FIC: Wicked Little Town (Matt/Mohinder)
Wicked Little Town
Rating: PG
Spoilers: For the last 2 episodes of season 2
Disclaimer: I don’t own Heroes, Hedwig and the Angry Inch, or anything associated with those entities.
Summary: In a world that wants everything black and white, it’s easy getting lost in the gray.
Pairings: Matt/Mohinder
Author’s Notes: This little one-shot is written under the assumption that they took Bennett back to Company headquarters in New York after he was shot (though it could just as easily be, and probably more likely was, Odessa) and is set between 2x10 and 2x11. I was compelled to write a little angst the other night and this is what came out. There are 2 lines from the song “Wicked Little Town” from Hedwig and the Angry Inch. Decidedly Mohinder-centric.
--
The fates are vicious and they’re cruel. You learn to late you used to wishes like a fool. Now you’re someone you are not.
--
How had it come to this? If you had told Mohinder 6 months ago he would be where he was right now, gun still hot in his hands, he would have laughed you out of his office. That Mohinder would never dream of flying half way around the world in an effort to validate his father’s outlandish fantasies. That Mohinder would never have even considered driving a taxi to barely scrape by while he searched for people he didn’t even believe really existed. But somewhere along the line, that Mohinder had died. The decomposition began with his father’s mysterious murder, and now the last of his remains had just been shot out of a pistol in some California back alley.
What he wouldn’t give for that old life to be resurrected. Everything fell into simple, easy to understand categories. Good or bad. Science or fantasy. Black or white. No vagueness of right versus wrong, no moral imperatives, no running madly for your life, targetless and spread, all the while trying to keep your head above the water in a vast sea of gray. It had been infuriating and predictable, but at least it made sense.
He felt gutted - hollow - as if all that he once was, everything he hung his life on, were a physical manifestation that had been violently ripped out. The loss of self was so distinct, a numbness crept over him, shutting down the racing emotion that the freight train of adrenaline had shot through him. It was so complete, so all encompassing in its anesthetic, he began to wonder if he would ever feel again.
Mohinder carefully studied his hands. They had a layer of residue from the gunfire discharge and he could feel it staining him straight to the bone. In that moment, he felt certain he could never touch anything without staining it this oily black. He had never really considered his hands before; all they touch, all they do, what a driving force they are behind so much of his life. Only now did he realize how much he took their innocence for granted. He thought back to running his fingers through Molly’s hair to soothe her after a nightmare and at once wished he hadn’t. How can a man with the hands of a monster protect a little girl from the Boogeyman? Would she see that they were different now, more grotesque? Would she hate him for it? Would Matt?
Matt. How could he explain this to Matt? He wasn’t even sure he could explain it to himself. But maybe… maybe Matt was his only hope? Matt had been a police officer for a long time. Shooting people was part of the job description. Had he felt the same way the first time? Still, that felt different somehow. Justified. Matt shot as a last resort; to protect others, not to kill. Mohinder shot just once - a bullet through the head. No warning. No opportunity for redemption. One split second to fracture uncounted lives forever. It seemed like the right choice at the time, the only choice. Now, Mohinder wasn’t sure if there even was a “right” in this one. It had all gotten so confused.
He was shocked at his own audacity, wondering how he could have even for a moment thought it was his place to deal out death and judgment. The “right thing” suddenly seemed like such a vague and malleable concept. When had things he had not so long ago felt vehemently sure about become so uncertain? How had it come to this?
--
But when you’ve got no other choice, you know you can follow my voice though the dark turns and noise of this wicked little town.
--
Mohinder finally gained the steps that led to his tiny apartment. It was late, and Molly would be asleep. For the first time he was glad that he wouldn’t have to see her. He didn’t think he could handle it yet.
As quietly as he could, he turned the key in the lock of his front door. The apartment was silent and dark for all but the small light over the stove. He breathed a long sigh, not sure whether he was disappointed or relieved that there was no one there to greet him.
He shut the door with a quiet click and once again secured the locks. Slowly, he crossed the entry and dropped his bag and jacket in a heap by the table. The events of the last few days weighed suddenly more heavily on his mind. He felt like a stranger in his own body, and the warmth and comfort he usually associated with his home seemed distant and detached. Pressing his hand tightly over his eyes, he let out another heavy sigh.
“Welcome home, Suresh.” Mohinder jerked at the sudden noise and looked over to see Matt standing in the doorway of the kitchen. The tired grin on Matt’s face fell at the defeated look Mohinder cast in his direction. Matt crossed the kitchen in two long strides, resting his hand on the other man’s elbow. “Hey,” he said when Mohinder’s gaze dropped to the floor. He took in his wayward lover’s tired slouch and gently placed a hand on Mohinder’s cheek, gently directing his downcast eyes back upwards. “Hey,” Matt said again, softer this time, “What’s going on?”
Mohinder stepped forward, closing the gap between them, and rested his head on Matt’s shoulder.
Don’t make me speak. Mohinder thought weakly, knowing Matt would hear. Even his thoughts seemed laced with exhaustion. Matt didn’t reply out loud. Instead he wrapped his arms around Mohinder in a firm embrace. A hush crashed through the apartment, halting even Mohinder’s thoughts which usually rushed like a five lane highway. The two were finally enveloped in the bliss of silence.