The Best Suggestion

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Scene Title	The Best Suggestion
Synopsis	Bryan and Sabra, inevitably, discuss the Elle situation.
Date	October 14, 2008

Primatech Research — Sabra's Office

Late morning, a bit before the usual lunch hour, and it's already been a long day for the interim Director. A long two days, since she arrived in New York, taking in all the minutiae she could only absorb in person. Sabra now sits behind the desk in her office — a space that still shows vestiges of the person it used to belong to, but is well on the way to being stamped by Sabra's personality. The desk, though large, is a warm golden brown in hue; a multicolored rug has been laid out on the floor; and while the windows have white curtains, they've been pulled back to allow the sunlight in. The room itself has a rather warm and cheery atmosphere — despite the tidy stacks of papers and files already littering the desk, and the soft mechanical sounds from Sabra's fingers clicking the keys on her keyboard.

It is a summons that brings Bryan into the director's office this morning, but it isn't as though his daily work — checking the personals columns for signs of Sylar attempting contact — can't be finished within the first hour or so in the morning. He is dressed as per his usual standard in a turtleneck, trousers, and sport coat. Upon entering the office, Bryan clasps his hands behind his back. "You wanted to see me, Miz Dalton?" he asks, but when he uses her formal name, there is a twinge of humor in his voice.

For her part, Sabra wears a charcoal suit and sea-blue blouse today. She leans back in her chair as Bryan enters the room, rubbing briefly at her eyes. "This machine's going to make me go blind yet," the old woman remarks wryly. For once, she doesn't chide the use of her formal name — it's a more or less formal setting, here. But she does give Bryan a sidelong look — I heard that tone of voice, young man — and wave him towards the two chairs in front of the desk. "Please, sit; sit. Don't make an old lady crane her neck." It's said tongue-in-cheek, and with a broad smile, but that doesn't make it less true. Ashton appears from the office's side door, tea service in hand. "Would you like some tea?" Sabra continues.

"That would be lovely, thank you," Bryan says even as he steps closer and takes a seat. "I'm sure we have someone available to take dictation," he offers, but he is also sure that whatever Sabra is working on is intended for very few eyes to gaze upon. "Regardless, how are you?"

Silent as ever, Ashton pours tea for both, offering Bryan his choice of cream and/or sugar. "I'm much too old to have to move again," Sabra remarks, smiling up at her assistant. "Thank you, Ash. Even if it is wonderful to see so many familiar faces again," the elderly lady continues as she turns back to her guest. "I had forgotten how long it's been." Tea served to both, Ashton sets the service on a side table, and takes a seat of his own at an angle to both, where he can more easily take notes if needed. "What about yourself? Has Bob been keeping you busy?"

Opting for black tea, Bryan takes his customary handkerchief from his coat as Ashton bustles about with the teapot and cups. "In a way," he says with a shrug before he takes a sip, wiping the cup when it comes away from his lips. "I suppose you're away Elle Bishop is gone, and that I was given charge of her retrieval. Such is…not going as planned. I'm afraid that more direct measures may be necessary."

Sabra's expression becomes a bit shadowed as the subject of Elle comes up, and she sips at her cup of tea. "Yes, I was informed of that much." The cup is set on its saucer, and the old woman looks inquiringly across the table. "What 'direct measures' would you recommend?" she asks, folding her hands on the desktop.

"I would recommend using the isotope system to locate them, and perhaps even map out a probable path, given the Sanders woman's information concerning their movement." Bryan lets his teacup rest in his lap, loosely held by his fingers as he speaks gravely. "I would them recommend some measure of luring Huruma away from wherever they are hiding out in order to incapacitate her and ensure Elle's safety before a team enters to retrieve her. I am less concerned with detaining Monroe and his accomplice, at this point. That can be better done with Elle's assistance."

Sabra nods slowly, sitting back in her chair as she considers Bryan's reply. "That… is without a doubt the best suggestion I've heard yet," she points out, expression suggesting that some of the others were… not good. "I haven't spoken with Ms. Sanders yet, but I look forward to it. How would you suggest drawing Huruma out?"

"How does anyone trap a wild animal, Sabra?" Bryan asks with a slowly growing grin. "We use bait."

One brow arches in an elegant, dignified expression. "Humor the slow, elderly woman," Sabra replies, her own expression an amiable, if smaller, grin. So she isn't really slow — but humor her. "Are you planning to be the bait, or were you banking on volunteering someone else?"

"Sabra," Bryan says, his smile reaching the point where his fangs are visible. "If /I/ were the bait, either Huruma would die, or I would. Part of me is inclined to think this Company would like neither to happen."

Of all things, the little old lady claps her hands once as Bryan addresses her by first name, apparently not in the least perturbed by the glimpse of fangs. She practically beams at the agent, but doesn't get sidetracked. "I think you'd be right," Sabra agrees. "But it's a point to consider." She nods to Bryan. "Perhaps you and Ms. Sanders could work out some of the details; I'm certain your minds are keener than mine. When you have that, I will see what old strings I have left with the technicians." Both brows lift slightly, and the elderly woman smiles pleasantly at the young man across from her. "Does that sound fair?"

"Provided Sanders is in top condition, I have no problem working alongside her in order to make sure Elle is returned to us safely." Bryan nods in punctuation. "I trust your judgment, Sabra, as I always have. You'll let me know when things start coming together on your end, yes?"

"All I'm asking is the planning, right now," she points out with a gentle smile. Sabra takes another drink of her tea, and nods to Bryan. "Of course. If nothing else, these old fingers can write memos in my sleep," she quips, setting the cup back down and wiggling the digits in question. "Even on a computer." That last bearing more resemblance to a grumble than not, albeit not a serious one.

"If worse comes to worst, we can find you someone, dear lady." Bryan stands then, replacing his barely drunk tea on the tray before he nods his head in respect. "I won't keep you any longer."

"Nonsense," Sabra promptly replies. "You drop by any time, you hear? I promise — cross my heart — not to draft you as my typist." She smiles warmly at the agent, then nods once, releasing him to go about his own business. For her part, Sabra picks her cup of tea back up rather than returning immediately to the computer.