Disclaimer: Nothing's mine. Yet. Ha.

A/N: Been in the mood for a Paris/Tristan chapter. So... here it is. Hope you like.

Next chapter is mostly Rory/Jess, so stay tuned :)

Your reviews keep me going, so please - if you feel like you've got something to say, you know just what to do :)

'Triple espresso for my dear friend,' Tristan put a takeaway cup before Paris, leaning next to her against the counter of the nurses stration.

Paris continued doing charts, ignoring him. She hadn't ordered any beverage. If she pretended not to notice him, he would hopefully disappear. Rright.

'Your brooding tendencies disgust me,' he smirked, turning so that he was facing the area around the nurses station, resting his elbows back over the counter.

'Is this about Jess?' he asked matter-of-factly, seemingly preoccupied with studying the bypassing staff and patients. 'He still not talking to you, is that why you're doing charts after your shift is over?'

Paris let out a breath forcefully, sounding a lot like she was suppressing a grunt. No, don't show you've noticed him. Don't let on and he'll eventually give up.

'So this is about Jess. He's still not talking to you,' Tristan nodded to himself. 'Why's that?'

The pencil almost screeched over the paper.

'Is he being a douche?' Tristan suggested. 'Should I thrash him around the gym floor to knock some sense back into him?'

Nothing. Don't say a thing.

'Or could he be too immersed into his own life right now... You know - with the whole gonna be the father to his love child and all the Rory drama going on lately,' Tristan shrugged throughtfully, as if weighing the options.

He could almost hear Paris roll her eyes at him, still keeping silent. However, being a smartass wasn't gonna do the trick. He needed something really impressive to get her to talk. Luckily, he got just the thing.

'You're ignoring me,' he noted observantly, not sounding the least offended. 'I believe the occasion calls for my special assets.'

He pulled his mobile out of his jeans pocket. Really, Dugray?

Oh, I'm a Gummy Bear,
Yeah, I'm a Gummy Bear
Oh, I'm a Yummy, tummy, Funny, Lucky Gummy Bear...

What. The.

I'm a Jelly bear, Cuz I'm a Gummy bear,
Oh I'm a movin', groovin', Jammin', Singin' Gummy Bear

'I swear to God, Dugray...' Paris tried to snatch the mobile out of his hand but he was quicker, rising it high above his head.

Beba bi Duba duba yum yum
Beba bi Duba duba yum yum...

'Aaaahhh, stop it right now or I'll...' she jumped trying to reach the phone but the height difference was ridiculously favoring him.

'Or you'll - what?' Tristan gave her a tight-lipped smile, blinking innocently, knowing all too well that the song was drilling a hole into Paris' brain.

Beba bi Duba duba yum yum
Beba bi Duba duba yum yum...

'Please stop it okay?' she sounded frustrated and desperate as she hunched over her knees, trying to catch her breath, looking like she was in actual physical pain.

Tristan stopped the music.

'Holy Mother of God.'

Tristan smirked and put the takeaway cup of espresso into her hands, throwing an arm around her shoulders, squeezing as if they were were some kind of reunited best buddies.

'Now be a good girl and tell me why you've been more quiet than Ariel who lost her voice to the sea witch,' he guided her towards the lockers room.

Paris paused to give him a look.

'Ariel. Really?'

'Come on, go change so we can get down to business.'

'Eh?'

'Go now, you.' he made her a gesture to get in. 'My cast is off, I'm gonna get you a slurpee and maybe even an ice cream if you're good.'

What were they, five?

'Dugray, are you high?'

'Only on the taste of your sweet company. Now chop chop, you little chatty minx.'

Paris narrowed her eyes and shook her head questioningly with a what-the-fuck expression. Tristan gave her a wink.

'Go change before I come and interfere or things are about to get messy. Plus, I'm always in the mood for some more Gummy Bear goodness.'

'Don't you dare.'

Tristan rose his brows in a 'try me' gesture.

'Lockers room. Now.'

She rolled her eyes and went into the lockers room.

...

'Are you trying to song-slay me?' Paris deadpanned once they got into the Audi and he started the engine, the sound of Megan Trainor's 'Me Too' filling the car.

Ow who's that sexy thang I see over there?
That's me, standin' in the mirror...

Tristan was practically sit-dancing, snapping his fingers in time with the rhythm.

'Will you hold the wheel with both hands? Jeez.'

If I was you, I'd wanna be me too
I'd wanna be me too

This was really happening. And he was lip-singing. Just kill me. Now.

Paris shook her head and closed her eyes leaning back against the passenger seat's headrest, praying that whatever this screwed-up dream was, she was gonna wake up soon.

'Better?' Tristan asked with a smirk, watching Paris devastate her ice-cream with what could be best described as grumpy impatience.

She had firmly rejected his slurpee offer, insisting that slurpees were designed to spread diabetes and kill brain-free hedonists like him. Tristan had laughed for at least five minutes at that. Not that it was even that funny. It was just for the kick of watching Paris boil up.

'I still think you must have gone with an ice-cream and a slurpee,' Tristan leaned forward over the table. They were sitting in a booth by the window, watching as cars pulled in and out of the ice cream parlor's parking lot.

'Your fascination with that thing is ridiculous.'

'You know there's even a vinyl record with slurpee-inspired songs?' he asked, taking a long slurp from his cup.

'Could you be any more obscene?'

Tristan rested back in the booth, folding his arms before his chest, watching her expectantly. His Batman tee was in full view now. The print read I'm not saying I'm Batman. I'm just saying nobody has ever seen me and Batman in a room together.

Tristan shrugged, the movement making his biceps bulge. It was a nice pair of biceps.

'Will you quit pretending you're not thrown off your game because of your fight with Jess?'

Paris blinked, snapping out of the distraction his upper torso offered.

'We're not talking, so we're not fighting anymore. See? All solved.'

'Paris,' he let out a breath.

She arched an eyebrow and tilted her head to the side, assuming the same position he was, sitting back in the boot with her arms folded before her chest.

'Tristan.'

'Are you feeling contrite? Do you need to apologize, is that why you're stuck so hard?'

'Are you feeling especially stupid today or what?' Paris pushed the bowl of ice-cream over the table and stood up abruptly, taking her purse in the process. 'I'm out of here.'

'Paris...' he caught up with her at the exit of the parlor. 'Wait... Come on,' he reached to touch her shoulder and she turned back, her eyes shooting daggers.

'Paris, Tristan!' a high-pitched female voice called behind them.

Both turned.

'Clarissa,' Tristan said with a tight-lipped smile. 'What a surprise to see you here!'

Clarissa approached them, with her son walking in toe.

'What a pleasant surprise indeed,' Clarissa beamed. Then frowned, taking a closer look at both of them. 'Sorry if I interrupted something.'

She smiled knowingly. Little trouble in paradise. All couples had these. But feisty fights ended in feisty makeup sessions, right?

Tristan sobered first, reaching to slip a hand around Paris' shoulders, trying to act like the loyal fake boyfriend he was.

'Oh please,' Paris pushed his arm. 'I'm sick of pretending. We're not a couple okay? He faked being my boyfriend so that you and the rest of the entitled Stepford Mom Society would stop questioning my femininity and shut it about me not being good enough to keep a man around.'

'W-what?' Clarissa gasped, trying but failing in her attempt to show polite surprise.

'He's not really my boyfriend, Clarissa,' Paris said articulately. 'Now, if you excuse me.'

Tristan looked between the obviously dumbfound Clarissa and Paris' leaving back, then shrugged apologetically and ran after Paris.

He caught up with her in the parking lot.

'What the hell was that?' he asked as he stood before her, blocking her way.

'It's that thing people use in desperate situations when they're sick of pretending. It's called telling the truth.'

She tried to sidestep him but he stepped to the side with her, taking her by the shoulders.

'Move or I'll smack you.'

'Okay.'

'I'm serious, Tristan,' Paris said menacingly. 'Step away or I'll hit you.'

'You'll get your chance. But we need a gym mat.'

She blinked, unable to figure out what he was saying.

'Come on,' he took her elbow, nudging her towards his car. 'We're going to your place to grab you something you can sweat in.'

'What are you talking about?' Paris asked, following him nevertheless.

'You need to vent,' Tristan said, taking the car key out of his pocket and unlocking the Audi. 'So that's what we're gonna do.'

...

'Hit the bag, don't push it,' Tristan warned holding the punchbag as Paris prepared to hit.

'You don't push it,' she said, narrowing her eyes.

'Not too forcefully, short snap punches,' he insisted. 'Gimme some footwork.'

'Are you kidding me?'

'Not the least. Come on, let your feet feel the ground, focus on your body. Good. Now prepare your hands. Keep it simple. Feet and fists. Show me an air punch. Okay, now hit. Short quick punches. No pushing. Good. Focus. Only feet and fists.'

'Is this some elaborate plan to feel me up?'

'Yes, Paris. I brought you all the way here so that I can feel you up while I'm holding a punchbag. Exhale with every punch.'

'Why are you putting up with me?' Paris asked while trying to follow his instructions and work her feet while delivering short punches at the punchbag he was holding before her.

'Because I like to be screamed at,' he shrugged. 'Don't lift your elbows so high, keep them close to your body.'

'I've been a cut-throat bitch,' Paris panted, delivering another couple of short punches. 'You hate it when people bitch around for no reason, yet you put up with me. Why?'

'What better way to get you worked up than put up with your shit when you least want me to?' he smirked.

Paris punched again, a little more forcefully than she needed to, and felt a sharp pain in her wrist. She held on to the punchbag.

Tristan held the punchbag, his look focused solely on her.

'You're so much better than you give yourself credit for,' he uttered.

Paris stepped back as if someone had just knocked the air out of her lungs.

'Why would you say that?' Paris breathed, her voice uncharacteristically jaded. What she wasn't proof against was his random kindness. His generous heart was such a nuisance.

Tristan shook his head and let go of the punchbag, placing both hands on his hips as he stood before her.

'Because you keep being cruel to yourself. And it's unnerving.'

She was looking at him, her jaw working, her eyes narrowed in an attempt to keep it together. Such a nuisance. Stupid, generous Tristan.

'I...' he hung his head and scratched his nape, looking awkward. 'I eh...' he jerked a thumb towards the gym bathrooms, 'I'm gonna go shower.'

Tristan took a deep breath, steadying himself, standing taller.

'Meet you in the car.'

She watched as he retreated, wondering what just happened.

She was towel-drying her hair when mobile pinged with a text.

Shania: Always be yourself. Unless you can be a pandicorn. Then always be a pandicorn.

Tristan. Stupid, generous boy.

Paris: What about Batman?

Shania: What about me? I mean him. What about the Batman?

Paris: Shouldn't one try to be the Batman?

Shania: The Pandicorn was Batman's favorite sidekick. They were basically legendary together.

Paris: Thank you.

Shania: Legends forever, my friend.

Paris: I meant about before... forget it.

Shania: I know. You're welcome. Already forgotten.

Paris stood with her mobile in her one hand and the wet towel in the other.

'That's the thing, Tristan. I don't wanna forget.'

TBC