The Last Two Men [2/11] - Heroes - Mohinder/Sylar
Title: The Last Two Men [2/11]
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Word Count: 2517
Rating: R
Warnings: end-of-the-world, character deaths, zombie-vampires.
A/N: Inspired heavily by 'I Am Legend'. I'm using this for the 25fluffyfics 'Protection' prompt and the 25_streetsigns 'Dead End' prompt. Big thanks to Babylon_pride for betaing.
Previous parts: One
Summary: On the 13th of November 2010, the dead began to remain undead. Two years later, the last men on Earth struggle to survive.
23rd of October, 2009
The surrealism of it all doesn't hit Mohinder until he's already left the lab for the day. He locks up in a daze, holding his messenger bag full of documents in one hand, and rides the subway home with his thoughts lost in numb and dizzy daydreams. The excited pounding of his heart is the only sign that today is a different day from all the other monotonous ones that have come before it.
This one is different.
This one is special.
This day is the sort of day that goes down in history books - with a startled lurch as the train stopped, he realises that if he's right about this, his name will be right next to that date. A Suresh in the history books, a true scientific achievement: the product of two generations of work and research. He could feel his fingertips tingling with the weight of scientific breakthrough.
Walking into his apartment greets him with the usual sounds of his every day life: Molly watching television and Matt burning food in the kitchen. Home, this is home, but it all seems so surreal now. He takes his jacket off but keeps clinging onto his bag. Letting those documents out of his sight isn't something that he plans on doing for at least another year or so. His heart hammers just from the excitement of holding them. He can scarcely imagine what the reaction will be back at work tomorrow when he breaks the news.
"Mohinder!" Molly chirps happily when she notices that he's returned, getting up from the couch to hug him tightly. She's so much taller and so much older than she was when he first met in the Company's laboratory. It's almost alarming how quickly she's grown up. "You're back early."
He kisses the top of her head, swamped by the scent of coconut shampoo, and smiles broadly. "I came back to see you."
"Uh-huh?" she asks with a disbelieving quirk of her eyebrows. Too astute, too used to Mohinder's marriage to his research, and he wishes that she could still believe him when he made comments like that. He wishes that she was still his little girl. "Well, Matt's trying to cook. You should go and, y'know… Save us from that."
"Of course," Mohinder agrees, wondering when to tell her - when to tell both of them. "Have you done your homework yet?"
"Not yet." Molly shrugs and doesn't seem in a hurry to fetch her school things. Maybe if this was any other night Mohinder might have chased her about it, but he feels too light and giddy to play the strict and pushy father. It can wait another hour or so: there's no rush, really.
He walks around to the kitchen area and offers his assistance, rescuing Matt from the confusing array of half-sliced vegetables he'd managed to collect. It's a reluctant rescue, and Matt's jaw clenches as he yields the floor - a twinge of guilt plucks at Mohinder's heart, as he knows that Matt will take instances like this and add them to his silent collection of evidence of why he's not fit to be one of Molly's fathers.
"I did it," he says quietly as he commandeers the kitchen. The words are barely whispered and he thinks that perhaps there should be more of a ceremony to this announcement - but even saying it aloud at all feels like it solidifies his achievement, makes it real and tangible.
Matt glances at him from his new station in front of the sink, washing up. "Did what?"
"It. It. My research, I-" He falters, just for a moment, with the enormity of this breakthrough. "I think I've found a way to locate and suppress the genetic mutations."
And there it is, blunt and out in the open. He's found a way to stop it. He's found a cure.
A 'cure' - is that the right word? Perhaps in some cases it is. All the powers gone wrong, all the abilities that wreck their owners lives, all of the mutations that can't be controlled. He can fix it. He can help. It's overwhelming.
"You're sure?" Matt asks slowly, carefully and cautiously. He wipes the plate in his hand with a wet cloth, crawlingly precise, as he watches Mohinder with something that might be suspicion.
"Not one hundred percent, but- Yes. As sure as I can be, at any rate." His fingers tingle and he still can't quite believe that this is real: he's waiting for the catch. "I'll have to report it to the Company tomorrow, I suppose."
Matt snorts in derision, which Mohinder supposes makes sense. They can't trust those people, despite how harmless Bob tries to look. The Company has so many faces and hidden motives that Mohinder should perhaps keep these findings from them - but what choice does he have? No one else would have the resources or the desire to fund further testing or to help him refine the cure he's designed. They will, so while he may not trust them he will use them.
"Be careful," Matt warns. "You don't know what you're getting into."
Mohinder nods, able to feel the excitement slowly seeping away from him. The thrill of the breakthrough is tempered by the reality of it. Being 'careful' alone wouldn't be enough - he would need to be wary, to be suspicious, to be paranoid, and he's so very tired of his entire professional life being one long, never-ending struggle against forces more powerful than he is.
He tries to lose himself in the domesticity of his home life, cooking for the three of them and doing the laundry after dinner. While Molly's chatter and the murmuring of the television and the rumble of the washing machine all help to distract him, they can't drown out the thought that pulsed through his mind: this is a mistake.
*
24th of October, 2009
Bob's office isn't a place that seems like it would be the main stage of operations for 'the Company'. It isn't sinister and it isn't powerful. Instead he's made it as cosy as any room in this clinical place can be. There are paintings and photos to accompany the files and schemes that occupy the room - a strange mesh of the sinister and the harmless. Mohinder has never particularly liked this place, but now all he can do is sit on the couch and shift uncomfortably as he watches Bob shift through his findings.
He feels put on the spot like he's being interviewed, but Bob's sat in silence and read for the past five minutes without expecting Mohinder to talk him through it. His brow is creased and his entire expression is a twisted kind of thoughtful, eyes glittering with the high of progress and possibility. "And you're certain this will work?" he asks levelly, eventually, after making Mohinder wait in tense apprehension for so long. A few minutes can seem like hours.
"Of course not," he answered - because in this environment, he can't let himself be quite as positive and assertive as he would be within his own home. The statements he makes have consequences here. "It's highly theoretical at the moment, but… It could work."
"Theoretically."
"Yes." And that alone is enough to make butterflies flutter in his stomach like he's preparing for a first date: the fact that this could work seems positively mind-blowing. It could work - and with the Company’s resources at his disposal, it most likely will.
"Very well done, Suresh," Bob says, beaming like a proud father. Mohinder is inclined to bow his head and he feels his skin heat: accomplishment like this isn't something that he's accustomed to. The pride in Bob's eyes only has to be put up with for a few squirming moments, before it is back to business. "Now," Bob says, before pausing to reshuffle the file in front of him until all of the pieces of paper lie perfectly straight. "I presume you're ready to take this- beyond the theoretical."
"Of course," Mohinder says. There is still a long way to go before they can stick the stamp of 'cure' on his theory. Thousands more tests ahead of them, years of-
"Good." Bob nods. "I'll arrange the human trials. When do you think you can be ready for it?"
"Human?" Mohinder repeats, because Bob can't be serious about that: it's far too soon for that. It's not safe yet; what if he's wrong? What if there's a mistake in his theory, a gap in his calculations?
Yet Bob only smiles at him, looking soft and harmless. "Come on now," he says soothingly. "You want to help, don't you? You can make peoples' lives better with this cure - why should we waste time tip-toeing forward when we could head straight to the big finish?"
Mohinder wishes he had the eloquence to put into words his objections: but a small voice whispering at the back of his mind tells him that his father would do this. His father would plunge through the science, taking leaps and bounds towards breakthroughs - his father would say yes.
Objections still swirl at the back of his mind, but Bob takes his silence as consent. "Fantastic," Bob beams. "I'll get that arranged for the end of the month."
And it's ahead without him, spinning out of control and beyond his reach - Mohinder can feel fate crushing down upon them, and no longer knows how to stop it.
*
15th of November, 2009
This is going too fast, Mohinder thinks as he paces back and forth over the mural on the floor of his lab. The picture of New York exploding lies beneath his feet but his eyes are fixed on the door, waiting in sick anticipation for their first patient, for his first trial.
The paperwork had been hurried through under Bob's careful eye and, when news of the development had been quietly spread, there had been a rush of volunteers eager to attempt to rid themselves of an ability they viewed as a curse - and all those people are looking to him to fix this.
Just one today - his very first patient, his very first test subject, his very first human lab rat. He feels ill thinking of it, but the man should be arriving any second now. There are tests to be ran before Mohinder will even think about experimenting with his cure - though he's certain that Bob will be there to smile and breathe down his neck to try and hurry everything forward - but he thinks that his hand might be trembling. He needs more time. He needs…
God, he doesn't even know what he needs, but the choice has been taken out of his hands by now: the door opens and two men walk inside. Bob is there, practically glowing with giddy excitement, and beside him stands a pale man who looks around the lab with twitchy nervousness.
"This is Doctor Mohinder Suresh," Bob says to the man beside him. He closes the door behind them and they descend the small set of stairs. "Suresh, meet Rodger Whitall. He's very enthusiastic about our research."
Mohinder smiles and hopes that he doesn't look as ill as he feels; he may have his doubts and second (and third and fourth and fifth) thoughts about what they're doing, but there's no need to convey them to this hopeful young man. "Pleasure to meet you," he says, reaching forward to shake the man's hand and-
Oh.
Oh.
He doesn't meet the resistance to be expected from a handshake: it's soft and gooey, like putting your hand into warm butter. His face freezes in his welcoming smile and he looks down: Rodger's hand looks normal, but it's compressed in where Mohinder gripped it. When he pulls away, he can see marks where his fingers have been which slowly start to fill out again now that the hand has been released.
"I'm sorry," he says, stunned.
"Yeah," Rodger says quietly; his voice is little more than a mumble, "But you can help, right? You can make me normal again?" His pale blue eyes look up at Mohinder, pleading. "Please."
"No promises," Mohinder says, trying to regain his composure, "But I'll certainly try my best."
He leads Rodger further into his laboratory and takes every test that he can think of: blood samples and medical histories and fitness tests, all the while not sure if he was searching for something that might disqualify Rodger from moving forward to prevent anything from going wrong, or hoping that everything was fine so that he might have a slim chance at offering the young man a normal life.
It may not be right and it certainly courts with dubious ethics, but-
He can help people, he thinks as he combines a sample of Rodger's blood with a drop of the serum he's developed. Under a microscope he's able to watch the reaction before his own eyes: the blood liquid combines with the blood cells, and though he can't see it on a molecular level with this equipment, nothing seems to be going wrong.
This isn't science, he thinks worriedly, This is just luck - just chance. He's never been much of a gambler and he knows that he has to explain the risks in explicit detail to the test subject who is watching him in silent tension. At this point, he doesn't think that anything at all would discourage Rodger from going ahead with it. The man doesn't appear to think that he has anything worth living for. Mohinder can still feel the phantom sensation of shaking his hand, can still remember the revulsion he'd felt when his instincts realised that 'this isn't normal'. That's no way to live. That's no way to be.
He raises his head from where he'd been watching through the microscope and smiles uneasily, ethics to the wind. If he's the Company's moral compass, as Bob seems to think, Mohinder gets the impression that he's about to go completely off course.
"There doesn't appear to be any adverse reaction," he admits. "If you're completely sure, we can go ahead with the treatment."
Rodger's eyes widen, then light up with joy: Mohinder doesn't think that he's ever seen anyone nod so quickly or so eagerly. "Yes, yes, yes. Please. God, please. I want this - I need it, Doctor."
And maybe he does, and maybe this isn't wrong after all, and maybe this is the right path for them - Mohinder can't tell. He only knows that this is just the beginning.
Part Three
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Word Count: 2517
Rating: R
Warnings: end-of-the-world, character deaths, zombie-vampires.
A/N: Inspired heavily by 'I Am Legend'. I'm using this for the 25fluffyfics 'Protection' prompt and the 25_streetsigns 'Dead End' prompt. Big thanks to Babylon_pride for betaing.
Previous parts: One
Summary: On the 13th of November 2010, the dead began to remain undead. Two years later, the last men on Earth struggle to survive.
23rd of October, 2009
The surrealism of it all doesn't hit Mohinder until he's already left the lab for the day. He locks up in a daze, holding his messenger bag full of documents in one hand, and rides the subway home with his thoughts lost in numb and dizzy daydreams. The excited pounding of his heart is the only sign that today is a different day from all the other monotonous ones that have come before it.
This one is different.
This one is special.
This day is the sort of day that goes down in history books - with a startled lurch as the train stopped, he realises that if he's right about this, his name will be right next to that date. A Suresh in the history books, a true scientific achievement: the product of two generations of work and research. He could feel his fingertips tingling with the weight of scientific breakthrough.
Walking into his apartment greets him with the usual sounds of his every day life: Molly watching television and Matt burning food in the kitchen. Home, this is home, but it all seems so surreal now. He takes his jacket off but keeps clinging onto his bag. Letting those documents out of his sight isn't something that he plans on doing for at least another year or so. His heart hammers just from the excitement of holding them. He can scarcely imagine what the reaction will be back at work tomorrow when he breaks the news.
"Mohinder!" Molly chirps happily when she notices that he's returned, getting up from the couch to hug him tightly. She's so much taller and so much older than she was when he first met in the Company's laboratory. It's almost alarming how quickly she's grown up. "You're back early."
He kisses the top of her head, swamped by the scent of coconut shampoo, and smiles broadly. "I came back to see you."
"Uh-huh?" she asks with a disbelieving quirk of her eyebrows. Too astute, too used to Mohinder's marriage to his research, and he wishes that she could still believe him when he made comments like that. He wishes that she was still his little girl. "Well, Matt's trying to cook. You should go and, y'know… Save us from that."
"Of course," Mohinder agrees, wondering when to tell her - when to tell both of them. "Have you done your homework yet?"
"Not yet." Molly shrugs and doesn't seem in a hurry to fetch her school things. Maybe if this was any other night Mohinder might have chased her about it, but he feels too light and giddy to play the strict and pushy father. It can wait another hour or so: there's no rush, really.
He walks around to the kitchen area and offers his assistance, rescuing Matt from the confusing array of half-sliced vegetables he'd managed to collect. It's a reluctant rescue, and Matt's jaw clenches as he yields the floor - a twinge of guilt plucks at Mohinder's heart, as he knows that Matt will take instances like this and add them to his silent collection of evidence of why he's not fit to be one of Molly's fathers.
"I did it," he says quietly as he commandeers the kitchen. The words are barely whispered and he thinks that perhaps there should be more of a ceremony to this announcement - but even saying it aloud at all feels like it solidifies his achievement, makes it real and tangible.
Matt glances at him from his new station in front of the sink, washing up. "Did what?"
"It. It. My research, I-" He falters, just for a moment, with the enormity of this breakthrough. "I think I've found a way to locate and suppress the genetic mutations."
And there it is, blunt and out in the open. He's found a way to stop it. He's found a cure.
A 'cure' - is that the right word? Perhaps in some cases it is. All the powers gone wrong, all the abilities that wreck their owners lives, all of the mutations that can't be controlled. He can fix it. He can help. It's overwhelming.
"You're sure?" Matt asks slowly, carefully and cautiously. He wipes the plate in his hand with a wet cloth, crawlingly precise, as he watches Mohinder with something that might be suspicion.
"Not one hundred percent, but- Yes. As sure as I can be, at any rate." His fingers tingle and he still can't quite believe that this is real: he's waiting for the catch. "I'll have to report it to the Company tomorrow, I suppose."
Matt snorts in derision, which Mohinder supposes makes sense. They can't trust those people, despite how harmless Bob tries to look. The Company has so many faces and hidden motives that Mohinder should perhaps keep these findings from them - but what choice does he have? No one else would have the resources or the desire to fund further testing or to help him refine the cure he's designed. They will, so while he may not trust them he will use them.
"Be careful," Matt warns. "You don't know what you're getting into."
Mohinder nods, able to feel the excitement slowly seeping away from him. The thrill of the breakthrough is tempered by the reality of it. Being 'careful' alone wouldn't be enough - he would need to be wary, to be suspicious, to be paranoid, and he's so very tired of his entire professional life being one long, never-ending struggle against forces more powerful than he is.
He tries to lose himself in the domesticity of his home life, cooking for the three of them and doing the laundry after dinner. While Molly's chatter and the murmuring of the television and the rumble of the washing machine all help to distract him, they can't drown out the thought that pulsed through his mind: this is a mistake.
*
24th of October, 2009
Bob's office isn't a place that seems like it would be the main stage of operations for 'the Company'. It isn't sinister and it isn't powerful. Instead he's made it as cosy as any room in this clinical place can be. There are paintings and photos to accompany the files and schemes that occupy the room - a strange mesh of the sinister and the harmless. Mohinder has never particularly liked this place, but now all he can do is sit on the couch and shift uncomfortably as he watches Bob shift through his findings.
He feels put on the spot like he's being interviewed, but Bob's sat in silence and read for the past five minutes without expecting Mohinder to talk him through it. His brow is creased and his entire expression is a twisted kind of thoughtful, eyes glittering with the high of progress and possibility. "And you're certain this will work?" he asks levelly, eventually, after making Mohinder wait in tense apprehension for so long. A few minutes can seem like hours.
"Of course not," he answered - because in this environment, he can't let himself be quite as positive and assertive as he would be within his own home. The statements he makes have consequences here. "It's highly theoretical at the moment, but… It could work."
"Theoretically."
"Yes." And that alone is enough to make butterflies flutter in his stomach like he's preparing for a first date: the fact that this could work seems positively mind-blowing. It could work - and with the Company’s resources at his disposal, it most likely will.
"Very well done, Suresh," Bob says, beaming like a proud father. Mohinder is inclined to bow his head and he feels his skin heat: accomplishment like this isn't something that he's accustomed to. The pride in Bob's eyes only has to be put up with for a few squirming moments, before it is back to business. "Now," Bob says, before pausing to reshuffle the file in front of him until all of the pieces of paper lie perfectly straight. "I presume you're ready to take this- beyond the theoretical."
"Of course," Mohinder says. There is still a long way to go before they can stick the stamp of 'cure' on his theory. Thousands more tests ahead of them, years of-
"Good." Bob nods. "I'll arrange the human trials. When do you think you can be ready for it?"
"Human?" Mohinder repeats, because Bob can't be serious about that: it's far too soon for that. It's not safe yet; what if he's wrong? What if there's a mistake in his theory, a gap in his calculations?
Yet Bob only smiles at him, looking soft and harmless. "Come on now," he says soothingly. "You want to help, don't you? You can make peoples' lives better with this cure - why should we waste time tip-toeing forward when we could head straight to the big finish?"
Mohinder wishes he had the eloquence to put into words his objections: but a small voice whispering at the back of his mind tells him that his father would do this. His father would plunge through the science, taking leaps and bounds towards breakthroughs - his father would say yes.
Objections still swirl at the back of his mind, but Bob takes his silence as consent. "Fantastic," Bob beams. "I'll get that arranged for the end of the month."
And it's ahead without him, spinning out of control and beyond his reach - Mohinder can feel fate crushing down upon them, and no longer knows how to stop it.
*
15th of November, 2009
This is going too fast, Mohinder thinks as he paces back and forth over the mural on the floor of his lab. The picture of New York exploding lies beneath his feet but his eyes are fixed on the door, waiting in sick anticipation for their first patient, for his first trial.
The paperwork had been hurried through under Bob's careful eye and, when news of the development had been quietly spread, there had been a rush of volunteers eager to attempt to rid themselves of an ability they viewed as a curse - and all those people are looking to him to fix this.
Just one today - his very first patient, his very first test subject, his very first human lab rat. He feels ill thinking of it, but the man should be arriving any second now. There are tests to be ran before Mohinder will even think about experimenting with his cure - though he's certain that Bob will be there to smile and breathe down his neck to try and hurry everything forward - but he thinks that his hand might be trembling. He needs more time. He needs…
God, he doesn't even know what he needs, but the choice has been taken out of his hands by now: the door opens and two men walk inside. Bob is there, practically glowing with giddy excitement, and beside him stands a pale man who looks around the lab with twitchy nervousness.
"This is Doctor Mohinder Suresh," Bob says to the man beside him. He closes the door behind them and they descend the small set of stairs. "Suresh, meet Rodger Whitall. He's very enthusiastic about our research."
Mohinder smiles and hopes that he doesn't look as ill as he feels; he may have his doubts and second (and third and fourth and fifth) thoughts about what they're doing, but there's no need to convey them to this hopeful young man. "Pleasure to meet you," he says, reaching forward to shake the man's hand and-
Oh.
Oh.
He doesn't meet the resistance to be expected from a handshake: it's soft and gooey, like putting your hand into warm butter. His face freezes in his welcoming smile and he looks down: Rodger's hand looks normal, but it's compressed in where Mohinder gripped it. When he pulls away, he can see marks where his fingers have been which slowly start to fill out again now that the hand has been released.
"I'm sorry," he says, stunned.
"Yeah," Rodger says quietly; his voice is little more than a mumble, "But you can help, right? You can make me normal again?" His pale blue eyes look up at Mohinder, pleading. "Please."
"No promises," Mohinder says, trying to regain his composure, "But I'll certainly try my best."
He leads Rodger further into his laboratory and takes every test that he can think of: blood samples and medical histories and fitness tests, all the while not sure if he was searching for something that might disqualify Rodger from moving forward to prevent anything from going wrong, or hoping that everything was fine so that he might have a slim chance at offering the young man a normal life.
It may not be right and it certainly courts with dubious ethics, but-
He can help people, he thinks as he combines a sample of Rodger's blood with a drop of the serum he's developed. Under a microscope he's able to watch the reaction before his own eyes: the blood liquid combines with the blood cells, and though he can't see it on a molecular level with this equipment, nothing seems to be going wrong.
This isn't science, he thinks worriedly, This is just luck - just chance. He's never been much of a gambler and he knows that he has to explain the risks in explicit detail to the test subject who is watching him in silent tension. At this point, he doesn't think that anything at all would discourage Rodger from going ahead with it. The man doesn't appear to think that he has anything worth living for. Mohinder can still feel the phantom sensation of shaking his hand, can still remember the revulsion he'd felt when his instincts realised that 'this isn't normal'. That's no way to live. That's no way to be.
He raises his head from where he'd been watching through the microscope and smiles uneasily, ethics to the wind. If he's the Company's moral compass, as Bob seems to think, Mohinder gets the impression that he's about to go completely off course.
"There doesn't appear to be any adverse reaction," he admits. "If you're completely sure, we can go ahead with the treatment."
Rodger's eyes widen, then light up with joy: Mohinder doesn't think that he's ever seen anyone nod so quickly or so eagerly. "Yes, yes, yes. Please. God, please. I want this - I need it, Doctor."
And maybe he does, and maybe this isn't wrong after all, and maybe this is the right path for them - Mohinder can't tell. He only knows that this is just the beginning.
Part Three