Up in Smoke in California [Stephen]

[Jessica Pruitte]

With every stroke of her arms, the surfboard was pushed further away from the idle swimmers and the shore. The waves were pretty good and the temperature was just perfect. The teen had been out on the water for hours, having ignored any call to class; the answering machine she had set up with an automated voice and an assumed name would catch any calls from concerned teachers. It always did.

Patrick Kimball and his best friend, Evan Hughes, had acquired fireworks, a fact that would have displeased any authority figures had they known about it. In fact, two 14-yr-old boys with a reputation for mischief having access to fireworks would have been enough to worry anyone. Anyone but the two boys in question, that is, who had happily spent all day at school discussing the ways they could use their ill-gotten loot. The first step, of course, was to make sure their fireworks weren't duds: they had been unexpectedly cheap and they were essentially black market. Thus it was that they wandered through Evan's neighborhood until they came to a house he swore was abandoned. The grass was overgrown, the windows dark, leaves littered the lawn. It looked like nobody had lived there in ages.

Straddling her board, Jessica watched the beginning crest of an on coming wave with interest. Yup, that would be her last wave of the day, she needed to start heading back home and get dried off. Too, she would need to figure out what to do for dinner and feed Ouch. Turning the board around and paddling with the wave, Jess popped up on it, her feet balanced off center while she crouched enough to keep her center of gravity steady so the wave wouldn’t topple her and she could - with luck - ride it to the shore.

"This is gonna be SO awesome," Patch grinned, skulking after his friend into the yard. They made their way around to the back -- abandoned house or not they knew better than to play with fireworks in public.

He dropped his backpack onto the ground, rummaging through for the perfect cracker to start off their display. "There's a fire on 42nd street," He sang as he pulled a box of matches out of his hoodie pocket. "Camera ready?"

The wave roared beneath her, tumbling rider and board towards the shore until it tipped spilling Jessica into the ocean to be tumbled beneath the wave like debris. In a way, she was. When the teen finally came back up for air she was laughing, rather than upset, the surf board safely behind her, attached to it’s line securely fastened around her left ankle. Damn but that had been a wild ride! Swimming the rest of the way back to shore and working her way through the sand Jessica snagged up her things, tied her towel around her waist, and carried her board to the parking lot where she was going to find some hapless person to drive her home.

Evan nodded, holding his camera at shoulder level. He couldn't wait to add this video to his youtube channel; and the videos after, once they'd determined the state of the fireworks. "Hell, yeah!" He confirmed, nearly bouncing with excitement.

Patch gave his friend a thumbs up before lighting the fuse of the firecracker, taking a step backward to watch in admiration as it roared up, up, up...and crashed straight through the window of the abandoned house. "Ooops." He muttered, turning to go back through his backpack for a new firecracker, one that would actually go into the sky this time when he heard Evan's voice behind him.

"Shit."

Patch whipped around to see flames beginning to lick the window frame, trailing up toward the roof. A flat-faced, furry thing raced past his feet and out of the yard in terror. A stray cat; of course, they did take up residence in free territories. "Dude!" He whispered, staring up at the flames in awe. The destructive power of fire was so compelling.

Evan and Patch both watched with mouths agape as the flames continued to caress the house; Evan hadn't dropped his camera.

"That is so cool...." He murmured to his friend, who nodded.

"Yeah."

After a moment of impressed silence -- this was going to be the best video ever -- Patch's face turned white. "Dude! The fire...it could go to the next house!" He realized, frantically grabbing his bag and dashing toward the front.

Evan almost dropped his camera at that comment, issuing another "Shit!" Before struggling to put away his camera and pull out his cell phone at the same time. Not like they would admit that they caused the fire, but they had better report it...

As the convertible neared her home, traffic became stalled and a large, billowing black cloud loomed into the sky ahead.

“Shit,” the driver who’s name she’d already forgotten muttered, “Somone’s having a hell of a day.”

“No doubt,” Jess replied agreeably, until she saw where the firetruck had parked itself with all the lovely blue lights of the police and the red of the EMT unit. “GODDA-” her words were cut off as she hopped over the side of the car and ran forward, surfboard and thanks forgotten as she realized just whos house it was that had been aflame.

As she ran full tilt forward, Jessica was caught around the middle by a fully suited fire-fighter who’s words she couldn’t quite hear through the rage and fear that pounded in her ears. Ouch! Her things! The lady who was renting her the house was going to be SO pissed off. Her whole life of freedom-- up in the black smoke of the smoldering house.

“That’s my house!” She screamed, more eyes of the neighborhood watchers turning towards her. And then she saw them. Boys from school. The very same boys she knew to be more than just a little bit of trouble. Why were they at her house.

“YOU!” Every ounce of rage she had pushed forward as she lunged at Patch, only to be held back by the fire-fighter who still had her ‘round the waist.

Patch scooted back with alacrity, alarm written all over his face. He punched Evan in the arm to get his attention. "Psycho chick...." He whispered the nickname, half afraid she would hear him. It was almost as if she knew they had been responsible for the fire...

Evan gulped and took a step back himself, giving the irate girl a shaky smile. "Uhhh, hey. Didn't know you lived in my neighborhood uhhhh ummm Amy?" He guessed; he'd only ever called her by her nickname. "Yeah. We were just hangin' out and saw this fire and you know called to report it and stuff...don't want the whole neighborhood to burn down."

The misogynist and his friend. Why were they ALWAYS around. It was bad enough that after the earthquake and the school merger she had to share his locker and listen to him rant about this, that, and the other thing, but he was ALWAYS around. Always. She couldn’t get a break from him. He was the easiest target for her anger.

“Jessica,” snarled the girl as she lunged again, forgetting her assumed name of Amanda. The fire-fighter grunting as the whole of her weight was thrown against his arms.

“Easy there, easy...”

“Easy?” anger filled eyes turned on the man who held her. “EASY? THAT WAS MY HOUSE!” The repeated clarification was louder. Everyone around her was an enemy. Once more, she had only herself to rely on. “And my CAT was in there!”

Patch shot Evan a look that meant you told me that house was abandoned!. Well, shit. They'd inadvertently burned down psycho chick's house. "Umm....cat? He latched on to this as the best distraction from her evident suspicion. "Smooshed-in face? Fluffy? We saw it run thataway." He pointed in the direction the feline had fled, hoping the safety of her pet would appease her enough that she would stop this line of thought.

Her attention was brought back to the two fiends. Her cat had survived, that meant their own deaths would be slightly quicker when she got her hands on them. If cable-armed-fire-fighter would ever let her go. That didn’t seem to be happening and the attention of the police and EMTs were now upon her as well. Not a good thing. Particularly not with the police.

“I’ll kill you,” she hissed at them. “Dead. Do you hear me?”

Patch edged away from the angry girl and into Evan, not at all convinced that the firefighter holding her was capable of keeping her from murdering them; in fact, from the way she was glaring he was almost surprised to discover that he was still alive. "Uhhhh. Yeahhhhhh....." He glanced nervously between her, his friend and the firefighters. "You're welcome for getting the firefighters here. Now that we've filed our report, can we go?"

“It’s probably for the best, son,” the man replied as EMT’s came over to check the girl. The emotional trauma of having one’s house burned down was clearly taking it’s toll, they would likely need to give her a sedative while they asked her about places she could stay and check her vitals- just to be certain.

The boys fled as soon as they were able, and once out of earshot of anyone who could report back, or would be paying attention, started shooting back and forth about how awesome the fire was.

Jessica was propped in the back of the EMT bus as she answered questions still seething. Everything. Gone. Just like that. So much for her happy-fun day.

“I’m FINE,” she insisted again and again, only to be ignored and more questions asked. No, she didn’t live alone, her parents were away on a trip. Yes, she was fine. Yes she could find a place to stay. No she didn’t want to go to the hospital to be looked over, she hadn’t been in the house it wasn’t necessary.

Apparently it was necessary and away she went to be looked over, and psychologically evaluated. After complaining about a headache that was starting to make her see spots, they poked and prodded at her then gave her a pain pill that looked like a horse should be taking it and not her, but let her rest.

Closing the door behind her, the nurse slipped away to make a call to a friend who had a friend who went to a “special” school. The now homeless girl would need more help than the hospital or charities could give her. Her parents would be contacted once she was settled in a place where her-- oddities would be accepted.

[Patch and Evan guest written by Dryope]

[Stephen Gage]

Hospitals had lost their power over Stephen years ago. Originally, he'd found them unsettling. Everything was simply so clean, so sterile. The lights were harsh, the tiles white, and the places bore such a stench of cleaning agent that one could only imagine what fashion of body horrors had stained them earlier. People lived and died in the halls, coming and going, and the staff remained implacable. Business as usual. How could that not startle them: the death, the illness? Years before, Stephen had found nothing but depression and anxiety within the washed walls of a hospital.

These days, however, he found hope. Too many of his "kids," as he sometimes called them in the privacy of his own head, had been found in these places to make them shrines to the ends of lives. Hell, his own life had begun only when he set foot on Hammel's campus. If these places, creepy and smelly though they may be, would give others a new life, then he could certainly abide their existence. And perhaps, just maybe, enjoy being in them.

It would certainly help if they weren't built like labyrinths. Stephen had been following the yellow line on the floor for what felt like ages, and he'd yet to find Room 217. Nurse Stone, as imposing a woman as her name implied, had said that if he followed the Red Line to the Green Line and got off halfway at the Yellow Line, then followed that, he'd eventually get to where he was meant to go. Stephen had forgotten precisely when he'd begun his voyage to Oz, but he certainly felt as if he would either get there soon or find a field of poppies and lay down for a while. He could use a nap. The flight had been a killer.

Stephen had gotten the call at three in the morning. His night had been quiet, one spent at home after a partially failed date that had ended in a handshake rather than anything more interesting. Stephen put himself to bed at around one, after spending a few hours investigating the contents of his refrigerator and the scarce offerings of basic cable. He'd just begun to dream about the other potential endings of his date when his phone rang, and vibrated its way off of his nightstand. Three hours and one rather reckless drive to the airport later, Stephen Gage was boarding a plane for California, giddy as could be. The prospect of warm weather was well beyond an excitement for him, a welcome reprieve from his perceived frigidity of Vermont. Ever the patient and accommodating man, Stephen had slept on the plane, and touched ground in California as rested as could be.

And, if he could be so bold in saying so, rather well-dressed for a man in his situation. After all, the clothes he'd worn on his date had been sitting right there on the ground for him. A black suit jacket and pair of slacks, both free of crumbs, had succumbed only somewhat to wrinkles in their adventures. His shirt, however, a red, silk, button-up number that a past flame had bought for him, remained noticeably free of such marring qualities, even managing to evade a wine spillage. Luck, it seemed, was on his side. Except for his shoes, of course. With all this walking, Stephen sorely wished he'd traded out his dress shoes for something more sensible.

Whatever the case, his journey was thankfully at an end. Room 217 lay before him, and inside it, the motionless form of one Amanda Byrns. She'd been tested, the results positive. She was one of "us," a Meta. She was homeless, as well, from the little information he'd gleaned. She was a priority case, and there had been little time to process paperwork that early in the morning. Stephen was largely flying blind, running off of whatever knowledge he'd managed to accumulate in the period between the phone call and the long walk down a yellow mile.

He entered the room quietly, his eyes falling on the slow rise and fall of her chest. Sleeping, presumably. Either on medication or of her own volition. He strongly hoped for the latter. A drugged-up recruit could be more difficult than a sober one. Whatever the case, she was not awake, and he wold not be the one to rouse her from what was probably much-needed rest. There was a fire, from what he knew, and that itself could be traumatic. So, Stephen pulled up a chair. The rolled-up issue of Cosmopolitan he'd swiped from the nurse's station as reading material (the articles, of course) was used to scratch the stubble on his cheek before he unfolded it and flipped open to the first article.

"Ten Ways to Spice Up Your Sex Life!"

Pfft, like Cosmo knew anything he didn't. He carried on until he found something interesting, an article on a woman who, for reasons he'd never understand, had allowed her cooch to play clown car for a brood of children. Stephen chuckled at the image, and settled in for the wait. He was in no rush. Vermont was cold and far away. And as far as he cared, it could stay that way.

[Jessica Pruitte]

Before her eyes even opened, Jessica was assaulted with the pungent fragrance of “clean.” No, not just clean, but sterile. She was in hell. Simply put. Worse yet, her head was still splitting. It wasn’t what it had been before: that mind killing pain that knocked her into unconsciousness due entirely to the constant flow of information that was rolling through her head. It was a price, a huge price, but a price of having access to everything that was out there in the aether. Texts, emails, every website everywhere. If a computer had an internet connection, even if the file wasn’t a posted on line, she had access to it. It was hers to know.

And it was constantly there. That buzz, that flow. Bringing with it collapsing headaches. One must have finally managed to kill her.

Groaning, Jessica raised a hand and pressed it to her forehead, eyes still closed. Drugs. She wanted drugs. Not of the illegal sort (though if they would stop the headaches without killing the information she might just go for them), but rather the pain killing sort. Vicodin, Lorcet, Darvocet, Percocet-- something! Anything.

The scratch of the sheets, the soft “shhhp” of a page being carefully turned, and her own stomach’s lack of anything to digest finally brought the girl to a struggled sitting position with eyes open. And oh, what a sight that awaited her.

Hell nothing, this was heaven. Well, if heaven had that sterile stench of hospitals then this was heaven. Or maybe purgatory. That would make more since. According to one website the dead in hell always knew hunger. They could eat, and eat, and eat, but never slacken the hunger, and never die. But hey! If the guy sitting with Cosmo propped in his hands was the Devil, or rather a devil, then she’d gladly remain hungry just to drink in the sight of him.

He was nothing short of beautiful. The suit, the shirt, that jaw line…

And there she was in borrowed scrubs because apparently it was inappropriate to remain in a bathing suite. Ouch, from next to the hospital bed, meowed impatiently, scrabbling at the cat carrier door. So she wasn’t dead then. That was, good, she supposed. Except that it meant she was still in a hospital, still homeless, and still in huge amounts of shit. So long as her finger prints hadn’t been taken and run, she should be fine, but that also meant that she didn’t have immediate access to the accounts she’d set up and thus no money for new clothes.

Waffling between being in absolute awe of the man in front of her, and dismay at her situation, Jessica groaned and pressed the heels of either hand to her temples and squeezed.

“Are you another doctor?” Her voice was young, but rough at the same time, edged by the pain of her headache. It was possible that he was, and the fact that he was in a suit and not medical gear didn’t stop the fantasy of Doctor/Patient from rolling through her head.

[Stephen Gage]

Stephen had lost all sense of time when he found an image of Clown-Car-Cooch as a pregnant woman. How she was capable of standing remained well beyond his ability to grasp, and try as he might to look away, he could not help but stare. Triplets, and the woman's stomach showed it. Hell, Stephen wouldn't have been surprised if he were able to see the outline of a tiny hand pressing against her stomach. She looked just about ready to pop. He turned the page, keeping his left index finger as a marker to he could turn back to the image whenever he wanted a reassurance as to why he was particularly pleased with being gay. He'd never cause that. Or if he did, he certainly had a fair amount of explaining to do to himself.

Engrossed in his magazine, Stephen neither heard nor saw the girl sit up from her position, caught in the mesmerizing sight of that woman and the Hindenburg of her stomach. It was the meowing of the cat that tore his attention away. Where the hell had that thing come from? Ah, it was on the other side of the bed. Just out of his sight. Glancing over the top of his magazine, Stephen became aware of the suddenly-taller young woman, and only shortly thereafter attributed her increase in stature to simply sitting up. His trademark smile spread across his face, widening when she asked him if he were a doctor. He chuckled, shaking his head. "No, no. I wish, though. Then I'd have an idea of how this woman can pop out about fifteen kids."

Her voice was hoarse, dry, though judging by her hands, she was suffering from some sort of pain. He held the magazine up for her to see, displaying the picture. "Look at that. She looks like a pimple. A big, pregnant pimple." He sighed and chuckled again, placing the magazine down on the ground and standing up. Stephen peered over the side of the bed, glancing at the cat's crate. Cats were... acceptable creatures, so far as he cared. As long as they didn't scratch him, and this one seemed kept safely behind bars. "Lovely wee thing, right there. Anyway, Ms. Byrns, I'm Stephen Gage. Always a pleasure."

He stuck his hand, offering a friendly handshake. "You can call me Stephen, though. Not big on the whole 'Mr.' thing. Do you want some water? I'd get you food but, well," he looked around, grinning sheepishly. "I've never actually been here before, so I don't know where they keep the good stuff."

[Jessica Pruitte]

“With too many fertilization shots and the inability to say ‘no’,” Jessica responded followed by a winced giggle at his description of the woman’s engorged belly. It was, she supposed accurate enough. Gross as all hell, but accurate. But Byrns?

Oh! Right!

She was supposed to be Amanda Byrns. Daughter of two soldiers killed in Iraq. Now homeless vagabond who’d been taken in by a trusting old woman who allowed her the use of the house reserved for her children and grandkids. A liar, and a con artist. Though mostly just a liar with a lot of luck. The cons were more the other people around her willing to believe and give her things. All of this, and more, was what Jess had to remember.

More importantly in the immediate present, however, was trying on his last name. Jessica Gage. Oh, that definitely had a nice ring to it. Jessica Gage. Jessica Gage, the name rolled through the teen’s head in a sing-songy way, though the reality of it was he was hot and she hated her own last name. His seemed to fit. And, more importantly, he was hot.

It wasn’t until a moment later that Jessica remembered he’d introduced himself, and though he knew her alias, she still needed to say something rather than stare at him with abject adoration. Removing a hand from her head she shook his, feeling the strength there. Warmth. Not painful, but firm. God she was in love. “Awesome. So uh, Stephen. If you aren’t a doctor and haven’t ever been here before why are you here? Not that I don’t mind the company.” Especially his company, “But this is kinda a rough time.”

So hold me? Wrap me up in those amazing arms of yours and hold me close.

Good question though, Jessica quietly congratulated herself. Besides it would get him talking more. Though food itself sounded amazing, even hospital food. When had she last eaten? Yesterday sometime, too long ago. That was probably part of her headache, but for the moment she didn’t care. She just wanted to stare at Stephen and hold her cat ,who was still scrabbling at the crate and probably in desperate need of a litter box. Maybe get some real clothes somewhere in there, and figure out where to go from the Hospital.

[Stephen Gage]

Stephen beckoned a giggle forth from her. Good start. From what he knew of her, she could use it, too. Parents were dead by some fashion. Precisely how or why, he couldn't remember, but the method of their end would hardly make any difference upon whether they were there. Who her guardian was meant to be, Stephen had no idea, and his knowledge of her home life was limited to the understanding that there had been one, and then there was a fire, and then she was in hospital. And then Hammel had been called, and Hammel had called him, and now he stood at the foot of a surprisingly calm and curious young woman's bed, glancing every now and then to a cat carrier which contained one very excited little feline. Which, for all he cared, could very well stay caged up for now.

She took her hand in his, and her shake was as firm as her bedridden state would allow. Which, as it turned out, was rather solid. She seemed a confident one, this Amanda Byrns. She had a strange penchant for staring, it seemed, and he had no idea just what it was she found so intriguing, but Stephen considered himself a rather patient man and took it all in stride. They withdrew their hands, and Stephen clapped his in front of him, eyebrows rising slightly as she started off with a question. He smiled when she finished, nodding. "Certainly looks like a rough time. Hospital and all. Anyway, Ms. Byrns, I'm here on behalf of the Hammel Institute."

Stephen right hand disappeared into the breast pocket of his jacket, pulling out a pamphlet he'd stuck there hours before. He kept a stack of them in his apartment in the event he had late-night calls such as this. He laid it on her lap, stepping backwards as he spoke. "Do you mind if I close this?" he asked, gesturing with a thumb towards the door. If she had any objections, she'd voice them. Her Meta status was probably known amongst the Hospital staff at this point, but there was hardly any need to alert the entire West Coast. His hand pushed against the side of the door, and it swung quietly shut. Stephen pointed a finger at the pamphlet as he turned back around, grinning. "Take a look at that if you like. I'm in the picture of the staff somewhere. Not a good picture of me, I think, but we look a happy bunch."

Stephen laid his hands on the back of the chair he'd inhabited moments before, pushing it up closer to the side of Jessica's bed. "It's a school, Ms. Byrns, as you might see, for people who are a shade more... capable, than the rest. "Metahuman"'s the technical term for us, but I don't think it rolls of the tongue that pleasantly. I'd call us superheroes," he said, sitting down in the chair and fixing his grin on the young woman, "but we tend not to wear spandex. It rides up."

Well, he never said his jokes were terrific. Stephen rose his hands in mock apology for the bad joke before continuing. "You're in a hospital, as I'm pretty sure you're aware. You seem bright to me, anyway. Brought in after a fire. You were tested for Meta status and you passed!" He gave her two thumbs up as those last few words left his mouth, congratulating her as if she'd won some fashion of award. "Or, tested positive. We'd usually contact a guardian of yours before coming to meet with you, but it occurred to us that you might be a priority case, given your... situation."

Stephen bowed his head meekly at the words, offering her a politely sympathetic look. "We wanted to find you before you vanished off into some childcare system somewhere. Your last home burnt down and, well, we were rather hoping we could offer you a new one."

[Jessica Pruitte]

Hand just like that the calm Jessica was gone. When Stephen mentioned the fire, the teen snarled. Actually curled her lips back and had a tiny rolling growl of a snarl. They’d ruined it. All of it. Everything. Everything she’d worked so hard to get. To flee from, now there she was in a hospital with a tall, dark, handsome stranger, who was more or less reciting her false history back to her based on what the state of California knew…

“I didn’t do it.” The words were more or less a hiss. It wasn’t that he’d out right accused her of starting the fire, but the popular opinion on Meta’s was more or less unfavorable. She was in a hospital. After a fire. He claimed she was meta. Whoo, big prize! And nothing she hadn't figured out on her own anyway. So the obvious conclusion was that the hospital thought she’d started the fire. She hadn’t even been home! And said as much to Stephen.

But that look, that pitying look on his face. He was offering her an out. A way away from California. Away from Patch. Away from Evan. Away from the questions that would surely come up.

Clenching and unclenching her fists, Jessica tried to take a deep breath. All the way down to the bottom of her lungs. He thought he was picking up an Amanda, no need to dissuade him of that now. At least she knew why the nurses and doctors had kept looking in on her every few minutes, whispered outside in the halls, then moved on. Cowards. She saw images, knew stuff. Web pages, that was it, she wasn’t going to send the hospital into flames or burn down the state.

“I wasn’t even home when the damn thing caught fire. I was at the beach.” He’d said she seemed bright. Praise. God, but it felt good to have someone say something good about her. Which is why it was better to remain Amanda, rather than let him know the lie.

Once she was able, Jess picked up the pamphlet and started to flip through it, her mind working, trying to figure out a way to accept the offer, then flee. Guilt poked at her. Stephen was too gorgeous to lie too, but it was too late now. He already believed it and if she said anything… No. Better to keep quiet and get to Hammel.

“Vermont?!” Dismay changed her tone almost immediately when she caught sight of the location. “Are you kidding? It’s snowing there. It’s cold! I don’t have anything left, just,” she glanced down and spotted the cat carrier with Ouch, and her beach bag. The bag had a towel, and a deck of playing cards in it. That was it. “I don’t have any ID, or anything. It’s … gone.” Her voice broke on the last word.

Jessica wasn’t prone to crying usually, but she was tired, her head hurt, everything had been destroyed and she was facing the prospect of having to start all over again. So, when she felt the wet on her cheeks, anger flared up again. She.was.not.weak. How long had she managed on her own? And one little house fire, okay one big house fire, a hospital, and Mr. Sexy-McSexington offering to take her away was enough to make a Marine cry.

[Stephen Gage]

The mention of the fire brought out more in Amanda than the curiosity and calm she'd portrayed moments earlier. Stephen had hardly finished speaking before she blurted, or more accurately hissed, her innocence at him. Whether the hospital actually believed she had started the fire, as it likely did, Stephen didn't know. He'd certainly considered the possibility himself, since her power was unknown as far as he was aware. The tests could only show that someone was Meta, not to the extent of their ability. Whether this young woman before him could spark fires with her mind or generate puppies from her left nostril would remain in question until she either told him, or Hammel ran their tests.

Stephen remained calm and friendly despite the vehemence of her assertion. He nodded understandingly, opening his hands in peace. The clenching of her fists did not go unnoticed, and Stephen braced himself for the off-chance that he'd have to keep her pinned. Her power was still unknown, but super-strength was scarcely worth much if one's body was not one's own. Well, in certain cases it'd be possible for you to do it even if you were at the beach. But, for what it's worth, I believe you. Things like this happen. Surprisingly often with people like us, actually."

Her next explosion caught him off guard, and Stephen jumped slightly in his chair. Then, as her words cracked through the surprise in his mind, he smiled wider. And laughed. He drew one leg up to rest across his knee, an elbow perched on an armrest and the connected hand covering his mouth to prevent outright guffawing. When his minor giggle fit subsided, Amanda had finished her declaration of war against Vermont, and Stephen could only nod. "Tell me about it. Spend half the year in front of a fireplace, I do."

The tears came quickly, and the already-staggering Stephen received another blow. This girl's emotions were all over the place. Understandable, of course, given the trauma of her past few days. Stephen was well-accustomed to mood swings by his recruits, but they never ceased to amaze him. He remained warm, friendly, and kindly smiling as Amanda's eyes began to leak. Stephen clucked sympathetically at the sight, and pulled his chair flush sideways with Amanda's bed. He held out his hand for her to take if she wanted it. He'd once suffered a couple of broken fingers when he'd done the same to a young man with super-strength, but that had scarcely deterred him from the act. "It's a bit much. I know. We can make it a little easier, give you somewhere less lonesome than this hospital room."

He grinned at her, raising his eyebrows and leaning in as if sharing some deep secret. "And we don't have beaches, per se, but if it's any consolation we've got a lake. It's quite nice in the summer. Go swimming all the time."

[Jessica Pruitte]

Her mood seemed to have settled, for the moment, somewhere between anger and fear which decided to show itself through a generally sarcastic tone. “It wasn’t me because that’s not what I do.” She grumbled, but didn’t explain further. Her mood had soured, but was counter pointed by the hella-hot-staff member who’d extended her his hand again should she wish to take it.

She did. But not for the support he was offering, rather simply so she could hold it. That he wanted to hold her hand, to give her that reassurance was nice.

“Giving me a place to be is great, and all, but that doesn’t fix the I have no clothes. The lake I could do, since I’ve got a bathing suit, but I doubt surfing on a lake will be quite the same.” How the hell was she supposed to get clothes? What was she supposed to wander around campus in a pair of borrowed scrubs or aforementioned bathing suit? “Also, how am I supposed to get there? What, are you a teleported or something?”

Hey, he was the one who mentioned superheroes and spandex. Though she wouldn’t mind seeing him in spandex, Jessica really doubted he’d look bad in anything. Garbage bag? HA, he’d make it popular fashion. Potato sack? Might as well be an Armani suit. Nothing at all? Jessica’s face flushed and she looked away.

“Teleporter or not, we should go. Since they can’t actually hold me here and you’re offering me… more.” For a time. But so far, her experiences had shown that nothing lasts. Not a happy home life, something she had never really had the pleasure of experiencing; not Simon, the old card shark who’d taken a liking to her because she was precocious and ended up teaching her how to shuffle and stack a deck; not the freedom she’d managed to find in California. Not her normality. Not since that first menstrual cycle.

If one were to follow Christian teachings the menstrual cycle was a curse placed upon woman for taking the first bite of the forbidden fruit from the tree of knowledge. For Jess, the pain was a mild thing compared to the knowledge she had access to. Though the mood swings were another. Up, down, up down, super touchy. While she wasn’t currently ON her cycle, it felt like it with everything that was being tossed at her the in the past day or two. How long had it been since the house burnt down?

“How do we do this?” The question was more to distract her from anything else. “Are you authorized to buy me clothes? I know of a really great second hand store.” Might as well try to be frugal until she figured out how to access the money she’d managed to square away before…

Nope, not gonna think about that right now.

[Stephen Gage]

Well, by her own admission, Amanda was not, in fact, a pyrokinetic. Whether she could generate puppies through her left nostril remained to be seen, but Stephen felt as though it was far enough out of the realm of possibility to be ignored. That scarcely narrowed down the list of possible powers, however, though Stephen would be loathe to admit his own curiosity. Abilities could be touchy subjects, especially in times such as these. If she chose to tell him, grand. If not, he'd learn eventually. For now, he just wanted to get her back to Hammel. Away from California, away from the burned house, the decimated history she must have had here. She took his hand, and Stephen offered her another warm smile, then a look of attention when she started speaking again.

Right. Clothes. Those important things. He hadn't thought of that. Given that her house had burned down, there was a fair likelihood that the entirety of her wardrobe had also gone the way of the dodo. He nodded, speaking half to himself and half to her. "Yes, yes, lakes do tend to be rather wanting in terms of waves..." Then came the suggestion that he was a teleporter, and Stephen chuckled, his grip reflexively tightening on her hand briefly. It loosened, and he shook his head. "No, no. Nothing that cool. I've just got plane tickets. Coach. I don't get paid enough for first-class."

Amanda blushed, and looked away. Something he said? Maybe it was the hand-holding, though she had reached for his. He released her hand, folding his own in his lap. The blush seemed to fade, and Amanda was all-business once more. And in quite a rush to leave, it seemed. "Well, I have some paperwork to fill out with the nurses, always fun. then I imagine I might have to buy you a hoodie or something from the shop downstairs. I doubt you'll be comfortable sitting on a plane in that."

He gestured towards her hospital gown, which likely would have been displaying her posterior to the world were Amanda standing up. Thankfully, she was not. "I'm not authorized to buy you anything, well, personal. But outerwear, to an extent." He rose from the chair, turning away from Amanda and pushing it back into its rightful place. Turning around, he added with a chuckle "Just try to stay away from the Versace stuff. Bit above my paygrade."

Stephen lifted a cellphone out of his pants' pocket, flipping it open. "Do you mind if I make a call? Paperwork's a bit cumbersome to carry. Just going to have Hammel fax it over." He gripped the door handle, pressing a speed-dial button on his phone and opening the portal. "Won't be two seconds." With that, a smile, and a faint ringing, Stephen stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. He had nurses to bother, a fax number to decipher, and work to do.

[Jessica Pruitte]

Jessica had no idea what sort of paperwork was involved in getting an orphan into a boarding school for special kids. How the hell was she supposed to pay for this? Especially if Stephen was expected to pay for their plane fare and a hoodie for her. How then, she wondered, as Stephen closed the door behind him, were they going to care for her?

Best to go with Stephen for the moment, allow Hammel to integrate her into their system, and the just disappear. It was a feat she thought she was rather good at. The truth was, the only real people she'd managed to do that to were her parents. Every now and then Jess would do a vanity google search for herself and nothing came up. Ever. No missing persons, no nothing. Had they even noticed or did they figure she was just keeping to herself as she had been prone to do. A combination of bad parenting and a 'hermit' daughter.

Sliding over the edge of the medical bed, Jess reached for her bathing suit and pulled the bottoms and top on. They weren't perfect, and it was little more than a bra and panties would cover, but it was a bathing suit and thus better or at least more acceptable than a bra and panties. It was not, however, warm clothing for Vermont. A hoodie would help, but she was definitely going to have to get to a bank and/or figure out how to get money for some real clothes. She couldn't ask Stephen to buy stuff out of his own pocket. Even if she wasn't a Prada type of gal, it was asking too much of the man. God that he appeared to be in physique.

"Well, Ouch," she said to the cat, crouching to look into her beloved cat's carrier. "Looks like you and me get to go on a trip of a lifetime." Or something like that.

The cat stuck a paw through the grating on the front of the crate and waved it at the human who was speaking. That hairless monkey that brought it food. why was it on the other side, instead of holding it and petting? The cat meowed mournfully as the teenager wrapped one hand around the handle, and the other on her beach bag and rose.

"Let's get this over with." Reaching the door, she tugged it open and peered around for Stephen. He hadn't gone far, thankfully.

"Oi, about ready?"

[Stephen Gage]

"We'll reimburse you for that.You needed which forms again? I've got the TS-9 sending."

Stephen sent his eyes skyward, his phone pinched between his ear and his neck as his pen scribbled across a clipboard on the desk of the nurse's station. "Uh, the Ward Release form, Responsibility Waiver for the hospital, and the Guardianship Claim." He bit his lower lip briefly, attempting to remember any forms that might have thus far slipped his mind. No, that seemed to be it. Saddening as her status as Ward of the State was, it made bringing Jessica to Hammel that much easier. A hospital would be glad to have a resource drain off its hands, and so would the welfare service of the government.

"Faxing them now."

"Thanks Pam, you're a doll."

Pam laughed, and Stephen heard her cluck her tongue. "I am too old for you, Stephen and, from what I know, a bit different from your standard fare."

Stephen laughed in response. "Our love is never meant to be. I'll see you when I get back, Pam." He heard a quick farewell from her, and pressed the END button, snapping his phone closed. The fax machine at the station whirred to life and the nurse who'd been watching him make his call with an expression of intense boredom rolled in her chair over to the machine. "Are you the head nurse 'round here? I'll just need you to sign a few things..."

He heard a door crack open, and an impatient calling in his direction. His head perked up, and he saw Jessica. Had she just "oi'd" him? He held back a laugh, settling instead for a grin. Two could play at this game. He put some more force behind his accent, normally mellowed by years in the country. "Did you just 'oi' me, love? Offensive, that." The nurse cast him a glare over her shoulder, bemused by the sudden change in accent. Stephen smiled sheepishly, but said nothing more of it. He waved for Ms. Byrns to come over. "Come here to me, just a few things you need to sign, then we're out of here."

[Jessica Pruitte]

A grin spread, splitting Jessica’s face and lighting her eyes again. “Aight’s roight! I did oi you!” She couldn’t keep it going, that ridiculous accent. It was bad, even for cockney. Giggles gave way to full on laughter, and oh! Did it feel good to laugh.

When he beckoned her over, with such choice words, the teen could have melted. Right there. Right then, and indeed, her knees went slightly woobly. Still, with one foot, placed in front of the other, cat carrier in one hand and bag in the other she went. Each step closer her heart raced a little faster. He was man. In all that it meant. He was a Man in the same way so many weren’t. He was clean, together, articulate, caring, warm, solid. Oh was he solid.

Standing next to him was like standing next to the sun, she thought. His smile, his smile was something to behold. Created out of some god’s dream. It was the only explanation that she could fathom. He couldn’t be human. And by very definition, wasn’t. As a Meta, his make-up was just different enough. Similar, yes, in the same way that Cro-magnon was similar to Neanderthal. But different.

“Where do I sign?” Slinging the bag over her mostly bare shoulder, and switching the carrier to her then free hand. All so she could reach for a pen and poise it above the papers, not caring what they said. Maybe the house fire had been the best thing that had happened since... Forever. He was a gift from some universal Karama that had finally paid up. All the crap she’d had to live through, the loss of her freedom: this was her pay out.

Stephen Gage.

God, his name was a like a song.

Without thinking, Jessica signed.

Her own name.

Her real name.

Jessica Pruitte

Catching herself, Jess quickly scratched over with an "Amanda Byrns" but it may have been too late. Whatever he had seen, or not, Jessica reminded herself, and firmly, that she had a persona to keep up with. Stephen was a distraction.

[Stephen Gage]

Amanda seemed to be walking in a daze. Her grip on her cat's carrier was firm, and Stephen hardly though she'd simply drop the thing, but her gaze seemed just slightly unfocused, her footfalls light and airy. He smiled wider at this, amused. He enjoyed seeing his recruits walking on cloud nine at the prospect of a new, better life. It was what made his job so enjoyable, beyond the mere travels to warm climates. She was happy, that much he knew. Happy enough to laugh and jest and give an accent a shot despite how humorously terrible she was at it. She sidled up next to him, and Stephen placed a finger on the first dotted line she was to sign. "Just anywhere it says 'Dependent.' I'll sign the 'Caregiver' parts for Hammel later. And you, my dear." he said to the nurse who looked as if she'd rather be called anything except that, "Should sign right here under 'Releaser.'" He handed the nurse the papers and a pen with the name of the Institute scrawled along the side.

Stephen kept his eyes on the nurse for as long as he could manage, trying to soothe over whatever greivous trespass he'd clearly committed against her in a former life. However, her head was down, perusing the forms, and he saw nothing except the balding line in the center of her head. A faint shadow of a grimace darted across his face, and Stephen brought his attention to Amanda just in time to catch the signature of a different girl on his form. Jessica Pruitte? Who was Jessica Pruitte? Amanda seemed not to notice his gaze, the pen in her hand rapidly writing over the mistake with the name by which he knew her: Amanda Byrns.

This was... problematic. Ethically, Stephen was obligated to inform the head nurse, to void the forms, and to at least suggest an investigation, however intense, into the matter. Metas remained a touchy subject among the populace, and there were rumors in Pilot Ridge that a legal case was brewing against the Institute. Something about unconstitutional practices which Stephen, of course, thought were nothing short of absolute bull. If Amanda Byrns was not, in fact, Amanda Byrns, then it could spell some severe trouble for the Institute.

However, Stephen remained silent. The smile returned rapidly to his face, even warmer than it had been prior if such a thing were possible. He felt a chill in his heart briefly, ever so shortly, before it was overtaken by a steely sort of resolve. Whatever "Amanda" thought herself to be, the fact remained that she had nothing. The law might say she had family somewhere, or that she was an heiress, or that she was a runaway, but the reality of the situation, as Stephen saw it, was that she was a girl in a hospital whose house had just burned down. She had a cat, a bathing suit, and a bag. She needed more, and he could give it to her. Hammel could give it to her.

So it would. The head nurse finished the forms and he accepted them with a smile. "Amanda" finished hers as well, and he gathered them all together, tapping them against the desk to straighten them out. "Lovely. I'll take these back to Hammel and we'll have copies for you sent within the week. How's that sound."

The nurse's face was made of stone.

"Right then. All the best. Ready to shove off, Ms. Byrns?" Stephen turned away from the desk, nodded his head in the direction of the long corridor. He motioned for her to follow, starting off down the hall with the long, relaxed strides he favored so. Stephen glanced back at her as he moved, grinning. The papers swung in his hand as he put his phone in his pocket. "And I've permission to get you a sweatshirt from the shop downstairs. You can take your pick when we get there. Sound good?"

[Jessica Pruitte]

"Awesome, we'll get a super huge sweatshirt. The kind for those 400lb or more guys. Assuming they have that big, It'll be cozy." Otherwise, she was sure, they wouldn't let her on the plane. "And my butt won't be hanging out the back of it. Who knows what kind of creeps are gonna be at the airport." It was a joke, but once she said it, the threat felt more real.

Nope. No need to think about that. I've got Tall, Dark, and Sexy here to protect me. It was a warming thought. The kind that made her feel practically invincable.

Images wafted through Jessica's mind as she inclined her head, "Lead the way, captain oh my captain." A poem about Linclon, but it fit. Sort of. Well she'd make it fit.

Through the images that wiggled past, Jess spotted images of her parents in the paper, some social event or another. The scowl that passed across her face was as fleeting as the image. Having not actually read the phamplet, Jess wasn't sure if they could teach her how to filter the information that came, as a constat stream. Or even stop the flow for a time. But if they could! If they could then it'd be worth staying around a while, wouldn't it?

Besides, there was Hottie McHot-HAWT there.

Yeah, totally better to stick around a while.

"So," now holding the cat carrier with both hands, Jess peered up and over at Stephen, "How many times a week do you have to go out and collect us little freaks?" And how often, she wondered, do they fight the system? "Bet you get sent out all the time." Which meant it was unlikely that she'd run into him often at Hammel. Which sucked, because he was more, or less (definitely more), why she'd agreed to go in the first place.

Also, it would get her away from those two morons. Just happened to be at her house.

Okay, so it was plausible, but Jess just wasn't in the mood to accept anything from them. They were faces she recognized there...

Her grip turned white-knuckled on the handle the carrier as Jess placed her attention right back where it belonged.

Stephen Gage.