Claude is a cranky brit, oh yes he is!
Author: Aiisling
Title: To Paint a Future Darkly- Book II: Destiny in Motion (Installment 4)
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar, Peter/Claude (implied)
Rating: pg-13
Spoilers/Warnings: none
Summary: Summary: Mohinder Suresh and Gabriel Gray were science professors at an elite boarding school deep within India during the mid to late 1800's, when Great Britain controlled India. This is the story of evil plots, as carried out by Linderman and the East India Trading Company; ancient prophecies, as protected by the Petrelli family; and the confused and illegal relationship between an Indian (Mohinder) and a British man (Sylar). Destiny is a complicated thing.
INSTALLMENT IV: Claude wakes up, Eden is flustered, and a revolution breaks out. Also, Claude gets extra snarky.
Author's notes: I have such a good time writing Claude in this fic! He's amusing.
ALSO up until now I've tried to keep the fic pretty darned historically accurate. In this chapter, however, I used the Sepoy Mutiny (first Indian Civil War) as a plot point. This is in fact not accurate, as the mutiny happened a good ten to twenty years before the rough time period. However I thought it over and decided it was good for the plot, so there. It's my fic an' I'll do what I want.
Links: Installment III of Book II Installment I of Book II, Installment II of Book II
~~~~~
To Paint a Future Darkly
Book II: Destiny in Motion
Installment IV
“Fer the last time, I dun’ know!” Thin afternoon light filtered its way into the main room of their temporary lodgings, weakly illuminating the three men who sat and stood around the slumped figure on the couch. Claude had finally woken after about ten hours, during which Suresh, Gray, and Peter had all taken turns keeping watch over his sickly form. One might have thought that he’d be grateful. They had, after all, saved the bastard’s life. However all Gray had seen was a bitter man who was steadfastly refusing to be cooperative. His annoyance was peaked..
“Th’ only thing I know’s that it was one o’ us,” Claude added belligerently, hissing as his words caused pain to the wounds on his chest. Peter contemplated the man gravely, no surprise showing on his face.
“Tell us again, Claude.” The iron will in Peter’s voice shocked everyone in the room, even, if Gray’s guess was right, Claude. It was not a tone usually heard coming from the young professor.
Gray had been the one sitting with Claude when he awoke, blinking against the light and groaning. He’d called in Peter and Suresh, and the three of them had told Claude where he was, and why. The rumpled man immediately sat up, ignoring Peter’s dire warnings about ripping the make shift stitches, and proceeded to berate Peter for interfering (he was able to handle himself, he didn’t want Peter’s help, etc). When they’d finally managed to ask him what had happened, he proved utterly useless. Now, with the revelation that it had been a Talent who injured Claude, Peter seemed more willing to press for the information they needed.
Claude sighed and sat back more comfortably, sucking his breath sharply through his teeth as his chest moved. “I was drunk, as y’ can no doubt recall,” he began, staring at the far wall. “I don’ remember much. There were some alleys, I mighta paused for a moment, get my bearin’s.” His tone was oddly neutral, signaling that perhaps there was more to that statement that Claude revealed. Gray’s annoyance began to show upon his face, causing Suresh to lay a hand on his shoulder, a silent request for quiet. Though his frown deepened, Gray nodded, and they waited until Claude continued.
“I heard somethin,’ an I had a bad feelin,’ so I turned on me Talent.” Seeing Suresh and Gray’s sudden looks of interest out of the corner of his eye, Claude grinned wickedly. “Bet y’d like ta know what that is, eh?”
“Claude.” Peter’s voice was soft but hard, the alien tone bringing Claude back to the story.
“Anyways. Somethin’ lifted me from be’ind, off t’ ground, slammed me inta the walls a couple a times. Then it started clawin at me, rippin holes in m’ chest.” Now he stopped his gloomy inspection of the room and turned to stare Peter in the face for the first time since he’d entered their apartment. “I didn’t even land one blow, mate. It had ta be one o’ us.”
“Well, Peter?” Suresh interjected into the tense conversation. “Do you think it was Linderman?” Peter sighed and ran a hand through his long brown hair. His frown was crooked as he replied.
“I don’t see who else it could be.” He stopped, staring troubled into space. “What bothers me is this Talent. You only heard one person, Claude?”
“Aye,” answered the wounded man, avoiding his gaze once more.
“You would know if it were more than one. But...”
Suresh shifted slightly, comprehension dawning on his face. “But people, most people, only have one gift, right?” Peter nodded from the chair he was perched in, his face troubled. “This one somehow lifted Claude with his mind, then...are you sure it wasn’t a weapon?” This question was addressed to Claude, who sneered.
“If it had been a weapon I’d a’ fought it off, drunk or no,” he answered, voice snide. “I could feel it as he cut into me. They were hands, claws. Very strong, very fast.”
“Could it have been another one like you, Peter? A copy-cat?” Gray’s question was logical, if the wording was slightly insulting.
Peter shook his head. “I don’t think so. What I am, what I can do, is very rare, even among the Talented. Besides, I think...I think I would know if that were the case,” he finished, quietly sure. Gray frowned, not positive that he agreed. “Regardless, we-”
A crash resounded through the room as the door burst open. Instantly Peter, Suresh and Gray were on their feet, Claude cursing as he tried to lean over the side of the sofa. Eden raced through the now open door, her face flushed and her short hair mussed. She crashed to a halt and half collapsed against the back of the couch, one hand supporting herself as she panted, the other grasping a newspaper tightly.
“Eden!” Peter exclaimed, rushing forward to help her stand. She latched a grateful hand onto his shoulder, trying hard to catch her breath.
“W...w...what a’ yew boys...doin’....in ‘ere?” She finally managed to get out. “Din’cha get the paper, Petah?” The men exchanged worried looks.
“What, Eden? What is going on?” Peter asked as she stood. Her eyes were wide as she handed him the crumpled gray sheets of newsprint.
“It’s India. There’s been a rebellion!” Peter’s hands fell numb as Suresh sat down hard upon the floor.
“Well, Eden,” Claude drawled from the couch, “it seems you’re still as dramatic ‘s ever.” Every eye in the room turned to him. He was unfazed by their scrutiny as he casually settled back into the couch, mindful of his injuries. “Of course there’s been a rebellion in India. They damn well mutiny every other week. So it’s a little bigger this time. No offense,” he added, turning his head to look at Suresh. The Indian was too shocked to reply. He was thinking of his family and their home. Would any of it survive a bloody, destructive war? Would they still be there when -if- he ever returned to India?
“-s not just the rebellion, y’ idiot,” Eden was saying to Claude, hands propped angrily upon her hips. From their expressions Gray guessed that these two had fought before. “Don’ cha know what this means for the Company? They’ll lose powe,’ I c’n tell ya that roight quick. The gov’ment ain’t gonna stand for this. It’ll take India out a’ the company’s ‘ands. Wot’s Linderman gonna do then?” Claude opened his mouth as though to argue, but was cut off when Suresh suddenly stood. “Give me the paper, please,” he requested in an overly calm tone. Not even Claude made a sound as Peter complied. Suresh simply took it in his dark, slender hands and sat down in the middle of the floor, instantly engrossed. The others exchanged worried looks.
“‘The Sepoy Mutiny,’” he read out loud. His face fell as he continued down the paper. “Peter, Eden is right. We finally started a Civil War.” Suresh wore a funny look, almost as though he were not really there. “I suppose this makes us enemies, then?”
Claude snorted. “I don’t see why yer so shocked. S’been buildin’ fer a while, yeah? Y’ had to see it comin,’ even if yer head was buried into the sand.” He hissed, fingering a tender wound, before continuing. “Now if you ask me, we’ve all got to calm down, stop bein’ so dramatic about it.” This last was said with a pointed glance at Eden, who still glared at him. “Peter, you ought to get in touch wit’ some of the old contacts in town, figure out what Linderman’s up to.” Peter frowned as Claude spoke to the wall behind him, impatience growing large upon his face.
“Yes, Claude, it’s a good idea,” he replied, almost impatiently. Peter stood and began to pace the room, his body seemingly unable to stay still. “Suresh, you’ll have to stay inside until we know more about what’s going on. The people...the people won’t be very happy.” Abruptly he stopped, seeming to come to a decision. Peter turned, eyes broody and body language tense, to Eden. “Can you keep them safe for a while? The rest of today, maybe tomorrow?” Eden nodded, and Peter turned back to the others.
“I’m going to get in touch with someone who might be able to help us. Another Talent. You three will stay here. Please,” he added as Gray’s brow grew stormy and an argument began to form upon his lips. “I cannot bring you, and Eden will keep this building safe.” The trembling woman nodded, her tiny features and short hair giving her the air of a worried pixie. Ah, Gray thought, only a little surprised. Another Talent. “I should return by tomorrow evening. If not, then Claude will know what to do.” Sadness ran across his now shadowed face as he said this, turning to look at the man on the couch.
“No, Peter, I-”
“Claude.” Peter’s quiet voice cut his protests off mid sentence. Claude fell into a sulky silence on his makeshift sickbed as Peter lingered for a moment, eventually turning to Suresh and Gray. “Take care of yourselves, Professors. Mohinder,” he added, tone sympathetic, “I am sorry that this happened.” Suresh found no reply as Peter quickly turned and raced out the door, steps echoing as he flew down the staircase.
~
Cold numbness invaded Suresh’s brain as he read the paper before him. Between the racist remarks and hysteria he learned that a company of Sepoys -Native soldiers- had mutinied, for something he didn’t quite understand. The paper threw the terms ‘rifles’ and ‘cartridges’ about, and so he assumed that there had been a miscommunication yet again between the overbearing British and the restless Sepoys. It mattered not. All he knew was that his home was burning with the destructive fires of revolution.
Oh, he’d seen it coming, as Claude had so snarkily put it. There had been minor rebellions for years, and the East Indian Trading Company was so cruel that such an uprising was inevitable. But the shock of it actually happening had brought him to his knees. He thought of his mother and father, of their beautiful home. The orchids would be in bloom now, their vibrant blossoms perfuming the air and brightening the garden that held so many memories: his mother weeding in their vegetable patch, the tiny shrine where his sister had been buried, his first experiment with pea plants, following the steps of his hero, Mendel. All that might be lost in an instant, burned by the British or his countrymen. He was an intelligent man, well read, and he knew what primal forces revolution released.
When Peter left, Suresh was still kneeling upon the floor, allowing these feelings to fill him. Then a face appeared before his, soft brown eyes looking worriedly into his dark ones, gentle hands finding the paper he’d let fall and folding it back together.
Sudden realization bloomed from the cold numbness that had overtaken the Indian. He’d been so foolish. People were dying-his homeland was dying- and they were on the deranged sort of mission that meant he himself could be joining those thousands any second. So could Peter, or Claude, or even the man worrying at his folded newspaper.
What a mistake he had made. Denying them both out of fear, letting his childhood prevent him from escaping into the future. Yes, it had been a horrible event to witness, especially as a child. Yes, he had spent years in a place where what he really wanted was met with cruel and sudden death, where the laws as well as human fear brought suffering and self doubt. But did that really matter anymore? His home was burning. Their lives were constantly in danger, as Claude’s attack proved. Suresh no longer had the luxury of giving in to fear.
“Mohinder, say something,” Gray finally pleaded, breaking the silence that had built up in the room since Peter’s departure. In that moment Suresh saw that he was hungry. Starved, actually. He’d stopped himself from feeling anything for so long, keeping those truly vital, life giving emotions away with a gauzy insulation of fear. Here he was, every moment potentially his last, and how long was it since he’d truly known agony? Ecstasy? Had he ever?
Troubled black eyes met brown, and Suresh said the only thing he could. “I’m sorry.” The apology was not just to Gray but to himself, for cutting out all those things that made life worth living. Their connected eyes told Suresh that Gray both understood and forgave him.
Eden’s heavy sigh broke into the room, reminding the frozen pair upon the floor that they were not alone. “I s’pose I ought ta go downstairs,” she muttered, patting her closely-cut hair distractedly. “Promis’d Petah I’d protect yew, an’ I can’t very well do that up ‘ere.”
Gray looked up, curiosity on his face. “I’m sorry, and please take no offense, but how exactly will you do that?” A distracted smile lit up her face as Claude guffawed loudly.
“Ol’ Eden? Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little head, mate. She’ll manage.” Gray frowned a the evasive reply. “Aye, she’s very...persuasive when she needs to be.” Eden’s smile turned into yet another glare aimed at the smirking man sitting upon the couch.
“That’s eno’gh outta yew, Claude.” With that parting remark she left the three men to themselves, shutting the door firmly behind her. There was a moment of awkward silence, and Claude’s wicked grin faded to a scowl.
“You’d best not be expecting me ta nursemaid ya.” His tone was grumpy, a complete change from what it had been moments before. It was all that Gray could do to keep from throwing the wounded man off of the couch. Only the still angry stitches upon Claude’s chest prevented him from doing so. Suresh’s hand upon his may also have factored into Gray’s sudden restraint.
“Want to toss a coin to see who gets to change the bandages first?” Suresh asked, the question hovering somewhere between amusement and annoyance. Behind his query, however, was another request, asking Gray to wait just a little longer.
“I’ll go get a penny,” Gray answered with a self-suffering sigh. Both men smiled, in perfect understanding for the first time in months.
~
“Oh, shove off, ya pansy!” The insult growled itself out of the back of Claude’s throat. He was currently leaning against the fireplace of their tiny apartment, one hand pressed painfully to the reopened wound on his bare chest, the other gripping the mantle until knuckles turned white. His snarl had been directed at Gray, who had taken it upon himself to help the injured man walk from the couch to his present location. Gray now stepped back, heavy brows creasing in anger as he crossed his arms across his chest.
“Fine, then. You can get back to your ‘bed’ on your own then.” The words dripped with disdain as Gray turned his back on Claude and went to wash his hands. Claude made a dismissive, sharp noise and ignored him.
It had been three days, not one, since Peter had left to find more information. Claude refused to do anything, ignoring completely Peter’s orders that he take control if Peter were to fail to return. He’d been extremely sharp about it when Suresh had mentioned Peter’s wishes over dinner the previous night. Privately Suresh thought his inaction was more from his desire that Peter return, not the feigned anger he’d thrown at them when the question was aired. Regardless they had stayed put for three days.
Today Claude had felt better, well enough to attempt to walk. The experiment unfourtunately had not gone as planned, and now Suresh was stuck with two very cranky men, one of which was also bleeding onto Eden’s floor. He stepped between them with a sigh.
“Claude, you-” A rap upon the door cut him off mid-sentence. There was one more knock, and then Peter strode in, looking exhausted and disheveled but at least in one piece. A smile of relief brightened the Indian’s sepia skin as he and the others turned to the English professor. To his right Claude shifted slightly, and Suresh thought he saw the man’s body relax in relief before his angry mask slid back into place.
“Well?” Asked Gray, tactless as ever. It had been a long three days, though, and Suresh couldn’t blame him for having a short temper.
“We are going to America.” Peter’s answer was equally as blunt, exhaustion seeping from every pore in his skin. At his words, however, Suresh grew excited. America! He’d always wanted to go. The land of the free, it was called. Home to the misfits and tired poor of the world. A surreptitious glance at Gray followed these thoughts, betraying his hope that perhaps there would be a place for even the strangest of folk in the new country.
“An’ when do we leave, if ya don’ mind my askin?” Claude interjected, voice dripping with sarcasm. Peter’s eyes fixed themselves upon the blood which had stained the injured man’s hand and side red. The young professor closed them for a moment before looking up at Claude’s bearded face and replying.
“Tonight.”
~
Title: To Paint a Future Darkly- Book II: Destiny in Motion (Installment 4)
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar, Peter/Claude (implied)
Rating: pg-13
Spoilers/Warnings: none
Summary: Summary: Mohinder Suresh and Gabriel Gray were science professors at an elite boarding school deep within India during the mid to late 1800's, when Great Britain controlled India. This is the story of evil plots, as carried out by Linderman and the East India Trading Company; ancient prophecies, as protected by the Petrelli family; and the confused and illegal relationship between an Indian (Mohinder) and a British man (Sylar). Destiny is a complicated thing.
INSTALLMENT IV: Claude wakes up, Eden is flustered, and a revolution breaks out. Also, Claude gets extra snarky.
Author's notes: I have such a good time writing Claude in this fic! He's amusing.
ALSO up until now I've tried to keep the fic pretty darned historically accurate. In this chapter, however, I used the Sepoy Mutiny (first Indian Civil War) as a plot point. This is in fact not accurate, as the mutiny happened a good ten to twenty years before the rough time period. However I thought it over and decided it was good for the plot, so there. It's my fic an' I'll do what I want.
Links: Installment III of Book II Installment I of Book II, Installment II of Book II
~~~~~
To Paint a Future Darkly
Book II: Destiny in Motion
Installment IV
“Fer the last time, I dun’ know!” Thin afternoon light filtered its way into the main room of their temporary lodgings, weakly illuminating the three men who sat and stood around the slumped figure on the couch. Claude had finally woken after about ten hours, during which Suresh, Gray, and Peter had all taken turns keeping watch over his sickly form. One might have thought that he’d be grateful. They had, after all, saved the bastard’s life. However all Gray had seen was a bitter man who was steadfastly refusing to be cooperative. His annoyance was peaked..
“Th’ only thing I know’s that it was one o’ us,” Claude added belligerently, hissing as his words caused pain to the wounds on his chest. Peter contemplated the man gravely, no surprise showing on his face.
“Tell us again, Claude.” The iron will in Peter’s voice shocked everyone in the room, even, if Gray’s guess was right, Claude. It was not a tone usually heard coming from the young professor.
Gray had been the one sitting with Claude when he awoke, blinking against the light and groaning. He’d called in Peter and Suresh, and the three of them had told Claude where he was, and why. The rumpled man immediately sat up, ignoring Peter’s dire warnings about ripping the make shift stitches, and proceeded to berate Peter for interfering (he was able to handle himself, he didn’t want Peter’s help, etc). When they’d finally managed to ask him what had happened, he proved utterly useless. Now, with the revelation that it had been a Talent who injured Claude, Peter seemed more willing to press for the information they needed.
Claude sighed and sat back more comfortably, sucking his breath sharply through his teeth as his chest moved. “I was drunk, as y’ can no doubt recall,” he began, staring at the far wall. “I don’ remember much. There were some alleys, I mighta paused for a moment, get my bearin’s.” His tone was oddly neutral, signaling that perhaps there was more to that statement that Claude revealed. Gray’s annoyance began to show upon his face, causing Suresh to lay a hand on his shoulder, a silent request for quiet. Though his frown deepened, Gray nodded, and they waited until Claude continued.
“I heard somethin,’ an I had a bad feelin,’ so I turned on me Talent.” Seeing Suresh and Gray’s sudden looks of interest out of the corner of his eye, Claude grinned wickedly. “Bet y’d like ta know what that is, eh?”
“Claude.” Peter’s voice was soft but hard, the alien tone bringing Claude back to the story.
“Anyways. Somethin’ lifted me from be’ind, off t’ ground, slammed me inta the walls a couple a times. Then it started clawin at me, rippin holes in m’ chest.” Now he stopped his gloomy inspection of the room and turned to stare Peter in the face for the first time since he’d entered their apartment. “I didn’t even land one blow, mate. It had ta be one o’ us.”
“Well, Peter?” Suresh interjected into the tense conversation. “Do you think it was Linderman?” Peter sighed and ran a hand through his long brown hair. His frown was crooked as he replied.
“I don’t see who else it could be.” He stopped, staring troubled into space. “What bothers me is this Talent. You only heard one person, Claude?”
“Aye,” answered the wounded man, avoiding his gaze once more.
“You would know if it were more than one. But...”
Suresh shifted slightly, comprehension dawning on his face. “But people, most people, only have one gift, right?” Peter nodded from the chair he was perched in, his face troubled. “This one somehow lifted Claude with his mind, then...are you sure it wasn’t a weapon?” This question was addressed to Claude, who sneered.
“If it had been a weapon I’d a’ fought it off, drunk or no,” he answered, voice snide. “I could feel it as he cut into me. They were hands, claws. Very strong, very fast.”
“Could it have been another one like you, Peter? A copy-cat?” Gray’s question was logical, if the wording was slightly insulting.
Peter shook his head. “I don’t think so. What I am, what I can do, is very rare, even among the Talented. Besides, I think...I think I would know if that were the case,” he finished, quietly sure. Gray frowned, not positive that he agreed. “Regardless, we-”
A crash resounded through the room as the door burst open. Instantly Peter, Suresh and Gray were on their feet, Claude cursing as he tried to lean over the side of the sofa. Eden raced through the now open door, her face flushed and her short hair mussed. She crashed to a halt and half collapsed against the back of the couch, one hand supporting herself as she panted, the other grasping a newspaper tightly.
“Eden!” Peter exclaimed, rushing forward to help her stand. She latched a grateful hand onto his shoulder, trying hard to catch her breath.
“W...w...what a’ yew boys...doin’....in ‘ere?” She finally managed to get out. “Din’cha get the paper, Petah?” The men exchanged worried looks.
“What, Eden? What is going on?” Peter asked as she stood. Her eyes were wide as she handed him the crumpled gray sheets of newsprint.
“It’s India. There’s been a rebellion!” Peter’s hands fell numb as Suresh sat down hard upon the floor.
“Well, Eden,” Claude drawled from the couch, “it seems you’re still as dramatic ‘s ever.” Every eye in the room turned to him. He was unfazed by their scrutiny as he casually settled back into the couch, mindful of his injuries. “Of course there’s been a rebellion in India. They damn well mutiny every other week. So it’s a little bigger this time. No offense,” he added, turning his head to look at Suresh. The Indian was too shocked to reply. He was thinking of his family and their home. Would any of it survive a bloody, destructive war? Would they still be there when -if- he ever returned to India?
“-s not just the rebellion, y’ idiot,” Eden was saying to Claude, hands propped angrily upon her hips. From their expressions Gray guessed that these two had fought before. “Don’ cha know what this means for the Company? They’ll lose powe,’ I c’n tell ya that roight quick. The gov’ment ain’t gonna stand for this. It’ll take India out a’ the company’s ‘ands. Wot’s Linderman gonna do then?” Claude opened his mouth as though to argue, but was cut off when Suresh suddenly stood. “Give me the paper, please,” he requested in an overly calm tone. Not even Claude made a sound as Peter complied. Suresh simply took it in his dark, slender hands and sat down in the middle of the floor, instantly engrossed. The others exchanged worried looks.
“‘The Sepoy Mutiny,’” he read out loud. His face fell as he continued down the paper. “Peter, Eden is right. We finally started a Civil War.” Suresh wore a funny look, almost as though he were not really there. “I suppose this makes us enemies, then?”
Claude snorted. “I don’t see why yer so shocked. S’been buildin’ fer a while, yeah? Y’ had to see it comin,’ even if yer head was buried into the sand.” He hissed, fingering a tender wound, before continuing. “Now if you ask me, we’ve all got to calm down, stop bein’ so dramatic about it.” This last was said with a pointed glance at Eden, who still glared at him. “Peter, you ought to get in touch wit’ some of the old contacts in town, figure out what Linderman’s up to.” Peter frowned as Claude spoke to the wall behind him, impatience growing large upon his face.
“Yes, Claude, it’s a good idea,” he replied, almost impatiently. Peter stood and began to pace the room, his body seemingly unable to stay still. “Suresh, you’ll have to stay inside until we know more about what’s going on. The people...the people won’t be very happy.” Abruptly he stopped, seeming to come to a decision. Peter turned, eyes broody and body language tense, to Eden. “Can you keep them safe for a while? The rest of today, maybe tomorrow?” Eden nodded, and Peter turned back to the others.
“I’m going to get in touch with someone who might be able to help us. Another Talent. You three will stay here. Please,” he added as Gray’s brow grew stormy and an argument began to form upon his lips. “I cannot bring you, and Eden will keep this building safe.” The trembling woman nodded, her tiny features and short hair giving her the air of a worried pixie. Ah, Gray thought, only a little surprised. Another Talent. “I should return by tomorrow evening. If not, then Claude will know what to do.” Sadness ran across his now shadowed face as he said this, turning to look at the man on the couch.
“No, Peter, I-”
“Claude.” Peter’s quiet voice cut his protests off mid sentence. Claude fell into a sulky silence on his makeshift sickbed as Peter lingered for a moment, eventually turning to Suresh and Gray. “Take care of yourselves, Professors. Mohinder,” he added, tone sympathetic, “I am sorry that this happened.” Suresh found no reply as Peter quickly turned and raced out the door, steps echoing as he flew down the staircase.
~
Cold numbness invaded Suresh’s brain as he read the paper before him. Between the racist remarks and hysteria he learned that a company of Sepoys -Native soldiers- had mutinied, for something he didn’t quite understand. The paper threw the terms ‘rifles’ and ‘cartridges’ about, and so he assumed that there had been a miscommunication yet again between the overbearing British and the restless Sepoys. It mattered not. All he knew was that his home was burning with the destructive fires of revolution.
Oh, he’d seen it coming, as Claude had so snarkily put it. There had been minor rebellions for years, and the East Indian Trading Company was so cruel that such an uprising was inevitable. But the shock of it actually happening had brought him to his knees. He thought of his mother and father, of their beautiful home. The orchids would be in bloom now, their vibrant blossoms perfuming the air and brightening the garden that held so many memories: his mother weeding in their vegetable patch, the tiny shrine where his sister had been buried, his first experiment with pea plants, following the steps of his hero, Mendel. All that might be lost in an instant, burned by the British or his countrymen. He was an intelligent man, well read, and he knew what primal forces revolution released.
When Peter left, Suresh was still kneeling upon the floor, allowing these feelings to fill him. Then a face appeared before his, soft brown eyes looking worriedly into his dark ones, gentle hands finding the paper he’d let fall and folding it back together.
Sudden realization bloomed from the cold numbness that had overtaken the Indian. He’d been so foolish. People were dying-his homeland was dying- and they were on the deranged sort of mission that meant he himself could be joining those thousands any second. So could Peter, or Claude, or even the man worrying at his folded newspaper.
What a mistake he had made. Denying them both out of fear, letting his childhood prevent him from escaping into the future. Yes, it had been a horrible event to witness, especially as a child. Yes, he had spent years in a place where what he really wanted was met with cruel and sudden death, where the laws as well as human fear brought suffering and self doubt. But did that really matter anymore? His home was burning. Their lives were constantly in danger, as Claude’s attack proved. Suresh no longer had the luxury of giving in to fear.
“Mohinder, say something,” Gray finally pleaded, breaking the silence that had built up in the room since Peter’s departure. In that moment Suresh saw that he was hungry. Starved, actually. He’d stopped himself from feeling anything for so long, keeping those truly vital, life giving emotions away with a gauzy insulation of fear. Here he was, every moment potentially his last, and how long was it since he’d truly known agony? Ecstasy? Had he ever?
Troubled black eyes met brown, and Suresh said the only thing he could. “I’m sorry.” The apology was not just to Gray but to himself, for cutting out all those things that made life worth living. Their connected eyes told Suresh that Gray both understood and forgave him.
Eden’s heavy sigh broke into the room, reminding the frozen pair upon the floor that they were not alone. “I s’pose I ought ta go downstairs,” she muttered, patting her closely-cut hair distractedly. “Promis’d Petah I’d protect yew, an’ I can’t very well do that up ‘ere.”
Gray looked up, curiosity on his face. “I’m sorry, and please take no offense, but how exactly will you do that?” A distracted smile lit up her face as Claude guffawed loudly.
“Ol’ Eden? Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little head, mate. She’ll manage.” Gray frowned a the evasive reply. “Aye, she’s very...persuasive when she needs to be.” Eden’s smile turned into yet another glare aimed at the smirking man sitting upon the couch.
“That’s eno’gh outta yew, Claude.” With that parting remark she left the three men to themselves, shutting the door firmly behind her. There was a moment of awkward silence, and Claude’s wicked grin faded to a scowl.
“You’d best not be expecting me ta nursemaid ya.” His tone was grumpy, a complete change from what it had been moments before. It was all that Gray could do to keep from throwing the wounded man off of the couch. Only the still angry stitches upon Claude’s chest prevented him from doing so. Suresh’s hand upon his may also have factored into Gray’s sudden restraint.
“Want to toss a coin to see who gets to change the bandages first?” Suresh asked, the question hovering somewhere between amusement and annoyance. Behind his query, however, was another request, asking Gray to wait just a little longer.
“I’ll go get a penny,” Gray answered with a self-suffering sigh. Both men smiled, in perfect understanding for the first time in months.
~
“Oh, shove off, ya pansy!” The insult growled itself out of the back of Claude’s throat. He was currently leaning against the fireplace of their tiny apartment, one hand pressed painfully to the reopened wound on his bare chest, the other gripping the mantle until knuckles turned white. His snarl had been directed at Gray, who had taken it upon himself to help the injured man walk from the couch to his present location. Gray now stepped back, heavy brows creasing in anger as he crossed his arms across his chest.
“Fine, then. You can get back to your ‘bed’ on your own then.” The words dripped with disdain as Gray turned his back on Claude and went to wash his hands. Claude made a dismissive, sharp noise and ignored him.
It had been three days, not one, since Peter had left to find more information. Claude refused to do anything, ignoring completely Peter’s orders that he take control if Peter were to fail to return. He’d been extremely sharp about it when Suresh had mentioned Peter’s wishes over dinner the previous night. Privately Suresh thought his inaction was more from his desire that Peter return, not the feigned anger he’d thrown at them when the question was aired. Regardless they had stayed put for three days.
Today Claude had felt better, well enough to attempt to walk. The experiment unfourtunately had not gone as planned, and now Suresh was stuck with two very cranky men, one of which was also bleeding onto Eden’s floor. He stepped between them with a sigh.
“Claude, you-” A rap upon the door cut him off mid-sentence. There was one more knock, and then Peter strode in, looking exhausted and disheveled but at least in one piece. A smile of relief brightened the Indian’s sepia skin as he and the others turned to the English professor. To his right Claude shifted slightly, and Suresh thought he saw the man’s body relax in relief before his angry mask slid back into place.
“Well?” Asked Gray, tactless as ever. It had been a long three days, though, and Suresh couldn’t blame him for having a short temper.
“We are going to America.” Peter’s answer was equally as blunt, exhaustion seeping from every pore in his skin. At his words, however, Suresh grew excited. America! He’d always wanted to go. The land of the free, it was called. Home to the misfits and tired poor of the world. A surreptitious glance at Gray followed these thoughts, betraying his hope that perhaps there would be a place for even the strangest of folk in the new country.
“An’ when do we leave, if ya don’ mind my askin?” Claude interjected, voice dripping with sarcasm. Peter’s eyes fixed themselves upon the blood which had stained the injured man’s hand and side red. The young professor closed them for a moment before looking up at Claude’s bearded face and replying.
“Tonight.”
~