Jane Kynes

The next words don’t necessarily surprise him, because he assumed she knew by now, likely the first one Eileen told. But his hands hesitate for a moment, uncertain how to answer her. If it’s a simple statement of fact, a subtle prying, a distaste for the man or his presence. For once he doesn’t know the answer, and he doesn’t want to make any assumptions when it comes to her.

But he won’t apologize either, because it had seemed the best solution at the time. That there were few who could stand up to Eli Gray on a good day, let alone one where he’s ready to rip through his friends and himself just for a fix. Eileen was more than capable. Probably Jane too, though he didn’t like the thought that she’d have to. But he can’t promise himself as a constant presence, and right now he’s aware that’s what the man needs.

It’s the answer he settles on, quieter than he means for it to be. “He needs help.” Though whether that’s good enough motivation to bring a junkie to a house full of children, he doesn’t know. It has him shaking his head in the next moment, fingers grasping her elbow to hold her arm steady while he gets his hands moving again.  “I know it’s not ideal. It just seemed like a good idea at the time.”

"It's not ideal," Jane agrees with a confidence to her tone as though she knows exactly what she's talking about, "But that doesn't mean it isn't a good idea. Where else would he go?" She sounds flabbergasted at the notion they could house Eli somewhere else that would be more helpful. And that has to do with Eileen, a strong mama bear that would set Eli right, whether he wanted her to or not. And while she'd threaten him with punishments if he relapses, she'd spend time sitting on the floor with him and calmly telling him everyone makes mistakes. She always provides tough love, but she knows how to be soft too.

But while she’s harder to read than most, he thinks it’s a fair assumption that it’s sarcasm, and it matters less when she stops fighting him on it either way. It keeps his attention on her hands, thumb mapping out the lines of her palm as gently as he can.

If the question surprises him, he doesn’t show it, just doing his best to shift gears with her. “They’re safe. I think ‘okay’ is a work in progress, but they’re adjusting.” And if there’s a trace of amusement in his tone it’s not for a lack of concern. Only an understanding what kind of man Cole is, and how well he’s probably dealing with fatherhood being thrust back on him. If he’s partially to blame for the reunion he won’t apologize, and he won’t interfere more than necessary. “Anywhere else?”

Nodding her head slowly, Jane casts a quick smile in Jay's direction, still grateful they had gotten the girl out at all. "Glad to hear it," she states a bit more formally than she had meant. She might sound slightly detached because of it, but that's far from the case. She'd been grateful Jay asked her to join the team, and thrilled with the outcome. Perhaps it's a simple matter of not knowing them all that well that makes her tone sound so distant.

Jane holds out her arms at Jay's question, displaying the red tint to the inside of her forearms. The woman's body temperature had been astounding and how she hadn't set her clothing on fire the woman couldn't say. Perhaps she had wanted to hurt Jane, and the thought hadn't crossed her mind until this moment.

"You brought Eli here," Jane states plainly, little admonishment in her voice because she isn't angry about the decision. But she had been surprised when Eileen told her. But it keeps Jane busy. She finds herself more frequently under this roof to babysit him when Eileen can't.

"Fair enough." Chances are he’ll make a call regardless, but he turns his attention to the hand she offers out to him. If it bothers him more that it’s her, the thought’s easily explained away by some sense of responsibility that he carries with him, the idea that if she’s one of Eileen’s, she’s one of his. And she has a life here, family, friends. Things he’d feel bad about her losing.

There’s no hesitation to his motions, but while there’s no ulterior motive to him smoothing burn cream across her palms, there is the thought that it’s been a while since he touched anyone’s skin this long without pulling away. It leaves it an almost unfamiliar thing.

It’s more the way she says the next words than what she says that has a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Though he doesn’t have a good answer for her, regardless of whether or not it’s a question. “The point is I want to. Let me be helpful.”

"Yes, sir," Jane states coyly, her voice holding a natural gravel in it that Eileen used to complain made her always sound sarcastic. The trouble had been, she usually was. It had always come easier to her to mock and joke with any of the kids living under this roof than to be entirely honest with them. And while most of the kids who grew up around her knew very little about her own life, she had known everything about theirs. She's still a big sister to these kids.

Jane clears her throat to change the subject, as if the conversation needed a physically shift before she opened her mouth. And considering she couldn't move her arms, since Jay's working on them, she resorts to straightening her spine to right herself into a person more familiar. "Cole and his daughter okay?"

But the pause is enough to let him get a handle on himself, for his tone to resume the same easy calm as the expression on his face. What matters is what’s relevant, if she’s compromised somehow, if there’s anything they can do to change that.

"Do you know if he was Bureau?" He suspects he already knows the answer to that one too, and either way it doesn’t mean he can’t look into it. He has contacts he can call, find out if her name or face has popped up on any registries. He knows he and Cole have already been identified, maybe Eli by now too, but he doesn’t know about her. He hopes not. There’s something like guilt at the thought of it that keeps his attention more on her hands than her face.

"I know you can. It’s not the point." And if there’s too much respect for her to argue the contrary, it doesn’t stop him from his attempts at first aid. There’s no real thought to what the point is, only that she’s hurt and he’d like to think he’s capable of touching someone to fix them instead of destroying them. Even if it’s a momentary illusion. "Other hand."

"I couldn't be sure," Jane admits, almost sheepishly because she's slightly embarrassed she hadn't dug up more on the person following them, "Civilian clothes. Dark hair. Not much of a tell for an agent if he was one."

At the request for her other hand, Jane displays it without question, eyes scanning Jay for some sort of evidence as to why he's being so helpful. Of course, he's a nice man. He'd always been polite and respectful with her. But she doesn't need the babying, even if this doesn't feel like it.

"Think I'm missing the point here," she remarks with a small smile, eyes narrowed as she glances around the room like the answer to her confusion is written upon the walls. But the comment, along with the smile, is to clear the strange tension in the air and to hopefully loosen the noose around her neck that feels like she's disappointed him somehow.

There’s something like relief when he finally pulls out the right container, turning towards her and unscrewing the cap. And if there’s a reluctance most hours of the day to make physical contact with anyone, it just keeps his touch light when he does now. It makes it easier when she’s already offering her hands out to him already as a poignant epilogue on the story.

"Who was the girl?" he asks, some thought that the tone of his voice betrays more than his expression. He doesn’t know that he should expect her to have the answer, if she exchanged numbers with a wayward mutant she ran into on the streets. There’s some concern for that, that she’s the kind of person who probably needs help, the kind they make a point of giving out freely. But right now he’s more distracted by the redness on her hands, a thing he tries to soothe away with the salve settled on the edge of the counter. "Did anyone see you?"

The question pulls her back into her body and she can only shrug her shoulders as an answer for a moment. She hadn't traded any of that information with the woman, too fearful of what she could do to stick around and allow Jane to fully explain just how helpful her friendship could be for someone like her. Like them. But that had never happened.

"Just that guy that I think was following us, but I made sure we lost him," Jane assures Jay, the only reason she feels any certainty is because he hadn't been waiting outside the building they'd been hiding in. Where he went, who he worked for she couldn't say, and the frustration is evident in the bunching of her features, the creases in her brow.

After a moment, Jane shakes her head, putting one hand up to argue with him, "You don't have to do this, Jay. I can handle it."

"Here. Let me." He shifts into the bathroom next to her, and if it’s encroaching on her personal space he doesn’t think much of it right now. He just shakes his head, moving next to the bin to try and take over sorting through it. He starts a line along the edge of the sink of the unnecessary ones, spinning labels to try and find the right one.

"What happened?" he asks, and there are thoughts there he doesn’t like. A run in with Bureau, another mutant, that bomber that an agent named Frost is investigating. Any number of smaller accidents, but his thoughts don’t tend to stray towards those anymore.

Her lips mash together to keep the truth at bay, because it makes her sound incompetent. And while the woman hadn't proved to be much of a problem, the marks upon her hands, arms, and chest speak differently. "There was a girl," Jane starts off carefully, eyes scanning Jay's face for any change in his expression, but he's always seemed crafty at hiding his true emotions from the world, and she couldn't help but wonder why exactly that is.

"I saw her light a napkin on fire. With nothing else but her hands. She ran so fast out of the bar, so I followed her. Which she didn't seem to approve of," Jane notes with something like a small smile at the memory of the woman's irritation, "But we'd been followed, so I pulled her through this old shop. And just from holding her..."

Jane doesn't explain with words, just holds out her red hands for Jay to examine.

He’s passing through the hallway away from Eli’s room when a noise draws his attention. The rattling from inside the bathroom has him tilting his head to look inside, for a moment the smile on his lips faltering. “Jane?” He can recognize the head of dark hair, and while he respects her enough to think she deserve privacy, he can’t help the faint note of concern. “You alright?”

"Oh yes, fine," Jane replies casually, knees straightening to allow her to stand as she hefts the large plastic container onto the small counter top. She positions herself to sort through the bottles and tubes she's made a mess of to allow herself to look up at Jay, instead of having her back to him. It's rude either way, but she can't help but view him as some form of superior. And she isn't conscious of exposing burns to him like he'd mind. She's a soldier. These things happen.

The plastic contents inside rustle noisily inside the bin as her hand moves like a tidal wave through tubes of ointment useless when there's no babies growing up under this roof anymore. "Eileen swore she had burn cream in here, but I can't find it."

"It was an accident. I didn’t do anything." she says firmly, but quietly. She prides herself on not giving herself away. She’s admitted no guilt and certainly didn’t admit to her abilities. Still, this woman had followed her from the bar just to tell her that. "What are you doing?" she asks, confusion written plainly on her pretty features. Trust did not come naturally to Layla, at least not lately. Everyone she met was someone who could expose her. Layla was a naturally friendly woman, but it wasn’t until that night in the alley, when she had no one she felt safe turning to, that she realized just how alone she was. All of her relationships were for profit of some kind. There was no one she knew without a doubt had her back. It was a disconcerting feeling. "Did you follow me just to tell me that?"

Her fingers close without warning upon the woman who could set things ablaze, tugging her swiftly down the street before stopping beside a wall. Jane pulls the woman into her arms, holding the stranger's back again her chest as she steps back through the stone wall, dragging the woman into the space with her. It's a small store room of a shoe store apparently, run down and uncared for. But when that man turns the corner, he won't see the two women there.

Layla had thrown money down and practically run from the bar. One more place she could never go back to. Like the convenience store where she had stood too close to popcorn or the bookstore where she had ruined a few hardbacks. This ability was becoming harder to control. 

As she cut down a sidestreet she was suddenly aware of footsteps behind her. She paused only for a moment to be sure she heard them. They stopped when she did, and resumed in time with her own. Layla didn’t turn, she just sped up, fear heating her skin and making her radiate like a small furnace.

She doesn't really like the bar scene, never really had. What had brought her into that specific bar, she couldn't say. A job application had been the reason her resume had been folded neatly into her purse. But the last place she truly wants to work is a seedy, crowded bar in Las Vegas. Too bad her ability couldn't pay the bills. She could always go into bank robbing, she muses.

There's a natural grace to Jane as she keeps in time with the other woman, perhaps giving the two the appearance of friends out for a night on the town. It had been more selfish self-preservation that prompted her to follow the woman who had set that napkin on fire, with nothing that Jane could see but her bare hands. She'd need to control it. It would better her life, but it would also be safer for all of them. The less Bureau agents snooping around the city, the better. And she wonders if their little stint in rescuing Cole's daughter had prompted more attention here than they'd like.

"Keep setting fires like that, someone's bound to notice."

Nodding to the bartender as he slides the beer across to him, he pulls a wad of cash from his pocket. Rolled up and held together with a rubber band because all he really has is cash. No wallet. No ID, no cards, nothing that could be used to track him because he knows how easy it would be. One hit on a computer and someone who was looking hard enough could track him down. He’s sure of it because he’s done it before. Algorithms made it easy. Pinging off cell towers did it too. It’s all there inside his head, the math behind it all. 

Most days it's easy to fill that void with Eileen and the kids. Today is one of those days. And perhaps that just has her smiling at the man's words, eyes following the roll of cash in his hands which seems odd to her. Most men at least have a wallet. Her fingers uncurl from the wine glass atop the table, some sort of apologetic shrug to her frame. "I don't think grace is something you'll typically find in abundance in this city."

He’d known what the Bureau was capable of since he was a kid. Had a personal vendetta for what they’d done to his brother, for the way his father had ripped their family apart simply because of what his sons had turned out to be. It had been the bastards genes that had done it to them and Caleb knew that better than anyone because his understanding of the chemistry and mathematics behind those statistics was spot on. Part of his “gift.” The same gift that had gotten him imprisoned for two months in a compound that wasn’t even good enough for a rabid dog. 

Slipping up to the bar, he didn’t waste time making himself comfortable next to a woman who looked like she’d just gotten off a long day’s work. A suit. Nothing he’d ever truly mingle with unless it was to see what she looked like stripping off those clothes and letting her hair down. “Whatever you’ve got on tap,” he tells the bartender as he leans there, hands folding in front of him and a cocky grin on his face. He finally turns to the woman next to him after she apologizes. “Sorry for looking pretty?” 

"You're too kind," Jane replies dryly, flicking a carefully curled brown lock over her shoulder as she gingerly sips from her glass. Licking the remnants of dark droplets from her lips, she places the glass back upon the bar, fingers idly fiddling with the stem and the lazy smile remains on her face. She'd be thirty soon. And maybe young men like the one next to her wouldn't hit on her anymore. Or maybe he's just been gifted with a baby face and bright eyes that will always grant him some youthful charm. And good for him. Stress will probably streak gray through her hair before he even develops a laugh line.

Straightening her spine, Jane inclines her head towards the man beside her. "It was more for being in your way, but a girl can take a compliment," she states, a naturally small rasp to her voice that might've come from bossing around the other kids in Eileen's home for most of her youthful years.

There’s a small shrug of his shoulders when she asks what he’s thanking her for, as though agreeing to help on this raid isn’t enough. It is, because he’s aware how dangerous it will be, and their track record isn’t the same as it was a few years ago. He doesn’t think the Bureau’s gotten better, he just thinks they suffered too heavy a loss. And maybe it’s his failing that they haven’t fully recovered from it, because some days he’s not sure he has either.

And maybe it’s that simple faith that he’s sentimental enough to appreciate right now, because there’s too much of a lull in activity. “Your assistance? Your company? Whichever you prefer.”

Instead, Jane nods her head once, lacing her fingers together in front of her in a slightly flustered stance, arms locking in a way that possibly shuts her out from the rest of the world. And while she isn't unaccustomed to gratitude, perhaps it's Jay's position in the rebellion that makes it mean a bit more to her. Clearing her throat quietly, she straightens her spine and forces her arms to her side to appear more like a soldier, someone he can depend on in the raid when they blast through, guns ablazing.

"Glad to be of service," she reassures him, sweet smile still tugging at her lips as an extra weight is added upon her shoulders to live up to Jay's growing expectations.

And it grows slightly more genuine at the comment about Eileen, a nod of his head that agrees full with the words. Though he thinks Jane would know a thousand times better than he would. She grew up with the woman, and it seems unfair to think he’s almost jealous of that. But there’s that stray thought that she wouldn’t have let him lose control like he did, that his sister wouldn’t be dead. There’s no real point to the speculation though, the regret meaningless in the face of reality, and he doesn’t allow it to linger.

"I’m counting on it." And he can admit that much, because if she only tells him to shut his mouth and stop trying to control everything, he thinks that would be enough. "But don’t tell anyone I asked for any. I have a reputation you know."

The words are a joke, but he still thinks they’re true. Image counts for something in his position, if nothing else that there are no cracks in his armor. That one he’ll cling to until it’s shattered apart. Which might be this weekend, depending on how everything goes. It’s not a doubt he voices when she seems confident in front of him, and that as much as anything fuels some sense of gratitude in him. “Thanks Jane.”

The expression of gratitude, however, throws Jane for a loop and it shows upon the creases in her brow, threatening to etch themselves there for all eternity. "For what?" she asks and it's only after the words leave her lips she thinks she should've just accepted his thanks, even if she's unsure as to what. Perhaps it's just a simple thank you for agreeing to join the raid. It'll be dangerous. There's a high chance it'll be deadly. But she wouldn't turn her back on her own kind. Not now. Not ever.

"Oh you know, living  life. Conning people out their money legally and trying not to burn my apartment down every time I make a grilled cheese. Don’t tell Eileen I said that!” he quickly adds on nervously because the last thing he needs is for Eileen to worry or for her to think that even for a second he lost control of his probability powers. No, he had an excellent handle in not inflicting bad luck unless it was intended. Burning grilled cheeses were just a result of him being absent minded and paying more attention to the TV when he stood at the stove. “But you know me, I’m good. What ‘bout you? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages,”

But dumb and good, the real kind of good, Jane thinks, have never gone hand in hand. Dumb and boring, now that's a different story.

"Your secret's safe with me, slim," Jane swears with narrowed eyes and a nod, all gestures and expressions put on to poke fun at him with a nickname she's always aimed in Pat's direction. He's such a toothpick, she always thinks when she spots him, and there's something nostalgic about his gangly arms. If any of the kids she'd lived with felt like a sibling, it had been Pat.

She shrugs her shoulders carelessly when the question is aimed back to her. "Not much," she admits upon a sigh, neglecting to inform Pat that Jay had stopped in and asked if she'd be a part of this raid he's planning. She doesn't want to worry him. "You know me, same old, same old."

And while the laughter fades, it simply shifts into the same smooth smile, some amusement at the question and the the explanation for it. Because he doesn’t really need one. Anything he doesn’t want to answer, he won’t. “No, nothing like that.” He shakes his head, some amusement just in the thought of it. He thinks the woman might offer if he ever needed it, but he doubts her house is ever all that quiet. It leaves him thinking he’s better off in a motel room.

"There are just some things in Vegas I needed to take care of. And I’m still waiting to hear back on one." If the words are vague, he’d like to think she won’t take them personally. He usually is, and this time it seems even more important to be. Because no matter what he thinks about how Eli is living his life, he doesn’t want to ruin his memory if that’s the road he decides to stick with. He and Samson both deserve to be remembered better than that.

And perhaps that’s why there isn’t more bitterness that he let them think he was dead in the first place. Some understanding that maybe he really thought his life was over, or just wanted it to be. “I thought I would get Eileen’s perspective on it while I play the waiting game.”

Though it might be childish to ask for, and he wonders if that more than anything has him hesitating. Not that he minds talking to Jane. She’s intelligent and capable, both qualities he respects, and it’s part of why he asked her on the raid to begin with. “But chances are we’ll be heading to California before the end of the week.”

"She's good at advice," Jane agrees with a sweet, distant smile, because Eileen had always been there for her, "Even the really harsh advice you don't want to hear." She laughs quietly at that, at the occasions that Eileen had sat her down and told her straight just what she should do. No candy coating to help swallow the harsh truth. It'd been difficult then. It's just humorous now.

But Jane does wonder where Jay is staying, and the thought crosses her mind that she should offer him a space at hers, because she lives alone and wouldn't mind the company. A quiet voice in her head tells her she'd love to have someone stay for a week or so, just to have another human mind to speak to or watch television with. But whatever reservations she could have hold her back from offering, and instead, she just nods her head once more.

"Just say when."