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The subway journey home felt endless. Next to him, Mandana stared straight ahead, statue-like.
She hadn’t said a word since Central Park, and Eli couldn’t blame her.
Kalash was dead.
Kalash was dead.
Eli glanced at Jane again, worry gnawing at his stomach. It hadn’t been her fault. He knew that, the rest of the team knew that -- hell, even Mandana knew it, deep down. Or would, once she had started to deal with the pain fueling her fury. But he had the sinking feeling that Jane herself didn’t quite understand it. She looked small, and exhausted, and something inside him ached to ease her pain.
On a normal night -- what passed for normal in their world anyhow -- Jane would have taken the seat next to him. She would have pretended not to be reading over his shoulder, and he would have pretended not to like it. She would have kept asking progressively sillier questions about his book, upping the ante until she reached truly impressive heights of inanity. No matter how hard the day had been, Jane had never failed in drawing a smile -- even occasionally a laugh -- out of him.
Not tonight.
Tonight, Mandana had glared at her with such ferocity that Jane had physically recoiled, her face ashen, and gone to sit a few meters away. Eli had almost followed her, not wanting her to feel cast out -- but Mandana was his best and oldest friend, and she needed him, too. So he had stayed in his seat, torn with indecision. Logan had looked between the three of them, frowning, then had gone to sit next to Jane.
Finally the train lurched to a halt as they reached their stop. Mandana shot up from her seat, graceful even in her haste, and strode out of the train without a backward glance. She was walking much too fast for him to catch up, Eli quickly realized, and he stopped trying, instead glancing behind to check on Jane.
Vicky, walking on Jane’s right side, caught his eye and gave him a hard look. Logan walked on her other side, with a careful hand on her shoulder. The sight should have been comforting, and in a way it was -- but the sight of Logan and Jane’s closeness felt like a knife to the gut. Turning away, Eli felt disgusted by his own selfishness. Kalash was dead, Mandana was grieving, Jane was heartbroken and he was … what? Jealous of Logan stepping in to comfort their friend, when he himself hadn’t?
Get a grip, Elliot, he admonished himself.
They trailed Mandana out of the station wordlessly. When they reached home, Mandana had long since disappeared back into her bottle. Without saying a word, Jane ran up the stairs to her room, slamming the door behind her. Eli stared at the stairs, unsure of what to do next.Sparks crackled at his fingertips, and he clenched his fists, startled at his loss of control. Logan, Vicky and Eli stared at each other in heavy silence.
“What a clusterfuck,” Vicky sighed finally, running a careless hand through her disheveled hair. “I’m going back out. I need a drink.” She snorted. “Or five.”
“Vicky…” Logan said, looking concerned. Next to him KayKay bobbed up in down in what Eli now recognized as agitation.
“None of that, now, both of ya,” Vicky tutted, with a dismissive wave. “I’m a big girl. And I drink.” She flashed the three of them a cocky grin. “Don’t wait up.”
With that, Vicky turned around and left, the main door slamming behind her.
“Hey man,” Logan said quietly. “I know it’s none of my business, but… Jane.” He paused, hesitated. “She really needs a friend, right about now.”
“Maybe you should go then,” Eli snapped, jealousy flaring before he could stop it. He winced, ashamed.
Logan looked at him with the mixture of sympathy and long-suffering stoicism he normally reserved for the stubbornest ghosts.
“Let me rephrase,” he said, with a wry smile. “She really needs you, right about now.” Eli stared at him, opened his mouth, closed it again.
“Go,” Logan said simply.
Eli went.
Jane’s door was locked, which wasn’t surprising. More worryingly, he couldn’t hear anything -- no crying, no yelling, no object thrown in rage. Only eerie silence. After a moment of indecision, Eli decided to knock.
“Jane,” he said, knocking again, when no answer came after endless minutes. “It’s me, Eli. Come on. Open the door.” He sighed. “I’d rather not have to burn it down, but --”
He had been leaning against the wood, intent on hearing if she was at least alive in there, and nearly stumbled when the door finally swung open.
Eli took one look at her pale face and felt his heart sink.
Jane hadn’t cried yet -- that much was obvious. She had the dead-eyed expression of one drowning in grief and self-recrimination, one for whom cleansing tears are a forbidden luxury.
Her eyes dropped to the floor, and Eli followed her gaze automatically, recoiling in horror when he caught a glimpse of her hands. They were red and raw, the skin nearly scrubbed off.
Yet she hadn’t been injured in the battle. Eli had made sure to check right after Jane had freed him from the vines. She had been fine -- physically at least.
“Jane,” he said, unable to conceal his horror. “What happened to you?”
She glanced up at him, startled, then back down at her hands.
“It won’t come off, “she muttered tonelessly.
“What?”
"Kalash’s blood,” Jane said, twisting her hands.
“It won’t come off.”
Eli stared at her, aghast.
“I’m so sorry,” Jane said, her voice small and strangled. “I didn’t want to. I swear.”
“Jane,” Eli said, something inside him shattering. “Oh, Jane, no.”
Very carefully, as gently as he knew how, he reached for her poor abused hands.
“May I?” he asked quietly. Jane just nodded. The skin was red and angry where she had scrubbed herself raw, but the damage was superficial. He had inflicted much worse burns on Mandana while sparring -- albeit involuntarily -- and he had a ready stock of healing draughts that would easily take care of this as well.
“Come on,” Eli said, draping a careful arm across her shoulders, and coaxing her down the stairs. She leaned against him and followed his lead without protest. Eli frowned, having at least expected some resistance: Jane was nothing if not stubborn. It was one of her most exasperating -- and endearing -- qualities.
Logan and KayKay weren’t around anymore as they made their slow, shuffling way down to the basement. Eli was certain Jane would not have wanted an audience, and thanked Logan mentally for his tact.
Slowly, he guided Jane to his bed and helped her sit down. She looked up as Eli stepped away.
“Don’t leave,” she croaked out, reaching for his sleeve.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Eli said at once, catching her hand and holding her gaze until she looked away. “Just getting something for your hands.”
He took off his hat and coat, draped them carelessly across his desk. The first aid cabinet was more precisely a first aid drawer, but it was well stocked. He pulled out some clean bandages and a healing paste that worked particularly well on burns.
Once equipped, he knelt down in front of Jane and reached gently for her left hand, the one that had seemed to him the most damaged. As he worked, he had the sudden unwelcome recognition that it was the hand that had wielded the sword -- Jane was left-handed. He quickly finished bandaging her other hand. Glancing up at her, he found her staring dully at the opposite wall, her expression one of utter blankness.
“Jane,” Eli said softly. Blinking, she turned her empty gaze to him. “It wasn’t your fault, Jane,” Eli continued, meaning every word. “Nobody blames you.” He pressed her hand gently. “I don’t blame you.”
“I made the choice,” Jane said, hoarsely. “This time I wasn’t possessed. I made the choice, Eli.” Her voice broke. “I made the choice, and I killed him.”
Her face crumpled, and her breath caught as tears started slowly rolling down her cheeks.
Eli couldn’t take it anymore. He reached for her, as he would have reached for his magic, purely on instinct, and she came just as willingly, as though she wanted nothing more than the comfort of his arms.
Now that she had started to cry, it was as though she couldn’t stop herself any longer, great heaving sobs that tore at Eli’s heart -- and yet worried him less than her previously lifeless stare.
Jane wasn’t just crying over Kalash’s death -- though he was sure it was a big part of it -- but also undoubtedly over her own ordeal, the violation of demonic possession and all the horrors that had come to light in the past few weeks. Her innocence and her very sense of self had been ripped away from her, and she needed to grieve for both if she was to survive.
Eli knew grief. He had lived through more than his fair share of it -- orphaned as a boy, widowed as a young man, his daughters and his life torn away from him in his prime -- yes, he knew grief. Grief was pain, and pain meant life, for better or worse.
As Eli rocked her slowly, held tight against his chest, Jane’s sobs eventually quieted to quiet sniffles. Neither of them moved.
“Eli,” Jane said softly, her face hidden against the crook of his neck.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry. For making you kill Jordon,” she whispered, hoarsely.
Eli took an unsteady breath, the memory of that terrible day -- flames, and screams, and screams -- assaulting him until he wrestled himself under control. “It was an impossible choice, Jane,” he said after a while, stroking small soothing circles on her back. “We did the best we could.” He paused. “As you did today.”
“My best wasn’t enough,” Jane said, sounding infinitely sad.
“You couldn’t save Kalash, that’s true,” Eli replied. “There was no way to save him. He would have died whatever you chose; Galene was too strong. But, Jane--” He took a deep breath, willing her to believe him. “You saved everyone else.”
When she didn’t reply, he hugged her a bit tighter, one of his hand cradling her head. “You saved Mandana. You saved me. And Vicky. And Logan. And hell, most of New York.”
“But --” Jane said, sounding strained.
“No, you listen to me now,” Eli chided. “You saved all of us. I knew Kalash -- as much as anyone could know the guy, anyhow -- and I know he would have considered that a fair trade.” He huffed a laugh. “You know how I know? Because we all would be okay with those odds. That’s part of the job.”
“I’m so tired, Eli,” Jane said, and he couldn’t disagree with the sentiment.
“Let’s go to sleep then,” Eli said, without thinking.
It was only when Jane stiffened in his arms that he realized what he had just said -- and what it had sounded like.
“I mean--” he mumbled, tongue-tied with embarrassment.
“... Can I stay?” Jane asked all of sudden.
“Huh,” Eli said, almost as stunned by her request as by his own visceral reaction to it. Now that the idea had entered his mind, he found to his surprise that he could not bear the possibility of her leaving.
And yet he felt afraid. It would change things. It was naive to think it wouldn’t. But perhaps some things were meant to change.
“Eli?” Jane said hesitantly.
“Yes,” Eli replied, a bit breathless. “Yes, of course.”
Slowly, he released his grip on Jane, just enough that they could drag themselves to his bed. It should have felt awkward, both of them fumbling with their shoes, getting under the covers in their day clothes and arranging themselves clumsily in the narrow space.
Instead it felt oddly natural, as though everything since they had met had led them here, Eli breathing deep and slow against Jane’s neck, his arm securely around her waist, her fingers interlaced with his.
“Good night, Jane,” he said softly.
She didn’t answer. She was already out.
With a thought, Eli snuffed out the candles and the basement went dark. Between one breath and the next, he was asleep.