[for matt, brian, and roger] when it rains...
Dated December 5th
Since Parkman's arrival, Mohinder's dreams had been dark, disturbed, even violent. Knowing that Hiro had corrected the timestream, that Molly and Nathan and he had all survived Peter exploding in the square banished them in daytime, but his subconscious mind could not let go of the timeline he had lived and died in, or left from. That it was an inevitable consequence of confronting a piece of his old life, here, on the island when he had put that past behind him and would, in all likelihood, subside in time did little to ease his growing exhaustion or his inability to concentrate on the research project he'd been planning to undertake.
This particular afternoon, he sat in the rec room, table piled high with journals of modern genetics. He read, but as through a fog, and his eyes burned enough that he'd even worn his glasses. When the fourth cup of coffee - Daniel's or Abby's from the strength of it - did nothing to restore his acuity, he slammed the journal shut. With the closing of the pages, the information likewise vanished and he had no memory of what he'd been reading.
Growling irritably, he pushed up his glasses and rubbed his eyes. There was nothing to be done but talk to Parkman. If they could settle their differences, perhaps the dreams would cease plaguing him and he might finally sleep. He heaved a tired sigh, gathered his journals and took them to the lab for safekeeping, then went in search of Parkman.
Uncharitably assuming he would not stray far from the relative modernity of the Compound, Mohinder began his search there, and found him not much later in the laundry room. Perhaps, at least, his other self, the one who lived with Parkman and Molly did not have to cook and clean and do all of their laundry. What would would Parkman make of that, he wondered, a wry, weary smile quirking his lips.
He leaned against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed defensively over his chest. "Settling in, I see," he offered, his tone a little sharper than he'd intended.
Since Parkman's arrival, Mohinder's dreams had been dark, disturbed, even violent. Knowing that Hiro had corrected the timestream, that Molly and Nathan and he had all survived Peter exploding in the square banished them in daytime, but his subconscious mind could not let go of the timeline he had lived and died in, or left from. That it was an inevitable consequence of confronting a piece of his old life, here, on the island when he had put that past behind him and would, in all likelihood, subside in time did little to ease his growing exhaustion or his inability to concentrate on the research project he'd been planning to undertake.
This particular afternoon, he sat in the rec room, table piled high with journals of modern genetics. He read, but as through a fog, and his eyes burned enough that he'd even worn his glasses. When the fourth cup of coffee - Daniel's or Abby's from the strength of it - did nothing to restore his acuity, he slammed the journal shut. With the closing of the pages, the information likewise vanished and he had no memory of what he'd been reading.
Growling irritably, he pushed up his glasses and rubbed his eyes. There was nothing to be done but talk to Parkman. If they could settle their differences, perhaps the dreams would cease plaguing him and he might finally sleep. He heaved a tired sigh, gathered his journals and took them to the lab for safekeeping, then went in search of Parkman.
Uncharitably assuming he would not stray far from the relative modernity of the Compound, Mohinder began his search there, and found him not much later in the laundry room. Perhaps, at least, his other self, the one who lived with Parkman and Molly did not have to cook and clean and do all of their laundry. What would would Parkman make of that, he wondered, a wry, weary smile quirking his lips.
He leaned against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed defensively over his chest. "Settling in, I see," he offered, his tone a little sharper than he'd intended.