Countdown, by amazingly_me
Title: Countdown
Rating: PG? Slight language, mention of violence (completely non-graphic).
Spoilers/Warnings: Slight language, completely non-graphic mention of violence. ;] Spoilers through Powerless (that was this season's finale, right?) plus speculation for the third season. But it's pure guesswork, so.
Challenge: Save The Heroes
Summary: Conversing with Bob was a kind of art -- if you didn't sound casually interested, he'd accuse you of being emotionally involved. There is a moment in which they look at each other, and then Bob shakes his head. Bennett readjusts to life with the Company.
Notes: I didn't see that the amnesty challenge had been closed, so I brushed the dust off of this and finished it. :]
I don't remember who first advanced a couple of the theories I threw in here, just that I've seen them around, and I like them a lot. Oh fannish geniuses of the internets, you never cease to amaze. ;]
five hours
"Hm," Bob says, in a careful monotone, "yes. That's fascinating. Thank you very much."
He hangs up the phone.
"What is it?" Bennett asks. He doesn't usually have this much trouble keeping his voice level.
"You're going to kill Nathan Petrelli," Bob says, and keeps walking.
four hours, twenty minutes
They're in a "secure company facility," before Bob will say anything else. It turns out "secure facility," still means the basement of a paper company, though this one is in Sacramento. The more things change, Bennett thinks, and well, you know the rest.
"Why would I kill Nathan Petrelli?" Bennett asks, trying to sound nonchalant. Conversing with Bob was a kind of art -- if you didn't sound casually interested, he'd accuse you of being emotionally involved.
"Because I'm telling you to," the other man replies, "and as I understand it, forty minutes ago you agreed to do exactly what I tell you to. Permanently."
There is a moment in which they look at each other, and then Bob shakes his head.
"We just can't trust you anymore Noah. It's to bad."
He sounds genuinely disappointed.
four hours
"It's nice to see you again Mr. Bennett," someone says at the door to the dressing room. Bennett nods and smiles. He doesn't remember who that guy is -- he sure as hell doesn't think it's nice to see him again.
"Hello Mr. Bennett." A voice says in a calm British accent. It's a woman's voice, and she's standing in front of the closet, holding up two suits. "Hello, Bob. Which do you think makes him look more like a reporter?"
"Just make sure a sweatshirt will fit in a pocket somewhere," Bob says, and leaves, making polite excuses about "business."
"Still treats me like a rookie," the woman grumbles.
"Mmm," Bennett says, slipping into one of the myriad changing rooms. "Well. I'm sure if you keep up the good work things will change."
He can't bring himself to be surprised by the British accent, the hint of frustration. But really, how much more guilt do they think they can force down his throat, anyway? Still she's playing it perfectly, and very subtly -- he wonders if she actually knew Claude or if it's all from instructions.
three hours, twenty-seven minutes
They put him on a private plane to Odessa.. He knows the reasons they will give, could list them along with that lilting British voice (it'll be faster; sleeping on the plane will rumple the suit, make it look more authentic; the less witnesses the better, really), and those are all real reasons he had no doubt. He could name one more though, that he swallows as he settles into his seat -- more silence, more time to think about his family. About his duty to them, about the lives he's responsible for.
He knows how all this works. Surprisingly well, because isn't he supposed to have quit?
forty-five minutes
Everything is arranged. His name is Tom Littleton. He works for a paper in Sacramento, and he flew in for the press conference. He's staying at the local Motel 6.
The sights are all chokingly familiar -- a dusty main street, the front of the high school now devoid of the Homecoming banner. He suppresses the impulse to tell the cab driver to turn left before it even emerges. He isn't here to sightsee, and he isn't here to reminisce. He's here to do a job. And anyway, there's nothing left there but a pile of radioactive ash.
thirty-two minutes
He sits on the edge of the motel bed, loading his gun. Five minutes later he double-checks to make sure he's done it right. Another ten minutes has him checking again.
Not too long now anyway, he thinks dryly. If he was trying to comfort himself, it didn't work. That's all right though, because he's pretty sure comfort wasn't what he was aiming for.
five minutes
He's checked the damn gun five times now. He knows he shouldn't even have it out, not here. Not just outside the Odessa Police Station (the waves of memory are ripples really; soon he'll be able to force them away entirely).
time's up
He shoots Nathan Petrelli. Twice.
Rating: PG? Slight language, mention of violence (completely non-graphic).
Spoilers/Warnings: Slight language, completely non-graphic mention of violence. ;] Spoilers through Powerless (that was this season's finale, right?) plus speculation for the third season. But it's pure guesswork, so.
Challenge: Save The Heroes
Summary: Conversing with Bob was a kind of art -- if you didn't sound casually interested, he'd accuse you of being emotionally involved. There is a moment in which they look at each other, and then Bob shakes his head. Bennett readjusts to life with the Company.
Notes: I didn't see that the amnesty challenge had been closed, so I brushed the dust off of this and finished it. :]
I don't remember who first advanced a couple of the theories I threw in here, just that I've seen them around, and I like them a lot. Oh fannish geniuses of the internets, you never cease to amaze. ;]
five hours
"Hm," Bob says, in a careful monotone, "yes. That's fascinating. Thank you very much."
He hangs up the phone.
"What is it?" Bennett asks. He doesn't usually have this much trouble keeping his voice level.
"You're going to kill Nathan Petrelli," Bob says, and keeps walking.
four hours, twenty minutes
They're in a "secure company facility," before Bob will say anything else. It turns out "secure facility," still means the basement of a paper company, though this one is in Sacramento. The more things change, Bennett thinks, and well, you know the rest.
"Why would I kill Nathan Petrelli?" Bennett asks, trying to sound nonchalant. Conversing with Bob was a kind of art -- if you didn't sound casually interested, he'd accuse you of being emotionally involved.
"Because I'm telling you to," the other man replies, "and as I understand it, forty minutes ago you agreed to do exactly what I tell you to. Permanently."
There is a moment in which they look at each other, and then Bob shakes his head.
"We just can't trust you anymore Noah. It's to bad."
He sounds genuinely disappointed.
four hours
"It's nice to see you again Mr. Bennett," someone says at the door to the dressing room. Bennett nods and smiles. He doesn't remember who that guy is -- he sure as hell doesn't think it's nice to see him again.
"Hello Mr. Bennett." A voice says in a calm British accent. It's a woman's voice, and she's standing in front of the closet, holding up two suits. "Hello, Bob. Which do you think makes him look more like a reporter?"
"Just make sure a sweatshirt will fit in a pocket somewhere," Bob says, and leaves, making polite excuses about "business."
"Still treats me like a rookie," the woman grumbles.
"Mmm," Bennett says, slipping into one of the myriad changing rooms. "Well. I'm sure if you keep up the good work things will change."
He can't bring himself to be surprised by the British accent, the hint of frustration. But really, how much more guilt do they think they can force down his throat, anyway? Still she's playing it perfectly, and very subtly -- he wonders if she actually knew Claude or if it's all from instructions.
three hours, twenty-seven minutes
They put him on a private plane to Odessa.. He knows the reasons they will give, could list them along with that lilting British voice (it'll be faster; sleeping on the plane will rumple the suit, make it look more authentic; the less witnesses the better, really), and those are all real reasons he had no doubt. He could name one more though, that he swallows as he settles into his seat -- more silence, more time to think about his family. About his duty to them, about the lives he's responsible for.
He knows how all this works. Surprisingly well, because isn't he supposed to have quit?
forty-five minutes
Everything is arranged. His name is Tom Littleton. He works for a paper in Sacramento, and he flew in for the press conference. He's staying at the local Motel 6.
The sights are all chokingly familiar -- a dusty main street, the front of the high school now devoid of the Homecoming banner. He suppresses the impulse to tell the cab driver to turn left before it even emerges. He isn't here to sightsee, and he isn't here to reminisce. He's here to do a job. And anyway, there's nothing left there but a pile of radioactive ash.
thirty-two minutes
He sits on the edge of the motel bed, loading his gun. Five minutes later he double-checks to make sure he's done it right. Another ten minutes has him checking again.
Not too long now anyway, he thinks dryly. If he was trying to comfort himself, it didn't work. That's all right though, because he's pretty sure comfort wasn't what he was aiming for.
five minutes
He's checked the damn gun five times now. He knows he shouldn't even have it out, not here. Not just outside the Odessa Police Station (the waves of memory are ripples really; soon he'll be able to force them away entirely).
time's up
He shoots Nathan Petrelli. Twice.