Fic: All My Sins Remember'd, Part Four
Fic title: All My Sins Remember'd
Author name: evil_is_pretty
Artist credit(s): Banner by azarsuerte & YouTube Trailer by trackburst or Download from Sendspace
Genre: Gen, AU
Pairing: Ensemble, subtle Sylar/Mohinder
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 29,463
Challenge: Written for heroes_bigboom
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for Season One
Summary: What would have happened if the bomb had gone off?... If Claire hadn't been given the chance to get away from her father and grandmother? If Niki and DL hadn't been able to stop Linderman? If Peter and Hiro had been left to face Sylar alone? Nathan sends Mohinder on a journey to find his brother in the aftermath, and along the way, everyone begins to discover that things aren't always the way they seem.
A/N: Special thanks to trackburst and azarsuerte for the beautiful trailer and artwork! Also thanks to azarsuerte for the title, because I hate coming up with such things! Thanks to my lovely betas, forsquilis (who took the chance to read something from an author she'd never read before!), and icalynn. Also lots of love to my perpetual cheerleader, moonlitpines. This story came about through a mixture of convoluted spoilers generated toward the end of last season, and my secret wish that the bomb had gone off. (I also have an immense love for AU's.) Originally it was just going to be a small Sylar/Mohinder fic... but then Nathan got involved and I ended up with a monster gen. Note to self: Tape Nathan's mouth shut next time... P.S. My apologies to Lewis Carroll for blatantly stealing both titles and quote.
Link to fic:
Part One: Down the Rabbit Hole * Part Two: A Caucus Race and a Long-Tale * Part Three: A Mad Tea-Party * Part Four: The Lion and the Unicorn
Claire stares at the image of Nathan Petrelli on the television, silently telling herself that none of it matters. It doesn’t matter that he’s somehow behind letting Peter blow up alone in New York. It doesn’t matter that she carries his blood in her veins. It doesn’t matter that immediately after promising her that he’d make it all okay, he left her there with complete strangers, people she didn’t trust. None of it matters because he isn’t her father, not really. It doesn’t even matter that he’d promised he would find her real father, the one she calls dad, and then simply ignored that promise.
That doesn’t matter because she’s going to find her dad all on her own. Molly confirmed just the other day that he was in New York. She knew something had to be keeping him there, or he would have come for her by now. So she would simply go to him.
Pushing on the power button with a little more force than necessary, Claire gives one last glare to the TV before making her way to the door of her prison… correction, room. The entire hotel is one big prison. The room they stuck her in has specially plated windows that she’s tried to break, but can’t. Linderman seemed to know that she was more than willing to throw herself out from the top floor if that’s what it took to get away.
They think they’ve thought of everything, but they’re very, very wrong.
She hides a smile as she opens the door and glances up at the guard who’s standing there. It’s just about time. “I want to go and visit Micah and Molly.”
“It’s late.”
“So?” She shrugs and pouts. “It’s not like we have school in the morning or anything. Or is it because I’m keeping you up past your bedtime?”
Mike - that’s the name on his badge - flashes her a perturbed expression before giving a quick nod down the hallway in acquiescence. Smiling in victory, she closes the door behind her and starts in the direction of the next wing over, where Molly and Micah are staying. She sighs loudly, expressing her boredom, even as she scans the halls, looking for anything out of the ordinary. It’s late, which from what she has learned the last few days, means most of the security is downstairs in the casino, dealing with the gamblers who are beginning to return to town. She’s also grown to understand that the guards she has come into contact with are mostly grunts - ex-police officers and such who really know very little about people like herself and Micah. They’re just hired to keep an eye on the children, and go about their usual job. It’s only the guys in the labs, people like Thompson and Candice and a few others, who really seem to understand what’s going on. She crosses her fingers at her sides, hoping that everything goes as planned.
If not, they’ll just try again.
Down the hall from Molly and Micah’s room, in the southern wing of the hotel, is where one of the security stations is located. Claire knows because she was led past it two days ago, when she’d attempted her last escape. The door had been closing, but she’d seen enough to know it was filled with computers, video cameras, and only one guard. That made three guards total in this corridor, counting the one standing at the door to Molly and Micah’s room.
“The girl was bored,” Mike comments to Joe as they reach the door.
“Man, I’ll be glad when this babysitting job is over.”
You won’t have too long to wait, Claire thinks with a smile as he holds the door open and she steps into the room. Of course, you may also be looking for a new job then, too.
“Hey, Micah,” she calls out as she crosses the room to sit on the couch, knowing the guards are watching them for a moment before allowing the door to close. She smiles and waves at Molly, who’s sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, drawing.
“Hi, Claire.” Molly gives her a big grin, and Claire knows that they’re just as ready to get out of here as she is.
Claire reaches into her pocket, pulling out the book of matches she’d snatched down in the lobby. She plays with it between her fingers as she leans forward, catching the attention of her two younger co-conspirators. She knows that what she’s about to do is probably going to be pretty traumatizing to see, but it’s really their only chance if they’re going to pull this escape off. All they need to do is keep the guards occupied for enough time for them to slip out.
“You’ve got the atlas?” she asks quietly, knowing they’re going to need it to locate her father once they get out of there.
Micah nods. “Yeah.”
“Candice is on the other side of town,” Molly says. “I just checked a few minutes ago.” She opens the book to the map of Nevada and points out the enlarged section of Las Vegas where an indent from a stick pin is visible.
Claire takes a breath. “Well, I guess it’s time, then. Look, what I’m going to do - it’s going to freak you out. But don’t worry, okay? I’ll be fine. I’ve been through far worse.” She waves her hand. “Micah, just be ready. You too, Molly.”
They both nod, eyes wide as they watch her stand and walk across the room before she pulls out a couple of matches and strikes them against the side of the matchbook. She meets their gazes.
The plan had seemed perfect when they thought of it. She was capable of causing a big enough distraction, throwing the guards into a complete panic, and thereby providing Micah with an opportunity to make it down the hall to the security room while she and Molly kept the three guards busy. It would be Micah’s job to deal with the computers; setting off the alarms in the casino, shutting off the cameras in the hotel, and getting the automatic locks on the doors to open.
“Ready?”
They nod again.
Claire wonders for a moment if she’s ready before she lights her clothes on fire. She doesn’t know who screams first: Molly, Micah, or her.
****
“What is this place? Fort Knox?” Parkman mutters under his breath as he and Bennet push their way through the few hardcore gamblers on the floor of the casino.
“It’s obviously a lot more than just a casino.” Bennet smiles a quick apology to one of the cocktail waitresses he almost knocks over before slipping past her and ducking between two slot machines as a security guard walks by. “Linderman’s home base.”
Parkman nods, glancing around, his gaze seemingly taking in the garish lights, laughter, clinking of coins as a customer hits a jackpot. “I sure as hell hope you got a good paycheck out of all of this.”
“Honestly? He owes me for a lot of overtime. Come on.”
They make their way across the floor toward the entrance to the hotel, where the noise around them slowly begins to dim. The security presence here is even stronger than the casino proper, and wouldn’t make any sense whatsoever if Bennet didn’t know what Linderman was keeping secure. He pauses beside another row of slot machines, frowning as he stares at the security spaced around the lobby. He didn’t think it would be easy to get to Claire, but he never expected this.
“Parkman, can you pick up on any of their thoughts? Find out if they know where the kids are?”
“I don’t know. It’s pretty loud in here. My head feels like it’s going to bust open.”
“Look, we need -“
“I know, I know!” he snaps, giving Bennet a quick look before returning his attention to the guards around the lobby. “Just… give me a second.”
Bennet can feel his impatience growing but tamps it down, knowing that the last thing he needs right now is for Parkman to revolt. So he gives the man the time he needs while he keeps an eye on the people around them. He wishes they had some backup.
Suddenly, alarms around the casino spring to life. Security guards begin rushing past them toward the high stakes area. Chaos seems to sweep over the crowd as the word ‘robbery’ begins to rise in the conversation. Bennet turns to Parkman only to find he’s still concentrating, eyes trained straight ahead. He follows the gaze to see one of the guards hanging back, talking into his radio. The man nods as he’s speaking before he turns and head towards the elevators. Parkman grabs Bennet by the elbow.
“Come on. He knows where they are.”
Relieved to finally be getting somewhere, Bennet casts one more glance over his shoulder before following Parkman into the hotel toward the elevator bank. Just as the doors are about to shut behind the guard, they slip in through them.
“This is a staff-only elevator, sirs,” he tells them.
“Well, now it’s for ex-employees,” Bennet replies before slamming his fist into the man’s jaw and knocking his head back against the wall with a loud crack. Before the guard can collect himself, he takes hold of his shoulders and slams him into the wall once more, stepping back as his unconscious form slides to the floor.
“Ex-employees?” Parkman asks with a smirk, shaking his head.
“It sounded better in my head.”
“You know, you probably should have checked with me before you knocked the guy out,” Parkman says, pointing toward the lit button on the panel. “Otherwise, we might not have known what floor to hit.”
“I thought you said you knew where they were?”
Parkman rolls his eyes. “I said he knew where they were. He wasn't exactly broadcasting floor numbers. We really need to work on this whole communication thing.”
“Yeah. I’ll get right on that,” Bennet says as he leans down, opening the guard’s jacket to pull the gun from the holster. He checks the clip, and flicks off the safety switch before turning back to the door.
As the elevator comes to a stop and the doors slide open, he hears Claire’s voice: “Let her go!”
“What the hell?!”
He hesitates at the threshold, catching Parkman’s gaze before he nods and steps out, holding the gun in front of him. He counts three guards, none of whom have noticed him and Parkman yet, busy as they are with a little girl who must be Molly, biting the hand of the man holding her. Claire looks like hell; her clothes burnt, her skin blackened and every so slowly returning to normal. It doesn’t take him long to figure out that the alarms were due to them, due to his amazing girl who wasn’t just going to sit by and do nothing. She’s always had a mind of her own.
“Let them go!” He calls out, drawing the attention of the guards who immediately go for their guns.
He fires a warning shot over their heads. “Don’t. You really aren’t paid enough to find out how much I want to shoot someone right now.”
“Dad!”
Claire breaks away from the guard holding her and rushes to him. He keeps his eyes on the guards as he holds his free arm out and pulls her to him. “Are you all right, Clairebear?”
She nods, clinging to him as she buries her face into his shirt.
“Here, let me take that,” Parkman says, taking the gun and starting toward the guards. “On the floor, hands behind your heads!”
Bennet turns his full attention to Claire as he hears Parkman instruct Molly to help him cuff the guards. He slips his coat off and helps Claire put it on before glancing up at the sound of approaching footsteps. There’s another child, a young boy, who meets his gaze without fear, and filled with curiosity. He gives the boy a nod before glancing down at his daughter, brushing his fingers over her cheek as she smiles up at him.
“I’m afraid to ask what you did,” he says.
She drops her head, attempting to hide a smile. “Well, you know how you and mom always told me not to play with matches?”
Chuckling, he wraps his arms around Claire, holding her close as he kisses the top of her head. She smells like smoke and Claire, and he thinks it has to be the sweetest scent ever.
“Dad, this is Micah. Linderman has been keeping him here, too.”
Bennet nods, pulling back from his daughter to shake Micah’s small hand. “I get the feeling you were the reason for the alarms.”
Micah shrugs. “Yeah.”
“Okay, we gotta go.” Parkman appears beside them, holding Molly in his arms. “Just heard on their radios. They’re starting to catch on that something isn’t right.”
Claire is the first to hurry toward the door to the stairs. “Follow me. I’ve got the layout of this place memorized.”
Grinning, Bennet follows as he hears Parkman comment behind him, “Like father, like daughter, huh?”
****
When he wakes, the pale light of dawn is filtering through the plastic shades. He’s surprised he slept so long, and without any nightmares. Shifting on the bed, he sits up and notices some clothes draped over the end of the mattress that hadn’t been there the night before. He sifts through them, noting that the pants are a little too short and he’ll just have to continue wearing the jeans he has on before he gathers up a few of the articles and makes his way into the bathroom.
There’s still only a trickle of water coming from the pipes but he sees that Mohinder has placed a large pot of water on the edge of the tub, and he uses it to clean up as best he can. He used a bottle of water the night before, under the assurance that they would have plenty, and he swears that when he has the chance to take an actual shower, he’ll never stop. He feels like he has years of grime built up on his skin.
After slipping on the change of clothes, and thinking he somehow looks out of place in the too-brightly colored shirt, he makes his way out to the front room where Mohinder is quietly continuing to pick up the mess. He hasn’t questioned any more as to how it happened, since his host doesn’t seem inclined to share too much information. In fact, he’s learning to be careful with most questions, since many seem to upset Mohinder. He’s only seen the man smile twice, and though there doesn’t seem to be much reason to smile right now, he can’t help but think that Mohinder appears to be a lot more uncomfortable around him than he has reason to be. It makes him wonder why he was invited to stay.
“Sleep well?”
He starts a little at the question, not having realized that Mohinder heard him enter the room. “Yes. Thank you. But I still feel guilty kicking you out of your bed.”
Mohinder shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t all that tired anyway.” He glances up briefly, eyes sweeping over the shirt he wore before nodding toward the tiny kitchenette. “There are a couple of breakfasts over there.”
“Thank you for the change of clothes,” he says as he walks over to the counter and picks up one of the MRE’s. “I’m going to owe you a lot.”
“We’re not going to have that argument again, are we?” There’s a hint of a smile in Mohinder’s voice but when he turns to look at him, Mohinder drops his gaze and continues sifting through papers.
“No argument. Just a fact.” Opening the pouch, he pulls out his breakfast, turning to lean against the counter as he eats and watches Mohinder clean. “What is all of that stuff, anyway?”
“Oh… just research.” A quick flicker of a dark-eyed gaze on his, and then back to the papers. “My father’s mostly. I came to New York to continue it.”
“Oh?” He takes another bite, curious as to what the research is about. “Where is your father?”
Mohinder glances up at him sharply, and he realizes that was probably another question he shouldn’t have asked.
“Uh.” Mohinder licks his lips and goes back to working, stuffing papers into his satchel. “He’s dead.”
He doesn’t press for more because Mohinder has that tense set of his shoulders again, and he is decidedly avoiding making any eye contact. It’s something he clearly doesn’t wish to talk about, and so he lets it go. He continues to eat in silence, listening to the shuffle of papers across from him, the barking of dogs outside the window, and the occasional helicopter flying by overhead. He thinks how he hasn’t felt safe in days, and as odd as this situation is proving to be, he’s comfortable here. A part of him almost feels as if he knows Mohinder but that’s impossible; surely Mohinder would have said something.
When finished, he tosses the empty container into the trash and walks over to the desk, crouching down to pick up some scattered papers. As he stands, tapping the papers into a neat little pile, he finds Mohinder watching him.
“Thought I could help,” he explains, and when Mohinder finally goes back to cleaning, he continues. “So, what is this research about anyway?”
There’s a long silence, and just when he’s certain he asked the wrong question again, Mohinder says, “Genetics. My… father believed that the human race is evolving. That there are genes in some of us which… “
“Yes?”
Mohinder looks up at him, pausing. He seems to come to some sort of conclusion before answering, “Which cause certain mutations or abilities.”
He can’t help but smile, certain he’s being teased. “Sounds like a comic book.”
“Something like that, yes.”
“So, what? Are you telling me there are people out there faster than speeding bullets? Leaping tall buildings in a single bound?” He chuckles.
Mohinder is smiling just a little. “It’s really not as outlandish as it sounds… Zane. It’s no different than comparing our speech to our prehistoric ancestors. Mutations occur over millions of years of evolution. Species advance. Who’s to say the human race has gone as far as it can go?”
He’s still getting used to the name given to him by Mohinder, and hearing it throws him out of the conversation for a moment. His response is late in coming, as he has to think over what was said.
“Are you talking about psychic abilities and stuff like that?”
“Many are mentally-controlled, yes.” Mohinder leans back in his chair, ignoring his work as he seems to become engrossed in the topic. “Others are actual physical changes within the body. Say, for instance, rapid cell regeneration.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Maybe. I was certainly a skeptic, no matter what my father tried to get me to believe. In fact - “ He stops mid-sentence.
“What - “
Mohinder holds his finger to his lips, signaling for him to be quiet. He follows Mohinder’s gaze toward the door where a shadow moves beneath it from out in the hallway.
“There’s a lot more study done on this subject than one would believe,” Mohinder continues as he slowly gets to his feet and starts toward the door. “My father was definitely on to something, Zane, and I’m here to finish that work for him, as a necessary advancement in the growth of the human race.”
He watches as Mohinder stops beside the door, leaning his ear against it, listening.
And then the silence erupts into a spatter of gunfire that bursts through the door.
He dives to the ground, attempting to protect his face from the tiny splinters of wood sailing through the air. “Mohinder?!”
He feels a hand grab his ankle, and looks over his shoulder to see Mohinder crawling on the floor, staying out of the line of the shots being fired. Thankfully, he doesn’t appear to be injured. He starts to say something when the sound of something heavy slamming into the door interrupts him.
“That door isn’t going to hold for long.” Mohinder reaches behind him for his satchel, ducking as more bullets slam through the door. “We need to get out of here!”
Glancing toward the back of the apartment where the window leads out to the fire escape, he looks back at Mohinder who nods in agreement, and they both pause, waiting for the gunfire to cease. The moment it does, they scramble down the hall toward the window, which he pushes open and stands back waiting for Mohinder to climb out first.
They’re halfway down the stairs when they hear the door give way, and he glances up to see two men peer out the window at them. He almost runs into Mohinder who has come to a stop on the second floor landing.
“Thompson… “
“You know those guys?”
“Unfortunately. Come on!”
They drop to the sidewalk as more shots ring out. He starts to head south down the street, but Mohinder grabs his arm and pulls him, and they hurry north instead. He feels a rush of adrenaline move through him at the chase; heart pounding loudly in his chest to the beat of their footsteps as they run. He moves up alongside Mohinder, and then ahead of him before realizing that he’s apparently much faster, or Mohinder is more tired than he let on, so he drops back, hanging just slightly behind. There’s another gunshot and he ducks reflexively, and he knows it’s a stupid reaction but a difficult one to stop.
Mohinder turns suddenly, ducking between buildings, where he stops, leaning against the wall, panting.
“Why are they trying to kill you?” He leans over to catch his breath.
“I don’t know, Zane.” He shakes his head, slipping the strap of the satchel more securely over his neck and shoulder. “But, I have my theories.”
He takes a deep breath, hears approaching footsteps and reaches out to push Mohinder down toward the next street. “They’re catching up.”
When they reach the end of the building, they find a chain link fence into a backyard barring their way. They cast a quick glance at one another before he grabs hold and makes his way up and over, dropping lightly to the ground on the other side. Mohinder tosses the bag to him before he follows suit, reaching the other side just as their pursuers reach the alley. He grabs hold of Mohinder’s wrist, yanking him back just as another volley of bullets echo toward them.
“We need to reach the docks,” Mohinder says as they start running once again. “I don’t think they’ll take the chance of a public confrontation.”
He nods, sprinting through the yard and down the drive into the next street. He stays beside Mohinder, casting a glance at him every few seconds to make certain he is keeping up. The man looks ready to drop, and he wonders what it was that kept him awake all night.
“There!” Mohinder points to the other side of the street. “Two blocks over and we should hit a checkpoint.”
They race toward their destination, sprinting across it to the next street when bullets litter the sidewalk in front of them. He jumps back, pulling Mohinder with him, away from the flakes of cement that fly around them, and they turn to find that their pursuers took another route, beating them.
“What the hell is this about, Thompson?” Mohinder demands as he takes a step forward.
The man named Thompson flashes a smile as he lifts his gun. “Nothing personal, Dr. Suresh.” Thompson fires.
“NO!” he shouts as the bullet flies toward Mohinder and, impossibly, comes to a halt, hanging almost comically in the air before it drops to the ground with a ‘ping’.
He glances over at Thompson in time to see the man falter and take an involuntary step backwards. Instead of questioning what has happened, he takes advantage of the surprise, grabbing Mohinder by the arm and disappearing into the safety of the trees behind the buildings across from them.
****
Nathan stares out at the garden as the light of dawn fills the sky. He reaches out to his desk for the glass of orange juice, taking a sip as he enjoys the silence. It’s early, and the house around him is still dark. He needs this moment to himself, to enjoy the slight rush of pleasure he feels in everything he’s accomplished, and wrestle with the demons within him at the guilt he feels for everything he’s done. Sometimes he likes to pretend that he believes the same way as Linderman; it certainly makes things easier. But then he remembers Peter and Claire, and the millions that the world is mourning, and he hates himself, and wishes he could go back and make things right again.
Brother, politician, Judas, murderer. He doesn’t know what he is anymore. Identity has become wrapped up in what he can do, in what others around him can do, and he wonders if this is the future of the world, and how in the hell do Linderman and his mother believe they can control that?
“Contemplating your empire?”
Nathan’s heartbeat speeds up at the sound of the familiar voice, and he turns, relief flooding through him at the sight of his brother. “Pete.” He starts toward him. “You’re safe.”
His younger sibling laughs; an ugly harsh laugh that Nathan’s never heard from him before. “Safe? Is that what matters to you, Nathan? That I’m safe? Well, hell yeah, I’m safe. I’ve been through a nuclear explosion and back, and I’m totally safe!”
“Peter - “He begins as he reaches out for his brother.
“Don’t.” Peter takes a step back, stares at Nathan for a long moment before he shakes his head. He bites his lip as he looks away. “Did you know?” he asks. “From the very beginning, when you agreed to let it happen, did you always know it would be me?”
The inevitable question. Nathan expected it but now that it’s been asked, he’s afraid to respond. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he looks away.
“Answer me!”
He sets his jaw and shakes his head as he brings his gaze back to Peter’s. “I didn’t want it to be you, Peter. But when I heard that you had the ability to regenerate - “
“Everything was fine, then,” Peter says, his voice bitter. “It’s perfectly acceptable to let your brother be responsible for the deaths of millions, as long as you don’t have to live with the guilt of killing a family member.”
“It’s not like that - it was never like that! I did this for - “
“For what?”
“For the future.”
It sounds ridiculous as he says it; as ridiculous as it sounded when Linderman said it. Nathan can’t really pinpoint any longer what it was that had convinced him that this was the right path to take. At first, he thought the FBI would be able to handle things before it all took place, but that plan had fallen through. Then, on learning that his mother was a part of it as well, that she thought this was the best solution to the world’s problems, he figured she had to know what she was doing. Right? Why would their own mother ever put them into such an impossible situation unless she knew it was for the best?
But really, when had Angela Petrelli ever done anything that wasn’t completely selfishly motivated?
“What does Linderman have to do with all of this?” Peter asks.
Nathan purses his lips at Linderman’s name. “I don’t know the details. From what’s he’s said, it’s all part of some plan to bring the world together. To make things somehow… better for people like us in the future. Frankly, I’m not certain he’s thinking clearly, and I’m trying to take advantage of that, to get control before he puts whatever the rest of his plan is into action. But it always feels like he’s one step ahead of me. And now our own mother… “
He takes a breath before holding Peter’s gaze. “Our own mother is on his side. She’s somehow a part of this too, but they’re both so damned evasive, and I promise you, I’m trying to find out what’s going on, what they’re doing -“
“You’re just as guilty as they are.”
He nods, accepting that. “I know. I know I am. I want to shoulder this burden with you, Peter. I have to. After what I’ve done -“
Peter looks away, a sound escaping him, his shoulders dropping slightly. The palpable pain knifes through Nathan’s heart.
“Peter.”
He pulls a hand from his pocket, reaching out to touch his brother, needing to touch him to prove that he’s alive, to ground himself, to remember what’s important. He lays his hand against Peter’s neck, and it’s not enough. He pulls his brother to him, wrapping him in a tight embrace, knowing he owes him so much for what he’s done.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I’m so sorry. We’ll get through this. I promise.”
Peter shudders against him, and there’s nothing worse than his brother’s tears. He hugs him more tightly but suddenly he feels pressure against his chest, and Peter is pulling away and looking at him, angry and dark.
“’Sorry’ doesn’t make it all better, Nathan. ‘Sorry’ doesn’t make it go away. We’re not in this together. We’re not ‘getting through it’ together. I trusted you! You’re my brother!”
Nathan can feel the control slipping away. Everything is getting out of hand, and he had been so confident, so sure that he could make things right. He tries to reach for Peter again, pushing against the invisible hand that’s holding him back.
“Pete, I can make this up to you -“
“It’s too late for that, Nathan!” he shouts.
The invisible grip holding Nathan in place suddenly lets go, only to pick him up and fling him across the room. He hits the top of his desk, sliding across it, feet knocking into the monitor before he falls over the back edge to the ground. Elbow throbbing where it hit the arm of the chair on his way down, he extricates himself from the desk equipment that litters the floor, and gets back to his feet. Above him, he can hear a door opening, footsteps in the hall.
“Nathan?” Heidi calls out from the second floor.
Ignoring her, he focuses on Peter, hoping he can somehow get past the gaping gulf that he has created between them. He holds out his hands. “I know I was wrong. I know that and, dammit, Pete, if I could take back everything, if I could make it right again, I would. You have to believe that. You were right. You were right all along. I should have trusted you; listened to you. Together, we can make a difference, but that has to start now. We have to get past this. We’re still brothers. I love you -“
His throat closes before he can finish the sentence, and Nathan reaches up, attempting to release the unseen fingers that are tightening around his neck. He stares in disbelief and panic as Peter slowly approaches him.
“The brother I know would never have done something like this to me,” he says, tears hovering unshed in his dark eyes. “You’ve turned me into a murderer. Do you understand that? I’m in Hell, and you put me here.”
He fights to draw a breath, and says, “Peter, no…”
“Goodbye, brother.”
His throat blessedly opens, and just as he’s about to draw in a deep breath of welcomed air, he’s flung across the room once more, this time slamming into the bookcase, glass shattering behind him. He hits the back of his head hard on the edge of the shelf, bright lights exploding across his vision as he slumps to the floor.
“Nathan!” He hears Heidi’s voice call out in a panic before darkness sweeps over him.
****
‘A complication’ had been Thompson’s phrase for it. Linderman can’t help but come up with a few more colorful adjectives to describe the situation - both in New York and here, in Las Vegas. His suspicions regarding the information Molly provided on Dr. Suresh’s whereabouts rose to the surface early on, but not quickly enough. The man had never gone to India as Nathan had claimed, and that means Nathan is planning something. His compliant behavior of late has been little more than a façade, and Linderman is curious as to what he’s up to. It’s likely he sent the doctor to New York to find his brother, but to what end? He can’t help but wonder if Nathan also had a hand in Bennet and Parkman’s sudden disappearance off the radar.
He had thought to take care of Suresh quickly and easily. Sylar’s unexpected appearance negated that. Linderman finds that he is more curious than angry, though, as he can’t help but wonder what has caused Sylar and Suresh to team up. They hadn’t exactly parted under the best circumstances after their first collaboration. In fact, the good doctor had been quite determined to take Sylar down afterwards. Now, he was apparently working with the man.
Curious. Infinitely curious, he thinks.
It’s the way of human nature to react to extreme situations unpredictably, and Linderman knows this. It simply means he will need to adjust his own plans to match the actions of others. He’d already anticipated that Nathan could prove to be a problem in the long run; he is far too headstrong, logical, and calculating. In the end, he would always try to have his way. He has certainly never been as easy to manipulate as the other two, who have always been ruled by emotion, good or bad.
He can’t help but feel sorry for poor Angela as her family continues to be extremely uncooperative. When he’d contacted her last night with the news of Claire’s escape, she had been livid, attempting to blame him, and he’d been forced to point out that she of all people should know how difficult it is to keep children with such abilities under control. She should have gotten on the plane to Paris with her granddaughter instead of hovering over her oldest son as if he might break at any point. Of course, her concerns regarding Nathan were certainly warranted.
And luckily, Claire isn’t completely necessary at this point in time. The biggest loss from the children’s disappearance is Molly. Until they get her back, they’ll just have to return to the tried and true method of tracking.
The phone rings behind him, pulling Linderman from his thoughts. It’s early, the call from Thompson having awakened him before the sun even began to peek over the horizon. Now its light is just barely beginning to touch the desert, and he has yet another caller. It’s not until he glances at the caller ID that Linderman chooses to answer.
“Angela, it’s early.”
“Peter attacked Nathan.”
Linderman slips into the chair behind his desk as he arches one brow. “Not entirely surprising. He always has been too emotional.”
“Yes, but his own brother? I never expected this to happen,” she says, her tone clipped and agitated. “I thought Peter would hide away, sulk as he tends to do, and then return to us. But an outright attack? You know how this will affect Nathan. You know how he responds to Peter.”
“Unfortunately, Nathan decided to become a problem long before this recent development,” he responds. “He’s been working against us the last week, even going so far as to having Peter tracked down, attempting to throw around the minor bit of political weight I’ve allowed him to obtain. It’s very possible that the attack was entirely of his own doing. Empathy leads to instability. This was bound to happen eventually. The question we have to answer now is: do we bother to attempt to rein Nathan in?”
“He’s proven completely unpredictable and uncontrollable.” The tone of her voice evidences her exasperation.
“Perhaps.” Linderman finds a smile as he leans back in his chair, gazing out at the Nevada landscape. “But, who is it we really need to control here? I think it’s time for a few revelations to come to light. Tell me, how quickly do you think Nathan will change his tune once his position is threatened, once he learns where the real threat comes from?”
There’s a brief silence on the other end. Then, “It’s dangerous. He’s my son. If Nathan dies -“
“Then we know he wasn’t meant to fill the position in the first place,” Linderman finishes for her, wondering if the one person he’s learned to count on his having second thoughts. “It’s too late to back out now, Angela. You set this plan in motion between your sons twenty-seven years ago.”
“I know. I just - “
“Peter’s done his part.” Linderman allows a slow smile. “Now it’s up to Nathan and Gabriel.”
****
There isn’t a car to be had at the rental companies. Mohinder despairs of ever making it out of New York at this point when Sylar suggests that they catch a ride into Massachusetts courtesy of the railroad. Maybe the rental companies aren’t as empty there? Mohinder gives into the suggestion because he’s exhausted, and tired of moving around on foot, waiting for the moment that Thompson catches up to them. He doesn’t understand why they’re trying to kill him but he’s beginning to think like Peter; there’s some big conspiracy going on, and Linderman is at the center of it all, and the person with the answers they need right now is too busy giving speeches to help.
When they reach the rail yard, Mohinder allows Sylar… Zane to lead the way. He reminds himself not for the first time because he doesn’t want to slip up again, and if he lets his mind wander, and forgets the past, it is Zane who is with him. It was Zane who saved his life earlier that day, Zane who finds the empty railcar, Zane who is even now helping him up into it, taking his bag, telling him to sit down before he falls down.
Maybe it’s always been Zane, he thinks to himself as his head falls back against the wall of the car and he closes his eyes.
“Is that why your father started his research?”
Mohinder slowly opens his eyes, confusion filling him at the question. After closing the door, Zane slides to the floor beside him. “What do you mean?”
“What you did back there,” he says. “Stopping the bullet the way you did.”
So that’s why he’s been quiet about what happened. Mohinder had feared that maybe Sylar… Zane was slowly beginning to remember, but apparently he had nothing to worry about. Zane thought Mohinder had done it. He debates how to answer, finds himself wondering just how deep this amnesia goes, and if anything will actually return his memories to him. It’s foolish to hope that Sylar will remain as Zane forever, but Mohinder wishes it just the same.
Besides, he’s too tired to care about consequences right now.
“That wasn’t me,” he replies, turning his head to look at Zane in the muted light.
“Then how… “
“I think it was you.”
Zane grins. “That’s crazy.” When Mohinder doesn’t return the amusement, his smile fades. “Wait… you’re serious? You think I have some kind of psychic ability to stop bullets or something?”
At his incredulity, Mohinder does find a smile, weary though it feels. “I believe it’s called telekinesis, Zane. How else do you explain what happened?”
“I thought you… “He pauses, brow furrowing in thought as he remains silent for a few moments. Then, “I didn’t want you to be shot. I’d be alone again. I guess that’s kind of a selfish thought.”
“Selfish or not, you saved my life. Thank you.”
Zane gives him another smile, and his eyes are filled with wonder and curiosity and dozens of questions that he refrains from asking because he obviously knows how tired Mohinder is. He reminds Mohinder so much of the Zane he thought he knew, and he can feel his resolve continue to slip. He can’t turn him over to Linderman’s people now; not after what’s happened, not when he is beginning to believe more and more that maybe he can make a difference. Maybe Sylar is gone. Maybe this is a man he can teach to use the abilities he possesses for good. A blank slate.
Maybe neither of them has to be alone through any of this.
Holding back a yawn, he rubs his hand over his eyes, considering everything that needs to be done. “Once we get out of New York, I need to make some calls. Find out what’s going on. If you’re willing to help out, Zane, I could use the assistance. I’m warning you, though, it could be dangerous.”
“If you’re right about me, then I should come along, if only as your bodyguard.” Zane stretches his legs out in front of him as if attempting to get comfortable. “For now though, I think you need to get some sleep, Mohinder. You’re ready to drop. Don’t worry - I’m here in case any stray bullets make their way in.”
Mohinder closes his eyes at Zane’s prompting, the warmth of the body next to his providing more comfort than it should have; they hadn’t even had time to grab their coats before leaving the apartment. He rests some of his weight against his new companion, the man who could turn into a viper at any moment, and ignores the fear that maybe he’s making yet another deadly mistake.
He made a promise to protect the people his father had discovered; to be their champion, to help them, guide them. Everything that’s happened in the last week no longer left room for exclusions.
Not even his worst enemy.
~FINIS~
Author name: evil_is_pretty
Artist credit(s): Banner by azarsuerte & YouTube Trailer by trackburst or Download from Sendspace
Genre: Gen, AU
Pairing: Ensemble, subtle Sylar/Mohinder
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 29,463
Challenge: Written for heroes_bigboom
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for Season One
Summary: What would have happened if the bomb had gone off?... If Claire hadn't been given the chance to get away from her father and grandmother? If Niki and DL hadn't been able to stop Linderman? If Peter and Hiro had been left to face Sylar alone? Nathan sends Mohinder on a journey to find his brother in the aftermath, and along the way, everyone begins to discover that things aren't always the way they seem.
A/N: Special thanks to trackburst and azarsuerte for the beautiful trailer and artwork! Also thanks to azarsuerte for the title, because I hate coming up with such things! Thanks to my lovely betas, forsquilis (who took the chance to read something from an author she'd never read before!), and icalynn. Also lots of love to my perpetual cheerleader, moonlitpines. This story came about through a mixture of convoluted spoilers generated toward the end of last season, and my secret wish that the bomb had gone off. (I also have an immense love for AU's.) Originally it was just going to be a small Sylar/Mohinder fic... but then Nathan got involved and I ended up with a monster gen. Note to self: Tape Nathan's mouth shut next time... P.S. My apologies to Lewis Carroll for blatantly stealing both titles and quote.
Link to fic:
Part One: Down the Rabbit Hole * Part Two: A Caucus Race and a Long-Tale * Part Three: A Mad Tea-Party * Part Four: The Lion and the Unicorn
Claire stares at the image of Nathan Petrelli on the television, silently telling herself that none of it matters. It doesn’t matter that he’s somehow behind letting Peter blow up alone in New York. It doesn’t matter that she carries his blood in her veins. It doesn’t matter that immediately after promising her that he’d make it all okay, he left her there with complete strangers, people she didn’t trust. None of it matters because he isn’t her father, not really. It doesn’t even matter that he’d promised he would find her real father, the one she calls dad, and then simply ignored that promise.
That doesn’t matter because she’s going to find her dad all on her own. Molly confirmed just the other day that he was in New York. She knew something had to be keeping him there, or he would have come for her by now. So she would simply go to him.
Pushing on the power button with a little more force than necessary, Claire gives one last glare to the TV before making her way to the door of her prison… correction, room. The entire hotel is one big prison. The room they stuck her in has specially plated windows that she’s tried to break, but can’t. Linderman seemed to know that she was more than willing to throw herself out from the top floor if that’s what it took to get away.
They think they’ve thought of everything, but they’re very, very wrong.
She hides a smile as she opens the door and glances up at the guard who’s standing there. It’s just about time. “I want to go and visit Micah and Molly.”
“It’s late.”
“So?” She shrugs and pouts. “It’s not like we have school in the morning or anything. Or is it because I’m keeping you up past your bedtime?”
Mike - that’s the name on his badge - flashes her a perturbed expression before giving a quick nod down the hallway in acquiescence. Smiling in victory, she closes the door behind her and starts in the direction of the next wing over, where Molly and Micah are staying. She sighs loudly, expressing her boredom, even as she scans the halls, looking for anything out of the ordinary. It’s late, which from what she has learned the last few days, means most of the security is downstairs in the casino, dealing with the gamblers who are beginning to return to town. She’s also grown to understand that the guards she has come into contact with are mostly grunts - ex-police officers and such who really know very little about people like herself and Micah. They’re just hired to keep an eye on the children, and go about their usual job. It’s only the guys in the labs, people like Thompson and Candice and a few others, who really seem to understand what’s going on. She crosses her fingers at her sides, hoping that everything goes as planned.
If not, they’ll just try again.
Down the hall from Molly and Micah’s room, in the southern wing of the hotel, is where one of the security stations is located. Claire knows because she was led past it two days ago, when she’d attempted her last escape. The door had been closing, but she’d seen enough to know it was filled with computers, video cameras, and only one guard. That made three guards total in this corridor, counting the one standing at the door to Molly and Micah’s room.
“The girl was bored,” Mike comments to Joe as they reach the door.
“Man, I’ll be glad when this babysitting job is over.”
You won’t have too long to wait, Claire thinks with a smile as he holds the door open and she steps into the room. Of course, you may also be looking for a new job then, too.
“Hey, Micah,” she calls out as she crosses the room to sit on the couch, knowing the guards are watching them for a moment before allowing the door to close. She smiles and waves at Molly, who’s sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, drawing.
“Hi, Claire.” Molly gives her a big grin, and Claire knows that they’re just as ready to get out of here as she is.
Claire reaches into her pocket, pulling out the book of matches she’d snatched down in the lobby. She plays with it between her fingers as she leans forward, catching the attention of her two younger co-conspirators. She knows that what she’s about to do is probably going to be pretty traumatizing to see, but it’s really their only chance if they’re going to pull this escape off. All they need to do is keep the guards occupied for enough time for them to slip out.
“You’ve got the atlas?” she asks quietly, knowing they’re going to need it to locate her father once they get out of there.
Micah nods. “Yeah.”
“Candice is on the other side of town,” Molly says. “I just checked a few minutes ago.” She opens the book to the map of Nevada and points out the enlarged section of Las Vegas where an indent from a stick pin is visible.
Claire takes a breath. “Well, I guess it’s time, then. Look, what I’m going to do - it’s going to freak you out. But don’t worry, okay? I’ll be fine. I’ve been through far worse.” She waves her hand. “Micah, just be ready. You too, Molly.”
They both nod, eyes wide as they watch her stand and walk across the room before she pulls out a couple of matches and strikes them against the side of the matchbook. She meets their gazes.
The plan had seemed perfect when they thought of it. She was capable of causing a big enough distraction, throwing the guards into a complete panic, and thereby providing Micah with an opportunity to make it down the hall to the security room while she and Molly kept the three guards busy. It would be Micah’s job to deal with the computers; setting off the alarms in the casino, shutting off the cameras in the hotel, and getting the automatic locks on the doors to open.
“Ready?”
They nod again.
Claire wonders for a moment if she’s ready before she lights her clothes on fire. She doesn’t know who screams first: Molly, Micah, or her.
****
“What is this place? Fort Knox?” Parkman mutters under his breath as he and Bennet push their way through the few hardcore gamblers on the floor of the casino.
“It’s obviously a lot more than just a casino.” Bennet smiles a quick apology to one of the cocktail waitresses he almost knocks over before slipping past her and ducking between two slot machines as a security guard walks by. “Linderman’s home base.”
Parkman nods, glancing around, his gaze seemingly taking in the garish lights, laughter, clinking of coins as a customer hits a jackpot. “I sure as hell hope you got a good paycheck out of all of this.”
“Honestly? He owes me for a lot of overtime. Come on.”
They make their way across the floor toward the entrance to the hotel, where the noise around them slowly begins to dim. The security presence here is even stronger than the casino proper, and wouldn’t make any sense whatsoever if Bennet didn’t know what Linderman was keeping secure. He pauses beside another row of slot machines, frowning as he stares at the security spaced around the lobby. He didn’t think it would be easy to get to Claire, but he never expected this.
“Parkman, can you pick up on any of their thoughts? Find out if they know where the kids are?”
“I don’t know. It’s pretty loud in here. My head feels like it’s going to bust open.”
“Look, we need -“
“I know, I know!” he snaps, giving Bennet a quick look before returning his attention to the guards around the lobby. “Just… give me a second.”
Bennet can feel his impatience growing but tamps it down, knowing that the last thing he needs right now is for Parkman to revolt. So he gives the man the time he needs while he keeps an eye on the people around them. He wishes they had some backup.
Suddenly, alarms around the casino spring to life. Security guards begin rushing past them toward the high stakes area. Chaos seems to sweep over the crowd as the word ‘robbery’ begins to rise in the conversation. Bennet turns to Parkman only to find he’s still concentrating, eyes trained straight ahead. He follows the gaze to see one of the guards hanging back, talking into his radio. The man nods as he’s speaking before he turns and head towards the elevators. Parkman grabs Bennet by the elbow.
“Come on. He knows where they are.”
Relieved to finally be getting somewhere, Bennet casts one more glance over his shoulder before following Parkman into the hotel toward the elevator bank. Just as the doors are about to shut behind the guard, they slip in through them.
“This is a staff-only elevator, sirs,” he tells them.
“Well, now it’s for ex-employees,” Bennet replies before slamming his fist into the man’s jaw and knocking his head back against the wall with a loud crack. Before the guard can collect himself, he takes hold of his shoulders and slams him into the wall once more, stepping back as his unconscious form slides to the floor.
“Ex-employees?” Parkman asks with a smirk, shaking his head.
“It sounded better in my head.”
“You know, you probably should have checked with me before you knocked the guy out,” Parkman says, pointing toward the lit button on the panel. “Otherwise, we might not have known what floor to hit.”
“I thought you said you knew where they were?”
Parkman rolls his eyes. “I said he knew where they were. He wasn't exactly broadcasting floor numbers. We really need to work on this whole communication thing.”
“Yeah. I’ll get right on that,” Bennet says as he leans down, opening the guard’s jacket to pull the gun from the holster. He checks the clip, and flicks off the safety switch before turning back to the door.
As the elevator comes to a stop and the doors slide open, he hears Claire’s voice: “Let her go!”
“What the hell?!”
He hesitates at the threshold, catching Parkman’s gaze before he nods and steps out, holding the gun in front of him. He counts three guards, none of whom have noticed him and Parkman yet, busy as they are with a little girl who must be Molly, biting the hand of the man holding her. Claire looks like hell; her clothes burnt, her skin blackened and every so slowly returning to normal. It doesn’t take him long to figure out that the alarms were due to them, due to his amazing girl who wasn’t just going to sit by and do nothing. She’s always had a mind of her own.
“Let them go!” He calls out, drawing the attention of the guards who immediately go for their guns.
He fires a warning shot over their heads. “Don’t. You really aren’t paid enough to find out how much I want to shoot someone right now.”
“Dad!”
Claire breaks away from the guard holding her and rushes to him. He keeps his eyes on the guards as he holds his free arm out and pulls her to him. “Are you all right, Clairebear?”
She nods, clinging to him as she buries her face into his shirt.
“Here, let me take that,” Parkman says, taking the gun and starting toward the guards. “On the floor, hands behind your heads!”
Bennet turns his full attention to Claire as he hears Parkman instruct Molly to help him cuff the guards. He slips his coat off and helps Claire put it on before glancing up at the sound of approaching footsteps. There’s another child, a young boy, who meets his gaze without fear, and filled with curiosity. He gives the boy a nod before glancing down at his daughter, brushing his fingers over her cheek as she smiles up at him.
“I’m afraid to ask what you did,” he says.
She drops her head, attempting to hide a smile. “Well, you know how you and mom always told me not to play with matches?”
Chuckling, he wraps his arms around Claire, holding her close as he kisses the top of her head. She smells like smoke and Claire, and he thinks it has to be the sweetest scent ever.
“Dad, this is Micah. Linderman has been keeping him here, too.”
Bennet nods, pulling back from his daughter to shake Micah’s small hand. “I get the feeling you were the reason for the alarms.”
Micah shrugs. “Yeah.”
“Okay, we gotta go.” Parkman appears beside them, holding Molly in his arms. “Just heard on their radios. They’re starting to catch on that something isn’t right.”
Claire is the first to hurry toward the door to the stairs. “Follow me. I’ve got the layout of this place memorized.”
Grinning, Bennet follows as he hears Parkman comment behind him, “Like father, like daughter, huh?”
****
When he wakes, the pale light of dawn is filtering through the plastic shades. He’s surprised he slept so long, and without any nightmares. Shifting on the bed, he sits up and notices some clothes draped over the end of the mattress that hadn’t been there the night before. He sifts through them, noting that the pants are a little too short and he’ll just have to continue wearing the jeans he has on before he gathers up a few of the articles and makes his way into the bathroom.
There’s still only a trickle of water coming from the pipes but he sees that Mohinder has placed a large pot of water on the edge of the tub, and he uses it to clean up as best he can. He used a bottle of water the night before, under the assurance that they would have plenty, and he swears that when he has the chance to take an actual shower, he’ll never stop. He feels like he has years of grime built up on his skin.
After slipping on the change of clothes, and thinking he somehow looks out of place in the too-brightly colored shirt, he makes his way out to the front room where Mohinder is quietly continuing to pick up the mess. He hasn’t questioned any more as to how it happened, since his host doesn’t seem inclined to share too much information. In fact, he’s learning to be careful with most questions, since many seem to upset Mohinder. He’s only seen the man smile twice, and though there doesn’t seem to be much reason to smile right now, he can’t help but think that Mohinder appears to be a lot more uncomfortable around him than he has reason to be. It makes him wonder why he was invited to stay.
“Sleep well?”
He starts a little at the question, not having realized that Mohinder heard him enter the room. “Yes. Thank you. But I still feel guilty kicking you out of your bed.”
Mohinder shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t all that tired anyway.” He glances up briefly, eyes sweeping over the shirt he wore before nodding toward the tiny kitchenette. “There are a couple of breakfasts over there.”
“Thank you for the change of clothes,” he says as he walks over to the counter and picks up one of the MRE’s. “I’m going to owe you a lot.”
“We’re not going to have that argument again, are we?” There’s a hint of a smile in Mohinder’s voice but when he turns to look at him, Mohinder drops his gaze and continues sifting through papers.
“No argument. Just a fact.” Opening the pouch, he pulls out his breakfast, turning to lean against the counter as he eats and watches Mohinder clean. “What is all of that stuff, anyway?”
“Oh… just research.” A quick flicker of a dark-eyed gaze on his, and then back to the papers. “My father’s mostly. I came to New York to continue it.”
“Oh?” He takes another bite, curious as to what the research is about. “Where is your father?”
Mohinder glances up at him sharply, and he realizes that was probably another question he shouldn’t have asked.
“Uh.” Mohinder licks his lips and goes back to working, stuffing papers into his satchel. “He’s dead.”
He doesn’t press for more because Mohinder has that tense set of his shoulders again, and he is decidedly avoiding making any eye contact. It’s something he clearly doesn’t wish to talk about, and so he lets it go. He continues to eat in silence, listening to the shuffle of papers across from him, the barking of dogs outside the window, and the occasional helicopter flying by overhead. He thinks how he hasn’t felt safe in days, and as odd as this situation is proving to be, he’s comfortable here. A part of him almost feels as if he knows Mohinder but that’s impossible; surely Mohinder would have said something.
When finished, he tosses the empty container into the trash and walks over to the desk, crouching down to pick up some scattered papers. As he stands, tapping the papers into a neat little pile, he finds Mohinder watching him.
“Thought I could help,” he explains, and when Mohinder finally goes back to cleaning, he continues. “So, what is this research about anyway?”
There’s a long silence, and just when he’s certain he asked the wrong question again, Mohinder says, “Genetics. My… father believed that the human race is evolving. That there are genes in some of us which… “
“Yes?”
Mohinder looks up at him, pausing. He seems to come to some sort of conclusion before answering, “Which cause certain mutations or abilities.”
He can’t help but smile, certain he’s being teased. “Sounds like a comic book.”
“Something like that, yes.”
“So, what? Are you telling me there are people out there faster than speeding bullets? Leaping tall buildings in a single bound?” He chuckles.
Mohinder is smiling just a little. “It’s really not as outlandish as it sounds… Zane. It’s no different than comparing our speech to our prehistoric ancestors. Mutations occur over millions of years of evolution. Species advance. Who’s to say the human race has gone as far as it can go?”
He’s still getting used to the name given to him by Mohinder, and hearing it throws him out of the conversation for a moment. His response is late in coming, as he has to think over what was said.
“Are you talking about psychic abilities and stuff like that?”
“Many are mentally-controlled, yes.” Mohinder leans back in his chair, ignoring his work as he seems to become engrossed in the topic. “Others are actual physical changes within the body. Say, for instance, rapid cell regeneration.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Maybe. I was certainly a skeptic, no matter what my father tried to get me to believe. In fact - “ He stops mid-sentence.
“What - “
Mohinder holds his finger to his lips, signaling for him to be quiet. He follows Mohinder’s gaze toward the door where a shadow moves beneath it from out in the hallway.
“There’s a lot more study done on this subject than one would believe,” Mohinder continues as he slowly gets to his feet and starts toward the door. “My father was definitely on to something, Zane, and I’m here to finish that work for him, as a necessary advancement in the growth of the human race.”
He watches as Mohinder stops beside the door, leaning his ear against it, listening.
And then the silence erupts into a spatter of gunfire that bursts through the door.
He dives to the ground, attempting to protect his face from the tiny splinters of wood sailing through the air. “Mohinder?!”
He feels a hand grab his ankle, and looks over his shoulder to see Mohinder crawling on the floor, staying out of the line of the shots being fired. Thankfully, he doesn’t appear to be injured. He starts to say something when the sound of something heavy slamming into the door interrupts him.
“That door isn’t going to hold for long.” Mohinder reaches behind him for his satchel, ducking as more bullets slam through the door. “We need to get out of here!”
Glancing toward the back of the apartment where the window leads out to the fire escape, he looks back at Mohinder who nods in agreement, and they both pause, waiting for the gunfire to cease. The moment it does, they scramble down the hall toward the window, which he pushes open and stands back waiting for Mohinder to climb out first.
They’re halfway down the stairs when they hear the door give way, and he glances up to see two men peer out the window at them. He almost runs into Mohinder who has come to a stop on the second floor landing.
“Thompson… “
“You know those guys?”
“Unfortunately. Come on!”
They drop to the sidewalk as more shots ring out. He starts to head south down the street, but Mohinder grabs his arm and pulls him, and they hurry north instead. He feels a rush of adrenaline move through him at the chase; heart pounding loudly in his chest to the beat of their footsteps as they run. He moves up alongside Mohinder, and then ahead of him before realizing that he’s apparently much faster, or Mohinder is more tired than he let on, so he drops back, hanging just slightly behind. There’s another gunshot and he ducks reflexively, and he knows it’s a stupid reaction but a difficult one to stop.
Mohinder turns suddenly, ducking between buildings, where he stops, leaning against the wall, panting.
“Why are they trying to kill you?” He leans over to catch his breath.
“I don’t know, Zane.” He shakes his head, slipping the strap of the satchel more securely over his neck and shoulder. “But, I have my theories.”
He takes a deep breath, hears approaching footsteps and reaches out to push Mohinder down toward the next street. “They’re catching up.”
When they reach the end of the building, they find a chain link fence into a backyard barring their way. They cast a quick glance at one another before he grabs hold and makes his way up and over, dropping lightly to the ground on the other side. Mohinder tosses the bag to him before he follows suit, reaching the other side just as their pursuers reach the alley. He grabs hold of Mohinder’s wrist, yanking him back just as another volley of bullets echo toward them.
“We need to reach the docks,” Mohinder says as they start running once again. “I don’t think they’ll take the chance of a public confrontation.”
He nods, sprinting through the yard and down the drive into the next street. He stays beside Mohinder, casting a glance at him every few seconds to make certain he is keeping up. The man looks ready to drop, and he wonders what it was that kept him awake all night.
“There!” Mohinder points to the other side of the street. “Two blocks over and we should hit a checkpoint.”
They race toward their destination, sprinting across it to the next street when bullets litter the sidewalk in front of them. He jumps back, pulling Mohinder with him, away from the flakes of cement that fly around them, and they turn to find that their pursuers took another route, beating them.
“What the hell is this about, Thompson?” Mohinder demands as he takes a step forward.
The man named Thompson flashes a smile as he lifts his gun. “Nothing personal, Dr. Suresh.” Thompson fires.
“NO!” he shouts as the bullet flies toward Mohinder and, impossibly, comes to a halt, hanging almost comically in the air before it drops to the ground with a ‘ping’.
He glances over at Thompson in time to see the man falter and take an involuntary step backwards. Instead of questioning what has happened, he takes advantage of the surprise, grabbing Mohinder by the arm and disappearing into the safety of the trees behind the buildings across from them.
****
Nathan stares out at the garden as the light of dawn fills the sky. He reaches out to his desk for the glass of orange juice, taking a sip as he enjoys the silence. It’s early, and the house around him is still dark. He needs this moment to himself, to enjoy the slight rush of pleasure he feels in everything he’s accomplished, and wrestle with the demons within him at the guilt he feels for everything he’s done. Sometimes he likes to pretend that he believes the same way as Linderman; it certainly makes things easier. But then he remembers Peter and Claire, and the millions that the world is mourning, and he hates himself, and wishes he could go back and make things right again.
Brother, politician, Judas, murderer. He doesn’t know what he is anymore. Identity has become wrapped up in what he can do, in what others around him can do, and he wonders if this is the future of the world, and how in the hell do Linderman and his mother believe they can control that?
“Contemplating your empire?”
Nathan’s heartbeat speeds up at the sound of the familiar voice, and he turns, relief flooding through him at the sight of his brother. “Pete.” He starts toward him. “You’re safe.”
His younger sibling laughs; an ugly harsh laugh that Nathan’s never heard from him before. “Safe? Is that what matters to you, Nathan? That I’m safe? Well, hell yeah, I’m safe. I’ve been through a nuclear explosion and back, and I’m totally safe!”
“Peter - “He begins as he reaches out for his brother.
“Don’t.” Peter takes a step back, stares at Nathan for a long moment before he shakes his head. He bites his lip as he looks away. “Did you know?” he asks. “From the very beginning, when you agreed to let it happen, did you always know it would be me?”
The inevitable question. Nathan expected it but now that it’s been asked, he’s afraid to respond. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he looks away.
“Answer me!”
He sets his jaw and shakes his head as he brings his gaze back to Peter’s. “I didn’t want it to be you, Peter. But when I heard that you had the ability to regenerate - “
“Everything was fine, then,” Peter says, his voice bitter. “It’s perfectly acceptable to let your brother be responsible for the deaths of millions, as long as you don’t have to live with the guilt of killing a family member.”
“It’s not like that - it was never like that! I did this for - “
“For what?”
“For the future.”
It sounds ridiculous as he says it; as ridiculous as it sounded when Linderman said it. Nathan can’t really pinpoint any longer what it was that had convinced him that this was the right path to take. At first, he thought the FBI would be able to handle things before it all took place, but that plan had fallen through. Then, on learning that his mother was a part of it as well, that she thought this was the best solution to the world’s problems, he figured she had to know what she was doing. Right? Why would their own mother ever put them into such an impossible situation unless she knew it was for the best?
But really, when had Angela Petrelli ever done anything that wasn’t completely selfishly motivated?
“What does Linderman have to do with all of this?” Peter asks.
Nathan purses his lips at Linderman’s name. “I don’t know the details. From what’s he’s said, it’s all part of some plan to bring the world together. To make things somehow… better for people like us in the future. Frankly, I’m not certain he’s thinking clearly, and I’m trying to take advantage of that, to get control before he puts whatever the rest of his plan is into action. But it always feels like he’s one step ahead of me. And now our own mother… “
He takes a breath before holding Peter’s gaze. “Our own mother is on his side. She’s somehow a part of this too, but they’re both so damned evasive, and I promise you, I’m trying to find out what’s going on, what they’re doing -“
“You’re just as guilty as they are.”
He nods, accepting that. “I know. I know I am. I want to shoulder this burden with you, Peter. I have to. After what I’ve done -“
Peter looks away, a sound escaping him, his shoulders dropping slightly. The palpable pain knifes through Nathan’s heart.
“Peter.”
He pulls a hand from his pocket, reaching out to touch his brother, needing to touch him to prove that he’s alive, to ground himself, to remember what’s important. He lays his hand against Peter’s neck, and it’s not enough. He pulls his brother to him, wrapping him in a tight embrace, knowing he owes him so much for what he’s done.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I’m so sorry. We’ll get through this. I promise.”
Peter shudders against him, and there’s nothing worse than his brother’s tears. He hugs him more tightly but suddenly he feels pressure against his chest, and Peter is pulling away and looking at him, angry and dark.
“’Sorry’ doesn’t make it all better, Nathan. ‘Sorry’ doesn’t make it go away. We’re not in this together. We’re not ‘getting through it’ together. I trusted you! You’re my brother!”
Nathan can feel the control slipping away. Everything is getting out of hand, and he had been so confident, so sure that he could make things right. He tries to reach for Peter again, pushing against the invisible hand that’s holding him back.
“Pete, I can make this up to you -“
“It’s too late for that, Nathan!” he shouts.
The invisible grip holding Nathan in place suddenly lets go, only to pick him up and fling him across the room. He hits the top of his desk, sliding across it, feet knocking into the monitor before he falls over the back edge to the ground. Elbow throbbing where it hit the arm of the chair on his way down, he extricates himself from the desk equipment that litters the floor, and gets back to his feet. Above him, he can hear a door opening, footsteps in the hall.
“Nathan?” Heidi calls out from the second floor.
Ignoring her, he focuses on Peter, hoping he can somehow get past the gaping gulf that he has created between them. He holds out his hands. “I know I was wrong. I know that and, dammit, Pete, if I could take back everything, if I could make it right again, I would. You have to believe that. You were right. You were right all along. I should have trusted you; listened to you. Together, we can make a difference, but that has to start now. We have to get past this. We’re still brothers. I love you -“
His throat closes before he can finish the sentence, and Nathan reaches up, attempting to release the unseen fingers that are tightening around his neck. He stares in disbelief and panic as Peter slowly approaches him.
“The brother I know would never have done something like this to me,” he says, tears hovering unshed in his dark eyes. “You’ve turned me into a murderer. Do you understand that? I’m in Hell, and you put me here.”
He fights to draw a breath, and says, “Peter, no…”
“Goodbye, brother.”
His throat blessedly opens, and just as he’s about to draw in a deep breath of welcomed air, he’s flung across the room once more, this time slamming into the bookcase, glass shattering behind him. He hits the back of his head hard on the edge of the shelf, bright lights exploding across his vision as he slumps to the floor.
“Nathan!” He hears Heidi’s voice call out in a panic before darkness sweeps over him.
****
‘A complication’ had been Thompson’s phrase for it. Linderman can’t help but come up with a few more colorful adjectives to describe the situation - both in New York and here, in Las Vegas. His suspicions regarding the information Molly provided on Dr. Suresh’s whereabouts rose to the surface early on, but not quickly enough. The man had never gone to India as Nathan had claimed, and that means Nathan is planning something. His compliant behavior of late has been little more than a façade, and Linderman is curious as to what he’s up to. It’s likely he sent the doctor to New York to find his brother, but to what end? He can’t help but wonder if Nathan also had a hand in Bennet and Parkman’s sudden disappearance off the radar.
He had thought to take care of Suresh quickly and easily. Sylar’s unexpected appearance negated that. Linderman finds that he is more curious than angry, though, as he can’t help but wonder what has caused Sylar and Suresh to team up. They hadn’t exactly parted under the best circumstances after their first collaboration. In fact, the good doctor had been quite determined to take Sylar down afterwards. Now, he was apparently working with the man.
Curious. Infinitely curious, he thinks.
It’s the way of human nature to react to extreme situations unpredictably, and Linderman knows this. It simply means he will need to adjust his own plans to match the actions of others. He’d already anticipated that Nathan could prove to be a problem in the long run; he is far too headstrong, logical, and calculating. In the end, he would always try to have his way. He has certainly never been as easy to manipulate as the other two, who have always been ruled by emotion, good or bad.
He can’t help but feel sorry for poor Angela as her family continues to be extremely uncooperative. When he’d contacted her last night with the news of Claire’s escape, she had been livid, attempting to blame him, and he’d been forced to point out that she of all people should know how difficult it is to keep children with such abilities under control. She should have gotten on the plane to Paris with her granddaughter instead of hovering over her oldest son as if he might break at any point. Of course, her concerns regarding Nathan were certainly warranted.
And luckily, Claire isn’t completely necessary at this point in time. The biggest loss from the children’s disappearance is Molly. Until they get her back, they’ll just have to return to the tried and true method of tracking.
The phone rings behind him, pulling Linderman from his thoughts. It’s early, the call from Thompson having awakened him before the sun even began to peek over the horizon. Now its light is just barely beginning to touch the desert, and he has yet another caller. It’s not until he glances at the caller ID that Linderman chooses to answer.
“Angela, it’s early.”
“Peter attacked Nathan.”
Linderman slips into the chair behind his desk as he arches one brow. “Not entirely surprising. He always has been too emotional.”
“Yes, but his own brother? I never expected this to happen,” she says, her tone clipped and agitated. “I thought Peter would hide away, sulk as he tends to do, and then return to us. But an outright attack? You know how this will affect Nathan. You know how he responds to Peter.”
“Unfortunately, Nathan decided to become a problem long before this recent development,” he responds. “He’s been working against us the last week, even going so far as to having Peter tracked down, attempting to throw around the minor bit of political weight I’ve allowed him to obtain. It’s very possible that the attack was entirely of his own doing. Empathy leads to instability. This was bound to happen eventually. The question we have to answer now is: do we bother to attempt to rein Nathan in?”
“He’s proven completely unpredictable and uncontrollable.” The tone of her voice evidences her exasperation.
“Perhaps.” Linderman finds a smile as he leans back in his chair, gazing out at the Nevada landscape. “But, who is it we really need to control here? I think it’s time for a few revelations to come to light. Tell me, how quickly do you think Nathan will change his tune once his position is threatened, once he learns where the real threat comes from?”
There’s a brief silence on the other end. Then, “It’s dangerous. He’s my son. If Nathan dies -“
“Then we know he wasn’t meant to fill the position in the first place,” Linderman finishes for her, wondering if the one person he’s learned to count on his having second thoughts. “It’s too late to back out now, Angela. You set this plan in motion between your sons twenty-seven years ago.”
“I know. I just - “
“Peter’s done his part.” Linderman allows a slow smile. “Now it’s up to Nathan and Gabriel.”
****
There isn’t a car to be had at the rental companies. Mohinder despairs of ever making it out of New York at this point when Sylar suggests that they catch a ride into Massachusetts courtesy of the railroad. Maybe the rental companies aren’t as empty there? Mohinder gives into the suggestion because he’s exhausted, and tired of moving around on foot, waiting for the moment that Thompson catches up to them. He doesn’t understand why they’re trying to kill him but he’s beginning to think like Peter; there’s some big conspiracy going on, and Linderman is at the center of it all, and the person with the answers they need right now is too busy giving speeches to help.
When they reach the rail yard, Mohinder allows Sylar… Zane to lead the way. He reminds himself not for the first time because he doesn’t want to slip up again, and if he lets his mind wander, and forgets the past, it is Zane who is with him. It was Zane who saved his life earlier that day, Zane who finds the empty railcar, Zane who is even now helping him up into it, taking his bag, telling him to sit down before he falls down.
Maybe it’s always been Zane, he thinks to himself as his head falls back against the wall of the car and he closes his eyes.
“Is that why your father started his research?”
Mohinder slowly opens his eyes, confusion filling him at the question. After closing the door, Zane slides to the floor beside him. “What do you mean?”
“What you did back there,” he says. “Stopping the bullet the way you did.”
So that’s why he’s been quiet about what happened. Mohinder had feared that maybe Sylar… Zane was slowly beginning to remember, but apparently he had nothing to worry about. Zane thought Mohinder had done it. He debates how to answer, finds himself wondering just how deep this amnesia goes, and if anything will actually return his memories to him. It’s foolish to hope that Sylar will remain as Zane forever, but Mohinder wishes it just the same.
Besides, he’s too tired to care about consequences right now.
“That wasn’t me,” he replies, turning his head to look at Zane in the muted light.
“Then how… “
“I think it was you.”
Zane grins. “That’s crazy.” When Mohinder doesn’t return the amusement, his smile fades. “Wait… you’re serious? You think I have some kind of psychic ability to stop bullets or something?”
At his incredulity, Mohinder does find a smile, weary though it feels. “I believe it’s called telekinesis, Zane. How else do you explain what happened?”
“I thought you… “He pauses, brow furrowing in thought as he remains silent for a few moments. Then, “I didn’t want you to be shot. I’d be alone again. I guess that’s kind of a selfish thought.”
“Selfish or not, you saved my life. Thank you.”
Zane gives him another smile, and his eyes are filled with wonder and curiosity and dozens of questions that he refrains from asking because he obviously knows how tired Mohinder is. He reminds Mohinder so much of the Zane he thought he knew, and he can feel his resolve continue to slip. He can’t turn him over to Linderman’s people now; not after what’s happened, not when he is beginning to believe more and more that maybe he can make a difference. Maybe Sylar is gone. Maybe this is a man he can teach to use the abilities he possesses for good. A blank slate.
Maybe neither of them has to be alone through any of this.
Holding back a yawn, he rubs his hand over his eyes, considering everything that needs to be done. “Once we get out of New York, I need to make some calls. Find out what’s going on. If you’re willing to help out, Zane, I could use the assistance. I’m warning you, though, it could be dangerous.”
“If you’re right about me, then I should come along, if only as your bodyguard.” Zane stretches his legs out in front of him as if attempting to get comfortable. “For now though, I think you need to get some sleep, Mohinder. You’re ready to drop. Don’t worry - I’m here in case any stray bullets make their way in.”
Mohinder closes his eyes at Zane’s prompting, the warmth of the body next to his providing more comfort than it should have; they hadn’t even had time to grab their coats before leaving the apartment. He rests some of his weight against his new companion, the man who could turn into a viper at any moment, and ignores the fear that maybe he’s making yet another deadly mistake.
He made a promise to protect the people his father had discovered; to be their champion, to help them, guide them. Everything that’s happened in the last week no longer left room for exclusions.
Not even his worst enemy.
~FINIS~