xp_logs | Saturday night, after the card game . . . (Reply)

The card game broke up late, and after everyone went back up to a journalism-free mansion, Hank was still visible on the monitors he'd set up for Ali, sitting quietly. After a little while, he moved off to the side, out of range of any of the cameras, and for a while they panned over an empty medlab.

Then, turning in the air as it fell, a slip of cellophane caught the light. A few moments later, another followed, the Hostess label clearly visible on the monitor, and the third came nearly on its heels.

Having womanfully kept back from doing anything unpleasant to Trish Trilby during her interview, Alison slipped inside the lab, a woman with a mission. A quick scan of the room revealed no one present, but the still active screens caught her attention - and eventually she spotted the flicker of light as another wrapping drifted to the ground. Oh Hank... Reaching over to turn the cameras off, Alison walked over slowly to where the wrapping had fallen, and looked up.

Hank, hanging upside down by his prehensile toes from a pipe near the ceiling, licked the last of the Twinkie filling off his fingers, then stared down at the floor for a moment before his visitor's presence registered. " . . . Oh, hello, my dear. Did you enjoy the game?"

"Yeah, I did," she replied, giving him a crooked grin, still looking up at him. "How about giving a girl a hand up, so we can hang around, mmm?" She gave him an innocent look at the pun, pulling it off perfectly, as usual - not that he didn't know better than to believe it for a second, of course.

"We're very clever this evening, aren't we?" He smiled thoughtfully. "No, I think I'll come down; easier to talk that way." He let go of the pipe, dropped a few feet, caught another short length of pipe with one broad hand, swung around to balance on the top of a shelf unit for a moment, then landed lightly on the floor. "May I offer you a chair?"

"Only if it's got enough room for the two of us," Alison answered a bit cheekily, slipping one arm around his as she stepped to his side. Still wishing she had planted a good solid right hook on that woman's nose. "How you doing?" she asked softly, sobering up.

"I'm afraid we're ill-supplied with overstuffed armchairs down here in the bechromed dungeons; there is, however, my napping couch, if you don't mind shed blue fur all over your clothes." Hank sighed. "And . . . I've been a great deal better. But how did your interview go? Will the masses be appropriately stunned by your lovely presence in these halls of academia?"

"That sounds fine to me, and you know I've never minded that in the least, hon." She patted his arm, shrugging lightly at his question. "Gave 'em one of my new songs as a soundbite, actually. I think one of the sound guys is a fan," she smiled slightly at that, then slid him a sidelong look, adding blandly, "and I don't think she had a clue how badly I wanted to use her head to redecorate the room."

"Mm." Hank sank heavily down onto the couch and summoned up the ghost of a smile. "Probably best that way, really. Wouldn't match with the rest of the furnishings, nor would it play very well on the evening news."

Ambush. Dark Alley. Tomorrow. Oh yes. Alison fairly treasured the thought as she took in Hank's poor excuse of a smile, curling up next to him on the couch with a sigh. "But it would have felt heavenly, hon." She shook her head, trying to stop that particular line of conversation - inasmuch as the Trish bashing went anyway. "Been hitting the twinkies, eh?"

"Just a little bit. I thought I had managed to sufficiently distract myself with the poker game--Bobby's actually coming along quite nicely for someone who's never played before, did you notice?--but it would seem I hadn't banished quite everything. Amazing how it all still comes back." Hank eyed one blue hand. "Did I ever tell you, I'd been planning to propose the week . . . this . . . happened? Candlelit dinner, roses . . . ambition and biochemistry are an unhappy combination."

Reaching out, Alison took his hand in hers, fingertips setting fur in place slowly as she shook her head. "She's a fool, to have let that stand in the way..." she trailed off for a moment, setting aside a visceral hatred of the reporter, concentrating on sorrow and concern for her friend, instead. "You're a wonderful, caring man Hank, and anyone who can't see past this," one hand brushed his cheek lightly, "to this," then drifted down to settle over his heart, "doesn't deserve everything you'd have to give. They couldn't even begin to comprehend the gift you'd be granting them."

Hank brought his own hand up to pat hers fondly. "That means more than I can say, though I'm not likely to be testing your hypothesis in the near future. Some doors . . . simply close, and the funny blue doctor in the basement, at least, is only called 'beast' as a jest. Life goes on."

I hate life sometimes. An idle thought, well hidden as she gave him a somewhat wan smile. She curled her hand around his wordlessly, shifting to lean her head on his shoulder - offering a very simple comfort, or so she hoped.

Hank sighed, and rested his head atop Alison's for a long, silent moment. "She was nothing but professional on the phone, at least," he finally offered. "A small mercy, but tangible."

Fingers tightening around his hand Alison nodded slowly, not letting her thoughts on that matter be known, to spare Hank that much, at least. Instead, she looked around the brightly lit lab, and bit her lip as she considered showing him something... a bit different. "You have a vocal command set on the lighting, right?" She continued, smiling to herself. "Turn 'em off."

Hank blinked at her curiously, then shrugged. "System: lights off, all. Monitors sleep, all. Execute." An indicator on the wall opposite flashed green, twice, and the lab fell completely dark.

After a moment of darkness, a low, nearly imperceptible light started to grow in the lab. Not the usual flashier streamers and bright trails of light that manifested when Alison let her power loose, but a steady, warm light that soothed the edges somehow. The gradually steadying glow spoke of safety, comfort, and being cared for, wrapping around them and sinking through the senses slowly.

"Hmm." Hank smiled, and wrapped an arm around Alison's shoulders. "That's very fine indeed. . . . Thank you."

Nestling into his side easily, Alison smiled to herself as well, the lightshow easy to maintain really. She didn't need to reach far to find those particular emotions, where Hank was concerned. "Thank you," she murmured in return, keeping to that same warm and steady glow.

"For what," Hank said lightly, "dragging you down here in the dead of night, nearly dropping a Twinkie wrapper on you, and revisiting once again the sordid details of my truncated love life? You're a far better friend than I, this evening."

A low chuckle greeted that, and the warmth of the glow intensified, fondness and a quiet contentment threading through the ambient shades of comfort. "Who needs to keep count?" she smiled, head shifting on his shoulder to look up at him. "We always even things out as we go along, after all."

"True enough." Hank smiled down at her. "And if you will permit me one further enumeration, one friend like you is worth a hundred of Trish. At the very least."

Patting his hand, Alison winked at him and nodded. "Well, being highly biased on the topic, I'll have to agree with you entirely on that, hon. And point out it takes much experience being an exceptional person to see such a thing in others, mmm?"

"Hmm. A gentleman never disagrees with a lady, I'm sure I've read that somewhere."