Highway 64 Revisited 1/?
Title: Highway 64 Revisited
Author: Doctor_Caduceus
Characters: Mohinder, Sylar, Chandra, Adam, Angela, Linderman, The Company
Pairing: Mylar
Rating: Starts PG-13, it'll get to NC-17 eventually.
Warnings: Eventual Doc brand WAFF which some may consider impossible.
Spoilers: Definite volume 4 spoilers, potential volume 5 spoilers
Summary/Prompt: Set somewhere in the middle of volume 5, further summary under the cut to avoid spoiling folks.
Word Count: 1,185
A/N: Not mine, never mine.
Summary continued: Mohinder returns to the US to try and find out who his father really was so that he can try to stop repeating his mistakes. Sylar has realized what's been done to him, and is trying to sort out what's him, what's Nathan, and what he wants to be him. Mohinder is the only one he feels knows him well enough, and the only one he trusts to be honest. Together, they start retracing their, and other people's, steps, to work out how each of them got to where he is today. Since volume 5 is ongoing, I haven't decided yet what I intend to steal from it, so I'll note up to which chapter of volume five there may be specific spoilers. So far, they're general.
And now, fic:
The massacre may have been Chandra Suresh's greatest sin, but it was by no means the first, or the last. There were his paternal sins, which Mohinder knew well and first hand, and his sins as a scientist, which were not dissimilar. His lifetime was a catalog of hubris and ambition and grave error after grave error, and the part that frightened Mohinder as he read the long file was the sense of déjà vu he felt with every entry.
The sins of the father, revisited by the son. How cliché. Thus he began his own intensive study into his father's history, starting back in Chennai. He researched his grandparents, his father's infancy, childhood, adolescence, adulthood, right up to the point that Chandra left for America for the first time.
Mohinder hugged his mother and Molly in the airport.
"You do not have to do this," Anjali said to him sternly. "You do not need to know."
"Up 'til now I haven't known," Mohinder answered, "and I've repeated his every mistake, or worse. I'm not condemning him, amma, I'm trying to learn from him."
"Be careful," Molly said to him. "I'll be keeping an eye on you."
Mohinder got on the plane and made the long, cramped flight to America.
Customs at JFK was hell as usual, frisked by homeland security quite thoroughly before being allowed on his way to try to find a taxi, a place to stay, a place to start.
A man in a black suit, sunglasses, and hat stood by the escalator near the baggage claim holding a sign that read "Doctor M. Suresh."
Mohinder approached cautiously, not saying a word, and the driver smiled.
"The Senator heard about your visit, sir. He can't be here personally, but he hoped that he could make your time in New York easier, and perhaps get together before you depart."
"I see," Mohinder answered. The man took Mohinder's checked bag from his hand.
"The car's outside, and the senator's arranged a room at the Algonquin, if that's all right," he said. "Shall we?"
Mohinder was ushered into a black car, his luggage stowed in the back, safely bundled in the perfectly clean luxury sedan. The driver pulled away from the curb.
"This is awfully kind of Nathan," Mohinder said idly.
"You'd think that," the man said, and Mohinder frowned as they turned into long term parking, the driver taking them up ramp after ramp of a private parking deck a bit away from the airport.
"Where are you going?" he asked the driver.
"Just got a bit turned around. You know airports, impossible to navigate."
Mohinder didn't buy that for one second as they reached the top level of the garage, high above the ground, gazing over the lights of the airport.
The automatic locks engaged, just like in a horror movie, and the driver, whose eyes had been a nondescript blue only moments before, looked back at Mohinder in the rearview mirror, the stinging red-brown of iodine.
"Please don't scream," Sylar said. Mohinder had no intention of screaming and instead slammed his elbow against the tinted glass. "Or do that."
The glass remained in tact, no doubt a trick of telekinesis.
"You're dead," Mohinder snapped. "I saw you burn."
"I haven't stopped burning," Sylar answered distantly, before snapping back into focus. "Why are you back here?"
"Nathan hired me," Mohinder answered.
"That's a lie. If Nathan Petrelli gave you a job, I'd know."
"I rather doubt you're that well informed," Mohinder snapped, kicking the back of the driver's seat petulantly.
"Nathan's dead," Sylar said, and Mohinder stopped as he drew his leg back again.
"When?"
"Right around the time I started burning," Sylar answered, turning, and as Mohinder watched, his face shifted into Nathan's. "And I still haven't stopped."
"What in god's name..." Mohinder whispered.
"I killed Nathan, and then Parkman killed me, or tried. Parkman buried me, made me believe I was Nathan. But you know me, Mohinder."
"You just won't stay dead," Mohinder confirmed. "That was foolish of Matt."
They sat in silence for a long moment.
"Why are you back?" Sylar asked before Mohinder could ask what he wanted.
"I need to find out who my father really was," Mohinder answered. Sylar sighed, resting his head against the window of the driver's side door.
"You father was a monster."
"I know. I need to know more, I need to know what kind of monster he became, and why he did these things so I can stop repeating his mistakes."
"I told you so," Sylar said, almost angrily, still in Nathan's face, Nathan's voice. "I told you-"
"So you can recognize your own. Congratulations," Mohinder snapped. "No wonder you keep tracking me down."
Sylar laughed, short and bitter.
"I can't even recognize myself anymore. What's really me, what's fragments of a dead man," Sylar growled, slamming his fist against the window, dragging his hand down a face shaped all wrong, "what's just a grubby fingerprint from where Parkman violated my mind!"
Mohinder sat silently for a moment.
"And what would you have me do this time?" he asked, sounding exhausted. "What makes you think I would help you, or that I even can? There's no special blood for what's happened to you this time."
"I'll fix myself," Sylar snapped defensively. "I need a sounding board, someone who knows me, to guide me. Someone who can tell me what's mine."
"And you think that's me?" Mohinder asked. "Really? Because I think I'm just convenient. It could've been anyone, I just happen to be the first person you found who was ever willing to pay attention to you."
"Give yourself more credit, Mohinder," Sylar smirked. "You know me better than anyone right now, even- especially me."
"Why should I-"
"I knew your father, Mohinder," Sylar interrupted. "I knew him for what he truly was. Who better to show you around his legacy while you reacquaint me with mine?"
"You really like how important that makes you sound, don't you?"
"I'm not hearing a no."
"What happens if you do hear a no?" Mohinder asked. "You suddenly get a great deal stronger?"
Sylar's eyebrows quirked just a bit.
"Telekinesis is better than physical strength," he answered.
"That's never stopped you before."
"Christ, Mohinder, it's like you want me to kill you," Sylar grumbled. Mohinder didn't say anything. "If you say no, then I drug you and I have to drive."
Mohinder looked at him blankly.
"I hate to drive," Sylar elaborated. "And it's not like you've got anything better to do."
Neither said anything for a long time.
"Fine," Mohinder said.
"Really?" Sylar asked.
"Just open the damned doors and let me up front before I come to my senses."
Sylar unlocked the doors and didn't move, tracking Mohinder in the mirrors with his eyes as he moved around to the front of the car.
"You didn't run," Sylar said, eyes narrowing. Mohinder didn't look at him, instead gazing out the window into the night.
"Drive," he said. "Just drive, please."
Sylar put the car back into gear.
"I hate to drive," he muttered.
Author: Doctor_Caduceus
Characters: Mohinder, Sylar, Chandra, Adam, Angela, Linderman, The Company
Pairing: Mylar
Rating: Starts PG-13, it'll get to NC-17 eventually.
Warnings: Eventual Doc brand WAFF which some may consider impossible.
Spoilers: Definite volume 4 spoilers, potential volume 5 spoilers
Summary/Prompt: Set somewhere in the middle of volume 5, further summary under the cut to avoid spoiling folks.
Word Count: 1,185
A/N: Not mine, never mine.
Summary continued: Mohinder returns to the US to try and find out who his father really was so that he can try to stop repeating his mistakes. Sylar has realized what's been done to him, and is trying to sort out what's him, what's Nathan, and what he wants to be him. Mohinder is the only one he feels knows him well enough, and the only one he trusts to be honest. Together, they start retracing their, and other people's, steps, to work out how each of them got to where he is today. Since volume 5 is ongoing, I haven't decided yet what I intend to steal from it, so I'll note up to which chapter of volume five there may be specific spoilers. So far, they're general.
And now, fic:
The massacre may have been Chandra Suresh's greatest sin, but it was by no means the first, or the last. There were his paternal sins, which Mohinder knew well and first hand, and his sins as a scientist, which were not dissimilar. His lifetime was a catalog of hubris and ambition and grave error after grave error, and the part that frightened Mohinder as he read the long file was the sense of déjà vu he felt with every entry.
The sins of the father, revisited by the son. How cliché. Thus he began his own intensive study into his father's history, starting back in Chennai. He researched his grandparents, his father's infancy, childhood, adolescence, adulthood, right up to the point that Chandra left for America for the first time.
Mohinder hugged his mother and Molly in the airport.
"You do not have to do this," Anjali said to him sternly. "You do not need to know."
"Up 'til now I haven't known," Mohinder answered, "and I've repeated his every mistake, or worse. I'm not condemning him, amma, I'm trying to learn from him."
"Be careful," Molly said to him. "I'll be keeping an eye on you."
Mohinder got on the plane and made the long, cramped flight to America.
Customs at JFK was hell as usual, frisked by homeland security quite thoroughly before being allowed on his way to try to find a taxi, a place to stay, a place to start.
A man in a black suit, sunglasses, and hat stood by the escalator near the baggage claim holding a sign that read "Doctor M. Suresh."
Mohinder approached cautiously, not saying a word, and the driver smiled.
"The Senator heard about your visit, sir. He can't be here personally, but he hoped that he could make your time in New York easier, and perhaps get together before you depart."
"I see," Mohinder answered. The man took Mohinder's checked bag from his hand.
"The car's outside, and the senator's arranged a room at the Algonquin, if that's all right," he said. "Shall we?"
Mohinder was ushered into a black car, his luggage stowed in the back, safely bundled in the perfectly clean luxury sedan. The driver pulled away from the curb.
"This is awfully kind of Nathan," Mohinder said idly.
"You'd think that," the man said, and Mohinder frowned as they turned into long term parking, the driver taking them up ramp after ramp of a private parking deck a bit away from the airport.
"Where are you going?" he asked the driver.
"Just got a bit turned around. You know airports, impossible to navigate."
Mohinder didn't buy that for one second as they reached the top level of the garage, high above the ground, gazing over the lights of the airport.
The automatic locks engaged, just like in a horror movie, and the driver, whose eyes had been a nondescript blue only moments before, looked back at Mohinder in the rearview mirror, the stinging red-brown of iodine.
"Please don't scream," Sylar said. Mohinder had no intention of screaming and instead slammed his elbow against the tinted glass. "Or do that."
The glass remained in tact, no doubt a trick of telekinesis.
"You're dead," Mohinder snapped. "I saw you burn."
"I haven't stopped burning," Sylar answered distantly, before snapping back into focus. "Why are you back here?"
"Nathan hired me," Mohinder answered.
"That's a lie. If Nathan Petrelli gave you a job, I'd know."
"I rather doubt you're that well informed," Mohinder snapped, kicking the back of the driver's seat petulantly.
"Nathan's dead," Sylar said, and Mohinder stopped as he drew his leg back again.
"When?"
"Right around the time I started burning," Sylar answered, turning, and as Mohinder watched, his face shifted into Nathan's. "And I still haven't stopped."
"What in god's name..." Mohinder whispered.
"I killed Nathan, and then Parkman killed me, or tried. Parkman buried me, made me believe I was Nathan. But you know me, Mohinder."
"You just won't stay dead," Mohinder confirmed. "That was foolish of Matt."
They sat in silence for a long moment.
"Why are you back?" Sylar asked before Mohinder could ask what he wanted.
"I need to find out who my father really was," Mohinder answered. Sylar sighed, resting his head against the window of the driver's side door.
"You father was a monster."
"I know. I need to know more, I need to know what kind of monster he became, and why he did these things so I can stop repeating his mistakes."
"I told you so," Sylar said, almost angrily, still in Nathan's face, Nathan's voice. "I told you-"
"So you can recognize your own. Congratulations," Mohinder snapped. "No wonder you keep tracking me down."
Sylar laughed, short and bitter.
"I can't even recognize myself anymore. What's really me, what's fragments of a dead man," Sylar growled, slamming his fist against the window, dragging his hand down a face shaped all wrong, "what's just a grubby fingerprint from where Parkman violated my mind!"
Mohinder sat silently for a moment.
"And what would you have me do this time?" he asked, sounding exhausted. "What makes you think I would help you, or that I even can? There's no special blood for what's happened to you this time."
"I'll fix myself," Sylar snapped defensively. "I need a sounding board, someone who knows me, to guide me. Someone who can tell me what's mine."
"And you think that's me?" Mohinder asked. "Really? Because I think I'm just convenient. It could've been anyone, I just happen to be the first person you found who was ever willing to pay attention to you."
"Give yourself more credit, Mohinder," Sylar smirked. "You know me better than anyone right now, even- especially me."
"Why should I-"
"I knew your father, Mohinder," Sylar interrupted. "I knew him for what he truly was. Who better to show you around his legacy while you reacquaint me with mine?"
"You really like how important that makes you sound, don't you?"
"I'm not hearing a no."
"What happens if you do hear a no?" Mohinder asked. "You suddenly get a great deal stronger?"
Sylar's eyebrows quirked just a bit.
"Telekinesis is better than physical strength," he answered.
"That's never stopped you before."
"Christ, Mohinder, it's like you want me to kill you," Sylar grumbled. Mohinder didn't say anything. "If you say no, then I drug you and I have to drive."
Mohinder looked at him blankly.
"I hate to drive," Sylar elaborated. "And it's not like you've got anything better to do."
Neither said anything for a long time.
"Fine," Mohinder said.
"Really?" Sylar asked.
"Just open the damned doors and let me up front before I come to my senses."
Sylar unlocked the doors and didn't move, tracking Mohinder in the mirrors with his eyes as he moved around to the front of the car.
"You didn't run," Sylar said, eyes narrowing. Mohinder didn't look at him, instead gazing out the window into the night.
"Drive," he said. "Just drive, please."
Sylar put the car back into gear.
"I hate to drive," he muttered.