2008-05-27: Heroes: Paranormal Intent


Maggie_icon.gif Felix_icon.gif

Summary: Felix drops by to check in with his buddy O'Meara at the NYPD about the combustion cases. (Introducing: Maggie Powers.)

Date It Happened: May 27th, 2008

Heroes: Paranormal Intent

Police Station

New York City

The late hour doesn't affect the police department, save for an influx of caffeine. Then again, even that's flowing around the clock. The hum of chatter, both between colleagues and the more official voices wrangling phones, punctuated by the flip of paper fills this precinct. It's not exactly prime time excitement. In the middle of it all, a new face whisks past the organized mess of a desk belonging to O'Meara — a woman, blonde business ponytail, thirtysomething, blue eyes, her primary green blouse a sudden punch of colour in the middle of the drab hues. She walks right around O'Meara's desk and flops down in his chair. Settling in, she flicks his monitor to life. O'Meara hates anyone messing with his desk. Maggie, on the other hand, looks at home.

"You've had a hell of an operation, Jimmy," comes Felix's voice from over his shoulder. "I like the …additions," Thank god Mariska isn't here to hear him be that much of a pig, or she'd hit him with a rolling pin. For hours. There's the Fed, still in his suit, albeit without his tie - it's long after his own business hours, after all, leaning around the border of the cube that houses O'Meara's desk.

The woman at O'Meara's desk leans on its edge, mousing over some documents on the screen — which is off to the side, not at all ergonomically efficient. She calmly continues to point-and-click on the computer even with the fed over her shoulder. No flinch, no surprise, no slap to Felix's face. "Detective O'Meara is out right now," she says with a pleasant voice befitting of an answering machine. Turning in the rickety office chair, Maggie plants her hands on her knees and looks up at the agent with a small smile, a joking tone juuust barely audible under a business-like voice as she follows up simply. "Can I help you with something?"

"Did he do something sufficiently terrible to have him taken off-duty and you're his replacement? Or, god help us, the NYPD suffered some disaster and he was promoted and you took his place?" Fel doesn't mention the third option, which is 'please don't tell me you're Jimmy's secretary'. That one would get him punched. "I'm Felix Ivanov, I'm a friend of his. We were….working together, unofficially, on that pair of apparent murders."

None of the above, it would seem, based off the woman's expression, which has a hint of a smirk to it. Reserved, but the beginnings of a smirk nonetheless. It suddenly disappears, however, replaced by a more grim visage. Maggie pivots around to face the desk again, a harsh squeak eliciting from O'Meara's in-need-of-replacement chair. "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, Mr. Ivanov," she says, sweeping a few papers from the desk and shuffling them neatly together. "You've been replaced." Squeak, squeak, she whirls back around with her hand outstretched to shake, smiling. "Detective Maggie Powers. Officially… I'm Detective O'Meara's temporary partner."

Color one Federal distinctly nonplussed. Fel gives Maggie the complete fisheye for a heartbeat or two. "Uh," he says, and there's the start of a blush on the hollow cheeks. "They didn't totally bust his ass for going to the Feds under the table?" He reflexively takes that hand, grips it in his own for a moment as if not sure what to do with it, and then shakes it firmly.

"You're with the Bureau?" The detective's handshake is both warm and succinct. Unfazed, she just smiles as she withdraws her hand, which goes back to her knee. "No. He's just out following a lead on another case." Without her, which says … something about the office dynamic. "So what're you doing working with O'Meara?" she asks easily. No interrogation here, so it would seem. "Does the FBI have some kind of interest in this case … or is it just you under the table, Agent Ivanov?" Somewhere, somehow, that sentence went terribly wrong, but Maggie doesn't seem to have noticed.

"Under the table? I'll have you know I'm a happily married man," Fel raises his -right- hand, of all things, but there is that triple band of yellow, white, and rose gold there to back up his statement. "And to the best of my knowledge, Jimmy doesn't swing that way. Yes. It is personal, not official. You know how FBI agents are about the apparently paranormal," He's only half-teasing her, but here's hoping she grew up watching either Twin Peaks or the X-Files. "We owe each other favors from the days when I was NYPD."

Another one of those reserved smirks counters Felix's comments, a twinkle in the detective's bright and keenly observant eyes and nothing more. "I don't know how FBI agents are about the apparently paranormal," she says with subdued matter-of-factness, crossing her arms over the neat line of buttons on her modest blouse. "Why don't you tell me?"

Felix amends, with an 'okay, you've got me' sort of air, "Spontaneous human combustion is not unheard of. Bizarre, unexplainable, but not a hundred percent outside the realm of experience. Two people being apparently having this happen in exactly the same fashion, in roughly the same geographical area, smacks of a beginning pattern. Dare I suggest, some sort of bizarre serial killer, whether it's intentional or no."

Now, one of the detective's arched brows lowers down. The other piques up. Her arms fold tighter. "Generally, Agent, serial killers have intent," she points out with an air one might have while gently correcting a grade-schooler on a minor, easily forgiven error on a spelling test. Maggie watches Felix expectantly, assuming he has more to explain.

"And that, frankly, has me curious. In the years I've been in law enforcement, I've seen a number of strange things, but nothing like that," Fel goes on. "Serial murderers, yes. And generally, if someone is causing accidental deaths, well, that gets noted and they get stopped. What's your thoughts on this case, thus far?"

Maggie tries to read Felix between the lines. Perceptive eyes narrow on him until, eventually, she stands up — she's tall, it turns out — only to lean against O'Meara's desk, hands resting on its edge, facing the fed. "I think it's a whole lot weirder than most of the cases I saw on my last job. I think the one witness we have is unreliable. I think we haven't pinned down the method, how the women died. And … I think we're waiting for the other shoe to drop." A shrug. "But I just looked at the case for the first time two days ago."

"Last job?" Felix parrots back to her, blinking blue eyes. Not a lot of women are that close to his height. Even his wife. "And I agree with all those statements. Why'd they bring you in on this one, if I may ask?"

"Transfer," Maggie says by way of explanation, giving a gesture over her shoulder as if a hook of her thumb could somehow indicate where she came from. Further than the door of the precinct she gestured to, at least. She's no New Yorker. Plain Midwest in her voice, barely anything to be called an accent. "They need all the help they can get. Honestly, I think they threw me at this one as a joke on the new girl."

Felix winces in sympathy. "I can imagine. This is a weird one, and while I love Jimmy as much as I do any man, he's not an easy partner to get along with. Where're you from?"

"This isn't a five minute meet and greet, Agent Ivanov," Detective Powers chastises. It's good-natured, but only just; it's sapped of a caustic edge by her smile, at least. "You started out by linking this case to the paranormal and so far I'm still confused as to why you were working with O'Meara. Who— " Is occasionally an unhelpful ass? " —I get along with just fine," she adds with an amiable smile.

"Because it's an NYPD case and the Bureau has precisely no jurisdiction. This is purely me being nosy, and O'Meara wanting access to Fed resources," Felix explains.

Not good enough. Felix isn't the only one who's nosy — comes with the territory, given their careers. Maggie refolds her arms and examines Felix with a more obviously critical gaze, although there's nothing particularly obtrusive about her calm stare. "You're awfully honest for someone who could be thrown out of here with a phone call for snooping around without jurisdiction," she says, making a habit of making such threats sound good-natured. She hesitates, pursing her lips, on the verge of asking a question, it seems, but stays quiet instead.

Felix meets her gaze with his own utterly guileless blue. It worked on Misha, and look what it got him. Don't answer that. "The Feds have a reputation for being complete dickwads. I used to be an actual cop before I fell to the suit side. I'm not here to piss in anyone's cornflakes, I'm just here to help solve this because I know Jim, and I have an abiding interest in the weird stuff. You want me to go, I can."

"Well, even I've been here long enough to know that the Lieutenant likes everyone to follow the rules. I'd be pretty stupid to risk sharing information with a fed outside both our jurisdictions when I just got here, but I also saw at least three officers wave to you when you walked in, so maybe no one really cares." A smile. "I can tell you just want to help, Agent Ivanov." Maggie turns away just enough to tap the keyboard a few times, commanding O'Meara's computer to send some items to the printer like she set out to do earlier. "I'll tell you what. I'll tell 'Jim' you stopped by."

That's really about all he can ask for. "Thanks," replies the Fed, sounding obscurely disappointed. But not entirely disgruntled, either.

Detective Powers, who has never seen an episode of Twin Peaks or, remarkably, the X-Files, is nothing if not congenial. "It was nice meeting you, Agent Ivanov. I have to get back to work." She turns the chair toward her, ready to sit back down in Jimmy's place. Done and done— or not. She looks back over at Felix with wondering eyes. "What do you think happened to those women?"

"I don't know," Fel says, gravely. "I really don't know." And that's all he's willing to vouchsafe her, at the moment.

The graveness is infectious, and Maggie is quiet and sombre as she sits back down, chair squeak-squeaking away from Felix. "Well, Agent…" She pulls a file over, getting back to work, just as she said. "…when you figure it out, feel free to visit."

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