((Okayed by the other Heroes muns!))An Indian man walks into the Sorting Room, carrying a small duffel bag, a computer bag, and a briefcase. Unlike many other applicants, he doesn't seem particularly shocked by his presence in this room; rather, he looks around with purpose, giving a satisfied nod as he surveys his surroundings
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The sorting room -- heck, that and the whole damn castle -- was a deafening hubbub of voices, so it took a little while before Dale realised that she recognised one of them. Another second and she'd put a face to it, in a moment of horrified realisation.
(He wasn't the last person she wanted to see here, but he came close.)
There was a whole lot of angry Dale Smither, standing very suddenly in front of Mohinder. "What the hell are you doing here, Suresh?" The volume of her own voice made her twitch uncomfortably.
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"Miss Smithers?" He gaped at her, then beamed brilliantly. "My God! You're alive! How-- how is that even possible?" He was pretty certain she had been dead the last time he saw her. The fact that her brain had been removed was fairly indicative. He felt a quick stab of guilt; her death had really been his fault. If only he hadn't led Sylar to her...
Wait, wait. Oh God. She was dead. And Sylar had been stabbed and now he was here. And... Mohinder's eyes widened. "This isn't...?" He had come here by choice, but what if you couldn't get in unless you were dead?
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But from that angle, why would he sound pleased that she seemed to be alive? Unless he was acting, of course.
"No," she answered his first question coldly, glaring at him. "I'm not."
But something else had occured to her, and on top of the anger a wave of fear filled her eyes and her throat. If Suresh was here, then...? "Is he here?" she demanded hoarsely. "Did you come alone?"
God, she hoped the answer was the second one.
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He opened his mouth to speak again, to ask the question or to explain himself, perhaps, but was cut off by her question. He blinked, then winced. "I... yes and no, I'm afraid. I did come alone, but I ran into him soon after my arrival." There was no need to ask who he was.
Mohinder swallowed. "I'm so sorry, Miss Smither. I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am." And surely this was the place to atone. He closed his eyes and tried to steel himself. "Is this... the afterlife, then?" Maybe this wasn't the place he thought it was at all. Maybe he had died en route.
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She swung back around to face Mohinder, barely registering his apology. "It's not, or I'd be glad that he's here," she said shortly. "Some people are dead and others aren't, don't ask me how it works." Dale tipped her head back, shaking, and tried to bring her breathing under control: it was rapid and shallow, and her heart was fluttering even faster than his. Then she looked back at Mohinder and added quickly, almost pleading: "Don't tell him. Don't tell him I'm here."
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At least he wasn't dead. That was something of a relief. He breathed in deeply, trying to settle his own rapidly beating heart. "Of course I won't tell him," he assured her shakily. What kind of a man did she think he was? "I couldn't let him hurt you..." He bowed his head. "Not again."
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But she held that in, because suddenly she wasn't so sure of it. He sounded genuinely contrite, for all that was worth. So, though she was still glaring, and her voice was loud and barely controlled, she said instead: "Did you know that he'd -- what he'd--"
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He remembered, in fact, it had been almost immediately after that. The newspaper clipping; the slow and horrifying realization -- more than one, really, several piling up one on top of the other. It had been like a landslide, and he'd had to lock himself in his motel bathroom until the heaves had passed.
He swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry," he said again. Really, he couldn't say it enough. "I was trying to protect you..."
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Then she sat down rather suddenly on a chair, because all the strength in her legs had decided to go away and hide. It didn't seem like such a bad idea, to be honest. She was imagining much the same thing that Mohinder was, though her version involved him finding out by walking in on some other poor bastard with half his head removed, and the murderer there looming over it. She didn't think she could imagine him not looming. She didn't want to imagine him at all.
She tried to stop herself shaking.
"He didn't... anyone else?" she asked hoarsely, before realising suddenly that she didn't know how Mohinder had gotten here. What if--?
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"I... I'm afraid so. Only one man that I know of, after you." Before Dale, there might have been countless people -- he certainly knew of at least four. "A man called Ted Sprague."
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"Oh God."
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