Disclaimer: Nothing's mine.

A/N: To everyone who has patiently waited for this - Tristan's story is slowly unraveling in the next two chapters. Hope everyone who felt confused but patiently shipped Tristan's character until he got his shit together, feels less confused in a couple of chapters' time and I also hope you let me know what you think about his current dynamics :)

'What are you doing?' Rory paused by the nurse's station, eyeing Tristan curiously.

'Do you by any chance have a case of medical malpractice you'd like to share with the rest of the world?' Tristan asked, looking up at her for only a moment before continuing to dig into the big cardboard box he had put over the desk.

'Eh?'

'It's the Medical Malpractice Black Saturday next week, the deadline for submitting case reports is tomorrow. I'm looking for my worst case failure so I can submit it for the competition.'

'Competition,' she repeated, as if tasting the word.

'Yeah. You know, like the Golden Raspberry for motion pictures? It's a symposium where physicians exchange bad experience and learn from each other's mistakes. You know, cases you'd rather forget but others should remember. It's one of the most prestigious events of its kind.'

'O-kay.'

'And I'm gonna win it.'

'Oh...kay.'

'Don't you believe me?'

Rory blinked, taking in the fervent glow in his eyes. She had never pegged Dugray for a competitive person, but they were doctors - competitiveness was basically built into their DNA.

'Good luck, Tristan,' she waved a hand, looking around to see if Jess was in view.

'I don't need luck winning this, I only need the case to make the chairman lose his shit screaming this is the best case failure in history of man,' Tristan's voice came behind her and she chuckled, realizing a second too late that his voice didn't sound necessarily humorous. Maybe he wasn't entirely joking. Doctors and competitions. Oh well.

'You don't think I can win the Black Saturday competition?' Dr Dugray leaned back into his chair the next day, slurping on his milk shake, his eyes narrowed with a challenging glint.

'It's gonna be hard for you to win when I'm the one winning it,' Dr Geller's carefully nonchalant reply came while she was scribbling something into a folder spread open before her on the coffee table of the break room.

'You?' Tristan arched an eyebrow, putting his shake down.

A tiny smirk appeared at the corners of Paris' mouth.

'Of course.'

'You. Are going to win a competition for doctors' mistakes,' Tristan elaborated, stressing on every word as if the absurdity of the statement weren't obvious enough.

'Malpractice. And yes, I'm going to win anything I issue in. Because have you met me? I'm brilliant in everything I do.'

'Well, that's my point, shortcake - me Tarzan, you Jane. You're brilliant, I'm stupid. Guess who wins the prize for practical stupidity when issuing for a competition?'

'Oh please.'

'You have said it a thousand times, half pint. I'm dumb. It's a fact. It's high time I got a reward for it.'

'You're not winning this.'

'Why not?'

'Because I am. Are you even listening? You said it yourself - I'm brilliant. And when I err, I err brilliantly meaning I make award-winning mistakes,' she sing-sang. 'Now if you excuse me, I have a competition to win,' she said closing the folder and walking out of the break room leaving a sour looking Tristan behind.

...

'If I were to write a book, what would it be called?' Paris heard behind her shoulder as she waited in line in the cafeteria a couple of hours later.

She rolled her eyes, turning to face Tristan who had lined up behind her.

'You can't write a book.'

'True. But let's pretend. For the sake of a fruitful conversation.'

'Ah, I don't know. 'How to Unhook a Bra for Dummies'?'

'Exactly.'

Paris blinked, slightly confused.

'That was easy.'

'Because I'm plain as a pikestaff!' Tristan explained, stretching his arms to the side as if saying 'that's me, see?'. 'Leave the mistakes to us professionals, Geller. You go win some real brainiac competition while I cover that anti-reward competition and rock it.'

It was their turn to order.

'Papaya Coconut smoothie for the faultless lady doctor who can do no wrong over here,' Tristan threw an arm over Paris' shoulders, leaning above her to grin at the barista.

'Berry Mint for the obstinate jerk who's hanging off my neck,' Paris ordered for him, dismissing the whiff of Tristan's cologne hitting her nostrils and making her skin break out in gooseflesh.

'We're driving in my car Saturday morning,' Tristan said matter-of-factly. 'It shouldn't take more than four hours so if we leave early we should be able to get there for the better part of the scientific program.'

Paris gave him a look.

'Don't give me that look,' Tristan held his hands up, stepping away from her so he could take their dinks and head for a free table. 'I'm only driving you so I make sure you'll be there to watch me rise and shine as I sneak that award from under your nose.'

'You wish,' Paris scrunched her nose. 'I'll talk to the nanny to get Aiden and Josh if Rory and Jess are busy.'

'They're free,' he said.

Paris gave him a look again.

'Why do you keep looking at me like that? I had a completely random encounter with Rory in her apartment building this morning. I asked.'

He put the smoothies down on a free table and plopped into the booth.

'Again, what were you doing in Rory's apartment building?' Paris narrowed her eyes.

'I took Cerberus for a morning run. Jess was working and it's getting harder for Rory to walk him with the growing human in her belly and all. Plus I felt like some groveling could benefit our nanny-service-providing arrangement.'

'Huh,' Paris said noncommittally. She took a sip of her smoothie, enjoying its taste for a while before speaking again.

'I'm gonna choose the music.'

Tristan shook his point finger no.

'I'll be driving, the driver chooses the music,' he leaned forward, placing his cup back over the table.

Paris rolled her eyes and looked around as if looking for some divine help while arguing with a lunatic.

'If I'm going to spend four hours with you in a closed space I'm choosing the music.'

Tristan let out an exaggerated sigh.

'Only if you put in some lyrics this time.'

'Oh please,' she waved her hand, 'like your country sap has any lyrics in it.'

'It does!'

'Not anything actually worthy of mentioning,' Paris shrugged unceremoniously.

'What about Johnny Cash?' Tristan gave her a narrow-eyed look, challenging her. Paris rose an eyebrow, setting her mouth to the side in thought.

'Chuck Berry and that's as much as I'm giving.'

Tristan's lips opened into a wide grin and he flashed her a thousand watt smile.

'Deal.'

Paris watched, dumbstruck for a second. This smile was like a sudden stream of light into a dim room. It felt like a punch in the gut, making Paris realize how rarely in fact Tristan let out this particular kind of smile grace his features. It wasn't a smirk, wasn't a teasing grin. It was an honestly happy smile. And it was a shame he didn't smile like that more often, because it was nothing short of beautiful.

They were sitting in the darkened hall, listening to their Chief of Surgery expose and it felt like the whole conference hall held its breath, a thousand people experiencing the same emotion, something close to scientific revelation unraveling right before their eyes. Beatrice Shefield was presenting a case and it was outstanding, groundbreaking, it was an out of this world experience. Paris wondered if everybody in the hall felt the same way - like she was so out of their league. Because she was. She was a brilliant performer and she held the audience's attention with such a strong magnetic pull, it was impossible to draw your eyes away from her.

Paris reached for Tristan's hand, squeezing his palm.

'I'm having a braingasm,' she whispered excitedly, her voice strained.

Tristan turned to eye her curiously, his eyes studying her profile as he held onto her hand against his thigh, his grip loose but warm and steady nonetheless. They watched the rest of the presentation without exchanging any other comments, their hands joined over his thigh, Paris concentrated over the expose while Tristan was concentrated on her and the way her face reflected the light coming from the multimedia.

'Your case...' Paris shook her head. 'It was groundbreaking,' she uttered, the awe evident in her voice. Somehow it had become an example of malpractice turned into a revolutionary decision to treat. It was becoming impossible to not feel growing awe and hate for this woman at the same time.

Beatrice shrugged an elegant shoulder, the silk of her blouse moving with the lithe gesture, her look traveling from Tristan to Paris and then back.

'It was meant to,' Beatrice replied, her voice smooth as her eyes locked on Tristan's.

'It was almost as if you'd intentionally dismissed the other options so you could have the surgery performed,' Paris mused, still seemingly a little awestruck.

'Maybe we did,' Beatrice Shefield arched an eyebrow and turned to give Paris a disparaging look.

Paris' look flashed with surprise, her mind instantaneously processing the possibility.

'You didn't. The labs wouldn't come up to it if you hadn't initially planned to treat conservatively.'

A slow smile slid over Beatrice Shefield's lips and her eyes moved back over to Tristan.

'Maybe we didn't then,' she said, not really interested into debating with Paris. She was only standing there having this conversation that was obviously boring her because she was performing some elaborate eye-fucking while looking at Tristan.

'But I wouldn't think twice if I had to,' she said, her eyes set firmly on Tristan. 'I have no trouble figuring out how to turn a situation in my favor,' she concluded before cutting the tantric eye-lock with Tristan and leaving them in the corridor to enter the opening elevator behind them.

Tristan was first to move, leading the way between the sea of gathering people. Paris followed, rendered speechless for a while. They had reached her room, the silence of the hotel corridor somehow suddenly replacing the buzz of the crowded conference hall. Paris entered her key card and the door clicked open. She was halfway through the door when she turned to face him. He was leaning back against the opposite wall, waiting for her to enter her room. She had never pegged him for a typical gentleman. But somehow, with her, he was. It was unlikely and very, very irritating. Somehow it gave her the impression that he never got over the nerd image he had about her back in Chilton. It unnerved her that he could be so close to her, be her friend, witness some of her worst breakdowns, and still stay put in situations that could affect him emotionally. He was so open and so closed off at the same time. Always giving the impression of a sun child gliding along the surface and distributing charm and generosity like it was no big deal.

But there was also this other side to him. That side that would make appearance every time Beatrice Shefield was around. She triggered something in him. Something Paris couldn't quite place but felt reemerging every time she tried to figure him out.

'Please remind me why you had a relationship with this woman.'

He shrugged, looking serious and maybe a little sad.

'She wanted me.'

Like this was an answer.

Paris blinked, waiting for him to elaborate. He didn't.

This... resignation was reappearing every time he addressed himself in terms of a relationship, like he was looking down on himself for some reason. Tainted. Maybe that was the word. When he denied her, or when he worried about Aiden taking after his bad example of meaningless interaction with the opposite sex, it was there. When he was around Beatrice Shefield, his one long-term girlfriend (or at least as long-term as a couple of months went), it was there. He referred to himself like he was tainted, unable to build a substantial relationship with a woman even if he tried. Not that he tried. He didn't even try and he was adamant on that being the only option in the cards for him. And he looked sad but so very sure about that fact. It was in such stark contrast to the general lack of shame and the uncensored forwardness of his nature, it bugged Paris to no end because she couldn't find what caused this change in his demeanor.

'There will be drinks down in the lobby in an hour,' Paris said with determination. 'I'll come pick you from your room.'

With that, she gave Tristan a curt nod and closed her door, not waiting to hear his lack of confirmation.

As she got ready in front of the bathroom mirror later on, she couldn't shake that feeling. The feeling that she felt compelled to save him despite having no clue what she was trying to save him from. She only knew one thing - if anyone was worth saving, it was that hell of a generous fool Tristan Dugray.

Kiss quick, I've got a line out the door
Who all think they can save me
One by one they lay the world at my feet
One by one they drive me crazy

TBC