Christmas (sequel to 'Thanksgiving')
Noah
Mohinder Sylar
Matt Claude
Nathan Peter
Claire Monica
Molly Micah
(empty)
On Christmas Eve, everyone had agreed to gather at the Bennet’s house because Thanksgiving had gone so well.
Nathan arrived, scowling, arms crossed, with a blinking Santa hat on his head.
“Happy?” he snarled, glaring at Noah, as if daring him to say something.
Noah didn’t comment, but when Nathan was out of sight the former Company man collapsed into a hysterical fit of laughter.
“Room at the inn?”
Noah jumped: Matthew Parkman stood in on the threshold, holding a casserole dish. Molly - who’d just had her fourteenth birthday - stood next to him, beaming so sunnily Noah worried that his glasses might shatter.
“Hi, Mr. Bennet!” she said cheerfully, hanging her coat up.
“Molly … Detective Parkman …” Noah fumbled nervously. “This is … unexpected.”
“We wanted to surprise Mohinder, we haven’t seen him in like six months,” Molly looked around. “He here yet?”
Noah nodded. “Yeah, but Molly … Matt … there’s something you two should know -”
“Molly?”
Mohinder raced down the hallway and caught the two in a gigantic huge. “I haven’t seen you in ages …”
They broke out of the hug. Matt stiffened. “What’s he doing here?” he hissed.
Sylar stood down the hall, in the doorway to the kitchen, the smile on his face fading.
Matt grabbed Molly and pushed her behind him defensively. “He … you … do you see him?!” he demanded.
Noah shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t felt this awkward since he’d heard Claude was alive and shacking up with Peter Petrelli. Mohinder, on the other hand, looked like he was about to be sick.
“Matt, let me explain -” Mohinder began, but Matt cut him off.
“Has his memory been wiped?” Matt demanded.
“What? No … no of course not …”
“Then why the hell isn’t he dead?”
Molly peered over Matt’s shoulder, eyes wide and frightened. “M-M-Matt?”
Matt stared at Sylar. Mohinder had seen that look before: Matt was reading Sylar’s mind. After a few tense minutes Matt scowled and looked away. “Fine. Just don’t sit me next to him at the table,” he stormed off in the direction of the living room.
There was an awkward moment, then Mohinder led Molly into the dining room to say hello to Peter and Claude and Claire and Sylar helped Monica in the kitchen for twenty minutes.
Later, when Mohinder went to check on the fake-turkey, he caught Nathan sitting on the counter with his legs wrapped around Matt’s waist, kissing the other man passionately.
After jumping about three feet in the air and making a sound that blurred ‘what’ and ‘Matt’ and ‘Nathan’ and ‘turkey’ all at once, Mohinder scurried out closing the door behind him, muttering “Why me? Why me?”
Dinner started off rather awkwardly. The couples that had just been starting last month were now becoming serious relationships so seating was a bit difficult, and that was before Matt and Molly showed up. Noah didn’t have a ‘what we’re thankful for’ speech to lean on, so conversation took a while to get started. Then Matt ‘thought’ something at Sylar.
Claude eyed the shattered remnants of Matt’s wine glass. “And I thought we were messed up, pup,” he said, ruffling Peter’s hair.
The tentative laughter that broke out was magical. Nathan got Matt to talk about his job as a detective and Micah and Molly discussed the latest season of some sci-fi show or another. Peter and Claude had been away for a while, so there was a lot of catching up to do, and Claire hadn’t seen Monica in two weeks.
Noah inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t liked the idea of cleaning up after several superpowered people battled at Christmas dinner.
~*~
After dinner Sylar found Molly sitting on the living room couch, hugging her knees to her chest.
“We should talk.” he said bluntly, sitting down across from her.
Molly looked up at him. “Matt read your mind. They all trust you. I’m not worried about you killing us all. Well, not really. So there’s only one thing I want to know.”
Sylar raised his eyebrows. “Shoot.”
Molly cleared her throat nervously. “Are you … you and Mohinder … are you two … together?”
Sylar hesitated, then nodded.
Molly felt like she’d swallowed a whole fish. “Oh … oh … umm … how long has … has this been going on?”
Sylar looked uncomfortable. “Since Thanksgiving.”
Molly gulped; her mouth was suddenly very dry. “Oh … wow … um …”
They sat in awkward silence for several minutes. In the hallway, people were pulling on boots and jackets and scarves and saying goodbye, promising to return the next morning for French Toast and presents.
“What if I said I was sorry for brutally murdering your parents?” Sylar asked.
Molly looked up at him with wide eyes. “It’s a start …” she gathered up her courage, “It’s not like I’d ever forgive you or anything, though,” and then she blurted out “even though you still scare me.”
Sylar raised his eyebrows. “Really?” he looked down at himself. “I’m scary?” he said, more to himself than Molly.
“Well, see how you react when you come home for Christmas and the monster from your childhood is there!” Molly snapped. She gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth.
Sylar laughed, but not the laugh Molly remembered. This was a nice, normal laugh that didn’t send shivers down her spine. “Good point.”
They sat in silence once more.
“Don’t ever use cyrokinesis around me.” Molly said suddenly.
“I won’t.” Sylar promised.
Molly took a deep breath. “Ok, then … um …” she stood up. “See you at breakfast,” she headed for the door, and turned around. “I didn’t bring anything for you.”
Sylar snorted. “That’s ok, I don’t have anything for you either.”
Molly shrugged. “’S ok …” and she headed off to find Micah, feeling like a great weight had been lifted from her chest.
~*~
“What are those?” Claire asked. Monica had driven home early, Claire had stuck around to keep her dad company for a while before driving over to Monica’s place.
Monica looked up as a version of Dashing Through The Snow started up on the radio. “Rum balls. I made them a few nights ago and forgot to bring them to dinner tonight. They’re divine, have one …” she popped one into Claire’s open mouth.
Claire chewed, sighed, and swallowed. “Have I told you how beautiful you are this evening?” she asked, kissing Monica on the cheek.
Monica giggled. “Yeah … but you can say it again …”
Claire smiled. “Would that get me an extra special present this Christmas?” she asked, nuzzling Monica’s neck.
Monica raised her eyebrows. “Maaaaaaaybe …” she put the tray back into the fridge. “Depends if you’ve been naughty or nice.”
Claire grinned. “What happens to naughty girls?”
Monica cocked her head to the side. “Do you really want to know?”
Claire nodded.
Monica gave a big, fake sigh and washed her hands off. “Ok then … but remember, you asked for it …”
A new song started up on the radio:
Well they say he knows who’s been naughty or nice
And if I have my way baby after tonight
We'll be one couple he can scratch off his list
Let's be naughty and save Santa the trip!
~*~
“Is that why you came to America?” Peter asked. He and Claude were snuggled up on the couch, eating popcorn and watching Love Actually. Claude insisted it was a ‘daft, sappy girl-movie’ but he was the one who owned it. “Did you think all the guys were easy and would melt over your accent?”
Claude snorted. “No. Thank the Company for my emigration … but the ‘accent’ yer always referring ta has certainly helped me out of a few situations …”
“What kind of situations? Is that like your second power? Sexy voice?” Peter was grinning.
Claude chuckled. “If ya’d empathed it offa me when we first met and used it on Sylar maybe they wouldn’t call ya Peter Petrelli: The Boy Who Lived.”
Peter gasped. “Wait … you read Harry Potter?!” he exclaimed, sitting up.
“No.” Claude said, too quickly.
Peter stared at him and paused the TV. “You’re lying -”
“Read my mind Petrelli and I’ll toss ya out the window!” Claude roared, glaring at the empath, who glared right back.
All of the sudden, Peter started to giggle. Claude tired very hard to retain his furious-face but soon he was laughing hysterically; Peter was practically rolling around on the floor.
“You … Muggle!” Peter gasped.
Claude hauled him back up onto the couch. “Fine, my darkest secret is out. Tell a soul and I’ll -”
Peter kissed him.
As Claude fell backwards onto the couch and Peter clambered up to straddle him, the movie began to play again:
I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need.
I don’t care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree.
I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know.
Make my wish come true …
Baby all I want for Christmas is you!
~*~
“I cannot believe we don’t have any bread in the house.” Heidi said.
Sandra sighed and hurried down another aisle. “Well, what with everything that’s been going on I’m surprised we got a Christmas tree up. Here we are,” she grabbed a bag of cheap white bread. “My mother always made French toast with this nasty bread every Christmas morning.” she smiled, lost in recollection.
A version of Feliz Navidad started to trail out of the speakers in the store.
Heidi grinned and swung Sandra into her arms. “Dance with me, honey …”
Sandra laughed and let Heidi twirl her around the aisle for the rest of the song.
“Merry Christmas,” the sleepy teenager at the check-out counter droned a few minutes later.
“Merry Christmas!” Sandra trilled, kissing Heidi on the forehead and imagining the smiling faces of their boys in the morning.
~*~
After four weeks of ‘being together,’ Mohinder still refused to submit to Sylar. After a tentative hint that he’d like to be on top for once, the taller man found himself tied up with blazing Christmas lights - to a flagpole - in the freezing New England night, on Christmas Eve, clad only in his pajamas.
“Mohinder!” he roared, teeth chattering annoyingly. “I’m sorry, ok?!”
“Sorry about what?” Mohinder demanded, standing in the doorway, wrapped in a wool blanket.
“You want me to make a list?” Sylar mentally cursed himself for the unintended reference. “Fine: I’m sorry I killed your father, and pretended to be Zane Taylor, and tortured you without a safety word, and killed Peter Petrelli in front of you, and kidnapped you four months later, and stalked you for a month, and -”
“That’s enough!” Mohinder slipped on boots and scampered over to untie Sylar. “Fine, fine, fine, you can top for once. It’s Christmas, after all …”
They hurried inside. Sylar practically tripped over himself as they hurried up the stairs to the bedroom.
Mohinder smiled seductively. “Isn’t there a tradition that you can open one present on Christmas Eve?”
Sylar shrugged. “I guess so …”
Mohinder’s smile morphed into a grin. “Then you’re mine … and I’m yours.”
Sylar was pleasantly surprised to discover that Mohinder wasn’t wearing a thing under the blanket.
~*~
Micah reached for the bowl of popcorn and accidentally grabbed Molly’s hand instead. “Oh!” he quickly let go. “Sorry ...”
“’S ok,” Molly muttered, smiling at him. “Doctor Who’s on next,”
Micah’s grin outshone the Christmas lights. “Awesome!”
“Fantastic!” Molly corrected.
They laughed as Buffy and Angel held hands and walked through the snow before the credits began to roll.
“How much of Doctor Who have you seen?” Micah asked quizzically as he and Molly bounced around to the theme song.
“I saw some of the first ever episodes, but they were dull as hell and I haven’t had enough time to try the other Doctors … I’m a terrible fan, I’ve only really seen the newer seasons.”
“That’s ok, I can give you a list of all the must-see ones so you don’t have to watch twenty-something seasons like I did.”
“You’re a brave man,” Molly said, taking another handful of popcorn as Rose and Jackie Tyler puzzled over the unconscious Doctor onscreen.
By the time the Doctor was fighting the Sycorax, Molly was starting to fall asleep. She set the bowl of popcorn down on the floor and leaned towards Micah. Shocked, Micah cautiously stretched out and gingerly wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Molly gave a little giggle and awkwardly snuggled up to him, and together they watched the downfall of Harriet Jones.
~*~
Noah sighed dejectedly. Everyone had someone to cuddle with: Claire was over at Monica’s apartment, doing god only knew what; Molly’s arrival hadn’t cooled Sylar and Mohinder’s passion, quite the opposite, actually; Matt’s sudden arrival had awakened feelings in Nathan that Noah had never seen the icy man exhibit before; Sandra was far, far away with Nathan’s ex-wife; and Claude had chosen an whiny emo kid over his former partner. Even Micah, the geeky teenage boy who was still adjusting to his gangling limbs, appeared well on his way to hooking up with Molly Walker, who’d returned to the East Coast all grown up. Noah had checked in on them a few minutes ago: they were fast asleep, Micah’s arm around Molly’s shoulders, some sci-fi show playing on the TV that Noah shut off.
In a fit of desperation to fill the lonely silence of a house that was as good as empty, Noah switched on the radio:
I’ll have a bluuuuuuuue Christmas, without you …
“Oh, shut up,” Noah snapped, switching the machine off.
There was a rap on the window.
Noah jumped, spilling hot chocolate all over the table: a man with dark skin and a shaved head, wearing a tan coat and a necklace with the ‘Godsend’ symbol on it stood outside, snow falling around him.
Noah hurried to open the door and beamed. “You came!”
“Of course I came, Noah, you put up the wind-chimes I gave you.” The dark man looked around the kitchen critically. “This will never do.”
“My room’s down the hall …” Noah looked offended.
“Much better,” the dark man flashed one of his rare smiles and pulled Noah into a kiss that lasted several minutes. “I missed you, Noah Bennet …” he murmured.
“I missed you too …” Noah whispered the man’s real name into his ear. This was, of course, a major turn-on, so getting to the bedroom proved to be more of a challenge that Noah had originally intended.
Much later, Noah moaned the man’s real name. He was just about to come …
“Merry Christmas, Noah.”