Fiction: Taskforce Part 2
Dec. 25th, 2009 12:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kethniName: Taskforce part 2
Pairing: Audrey/Nathan, mentions of Matt/Mohinder
Rating: 18
Warnings: Swearing, swearing, sex, swearing, swearing
Note: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
perdiccas with huge thanks for the prompt, and thanks to boudecia7, whom I never thank enough for her editing, support, and general awesomeness.
Summary: Having an ability is a fact of life for thousands of Americans. Most of them are decent folks. To cope with the rest, there's the Specials Crime Taskforce.
Word count: 5897
Part 1
It’s complete and utter fucking chaos. You’d think these people had never seen teleporting before.
Or a lab geek, come to that. Suresh is in his finest Babylon 5 t-shirt, button studded blue jeans, and knee-high, metal plated, black, commando boots. He doesn’t look in the least bit like any kind of terrorist but for some reason he’s the one they’re pointing the guns at. Parkman and Peter shove Suresh between them and hold up their arms, Parkman clutching his ID.
‘Drop your fucking guns you assholes!’ I insist, waving my badge. ‘Jesus! We were given this map reference and time, so don’t screw around!’
‘We don’t like his sort around here,’ one of the agents, a twenty-ish brunette snarls, keeping her gun on us.
‘He’s our lab guy you stupid bitch! Drop your fucking gun before I come over there and shove it up your ass!’
The others are sheepishly lowering their guns but she keeps hers trained on Suresh.
‘I’m not being sucked into a vortex or set on fire or some other crap because of him,’ she insists.
Oh for the love of god. I’ve had enough of this. I stomp forward and she shifts to keep Suresh in her line of sight, which puts me in her blind spot.
It’s incredibly satisfying to punch...
...
...
and connect with nothing because she’s suddenly on the other side of the room, on her ass, fuming as Parkman hands her back her now unloaded gun.
‘If you want to play out of work,’ he says gravely, ‘then just say the word. Or aren’t you such a belligerent bigot when you can’t hide behind your badge?’
‘You pick him over your own kind?’ she snarls. ‘Traitor to your own blood.’
‘I’ve been called that before,’ he says, staring her down. ‘The sort of people who say it aren’t ‘my kind’, not by a long chalk.’
‘Phew!’ Suresh says, shoving his way out from between Peter and Parkman. ‘That was not the kind of sandwich I’ve been asking you for.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Parkman says, rolling his eyes.
‘Why didn’t you...’ Peter begins.
‘Walls have ears, children,’ I say quickly. ‘Let’s find our liaison and settle in.’
I’ll be fucked in the ass before I abandon Suresh to the tender mercies of this bunch of assholes, even to set up the rooms they’ve assigned us. But Peter is staying with him on absolute orders to freeze time at the first sign of anyone giving him the hairy eyeball. Parkman’s not entirely thrilled about it either but he had a wander around the building, which I officially know fuck-all about, and had a little chat with some of the more... emphatic bigots.
Not that he’d ever misuse his ability. Of course not.
The three jewellers are not the places where stunned bunny couples coo over diamonds the size of sunflower seeds. They’re not the kind of place where they have merchandise out on display either. Oh no, that would be gauche or tasteless or some fucking thing. These are the places where if you have to ask the price, it’s too expensive and you wouldn’t dream of buying something off the shelf. If they had any fucking shelves.
They made a hell of a mess in each case. Glass smashed, scorch marks up and down the walls, doors wrenched off, and the safe nothing but a puddle.
‘Neat trick, melt the safe and just pick up the diamonds,’ I say, squatting down for a closer look.
‘They didn’t have to melt the whole thing,’ Parkman scowls. ‘Someone just likes burning things.’
‘Oh goody, some creepy ass perv who gets off on fire.’
‘Oh no,’ he says shaking his head. ‘Mohinder’s been with us all weekend.’
‘Ha fucking ha.’
There’s not a lot to look at any of the crime scenes. The local forensics teams have bagged and tagged everything and should be passing them on to Suresh and Peter as we speak. But you have to see the scenes for yourself; photographs don’t tell you what you need to know, they don’t tell you the feel of a scene, the smell of it, the little nooks and crannies, and the taste of it. Take this one, it’s big, roomy and there are odd corners here and there. The customers might’ve stood around like stunned sheep once the robbery started going down but the staff... the staff must’ve had time to bolt out the back door. Were they too shocked? Or was somebody out the back stopping them?
We get stuck in fucking traffic on the way back.
‘Can I drive?’ Parkman asks pleasantly.
‘We’re in the middle of the road!’
‘Yeah, but we’re not moving.’
Oh what the hell. We get out of the car and immediately the equally stranded cars around us start hitting their horns. I salute them with my middle finger and a couple of them get out. Parkman flashes his badge before I can release some of my tension.
Parkman adjusts the seat and the mirror and, the next time the traffic moves a few inches, Parkman spins the wheel.
‘They’re not going to let us out!’
‘I grew up in LA, Audrey,’ he says mildly, somehow forcing the car through the jam. Cars back and front ease a couple of inches, then again and again, and we’re squeezing out towards a side street.
‘That makes you master of the fucking traffic now?’
He looks at me and smiles. ‘It means I know how to get around of the heavy traffic routes.’
Smug bastard. Once we’re off the boulevard and gliding through the side streets, we leave the choked traffic behind. Flashing across junctions and sliding around the jams we’re back at HQ in less than an hour.
‘Stop grinning you smart ass.’
‘Yes Audrey.’
‘Smug fucker.’
The boys have got the rooms set up pretty well. The boards are up and Suresh has got both his and Peter’s equipment, and now he sniggers, set up. The photographs of the victims are disturbing. Rictus grins on stretched, faces tensed forever. Burns to hands, stomachs, faces, some small and focused, some large and spread out.
‘How’s it going?’
‘Oh hey,’ Peter says cheerily. ‘No-one’s tried to shoot us.’
‘With the work.’ Jesus, I should’ve listened to my mom when she told me patience would get me far in life.
‘We’re still waiting for the CCTV to be cleared up,’ Mohinder says. ‘Something interfered with the recordings, probably the microwaves being thrown around. They’ve had hotlines set up but they don’t seem to have been monitoring them.’
‘Autopsies?’
‘Booked for tomorrow, I didn’t want to rush.’ He waggles his eyebrows. ‘I always give full attention to anyone in the supine position.’
Parkman beans him in the head with a rolled up ball of paper. ‘You’re disgusting.’
‘I try, Matt.’
I check my watch. ‘Time’s marching on. We better sort out the rooms and get something to eat.’
‘Do you want Peter and me to check out some of the more down-market Specials clubs?’ Parkman asks, stretching. ‘See if we can pick up some chatter about these robberies?’
‘Can I come?’ Mohinder asks. ‘I’d like to see you both in your natural habitat. The call of the wild and all that.’
‘If a nightclub was my natural habitat, it wouldn’t be some grubby, noisy place filled with criminals,’ Parkman retorts.
‘No!’ I say sharply. ‘Jesus! Parkman, if you think it would be a good idea we’ll go. Mohinder, you and Peter are not trained for this shit.’
The rooms are an issue. I’m straight and Peter’s straight, so we can’t share, but Parkman and Suresh are both bi. Not that I’d expect any of them to chance their arm, but when word gets around, and it always does, who will look least likely to have got his leg over? Although Suresh is more classically attractive, he’s shy, and everyone knows he’s a little perv, whereas Parkman was married.
‘Suresh, you’re with me.’
‘Oh. Right.’
Fucker! Disappointed? Who was he hoping for?
We dump our gear in the rooms, grab something to eat, and Parkman and I head out for the club life. Ten minutes on the phone had given Parkman a list of names of clubs that are run by, and for, Specials. We’re outside the second on the list, the first was distinctly high end, and the music is a steady throb through the air.
‘They might not let you in,’ he warns, ruffling his hair.
‘Should I stagger in with my panties on show and my makeup smeared?’
Parkman rolls his eyes. ‘You’re a normal.’
‘Tell ‘em I can etch steel with my sarcasm.’
He snorts and tucks his hands into his pockets. ‘On some level we can tell, you know that. Subconsciously.’
That’s true enough, and Suresh has been working on figuring out how but he’s not got anywhere yet.
‘Parkman it’s a cheap, dirty club. They’re not going to be fucking testing are they?’
‘Suit yourself.’
It’s ear-bleedingly loud inside and fucking hot. Too many bodies crammed together, dancing, jumping, waving their arms. The thick air stinks of perspiration, a hundred types of cheap scent, and stale beer. In the corner, roll-up cigarettes are doing the rounds, there’s a steady supply of people coming out of the toilets wiping their noses, and money is changing hands surreptitiously at the corner of the bar.
A tiny blonde meets Parkman’s eyes and tries to bolt. There’s a momentary blur but the press of people stop her from getting more than a few feet.
‘Friend of yours?’ I ask as he goes after her.
‘Professional acquaintance.’
The crowd parts for him, but I let him go. He’s a big boy; he can deal with her. I shove my way to the bar and slap a ten-dollar bill down.
‘What?’ the barman is a dozen barmen. One of those bozo’s that clones themselves. Useful, that’s for damn sure.
‘Double whiskey, no ice.’
He slams the drink down onto the bar and snatches up my money.
‘I don’t think I know you,’ murmurs a voice in my ear. Accent says British, or someone faking and passing well. I take my change from the barman and turn around slowly.
He’s cute, fucking cute actually. Taller than me but slim. Blond, blue eyed, he could almost pass for a surfer if it wasn’t for the sharp suit. In this club, with these people, he’s wearing a suit.
‘I don’t think I know you either.’
‘Adam Monroe,’ he says, offering me his hand. Is he fucking serious?
‘Audrey Hanson.’
He doesn’t kiss my hand but he’s got the manner that makes it seem like a close run thing. He squeezes my hand lightly and leans closer.
‘You don’t strike me as the typical wannabe,’ he murmurs.
‘I’m not a ‘typical’ anything, and I’m not any kind of ‘wannabe’, whatever that means.’
He smiles at that. ‘It means your... colleague is one of us, you’re not. You don’t seem particularly interested in the peccadillos around us so I assume you’re here for something more important.’
Fuck, who is this guy? Parkman and the blonde are over at the other end of the bar. He looks huge next to her and she’s batting her big brown eyes at him without effect. Batting her eyes and offering up her tits, guess he’s asking questions she doesn’t want to answer.
‘Ms Millbrook is not dangerous, I assure you,’ Monroe says, taking a sip of what smells like a Glenfiddich. Expensive tastes this one has. ‘She’s a thief, a good one, but not a robber. She doesn’t intimidate and she never offers violence.’
‘You know her?’
‘I know everyone Agent Hanson, sooner or later.’ He stares at me for a couple of seconds. ‘Perhaps I could... help with your enquiries in a quieter arena.’
‘So you know everyone except my colleague?’ I finish my whiskey and put it down on the bar. Monroe raises a finger and the barman silently gives me another.
‘Your colleague Detective Matt Parkman?’ he asks. ‘Son of Maury and Sarah Parkman. Officially a member of the NYPD but attached to your team at the Specials Crime Taskforce. He manifested recently but his ability is expanding exponentially in scope and strength.’ He takes a sip of his whiskey. ‘It’s probably making you a little anxious. How am I doing?’
‘I don’t get anxious.’
‘Really? Singular.’ He leans closer again. ‘I have an office upstairs. We could talk more privately.’
‘I’m not here to pull, Mr Monroe,’ I growl back. He’s setting my teeth on edge this one. He looks barely thirty and talks, acts, like my grandfather.
‘Certainly not,’ he replies, and his eyes are reflecting the glittering lights. ‘You’re here to find out information. However the decibel level in here makes trading intelligence very dubious.’
Parkman is still over at the other end of the bar chatting to the blonde. She’s talking animatedly to him and writing something down. He certainly doesn’t look like he’s in any immediate danger.
Audrey I’m fine. If I have a problem I’ll shout. You do the same, I’ll hear.
Jesus FUCK! How long has he been able to just... drop thoughts into my head?
‘If you’re leading me up the garden path Monroe I will kick your ass.’
He looks me up and down, like he’s challenging me to deck him, and shrugs. ‘I’m not adverse, but I find a planned scenario and a safe word are wise.’
Fucking prick.
The office is what I’d expect for him, but not for a nightclub. Although I can’t stand the places, so what the fuck would I know about their offices.
It’s like a... library or a study or some shit. Heavy wood furniture, wood panels, drapes, bookcases full of leather-bound books, lots of paintings and antiques. It must have some fucking fantastic sound insulation because the music isn’t even a tiny distant thump.
‘Let me give you something better,’ Monroe says, crossing over the room. ‘I have a very nice bottle of Glenfiddich 1937.’
Fucking A! ‘For real? Line me up.’
His eyebrows rise. Think you’ve got me tapped have you? Good fucking luck with that.
‘Excellent,’ he says, opening the bottle and pouring two fresh glasses. ‘We don’t want any cross contamination now.’
‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’ Fuck, this stuff is good.
He shakes his head slowly and hands me a glass. ‘On the finest whiskey I have to hand? I think not.’ He sits down in a padded leather chair. ‘I know a cast iron stomach when I see one. Please take a seat.’
I drop into the seat opposite and cross my legs. ‘What do you want to tell me?’
He takes a sip of his whiskey and rolls it around his mouth. ‘You’re here for the jewellery thefts.’
‘Am I?’
‘Shall we assume for a moment that you are?’ he says, sitting forward and sipping his whiskey. ‘That’s good. I’ll admit that I had a great many concerns when news of us became public. History teaches us harsh lessons about mankind’s ability to deal with the different. However we find ourselves on a precipice, I don’t need to tell you that.’
‘No you fucking don’t. Just because I’m not one of you doesn’t mean I approve of the shit that gets thrown at you!’ Too loud, too sharp, that’s too much damned whiskey.
Monroe just smiles. ‘My point is that... well, a crime of passion, an accident here and there, socially acceptable theft and minor civil disobedience, those can be permitted. Robberies and violent, unnecessary murders though... those can tip the balance between tolerance and extermination.’
‘Extermination, that’s kind of fucking dramatic don’t you think?’
He shakes his head and puts his feet up on the desk. ‘Agent Hanson, I’m a regen. The original regen as far as I know. I’ve lived through pogroms, ethnic cleansings, genocides, and race wars. Human beings, normal or Special it makes no difference, can flip from nice as pie to monster in the blink of an eye.’ Monroe takes his feet off the desk and leans forward. ‘Agent Hanson, you know that.’ For the first time the smug complaisance slips from his face. ‘You know that and that’s what makes you so angry.’
I’m not storming out. I’m not a fucking three year old. ‘You a mind-reader now?’
‘No,’ he says cheerfully. ‘But I am a student of human nature. My point, Agent Hanson, is that these sorts of crimes carry far too great a risk to the rest of us. I’m telling you this because I know you’ll ask me why you should trust me, why you should believe what I have to say. This is why.’
Original regen, how old does that make him? How old does he have to be to have seen the shit he’s talking about?
‘What do you have to say?’ It can’t hurt to ask. Make the time spent worth more than a very nice whiskey and a pretty decent view of a cute face.
‘Tell me, I’ll take your information under advisement.’
He takes a file from the desk and passes it over. ‘The boy I’ve not been able to identify... yet. The woman though is called Elle Bishop, she’s very dangerous and very disturbed. All her details are there.’
That’s a shitload of information: historical, psychological, criminal records. This should make interesting reading.
‘What do you want in exchange?’
He looks me up and down again. ‘Well...’
‘Piss off.’
Monroe laughs and shrugs. ‘Then stay angry. That’s all I ask.’
Downstairs Parkman is looking harassed and stressed. That little twitching muscle under his eye screams incipient migraine and FUCK! Peter is drinking a beer and dancing in the crowd, chatting up anyone and everyone, while Suresh is stood by Parkman. He’s straining to get into the crowd but Parkman has a hand knotted in the waistband of his jeans. What the fuck are those two clowns playing at?
Parkman sees me, nods at Peter, and shoves his way out, dragging Suresh with him.
The crowd closes around me as I fight through toward Peter, still drinking and dancing. I get a solid handful of hair and drag him out, wailing all the way.
‘Audreeeeey!’
‘Shut up!’ I haul him over to our car and shove him at Suresh and Parkman. ‘What the fuck were you thinking?’
‘Geez, ow!’ Peter moans, rubbing his head.
‘Bin the martyr act Petrelli, you could’ve fucking teleported away,’ I point out.
He shrugs and tucks his hands into his pockets. ‘Nah, then you’d have been even more mad.’
‘I cannot be any more fucking angry than I am right now! Jesus! This is not a game! And YOU!’ I shove Suresh in the chest and he pouts at me. ‘You’re not even a Special, how the fuck would you defend yourself?’
‘I wasn’t actually planning on needing to defend myself,’ he says meekly, trying to hide behind Parkman and Peter.
‘You’re not cops and you’re not feds! You’re fucking support officers! You could’ve got yourselves killed a hundred different fucking ways!’ Jesus Christ! ‘What the hell were you thinking!’
‘Can we discuss this somewhere other than a public car park?’ Parkman asks quietly. He’s so pale he’s almost glowing.
‘Have you taken your meds?’ I ask Parkman, as Peter stirs and starts prodding and poking.
‘Get in the car,’ Suresh scowls at him. ‘Back seat. I finally get you in the back seat and you’re ready to spew on me.’
‘Mm fine...’
‘Mohinder have you had anything to drink?’
‘Only an orange juice,’ he says promptly. ‘Oh... you want me to drive?’
We bundle Parkman into the backseat with Peter, who puts his jacket over Parkman’s head to keep the light out. We tried teleporting Parkman during one of his migraines, Jesus, never again.
‘Are you alright back there?’ Suresh asks, glancing again in the rear view mirror.
‘Keep your fucking eyes on the road.’
‘I don’t actually know where I’m going,’ he points out. ‘Peter teleported us to the club.’
Jesus.
The worst is over by the time we get back to the hotel. Parkman lurches out of the car and pukes copiously in the bushes. There’ll be some happy slugs tomorrow. Disgusting little fuckers.
‘I’ll take him up to the room,’ Peter says, pushing the hair back off his forehead. One of these day, I swear to god I’m going to shave his fucking head. ‘He’s always fine after a soft drink and brushing his teeth.’
‘We’ll be in the hotel bar. It looked pretty quiet in there,’ I say, locking up the car.
Parkman’s migraines are something to do with his ability Suresh says, but he’s no fucking idea what. I can hardly push him on it given the shitloads of work he’s already got. Of all of us, he’s got the most on his plate, though I’d never fucking admit that to him. We’re fortunate he deigns to grace us with his presence. The upshot is that Parkman spewing has to be a low priority.
The bar is practically deserted and something sad and slow is playing on the jukebox as Suresh slams the drinks down onto the table.
‘What’s your problem?’ I ask as he slouches into a seat.
‘You,’ he says flatly. ‘Do you think you’re the only person who realises why this case is important? Do you think none of us realises we need to catch these arseholes before they’re front-page news?’
‘No.’ I take a swig if my beer. ‘Do you realise you’re not a cop?’
‘I was there for support,’ he says stubbornly. I forget sometimes that this is the guy that travelled all the way from fucking India and forced his way onto the taskforce through sheer insistence that he could help. He was right too. ‘You’re not even a Special, how would you defend yourself?’ he quotes back at me.
‘Ha fucking ha,’ I say. Smart ass. ‘So you were there for my benefit were you?’
He takes a big gulp of his beer. ‘For the team. You know it’s important to me.’
Yeah, I know he’s always the one organising the parties, the secret Santa’s, putting up Christmas decorations, and hiring strippers for birthdays. I told Parkman once that Suresh needed a social life, and Parkman said ‘we’re it’.
‘It’s not worth dying for.’
‘I wasn’t intending to die,’ Suresh says. ‘But I can think of worse things, if it comes to it.’ He waves at Peter and Parkman as they appear on the other side of the room. They nod back and start walking over. ‘You could have Peter and I trained for that kind of work,’ Suresh says. ‘Easily. Especially me, I’m very quick on the uptake.’
‘Don’t tell me what I can do. I know what I can fucking do,’ I say, scowling at him.
‘What’s this?’ Parkman asks, he still looks a little pale, but much better all in all.
‘Why aren’t you lying down in a dark room you stupid cocksucker?’
‘I’m always much better once I’ve thrown up,’ he says, sitting down gingerly.
‘Audrey was just about to explain why she won’t endorse Peter and I having field training,’ Suresh says sweetly.
‘Well, I’m glad I didn’t miss that,’ Parkman says, looking at me attentively.
Peter sits down and folds his arms. ‘Well?’
‘Jesus, what is this the Spanish Inquisition?’
‘Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!’ Suresh giggles, and reddens when Parkman looks at him.
‘What? What the fuck are you talking about?’
‘Nothing,’ he says quickly. ‘Please go on. Why can’t I and Peter be field trained?’
‘Because dickwad, it’s bad enough I have to worry about him,’ I say waving a hand at Parkman. ‘I can’t be worrying about you two fuckers as well. I’d never get anything done!’
Parkman rolls his eyes and Peter snorts.
‘We’re not children,’ Suresh says quietly.
‘You could’ve fooled me.’
‘Don’t you think we worry?’ Peter asks, all wet eyed. ‘We...’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake! We are not having a big fucking circle jerk about how much we value and love each other, Fuck that shit. If you two ever pull a stupid ass stunt like that again I will personally kick your asses.’
Suresh pulls some stupid face that’s supposed to look sexy or something. ‘Promises, promises.’
‘I’ve heard of Adam Monroe,’ Suresh says over his second beer.
‘Where from?’ Parkman asks, and grabs Peter before he collapses onto the table.
‘My... my father’s research,’ Suresh says only stumbling a little over the words. ‘Monroe is the first recorded evolved human. Hundreds of years old. It’s theorised that he might be directly related to any number of...’
Hundreds? The blond haired cutie in the suit was hundreds of years old?
‘How is your dad?’ Parkman asks gently. Oh Jesus, not the daddy issues bonding ritual again.
‘Fine,’ Suresh says with a nod. ‘I think.’
‘Jesus Christ, Mohinder, you followed in his footsteps,’ I say. ‘You’re got offered at job at the fucking Smithsonian. You didn’t take it but it was offered. What more does he want?’
‘Audrey!’ Parkman protests.
‘Enough pussy-footing around, a dose of cold water. Mohinder, your dad is an A1 fucking asshole, okay? He’s jealous because you had the balls to get up off your ass and prove his theories. He’s pissed off that you’re making your own life and being your own man. If he can’t cope with that then screw him!’
‘Oh god,’ Parkman mutters, covering his eyes with his hand.
Suresh laughs and shrugs. ‘You’re very kind Audrey. In your own way. There are other issues with my father and there always will be.’ He sits up a little straighter. ‘But those are his issues, not mine. I’m very happy with my life and if that doesn’t suit him then that’s unfortunate.’
‘See?’ I ask, punching Parkman in the arm. ‘No need for tip-fucking-toing around.’
It’s fucking weird sleeping in the same room as Suresh. For one thing I hadn’t realised he was pretty buff under the baggy t-shirt. I should be glad that he doesn’t give me a second glance in my shorts and top but I deserve to be ogled as much as the next woman don’t I?
He doesn’t say fuck all until we get into the separate beds and I turn out the lights.
‘Audrey?’ he asks in the quiet darkness.
‘What?’
‘Does... does Matt ever talk about me?’
Jesus Christ. The words are bad enough but the tone... the fucking tone says it all.
‘Mohinder, just bite the fucking bullet and ask him out. The worst he can do is say no.’
‘So... that’s a no is it?’
For the love of god let me out of this conversation. Does he honestly think I’m the person anyone would choose as a fucking confidant?
I sit up and turn on the light. His face is wet so I turn the light out again. Jesus, men.
‘Parkman doesn’t talk to me about his love life. But yeah, he talks about you, he’s also pretty much always in your fucking lab any spare moment he’s got.’
‘That’s true,’ Suresh says slowly. ‘So...’
‘I’m not having this conversation! Jesus Christ, Mohinder! I don’t ask you about... about my sex life!’
‘Oh Audrey, you are funny.’
Jesus! Who is banging on the door at... seven am. Seven am? Fuck.
Suresh hops out of bed and pads over to the door.
‘Mohinder don’t...’
Too fucking late. He opens the door and Parkman fills it.
‘Good morning!’ he crows with entirely too fucking much cheerfulness for this time of the morning.
Suresh actually squeals and dives back into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. Well I guess that makes it crystal fucking clear exactly how asexual he thinks I am.
‘Morning Audrey,’ Parkman laughs, walking in, fully dressed mind, with a tray of baked goods.
‘Hey guys!’ Peter says, traipsing in after with a tray. There are little Styrofoam cups on his, filled with coffee and a couple with nothing but water, along with a cup full of milk, two of juice, and piles of sugar packets and teabags in little coloured envelopes. ‘We got breakfast from downstairs.’
‘I need to brush my teeth,’ I say, getting out of bed and heading for the bathroom.
The chorus of wolf whistles gets them a salute.
When I come out of the bathroom, they’ve set an impromptu buffet on the chest of drawers. Bagels, Danishes, muffins, little tubs of Philadelphia cheese, butter, tea, coffee, juice, even paper plates, plastic knives, and napkins.
‘Did you actually leave any damn food for the rest of the guests?’ I ask, grabbing a bagel and some cream cheese.
‘Sure, a couple of nasty looking raisin muffins,’ Parkman says cheerfully.
‘We left tons of food!’ Peter protests. ‘Honestly Audrey, it looks like they’re feeding half the city.’
Parkman wanders over to Suresh’s bed and sits down. ‘Aren’t you hungry?’
‘I’m not dressed,’ he squeaks.
‘Big fucking baby,’ I snort, throwing over his t-shirt from the pile of dirty clothes he left on the side.
‘Aww, are you shy?’ Parkman teases.
‘What did you get from that blonde piece last night?’ I ask as Suresh burns red and drags the t-shirt over his head.
‘Hmm? Oh, Daphne Millbrook,’ he says, juggling the cup of coffee and the plate of food with his notebook. ‘She’s a speedster, uses it to steal whatever takes her fancy, more or less.’ He takes a sip of his coffee. ‘She’s harmless though. But, she did give me the name of a fence in town she says is being used to shift the diamonds being stolen.’
‘How does she know that?’ Suresh asks, reaching past him to unwrap a tea bag and dump it into a cup of hot water.
‘The Special community hereabouts isn’t that big,’ Parkman says, looking at him. ‘The criminal segment is even smaller... things get around. I think she’s reliable.’ He takes a bite of his Danish. ‘Not that she was telling me everything, or anything close, but what she said was true I’d bet.’
I get file on Bishop out and spread it over my bed. ‘What do we reckon to Monroe’s reliability? Is he?’
‘I never heard of the man before last night,’ Parkman says flatly. ‘Which seems odd.’
‘Especially as he’s certainly heard of you,’ I say. ‘Are your parents Maury and Sarah?’
‘Yeah,’ he says easily. ‘And if he knows my dad I’ll stake on his being a bad ‘un. God knows my dad was.’
‘I could ask my mom,’ Peter suggests suddenly, just when I thought he’d gone to fucking sleep. ‘If he’s been around that long then she’ll know.’
‘Problem isn’t if she knows, problem is if she’ll tell you,’ I say. ‘No, we’re got a shitload of physical evidence to process. Parkman, you and I will interview witnesses from the robberies, full bore. That means you setting up and monitoring, Peter. Any time in between you help Mohinder. Mohinder... I’m sorry, I am, but you know how it is.’
‘If I was afraid of hard work and being yelled at... well my social life would be a lot cheaper for one thing,’ he says.
‘Pervert.’
There’s a sharp rap on the door.
‘Who is it, the buffet police?’ Suresh calls.
‘It’s Nathan Petrelli. I was told this is Agent Hanson’s room.’
FUCK! I feel myself burning red and fucking Suresh is smirking as he skids over to the door, eluding my grasp, skids over to the door and yanks it wide open.
Parkman’s gesturing at Peter, and the fuckers pull off their tops and jump under the bedclothes.
‘You cocksucking...’
Nathan strolls into the bedroom and raises his eyebrows. Suresh and me in our flimsies and these two clowns shirtless and in bed.
And they know. They fucking know, all of them, even Peter. It’s stamped across their smirking faces.
‘Am I interrupting your slumber party?’ he asks, waving a leather glove clad hand. When did he get here? Did he just land?
‘Stop fucking around you two! Jesus Christ! They have their own room. We have two rooms.’
‘Ow Audrey!’ Peter whines as I drag him out of bed by the hair. ‘You’re always pulling my hair!’
‘Hmm,’ says Nathan, raising an eyebrow at that. ‘Peter you were certainly raised better than to get into bed with your shoes on.’
Parkman scrambles out of bed before I reach him, hands held up in surrender. ‘Not the hair, please?’
Suresh turns to look at him as he scoops up his shirt and puts it back on.
‘You’ll wish it had been,’ I say flatly and turn to Nathan. ‘What the fuck do you want? We have coffee, do you want coffee?’
‘I’d love a coffee,’ he says smiling and sitting down in the armchair.
‘How the hell did you get here so fast? You get the redeye?’
‘How’re you doing with the robberies?’ he asks, taking the Styrofoam cup and stirring in milk.
‘Jesus! We got here yesterday!’
Nathan shrugs and crosses his legs. ‘Time and tide wait for no-one Agent Hanson. Meanwhile...’ he waves a newspaper in the air. He blinks in surprise as Parkman catches it and throws it to Suresh.
‘Bombing Deaths Prevented By Teleporting Special,’ Suresh reads out. ‘It was confirmed to this reporter than an evolved human used the power of teleportation to evacuate the patrons and staff of The Jewel restaurant before the explosion... how did they find this out?’
‘Confirmed?’ I demand. ‘Confirmed by who?’
Nathan holds up his hands. ‘Just the messenger, Agent Hanson.’
Parkman picks up Suresh’s jacket and hands it to him silently.
‘But...’ Suresh starts. ‘Oh.’
‘Where the fuck are you three going?’ I ask, as Parkman, Suresh, and Peter head for the door.
Nathan chuckles as Parkman shakes his head.
‘We’ll be in our room,’ Parkman says, ushering the other two out like stunned ducklings.
Nathan takes off his gloves and stands up.
‘You didn’t come all this way for a fuck?’ Jesus, the man is attractive for all he’s a shark. You’re not telling me that he couldn’t find willing bit of skirt back in the city.
‘Not just for that.’ He says standing up and picking up the paper. ‘I thought you deserved to know in person that the Oversight Committee decided to use you for... publicity.’
‘It’s your brother they’ve chosen to use not me.’
He shrugs and drops the paper onto the bed. ‘We both know better than that, Audrey. Peter will hide behind you and that’s fine, it’s part of your job to protect your team.’
‘What’s your fucking point?’
He tucks his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘I don’t know that I have one.’
‘You came all this way to tell me that and give me a newspaper?’ The man is a fucking mystery. ‘Was it a wise use of public funds to fly here counselor?’
‘Hmm.’ He looks up and the ceiling and then at me. ‘If I told you that it didn’t cost me penny to get here?’
‘You’re a fucking teleporter?’ I thought Peter picked it up off that Nakamura guy.
He stalks over and slides a hand down my shorts. ‘No, I fly.’
‘Flap your arms do you?’ I ask as he wraps his free arm around my waist.
‘Not quite.’
There’s a noise like... a kettle boiling or some shit, short though, and we’re floating.
‘Fucking A!’
Part 3
Pairing: Audrey/Nathan, mentions of Matt/Mohinder
Rating: 18
Warnings: Swearing, swearing, sex, swearing, swearing
Note: For
perdiccas with huge thanks for the prompt, and thanks to boudecia7, whom I never thank enough for her editing, support, and general awesomeness. Summary: Having an ability is a fact of life for thousands of Americans. Most of them are decent folks. To cope with the rest, there's the Specials Crime Taskforce.
Word count: 5897
Part 1
It’s complete and utter fucking chaos. You’d think these people had never seen teleporting before.
Or a lab geek, come to that. Suresh is in his finest Babylon 5 t-shirt, button studded blue jeans, and knee-high, metal plated, black, commando boots. He doesn’t look in the least bit like any kind of terrorist but for some reason he’s the one they’re pointing the guns at. Parkman and Peter shove Suresh between them and hold up their arms, Parkman clutching his ID.
‘Drop your fucking guns you assholes!’ I insist, waving my badge. ‘Jesus! We were given this map reference and time, so don’t screw around!’
‘We don’t like his sort around here,’ one of the agents, a twenty-ish brunette snarls, keeping her gun on us.
‘He’s our lab guy you stupid bitch! Drop your fucking gun before I come over there and shove it up your ass!’
The others are sheepishly lowering their guns but she keeps hers trained on Suresh.
‘I’m not being sucked into a vortex or set on fire or some other crap because of him,’ she insists.
Oh for the love of god. I’ve had enough of this. I stomp forward and she shifts to keep Suresh in her line of sight, which puts me in her blind spot.
It’s incredibly satisfying to punch...
...
...
and connect with nothing because she’s suddenly on the other side of the room, on her ass, fuming as Parkman hands her back her now unloaded gun.
‘If you want to play out of work,’ he says gravely, ‘then just say the word. Or aren’t you such a belligerent bigot when you can’t hide behind your badge?’
‘You pick him over your own kind?’ she snarls. ‘Traitor to your own blood.’
‘I’ve been called that before,’ he says, staring her down. ‘The sort of people who say it aren’t ‘my kind’, not by a long chalk.’
‘Phew!’ Suresh says, shoving his way out from between Peter and Parkman. ‘That was not the kind of sandwich I’ve been asking you for.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Parkman says, rolling his eyes.
‘Why didn’t you...’ Peter begins.
‘Walls have ears, children,’ I say quickly. ‘Let’s find our liaison and settle in.’
I’ll be fucked in the ass before I abandon Suresh to the tender mercies of this bunch of assholes, even to set up the rooms they’ve assigned us. But Peter is staying with him on absolute orders to freeze time at the first sign of anyone giving him the hairy eyeball. Parkman’s not entirely thrilled about it either but he had a wander around the building, which I officially know fuck-all about, and had a little chat with some of the more... emphatic bigots.
Not that he’d ever misuse his ability. Of course not.
The three jewellers are not the places where stunned bunny couples coo over diamonds the size of sunflower seeds. They’re not the kind of place where they have merchandise out on display either. Oh no, that would be gauche or tasteless or some fucking thing. These are the places where if you have to ask the price, it’s too expensive and you wouldn’t dream of buying something off the shelf. If they had any fucking shelves.
They made a hell of a mess in each case. Glass smashed, scorch marks up and down the walls, doors wrenched off, and the safe nothing but a puddle.
‘Neat trick, melt the safe and just pick up the diamonds,’ I say, squatting down for a closer look.
‘They didn’t have to melt the whole thing,’ Parkman scowls. ‘Someone just likes burning things.’
‘Oh goody, some creepy ass perv who gets off on fire.’
‘Oh no,’ he says shaking his head. ‘Mohinder’s been with us all weekend.’
‘Ha fucking ha.’
There’s not a lot to look at any of the crime scenes. The local forensics teams have bagged and tagged everything and should be passing them on to Suresh and Peter as we speak. But you have to see the scenes for yourself; photographs don’t tell you what you need to know, they don’t tell you the feel of a scene, the smell of it, the little nooks and crannies, and the taste of it. Take this one, it’s big, roomy and there are odd corners here and there. The customers might’ve stood around like stunned sheep once the robbery started going down but the staff... the staff must’ve had time to bolt out the back door. Were they too shocked? Or was somebody out the back stopping them?
We get stuck in fucking traffic on the way back.
‘Can I drive?’ Parkman asks pleasantly.
‘We’re in the middle of the road!’
‘Yeah, but we’re not moving.’
Oh what the hell. We get out of the car and immediately the equally stranded cars around us start hitting their horns. I salute them with my middle finger and a couple of them get out. Parkman flashes his badge before I can release some of my tension.
Parkman adjusts the seat and the mirror and, the next time the traffic moves a few inches, Parkman spins the wheel.
‘They’re not going to let us out!’
‘I grew up in LA, Audrey,’ he says mildly, somehow forcing the car through the jam. Cars back and front ease a couple of inches, then again and again, and we’re squeezing out towards a side street.
‘That makes you master of the fucking traffic now?’
He looks at me and smiles. ‘It means I know how to get around of the heavy traffic routes.’
Smug bastard. Once we’re off the boulevard and gliding through the side streets, we leave the choked traffic behind. Flashing across junctions and sliding around the jams we’re back at HQ in less than an hour.
‘Stop grinning you smart ass.’
‘Yes Audrey.’
‘Smug fucker.’
The boys have got the rooms set up pretty well. The boards are up and Suresh has got both his and Peter’s equipment, and now he sniggers, set up. The photographs of the victims are disturbing. Rictus grins on stretched, faces tensed forever. Burns to hands, stomachs, faces, some small and focused, some large and spread out.
‘How’s it going?’
‘Oh hey,’ Peter says cheerily. ‘No-one’s tried to shoot us.’
‘With the work.’ Jesus, I should’ve listened to my mom when she told me patience would get me far in life.
‘We’re still waiting for the CCTV to be cleared up,’ Mohinder says. ‘Something interfered with the recordings, probably the microwaves being thrown around. They’ve had hotlines set up but they don’t seem to have been monitoring them.’
‘Autopsies?’
‘Booked for tomorrow, I didn’t want to rush.’ He waggles his eyebrows. ‘I always give full attention to anyone in the supine position.’
Parkman beans him in the head with a rolled up ball of paper. ‘You’re disgusting.’
‘I try, Matt.’
I check my watch. ‘Time’s marching on. We better sort out the rooms and get something to eat.’
‘Do you want Peter and me to check out some of the more down-market Specials clubs?’ Parkman asks, stretching. ‘See if we can pick up some chatter about these robberies?’
‘Can I come?’ Mohinder asks. ‘I’d like to see you both in your natural habitat. The call of the wild and all that.’
‘If a nightclub was my natural habitat, it wouldn’t be some grubby, noisy place filled with criminals,’ Parkman retorts.
‘No!’ I say sharply. ‘Jesus! Parkman, if you think it would be a good idea we’ll go. Mohinder, you and Peter are not trained for this shit.’
The rooms are an issue. I’m straight and Peter’s straight, so we can’t share, but Parkman and Suresh are both bi. Not that I’d expect any of them to chance their arm, but when word gets around, and it always does, who will look least likely to have got his leg over? Although Suresh is more classically attractive, he’s shy, and everyone knows he’s a little perv, whereas Parkman was married.
‘Suresh, you’re with me.’
‘Oh. Right.’
Fucker! Disappointed? Who was he hoping for?
We dump our gear in the rooms, grab something to eat, and Parkman and I head out for the club life. Ten minutes on the phone had given Parkman a list of names of clubs that are run by, and for, Specials. We’re outside the second on the list, the first was distinctly high end, and the music is a steady throb through the air.
‘They might not let you in,’ he warns, ruffling his hair.
‘Should I stagger in with my panties on show and my makeup smeared?’
Parkman rolls his eyes. ‘You’re a normal.’
‘Tell ‘em I can etch steel with my sarcasm.’
He snorts and tucks his hands into his pockets. ‘On some level we can tell, you know that. Subconsciously.’
That’s true enough, and Suresh has been working on figuring out how but he’s not got anywhere yet.
‘Parkman it’s a cheap, dirty club. They’re not going to be fucking testing are they?’
‘Suit yourself.’
It’s ear-bleedingly loud inside and fucking hot. Too many bodies crammed together, dancing, jumping, waving their arms. The thick air stinks of perspiration, a hundred types of cheap scent, and stale beer. In the corner, roll-up cigarettes are doing the rounds, there’s a steady supply of people coming out of the toilets wiping their noses, and money is changing hands surreptitiously at the corner of the bar.
A tiny blonde meets Parkman’s eyes and tries to bolt. There’s a momentary blur but the press of people stop her from getting more than a few feet.
‘Friend of yours?’ I ask as he goes after her.
‘Professional acquaintance.’
The crowd parts for him, but I let him go. He’s a big boy; he can deal with her. I shove my way to the bar and slap a ten-dollar bill down.
‘What?’ the barman is a dozen barmen. One of those bozo’s that clones themselves. Useful, that’s for damn sure.
‘Double whiskey, no ice.’
He slams the drink down onto the bar and snatches up my money.
‘I don’t think I know you,’ murmurs a voice in my ear. Accent says British, or someone faking and passing well. I take my change from the barman and turn around slowly.
He’s cute, fucking cute actually. Taller than me but slim. Blond, blue eyed, he could almost pass for a surfer if it wasn’t for the sharp suit. In this club, with these people, he’s wearing a suit.
‘I don’t think I know you either.’
‘Adam Monroe,’ he says, offering me his hand. Is he fucking serious?
‘Audrey Hanson.’
He doesn’t kiss my hand but he’s got the manner that makes it seem like a close run thing. He squeezes my hand lightly and leans closer.
‘You don’t strike me as the typical wannabe,’ he murmurs.
‘I’m not a ‘typical’ anything, and I’m not any kind of ‘wannabe’, whatever that means.’
He smiles at that. ‘It means your... colleague is one of us, you’re not. You don’t seem particularly interested in the peccadillos around us so I assume you’re here for something more important.’
Fuck, who is this guy? Parkman and the blonde are over at the other end of the bar. He looks huge next to her and she’s batting her big brown eyes at him without effect. Batting her eyes and offering up her tits, guess he’s asking questions she doesn’t want to answer.
‘Ms Millbrook is not dangerous, I assure you,’ Monroe says, taking a sip of what smells like a Glenfiddich. Expensive tastes this one has. ‘She’s a thief, a good one, but not a robber. She doesn’t intimidate and she never offers violence.’
‘You know her?’
‘I know everyone Agent Hanson, sooner or later.’ He stares at me for a couple of seconds. ‘Perhaps I could... help with your enquiries in a quieter arena.’
‘So you know everyone except my colleague?’ I finish my whiskey and put it down on the bar. Monroe raises a finger and the barman silently gives me another.
‘Your colleague Detective Matt Parkman?’ he asks. ‘Son of Maury and Sarah Parkman. Officially a member of the NYPD but attached to your team at the Specials Crime Taskforce. He manifested recently but his ability is expanding exponentially in scope and strength.’ He takes a sip of his whiskey. ‘It’s probably making you a little anxious. How am I doing?’
‘I don’t get anxious.’
‘Really? Singular.’ He leans closer again. ‘I have an office upstairs. We could talk more privately.’
‘I’m not here to pull, Mr Monroe,’ I growl back. He’s setting my teeth on edge this one. He looks barely thirty and talks, acts, like my grandfather.
‘Certainly not,’ he replies, and his eyes are reflecting the glittering lights. ‘You’re here to find out information. However the decibel level in here makes trading intelligence very dubious.’
Parkman is still over at the other end of the bar chatting to the blonde. She’s talking animatedly to him and writing something down. He certainly doesn’t look like he’s in any immediate danger.
Audrey I’m fine. If I have a problem I’ll shout. You do the same, I’ll hear.
Jesus FUCK! How long has he been able to just... drop thoughts into my head?
‘If you’re leading me up the garden path Monroe I will kick your ass.’
He looks me up and down, like he’s challenging me to deck him, and shrugs. ‘I’m not adverse, but I find a planned scenario and a safe word are wise.’
Fucking prick.
The office is what I’d expect for him, but not for a nightclub. Although I can’t stand the places, so what the fuck would I know about their offices.
It’s like a... library or a study or some shit. Heavy wood furniture, wood panels, drapes, bookcases full of leather-bound books, lots of paintings and antiques. It must have some fucking fantastic sound insulation because the music isn’t even a tiny distant thump.
‘Let me give you something better,’ Monroe says, crossing over the room. ‘I have a very nice bottle of Glenfiddich 1937.’
Fucking A! ‘For real? Line me up.’
His eyebrows rise. Think you’ve got me tapped have you? Good fucking luck with that.
‘Excellent,’ he says, opening the bottle and pouring two fresh glasses. ‘We don’t want any cross contamination now.’
‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’ Fuck, this stuff is good.
He shakes his head slowly and hands me a glass. ‘On the finest whiskey I have to hand? I think not.’ He sits down in a padded leather chair. ‘I know a cast iron stomach when I see one. Please take a seat.’
I drop into the seat opposite and cross my legs. ‘What do you want to tell me?’
He takes a sip of his whiskey and rolls it around his mouth. ‘You’re here for the jewellery thefts.’
‘Am I?’
‘Shall we assume for a moment that you are?’ he says, sitting forward and sipping his whiskey. ‘That’s good. I’ll admit that I had a great many concerns when news of us became public. History teaches us harsh lessons about mankind’s ability to deal with the different. However we find ourselves on a precipice, I don’t need to tell you that.’
‘No you fucking don’t. Just because I’m not one of you doesn’t mean I approve of the shit that gets thrown at you!’ Too loud, too sharp, that’s too much damned whiskey.
Monroe just smiles. ‘My point is that... well, a crime of passion, an accident here and there, socially acceptable theft and minor civil disobedience, those can be permitted. Robberies and violent, unnecessary murders though... those can tip the balance between tolerance and extermination.’
‘Extermination, that’s kind of fucking dramatic don’t you think?’
He shakes his head and puts his feet up on the desk. ‘Agent Hanson, I’m a regen. The original regen as far as I know. I’ve lived through pogroms, ethnic cleansings, genocides, and race wars. Human beings, normal or Special it makes no difference, can flip from nice as pie to monster in the blink of an eye.’ Monroe takes his feet off the desk and leans forward. ‘Agent Hanson, you know that.’ For the first time the smug complaisance slips from his face. ‘You know that and that’s what makes you so angry.’
I’m not storming out. I’m not a fucking three year old. ‘You a mind-reader now?’
‘No,’ he says cheerfully. ‘But I am a student of human nature. My point, Agent Hanson, is that these sorts of crimes carry far too great a risk to the rest of us. I’m telling you this because I know you’ll ask me why you should trust me, why you should believe what I have to say. This is why.’
Original regen, how old does that make him? How old does he have to be to have seen the shit he’s talking about?
‘What do you have to say?’ It can’t hurt to ask. Make the time spent worth more than a very nice whiskey and a pretty decent view of a cute face.
‘Tell me, I’ll take your information under advisement.’
He takes a file from the desk and passes it over. ‘The boy I’ve not been able to identify... yet. The woman though is called Elle Bishop, she’s very dangerous and very disturbed. All her details are there.’
That’s a shitload of information: historical, psychological, criminal records. This should make interesting reading.
‘What do you want in exchange?’
He looks me up and down again. ‘Well...’
‘Piss off.’
Monroe laughs and shrugs. ‘Then stay angry. That’s all I ask.’
Downstairs Parkman is looking harassed and stressed. That little twitching muscle under his eye screams incipient migraine and FUCK! Peter is drinking a beer and dancing in the crowd, chatting up anyone and everyone, while Suresh is stood by Parkman. He’s straining to get into the crowd but Parkman has a hand knotted in the waistband of his jeans. What the fuck are those two clowns playing at?
Parkman sees me, nods at Peter, and shoves his way out, dragging Suresh with him.
The crowd closes around me as I fight through toward Peter, still drinking and dancing. I get a solid handful of hair and drag him out, wailing all the way.
‘Audreeeeey!’
‘Shut up!’ I haul him over to our car and shove him at Suresh and Parkman. ‘What the fuck were you thinking?’
‘Geez, ow!’ Peter moans, rubbing his head.
‘Bin the martyr act Petrelli, you could’ve fucking teleported away,’ I point out.
He shrugs and tucks his hands into his pockets. ‘Nah, then you’d have been even more mad.’
‘I cannot be any more fucking angry than I am right now! Jesus! This is not a game! And YOU!’ I shove Suresh in the chest and he pouts at me. ‘You’re not even a Special, how the fuck would you defend yourself?’
‘I wasn’t actually planning on needing to defend myself,’ he says meekly, trying to hide behind Parkman and Peter.
‘You’re not cops and you’re not feds! You’re fucking support officers! You could’ve got yourselves killed a hundred different fucking ways!’ Jesus Christ! ‘What the hell were you thinking!’
‘Can we discuss this somewhere other than a public car park?’ Parkman asks quietly. He’s so pale he’s almost glowing.
‘Have you taken your meds?’ I ask Parkman, as Peter stirs and starts prodding and poking.
‘Get in the car,’ Suresh scowls at him. ‘Back seat. I finally get you in the back seat and you’re ready to spew on me.’
‘Mm fine...’
‘Mohinder have you had anything to drink?’
‘Only an orange juice,’ he says promptly. ‘Oh... you want me to drive?’
We bundle Parkman into the backseat with Peter, who puts his jacket over Parkman’s head to keep the light out. We tried teleporting Parkman during one of his migraines, Jesus, never again.
‘Are you alright back there?’ Suresh asks, glancing again in the rear view mirror.
‘Keep your fucking eyes on the road.’
‘I don’t actually know where I’m going,’ he points out. ‘Peter teleported us to the club.’
Jesus.
The worst is over by the time we get back to the hotel. Parkman lurches out of the car and pukes copiously in the bushes. There’ll be some happy slugs tomorrow. Disgusting little fuckers.
‘I’ll take him up to the room,’ Peter says, pushing the hair back off his forehead. One of these day, I swear to god I’m going to shave his fucking head. ‘He’s always fine after a soft drink and brushing his teeth.’
‘We’ll be in the hotel bar. It looked pretty quiet in there,’ I say, locking up the car.
Parkman’s migraines are something to do with his ability Suresh says, but he’s no fucking idea what. I can hardly push him on it given the shitloads of work he’s already got. Of all of us, he’s got the most on his plate, though I’d never fucking admit that to him. We’re fortunate he deigns to grace us with his presence. The upshot is that Parkman spewing has to be a low priority.
The bar is practically deserted and something sad and slow is playing on the jukebox as Suresh slams the drinks down onto the table.
‘What’s your problem?’ I ask as he slouches into a seat.
‘You,’ he says flatly. ‘Do you think you’re the only person who realises why this case is important? Do you think none of us realises we need to catch these arseholes before they’re front-page news?’
‘No.’ I take a swig if my beer. ‘Do you realise you’re not a cop?’
‘I was there for support,’ he says stubbornly. I forget sometimes that this is the guy that travelled all the way from fucking India and forced his way onto the taskforce through sheer insistence that he could help. He was right too. ‘You’re not even a Special, how would you defend yourself?’ he quotes back at me.
‘Ha fucking ha,’ I say. Smart ass. ‘So you were there for my benefit were you?’
He takes a big gulp of his beer. ‘For the team. You know it’s important to me.’
Yeah, I know he’s always the one organising the parties, the secret Santa’s, putting up Christmas decorations, and hiring strippers for birthdays. I told Parkman once that Suresh needed a social life, and Parkman said ‘we’re it’.
‘It’s not worth dying for.’
‘I wasn’t intending to die,’ Suresh says. ‘But I can think of worse things, if it comes to it.’ He waves at Peter and Parkman as they appear on the other side of the room. They nod back and start walking over. ‘You could have Peter and I trained for that kind of work,’ Suresh says. ‘Easily. Especially me, I’m very quick on the uptake.’
‘Don’t tell me what I can do. I know what I can fucking do,’ I say, scowling at him.
‘What’s this?’ Parkman asks, he still looks a little pale, but much better all in all.
‘Why aren’t you lying down in a dark room you stupid cocksucker?’
‘I’m always much better once I’ve thrown up,’ he says, sitting down gingerly.
‘Audrey was just about to explain why she won’t endorse Peter and I having field training,’ Suresh says sweetly.
‘Well, I’m glad I didn’t miss that,’ Parkman says, looking at me attentively.
Peter sits down and folds his arms. ‘Well?’
‘Jesus, what is this the Spanish Inquisition?’
‘Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!’ Suresh giggles, and reddens when Parkman looks at him.
‘What? What the fuck are you talking about?’
‘Nothing,’ he says quickly. ‘Please go on. Why can’t I and Peter be field trained?’
‘Because dickwad, it’s bad enough I have to worry about him,’ I say waving a hand at Parkman. ‘I can’t be worrying about you two fuckers as well. I’d never get anything done!’
Parkman rolls his eyes and Peter snorts.
‘We’re not children,’ Suresh says quietly.
‘You could’ve fooled me.’
‘Don’t you think we worry?’ Peter asks, all wet eyed. ‘We...’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake! We are not having a big fucking circle jerk about how much we value and love each other, Fuck that shit. If you two ever pull a stupid ass stunt like that again I will personally kick your asses.’
Suresh pulls some stupid face that’s supposed to look sexy or something. ‘Promises, promises.’
‘I’ve heard of Adam Monroe,’ Suresh says over his second beer.
‘Where from?’ Parkman asks, and grabs Peter before he collapses onto the table.
‘My... my father’s research,’ Suresh says only stumbling a little over the words. ‘Monroe is the first recorded evolved human. Hundreds of years old. It’s theorised that he might be directly related to any number of...’
Hundreds? The blond haired cutie in the suit was hundreds of years old?
‘How is your dad?’ Parkman asks gently. Oh Jesus, not the daddy issues bonding ritual again.
‘Fine,’ Suresh says with a nod. ‘I think.’
‘Jesus Christ, Mohinder, you followed in his footsteps,’ I say. ‘You’re got offered at job at the fucking Smithsonian. You didn’t take it but it was offered. What more does he want?’
‘Audrey!’ Parkman protests.
‘Enough pussy-footing around, a dose of cold water. Mohinder, your dad is an A1 fucking asshole, okay? He’s jealous because you had the balls to get up off your ass and prove his theories. He’s pissed off that you’re making your own life and being your own man. If he can’t cope with that then screw him!’
‘Oh god,’ Parkman mutters, covering his eyes with his hand.
Suresh laughs and shrugs. ‘You’re very kind Audrey. In your own way. There are other issues with my father and there always will be.’ He sits up a little straighter. ‘But those are his issues, not mine. I’m very happy with my life and if that doesn’t suit him then that’s unfortunate.’
‘See?’ I ask, punching Parkman in the arm. ‘No need for tip-fucking-toing around.’
It’s fucking weird sleeping in the same room as Suresh. For one thing I hadn’t realised he was pretty buff under the baggy t-shirt. I should be glad that he doesn’t give me a second glance in my shorts and top but I deserve to be ogled as much as the next woman don’t I?
He doesn’t say fuck all until we get into the separate beds and I turn out the lights.
‘Audrey?’ he asks in the quiet darkness.
‘What?’
‘Does... does Matt ever talk about me?’
Jesus Christ. The words are bad enough but the tone... the fucking tone says it all.
‘Mohinder, just bite the fucking bullet and ask him out. The worst he can do is say no.’
‘So... that’s a no is it?’
For the love of god let me out of this conversation. Does he honestly think I’m the person anyone would choose as a fucking confidant?
I sit up and turn on the light. His face is wet so I turn the light out again. Jesus, men.
‘Parkman doesn’t talk to me about his love life. But yeah, he talks about you, he’s also pretty much always in your fucking lab any spare moment he’s got.’
‘That’s true,’ Suresh says slowly. ‘So...’
‘I’m not having this conversation! Jesus Christ, Mohinder! I don’t ask you about... about my sex life!’
‘Oh Audrey, you are funny.’
Jesus! Who is banging on the door at... seven am. Seven am? Fuck.
Suresh hops out of bed and pads over to the door.
‘Mohinder don’t...’
Too fucking late. He opens the door and Parkman fills it.
‘Good morning!’ he crows with entirely too fucking much cheerfulness for this time of the morning.
Suresh actually squeals and dives back into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. Well I guess that makes it crystal fucking clear exactly how asexual he thinks I am.
‘Morning Audrey,’ Parkman laughs, walking in, fully dressed mind, with a tray of baked goods.
‘Hey guys!’ Peter says, traipsing in after with a tray. There are little Styrofoam cups on his, filled with coffee and a couple with nothing but water, along with a cup full of milk, two of juice, and piles of sugar packets and teabags in little coloured envelopes. ‘We got breakfast from downstairs.’
‘I need to brush my teeth,’ I say, getting out of bed and heading for the bathroom.
The chorus of wolf whistles gets them a salute.
When I come out of the bathroom, they’ve set an impromptu buffet on the chest of drawers. Bagels, Danishes, muffins, little tubs of Philadelphia cheese, butter, tea, coffee, juice, even paper plates, plastic knives, and napkins.
‘Did you actually leave any damn food for the rest of the guests?’ I ask, grabbing a bagel and some cream cheese.
‘Sure, a couple of nasty looking raisin muffins,’ Parkman says cheerfully.
‘We left tons of food!’ Peter protests. ‘Honestly Audrey, it looks like they’re feeding half the city.’
Parkman wanders over to Suresh’s bed and sits down. ‘Aren’t you hungry?’
‘I’m not dressed,’ he squeaks.
‘Big fucking baby,’ I snort, throwing over his t-shirt from the pile of dirty clothes he left on the side.
‘Aww, are you shy?’ Parkman teases.
‘What did you get from that blonde piece last night?’ I ask as Suresh burns red and drags the t-shirt over his head.
‘Hmm? Oh, Daphne Millbrook,’ he says, juggling the cup of coffee and the plate of food with his notebook. ‘She’s a speedster, uses it to steal whatever takes her fancy, more or less.’ He takes a sip of his coffee. ‘She’s harmless though. But, she did give me the name of a fence in town she says is being used to shift the diamonds being stolen.’
‘How does she know that?’ Suresh asks, reaching past him to unwrap a tea bag and dump it into a cup of hot water.
‘The Special community hereabouts isn’t that big,’ Parkman says, looking at him. ‘The criminal segment is even smaller... things get around. I think she’s reliable.’ He takes a bite of his Danish. ‘Not that she was telling me everything, or anything close, but what she said was true I’d bet.’
I get file on Bishop out and spread it over my bed. ‘What do we reckon to Monroe’s reliability? Is he?’
‘I never heard of the man before last night,’ Parkman says flatly. ‘Which seems odd.’
‘Especially as he’s certainly heard of you,’ I say. ‘Are your parents Maury and Sarah?’
‘Yeah,’ he says easily. ‘And if he knows my dad I’ll stake on his being a bad ‘un. God knows my dad was.’
‘I could ask my mom,’ Peter suggests suddenly, just when I thought he’d gone to fucking sleep. ‘If he’s been around that long then she’ll know.’
‘Problem isn’t if she knows, problem is if she’ll tell you,’ I say. ‘No, we’re got a shitload of physical evidence to process. Parkman, you and I will interview witnesses from the robberies, full bore. That means you setting up and monitoring, Peter. Any time in between you help Mohinder. Mohinder... I’m sorry, I am, but you know how it is.’
‘If I was afraid of hard work and being yelled at... well my social life would be a lot cheaper for one thing,’ he says.
‘Pervert.’
There’s a sharp rap on the door.
‘Who is it, the buffet police?’ Suresh calls.
‘It’s Nathan Petrelli. I was told this is Agent Hanson’s room.’
FUCK! I feel myself burning red and fucking Suresh is smirking as he skids over to the door, eluding my grasp, skids over to the door and yanks it wide open.
Parkman’s gesturing at Peter, and the fuckers pull off their tops and jump under the bedclothes.
‘You cocksucking...’
Nathan strolls into the bedroom and raises his eyebrows. Suresh and me in our flimsies and these two clowns shirtless and in bed.
And they know. They fucking know, all of them, even Peter. It’s stamped across their smirking faces.
‘Am I interrupting your slumber party?’ he asks, waving a leather glove clad hand. When did he get here? Did he just land?
‘Stop fucking around you two! Jesus Christ! They have their own room. We have two rooms.’
‘Ow Audrey!’ Peter whines as I drag him out of bed by the hair. ‘You’re always pulling my hair!’
‘Hmm,’ says Nathan, raising an eyebrow at that. ‘Peter you were certainly raised better than to get into bed with your shoes on.’
Parkman scrambles out of bed before I reach him, hands held up in surrender. ‘Not the hair, please?’
Suresh turns to look at him as he scoops up his shirt and puts it back on.
‘You’ll wish it had been,’ I say flatly and turn to Nathan. ‘What the fuck do you want? We have coffee, do you want coffee?’
‘I’d love a coffee,’ he says smiling and sitting down in the armchair.
‘How the hell did you get here so fast? You get the redeye?’
‘How’re you doing with the robberies?’ he asks, taking the Styrofoam cup and stirring in milk.
‘Jesus! We got here yesterday!’
Nathan shrugs and crosses his legs. ‘Time and tide wait for no-one Agent Hanson. Meanwhile...’ he waves a newspaper in the air. He blinks in surprise as Parkman catches it and throws it to Suresh.
‘Bombing Deaths Prevented By Teleporting Special,’ Suresh reads out. ‘It was confirmed to this reporter than an evolved human used the power of teleportation to evacuate the patrons and staff of The Jewel restaurant before the explosion... how did they find this out?’
‘Confirmed?’ I demand. ‘Confirmed by who?’
Nathan holds up his hands. ‘Just the messenger, Agent Hanson.’
Parkman picks up Suresh’s jacket and hands it to him silently.
‘But...’ Suresh starts. ‘Oh.’
‘Where the fuck are you three going?’ I ask, as Parkman, Suresh, and Peter head for the door.
Nathan chuckles as Parkman shakes his head.
‘We’ll be in our room,’ Parkman says, ushering the other two out like stunned ducklings.
Nathan takes off his gloves and stands up.
‘You didn’t come all this way for a fuck?’ Jesus, the man is attractive for all he’s a shark. You’re not telling me that he couldn’t find willing bit of skirt back in the city.
‘Not just for that.’ He says standing up and picking up the paper. ‘I thought you deserved to know in person that the Oversight Committee decided to use you for... publicity.’
‘It’s your brother they’ve chosen to use not me.’
He shrugs and drops the paper onto the bed. ‘We both know better than that, Audrey. Peter will hide behind you and that’s fine, it’s part of your job to protect your team.’
‘What’s your fucking point?’
He tucks his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘I don’t know that I have one.’
‘You came all this way to tell me that and give me a newspaper?’ The man is a fucking mystery. ‘Was it a wise use of public funds to fly here counselor?’
‘Hmm.’ He looks up and the ceiling and then at me. ‘If I told you that it didn’t cost me penny to get here?’
‘You’re a fucking teleporter?’ I thought Peter picked it up off that Nakamura guy.
He stalks over and slides a hand down my shorts. ‘No, I fly.’
‘Flap your arms do you?’ I ask as he wraps his free arm around my waist.
‘Not quite.’
There’s a noise like... a kettle boiling or some shit, short though, and we’re floating.
‘Fucking A!’
Part 3
