In Transit
Characters: Mohinder, Sylar, Molly, Maya
Rating: PG-13
Words: 3823
Summary: A missing scene from Powerless
A/N: I know fics don't usually come with attachments, but describing the semi-unique way the F train cars are set up (it's different from most lines) took too many words and distracted from the story. So, THIS is the platform they stand on, and THIS is the seating arrangement once they're on the train. I don't know why I find it so important to everyone to visualize, but I do. :)
“Fine, I’ll help you, but not here. We’ll have to go to my lab.”
“Lead the way, doctor.”
“Mohinder?” Now recovered from the shock of being awoken by Maya’s attack, Molly was just now registering Sylar’s presence. She gripped him even tighter and stared at Sylar in terror. “Mohinder, it’s the boogieman,” she gasped.
“I know. Don’t worry, darling. He won’t hurt you.” Mohinder stood up and spun around to face Sylar. “Isn’t that right, Sylar?” There was an icy venom in Mohinder’s voice that Sylar hadn’t heard since the man had put a tuning fork to his ear.
“What?”
“In exchange for helping you, you have to agree never to harm Molly. Is that understood? Never.” Mohinder was too focused on Sylar to notice Maya’s hurt expression at not being included in this arrangement.
Sylar hadn’t consciously thought about it until now, but from the moment he started exploring the apartment a few hours earlier and realized how much Molly meant to Mohinder, he had ceased to have designs on her. Hell, he didn’t even know what her ability was. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t even worth the fuss. Sylar tried to think of excuses to justify sparing her. He had always thought that wanting to spare Mohinder was weakness enough. Now here he was, extending it. How much further would he go? He didn’t want to think about it.
Even though Sylar already knew he wouldn’t hurt the child, he put up a show of bravado anyway, for Mohinder’s benefit. “Fine. It’s a deal, as long as you keep up your end of the bargain,” he growled. “Let’s go.”
Sylar pointed the gun at Maya, who crouched in the corner, still slightly guilt-ridden about having almost killed a child. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you,” she said.
“Too bad,” Sylar replied.
There were a couple of minutes to kill while Molly got dressed and Maya went to the bathroom. Mohinder found himself alone in the front room with Sylar. They stood looking at one another until Mohinder finally walked away and busied himself with putting the uneaten breakfast in a Tupperware. Sylar sat down and followed Mohinder’s movements with his eyes.
“So, what have you been up to recently?” Sylar asked conversationally. He was still infuriated with Maya for having ruined what he had hoped would be a semi-normal, albeit forced and contrived, opportunity to sit down and talk with Mohinder. He was disappointed, but not surprised, when Mohinder didn’t respond.
“All set?” Sylar asked when Molly reappeared from her bedroom.
The motley foursome exited the apartment building and stepped into incongruously bright sunshine.
“Where exactly are we going?” Sylar asked. He couldn’t believe how disorganized and dependent he had become. This was not the kind of arrangement he was used to, and he hated it.
Mohinder wouldn’t even look at him. “We need to get to the F train and take it to East Broadway. From there it’s a short walk.”
“You had better be taking us to your lab, Mohinder,” Sylar threatened. “No tricks today. I don’t have the patience for it.” Mohinder felt the barrel of the gun pressed into his side through Sylar’s jacket. They walked quickly and in silence. Molly almost had to run to keep up with the long-legged man and her furious guardian, whose hand she held tightly.
“Pass me your Metrocard when you’re through,” Sylar said when they descended the stairs and entered the station.
“No,” Mohinder retorted.
Sylar rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Come on, Mohinder. Haven’t you ever learned to pick your battles?”
“No, I literally can’t. I have a monthly card. You have to wait 17 minutes between swipes.”
“Oh. Right.” Sylar hated being made to look like a fool. “Well, buy me one, then,” he commanded.
“Why should I? Going anywhere with you wasn't my idea, if you remember.”
“Actually, it was.”
Mohinder took a deep breath and conceded that Sylar had a point---two really. This wasn’t a battle worth fighting. He bought a pay-per-ride card with enough money for the other three. They entered the system and went down further into the ground to the train platform. It was past rush hour, so not many people were waiting, but all the same, a violinist was serenading the station.
With a burst of confidence, Molly broke away from the others, but not far enough to excite Sylar’s anger, and walked until she reached the bench in the middle of the platform. Maya looked from Molly to the two men, and decided to sit down with the little girl.
“Hello, I’m Maya.” She realized that despite having been in the same apartment for hours, they hadn’t actually been introduced.
“I’m Molly,” the child replied warily. She still hadn’t gotten over the image of black tears streaming from everyone’s eyes.
Some ten feet away, Sylar hovered behind Mohinder’s left shoulder while Mohinder looked ahead at the wall, down into the tracks, up at the ceiling---anywhere but at the killer. After a minute he snapped and turned to glare at Sylar.
“What?" Mohinder demanded.
“What do you mean, what?” For a split second, Sylar looked like a kid who had been caught with his fingers in the cookie jar. He had been smelling Mohinder’s clothes, contemplating the exact curliness of his locks, drinking in the essence of the man beside him, and fighting the urge to wrap his arms around him. He had longed to be this close to Mohinder since the moment they last parted.
“Are you… are you sniffing me?” Mohinder lowered his voice so the girls wouldn’t hear. He caught a fleeting look of something tender in Sylar’s eyes. The only version of Mohinder’s voice that Sylar liked better than angry sarcasm was angry whispering. Somehow it made his accent more pronounced.
Sylar looked quickly at the violinist so that Mohinder wouldn’t see his embarrassment. Serial killers shouldn’t blush, and neither should they be quite so enamored of men they’ve ostensibly kidnapped. “I love Bach, don’t you? Everything he wrote is so elegant, so mathematical, so tense, yet still… happy. And he manages to impart so much passion into his work, without breaking a single rule. This is the third movement of the---”
“---sixth Brandenburg concerto. Yes, I know,” Mohinder interrupted. His head spun in shock at hearing his own feelings on any subject, much less this one, so perfectly expressed and obviously shared by a man he wanted to consider his mortal enemy. He hated feeling his heartbeat quicken, and hated the small smile that lit Sylar’s face as a result of revealing yet another common interest they had. He took a deep breath and changed the subject.
“So. What happened to you? Last time I saw you, you were lying dead in a puddle of your own blood.” Mohinder infused as much smug satisfaction as he could muster into his voice. Sylar chose to ignore the tone.
“Not sure. I got rescued by some girl and taken to Mexico. I assume she was working with someone else, because when I woke up a week ago, she said I’d had a lot of surgeries.”
This set off alarm bells in Mohinder’s head. Could the company… no, not even they were so reckless as to rescue such a dangerous man. Terrifying as it was to imagine, Mohinder decided that there must be yet another force at work. “Who else was behind it? Who were the doctors?”
“I never found out. I killed her pretty soon after I woke up,” Sylar replied. For the first time, he had an inkling of regret for murdering Michelle, at least so immediately.
“Charming. You really have the most effective ways of getting answers, don’t you?” Mohinder deadpanned. He rolled his eyes. “And Maya…?”
“She picked me up on the roadside and we traveled together. It was all so convenient. She was actually on her way to New York to look for you, and of course, so was I… As she said at the time, it was fate.” Sylar looked at him meaningfully, and Mohinder wondered if the word fate referred to Maya or to himself. Judging from the disdain Sylar had shown the poor woman from the moment she gave the show away, the answer leaned towards…
The dark tunnel became bright from approaching lights, and a few seconds later, the train rumbled into the station. Sylar motioned to the other two to get up, and shepherded them all onto the train. The closest thing to a set of seats together was a five-some in which a very large man with a red nose and a paper bag sat smack in the middle.
“You two, over there.” He quietly motioned Molly and Maya to sit in the two-seater facing forward, while he and Mohinder sat on the other side of the man, with Sylar positioned between Mohinder and the stranger. This way, none of them could suddenly escape at one of the intermediary stops.
They rode in silence for about a stop. Sylar subtly shifted towards Mohinder, encroaching on the smaller man’s space and coming close to crossing the built-in seat division. Another couple of inches, and he would have felt curls tickle the side of his face. Sylar thought sadly that if Mohinder hadn’t cut his hair in the previous four months, he wouldn’t even have needed those extra inches. Mohinder, for his part, stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the other man’s increasingly close presence. The young woman across the way misinterpreted the stare and smiled shyly at him. Mohinder shifted his gaze to some empty space to her left. As the train came to an abrupt halt at 4th Avenue, Sylar was swept sideways by the motion of the train and crashed into Mohinder.
“Do you mind?” Mohinder spat.
“The guy next to me… he’s drunk and sleepy and falling on me,” Sylar whispered, taking the opportunity to place his lips as close to Mohinder’s ear as possible. He had to close his eyes and concentrate on not licking the doctor.
Realizing that it did indeed look like he was trying to climb into the other man’s lap, and also not trusting himself to stay in control while being so close to Mohinder, Sylar retreated a tiny bit. Their legs were still flush against one another, however, all the way down the length of their thighs. Mohinder tried to keep completely still in a hopeless effort not to be as painfully aware of the friction of his jeans against the other man’s slacks. He wanted to stop imagining the warm skin hidden behind those pants, separated by just a combined eighth of an inch of cloth from his own leg. He wanted to stop thinking of the nights when those legs had been interlocked with his. He wanted to stop reminiscing about a time when sitting side by side like this with their knees rubbing together had made him happy.
Sylar also sat in silence, repressing a joyful smile. He basked in the intuitive knowledge that he and Mohinder were simultaneously focused on their closeness---both past and present, thinking the same exact thoughts, and replaying the exact same memories. It was a little bit like being in the car again: stealing sidelong glances at Mohinder while the other stared straight ahead and drove, trying to will the doctor to look at him, too, and feeling a warm thrill when he did.
Meanwhile, Molly and Maya were tentatively making friends. Maya had always been good with children, but hadn’t interacted with one in months.
“For how long have you lived with Dr. Suresh?” she asked in a whisper.
Molly whispered back. “Since November. I was dying of a weird virus and he made me better---”
“The same virus Gabriel has?” Maya asked.
This was news to Molly, who had been asleep when everything was explained. “Oh, does he have it now, too? Is that why he hasn’t eaten our brains yet?” She peered at Sylar with just a little less fear in her eyes.
“What?” Maya’s horrified gasp momentarily startled Noddy McDrunk out of his stupor.
“Erhm?” He turned towards the girls. Molly, who was too young to pick up the signals that this man was of no use to anyone, caught his eye.
“Help us,” she mouthed. The man leered at her and nodded off again. Maya sighed heavily. The activity to his left forced Sylar’s attention away from Mohinder. He moved forward and turned to glare angrily at Molly and Maya. By the time he leaned back into his seat, Mohinder had shaken himself out of their shared reverie. Sylar was disappointed to have broken the silent rhythm they were enjoying, but decided to use this opportunity as another chance to try catching up. There was a subject that was tormenting him, but he was almost apprehensive about what he might hear when he interrogated Mohinder.
“So… who’s the world’s greatest dad?” he asked, as an awkward segueway from nowhere.
“I beg your pardon?” Mohinder asked, looking at him quizzically.
“The apron. Does it belong to you, or to the other guy? It seems I’m not the only one who isn’t dead.”
Mohinder battled within himself about whether or not he should dignify Sylar with a response, but something compelled him to give in, just for a few minutes. He rationalized it to himself by thinking that he’d have quite enough to deal with once they reached the lab. “Um, it’s mine. I’m the only one who cooks.”
Although he knew his question had been vague, this wasn’t the direct answer Sylar had hoped for, so he decided to get right to the point. “So, is the cop just crashing with you temporarily, or are you guys actually sleeping together?”
Mohinder gaped at the bluntness of the inquiry and became flustered. He wasn’t sure why Sylar cared… although he had an inkling… and he couldn’t decide if he was more interested in denying Sylar the satisfaction of a straight answer or sparing himself the teasing he knew to expect if he didn’t dispel Sylar’s suspicions. “He… we… it’s… it’s none of your damn business. But no, we are not… no.”
Sylar chuckled at Mohinder’s discomfiture, but felt relieved. From what he remembered of the guy, Matt didn't seem like Mohinder's type anyway, but he still had to check. “But did he buy you the apron?” Sylar wasn’t sure why he was so fixated on the garment. For some reason, it had sickened him more than any of the other symbols of Mohinder’s domestic bliss he had seen in the apartment.
“No… well, yes… it was a joint birthday present from both him and Molly.”
“Oh, when was that?” It occurred to Sylar that despite the inexplicably close bond he felt with Mohinder, there were many small, banal facts he didn’t know about the man.
“Last week. March 11.” Mohinder was surprised by the fact that he wasn’t surprised at how inexplicably easy it was to talk to Sylar, despite everything. It was such a relief to stop struggling---just for a little while. It was almost like the old days… no. Mohinder told himself that the only thing more dangerous than falling into comfortable familiarity with Sylar was thinking about ‘Zane.’ And yet… here he was, doing both.
“Oh, recently, huh? Well, happy birthday, Mohinder. The big 3-0, right? How does it feel?” Sylar was almost equally nervous about how good talking to Mohinder made him feel, but he couldn’t help himself. Mohinder was the only person who made him want to let down his guard, just a little. Yes, it was definitely a weakness, and definitely dangerous.
Mohinder thought. No one he knew had yet asked him this question. “The same. No, not the same. Life is much more stressful than it used to be, but I think that may be more a function of my particular existence than it is about turning thirty.”
“Why? What is there to be stressed about? I mean, before today.” Sylar smiled mischievously.
Mohinder was momentarily too distracted by the existential birthday question to fully absorb Sylar’s insinuation, or even remember the situation that had brought them here in the first place. “Well, there’s taking care of Molly. Sharing my home with other people. I’m still not quite used to living in New York and America in general. I also started working for the company. You know… the company that captured you months ago in Texas. That's very stressful.”
Sylar was shocked. Mohinder working for the company? Upright, morally sound Mohinder? Never. “Why would you work for people like that? Don’t you know what they do?”
“Yes, I know. I was trying to take it down. Destroy it from the inside. A sort of spy job. It… it didn’t go very well,” Mohinder sighed.
“Really? I’m surprised.”
“Don’t mock me.” Mohinder instantly went on the defensive.
“I’m not!” Sylar said. “I really mean that. You’re pretty crafty when you need to be. You got the drop on me when no one else could. You haven’t been trained in combat, and you don’t even have an ability. It’s impressive. You’re impressive.”
Mohinder smiled when he realized that Sylar was paying him a genuine compliment. He felt a pang of sadness that the only people in his life who seemed to fully appreciate him were a little girl and a serial killer, but it was nice to hear someone express approval of him after weeks of being ridiculed and insulted by Bennet, Matt, Bob, and Elle. Sylar smiled back, and for a brief moment, there was a complete absence of hostility, fear, or any kind of negative emotion between them.
“After you help me get my powers back, maybe I’ll help you take those suckers down. I always thought we made a pretty good team, you and me…” Sylar continued affably. However, the second the words came out of his mouth, he knew he had gone too far. Mohinder jumped and came to his senses. The last time he had teamed up with Sylar, people had lost their lives. The edge he habitually had around Sylar returned to his voice.
“No thanks. I may be involved with the company, but I definitely no longer work with murdering psychopaths, which is what I'm sure you'd go right back to being. With any luck, it’ll turn out you don’t actually have the virus and there will be absolutely nothing I can do for you. You’ll have to live the rest of your days without any abilities. Completely normal and unspecial. Your worst nightmare, isn’t it, Gabriel?” Mohinder said coolly. He was furious with himself for having felt even the smallest bit of enjoyment in the other man’s company.
A teenager standing by the door next to Mohinder picked up snippets of this angry rant and looked down at the two men with raised eyebrows. Both Mohinder and Sylar noticed and smiled weakly up at him.
To hide his disappointment, Sylar switched back into threatening mode in order to regain control of the situation. “That isn’t an option,” Sylar growled, but now at a less audible volume. “You’re going to help me. You’re going to figure out exactly what’s wrong with me, and you’re going to fix it.” He suddenly felt depressed. After the previous few minutes, resuming his antagonistic role felt like a chore. Something about being with Mohinder, about interacting with him, made him feel almost sane, almost healthy. He didn't feel like he was acting; he just felt like him, a version of himself that he didn't mind, who didn't necessarily need abilities to be interesting. It was a shame, although yes, an exhilarating shame, to always be in this constant battle.
“What if I refuse? What if I fail?” It wasn’t hard for Mohinder to fall back into their now familiar routine of defiance and anger, but he, too, felt weary of it until he got back into the groove.
“I honestly don’t think you want to consider that option, Mohinder. For everyone’s sake.” He looked out the train car window and was relieved to see that they were pulling into their destination so he could end what had now become an awkward and painful phase of the journey. “I think this is us.”
Sylar pushed aside the other emotions he was feeling and went back into kidnapper mode. He roughly pulled Mohinder up to standing along with himself, and motioned for Molly and Maya to follow. The foursome solemnly exited the train and climbed the steps.
“The streets here are going to be a lot busier than they were in Brooklyn, but if anyone tries anything… you know what will happen,” he whispered viciously into the huddle.
When they got above-ground, Sylar took Mohinder’s lead, and they all headed northwards.
“This neighborhood looks familiar…” he mused. Everyone was wrapped up in their own worries, however, and ignored him.
“Where are we?” Maya asked Molly, who was snuggled as close to Mohinder as possible while still walking.
“It’s kind of Chinatown, but we’re moving into the Lower East Side now.” The explanation didn’t help at all. Maya was still lost. She longed to talk to the sympathetic-seeming Dr. Suresh, but she held back. Maya had noticed how Molly seemed to draw such strength from him, and was beginning to share the little girl’s confidence in the handsome doctor. However, there was something slightly unapproachable about Mohinder, and she was not blind to the way her former traveling companion was intently focused on him almost to the exclusion of all else. There was a silent struggle going on between them and within them that Maya didn’t understand, but was also afraid to interrupt.
Mohinder led them into an unmarked, shabby-chic building and down a long hallway. They were still huddled closely together, and Maya felt Sylar’s arm accidentally brush against her own. He automatically flinched, as if he had touched a worm, and his gaze changed to distaste as it momentarily rested on her. The change in his attitude towards her since the previous day couldn't be more apparent. Maya could no longer repress her disgust for the man who had manipulated her.
“You are nothing like I thought you were.”
Mohinder punched a code that both opened the door and notified the head office of a security breach. He and Molly entered the lab while Sylar took a moment off from devouring Mohinder with his eyes to taunt Maya. He followed them all in and brandished the gun again. He felt slightly clumsy, as well as tired; he wasn’t used to dealing with actual weapons that he held with his hands, he wasn’t used to hostage situations, and he wasn’t used to not feeling completely in control.
“There’s a bed over there,” he said, before grabbing Mohinder and pulling him towards the stairs, away from the others.
Rating: PG-13
Words: 3823
Summary: A missing scene from Powerless
A/N: I know fics don't usually come with attachments, but describing the semi-unique way the F train cars are set up (it's different from most lines) took too many words and distracted from the story. So, THIS is the platform they stand on, and THIS is the seating arrangement once they're on the train. I don't know why I find it so important to everyone to visualize, but I do. :)
“Fine, I’ll help you, but not here. We’ll have to go to my lab.”
“Lead the way, doctor.”
“Mohinder?” Now recovered from the shock of being awoken by Maya’s attack, Molly was just now registering Sylar’s presence. She gripped him even tighter and stared at Sylar in terror. “Mohinder, it’s the boogieman,” she gasped.
“I know. Don’t worry, darling. He won’t hurt you.” Mohinder stood up and spun around to face Sylar. “Isn’t that right, Sylar?” There was an icy venom in Mohinder’s voice that Sylar hadn’t heard since the man had put a tuning fork to his ear.
“What?”
“In exchange for helping you, you have to agree never to harm Molly. Is that understood? Never.” Mohinder was too focused on Sylar to notice Maya’s hurt expression at not being included in this arrangement.
Sylar hadn’t consciously thought about it until now, but from the moment he started exploring the apartment a few hours earlier and realized how much Molly meant to Mohinder, he had ceased to have designs on her. Hell, he didn’t even know what her ability was. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t even worth the fuss. Sylar tried to think of excuses to justify sparing her. He had always thought that wanting to spare Mohinder was weakness enough. Now here he was, extending it. How much further would he go? He didn’t want to think about it.
Even though Sylar already knew he wouldn’t hurt the child, he put up a show of bravado anyway, for Mohinder’s benefit. “Fine. It’s a deal, as long as you keep up your end of the bargain,” he growled. “Let’s go.”
Sylar pointed the gun at Maya, who crouched in the corner, still slightly guilt-ridden about having almost killed a child. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you,” she said.
“Too bad,” Sylar replied.
There were a couple of minutes to kill while Molly got dressed and Maya went to the bathroom. Mohinder found himself alone in the front room with Sylar. They stood looking at one another until Mohinder finally walked away and busied himself with putting the uneaten breakfast in a Tupperware. Sylar sat down and followed Mohinder’s movements with his eyes.
“So, what have you been up to recently?” Sylar asked conversationally. He was still infuriated with Maya for having ruined what he had hoped would be a semi-normal, albeit forced and contrived, opportunity to sit down and talk with Mohinder. He was disappointed, but not surprised, when Mohinder didn’t respond.
“All set?” Sylar asked when Molly reappeared from her bedroom.
The motley foursome exited the apartment building and stepped into incongruously bright sunshine.
“Where exactly are we going?” Sylar asked. He couldn’t believe how disorganized and dependent he had become. This was not the kind of arrangement he was used to, and he hated it.
Mohinder wouldn’t even look at him. “We need to get to the F train and take it to East Broadway. From there it’s a short walk.”
“You had better be taking us to your lab, Mohinder,” Sylar threatened. “No tricks today. I don’t have the patience for it.” Mohinder felt the barrel of the gun pressed into his side through Sylar’s jacket. They walked quickly and in silence. Molly almost had to run to keep up with the long-legged man and her furious guardian, whose hand she held tightly.
“Pass me your Metrocard when you’re through,” Sylar said when they descended the stairs and entered the station.
“No,” Mohinder retorted.
Sylar rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Come on, Mohinder. Haven’t you ever learned to pick your battles?”
“No, I literally can’t. I have a monthly card. You have to wait 17 minutes between swipes.”
“Oh. Right.” Sylar hated being made to look like a fool. “Well, buy me one, then,” he commanded.
“Why should I? Going anywhere with you wasn't my idea, if you remember.”
“Actually, it was.”
Mohinder took a deep breath and conceded that Sylar had a point---two really. This wasn’t a battle worth fighting. He bought a pay-per-ride card with enough money for the other three. They entered the system and went down further into the ground to the train platform. It was past rush hour, so not many people were waiting, but all the same, a violinist was serenading the station.
With a burst of confidence, Molly broke away from the others, but not far enough to excite Sylar’s anger, and walked until she reached the bench in the middle of the platform. Maya looked from Molly to the two men, and decided to sit down with the little girl.
“Hello, I’m Maya.” She realized that despite having been in the same apartment for hours, they hadn’t actually been introduced.
“I’m Molly,” the child replied warily. She still hadn’t gotten over the image of black tears streaming from everyone’s eyes.
Some ten feet away, Sylar hovered behind Mohinder’s left shoulder while Mohinder looked ahead at the wall, down into the tracks, up at the ceiling---anywhere but at the killer. After a minute he snapped and turned to glare at Sylar.
“What?" Mohinder demanded.
“What do you mean, what?” For a split second, Sylar looked like a kid who had been caught with his fingers in the cookie jar. He had been smelling Mohinder’s clothes, contemplating the exact curliness of his locks, drinking in the essence of the man beside him, and fighting the urge to wrap his arms around him. He had longed to be this close to Mohinder since the moment they last parted.
“Are you… are you sniffing me?” Mohinder lowered his voice so the girls wouldn’t hear. He caught a fleeting look of something tender in Sylar’s eyes. The only version of Mohinder’s voice that Sylar liked better than angry sarcasm was angry whispering. Somehow it made his accent more pronounced.
Sylar looked quickly at the violinist so that Mohinder wouldn’t see his embarrassment. Serial killers shouldn’t blush, and neither should they be quite so enamored of men they’ve ostensibly kidnapped. “I love Bach, don’t you? Everything he wrote is so elegant, so mathematical, so tense, yet still… happy. And he manages to impart so much passion into his work, without breaking a single rule. This is the third movement of the---”
“---sixth Brandenburg concerto. Yes, I know,” Mohinder interrupted. His head spun in shock at hearing his own feelings on any subject, much less this one, so perfectly expressed and obviously shared by a man he wanted to consider his mortal enemy. He hated feeling his heartbeat quicken, and hated the small smile that lit Sylar’s face as a result of revealing yet another common interest they had. He took a deep breath and changed the subject.
“So. What happened to you? Last time I saw you, you were lying dead in a puddle of your own blood.” Mohinder infused as much smug satisfaction as he could muster into his voice. Sylar chose to ignore the tone.
“Not sure. I got rescued by some girl and taken to Mexico. I assume she was working with someone else, because when I woke up a week ago, she said I’d had a lot of surgeries.”
This set off alarm bells in Mohinder’s head. Could the company… no, not even they were so reckless as to rescue such a dangerous man. Terrifying as it was to imagine, Mohinder decided that there must be yet another force at work. “Who else was behind it? Who were the doctors?”
“I never found out. I killed her pretty soon after I woke up,” Sylar replied. For the first time, he had an inkling of regret for murdering Michelle, at least so immediately.
“Charming. You really have the most effective ways of getting answers, don’t you?” Mohinder deadpanned. He rolled his eyes. “And Maya…?”
“She picked me up on the roadside and we traveled together. It was all so convenient. She was actually on her way to New York to look for you, and of course, so was I… As she said at the time, it was fate.” Sylar looked at him meaningfully, and Mohinder wondered if the word fate referred to Maya or to himself. Judging from the disdain Sylar had shown the poor woman from the moment she gave the show away, the answer leaned towards…
The dark tunnel became bright from approaching lights, and a few seconds later, the train rumbled into the station. Sylar motioned to the other two to get up, and shepherded them all onto the train. The closest thing to a set of seats together was a five-some in which a very large man with a red nose and a paper bag sat smack in the middle.
“You two, over there.” He quietly motioned Molly and Maya to sit in the two-seater facing forward, while he and Mohinder sat on the other side of the man, with Sylar positioned between Mohinder and the stranger. This way, none of them could suddenly escape at one of the intermediary stops.
They rode in silence for about a stop. Sylar subtly shifted towards Mohinder, encroaching on the smaller man’s space and coming close to crossing the built-in seat division. Another couple of inches, and he would have felt curls tickle the side of his face. Sylar thought sadly that if Mohinder hadn’t cut his hair in the previous four months, he wouldn’t even have needed those extra inches. Mohinder, for his part, stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the other man’s increasingly close presence. The young woman across the way misinterpreted the stare and smiled shyly at him. Mohinder shifted his gaze to some empty space to her left. As the train came to an abrupt halt at 4th Avenue, Sylar was swept sideways by the motion of the train and crashed into Mohinder.
“Do you mind?” Mohinder spat.
“The guy next to me… he’s drunk and sleepy and falling on me,” Sylar whispered, taking the opportunity to place his lips as close to Mohinder’s ear as possible. He had to close his eyes and concentrate on not licking the doctor.
Realizing that it did indeed look like he was trying to climb into the other man’s lap, and also not trusting himself to stay in control while being so close to Mohinder, Sylar retreated a tiny bit. Their legs were still flush against one another, however, all the way down the length of their thighs. Mohinder tried to keep completely still in a hopeless effort not to be as painfully aware of the friction of his jeans against the other man’s slacks. He wanted to stop imagining the warm skin hidden behind those pants, separated by just a combined eighth of an inch of cloth from his own leg. He wanted to stop thinking of the nights when those legs had been interlocked with his. He wanted to stop reminiscing about a time when sitting side by side like this with their knees rubbing together had made him happy.
Sylar also sat in silence, repressing a joyful smile. He basked in the intuitive knowledge that he and Mohinder were simultaneously focused on their closeness---both past and present, thinking the same exact thoughts, and replaying the exact same memories. It was a little bit like being in the car again: stealing sidelong glances at Mohinder while the other stared straight ahead and drove, trying to will the doctor to look at him, too, and feeling a warm thrill when he did.
Meanwhile, Molly and Maya were tentatively making friends. Maya had always been good with children, but hadn’t interacted with one in months.
“For how long have you lived with Dr. Suresh?” she asked in a whisper.
Molly whispered back. “Since November. I was dying of a weird virus and he made me better---”
“The same virus Gabriel has?” Maya asked.
This was news to Molly, who had been asleep when everything was explained. “Oh, does he have it now, too? Is that why he hasn’t eaten our brains yet?” She peered at Sylar with just a little less fear in her eyes.
“What?” Maya’s horrified gasp momentarily startled Noddy McDrunk out of his stupor.
“Erhm?” He turned towards the girls. Molly, who was too young to pick up the signals that this man was of no use to anyone, caught his eye.
“Help us,” she mouthed. The man leered at her and nodded off again. Maya sighed heavily. The activity to his left forced Sylar’s attention away from Mohinder. He moved forward and turned to glare angrily at Molly and Maya. By the time he leaned back into his seat, Mohinder had shaken himself out of their shared reverie. Sylar was disappointed to have broken the silent rhythm they were enjoying, but decided to use this opportunity as another chance to try catching up. There was a subject that was tormenting him, but he was almost apprehensive about what he might hear when he interrogated Mohinder.
“So… who’s the world’s greatest dad?” he asked, as an awkward segueway from nowhere.
“I beg your pardon?” Mohinder asked, looking at him quizzically.
“The apron. Does it belong to you, or to the other guy? It seems I’m not the only one who isn’t dead.”
Mohinder battled within himself about whether or not he should dignify Sylar with a response, but something compelled him to give in, just for a few minutes. He rationalized it to himself by thinking that he’d have quite enough to deal with once they reached the lab. “Um, it’s mine. I’m the only one who cooks.”
Although he knew his question had been vague, this wasn’t the direct answer Sylar had hoped for, so he decided to get right to the point. “So, is the cop just crashing with you temporarily, or are you guys actually sleeping together?”
Mohinder gaped at the bluntness of the inquiry and became flustered. He wasn’t sure why Sylar cared… although he had an inkling… and he couldn’t decide if he was more interested in denying Sylar the satisfaction of a straight answer or sparing himself the teasing he knew to expect if he didn’t dispel Sylar’s suspicions. “He… we… it’s… it’s none of your damn business. But no, we are not… no.”
Sylar chuckled at Mohinder’s discomfiture, but felt relieved. From what he remembered of the guy, Matt didn't seem like Mohinder's type anyway, but he still had to check. “But did he buy you the apron?” Sylar wasn’t sure why he was so fixated on the garment. For some reason, it had sickened him more than any of the other symbols of Mohinder’s domestic bliss he had seen in the apartment.
“No… well, yes… it was a joint birthday present from both him and Molly.”
“Oh, when was that?” It occurred to Sylar that despite the inexplicably close bond he felt with Mohinder, there were many small, banal facts he didn’t know about the man.
“Last week. March 11.” Mohinder was surprised by the fact that he wasn’t surprised at how inexplicably easy it was to talk to Sylar, despite everything. It was such a relief to stop struggling---just for a little while. It was almost like the old days… no. Mohinder told himself that the only thing more dangerous than falling into comfortable familiarity with Sylar was thinking about ‘Zane.’ And yet… here he was, doing both.
“Oh, recently, huh? Well, happy birthday, Mohinder. The big 3-0, right? How does it feel?” Sylar was almost equally nervous about how good talking to Mohinder made him feel, but he couldn’t help himself. Mohinder was the only person who made him want to let down his guard, just a little. Yes, it was definitely a weakness, and definitely dangerous.
Mohinder thought. No one he knew had yet asked him this question. “The same. No, not the same. Life is much more stressful than it used to be, but I think that may be more a function of my particular existence than it is about turning thirty.”
“Why? What is there to be stressed about? I mean, before today.” Sylar smiled mischievously.
Mohinder was momentarily too distracted by the existential birthday question to fully absorb Sylar’s insinuation, or even remember the situation that had brought them here in the first place. “Well, there’s taking care of Molly. Sharing my home with other people. I’m still not quite used to living in New York and America in general. I also started working for the company. You know… the company that captured you months ago in Texas. That's very stressful.”
Sylar was shocked. Mohinder working for the company? Upright, morally sound Mohinder? Never. “Why would you work for people like that? Don’t you know what they do?”
“Yes, I know. I was trying to take it down. Destroy it from the inside. A sort of spy job. It… it didn’t go very well,” Mohinder sighed.
“Really? I’m surprised.”
“Don’t mock me.” Mohinder instantly went on the defensive.
“I’m not!” Sylar said. “I really mean that. You’re pretty crafty when you need to be. You got the drop on me when no one else could. You haven’t been trained in combat, and you don’t even have an ability. It’s impressive. You’re impressive.”
Mohinder smiled when he realized that Sylar was paying him a genuine compliment. He felt a pang of sadness that the only people in his life who seemed to fully appreciate him were a little girl and a serial killer, but it was nice to hear someone express approval of him after weeks of being ridiculed and insulted by Bennet, Matt, Bob, and Elle. Sylar smiled back, and for a brief moment, there was a complete absence of hostility, fear, or any kind of negative emotion between them.
“After you help me get my powers back, maybe I’ll help you take those suckers down. I always thought we made a pretty good team, you and me…” Sylar continued affably. However, the second the words came out of his mouth, he knew he had gone too far. Mohinder jumped and came to his senses. The last time he had teamed up with Sylar, people had lost their lives. The edge he habitually had around Sylar returned to his voice.
“No thanks. I may be involved with the company, but I definitely no longer work with murdering psychopaths, which is what I'm sure you'd go right back to being. With any luck, it’ll turn out you don’t actually have the virus and there will be absolutely nothing I can do for you. You’ll have to live the rest of your days without any abilities. Completely normal and unspecial. Your worst nightmare, isn’t it, Gabriel?” Mohinder said coolly. He was furious with himself for having felt even the smallest bit of enjoyment in the other man’s company.
A teenager standing by the door next to Mohinder picked up snippets of this angry rant and looked down at the two men with raised eyebrows. Both Mohinder and Sylar noticed and smiled weakly up at him.
To hide his disappointment, Sylar switched back into threatening mode in order to regain control of the situation. “That isn’t an option,” Sylar growled, but now at a less audible volume. “You’re going to help me. You’re going to figure out exactly what’s wrong with me, and you’re going to fix it.” He suddenly felt depressed. After the previous few minutes, resuming his antagonistic role felt like a chore. Something about being with Mohinder, about interacting with him, made him feel almost sane, almost healthy. He didn't feel like he was acting; he just felt like him, a version of himself that he didn't mind, who didn't necessarily need abilities to be interesting. It was a shame, although yes, an exhilarating shame, to always be in this constant battle.
“What if I refuse? What if I fail?” It wasn’t hard for Mohinder to fall back into their now familiar routine of defiance and anger, but he, too, felt weary of it until he got back into the groove.
“I honestly don’t think you want to consider that option, Mohinder. For everyone’s sake.” He looked out the train car window and was relieved to see that they were pulling into their destination so he could end what had now become an awkward and painful phase of the journey. “I think this is us.”
Sylar pushed aside the other emotions he was feeling and went back into kidnapper mode. He roughly pulled Mohinder up to standing along with himself, and motioned for Molly and Maya to follow. The foursome solemnly exited the train and climbed the steps.
“The streets here are going to be a lot busier than they were in Brooklyn, but if anyone tries anything… you know what will happen,” he whispered viciously into the huddle.
When they got above-ground, Sylar took Mohinder’s lead, and they all headed northwards.
“This neighborhood looks familiar…” he mused. Everyone was wrapped up in their own worries, however, and ignored him.
“Where are we?” Maya asked Molly, who was snuggled as close to Mohinder as possible while still walking.
“It’s kind of Chinatown, but we’re moving into the Lower East Side now.” The explanation didn’t help at all. Maya was still lost. She longed to talk to the sympathetic-seeming Dr. Suresh, but she held back. Maya had noticed how Molly seemed to draw such strength from him, and was beginning to share the little girl’s confidence in the handsome doctor. However, there was something slightly unapproachable about Mohinder, and she was not blind to the way her former traveling companion was intently focused on him almost to the exclusion of all else. There was a silent struggle going on between them and within them that Maya didn’t understand, but was also afraid to interrupt.
Mohinder led them into an unmarked, shabby-chic building and down a long hallway. They were still huddled closely together, and Maya felt Sylar’s arm accidentally brush against her own. He automatically flinched, as if he had touched a worm, and his gaze changed to distaste as it momentarily rested on her. The change in his attitude towards her since the previous day couldn't be more apparent. Maya could no longer repress her disgust for the man who had manipulated her.
“You are nothing like I thought you were.”
Mohinder punched a code that both opened the door and notified the head office of a security breach. He and Molly entered the lab while Sylar took a moment off from devouring Mohinder with his eyes to taunt Maya. He followed them all in and brandished the gun again. He felt slightly clumsy, as well as tired; he wasn’t used to dealing with actual weapons that he held with his hands, he wasn’t used to hostage situations, and he wasn’t used to not feeling completely in control.
“There’s a bed over there,” he said, before grabbing Mohinder and pulling him towards the stairs, away from the others.