Heroes fic: How You Sleep (4/12?)

[gaiafaye]

Title: How You Sleep - Chapter 4: Coming Clean in a Mud Pit (4/12?)
Series: Heroes
Pairing: Mylar
Rating: R
Warnings: Mpreg! BS science! Fairly dark! Consent issues!
Summary: After being doused with the complete formula, Mohinder copes with a lingering side effect as he and everyone around him try to rebuild their lives and their trust.
Author's Note: More props to starrdust411 for the Company's official government name.

Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10



The bright orange door rolled up, and there sat Mohinder's life in stacks of boxes mingled with furniture. Until now, he'd been too preoccupied to really feel the violation, that strangers had put their hands on every single one of his belongings and packed them away-- and to what? Study traces of Mohinder's DNA? Look for signs of side effects? Erase his existence? He assumed all three.

Mohinder and Peter each pulled two large plastic bins from the SUV parked behind them. They set them down outside the unit, and Peter waited for Mohinder to go in first. He straightened the shade of a lamp sitting on a dented side table that once had a place by an old rocking chair. "They really scoured your place," he said.

"Not my place anymore," Mohinder replied. It was odd to think that someone else lived in the apartment now, owning the space that Mohinder had, that his father had before him (as much as a tenant could own a space, anyway). It wasn't like moving, when a person could get one last nostalgic look around before continuing life elsewhere. Mohinder had been simply ripped from his life, at the worst possible time, and he wasn't sure when he'd feel secure again (if ever).

He pulled open the first box. On top he saw a number of athletic magazines beneath a pair of running shoes. He didn't recognize any of it and realized they'd belonged to Daphne. "Some of this needs to go to Daphne's family," Mohinder said. "Matt's things are here, too." Really, not many of the items in the unit were Mohinder's; most belonged to his father. How much of his own space had he lost, really?

"You want to go through all of it today?" Peter asked.

Mohinder looked around, and the boxes suddenly seemed to have bred. "Not particularly, but it has to be done."

Mohinder didn't keep a detailed catalogue of each knick-knack, but the large number of boxes led him to assume that the majority of his belongings were present. (His father's lizard and Matt's turtle were excepted; Mohinder had asked they be left in someone else's care.) He and Peter filled one bin with clothes easily, although Mohinder knew he wouldn't fit into most of them for much longer. He also picked out a number of books and journals to keep his mind busy, as well as a deck of cards.

"How about decorative stuff?" Peter said, pulling open another box. "Like Bennet suggest--" He grimaced and jostled the box.

Mohinder sighed at the tinkle of broken glass. "If anything survived."

They found an unharmed set of ceramic tea cups and wrapped them in a shirt for protection. Next was a print of the moon Mohinder's father had loved, and from a number of framed photographs Peter found, Mohinder picked the graduation photo with his parents and a picture of Matt and Molly attempting to bake a cake. (Although the cake picture's glass had cracked down the center and would have to be replaced.) To that bin, Mohinder added a couple of intricate cloth table coverings and the heavy blanket from his bed. He used them to wrap a few vases-- gifts from his mother-- as well as the gold elephant statue he'd once used as a weapon. He found some comfort in the reminder of how far he'd come since then, of what he could now endure.

As the two men went through tens of boxes, they emptied a few to use for Matt's and Daphne's things. But in the second hour, bent over a carton on his knees, Mohinder felt his energy draining down to the ache in his lower back. "I suppose we'll have to finish another time," he said, stretching out his neck. "I'm exhausted."

"I'm not surprised," Peter said, also scrounging on the floor but not looking nearly as tired or at all pained. He pulled open one last box and perked up. "Hey, I found your laptop. Bunch of files too."

That was a surprise. Mohinder scooted over to see for himself. "The physical files were no doubt copied, but Rebel said he erased my hard drive."

"Oh. That was considerate?" Peter said, looking glum.

"He kept a copy. I'll have to contact him again."

"Oh, good!" Peter smiled. "I mean, it's one of the few in-depth databases about people like us." He fell quiet as they stacked the opened boxes along the side of the unit. They took the bins, Matt's and Daphne's boxes, and a floor lamp out to the SUV. "So," Peter said tentatively, "are you going to keep your research going?"

"At home," Mohinder said, maneuvering the lamp so its base sat on the boxes in the back of the car and its head extended to the space between the front seats. "After I'm settled with the baby, that is, but that could take ages."

Peter nodded. "Is the research something you'd, you know, share?"

Mohinder closed the rear door. "If necessary."

"You could just stay here," Peter said. "You'd have so much funding, and--"

"Peter," Mohinder said curtly, "I am not staying in that facility longer than is necessary."

"But--"

"Dont push me about it."

Peter sighed. "Can you blame me for not wanting to be in this by myself?"

Mohinder gave him a look. "Are you joining the Company?"

"No. Not really. I mean, like I said, I will be around, but... I've been talking with Nathan about joining, and it just got me thinking. I really want this to work, so I should be an actor in it, don't you think?"

"When did you decide this?"

"I didn't decide yet. I still like nursing, and I've got an interview at a DC hospital. I'm going to give it a year and see how it goes."

Peter's plan seemed reasonable, albeit inadvisable, and Mohinder decided to against further comment. He gave the storage unit one last look and spotted something bright sticking out of a box in the front. He pulled out the colorful scarf and then pulled the unit door down. When he turned back to Peter, he caught an amused look on the other man's face. "What?" Mohinder said. "I'll be there into December or January."

Peter shook his head. "Yeah, just... Nevermind. Let's get going."

They climbed into the SUV-- Peter driving and Mohinder in the passenger seat, the concave lamp head between them-- and started back to the manor. They quietly listened to the radio, and despite the occasional pothole, Mohinder felt himself being lulled to sleep.

"When you go home..." Peter started.

"Hm?" The window felt cool against Mohinder's forehead.

"What are you going to say? Did you tell your mother?"

"No," Mohinder replied quietly.

"Gonna be hard to hide a baby."

"I may just tell her I was irresponsible with a woman, and she died in childbirth."

"You'd really lie?"

"The truth is worse."

"You don't have to tell her all the... the worse parts."

"Just that I was an idiot who gave myself an ability." Mohinder twisted his hands. "She'll know other things happened. I've always been terrible at keeping things from her."

"Then she'll know you're lying about the fictional mother."

Mohinder just huffed.

Peter flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. "And what about... Well, the other father. I know you probably don't want to talk about him, but--"

"You're right; I don't," Mohinder said, more sharply than he intended.

"Not telling your mom is one thing, but there's a whole other person responsible for this life. You can't just leave him out of it."

"I'll do what I please."

Peter mulled over his next words. "Mohinder, these next months are going to be really hard for you. I know you want to keep some things to yourself, but--"

Mohinder sat up abruptly. "Peter, are you a psychologist?"

"I just want to help."

"You can help me by dropping it," Mohinder growled, and curled back toward the window. He watched block after block pass by, and he wanted to scream the truth into the anonymity of the streets and let it get lost there.

@ @ @ @ @

The clock on the microwave read 12:07 as Mohinder crept across the kitchen to the phone. He knew the number by heart, but he had to force himself to press each digit. When he finally heard ringing, he prayed for his mother not to answer. He counted the trills, reaching five before he heard a click and then his mother's voice.

"Hello?" she said. It'd be morning in Chennai, and perhaps she'd just come in from some quiet reading in the garden, surrounded by sweet perfumes.

Mohinder wet his lips, mind racing for words.

"Hello?" she said again. "Mohinder?"

The hope in her voice was too much. Nothing came but a constriction in his chest, and he carefully hung up.

@ @ @ @ @

Several times, he dreamed of the bassinet again, only it had moved to the apartment, which had been torn apart-- curtains ripped, furniture broken, books and pictures hurled from their places. Worst of all, when he stepped over a shattered mirror to the bassinet, he found it empty.

"Right here," Sylar's voice rumbled in his ear.

But when Mohinder spun around he saw only an infant, sitting in the wreckage. The baby stared up at him, and Mohinder felt fear curdle in his chest, though he knew it was ridiculous. How could he suspect a newborn of the chaos around them? He could still feel Sylar's breath on his neck.

The dream ended before he could decide to run or stay.

@ @ @ @ @

Three weeks passed quickly, with only good news on the accelerated construction of the Company. One afternoon at the end of July, a few days after Angela set off to Washington, DC to visit Nathan on her own, Mohinder stepped out of a rented van onto a corporate campus in Virginia just an hour from the capital. His expectation for the headquarters was admittedly cartoonish: gargoyles, cold stone, lightning flashing across a black sky. But the day was sunny and hot, and the building quite nondescript, built with rows of tan and brown brick interrupted by rows of windows.

Three men in security uniforms and one woman approached from the glass doors. The men set about gathering Mohinder's things. The woman, perky and middle-aged, gestured to the official Company name above the entrance.

"Welcome to the Agency for Advanced Domestic Security!" she chirped. She came over and took Mohinder by the arm. "I'm Darla Rutherford-- just Darla, please-- the facility's administrative assistant. Now you and your friend-- Peter?-- can come this way--"

"My things," Mohinder began as she clipped a card key to his shirt pocket.

"Oh, the boys will do a quick scan and bring them right up to your room," she said, leading him through the doors. Peter followed behind, grabbing a second card key as she passed it over her shoulder. "Besides, doctor, you don't need to be lugging around heavy things, now do you?"

Mohinder tensed. "Pardon me?"

She touched his arm and leaned in close as they passed the front desk. Her name tagged one empty spot, and the other was manned by a young, long-haired Asian woman listening to headphones as she tapped away at the computer. "Don't worry, dear. Director Bennet didn't tell anyone else. I'm supposed to know the ins and out of this place, so I hope you understand. If we get some surprise inspection, you'd want me to tell you, right?"

"Well, yes, but..." Mohinder would have to talk to Bennet later. He tried not to be curt. "If you know who I am, then you know that my ability makes carrying things no issue."

"Well, they still need to be processed, so that's neither here nor there," Darla said. She reminded him of a persistent school teacher, especially in her neat purple blouse and a black pencil skirt. "Now let's get you all settled! The director will meet with you, and you and I will have a little tour, and then Dr. Stevenson will have a looksie!"

Mohinder shot Peter an exasperated look, and the younger man just shrugged. They followed Darla into the elevator and listened to her chatter the whole way up to the fourth floor and then down the hall. Mohinder had his very own room close to the nurse's station, she said, so all he had to do was holler and someone would be there right away, and he had his own phone too-- just dial nine to dial out!-- but if he wanted take-out he should ask the front desk to handle it, though the cafeteria menu was usually pretty good and they were supposed to be partial to requests, as they darn well should be as far as she was concerned, since she remembered her own undying cravings from both her pregnancies, and she very well could've twisted off someone's arm if anyone tried to get between her and her broccoli and honey mustard.

"Or I suppose I might've tried to give them a dose of cancer," she chuckled. "But that would've been dangerous for the baby."

"Excuse me?" Mohinder said as they entered a hospital room-- his room.

"Oh!" She tapped her temple. "X-ray vision. Perhaps I should have mentioned. I don't find much occasion to use it, though, so there's no need to worry!" She mocked poking him in the stomach, but thankfully refrained from actual contact.

"I didn't realize the staff would have abilities."

"Well, why not?" she laughed.

It was a good question. "I suppose I'm just not thinking."

"There's no better way to establish a rapport between enhanced humans and the general population than integrating within the organization-- in ways other than bagging and tagging." She wrinkled her nose. "I do not miss those days."

"You worked for the Company?" Mohinder and Peter exclaimed at once.

"You betcha!" She gestured around. "Well, here we are. Nothing special, but certainly nothing less than what you need." The room was twice as big as Mohinder's bedroom at the old apartment, which wasn't very large to start with, but larger than he was used to. A hospital bed, made up with white sheets and a seafoam green blanket, stretched from the left wall, facing a small flat-screen television mounted on the opposite side of the room. Beneath the television sat a set of drawers alongside a stand-alone closet, and a telephone and mug sat on top of another set of drawers next to the bed. A rolling meal tray rested on the bed's other side next to a plastic chair.

"It's nice," Peter said, looking at the long window in the far wall. The view held nothing but the sky and the trees in the distance.

Darla checked her watch. "I better get back downstairs. The Director will be down soon, and there's a welcome packet on the table. You just dial the front if you have any questions, okay, hon'? Number's pasted right on the phone, but I'll be back for our tour."

"Ah, yes, thank you," Mohinder said as she left. He suddenly felt weary, as if she'd taken all the energy in the room with her, and he sat down on the bed. "That was... interesting," he said to Peter.

"Seriously," Peter said. "Broccoli and honey mustard? Gross."

The corner of Mohinder's mouth quirked up, but before he could reply, they heard a familiar voice in the hall.

"I don't give a damn how much time you've put in!" Bennet snapped angrily. "It's my jurisdiction by definition of the purpose of this bureau!" He appeared just outside the doorway. He wore a suit as usual, with a badge clipped to his chest. "Fine. Go ahead and do that, but I have a meeting with him tomorrow afternoon so don't get comfortable."

If Bennet had been on a landline, he may have slammed the receiver down. As it was, he closed the cell with an unsatisfying snap and looked up as if he hadn't realized he'd reached Mohinder's room. "Ah, how are you today?" he said as he came in. "Did you have trouble with security?"

"They're still checking through my things," Mohinder said. "I'm more concerned that you didn't tell me in advance of telling others about my condition."

Bennet nodded. "Of course, but it was important for Darla to--"

"Yes, she explained," Mohinder interrupted. "I would appreciate it if it didn't happen again."

Bennet returned Mohinder's glare with a look less than repentant, and Peter broke through the awkward moment. "Sounds like the job is going well."

"More smoothly than expected in some areas," Bennet said, "but I'm getting far more pushback than I'd like in others." He didn't elaborate on the phone call, just pushed ahead. "Darla's done her best to set up something of an orientation, but I wanted to welcome you and outline a few things."

"She said I have an appointment today," Mohinder said.

Bennet nodded. "Yes, with the general practitioner-- relatively general, that is. He has some specialties, such as in genetics. He's assisted by two nurses, Emilia and Marian, who I believe are with HR right now. Emilia is the night shift, so you won't see her until later, but Marian is during the day. Oh, and Peter will be around on his time off."

"Peter," Mohinder started, "you have a job--"

"Yeah, you're not stopping me," Peter interrupted with a smile. "Besides, you wanna chill out here all alone the whole time?"

"Well, so long as you don't burn out... thank you."

"I'll have updates on your progress," Bennet went on. "Not the full records, just notes from Dr. Stevenson. No one else will have access-- in fact, no other employees are allowed on this floor without permission, similar to the laboratory.

"Now, since you're no prisoner here, you have more freedom to move around, like to the cafeteria or up to my office. Your card key permissions change a bit after ten, but you're not locked in." It was strange that Bennet even had to say that, but Mohinder supposed he was emphasizing differences from the old Company.

"Go back," Peter said. "You have a general physician, but what about the obstetrician?"

"You should be able to meet your specialist in about two weeks."

"Why so long?"

"Because we haven't picked one yet."

"Noah!" Peter exclaimed. "You've had weeks--"

"Weeks to find someone well-schooled in more than just neonatal care and who can keep a secret? It's not actually a lot of time. We are narrowing down three candidates," Bennet said assuringly.

"And they are all rather brilliant!" Nathan chimed in as he swept into the room with a politician's smile. "But we want the absolute best of the best!" he added, clapping Bennet's shoulder. He hugged Peter and then tried to shake Mohinder's hand.

"Good afternoon, senator," Mohinder said coldly, arms at his sides.

Nathan drew back. "Well. Maybe once you're settled and see how we operate, you can at least appreciate how I'm trying to reverse my wrongs."

"I hope you can appreciate how fast I'll leave this place should you not live up to your new standards."

"Shouldn't someone with a past such as yours be willing to give the benefit of the doubt?"

"Okay!" Peter said loudly, moving between them as Mohinder got to his feet. "I believe Bennet is coming with us to lunch! Is Mom in the car? Why don't we go now? Give Mohinder time to settle in." He gave Mohinder a please-drop-it look. "Do you want anything? We're getting Chinese."

"Fine," Mohinder muttered.

"What do you--"

"Anything. I don't care."

Seeming more annoyed by the tension than anything, Bennet waved the brothers along. "All right, you know how your mother gets when she's late for a reservation."

"She gets... the same as usual?" Peter offered.

Bennet smirked and tried Mohinder again. "Are you sure you don't--"

"I'm fine," Mohinder said. He wasn't in the mood to put up with Nathan's presence, not to mention... "Unless you have a dozen more things I should have known days ago."

"Well, we'll see you later!" Peter exclaimed, promptly steering Bennet and Nathan out of the room.

@ @ @ @ @

Although Peter was supposed to help Mohinder unpack, once his things were carted upstairs, Mohinder found he preferred setting up his own space. Given how he'd feared being alone for so long, he felt bad for not missing Peter's company, but the man had been earnestly hovering over him ever since Mohinder arrived at the manor. Not that Mohinder didn't understand why or that he could expect much the same from the medical staff here, but he'd take private moments when he could get them.

Case in point, as if she was clairvoyant, Darla strolled in just as Mohinder finished, setting his mother's vases on the window sill. "Well, isn't this homey!" she chirped.

"Somewhat," Mohinder replied.

She wasn't at all put off by his pessimistic tone. "Oh, darlin', it'll be all right," she said, taking him by the arm. "This'll all be over before you know it. Now, you and I will take a look around, and then you have your appointment."

Her tour was short. First floor held reception and the cafeteria, as well as the security office and facilities management. Second floor was administration-- records and filing and human resources-- with several people already working intently at computers or pushing carts of folders. Darla skipped the third floor, as neither her nor Mohinder had clearance for the agents' offices, and Darla said the agents were still in training anyway and wouldn't settle in until next week. Mohinder already knew of the medical facility on the fourth floor, so they headed up to the fifth. There, the elevator opened up to a long glass wall, beyond which several lab stations were attended to by a dozen men and women in white lab coats. The research department, Darla explained, as she tried to lead Mohinder out of the elevator. But he didn't want to know what the scientists were doing, didn't want to get caught up in theories, results, and possibilities. He couldn't find the words to explain this to Darla, but she understood his hesitance enough to mention that the technology services office was on the same floor and move on.

The sixth floor held a waiting room and three doors. Offices, Darla said. The largest was Bennet's, and though she and Mohinder were alone, she quietly confided that Bennet had a private bathroom installed, and she was sure he spent some nights there. One of the other offices was for Nathan when he came by, and the remaining room was currently empty. The waiting room had enough space to install a personal secretary, but they didn't have a budget for it at the moment, and Darla proudly declared that she had such a good handle on the building's ins and outs that a secretary was unneccessary, really.

Back on the elevator, Mohinder asked, "What about the cells?"

Darla nodded seriously. "In the sub-basement, with its own entrance. Empty right now."

"Are you sure?"

She smiled crookedly. "Trust me, you are the most dangerous person here-- until the agents move in, that is."

"Are you sure?" Mohinder repeated.

The doors opened and she sighed as they walked back onto the medical floor. "Hon', someone needs to keep track of any conflicting elements in this building, and I don't think the Director wants to rely on only himself to do it."

"I'm not sure you know him that well."

She huffed. "Oh, bless your heart. You're not the only wrangler at the rodeo." She urged him into an examination room. "Put on that gown on the table. The doctor will be here shortly."

Dr. Stevenson was a pale, thin man, balding on top. He wore thin-rimmed glasses and constantly fidgeted with them. Mohinder couldn't tell if it was a constant personal tick or if the physician was just nervous. Stevenson's hand trembled when Mohinder shook it, and his voice wasn't much steadier.

"I read your father's book," he said. "Absolutely fascinated me, truly, and although my colleagues thought it was fanciful junk, I was never much swayed by their arguments."

"Thank you," Mohinder said, unsure how much of a compliment it was.

"I would love to hear more about your father's studies--"

"Dr. Stevenson," Mohinder said deliberately, "I am flattered you supported my father's theories, but I am here for medical reasons only."

"Oh, yes, of course," Stevenson fumbled. "Yes, you do have other things to think about, don't you? Well, ah, get on the table then and we'll get started."

The doctor's demeanor didn't get any less awkward, and there wasn't a moment Mohinder didn't wish he was back in his room. Unfortunately, there was much to do: first a basic physical for his temperature, heart rate, sight, hearing, and so on. A scale showed that Mohinder had gained about nine pounds. He also gave a urine sample and Stevenson took a sample of his blood. Mohinder recited what he knew of his family's medical history (he was likely in for heart disease in his later years), but for his current health reported he'd been feeling less nausea and fewer headaches (while keeping his dreams to himself).

After the testicular exam, for which Mohinder had mistakenly thought he was far too adult to be embarrassed, Stevenson turned to a new page on his chart. "Okay, I though I'd take some preliminary notes for the obstetrician, if, ah, that's all right."

"You're the physician," Mohinder reminded him.

"Oh, yes, but... yes." Stevenson gestured for him to lie back. "I'd like to do a pelvic exam revolving around the pregnancy rather than... the usual."

His hands, cold even with gloves, pressed carefully around Mohinder's stomach. "Carrying a little high," he muttered. "Good, more room. How far along, by your estimate?"

"Around seventeen weeks," Mohinder replied, then gasped as Stevenson prodded his pectorals. "Excuse me!" he snapped, swatting the hands away.

"Sorry!" the doctor said, holding up his hands defensively. "Just checking for tenderness."

"Why would..." Mohinder flushed. "Well, I don't... didn't... Is that a possibility?"

"I would think so. Your body has already accommodated the fetus this far," Steven said almost apologetically. "Do you feel a difference?"

"No," Mohinder said, still nervous.

Stevenson smiled. "Then that change may not be a concern." He dialed his optimism back. "Of course, you should wait on the specialist's opinion."

Mohinder agreed, though in his head he bitterly thanked the doctor for a whole new issue to worry about.

At the end of it, when Stevenson left the room, Mohinder couldn't throw his clothes on fast enough and tried not to look at how his shirt pulled over the bulge of his stomach. Unfortunately, when he looked up, a mirror hung on the door in front of him. He paused, then turned. He'd gotten a bit bigger in the last few weeks, though still able to pass as overweight with looser clothing. His gaze rose to his chest, which didn't look any bigger. Not really.

He came out into the hall with his arms braced over his chest, and Peter was there talking to Stevenson. "Hey!" Peter said, holding up a bag loaded with take-out. "You hungry? How'd it go?"

"I'm tired," Mohinder said, walking right past. He heard Peter follow and Stevenson mumble something about another check-up next week. In his room, Mohinder closed the door behind Peter.

"Not so good?" Peter said, setting the bag on the rolling meal tray. He had a chart that Stevenson must have given him, and he slipped it into a holder that hung off the end of Mohinder's bed.

Mohinder grabbed the container on top and ripped off the lid. He dug a fork out of the bag and started to eat blindly.

"I'm sorry. I know it's invasive."

Mohinder paused, recognizing his meal as chicken with cashews. "It's fine," he said. "To be expected. I need to get used to it."

"Any problems?"

"Other than that I'm in this situation? No."

Peter watched him eat for a while. "It is amazing, though, isn't it? Your body is supporting a new life. What other guy will experience that?"

Mohinder shot him a look. "Would you like to, Peter? You can probably absorb the capability right now."

Peter didn't reply, and Mohinder snorted. But then Peter spoke up again. "Trying to be positive for the baby couldn't hurt."

Mohinder almost choked. "You... you really have no idea what this is like, so just stop."

"Do you really want to go through this whole pregnancy hating the baby?"

"I don't!" Mohinder snapped. "If I hated it, I would've told Bennet to look for a surgeon!"

"It's obvious there's something wrong with the other father."

"Peter--"

"You can tell me the truth!" Peter said. "Instead of letting it eat at you, letting it control how this ends. What do you think will happen if you don't accept this pregnancy? You say you don't hate the baby, but do you think you'll feel the same way months from now, after wishing it didn't exist the whole time?"

Mohinder wanted to protest that feeling that way had nothing to do with confessing the father, but he knew it wasn't true. Hiding how this had happened, pushing the memories back only for them to manifest in fitful dreams and shame curdling in his gut, had everything to do with the child growing inside of him.

"I mean," Peter went on, "maybe you're hoping that when the baby is finally here, it'll be a Moment that makes everything you're keeping to yourself not matter, but that's a little too TV-special-magic, don't you think?"

Mohinder hadn't hoped for that. He hadn't been thinking about the end game much at all, only about coping with the now, with the past. He really did want to talk to someone, but after everything, each atrocity Sylar had committed, how could he expect the truth to help at all?

"It could've been any number of people at Primatech," Mohinder said, trying to keep his voice aloof.

Peter fell quiet for several moments, and Mohinder thought the subject was dropped, until Peter said, "You're lying to me."

Mohinder glared at him. "Would you rather I lie to you or tell you it's none of your damn business?"

Peter returned the look. "I'd rather you tell me the truth. Because if the truth is so terrible you don't want to tell me, it just makes me think..."

Mohinder frowned. "Makes you think what?"

Peter looked away. "It makes me think... it was my father."

Mohinder's eyes widened and he put down his food. "Oh, god! Peter, no, it wasn't Arthur."

Peter relaxed visibly, smiling a little. "Thank God. Because this situation is odd enough without you birthing my half-brother or -sister."

Mohinder laughed. "I think there's been enough confusion about who is and isn't a Petrelli."

The light moment passed and so did their smiles.

"I can't just 'be positive,'" Mohinder said quietly. "Especially considering the father." He hung his head. "Peter, it's absolutely the worst mistake I've ever made. How can I 'look on the bright side,' knowing that? Knowing that every time I look at this child, all I think of is..."

Peter hesitated, apparently realizing that how he had been pushing was unfair, now that he knew his father wasn't involved. "When you're ready, I'll be here to listen." He reached for the chart in the holder. "I know it's not any of my bus--"

"It was Sylar."

The chart slipped out of Peter's hands and clattered on the floor. "Wh-what?"

Mohinder didn't raise his head. He rested his elbows on his knees and twisted his hands. There. He'd put it out there. "I know. It's unforgivable."

"Well, I'm not... I mean, I'm not going to, like..." Flustered, Peter snatched the chart back up. "How the hell did that happen?" he finally managed to ask.

@ @ @ @ @

Spread over a clean lab table, pages and pages detailed tests and his personal accounts of his condition. Mohinder licked his lips and started the tape recorder. He recited the date and began.

"The constant pain has subsided to a constant dull ache, although occasionally there are sharp escalations, usually in the abdominal area. It's preferable, but I have little reason to believe or hope it will last."

He slid over a series of photographs, taken in privacy with time-delayed shots. "The scales continue to progress, now in a more symmetrical pattern. They cover most of the upper posterior of the body-- on the back, narrowing along the spine as they approach the buttocks, and along the shoulders, down the forearms to the backs of the hands. They cover the back of the neck, lining the hairline up to the temples. I am starting to experience hair loss. I expect this change will eventually take over the cranium if no remedy is found. Spread to the anterior and inferior areas of the body is slow."

Mohinder turned away from the photos to the x-rays lined up on a viewer mounted on the wall. "Inner anatomy continues to change in ways difficult to describe. I am no expert on varieties of anatomy, so I am not sure what other creatures I can find a comparison in. Requests to Arthur Petrelli for outside experts have been rebuffed. He maintains my focus should be on completing the formula and reversing these changes altogether. If that's even possible."

Mohinder turned back to the table, to the useless test results. "I've made little progress in finding the missing pieces of the puzzle. Although the abrupt drop in pain levels made it easier to think at first, the pain was soon replaced by..." Mohinder hesitated, undid another button of his lab coat. "The pain has been replaced by a growing urge for intercourse. As with my... uncharacteristic behavior with Maya, my hormone levels are fluctuating, producing an intense need to copulate. However..." He paused again, reconsidering the confession on his tongue, his cheeks burning. "This current urge is strongest around other men.

"Body temperature has increased, and I have become sensitive to touch-- even the normal irritation around the scales has changed to a strange, almost pleasant prickling. I've dismissed Arthur's lab assistants; they are a constant distraction. Manual stimulation has only served to make the urges worse. My body seems to require... I need..."

... the press of hot, slick flesh against his; the slide of grasping, greedy hands over his body; long, hard drives inside him, friction building until...

Mohinder opened his eyes. The tape recorder still ran. "I need to complete the formula," he finished quickly, and hit stop.

He gathered the papers into a neat pile and put them back in their manila folder, as he tried to ignore the pulsing in his ears, his chest, his groin. His hands shook as he held the complete file, and in frustration he threw the whole thing across the room, scattering his transformation everywhere. He pulled over a stool and sat, resting his forehead on the cool table, wrapping his arms around himself tightly. He needed to get control of himself. These feelings would pass. They had to, before he broke his self-segregation to the lab and stalked some poor file clerk in the halls. One of his lab assistants was a rather handsome young man, and Mohinder had wanted nothing more than to throw him to the floor and have his way. At times it struck him as a possible solution, to give his body what it wanted with a willing partner-- but even with Maya he had been rough. He felt so much less in control now. With his strength, he was dangerous.

He should just go to Arthur and ask to be sealed in a box until this ended. He was no help like this, his scientific mind buried by a barrage of sexual thoughts. But how much good was he by himself anyway? Not much, really. He was still completely lost, and those 'assistants' weren't much good for anything but making copies and retrieving coffee. And the aforementioned good fuck.

Mohinder buried his face in his hands. He had to stop thinking like this, but he didn't know what to do, and no one could help him. Who even knew he was here?

"Why so glum, doctor?" a mocking voice purred as a heavy hand settled on his shoulder.

Mohinder recoiled, spinning around, half-falling out of his seat. He straightened up against the table, hands gripping the edge tightly. His shoulder tingled. His eyes locked with Sylar's as the other man smirked in amusement. Oh, God, no. Sylar was the last person he needed here.

"That little heart attack is hardly payment for smashing my skull into the floor," Sylar said. "So don't look so pissed. I'm pretty sure I died for a second."

"What a shame," Mohinder hissed, "that the ability you stole saved you."

Sylar shrugged. "She lived."

"Get out," Mohinder growled.

"You know, I didn't expect to find you here, trying to experiment on Peter, no less."

"I didn't expect Arthur to let you wander the building after freeing him," Mohinder sneered.

"He's told me some tidbits about my mother that are making me re-evaluate my family loyalty."

"Consider it somewhere else."

"Don't you want to know?" Sylar said cockily, as if Mohinder was trying to hide his curiosity.

But Mohinder had more important things to worry about than Sylar's lifestyle changes, and he busied himself with a microscope. Sylar, of course, refused the cue to leave and wandered to the glass wall that closed off a section of the lab.

"What's this?" he said, sounding genuinely off-guard. He reached for the panel that opened the door.

Mohinder sprang to his side and twisted his arm away. "You'll contaminate it!"

"You already started experimenting," Sylar said, staring at the mutated man on the bed at the back of the enclosure. "Before Peter."

Mohinder slapped a switch and the light in the chamber turned off. "He'll be fine!" he snapped.

Sylar gave him a sidelong glance. "You don't look fine."

"Get out."

"We've practically switched places," Sylar mused. "Me reigning in my hunger, you developing yours..."

Mohinder laughed abruptly, knowing what Sylar intended, but unable to think of anything other than the half-erection hidden under his lab coat. There were slides left out by the microscope and he tried to focus on putting them away. "You haven't reigned in anything. You murdered a man just an hour ago."

Sylar actually had the nerve to look offended. "I was protecting my brother. I had good intentions."

"Good?!" Mohinder exclaimed, looking up. "You have no idea of the meaning of the word. This 'family' nonsense, it's a distraction for your sick, pathetic mind, looking for validation wherever you can find it. Don't fool yourself. You'll get hungry for blood again. You haven't changed at all."

"Really? What about you?" Sylar snarled. "What exactly were you going to inject into your buddy Peter, huh?"

Mohinder fisted his hands in his hair. "He would have been fine. This is all going to lead to the formula, and then everything will be fine." Despite his fatalistic thoughts minutes ago, despite every failure, he had to believe that. "Everything will be fine." He just needed to press on through these side effects, and he would find the solution. "Everything will be fine." Sylar touched his shoulder again and Mohinder threw him off. "Why, if you're so good, didn't you kill me then, huh?" he demanded, pushing into Sylar's space. "I held the syringe!"

"I told you before," Sylar said, looking thoughtful. "Destiny has things in store for us." He stared at Mohinder as if trying to see inside him. "You are different. Desperate. I know how that feels, Mohinder, to be trapped, finding the only way out is stocked with things you were always told were wrong. It's all too narrow to see straight until you make it out the other side..."

Yes, yes, yes, the terrible tragedy of Sylar's power helping him figure out all but himself. Mohinder wanted to spit that all that Sylar had done was wrong-- but so had been so many of Mohinder's actions in these past horrible days. To think that Sylar really was the only person offering any understanding or consolation, the only visitor to his lab who showed concern about his deteriorating condition. (Though who should? Peter, who Mohinder had almost injected? Any of his friends, who would be nothing but appalled at his actions?) How could Mohinder deny that he knew Sylar had once felt like this, when he could still smell the desperation in that miserable, vandalized closet? Thanks to the formula, they were more kindred spirits than ever.

Sylar went on, but Mohinder didn't hear the words, just the aggressive baritone of his voice, the persistence. Suddenly he was hit with all the things he noticed when Sylar played innocent, light-hearted Zane: Sylar's slender but strong frame and the odd appeal of his face, broad nose fitting well above full lips, dark eyes accentuated by thick eyebrows. Sylar's strangely quiet voice suddenly stopped, his expression tightening in annoyance. His hand closed around Mohinder's arm and he demanded to know if Mohinder was listening.

Mohinder grabbed Sylar's collar and crashed their mouths together. An almost panicked noise burst in Sylar's throat and he pushed Mohinder back by the shoulders, holding him away. Yet Mohinder's hands still clung to Sylar's shirt and when he pulled forward again, Sylar ceded most of the distance. Mohinder felt consumed by the warmth in his body and the kindred warmth in Sylar's mouth, yet Sylar stared with wide eyes. Mohinder laughed, knowing he'd thrown the other man completely off-kilter, that Sylar must have felt vulnerable when people weren't predictable enough for intuitive aptitude to discern. But mostly Mohinder wanted Sylar to get over that, and he pushed forward again to continue the kiss.

Sylar kept him at bay, looking surprisingly unsure. "I... you... What's the matter with you?"

"Does it matter?" Mohinder said. Relief was so close; he'd tasted it on Sylar's tongue.

Sylar didn't answer, saying instead, "You're... you're not... This isn't..."

Mohinder couldn't stop the whimper that passed between his lips. His groin ached with every moment of denial. "Don't leave," he said. He couldn't stand the thought of being alone, not like this, and he offered more incentive. "Do you really want to go, like before?"

The question hit the mark as expected. He could see the memory of a night in Montana flash in Sylar's eyes, the first night before Dale's murder. A pleasant dinner, laughing conversation, a meeting of the eyes outside motel doors-- but Sylar denied Mohinder's invitation to his room. Maybe he'd wanted to focus on his real objective, or string Mohinder along, but now in the lab, Mohinder knew Sylar didn't want to pass on this opportunity again, especially not with some sort of destiny to be carried out between them.

Mohinder didn't think much of how fate may have entwined them; he focused on Sylar pulling him forward and Sylar's mouth closing over his. Sylar cupped Mohinder's face, fingers pressing against the scales behind his jaw, and Mohinder whimpered at the pain. Sylar pulled back, but Mohinder lurched forward to keep kissing him because it still felt good, everything felt good now, and his hands moved down, tugging Sylar's shirt out of his pants.

"Slow down," Sylar gasped into Mohinder's mouth. He yelped as Mohinder pushed him to the floor and straddled his hips. Mohinder didn't want to slow down; he needed to get rid of this aching need inside him before he went mad. And Sylar was warm, Sylar reacted beneath his hands, Sylar was real human contact, touching him, pushing back the pain. He sat up and massaged Mohinder's hips as he wetly kissed Mohinder's throat. Mohinder quickly unbuttoned Sylar's shirt and eagerly ran his hands through Sylar's chest hair as the clothing parted.

Mohinder had almost forgotten all those feelings he'd had for Zane, confusing and complicated. He'd never felt to connected to another man before, and as usual his emotions propelled him to recklessness-- if only the other man had said yes, Mohinder would have spent that night exploring those feelings and Zane's body, trying to puzzle them out. And now, even knowing the killer's true identity, Mohinder felt enthralled with this second chance. He could finally satisfy all five sense, indulge the attraction that lurked in the dark corners of his dreams and fantasies. He felt no shame, only need, only finally.

"Don't you have a bed in here?" Sylar gasped as Mohinder's fingers tripped over his nipples.

A bed? A bed wasn't necessary. And talking certainly wasn't necessary. Mohinder kissed him hard, intent on engaging his tongue otherwise.

Sylar tried to hold him still. Mohinder groaned and rocked his hips forward. Sylar bit his lip and tried to talk. "I... I don't want to just..."

Panting, Mohinder smiled crookedly. "Because this is part of our destiny? It has to have some semblance of being 'special,' not just a rough tumble?" How adorable. He laughed. "There's a spare hospital bed behind that screen, darling."

Sylar frowned and his eyes hardened, and of all things, he actually looked like he was reconsidering. Mohinder wrenched his arms free and pressed up against him. "Isn't it us that makes this special?" he whispered against Sylar's lips, smiling at the hitch in Sylar's breath.

Sylar braced one arm around Mohinder's back and slipped the other under his legs, picking him up swiftly. Mohinder felt briefly indignant about being carried like some giggling bride over the threshold, but in just a few strides Sylar dropped him on the bed and climbed over him. Mohinder's heart hammered in anticipation, but after pulling off his lab coat, Sylar moved slowly, wetly kissing down Mohinder's front as he undid each button. Growling in frustration, Mohinder ripped the shirt off the rest of the way and yanked Sylar's mouth back to his, hooking his legs over Sylar's hips. He felt Sylar trace the edge of the scales on his back, setting off sparks of pain and pleasure, and rocked upwards.

But when Sylar slipped off Mohinder's belt and undid his pants, he moved slowly again, trying to placate Mohinder's fervor with deep kisses as he explored Mohinder's torso, hips, and thighs with his hands. Mohinder broke the seal of their mouths and grabbed the front of Sylar's open shirt, abruptly twisting on the bed so Sylar was under him. He quickly got rid of his pants and ground his cock down on Sylar's lap, throwing his head back with a groan.

When he opened his eyes, Sylar stared at him and breathed heavily, his hands wandering Mohinder's naked body. "Want to get to the point?" he said, with a near-smirk, but Mohinder could see disappointment.

And he didn't much care. All Mohinder needed was for Sylar to "be good" right now-- and he laughed at the thought, straight out of a porno film. Sylar didn't push back when Mohinder shoved him down on the mattress, head hitting the edge, and Mohinder focused on undoing his belt.

- - -

Mohinder woke up aching, sated, and alone, covered in a sheet. He expected that eventually Sylar would return to gloat, to fish for another round.

He didn't.

That was fine. The pain came back. There was work to do.

@ @ @ @ @

"Mohinder?" Peter prodded gently, still waiting for an answer. He'd sat on the bed and closed his hand around Mohinder's arm. "If you need to see someone, I can talk to Nathan."

"It's not like that," Mohinder said quietly. He twisted his fingers in the blanket on the bed. "He didn't... I was willing. I wasn't handling the change well, and I just... Sylar was convenient."

It wasn't much of an explanation at all, and in the quiet between them, Mohinder could hear all the questions Peter wanted to ask. Peter only knew that Sylar had killed Mohinder's father, that Mohinder had come across Sylar in his research. He didn't know about the road trip, about the hours and hours of deceit that should have been dismissed as soon as Mohinder found Zane Taylor's obituary. He didn't know how the deceit had formed a tensile web that entangled Mohinder with Sylar even now, as Sylar's ashes blew around the Arizona desert.

But Peter didn't ask questions. He said, "That serum... You weren't in your right mind. It's not your fault."

Mohinder could feel it again, deep in his heart, the moment he just gave in, threw himself at his father's murderer.

"It sounds a lot like taking advantage of someone who's drunk," Peter said.

Mohinder laid back. "I don't want to discuss this anymore." But abruptly tears stung his eyes, and closing them only caused the tears to spill over.

"Mohinder," Peter said quickly, reaching out but not touching him. "It's not your fault," he repeated. "You weren't thinking right. You--"

Mohinder wrapped his arms around his stomach. "What if you're right? I don't want to treat this child like..."

"You won't do that," Peter said, "because you know that baby is not Sylar."

Mohinder thought of his dreams. "Do I?"

"How could any baby you raise grow up like him?" Peter touched his shoulder now. "Mohinder, it's not going to happen."

"Sylar's mental problems clearly tied into his genetics," Mohinder said. "If the child exhibits his same ability--"

"Sylar's mental problems were also clearly tied to his mommy issues," Peter said. "The guy lived with his power for years without killing anyone, and we both know he was capable of showing restraint when he had the right incentive."

"Yes, well, it's unfortunate that both this child's parents are experienced in moral weakness."

"Yet the one raising the child is the one capable of real remorse. Don't you think that makes a difference?"

"I don't know."

"You don't..." Peter dropped his hand. "Look, Mohinder, we're all still responsible for what we do drunk or on drugs or on an untested serum, but do you really think you're the same person now as when you tried to inject me?"

"Who can say until I've run into another temptation?"

"Mohinder! You were messed up in the head!"

"Who's to say I'm not anymore?" Mohinder snapped. Peter sucked in a breath, but Mohinder kept on. "You all are so eager to say you learned your lesson and we can all just move on now, but I can't forget. Especially not now."

Peter regarded him for a moment, then nodded. "Well, I guess you're already a better parent than most of the ones I know."

Mohinder snorted. "You really reach for silver linings."

"The alternative is too much like giving up. Seeing as you haven't asked for that surgeon, I can tell you don't want to."

Mohinder supposed not, but he lifted his hands to massage his temples.

"Headache?"

"Slight."

"A nap might help. You look tired." Peter stood up. "I'll let you--"

"You don't have to go," Mohinder blurted out. "I mean, I don't want to rush you out."

Peter smiled slightly. "Okay." He pulled over the plastic chair and sat, rocking back on the rear chair legs. "Want to talk about something else?"

Mohinder really just wasn't in the mood to be alone again, and so they talked about the accommodations for only a few minutes before falling into silence. Peter switched on the TV and flipped the channels until he came across a history program, and he set the volume lower than necessary. But Mohinder didn't say anything; he laid back and let the murmur lull him to sleep.

@ @ @ @ @

It should have been easy to lift the child into his arms, but Sylar still breathed over his shoulder. Mohinder wasn't sure if Sylar wanted him to take the baby or not, only sure that the opposite was the safe choice.

The baby just seemed to wait and grow paler the longer Mohinder stared. Each time he had the urge to reach out, he swore he could feel Sylar's arms running along his own.

@ @ @ @ @

Mohinder woke to the screech of Peter's chair jerking across the linoleum and knocking into the bed. His heart lurched, because it was half dark, the only light coming from the hall, and the cursing figure was not Peter. Mohinder grabbed one of the chair legs, but luckily he recognized the other man before smashing it into his body.

"Matt?" Mohinder said, pulling his hand back and sitting up. He twisted on the floor lamp at his bedside, keeping the light dull. He could see that Peter had closed the blinds, but Mohinder must have slept for a few hours because no light peeked between the slats.

Matt squinted a bit and rubbed his shin. "Uh, hey. Surprise?"

"I should say so!" Mohinder exclaimed. He stretched and rubbed at his eyes, trying to reorient himself. "What are you doing here?"

"It's not obvious?" Matt said, pulling the chair back and sitting down. "I thought a lot about what you said. I thought I should play my part, take some responsibility."

Mohinder smiled. "Well, I'm glad." And he was. Mohinder felt grateful to have Peter as a confidant, but sometimes his blood loyalty to Nathan was frustrating. At least Matt was on Mohinder's side when it came to the Company's leading men. "Bennet's office is on the sixth floor. He's most likely still here."

Matt cocked his head. "Bennet knows I'm here. I called two days ago. I've been here since this afternoon."

Mohinder laughed bitterly and folded his arms. "Typical."

"Ah... sorry?"

"You're not the one who seems to think how much I'm informed is irrelevant."

Matt fidgeted. "I'm not much better. I didn't tell Janice my plans until just last night."

"You didn't bring them with you? Matt, just a few weeks ago, you were telling me they're the most important parts of your life."

"Yeah, so they're not involved in all this just yet." Matt sighed. "I tried to explain it to Janice, but she didn't want to hear it."

"I imagine Daphne's things arriving didn't help," Mohinder said, cringing.

"I sent them right ahead to her father."

Mohinder could hear it in Matt's voice, that he'd sent the packages quickly not because they upset Janice, but so she wouldn't see them. "Matt, don't say you didn't even tell Janice about Daphne."

"Why would she need to know?"

"Beccause Daphne was also an important part of your life."

"Life goes on."

"Like it never happened?"

"Did you tell Molly why you're here?"

Mohinder scowled at the apparent point. "I'll have to, won't I?" He paused. "Molly knows I'm here?"

"I called her last night. What was I supposed to say? Apparently you haven't called home in weeks."

"No," Mohinder said and offered no excuse. "She's worried?"

"Of course! Not to mention your mom. She was ready to accuse me of murder."

"I've tried to call."

"Trying isn't doing. I promised Molly you'd be in touch."

Mohinder bit his lip and nodded. "How is she?" he asked, staring at the picture next to the clock at his bedside.

Matt followed his gaze and finally smiled. He picked up the photo and looked at himself and Molly, both covered in flour despite their aprons. Molly threatened him with an icing tube. "She's doing fine. She's a strong kid." He put the picture down and fixed Mohinder in a look. "You know she knows about the hunt?"

"They came for her?"

"No, she just said somebody told her. Wouldn't say who, but maybe if you--"

"I'll call," Mohinder said. "I just need to figure out what to say."

"Just as long as you tell them something."

"Peter says I should tell the truth."

"He is the idealistic type."

"Funny, I used to think that of myself."

A few beats passed, then Matt said, "If lying is going to eat you alive, you shouldn't do it. Especially not to family."

Mohinder raised an eyebrow. "Interesting sentiment coming from you."

He expected Matt to be aggravated, but the remark stung more than he bargained for. Matt's expression hardened, not necessarily with hostility, but with guardedness.

"Hey," Mohinder said, and he couldn't reach Matt's arm, so he patted his knee. "I'm sorry, Matt. I know it hasn't been long since Daphne passed. I'm just worried that if you try to block her out, you won't be able to cope. You're so excited about reuniting with Janice and raising your son, your grief may come back at the worst moments."

Matt shifted uneasily, softening a bit. "I'm not with them now, am I?" He lifted his gaze. "And it's... Mohinder, it's not just--"

"Suresh, hey--"

Mohinder and Matt's attention turned to the door, Matt half-twisting. Bennet stood in the doorway, looking surprised for a moment and gesturing to Matt. "I neglected to tell you Parkman is joining us," he finished.

Mohinder wasn't sure he had the patience to be more than annoyed. "Noted," he said dryly. "Anything else? Do I have a roommate who shall arrive in the middle of the night, whose fear of the dark causes spontaneous combustion?"

"Things have been hectic," Bennet offered apologetically, though without an actual apology. "But I doubt this is an unwelcome surprise." He came into the room and stood at the foot of the bed. "So what do you think of the 'new Company' so far?"

"Satisfactory," Mohinder said begrudgingly. The day had been mostly uncomfortable, but he hadn't seen or heard anything that set off alarm bells.

"You sure? I don't believe you've had any of the cafeteria food yet."

Mohinder eyed the clock again. It was about seven. "And I suppose I've missed last call."

"Dont' worry," Bennet said with amusement. "Darla's got a pile of food for you. She'll proabbly be up any second."

"That's kind of her," Mohinder replied, though he hoped she wouldn't be eternally fussing over him. He wasn't sure how much of her rattling he could take at once.

"She's always got a handle on things," Bennet said, and Mohinder could hear the satisfaction in his voice. Maybe Darla was right about Bennet spreading at least a little control around. "But what do you think of Dr. Stevenson? Have you met either of the nurses?"

"Am I your focus group?" Mohinder asked.

"Well, yes," Bennet replied. "I'm pretty much under the impression that you'd like to be."

"I just have concerns."

Bennet grinned. "Yeah, 'concerns.'" But the look faded. "Actually, Parkman, I have some concerns we need to review."

"I think at this point I'm well aware," Matt said sharply.

"As Head of Security, strenuous review is part of the job," Bennet said. "Come up to my office. It won't take long." He paused. "Nathan's waiting."

"Yes, we must be at Senator Petrelli's beck and call," Mohinder snorted.

"That is sort of the idea," Matt said. He patted Mohinder's shoulder and got to his feet. "I'll see you tomorrow, buddy. And, uh..." He glanced at Mohinder's stomach. "You're looking good. Keep it up."

"Very not awkward, Matt."

"Thanks," Matt replied with a flash of a smile. He followed Bennet out, but paused at the door, gripping the frame with one hand. "Don't forget: call Molly."

"Of course," Mohinder said with a weak smile of his own. Easy for Matt to say. If Matt ever brought Daphne up to Janice, it would never compare to what Mohinder had to tell his mother and Molly. Of course, after everything that had happened since he came to America, he had to admit he didn't want to fill his life with more secrets.