Parkman woke up some time later, becoming aware of a high-pitched buzzing sound. It hurt. He twitched his head, but the sound was everywhere. He hated that sound. He'd heard it before, helped with setting it up. It was specifically designed to disrupt telepathy and a few closely related mental powers. To anyone else it was merely an annoying noise. To those who were sensitive, it made the use of their powers cause them intense pain.
The neutralizer had been removed. He blinked his eyes open, but his vision was fuzzy. He was cotton-mouthed again, or perhaps, still. His head hurt and it was getting rapidly worse. He could hear Angela's voice and feel someone fumbling at his right wrist. He made out what she was saying, "I'm going to take his restraints off."
When his hand was free, he reached up to his ear and pulled on it. The sound was terrible. He could barely think at the moment and certainly couldn't think coherently. He clawed uselessly at the side of his head, shaking it back and forth. Nothing made any sense, but he had to stop the sound. The more alert he became, the worse it was.
"Maury! Maury! Stop it!" Angela caught his hand. He jerked his head back and forth. He caught glimpses and flashes of Angela's thoughts through her hand. Each one was like an ice pick into his brain. He raised his head and slammed it back into the slab he lay on. The pain from it was overwhelming, but it also served to shove out and overpower the noise he was hearing, the mental agony he was feeling. It let him focus on what he needed to do. He bared his teeth and shut his eyes, trying to block everything out - everything. As he got his mind in order, the pain faded somewhat, but the buzzing sound was still like nails on a chalkboard.
He opened his eyes again, his breathing slowing. He twisted his hand free of Angela's, saying, "Let me go. I'm all right." She released him. He reached up for his head again, hesitating. He wanted to claw his ears out, but he rubbed his forehead and face instead. He jerked on his left hand. It was still strapped down.
Angela said, "Go ahead and let him go. He won't hurt himself now."
They let him up. He cradled his head and touched the back of it gently. He'd have a goose egg, but it wasn't bleeding.
"Would you like something to drink?" Angela offered him a plastic cup of water. He took it gratefully and downed it. She had a second and a third for him, which he also drank.
He looked over at the Haitian, then at Angela. "Turn that sound off, please. You have him here. You don't need it." The noise had to be irritating to the black man as well, cutting off at least half of his ability.
"I'm not so sure," she said crisply.
He glared at her, then looked away. He felt like shit. He checked his collection of plastic cups for stray drops at the bottom of each and finished those off. Angela walked over to a chair and sat down. He looked around. He'd been in a lower level cell earlier, maybe a 2 or a 3, when he'd been brought in. There had been a bed, he was sure of it.
Now they were in a level 4. Sleeping accommodations were a shelf to the side of the room. The main differences between levels 4 and 5 were venting and shielding. If memory served him right, level 4 was as high security as the Philadelphia facility got. It looked like Philadelphia, but the facilities were intentionally very similar to one another. He didn't deserve a 4. A 2 with some isolation would have done fine for him.
Since his feet had never been bound, he got off the platform now and sat on what passed for a bed. He rubbed his head again, resisting the urge to pull at his ears or try to cover them. It was no use. "So," he said, "Where are we at, Angel?" He smiled weakly at her.
"I need your help, Maury."
"Hell of a way to ask for it."
She exhaled slightly. "I am told that you were asked politely to come see me and you declined."
He rolled his eyes and looked away.
"Maury, there's no one left." She sounded a little sad, a little desperate.
He looked up at her, calculating. She smiled slightly and said, "None of the old members are still involved in the Company except us." He nodded, knowing what she was saying. "I can not allow you to break the Company and I will not allow you to run it. I am the designated chairperson. You were there when that decision was made and you agreed to it. If you are to continue to participate, then we must meet. We must talk. We must discuss the Company's direction and not work at cross purposes to one another."
He said nothing. He was tired, he felt lousy. He had no intention of addressing the issue brought up while he felt this way. It would be a decision made under duress if he did. Seeing he wasn't giving her anything, she stood up. "I will have breakfast brought to you. What would you like?"
He eyed her. "Bacon and eggs. No… sausage and eggs. Good sausage too. With some biscuits, butter and grape jelly." He smiled, warming at the thought of getting some decent food, being treated decently. "And orange juice, some hot tea and water." After a pause he added, "A towel to wash myself with and a change of clothes, a toothbrush, a comb, that sort of thing."
She smiled. "I'll get you breakfast."
Several hours later, he felt better: fed, cleaned and if not in clean clothes, then at least he'd been given basic toiletries. His head had cleared, so he could think. After Angela had left, they'd turned the sound off. He'd been watched over by a very bored, but patient Haitian.
Maury considered what she'd said. He'd been there when the decision about Company succession had been made, but so had Arthur and Daniel and all the others. Things had been different. Then, Parkman had not wanted a position of leadership. He had that already. He had the experience of being able to tell almost anyone he saw to do his bidding and knowing they'd obey. Being chairperson of the Company was laughable by comparison.
Besides, the directorship of the Company was full of people he couldn't use his ability on if he wanted. Arthur could shut him out - he was an accomplished and dangerous mentalist himself. Daniel was someone Maury depended on too much; he owed him too much. It was Daniel's job to bring Maury back after his mind had been savaged by those the Company wanted him to rehabilitate. Some were easy; some were not. Linderman was there to put him back together after Parkman's sense of self was mangled by those who were not simple to tame. One too many times of waking to the face of his savior had made it impossible for him to act against the man. It was much like the tattered loyalty so many of them felt towards Adam, but Daniel had never betrayed Maury like Adam had betrayed all of them.
Charles was another telepath. Angela's gift made her sanity critical. He couldn't upset her balance without losing their insight to the future. Kaito would know automatically what he was going to do and how best to resist it. His power was like a limited form of omniscience, never smart to tangle with. Victoria was hyper-aware of herself and every chemical change her body, or to an extent, his, might have. She could manipulate those within limits - a potentially lethal power. Carlos would see him coming. The others had similar defenses.
Another man might have felt challenged by the existence of these few he could not dominate, when the rest of the world might bow at his feet at his merest thought. Maury was not that other man, though. He was tired of never looking in the faces of people he could respect. Having found them, having joined the Company, he had no intention of screwing up the only people he could have a real relationship with, even if they didn't always like him - especially if they didn't always like him.
Their dislike was a constant, warming reminder that he was normal, that he could be normal, at least with them if not with the rest of the world. He didn't let normal people dislike him, when he allowed them to think of him at all. He didn't even let other specials think of him if he could help it. It was too dangerous. But he could let the other founders dislike him all they wanted, all they needed. It was real and when all the other members were alive, it was something Parkman had to allow. He loved it, cherished that authentic, real family they'd made for themselves, warts and all.
Now that they were very nearly the last ones, he'd given up on it. Pinehearst had wounded him in a way Linderman could not fix even were he still alive. Maury had spent much of his time whilst there toying with his memory of the man, his image. He was a figure of salvation for the telepath. When Arthur called on him to bring round other specials, Parkman thought of Linderman as the one who could save them from Petrelli's plot. It was disappointing that no one else saw Daniel as he did. Even Arthur's own son, who should have known better, had no respect for the man. It depressed Parkman.
'Everyone had their roles to play' as they all loved to say and Maury's role was not leader. They had no leader, not since they'd locked Adam up in the fall of '77. That had been the agreement. They'd worked out a line of succession for the chairperson not long afterwards and rules for the Company, new rules. With the destruction of Adam, Arthur had stopped following those rules. Angela, however, might not have. It was something Maury Parkman spent his time mulling over.
Angela Petrelli's return was heralded by the sound being turned back on. He grimaced and clutched at his ears again. He was still doing so when she entered a few minutes later, followed by Rene and a tall, thin man carrying a tray bearing lunch.
The man put the tray next to Maury on the bed shelf and left. Rene leaned against the wall and Angela drew the chair over to the older man, to join him in repast. Parkman eyed the food - barbeque beef and pulled pork, with buns to make sandwiches, pickle spears and chips. He'd always taken a perverse joy in eating rich food, especially non-kosher and obviously Angela recalled his preferences. Right now though, his stomach turned with the incessant noise.
"Can you please stop the sound? He's right there. I promise not to do anything."
"I have your word?" she asked evenly.
He sighed and looked at her, raising his brows slightly and tilting his head. It was insulting that she'd even ask, but he wasn't offended. Too much had happened lately. Working for Arthur had likely stained her perception of him. He had a lot of broken faith to mend, having ended up on her husband's side against her.
His gesture was persuasive to her, because she turned to the black man and nodded. He walked outside. A moment later the noise ceased and he came back inside. Maury leaned his head back against the wall. "Good God I hate that sound."
"I wouldn't have to use it if I thought I could trust you." She picked up a bun and forked a few slices of meat on it.
Maury checked the drinks and took a healthy draught of his Pepsi, smiling bitterly at the distance between them now. "Ahh. It's nice to be with someone who knows you and cares. Do you have a file on what I like to eat, hm?"
She smiled. "No, just a good memory." She drank iced tea. "We have a lot of memories, a lot of times together. It would be a shame for all the rest of them to involve this cell."
He looked around. "Yeah, it would be. What do you have in mind?"
She shrugged. "Very little that you haven't already been doing. The greatest change is that I want you to relocate to New York and attend meetings. I'll have orders for you. My goals and yours are obviously different, though the media angle is something I want you to continue to cultivate. We have a second active board member at the current time, though I would characterize him more as a shadow member for now. He does not have the benefit of over thirty years experience."
"Who is it?
She looked down, taking up a salt packet and sprinkling a tiny amount on her sandwich. "My son… Nathan."
Maury snorted. "You mean that guy you sent after me yesterday? Or however long it's been? That's not Nathan. He calls himself Gabriel."
She nodded. She knew this.
"He's not going to make a year. In pieces, he's in pieces inside."
"I've seen that he does make it, one way or another. You on the other hand, do not make it a year. Or perhaps that is your son. You are interchangeable in the timeline. One of you is expendable and will be expended. I had hoped it would be you."
Maury stared at her for a very long time, thinking that over, unbothered that she'd preferred him dead over his son. She was allowed to feel that way about him. Instead he was thinking it was stupid to gamble against a precog. Her prophecies didn't always come true, but they always indicated a likely future – a very likely one. Arguing with her about what she saw did no good. Harry had always done that. He was nearly always wrong, which just seemed to motivate him to argue against her more strenuously the next time. It annoyed everyone. "Then I need to find my son."
"I would think so, yes. I have been putting together a file on him. I believe he needs guidance. He is becoming indiscreet. The precognition has impaired his judgment. He no longer lives in the present."
Maury ate in silence for a minute, rolling that around in his mind. Finally he said, "You'll have to give me some advice on handling that. Anything I do to him he'll expect. He'll just endure it – won't make any difference. He's too strong for me to be able to rely on second chances."
"Give him choices. There must be different outcomes for each choice which means when you deal with him, you really won't know how things will turn out. If his future depends on his choices now, then he has to come back to now in order to see what's going to happen later." Parkman's brows drew together. She added, "We can talk about it more detail later, if you make your own choice correctly and I release you from here."
He nodded and considered what he'd seen in Gabriel's mind. "This Gabriel person, Sylar. You made him a director?" Did she really expect him to treat such a damaged person like one of the founders?
She shrugged. "Sylar has always been critical. It's why we've preserved him."
Maury snorted. "Critical to you, maybe."
She nodded. "To me, yes. But you were asking about my motivations in making him a director, were you not? It's not like there was anyone attending meetings to vote against me," she finished archly.
He nodded and looked away, eating a pickle. He acted disinterested, though they both knew he was not.
She went on, "The person I saw on the board was Nathan, stepping into the void Arthur had left, inheriting his legacy. Sometimes it didn't look like Nathan, but I always knew it was him. I always knew it was Arthur's favorite son. Sometimes Arthur was there, standing at his elbow, directing him, advising him. Metaphorical, I assume."
She sighed. "Last year Nathan was killed. My vision was that Matt would preserve Nathan and destroy Sylar. It did not work out as expected, though I think literally we achieved that. Matt put Nathan's memories into Sylar's body and programmed him to conduct himself as my son. Later he destroyed Sylar's identity, but he couldn't remove his memories. What reformed was this person you say is calling himself Gabriel. He is living as Nathan at the moment. How unstable is he?"
"Very. It's not even all him in there, Angel, and I'm not talking about Nathan's memories. You sure Matt didn't stick a few other folks in there for good measure?"
"He took… Gabriel took his father's ability. It layered with Sylar's. Samson's ability granted him impressions and a few skills – sometimes he gained abilities, but he couldn't retain most of them for long. It was limited, but I would expect the layering has removed that limitation. You say… he has memories of those he has… taken?"
He nodded. "Looks like. As much as he's got Nathan in there."
She breathed out. "How many?"
"I dunno. I only saw two. Blonde gal, looked familiar, and some black guy I'd never seen. Both young people, 20s."
She nodded. "I know who those are then. No others?"
He shrugged. "I didn't have time to a thorough sweep, but at the time he was marshalling his defenses against me. I think if he'd had more, he would have brought them out. On the other hand, I didn't see Nathan, but that might have been because he's integrated."
She pursed her lips and nodded. "I have been counseling him on self-control." She eyed Maury for a moment. "Apparently it has been working splendidly." Her voice was dry.
"He goes around looking like your son?"
She nodded.
He gave her a long look. "That must be tough."
"It has been, but one gets accustomed to it. He's coming along."
"Huh." Maury tipped the bag of potato chips up and knocked the last of them into his mouth. A great deal had been said in the meetings about Sylar and Angela's visions of his future involvement with saving the Company and becoming part of the Petrelli family. That had always been known, but he'd assumed, as the others did, that it was more metaphorical than literal.
She said, "I had you contacted because we are recruiting new agents and moving back into full operating capacity. We need a controller of some kind."
He nodded. "I noticed that. You have a source of money, or are you using up the trust funds?"
"I have a source."
He nodded again. "I'll work with the new agents." It was very convenient of her to put his next victims directly in his hands. He wouldn't even have to bother looking for them.
"I need assurance you'll be doing this in the best interests of the Company, not solely yourself."
"Why would I do that?" he blinked at her. He hadn't seen any reason not to be entirely selfish about things. It was what she was doing. She hadn't asked if he approved this new director and hiding behind the thin veil of protocol about Maury's absence was ridiculous. He was entitled to a vote, even if, as chairperson, her vote counted twice in the case of a tie. If she was going to run the Company like Arthur had run Pinehearst, then those were the new rules and Parkman would play by them.
As if she were the telepath and not him, she said, "A Company director has rules to follow. If I am not assured you will follow those rules, then I will not work with you at all."
He snorted. "And then I'll get to enjoy the confines of this cell until I change my mind, eh?" She wouldn't kill him outright. She'd have to keep him around in case she wanted something from him later.
She stood, collecting the remains of lunch. "No. I will return here with Gabriel and have him do what I told him to do to you before."
Maury's eyes flickered. He hadn't considered that angle, which was stupid of him. It was the same leverage Arthur had held over everyone once he developed the final stage of his ability, except he hadn't tossed in murder on top of it. Angela had always been willing to take things further than her husband. Parkman admired that about her, even if it were inconvenient to him at the moment.
She added, "If you will not conduct yourself as a director, then I will have you removed from the position. What happens to you afterwards is immaterial. What I want is a telepath I can trust, Maury, as you were trusted in the past. We all have our roles to play and Gabriel's doing well enough with his, even if he doesn't know his lines by heart yet. He is the reason why you are expendable, why you and Matt do not both make it through the next year."
She looked very steadily at Maury Parkman, who understood she was identifying the murderer of either himself or his son. He waited several beats before breaking out laughing. "Angel! Angel! A woman after my own heart. Can I kiss you?" He stepped forward. Rene stopped leaning against the wall and strolled closer. Maury ignored him. He was looking at Angela, oddly pleased she was willing to have him killed. It made him feel good about himself that she had these very real feelings about him - her own feelings, not ones he'd given her.
She regarded him coldly. "No, you may not."
"A hug then?" He put both arms out expansively but this time did not get any closer to her.
"No. If I am going to have you killed, I'd rather not touch you beforehand."
He cocked his head and smiled softly at her. His voice was warm and cheery, at odds with his words. "Ice queen as always. So frigid. Won't even give a condemned man a last request?"
She smiled condescendingly at him. "You have shown me no reason to indulge you."
He sat back down, still pleased with things. The Haitian backed off slightly. Maury looked up at her and said, "What assurance do you need?" There was something she wanted from him. He'd give it to her and everything would be fine, like it had been in the old days. He missed the companionship of equals.
"Let me think about that," Angela said. "Tell me what you want for dinner. I'll have it brought round."
"Hm. Steak… No, prime rib. Medium rare. Give me a knife too, nice sharp one." He grinned at her, wondering if she'd trust him with one. "Some horseradish sauce, sour cream, a salad with vinaigrette dressing… and some kind of vegetable. Not a potato. No dessert unless you're chintzy with the portions."
"And to drink?"
"Wine. You always have good taste in that. Way better than mine. Just send me a bottle of whatever you think would go well with it."
She smiled at him. He was asking for a number of weapons and doing so quite deliberately. He hadn't misbehaved with the breakfast utensils. "I will have my butler bring it. Don't mistreat him."
"Mm." He raised his brows and smiled lazily. She saw herself out. Rene followed. Maury had the rest of the afternoon to wish he'd asked for a book or something. Although the Haitian was still watching him, he wouldn't respond and Maury didn't feel inclined to push it. He spent the time alone with his thoughts, which was a very rare occurrence for him. He thought about the old days and how much he missed them.
In the morning, Angela visited him again, this time with breakfast. He had enjoyed his dinner the previous night and sent back the knife without incident. He'd kept the wine bottle though, as he wasn't finished with it. The 'dead indian' as he called it, was put through the meal slot later. He had said nothing to Mr. Grem and didn't try to touch him or otherwise challenge the Haitian's blocking of his ability. It wasn't that he respected Grem, but he respected Angela. The butler was her creature. Maury kept his hands off other director's things. That's how it was.
Rene had left in the evening, since it wasn't like Parkman was able to get out of the room by himself. Routine video surveillance would suffice to keep an eye on him overnight. Maury was halfway through breakfast, chatting amicably, when he realized the Haitian had not returned. He sat up straighter, silently, and looked out the view port. There was no one there.
He reached out with his mind, lowering his defenses somewhat. He could sense Angela's presence, but as usual, not her thoughts. Not unless he pressed and he'd taught her himself how to block him out from casual eavesdropping. It would take an effort to overpower her, but he was confident he could do it. He had no intention of it, though.
He could vaguely pick up the mental ramblings of the butler who was outside the room, alternately worried about his employer's safety with him and fuming that his son wasn't pursuing the major in college he wanted him to take. Parkman looked back and forth around the room, then slouched again. He picked up his biscuit and buttered it. It didn't make any difference, in the grand scheme of things. He'd already made up his mind to work with her, if she'd allow it.
The rest of the meal passed normally. At the end, she called in Mr. Grem to help clear things away. She walked over and began to collect his toiletries and put them in a bag. He opened his mouth and then shut it. He'd figured it out. He'd passed her test. With no visible restraint on his ability, he had not used it to escape or seek revenge against her. He assumed she had the black man waiting around somewhere nearby to stop him, but he could easily cause her to kill herself with a fork before that.
She knew that as well, yet she'd given him his power back and ate breakfast with him. She'd seen him looking around, perhaps even felt his mind brush hers lightly and then move on. Maybe she'd dreamed that he'd already made up his mind, or maybe the real moment of truth, the pivot point, was when he picked up his biscuit and went on with his meal. He didn't know. One should never bet against a precog. It made him apprehensive about how he was going to sort out his son.
He departed with her, needing to make no comment or observation about being freed. She offered none. When they were outside in the clear, almost hot air of a June day in Philly, he asked the time and date of the next meeting. She told him. He promised to be there and left to oversee his relocation to New York.
