Participants:
Scene Title | The Hammer |
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Synopsis | Teo asks Felix to call off the assassin he put on Sylar's faded trail. Between shifting coils of rhetoric, the answer is a resounding No. |
Date | February 19, 2009 |
Central Park has been, and remains, a key attraction in New York City, both for tourists and local residents. Though slightly smaller, approximately 100 acres at its southern end scarred by and still recovering from the explosion, the vast northern regions of the park remain intact.
An array of paths and tracks wind their way through stands of trees and swathes of grass, frequented by joggers, bikers, dog-walkers, and horsemen alike. Flowerbeds, tended gardens, and sheltered conservatories provide a wide array of colorful plants; the sheer size of the park, along with a designated wildlife sanctuary add a wide variety of fauna to the park's visitor list. Several ponds and lakes, as well as the massive Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir, break up the expanses of green and growing things. There are roads, for those who prefer to drive through; numerous playgrounds for children dot the landscape.
Many are the people who come to the Park - painters, birdwatchers, musicians, and rock climbers. Others come for the shows; the New York Shakespeare Festival at the Delacorte Theater, the annual outdoor concert of the New York Philharmonic on the Great Lawn, the summer performances of the Metropolitan Opera, and many other smaller performing groups besides. They come to ice-skate on the rink, to ride on the Central Park Carousel, to view the many, many statues scattered about the park.
Some of the southern end of the park remains buried beneath rubble. Some of it still looks worn and torn, struggling to come back from the edge of destruction despite everything the crews of landscapers can do. The Wollman Rink has not been rebuilt; the Central Park Wildlife Center remains very much a work in progress, but is not wholly a loss. Someday, this portion of Central Park just might be restored fully to its prior state.
It's by that same statue - in an overgrown field that was once a lush lawn, by the figure of the Polish king, still raising his swords defiantly to the sky. Fel is in long overcoat, head bowed against the late winter chill. This was a good choice. Private enough there should be no observation, public enough they won't be tempted to further foolish indiscretions. Fel's smoking - the scent carries on the wind, oddly sweet.
Eventually, Teo is probably going to realize that his most recent choice of indiscretions aren't empirically speaking all that much wiser. It's okay. The early evening is already deep and the park is indeed that perfect midpoint between public and private. He comes loping out from between standing trees, his gait familiar as his figure, all shoulders and swinging boots, hooligan braggadocio that he didn't manage to grow out of in the eight years that he tried. He salutes Polish king and Felix with equal elegance, a hand flat to his brow, even as he draws in range to try and borrow the burning clove stick between a forefinger and thumb.
Felix yields it with neither argument nor demurral. There's no apparent fondness in his face - that particular affair du coeur is now seemingly stashed away in the dry lumber-room of Fel's memory. "You wanted to talk," he says, patiently, eyeing Teo from under heavy lids, as he props himself against the smooth basalt of the plinth.
Teo is easily prone to more tells, which means he either felt only a very, very little that time, ever, or that he's watching himself now. His face is pleasantly blank, give or take a ghost of a grimace for the cold. He expels smoke once, twice, hands the slender cylinder back to the older man, his long fingers leaving just enough margin of distance for Felix to grasp it without unnecessary contact. Dry lumber is flammable. Italians, also. "Been talking to your godfather," he says. "He and I both think you're wasting him on Gabriel Gray and we'd appreciate it if you asked him to stop."
Felix purses his lips at that. "Oh?" he says, tone inviting further explanation, as he waves off the cigarette, reaching into his pocket for that battered pewter case. He's got plenty.
"Si." Teo accepts the cigarette, flipping its diminutive dimensions over one finger, righting it out in the pinch of his thumb. "If you're going to be directing vigilante justice, I figure you might want to do better than setting him on the ghost of a guy who ended up turning against Kazimir Volken last we heard of him. Even if he was an asshole of vast geographical proportions before that. You could set him on the Triads? PD's having enough trouble, isn't it? Or something involves less bloodshed, if you feel like it. He has money and familiarity with maritime operations. I hear the electricity generator businesses could use a shot in the arm, I don't know."
"They aren't my assigned target. Gray, if he lives, is a Most Wanted. An all devouring threat. Mundane stuff the Bureau and the NYPD can deal with," Fel says,tone a little dismissive. And then he pushes himself off, away from that too-chilly stone, to range a step or two closer to Teo. "Why do you care?" he asks, with unwonted bluntness.
A boot scuffs concrete. Teo swings up onto the square stone base of the King's statue, one hand gripping the wrought metal folds of the figure's lapel, glibe and agile as a billy-goat. Clove smoke winds away from the tip of his cigarette. "Mundane stuff, the Bureau and the NYPD aren't dealing with. You're all spread too fucking thin," he points out, setting one shoulder against permeating chill of metal, apparently rendered impervious by his endless onion layers of clothing. He looks down at the older man for a moment, the corners of his mouth quirking up, then down. Smile. Frown. He glances through the trees. "He did the world a good turn, and he has friends we need."
There's a fractional cant to Teo's head, weighing facts against conjecture and strict necessity against unaffordable sacrifice — despite that he's done so already. Keeps checking his math. Wondering. "Eileen. Who was our former mole. One other who was on the rosters, but I don't think they'd appreciate me telling you who. Subtract her from the equation, and Volken would've won. I'll probably give you a rough sketch of the situation I need them for if you twist my arm," he adds, the line of his mouth finding a crooked tilt. He drops his gaze to the concrete and steps sideways along the statue's base, circling the King's lofty stance.
"I've run into Ruskin," Felix says, tone flat. "And yes, I'm twisting your arm. I'm treading a very fine line as it is, Teo," There's no caress in his voice, now. "Give me very good reasons I shouldn't run them to ground."
The baby terrorist appears on the other side of the statue and begins to approach again, walking the narrow ledge of stone. "Homeland Security got pissed off at Phoenix for taking justice into our own hands and arrested some of our people. Well," his weight eases onto his left boot, his back leaning to the statue, smoke sheeting through his teeth. He glances down at his hand, finds the cigarette's nearly spent. "I think that's closer to the official story than the truth.
"I figure they probably explicitly ignored all the Vanguard intel we sent them and kept a minimal hand on it, drew us out, came for us after we did their work. You tried, right?" Pallid eyes click up to Felix's expression, searching for confirmation only a brief moment. "You tried getting the Feds on it. They fucking ignored you. How much sense does that make? So you have it. Stupid fucking bird trapped by the weave of our own good intentions.
"No regrets. But I'm not happy about it, either.
"I'm not asking you to help, and I'm not going to tell you what I need these people for, but this whole thing a pretty fucking big problem. Moreover, it isn't your job to send private mercenaries after FBI's Most Wanted, either. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't bullshit around pretending that falls anywhere within the demarcations of legality." An ember flares brief, bright orange. He drops the cigarette, grinds it underneath a heel.
"No, it doesn't. I'm the -only- openly Evolved person currently in the FBI, to the best of my knowledge, Teo," Felix says, quietly. "I can't take Gray. Who else can? Let's face it, no one's going to bring him in alive, and he's just going to keep doing what he's doing until he's stopped. One moment of self-preservation that happened to help us all out doesn't negate what he's done, Teo. You're telling me to leave off, call off Fedor - for what?"
Teo smiles. As per usual, that comes quickly and with enough rue to reassure the viewer that the expression is sincere. "I was kind of hoping you'd say that," he admits. His right boot tilts, toe poking at the sky while he grinds his heel into the smearing remains of the ashes, and then brushes it sideways, off the edge of the statue's stone block. "But I'm obliged to try." He folds his hands, shoves them into his pockets and, slowly, just as artlessly, his face empties out. "No such thing as redemption, signor?"
Fel makes an impatient gesture with the hand holding the cigarette. "Teo," he says, straining for patience, "I'm still an agent of the government, despite all the heel-dragging, no matter who accuses me of being some free-wheeling vigilante. It's not -up to me-. He's wanted for so many deaths, I honestly can't keep count. He's a serial killer, and I don't know how much choice he has in resisting that compulsion. If he were ordinary, he might be caught, kept in some institution - cured or no, but off the street, no longer a threat. But he's not ordinary. He's Evolved. And you and I both know no cell will hold him conscious, for long. We'd have to damage his brain to subdue him, and that's almost tantamount to death, isn't it? Worse, in a way. Do you honestly think he's changed? That he's suddenly not going to kill more Evolved? Andeven if he has, does that mean he gets to escape justice for what he did? Forgiveness is between him and God. Uncle Sam is not fucking interested." He blows another breath of smoke. "I can call off Fedor, but you've got to offer me a good reason why. Otherwise what I'm up to is just a futile charade that's doing to get me and likely some other law enforcement agents killed. Because I'm not about to cry off."
Cry off? Teo's expression creases slightly with confusion at the use of a phrase he doesn't recognize, though the sentiment behind it is loud and clear as a bullhorn in his ear. Confusion is doubtless more at home on his face than the vacuous, near-cold nothing he had temporarily housed there, asking. "Si. I believe he's changed. Started to, anyway.
"Before the bridge." His knee gives a faint pop of bone; nothing detrimental to his health, and he drops down into a squat, bringing his eyes roughly level with the FBI agent's. They blink blue as the shell of a baby robin's bassinet, albeit with less innocence, more clarity. "He found a way to take abilities without killing people. He's fought back his compulsion before, and there's living proof of that walking around this shithole city you love so well.
"I believe he was framed for the Midtown clusterfuck," he adds. His elbow props on his knee and he lifts a hand, absently, long fingers moving the eddies of smoke in air. "And that he still murdered a fuckload of people without license, but regrets much of what he's done. Believes himself inherently hideous but — even aside of humility — he seems to have his saving graces.
"Two of them. Who have names. Are just as broken as he is, have lived with him and enjoyed his care. Until he left them to protect them." His lip flares up half an inch, betraying a thin line of enamel; Teo stops himself before asking something as stupid, as cruel as Remind you of anyone? He doesn't want to die. Well— that is neither strictly speaking nor consistently true, but this would be a bad time for that. Curling his hand away from Felix's cigarette smoke, he puts his chin on his palm.
Adds, blankly, "I've never seen you drag your fucking heels and I don't think you're a vigilante. The 'do whatever you want and get away with it' badge precludes both. Lucky you."
Fel's shrug is….utterly blase. "You can testify to his changed character all you want at his trial, if he ever gets one. You still haven't offered me any genuine reason to call off Fedor other than that he might feel bad about what he's done, and a couple of people might care about him. Well, I'm sure Eva loved Adolf, but that's not an argument for not trying him," Felix says, wearily. "Or eliminating the threat. And no, the badge doesn't. We have rules we have to abide by. More than the ordinary cops do, in fact, I've already skated perilously close to the edge, as it is," He eyes Teo levelly, looking old and tired. So much for Sonny's work.
It's obvious that Agent Ivanov's been listening to someone. Teo sort of wants to find out who. And shoot them in the face, because whatever they said, it apparently didn't help. The Sicilian's brow creases with consternation. "He feels bad about what he's done, didn't fucking do what they say he did. And the legal system is utterly fucking inequipped to deal with him and everybody involved in the nationwide conspiracy of framing him. As is evinced by the fact you're going back and forth between this trial bullshit and asking some crazy ancient super-spy ninja guy murder him.
"What the fuck is wrong with you today? I mean, I know you're usually not exactly the paragon of clear thinking and consistent logic, but usually at least your shit fits together better than this. Did something happen?" There's a jerk of Teo's spine underneath his jacket where he's squatting; a glance through the trees. Did someone follow you?
Felix shakes his head mutely, after a glance around. "He did murder a great many people, Teo. Full stop. I'm honestly not concerned about the midtown explosion, even. For those murders, he should be tried. If you think there's a way he can safely be arrested and contained and tried, I'd be delighted to hear it. To the best of my knowledge, there is no way for that to happen. He's too powerful, and has no intention of going peacefully. Is he totally innocent of murder? He's not the one who's been taking the tops off peoples' skulls - that's someone else? I mean, hell, he tried to kill me, personally, in what was essentially my own backyard, before all the shit went down with the Vanguard."
Felix's tone is arch, as he waves away a particularly troublesome drift of smoke with a languid motion of his hand. "You've offered me no assurance in any way that Sylar is no longer a threat to the Evolved of New York. Other than that -maybe- he's got a handle over his particular compulsion. And -maybe- feels bad about what he did. Feelings and suppositions don't concern me, Teodoro. At all. He's a threat, and one that has to be stopped. Legal and ordinary means won't do it, so I don't feel unjustified in suggesting to Fedor that he deal with it. If his conscience troubles him, he doesn't have to. I can hardly force him. Talk to him, if you like. " And then he leans in, a little, and his eyes are cold. "Why are you so concerned with defending him?"
Felix shakes his head mutely, after a glance around. "He did murder a great many people, Teo. Full stop. I'm honestly not concerned about the midtown explosion, even. For those murders, he should be tried. If you think there's a way he can safely be arrested and contained and tried, I'd be delighted to hear it. To the best of my knowledge, there is no way for that to happen. He's too powerful, and has no intention of going peacefully. Is he totally innocent of murder? He's not the one who's been taking the tops off peoples' skulls - that's someone else? I mean, hell, he tried to kill me, personally, in what was essentially my own backyard, before all the shit went down with the Vanguard."
Felix's tone is arch, as he waves away a particularly troublesome drift of smoke with a languid motion of his hand. "You've offered me no assurance in any way that Sylar is no longer a threat to the Evolved of New York. Other than that -maybe- he's got a handle over his particular compulsion. And -maybe- feels bad about what he did. Feelings and suppositions don't concern me, Teodoro. At all. He's a threat, and one that has to be stopped. Legal and ordinary means won't do it, so I don't feel unjustified in suggesting to Fedor that he deal with it. If his conscience troubles him, he doesn't have to. I can hardly force him. Talk to him, if you like. " And then he leans in, a little, and his eyes are cold. "Why are you so concerned with defending Sylar?"
"I can't talk to him. I don't know how to find him," Teo replies. Lying, sort of, though not exactly. His personal ignorance conveniently stacks one way, and there's enough aggravation and fatigue everywhere else to obfuscate the pang of guilt that would otherwise have betrayed him. "I offered you no more assurance that the Vanguard was trying to end the world with a supervirus developed by a clandestine research company, but you believed me then.
"He wouldn't get a fair trial, Felix. Even if he's everything I say he is. How big of a fucking hoax was that — Midtown? That doesn't bother you at all? A media circus, some token salute to your legal system, and that's good enough for you?" He's either forgotten the latter question or doesn't know how to answer it yet. He doesn't bother pointing out that he tried killing Felix once, too.
"And it was borne out. I'd already had experience with Volken and his crew. I didn't get involved just on your say-so," Felix notes, drily. "What do you want me to do, Teo? Leave Gabriel Gray alone? I can't get the Bureau to call off the case, and so long as I work for them, I'm on his trail. A trial…." He shrugs. "I'm not a lawyer, that's not my concern. I'm going to keep saying this, Teo, until you tune in. Number one, it's not my choice. This is not Felix Ivanov's personal vendetta. I didn't know any of his victims. What is personal to me is that that threat be -ended-. If I no one can arrest him, I'll sure as hell wink if someone kills him. He doesn't go free, Teo. He doesn't get away with this." There's that bloodhound growl in his voice - he's clearly coming to the end of his patience, though his expression remains cool, collected.
A small bone somewhere in Teo's knee gives a vehement little pop as he jack-knifes upright, either stung by the anger in Felix's voice or annoyed enough, himself. "I understand, okay?" Like a pup cuffed around the ears, he scuffs away, backward at the Polish king's side, frowning at the dark before his gaze falls again to the Russian man, and then he's just frowning at Felix. "I don't care about the FBI, I c— you've had experience with Sylar, too, you f— fuck.
"Fuck it. It doesn't matter. Your job is to beat the shit out of people who've done bad things. On the books or off the books, legal or illegal, viral apocalypse or no, pending threat or past sins, whether it's Fedor or the Bureau.
"I get it — that asking you to not beat the shit out of somebody is always pointless. It's what you do and you're good at it and that's — forget it." He grasps cold metal with one long hand, drops himself off the lip of the statue's stone base and back onto the pavement. He yanks his jacket straight, starts toward the treeline. "I don't know why I'm so concerned. I don't know why I fucking do anything. Have a good night, Agent Ivanov."
"My job is to protect people," Felix says, tone cool again. "Good evening, Teodoro," he adds, inclining his head once, and turning and heading quietly in the other direction, hands back in his pockets, butt end of the cigarette clamped firmly between his teeth.
Unfortunately, not knowing why he does things has never stopped Teo from doing things anyway. His shoes scratch out a sharp halt on the concrete. "Give me two weeks. Felix—" he lifts his head with effort, turns it to look over his shoulder. "Please. You know I'm not… I just try to do the right thing. If I can't get you your guy and your assurance by then, I'll hold the fucking hammer that nails him to the wall. I swear. March fifth. Ask your godfather to stand down for two weeks." He exhales long and slow, his breath a dying translucency against the air.
There's no reply from Felix - perhaps he's beyond the range of easy hearing. He flicks the nearly finished cigarette to the pavement of the walkway with a sharp, impatient motion, before vanishing around a curve of the path.
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