"Well, it's not like you ever would have complained about being burned," she points out, amused at his choice of words, but noting that even the metaphorical burning probably doesn't bother Mick too much, either. He's got thick skin, as far as she's seen. "Congrats on getting a permanent one, though. I don't think I've met him - is that just his name, or is he ... you know." She holds up a hand to show off a little flourish of flurries, wondering if she's not the only cryokinetic on board anymore.
She takes a few moments, too - and there's something about this that doesn't feel all that bad, all told, standing here and watching the fire burning. The heat's as big and bright as the fire itself, and she can practically feel it soaking into her skin, recharging her power, energizing her. She feels ... alive as crazy as that sounds. It's like integrating with Killer Frost has given her a whole new kind of need, one that's just as necessary as hunger or thirst. She's hesitant to just end it, but it calls out to her - probably the same way that other things call out to Mick to be burned.
With a hand extended towards the flame, she steps in closer, slow, but really not that careful; with her hand just inches from it she closes her eyes and pulls all of that delicious heat in - it looks for all the world like she's blasting it with cold, but that isn't the way it works - and she leaves the kindling looking cold and dead, frozen solid in a thick sheet of ice. She turns back to Mick with a big, broad grin, looking much more like Frost than Caitlin in that moment. "That was perfect," she says, a little breathlessly. "Let's do it again."
"Well... there is being burnt and then there is ..." He trails off looking at the fire. "No. He is not human but no ice powers. Chi or something like that actually."
He watches her pull the heat in, for a brief moment he is reminded of being the target of that, and then of Len with his cold gun. Fuck he misses him. He hadn't thought he'd miss him so much. And isn't that a fucking perfect image, the fire being left dead and cold and covered in ice. That being said, that broad grin, the way she moves now, how much more alive she looks, she's hot as hell and for a moment he just stares at her. Then he nods.
"Sure. Let me go get some more wood." Turning his back to her and heading over towards the house. At least this way he is going to get a few moments to collect his thoughts. He gathers a big handful of half burnt pieces of house before he heads back to her. "Did it help?"
While he's gone, she flexes her fingers in front of herself and closes her
eyes, just to see how in tune she is with the ambient temperatures in the
area, if she can make a kind of mental map based on the heat sources she
can actually still feel. Mick's is still strong - it feels to her like he
runs a little warmer than most people, but that makes a certain amount of
sense. It also means it's easier to feel him approaching, and she opens her
eyes and looks to him, drawing her hand back in. "Yeah," she replies, and
her lips turn up in a half-grin. "How was it for you?"
He laughs at that. "I haven't been asked that in decades." Usually, because the people he sleeps with knows him well enough and honestly it is a question mostly for the bedroom. He piles the wood into the fire. "Not bad, could have been bigger but beggars can't be choosers, can they. And it is not the same in here. It just feels different."
"You're the one who wanted to do it in here," she points out. And she gets
it, she does; this environment is much more easily controlled, and they
don't have to damage any part of the ship to gain fuel for the fire. But
she can also tell that it isn't quite doing it for him in the way that he'd
hoped, and that defeats the whole purpose of this exercise. "I'm not saying
you've gotta besmirch the library again, but there's probably
somewhere on board people don't usually go, that they won't mind if
it gets a little singed. An empty cabin, maybe." She shrugs; it had worked
out well enough when that pyrokinetic who looked like Steve showed up for a
hot minute. "Hey, if you want it to be bigger you won't hear me
complaining. Go for it."
He glances at her and shakes his head. "Nah, if I do that, Lark is never going to give me the flame gun back." This place might not be doing it for him quite the right way but on the other hand, he has to play nice. But he does grin when she urges him to go bigger and nods, going back to the panel to tweak a few things before a massive pile of wood appears before them. The smell of lighter fluid heavy in the air. Big it is then. "You might want to take a step back here." He picks up a piece of paper, taking a step back before he pulls out his lighter and tosses it into the pile of wood.
The whole thing roars as the flames explode out from it. The lighter fluid certainly has done its job. Mick watches it all with a rapt look on his face.
She debates for a moment whether she really needs to step back, but
she'll take his word for it, so she does, and not a moment too soon, with
the whole thing going up in huge, hot flames. She glances to the side, just
looking at the expression on his face - he's usually so stoic, but this
definitely brings out more in him. It's almost like it's safer, here, in
the privacy of the Enclosure, for him to show what he's feeling - whether
that's actually true or not, she doesn't know, but it's what she can guess,
just based on the evidence she's seen so far.
It helps that she's almost as transfixed, even if it's in a different way.
She can close her eyes and reach out towards it, craving the delicious
warmth in the air; the tension eases from her shoulders and she tilts her
head back, feeling like some deep, bone-dry thirst inside her is finally
being quenched. She's not even really aware of the way she's turning her
body towards it, and less aware of the satisfied, almost filthy hum on her
lips, like an entirely different thirst is being taken care of. Even the
question she might have had about why Lark has the flame gun is momentarily
forgotten. "It's so good," she says, and lets herself open her eyes again,
keeping her gaze on the fire, and only looking at Mick from the corner of
her eye. "It's beautiful."
The feelings on his face are real too, no mask, no blank expression or a grin that might en calculated, might not be. Instead he is just focused on the flames, ignoring the world around him. The flames does that too him. Has done it all his life and it is why he can't stop. The world doesn't exist outside it. All the people asking him to stop, telling him to not light fires, they don't get it. They don't get how the flames can chase away everything else, burn it away and change everything.
He almost jumps a little when she speaks, he'd been so focused on the fire. Then he looks over. "It is the most beautiful thing there is." He glances over at her. "Give it a little longer, that ok?"
"Yeah," she says softly, and in that moment, she thinks she might
understand him a little better, even with so few words exchanged between
them. She had wanted to "help," mostly so that she could get something out
of this arrangement, but she hadn't really thought that she could ...
actually help. She hadn't thought through what this might do, for him, or
that it might clue her in to his depth - she hadn't even been sure that
there had really been much depth, at one point.
But then - that was when she thought she was better than most people. It's
only now, watching Mick watch the fire, that it really cements the fact
that she isn't. That maybe, just maybe ... she had judged him far too
quickly, not just back home, but when she'd arrived here. It kind of makes
her wonder who else she owes the benefit of the doubt.
But she knows the answer to that question already, too.
She keeps watching the fire, as it throws both sparks and shadows, as it
consumes the wood and transforms it to ash, the hot grey flakes blowing in
the breeze that whips through the air. It isn't just destructive. It's
change. It's cleansing. It's renewal.
She feels her throat tighten, her eyes stinging as she closes them and
breathes in deep, hot acrid air filling her lungs, and her own power
immediately cooling her from inside - but still leaving her heart free to
beat. Goodbyes are so damn hard, she thinks, and she takes her sweet time
in putting this one out - first just taking in the ambient energy, so she
can let the flames burn as long as possible, just making them smaller and
smaller with cooler air, the pale dusting of sparkling crystals, and
finally the kind of soft, fluffy snow that's almost indistinguishable from
the ashes in the air. It keeps falling even after she stops concentrating,
and finally, she turns to look at him again, a wordless question in her
eyes, and frozen tears on her lashes.
The fire is goodbye in a way. He lets himself pour all the feelings about Len leaving into the fire, the hurt over being left behind, about Len choosing Scott over him. He pours it into the fire. And for a moment he feels good. Just quiet and at peace. He smiles slightly as it happens and as he can watch the fire die slowly and with it the need to watch things burn right now. He is impressed by the way she does it, the control she shows over what she can do. And he appreciates the way she does it slowly letting him have the moment.
When the fire has died and she turns to him he turns to look at her, noticing the tears and reaching up to gently wipe them away with a gloved hand. "Need more or do you want to go get a drink?"
She's grateful for the way he quietly breaks the silence, and even more so
for the choice that he gives her. The touch surprises her, and she blinks
carefully at him, but the answer is easy: "Let's get a drink."
As soon as the words are out, she starts to smile, but it's small, almost
private. She's going to be okay. And she's pretty sure he is, too, but she
doesn't dare ask, just turns to follow him out of the Enclosure.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"Well, it's not like you ever would have complained about being burned," she points out, amused at his choice of words, but noting that even the metaphorical burning probably doesn't bother Mick too much, either. He's got thick skin, as far as she's seen. "Congrats on getting a permanent one, though. I don't think I've met him - is that just his name, or is he ... you know." She holds up a hand to show off a little flourish of flurries, wondering if she's not the only cryokinetic on board anymore.
She takes a few moments, too - and there's something about this that doesn't feel all that bad, all told, standing here and watching the fire burning. The heat's as big and bright as the fire itself, and she can practically feel it soaking into her skin, recharging her power, energizing her. She feels ... alive as crazy as that sounds. It's like integrating with Killer Frost has given her a whole new kind of need, one that's just as necessary as hunger or thirst. She's hesitant to just end it, but it calls out to her - probably the same way that other things call out to Mick to be burned.
With a hand extended towards the flame, she steps in closer, slow, but really not that careful; with her hand just inches from it she closes her eyes and pulls all of that delicious heat in - it looks for all the world like she's blasting it with cold, but that isn't the way it works - and she leaves the kindling looking cold and dead, frozen solid in a thick sheet of ice. She turns back to Mick with a big, broad grin, looking much more like Frost than Caitlin in that moment. "That was perfect," she says, a little breathlessly. "Let's do it again."
no subject
He watches her pull the heat in, for a brief moment he is reminded of being the target of that, and then of Len with his cold gun. Fuck he misses him. He hadn't thought he'd miss him so much. And isn't that a fucking perfect image, the fire being left dead and cold and covered in ice. That being said, that broad grin, the way she moves now, how much more alive she looks, she's hot as hell and for a moment he just stares at her. Then he nods.
"Sure. Let me go get some more wood." Turning his back to her and heading over towards the house. At least this way he is going to get a few moments to collect his thoughts. He gathers a big handful of half burnt pieces of house before he heads back to her. "Did it help?"
no subject
While he's gone, she flexes her fingers in front of herself and closes her eyes, just to see how in tune she is with the ambient temperatures in the area, if she can make a kind of mental map based on the heat sources she can actually still feel. Mick's is still strong - it feels to her like he runs a little warmer than most people, but that makes a certain amount of sense. It also means it's easier to feel him approaching, and she opens her eyes and looks to him, drawing her hand back in. "Yeah," she replies, and her lips turn up in a half-grin. "How was it for you?"
no subject
no subject
"You're the one who wanted to do it in here," she points out. And she gets it, she does; this environment is much more easily controlled, and they don't have to damage any part of the ship to gain fuel for the fire. But she can also tell that it isn't quite doing it for him in the way that he'd hoped, and that defeats the whole purpose of this exercise. "I'm not saying you've gotta besmirch the library again, but there's probably somewhere on board people don't usually go, that they won't mind if it gets a little singed. An empty cabin, maybe." She shrugs; it had worked out well enough when that pyrokinetic who looked like Steve showed up for a hot minute. "Hey, if you want it to be bigger you won't hear me complaining. Go for it."
no subject
The whole thing roars as the flames explode out from it. The lighter fluid certainly has done its job. Mick watches it all with a rapt look on his face.
no subject
She debates for a moment whether she really needs to step back, but she'll take his word for it, so she does, and not a moment too soon, with the whole thing going up in huge, hot flames. She glances to the side, just looking at the expression on his face - he's usually so stoic, but this definitely brings out more in him. It's almost like it's safer, here, in the privacy of the Enclosure, for him to show what he's feeling - whether that's actually true or not, she doesn't know, but it's what she can guess, just based on the evidence she's seen so far.
It helps that she's almost as transfixed, even if it's in a different way. She can close her eyes and reach out towards it, craving the delicious warmth in the air; the tension eases from her shoulders and she tilts her head back, feeling like some deep, bone-dry thirst inside her is finally being quenched. She's not even really aware of the way she's turning her body towards it, and less aware of the satisfied, almost filthy hum on her lips, like an entirely different thirst is being taken care of. Even the question she might have had about why Lark has the flame gun is momentarily forgotten. "It's so good," she says, and lets herself open her eyes again, keeping her gaze on the fire, and only looking at Mick from the corner of her eye. "It's beautiful."
no subject
He almost jumps a little when she speaks, he'd been so focused on the fire. Then he looks over. "It is the most beautiful thing there is." He glances over at her. "Give it a little longer, that ok?"
no subject
"Yeah," she says softly, and in that moment, she thinks she might understand him a little better, even with so few words exchanged between them. She had wanted to "help," mostly so that she could get something out of this arrangement, but she hadn't really thought that she could ... actually help. She hadn't thought through what this might do, for him, or that it might clue her in to his depth - she hadn't even been sure that there had really been much depth, at one point.
But then - that was when she thought she was better than most people. It's only now, watching Mick watch the fire, that it really cements the fact that she isn't. That maybe, just maybe ... she had judged him far too quickly, not just back home, but when she'd arrived here. It kind of makes her wonder who else she owes the benefit of the doubt.
But she knows the answer to that question already, too.
She keeps watching the fire, as it throws both sparks and shadows, as it consumes the wood and transforms it to ash, the hot grey flakes blowing in the breeze that whips through the air. It isn't just destructive. It's change. It's cleansing. It's renewal.
She feels her throat tighten, her eyes stinging as she closes them and breathes in deep, hot acrid air filling her lungs, and her own power immediately cooling her from inside - but still leaving her heart free to beat. Goodbyes are so damn hard, she thinks, and she takes her sweet time in putting this one out - first just taking in the ambient energy, so she can let the flames burn as long as possible, just making them smaller and smaller with cooler air, the pale dusting of sparkling crystals, and finally the kind of soft, fluffy snow that's almost indistinguishable from the ashes in the air. It keeps falling even after she stops concentrating, and finally, she turns to look at him again, a wordless question in her eyes, and frozen tears on her lashes.
no subject
When the fire has died and she turns to him he turns to look at her, noticing the tears and reaching up to gently wipe them away with a gloved hand. "Need more or do you want to go get a drink?"
no subject
She's grateful for the way he quietly breaks the silence, and even more so for the choice that he gives her. The touch surprises her, and she blinks carefully at him, but the answer is easy: "Let's get a drink."
As soon as the words are out, she starts to smile, but it's small, almost private. She's going to be okay. And she's pretty sure he is, too, but she doesn't dare ask, just turns to follow him out of the Enclosure.