night, he's unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, and he's rolled the sleeves up to reveal his freaking arms, and wow. "You look edible yourself, Tristan Dugray."

     With a laugh, Tristan leans forward and he kisses me with unrelenting urgency. He grips my hip, pressing himself forward and into me. I push back, my hands sliding up his arms and holding onto his shoulders as he continues to push me into the desk.

     One minute, I was standing and holding onto him, and the next minute, I was on his desk with my legs around his middle.

     Should've worn a freaking shorter dress.

     Tristan kisses me hard, his mouth endlessly exploring mine. I struggle to match his pace, but I'm equally as eager for him as he is for me. I grip his shoulders tighter, trying to pull him even closer — as if he isn't already close enough.

     Tristan then moves his lips from my mouth, and they skim across my jaw and down my neck. Thankfully, I wore a dress with an open neckline, not that I specifically wore it for this, but I'm definitely not complaining. I moan softly, wrapping my arms around his shoulders to pull him into me.

     Tristan continues to assault my neck with his mouth, his hand holding the back of my neck to hold me still. I clutch onto him, my mouth agape as I whine and groan in response to his actions. "Freaking edible, Luciana," he murmurs into my skin, his voice gruff. My God.

     Frustrated, I lift his face and bring his mouth back to mine. I reach down rather daringly, my fingers hooking into the belt loops of his pants, and I yank him forward. He groans, his teeth catching onto my bottom lip as I attempt to kiss him back as passionately as he's been kissing me.

     I yank back, completely breathless, and I stare straight ahead at him, his chest heaving. He stares back, and I slide my hand under the collar of his shirt, my skin touching his. He sighs, his body shivering as I gentle slide my hand up and over his bare shoulder under his crisp shirt.

     His hand rests on my waist, clinging onto me as I reach both hands forward to unbutton a third button. He looks from me to my dainty fingers, and I offer him a smile. "Luce, what are you doing?" he breathes out, reaching his hand up to rest upon mine.

     "Just..." The button unpins, and I continue to glide my hand against the skin, feeling just how warm he is against my hand. "Wow."

     He laughs. "You're really boosting my ego, sweetheart." He stares down at my hand that traces delicate, intricate circles against his skin. I don't know what I'm doing, but I can't seem to stop for a second. I'm mesmerised, extremely fascinated with him.

     I then peer back up at him, and I slide off the desk. Tristan takes my hands, pulling me into him, and when I stumble into him, he wraps his arms securely around my waist. We turn, and his mouth covers mine again, and as he kisses me fiercely, we begin to step backwards.

     When he urges me back against the bed, I don't tense up or worry. I just yank him down with me, allowing him to climb right on top of me as I rest my head against the pillows. When he rests himself in between my legs, my dress rides up my legs, exposing the skin above my knees. I feel exposed, but I'm not afraid — not like I was the night of our anniversary. I'm ready.

     I fist his shirt, kissing him passionately. His tongue traces the seam of my lips before plunging in, and I moan in surprise but excitement. Our kiss turns hot and frenzied, and I clutch harder onto his shirt again because I want him closer. I feel his hand slide up my leg, circling my knee before resting against my thigh.

     When I pull away from the kiss, Tristan catches my eye, and I stare at his mouth and then his beautiful brown eyes. "Tristan," I breathe out, ready to confess my desire.

     "Yeah?" His other arm slips under my hips, lifting me ever so slightly. "You okay?"

     "I'm ready," I admit, and my voice doesn't even sound like my own. He stares at me, his expression confused so I quickly add on, "I'm ready for... it to happen."

     The second he realises what I mean, his eyes widen for a quick second. "Oh," he mouths. "Ready. Wow. You're ready for..." His forehead drops to mine. "You're ready."

     "I mean, if you're not ready then—"

     "No, no, I'm ready," he insists, still breathing very heavily. "Believe me, I'm ready. It's just we're at my house where my parents are downstairs, and your dad is..." He stares at me, wide eyes and face red. "We can't do this right now, no matter how badly I want to."

     I touch his cheek, and my eyes close for a quick second. "God, how could I forget?"

     "We can definitely talk about this after Christmas, okay?" I nod in response, my words suddenly lost somewhere deep in my throat. "If I had any power in the world, I'd throw everybody out of this house."

     I laugh loudly, my hands toying with his hair. "I really want you," I voice, my arms circling his neck. "I know I was afraid last time, but I feel ready now."

     "If you have any doubts, you let me know, okay?" His mouth seals mine, and I kiss him back eagerly. Our lips move at a steady, desperate rhythm, and I feel us start to slip back into our own little world.

     But then somebody knocks on the freaking door, intercepting our moment. "Hey, T!" Logan. "Is Lucy in there with you? What am I saying? Of course she is. Anyway, her dad is asking for her. Figured it's better I come up here rather than him, but if she doesn't leave right now, he's definitely going to drag your sorry ass out of there with a—"

     Tristan is already off me. He buttons his shirt, and he yanks open the door to find his cousin standing there with a wicked smile — a knowing smile. "Lucy will be right down," Tristan replies.

     "Oh, right." He chuckles, peering around Tristan's body to look at me. I'm sitting on his bed, smiling awkwardly. "Hey, Luce. How you doing?"

     I wave pathetically. "Hey, Logan."

     You gotta love family, right?

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authors note:

AH tristan and lucy :')

also mary & luke bonding over sad, sad things but nice, right?

i rlly enjoyed basically inventing tristan's family, and including logan into the story. he won't be in it much until lucy goes off to college, but he will feature in the story a lot in the future.

right now, jess is a big character so i'll just be focusing on him, and tristan and lucy obviously.

also this story won't contain mature content. instead, you'll read scenes that are intimate like this one, but there won't be any smut. it just doesn't feel right to write it into this story.

anyway, hope you enjoyed these two parts!