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| Scene Title | Monday, Monday |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Nicole's new partner unexpectedly beats her to work on Monday morning. |
| Date | February 17, 2020 |
Monday, Monday
4:00 am: Wake up.
So good to me
4:05 am: Shower
Monday mornin'
4:25 am: iron suit and tie
it was all I hoped it would be
4:44 am: make coffee and have breakfast
Oh Monday mornin
5:00 am: drive to work
Monday mornin' couldn't guarantee
6:42 am: arrive at work
That Monday evenin' you would still be here with me
“Good morning, Dirk.” Coming through the front doors, it feels like it could be any other day of the week. But it isn’t, it’s the start of a week. It’s a day that has a special, magical potential to make anything possible. Everyone is tired, they’re off their guard, and they’re willing to accept even the simplest of routines in order to make the transition from weekend to work-week any easier.
Monday, Monday
“Agent Sandoval, Happy Monday.” Nobody likes someone who comes into the office chipper. But he is chipper. There’s even a snap of his fingers and a point at Sylvester as he walks by, accompanied by a raise of his empty thermos and a flash of a smile.
Can't trust that day
“Good morning Gerken, is Epstein out again? Give her my regards.” He moves through the bullpen like a fox in the henhouse, even though he’s more a rooster than the man who’d come before. The break room is located just off the bullpen, and it’s here he’s able to fill his thermos with another cup of coffee and put that little extra kick in his step.
Monday, Monday
“Deputy Director, is that a new tie? I love it.” Voss is too busy on his phone to do anything other than obliquely wave a hand in the air before averting his eyes to the floor and continuing at a brisk pace down the hall.
Sometimes it just turns out that way
“Agent Carrington, are you off to Raytech today or is this an in-office day?” That one is sharp. Not deterred by early-morning work like most people are at this hour. She perks right up in her seat and offers a smile and a wave, but he’s past her desk faster than he needed to. Tomorrow he’ll adjust his pattern to avoid her until he’s settled in.
Oh Monday mornin' you gave me no warnin' of what was to be
“Cesar! We should grab lunch when you’re not busy, maybe go over our cases, yeah? We’ll talk later!” He takes a sip of his coffee, unwinding his scarf from his neck and greeting the routine like he had for the last thirty years of his life. This was no different than any other day, except there was never a day like today.
Oh Monday, Monday
Agent Bluthner is coming down the hall and he takes a sharp right into the bathroom, stopping by the sink and waiting with attention on the door. Footsteps approaching, footsteps moving past. He draws in a sharp breath, looking at his reflection in the mirror, followed by a sharp exhale of breath. Okay, two people to avoid for a little while.
How could you leave and not take me
“Liza! You’re looking bright and bushy-tailed this morning.” Except Agent Messer isn’t. She was asleep at her desk and bolts awake the second someone passes her desk and says her name. She looks over her shoulder, offering an awkward wave and the flash of a nervous smile. It's been a long couple of weeks.
Every other day
“Veronica Sawyer,” comes with too wide a smile and a shake of his head. “You’re a sight for sore eyes on a Monday. Good work with that trafficking case. I always knew you had it in you.” Maybe the eat shit it’s too early for this look was an indication he’d sold that a little too hard. But he was genuinely excited to see her here. He wasn’t aware she’d landed with SESA, and this might be the best surprise he’s had in a day full of surprises.
Every other day
“Ooh, lemon jelly.” Snagging a donut out of the box at Cooper’s desk, he tips his head in a thankful nod and continues on down the aisle, taking a bite out of the donut and then a sip of coffee. Some of this cheer and charm wasn’t entirely an affectation, being here around all of this actually felt right. Felt good.
Every other day of the week is fine, yeah
“Kathleen, say hello to Tamara for me. Or,” he cracks a smile and brandishes his half-finished donut. “I suppose she’d already know, wouldn’t she?” Kathleen looks up with one raised brow and a puzzled expression, setting her phone aside and threading a lock of hair behind one ear, followed by a look to another agent at a nearby desk with a what the fuck expression on her face.
But whenever Monday comes
“Ayers,” he says with a genuine smile and a shake of his head, “good morning, isn’t it?” There’s another face he was glad to see. Someone who deserved to be here. Hell, someone he thinks should be running the place. But that’s a conversation for another day.
But whenever Monday comes
“Director Choi, we should talk today.” He says passing her in the hall, but Choi is so distracted that all she offers is a nod and a distant look in her eyes, followed by pulling a phone out of her purse and hastily dialing a number.
You can find me cryin' all of the time
“Agent Mustang, four more wakeups till the weekend!” He says with a toothy smile, followed by a hand in the air for a high-five which Mustang absolutely does not return. But he laughs it off, finishes his donut, and makes his way to a partitioned office with the words SPECIAL INVESTIGATIONS stenciled on the door.
Monday, Monday
Through the door there’s a pair of desks, neither of which are occupied. The clock on the wall reads 6:57 am. Setting a briefcase down on the desk, he unwinds his scarf and throws it over a coat rack by the door, then sheds his winter jacket and hangs it atop it.
So good to me
Slowly, he approaches the desks and examines the personal effects on them. Both are slightly spartan, but one has a photograph of a young brunette woman holding an NYPD badge proudly in one hand. He moves to the opposite desk, pulls out the chair and sits down thoughtfully, sliding the keyboard tray for the desktop PC out from beneath the desk’s faux-wood surface.
Monday mornin'
Please Supply Login
It was all I hoped it would be
His brows rise, lips purse, and eyes angle to the phone on the corner of the desk. He pulls the receiver off the hook and pins it between shoulder and chin, looking at the handwritten directory on a post-it note stuck to the phone and dials one of the numbers. There’s several rings, followed by a virtual directors, and with the patience of a saint he navigates through the menu until he gets a lock he can pick. A person.
But Monday mornin'
“Hi it’s— yeah. Sorry, I locked myself out of my computer again. Can you reset my password?” There’s a Mondays, am I right? tone to everything he says. Slouching back into his desk chair he flashes a smile to no one, but it helps him keep the rhythm. “Yeah, you know how it is. One long weekend working overtime and suddenly my brain is just a big jumble of— exactly. Static!”
Monday mornin' couldn't guarantee
His smile grows wider. “Perfect, th— ” his eyes angle to the briefcase. “Actually, gosh, wouldn’t you know it?” He takes the briefcase and slides it under his desk. “I forgot my phone at home. Can you— perfect. Remotely unlock it, yeah, that sounds perfect.” The screen on his computer unlocks, revealing a desktop of icons and folders that is a completely disorganized mess. “You’re a doll Madeline. Thanks so much. I’ll owe you lunch!”
That Monday evenin' you would still be here with me
He hangs the phone up with a fading smile, immediately opening his email client. As the screen loads his attention turns to a silhouette moving on the other side of the frosted glass wall at the entrance to the office. They come and go, and attention returns to the computer screen reflected in his glasses.
Every other day
Numerous emails are unread, in fact nearly all of them are. One-by-one they’re filed for relevance, moved into newly created folders. Just as many are deleted.
Every other day
Email is closed and the file directory is opened, looking for shared servers. Multiple come up, and search queries are started with specific and relevant keywords:
Chen, Lanhua
His eyes scan the information, minimal as it is. An incident here in the Safe Zone, an attack on a Malagasy representative and the CEO of Celerity Industries in Yamagato Park.
Every other day of the week is fine, yeah
Celerity Industries
References to Detroit Michigan, Raytech, cybernetics research, and something called Kauper-Engel syndrome. That is all moved into its own tab.
But whenever Monday comes
Adam Monroe
A wealth of information, much of it is familiar and some of it isn’t. Mentions of the California Safe Zone and Praxis Heavy Industries are marked as unconfirmed. Those are added to a separate tab as well.
You can find me cryin' all of the time
Noah Bennett
Just as he clicks enter, the door clicks as well.
Monday, Monday
Noah Bennet looks up over his monitor to the door, shoulders square and jaw set.
Special Investigations Office
Fort Jay, Governor’s Island
NYC Safe Zone
February 17th
8:00 am
Right on time, as usual. Nicole Varlane strolls into the office with, of all things, a bottle of ginger ale in hand, rather than her customary coffee. She pauses just inside the doorway, a half-beat of hesitation before she’s sliding the door shut behind her with an easy smile for her partner. “You gotta be more careful,” she chides as she moves to her own desk to set down her shoulder bag and her soda. “People are going to think there’s something amiss about you.”
Yes, she heard about the ray of sunshine that preceded her into the office.
With a quiet sigh, Nicole lowers herself into her chair and opens the lower drawer of her desk so she can settle her purse inside, retrieving her phone from its depths before she slides the door shut again. There’s a quiet bang as it closes, causing her to wince as though the sound had been uncomfortable to her.
A bottle of pills is retrieved from the top drawer. “Since when do you like Mondays anyway? Since when do you like the office?” What part of the ruse is this, she wonders, in not those words. Two gelcaps are shaken out of the bottle and swallowed down with a gulp of ginger ale. The cap of the pop bottle is left to sit aside, which feels like a bold move, some small act of rebellion, to have an unguarded drink in the vicinity of electronics.
The top drawer is closed with more care than the one below it, avoiding any excess noise this time. “You on to something?”
Or on something?
In contrast to Noah’s being chipper, Nicole looks like she spent all weekend not sleeping. Not that that would be the most unusual thing for her, but her metaphorical battery usually retains more of a charge than this.
Worse, Noah shouldn’t even be here now. Not if the handoff went as Zachery had explained. Not if any of this went down even remotely as Zachery had explained. It brings everything she’d been told into question.
“Possibly,” Noah says as if none of that is on his mind, making a beckoning motion with one hand and then pointing at his screen. At the same time, Noah is taking a sip of his coffee. “This one, Lanhua Chen. Our internal database links her to a Francesca Lang, they appear to be twins. Lang was a ward of the state prior to the war, with almost no past records thanks to the war. Chen is a cipher, but Lang has an airtight alibi for times when Chen was active.”
Noah sets down his coffee thermos, then glances up to Nicole. “She hits a Malagasy ambassador last year, nearly kills the CEO of Clerity Industries, then the Military Police get a tip that the attacker is still in the Safe Zone. They corner her in a building and she manages to elude capture.” Noah looks back to the screen, tapping on Chen’s grainy photograph from a security camera. “I heard she was down in Providence. Caused a dust-up with the locals. They linked her to Monroe.”
Noah rests his elbows on the arms of his chair. “I think she’s his hands, doing what he can’t do without popping on a dozen radars. We find Chen, we find Monroe.”
Showing up in the office was at least something in the realm of possibility. They have appearances to keep up, after all. But nothing of what he’s saying is adding up to her expectation. That he isn’t debriefing her on how things shook out while she stands at his side…
“Huh,” is all Nicole has to offer to his supposition at first. Then, it seems as though a lightbulb goes off over her head. Her expression brightens, as does the light in her eyes. “I think I have an idea. Bear with me a second, I’m going to go off the beaten path.” Nicole rests one hand on Noah’s shoulder for support as she leans over to squint at the grainy photo. “We had this activity we did in science class, creating a chain. The experiment only succeeds if the chain remains intact.” The hand on his forearm is entirely unnecessary.
Except for the way every hair on his arms and the back of his neck suddenly stands up.
“Do you know what happens if I break the chain right now?” Her voice is whisper-quiet near his ear.
Noah cracks a smile, looking up and over to Nicole. “You have a lot of paperwork to file in an office surrounded by witnesses.” His tone is level, smooth, and crystal clear. He looks down to Nicole’s hand, then back up to her. “I’m fairly certain that would be an extremely hard question to answer, too.”
Noah reaches up and adjusts his horn-rimmed glasses. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I live for paperwork,” Nicole counters, gaze hard, but also holding faint amusement. This reminds her of the old days. The double-speak and the thin veneer of pleasantness over threats of grievous injury. She should be ashamed for that little thrill she feels, but that’s something she’ll unpack later. Maybe.
“I’ve already had one partner defect.” The smile is returned, the corners of her eyes crinkling faintly. “Contrary to popular belief, lightning really does strike twice.”
She would know.
The smile fades. “Who the fuck are you?”
Without missing a beat he responds, “Noah Bennet.” There’s a steeliness in his expression matched by crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes. He’s a little thinner than what Nicole saw of Noah last. Not quite as round in the jowls. “Who were you expecting, Nicole?”
“Bullshit.”
But even after the word leaves her lips, her expression clouds with something that denotes understanding and confusion in equal measures. For a moment, she’s content just to study him. The differences in his appearance versus the one she’d come to accept as “Noah Bennet.”
Finally, the faint tingle coursing through him abates and she straightens back up. Arms cross over her chest, then adjust to settle a little lower, closer to her midsection. It’s not quite a white flag, but it’s at least a temporary ceasefire.
“Why are you here?” Speaking of the paperwork she’s going to have to file…
“Well,” Noah notes, lifting up his arm she’d grasped and wringing his hand around it, “first of all I’d heard that I’d been out here, when I was living happily in obscurity out west. So I thought I’d come and see who went through all the trouble of clearing my good name for me, when I thought I was still a wanted criminal.”
Then, picking up his coffee and taking a sip, Noah motions to the monitor. “Also, to find her. Because she kidnapped my daughter and there isn’t enough threat of paperwork in the entire world to protect her from what I’ll do when I find her.” Noah sets his coffee down, looking Nicole up and down. “Do you even know who was sitting in this chair before I was?”
Nicole eases back, resting a hip against the desk, posture more casual than moments before. She doesn’t provide commentary on his situation - the part pertaining to the impostor, anyway - beyond the way her mouth tugs upward in a rueful smile. Whatever quip she’d been about to provide, however, dies in her mouth at the mention of his daughter’s kidnapping.
“Jesus, Noah,” Nicole breathes out. A fist clenches around her heart in her chest. It’s every parent’s worst nightmare, and she feels it keenly. There’s no amount of I’m sorry that even touches the tip of that iceberg, and so she doesn’t offer it. If he can’t tell her concern is genuine just to look at her, words aren’t going to bolster anything.
But he asked her a question, and she struggles with how to answer it. No, not with how she should answer it.
If.
“Yes.” Her brow furrows. Peter must have no idea about Claire, or she expects his focus and approach would have been different. Expects that he wouldn’t have been so soft in his approach with her. “I know who I’m working with.” Even if he isn’t here now. Fuck even knows if he’s where she thinks he is, or if his presence was discovered. If he’s even alive. But if anyone’s stubborn enough not to die, it’s Peter Petrelli.
“You were expecting them back,” Noah notes, looking to the door and then back to her, “which means I’m in precisely the right spot I want to be in, because I have questions for them too. Unrelated.” Noah finishes his coffee, then stands up from his desk and pushes his chair out with the back of his legs.
“It’s convenient that the case you two were assigned to — Monroe — tracks with what I need.” Noah admits with a frown. “But I need Chen, if I’m going to find Claire. Which means— ”
There’s a soft chime that comes from Noah’s computer.
“Well,” Noah says with a crooked smile, looking back to Nicole. “We have 5 minutes until our check in with Deputy-Director Voss.”
“Not necessarily,” Nicole dismisses with a shrug of her shoulders. In her experience, Peter’s a bit like a tomcat who comes and goes as he pleases. “But I’m sure you do.” She’d want to wring the neck of anyone who stepped into her shoes that way, personally. She expects Noah will be more level-headed than she would be in this hypothetical role reversal.
The chime has those blue eyes shifting toward the back of the monitor, as though it would tell her something. Even if he didn’t tell her what that meant, she would know. Schedules and agendas have always been her forte, after all. “It’s usually my check-in,” Nicole offers with a cant of her head, like she’s giving him an out.
“We’ll get her back, Noah. Whatever it takes.” Whether or not he’d pledge the same commitment to her if it was Pippa who’d been taken doesn’t matter. Do unto others doesn’t mean only if they’d return the favor.
Nicole straightens her posture, pushing off the desk and following the momentum back to her own. She checks her e-mail. Checks her phone. What he’d been hoping to find still hasn’t come, if the frown on her face is anything to go by. “Just tell me what you need,” she adds belatedly, a hint absently.
“Right now?” Noah picks up his empty thermos. “I’m going to go get a coffee, and then we’re going to go to that meeting.”
We.
“I work here, after all.”
“Christ,” Nicole mutters, swiping the cap of her soda off the desk so she can set it on its plastic threads and spin it back into place. “Alright, then.”
The way she closes her eyes heavily suggests a sort of God, grant me strength inner monologue.
“Then I’m going to get a fuckin’ donut. Let’s go conquer Monday.”