2010-05-16: The Clock Up On The Wall



Guest Starring


Date: May 16, 2010


Earthquake weather has got me shakin' inside…

"The Clock Up On the Wall"

Warehouse, NYC

This is the clock up on the wall

Brayden looks up at the clock on the wall. Why does it always feel like he’s running out of time? Seated in the plain-looking warehouse a table in the middle of the room, this feels like it’s going to be more of an interrogation than a discussion. Impatiently he drums his fingers on the table before demanding to the emptiness that is the room, “Let’s get this done already! You want to know something, ask it… I know you’re still here— “ His tone his cautious as he brings his hands down to his side.

This is the story of us all

This is the first sound of a new born child before he starts to crawl

He frowns sullenly. Unsure. How did he get here? What was he thinking? The jobs in New York are nothing like they were in Cork— but then, that’s why he’d started all of this in the first place. He’d heard the stories. He’d heard about Roberto. Slowly rising from his seat, he walks towards the clock. Staring at it, he ponders. Maybe it’s all about time.

This is the war that's never won

This is the soldier and his gun

This is the mother waiting by the phone praying for her son

Maybe this is the new normal; the new way of being. Living a life that doesn’t feel like its his. But was the other anymore? Is there happiness for someone who still doesn’t know what he is well into his forties? He tugs on the bottom of his coat almost defensively. Maybe the battle against himself is never-ending. Maybe for the rest of his life he’ll struggle to get who he is. But then he lost everything because of his personality fiasco.

Instinctively, Brayden reaches for his gun from the back of his pants and aims it behind him in one quick fluid motion. There’s still no one here; he’s aiming at nothing. Frowning he returns it to its place. Why is he so jumpy? Maybe that’s one of the sacrifices he’s had to make to do what he’s been planning.

Realizing and basking in his alone time— the first that he’s had in awhile, he draws his phone from his pocket and rolls it over in his hands. He should call and touch base with his people; he’d promised Peter. And he still hasn’t called his own mother. Mostly because he expects her to tell him he’s stupid. And then there’s Tracy. Pressing his lips together he returns the phone to his pocket and reaches for his wallet instead.

Pictures of you

Pictures of me

Hung up on your wall for the world to see

None of his ID is for Nathan; he was too smart for that, but he couldn’t part with the family picture his mom had given him when he couldn’t remember who any of them were. His fingers trace the outline of his family members; wistfully. This is his choice this time though, but then, what kind of life would he even have if he returned to the world. He is Nathan Petrelli, dead man. Maybe he should’ve just tried to pin it on some media fodder. He sighs.

There is a drug that cures it all

Blocked by the governmental wall

We are the scientists inside the lab just waiting for the call

The government had been powerless. Empty. Useless, even. What more could’ve been done? But maybe that’s why things worked so well— that vigilante justice. Maybe that’s why he’s here now. Or he’s just searching for something. Or someone.

The door to the warehouse opens as echoey steps come towards the table causing Brayden to stuff the picture back into his wallet.

Brayden stands at attention— his plaid shirt and blue jeans wrinkled even as he stands. He’s a soldier in a different kind of uniform now.

This earthquake weather has got me shaking

Aedan issues his comrade a lopsided smirk and a wink before shaking Brayden’s hand. “At ease, soldier.” There’s a comical lilt to his tone; Brayden, however, struggles to summon his own easy smile. The meeting has him leery.

But Aedan just smiles back, his toothy omnipresent grin. “‘Onest. R‘lax.” He motions for Brayden to sit down before taking his own seat and leaning forward, “Yer … unique talents ‘aven’t gone unnoticed, Bray. Ay’ve a mission for ye.”

Inside I'm high up and dry

Pictures of you

Pictures of me

Hung up on your wall for the world to see

Pictures of you

Pictures of me

Remind us all of what we used to be

Brayden swallows and nods, his smile becoming a little easier. It’s hard not to be intimidated in this situation; he’s vulnerable in a way he avoids by never flying. Ever. But then, how could he not have flown in? He might be an undercover gang banger, but he’s still a Senator at heart.

Finally he asks, “What kind of mission?”

Confess to me

Every secret moment

Every stolen promise you've believed

“Ay’m sendin’ ye to Ireland te oversee transport of new cargo— justa few weeks. Ye’ll be back in no time, seekin’ venge on the heat for bustin’ the warehouse.” Aedan’s eyes narrow a little. “So. We gonna talk ‘bout this thing ye kin do ‘r not?” His eyes narrow some.

Confess to me

All that lies between us

All that lies between you and me

In an odd moment, Brayden smiles a very Loganesque, sadistic kind of smirk. “Not. Look. It’s to your advantage. I’m not a cargo jet, but I get around easier than anyone else.” He places his hands on the table and looks Aedan squarely in the eyes.

We are the boxers in the ring

We are the bells that never sing

There is a title we cant win no matter how hard we must swing

Aedan nods a little. He’ll go with this for now but there’s still one issue, “Ye took the blonde to the ‘ospital. Don’t sit too well wit s’ome o’ the fellas.” His eyes narrow at Brayden as he tries to ascertain something, his thoughts altogether collected, but unspoken. “Why?”

There’s a moment as Brayden collects his own thoughts, but he works best under pressure and smirks back, “And have her limping around here all of the time? No. Thank you. Look, I rescued you and that therapist man who I still can’t figure out what the boss wants to do with. There’s no reason to bring up the blonde.” His stare remains cold and hard, unwavering. He can’t flinch on this.

“Hmmmm,” Aedan considers everything proposed before nodding. “A’right. Git yerself packed to ‘ead to Cork. Ye’re goin’ fer a few weeks. This isn’t done. We will talk ‘bout it when ye git back.” His eyes narrow.

Brayden doesn’t need to be asked twice. He pushes away from the table and he steps towards the door. His echoey paces fading before the door opens, still unsure of what he’s doing. This plan isn’t going at all the way he’d anticipated.

Pictures of you

Pictures of me

Remind us all of what we could have been

What could have been

We could have been

Pictures of you

Pictures of me

Remind us all of what we could have been

What could have been

And as Brayden leaves, Aedan reaches into his pocket and picks up his phone and brings it to his ear after quickly dialing. “We may ‘ave a problem. Ay’ll keep ye informed.” After those words are uttered he closes his phone.

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