Disclaimer: Still waiting for the day when I'll wake up and all will be mine. This day hasn't come yet.

A/N: To anyone who lets me know what they think - thank you!

He wore concentration well.

Concentration suited him.

If there was a Concentration Trends This Winter contest, he would be the effortless winner.

The frown that divided his face in two.

The set of his jaw.

The tip of his tongue between his lips.

'Anytime now would be great,' Paris' voice carried through to Rory's ears. 'Doctor Gilmore?.'

'Eh?' she snapped out of the daydream.

'Whenever you're ready to give lusting over Dr Mariano a break, we're ready to stitch up, so you may want to speed the saline infusion up,' Paris elaborated, winning a surprised gasp from Rory and a scowl from Jess.

'What?' she shrugged. Both of her arms were flexed in the elbows and she was holding blood-covered surgical instruments in both of them. Otherwise Rory would've probably kicked her in the shin. However, she settled for a death glare.

'Hey, it's not my fault you were trying to conceive his love child by the sheer force of your stare. He's my assisting surgeon at the moment so keep it in your pants if you may. Just a couple more minutes until we stitch the guy up.'

'Jeez,' Jess shook his head, his scowl deepening.

The scrub nurse and the nurse anesthetist exchanged amused glances, suppressing a chuckle.

There were many good reasons why patients went through surgeries deeply sedated. And not all of those reasons were relevant to not feeling pain. Nobody in their right mind really wanted to hear what his doctors were chatting about over his open abdomen.

'Come on now,' Paris waved her hand holding the cautery pencil impatiently, 'This gut isn't gonna stitch itself. Chop chop. In our case stitch stitch.'

'What got you so edgy?' Rory arched an eyebrow curiously, following Paris as they entered the break room after the surgery.

'What do you mean? I'm Paris - I'm razor sharp edgy. Edgy is my middle name.'

Paris took her surgical cap and stethoscope off and shimmied out of her white coat, plopping into the break room sofa.

'Let's say you look freshly sharpened,' Rory shrugged and poured herself a cup of coffee, sitting on the sofa next to Paris. She turned to her friend to give her a sizing glance.

'You okay?'

'I have to talk to Mr Tall Blond and Stupid,' Paris sighed.

'Bummer. What has he done?'

'Nothing.'

'You're so cryptic today. Come on, I need some clues. Spill.'

'Clarissa has gotten it into her head that we should be her very special guests,' Paris groaned, closing her eyes as she rested her head back. 'Can you believe the way it sounds? Like we're some dudes who are gonna creep out of an asylum. Very special guest is an euphemism for serial killer right? But we're surgeons, so I guess we fit at least half of the description of serial killers. Oh whatever, I'm tired and I'm rambling.'

Rory smiled over her cup of coffee, taking a sip.

'Who is Clarissa?'

'Veggie Mom. We saved her dad and now she's acting like we're family or something. Can you believe she wants us at her son's baptism?'

'You and Tristan?'

'No, me and Vladimir Putin. Of course me and Tristan - he's my boyfriend of more than a year, remember?'

Rory chuckled. Frustrated Paris was so much fun.

'So go, baptism party sounds like some epic fun.'

'Huh.'

'So don't go. You've got a kid and work as a surgeon, you've got the ultimate excuse to miss any unwelcome gig.'

'I can't believe I'm trying to prove myself to a bunch of snobby Stepford moms,' Paris shook her head.

'You have nothing to prove.'

'It feels like I do.'

'Why?'

'I don't know. Just does.'

'So go. Take your dazzling boyfriend, put on something flirty and go. How bad can it be?'

'Wanna bet?'

'Look at us,' Paris sighed with hardly suppressed frustration, waving at his outfit. 'I feel like the book nerd just met the captain of the football team.'

While she was looking like a little pixie with her Tinkerbell green dress, Tristan was looking like a casual urban heart-throb. He had put on dark wash jeans with ankle combat boots and a casual coat over a 'What's up, Doc' Bugs Bunny print tee.

'So eager to fit me into the cliche,' he arched an eyebrow, taking off his beanie to put into the pocket of his overcoat as they entered the restaurant. He was sporting a short boxed beard and his hair was trimmed short. What normal man looked good in blazer, vest and a T-shirt with a cartoon character? Tristan Dugray, that's who.

'I'm offended,' Tristan said, not sounding the slightest offended.

'I'm still searching to find someone who managed to offend you and shake their hand.'

'Jeez, can you believe this?' he asked, looking around.

They had just entered the venue. The place was so heavily decorated, looking as if a wedding reception was gonna start any moment now.

'Did you say Veggie Moms' son's wedding?' Tristan whispered.

'Baptism. But I'm starting to have doubts.'

'O-kay... Smile and wave.'

Clarissa had spotted them and was approaching in an overly excited trot.

Paris tried not to stiffen as Tristan slid his hand around her waist. Of course he would, they were a happy enamored couple after all. Okay, let him lead. He's a natural when it comes to that kind of stuff. He'll do the talking, let him work his charm thing and they won't even pay attention to you.

Clarissa was chatting excitedly. Hugs were due. Yuk. Her hug with Tristan lasting probably a tad longer. Duh. And yuk. He was supposed to be Paris' boyfriend, parsley-obsessed moms weren't supposed to grope on him... right? Oh fuck it, let them grope. Whatever.

His hand was back on her. He was warm. At least his palm at the small of her back felt warm. And tall. He was so tall. Paris wasn't used to walking next to someone with such a height difference since Doyle was just a bit taller than she was and when she put on heels she got him at an eye level. With Tristan, she could put on kangoo jumps and still have to tilt her head up in order to talk to him. It was unnerving. In a rather exciting way.

Okay, so this hadn't happened to her for a while. Sure, the guy had his own womanizer magnetism, but there was something else, something apart from his Dugray charm, something familiar. Friendly. They were friends. Kind of sort of good friends. Helped and annoyed the hell out of each other. And she felt safe with him. Which made her wonder what it would be to act on the attraction she felt towards him. There was a time when he felt that attraction too. True, it was at a time when she was unattainable and probably that single fact factored in majorly. Yet...

They were mingling on their way to their table. Or at least he was. She was absently nodding and fake smiling. But nobody really paid attention. People were busy laughing at his jokes and watching as the dimple made appearance at the corner of his smile.

They reached their seats and she felt the whiff of his cologne as he leaned to pull her chair.

Would he try any advances on her? He was such a touchy-feely guy, always so tactile. And being in a fake relationship with her granted him the perfect opportunity to take advantage and explore some skin. It was something that came to him naturally and she felt lonely. She caught herself wishing he'd try to make a move. He got moves. Some of them were hilarious but some of them were good ones. It had been such a long time since anyone had been interested in making a move on her. It felt like all she was doing lately was piss people off with her straightforward manner and offhand comments. She was such an outtake. She was chronically unable to fit in, because honestly? People weren't interested in making the effort to adjust and make room for her. She had this enormous personality that took too much space, it got overbearing too quickly.

She was people's favorite person when they got a crisis situation. When somebody had a problem or an emergency, she was exceptional at handling a bad situation in a good way. Taking lead in damage control was her thing. However, other than that, she was just Paris Geller, tired med-bot mom and your average cutthroat bitch.

She shook the thought off. It didn't matter. She was who she was. Whatever. Only it did matter. For some stupid reason it did.

When she looked up she met Tristan's look. He was studying her with a serious look in his narrowed blue eyes.

'Come on,' he stood up and held out his hand.

'Where?'

'Let me dance with you for a while,' he said and took her hand, pulling her up.

She followed him on the dance floor where a growing number of couples were dancing to some slow song.

He led her to the far end of the dance floor and put her hand on his shoulder, placing his arms around her in a rather comforting than romantic way. The fact that he had read her right somehow took away her snark. Paris let out a sigh and rested her head against Bugs Bunny's hip leaning against a streetlamp pole holding his carrot under the 'What's Up, Doc' print.

'I miss the way he made me feel,' she mumbled. 'Like I was worth the effort because he saw all the good reasons to not give up on me.'

She took a deep inhale, feeling a prick in her eyes.

She was wondering if he had heard her at all.

Then she felt him stroke her hair and relaxed into his hold, letting him comfort her.

'If I cry don't let them see me,' she whispered.

'On it.'

His arms wrapped around her neck and he kissed her forehead.

'I feel lonely,' she said against his chest.

She felt the lips against her forehead move into a smile.

'I know.'

She was feeling like a tired boxer, her own thoughts throwing empty punches in her mind.

She inched back enough to look up at Tristan and lifted on her toes, edging closer to his mouth. Tristan shifted, tipping his chin to the side so that her lips met the skin of his neck.

'You don't need this,' he said, inching back so that their eyes met.

'Can you shut up and objectify me?'

He pushed a strand of her hair back from her eyes, the gesture affectionate and hopefully promising some action.

'No.'

Paris blinked.

'What?'

'I'm not letting you use me as a temporary fix, Paris,' Tristan explained calmly, the smile ghosting over his lips as he kept their eyelock.

Really?. The guy was whoring himself out of proportion to random bimbos but suddenly he was offended by the prospect of noncommittal sex with her? Although he didn't sound offended. Just... not interested. Great. What did they say about high school? Duh. They're right. Never ends. Like, ever.

Tristan tipped her chin up with his thumb.

'You don't need validation. You don't need distraction. You're so much better than this.'

Paris was torn between the need to roll her eyes and slap him. She could, in fact, do both. Step one - roll her eyes. Step two - smack him with her clutch. Yep. She had an IQ much higher than the average so she could do a non-complex sequence of actions as roll her eyes and slap someone for pretending to be a gentleman when what she needed was just the opposite. She wanted to yell at him that guess what, she wasn't better than this. In fact, she was in for some hot, shameless rubbing of epidermis because it had been months since she'd last done that and it had been so long since anyone had put their arms around her.

'What are you doing?' she asked him as he started ushering her towards the exit.

'Being your friend.'

'We're just gonna leave like that?'

'Let them think we're sneaking out to have some urgent steamy sex.'

'Are we?' she asked hopefully.

She heard him chuckle.

'No.'

He put on his overcoat and helped her put on hers.

'Are we going to my place?' she asked as they walked outside and he dialed for a cab.

'Yes.'

'Are you coming up?'

'No.'

'Because I'm so much better than your one night stands,' she rolled her eyes. There - she did it. Rolled her eyes. She could smack him now, right?

Tristan exhaled with uncharacteristic frustration. Usually he was pretty laid-back, solid.

'Because I don't trust myself to not change my mind.'

They stood for a moment, silently staring at each other. She was first to shake her head and sit down on one of the street benches near the entrance of the restaurant. He sat down next to her, stretching his feet forward, throwing an arm around her shoulders. She didn't pull away. It was freezing outside anyway.

'I probably have daddy issues,' she mumbled.

'Who doesn't,' Tristan shrugged, his arm still wrapped around her shoulders, as if he knew she needed the physical comfort.

'I've checked it up. There are randomized trials that favor the fact that girls who didn't have a stable father figure in their life as kids feel unable to love themselves and develop low self-esteem as adults.'

She looked up at him and narrowed her eyes.

'Why aren't you saying anything?'

'Because I don't feel like I have anything to add to that.'

'Great.' Paris shook her head with a sigh. 'Forget it. Let's get this night over with,' she stood up.

'You're some hot piece of ass, Paris,' Tristan said from his place on the bench behind her.

'Excuse me?' she turned back.

'You are,' he shrugged, his stretched feet still crossed at the ankles and his hand still draped at the back of the bench, as if she hadn't just stood up.

'But you know you're so much more than a piece of ass. And any man in their right mind, even the stupid ones, can see it the moment they lay eyes on you. It's not that you're not noticed.'

'Gee thanks,' Paris rolled her eyes. Go pity pep talk.

He studied her for a moment. Then looked around to check if they were alone, stood up and walked up to her. As he reached where she was standing he took her hand and placed it directly over his crotch.

'What the...'

'You're much more complicated than this,' he tilted his head towards their hands under his belt. 'You're hot but more than that, you're fierce, loyal and full of sass. Own it.'

He then stepped back letting her hand go.

She realized he had headed for the cab that was now pulling in by the curb. She took a moment, shook her head and followed him, climbing in the cab through the door he held open for her. He climbed in at the front and she was left alone in the backseat, wondering when exactly through the span of their conversation he had managed to become fully turned on. And as they climbed out of the cab twenty minutes later, she didn't feel unnoticed. They stood by the waiting cab, the sound of the running engine filling the silence as they stared at each other.

'So.'

'So.'

'I'll see you at work.'

'Sadly. Your sickeningly friendly face keeps popping up everywhere I go.'

'Night, Paris.'

'Night, Tightpants.'

She heard him chuckle as he climbed into the cab. The car started and was soon out of sight, the night enveloping the surroundings with its chilly quiet. Paris turned towards her apartment building and inhaled, letting the silence sink in. Her eyes paused over a dimly lit window with Mutant Ninja Turtles drapes print. Paris imagined a small lanky figure sleeping in the bed. He had her blonde hair, her sass, her energy and impossible temper. And there was nothing wrong with him. And, for the first time in a long while, she felt there was nothing wrong with her either.

'It's just skin. Yet...' Rory watched her hand draw lazy eights across Jess' abdomen, making his muscles quiver every once in a while. 'It's what transpires beyond the physical touch that matters.'

When it was just desperate hands reaching for something, this something was so much more than simple sensory stimulation. That was the moment when you felt that the other person rubbed on your soul. Felt like soul exchange.

'What did you miss about me?' she asked, resting her chin over his chest bone.

He smiled, weighing a strand of her hair over his fingers and letting it slide.

'Stumbling over your heels in the corridor,' he answered.

'The way you rub your cheek in your pillow before you wake up.'

'Your first look when you open your eyes in the morning.'

'Your tea bags in the trash.'

'Really?'

'Really.'

'I thought you found them gross.'

'Me too.'

'Wow.'

'Yeah. My pillow smelling like your cologne.'

'The feel of your skin when I rub my nose in your neck.'

'And the graze of your stubble over my nape.'

'Stealing glances with you in the OR.'

'Discussing cases with you.'

'You naked.'

'Nakey nakey time. Oh boy, did I miss that.'

Both smiled. Then she shifted so she was leaning on her elbow.

'Would you undo any of this?'

Jess tucked her head back under his chin and let out a pensive sigh.

'I don't know. The aftermath is positive, I guess.'

She rested her cheek over his chest.

'We're here now.'

'We're here now.'

'And would you?'

'Eh?'

'Change the way we got here,' he elaborated.

Rory rested her chin on his chest bone, contemplating.

'There's that one thing.'

He waited for her to continue, his fingers absently threading through her hair, spilling it over his chest.

'I could watch you and you could never know... I should've taken more time admiring your butt.'

His chest rumbled with suppressed laughter and he gave her ribs a playful nudge. She tried to wiggle out of his hold but he only caught her tighter, using one hand around her waist to hold her draped over him and the other to tickle her mercilessly. In a while they paused, looking at each other in that cliche moment realizing they could use their naked time for far more enjoyable stuff than tickling the hell out of each other.

Jess lifted a hand to curl her hair behind her ear. She watched him with parted lips. She felt like she'd missed him for a whole epoch and now that he was reachable all she wanted to do was submerge into a Jess sea, letting the happiness sink in.

'Pillow talk,' she uttered.

He kept the eyelock.

'Naked truths.'

'God, I miss the naked truths,' she groaned, making him smile.

It was better than the feeling of the wind over your skin when you stood up arm-spread from a vehicle, better than the freedom of jumping off a cliff into serene water, better than the hum of your muscles when you walk into a hot bath. It was better than your first morning yawn and stretch, better than opening an envelope to find good news, better than digging a forgotten candy out of your coat pocket, better than the opening credits of a Tim Burton movie, better than a first sip of coffee, better than getting to scrub in last minute for an abdominal aneurysm graft surgery. The morning after waking next to the person who made your world this amazing magical place where making them smile brought on so much giddiness, you felt like you just climbed the fucking Olympus. That's when you let happiness sink in.

TBC