Bobby and Alison, Monday evening.

[x-coldhands.livejournal.com]

Bobby is lying on his bed, one arm over his eyes, trying not to think about what happened in the kitchen. Evanescence is playing, probably a bit too loudly, on the CD player in the background, but as no one shares the suite with Bobby, it's unlikely the music is bothering anyone.

But the music does give away his presence nicely, even though Alison figured this would be where he'd hide out after that post. The sight of the kitchen was... impressive to say the least, and the thought that Bobby ought to participate in the clean-up seems a fair enough decision to Alison. Knocking on the door loudly enough to be overheard over the music, she waits for a response.

Bobby seriously considers pretending he hadn't heard the knock, but after a few moments, the volume reduces on the music, and a muffled voice calls out dully, "I said I didn't want to talk about it."

It seems, Alison reflects, that no one wants to talk about much of anything these days. Shoulders slumping, she sighs softly, leaning her forehead on the door with a light thump. "Ah." Closing her eyes, taking a deep breath. Trying to keep her composure, not to just burst out in tears over something so... small. Or so she tells herself. "I... see."

No sounds come from behind the closed door aside from the soft music of 'Bring Me to Life' for almost a minute, then there's a soft curse and the doorknob rattles a few moments later, the door cracking open to reveal a rather pale and shaken looking Bobby. "I'm okay, Al," he says softly, leaning against the doorframe.

Nearly tipping forward, having kept her eyes closed, the music soothing to her unsteady emotions, the charge settling her frazzled nerves, Alison straightened up abruptly. "You look horrible," she answers, a bit more bluntly than she meant to, but the truth nonetheless. With an apologetic shrug, she continues. "I was just... going to go thaw stuff out. And figured it only made sense for you to tag along..." She tries a smile, pulling off a relatively quiet one rather well, she thinks. "If you want."

Bobby shrugs listlessly. "I was just going to hi-hang out in my room tonight, but if you want me to..." Ah, not even his earlier trauma can keep his heart from speeding slightly at the thought of spending time with Alison--even time spent mopping up his own mess. His rather large mess. His rather larger than he knew he was capable of mess.

The mess Alison is planning to get him to try and take care of before doing anything remotely like thawing it out herself, though she did bring her walkman, in case... She nods, taking a deep breath, cheered up a bit by his assent. "Good. Thanks. Um, now?"

Bobby nods and retreats back into his room, the music cutting off abruptly. He reappears in the doorway and steps out into the hall, closing the door softly behind him. "Just...don't ask me about it Al, please?" His voice trembles on the last word, and he can't look at her, staring at the far wall instead.

"Sure," she replies, unable to restrain the small, bitter laugh entirely. "Won't ask. Asking bad." She continues while walking towards the stairs, before pausing, shaking her head at herself. "Sorry. Bad day. Weekend." A sigh. "Week?"

Bobby hesitates, then offers, "You know...you can still talk, if you want..." He never said anything about not listening, after all.

She remains silent as they head down the stairs, pausing at the base to wait for him to catch up before going on. "Oh... fight at the Hellfire Club party, fight with Lorna about... stuff," she grimaces at that, "broke up with Sam..." The last trailing over her shoulder as she walks in the kitchen.

She continues alone, because Bobby stops in his tracks at the last piece of information, his eyes widening. "...Broke up with..." he manages weakly. He's torn between a small thrill of elation, and overprotective anger at the older Guthrie, for whatever wrong he'd commited against Alison. Realising that he's alone in the hall, he hurries to the kitchen door and leans on the doorframe, arms folded protectively across his chest, trying not to see the shimmering ice everywhere. "Why?"

"Just... stuff," she finally says, standing in the middle of the room in the small area she'd unthawed earlier when first evaluating the extent of the icing up. And then realizes how weak that sounds. "We just... drifted apart, that way. It was mutual." She shrugs once, paying far too much attention to the ice and knowing it. "We're better friends than lovers."

"I'm sorry," Bobby murmurs, and he is, genuinely sorry that Alison's hurting. Which she clearly is, whether she tries to shrug it off or not. "So you're okay, then?" Bit of irony, there, him asking if she's okay.

Kneeling down regardless of the wet floor, Alison shrugs, once. "Some moments, yeah. Some moments, not." Her voice wobbles as she continues, a pained smile on her lips. "I need to talk to Paige soon, too, and I don't know... how that'll work out." She sighs softly, then looks up at him. "Think you can do something about the ice, hon?"

Bobby winces slightly in sympathy, wondering how Paige would take the whole situation. Since it was mutual, he figures she'll probably take it fairly well--and even if she doesn't, she isn't likely to show it. Really, they should have a contest, for who can pretend everything's okay the hardest in this place. He sighs and looks around the kitchen finally, lifting his hands helplessly. "Like what?" Add to it? Refreeze what's melted already? Or he could just get an icepick from the drawer near the fridge--that side of the room seems significantly less frozen over, which makes sense, since he'd been on the opposite side of the room.

"No. Make it change shape, move elsewhere." She tilts her head to the side, rather glad to be concentrating on this particular problem, and not all the others ones that keep her awake at night these days. "Like when you do sculptures... reach out and feel the ice? Then shift it?" She asks, because she doesn't know how Bobby's power works form his viewpoint, the sudden realization bothering her more than she wants to admit.

He bites his lip, shaking his head. "I...with the sculptures, I just...kind of picture what I want, and then selectively freeze the water in the air. Once it's already ice..." He shrugs, not even entirely sure that is how he makes the ice art, but that's how he's always thought of it happening, anyway.

She nods once, pensively. "Have you ever tried to feel out what it was like once stuff was already iced over?" Curious, focusing on the problem at hand, turning it over and over in her mind and trying to find alternatives.

Bobby frowns and shakes his head, reaching out to slide his fingers lightly over the ice entombing a nearby countertop. It's just...solid. Ice. He can't--manipulate it once it's like that. Can he? "It's solid," he voices his thought rather stubbornly, almost seeming reluctant to follow Alison's train of thought.

"Mmm. Or it thinks it is?" she suggests, smiling at him encouragingly, unable to let the train of thought go quite yet. "Can't hurt to have a shot at it, right? Nothing lost, possibly something gained. You've got an amazingly versatile power Bobby. Who says you can't push things further?" And he needs to start doing this, she knows. The kitchen alone is proof of that.

Who says he wants to push things further? All the kitchen has proved to him is that his mutation is more powerful than he'd like. Really, he'd be quite happy if he never used it for anything more than making ice cream, or sculpting little clowns and cars out of ice for the younger kids, loving to watch their eyes light up at the cold crystalline figures. Robert Drake wasn't meant to save the world, or even try. He was supposed to go to business school, become an accountant, not some leather-clad avenger of justice. "I can't," he whispers, taking a step back into the hallway, his face pale.

Alison, kneeling down on the damp floor, surrounded by the ice which covers the entire room and everything in it at least two inches thick, looks at him solidly, ignoring the little voice in her head telling her to just shut up and stop trying to help people. She'll take the blame for this too, if she has too. "What if you can?" she whispers back, calmly. "What if you can?" She looks at him hopefully, hoping he can see that she believes him in, and his abilities. "Maybe not all at once or on the first shot... but practice makes perfect, right? I'm not an expert on this sort of stuff but... I'll be there, every step of the way. I promise. Just... try? Please?"

What if he can? Then he'll be even more (of a freak)different than he is now. He doesn't want to know, doesn't want to test his limits--but oh, she said please damn her, and it's Alison, and so...he licks his lips, looking anxious as he looks at the ice. "I don't even know how to start," he confesses hoarsely, hands fisted at his sides.

Alison smiles at him slowly, the dawning sun gleaming in her eyes, not having realized how very badly she needed someone to try. To not brush her aside or push her away. "Thank you," she murmurs, simply, taking a deep breath to not cry, because why would she do that anyway? Patting the ice covered floor next to her, she plops down as well, away from the puddle of water. Water drips slowly now and then from the cabinets, which she also ignores. "Well. Let's start with the beginning, ok?"