This takes place in Season 1. So, you know, *SPOILER ALERT* before Nina turns psycho and Anna turns dead and Kat turns . . . er, well, before Kat. Period.
Disclaimer: I don't own Alphas. Syfy does. (I think? . . .)
Bill Harken continued staring at the papers on his desk, fiercely hoping that if he ignored the insistent voice it would eventually go away.
No such luck.
Letting out a huge sigh, he finally lifted his head up and looked at the young man standing in front of his desk. "Yes, Gary?"
Gary's gaze skipped around the room as he asked, "Did you take my pudding?"
"No, Gary, I did not take your pudding. I don't even want your pudding."
"But, someone took my pudding," Gary said, his voice growing louder and whinier. He twisted the thick band on his wrist. "And – and I know Dr. Rosen didn't take it, because he said he didn't, and Rachel – Rachel said pudding was gross, so I called her gross, and then Dr. Rosen told me that that wasn't a nice thing to say, so I apologized. And then she said -"
"Gary." Bill interrupted the young man, his voice authoritative. "I didn't take your pudding." Then he looked back down at the stack of papers and began underlining and crossing out words with his pen.
Bill closed his eyes and mentally counted to ten before answering. "What, Gary?"
"Can I have your gun?"
The kid had asked for that weapon more times than the former FBI agent could count. "Why?"
Gary crossed his arms. "Because, Bill, people need to stop taking my food."
"You're not shooting someone over chocolate pudding."
Gary looked sullen. "It's not chocolate," he muttered. "It's vanilla. Because vanilla's my favorite."
It was obvious that the young man wasn't going to rest until something happened, so Bill got out of his chair and walked toward the door. He heard Gary's footsteps, muffled on the thick carpet, shuffle behind him. "Where – where are you going?"
"I'm going to go get you some pudding," Bill replied as he turned the corner of the hallway.
"But Bill, do you know what kind? I like a special kind. And I only eat that kind. It's vanilla Jell-O," Gary informed the older man.
Bill fought the insanely strong urge to roll his eyes. "Okay, Gary, I got it. Vanilla Jell-O pudding."
Gary bobbed his head up and down. "Yeah." Then he walked toward his office, rambling about how vanilla pudding was better than chocolate pudding because chocolate pudding looked like the stuff he wasn't allowed to talk about at the dinner table.
Cameron Hicks stepped out of his office, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand and a quizzical look on his face as he stared at Gary's retreating form. Then he turned to Bill. "Do I even want to know?"
Bill shook his head as he pressed the button for the elevator. "Some idiot took Gary's pudding."
Cameron coughed loudly, a light tinge of red coloring his cheeks. "Oh, well, that sucks."
Bill narrowed his eyes. "Hicks . . ." he said warningly.
Cameron chose just then to take a large gulp of his coffee. He pointed to his puffed-out cheeks and shrugged apologetically before quickly backing up and shutting the door to his office.
Bill was about to knock the door off its hinges and throttle Cameron's throat for making him buy some freaking vanilla Jell-O pudding when the elevator dinged. The doors slid open, and a tall, dark-haired man exited the elevator, his icy blue eyes searching the hallway. When his gaze met Bill's, he gave a quick, fake smile and extended his hand. "Hello."
Bill eyed him warily before shaking the offered hand. "Um, hello. Are you on the right floor?"
The man nodded absent-mindedly as he tried peering around Bill's form. "Yes, yes, I'm quite certain this is the right floor. Dr. Rosen's here, right?"
Bill was still debating on whether or not to affirm the man's suspicions when a voice behind him said, "I'm Doctor Rosen. Do you have an appointment scheduled for today?"
The doctor took a step toward the stranger, and Bill had a sudden urge to tell him to get back. There was something . . . off about the man. Maybe it was the way he refrained from making eye contact, or the way he sounded like he owned the world. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something in his gut was telling him that this guy was wrong. And in the FBI, you learned to trust your gut.
"No, I don't have an appointment," the man said, sounding impatient.
"Then," Dr. Rosen said, looking somewhat puzzled, "excuse me for asking, but why are you here?"
The man finally looked the doctor in the eyes. "My name's Richard Bell. I'm Gary's father."