Disclaimer: Nothing's mine.

A/N: A rather long chapter, conflicted and heart-twisting to write - hope you enjoy :) Reviews are a trip to Heaven, you know the drill. Loved it/hated it - be amazing, leave a word and let me know what you make of this :)

Jess Mariano was standing in the middle of his kitchen, his eyelids only half open, not bothering to go up all the way. Outside, the city was humming with its constant evening buzz, the night August air providing a refreshing change compared to the scorching heat earlier today. Jess lifted the glass of water he had poured himself and gulped it down, welcoming the coolness down his throat.

It was well past one a.m. and Allie and Rory were sleeping in the bedroom. His daughter's sleeping habits had started to become more and more attuned to a bearable schedule, providing them with five to six hours of non-interrupted sleep per night. According to Lorelai, the kid was a golden child and she was spoiling her mom and dad only to give it back at a carefully chosen future moment when she would induce a wild tooth fiasco.

Lorelai had a weird sense of humor, often sounding like the mastermind behind some of the worst horror movies in film-making history and Jess suspected she was only doing this in order to test them, providing some strange reversed psychology effect once they found out real parenthood wasn't as creepy as grandma Lorelai liked to threaten. The combination of the words grandma and Lorelai in one sentence was Jess' small triumph, little drop of revenge bliss in the ocean of awkwardness Lorelai liked to create. It was as if making Jess uncomfortable was among her hobbies. She was always saying the most outrageous stuff in front of him, pretending to be unaware of the discomfort she induced. So, grandma Lorelai it was. A man could have his small joys in life, coulnd't he?

Earlier today he had been in the 24/7 to get some diapers and wet wipes when the cashier had decided to make small talk. The lady was probably in her mid forties and smiled warmly at Jess, asking him if he had a boy or a girl. He had answered 'girl' with as little enthusiasm for small talk as he could muster in one single word. But as in most similar cases, his reserved demeanor wasn't enough to cool the lady's enthusiasm. How old is your daughter?, the cashier had asked.

Two months. My daughter just turned two months last week, Jess had thought.

And the very thought was somehow new and strangely flustering. He couldn't explain it. He felt tongue-tied, he felt flushed and dizzy, left a couple of bills over the cash desk and evacuated himself out of the place without waiting for his change. Outside, he had a quiet mini hyperventilation panic attack. He moved his jaw and lips, trying to say the words out loud.

My daughter.

His daughter. Allison Mariano, his daughter. He had a daughter. She was a living, breathing human, she had her own needs and interests and she was gonna develop as a person before his eyes. Before her father's eyes. He, Jess Mariano, was a father.

'What are you...' Tristan arched an eyebrow, looking at Rory's mobile suspiciously. 'Are you sexting?'

Rory continued scrolling through her mobile, her eyes narrowed.

'Mmm...hm.'

Whoa.

'With whom?'

Rory looked up, as if she got carried away and had missed some part of the conversation.

'With Jess of course.'

It was Tristan's turn to narrow his eyes.

'You're sexting with the father of your child?'

'Give me a synonym for engorged or leave me concentrate,' Rory said absently. 'My sleep-deprived brain can't focus on more than one thing at the moment.'

Tristan blinked, scratching his nape.

'Holy guacamole.'

Then he looked towards Cerberus who was sitting on his hind paws, carrying his leash between his teeth with a hopeful expression in his dark eyes.

'Ready, Cerberus?'

Cerberus wagged his tail.

Rory stared at her mobile for the umpteenth time today. Jess had been distracted. He had been tired ever since he returned to work after the time off he had taken to be with her and Allie. He had been a working dad for three weeks now. It was still new, but a routine had started to form. Jess tried to make himself useful as much as possible when he came back from work, even when he had had a killer shift. Time with Allie was something he consciously included in his daily routine, regardless of the circumstances. Rory was grateful. Of course she was. It was something most working dads were reluctant to do, once they had an excuse to let the mother handle all the baby business because they were tired from work. And Jess was tired. Rory knew he was. However, he insisted on taking a part in anything that could involve him in Allie's life. And apart from breastfeeding, actually there was plenty that could involve him.

He had been even more quiet than usual. Rory couldn't put her finger on it. He looked calm. There was a gleam in his eyes whenever she caught him looking at her and Allie when he thought they weren't looking. He looked like he was gonna burst with pride. She loved that look on his face. She knew he talked to Allie. She could hear his soft murmur from the next room, right before she dozed off on the nights when Jess put their daughter to sleep. His low even timbre lulled Rory to sleep extremely effectively. She could tell her father's voice made Allie feel at peace too. It wasn't some compliment meant to make Jess feel more useful, it was a plain fact. Allie was very perceptive of her father's presence and somehow she gravitated towards Jess, in her own subtle newborn way/ Rory loved to watch them together. She felt herself falling in love with Jess in his new role as a father to their daughter, and there were aspects of him she would've never known if they hadn't become parents.

However, there were other aspects to parenthood too. Sometimes Rory missed the time spent alone with Jess. She missed discussing work or arguing semantics with him. Jess was a very present father of their child but along with work and taking care of Allie there wasn't time for much else.
Rory had noticed that after his first couple of shifts since Allie was born, Jess began coming home late. Sometimes it was one hour. Sometimes two. Once he came home three hours late and Rory had had a mini panic attack checking her watch every fifteen minutes until he walked through the door. It didn't help that Allie had been especially fidgety that day. Rory suspected their daughter simply reflected her mother's disposition. It was amazing how perceptive kids were, regardless their age. A nervous person touched, sounded, moved differently, because apprehension had the ability to ooze, and any kid any age was able to precept that. Both Gilmore girls had been at the verge of a nervous breakdown when Jess walked home that night, a couple of days ago. He tried to make jokes, attempting to make light of his girls' cranky mood, but Rory could see through his playful exterior, she could tell something was off. He looked guilty. Shit, he had come home looking guilty and Rory felt a growing panic take over her because he hadn't come clean yet. He had immersed himself into helping about everything Allie-related and he hadn't told Rory a word about what had been bothering him. And something had been.

'I'm taking him and the boys outside after our run, if that's okay...' Tristan paused, checking Rory's troubled expression. 'Rory, are you okay? You seem to zone off every five minutes.'

Rory looked up from her mobile, sobering. Half an hour. There could have been traffic. Or a surgery taking longer than planned. Or some crazy oversexed young intern straddling her almost husband's lap in the break room. Shit.

'Yeah,' she answered absently, checking her mobile again. No calls. No texts. No 'Want something from the daily, because that's why I'm coming home late again'.

'It's fine, Tristan, I'm beat that's all.'

Tristan didn't seem convinced but he wasn't gonna prod for more.

She could ask him if he'd seen Jess at work today. She could ask Tristan if he knew anything about a change in the surgical schedule that could explain why Jess was always late these days. She didn't. She wasn't sure if it was because she wanted to hear it from Jess firsthand or because she dreaded her reaction in front of Tristan.

'Take Cerberus with the boys,' she said, checking the time again. Thirty four minutes. 'He will appreciate some change.' she said, patting Cerberus' head. Who wouldn't?

'O-kay,' Tristan looked around, feeling a little awkward. 'I'll leave you to your... activities,' he ran a hand through his hair, nodding towards Rory's mobile. Then he was out of the door with a happy Cerberus at his heel.

'Tristan thinks we're sexting.'

Jess almost choked on his dinner.

'He suggested that's what I was doing checking my phone every five seconds,' Rory shrugged, fidgeting with the hands in her lap. 'I didn't correct him.'

Jess dabbed his mouth with a napkin and nodded slowly.

'O-kay.'

Rory looked at him. Her eyes roamed his handsome, beloved face. Her look wandered over his fit frame, over his shoulders. His biceps, wiry forearms. She realized she didn't remember what he felt like. The realization struck her and gave her a sudden boost of desperate courage to voice what was on her mind. Now or never right?

'You're often late from work these days,' she said, her voice so even it was almost robotic. When you were severely underslept and growingly neurotic, any attempts at nonchalance were initially doomed to fail, so at least she was trying, really trying not to sound hostile. She wanted to ask a question, not place blame. Which resulted in her sounding like some prerecorded text to voice software. Oh well.

'Rory,' Jess' face fell, the same sickening feeling settling in Rory's chest as she saw the guilt crossing his features. He didn't even think to mock her strange voice, her stupid question. It was stupid, was it not? It was stupid to suspect your almost husband when all he had ever been to you was loyal? It was stupid to doubt him. Unless it wasn't stupid. Unless it was the truth.

'Please tell me now,' she cut in, 'the dread is worse than knowing the truth, so please just be honest with me and tell me,' she pleaded, her eyes wide.

Jess stood up from the chair he had been sitting in and approached her, a concerned look over his face.

'I'm sorry,' he sighed, reaching a hand to touch her waist, his thumb sliding over her hipbone in a chaste caress. 'I...'

He ran a hand through his hair before he moved it to slide down her arm, looking for a way to comfort her.

Rory squeezed her eyes shut, feeling them well up.

'I've been taking a nap after work. I know it isn't fair towards you, but when I'm at home I sleep so lightly, the tiniest move wakes me up and I found that when I'm in the hospital I-'

Rory opened her eyes, shock written clearly in them.

'You've been taking a nap?' she asked in a frail voice, her shock giving way to utter disbelief. A couple of tears had rolled down her cheeks and Jess wiped them with his thumb, looking so uncomfortable he seemed like he would have a coronary any second now.

'Rory, I'm sorry, I know it's cheating and I should've been home with you and Allie but I've been feeling so groggy that-'

'You've been taking a nap in the break room,' Rory repeated, as if tasting the words. Then, as if remembering something, 'Alone, right?'

The look on Jess' face was so clueless, it answered her question. He looked so much like a deer caught in the headlights. Rory started laughing and threw her arms around him. She laughed so hard, her stomach hurt.

'I love you so much, Jess Mariano,' she laughed and cried and squeezed him in her arms. She squeezed him so tight, his 'You're not mad at me for sleeping in the hospital' came out breathless.

Her 'Not at all' and 'I'm calling mom to babysit this weekend' followed in between the kisses she had started to pepper his face with.

Tristan emerged from the bathroom, putting on a black tee with an orange Garfield print in the middle.

'I have some earth-shattering information to share.'

Paris shimmied into her skirt and tried to step into her heels while struggling with the zipper.

'You've been offered to become an STD poster model?' she random guessed.

'Only if you pose with me,' Tristan smirked, standing behind her and taking hold of her waist to hold her in place. 'It's stuck,' he said, his fingers working the fabric that had got caught on the zipper and letting it free, succeeding in pulling the zipper up. 'You've been saved, maiden. You can thank me in the oldest way known to man,' he said in a deeper voice, wiggling his eyebrows as he smacked her butt playfully.

Paris did her best to suppress a smirk, rolling her eyes.

'Perv.'

'Hot stuff,' he gave her a wink. 'It's not about me though. You know Rory and Jess are sexting?'

Paris' fingers paused in the middle of the buttoning up her blouse.

'Eh?'

Tristan's smirk grew even wider. He took his car key from the night table and checked the time on Paris' phone.

'Yep.'

'Yuk. But good for them. A little spice is good for the relationship if their time management as parents allows it. I remember hating sex for a while after Josh was born. It was frustrating to both me and Doyle but crazy mama hormones, lack of seep and engaging my breasts into the dairy industry didn't help my sex drive. Neither did Doyle's constant complaining when I reminded him that the Internet is full of free material meant for sex-deprived dads until their wives could say their own names without dozing off. I mean, you don't even need Wi-Fi nowadays - MTV provides enough action unless of course both of your arms get broken in a mad-wife-baseball-bat home accident. However, I hope Rory and Jess handle those times of sexual gloom and doom better.'

Paris took her purse from the neatly made bed and smoothed her hair in front of the bedroom mirror, dabbing her lips with her lipstick. She paused and turned back as she noticed Tristan's reflection browse through her mobile.

'Hey, what are you doing with my phone? If you're sexting yourself I'll kill you.'

'With a baseball bat, got it.'

Tristan smirked, seemingly engrossed in Paris' mobile.

'I noticed you have my contact subscribed under Shania.'

'I'll make sure to add Observant in the contact details section,' Paris rolled her eyes, putting her hand forward, palm up in an expectant gesture. 'And you're not allowed to browse through my phone.'

'Mhm.'

'Do you hear me, Dugray,' Paris approached him, waving a forefinger in warning, 'I don't want pics of your private parts popping onscreen in the middle of an abdominal aneurysm surgery okay?'

'Ah, always obsessed with my private parts,' Tristan sighed theatrically, lifting is hand so the mobile was out of her reach.

Paris tried to sneak the phone out of his hand but as per usual Tristan escaped her attempt with nonchalant grace.

'Have you ever thought that your private parts aren't as swoon-worthy as you'd like them to be?' Paris asked, folding both arms before her chest.

'Never. My private parts are a stroke of luck,' he pointed out smugly, 'All witnesses will confirm.'

Paris' smile faltered.

All witnesses indeed. Hordes of female witnesses who were intimately acquainted with Tristan Dugray's private parts.

'I... didn't mean it like that,' Tristan mumbled, the humor in his voice dying off immediately. He had meant to tease her with the stroke of luck part but it had come out all wrong.

'No,' Paris shook her head hastily, 'it's okay. I shouldn't be paying attention, after all it's a package deal - I get you along with the stray women and silly jokes. I should've seen this coming. Let's get ready, the boys must be waiting downstairs.'

Tristan ran a hand through his hair, the lines of his face strained. What had he expected? His habits had to come up at some point. It wasn't like he had been wiped clean after they settled into this semblance of a relationship. Come to think of it, it wasn't necessarily a relationship. Affair? No, not affair. They weren't secretly sneaking around or anything. They were more of... friends with benefits? Friends with benefits who were almost living together, along with their children. Tristan wetted his lips. Paris seemed uncomfortable. It took a lot to make her feel self-conscious but for some reason she didn't lash out on him. She stood by her word - she took him along with his past and she took it in stride, not making a big deal about it. The least Tristan could do was play along.

They finished getting ready for work wordlessly, the lack of joking around producing a strained but bearable silence. They got these moments a lot lately, awkward but bearable silences, and both tried to attune to each other instead of pick up a fight. It was a fragile balance but it had worked so far.

As they got the boys to school and kindergarten, Tristan and Paris sat in the car, closing the driver and passenger doors as they rested back in their seats, each letting out a long sigh. Getting two young boys who were bubbling with energy somewhere in time was a strenuous task.

Tristan fastened his seat belt and started the engine, tossing his iPhone into Paris' lap.

'Look what I found.'

Paris gave him a suspicious look but pressed the play button on his phone's screen anyway. She narrowed her eyes as she heard the opening violin and guitar.

'Country?'

'Dark country,' Tristan pointed out as he backed off from the kindergarten's parking lot.

She listened to the deep raspy male vocal and the groovy beat of the instrumental. Her eyes widened in surprise.

'I don't hate it,' she uttered.

'I know, right?' Tristan nodded with a grin, his eyes shining. 'Lorenzo Lamas meets Johnny Cash. It's genius.'

'It sounds nasty,' Paris mused. 'I like it.'

Tristan was now grinning like a kid at Christmas. If you asked him, he had just won the lottery.

'Now I have to find a concerto that doesn't make you suicidal.'

His laugh was deep and reverberated through his chest. Paris could almost feel it in her own chest when he laughed like that, her lips unconsciously mirroring his grin.

'Good luck with that, shortcake.'

They walked into St Morrison's, his arm thrown over her shoulders. He was telling her about Aiden's history project about The Hundred Year's War and how Aiden was doing a series of drawings to picture the events. Tristan's head was tilted towards Paris, and he was gesturing with both hands, the free one and the one that was thrown over her shoulder. He was eagerly explaining something about the perks of period piece video games when he came to a halt. It was a stiffness in his whole body she felt, rather than him stopping abruptly, and maybe she was the one who stopped walking first rather than him, but they paused anyway.
Paris looked up at him to see Tristan staring ahead in the general direction of the reception desk. His face was frozen into a rare lack of emotion. Apart from mild surprise, there was nothing there. He wasn't breathing. He wasn't blinking. He was meticulously unfazed.

Paris' look moved between Tristan and the reception desk once more. Then she felt him move - he resumed walking, his step only a little stiffer than before, his arm moving off of her shoulder to rest nonchalantly by his side. Tristan was standing a little taller than usual when he stopped by the reception desk to take his surgical schedule for the day.

'Morning Dr Dugray. Morning Dr Geller,' the receptionist girl smiled at them, giving them each a sheet of paper with the surgical schedule. Then she looked a little confused when she looked down at the patient's papers of the lady standing beside them on their side of the reception desk.

The woman seemed in her early fifties. Unmistakably good looking and elegant, she was obviously coming from high class. She wore a designer patchwork blouse that fit her skirt and stilettos perfectly and the handbag in her hand probably cost a small fortune. The woman practically screamed style and money. She had classically beautiful features. Blonde hair, elegant jawline. The cool politeness of a royalty. Paris felt a clutching feeling in her throat as her eyes lingered on the woman's profile. The striking familiarity of it brought an uneasy feeling into her stomach.

'Dr Dugray,' the receptionist looked between Tristan and the woman who didn't as much as bat an eye at him, 'I was just filling the papers for-' the girl looked between the papers and the woman again, then again at Tristan, obviously at a loss as to how to address the lady.

'Thank you, Lisa,' Tristan leaned over the counter, flashing her a thousand watt smile that left the poor girl totally starstruck. 'Killer glasses, by the way,' he touched his temple in a friendly salute, giving a nod towards the girl's glasses.

Lisa all but melted into a puddle, blushing fiercely, the apprehension about the socialite lady forgotten.

'The rim is new,' Lisa explained shyly.

With trademark athletic grace, Tristan pushed himself off the reception counter and tilted his head towards Paris.

'Dr Geller,' he gestured towards the opening sliding doors of the elevator, offering her his arm in oldfashioned gentleman-style, 'Shall we?'

Paris looked at him. His smile looked almost genuine. His nonchalance felt almost true. It made Paris sick.

Behind them, Lisa resumed her work over the lady's papers.

'Okay, Missis Dugray, I will need your signature here and then here...'

'I'm going out for a jog.'

Paris looked up from the book she had been reading. His voice hadn't been strained when he discussed The Hundred Year's War project with the boys over dinner earlier. He wasn't doing anything out of his usual routine. He went for a jog in the evenings. So he was going out for a jog. He hadn't sounded any different than every other time he said those exact same words to her before he went out for his evening jog.

Paris opened her mouth to speak, but realized Tristan was already out of the apartment. Tonight his jog took twice longer.

When he came back, he went straight into the upstairs bathroom to take a shower. Paris threw a look at the boys who were engrossed, playing a video game in the living room.

She went upstairs and knocked on the bathroom door.

'Tristan?'

Nothing.

She could hear the shower running.

She took a breath and walked into the bathroom. Steam was coming out of the shower cabin, filling the whole bathroom with sticky haze. Paris took off her clothes, opened the shower cabin glass door and walked in.

Tristan was standing in the shower with his back towards her, his head hung low, forehead resting against the tiles. The water running down his back was scalding hot but he didn't seem to notice. His palms were resting against the tiles on both sides of the tap and he seemed to be somewhere in his own head.

Paris stepped further into the cabin, moving to stand behind him, sneaking both arms around his waist into a loose hug.

Tristan tensed for a moment, torn out of his thoughts. Paris didn't move, waiting. After a moment he seemed to ease into her hold, recognition taking him a little longer than usual but striking anyway.

'If you decide to talk, I'm here.'

He didn't reply. She wondered if he'd heard her. They stood like this for another moment. Then Paris placed a kiss against his shoulder blade before she took a step back and left. Tristan didn't stop her.

His voice wasn't any different. His jokes weren't coming in piles but when they did, they didn't sound fake. The whole day he had been Tristan, her friend with benefits who didn't seem to have a care in the world. Her friend with benefits who she almost lived with. They alternated between her place and his, the boys welcoming the frequent sleepovers without questioning the nature of their parents' relationship. The world seemed to be a much simpler place when you were a young boy.

When they went to bed later on, Paris tried to comfort him, to caress his face and side in a way that wordlessly conveyed tenderness and understanding, but he had been restless, his whole body wound up like a coil. At some point he had given up prying her hands away and had moved onto her with silent purpose, his body strong and demanding, his everpresent restraint seemingly forgotten. It had been raw and messy. He took and gave and then took more, moving with almost angry determination, getting lost in her.

'Are you...' Tristan swallowed, lifting a hand to brush a stray hair away from her face. 'Are you okay?'

He was leaning on his side looking at her, his eyes skimming her frame with worried precision.

'Did I hurt you?' His voice was quiet and hoarse. 'I...' his face shifted into a strained expression. Worry. Shame. Confusion. They were all there, struggling for superiority. 'I might have been a little rough.'

He sounded so worried and ashamed.

'No,' Paris' voice came calm as she lay on her pillow, looking up at the ceiling. 'Not physically,' she added after a moment's thought and Tristan's breath hitched.

He rested his head back against his own pillow and rubbed his face with both palms. Then he resumed his previous position leaning against his elbow, turning to face her.

'Paris.'

His voice was eternally soft, as if he was afraid anything he did could break her.

She turned her head so that their eyes met. He hadn't hurt her. Not physically. She had read the frustration in his body language and welcomed the honesty. If she had given him any indication that tonight was not okay, he would've stopped. She had no idea how she knew this but she did. She was sure.

'I wanted to avoid this,' Tristan said, his voice somber and remorseful. 'I... I'm not sure I have it in me. What you need... I'm not sure I have it.'

He didn't elaborate what 'it' was supposed to mean, but he didn't have to. She knew exactly what he meant. Some time ago, she thought she didn't have 'it' in her either. Turned out she'd been wrong.

'Do you have any idea how you hold on to me while we sleep?' she asked him, her tone firm and clipped, almost scolding.

'I-' he seemed apologetic, struggling to find the right words.

'You have it in you, Tristan,' Paris said with a weary sigh.

We're not giving up.

He looked conflicted. Ashamed. Apologetic. She hated seeing him like this. She knew he hated being like this. But she knew they were into uncharted territory. She was walking somewhere no one, even Tristan himself dared to acknowledge even existed. He was scared of being honest with himself about way too many things, and she forced honesty out of him. Neither of them was sure what they would find if they dug into his open wounds, raw and bleeding. And he had them. He had so many scars, so many open wounds he refused to acknowledge.

It was never supposed to be easy. No one ever promised Paris a silver lining. But she knew, inwardly she knew what she was doing was right. Paris Geller felt a newfound determination.

'Can you do something for me?' she asked.

Tristan's eyes moved over her face, his look a battle of hope and apprehension. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

'At least admit you still care about her.'

Tristan took a sharp breath.

'I don't-'

She cut him short, holding his gaze.

'You're not allowing yourself to act on it, but you're still hurting and you're angry because you still care,' Paris said calmly, her voice void of emotion. 'We're past the point where you can lie to yourself and get away with it.'

Tristan rested back against his pillow, lifting an arm to cover his face, pressing his elbow against his forehead. Paris could practically feel the frustration oozing off of him. Half an hour passed with neither of them speaking. Then another. Paris thought he had fallen asleep when his voice came so quiet she might have as well imagined it.

'I still care.'

They fell asleep without exchanging another word.

Paris learned something about Tristan Dugray today. She learned why he didn't drink. He was always the designated driver, sporting a beer he usually didn't even touch. He didn't get drunk. He didn't fall in love. He didn't let himself go and he didn't lose control. Tristan Dugray was dead set on not acknowledging that standing two feet from your own birth mother in front of a hospital reception desk and not exchanging a word was not okay. Feeling ashamed by your concern about your own mother and hiding the fact that first thing you did after said reception desk encounter was log into the hospital database system and find out your mother wasn't dying of anything incurable but was simply having her routine check-up, wasn't okay. She obviously didn't know you were working in this particular hospital. Well, why would she? You weren't on speaking terms so she didn't know anything about you anymore. Not that it would matter. Lilian Dugray woudn't go out of her way in order to not meet her birth son. She never went out of her way to be around him, so it made sense she wouldn't go out of her way to avoid him either. So why, why would you still care whether she knew anything about you anymore? Why would you feel helpless and pathetic, still hurting for this woman's attention thirty years later? Why would you dread that maybe you were just like her - maybe in addition to being the spitting image of Lilian Dugray, you inherited her heart of ice too? Maybe just like your heartless mother, you didn't have 'it' in you. Maybe you were just as incapable to let anyone in and would never find it in yourself to provide warmth and love for another human being.

So, Paris Geller found out why Tristan Dugray didn't drink and didn't fall in love. Tonight, she found out why he had built a whole personality around the idea of a nonchalant good-natured goof. Because that was something he could control. And Tristan Dugray needed control. Control made him feel safe. He needed to feel in control of a situation and his own emotions or he felt impossibly lost. Because his whole life he'd been hurting over the loss of a love he had been denied for no apparent reason, a love he didn't have the power to get back.

He was trying to play this game by his own terms but it wasn't working the way he wanted. Sleeping with countless nameless women didn't help. Having a chaste romance with an older woman who accidentally reminded him of his cold heartless socialite mother didn't help. Trying to keep his heart under lock in a safe prison when he felt he started developing feelings for his best friend didn't help. Nothing helped. And Paris was starting to see just how big of a mess Tristan Dugray was. And somehow, in the short span of a day, his mess had started to make so much more sense.

Earlier today, Dr Paris Geller had paid Lilian Dugray a short visit. A very short visit indeed.

'You didn't even look at him,' Paris had said, standing by the door of the exam room without entering.

Lilian Dugray had tilted her head to the side, her piercing blue eyes reminding Paris so much of Tristan's.

'He's better off without me,' she shrugged and then continued reading the interior design magazine in her lap.

Paris left the room without another word.

Tristan Dugray wasn't angry with his mother because he judged the way she had treated him. He was angry with himself because he still loved someone who had never possessed the capacity to love him back. Lilian Dugray never showed a warm feeling towards her son, steeling her heart for no apparent reason. And it had shattered a young boy's world, making him believe he wasn't worthy of being loved, making him believe he couldn't love and had nothing to offer in return for being loved. But it wasn't true. Tristan Dugray had 'it' in him. In fact, he had so much love and warmth in him, it was enough to make him hold a torch for a mother who had never reciprocated a single warm feeling towards him. He had so much to give, but he had grown to believ it wasn't worthy of anything.

He's better off without me. You're better off without me. How many times had Paris heard those exact words from him? So maybe, after all, Tristan Dugray did take after more than his mother's looks.

And Paris wondered what kind of family Lilian Dugray came from, in order to become so convinced her love and warmth weren't worthy being mourned. She wondered what had steeled her heart to think that her own son would be better off without her in his life.

Everything you didn't know, it still made sense. When you did, it made perfect sense.

TBC