Oh no, Peter thought with a jolt of panic. With his shift in emotion, Sylar turned and put his hand on Peter's shoulder. Peter shrugged him off immediately. "No. Not now. Nathan's right." He could feel that his rejection of the comfort stung Sylar. The other man quietly withdrew behind him to where he'd been before. Peter hoped he wasn't screwing things up too badly with Sylar, but it was one thing to be open with his brother; quite another to contemplate such a disclosure to his mother. Peter had always assumed she knew, but given the reception being a nurse had gotten, he'd never brought up to either of his parents the exponentially more problematic issue of his lack of exclusive heterosexuality. Nathan knew, but Nathan knew everything. And then there was the whole issue of trying to take over the Company she and his father, among others, had built. It was all a lot more than he wanted to explain to Sylar at the moment. To Nathan, Peter asked, "What's going on?"
Nathan tilted his head. "I think I'll let them explain. They're in charge, after all." With that, he turned to the conference room door and held it open for Peter. Nathan came through after and Peter felt a surge of confrontational energy behind him. He glanced back. Nathan had gone to shut the door at a natural, normal speed, acting like Sylar wasn't there. Sylar had stopped it, pushed it back, and was walking in, equally pretending that Nathan hadn't tried to shut him out.
Caught between his brother and his new lover, Peter wasn't sure how to react and by the time he'd noticed, the matter was settled. He still knew he should do something to show his support of Sylar, but he didn't want to show any unusual preference for Sylar in front of the other people in the room. So all Peter did was to give Nathan a nasty look, and he sensed the hurt that caused Sylar. Peter went on to settle into the seat at the end of the table, face impassive. (Dammit. This is certainly getting off to the wrong start.) Sylar, scowling, took the chair to his left, leaving Nathan to sit to Peter's right, wearing a politician's smile. They made quite the trio.
It was a big table, made from a dark, expensive wood and over twenty feet long. At the far end were clustered the others - his mother, Bob, Elle, Noah, Craig (the facilities manager), two others Peter recognized and three he did not. Bob Bishop was at the head of the table, like he was in charge. This was Peter's first meeting with him while having his ability. He'd seen Bob from time to time at his parent's parties and he'd seen him at the Company's facility months previous. There was something not right with Bob and even at this distance - too far for Peter to have any extraordinary read of his emotions - he could still tell there was something 'off' with the man.
More important than Bob was Peter's mother. It was another first - this being the first time Peter had seen her since shortly before blowing up over New York. Nathan had told Peter that she'd known; she'd set Peter up for that, it having been her plan all along. Peter felt so betrayed by her. Her expression now showed her uncertainty of Peter's reaction. She feared him and there was guilt there, too, along with what might be shame. She wasn't all that much closer than Bob, but Peter knew her much better, able to read her without the proximity his ability required.
Looking on Elle brought to mind the scorch marks that had marred Sylar's forehead and the glimpse Peter had had of Sylar convulsing on the ground due to her power before being brutally kicked and beaten. There was also Elle's casual indifference to leaving someone injured and sick confined in a room without making sure they'd be looked after. Peter's exposure to her before that had been looking on Ricky's charred, roasted corpse in Cork, killed trying to protect Peter. He had been a normal guy and although Peter knew Ricky could be dangerous, it in no way explained why Elle had killed him, much less the bizarre excess of cycling electricity through him until he was cooked from the inside out. And then there were Peter's own disturbing experiences with her at Pinehearst, as her prisoner, and Bob's. She relished inflicting pain - it turned Peter's stomach. He let his eyes drift on.
Noah - Peter had not gathered all the dynamics going on between Noah and the Company, except that he was aware there were quite a few. Bob's visit had not been a pleasant one for the Bennet family. Noah had died trying to keep Claire from the clutches of the Company and Noah was of the opinion he had not succeeded. With his family at stake, Noah was capable of anything.
Peter's eyes scanned over the others and then settled on the prominent object in the middle of the table, like a centerpiece: Adam's golden heart. Peter had last seen it in Nathan's office here. It was a sobering reminder of what he was here to fight. Peter glowered at it, eyes narrowing.
Bob finished the conversation he'd been having when Peter entered, saying to Angela, "I have no doubt that he's sufficiently motivated this time." He nodded to her and then raised himself from his chair, looking at Peter. A creepy half-smile grew on his face as he followed Peter's obvious sightline to his creation. Pitching his voice to carry, he said, "I thought having that here was fitting, since after all, Adam was, for so long, the lifeblood of the Company. But now it seems that we have new blood. That makes so many things so much more possible." There was something about his emphasis that was downright threatening. At a subtle shift, Peter glanced over at Noah, who had straightened in his seat and was staring fixedly at the heart, lips tight in what was probably fear. Noah wasn't alone in that - Nathan was unsettled and Sylar … well, it was amazing no one was dead yet. Sylar was being very quiet and very still, but his emotions were raging.
Peter let his eyes slide back up to Bob's. "Tell me about this restructuring," he said slowly.
Smiling unctuously as ever, Bob said brightly as though he was communicating wonderful news, "Well, to start with, your brother there is going to take over the Linderman Group for us. The lovely Niki will help him." He hesitated a moment, waiting for Peter's inevitable look to Nathan.
Peter gave Nathan a confused glance. Lost the presidency, gained an organized criminal syndicate? And Niki - must be that blonde the reporters saw him with in Vegas last year. The whole thing didn't quite match up with the guilt, worry and fear Nathan was feeling. Nathan didn't seem to want what he was being given.
Nathan put his hand partly over his mouth and spoke very quietly, saying, "You're here now. We can re-negotiate. Don't let him divide and conquer." Peter pulled in a deep breath. So Nathan hadn't accepted being put in charge of a bunch of mobsters - he'd just been stalling for Peter to get here. He looked to Bob, trying to think of what he needed to do. Nathan clearly expected him to save the day here. I'm a nurse, not a … hostile takeover person. What should I be doing? Sylar shifted forward somewhat, having heard Nathan's whispered words as well as Peter did. He glanced at Peter as though for guidance and Peter gave him a brief, helpless look. I … don't know what to do.
Bob continued to smile, though it had taken on a shark-like aspect. "The Linderman Group will provide us with vital money-laundering capabilities so we can expand our research, which is our new charter!" He leaned forward on the table staring just a bit too avidly at Sylar for … well, anyone's comfort. "You see, I've been in communication with Dr. Suresh and he told me …" Bob shrugged, his eyes going to Peter now, "well, he told me everything." Peter's gaze darted to his mother, but her expression was normal enough. He looked back at Bob, who gave him a nasty little twitch of his puckered lips. "Not to worry, Peter, I only passed on the pertinent details. Turns out Mohinder likes to monologue a lot." Now Angela gave Bob a considering glance before looking back to Peter, who swallowed and suppressed the urge to squirm in his seat. Sylar shifted again, restless like a dog on a leash.
Peter didn't look at him, but he was very aware of Sylar and also very aware that the man was itching to act. Well, he's certainly got experience with the hostile part of the takeover. But can I trust him not to push it too far? My mother is on the other end of this table. How far will he go if I ask him to carry the ball here while Nathan and I run interference?
Bob continued, "And as it turns out, Mohinder is very willing to continue working with us to perfect a serum that will permanently remove abilities without those pesky little lethal side effects you seem so worried about." Peter did his best to look unaffected, but despite being a score of feet away, Bob was making his skin crawl.
"And so," Bob went on, "you can have everything you wanted, Peter. Everyone in the prison cells could be treated and released, free to live their normal lives without any further interference from us." Bob paused again, waiting for Peter's response, but Peter was stony-faced and silent, thinking about Adam telling him they'd been saying they were working on a cure for over three decades. Who knew if it might take another three decades? Or more? What was the Company to do with their prisoners during that time? Would they continue to police the world of dangerous specials with abduction, assault and illegal detention?
Having failed to get a reaction, Bob pushed it by saying, "That's what you want, isn't it, Peter?" Peter looked at him blankly, refusing to give the man the confirmation he was seeking. Bob offered, "You can even … have him," making a slight nod of his head towards Sylar. Peter, though, instantly looked to his mother, whose expression was so cold that ice settled in Peter's gut.
Sylar came to his feet and Bob flinched back, eyes darting between Peter and Sylar like he assumed Peter was going to exercise some manner of control. Seeing his fear, Peter glanced over at Sylar, who looked down at Peter as if looking for permission. Uncertain of how this was going to play out, Peter gave it, extending his trust. He didn't know what Sylar was going to do any better than Bob did. A tiny nod was enough to convey it.
Sylar turned and stalked very slowly towards the other end of the table. "You can't offer what doesn't belong to you in the first place. I won't be blackmailed," Sylar sneered. He waved back towards Peter and said off-handedly, "We fucked. Get over it."
Peter choked and he was sure he had to be turning several different colors at once. Nathan gave a single, small cough. Peter couldn't bring himself to look up and see the other reactions, although the only one that mattered to him was his mother's. Invisible. I should go invisible. But at the moment, it was impossible to summon any emotion about Claude. Too many other feelings were running rampant.
Sylar's voice carried on after that short pause, saying, "What Peter wants is to see the end of your depraved practices. Something I want as well." Peter lifted his head slightly to watch. His mother didn't look as shocked, pale or angry as he thought she would. Peter felt a little flutter of hope at that. She was looking up at Sylar, who was getting closer to her. Sylar paused to look piercingly across the table at Elle, who curled her lip at him, and Noah, who ignored him in favor of watching Bob and Angela. "Funny … it was your Company," Sylar looked back to Bob and continued, "that encouraged me to use a certain method to get what I want." He lifted his hand, a finger extended in a gesture Peter had been on the receiving end of before.
Bob jerked, Angela's eyes widened, Noah had a sudden need to reach inside his jacket. Peter said not a word and he did nothing either. He simply sat there thinking, Please don't. Please don't kill someone right in front of me. It's not like it's better if you do it without me around, but not right in front of me, okay? Not now. I know you hate them. Not now. Be better. Make it a day at least, okay? Is a day too much? I shouldn't have brought him here. It's too much. Do I stop him? Well … he hasn't done anything yet.
Sylar gave Bob an expression that was half smile, half leer, no doubt feeding off Bob's fear, thanks to another ability gleaned from the ones Peter had collected on Level 5. He took a step forward, letting his hand drop slowly. Bob straightened, relaxing just a little, and Sylar took another step, now standing behind two of the people Peter didn't know well. A different expression passed over Sylar's face, and he breathed a deep exhalation of satisfaction. "Ahhh. Yes." His smile widened. "Go ahead and run out the door now, Bob," Sylar said with taunting emphasis on the man's name. "We don't need you anymore."
Bob looked around the table uncertainly, but no one seemed any more informed than he was. He looked back at Sylar. "I beg your pardon?"
Sylar breathed out heavily like a slow snort. "All you can do is make money and problems. We don't need either, so get lost."
Bob laughed nervously. "You don't understand how to run a company. You need money."
Sylar made a scoffing noise. "No, I need power, and I happen to have more of that than even I had imagined possible." He stepped sideways between Angela and the man sitting next to her, reaching out his hand with one finger extended. He looked at Bob with a 'watch this' expression and touched the table. There was a whisper of sound and a discoloration like frost spread quickly from where Sylar was touching. Quick behind the spreading, lacy white frost came a different color – gold. The entire table, all twenty feet long and four or five feet wide, turned to solid gold within a few seconds.
People gasped. Beside Peter, Nathan murmured, "Jesus Christ!" A moment later, as Sylar was stepping back, the table groaned under its own immensely greater weight and bowed inward in the middle, bending and collapsing to the floor as everyone at the sides of the table jumped back and scattered to avoid being crushed. Tons of dense, soft golden metal warped and settled to the floor with a dull thud and a subtle vibration that told of just how thick and reinforced the floors were at the Company facility to have survived the weight without breaking. Several trickles of dust rained down anyway. Sylar smirked. There was enough gold in the room to buy a small country now.
"But …" Bob started, his mouth flapping, "you don't have my ability …"
"Au contraire," Sylar said. "I have the ability of every person in this room."
Peter stood. There wasn't much point in sitting anyway with the table a ruin. "He's right. We don't need you," he said, looking at Bob and moving around the table on the side opposite from Sylar. He knew what he needed to do now. He needed to back up Sylar. "We don't need your lies, your complete lack of morals, or your fucked up sense of humor." Peter gestured at the golden heart, which had been smashed into near-unidentifiability when the table collapsed.
Peter continued, "This ends now. We're going to stop trying to get rid of powers and pretending they don't exist," Peter glanced at his mother briefly and resisted the urge to shoot Nathan a similar look. His mother cast her eyes downward and said nothing. Peter went on, "We're going to find specials and help them, guide them, train them if necessary. That is the new charter."
His mother spoke for the first time, asking, "What if they are monsters? There are some who can never be trusted." Her eyes held Peter's steadily despite Sylar's looming presence over her. Sylar put his hand on the back of her chair familiarly, leaning into it a little. She didn't acknowledge it.
Peter matched Sylar's motion on his side of the table, leaning against Elle's chair. She looked up at him apprehensively. Bob took a step closer, looking between Peter and his daughter. "Sometimes it seems that way, Ma, like you can never trust someone again because of what they've done." He exhaled heavily. "But for them, we should do the same thing we do with anyone else who's having trouble working with people. If that doesn't help, then we involve law enforcement. Every country in the world has a justice system. There's no reason for us to be judge, jury and executioner. It invites corruption."
Angela raised one brow and gave a single, small nod, obviously catching that Peter was talking about her and not Sylar.
"What about crimes past?" Noah asked quietly from his seat next to where Peter was standing. For a moment Peter thought he, too, was talking about Sylar before he realized Noah was talking about himself.
Nathan stood as well and walked towards Bob's end of the table on Peter's side. Maybe it was a joint recognition of his background as a district attorney that led the others to wait for his answer, or maybe it was something about his carriage. He said, "The justice system at work in this country has a long history of amnesty." He looked at Bob and gave a small, decisive shake of his head. "I don't want the Linderman Group. But you are right that it's vital, and what you said earlier is true - the Company needs someone with strong organizational and leadership skills in charge of it. Maybe even someone ruthless. That's why you need to be in charge of it, not me."
Nathan turned to look between Peter and Sylar. "I'll take the US government. We need to get the Company operating legally, under proper supervision by the government. The security agencies need to know what we can do. The president needs to know. And then …" He looked from Peter to Sylar again, pointedly ignoring his mother, Bob and everyone else at the table, "then we'll do what proper, democratically elected authority tells us to do. It's not perfect, but it's better than this."
Peter smiled a little and looked at Sylar, knowing that the three of them were making decisions that would have ripple effects far outside this room. The tall man betrayed a little bit of nerves because he realized the same thing, then nodded once.
Nathan turned to Bob now and said with steel in his voice, "Okay. We have a plan. Is this transition going to take place peaceably?"
Bob snorted. "Do I have any choice?"
Sylar spoke with a curl of his lip. "No more than you ever gave me."
Bob looked down at Angela, who gave him a small, unnerving smile, like she'd known all along this was going to happen. "Fine!" he spat out.