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Scene: The main kitchen, mid-afternoon, Sunday
Players: Alison Blaire and Lorna Dane
Summary: Alison wants Lorna to talk to Dr. Samson. Lorna doesn't exactly embrace the idea with open arms.

I don't want to go among mad people. Lorna’s lips twitched as the Lewis Carroll line ran through her head. Some people got songs stuck in their heads; she got phrases. And in this case, it was a little British girl with more imagination than sense. Gee, I wonder how that possibly relates to my life. She was chopping thyme, the knife flashing in the light almost touching her fingertips. It looked easy but Lorna was wholly mindful of the fact that the knife could shear through her nails and skin just as easily as the hapless herb. Nevertheless, long practice enabled her to ponder the Carrollsian heroine without losing a finger. Though I guess it’s a little late to be complaining that everyone here is a crazy person. And rather unproductive as well.

Poking her head through the doorway, Alison noted her roomate's presence instantly, a pained wince flickering on her face at the thought of bearding the lioness in her den, so to speak. Why did it have to be the kitchen? she whimpered to herself, before stepping inside fully, making certain to let herself be heard so as to not startle Lorna later on - and ending up with chopped limbs.

Lorna paused long enough to turn see who had come in before turning back to her thyme. “Hey, roomie,” she said breezily. “Nothing edible just yet, though I can toss a salad if you’re hungry.”

Considering what might be added into said salad once Lorna learned the reason for her visit, Alison decided that declining the food was a wise course to take. "Er... no thanks," she smiled, heading for the table nonetheless, and pulling a chair out to sit down, facing Lorna as she worked.

“You’re not hungry?” Lorna glanced outside, “Hmm, no it doesn’t look like the sun is going backward in the skies.” She finished chopping and shoved the herb to one side. “So what brings you down here then?”

Yep, dead giveaway, refusing the food. But still safer than exposing herself to retribution via poisoned salad, oh yes. "I can be highhanded about this, or concerned - but either way you're going to be ornery," Alison sighed, shaking her head. "So I'll go straight for the point. I'd like it if you saw Dr Samson. More than once. Please."

“You want me to see a therapist?” Lorna retrieved a bowl of vegetables from the refrigerator and started chopping the carrots. She raised an eyebrow at Alison, “What made you think I was going to be difficult about that?”

"I had a dream of my having to drag you down the hallway screaming and shaking your fist at me last night," Alison replied solemnly - and not untruthfully. "It seems to have stuck with me through the day." She didn't, however, mention the other nightmare - the one about the little girl, lost and alone, screaming for help and begging for Alison not to leave her alone. That one she'd keep for Dr. Samson, whom she was planning on seeing herself.

“Ah,” Lorna selected an onion next. “Yeah, if we were going to fight about this then I can see where you would be worried,” she agreed easily, “But luckily, I’m just going to say no, thanks and we’re going to move on.”

In a kitchen. Full of sharp pointy metal things. Alison whimpered, but forged ahead. "Hrm, sorry. No moving on, no can do." She squirmed in her chair, but refused to back down. "You can only avoid stuff for so long, you know?"

“I’m not avoiding anything,” Lorna replied, “I’m fine. I don’t have any major trauma or aberrations of my mental state that need fixing. You’re better off talking to some of the crazy people who hang around this place.”

"Alex." That was the only word Alison said, not a note of apology in her voice as she did so.

Lorna flinched, the smooth movement of the knife in her hands faltering. She shook her head in an acknowledgement of Alison’s point then shrugged and deliberately misinterpreted it, “Yes, he would definitely be one of those who could use a chat with a therapist.” She moved on to chopping celery.

Alison rolled her eyes. "Nice try. Do you really really want me to push, Lorna?" She sighed, leaning forward on the chair. "I don't want to. I don't want to hurt you to make this point. I don't want cutlery to start flying around either. But... I'm your friend. I worry about my roomie. And I can't leave this alone. I can't."

“Ali, I’m fine. Really. I’m hurt he left but there isn’t anything I can do about it except deal. Which I am.” Lorna set down the knife carefully. It hummed faintly in the back of her head, as all things that generated a magnetic aura did. She tamped down that part of her ruthlessly. There would be no flying cutlery, not when it was important. “Yeah, it sucked but...life moves on, right?

"You don't talk about it to anyone. You insist you're fine as soon as someone brings it up. You keep saying it's life and things move on." Alison paused, shaking her head. "But you've never even spoken about it once, other than to say it's all right. Denial ain't a river in Egypt, roomie."

“Why should I talk about it? Worse things happen and people live through them. Around here, they happen every day.” Lorna responded, her calm finally cracking slightly and her voice heating, “People around here have real problems. Me, I broke up with my boyfriend and he took off. It’s not life-shattering. It’s not even window-shattering. I’ve had bad break-ups before. I’ll get over it.”

The signs were all there to see, and Alison took great care in remaining exactly where she was. Heaven knew, she'd lost her temper before. And knew how things could go in that event. "He left. And he blames himself for what happened," this she knew easily enough from her talk with Alex, "and you're angry that it happened at all." Taking guesses that weren't so wild she thought, she continued. "That he wasn't helped enough to keep it from happening, that you had to get hurt in the process, that you couldn't stop it yourself, make things right for him yourself... drove him away."

Lorna picked her knife back up and resumed chopping, “Get out of my kitchen.”

"Can't," was the faint reply, Alison bringing her knees up on the chair and wrapping her arms around her legs to hold herself on the chair - or perhaps just together. Suspecting she'd hit more than a few things right, if not all, and boy that was a scary notion to contemplate right now. "If I had been wrong... you'd have said so."

Her hands were shaking, making it difficult to avoid absolutely mangling the bell peppers. It was surprising how well Alison knew her. The thumbnail sketch had been nearly dead on. It just didn’t go quite far enough. “We both made mistakes. And we both feel guilty about it. But you’re making more out of it than it is.”

"Am I?" Not being chucked out of kitchen along with chair was a good thing. Very good. "You never got to talk to him after he left. Nothing is resolved for either of you. Means you only go over and over everything you've done and he's done, and that you've not done and he's not done since, and it keeps amplifying until you can't see straight anymore."

“If I dwelled on it, yeah, that’s one thing. And it’s an unhealthy one thing. But I don’t so there isn’t anything to worry about.” She dumped all her chopped herbs and vegetables back into the bowl and wiped her cutting board off into the sink. Getting out a saucepan to cook the vegetables was an excellent way to keep her from having to face Alison.

"Now turn around and say that to me, roomie," Alison said softly, rising from the chair and walking up to stand next to Lorna, placing one hand on her shoulder. She wasn't psychic by any length of the imagination, but body language was telling her volumes here. And the fact that Lorna had refused to look at her since the start of the conversation even more.

Lorna closed her eyes and stepped away from Alison’s touch. “He left, Al. I told him to go away and he left. And it hurts.” When she finally opened her eyes to look at Alison, they were dull, “How is talking about it going to make it better?”

"I don't know," Alison answered plainly, leaning on the counter although she did take a half-step closer first. "But... you won't be alone in dealing with it. And it won't fester inside of you until it chokes you up so badly you can't even see anymore... Please." She took a deep breath. "Please see him. That's all I ask. I know it's a lot but..." she paused, wishing she could say that surely she'd earned that much, but too afraid the answer might be no.

“There are a lot more pressing issues around here. People who need him more.” Lorna shook her head, seeing Alison about to argue, “But I’ll think about it. I can’t give you more than that. I don’t,” a strange bitter smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, “particularly want to be counted among mad people and I don’t like therapists much. But I’ll think about it. Okay?”

Alison took a step forward and wrapped an arm around Lorna's shoulders, leaning her chin on her hand, making for a loose hug. "Ok. But... please think about it. And don't make yourself less important." She considered how to say it for a moment, then went for simple again. "I'll be seeing him myself a few times, and will be asking Charles if we can keep him here a bit longer, anyway."

“Place like this, the Professor would be better off with half an army of trauma specialists on staff. It’s not like we wouldn’t keep them busy,” Lorna said, lightly. She turned to Alison for a real hug. “Don’t take on more than you have to, roomie. If this Dr. guy has any sense, he’ll tell you that you already do too much.”

"Well, there's an idea," Alison murmured at that, remembering the nightmares induced by the mission against the Friends of Humanity, for one. "I'll pass that along, roomie. Guess that means he'll have time, mmm?" She hugged back, perhaps more tightly than intended, and didn't let go for a bit. "I'll try. You try to go see him, mm?"

“I’ll think about it.” Lorna corrected. “Seriously think about it.” It wasn’t necessarily an all bad idea. It just seemed like swatting a fly with an anvil. But she knew Alison had a point and if she was going to start doubting other people’s judgement, her roommate’s was probably not the place to start. She sighed and tugged away, “Now either help me fix dinner or get out of my kitchen.”

"About that salad..." Alison grinned, letting the matter rest, satisfied with her friend's response. She ducked the swat aimed at her shoulder and made faces at Lorna while staying out of reach, before finally stepping forward again to make herself useful. "Your wish is my command!" she finally declared, waiting for instructions.

"About that salad," Lorna mimicked back then pointed to the fridge, "Lettuce and baby greens are in the crisper. Carrots and tomatoes are too. Parmesan on the top shelf.” She flicked her hand and a grater nudged open the cabinet where it was stored and sailed to the counter-top. “Tear, cut, grate, toss.”

Waggling her fingers, Alison cackled and set about organizing her corner of the counter, plotting to give serious competition to the chefs on TV. Because after all, when it came to that sort of stuff, she certainly had the ability to slice and dice with the best of them.