How to Save a Life

Standard Disclaimers Apply.

Note: For the purposes of this story, everyone is in their sophomore year. I don't know if that's in according with the show, and I don't care. They're all sophomores.

------- … scene change/break or indicated flashback

Italics … thoughts

Bold … emphasis

Teaser

"Master DuGrey?" There was no reply from within the room and the maid wasn't surprised. There was often no reply, especially not when this time of year rolled around.

She was getting a little concerned though. Sure, privacy and solitude were often what the teen behind this door claimed to desire most this time of year. However, she had been hoping for some sound or sign of being awake from the boy after her third round of knocking and calling his name.

So what did the maid do? She opened the door.

Now, had she been any other person, any other maid, she would have gotten an earful. The boy was not a morning person, but he could stay up all hours of the night. She poked her head into the room, calling to the boy again. Nothing.

She opened the door just enough to get her slim frame through. She didn't want anyone to see this. Only two other people, not counting the young master there, knew about their relationship. All parties aware of the relationship wanted to keep it under wraps for various reasons.

She quietly walked over to his bedside, getting on her knees. She studied him for a moment, taking in what she could. It was dark in the room; the sun's light trying to break in through his semi-closed blinds and thick curtains. The rays entered the room in streams, leaving patches of light in a few places.

She placed a hand on his exposed arm, which was clutching a pillow to him. "Tristan?" Here, she need not call him by his proper title. It was just them.

"Tristan, please wake up." There was a note of panic in her voice. Maybe she was overreacting, but when it came to the slumbering boy before her, she just couldn't help it.

"Tristan??"

A line of blue was revealed as Tristan cracked an eye open. A second later, both eyes were sporting equally narrow slits of blue. It wasn't a narrowing that indicated him being upset; he was just too sleepy to open his eyes fully. Blond locks were sticking up in every direction, a complete mess. He blinked twice, staring with a tired, half-lidded expression.

His eyes were questioning for a moment before his brain started to function. The maid scooted back as Tristan abruptly sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was hunched over, not having to look up to know that the woman in his room was staring at him with a sad expression. She sat beside him and gave him a hug.

The blond-haired teen reveled in the embrace before forcing himself out of it. He wouldn't allow long hugs, not if he wanted to keep it together. And he had to keep it together. There was no option there.

But still, he didn't want to fully push away one of the three people that actually cared about him and his pathetic excuse for an existence. That prompted him utter a soft "Thank you Mira."

"No thanks are necessary; you know that," was the equally quiet reply. Typical. She always said that.

An hour later, Tristan was showered and dressed for the most part. It wouldn't have taken him so long if he hadn't indulged in staring out of the window – curtains now drawn back.

That moment of miserable reflection took thirty minutes, a whole half an hour, out of his day. He had no time for reflections. It would only bring him trouble. Enough of that would be coming his way without him adding more to it.

He stared at his reflection, sighing at how good he had become at wearing his mask. There were no signs of the pale, weary, miserable boy that had been lying in bed just one hour ago.

Tristan was gone and the King of Chilton was ready to go. His hair was a mess, but some ruffling and finger-combing turned it into the supposedly sexy, windblown/bed-mussed spiked look that the girls seemed to love so much. Whatever.

His laidback take on the school uniform did not originate from him trying to be cool or look good. Wearing it properly took too much effort; effort he could not afford to spare on anything more than making it through the day without shooting anyone, or himself for that matter.

A black Porsche pulled into a parking space that was silently 'reserved' for a certain blond 'playboy'. Said playboy opened the door and stepped out; bracing himself for the flood of girls he knew would be waiting on him. It was a wearisome task, fending them off long enough to actually make it into the school.

He tossed out his usual greetings to the guys that were supposed to be his 'buddies' and gave his customary smirk to the ladies. A certain lucky, and busty, blonde got a wink. She squealed and scrambled down the hall.

Probably off to tell her friends. A slap on his back while opening his locker told him that his move had not gone unseen. He didn't know why. Nothing would come of it, not this week. Tristan grabbed his History book and notebook and went to class, but not before stopping by the bathroom.

He splashed his face with hot water, instead of cold, hoping it would somehow affect the cold that seemed to have taken residence in his lungs. It wasn't surprising; he should have been expecting it. But why so early? The suffocation of being in school shouldn't have touched him for at least another two days. Think of something else! he mentally scolded.

His icy blue eyes fell on his books after he dried his face off. His books.. School...

Of course!

Chilton expected a great deal from their students. He wasn't here solely due to his last name. He was one of the top-ranking students in their grade. It wasn't as completely effortless as he made it look though.

Sure a photographic memory helped, but he did study. Not that it mattered. His intelligence was not what made him popular in this place. Ugh. Just thinking about it made him sick at times.

But now, right now, he couldn't do it. It would be too hard to play the games he played, to put on the act. No, he'd bury himself in his books and make up some excuse for his 'out of character' behavior. Out of character, he mentally repeated sarcastically. He snorted as he made his way to class.

The bell rung seconds after he walked through the door. His blue eyes somehow ended up falling on another set of familiar, disdainful blue eyes. He mentally sighed. She wasn't happy to see him. Figures. He was supposed to go to military school. Everyone, except for like two people, had been more than pleased to find otherwise. No one knew why, as he refused to talk about it.

Of course they dropped it, he thought to himself as he sat down. No one would dare ask me to talk about something as horrifying as being shipped away from my only 'home' to the tortures of an all-boy military academy in North Carolina. The only horrifying aspect of this whole thing was him having to come back here.

The teacher began to drone out today's lecture. Tristan threw himself into a task he usually didn't bother with – taking notes.

Something isn't right, Paris Gellar concluded at the end of her History class. Despite the horrific date set-up by a certain clueless someone, she did still feel something for Tristan. She doubted it would ever go away. Even if she couldn't have his heart right now, she did miss their friendship quite a bit.

She didn't fully understand why he had broken their friendship off. They had just grown apart so quickly, and in a way that baffled her even now. But anyway, Tristan had come in, nonchalant as ever and seconds from being late – just like he always did.

Gilmore looked horrified. Yes, Rory Gilmore had seemed more than relieved with Tristan's imminent departure. Her face when he had walked in this morning was priceless.

But something about his return bothered Paris as well. Her eyes narrowed as she spotted him at his locker. He had been late. Paris knew, from her mother's incessant gossiping, that Tristan had never left.

The story was, as she understood it, that he had made it to the airport and then his father had Tristan brought home again. He should have been back months ago, but the boy didn't show his face until today – right after Winter Break. Why had he not returned at the beginning of the year?

She frowned as the answer did not immediately present itself. Aside from that though, everything seemed to be back to normal. Paris knew better. She may not have been able to honestly call herself his friend and confidant for a few years, but Paris had not forgotten a single thing about him. Something was off with Tristan. Being...well, herself, Paris took it upon herself to confront him.

She marched towards him, speeding up to catch him before he could dart off to his next class. Paris made it to him just as he closed his locker. The girl opened her mouth, and was shocked when nothing came out. She closed her mouth again, knowing he'd just chalk it up to shock or something. What was this speechlessness that struck her whenever he came around?

People had been staring at him all day, more so than usual, like they wanted to come to him and start an interrogation or something. Of course, it would be Paris Gellar that finally decided to approach him now. Her inability to come up with a greeting amused him.

If it weren't for his current mood, the blond boy would have called her on it with some completely inappropriate remark. But for now, all he could give her was a tired half-smirk. "Why hello Gellar, how are you this fine day?"

She seemed to compose herself at his semi-sarcastic greeting. "Fine DuGrey. Tortured any brunettes today?"

Mentally, he flinched. On the outside, Paris was gifted with a full-blown smirk. "I have no idea as to what you're talking about."

Her eyes narrowed and he remembered just how much he loved getting her to do that. If only he could appreciate it fully…but not today.

"Whatever DuGrey," was all she could come up with. Paris's mind was still a complete blank. That smirk, those eyes, that casual leaning…thing he did. He always made it look like he was propositioning any girl he talked to, no matter how innocent or normal the conversation. God how she loved that. But yeah, speechlessness was not her thing. It wasn't…like her. So she spun on her heel in a huff and stalked away. That was like her.

Tristan watched her go, shaking his head as he headed off to class again. I wonder what she really wanted…

Rory Gilmore was feeling a myriad of emotions as she sat in her English class – early as usual. She was frustrated, annoyed, unhappy, and something else.

She was frustrated with his ability to just show up and unhinge her world without trying. She was annoyed at how he could just appear and act like he had never left. It also annoyed her how everyone could just re-adjust their lives to him without question. It was like he had never left. She was just…unhappy with the situation in general.

Who was 'he', you ask? As if you didn't know. 'He' was the resident fantasy of just about every female in this school – teachers included it seemed. He was the school's most notorious charmer and flirter. He was the one every guy wanted to be the best of buddies with. He was the school's king. He was Mr. Chilton himself.

Tristan DuGrey.

Tristan was back for spring semester and she didn't understand it. He hadn't been around when school had started. She remembered going through her first Tristan-free day. She had felt relief, right? Right. He had been gone all fall semester and she had become accustomed to life without him. And now, poof, here he was.

More students had filed in as she mentally complained about Tristan's return. He was going to ruin everything. Again.

Or she had thought. Rory had been more than shocked when he waltzed into her first period History class, mere seconds before the bell, as if it was the very first day of school or something. They had locked gazes when he came in, but nothing came of it.

He said nothing as he passed her. He was not at her locker after that. In fact, she had seen him talking, or arguing, – you could never tell when Paris was involved – with Paris at his own locker. There had been no sightings of girls being shoved against lockers nor had there been any talk of it.

He said nothing to her at any point during the day. There had been no disruptions at lunch; she had been able to read on a bench outside in peace. This was her second to last class of the day and the third one she had with him out of the six periods they had.

So here he was, in yet another class of hers. The bell rang a few seconds after his entrance. Whispers erupted, as if this was his first appearance of the day. And though he had yet to bother her, Rory dared not hope she would go the entire day without him agitating her. She mentally braced herself as he took the only seat left in the classroom; the one directly behind her.

Nothing.

Nothing happened. No 'Mary'-laced greeting. No lewd comments. Nothing. He barely spared her a second glance. In fact, for the rest of the period, they switched roles. It was Tristan that studiously wrote down extensive notes, while she sat and…didn't take notes.

The bell was what startled her out of the confusing thoughts racing through her mind. She watched as everyone, including Tristan, shuffled out of the room and to their next class. Then, ignoring the concerned/confused look from her English teacher, she left as well.

Tristan sighed as he sat down in the library. He was seated in a secluded corner that he remembered finding a long time ago. There was only one large desk over here.

Few students came this way. This was his study period, but contrary to his 'lose myself in school work' plan, Tristan only wanted to sleep now.

Running a hand through his already-messy blond locks, Tristan laid his head on the table, willing his headache to go away. He needed to re-group. He needed to get it together before he had to return to the ice palace that was supposed to be his home.

Minutes later, Tristan fell into a doze and slept the rest of the period away.

When the bell rang, he made it out of the school in record time. He practically ran to his locker, gathered his books, and bolted to the parking lot. He was thankful for his absent-minded move of leaving the top down, as it allowed him to jump right in and drive away.

As he drove along, Tristan belatedly realized that this rushing would bring him closer to home. His father was off this week. He'd be there…waiting.

Stopping for a red light, Tristan hit his head against the steering wheel. Lifting it for a moment, Tristan looked down the road that would take him home. Turning the wheel, Tristan took a left.

He'd be taking the scenic route today.

To Be Continued...?

Or not.