Thanks for the feedback. I really appreciate it.This is my first GG fic,I usually stick tofiction based on shannis and post it on invisionboards, so this is a change..Hope this part isn't too much of a let-down, sorry again, if it doesn't make sense.. Anyway on with the fic...

Dedicated to dream-believer, I never thought I was 'favourites' worthy Thanks.

If it can be broke than it can be fixed

If it can be fused than it can be split

It's all under control

Tristan walked through the dark secluded halls of Chilton, it had just gone past midnight and the school was dead, lifeless. It looked different without flocks of students hustling and bustling, trying to get where they're going. He had never walked down the corridors without having to hear the meaningless chatter and shrilly laughs of others filling the air. The obscurity, the emptiness; it was almost too fucking surreal. The whole scenario was surreal. He sauntered slowly, still trying to penetrate the information he received. His head and heart were pounding in unison, as he fought to control his frustration and fury.

He needed to find something, anything to let him know she had been here. It wasn't just about her anymore, it wasn't just about Rory. It was about him too and his sanity. Or lack of it. He suddenly stopped reaching her locker. Images flooded into his head. He could picture her standing there with a cup of coffee in one hand, while trying to open the locker with the other, mumbling incoherently to it, or to herself. He ran his hand along the locker while taking in a deep breath hoping to god that he would be able to smell the faint fragrance of her perfume. No such fucking luck. It was hopeless. Moving onto the job at hand he took a hard jab at the locker, momentarily ignoring the shooting pain that had spread from his fist to the rest of his arm.

The small metal door swung open revealing… nothing, it was empty. Something inside him snapped, growling in frustration he kicked the lockers hard. This was getting ridiculous.

If it can be lost than in can be won

If it can be touched than in can be turned

All you need is time

He suddenly froze hearing footsteps behind him, turning around he saw a figure approaching him. Fast. He couldn't make out who it was from the lack of lighting. As the figure approached he realised it was none other than Paris Gellar.

'What the hell are you doing here? I've been looking everywhere for you. Are you insane, Tristan? Wait, no don't answer that. It's past midnight for god sakes…' She ranted on stopping a few feet away from him.

Tristan watched her, finding solace in the fact that she was here, and she was Paris. Just Paris. Her eyes were wide, brimming with concern. Her hair had been tied messily, and strands of hair were framing her face. He wondered why she was here; maybe his so-called father had sent her. She stood there, her words trailing off, and her eyes searching his for answers.

Running a hand through his tousled hair he looked at her intently.

'What's going on Paris?' he asked his voice slightly betraying him. The blond girl continued to stare at him.

'You tell me.' She said softly.

'Did he do this? Did my father do this?' he asked desperation tainting his voice. Paris' eyes began to fill with tears, making him even more frustrated.

'Just fucking tell me what's going on here, Paris.' He shouted openly unable to control his temper any longer.

'Nothing is going on, you'll be okay, you just need to keep going to the sessions with Doctor Grant, he'll help you, Tristan, you need help' she said her voice strained.

'Help me? Help me with what? There's nothing wrong with me' he shrieked.

Paris backed away a step, frightened by his outburst, and his blatant confusion.

Tristan sighed, knowing he wasn't getting anywhere. It seemed as though chunks of his memory had been extracted from him, something was missing.

'Just tell me one thing Paris, tell me she's real, Rory Gilmore, tell me she isn't a figment of my imagination…' he looked at her, his usually hard exterior cracking. 'I need this; I just need this so fucking much' Paris had tears falling freely down her cheeks now.

'You knew her, you know her Paris, and you don't like her' he said laughing sardonically. 'You never said so but you were jealous of her, she had as much determination as you, maybe even more, and you resented her for that…'

'She's not real' she screamed. Tristan continued talking.

'Is that why you're doing this, because I swear to god if….' He continued.

'I am not doing anything, you are, you're hurting yourself' she said 'Why are you hurting yourself?' she said her voice breaking.

Losing it, Tristan placed both hands on her shoulders slowly backing her against the cold lockers, almost menacingly. Paris' eyes were wide with fear.

'Please, tell me she exists. I need one freaking shred of hope, just, just give me that' he said his grip around her shoulders tightening.

'I can't do that' she said trying to push him away. 'Let go of me' she said fiercely now also close to breaking.

Tristan gave up on getting answers from her; everything she had said seemed true, her eyes said it all. Maybe Lorelai Leigh Gilmore isn't real. Maybe there isn't anyone out there so pure, innocent, and so ironically real. Turning away from Paris he felt as though he were suffocating. 'I need to get out of here' he mumbled. Stumbling slightly he headed towards the exit.

'Where are you going?' Paris asked cautiously behind him. Ignoring her he violently pushed the doors open. 'Tristan' she called out. He stepped outside into the cool air and breathed in heavily. He felt lost. So fucking lost. Looking around the cold car park covered by the night sky, he spotted a single beat-up car, outside a single slightly slouched figure was stood there, cigarette between two fingers. The figure had dark hair, and was wearing baggy unkempt clothes. Intrigued and desperate for a drag, he approached him.

'Hey man, you got another one of those?' he asked his voice still not fully recovered from his previous incident. The dark haired guy looked up from where he was stood, slightly alarmed.

'Sure, but it's gonna cost you' he said chucking him a packet and a chipped lighter. Tristan caught it swiftly and then looked over at the boy.

'Just name your price' he said slightly uninterested.

The dark haired figure studied him suspiciously. He could tell a lot from the way he stood there a scowl plastered on his face. He probably didn't even notice he was frowning. There was something about his detachment and carelessness that engrossed him. It reminded him of himself in a way.

'My associate bailed on me, I need to run some 'errands' he said studying the blond. 'You in?'

Tristan shrugged, anything to get away from this fucking hell hole, taking a drag he spoke. 'I'm in'

Tossing his cigarette on the floor, the dark haired man approached the car, opened the door and stepped in. 'Good' he said slamming the door shut. Tristan followed his lead and sat on the other seat, he knew he was bordering on delirious but for that moment he didn't

'Tristan DuGrey' Tristan said attempting to introduce himself to the stranger who was now starting his car.

'Mariano' The man said glancing at him 'Jess Mariano'

We will not be the last

(Lyrics extracted from Bloc Party- Like Eating Glass)