sick sober & sorry: Tristan/Solange

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Tristan could not believe how bright the sun was. It reflected off the February snow, stabbing his eyes as he drove the hearse through the streets of Paris. Slowly. Very slowly. He blamed black ice when one of the mourners asked him; truthfully it was because with every bump on the road, Tristan could feel his throat burn and see the world rock in front of him. Each bump, each corner, had him muttering “Sorry” to Solange, who was sitting in the passenger seat beside him. Tristan couldn’t remember her ever riding in the hearse with him. He wasn’t sure if she just never wanted to or if it had never really come up, but they were desperate. After the Lestrade funeral, they had places to be.

Namely, a store that sold Powerade and bacon.

It sounded logical at the time. Electrolytes and fatty acids were meant to rehydrate cells and absorb remaining alcohol floating around in the blood stream. But now that Tristan stood in a small grocery with Solange, he couldn’t help but wonder why that had been his first idea. Most people settled for coffee and aspirin.

Tristan looked around. The stabbing fluorescent lights made him squint; the muzak playing on the store-wide speakers was inoffensively soft, though and it wasn’t too crowded yet. There was a mother and a baby in a buggy and an elderly couple all milling about. Tristan just hoped the baby didn’t start crying and that both the elderly shoppers were in good physical health. He looked over at Solange. She was also squinting. She had her click-y shoes on again, though, and Tristan didn’t know if that was worse for her than it was for him.

“I’m going to grab a cart,” he told her. “And then we can stock up.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Every twist and turn and bump they made on the way grave site was absolute torture. Tristan could apologize all he wanted but that didn't make it any better. She'd at least had the luxury of resting her head back on the seat and closing her eyes against the ridiculously bright sunlight. Tristan had to pay attention to the road though was driving it very carefully and at minimal speed as not to make them any worse off than they were already.

They had finally made it to the store and were about to get what they needed and what they hoped would help them feel better. They still had to make it through another service and a wake and if the way the squinted upon walking into the store was any indication, they weren't going to last long like this. Solange shoved her sunglasses back on, sighing a bit in relief when the dimmed lighting no longer drilled at her brain.

She glanced over and saw Tristan was squinting as well. "Put your shades back on. It helps," she told him.

She glanced around the store, trying to get a feel for where what they needed might be. “I’m going to grab a cart,” Tristan told her. “And then we can stock up.”

She looked at him from over the rim of her shades. "Stock up? I didn't think we were planning to make this a habit..." she said and pushed her sunglasses back up. "I suppose its better to be safe than sorry," she said with a shrug.

She waited for Tristan to return with the cart and by then she had given up on her high heels and was going barefoot in her nylons. Her shoes were hanging off the tips of her fingers and she motioned him on in the direction of the refrigeration section. Finally they came across the thick slabs of bacon that came in a surprising amount of varieties. There was turkey bacon and regular bacon and bacon 12 packs and bacon 24 packs...

"Uhhh...now what," she asked, confused. She wasn't sure what or how much of the bacon was called for by the remedy. "How much of it do we actually need? Does it have to be regular bacon for it to work?"

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

When Solange suggested Tristan put his sunglasses on, he took her advice. Instantly, he felt better and could see better. They must have looked like spies, dressed in their somber work clothes and wearing sunglasses. Despite his rotten mood, Tristan smiled. The kid at the counter watched him go for the cart with lazy suspicion. Tristan tried to look cool and collected, like he didn’t actually have a hangover and that the sunglasses weren’t covering up bloodshot and overly sensitive eyes. He pulled a cart from the corral where they were kept. The sound of the wheel squeaking made him abandon it in favor of a basket. He had had this sort of fantasy that he could use the shopping cart the way he’d used the wall of the funeral parlor or Solange’s desk for support. That wasn’t happening. Maybe he could get Solange to take the basket if he promised to carry the pack of Powerades.

Powerade. Not Electro-ade. Why had he called it Electro-ade earlier?

When he found Solange, she stood in the freezer aisle. Her shoes were in her hand, dangling off of her fingers. He looked down and even though he knew he shouldn’t have been, Tristan was surprised to see that Solange was barefoot.

"Uhhh...now what?" she asked. "How much of it do we actually need? Does it have to be regular bacon for it to work?"

“Aren’t you cold?” Tristan asked. “Your feet. You took your shoes off.”

Then, brain catching up with his mouth, Tristan looked back up. He couldn’t tell if Solange was glaring at him or not, thanks to the sunglasses, but if he had to guess, she probably was. It was almost better not knowing. Maybe he’d make the sunglasses regulation dress code.

“I mean, regular bacon, yeah,” he said, opening the freezer and grabbing a twelve pack of bacon. He had a microwave in his office to cook it in. But as he poked around in the freezer, it dawned on him that there were a lot more types of bacon than he’d realized. He’d have to ask Gwen about it, since food was really her thing and not his at all. The cold irritated his headache, though, so Tristan didn’t explore it further right now. He put the pack inside the basket. “I’ve never tried the other stuff. The turkey bacon or whatever.”

Because where was the bacon part on a turkey? Come to think of it, Tristan didn’t know what part of a pig bacon came from, either. Suddenly, he was very skeptical of his Master Plan. But he wasn’t going to tell Solange that. He’d just discretely add Tylenol to the shopping list.

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Seriously, bacon was bacon right? How could there possibly be this many options? With her aching and throbbing head she did not want to have to try and decide if she wanted the bacon to come precooked or not. She couldn't even make any decisions because she had no clue if there was a specific type or quantity of bacon that was required for the remedy to be effective. She stood there staring at the bacon until Tristan came back with a basket instead of a cart and she asked him what was needed.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asked and glanced at him in confusion from behind her sunglasses. “Your feet. You took your shoes off.”

"What?!" she asked. "I'm fine. I took them off because I couldn't hardly walk in them! I'd like to see you to navigate high heels with a hangover." She folded her arm over her chest as if challenging him to say anything more on the subject. "Can we please focus? Bacon!"

She pointed to the display beside her. “I mean, regular bacon, yeah,” he said, grabbing a pack of twelves strips and tossing it in the basket. She saw him glance over at the bacon again. “I’ve never tried the other stuff. The turkey bacon or whatever.”

"I haven't either..." she admitted. "I mean, is it technically bacon if its from turkey? Bacon comes from pigs..." She rubbed her head and groaned. Was she seriously discussing bacon? "In any case, you said regular so we're sticking with that. Any idea where sports drinks would be?" She squinted up at the signs, trying to see if that would be of any help.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

His headache wasn’t going away. And it probably wouldn’t as long as Solange worked for him. Her chewing him out for being concerned did nothing to endear her to him; if anything, he was now questioning why he’d brought her along, why he’d bought her drinks last night, why he’d agreed to be her fake boyfriend yesterday. He scowled, but did as he was asked.

More like ordered, Tristan thought grimly. He missed the Solange from last night. The one that talked to him like a friend or something. Because this shouting thing she was doing now was probably not helping either of them.

But they were safe and quiet when they started to talk about bacon, which Tristan resignedly accepted. It wasn’t quite the same caliber of conversation as last night, but it was better at being snapped at for checking on her.

Last time I do that ever, Tristan thought as he told her that he’d never eaten turkey bacon.

"I haven't either..." she admitted. "I mean, is it technically bacon if it’s from turkey? Bacon comes from pigs..." She rubbed her head and groaned. "In any case, you said regular so we're sticking with that. Any idea where sports drinks would be?"

“By the sodas,” Tristan guessed. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You go get them. Whatever kind looks good; I don’t really care. I’m going to get plates for this.” He lifted the basket halfheartedly to indicate the bacon. He was actually going to get Tylenol, too, since it was on the other side of the store from the sports drinks and he wasn’t going to risk pissing Solange off anymore. “I’ll meet you at the check out.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

“By the sodas,” Tristan suggested, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You go get them. Whatever kind looks good; I don’t really care. I’m going to get plates for this.” He raised the basket weakly to indicate the bacon inside. She nodded, but grabbed her head after it. “I’ll meet you at the check out.”

She turned to head towards where the soda might be. As she was walking away, it belatedly occurred to her that his remark about her being barefoot might not be so much about him making fun of her, but making sure she was okay. If that were the case then it made her feel a little guilty for snapping like she had. This headache was really messing with her mind and definitely not putting her in a good mood.

She rounded the corner where it was labeled beverages and picked out a large bottle of the blue kind for herself and the red kind for Tristan...red was always a pretty safe bet. With that she turned to head back to the check outline and found Tristan coming up there as well.

It was as they were coming up on each other to meet with their respective purchases that she began to realize just why walking in nylons on a tile floor was not a very good idea. One false step and her legs went sliding out from under her. Somehow she actually managed to do a spin and ended up crashing backwards right into Tristan.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Tristan picked up a package of paper plates on his way to the medication and first aid aisle. He stood there for a moment, enjoying the quiet. His head hurt; he was tired and still nauseous. But the thing about hangovers was that the longer you had one, the more used to it you got. Tristan wasn’t taking his sunglasses off anytime soon or about to blast industrial rock on the drive home, but he secretly thought that maybe he could function passably for the rest of the day, if he wasn’t so irritated. He still felt dehydrated; he was still hungry. Powerade and bacon still sounded like good ideas. But he didn’t know if he wanted to sit in his office, eating a weird hangover breakfast with Solange. She was crabby; he was crabby. They were both miserable. And Tristan really didn’t believe that misery loved company. They'd probably continue to snipe at each other.

And yet, for a magical few minutes that morning, they’d said nothing but “please” to each other. “Please tell me this” “Please say that”. That had been kind of a nice game changer. Manners. Tristan supposed – grudgingly supposed – he could go back to being extra polite, if it meant Solange wouldn’t yell at him.

He grabbed a bottle of Tums and a bottle of Tylenol and took off for the checkout line.

He saw Solange round the corner and he nodded at her. Polite didn’t mean he had to smile when he didn’t feel like it, right? He took a few steps towards her, but suddenly Solange wasn’t walking. Her feet moved as if they were on an ice rink, slipping and sliding. Tristan stopped. What was she doing…? He couldn’t quite figure out—

CRASH!

Too late. Solange pirouetted straight into Tristan and momentum managed to knock them both backwards. A pair of high heeled shoes, two Powerades, a few pill bottles, and a rasher of bacon all flew up into the air. The basket swung up into the air and Tristan dropped it and landed on it. Solange, meanwhile landed on him.

And not far away, the groceries landed with a thunk. One of the Powerades hit the ground with such force that it popped open and sprayed sticky blue liquid all over them. The other one leaked red like a blood trail as it rolled out of sight.

And while Tristan hurt all over now – so much for feeling better – he couldn’t help himself. He laughed.

There was nothing else he could do.

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

This was turning into a huge, awful mess. One second she was walking to meet up with Tristan and the next she was barreling into him backwards. She knocked him off balance and everything went flying. The bacon landed in a magazine rack, her shoes went two different directions, the sports drink burst open and sprayed the both of them...and the two of them landed in a tangled mass of limbs as she fell on top of him.

For a long moment all she could do was lay there as she moan and clutch her head, before suddenly realizing she was literally on top of him. "Oh God! Tristan, I'm sorry," she hurried to say, rolling to the side so she was no longer crushing him, getting up to her knees. "I just slipped and lost control! I'm so sorry!" She felt horribly guilty for probably making his hangover an ever worse experience but was slightly relieved when he started to laughing.

She gave a faint smile. It was kind of funny...her left arm was dripping blue and slabs of bacon were resting where the latest fashion magazine should be. "You all right," she asked, offering a hand to him to help him up.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Tristan just could not catch a break. He’d woken up with the mother of all hangovers and an inappropriate residual infatuation for Solange. He hadn’t been able to stomach working in his embalming room or handle the sound of a second-rate organ player. He’d argued with Solange, driven the hearse with a blinding headache, and now this. He’d need to take his suit in for dry cleaning ASAP and all of the hangover remedies he and Solange had painstakingly collected were in shambles.

But right now, he was tangled up with Solange on a linoleum floor and it struck him that there were definitely worse fates.

Of course, her elbow was jammed into his ribs, so it wasn’t exactly comfortable. She moaned and Tristan suddenly wondered if it was possible to get a concussion from colliding with another person. He sat up a little. Just in time to see Solange slide off of him.

Just in time to hear her apologize.

"Oh God! Tristan, I'm sorry," she said, kneeling beside him. He propped himself up on his elbows attentively. He wasn’t hearing those words again anytime soon. ‘Tristan, I’m sorry’. He liked them and instantly forgave her. Because if anyone was having as bad a day as he was, it was Solange. "I just slipped and lost control! I'm so sorry!"

And then Tristan couldn’t help himself. He laughed harder. Never in the eight months he’d known her had Tristan seen Solange get flustered. This was great. They should go shopping together more often.

"You all right?" she asked, offering Tristan her hand. He took it, more for stability than anything else and once the two of them were standing, he smiled at her.

“Never better,” he said. It wasn’t true, exactly, but it wasn’t sarcastic either. This was probably the best hangover he’d had in a very long time. Probably the best hangover he’d ever had, hands down. Usually, hangovers didn’t leave a guy laughing. “How about you?”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Well this was quite embarrassing. Being sprawled on top of her boss (in probably the least sexual way ever, what with her elbow jabbed in his ribs) in the middle of a very public grocery store was just another thing on the long list of why this day was absolutely terrible. She was slightly worried about having made thing worse for Tristan and even though he was actually laughing, she found herself blurting out and apology as she rolled off of him. Of course this only seemed to make him laugh harder and soon she was kind of grinning herself. The whole situation was so ridiculous she couldn't help it.

He took her hand and she pulled him up a bit as they both got to their feet. She asked one more time if he was okay, hoping her graceful little dance there hadn't injured him.
“Never better,” he told her. “How about you?” he asked.

"I think I'm all right. Nothing is broken, in any case," she said. She glanced down at the red and blue puddles on the titles. "Except the sports drinks. Damn...I'll go get some more," she said. "And maybe some paper towels to go with it." With that she hurried off to get get yet some more sports drinks.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Tristan watched Solange hurry off down the aisle to get sports drinks and paper towels. Grinning, he called after her, “Don’t run!” and then he remembered why they’d come here in the first place. Yelling triggered his hangover headache. He looked around the sopping mess of Powerade and groceries. A janitor was already on it, mopping away at the brightly colored tiles. Tristan walked over to pick up Solange’s shoes before the staff threw them out. They were probably ruined; leather and water didn’t go well together. But Tristan wasn’t sure how else Solange planned to get to the car without freezing her feet off…

And then he felt the eyes of other people on him. The elderly couple, the cashier, and the young mother were all eyeing Tristan as he stood there. The elderly man looked like he was going to laugh; the elderly woman, scandalized. And the mother looked irritated because all that noise had surely woken her kid from its nap. The cashier, though, stared at Tristan with raised eyebrows and a half smile.

“I’ll pay for this,” he told the cashier, knowing full well that he was already paying for it with the return of his migraine and the rising heat in his cheeks. But as Solange made her way back to the checkout line with new sports drinks in tow, Tristan couldn’t help but smile. Maybe it was worth the price.


OOC: End scene! BIC: