A/N: Chapter title comes from the song 'Hang With Me' by Robyn and I think it's one of those songs that lyrically describes Blake and Alex's relationship; let's hang out and be there for each other, but let's try not to let it go any further. Which is silly, because it inevitably will!

Chapter 11 – Hang With Me

"Where on earth are we?" Alex asked stepping out the car. "When you said it was out of the way, I didn't realise you meant a part of town where no would hear me scream."

Blake narrowed his eyes and locked the car. "Very witty. Coming from the girl who said the Green was perfectly safe. We're actually not that far from the school: I just took the back roads to avoid rush hour traffic."

"So, how often have you been here?" Alex quizzed him, pulling off her Wayfarer sunglasses. He couldn't miss the amused tone in her voice.

"Only a few times – three in total. I stumbled on it by accident; my parents' anniversary was a few months back in the summer and I offered to take Chase off of their hands to give them a break. We were coming back from the zoo and he was driving me crazy, and I spotted the parlour's sign as we sat at the lights over there. I bribed him with ice cream," he said in a quieter tone, and a coy smile. "Again, don't tell my mother. He's supposed to be on a strict diet."

"Mom's the word," Alex smiled with a quirk of her eyebrow. "That was lucky then, that you happened to be nearby."

"I call it divine providence," Blake smirked. "I was going to wring the little terror's neck."

Alex smiled again and looked up at the tiny parlour, tucked between a laundrette called 'Wash-o-rama!" and a disused shop with a large 'For Let' sign in its grimy window. It was a strange part of the city; Alex had heard a lot of dance crews met in these parts, something that had always deeply fascinated her. She knew her limits, and doubted she'd ever venture out of her comfort zone. A ballerina didn't belong in the middle of that sort of scene. The parlour itself was called "Andre's Ices" and was moderately cleaner than the rest of the setting, with newly washed windows and a freshly painted motif. All in all it was quite charming from the outside, and she was already feeling better.

Blake opened the door for her to go through, causing the bell to ring as he did, and without saying it Alex could almost hear his 'ladies first' in his mind. Stepping past and into the parlour, she welcomed the cooler air of the room, as it was still humid and sticky outside. Reports kept saying how it was the warmest October Baltimore had seen in a century, and boy did she know it. People were still getting away with wearing shorts to school.

The whole room had a time warped diner feel to it; the floors were a shiny checkered linoleum, the walls were cream and there were pictures framed and dotted upon them just like at Gusty Pete's. However, the atmosphere was lighter, decidedly Mediterranean and thankfully not as busy.

A long counter made of glass stretched along the wall to their left and had trays of ice creams of every colour imaginable behind it, with the odd ice cream scoop dug into the creamy food. The walls behind the counter were tiled and a large chalk board hung displaying the prices and various arrangements of ice cream you could buy. Blake strained to see where the server was, and seconds later a large tanned man appeared from the kitchen area – parted from the public area by a curtain of wooden beads – with a large moustache and curly dark hair. He was clearly Italian, and nothing but a walking stereotype. His eyes smiled so brightly that Alex couldn't help but return it and bask in the warmth exuding from him.

"Hallo," the man smiled, pausing and then wagging a large finger at Blake. "You have come here before."

"One or two times..." Blake began to protest, looking a little uneasy, with a nervous smile.

"I knew it! Andre never forgets a face. Or a flavour," he added with a wink. "You had Neapolitan, and the little one had chocolate, with chocolate sauce, and chocolate drops, and anything else I had that was made of chocolate, no?" he chuckled, mostly to himself. His eyes, a dark brown, fell on Alex and then glanced back to Blake.

"But I see you've not brought your brother this time..." he said mischievously and Alex smiled warmly at him as Blake frowned.

"What flavours have you got then?" she asked, changing the subject and wandering over to the glass.

"Anything."

"Anything?" Alex laughed. "Oh, I don't believe that."

Andre raised an eyebrow. "A sceptic, I see. I enjoy a challenge. Think of a flavour."

Alex appeared thoughtful for a moment and then crossed her arms. "Bleach and raisin."

Andre laughed very loudly, to her surprise, and wagged his finger again. "Now that's wasn't fair but as a first time customer, I shall let it go. I like this one," he added with a wrinkled expression directed at Blake. "What can I get you two?"

Blake looked at Alex who was scanning the cards on the tubs of ice cream and tapping her lip pensively. "I'll have toffee please," she said, "as we're having a bit of a treat. Why not, eh?" she shrugged, looking at the two men.

"Any toppings?" Andre asked.

"Surprise me. I'll go grab a seat." And she stepped away, looking for a booth to sit it – the choice was wide as the shop was hardly booming with business as five o'clock in the afternoon, but she deliberated all the same and finally settled on one not too far from the counter but tucked away.

Andre eyed her and then began to scoop her ice cream into a clean glass. "So you liked the old shop so much you brought a date huh?" he said in hushed tones to Blake. Blake's mouth gaped a little.

"She's not my date," he hissed, getting flustered. "We're...She's my dance partner!"

"Eh, and so was my wife before we got married," Andre whispered with a knowing gaze.

"Well, not me and Alex," Blake said firmly. "We're just friends."

Andre retained his fixed cheeriness and placed Alex's glass on the counter. "And you sir, Neapolitan?" Blake nodded, waited in silence and paid Andre for the ice creams before taking them over to the booth. Alex had taken her hair out of its bun and let it tumble into messy curls about her shoulders.

"What I don't get," Alex said, pulling the glass towards her, quickly taking in the sauce Andre had added, and the tiny bits of broken biscuit before taking a spoonful, "is why you came back a further two times. The first time was to shut Chase up, but then what? You're hardly an ice cream man," she added with a smirk, before popping the spoon in her mouth. The ice cream as delicious and refreshing and she couldn't help but cast a smile over in Andre's direction who was watching them discreetly.

"You keep saying that," Blake frowned, pulling the wafer out of his and laying it on the under plate. "Like I'm defined by food stuff. Salmon, burgers, ice cream..." he shook his head.

"Well how else am I going to figure you out?" she replied quietly with a cheeky smile. "If not by crossing off my assumptions?" Blake shook his head but didn't offer and answer.

"It's a good place to think," he said, changing the subject and answering her previous question. "I don't know why but I just find it inspiring. You know that seat lift where you tumble into a backward drop in our routine?" he said, explaining with a spark in his eyes that Alex was well accustomed to; he often got it when he was excited about choreography or dance, or when they'd finally worked through a difficult step. He had leant in a little, subconsciously, as he talked. "Well, I came up with it here. I just kept thinking about the routine and why it wasn't working at that part, and it came to me. So I gave it a try another time, and it worked again."

Alex looked thoughtful. "That was a good lift."

"I know."

"Ice cream is your brain food then," she said slowly, with a smirk.

Blake rolled his eyes, and leaned backwards. "Clearly. And to think I've been deprived of it all these years. I wonder if I might do better in my midterms if I eat a bowlful of ice cream before each one."

"I doubt it. You'll probably just start packing on the weight," Alex said blankly.

"And then my mother would find out," Blake pointed out. "And my life wouldn't be worth living."

They ate quietly for the most, barely speaking until they'd finished their ice cream. Blake kept a tentative eye on her, watching for a change in her countenance – she'd been so tired and weary looking before, but she seemed to have perked up a little. And although her hair was still a mess, but it suited her as it fell about her face. He was so used to it tied back that he forgot what she looked like when it was down. She was almost...radiating a natural beauty despite the lines under her eyes and the occasional yawn.

"So," Blake said carefully, blinking and playing with the napkin on the under plate. "What was the argument with your father about?"

Alex waved a hand. "Oh that. It was so stupid. I snapped at him, and I was just so inconsiderate." Blake waited patiently for her to continue. She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. "My Mom...died...seven years ago today, and I overslept. We usually do this thing in the morning together on her anniversary, but instead of being sorry I just had a go at him for not waking me up, and accused him of not giving a damn about dancing or school...you know, all the stuff that isn't true but you say anyway?"

Blake nodded, but didn't reply, leaning forward on his forearms and listening carefully.

"Anyway," she sighed again. "He has a temper like mine so - if you picture the scene – there's the two of us yelling at each other from opposite ends of the house as I get dressed, and he's chucking pancakes in the bin, and it climaxes with me slamming the door and walking to school."

"You walked? All the way?"

"We've been through this," Alex scolded. "It's not that far. Why is that the issue right now?"

"You could have rung me..."

"You're not my personal chauffeur Blake," she said with a kind smile.

There was a quiet pause between them before Blake asked her another question. "How did your Mom die?"

"Car accident."

He nodded, noting her sad expression. "Do you miss her a lot?"

"Well yeah," she said as if it were obvious. "But I was young, and you just kind of get on with things. And my Dad is great and we get on so well. You'd like him," she added, and immediately frowned, unsure as to why she'd even said it. As if they were going to be sitting around a table together at any time soon.

If Blake noticed her confusion, he didn't let on. "What's he like?" Blake asked, looking at his hands.

"Tall, completely white hair even though he's only just in his forties; he's been that way since I was little, like Steve Martin," she laughed. "He likes sports, baseball especially. He's from Boston originally. Funny, kind, a bit kooky, all that jazz. He likes to tease people but he's a really decent sort of guy." She smiled broadly as she talked about her dad.

"I figured he'd be a dancer," Blake admitted, pushing his glass away from him in an attempt to stop his playing with it.

"Heck no," Alex laughed. "He's pretty clueless when it comes to dance. Never missed a recital though, which is nice. My Mom was a gymnast, if you're looking for a genetic clue." He met her eyes – teasing once again – and rolled his eyes.

"You're lucky with your Dad – I bet he doesn't scrutinise every step you take on stage." He didn't sound bitter, and Alex smiled at his ability to be self deprecating.

"Only because he doesn't know an arabesque from arrabiatta chicken," she joked, putting him at ease. He gave her a crooked smile.

"There are blessings in that," he insisted, and they fell into another silence. Alex stared around the room, giving Blake another opportunity to observe her. She really was quite pretty. While being a suitable shape for a ballerina, she didn't have that terrible androgynous body that a lot of them had, making them look like poles in skirts. And there was something wholly engaging about her, not just when they danced, but in conversation; she had a personality and air that reached out and grabbed you. Had she not just fell into an easy rapport with Andre after five minutes? Blake envied that quality – his people skills were limited and stretched only as far as being polite with new people, or elders, or members of staff. Alex was the first real person he'd ever been himself with, and he could like himself when he was with her. He seemed...freer, and she was accepting rather than condemning for the most part.

When he thought back to her audition, he'd never imagined himself here a few months down the line, enjoying spending time with her outside of the studio. Part of him didn't want it to end, not for now at least, part of him was shaking its head and telling him to get a grip, and a more uncertain part, shaking and quivering, wanted to know where this was all heading.

Because while they had sat there, Blake had thought on more than one occasion about taking her hand.

The idea was ludicrous, but it was there all the same. They were friends at the most, and at the least bitter enemies; she had auditioned for his partner to prove a point, to flower her ego, and he had accepted so not to withdraw from her challenge and to give her a taste of her own medicine. He'd never imagined liking her then, he'd never imagined enjoying her company, looking forward to after school rehearsals, offering to pick her up, taking her for ice cream...even feeling hopeful at the prospect of meeting her father.

Blake Collins had a crush.

Again, it was ludicrous – Alex almost certainly didn't feel the same. And she had made her views on men quite clearly in History of Dance earlier that day, he remembered with a cool shiver. But all the same, he couldn't shake it and suddenly, being in her presence was making him feel warm and nauseous all at the same time.

Alex could feel Blake's eyes on her and so turned to look at him. "Was something the matter?" She paused. "You've gone pale."

"We should go," he said quite suddenly. "It's late, and I should get you home."

"Yes," Alex said sadly. "I should probably apologise to my Dad."

They rose from their seats and headed for the door. Andre, who was cleaning glasses, turned and waved a free hand. "Come back soon, ok," he said raising his eyebrows. "It was nice to see you again, Mr. Collins and..." The man looked at Alex for her name.

"Alex Hale," she smiled.

"And you, Miss Alex, have been a delight," he chuckled. "I hope to see you again."

"You probably will," Alex assured him, patting her flat stomach. "That was the best ice cream I've ever tasted."

They said goodbye, and Blake once again opened the door for her and followed her to where the car had been parked. It was still light, but the air was definitely cooling now. Alex shivered after sitting in the parlour and wrapped her cardigan around herself. She was glad when Blake unlocked the doors and they climbed inside.

"Home," he seemed to mutter, almost to himself, but then he cast a weak smile at her.

They drove in the same silence they often seemed to find themselves in – a comfortable one, that neither of them had any qualms about breaking or falling into. Blake seemed to be done with his questions, Alex observed, had gone a little sombre, and she had nothing further to say really. She liked that she didn't have to maintain a conversation with him; it was refreshing after being around people all day that wanted to talk about anything and everything. She enjoyed the peace, and Blake Collins seemed peaceful, though she knew that was most likely not the case. She'd seen a few glimpses now of something a little darker, a shadow crossing his face as he spoke about his parents, enough to make her realise he was not the contented king of the school people made him out to be.

"Here we go," he said, coming to a stop outside of her house. He'd always admired it from the outside; the balcony he guessed led off Alex's room, or her father's, and had a hammock seat stretched out at one end.

"Thank you," Alex said, with a smile.

"That's ok, I'd have given you a lift anyway," he said simply. "It's Wednesday."

"I was talking about the ice cream," she said. "You didn't have to take me out, but I appreciate it."

"Well," he said unsure how to respond, and feeling very awkward. "I have to do something for my public image, seeing as I have obviously come across as a bit of a brute."

Alex opened her mouth to say something, to contradict him, but she noticed that Blake's eyes had widened, and then been buried by a frown again as he squinted off at something past her shoulder. She turned in her seat and saw her Dad standing on the porch with his hands in his pockets. When she met his eyes, he waved and began to walk down the steps, towards the car.