This Is Fine


lynette4_icon.gif ryans3_icon.gif

Scene Title This Is Fine
Synopsis Nothing at all weird tints a very professional conversation between Council and Special Activities.
Date October 06, 2011

Pollepel Island

To say that Lynette's been avoiding Ryans lately wouldn't be a lie. It isn't how she'd put it, if pressed, but it wouldn't be a lie. But today she's sent word his way that she'd like to see him in her room. Strictly business was promised, even if a cheeky tone could probably be felt through the writing.

But that wasn't a lie, either. Because she's got maps out on a folding table, along with reports and notes she's scribling down from time to time. She wears a too-big sweater cinched around the waist with a long scarf and her hair is pinned up to give the impression that it was meant to look this way; it's the best nod to fashion she can manage. Her door is open, an invitation meant for him, but more widespread than that due to the nature of where they live. A bottle of vodka sits on the floor near her bed but — in a miraculous turn of events — it hasn't been opened.

Standing just outside her door, Benjamin Ryans watches Lynette work. Still dressed from patrol, his jeans are a little muddy, his long coat lays over a buttoned-up shirt. There is a cowboy hat pulled low on his head, shading blue-eyes against what little light there is. As always, it is hard to read his expression; but, if Huruma was there, she would be detecting some serious unease from him and some regret. Chances are, the avoidance was on both sides since dream.

He finally gives a long sigh and glances down at his feet. He can't avoid this meeting any longer.

Though the door is open, there is still a soft tap of knuckles against the door, as the tall frame of Ryans ducks into her room. "You wanted to speak to me, councilwoman?" He asks in a quiet voice, hand reaching up to pull the hat on his head. He isn't rude in saying that, just letting her know he is all business right now.

Lynette doesn't notice him there until the knock. And the voice. She pauses her pencil, going still for a moment before she twirls it between her fingers and straightens up to look over at him. For most people, she is also a hard read, but someone paying attention might notice a moment of regret on her features as well, and a slip second of obviously thinking that this was definitely a mistake. But she recovers in a blink and nods to his question. "Yes, I did. It's something of a sensitive matter, if you wouldn't mind," she says with a gesture to the door. Whether he closes it or not is ultimately up to him.

But she shifts around the table, ostensibly to give him room, since it would be hard to say there was a lot of it in here. "Has word gotten to you about our visiting precog? I spoke to Jensen about that and I wouldn't want to repeat anything you already know."

A hand reaches behind Ryans to snag the edge of the door, only turning enough to close it quietly. He pushes it closed the rest of the way with the flat of his hand. When he faces her again, brows are furrowed in consideration, and eyes narrowed slightly. "I can't say that I have." He admits, eyes dropping from her to the table.

At his approach, the cowboy hat is set on the edge of the table, out of the way. He runs fingers through his shaggy hair, head tilting as he lets his gaze wander over the maps. "The island?" He asks, tone curious, as his fingers drop to touch the edge of one.

"Well, I'm hardly surprised. Aside from Brian, I haven't had much support. Although, Jensen did promise that he only needed sleep." Which only goes to show how low her expectations really are. "Short version: This island is going to get attacked. We don't have a timetable. Brian is working on getting the remaining Lighthouse children off the island and I'm assured that we'll need some sort of distraction to keep Heller's eyes off them. And also, we need the best route out of here." Thus, the maps. She indicates with gesture. "The island and under it, New York proper. I asked Jensen to do an assessment of what sort of defense we can put up." Which sort of implies that that isn't why she asked Ryans here.

She looks up at him then, her expression uncertain for a moment. "There was more than just an attack, though. Part of the vision implies that we're looking at… betrayal from within." Her fingernail taps out a quick rhythm against the table. "I need you to do an internal security assessment. Who can we trust, who can't we? Who's new? Who's likely to crack? All that. And I need you to spare no one. From council to cook."

Furrowed brows snap up quickly in surprise as her words register; followed shortly by his eyes. The map is forgotten for a moment. They seem to try to bore into her, judging and looking for answers in her own.

Was she serious?

"An attack?" He questions, shaking his head again. "Here?" His gaze falls the map again as he considers her orders. She knows he won't say know, the loyal soldier he is and always would be. He snags a corner of the map and pulls it to him, turning it to face him. Something to keep his gaze busy so that it doesn't linger on the councilwoman next to him. "Where did you get that kind of information?" It is a simple question, really. It was rare that something would slip past his notice.

Serious enough not to look away when he turns to her. Lynette believes in the danger, that much is obvious. However, she doesn't actually speak again until he looks away. "The precog's name is Eve. I understand that she is odd, but accurate." It's clear there's more to it than that, if only because Lynette has never been the first to jump on board when future telling is about.

"Epstein pointed out that we have no where else to go from here. And both he and Eileen were clear that we don't have the resources to run a mission to distract Heller." But she's still working on it, regardless. She braces against the table, looking back down to the map, too. "These people came here for safety. All I did was back them against a wall," she says, quietly and darkly. "I should ahve been looking for a way out. Building a back door. Something. Instead we're just stuck here."

"A precog." The former agent's words are flat, colorless, and bland; as if the word leaves a bad taste in his mouth. It speaks of experience. A heavy sigh leaves through his rather prominent nose, before he pushes the map away. His eyes close for a moment, expression pained.

"They are right." He starts, lifting a hand to stall any and all protest that might be forming. Hear him out, is what he is trying to say. Eyes open again slowly, giving her his full attention. "We do not have the resources, at least, for long."

Arms are folded and chin tucked in towards his chest as he considers this problem. His eyes seem to be looking past the papers, lost in the depths of his thoughts. He doesn't like this, but… he does finally say, "I'll think of something." The words rumble softly, though possibly lacking some confidence.

"I know we don't," Lynette says, quietly. But she straightens her shoulders and looks over at him. "I had an idea that I would try to find some facility of his, something auxilary, and go drain it dry. Make it flashy, see if that would be enough. The trick is to make it believable. I don't think he'd believe one Evolved would pull that and really mean it. So I'm trying to figure how to make one person feel like a whole team." Where he lacks confidence, she seems to be full of it. Her words are suddenly sure, her posture better, her demeanor prouder.

"I need you to find out where ouor leaks are. Probably, Heller already knows where we are, but on the chance that it hasn't gotten to him yet… I'd like to prevent it, if possible. I know it's a lot to ask, but it has to be you." And that, she's adamant on.

Jaw tightening, Ryans gives a slow nod of his head. "Of course." He doesn't understand. Not really, but for some reason he does not ask the question. "Of course," he repeats quieter. Then he is quiet again, eyes glancing at her for a moment, before he lets his hands drop to his side, the hat is reached for; but, not picked up yet. For a moment, just a moment, he seems to be struggling with something.

Silence stretches out awkwardly for a moment, before Ben finally lifts the hat off the table. He dips his head down, as he carefully places it back on his head. His eyes won't meet hers again, until it is in place. "Is that everything, councilwoman." Again, the title is spoken with a sort of firmness, maybe for him - or them both.

Suddenly, Lynette finds it very easy to look at him. She does so with narrow eyes and a hand on her hip. The other rests on the table still. "Did I do something wrong?" It's a question that might, in a normal person's conversation, be asked more meekly. But for Lynette, it's all but an accusation, daring him to point something out. Fingers drum on her hip and she flips a stray piece of hair out of her face, like it might be ruining an otherwise perfectly serviceable huff.

"I know things aren't exactly easy going, but I'd like to know when I was relegated to a title instead of a name." Her hand moves to gesture to the maps and notes, "If something here is overstepping or — You can just come out with it."

Some of the tension seems to bleed out of Ryan's shoulders and he gives a little huff, possibly a chuckle? Maybe. Hard to tell with him sometimes. Especially, with the shadow of the hat covering the crease of amusement at the corners of his eyes. "No, ma'am. There is nothing to talk about," there is an apology there.

Leaning forward, he reaches out, but only taps on the maps, "Let me know if you think of something and I'll let you know if I think of something." Straightening again, he takes a scuffing step back in the direction of the door. "And… I'll contact you if I find anything. If it is alright, I will bring Huruma in on this. Her ability…" He glances at the door. "…it will be helpful to 'feel' out people. Plus, I trust her completely to have discretion. "

"Don't you laugh at me, Ben Ryans," Lynette says, but it's clear her annoyance has broken like a particularly short-lived fever. She turns back to the maps to hide a warmer expression and everything. But when he taps them, she flicks her gaze up to him again. "Deal. Perhaps we can make this all work out after all," she says, a bit of wry optimism. She nods to his addition to the mission, though. "Whatever you think might help." She glances back to the door, too, then back to him. "Thanks for coming. I appreciate it."

"Of course," Ryans offers this time, a little warmer, maybe with some regret behind it. He tugs his hat down a little further. "Always," he adds as the door is opened and pushed wide, like she had it before. When she looks back, he'll be gone with only the barest sound of footsteps to tell that he is retreating at a hurried pace; like a man on a mission.

"Dreams be damned," he'll rumble irritably under his breath. Ryans has never been so thrown off by something like his emotions. Huruma will have plenty to sense from him, especially after that meeting.

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