My Sweet Cherry Pie
Title: My Sweet Cherry Pie
Characters: Adam Monroe, Mike Clems (Hartsdale guard, OMC), George Gerber (Hartsdale guard, OMC)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Word count: 900
Setting: Sometime before season 2. For the purposes of Confined RP, this is the night Sylar is brought in.
Summary: Two guards negotiate for Adam’s cooperation in simple blood drawing.
Adam was eating the last of his dinner when he heard the far door open and shut. Rapid, purposeful strides came down the hall - two men, wearing boots. He scooped up the last spoonful of what was supposedly cherry pie, swallowing it down. He might as well be done with his meal for whatever it is they were here for. Also, the dessert was nasty and not worth savoring.
Two guards looked in at him - Clems and Gerber, aka Mikey and Babyface. Not that the rough-looking, perpetually scruffy George Gerber looked anything like his moniker. It was the brand name association that did it, along with the incongruity. Clems opened the cell door. “Come on. You’re going upstairs.”
Adam was still sitting calmly at his table, but he went so far as to put down the plastic spoon that came with his meal. “What for?”
“I wasn’t told,” Clems said, shifting his weight and looking away nervously. “Come on.”
“You lie badly,” Adam observed. Gerber smiled slightly.
Clems looked at Babyface and scowled. Gerber ignored him and said to Adam, “They want your blood. It’s no big deal, but they got a call; it’s hot and on it’s way. They said to get you.”
Adam turned to face them but didn’t get up. “Oh. Well. You know, there’s a charge for these things.”
Clems grimaced. “I’m not here to negotiate, Monroe. I’m here to move your ass upstairs and into a chair.”
“Where I’ll be strapped down?” And after which be in no position to negotiate?
“Yes. Of course.” Clems snapped. “If that’s what normally happens.” He measured off the distance visually between the door and the captive. Adam could see the primitive part of his brain that judged things like ‘can I take this guy under these circumstances?’ calculating. Adam decided to alter the odds.
He stood in a slow, collected, challenging manner. “That is what normally happens. You know what else normally happens? I’m paid for my cooperation. Now you either promise me payment, or I promise you I won’t cooperate.” Neither of them had proper guns. They had those standard issue tasers that didn’t even inconvenience Adam. They made him a little twitchy - that was all. The guards were getting sloppy with him. He was certain he could take them, but getting out of the hall was a different matter.
“No, you’re gonna cooper-“ Clems started, fuming.
Gerber put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back a little. “What do you want?”
A dozen things popped into Adam’s mind, but he went with the thing he’d most recently wished for. “A real cherry pie. Not that imitation bollocks that came with the dinner.”
“You don’t need a fucking pie!” Clems burst out. “All they’re going to do is take your blood. That’s nothing to you!”
Adam’s brows shot up. “Nothing? Well, how about I pop you in the nose? That’s nothing to you, right? You’ll be just fine. I’ll even make sure I don’t break it. So, what do you say? I’ll change what I’m asking for. I get to hit you once in the nose, and you can take me upstairs so the nice scientists can take a little of my blood, hm?”
Clems and Gerber both froze, for different reasons. Gerber looked at Clems and asked reasonably, “You want to go for that?”
“I am not buying him a fucking cherry pie!”
Gerber nodded. “Then you’re going for that?”
“He doesn’t get to punch me, either. That’s bullshit.”
“Oh,” Adam drawled warningly, “if I don’t cooperate, I will punch you in many more places than just the nose, and with much less reservation.” It was no secret that Adam was a competent (or perhaps even excellent) fighter. It was half of why he got pulled to serve as honorary sparring dummy so often, after all (the other half was that he could heal from it).
“It’s just one punch,” Gerber said, still reasonably. It wasn’t his nose they were talking about, after all.
“Well, why don’t you buy him a pie, then?” Clems snapped at him.
“I’m sure they’ll reimburse you,” Adam pointed out.
Gerber thought on it. “I don’t know.” He scratched at his bristled chin. “Are you sure I can’t talk you into letting him punch you? That’s worth seeing. And then I don’t have to worry around with the receipt and stuff.”
Clems looked at the ceiling, then at his watch, growling. “Fine. Okay. I’ll buy you a fucking cherry pie.”
“No,” Adam said firmly.
“No? What?” Clems sputtered.
“I will not accept a pie from you,” Adam said clearly. You’ll poison it. Or foul it. “But I’ll accept one from him,” he said, pointed to Babyface.
Clems looked at his watch again. Too much time was passing. He’d been told to hurry. “Fine. George, buy him a pie.”
George Gerber was no dummy, and having as much fun at this as Adam. He immediately quipped, “You give me the money, and I’ll buy the pie. That way you can handle the paperwork.”
“Fucking Christ,” Clems muttered. “Whatever.” He looked to Adam. “Come. On.”
Deal struck, Adam bowed slightly to Gerber, and walked forward smoothly.