Disclaimer: Nothing's mine. Transcript lines belong to ASP and the original GG series. Song lyrics used belong to Grace Pitts. The chapter title is ripped off the original series' 2.09 episode title (the one in which Tristan's character exits the show). Because I felt like it suited the chapter right.

A/N: This chapter is built around a series of FLASHBACKS, trying to catch up on Tristan's character through readdressing some past events from Tristan's POV. Hope this chapter answers some of your questions regarding my take on his character in this story. Also, I hope it keeps you interested in the character's future development.

I'd really love to know what you think, because for most of you, I'm still in the dark as to what you make of this story :)

2000, Dugray's Family House

Tristan Dugray closed the front door and stopped in the hallway, looking at the expensive pair of leather shoes set neatly by the door. Fancy man's leather shoes, their heels clean against the white marble of the hallway floor.

Tristan heard his mother's melodic voice from the dining room, and then a rich deep male voice, followed by a bout of light laughter. His mother. Laughing. It was something so foreign, it drew Tristan towards the dining room like a magnet.

As he entered the room he saw his mother, beautiful as ever, leaning over the back of one of the dining chairs holding a glass of white wine. Sitting in one of the dining chairs, swirling a glass of what was probably scotch between his long fingers, was a tall man dressed in a light beige three piece suit, looking smug and far too comfortable in their dining room for Tristan's liking.

As soon as she spotted Tristan, his mother's features flattened. She had an expression which he thought was reserved for him. It could be best described as irritated indifference.

'Shoes,' was the only thing his mother said before she gave him a look laced with disdain. She was good at giving him these. Tristan supposed most mothers of rebellious teenage brats like him were.

Tristan's look switched from his mother to the man sitting on the chair. The man looked in is mid thirties and everything about him looked posh. Tristan's eyes narrowed.

The man stood up and stretched the hand that wasn't holding the scotch towards Tristan.

'Steven Walsh,' he introduced himself. His voice was indeed rich and deep.

Tristan looked between his mother and the stretched hand of the man whose smile seemed to grow wider as he took in Tristan's defensive stance. As his smile grew wider, it revealed two rows of spotless white teeth. Everything about this man seemed clean and fancy.

'You must be Tristan,' Steven Walsh suggested. 'I'm a colleague of your father's,' he explained, not looking the least bit uncomfortable. 'I came by to drop off some papers for him but he wasn't here so your mom was so nice to suggest I wait until he comes back.'

Tristan looked at the hand that was still stretched out before him and shook it once, his eyes never leaving the stranger's.

After that day Tristan never saw Steven Walsh's leather shoes in the place of his father's suede ones in their hallway. Neither did he hear his mother's laughter again.

2001, Madeline's Stepfather's House

'Tristan stop it,' Summer sighed.

'You're making me chase you around the whole party,' Tristan gestured behind them where the party was still going on.

'Just trying to have fun,' Summer answered, unfazed.

'Ok you won't talk to me, you won't dance with me, why the hell did you even come with me?!' Tristan demanded.

Summer gave him a look before turning her back to him.

'Stop yelling.'

Tristan followed her, his voice sounding slightly pleading.

'Summer, please. Can we just go?'

'No.'

'Please.'

'No. I'm sick of fighting with you. I'm sick of hearing 20 times a day 'You're my girlfriend'.'

Tristan looked around them where a group of their classmates was watching on, enjoying the show.

'Ok could we possibly do this somewhere were a roomful of people aren't staring at us?'

Summer looked at him and put a peanut into her mouth.

'I think we should break up,' she said.

'Ok, I really want to go outside and talk about this,' Tristan insisted.

'Then go,' Summer shrugged. 'Bye.'

With that, she left.

'Summer come on!' he called behind her. He looked around and saw Rory who looked back down at the open book she had in her lap, shook his head and left.

Tristan remembered his father's voice when he had asked him about Steven Walsh. It had been months ago but Tristan still remembered his father's sigh. The old man had said that Steven Walsh was a colleague of his. As Tristan wouldn't let it go, his father had let another long sigh. He looked tired and maybe a little irritated that he had to go through this conversation with his son. Tristan's obvious unease and general displeasure with Steven Walsh's very existence was met by his father's brusque response - he and his mother had come to terms with each other's choices and they were content with the way they lived their lives. That's the response Tristan got. His father said one more thing. He had asked Tristan to stop mouthing off to his mother about her longer shopping tours lately, because he was making her uncomfortable.

Maybe it wasn't a big deal, Tristan thought. Maybe dancing with someone else was no big deal. Locking yourself in the bathroom with someone who wasn't your boyfriend was no big deal. Neither was laughing at someone's jokes or having another man's leather shoes in your hallway. Maybe one day he would understand how this all worked. However, he wasn't there yet. Tristan looked around the house, searching for a quiet place to sit and gather his thoughts. Soon enough, there was a smaller room with a piano in it. Tristan walked inside and sat by the piano, trying the keys absently.

2002, Miss Patty's Studio

'Here's to my love. Oh true apothecary, thy drugs are quick... Line?'

Paris opened her arms, trying not very successfully to keep her frustration at bay. She was something, that smart nazi.

'Thus with a kiss, I die,' Paris said. 'How hard is that to remember?'

'Thus with a kiss, I die,' Tristan repeated. 'Right. And then I kiss her, right?'

'Yes. You say 'Thus with a kiss, I die.' Then you kiss her and die,' Paris explained impatiently. Tristan smirked. That was exactly what he'd wanted to hear.

'Why are you smiling?' Paris asked. 'You think this is a joke? The performance is tomorrow.'

Tristan blinked, playing dumb.

'Wait, tomorrow? Oh my God. I totally missed it the first forty-seven times you said it,' he quipped.

Paris' eyes flashed dangerously.

'I warned you. I am not going to fail this because of you. I will replace you with Brad in a second.'

Brad shook his head from the bench he had been sitting on, right next to Madeline and Louise.

'Oh, dear God, no,' the poor guy shook his head.

Rory who had been lying 'dead' on the wooden table opened her eyes, turning her head to face Paris.

'Can we just get through the scene?

'Please,' Madeline supported her.

Paris sighed with resignation.

'Fine. But yell 'Line' once more and you're out,' she warned Tristan right before turning back to Brad. 'Start memorizing.'

'Oh true apothecary, thy drugs are quick,' Tristan began again. 'Thus with a kiss, I die.'

Tristan paused above Rory, looked up and then pulled back deliberately, waiting. That stupid Bagboy character could watch the show.

'What?' Paris asked, her voice getting a shrill.

'Well, it's just, with this being our last kiss and all, it makes me think about our first kiss,' Tristan explained. 'You know, at the party,' Tristan continued, his look switching between Rory and Bagboy.

Rory lifted herself to sit on the wooden table.

'What?'

'Lie down, you're dead,' Paris reprimanded.

'We all are,' Louise groaned.

'You remember the kiss,' Tristan insisted, looking at a dazed Rory. Here we go, ladies and gentlemen. Game on. 'In Act 1 at the Capulet's masked party?'

'What about it?' Paris demanded.

'Well, I was just trying to think of something that would make this kiss as special as that one,' Tristan explained, his look switching to Paris but really, he was talking to Rory.

'Tristan,' Rory pleaded.

'I thought she could cry,' he turned back towards Rory, his tone letting some of the accusation he'd been trying to hide show.

'What?' Rory asked.

'She's dead,' Paris cut in. Then, turning towards Rory, 'You're dead, lie down.'

Tristan continued, his eyes still set on Rory, challenging her to prove him wrong. Once it was out, hell with it, he was getting his answers.

'Yeah, but that's the beauty of it. No one would expect her to cry,' Tristan said, his eyes boring into Rory's.

'I would,' Dean said somewhere behind Paris.

'You know, funny you should say that…' Tristan pointed a finger at the Bagboy, immediately ready to start a fight. His fists were itching since before he got into this stupid studio, he could really use some release of the pent up tension.

Rory hopped off the table, mumbling 'I need to take five.'

'You know what?' Paris let out a sigh, turning towards everyone. 'Let's all take five. That way you can all cancel whatever plans you had tonight because we are staying here until we get this right.'

Brad pulled out his cell phone.

'Who could you possibly be calling?' Louise snapped at him before walking away, holding her own mobile by her ear.

Tristan watched as Rory walked over to Bagboy. They talked for a while and then the tall jerk left, giving Tristan a warning look before he gave Rory a peck on the lips and left.

A peck on the lips? Really? What was Mary doing with this loser? If she had been Tristan's girlfriend, she would be still feeling the effect of his lips over hers. Pecks on the lips were alright for kindergartners. For retired accountants. For people who no longer cared about each other. Pecks on the lips were not meant for teenage couples, especially ones that had one Rory Gilmore in them. What did she see in that jerk?

'Now I noticed you didn't cry when you kissed him,' Tristan pointed out, moving to stand before Rory. 'I'm starting to feel a little insecure,' he pointed towards himself, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

'What is wrong with you?' Rory asked incredulously.

What's wrong was he was falling for the wrong girl, aiming out of his league but fuck it, he really wanted her.

Tristan put both his hands up, palms out.

'Whoa, I think I liked you better comatose.'

'I thought you weren't going to say anything,' she insisted, ignoring his attempt to stall.

Tristan looked around.

'Did I say that?' he asked, playing dumb.

'You make it impossible for anyone to be nice to you. No wonder you had to join our group. Anyone who's actually suffered through the experience of going out with you would absolutely know better-' Rory ranted, the sound of his pager cutting her off.

Tristan threw a look at his pager, using the moment to recuperate, trying to keep his eyes from wincing but not really sure she hadn't caught the way her words had hit him just right.

'Gee, I really wish we could continue your analysis on how pathetic I am,' he excused himself on his way out, hoping his sarcasm would mask the fact that as honest and critical her lash out was, he actually agreed with her. Maybe some people weren't meant to be nice to. 'Unfortunately, I have to meet some friends,' he shrugged his jacket on and left the studio before he got any more proof that he didn't belong here. That was the thing, he thought as he dialed Bowman's number. He didn't belong anywhere.

Chilton's Hallway

'I knew he was going to do this, but no one wanted to listen to me,' Paris fumed. 'It was all, let's make Tristan Romeo, he's hot.'

'What about Brad?' Rory suggested.

'Brad transferred schools,' Paris clipped.

He walked up to them, Paris lashing at him instantaneously.

'Where have you been? You have to get dressed, we're on in ten minutes.'

Tristan scratched the back of his head.

'Can't.'

'What?' Paris asked, no doubt more than ready to yell at him.

'Actually, my dad had me pulled out of school. He…'

Paris walked away. Tristan's look followed her.

'And is she unhappy,' he commented.

Rory turned towards him to give him an incredulous look.

'What do you mean he had you pulled out of school? What happened?'

Everything?

'Nothing.' He shrugged. 'Just ticked the old man off, that's all,' he tried to brush off.

'By doing what?'

By being the son they never wanted. By causing trouble to attract attention. By rebelling against his parents' neglect, against people labeling him without taking a minute to really know him. By doing stupid stuff, thus proving them right. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He shook his head, not really into explaining.

'Tristan, come on, tell me,' Rory insisted, her voice showing concern.

'I got in some trouble,' he admitted vaguely.

'Trouble involving?' she prompted.

Now that he had to say it out loud, it did sound stupid. Aah.

'Involving Duncan and Bowman, and Bowman's dad's safe,' Tristan shrugged.

Rory's eyes went wide. It was official. He, Tristan Dugray, had pulled the most stupid stunt in history of man. Because he had needed something to change. He needed to something fucking change or he was gonna go insane.

'Oh no.'

'I mean, Bowman had a key,' Tristan tried to reason, his own voice sounding unconvincing even to himself. 'It was supposed to be no big deal. And the crazy silent alarm kicked in...'

'You broke into Bowman's dad's safe?' Rory repeated, stressing on every word.

Tristan sighed.

'Yes.'

'Stupid.'

He looked down.

'Yes.'

'Well, okay, you can apologize,' Rory reasoned. Always the optimist. Oh, Mary. 'And you can put back the money and you can explain that, I don't know, you were going through something.

'I was, I was going through his safe,' Tristan tried to joke.

'Why would you do this?'

Because I'm a mess.

'I don't know,' he shrugged. 'I guess that's something I can ponder at military school.

'Military school?'

'The police are letting our parents handle it, and in my case that means military school in North Carolina,' Tristan explained.

'I don't know what to say,' Rory uttered.

'Well, I imagine you're overwhelmed with the relief in knowing that soon I will be gone.'

Like everybody else.

'I'm so sorry,' she said, looking genuinely sorry. In another life, maybe he would be someone who'd deserve someone like her to care about him. In another life.

'Well, I'm a big boy,' he shrugged, not wanting her to feel bad. 'I can handle it.'

He had no fucking idea how he was gonna handle it.

'There's nothing you can…' Rory tried but was cut by his father's voice, coming from down the hall,

'Tristan.'

Tristan slowly turned back to meet his father's impatient gaze.

'Come on.'

Tristan threw a look at Bagboy who was standing a couple of feet away, always lurking around her like some kind of creepy bodyguard.

'I gotta go,' Tristan sighed. 'So, I might kiss you goodbye but, uh, your boyfriend's watching. Take care of yourself...' he forced himself to smile until a smile appeared over her lips too, 'Mary.'

With that, Tristan gave her a nod and walked away, the one person who might ever miss him left behind his back.

Pick up your things and run
Don't bother packing it up this box is far too small

He didn't think he remembered how to cry like a little boy. He did.

That day, when he asked, begged her to talk his father out of sending him to North Carolina, he cried like a little boy. He pleaded with her to not let him go. Not like this. Not this way. Not that far.

What shocked him was the ease with which she'd done it. Like cutting a flimsy thread, she'd dismissed him from her life. He became the piece of furniture they moved away to not have to watch the scratches every day.

It shouldn't have been such a surprise, he would realize months later, when he replayed that day in his head. He saw the lack of sympathy and love in his own mother's eyes as he grew up to be the son she never understood and never really tried to. He had been a second child, coming after his older sister, and he'd always suspected he hadn't been planned. In his mother's case, unplanned probably equaled unwanted. His mother had given birth to him but she'd never been engaged into raising him. She didn't feel a need to get close to him or understand him. He didn't understand her either. But boy did he love her. He loved her blindly, desperately, he loved her like a drowning man holding on to a straw and he did it as best as he could. And it didn't matter. It went by unnoticed, unaddressed. Maybe it was just the way it was, he supposed. Maybe some mothers blamed their children for not being free to live their lives differently.

He couldn't tell if it was breaking into Bowman's dad's safe drawing the last straw, or if they simply needed an excuse to get rid of him and opportunity presented itself. His sister was off to college, now that he would be gone too his parents could have the whole house to themselves. Once he was gone, they could have a pair of posh man's leather shoes in the hallway and never address that.

He always thought she was beautiful. With her pure smooth skin and her shiny hair styled into a sophisticated updo, always in one of her impeccable outfits, his mom was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

He had begged her not to let him go. She was so pretty, her cool composure making her look poised and collected. And in the car on the way to the airport Tristan had asked his father,

'What if she tells you to not send me off?'

'She won't,' his father had answered.

'What if she decides you're too radical, what if she changes her mind and decides to stop you?' Tristan didn't give up.

His father had put a palm on Tristan's shoulder and repeated,

'She won't.'

'How can you be so sure?' Tristan insisted.

'Because it was her idea,' his father had said.

Just like that, she had smashed his heart and she hadn't even been trying. God, she had smashed his heart and she hadn't even noticed.

And for years - years - he would wait. He would hope she would find a reason to miss him, a reason to forgive whatever she blamed him for.

It wasn't that he wasn't capable of feeling anger. Oh, he was. It was the first discernible emotion he knew as a teenager. It was powerful and very demanding. But since his first day in North Carolina, he found that some hardcore cardio training leading to utter exhaustion helped the mind calm down. Military school gave you a lot of time to think. Plenty of time to train. And when you didn't wanna think, there was always the option to train more. Physical activity made him feel better. There were physical activities that brought him to complete and utter exhaustion. He liked the hum of his body, the numbness of his mind after a rough training. There were also physical activities involving some very willing representatives of the opposite sex and they brought on some quite welcome pleasure as well. And he learned to weave his way through life, finding out that distractions couldn't solve all of your problems but boy did they make most of them more bearable. And anger would always be an issue but he knew how to keep it in check because in time he learned how to brace himself and discipline was something Military school would teach you.

Tristan Dugray had grown up in an estranged family where people acted out of some unknown to him logic, detached from any kind of warm feeling. He became that boy who accepted that his family didn't want him but that fact never stopped him from smiling. Because, he was like that. He didn't hold grudges, not the way most people did. He didn't become bitter with the whole world. He didn't even feel vengeance towards his dad or mom. He learned not to aim out of his league, trying to be wise about emotional stuff, avoiding it completely. It wasn't that he didn't feel kindness for other people. He simply chose his battles and didn't get into ones he was sure to lose. And he knew better than to ask for love that never belonged to him in the first place.

In some ways, North Carolina had been good for him. It gave him space, gave him room to breathe, away from the toxic influence of his numb, emotionless parents. Tristan got a renewed sense of purpose, his body and mind starting for the first time in his life to work in unison. He got nice enough grades, and when the time to apply for college came, he chose only top specialties that would grant him financial independence. He got the best results from his class. Not that it was a surprise. He'd never really considered himself stupid. He was quick to learn and his brain could filter what was important from what was just filler information. One of the perks of being sent off to North Carolina with no friends or family whatsoever was that you got a lot of time on your hands. And Tristan managed to get into Medical school on a half scholarship, which wasn't exactly stellar but was good enough to get him through. And with his newfound determination, he did pull through. Life went on.

You packed your bags, and you cried goodbye to your mother
And you walked out the door, with the whole world on your shoulders

When he got the letter that said he had been one of the picked for working in a border refugee camp in Turkey, he went to Hartford to visit. It was the shortest visit in history of man. He didn't even know what he had hoped for. For her to be worried? To try and stop him? To feel proud of him? To apologize to him for not wanting him around and sending him off to North Carolina? God knows what he had thought. He just hoped she would... react.

Refugee camps were not the same as war zones. But they were the next closest thing. She might never have the chance to see him again. He had foolishly hoped his mother would for once, finally, react. She didn't. And that was the exact moment when he decided to leave it alone. After that last cry for attention, he decided he was old enough and grown up enough to live his life on his own terms. He was twenty-five at the time, it was a good age to start living your life facing forward instead of backward. As he boarded the plane to Turkey a couple of days later, he boarded with no regrets.

Pick up your things and run
Don't bother packing it up this box is far too small

Because I... I've been waiting all along
I've been waiting all along
Just for you to love

TBC