Welcome

[James Crichton]

The medium sized bar was only partially filled, which made sense to James why Reilly would pick this place. Less people meant less chances for any unwanted incidences.

Sliding into a booth at the back that gave him a strategic view of the front door, James knew he'd be here tonight. He could read the boy like a book by now. Every alternate night, Reilly would drop by this place, get a couple of beers to drown out the confusion, and off he went back to denying the truth.

Tonight, the truth would not be ignored anymore as the young Detective was going to have to face reality. Reilly Kane was going to come to terms with his powers and make a decision about who he really is.

Tonight, James was going to ignore every other tug of his senses at the slightest hint of a special talent. Tonight was dedicated to gaining the trust of one particular man.

Tonight, the world can wait.

Ordering himself a single malt whiskey, James sat and wait patiently for his old friend's son.

[Reilly Kane]

There has always been something different about Reilly Kane. He knew that, despite everything he'd said and did, he was not the same as every other Tom, Dick and Harry he'd met along the way. It just seemed that whenever he was around certain people, things just seemed to happen. Like when he was around his ex-fiancee, she was his favorite example, when he was near her people always did what he told them. Even if it was the most outrageous request they'd ever heard. Hell, sometime even around the precinct's resident shrink, Jenn Duhamel, he heard voices. Then, every time something strange like that would happen, the blinding, debilitating migraine would assail him and he would be down for the count. If the sensation was bad enough, like it had been once with Jenn around him, he would experience his nose and sometimes even his ears bleeding. Those were fun times.

There were times when he had considered that he'd finally snapped, that he was insane. It was possible given the stress of his job. Then again, his father had retired from the Force. If he would make it, so could Reilly. He wasn't exactly ready for the straight jacket and padded room just yet. So he simply shrugged it off and continued it routine.

He sighed as he walked out the door of the station and toward his beloved Audi. Much to his extreme pleasure, he was off-duty and tonight was one of the nights he he used to unwind. He would ignore the rest of the world. And as usual he intended to do just that. An abrupt ring from his cell phone made him cringe and he was almost afraid to check the number. The last thing he wanted was to be called back in. Not after they had just closed the arson case this afternoon.

Reluctantly his hand slipped into his jacket pocket and he pulled out the cell phone. "Please don't be work. Please don't be work," he pleaded as he looked down. He recognized the all too familiar number of his sister-in-law and ignored it. Dammit, he was determined to let it all go. Rubbing his temples, he sighed as the shrill ring blasted again. No doubt it brother had said or done something stupid. That seemed common lately. And Reilly wasn't about to get involved in their marriage.

"And we're done with the cell," he said as he pulled the battery out of his Blackberry. That would prevent any unwanted interruptions, he decided as he pulled his gun and holster from his belt. He slipped both his gun and his phone into the glove box and decided that he would keep his badge. Just in case. A smile tugged at his lips as he started the engine of his baby, the purr filling the car. "That's still an awesome sound."

With a gentle tap of his foot, he pulled onto the side streets and headed for the one place he knew no one would look for him. The jazz club. It was so unlike him it was ridiculous. He hated jazz. He hated it so much he swore his ears would bleed from the sound alone. But he could get past the music. Never once had his head exploded in pain in that place. Never once, with its relatively small crowd, did strange things ever happen to him. That's why he liked it.

It was a short drive to the establishment and he kept the music loud. Parking was no problem and in the back, so his car would be hidden if anyone thought by some freak chance to look for him here. With a final check of the parking break, he slipped from his car and headed into the establishment. Quiet, dark and private.

He ordered a beer and took a seat in his usual booth, a corner in the front where he would keep an eye on everyone who entered the bar. He took a drink of his beer and thanked the gods for this. And that's when it hit him, he groaned as he begin massaging his temples with a frown. The headache was slight so far but he know without shadow of a doubt something was not right.

He felt... something. Everywhere around him. Bustling through the city around him. It was strange and sickening. This was going to suck. "Oh fuck me," he grumbled as he set down his beer. "So much for a nice, relaxing night."

[James Crichton]

The minor thirds that danced between the major only brought back memories of the past. Particularly the past of his own timeline. In a blink of the eye, James had been thrown from the slow moving world of today into one that was filled with the technical wizardry.

Only jazz could ever evoke such memories. Taking a sip of his drink, he thought about his life now with his new family, and although he had times when the pang of unbelonging hit him, James had resigned himself to being a father figure to them. Some more willingly looking for such a figure like Andrew, some reluctantly accepting the fact that they needed one like Wesley, and some still not knowing they were missing something in their lives like Reilly.

He remembered Reilly's old man all too well and had seen him as his own father figure in the Guild. It struck James funny how the tables have turned. But this is something Reilly must not know in order to protect the timeline.

The last bass note vibrated into nothingness just as the front door swung open to reveal his desired target. Reilly walked up to the bar and signaled the bartender for a drink before he rubbed his temples.

'Sorry, kid,' James thought to himself just as the younger man ambled over to his usual spot.

Downing the last of his own drink, James asked the bartender for a simple glass of water and was obliged by a raised eyebrow from the man behind the bar. Nodding his thanks, James dug into his pockets and felt the smooth plastic. Armed with the right weapons, he began to change Reilly's world. Arriving at his booth, he invited himself to the seat opposite Reilly’s, ignoring the man’s stare of disbelief and confusion.

Before he could voice it out, James slid the small bottle of aspirin to Reilly along with the fresh glass of water. "You’re going to need that, though I suggest you have it with water instead of the beer.

"Hello, Reilly," James continued denying the detective the chance to interrupt, "My name is James, but people call me Six, and I’m here to explain that what you’re experiencing is normal and that you’re very well sane."

[Reilly Kane]

"You’re going to need that, though I suggest you have it with water instead of the beer."

Reilly glanced up at the voice that followed the bottle of aspirin and water that slid over the table top. He raised a quizzical brow as he placed his hand over the bottle. He hesitated a moment before he popped the lid of the bottle and tapped out two of the small white pills. Common sense dictated that he take the pills and kill the pain but as the man continued he found himself more intent on listening. Then he would not so politely tell him to screw off.

"Hello, Reilly. My name is James, but people call me Six, and I’m here to explain that what you’re experiencing is normal and that you’re very well sane."

Apparently he was a cocky man too. He spoke without giving Reilly a chance to speak. Truthfully, it probably was the only reason the man was still talking. How the hell did this guy know he had a headache and just how in the hell did he know Reilly thought he was insane? He'd never told that to anyone, not even the department's psychotherapist, Jennifer Duhamel. It wasn't something he wanted to broadcast, nor was it something that was easy to talk about either without others thinking you were insane.

"Look, James... Six... Whatever it is the kids are calling you..." Reilly paused, placing the pills back into the bottle. "I don't know what you're selling or what you think you know about me but I don't want any."

It was the truth. All he wanted to do was to finish his beer and get away from whatever the hell it was in this bar that had his head feeling like a million jackhammers were turning his already warped brain to mush. That pissed him off more than anything else. Now he was going to have to find some other hell-hole to hide in. His one sanctuary had been invaded. 'Son of a bitch!'

He took another swig from his bottle and sighed. "Look, I don't want any trouble. I just want to drink my beer in peace."

[James Crichton]

"Look, James... Six... Whatever it is the kids are calling you, I don't know what you're selling or what you think you know about me but I don't want any."

Raising an eyebrow and studying the man, James was confused at first and then the true meaning of Reilly's words dawned upon him. Like any typical cop, a stranger in a dark bar with a bottle of pills was bound to raise suspicions. James chuckled at the image of him as a drug dealer.

What was it that they always said? Trippy. This was a trippy moment.

"Look, I don't want any trouble. I just want to drink my beer in peace."

He could see the younger man flinch with everything Reilly said, obviously the side-effect of his power was hammering him harder than anticipated. After all, being in such close contact with him, Reilly was bound to feel the strength of James' power.

This was something that could be controlled, Reilly just needed to train and he needed someone to show him how. If he allowed it.

"Just like your old man," James said matter of factly and chuckled. "Butch always suspected everything and everyone, I bet it must be a cop thing. Even when we were younger, he'd question the paperboy for just standing too close to us." Reaching out for the rejected bottle of pain killers, James twirled it between his fingers before looking up at his old friend's son.

"I'm here to help, Reilly," he began his explanation, "Help you explain all those weird incidents in your life, help you understand, and help you control your power."

Any moment now, Reilly would stand up, demand that James was crazy and probably walk out. But not if James beat him to it, "I'm not crazy and I'm not on drugs, and neither are these," he shook the bottle, rattling the contents before offering them up again. "I'm just someone who knows what you're going through and knows you want to stop living your life in pain and with questions."

James held his focus on Reilly, hoping that the detective would listen for once and stop acting like his father. "The Guild can help you," he finally said.

[Reilly Kane]

Reilly watched the man closely as he took a drink of his beer. Things were getting worse as he sat there. It was like his head was being invaded by nameless ghosts. He could feel them... the people.. all around him. The city was full of these people he could sense but Reilly knew that it wasn't the entire city's population he was sensing. 'Damn this sucks,' he thought to himself with a wince. Time for more beer.

"Just like your old man. Butch always suspected everything and everyone, I bet it must be a cop thing. Even when we were younger, he'd question the paperboy for just standing too close to us."

The detective stopped mid-drink and slowly lowered the bottle, licking his wet lips. A look of pure skepticism crossed his face. His father had rarely talked about people he knew or much at all after his mom died. One thing Reilly knew, this man was entirely too young looking to be a friend of his late dad. "You knew my old man? That right?"

Okay, maybe he was cranky. That was it. After a long shift at the station and the migraine that was building in his head, he was a down right shitty day. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with a man who wanted to chitchat. He briefly wondered if flashing his badge would deter the older man before him. It worked on most people. But even as his eyes fixated on the sight of the clear aspirin bottle twirling in his fingers, Reilly knew this man, this James guy, wasn't common at all. Not by a long shot.

"I'm here to help, Reilly," he began his explanation, "Help you explain all those weird incidents in your life, help you understand, and help you control your power."

Reilly's eye brows shot up in amusement as the man mentioned helping. How could someone think they could help a hopeless cause when they didn't know the truth of the problem. His "special" skills were something he took in stride and dealt with. More so now, after becoming a detective, than before. Hell, even his engagement to Brianna had always had an air of strangeness about it. Or was that because she was a lying, cheating bitch? Yup. That was the answer.

"How can you help me, James," Reilly asked, sitting forward and setting his beer down on the tabletop. "Explaining all the weirdness I've experienced in my life would take up more time than you really have." But when Six mentioned powers, Reilly paused. "Power? What the h..."

"I'm not crazy and I'm not on drugs, and neither are these," Six shook the bottle again. Reilly narrowed his eyes and took the bottle, this time pouring out four pills and downing them with his beer. It was nothing new. He usually drowned out his damn headaches like this. "I'm just someone who knows what you're going through and knows you want to stop living your life in pain and with questions."

"Look. No offense, dude, but you are seriously wrong," Reilly told him. It was a bold faced lie but what the hell? He could lie with the best of them. "My pain is just something I have to deal with. I don't have any... powers. I don't have questions other than why am I still talking to you. So... Right."

Reilly stood throwing down a twenty on the table and groaned, weaving a little as spots appear in his vision. The stupid migraine! It was going to suck ass driving home. "The Guild can help you."

That made him stop. He'd heard that before from his dad. 'The Guild can help you, Reilly. Just pick up the phone and make the call, son.'

But like usual, Reilly ignored it. His old man's words echoed as looked back at James. He'd never figured out what his dad had meant by 'the Guild'. Over the last year, there had been rumored sightings of the masked "heroes" from all around the city that claimed to be part of a Guild. The good guys, they claimed. For the Detective, it was more something out of Superman. "What do you mean... 'The Guild can help?"

[James Crichton]

At least he finally had the young man's attention now, "You know what I mean, Reilly. You always knew that the Guild existed because after all," James looked up at him and nodded, "Your father was a member, too.

"I know Butch would've told you about the Guild being the people to go to if you needed help, but I'm also certain he never did explain who and what the Guild is, am I right?" Sure enough, Butch never wanted the same life he had for his children, but if any of them manifested a gift... well that was a different story altogether.

James allowed Reilly a few moments to absorb his explanation and motioned for him to sit. Regardless of whether he took up James' invite, the older man continued, "The migraine you're having now is most probably the exact same one that I used to have when I was younger. When I couldn't focus my powers properly and my concentration was all over the place."

Still focused on Reilly, James stopped midway and wondered if the detective was prepared to listen completely or walk out.

[Reilly Kane]

Reilly glanced down and stared at the tabletop a moment. His father was part of the Guild? Why hadn't he ever known that? All this time he thought he was just a genetic freak. Still why had his father always been so cryptic about "the Guild"? It didn't make any sense. Was there something different about the rest of his family too?

"I know Butch would've told you about the Guild being the people to go to if you needed help, but I'm also certain he never did explain who and what the Guild is, am I right?"

Reilly nodded to Six and ran a hand over his face. His head was pounding and it was just that much harder for him to concentrate. The shock of what Six had just revealed to him leaving him speechless for a moment. Sure, his dad had always been fast but was it just his imagination? Did his dad have some super ability he didn't know about? And more importantly, was this guy playing games with him?

Then again, only his father's close friends knew he preferred "Butch" over Brian. Damn. "So, let me get this straight," the detective said after blowing a breath through his lips. He lowered his voice as a song came to an end. "You're telling me that my dad, the cop, wore a mask and ran around town playing Superman? Seriously, dude. That's not possible. Not to mention it's actually a disturbing image of my dad in tights."

"The migraine you're having now is most probably the exact same one that I used to have when I was younger. When I couldn't focus my powers properly and my concentration was all over the place."

Reilly swallowed and looked down again, licking his lips before slipping back into his seat. God, he must be insane. How else could he be considering the man's words? "Say for the sake of posterity, that I believe you. Why do you think I would be having a migraine? What "power" do you think I have?"

[James Crichton]

James had smirked at the Superman remark Reilly made. Coincidently, Butch had passed that exact same comment when they first started off in the Guild. He was starting to see more of his old friend in Reilly as their meeting progressed.

He truly was his father's son.

"Say for the sake of posterity, that I believe you. Why do you think I would be having a migraine? What "power" do you think I have?"

Secretly, James smiled in triumph as Reilly was finally asking the right questions. He knew that he got the young man interested enough. "Your migraine is... was my migraine back when I first discovered my own power." Studying Reilly, trying to gauge his reaction, James then nodded once and continued, "And no, you don't have my power, at least not directly."

He could sense the flexibility of Reilly's power, the way it changes and morphs into something so completely different yet the same. "You have, what I suspect, power mimicry. Come in close contact with anyone bearing a gift and you are able to copy that.

"Technically, you're a xerox machine and you need to learn when to hit the start button and how to switch it off." Drumming his fingers on the table, James had wished he ordered another round for himself. "It's not that crazy after all, I'm sure you've come across people with special abilities. You just happened to be one with a pretty powerful gift. "

Looking at his friend's son, James decided a token of goodwill would be best right now. "Concentrate on me, my voice and nothing else. Don't think about the music or how cold the beer is." Beginning his basic instructions on how he controlled his power once upon a time, James hoped Reilly would cooperate. "Think about the clarity of my voice and what my words I say mean. Let the pain subside and be forgotten. When you're ready, open up to your surroundings one thing at a time."

[Reilly Kane]

Reilly frowned as he listened to Six's explanation. Still all around him, voices, feelings pulsed in his head. There were so many people around him that he could feel. He wondered just what he was sensing in the city around him. Every time one disappeared, another would pop up to take its place. 'Maybe this isn't the city. Christ, I am losing my mind,' he thought bitterly as he rubbed his temples. No amount of aspirin was going to help this pounding between his temples. Part of him wanted to walk out the door toward his Audi but the other part of him didn't want to move. More to the point, couldn't move for fear of causing his head to explode.

"So you're telling me I am some type of freakish copy cat?" The mere thought was confirmed when the man, Six, continued his explanation. There was no way this guy was for real. How the hell was he supposed to except that he was... How did Six put it? A Xerox machine? "Fucking great. So you're trying to tell me that I am just copying someone else's... powers and this is all freaking normal? Ow... my head. Too loud."

Reilly closed his eyes and popped two more aspirin. He was used to the high doses after the last few years on the force. Headaches happened all the time for him but truthfully never this bad. It was killing him. He was sure of it. "Concentrate on me, my voice and nothing else. Don't think about the music or how cold the beer is."

Reilly gave Six a look of 'you've-got-to-got-to-be-kidding-me' as he spoke the words. Was this guy serious? Reilly's head was being put through a meat grinder and this guy wanted to him to concentrate on noise? Jesus. How did his dad deal with this? Rei stopped himself and tilted his head. Was he really believing his dad was a hero? Butch who was so anal about the smallest things that his sons barely had a chance to be kids? No. That was still too much to handle. But... damn his head hurt. Soon the nose bleeds would start. He closed his eyes briefly, nothing else he could do, and tried to concentrate on Six's voice. Soon he'd managed to block everything else out as he felt the first trickle of blood from his nose.

"Think about the clarity of my voice and what my words I say mean. Let the pain subside and be forgotten. When you're ready, open up to your surroundings one thing at a time."

Reilly took a deep breath and slowly started letting himself adjust to the noise around him. For a moment, Reilly actually thought it was going to work. His vision adjusted and he let out a sigh of relief. He sat up and opened his eyes in a flash, the pain came back with a vengeance. He moaned and laid his head in his hands. "Yeah. Try again, Dr. Phil. Oh dammit it didn't work.

God, he hated life right now.

[James Crichton]

Oh, he's seen this a thousand times. Placing their money on skepticism and only grudgingly putting their faith into a solution just because there's nothing left to lose.

"Yeah. Try again, Dr. Phil. Oh dammit it didn't work."

That and they all believe a one time attempt is equivalent to a miracle tool in controlling their vast powers. They always forgot to listen and to, of course, focus.

"One thing at a time, Reilly," he said with a slight sigh at the end. "Concentrate on one thing, then one another and another. When you have everything in focus, open yourself to the people around you. If that's too overwhelming, close that door.

"And stop doubting your ability to control. It's as strong as your ability to copy, trust yourself."

James hoped, and prayed, that this would work for Reilly. It seemed like the only way he could show a skeptic like him was with proof and with hope. Thinking about it now, it was weird that he was here to guide Reilly when it was Butch who taught James how to control his own powers decades ago. It's a full circle all right.

He let out small laugh recalling back his past before looking back at Reilly. The young detective had to believe or else it was going to be a dark road ahead. "Your father told me once upon a time to 'trust him' and I'm asking of you the exact same thing. If Butch could help train a basket case like me, then there's hope that anyone else can get their powers under control without going insane."

Maybe it was far too difficult for him here, maybe he needed a more controlled environment. James realised he would have to offer him an alternative or risk failing at helping Reilly. "Why don't you come back with me and meet the rest? A lot of them were just like you: confused, lonely, and... in denial."