She let out a tired sigh as she shook her head. "Sorry, but I'm really not in the mood for a lecture tonight or whatever it is that you have planned," she said, once again heading towards her house, but she didn't get very far.

"We're not putting this off any longer," Tristan said as he took her hand and gave it a gentle pull in the direction of his house.

"Putting off what any longer?" she asked, wondering exactly what he planned on yelling at her about now. Was he pissed that she hadn’t run out of the restaurant when he’d told her to? Or maybe he was going to try bullying her into vacating their office. Then again, he might just want to take this opportunity to tell her that he didn't care what Hank said, he wouldn't be following any of the rules. If it was the latter then they really didn't need to have this talk, because she’d already figured out that he was going to make her life a living hell and do everything that he could to get her fired.

"We need to talk about-"

"Is that....is that  p**n o music?" she asked, cutting him off and frowning as she tried to make out the music coming from the other side of his front door.

"No," he said through what looked like a painfully clenched jaw. "I keep the television on to make burglars think that someone's home," he explained tightly as he dropped her hand and pulled out his keys.

"I see," she said, doing her best to hide her smile. "By making them think that someone is enjoying some alone time?" she asked sweetly as he glowered down at her.

"No."

"If you say so.........," she said with a shrug that clearly stated that she didn't believe him.

"I don't watch that shit," he said a little loudly as he opened the front door with a lot more noise than she thought was really necessary. Before she could tease him again the music abruptly changed to the theme from Gilligan's Island.

He sent her a triumphant grin as he closed the door behind them and walked down the hall, pausing only long enough to send a rather odd glare at something in the empty living room. Okay, that was a little weird, she thought as she reluctantly followed after him.

"Do you mind telling me what you need to talk to me about so that I can get on with the rest of my night and maybe get something to eat?" she asked as she followed him into the obscenely large kitchen. It really was too big for a bachelor.

"We can eat while we talk," he said, opening the freezer door and pulling out a white container overflowing with ice cubes. He placed the container on the counter, uncaring that ice went flying as he grabbed a kitchen towel and began filling it with ice.

"It's been a long day, Tristan. Any chance that we can just get to the point?" she asked with a tired sigh as she walked over to the counter and took over the chore of filling the cloth with ice.

"You don't want to eat first?" Tristan asked, sounding a bit nervous.

What exactly did he have to be nervous about, she wondered as he gave her what appeared to be a hopeful smile. Whatever it was, Tristan clearly wanted to put it off for a while.  Who would have ever thought the day would come when Tristan Black was nervous about anything? She certainly hadn't. He wanted to put off whatever it was that he wanted to talk about so of course she decided that she was rather anxious to hear it now.

"No, I think we should talk about it now," she said, biting back another smile as he opened his mouth only to shut it abruptly.

"Well?" she asked, cocking an expectant brow.

He cleared his throat, obviously trying to stall for time as he focused all of his attention on unbuttoning his shirt. "I could fire up the grill," he offered, trying to use her love for barbecue against her.

"No, that's fine. I'd rather hear what you have to say," she said with a little sigh as she gently pushed his hand away and finished unbuttoning his shirt for him. Once she was done, she pulled the shirt out of his pants and moved to push the shirt off when she spotted an angry bruise poking out from beneath the edge of his shirt.

"Oh my god, Tristan" she said, while quickly, yet carefully, removing his shirt so that she could see the extent of the damage.

A large bruise that looked fresh started just above the left side of his chest and went all the way up to his shoulder. She wasn't a medical professional or anything, but it looked painful and definitely like something that should be looked at by a doctor. He winced as she helped him remove his shirt off his left arm, but other than that he didn't complain, not that she actually expected him to. This was Tristan Black after all.

"You need to go to the hospital," she said, moving behind him to see the extent of the damage. She was glad that he was looking the other way so that he didn't see her cringe. Both sides were pretty bruised, but the top of his shoulder and back clearly got the worst of it.

"Not necessary," he said, grabbing the ice pack and placing it against his chest.

"It's very necessary, Tristan. You really hurt yourself," she said as she considered calling his father and brother so they could take a look at it and if needed, drag him off to the hospital.

"It's fine, Marty," he said, walking over to the refrigerator. He placed his homemade ice pack on top of the fridge and opened the door. "You want a beer or a Coke?"

"Nothing," she told him. "I want you to go the hospital and get that thing checked out."

What if he’d really damaged his arm? He could have torn something or aggravated his still healing wound. Ignoring it wasn't an option, but apparently that's exactly what Tristan planned on doing.

"Coke it is," he said, grabbing two Cokes with his right hand and placing them on the counter. He managed to open his Coke with his right hand before he grabbed the ice pack and placed it back against his chest. Then as if to prove that he really wasn't hurt, he picked up his soda with his left hand and proceeded to drink it while she glared at him.

"Get your butt back in the car, Tristan. We're going to the hospital," she said, deciding that she'd see if she could manage to get him there by herself before she called in the big guns.

"No," he simply said as he walked past her. He placed his soda on the table and pulled out a chair, trying to hide his grimace as he sat down.

"I'm not kidding, Tristan. Get your butt in that car, now," she said firmly, hoping that would be enough to get him to move his ass. Apparently it wasn't, because he only chuckled as he leaned back in his chair, careful of his shoulder.

"Or what?" he asked with a slow sexy smile that made her mouth go dry and made it difficult to think, never mind do what needed to be done.

"If you don't want barbeque, then we could always order in," Tristan suggested, giving her the distraction that she needed.

"We're not ordering in, Tristan," she said with a sigh as she unzipped her purse and grabbed her phone.

"What are you doing?"

"Calling your father and brother, because clearly I'm in over my head here and you're an idiot. I'm going to call them and let them drag you to the hosp-hey!" she gasped as he plucked the phone out of her hands and placed it in his pocket.

"Give that back," she said, holding her hand out expectantly.

"Sorry. Can't do that, Marty," he said, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed over his impressive chest.