2008-01-27: Rush Delivery

Starring:

George_icon.gif Logan_icon.gif Aileen_icon.gif

Summary: Logan asks George to transport some… medicine prototypes. Yeah, that's the ticket.

Date It Happened: January 27, 2008

Rush Delivery


Nathan's New York offices

Mt. Sinai Hospital

(split screen)

Ah, the art of politely griping someone out: 'repeated requests' this, 'cost-effectiveness of alternatives' that. George rests his chin in his hands, reviewing the e-mail, then fires it off just as the phone rings. "Senator Petrelli's office," he answers, cradling the receiver between ear and shoulder, "this is George."

"And this is Senator Petrelli," comes the simple reply, voice a little rough. It's late afternoon by now, but he sounds like he's only just woken up. The formal introduction is dropped in favour of, "You're not being kept awful busy, are you?" His tone is wry - of course George is busy.

George rolls his eyes, even as he leans back in the chair. "You know me, taking care of business." Actually he was just about to duck out for a bite to eat with— but he keeps all that to himself. "What can I do for you?"

"I need you to get something for me," Logan says, and across Manhattan, he too leans back, only it's a hospital bed rather than an office chair, and the hand not holding onto the phone is restrained to the metal fixtures with soft medical leather. That hand fidgets absently with the attaching leather and metal as he talks. "I would, but I'm more than a little tied up at the moment. It's important, and I need to know I can trust you to keep it to yourself."

"All right," the other man replies, switching the phone to his other ear and reaching for a notepad and pen. Occasional strangeness is the order of the day - between a couple of disappearances over the past few months, and the surreal run-up to the election itself - and after all, this is probably just a sensitive document or something. He thinks.

Logan only wishes it could be that simple. Still, he's audacious enough to expect loyalty. "I need you to head round to my home in Hyde Park," he says. "I'll call security ahead of you to let you in. In my office, there's a briefcase in my desk." A pause, as if considering having George just bring that, but— he can hear the man these are intended for pacing outside like a feverish caged animal. A sigh sounds down the line. "Open it, there's glass vials inside. I need you to take three and bring them to Mt. Sinai. How's this sounding."

George absently nods, scrawling down notes as 'Nathan' rattles off instructions - private enough, no one else can read them except a few old-school secretaries, and he knows to avoid them. "Briefcase in your desk, got it." But then the next part pegs the weirdness meter afresh. "What's in them, sir?" What's in them that Sinai wouldn't already have in stock, he doesn't add out loud.

Of course, what George didn't mention is that he had a lunch date. A lunch date with Dr. Aileen Kincade, formerly of Mr. Sinai and now currently employed at Pinehearst. Of course, prompt as usual, Aileen taps softly at the door.

"A medicine prototype," Logan says, a little snippily, as if he doesn't quite appreciate this question. "I'm currently interested in a research company - they sent me some samples for independent research to satisfy my curiousity. I need to have them sent off today, too, but the world doesn't wait for incapacitation."

Ooh, good lie there, Logan. "Got it," replies George. "Know the room number, so I don't have to sit on my thumb waiting for the receptionist to look it up?" As he speaks, he gets up and walks over to unlatch the door, leaving the phone's base unit to teeter precariously at the edge of his desk.

The room number is given easily, relief now entering his tone, other hand moving to scratch an itch by his neck— and stopping short at the restraint. He'll have to see about that by the time George comes around. "Thanks, George," Logan says, shifting up in his bed a little. "I appreciate it. Just remember to keep this to yourself, alright? Additionally, I'd like you to handle the media spin on this one, I'm told there's a few reporters waiting outside. On your way out, throw 'em a bone. Think you can handle that?"

Moving inside of the office, Aileen offers George a little wave, though as soon as she's inside she gestures towards the teetering phone base as she moves to take care of shutting the door behind her. She's silent, not wanting to really interrupt the conversation.

George nods to Aileen, pulling at the phone cord with his other hand; the base finally slips off, but dangles in mid-air instead of crashing into the floor. "I'm sure I can come up with something," he answers Logan, walking back to the desk to get things settled properly. "Name of the company— no, you probably want to keep that under wraps, too. Update on your wife's status?" Reporters always love the human interest factor.

"Nothing on what errand you're running," Logan says, with careful emphasis. "No, they want to know why I'm in hospital. Tell them I'm fine and that there's nothing more you can say at this time, and that my wife is still in the process of making a full recovery." Probably. He's rather sure a doctor said something about it in passing, but he didn't take an awful lot of notice. "I'll give them a fuller statement when I'm on my feet and thinking straight."

Aileen moves to take a seat, still silent as she waits for George, settling comfortably as she lets him take care of business. Sensitive matters and all, she knows how that can be, after all.

A brief pause as George catches up on his note-taking - can't risk forgetting details like these in the heat of the moment - then he turns, leaning back against the edge of the desk. "Right. So they've got to go out today— what time's the last pick-up? Gonna be cutting it close, at best." Frowning, he checks his watch; lunch will have to be taken on the road as well.

"Don't worry about that," Logan says, with a shake of his head that no one can see. "As long as you bring it to here as soon as possible, I have everything else figured out. All I need is for A to get to B. Then you can even keep your job." It's a joke, spoken with the right tone to be so.

"A raise would be nice," replies George, in more or less the same tone. Except it's more genuine in his case. Somewhat. He moves to hang up the phone at last, shooting Aileen an apologetic look.

Aileen shakes her head a little. "I get it. Work. If you want to reschedule, I'm fine with that. Delicate dealings and all that." She offers him a smile. "Besides, maybe you will get that raise. Then we'd have something to go out and celebrate, right?"

The phone in his hand clicks shut, Logan setting it aside before going to undo the restraint on his left wrist. There won't be much he can do for the nature of his injuries - bandages, broken ribs, a few cuts and bruises here and there as well as the fainter cuts from fingernails scrapes on his arms and face. Oh, well. He can't hide everything from everyone. You work with what you're given.

George manages a faint grin. "I suppose so, but it's still a little early in the term for that sort of thing. I think we can still fit something in, if you don't mind eating on the way?" As he talks, he moves over to toss the notepad into his own briefcase and snap it up.

Aileen shakes her head. "No, I'm fine with that." She gets back to her feet, glancing towards the door. "Shall we then?"

George nods to Aileen and heads out with her, mulling over the best way to get to and from the Petrelli residence in a hurry. "So what's your day been piling on?" he asks, dodging another assistant headed the other way.

Aileen follows after George, shaking her head a little. "The usual." She rubs the back of her neck. "Thankfully not as much paperwork but studying and actual research. The rate I'm going I'm likely to need to get glasses for all the reading I do."

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