Disclaimer: Nothing's mine.

'You don't return my calls.'

Tristan looked up from the charts he'd been filling, turning slightly in her direction.

'Morning, Paris.'

'You didn't read my texts either. You know how I know? I don't get the 'Read' receipt.'

Tristan opened his mouth to reply but Paris wouldn't let him begin to speak.

'You always read my texts and come up with something stupid to say in return. What's wrong with you?'

Tristan folded his arms before his chest and rested back against the nurse's station counter, settling more comfortably to accept the inevitable. If Paris Geller was about to rant, she would rant and nothing could stop her.

'I texted Aiden and he said you were rolling around on the sofa watching Netflix. And at first I was like 'Meh, whatever. Last time he binge watched Game Of Thrones, followed by Breaking Bad and Mad Men so what's another set of hemorrhoids to this stellar butt?.' But then Aiden let on something about Desperate Housewives and I thought I was about to pop an aneurysm. 'House Of Cards I could take, Homeland and even...' she took a breath, looking aroud conspiratorially, 'even Suits...' she whispered as if she was disclosing some sensitive information. '... I guess. But Desperate Housewives? Really?. What's next - Devious Maids? The Bold And The Beautiful?' Paris made a dramatic pause and shook her head with her eyes wide open, her hand pointing at something to her right, as if where is this world going?.

'I'm worried about you, Dugray,' she let out a somber sigh. 'You've been known to become a couch potato for a couple of weeks when you broke your leg. And you definitely needed intervention then. I think you need and intervention now.'

'Paris,' Tristan said, amusement and exasperation battling in his eyes.

'Do you need an intervention? Do I need to intervene or are you backing off on me now that sex predator Shefield is in the picture? You must give me a sign as to what's happening because I can't read subtle. I'm not subtle, you're not subtle, the whole situation isn't subtle. Maybe Shefield is a little subtle but you know what? Screw her. Not literally. Please don't screw her in the Biblical sense.'

She rose her palm, silencing him before he could interrupt.

'You know what? That's fine. I realize you're probably about to fall back into some sick routine with her. Who knows, you've probably already hit it off because come on, I would readily go to bed with her so yeah... I guess I can relate to being starstruck. Obviously. So I'm not about to judge. See?' she rose her palms. 'I understand. You have needs. Boy, have you talked my ears off about the amount and frequency of needs you have,' she shook her head thoughtfully.

'Plus how could I be one to judge when I've been having sleepovers at Matt's every now and then and we sure didn't spend the time going through the names of constellations visible in March. But still,' she scrunched her nose, 'Shefield? I don't know why or how, but she makes you miserable and I guess I thought you would know better this time. I mean you can screw almost anybody else in this hospital, literally go around kissing strangers and have hot meaningless sex all over the place, and you definitely don't need to put up with her crap to get someone down your pants so why not expect more from yourself and not let her get to you for a change? I've seen the way you are around her and I don't like it, not one bit.'

'Paris,' his voice was low, lower than usual. She wasn't sure if it was low with warning or low with something else. She hated that. The fact that he had been her friend for a while now and she still didn't know how to read him. The fact that suddenly it was so important that she did.

'I just wanna know when I can have my friend back,' she moved her mouth to the side, as if the very constatation brought a sour taste to her mouth.

She lifted a hand as if she was about to touch his arm but paused midway, letting it slump back down by her side. She shook her head once and looked up, sobering. It was one of the rare occasions when she looked unsure of where they stood. One of the rare occasions where she backed off.

'Start returning my messages,' she sighed before she walked away, feeling his eyes on her nape.

...

Beatrice Shefield was standing a couple of feet from the elevators, holding a bunch of folders. She had watched the whole exchange. When Paris left, she moved her undivided attention to Tristan.

He seemed to have a pattern. Tristan Dugray, King of casual noncomittal sex, didn't sleep with a woman he was in love with.

'For how long have you been in love with her?' Beatrice asked, leaning over his shoulder at the nurse's station.

Tristan stopped filling in his charts and closed the patient's papers before making a move to leave.

'She is a woman who comes with ties,' Beatrice leaned back against the nurse's station counter, tilting her head towards him. 'You're not cut out for such a kind of relationship,' she added knowingly, making him turn abruptly. He made a step, standing close so he spoke into her face.

'Don't you think I know that?' he hissed, barely restraining his anger. He rose a finger in warning. 'Stay away from her.'

His animosity made Beatrice smile.

'You're sweet,' she rose a hand to slide a thumb along his jaw. 'My tender-hearted boy. You're not about to be her knight in shining armor, Tris.'

He pulled back as if she had stained him.

'I don't know why you're back,' he snarled, 'but I'm not gonna be your fool, Bea.'

Beatrice leaned back against the edge of the counter, folding her arms before her chest as she watched him leave.

'You've never been my fool,' she sighed, her eyes glued to the place where he had just been.

TBC