One Of Us, Two Of Them


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Scene Title One Of Us, Two Of Them
Synopsis Agent Petrelli finally meets up with the two Company agents he will be working with.
Date November 4, 2008

Primatech Research: Level-1, Agent Petrelli's Office

The idea of waiting for something is anathema to a man who can bend time and space. Unable to force time forward, and fearful of the consequences should he ever be able to do so, one such man sits idly in his small office, seated on a small black sofa with his back to the window that looks out to the hall. Agent Petrelli isn't a poster-boy of patience, as his track-record with the Company clearly shows, and when Sabra Dalton informed him that he would be meeting two agents that he'd be working closely with, he assumed that meant now.

Now, as it seems, is two days later. While he hasn't idled all of his time away, Peter has admittedly felt like all he's been doing is sitting on his hands. However, that isn't quite the literal case. His hands are active, two fingers moving towards and away from each other creating an arc of electricity between them, testing the limits of the arc's length before it breaks away from his fingertip.

It's small exercises like this that have helped him bide the time, gaining familiarity with new powers that he has come into access of. There's snapping bolts of electricity are clearly seen in the bloe glow they cast out into the hall through the window behind him, and at 7:37 in the morning, this is what occupies the mind of Agent Petrelli as he waits to finally mean his new partners.

They're late. But they're arriving. The sounds of voices, one male and one female, echo down the hallway, along with muffled sounds of foot steps. "…don't have a right to complain, it's not like it's tied around your neck, you know," is what the male is saying, accent straight from Brooklyn, it seems.

"Yeah but we're ones that have to look at it, Grant," comes the female voice, maybe an English accent, but vaguely Australian as well. And that seems to be the end of the conversation as the door is opened, a woman walking in first - a tall woman, almost 6', with ginger-blonde hair pulled back into a severe pony-tail, dressed in a form fitting tailored feminine suit.

Behind her, a couple of inches shorter, a man follows, carrying a few manila folders under his arm and dressed in a light coloured suit, with an apricot tie to accent it. Blonde hair, blue eyes as well, these too look positively Aryan in combination.

The woman is the one who takes the lead, blue eyes glancing briefly down towards Peter's hands as she sticks out her own for him to take. "Agent Petrelli? I'm Agent Lee."

The crackling snap between his fingers breaks away, and Peter gives a somewhat sheepish look, having been lost in the monotony of the act when the door opened. He cracks a hesitant smile, looking at the two before very carefully examining th ehand offered to him. He smiles, amiably, and stands up as he takes the hand, doing his best not to think about the monotony of high voltages of electricity when he does. "I've been looking forward to meeting you. And please, call me Peter." His eyes flit over to the somewhat shorter man, and once he gently releases Agent Lee's hand, it's offered to the other as well.

"Sabra didn't tell me much about you two, so you'll have to excuse my ignorance ons ome things." Or a lot of things, depending on how much Sabra has told them. "How much have you two been told about my ability?" Peter's dark eyes shift uncertainly between agent Grant and Agent Lee, a faint smile crooking up on his lips.

If Agent Lee is also thinking about how very electrocuted she could be with a simple handshake, it doesn't so, executed the handshake in turn in a professional and brisk way, grip rather strong. "Call me Gracie," she says in return, and steps aside, tossing a look back at her partner.

This man looks a little older than them both, a little ordinary too, and he gives a pointed look to Peter's hand before reaching out with his own in a more hesitant clasp. There are leather patches on the elbows of his jacket. He looks more like a teacher than a Company agent, whereas Gracie fits the bill a little better. "Grant," he introduces himself, simply. "And we got told you were the shamwow of Evolved types, if that's what you're asking. You know, soak it all up."

Peter nods with a bit of a sheepish smile, reaching up after the handshake to scratch at the back of his neck. "Yeah it… can be a bit of a burden at times. Which is why I wanted to ask — Which one of you is the Evolved of the pair?" His eyes flit back and forth between the two, then settle on Grant, head tilting to the side slightly, as if he's made his unspoken decision. "I sometimes unintentionally manifest powers I'm not aware of, usually when under duress, so if it's something I should be worried about, it might be best to disclose up front." There's a bit of a nervous smile, "Normally I review personnel files before I meet people, so I don't have to ask questions like this, but — It slipped my mind." There's a bit of a grimace there, still sheepishly at the back of his neck before finally letting his hands down, tucking them into his pockets.

The two partners share a glance, and Grant raises his hand, giving Peter a slight smile. "That would be me," he says. "And it's not something that just happens. Heck, I— "

"Let's just do a visual demonstration," Gracie suggests, marked impatience in her voice, and she picks up a piece of paper from Peter's desk. She holds it up, casual as you please, and looks at Grant with expectation, then towards Peter, perhaps for his consent. "Might just make everything a little easier, yes? Then we can get down to business."

There's a smirk on Peter's face at the way Agent Lee handles herself, "Sounds like a perfect idea." He motions to the paper flippantly, a document with Sabra's signature at the bottom and seven paragraphs of entirely too detailed text, "Just I memo I didn't know I had until it was too late and unnecessary." His eyes divert to the couch for a moment, then back to the pair. There's a bit of pleasure in his expression at the correct estimate of who was powered, "On your time, Grant." Peter folds his arms, shifting his weight to one foot more than the other as he eyes the piece of paper expectantly.

Grant's smile flickers for a moment, looking across at Gracie. "If you could just hold it… kind of away from…" But the flat look he's given by his partner tells him to hurry it up already, so he shrugs a little. Rather neatly, he makes a gesture with his hand, sort of a wrist flick, fingers pointed. Very neatly, the paper suddenly is in two pieces, a diagonal slice running through it, as fine as a scissor cut, and the bottom half falls to the ground. Gracie flicks the remaining piece she holds into the air, and with his other hand, Grant repeats the gesture, another slice, and both pieces continue on their way to falling. He straightens his apricot tie, tosses a glance in Peter's direction. "Be careful with it. Precision's gotta be practiced, it doesn't come with the package."

Mouth agape somewhat, Peter tilts his head to the side, "That's a lot like — " He winces slightly, looking down at his hand, rubbing two fingers together, then shifts his eyes up to Grant curiously. "Sylar has something very similar. I think it's from his telekinesis, but it's not as fast, not at all." Eyes flit back over to Gracie, a smile on his face. "Well, with that out of the way, hopefully I won't be unexpectedly slashing everyone's clothing off in a crisis situation." His smile turns a bit wry, and his hands are tucked back into his pockets, then very carefully removed. Best not to have them anywhere down there, not without practicing that power some.

"So, is there anything the two of you want to know?" Peter circles around the small table by the sofa, moving over to his esk, "About myself, or the Rage-Dementia cases?" He refuses to use the nickname Woods had attributed to them, even if half of the Company is saying it now. "I want to make sure we all go into this knowing the same things."

Being compared to Sylar makes a look of distaste flit across Grant's otherwise gentle features, and he says nothing, just hangs back now that his little show and tell is done. "I'm a one trick pony," he tells Peter, with a shrug. "Limited to cutting things up. The depths of the cuts are controllable, to a degree, but don't expect to be able to lop off people's heads or whatever."

Gracie is quiet while Grant talks, he knows more about this than she, and moves to sit down, legs crossing. When he's done, she nods to Peter. "Any information you have about the dementia cases would be great. We're going out to the Bronx once we're done here to investigate an incident that occurred last night, and see if there's anything to do with it. A homeless man was found dead in a building wreckage, but as far as we know, he hasn't— "

She pauses, trying to choose the right word, and Grant pipes up with, "Dissolved?"

"Exactly. But we've apprehended the body so maybe it's a matter of waiting to find out." She nods again to the 'shamwow'. "Anything you can tell us about your runs in that weren't in your reports, agent?"

Peter moves over to sit on his desk rather casually, hands folding in his lap as he leaps forward, listening to the two. "I've seen three of these cases pop up personally, that first time down near Greenwich Village, then outside of the Orchid Lounge, and lastly here in the Bronx." Peter's lips press together, "Every time it's the same, someone unexpected just… snaps." His eyes narrow, staring at some distant point between himself and the tiled floor.

"I think we'd still be assuming it was isolated acts of violence if I hadn't tried to read the thoughts of one of the men in the first encounter. I — it was horrifying." A shiver runs through Peter as he recalls that memory, perfectly, much to his own distaste. "they're completely out of control, even telepathic suggestions don't have any effect. I've seen them dissolve if they die before it reaches whatever critical-mass causes them to break apart, and I've seen them dissolve while in medical containment down on Level-5…"

One hand comes, forefingers and thumb pinching the bridge of Peter's nose as his head angles to one side. When the hand lowers, he's looking askance at Agent Lee. "I can't really say, officially, what I think it is. Doctor Knutson's results are being kept in confidence until she recieves corroberating reports from Doctor Suresh's lab in India." A sigh escapes Peter for a moment, "Off the record, I've got a bad feeling about it. It doesn't seem like a viral contagion, otherwise it would be spreading faster. To me, it's like the people are being picked. Why I have no idea… but my gut is telling me this is the result of someone's power, not a disease or a virus."

Gracie gives the Petrelli a slight smile. "We'll let the scientists do the thinking for us, agent," she says, accented voice light - apparently undisturbed by Peter's description. "Agent Fitzpatrick and I are strictly field operatives. All we ask of you is to stick by us, follow orders and keep an eye out. On occasion, I like my coffee with two shots and no sugar, and Grant here's a latte kind of bloke, so when you're not saving our necks while we watch your back, you can always be a dear and do the coffee errand."

Grant gives Peter a sympathetic smile that communicates that yes, she is always like this.

There's a bit of a crooked smile, and Peter raises both of his brows, "Coffee?" He asks with a rhetorical tone, head tilting to one side. Then, his brow very subtly furrows together, and there is an abrupt and instant shift in the way he's sitting on his desk, to accomodate a cardboard cup holder now laying in his lap. It isn't often Peter plays with his powers, but at this moment he feels it's appropriate to show them what tasks should be asked, and what tasks shouldn't.

There, in the cardboard holder, are two paper cups. He leisurely slides off the desk, walking forward to pull the cups free of the tray, setting one down on the table near Grant, and the other one in front of Gracie. "Tall cappuchino latte with extra cream." He cracks a smile, eyes diverting over to Gracie, "Medium hazelnut-mocha." He throws the cardboard tray to one side, striking the wall before falling into the waste basket below. "Now that we've gotten that out of the way…"

That does gain a reaction from the two agents - who have at course seen it all, but that was still a surprise. Grant grins a littler brighter, clearly amused, while Gracie pauses, then reaches out a hand to pick up the coffee for herself. Her hands curl around the paper cup, red nails bright against the duller shades. "It's a little cold," she reports, but gives Peter a flicker of a smile. "Nice trick. And point taken. But I want to know that you won't act like a maverick when I need you to listen and follow our lead. You have a bit of a reputation, you know."

Peter grimaces at bit at Agent Lee's assessment, nodding slowly, "Yeah, that…" He clears his throat, hands folding behind his back, "I'm going to work on that." He has to, otherwise there'll be worse things to fear than Sabra's chiding finger-wagging. "I'm new to all of this, I've never, you know, worked with any kind of structure in this way before." His shoulders rise briefly, then fall in a helpless gesture. "I'll do whatever it is I can to help out — whatever the both of you think will help out." Peter corrects himself just in time, a faint smile replacing his previous grin. "Have either of you had any exposure to the dementia cases, directly?"

"No," Grant answers, now stepping forward to pick up the coffee Peter had gotten for him, peeling back the plastic top to peer inside. "We're trying to investigate the source. All of these people must have something in common apart from being apparently homeless and crazed, right?" He sips his coffee.

Gracie nods a little. "We've been looking into homeless shelters to see if there's a common thread, but that's hard to do when we don't have any names or faces to ask about."

"We managed to get the one who attacked the pawn shop a couple of days ago," Peter looks back to his desk, walking back over to pick up a slip of paper from atop it, then returns to lay it down on the coffee table, "Ryan A. Espenosa." His head tilts to the side, looking at the paperwork. "I'm not sure if he had identification on him, it was in the initial report that I was sent from the cleaning crew and Knutson's assessment of the body." His hands fold behind his back again, staring intently down at the paperwork. "I haven't made an attempt to track down any information based on his name, I figure we could work together on that. If you believe it, I'm not that great with computers." He cracks a smile, awkwardly.

Grant is the one who picks up the paper, looking it over with some interest. "Well I know Google," he says, folding up the paper and slipping it into his pocket. "No doubt the information's been processed by now, and if there were any leads, we'd've gotten the memo, but I'll look into it."

Gracie offers Peter a thin smile, and nods once. "I'm all for teamwork," she says, with a slight, shrugging gesture. "You have experience with the issue and a whole bag of tricks. Help us find what's going on here, be a good rookie, and we'll all get along fine." Now, she stands, and extends a hand to Peter - an agreement. "Then when we're done, hopefully I can slap down a glowing report and recommendatopm on Sabra Dalton's desk and help nudge along her faith in you, how's that sound?"

Peter nods quietly to Grant's assessment, but when Agent Lee speaks, he watches her with a moment of scrutiny, then steps forward to take her hand. "When we're done, hopefully we've saved people's lives and stopped this." He gives a firm squeeze, then a shake of the hand, smiling crookedly. "The recommendation will be a nice after-thought." As he lets go, Peter looks back and forth between the two agents, "I guess I'll see the two of you in a few hours then, and we'll get started on this."

There's a smile there, and he nods his head slowly, "We can take my car." He notes, with a subtle enough teasing that they may not quite be aware of what they'd be getting into.

They'll figure it out soon enough.

November 4th: Exercises in Apolitical Prejudice
Previously in this storyline…
Hey There, You

Next in this storyline…

November 4th: It's Still Ivy League
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