Disclaimer: Everything's mine. Ha. I wish.

A/N: This chapter approaches some sensitive topics like sexual orientation and homophobia. By no means does it aim to offend anyone in any way or imply anything else than exploring the circumstances of the characters and their stories.

'If you let people into your life a little bit, they can be pretty damn amazing.'

— Sherman Alexie, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian

'Honey, I'm home!' Tristan called from the doorway, walking into Paris' apartment. 'Thanks for picking Aiden from the Aquarium, I would've never made it. Peterson got caught up in some last temporary Chief meetings and I had to fill up for him for a femoropoliteal bypass,' Tristan continued, kicking his shoes in the hallway. 'Traffic was disastrous, a disabled mini-van got stuck between 7th and 24th and the tow truck took ages to come. If the new Chief isn't up until Friday, there's a pretty good chance I'm gonna be behind on the surgical schedule again and will have to grovel my way with extensive dried papaya supplies so that you take Aiden from the Natural History Mu... What were you doing?'

Tristan stopped midway in Paris' living room, giving her a suspicious look, his half-undressed jacket hanging off one shoulder.

Paris looked up from the bowl she had been hovering over.

'Nothing,' she said a little too fast.

Tristan tilted his head to the side.

'Doesn't look like nothing.'

'Well I am cooking,' Paris shrugged, getting back to her seemingly preoccupying task of cutting products and adding them into the bowl.

'Come on, tell me,' Tristan smirked conspiratorially. 'Is it something weird? Oh, I love weird,' he rubbed his hands in anticipation.

'You look creepily excited.'

'I know turned on when I see turned on,' he wiggled his eyebrows.

'I'm making tomato with mozzarella salad. Hardly PG 13 content.'

'Come on,' he stepped closer to her, putting both of his hands into the pockets of his chinos. With a sly smirk over his lips, he leaned forward to whisper into her ear. 'Hit me with it. How inappropriate can it be?'

Paris let out a frustrated groan. A pause. Then,

'I like the feeling of mozzarella okay?'

'Uh?'

'The feeling when I touch the texture. Or...' her ears were burning, a fierce red tinge coloring her cheeks too. 'Or when I squeeze it.'

'You...' Tristan narrowed his eyes, trying to process the new information. 'squeeze mozzarella?'

Paris shrugged, her jaw working, obviously embarrassed.

'Sometimes.'

Tristan blinked. She squeezed her eyes shut, expecting him to crack into laughter any second. He didn't, so she opened one eye.

'I wanna try it,' he said.

'Uh?'

'I wanna squeeze mozzarella,' Tristan repeated with surprising determination. He looked... excited.

Jeez.

No. Really.

Jeez.

'Come on, gimme,' he wiggled his fingers before her.

Once she stepped away, making room for him to approach the counter, he was all nervous excitement. He washed his hands in the sink and bit a lip, stepping before her.

'It's genius,' Tristan uttered with awe once his fingers closed around the cheese. 'It's...' he squeezed again, shaking his head in disbelief 'It's cathartic. I love it.'

Paris shook her head with a mixture of gratitude and disbelief.

Jeez indeed.

'You're such a dork, Dugray.'

'Is it Capricorn?'

Jess continued tending to the wound, cutting the surgical suture with a sterile blade.

'Scorpio?'

Jess paused for a second to give the patient a look, arching an eyebrow before he resumed cutting the suture off.

'You aren't big on communication, are you, guapo?' the woman asked with a heavy Spanish accent.

Jess let out a suppressed sigh and finished his work on the wound, disinfecting and dressing it with a sterile pad. The faster he finished with the Spanish gypsy woman, the sooner he would be out of here. Being hit on by elderly ladies was hardly his favorite pastime, and somehow he had a growing suspicion he acted like a magnet for those. Jess started filling in the patient's papers.

The curtain slid open.

'I have an emergency,' Tristan walked into the ER cubicle, his appearance uncharacteristically disheveled.

'Go have it somewhere else,' Jess answered without even looking up from the patient's papers.

'I need someone with a cruel heart and a lot of reading experience to tell me what they think.'

'About you? Has your Beautymeter finally gone overdrive?'

'About a book.'

Jess' brows flew up in surprise.

'You read a book?'

'No,' Tristan frowned. 'Aiden did.'

'Pfew. I thought the world as we know it has come to an end. Now, if you excuse me,' Jess made an emphatic wave with his hand.

'Cancer!' the woman exclaimed.

'Oh,' Tristan scrunched his nose. 'Sorry to hear that.'

'Not the disease, bello' the patient shook her head. 'This chico's zodiac sign,' she pointed towards Jess. Then she nodded at Tristan. 'And you must be Gemini.'

'How does she...' Tristan pointed between Jess and the patient.

'My name is Nina, dear. Professional fortune-teller. I know.'

Tristan blinked, unsure of what to say.

'Come visit me sometime, I'll do some free tarot card reading for you, bello,' she gave Tristan a wink.

Then she turned back to Jess.

'And you,' she pointed at him, 'you about to fall in love with another chica, amigo. Si,' she nodded her head, as if debating it with herself. 'Un amore grande,' she added dreamily.

'See?' Jess pointed towards the woman. 'That's exactly why I'm outta here.'

He left the ER cubicle, taking the patient's papers with him to finish outside. Tristan shrugged apologetically and left too.

'I got an emergency.'

'You out of words to praise your own body so you come looking for someone with a vocabulary ten-fold the span of yours?' Paris rested back in the break room sofa, giving him a questioning look.

Tristan's lips didn't even twitch with a smile. He was pure concern. That was new.

'It's about Aiden,' he said.

Paris' expression momentarily turned serious. She sat up unfolding her arms and gave him a nod.

'Spill.'

'I found him reading a book.'

Paris' brows arched into thin bows over her eyes.

'O-kay?'

Tristan took his backpack off his shoulder and took a book out, placing it on the table.

She took the book into her hands to look over.

'Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe,' she read the title.

'It's... it's about two boys.'

He looked incredibly awkward. Fidgety. Agitated. Awkward Tristan looked so out of place.

'O-kay?' she said.

Tristan ran a hand through his hair.

'I never thought my lifestyle affected him like this. I mean, I've never flaunted it.'

He put both hands on his hips and puffed his cheeks.

'Who am I kidding,' he shook his head with a bitter smile, 'he's a smart boy and I've never particularly hidden the fact that I get some meaningless sex to scratch an itch and that's as far as it gets. No strings attached, no hard feelings. No feelings at all, if possible. Who knows, maybe I've shaken his interest in the depths of a man-woman relationship. I've never talked to him about sexual stuff, but I never thought it was the time. I mean, he's ten. I just never thought the time had come to-'

'Dugray,' Paris interrupted his ramble raising a hand, palm up. 'What are you talking about?'

'I think those boys kiss in the book.'

'Each other?'

'Of course they kiss each other, why do you think I'd mention it?'

'So, let's get this clear,' Paris rose a finger, narrowing her eyes in thought, 'You found your son with a book with supposedly homosexual content and you're freaking out because... you're opposed to him potentially being gay?'

'No!... Yes. I don't know! Do you think he's gay? Or is it too early to say?'

Paris blinked, watching Tristan pace around the room. He was a mess. A fussy, scrambling mess. She hadn't seen him like this. He was usually pretty cool about... well, about everything. About parenting he usually stayed put, decisions seemingly coming so easy to him.

'Do you consider yourself a homophobe?' she asked, her question void of judgement.

'I... don't think so.'

'Then why are you so alarmed that your son reads a book with boys who may or may not be kissing in it?'

'Are you serious?' Tristan looked up.

'Why wouldn't I be serious?'

Paris let out a sigh at Tristan's perplexed look.

'If you had found him watching heterosexual porn, or caught him with a nudie magazine, would it be any different?'

Tristan blinked, obviously at a loss. He hadn't really asked himself.

'I... I don't know.'

'Let me summarize,' Paris folded her arms before her chest. 'You're terrified to discuss anything of the sexual nature with your son, especially if it includes sexual orientation issues.'

Tristan let out a deep sigh and plopped down into an armchair, running both hands through his hair.

'What am I gonna do?'

'You can start by giving me an afternoon to go through that book,' she tilted her head to the book he'd left on the table before her. 'I'll read it as a non-biased third party and recap it for you afterwards. You can use the time to indulge into some birds and bees literature because you obviously suck at it.'

Tristan looked up at her hopefully, the thought of objecting to sucking at anything sex-related obviously never crossing his mind.

'You're gonna help me?'

Paris sighed, trying to muster up all her patience,

'Now leave,' she waved her hand, dismissing him 'so I can read.'

As he made no move to exit the room, she looked up questioningly.

'Why are you still here?'

'Sorry,' Tristan sobered up, standing up from the armchair with new-found energy. 'Thank you. Thank you so much, Paris.'

'Worst ER shift ever,' Jess sat down next to Rory with a plop. 'I had Esmeralda fortune tell me about my impending falling in love with another woman. Then Duncan MacLeod had to tell me all about his prosthatic hyperplasia.'

He rested his head back on the break room sofa and groaned.

'Why can't we sedate patients when they're boring?'

Rory didn't reply and he turned to look at her.

'Everything all right?' he asked, taking in her distant expression.

She turned to look at him too, her eyes sparkling with a glint of apprehensive excitement.

'I had some cramps today,' she uttered.

Jess sat up immediately, his whole body straining in alarm. Why didn't she call him? Was she okay? He couldn't get out a single sound, his eyes searching her desperately, trying to register if anything looked different. Under the loose scrubs her otherwise slightly rounded belly couldn't be seen anyway. No blood stains marred the blue material. He reminded himself to breathe.

'Breathe,' he heard Rory's voice through a fog of apprehension and rushing thoughts. 'Jess, breathe, everything's okay.'

Her hand found his shoulder and squeezed, making him focus back on her face.

'It turned out sometimes cramps were to be expected as the uterus grows larger so fast. However, I had a sonography just in case.'

She took a sonographic picture out of her pocket and gave it to him.

'Dr Rosenberg wasn't a hundred percent sure, but we're probably gonna have a girl.'

Jess' eyes were probably wide because Rory let out a smile.

'Esmeralda told you right,' she said. 'Be ready to fall in love with a much younger woman.'

Un amore grande.

No shit.

'Hey.'

'Hey,' Tristan walked in and looked around, running a hand through his hair. He looked... awkward. Awkward Tristan continued to look incredibly unnatural and out of place.

Paris noticed his wandering look.

'Come in,' she waved with a nod of her head. 'He's with Josh, reading him a bedtime story,' she added as she studied the way Tristan's look blanked.

'Oh,' he mumbled, sobering up and stepping into the hallway. 'Okay.'

Awkwardness, meet Tristan. Tristan, this is what awkward feels like. Big time.

Tristan chewed on his lower lip and pried his shoes off his feet.

'Did you run here?' Paris tilted her head to the side, narrowing her eyes.

He gave her a surprised look, like he hadn't realized he had jogged on the way to her apartment.

'You're wearing your running gear,' Paris nodded towards his clothing. He was clad in a winter hoodie, flash vest and trackpants.

Tristan let out a breath as he stepped into the living room.

'It's a book about coming of age,' Paris folded her arms before her chest, leaning against the doorframe. 'A pretty good one, I have to say.'

Tristan turned back, his eyes flashing with hope.

'So... no boy kissing?'

'Oh, they do kiss. But I don't think that's the highlight of the book. At all.'

Paris studied Tristan's expression carefully.

'Your sour expression has nothing to do with the lack of spoiler alert, does it?' she asked wisely. He didn't answer. She wasn't sure he even registered her smartass comment.

'Have you thought about the fact that you might be a homophobe?' she asked then.

Tristan looked up, stunned.

'So,' she asked thoughtfully, 'would you be opposed if I kissed some chick full mouth? Because I have. I kissed Rory once.'

Tristan blinked, clearly flustered, then sobered up, gaining some of his attitude back.

'Are you offering a repeat?' he gave her a doubtful look.

'Okay then,' Paris waved her hand, as if dismissing her previous question, 'Have you thought about the fact that you're uncomfortable with boys kissing boys?'

Tristan cringed before he could stop himself.

'Because you are', Paris said soberly. 'A lot.'

Tristan opened his mouth to object and then closed it, shaking his head as if in disbelief. He ran both of his hands through his hair and locked his fingers at his nape.

'Do you wanna talk about it?' Paris asked, standing in her place by the doorframe, watching as he paced around her living room.

He gave her an incredulous look.

'About not wanting to have anything to do with two men exchanging body fluids? Hell, no.'

'Okay.'

He hung his head back, stopping in his track.

'Do you think Aiden...?'

'No, I don't think so.'

Tristan seemed to be breathing more easily.

'I don't think he's even considering his sexual orientation yet. I think the question is, if he was, would that be a problem?'

Tristan turned to give her a pointed look. The blue of his eyes looked troubled.

'Aren't we supposed to love our kids, no matter what?' he asked.

He looked a little angry. Paris knew him enough to know that he was angry with himself. Confused with his own feelings about the possibility of his son turning out to be different from what he'd ever imagined he expected. Weren't parents supposed to embrace their kids in all their complexity, without trying to fit them into a stereotype?

'Theoretically, yeah,' Paris shrugged. 'But in reality...' she shrugged, walking over to the fridge and taking out a bottle of water. 'Here,' she tossed it over to Tristan who caught it in the air, if even with a slight delay. 'Actually, you look like you need a scotch. I have some in the cabinet. No? Okay,' she shrugged.

Tristan sat down on the sofa, his movements numb, mechanical. He opened the water bottle and drank, finishing it in a couple of big gulps.

When he was finished, he screwed the cap back on and started tossing the bottle between his hands nervously, leaning forward over his knees.

'I love Aiden,' he admitted somberly. 'I love him so much, I can't imagine anything changing my love for him.'

Paris listened, resting her elbows over the kitchen counter.

'I know most of the time, I'm a good dad. I'm trying to be this cool dad who is his son's superhero but also his friend.'

He hung his head between his shoulders.

'However, sometimes I feel like I'm not giving him the best example a man can get.'

'Because you're a man slut?' Paris asked helpfully.

Tristan gave her a look, but then his mouth cracked with the start of a smirk.

'If you're diligent on putting it that way.'

He scratched the back of his head.

'I don't know how to talk about the birds and bees, Paris,' he sighed. 'I...' he licked a lip and looked at the empty water bottle in his hands, 'I don't come from a stable family model and have no clue as to what one is supposed to comprise.'

'Well,' Paris let out a small knowing smile, 'neither do I.'

Tristan shook his head with a huff.

'Are you kidding me? You're the epitome of stable. You're a rock, Paris. You know right from wrong and have the inner moral compass thing, you're giving Josh a role model.'

'And you're not?' Paris asked.

Tristan chuckled, shaking his head.

'I'm skimming through life, gliding over the surface. I'm fucking different women like it means nothing because it doesn't. It doesn't have to mean anything so I keep it that way. This...' he ran a hand through his hair, pulling on the ends, 'This is not what I want for Aiden.'

Paris studied him for a while, keeping silent. Then asked,

'Do you think that if Aiden wants to know what kissing a boy feels like, he'll come clean and say it, be honest about it?'

Tristan's breath caught for a moment before he nodded, letting it out slowly.

'Yeah,' he said quietly. 'I think he would.'

Paris nodded too.

'Yeah. So do I.'

She watched Tristan as he stared at the bottle in his hands.

'Do you think he would do this, be honest about something like this, if he'd stayed with his birth parents?'

Tristan looked up.

'What?'

Paris shrugged.

'Do you think he would be okay with himself, whatever that comprises, if he didn't have your influence into his life?' she elaborated.

Tristan blinked.

'I... I don't know.'

'I think you do,' Paris smiled and rounded the kitchen counter, heading for Josh's room up the stairs. Tristan followed her, frowning a little at the abrupt change in the conversation.

As they reached Josh's door, Paris stopped, making him a sign to keep silent.

Aiden's voice, calm and eloquent, came from the inside of the room.

'Illustrations by Mathias Presby. This guy, Mathias, he was the best. His father was a painter. During the war their family was so poor Mathias had to go with his father painting people's houses. Once he painted a wall with the faces of all his favorite book characters. As the owner of the house saw the wall, Mathias' father swore they were gonna repaint the wall immediately, but the other man refused to have it touched. He said Mathias was a uniquely talented boy and had to be granted the freedom to paint. The man whose house they were painting was the head of the town press these days and promised to help Mathias get into an art school. So that's how Mathias left his home town in order to go to Paris and study to be an artist. Once he arrived in Paris, he met...'

Tristan breathed out a low chuckle, recognizing his own habit to tell imaginary stories about the staff that made a book rather than reading the original book itself. It had started in Turkey, when he had only two books of children's stories he had found that were in English. He was still fighting with Turkish grammar at the time, and Aiden was a six years old boy who was scared out of his mind, so Tristan needed to find ways to take the kid's mind off reality. Once they had gone through the two books for like the umpteenth time, Tristan started to invent stories about random people, like the guy who worked at the bookshop, or that lady who edited the final print of the book. It was a cop out to keep Aiden interested, but it rubbed on him and once they were granted with access to more books, Aiden kept asking Tristan to tell him 'those other stories'. It had obviously left a lasting imprint, because now Aiden was doing the same thing for Josh.

'You did good,' Paris whispered, turning to look at Tristan.

He had created a boy who was as good and generous as he was.

She patted his shouder and stepped away, leaving him alone in the corridor, Aiden's melodic voice carrying through the wooden door.

TBC