...Thy Father And Mother


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Scene Title …Thy Father and Mother
Synopsis Things aren't quite as they seem at Pinehearst.
Date July 14, 2009

Pinehearst Headquarters

"Yes, Mister Petrelli, right away."

Giving a pleased nod to the researcher, a weathered and wrinkled chin dips as a nod is offered in response. Turning from the fluorescent-lit hallway towards his office door, Arthur Petrelli can't help but offer a faint smile as he pushes the latch down and steps inside towards the dim light of the evening sun falling through green-tinted glass. Sitting in a wheelchair in the office, the dark silhouette of his son against the green glass causes Arthur a moment of pause.

"Peter." There's always an underlying tone of regret when he says his name. The wheelchair creaks, one hand rolling a single wheel while the other holds the opposite in place, allowing him to pivot the chair. Looking over to his father, Peter affords him with an entirely different smile; sadder. "I'm surprised to see you up here, weren't you scheduled to be down in the labs helping Doctor Meier all day?"

"She gave me the day off," which is a polite way to say Alison threw him out of her lab in a fit. "I… spent the afternoon with Doctor Zimmerman." Arthur's dark brows rise up slowly at that, and he very carefully closes the office door, keeping his eyes fixed on Peter as his son rolls his wheelchair over to him across the carpeted floor.

"Did you now? I hope that was a pleasant way to spend the afternoon. Lewis can be…" There's a hesitantly awkward crook to Arthur's smile that begins to form before it's forced back down like a throat full of bile, "difficult." Casually tucking his hands into his pockets, Arthur begins to make his way across the office towards his son's chair, looking down at him at an askance angle.

"Dad…" Peter's not looking up at his father, his focus is more down at the floor. "What—happened to mom?" The question makes Arthur's heart roll up into the back of his throat, neck muscles tensing as his lips press together in a tight, thin line. "I… I know you told me there was an accident a few years ago," brown eyes finally lift up to his father's blue, "but I just—it feels like she hasn't been gone that long, you know?"

Memories are fickle things, and even with Maury's unique gift, Arthur is no savant of their creation. "I know, I think I still hear hr sometimes too…" A distracted stare is given to Peter, and Arthur moves across the office towards the plate glass windows, staring out over the skyline of Fort Lee. "But we have to move on, you know? We can't dwell in the past."

Seated in his chair in silence, Peter's gaze is transfixed on the floor in front of him, some spot so close and yet so very distant from the way his eyes lack focus. "I know…" he swallows, anxiously, and looks up to his father with a hesitant smile. "Do you remember when me and Nathan were kids? I used to try and sneak into your office, and Nathan would always pretend like he didn't have anything to do with it…"

Arthur's focus narrows, his head turning slowly as he regards his son side-long, staring at him for a moment before his eyes drift from Peter down to the floor; Nathan. The thought brings a look of conflict over Arthur, his eyes fall shut in response. "Your… your brother isn't—" he swallows back his words, "I'm… sorry, Peter we—we'll have to continue this another time. I—really should be seeing how Doctor Meier is doing down in the lab."

"Yeah… sure thing, Dad." Peter finally looks up to his father, expression somewhat slacked in a weak smile. "I'll… be around, you know, when you have time." The tone of Peter's voice causes Arthur to hesitate again, tensing up as he walks past him, then pauses, laying a hand on his son's shoulder gently.

"Is… there anything I can do, before I go? Anything you need, Peter?" For a moment, behind those blue eyes, Peter can see a glimpse of the man he remembers his father being. The silent shake of Peter's head is answer enough. No, there is nothing he can do for him. "Then, I'll… We'll talk later, son."

Swallowing awkwardly, Arthur moves towards the door to the office, not looking back at Peter as he makes his way out slowly, one hand rubbing at his forehead. The door slowly closes with a soft, audible click and Peter slouches down in his chair, teeth pressing into his lower lip.

Silence hangs over the office for a long time, before Peter finally rolls his wheelchair forward past Arthur's desk, looking down at the computer tower located below the glass-topped surface, then up to the keyboard. Pushing the desk chair aside, Peter wheels himself over, rolling out the keyboard tray as he glances up to the administrator login. His brows furrow, dark eyes flitting about the desk's minimal contents.

Then, typing at the keys quietly, a smile comes up on Peter's face as a line of asterix quickly change into the words Logging On. If nothing, his father is a creature of comfort and routine, in many ways. It's the same, old password he's used for years. Once at the desktop, Peter maneuvers through the icons, glancing up and away from the monitor to the office door as he opens up a network connection and then leans back in his chair, folding his hands in silent wait.

It only takes a moment for text to pop up on the screen: Welcome back, Peter. I hope all is well.

Glancing up at the door again, Peter quickly typed into the dialogue box. He still doesn't have any idea, you were right. Company training is worth something after all. I've opened up the network for you, what's going on?

I am not alone in the network, I can't help directly until it's time to act. There's another presence here, he's young and inexperienced, but powerful. As long as I stay low and don't enter the mainframe he won't notice me, but I won't be able to circumvent security until then. Peter narrows his eyes at the text, nodding slowly as he begins typing out a response.

Zimmerman is on board. He doesn't know where my father is keeping Mason and Jennifer. Thinks they're going to become test subjects, probably in the labs somewhere. I can't find Gabriel either. He leans back in his wheelchair, glancing over his shoulder towards the windows behind him and then back to the screen. I think my father is having trouble juggling all of his powers…

Phoenix is mobilizing with allies, I tried to stop them. They will not listen to reason. They are motivated by a force far more powerful than logic – revenge. This is going to result in a great loss of life, and very fast. A sigh escapes Peter as he reads what the presence in the computer says, and he nods slowly, mostly to himself.

How soon?

Very Soon.

Do you know who is involved? I'm worried about Peter hesitates there, not sure exactly what to type. everyone. It's better than trying to sort out his feelings, especially right now.

The response, however, makes Peter's eyes widen just a touch. Everyone is involved.

What should I do?

Stay as you have been. Make certain your father does not suspect a thing. Remember your mental defense training from the Company. Avoid Maury at all costs. At that, Peter's brows furrow slightly, fingers typing away again as he realizes something.

I haven't seen Maury in weeks.

There is no response, not for several moments.

Troubling. Be careful who you talk to. I have to go, a system scan is coming up. Do not use this terminal again. Be ready, they are coming soon. Peter nods slowly, typing his response into the network terminal. But then, there's a moment of hesitation as before his fingers slide over the keys quietly.

Why are you helping me? Monk's answer doesn't come immediately, clearly thought has been put into it.

I owe your mother a debt that I intend to repay. Karma.

It's not the response Peter was expecting, not at all. His mother, of all people, had been strangely uninvolved since his father re-emerged, and yet there had to be some semblance of activity on her part, she always seems to know what's going on, always seems to have an idea.

In the end, Peter can't formulate a response. What he types, is more reflex than conscious thought.

Good luck, Monk.

There is no such thing as luck, Peter Petrelli. Monk opines with some aplomb.

Only fate.

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