(no subject)
Mohinder Suresh & Molly Walker, Brooklyn, NY
“Yes, is this the Wilmer residence?” Mohinder inquired, trying to sound as calm as he possibly could as he spoke. His nerves had been frayed since the incident several days ago, and it was difficult for the man to work on anything. Molly hadn’t gone to school, using the man’s injury as an excuse to stay with the geneticist. Mohinder didn’t mind much, though. It had turned out Molly was a great help. While he worked on the phone, the girl would go through the list and, using the internet, would look up addresses and phone numbers, as well as death certificates, meticulously going through the list, thinking up new ways to approach people who’d denied him earlier. Mohinder was even beginning to wonder what he’d been doing without her.
“My name is Doctor Mohinder Suresh. I’m a genetics professor at University of Madras in Madras India. I am aware that a member of your family, Candace, had undergone an experiment funded by our University called the Human Genome Proje--,” he stopped mid-sentence as the woman on the other line began to speak.
“You don’t know who Candace is?” he interrogated, leaning forward. “Well, I’m sure I have the right address. The people who authorized the administration of this experiment on Candace were named Martha and Terrence Wilmer…You’re Martha? Well, I’m positive I have the right Wilmers, unless you moved into your home recently…Your grandparents made your home? Well, do you have any children, any relatives at all with the name Candace? You don’t? Well, sorry for taking your time. Have a good day ma’am.” He hung the phone up, leaned his chair back, and sighed.
“Are you okay, Mohinder?” she asked tentatively. He looked at her apathetically and resisted the urge to scream the word no at her. Instead, he shook his head no.
“Apparently Candace Wilmer doesn’t exist,” was all he said, leaving out mention of some of the rude comments the woman had uttered to him. “Who’s next?” he asked.
Molly looked at the list. “Matthew Parkman, Los Angeles, California,” she smiled at that, but all it did was give Mohinder a crashing wave of remorse. “Can I go over to Momma Dahlia’s house?” she inquired suddenly, referring to the Haitian woman that lived down the way. The woman took care of three foster children, whom Molly had grown attached to. Mohinder nodded to the girl and she squealed in happiness.
“If you’re going over there, I’m going to see how Matthew is,” he told her. She nodded and rushed out of the room, saying something about telling him hello as she ran out the door.
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Mohinder Suresh, St Mary’s Hospital, NY
Mohinder sat silently in Matt Parkman’s hospital room, listening to the soothing, yet terrifying sounds of the heart monitor steadily beep away. The man’s eyes were red, and wet trails led from the man’s eyes. One hand rested over the older man’s, seeking comfort from the sleeping man. The doctors had told him he’d been awake for a short time before the previous day, but it was only for a few minutes, at the most. It was still enough for Mohinder, for him to know that Matt was already lucid, if only barely.
He’d been there for nearly an hour, just sitting there, bursting into tear every now and then, but always silent. No one, not even the man, would know about his moment of weakness. Then, with no prompt, the man began to speak, trying to relieve a hidden burden he’d been carrying for nearly a month now, if not longer.
“I disliked you when we first met, Matthew. Despite Molly’s assurance, I couldn’t help but think that one day, you would do something terrible to betray her trust in you. So I distrusted you, if not for no other reason than to protect Molly from you. After all, Bennet had told me after we fought Sylar that you, he, and Ted came to kill her.” He stroked the man’s hand and continued.
“After you’d adopted Molly and the proceedings to your divorce with Janice began to happen, my dislike turned to distaste. I found you crude, irritating, immature, callous, and a hundred other qualities that I could and have listed. I remember how every little thing you did, so different than how I did things with Mira, Eden, even Sylar, caused me to try and incite a fight with you. I don’t know why I felt this way. Perhaps it was my initial distrust with you.”
“And then I decided to try and give you a chance, especially whenever I saw how lonely you seemed towards the end of your divorce with Janice. And it was then when I saw the man who was really Matthew Parkman. Your crudeness became humorous as I saw the way you played with Molly. I saw how much you cared for Molly’s safety, and even mine, never telling Mister Bennet about Molly than what was necessary. I saw the man whose life was changed and destroyed by a company that had no business even coming near him. I no longer saw a brutish caveman, but a friend and companion.” He started smiling.
“It was then, I believe, when I agreed to help you learn how to control your power, that I started feeling differently toward you. I opened up to you. Told you both in words and in thought about my life, how my father neglected me and how my mother was apathetic to how he treated me. About India, and the people I knew there. I told you about the people who meant the most to me, Mira and Eden. I told you about Shanti and what Sanjog told me about her and the disease that she and Molly shared. There was nothing that I hid from you, save for these new thoughts about you. I always thought of something else around you. I thought of Molly, and Eden, and the List, and Sylar, anything to make sure you didn’t know.”
He sighed and leaned closer. “But I cannot hide it anymore. I need to tell you, even if you cannot hear what I am saying. Matthew…I’ve had feelings for you. Not like the feelings one would have for a friend. These feelings go beyond friendship, to something more. I do not know if it is love or something else, but your injury put everything into focus, made me realize how mortal we all really are, especially with what we are doing. And I thought what if it had been worse? What if they weren’t able to save you? What would it be like with just me and Molly? I tried to picture it and couldn’t. It hurts for me not to see you at home, to hear your voice or see your smile. So please, get better soon. We miss you. I miss you.” He started to get up, ready to leave, when he felt a tug on his hand. His breath hitched and he nearly yelped in surprise. He looked back to see Matt, his eyes barely open and a weak smile on his face.
“Did you mean that?” he asked the man, his voice hoarse. Mohinder stared down at the man, bewildered and more than embarrassed to know that the man had heard what he said. “I need to know.” Mohinder blushed, gulped past a growing knot in his throat, and nodded. “Prove it then.”
Mohinder hesitated and looked away, before leaning down close to the man. Matt brought his right arm around him and pulled him closer, until their faces were only an inch or so apart. “You need to take it from here,” he informed the man. “And whatever you do, please mean it. I don’t want to chase after another person who I fell in love with when they didn’t feel for me in return.”
This silent confession was all Mohinder needed. He brought his face forward and kissed the man, pouring himself into it, letting him know, that yes, he will be there for him, always, and immediately Matt began to kiss him back, using all the strength he could muster. After a while, they pulled back, their faces flushed, their lips kiss-bruised. “Wow,” was all Mohinder could say after that kiss.
Smiling, Matt closed his eyes and said lowly, “You should go home; Molly’s probably waiting for you.” Mohinder was about to correct him and tell him Molly didn’t go to school, but decided against it. Matt didn’t need to worry about everything. Especially in his state. And then it hit him, what the man said.
“Did you tell me you loved me?” he interrogated, but the man was already asleep.
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Maya & Alejandro Herrera, Nashville, Tennessee
“Let her go!” Alejandro Herrera demanded in thick-accented English. He pounded his fists against the table and glared at the white man staring blankly at him, as if he were nothing more than a speck of dust on the table between them. The Dominican man nearly growled, contemplating whether or not to jump across the table and gut the man with his own fists, but the thought was interrupted as he began to speak.
“Mister Herrera, do you know why you were arrested today and taken here?” he asked in a slightly accented voice of his own. He continued without allowing the man to answer the question. “I’ll tell you why sir, as it seems you cannot answer me. A few weeks ago, you and your sister, Maya Herrera, were identified as the perpetrators in cases of biological terrorism that took place in several towns and villages in Honduras, Colombia, Panama, and Mexico.” Alejandro looked at the man in confusion. His handle on English wasn’t that great, so half of the words the man spoke meant nothing to him, but he recognized the countries spoken of.
“We didn’t do that,” the man growled out. “You have the wrong people.” The man didn’t seem convinced.
“Mister Herrera, do you realize the severity of your situation?” he questioned, but the man didn’t have the time to answer as the two heard screams coming from beyond the interrogation room. Standing up, the officer walked to the door, his hand on the gun in his holster. “What the Hell is going--,” the man’s last words were stopped as the man started choking violently, grasping at his throat.
If Alejandro was any other man, he probably would have freaked out, but he’d been in the presence of his sister for far too long. He knew the symptoms of her ability. She was close.
Not wasting another moment, the young man ran to the man and wrapped his arm around his neck. He started to slowly apply pressure, letting the pain sink in at a painstakingly gradual pace.
“Don’t you ever,” he muttered lowly, “threaten me or my sister ever again.” As he finished this, the man finally died from the virus coursing within. “Vaya con dios,” he told the man lowly as he walked out the door.