Just Add Interns! (Solange)

[The Exodus]

OOC: Tristange... and interns. BIC:

Tristan Vidal

“And this is where the magic happens,” Tristan said, flicking on the overhead light. The stainless steel in the room gleamed under the florescents. He looked at his equipment – his spotlessly clean equipment – with the kind of pride most men reserved for their cars and favorite children. “The embalming room. I’m sure you’ve all at least toured one before. But this one is ours and I want to ask each of you to please take care of it as well – or better than – your own homes.”

Two of the three faces looking at him looked as if they were being somehow patronized to. Tristan couldn’t help it and he wanted to apologize almost immediately. He’d seen all of their credentials and these kids were highly qualified mortuary science students. But the last time Tristan had given a tour of this place had been for a health inspector’s benefit. He wasn’t used to having students – interns, apprentices – listening to his every word. One of them seemed to be doing just that.

Gaston Renault was a young man, only nineteen years old, and a lucky find. At the last minute, their original third intern broke her femur in a skiing accident and was confined to bed-rest. Gaston’s resume had been at the bottom of Tristan’s pile and he and Solange debated the need for a third intern. They were just about to toss it in the trash, when Gaston called the funeral home, following up on his application. It won Tristan over, that go-getter attitude.

“I know I don’t come from a line of morticians,” Gaston had said on the phone that day. “But I feel called to serve, you know?”

Tristan had – Tristan did. As did Solange. Neither of them came from families of funeral directors and yet, here they were. It seemed like a sign, if you believed in that kind of thing. The other two interns – Mathis Marceaux and Chelsea Taylor – came highly recommended from their respective schools and had been born into the funeral business. Truthfully, Tristan was a little envious. He’d been raised by a computer programmer. It didn’t exactly give him a leg up in the industry. But the last eight – almost nine – years had given him enough practice that he was somehow qualified to mentor these kids.

Kids. One of them was basically Solange’s age. Tristan could only imagine how she must be feeling.

He cleared his throat and crossed the room. He picked up a stack of leather bound journals and handed one to each of the interns.

“These are for you to record your embalmings and cremations,” he told them. “Your graduation requirements say that you each need to embalm fifty bodies during your apprenticeships. I’m trusting you guys to keep up with it; I’ll be keeping a log, too.”

Tristan always kept a log. His was filled with notes and sketches, memos about abnormalities and unique requests. Now, it would also contain numbers and names of who was doing what. It felt weird, having to oversee people who were – at most – ten years younger than him. It felt weird. The first words out of Chelsea’s mouth when she saw him were, “You aren’t Mister Vidal, right?” She’d come directly from the airport and had been half an hour early, utterly shocked to see Tristan emerge from his car – the hunk of junk he drove when he wasn’t driving the hearse – with his hair not yet pulled back. Chelsea had a flat and nasally American accent; she was originally from some place called Wisconsin and had gone to Tristan’s alma mater – McAllister – in New York City for the last two years. “So I’m a real New Yorker now,” she insisted, ten minutes later when she was still talking cheerfully and Tristan was groggily fighting with the coffee maker. “And soon I’ll be a real Parisian. I want to be a citizen of the whole world.” He’d been too monosyllabic to say anything other than “cool” until Solange arrived and then, shortly after, the other interns made their appearances.

Mathis wasn’t nearly as talkative as Chelsea. He’d been pleasant enough, shaking hands like a pro. Truthfully, Tristan was glad to see that Mathis’ hair hung past his ears. He was used to being the only male mortician with hair not kept at a close crop. It made him feel more secure; like less of a freak show. But the guy hadn’t said more than maybe twenty words since arriving. He had the demeanor of a funeral director twice Tristan’s age, which unnerved Tristan just a bit. After all, jokes and puns and lighthearted conversation were what kept him from drying up into a husk of a person. Surely Mathis, who had grown up in a funeral home, knew that he couldn’t keep a poker face forever.

They were an odd bunch, the four of them, standing in the embalming room. And they became an even stranger quintet when Solange peered into the doorway. Tristan looked over at her and smiled.

“And this is my better half,” Tristan said, knowing that Solange hadn’t gotten a chance to do much more than wave at the interns before he whisked them off for a grand tour. “Solange de Grace. Solange is the brains of the operation. I leave our living clients in her capable hands while I work with these guys.” He nodded to the multi-person freezer and set down his journal. “Solange, meet Mathis, Chelsea and Gaston.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Ever since becoming an official partner, Tristan had been filling her in a little on a few minor additions to her job. She'd actually be handling a few of the consultations, for one, and he'd had to explain just what those entailed. He'd explained the workings of the services as well. Essentially she was going to be freeing him up for more work in the embalming room. He could take care of that if he wanted. As much as her feelings had changed about her job, she still had no desire to handle the deceased personally.

Things were working out quite nicely for them as partners in the business. The transition was relatively smooth. They'd already made a few executive decisions together, such as which of the applying interns to take on. At first after the third had to drop out, they'd agreed that they really only needed two. Mathis and Chelsea where excellent candidates. And then Gaston had given them a call and had seemed so eager, that they'd went ahead and taken him on as well.

Today was their first day. The girl, Chelsea, had been there when she arrived, talking to Tristan. It had taken Solange a moment to realize that the girl had to have been a good half hour early. Tristan already had coffee going and Solange herself was at least 15 minutes early. Of course, the others arrived a short while later.

She had only enough time to wave briefly at each of them in turn because she'd been busy since stepping through the door. Tristan had taken the interns on a tour of the funeral home while she stayed in the office to handle a consultation and make some phone calls, and arrange for a body pick up in a couple of hours.

She went to go let Tristan know as he was going to be the one in charge of that. She found him and the interns in the embalming room. 8 eyes suddenly turned to look at her as she took a few steps inside.

“And this is my better half,” Tristan said with a smile. “Solange de Grace. Solange is the brains of the operation. I leave our living clients in her capable hands while I work with these guys.”

Now six eyes were looking at her with skepticism. At most she was 2 years older than these people. She really hadn't thought this through when going through applications. No matter how Tristan spun this, there was no way these three were listening to her.

“Solange, meet Mathis, Chelsea and Gaston.” he said, motioning to each other them in turn.

Solange smiled politely and put on her best air of authority. She shook each of their hand and nodded. "Great to meet you guys," she said warmly. "I hope you'll enjoy working with us here. I'll be helping you with the business aspects of the job and Tristan will show you he more...hands on stuff."

She turned to Tristan now. "Speaking of which...the morgue called for a body pick up. They want it out before one, if possible," she told him.

"How did he die," Chelsea suddenly asked.

Solange looked at her for a moment. "Uhhh..he got in a car wreck. One half of his face was basically completely crushed," she explained, figuring a group of mortuary interns could handle hearing something like that.

"Full reconstruction will be basically impossible with something like that," Mathis commented almost offhandedly. "No matter what you do the family won't be satisfied. My parents usually give automatic upgrades to people like that to improve morale."

Solange raised an eyebrow and shared a glance with Tristan. "I will definitely keep that in mind."

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Tristan’s eyes crinkled up a little as he smiled over at Solange, watching her shake hands with the interns. But then he busied himself with reorganizing his workspace for the morning, checking the sanitized tools in the drying rack beside the sink, to see if they were fit for use yet. From the corner of his eye, Tristan watched the interns and Solange. A little frown tugged at the right of his mouth. The interns looked politely skeptical. Those raised eyebrows and wide eyes would have to go.

They’ll see, he reminded himself. He and Solange ran a tight ship. The interns would see soon enough that two twenty-somethings could run a first-generation funeral home more successfully than – or at least on par with—fifth generation morticians.

"Speaking of which...” Solange said, looking at Tristan pointedly. He’d missed something, namely the topic at hand. “The morgue called for a body pick up. They want it out before one, if possible."

“Great,” Tristan said. “We’ll make a field trip out of it.”

He hoped Albert or one of other guys was on duty. Georgette’s usual greetings were too familiar, too unprofessional, and too mean for a first day. Last time she’d been on duty, she’d asked Tristan, “Still screwing your secretary?” to which he’d snapped “Business partner” without thinking. He’d blushed a furious fuchsia for the next twenty minutes. He didn't bother clarifying, because last time he'd tried, he only ended up shoving his foot further into his mouth. Not the impression he wanted to give his interns.

"How did he die?" Chelsea asked. She seemed more curious than concerned. But Tristan was sure that if Solange had answered the phone, mode of death hadn’t come up.


"Uhhh… He got in a car wreck. One half of his face was basically completely crushed," Solange said. Tristan smiled at her. So MOD had come up, after all? Clearly, the local morgue was taking to Solange’s promotion just fine. And this meant a nice challenge for the afternoon; a fun change of pace.


"Full reconstruction will be basically impossible with something like that," Mathis said. It was the first time he’d spoken since introducing himself. Tristan looked over at him with knitted brows. “Impossible” wasn’t in his vocabulary. And three weeks ago, he’d done damage control on a guy whose cheekbone and jaw was shattered. It was a challenge, but not “impossible”. "No matter what you do the family won't be satisfied. My parents usually give automatic upgrades to people like that to improve morale."

Tristan’s jaw clenched. If Solange hadn’t caught his eye, he probably would have snapped at the kid. He knew how to do his job; how to reconstruct decedents and how to do pricing.

"I will definitely keep that in mind," said Solange.

“We don’t get complaints,” Tristan said. His voice was low and tight. “There are plenty of ways to reconstruct a crushed skull. I’ll show you, once we see what condition the body is in.”

If looks could kill, both Tristan and Mathis would both have been dead. Chelsea broke the taut silence by asking, “Can we go to the morgue now? I want to see the body!”

Tristan looked over at Solange. “You need any of them to stick around and help with anything?”

He hoped that translated to: Take Mathis before I strangle him. Tristan didn’t have enough sleep or enough caffeine in his system to cheerfully turn the other cheek and he knew if Mathis went along to the morgue, it would quickly turn into a display of mortuary prowess. One that Tristan knew would make him look like an *ss and one that he couldn’t bear to lose. Not on day one.

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Solange bit back a grin. Leave it to her boyfriend to use the same word used to describe fun little sidetrips from school in comparison with a body pickup from the morgue. The interns, for their part, seemed to share his enthusiasm though, asking about cause of death and discussing if the reconstruction of the damaged are was even going to work.

Solange and Tristan were both somewhat surpised by Mathis. The guy hadn't said that many words since being here. Though Tristan seemed to take the comment personally.

“We don’t get complaints,” he all but snapped.
“There are plenty of ways to reconstruct a crushed skull. I’ll show you, once we see what condition the body is in.”

Solange gave him a sharp look, warning him not to start a fight with the intern on the first day. If he did, it wouldn't bode well for the next few months that Mathis wsa going to be here.

“Can we go to the morgue now? I want to see the body!” Chelsea piped up. Solange felt a herself let out a sigh of relief.

“You need any of them to stick around and help with anything?” Tristan asked.

She definitely got the message. He wanted her to take Mathis off his hands. Probably a good idea or else they might be doing a body exhange instead when they got to the morgue. She met his gaze disapprovingly, letting him know he'd better be ready to play nice when he got back.

"Actually, can you hang back, Mathis? I need some help with setting up for the next service," she said. "I'll make sure we're done before they get back so you can see the rest of the process."

Mathis nodded politely, back to his quiet ways. Solange sighed, hoping that Tristan would be in a better mood once his coffee set in a little more.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Driving the hearse to the morgue calmed Tristan down. There was something soothing about the new hearse. It moved through the streets like a sleek, black snake, winding around corners smoothly. And it still smelled more like new car than dead body. They’d also gone through a Starbucks drive thru – a cardinal sin for most Parisians; a blessing for people like Tristan who didn’t have the time to go inside cafes all the time. The extra caffeine put him at ease. Chelsea and Gaston seemed to appreciate it, too. By the time they reached the morgue, Tristan had almost forgotten that he was mad at Mathis and that Solange might, in turn, be mad at him. Tristan showed Chelsea and Gaston how to check in at the front desk.

“I’ll get you employee IDs, I guess,” he told them as they walked down the hall. The local morgues recognized him on sight. Many didn’t even look at his driver’s license when he showed it off. Employee IDs might be a good idea. He’d talk to Solange tonight about it.

When they walked into the operating theatre, Albert stood by the body. It was covered by a white modesty cloth. Completely covered. He and Tristan frowned at each other.

“What’s with the table cloth?” Tristan asked.

“What’s with the Young Justice League?” Albert asked.

“New interns,” said Tristan. To which the other man nodded sympathetically.

“We had one for a while,” Albert said, opening the morgue freezer. “He couldn’t hack it. Our industry isn’t for everyone.”

“Is that why the decedent is completely covered?” asked Tristan.

Albert nodded. Something like glee crossed his paunchy face. “He’s a doozy. You’re going to have fun with him, Tristan.”

Albert pulled the sheet back. One of the interns gagged. Tristan looked over at his shoulder and he couldn’t tell if it had been Chelsea or Gaston who’d done that. They’d both gone quiet with wide eyes.

“It’s not so bad,” Tristan said cheerfully. “We’ll have him looking good as new in no time.”

“Mathis said—“ Gaston started.

Tristan rolled his eyes.

“Mathis means well,” he said. “But you can put this kind of fracture together with denture adhesive and wax. Lots of wax. There’s a reason embalming is called “restorative art’.”

“You’re the only one I know who calls it that,” Albert said.

Gaston looked like he wanted to take notes. He was waxy pale under the lights and Tristan had a sinking suspicion that Gaston had been the one who gagged a few minutes ago.

“Hey, as long as the next of kin provides a good photograph, it’s kind of like art. … The family’s been contacted, right?”

Albert handed over the remaining information and helped Tristan load the decedent into the back of the hearse. They turned on the radio for the ride back and soon, the whole hearse was animated by discussion about worst songs to play at funerals.

“I’m still going to go with “Another One Bites the Dust,” Gaston said as the three of them got out of the hearse to move the decedent – Monsieur Morrel – into the embalming room. “Who’d play that at a funeral?”

“If someone doesn’t play that at my funeral, I’m coming back as a ghost,” Tristan insisted. Chelsea laughed; Gaston looked utterly scandalized. “I have a whole list of bad funeral songs written down in my will. ‘Don’t Fear the Reaper’, ‘Highway to Hell’, ‘Another One Bites the Dust…’”

“That’s messed up,” Gaston said. “You’re planning to die?”

Tristan stared at him and then started to laugh. If Gaston wanted to be a good mortician – a sane one, anyways – he would have to develop a sense of humor. A smile slowly cracked the younger man’s face.

“It’s a joke,” Tristan said. Then, calling out to Solange and Mathis, he said, “We’re back!”

They put Monsieur Morrell into the funeral home freezer and each went to wash their hands. Tristan walked out of the embalming room last and went to the front desk.

“It’s not so bad,” he told her. “Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

“Except the no-pulse thing,” Gaston said. He looked like an eager puppy, waiting for Tristan or Solange to laugh at his joke. Tristan let out a weak chuckle, a little uneasy.

“Yeah, except that,” he agreed. “How’s the morning been?”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

The set up for the funeral went smoothly. Mathis was a big help in moving around some of the larger plants and a surprisingly large framed photo that the family had brought in. Mathis didn't say much of anything, so it was quiet work. What he did say, though, were things like how to make more room up front for the viewing and about lowering the lighting just slightly in order to make the body less garish. All of it was helpful, but was phrased in such a way that it seemed like he was just making conversation more than anything.

Solange still didn't approve of Tristan's treatment of the intern from earlier. Mathis was generally nice guy, it seemed. But Tristan had to get all defensive of his 'territory'. She was sure Mathis hadn't meant anything by his comment earlier. All she knew was that Tristan had better be ready to make nice with Mathis when he returned from the morgue.

She and Mathis were at the front desk, waiting for the others to return. The set up had gone much quicker than expected with Mathis helping. She heard Tristan call out that they had returned and a few moments later he filed out of the embalming room behind behind Chelsea and Gaston.

“It’s not so bad,” Tristan said. “Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

There he went again! He just had had to throw that in there that he'd been right. Right in front of Mathis too. Solange didn't say anything, didn't even look up from her computer screen.

“Except the no-pulse thing,” Gaston said in this eager sounding voice. Solange looked up now, giving him a thin smile.

“Yeah, except that,” Tristan said with an comfortable laugh. “How’s the morning been?”

Her smiled turned tight as she glanced over at her boyfriend. She didn't want to start a fight a public and not in front of the interns that were still gathered around. That still wasn't her or how she handled things.

"It was fine," she told him in a very businesslike voice. "Mathis helped out a lot and even managed to teach me a thing or two. He's got a lot of good suggestions."

"It..it was nothing," Mathis said, looking a little horrified.

She sincerely hoped Tristan understood her meaning this time. That he might be very good at his job but there was always something they could learn. He just had to put his ego aside long enough to do it.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Solange’s smile didn’t meet her eyes. Tristan raised both eyebrows and stared at his girlfriend. He’d ask later if she was all right.

"It was fine," said Solange tightly. "Mathis helped out a lot and even managed to teach me a thing or two. He's got a lot of good suggestions."

Tristan’s mind flashed with all sorts of suggestions Mathis could probably have given Solange. That was probably what the tight smile was all about. It wasn’t fun having an intern tell you how to do your job.

Join the club, Tristan thought with sympathetic sarcasm.

"It… it was nothing," Mathis insisted.

Tristan shrugged. Maybe it was nothing; maybe it was something. All he knew was that an hour and a half ago, Mathis had told him what to do. And now the kid was telling Solange what to do. Before the week was out, this would be Marceaux Funeral Home 2.0 if no one said anything.

“I hope you’re learning things from Solange, too, Mathis,” Tristan said pointedly. Solange had rescued him from taking Mathis on the morgue trip; the least he could do was defend her integrity as a funeral arranger.

“Mathis,” Chelsea said eagerly. “You have to see this body! It’s perfectly disgusting.”

“That’s someone’s husband you’re talking about,” Mathis reminded her quietly. For a fleeting second, Tristan remembered why they’d hired Mathis and felt gratitude towards him. The feeling passed when Gaston said, “Monsieur Vidal says we can fix him with denture cream.”

“It’s a bone adhesive,” Tristan said quickly. “A trick I picked up in New York. I’ll show you, if you want. Why don’t we trade interns for a bit, Solange?”

He could show Mathis that no problem was unsolvable in the embalming room; those that were were taken to the crematorium. But this would be a good opportunity for Mathis to learn something and a way for Tristan to get him out of Solange’s hair. Maybe that would improve everybody’s mood.

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

She supposed it really was too much to expect that Tristan would get the meaning of her terse reaction. It was obvious he picked up that there was something bugging her but seemed to misunderstand the source. They didn't fight often but when they did she had to be very direct. He was a smart guy but didn't handle social ques very well. Their last fight he hadn't even realized something was wrong until she flat out yelled at him about what was bothering her.

“I hope you’re learning things from Solange, too, Mathis,” he told Mathis, and while it was sweet of him to defend her, all she could do was give him a sharp head shake. Hopefully he would understand that Mathis wasn't the problem.

“Mathis,” Chelsea suddenly spoke up again. “You have to see this body! It’s perfectly disgusting.”

Solange looked at the girl, a little horrified by the eagerness with which she had spoken. It was one thing to enjoy this job, but but it was another thing entirely to be almost gleeful about it. Already Solange was a little disturbed by Chelsea.

“That’s someone’s husband you’re talking about,” Mathis said, surprisingly being the one to speak up.

Solange looked at Tristan again. He had to see that he and Mathis shared a lot more in common than he wanted to admit. The guy had that same compassion and sympathy that Tristan did and Solange was glad to see that growing up in a funeral home hadn't desensitized to the fact that these people had been human beings. She didn't think Chelsea was completely insensitive, just probably a little careless with her words.

“Monsieur Vidal says we can fix him with denture cream.” Gaston said, breaking the silence.

“It’s a bone adhesive,” Tristan said quickly. “A trick I picked up in New York. I’ll show you, if you want. Why don’t we trade interns for a bit, Solange?”

She gave him another tight smile, showing that this offer was not improving anything. "If you'd like, I can take all three of them if you'd like to do your work alone," she commented. "I mean back in the embalming room before you left you seemed a little...stressed. You sure you're up to it?"

She raised her eyebrow at him pointedly, hoping she'd finally gotten her point across that he'd better lighten up.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Solange smiled at him, but it wasn’t a thank-you-you’re-my-hero type smile. It was a I’m-trying-not-to-smack-somebody type smile. Tristan scratched his cheek and began mapping out an exit route, in case Solange turned her frustrations at Mathis onto him.

"If you'd like, I can take all three of them if you'd like to do your work alone," said Solange. Which Tristan thought was a strange thing to say, really, since the embalming practice was half the reason the interns were there. "I mean back in the embalming room before you left you seemed a little...stressed. You sure you're up to it?"


Solange arched one eyebrow at him, as if there was something in that sentence he was supposed to "get". Was he supposed to not be up for doing his job? That didn't make any sense.


“I’m up for it,” Tristan reassured her. Now, he was wondering if maybe he’d pissed Solange off. He couldn’t see how; he’d been back for ten minutes, maybe. But she was tense; you could see it in her smile-that-wasn’t-a-smile. It would probably be a good idea for him and Mathis to both get out of her hair for a couple hours. Just to cover all bases. Or maybe, to get to the bottom of this. Ask just what the hell had happened between this morning and now. It was one thing to have an angry business partner. It was another to have an angry girlfriend with whom you ran your business. Tristan cleared his throat. “We could give these guys a ten minute break though. I need to talk to you about something in my office really quick.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

She watched Tristan reaction carefully. By the look of slight confusion and worry on his face, he had come to understand that he was probably the one she was mad at but still wasn't quite sure why. She kept eyeing him, waiting for him to understand what it was he'd done wrong. Obviously it was not going to be as easy as she'd hoped. He could reconstruct damaged bodies and handle bereaved families like no other but subtlety really was not Tristan's strong point.

“I’m up for it,” he told her. ith whom you ran your business. Tristan cleared his throat. “We could give these guys a ten minute break though. I need to talk to you about something in my office really quick.”

At last they were getting somewhere. She nodded in agreement before turning to the interns. "You can help yourself to the coffee and water over there," she told them. "We'll be back in just a minute."

She followed Tristan back to his office and shut the door when they went inside. As she did she found that she really wasn't so much angry anymore as she just wanted him to understand he had to at least try to get along with to the interns. She had to make him see that Mathis hadn't meant anything by his earlier comment and there had been no need to take offense to it.

She gave a heavy sigh. "Trist, I really think you need to go out there and apologize to Mathis," she said. "He wasn't trying to undermine you or anything. He was just making a comment on the subject at hand. You didn't need to get so defensive."

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Tristan steeled himself for a fight. He expected Solange to raise her voice or to at least jab her finger between his eyes until he saw double. But when the office door closed with a loud “thud”, there was no shouting. Instead, Solange sighed heavily and Tristan sat down on the lip of his desk and groaned.

Here we go.

"Trist,” said Solange, invoking the pet name only she used for him. It softened Tristan’s expression, made him unfold his arms. “I really think you need to go out there and apologize to Mathis.”

Tristan laughed until he realized Solange was serious. He choked on his own vocal cords and coughed for a few seconds. Then, almost breathlessly, he managed to ask, “What?”

"He wasn't trying to undermine you or anything,” Solange continued. “He was just making a comment on the subject at hand. You didn't need to get so defensive."

“I’m not—“

Tristan’s face fell. That sounded defensive. He groaned a second time and pushed off the desk to pace. Of course he wasn’t defensive about some twenty-one year old mortician’s kid. Of course he wasn’t defensive about being told what to do in his funeral home in front of his girlfriend-slash-business-partner and all their new interns. Why the hell would he be defensive? Tristan shook his head with a self-deprecating chuckle. Maybe he was defensive. Just a bit.

“I’ll apologize for being rude. I’ll apologize for not taking him to the morgue. But I’m not apologizing for doing things differently than he thinks I should. It's our business. He needs to understand that this isn’t his parents’ funeral home. If he wanted things done their way, he would have been better off interning for them.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Tristan gave a laugh when she suggested he apologize to Mathis. It was obvious he thought she was joking, but she was completely serious. She certainly didn't approve of the passive aggressive tactics he'd used to punish Mathis for the perceived slight against his business. The way he'd spoken to the guy had been quite rude which was not him at all. She tried to explain to Tristan that Mathis hadn't been trying to act superior or anything, but was just trying to make conversation about the subject at hand.

He sighed and shook his head before giving a little laugh. “I’ll apologize for being rude. I’ll apologize for not taking him to the morgue. But I’m not apologizing for doing things differently than he thinks I should. It's our business. He needs to understand that this isn't his parents’ funeral home. If he wanted things done their way, he would have been better off interning for them.” he said.

She wanted to remind him that Mathis hadn't said he was doing it wrong, but she had a feeling that this was as far as she was going to get with him for now. At least he was willing to apologize which was more than she could ask for at the moment. She gave a small smile and went to where he sat on the edge of his desk, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and giving him a soft kiss on the lips.

"That's all I'm asking," she told him. "Now lets get back out there before someone comes in for a consultation and finds a bunch of interns."

END SCENE