2007-04-29: Heart Of Gold


Bob_icon.gif Peter_icon.gif

Summary: Peter goes to talk to Bob about his daughter, and a locket. And about how he's not joining the Company. Things had potential to go very bad. And still do.

Date It Happened: April 29th, 2007

Heart of Gold

Kirby Plaza

Rather than waiting around outside, Peter actually steps into the building at Kirby Plaza and tries to find a security guard or a receptionist or someone with a radio. Shouldn't be too difficult, really. All he needs is someone to tell a specific thing to. "I'm Peter Petrelli and I need to speak to Robert Bishop." Pretty simple, really. Doesn't sound like he's taking no for an answer. "If he's not here, then have someone send him a message. I need to speak to him."

Eventually, he gets the man he wants. Bob comes strolling down the hall. "Peter," he says, amicably enough. He lifts an eyebrow at the man, as if wondering what has him so hot under the collar, but he offers a hand to shake just as he might for any business transaction. With an advantage of height, the man's body tilts forward, and he manages to achieve a sort of loom even so.

At the sight of the man he'd been waiting for, Peter takes a deep breath and looks towards the man. It seems as if he's calming himself for something. Offered hand taken, he gives a firm shake, before he pulls back. "I need to talk to you about your daughter. Do you want to go somewhere else?" He glances around the open lobby.

"Yes." Bob leads Peter back to his office. Now his manner is a trifle less friendly, a bit more on edge, but he opens the door and ushers Peter through. Then he closes it. Locks it. Takes his position, standing, on the power side of the desk, and peers at Peter flatly through the lenses of his glasses. "Go ahead."

Once they're inside the room, Peter remains standing, but allows the man to move behind his desk, putting a good distance between them, as well as a solid object. A sign of nervousness appears as he suddenly starts to rearrange the cuff of his jacket, "Did you order the Haitian to erase her memories of me?"

"Why would I do a thing like that?" Bob asks, a tight smile fixing itself on his features. He sits down at last, resting in his chair, kicking back and steepling his fingers. "What possible motivation would I have when things are going so very well between us?"

"That's what I wondered," Peter admits, continuing to play with his cuff as he glances towards the wall of the office. "But her memory was erased even if you didn't order it." He's sticking close to the door, really, a turn and a few strides would bring him to it, "So either things weren't going well between us at all— or someone else made the call. Or both."

"Well let me ask /you/ a question, Peter," Bob says, that smile still playing across his features. He leans forward, adjusting the cuff of his pants beneath the desk or some such. "None of your associates — not one — has come to see me. And I heard a most disturbing rumor that you were actively trying to take my daughter away from the company. Could it be true that you outfoxed me, Peter Petrelli? Brother of a politician and all that? Could it be possible that you were not at all serious about coming together as a team, but instead were trying to buy time to turn my own daughter against me?"

GAME: Bob has rolled DEXTERITY+PERFORM and got a result of GOOD.
GAME: Peter has rolled PERCEPTION and got a result of GOOD.

Though he wasn't adjusting his cuff at all. Bob has put his hand on a gun beneath the desk. It's still there, in his clip, but he's gripping it like he's very much considering drawing it and doing something with it in the very near future. His eyes do not look at all amiable. His face does. His smile does. His words are icy, though, and his eyes reflect pure, hard anger.

There's something about the gesture that bothers Peter, and a hint of alertness comes to his expression. There's also a slight change in his breathing. There's a lot of questions he could answer in that, but he chooses what he feels the most important one, as he takes a step back, "If anyone's actions would have turned her against you— they wouldn't have been mine." Considering the situation, if that gesture is what he /thinks/ it was… he needs all the warning he can get… so tension begins to appear on his forehead, as he tries to consentrate.

GAME: Peter has rolled TELEPATHY and got a result of GOOD.

~Son of a bitch. That son of a bitch wants to take my daughter away from me. /My daughter/. Mine! What does he know about the world? What does he know about life? I tried to give him and all his snot nosed friends a chance and he slaps me in the face. This is how he repays me. Does he think my girl was meant for a picket fence and 2.5 children? 2.5 of /his/ children? Is he even going to bother putting a ring on her finger? I might have been able to tolerate it had he come on board, but he /dares/ turn her against me? One good shot. One good shot through the eye. Back of the head.~ Bob's eyes narrow and says, "You're in no position to impugn me, Petrelli," as he leans forward. He still hasn't drawn the gun, but the light has shifted into his glasses until nothing but faceless pinpricks of light show. "You don't have any idea what you're dealing with."

Rare has it been he's ever felt such thoughts. Taking a slow shaky breath, Peter looks intimidated, dark eyes staying on the man at the desk, despite the shining light off of his glasses. The thoughts alone not yet causing a headache, but they're definitely unnerving him. At the same time… he tries to speak calmly, even if his voice is more whispered and deeper than it should be, "I'm not going to take your daughter away. She's made her decision to stay with you and the Company, and I will not get in the way of that."

"Oh?" Bob grates, and the smile on his face turns tighter. Meaner. He leans forward. "Personal relationships and the workplace don't mix. If you're serious, Peter, if you're very, very serious, break it off, and send her home, and quit filling her head with ideas. There's no doubt a plethora of idealistic young ladies who would like to fling themselves at your feet." ~Womanizing bastard. Probably learned it from his brother. Still want to kill him. But Elle…~ "Plenty of fish in the sea. Break it off and let her reclaim the values that I have taught her and come home. And you do it in a way that doesn't drive her further from me."

For the first time since he became aware of the motions under the desk, Peter looks away, eyes drifting towards the ceiling in a gesture that seems to be asking some unseen presense for advice. "I can't do that to her," he says, as he lowers his eyes back down. His voice is tight, especially tighter as he continues, "I didn't come here to wage war with you or your Company, or steal your daughter away. Especially didn't come here to give her up. I came here because I want her locket back; the locket she was wearing when she got erased."

For a moment Bob doesn't answer. His thoughts have taken on such a complete momentary blank that it's impossible for him to. Some of his anger subsides under a wave of sheer confusion. The idea that Peter came here to confront him, risking, frankly, getting shot, or recaptured, or any of a dozen other fates a very furious father in charge of a none-too-ethical corporation of massive size and resources might plan for him, so he can potentially get back a locket that Elle likes, is sort of staggering to him. Way outside of his own paradigm. "Her locket," the man repeats, as if he's trying to make certain he's understood correctly. Beneath the desk, his hand eases just slightly on the gun.

"Yes, her locket," Peter says softly, and he might not even recognize the change as well if it hadn't been for the relative end to harsh thoughts. Could be his telepathy's failed, which is possible. He's not too good at it anymore. But the tone seems to have change. "Even if she doesn't remember it. I want to be able to give it back to her." The fidgetting at his cuff returns somewhat, as then tension lessons, and his eyes stay on the man again, but without the same wariness. Instead he looks almost desperate.

~Nobody brought that back to me.~ Suddenly, that thought seems to infuriate Bob worse than Peter has. He leans back and lets go of the gun at last, though he still looks like he wants to kill someone, and he still looks like the idea of killing Peter is not entirely off the table. "I don't have it," he answers, sounding flat. "I'll look into that." He stands up, fast enough that it looks like he's about to knock over the desk. He doesn't. His hands are empty, and they slam flat against the desk as he leans forward. He's breathing harder than usual. Sweating. His enunciation is perfect. "I want you back on site daily," he says. "Reporting in. As you don't have a team yet because nobody else has reported in, we'll start from the ground up. If she's coming back then you shouldn't have any problem doing the same. Come to work, together, and there's no more issue. Because by God, Petrelli, if you do something that forces me to break her heart then I /will/ take appropriate action." ~See you dead, and hang your decapitated gold plated head in my office is what I'll do.~ "If you won't break up with her, then you come, and you get in line. I'll see about that locket." He doesn't ask. It's non-negotiable in his mind.

"The reason I don't have a team is because I never signed your contract," Peter says softly, backing away a bit towards the door. This has definitely pushed him into a corner that he didn't want to be in. But right now… he's the only one actually being threatened. "I'm not working for you, Mr. Bishop. I don't intend to work against you. You have your daughter. And through her, you have a connection to me. If your daughter is in trouble, I'll be there in an instant to help her. But I won't work for you."

It is with visible effort that Bob calms himself. He seems to have realized that somewhere in here he has lost control of this entire conversation. Of himself. ~Unacceptable.~ But this time the thought is aimed inward, not outward at Peter. He sits back down. His eyes are coolly assessing. "Which brings me back around to the idea that you never intended to," he says coolly. "You see what sort of a position this leaves me in, Peter. You see how this must look, to my point of view." He steeples his fingers. The light is in his glasses again. But then he starts to smile faintly. A peaceful smile. ~I know just what to do.~ "Very well. You've made your position clear. I don't have the locket. You may leave now."

"My neutral stance with your Company is because of your daughter and my relationship with her," Peter says, giving a hint of a reminder as he reaches behind his back to grasp at the knob of the door and find the lock. "As long as she is with the Company, and as long as she's anywhere close to the young woman I've come to love— I won't let anyone take this place down. It's the closest thing you'll get to a contract with me." Because he's not sure if the man will reach for his gun, he tries to call upon a different ability, letting the mind reading fall away— but perhaps he's switching too fast, because he knows it didn't work. Instead, he just keeps facing him as he turns the knob and tries to step outside.

"Alright, Peter," Bob says, in the tone he so often uses with Mohinder. Benign uncle. Slightly condescending but really on his side through it all. Even if neither man is buying it. "Good day to you." He's still smiling. He looks the picture of contentment now, as opposed to earlier, where he was allowing his anger to drive him.

After the door closes behind Peter, the doorknob he'd held shimmers gold.

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