Who: Peter Petrelli and Noah Bennet What: Differences of opinion Where: Hyperion; Peter's office Rating: PG Status: log ; COMPLETE Notes: Yes, I play both of them. All the cool kids were doing it.
"You're wrong, you know."
Peter jumped at the sound of a voice, even though the words were spoken soft and calmly. Someone had snuck up on him. How had someone snuck up on him? Turning, his heart pounding in his chest, Peter blinked in surprise at Noah Bennet, who was leaning against the doorframe. Peter let out his breath. "Jesus, Bennet, you scared the shit out of me.
Bennet arched a brow over the lens of his trademark horn-rimmed glasses. "Boo." Then he tilted his head slightly, still waiting for an answer to his earlier statement.
Peter backtracked, and frowned. "Wrong about what?" His gut was already tightening. He knew there could only be a limited number of reasons for Noah Bennet to be calling upon him. At the moment, only one thing would produce this kind of a reaction.
For his part, Bennet didn't bother explaining. He focused his gaze on the younger Petrelli, a man he had come to know and respect over the years. Of course, he understood why Peter was making a boneheaded decision about this mess. But that didn't mean it wasn't a bonehead decision.
Peter lowered his eyes from the older man's piercing stare, and sighed. "Gabriel isn't going to hurt anyone. I won't let him."
"You won't be able to stop him."
"I'm keeping track of--" The click of a gun being cocked turned Peter's blood to icewater. He turned his head, slowly, and glared down the barrel of Noah Bennet's .45 millimeter.
"Then how did I get this close, Peter?" Bennet was holding the pistol in both hands, the weapon aimed right at Peter's head. "If you're so powerful, and you're paying such close attention, how did I get this close to you?"
The air temperature was dropping. Peter wasn't aware of it. He was only mildly aware of how Bennet's breath was visible, turning to mist with each exhalation. His eyes slid unblinking from the barrel of the gun, to the eyes behind the horn-rimmed glasses. He was angry, yes. Furious, even. Peter had known Bennet for years. The man's daughter was Peter's niece. Peter knew there were lines Noah Bennet wouldn't cross, for Claire's sake. But there were also lines that faded into meaninglessness when a father needed to protect his daughter. "I let my guard down."
Bennet didn't move a muscle. But in his eyes, those cold and cruel Company Man eyes, there was a flicker of satisfaction. "Will it happen again?"
A pause. Peter had to consider the question. He had to know the answer, not just say the words he knew Bennet wanted to hear. The man was a human being, not gifted with any of the abilities Peter and his ilk were given, but Bennet was still the man who knew every trick, every counter-measure. He could read a lie as well as Peter could, only without the benefits of telepathy and empathy.
"No," he said, at last. "It won't happen again."
Another pause, and then Bennet nodded. "Good," he said, relaxing his stance, and letting his arms down. Peter let out his own breath of relief, and raised a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose, eyes shutting.
The report was loud as a clap of thunder in the small office. Peter counted to five before opening his eyes. The bullet was still closer to Bennet than it was to Peter, held in mid-air by telekinesis. And Bennet was wearing a smirk that seemed both a warning and a compliment. "Keep it up."
Peter was still standing there, looking at the bullet. It was still frozen in the air after Bennet had vanished from the doorway. Peter reached out and plucked it from the air. It had cooled enough to handle, but he could still feel warmth within. That would face soon as well. He rolled the bullet between his fingers for almost twenty minutes before tucking it into his pocket. He could find something to wrap around it later, to hang around his neck. For remembrance. As a reminder.