(Dollhouse/Heroes) Pour Me Out for jaune_chat
Title: Pour Me Out
Author: entwashian
Fandoms: Dollhouse/Heroes
Characters Adelle DeWitt, Topher Brink; Nathan Petrelli
Pairings: gen
Rating: G
Word count: 2500
Spoilers: Canon-compliant for Dollhouse (no specific timeline, nothing spoilery), AU for Heroes (Arthur Petrelli never had his "heart attack")
Warnings: N/A
Disclaimer: Dollhouse and Heroes belong to their respective creators
A/N: Beta-read in a timely and thoughtful manner by the splendiforous st_aurafina.
Summary: Nathan Petrelli has a problem. Can the Dollhouse help him? Will the Dollhouse help him?
“Nathan Petrelli.” He introduces himself without using his title, extending his arm for a handshake in a gesture that seems to come as naturally as breathing.
He doesn’t need to use the title.
“Adelle DeWitt,” she responds over a brief handshake.
The situation clearly calls for the decanter of scotch that sits in plain view on the sideboard. Adelle reaches for the teapot anyway.
The cups are a delightful little size that she prefers to think of as perfunctory. The small capacity of the teacups ensure that the tea never sits long enough to grow cool, and the cup can always be refilled -- should one wish to continue the conversation. The downside, should one choose to think in such a manner, is that they can require a surprising amount of delicacy and grace to handle.
Senator Petrelli neither fumbles his cup, nor sloshes the hot liquid within.
“I do not know why you wished to meet with me, Senator, and to be perfectly frank, the only reason I agreed to it is because you are the son of --”
“My father --” Petrelli breaks in, but Adelle merely raises an eyebrow at the interruption and continues.
“-- the son of Angela Petrelli,” she concludes.
“Ma?” Petrelli startles, his urbane façade cracking momentarily. He quickly recovers. While he processes this latest bit of information, Petrelli shifts the teacup he is holding so that it is cradled in the palm of his left hand, the fingers of his right hand resting lightly atop the rim of the cup, holding it steady.
“That does beg the question of why you, sitting here in your comfy office furnished by the Rossum Corporation, wouldn’t want to take a meeting with the son of Arthur Petrelli, who just so happens to be the head of the Pinehearst Company, Rossum’s largest competitor.”
“Perhaps I don’t consider Pinehearst as competition. Their specialty is genetics, ours is neuroscience. Fields which have little to do with one another, aside from controversy.” Adelle smiles. “Besides, we both of us know that I do not speak for the Rossum Corporation at large. Which ‘begs the question’,” she uses his own words, “as to why you would travel the distance to our facilities in Los Angeles, when Rossum has an office located at your convenience in New York. I'm sure they'd be delighted to meet with one of their own senators, no matter whose son you are.”
She takes a sip of her tea, which is uncommonly weak. Her eyelashes flutter closed for a moment, in which she regrets not having given in to the temptation of the scotch. The moment passes.
“I find it hard to believe that Rossum has zero interest in the activities of Arthur Petrelli.” It appears the senator is not willing to let the subject drop.
“Genetic modification is an extremely untidy form of resolution. More often than not, genetic experiments simply fail to produce results. And when they do manage to obtain results, the sheer volume of unintended and unexpected consequences is common enough to require the outright disposal of life in many of the test subjects. Rossum prefers to explore other avenues of possibility.”
“Is this the part where you tell me about how Rossum also rescues sick puppies?” It might be described as handsome, but Petrelli’s smile is not a nice one.
“This is a business, not a charitable organization,” Adelle replies flatly.
“I see. ‘Profits’ with an ‘f’, not a ‘p-h’,” Petrelli says condescendingly.
“And I suppose you would recognize a saint if you happened to stumble across one in the course of your daily activities?” If he wants to be patronizing, well, then, so can she.
“Touché.” Petrelli raises his eyebrows. “Look, I’m sure we could go on like this all day, but I’d prefer to get down to the point.”
He raises his cup and drains it in one fluid motion. He sets it down to rest on the tray with the teapot, and Adelle sets her likewise empty cup aside.
“I was sent here by my mother,” Nathan confesses. “She wouldn’t say how or why, just that you might hold the key to solving my problem.”
“You’ll have to be a bit more forthcoming, Senator.”
“Call me Nathan.” If he smiles any wider, Adelle is sure she will be able to see that he actually has several rows of teeth, like a shark.
“Very well, Nathan. It would be helpful to know exactly which answers I’m supposed to unlock.”
Nathan shrugs. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here.” He pauses for a moment, and Adelle waits for the real answer instead of the flip one. “Psychologists call it lost time.” He brings his empty hands together, but does not clasp them, using the thumb and middle finger of either hand to massage away in turn the tension at the center of the other hand. “Typically, when someone loses time, they know it right away. They’re going about their business as usual, and the next thing they know, it’s hours --sometimes days -- later, and they have no idea where they’ve been or what they’ve done.”
“But that’s not what happens to you.”
Nathan’s mouth flattens into a thin line before he responds. “No. I have gaps in my memory, but I never realize it until days, weeks, months later. About a year ago, before I decided to run for office, I was working on a case. A really big case -- the one that was going to make my career. I remember telling my wife about it. I remember my brother warning me to back off. But everything else, the case itself? Gone. As if someone had reached in and snatched the memories right out of my head.”
He seems finished, but if there’s one thing Adelle has learned in her time with Rossum, it’s that there is always more to the story.
“That’s just one example,” Nathan finally continues. “The easiest one to pin down, substantiate. Everything else -- it’s hard to know exactly how much is missing. I never realize the memories of a certain day are gone until I try to recall them, and can’t.” Nathan rises, agitated, as if intending to pace the room. Instead, he reaches down to grip the back of the chair in which he’d been seated. “I’ve had every kind of medical scan there is. I’ve been hypnotized by a psychologist. Nothing. No one can explain what is happening to me.”
“Well,” Adelle replies, folding her hands in her lap, “perhaps not every kind of scan there is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Rossum has a few tricks up its sleeve. Your mother was quite astute in sending you here.”
“You really think you can help me?”
“We have a technology that may be able to provide answers where you have not been able to find any. But it remains to be seen whether or not the technology will be made available to you.”
“And we were getting along so nicely. Why would you want to make a remark like that?” He makes a pretense at being offended, but his hands no longer clutch at the back of the chair, laying relaxed against the upholstery. If his previous agitation arose as a result of his helplessness in the situation, his current demeanor suggests that he now feels a measure of control. He seems completely confident in his ability to induce her cooperation.
It is not entirely unattractive.
“As I said a moment ago, this is a business, not a charitable organization.”
“If it’s money you’re after, you’re out of luck. The campaign trail has me pretty tapped out.”
“You mean Mother won’t help you out with this one?”
Nathan’s eyes widen fractionally.
“I think she already has.” He leans forward, resting not just his hands, but his forearms on the back of the chair. “You said it yourself -- Rossum has facilities in New York, so why send me all the way out here to California? Maybe this particular branch of the Rossum Corporation is struggling to remain competitive with the other branches, and you need the feather in your cap. Maybe Ma knows that whatever information that’s been wiped from my memory is crucial to your operation here. Maybe I don’t even need to know the exact reason why you’re going to help me. But you are going to help me.”
Adelle sighs inwardly. As ludicrous as it seems to consider, Angela Petrelli might very well have decided that the best way of sending vital information was to encrypt it into her son’s brain. And as arelative benefit, Topher does enjoy a good challenge.
“Very well,” she concedes. “Let’s go see what Mr. Brink is up to today, shall we?”
*******
For once, Topher appears to be hard at work. He is bent over his desk, writing furiously with a pencil in one hand, thoughtfully chewing the thumbnail of his other hand. Hearing them approach, he calls out.
“Hey, what’s a six-letter word for ‘Aztec god of rain’?”
“Pencil, Mr. Brink? I’m disappointed. I thought you were the sort of person who completes the puzzle entirely in ink.”
“Jesus!” Topher jumps out of his chair. “You’re not Boyd!”
“Certainly not. Any particular reason you were expecting to see Mr. Langton?”
“No, no! Well,” Topher lowers his voice conspiratorially as he steps toward Adelle, “between you and me and…” he looks over her shoulder at Nathan “…him, Boyd really enjoys the Whack-a-Mole.” Topher jerks a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the game table. “A little too much, if you know what I mean.”
“If you’re not too busy --” Topher holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender at Adelle’s words “-- Mr. Petrelli requires a full work-up of his neural profile. Immediately.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Adelle turns to Nathan. “Be sure to tell him all your symptoms, so that he knows what he is looking for.”
“Um, excuse me,” Topher interrupts. “Symptoms?”
“Oh, did I not say?” Adelle asks casually. “Today, Mr. Brink, you will be attempting to restore lost memories. I have a meeting with Dr. Saunders in a few minutes, but I’ll be back to check on your progress shortly. Mr. Petrelli, I leave your care in the capable, if slightly grubby, hands of Mr. Brink.”
“Grubby, really?” Adelle hears Topher call out as she walks away. “The equipment I handle is extremely sensitive. A single speck of dust could compromise the whole system!”
*******
The meeting with Dr. Saunders runs longer than expected, and when she returns, Adelle finds Topher intently studying his latest scans. Nathan is seated in an office chair, uncomfortable and obviously forgotten, but he rises when he sees her approach.
“Can you retrieve the memories?” Adelle asks the back of Topher’s head.
“Short answer? No.”
Adelle hears the intake of air through Nathan’s teeth at Topher’s response. Then Topher spins around, grinning.
“I can’t retrieve them, because they weren’t gone in the first place!” Topher points at the screen, which displays a series of scans from Nathan’s brain. “These show normal activity for everything he remembers: what he had for breakfast yesterday, what he had for breakfast six months ago, the last time he celebrated his birthday, etcetera, etcetera. But this scan here? This one shows what his brain activity looks like when he’s trying to access one of those gaps in his memory.”
Adelle feels Nathan leaning in over her shoulder.
“See those swirly patterns? To put it crudely, your brain has created its own feedback loop.”
“Can you fix it?” Nathan impatiently demands.
“Well, all you really have to do is figure out what programming sequence is telling the neurons to fire that way, and then you just tell them not to.”
“How long will it take? I can come back next week.”
“Let’s see, I’d have to identify how your brain has been programmed, write out a shut-off code, calculate the algorithms necessary to transmit the new code into your brain, recalibrate the equipment to accommodate the new algorithms--”
“Topher.” Adelle puts a warning into the tone of her voice.
“Eh, twenty minutes, give or take,” Topher finally answers. “Fifteen if Ivy ever shows up with my juice box.”
“Do it.” Adelle crosses her arms, preparing to head back to her office. Nathan keeps pace with her.
“Seriously, just like that?” he asks. "You tell him to change his entire lab around, and he does it? We could really use someone like you in Washington.”
“I don’t believe I’m qualified for the job.”
“Not a U.S. citizen yet?”
“I was referring to my methodology, which most of your fellow congressmen would find unorthodox, I’m afraid.”
“That I can believe.”
*******
When Topher is ready to work on Nathan, he calls the line in her office.
“It is time,” Adelle tells Nathan. “Would you like me to accompany you?”
“No, I know the way,” he replies, but pauses at the door to her office.
“If you’re looking for reassurance, you won’t find any,” she says, without looking up. “You know what the risks are, and you’ve no idea what the rewards may be.”
“Yeah. No guts, no glory, right?”
She hears the door snick softly shut behind him.
*******
The phone rings, and she picks it up.
“He’s on his way up,” Topher says. “It worked.”
“Has he told you anything?”
“No. But you know what would be really, really awesome? If you found out what happened to his brain in the first place. ‘Cause from where I’m sitting, it looks like we’ve got a little competition.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Adelle hangs up, and Nathan walks into her office.
“Did you recover anything useful?” she enquires.
“Do you know of a man called Daniel Linderman?” he asks without preamble.
“In certain circles, I’ve heard rumors that he is connected with the Petrelli family.”
“It’s not a rumor,” Nathan says, ignoring her jab. “That much I always knew. What I didn’t know is that he is no more than a puppet. My dad is the one pulling the strings.”
“And your big case?”
“I was compiling evidence against Linderman, but I was stopped before I could dig too deep.”
“I see. It would appear that perhaps the Pinehearst Company is more competition than I thought.”
“That’s not all.” Nathan’s jaw clenches, as if he is forcing himself to speak. “The endgame of the Pinehearst Company is an army of genetically modified soldiers. From what I --” Nathan makes a twirling gesture around his temple “-- I think he’s getting close.”
Adelle feels her eyebrows raise. “That is useful information, indeed.”
“I hope it was worth it to you.” Nathan turns to leave.
“There is one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Mr. Brink is very curious if you know what caused the loss of those specific memories.”
Nathan laughs darkly. “Not a what, a who -- a friend of my father’s, but I can’t say anything more than that.”
“I understand. Good luck, Senator.”
He gives her a sharp look, then a curt nod. “Same to you.”
She watches the door swing shut behind him one final time.
The tea set still sits on the table, but the teapot and its contents have grown quite cold. It seems like such a waste.
Adelle molds her hands to the curves of the teapot, feels the cool ceramic leeching the heat from her body. She grasps the handle of the teapot, and as she refills her empty cup, steam rises from the spout.
-END-
Prompts:
-Locks and Keys
-Nathan/Adelle (gen or romantic)
Author: entwashian
Fandoms: Dollhouse/Heroes
Characters Adelle DeWitt, Topher Brink; Nathan Petrelli
Pairings: gen
Rating: G
Word count: 2500
Spoilers: Canon-compliant for Dollhouse (no specific timeline, nothing spoilery), AU for Heroes (Arthur Petrelli never had his "heart attack")
Warnings: N/A
Disclaimer: Dollhouse and Heroes belong to their respective creators
A/N: Beta-read in a timely and thoughtful manner by the splendiforous st_aurafina.
Summary: Nathan Petrelli has a problem. Can the Dollhouse help him? Will the Dollhouse help him?
“Nathan Petrelli.” He introduces himself without using his title, extending his arm for a handshake in a gesture that seems to come as naturally as breathing.
He doesn’t need to use the title.
“Adelle DeWitt,” she responds over a brief handshake.
The situation clearly calls for the decanter of scotch that sits in plain view on the sideboard. Adelle reaches for the teapot anyway.
The cups are a delightful little size that she prefers to think of as perfunctory. The small capacity of the teacups ensure that the tea never sits long enough to grow cool, and the cup can always be refilled -- should one wish to continue the conversation. The downside, should one choose to think in such a manner, is that they can require a surprising amount of delicacy and grace to handle.
Senator Petrelli neither fumbles his cup, nor sloshes the hot liquid within.
“I do not know why you wished to meet with me, Senator, and to be perfectly frank, the only reason I agreed to it is because you are the son of --”
“My father --” Petrelli breaks in, but Adelle merely raises an eyebrow at the interruption and continues.
“-- the son of Angela Petrelli,” she concludes.
“Ma?” Petrelli startles, his urbane façade cracking momentarily. He quickly recovers. While he processes this latest bit of information, Petrelli shifts the teacup he is holding so that it is cradled in the palm of his left hand, the fingers of his right hand resting lightly atop the rim of the cup, holding it steady.
“That does beg the question of why you, sitting here in your comfy office furnished by the Rossum Corporation, wouldn’t want to take a meeting with the son of Arthur Petrelli, who just so happens to be the head of the Pinehearst Company, Rossum’s largest competitor.”
“Perhaps I don’t consider Pinehearst as competition. Their specialty is genetics, ours is neuroscience. Fields which have little to do with one another, aside from controversy.” Adelle smiles. “Besides, we both of us know that I do not speak for the Rossum Corporation at large. Which ‘begs the question’,” she uses his own words, “as to why you would travel the distance to our facilities in Los Angeles, when Rossum has an office located at your convenience in New York. I'm sure they'd be delighted to meet with one of their own senators, no matter whose son you are.”
She takes a sip of her tea, which is uncommonly weak. Her eyelashes flutter closed for a moment, in which she regrets not having given in to the temptation of the scotch. The moment passes.
“I find it hard to believe that Rossum has zero interest in the activities of Arthur Petrelli.” It appears the senator is not willing to let the subject drop.
“Genetic modification is an extremely untidy form of resolution. More often than not, genetic experiments simply fail to produce results. And when they do manage to obtain results, the sheer volume of unintended and unexpected consequences is common enough to require the outright disposal of life in many of the test subjects. Rossum prefers to explore other avenues of possibility.”
“Is this the part where you tell me about how Rossum also rescues sick puppies?” It might be described as handsome, but Petrelli’s smile is not a nice one.
“This is a business, not a charitable organization,” Adelle replies flatly.
“I see. ‘Profits’ with an ‘f’, not a ‘p-h’,” Petrelli says condescendingly.
“And I suppose you would recognize a saint if you happened to stumble across one in the course of your daily activities?” If he wants to be patronizing, well, then, so can she.
“Touché.” Petrelli raises his eyebrows. “Look, I’m sure we could go on like this all day, but I’d prefer to get down to the point.”
He raises his cup and drains it in one fluid motion. He sets it down to rest on the tray with the teapot, and Adelle sets her likewise empty cup aside.
“I was sent here by my mother,” Nathan confesses. “She wouldn’t say how or why, just that you might hold the key to solving my problem.”
“You’ll have to be a bit more forthcoming, Senator.”
“Call me Nathan.” If he smiles any wider, Adelle is sure she will be able to see that he actually has several rows of teeth, like a shark.
“Very well, Nathan. It would be helpful to know exactly which answers I’m supposed to unlock.”
Nathan shrugs. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here.” He pauses for a moment, and Adelle waits for the real answer instead of the flip one. “Psychologists call it lost time.” He brings his empty hands together, but does not clasp them, using the thumb and middle finger of either hand to massage away in turn the tension at the center of the other hand. “Typically, when someone loses time, they know it right away. They’re going about their business as usual, and the next thing they know, it’s hours --sometimes days -- later, and they have no idea where they’ve been or what they’ve done.”
“But that’s not what happens to you.”
Nathan’s mouth flattens into a thin line before he responds. “No. I have gaps in my memory, but I never realize it until days, weeks, months later. About a year ago, before I decided to run for office, I was working on a case. A really big case -- the one that was going to make my career. I remember telling my wife about it. I remember my brother warning me to back off. But everything else, the case itself? Gone. As if someone had reached in and snatched the memories right out of my head.”
He seems finished, but if there’s one thing Adelle has learned in her time with Rossum, it’s that there is always more to the story.
“That’s just one example,” Nathan finally continues. “The easiest one to pin down, substantiate. Everything else -- it’s hard to know exactly how much is missing. I never realize the memories of a certain day are gone until I try to recall them, and can’t.” Nathan rises, agitated, as if intending to pace the room. Instead, he reaches down to grip the back of the chair in which he’d been seated. “I’ve had every kind of medical scan there is. I’ve been hypnotized by a psychologist. Nothing. No one can explain what is happening to me.”
“Well,” Adelle replies, folding her hands in her lap, “perhaps not every kind of scan there is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Rossum has a few tricks up its sleeve. Your mother was quite astute in sending you here.”
“You really think you can help me?”
“We have a technology that may be able to provide answers where you have not been able to find any. But it remains to be seen whether or not the technology will be made available to you.”
“And we were getting along so nicely. Why would you want to make a remark like that?” He makes a pretense at being offended, but his hands no longer clutch at the back of the chair, laying relaxed against the upholstery. If his previous agitation arose as a result of his helplessness in the situation, his current demeanor suggests that he now feels a measure of control. He seems completely confident in his ability to induce her cooperation.
It is not entirely unattractive.
“As I said a moment ago, this is a business, not a charitable organization.”
“If it’s money you’re after, you’re out of luck. The campaign trail has me pretty tapped out.”
“You mean Mother won’t help you out with this one?”
Nathan’s eyes widen fractionally.
“I think she already has.” He leans forward, resting not just his hands, but his forearms on the back of the chair. “You said it yourself -- Rossum has facilities in New York, so why send me all the way out here to California? Maybe this particular branch of the Rossum Corporation is struggling to remain competitive with the other branches, and you need the feather in your cap. Maybe Ma knows that whatever information that’s been wiped from my memory is crucial to your operation here. Maybe I don’t even need to know the exact reason why you’re going to help me. But you are going to help me.”
Adelle sighs inwardly. As ludicrous as it seems to consider, Angela Petrelli might very well have decided that the best way of sending vital information was to encrypt it into her son’s brain. And as arelative benefit, Topher does enjoy a good challenge.
“Very well,” she concedes. “Let’s go see what Mr. Brink is up to today, shall we?”
*******
For once, Topher appears to be hard at work. He is bent over his desk, writing furiously with a pencil in one hand, thoughtfully chewing the thumbnail of his other hand. Hearing them approach, he calls out.
“Hey, what’s a six-letter word for ‘Aztec god of rain’?”
“Pencil, Mr. Brink? I’m disappointed. I thought you were the sort of person who completes the puzzle entirely in ink.”
“Jesus!” Topher jumps out of his chair. “You’re not Boyd!”
“Certainly not. Any particular reason you were expecting to see Mr. Langton?”
“No, no! Well,” Topher lowers his voice conspiratorially as he steps toward Adelle, “between you and me and…” he looks over her shoulder at Nathan “…him, Boyd really enjoys the Whack-a-Mole.” Topher jerks a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the game table. “A little too much, if you know what I mean.”
“If you’re not too busy --” Topher holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender at Adelle’s words “-- Mr. Petrelli requires a full work-up of his neural profile. Immediately.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Adelle turns to Nathan. “Be sure to tell him all your symptoms, so that he knows what he is looking for.”
“Um, excuse me,” Topher interrupts. “Symptoms?”
“Oh, did I not say?” Adelle asks casually. “Today, Mr. Brink, you will be attempting to restore lost memories. I have a meeting with Dr. Saunders in a few minutes, but I’ll be back to check on your progress shortly. Mr. Petrelli, I leave your care in the capable, if slightly grubby, hands of Mr. Brink.”
“Grubby, really?” Adelle hears Topher call out as she walks away. “The equipment I handle is extremely sensitive. A single speck of dust could compromise the whole system!”
*******
The meeting with Dr. Saunders runs longer than expected, and when she returns, Adelle finds Topher intently studying his latest scans. Nathan is seated in an office chair, uncomfortable and obviously forgotten, but he rises when he sees her approach.
“Can you retrieve the memories?” Adelle asks the back of Topher’s head.
“Short answer? No.”
Adelle hears the intake of air through Nathan’s teeth at Topher’s response. Then Topher spins around, grinning.
“I can’t retrieve them, because they weren’t gone in the first place!” Topher points at the screen, which displays a series of scans from Nathan’s brain. “These show normal activity for everything he remembers: what he had for breakfast yesterday, what he had for breakfast six months ago, the last time he celebrated his birthday, etcetera, etcetera. But this scan here? This one shows what his brain activity looks like when he’s trying to access one of those gaps in his memory.”
Adelle feels Nathan leaning in over her shoulder.
“See those swirly patterns? To put it crudely, your brain has created its own feedback loop.”
“Can you fix it?” Nathan impatiently demands.
“Well, all you really have to do is figure out what programming sequence is telling the neurons to fire that way, and then you just tell them not to.”
“How long will it take? I can come back next week.”
“Let’s see, I’d have to identify how your brain has been programmed, write out a shut-off code, calculate the algorithms necessary to transmit the new code into your brain, recalibrate the equipment to accommodate the new algorithms--”
“Topher.” Adelle puts a warning into the tone of her voice.
“Eh, twenty minutes, give or take,” Topher finally answers. “Fifteen if Ivy ever shows up with my juice box.”
“Do it.” Adelle crosses her arms, preparing to head back to her office. Nathan keeps pace with her.
“Seriously, just like that?” he asks. "You tell him to change his entire lab around, and he does it? We could really use someone like you in Washington.”
“I don’t believe I’m qualified for the job.”
“Not a U.S. citizen yet?”
“I was referring to my methodology, which most of your fellow congressmen would find unorthodox, I’m afraid.”
“That I can believe.”
*******
When Topher is ready to work on Nathan, he calls the line in her office.
“It is time,” Adelle tells Nathan. “Would you like me to accompany you?”
“No, I know the way,” he replies, but pauses at the door to her office.
“If you’re looking for reassurance, you won’t find any,” she says, without looking up. “You know what the risks are, and you’ve no idea what the rewards may be.”
“Yeah. No guts, no glory, right?”
She hears the door snick softly shut behind him.
*******
The phone rings, and she picks it up.
“He’s on his way up,” Topher says. “It worked.”
“Has he told you anything?”
“No. But you know what would be really, really awesome? If you found out what happened to his brain in the first place. ‘Cause from where I’m sitting, it looks like we’ve got a little competition.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Adelle hangs up, and Nathan walks into her office.
“Did you recover anything useful?” she enquires.
“Do you know of a man called Daniel Linderman?” he asks without preamble.
“In certain circles, I’ve heard rumors that he is connected with the Petrelli family.”
“It’s not a rumor,” Nathan says, ignoring her jab. “That much I always knew. What I didn’t know is that he is no more than a puppet. My dad is the one pulling the strings.”
“And your big case?”
“I was compiling evidence against Linderman, but I was stopped before I could dig too deep.”
“I see. It would appear that perhaps the Pinehearst Company is more competition than I thought.”
“That’s not all.” Nathan’s jaw clenches, as if he is forcing himself to speak. “The endgame of the Pinehearst Company is an army of genetically modified soldiers. From what I --” Nathan makes a twirling gesture around his temple “-- I think he’s getting close.”
Adelle feels her eyebrows raise. “That is useful information, indeed.”
“I hope it was worth it to you.” Nathan turns to leave.
“There is one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Mr. Brink is very curious if you know what caused the loss of those specific memories.”
Nathan laughs darkly. “Not a what, a who -- a friend of my father’s, but I can’t say anything more than that.”
“I understand. Good luck, Senator.”
He gives her a sharp look, then a curt nod. “Same to you.”
She watches the door swing shut behind him one final time.
The tea set still sits on the table, but the teapot and its contents have grown quite cold. It seems like such a waste.
Adelle molds her hands to the curves of the teapot, feels the cool ceramic leeching the heat from her body. She grasps the handle of the teapot, and as she refills her empty cup, steam rises from the spout.
-END-
Prompts:
-Locks and Keys
-Nathan/Adelle (gen or romantic)