Disclaimer: Nothing's mine.

A/N: A very colorful and interesting chapter to write. I'm very curious to know your thoughts.

'Will you limp over here and bring me the gravy?' Paris turned towards Tristan who was stirring a pan with chicken broth at the stove. She bent to check the oven, poking the turkey with a fork.

'I need another minute here,' he said, bringing a wooden spoon to his mouth to taste the broth.

'Don't you dare or you'll have to disinfect it,' Paris said with her back to him.

Tristan smirked and tasted the spoon's content with the tip of his tongue.

'I saw that.'

'So Josh is right about the eyes on your back thing,' Tristan grinned.

'I tell him bedtime stories about my eyes on back transplant,' Paris didn't miss a beat. 'Mothers can smell intention.'

Her phone chimed. Then chimed again.

Paris cast a look towards the screen and let out a huff.

'Matt insists we meet this week. I'm not even sure I wanna go out with him.'

She threw Tristan a sideways glance. He seemed preoccupied with stirring the broth.

'Are we gonna follow the rom com scenario?' She narrowed her eyes. 'Is it gonna take pushing me into another man's hands for you to realize that you're jealous out of your mind and go all possessive caveman on me?'

Tristan stopped stirring, his brows arched in what looked like surprised amusement. Paris Geller surely was sporting some interesting fantasies about being manhandled. Maybe it went with strong self-made women - a need to let control go every now and then. Mind - meet gutter. Gutter, Tristan Dugray's mind. Anyway, Tristan shook his head in order to get his mind back on track.

She was right, he thought, feeling a smile creep up his own lips. They had fallen into the cliche. But she was wrong about something. He did want her. Once he found himself hung up on her, he didn't know how to not be. He wasn't sure if he wanted her in his life in general or in his bed in particular. And how much the fact that the love of her life still always lingered at the back of her thoughts bugged him. Maybe he loved her like a friend. Or a family member. Maybe. But he didn't have any other female friends. And he didn't keep tight with his family. He might be falling for Paris Geller. Or maybe he wasn't. He was determined to find out.

He wanted to find out what she felt like when she wasn't shoved to the side and bypassed. He wanted to have her when she felt beautiful and at the peak of her glory. He had watched her pick up the pieces if her life and stitch them back together, and like anything else she did, it was turning into a masterpiece. He didn't need her to feel scared and lonely in order to be able to save her. She was loud and astounding. She was harsh and honest and unapologetically thorough in her love. She was a revelation that left a mark. And he wanted to witness all of her rise. But in doing so he hoped he wasn't gonna cause her to fall, either. She was looking for someone to fill a void, and he wasn't gonna pretend to be that man unless he fit the place.

Paris studied Tristan's expression.

His look had turned thoughtful. And maybe a little sad. She couldn't miss it. The bittersweet smile. The downcast eyes.

'I don't do caveman, Paris,' he sighed and wetted a lip.

Well, she didn't do Barbie either, but who knew. Lately, it seemed like 'stupid yet charming' had become her type so, yeah. Anything was possible.

'Do you think you're lazy?' she asked briskly, trying to hide her apprehension. 'Because I'm too much to handle. You know, the she's interesting but too overbearing for me to keep up with so bam! - I'm no longer intrested thing. Is it that?.' She opened her hand and wiggled her fingers in a vague fist bump explosion recreation.

'Or am I too good for you?' she asked almost instantly, with what looked like scientific enthusiasm. 'It's a pretty valid option.'

A smirk twitched at the corner of Tristan's mouth.

'I just don't wanna walk into something I'm not sure about, Paris.' he said honestly. 'I decided I'd wait till I figure it out.'

'Lazy it is then,' Paris muttered to herself, pain evident behind her irritation. She turned to leave the kitchen, needing some space to vent. It was narrow enough in here even without Dugray's six feet frame and his crutches propped against the refrigerator.

Tristan caught her arm. When she turned back, he ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

'Look,' he sighed, 'we have become the epitome of complicated.'

It's complicated. It was the phrase someone used when they didn't want to be in a relationship with someone but enjoyed keeping them around. It was the phrase about someone not being enough.

Paris huffed.

'Then simplify it. Either you want to be with me or you don't.'

'I want to be with you, Paris,' he said, his voice ridged. 'I just don't know which way.'

'Yeah,' he licked a lip, trying to swallow the disappointment in stride. She looked to the side, hating the honest confusion on Tristan's face. 'So, yeah - lazy.'

'Just... try and listen to me okay?' he said, exasperation imminent in his voice. 'As cliche as it is, you're my best friend. Thing is, I also wanna get naked with you.'

'You... do?' she asked with hopeful disbelief.

'Of course I do,' he looked up at the ceiling, seeming a lot like he was gonna start pulling out his hair any second now. It was strange. And kind of funny. He was normally such a laid-back guy. But arguing semantics with Paris Geller did that to a person. They became a writhing mess.

'I'd very much like to get naked and find myself in various stages of orgasmic bliss with you, Paris Geller, in all horizontal and vertical positions known to man. Damn, the possibilities are so many my mind might implode. Yet...' he took a steadying breath and rose a forefinger, as if to keep himself from getting carried away. 'What do we do after we explore the attraction? Do we get back to being best friends, or do we become best friends with benefits? And is it gonna be benefits on a regular basis or... accidental non-exclusive benefits? The thing is, after I picture the fun part - and believe me, I am picturing it, a lot - everything that follows after that is... blank. Nil. Nada. Tutto finito. Like the end of a holiday. Or a friendship. Please tell me you get what I'm talking about.'

'I get it,' Paris shrugged with a newfound nonchalance. 'You just told me, in a humongous number of words, that you're lazy. And I understand - I do - it's crazy, right? Because we're so different - if we were parts of a dog I'd be the fangs and you'd be the saliva, but think about it this way - in the end of the day you need both for proper digestion, so maybe they found a way to work together.'

'Jesus Christ,' Tristan groaned. 'I want you in my life, Paris. Like, I want you in my life, period. Indefinitely. I wanna be able to bicker with you when we're eighty and my magnificent smile is graced by dental prosthesis. I'm aware how rare it is to find someone like you and that's the exact reason why I don't wanna blow this thing between us... are you listening to me?' he asked disbelievingly as he tilted his head so that he met her eyes. She had started to apply fresh lipstick on her lips, using the reflective surface of her mobile as a makeshift mirror.

'And in case you're wondering if I realize you're too good for me, because even though you're some hard work you're worth every minute of it, I do. I realize. And just for the record, if I had to be part of a muzzle, I'd be the tongue. Because, you know.'

'Okay,' she stood up from her slightly bent position over the phone, closing the cap of her lipstick and making a popping sound with her lips.

'O...kay?' he asked in disbelief.

'Yeah. You obviously put some extra thought about this, muzzle-wise and all, dare I say even more hard thought than a dumb kid trying to solve a Sudoku. So I accept your decision.'

'You... do?' he asked, unconsciously repeating her question from earlier.

'What did you think, that I would beg you to do me right now against that kitchen counter, minutes before the guests have arrived, only to prove you wrong?' she asked, effectively making him choke on a breath. Great. Blue balls would always make themselves welcome when Paris Geller was concerned, so he must've gotten used to that. Yeah, why still pay attention?

His eyes caught sight of the kitchen counter.

Blue balls it was.

'Let's finish this turkey, Dugray,' she gave him a sly wink and bent to probe the oven's contents with a fork, images of kitchen counter explorations revving his mind.

'Just one more,' Jess leaned an arm above Rory's head, effectively blocking her exit from the elevator.

'Jess, we're already late as it is,' Rory whispered with half-hearted reprimand as he leaned into her.

'I don't really care,' Jess mumbled against her mouth, engaging her in another kiss.

He could be very convincing when he wanted to.

'Paris... Mmm, do this again,' Rory mumbled, tugging on the lapels of his coat with one hand while putting the other against his chest. 'Paris needs us,' she sighed absently, turning her head to the side to grant him access to her throat.

'I need you,' he said against her clavicle, emphasizing the 'I'.

'Doyle's gonna be there... God, Jess... Paris is waiting.'

'She's got Dugray, they're gonna manage,' Jess answered, using his left hand to slide down Rory's side and take hold of her thigh, lifting it to hook around his waist.

At that moment the doors of the elevator slid open and a loud gasp made Rory freeze while Jess dropped his forehead against her shoulder, both holding their breath. She could feel him shake with a suppressed laugh.

An elderly couple was standing before the open elevator doors, the woman moving her head from side to side with indignation.

'Come on, Jackson,' she told her husband, 'We'll use the stairs. Today's young are so...' she cast a disdainful look towards the elevator, '... inappropriate.'

Both Jess and Rory waited for a couple of seconds until the sliding doors closed again, before bursting into unbridled laughter. Rory swatted Jess' shoulder.

He looked up, his face split by a huge grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

'You...' Rory narrowed her eyes with the conscious intention to reprimand him, but ended up open mouthed. She then smiled tenderly, lifting a hand to stroke his cheek. 'I love you.'

As they entered Paris' apartment a couple of minutes later, Sam Cooke's CD was playing from Paris' stereo, the tunes carrying from the living room. It was easy to imagine the music choice was a product of a heated discussion where Tristan was trying to convince Paris that a song was meant to have lyrics and Paris replied that his constant need for fluff was obnoxious and he had to look up the definition of the word music because he was surely the victim of some serious misconception.

At least they weren't the only ones who were late. There was no sign of Doyle yet, so it was them, Paris and Tristan, as well as Josh and Aiden who were playing some Fast and Furious recreation in the Josh's room.

The doorbell rang. There was a short moment where Rory met Paris' look and they exchanged small nods, as if to say, we've got this, and Paris went to open the door. A minute later, she returned, followed by her ex-husband and a young woman.

'Everyone,' Paris said, 'meet Doyle and his...' she paused briefly, as if the word girlfriend got stuck in her throat, 'Carry.'

The woman sent a flashy smile, waving a hand in that overly girly, cutsy easy-going way popular pretty girls did.

As they would soon learn about her, Doyle's girlfriend was an aspiring actress and had kind of a Marilyn Monroe crush. She was twenty-three, had just got her Acting Degree and had some big dreams about making a career onstage.

'Hey everyone,' Carry said.

Everyone replied with a variation of 'hi', internally debating the obvious. Doyle had found someone who seemed to be the opposite of Paris.

Josh was ecstatic, wanting to show his father every single toy he got, babbling on and on about all ventures he had been engaged in lately, about learning to play ball at kindergarten and constructing a spaceship with Aiden. A couple of times Rory caught Paris' strained expression as she watched the interaction between father and son.

'You're doing well,' Rory told Paris as she went to help her bring some extra plates from the kitchen. 'You let them keep this,' Rory nodded towards Doyle and Josh who were in the middle of playing tank bombs on the carpet of the living room. 'Josh has a family who loves him. You gave him that.'

'You know how Josh calls me? A fascist. He heard it in a movie and felt it was the right word that summarizes what I am to him.'

'You are his mom, Paris, he's always gonna test you.'

'How come Doyle gets the love and I get the hate?'

'He's gonna pretend he hates you when he can't stand a single day without you. Josh loves you both because that's what happy kids do, they love both their parents and they mouth off to the stricter one, it's like a favorite game he plays, and it goes like this, Get Mom to Lose Her Wit, but that's just how growing up does for him. Every important thing he learns - about life, about who he is, he's learnt from you, Paris.'

Paris was shaking her head with pursed lips.

'We've got this,' Rory gave her a nod.

'Cut the weepy stuff,' Paris huffed, 'give me something badass or I'm gonna lose it right in front of Marilyn there.'

To Paris' dismay, Carry wasn't impossibly easy to hate. She was all rainbows and butterflies and her brain was as deep as cotton candy went, but she was good with children. She easily fit into the 'one of the girls' pattern while talking to Josh and Aiden and both she and Doyle behaved like careless children playing with their teammates while the adults were discussing boring matters over dinner.

'Okay, okay,' Rory started rummaging through her brain for something, 'Oh, I got it. Take this - repeat after me, 'I'm here to chew bubblegum and kick ass. And I'm all out of bubblegum.'

'Okay, I'm good to go now,' Paris let out a slow breath and they went back into the living room.

Sam Cooke's Dreamlovers was cheerfully playing on the background while Paris and Doyle's voices rose above the music.

'How come you get to decide whether he can have extra chocolate?'

'It's rich with antioxidants and magnesium.'

He saw her roll her eyes.

'It's just chocolate, Paris.'

'Right. Because afterward, it's just diabetes. But who cares, because it's treated with just insulin.'

'Because being over the top bossy helps.'

'It just might. I have to establish strict rules if I want him to learn the difference between right and wrong.'

'By this point I think he can set his own insulin regimen.'

'Great of you to speak, because spending a couple of weeks with him makes you an expert on children nutrition.'

'I have a certificate for completing a nutritionist's course!'

'And when exactly did that happen?'

'While you were taking another course on endoscopic surgery. The hall next to the Endoscopic Congress was holding a nutritionist's venue. They thought I was a doctor. I didn't object.'

'Well, I completed that course last year, so I have the certificate too.'

'And a birth certificate for being right,' Doyle muttered.

Both of them glared at each other, leaning against opposite ends of the table. They continued the stare-off for a while and then sat back down at the table. Josh was chanting 'fascist' at Paris' side.

A couple of pagers went off. Jess, Rory and Paris pushed their chairs back, exchanging looks.

'And here I am missing the party,' Tristan let out a sigh, looking at his own pager. 'Just a couple of days more until the cast goes off,' he said towards his hands apologetically. He hadn't held a scalpel for weeks. It was unnerving. Once he was in a walking cast, he was getting back into the OR. He couldn't wait to get his hands full.

'What is it, why is everybody leaving?' Carry asked, looking as Jess, Rory and Paris stood up.

'There's been a bus crash,' Tristan explained, 'they're going to the hospital.'

'Oh, just like in Grey's Anatomy!' Carry exclaimed.

Tristan smirked at the naivety if the presumption.

'Yeah. Just like that.'

'He means it's exactly the same, only real people come with their very real arms missing and bleeding to death, and I mean real blood and real death,' Paris said with what was her supposedly creepy voice. 'Unless we save them.' she clipped and started to leave the room. She turned back at the door.

'You've got the boys, right?' she turned towards Tristan.

He nodded. He got the boys.

'Okay. Let the fun begin,' she turned towards Rory and Jess who already had their shoes on and were waiting for her at the front door. 'I got Dugray's keys, we're driving in the Audi.'

As they left, the room went suddenly more quiet.

'Can I have more chocolate now?' Josh asked, turning his hopeful eyes towards his father.

Doyle blinked absently, his look still on Tristan.

'I don't understand,' Carry turned towards Doyle. 'They seemed almost... excited there was a bus crash.'

'Who wants more wine?' Tristan smirked.

About an hour later Carry was putting Josh and Aiden to sleep while Doyle brought the empty dishes into the kitchen where Tristan was washing them in the sink.

'I should've called to say I wasn't coming alone, I know that surprises get her on her bad side,' Doyle said as he left another empty plateau over the pile on the counter. 'It's just... I don't know how to talk to her without getting her to scream like a banshee.'

Tristan let out a low chuckle.

'There's no way, you just let her scream it off and then have some semblance of normal conversation with her.'

'Yeah, normal conversation meaning accepting that she's always right.'

'Well, she is, in most cases.'

'It was so frustrating,' Doyle shook his head in bittersweet remembrance, referring to the years spent with someone who was almost always right. Almost always was an oxymoron. But so was Paris Geller. 'Don't look at me like that. She's high maintenance.'

Doyle paused and licked a lip, catching a defensive glint in Tristan's eyes.

'I'm not saying this as good or bad, I'm just stating a fact. She's high emotional maintenance and at some point I guess... I guess we didn't withstand. You must get it if you know her as well as I think you do.'

If you care about her as much as I think you do.

Doyle had seen one exchange between his ex-wife and that man and it was enough to let him know that Paris had complete trust in Tristan. It had to mean something. Of course it did.

'I get it.'

'I thought so,' Doyle gave a slow nod, and it felt almost as a peace offering.

'She's worth it, though.' Tristan said almost to himself.

'She's worth it,' Doyle repeated, and an invisible pact was sealed.

Doyle didn't leave for California because he no longer loved his wife. He left because he was overwhelmed by all the effort it cost to stay together. And he found someone who didn't push him to try so hard. It wasn't particularly admirable, but it was understandable.

'She still thinks about you a lot,' Tristan said. It was a simple constatation, void of judgement.

'I still think about her too. But I don't think I have the energy to go back there again. It's all or nothing with her. And the all cost me too much of my own self to be able to maintain. Sometimes it's best to admire her from afar.'

Coming from one who got burnt.

TBC