Chapter 20

Patience had never been his forte. He was the most impatient person he knew. Waiting by the phone was killing him, and if she kept him waiting any longer it would be killing Paris also. He was worried about Rory, no doubt about it but he was still unsure as to why Paris called him. She had to know that there wasn't really anything he could do about Rory. It's not as if he could just call her up and be like "Hey, I heard you really missed me."

It had been hours since he had spoken to Paris. Checking his watch again, he sighed in frustration and then groaned when he realized what he was doing. Even in North Carolina, he was still letting Rory Gilmore control his every thought. Deciding he was done waiting by the phone, he moved to leave the room only to have the phone ring. "Hello," he answered quickly.

"Hey," Paris responded softly.

Tristan internally jumped for joy while working hard to restrain the urge to yell 'Finally!' in Paris' ear. "What took you so long? And why are you whispering?"

"Because I'm still at Rory's and I don't know how she'd react if she knew I was talking to you. She'd probably kill me." Paris admitted, "In fact, I know she'd kill me."

Tristan smiled. "Why? Would she be jealous?" he asked his voice full of cockiness.

Paris rolled her eyes. "I had hoped that military school would have turned down the cocky attitude some."

Tristan laughed. "Not a chance."

Paris sighed. "Nice to know some things never change."

Tristan nodded. "Yeah it's comforting."

"You and I both know that if Rory knew I was spilling her personal, private information to anyone, especially to you, she'd kill me."

"You're right. She'd be beyond mad if she found out you were telling me anything. Makes me think you might have a death wish."
Paris sighed. "Or maybe that I just felt that helping Rory was more important then respecting her feelings."

"Speaking of which, I got the impression you weren't telling me everything. That you were actually leaving a lot out."

Paris shook her head and sighed. She looked out across the yard trying to think of ways to steer the conversation away from what he wanted to know, what he didn't need to hear. She had no intention of telling him about Rory's run in with his family, and she had a feeling she'd already given away much more than she should have.

"Paris? Are you still there?" Tristan asked after she'd gone silent for a while.

"Tristan I told you everything you needed to know," she lied quickly.

"I don't believe you," he told her confidently.

"Tristan really..." Paris started but was interrupted by a throat clearing behind her. "Hold on," she said before covering the phone and turning around slowly, the whole time hoping it wouldn't be Rory behind her. She let out a sigh of relief when she saw it was Lorelai.

"Did I hear you say Tristan?" Lorelai asked curiously. At Paris' nod she added, "You're talking to Tristan?"

"I hope that's ok. I mean I know you gave the number to Rory but I..."

"It's fine, Paris," Lorelai said reassuringly. "How is he?"

Paris smiled appreciatively. "He's fine, I guess. He's worried about Rory now."

Lorelai nodded. "Guess that makes three of us. How much have you told him?"

Paris sighed guiltily. "More than I should have I think."

Lorelai nodded again. "Probably so," she said before turning to go back inside. "Carry on."
Paris let out a breath she didn't know she was still holding. It was becoming increasingly obvious that Lorelai didn't care what was done and how it was accomplished as long as she got her Rory back. Sighing she uncovered the phone, "Sorry. Lorelai caught me on the phone."

"No problem," Tristan replied easily. "Now tell me what you're keeping to yourself."

Paris sighed. She knew he would keep at her until she broke and told him everything and really it was for the best. Maybe Tristan could find a way to help or at the very least suggest a way. "I shouldn't be telling you this," she said cryptically.

Tristan sighed. "It must be important or you wouldn't be keeping it to yourself."

"It's just... it's more about you than her. And knowing how you feel about her it might hurt... well... you," she said slowly.

Tristan bit his bottom lip worriedly. "It might hurt me?" he asked for clarification.

"Yeah... well... kind of..." Paris said softly. "I know it's been bothering her. And I'm worried you're going to make it worse by verifying it."

"I would never hurt her..."

"Intentionally. I know."

"Ok, you're going to have to tell me what's going on here. Because honestly I have no idea what you're talking about."

"She thinks you being sent away is her fault."

"What?" Tristan said quickly.

"And that you do, too, and that you hate her because of it," Paris rushed out.

"Have you told her how ridiculous that is? I got sent away because I'm an idiot. It wasn't her fault."
"I told her that but she doesn't believe me. And then Duncan and Bowman had to go an open their big mouths..."

"Duncan and Bowman?"

"I swear it's their fault she's suspended."

"Suspended!"

Paris laughed nervously. "I didn't tell you that?"

"No," Tristan snapped. "Why is Rory suspended?"

"Because she slapped Duncan across the face," Paris said tiredly. Being involved in Rory's life was more exhausting then any class had ever been. "Duncan and Bowman told her it was her fault that you were sent away. That you never would have gone through with the safe prank if you hadn't been so angry at her. Then Duncan made a suggestive comment about her and tried to touch her..."

"He put his hands on her?" Tristan snapped his blood boiling.

Paris shook her head quickly. "No...No he didn't. He didn't get the chance. She slapped him; and when he went to hit her back, Mr. Medina..."

"He hit her?" Tristan demanded his hand clenching into a fist.

"NO.. Tristan you're not listening. Mr. Medina stopped him. He grabbed his hand before Duncan could touch her."

"I will kill him..." Tristan said slowly through clenched teeth.

"From North Carolina?" she asked skeptically.

"No. I'll come there and beat him within an inch of his pathetic little life." Tristan threatened.

"You can't kill him because he didn't touch her." Paris informed.

"I'll kill him for even thinking he had the right to touch her." He growled angrily.
"Tristan..."

"I have to go," he said suddenly, his desire to break something growing more and more ever second. He needed to be alone with his thoughts.

"But I only told you so you could tell me how to fix..."

"When I think of a way to help Rory, I'll let you know," he reassured her.

"I don't..."

"I have to go, Paris."

Paris sighed in defeat. "Okay."

"Just do what you can to be there for her. Have her back and make sure she's ok," he relented at her worried tone.

Paris nodded. "I'll do what I can. Bye."

"Bye." Tristan said before hanging up.

He was consumed by rage the second he hung up the phone. He headed straight for the punching bag that each room contained to pound his aggression out. He was furious. He was furious with Paris for calling and upsetting his little world he'd created outside of Hartford; furious at Duncan and Bowman for hurting Rory; furious at himself for getting shipped off to North Carolina. But most surprisingly he was furious at Rory. Furious at her for falling apart, for not being strong enough to make it without him, and furious at her for allowing Chilton to see her weak when she knew it was like chumming shark infested waters.

Punching the bag he berated himself for having the nerve to be angry with her. He had spent so much time insinuating himself into every aspect of her life at Chilton. He hadn't realized it had worked at the time but apparently it had.

Punching the bag harder he slipped back into his anger. He was so consumed in the punching bag he didn't even notice his roommate, Sam, walk in.

"You ok?" Same asked concerned.
Tristan nodded. "I'm dandy." he snapped through gritted teeth.

Sam nodded skeptically. "Oh yeah man, you look it."

Tristan nodded again still pounding into the bag. "Really I'm fine."

"Uh huh."

"There's just some stuff going on back home. I'm needed there but I'm stuck here." he said bitterly.

"Some stuff or someone?"

Tristan answered him by punching the bag even harder and sending him a glare.

"I see. Is she your girlfriend?"

"Not for lack of trying." Tristan grunted out between punches. "And up until a few hours ago, I truly thought she despised me."

"And..."

"Turns out she doesn't."

"Yeah?" Sam asked smiling.

"Yeah. She even kind of likes me." he said before dropping his hands and turning away from the bag.

"Well, that's a good thing, right?"

"She fell apart when I was sent here, and she needs my help," Tristan admitted before turning back to the bag.

"Aww. That's so cute."

Tristan shot him a glare before landing a final blow to the punching bag. Wincing as his fist connected with the bag, he looked down at his bruised bloody hand and sighed tiredly. "Shut up Sam."

"Sorry dude. So what kind of help does she need? Is she in trouble or something?"

Tristan laughed and shook his head. "Up until earlier I didn't even know Mary knew how to get into trouble."

"Mary? I take it that's her name."

Tristan shook his head and sighed again. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

xxxxxx

He'd given it plenty of thought and finally he'd concluded that the only way to help Rory was to get out of North Carolina and back to Connecticut. He'd spent almost an hour agonizing over calling his dad and had finally caved when he realized that if he wanted to come home he couldn't put it off any longer. Now sitting on his bed listening to his father's lecture, he knew exactly why he'd been dreading the call. "I just want to come home for a few days." he repeated angrily.

"No," Michael Dugrey snapped. "I already told you you're not ready to come home."

"I've been doing so well here, Dad. My grades are up, my behavior has changed..." Tristan argued.

"I don't care," he yelled. "I said you're not coming home."

Tristan sighed. "You said that when my grades weren't in the toilet anymore and I learned some respect, you'd let me come home. I've don't understand..."

"What's not to understand? I said no."

"But things have changed!" he yelled into the phone, "I've changed!"

"Evidently not. You're still the same spoiled little boy throwing a temper tantrum because you're not getting your way."

"Dad..." he pleaded.
"Absolutely not. You're not coming home and that's final," he yelled forcefully before hanging up.

Tristan groaned in frustration and anger as the dial tone rang in his ear. He slammed the phone down, nearly breaking it. He should have known that Michael Dugrey never had any intention of bringing him home until he had graduated, no matter how well he did there.

He remained on his bed solemn, his palm running across his face tiredly. He wanted to help her and he didn't think that a phone call would accomplish it. Sighing, he reached over for the phone again and dialed. The phone rand four times before it was finally answered. "Hey Grandpa. It's Tristan. I need your help. I didn't know who else to call."