Fic: Knocking on the Wrong Door
Title: Knocking on the Wrong Door
Author: starrdust411
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: PG-13
Summary: For the schmoop_bingo challenge. Prompt: Friend in need (Word Count: 1,604)
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.
Warnings: AU from Vol 5, Slash
This was supposed to be easy, but Sylar couldn't say that he was surprised that it wasn't. After all, when it came to Mohinder Suresh, nothing was ever "easy," even when it came to a task as fundamentally simple as this one should have been.
He wasn't right anymore. Sylar had thought that getting out of Parkman's head and back into his own body would fix everything. It didn't. Nathan was still there. His thoughts, his memories, his (for lack of a better word) essence was stuck in his head like a squatter who had moved into an empty house when the true owner had gone away. So he got rid of him, purging himself of that foreign presence until there was only Sylar inside.
Still, he wasn't right. There was a gnawing wrongness inside of him, as if a piece of himself had been put back together wrong or had simply been left behind all together. He was Sylar again in all the ways that mattered -- he looked and sounded like himself, had all the right memories and all the right abilities -- but not in the way he needed to be, and that need was unknown to him.
That's when the idea came to him to look for Mohinder, because in the great joke that was his life Mohinder was still the person who knew him best, but the Indian wasn't where he should have been, where it would be most obvious for him to be. The dingy little Brooklyn apartment he had rented was completely emptied out with only the walls and scrapped floor tiles left behind to tell of their numerous encounters. The Manhattan loft -- the one that had once held a very dead comic book artist and a mural of New York being blown out of existence -- was now abandoned and hidden underneath thick layers of dust.
The natural assumption from there was obvious; Mohinder had gone back to India, and he had, but he wasn't there either, not anymore. In fact, the last anyone had heard of Mohinder -- which was more than two months ago -- was that he had gone on a spur the minute trip to Texas and had disappeared soon after checking into a local motel.
The trail went cold there.
Clearly, the most logical thing to do from there would have been to move on and forget all about finding Mohinder, but that wasn't an option, not for him. If he couldn't find the missing piece of himself, then he would find Mohinder.
It was only through sheer tenacity (and the technopathic ability that he picked up from that kid in DC) that he was able to locate Mohinder in a Florida mental institution. He was shocked to say the least, because while Mohinder was a lot of things, crazy certainly wasn't one of them. And he most certainly wasn't a "Mr. Ahmadi" as the computers in the Riverdale Psychiatric Hospital had him filed under.
Sylar didn't know what he found more perplexing: the fact that Mohinder had obviously been forced into the asylum against his will or that this so called hospital had had an unidentified patient in their care for nine weeks and never did anything to correct it. Stranger still was the medication they were giving him. The Riverdale staff was pumping Mohinder with enough sedatives to keep an elephant sedated for a week. There was no doubt that this was a result of Mohinder's enhanced strength, but Sylar still found it puzzling that the hospital had decided it would be best to simply jam needles into one of their patients instead of taking the time to research his medical history.
Not that any of it mattered anymore. In a few minutes, Mohinder would be far away from this horrible place.
The thick metal door peeled off the walls like the rough skin of an orange. There was a shrill scraping echo that broke the still calm of the hallway as metal broke away from metal and slid across the linoleum floor. Somewhere down the hall an alarm blared and people began to shout, but within the small padded room, Mohinder merely continued to lay on his side, quiet and unmoving. Sylar knew it was the drugs, but it worried him none the less.
Sylar frowned, walking across the soft floor and crouching by Mohinder's side. Outside the sirens continued to wail, frantic feet pounded against the floor, and panicked cries filled the air, but Mohinder continued to breath calm and easy, his eyelids fluttering slightly in deep sleep. He grabbed the smaller man's chin carefully in his hand, turning him slowly so that he was now facing him.
"Mohinder?" he called. His was voice barely audible above the noise now filling the asylum and it would be a miracle if Mohinder was able to hear him over all the sounds interfering. Not surprisingly, there was no reply. He tried again, this time louder and shaking the man a bit. "Mohinder!"
Still there was nothing.
The frustration welling up inside of him only increased when a nurse came by, stopping in the door way shouting something unimportant at him. Sylar didn't even bother to look up as he flung the man away with a telekinetic wave. The stranger's cries of pain were muted in his ears as he used his telekinesis to slice through the straightjacket wrapped around Mohinder's upper body like a pair of scissors over flimsy paper. He peeled the jacket off quickly, freeing Mohinder's slim arms from the restraints that had been holding them for far too long. He rolled up the sleeves of the long white shirt that had been hiding underneath to make sure he hadn't accidentally sliced Mohinder’s arms. Instead of being greeted by smooth brown skin, Sylar saw remarkably thin limbs covered with yellowing bruises and little red bumps that would have looked like mere mosquito bites to anyone else's eye.
Frustration quickly evaporated in favor of something else, something much stronger and more familiar. He sighed as he suddenly realized that this trip wasn't going to be nearly as short as he'd intended.
-+-+-+-
Getting the clerk at the motel's front desk to give him the key to one of their rooms for free was remarkably easy (telepathy was truly a wonderful ability, one that he should have acquired years ago) and under the cover of darkness Sylar hauling Mohinder's unconscious body across the parking lot looked no more suspicious than one man helping a friend who had had too much to drink get to bed.
Sylar groaned as he gently laid Mohinder down on the worn mattress. This motel wasn't nearly as cheap or run down as the ones he usually stayed in, but the springs still groaned under Mohinder's weight and the pattern of the quilt matched the padding in Riverdale cells a bit too well. He wondered if it would make Mohinder uncomfortable when he woke up.
He frowned, fingering the material of Mohinder's scrubs. They didn't look terrible, but they felt stiff and rough. He considered removing them, but then reconsidered. Sylar doubted that Mohinder would appreciate having his clothes removed while he was unconscious.
His hand laid flat against the mattress, brushing the skin of Mohinder's arm. A soft sigh escaped the Indian's lips, the first sound he had made all day. Sylar frowned, cocking his head slightly as he studied Mohinder's face. His eyes were still closed in a dream like state and his lips...
Sylar placed his right knee down on the mattress as his hands framed either side of Mohinder. He leaned down until they were just inches apart. The sight of Mohinder's face, calm and peaceful and so painfully close made something in him stir and the feel of hot, steady breath caressing his face made his tongue go dry.
"Mohinder?" Sylar called out softly, testing the waters. Nothing happened, so he leaned down closer, brushing their noses against each other. "Mohinder?"
Still nothing, but it didn't really bother him.
Sylar knew that kissing him would be wrong, so he did it. Their lips touched, light and gentle. Sylar felt his heart hammering in his chest as Mohinder responded with a breathy sigh.
Sylar pulled back half expecting to see Mohinder's deep brown eyes staring back at him, but they were still closed. Mohinder continued to breathe gently and sleep his deep drug induced sleep.
He sighed, shifting gently on the mattress until he was no longer hovering over the prone body. Laying his head against the pillow, he thought about what would happen when Mohinder woke up. It would probably be a while until the drugs ran their course and were completely out of his system -- a day if not more -- and things would not be easy after that.
He imagined Mohinder waking up with a start, dazed and confused with a dozen questions running through his head. He would look to him and instantly assume that he was in danger, that this was all some sort of trap, that Sylar was his enemy. He probably won’t listen to reason and try to run and Sylar would have to make Mohinder see that there was no danger, that he was safer here with him than he would be out there.
They would argue and they would fight, but for now there was only quiet. He watched Mohinder breathing as he slung an arm over the Indian's waist and brought himself closer. Sylar closed his eyes and smiled as the gnawing wrongness inside of him slowly faded away.
Author: starrdust411
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: PG-13
Summary: For the schmoop_bingo challenge. Prompt: Friend in need (Word Count: 1,604)
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.
Warnings: AU from Vol 5, Slash
This was supposed to be easy, but Sylar couldn't say that he was surprised that it wasn't. After all, when it came to Mohinder Suresh, nothing was ever "easy," even when it came to a task as fundamentally simple as this one should have been.
He wasn't right anymore. Sylar had thought that getting out of Parkman's head and back into his own body would fix everything. It didn't. Nathan was still there. His thoughts, his memories, his (for lack of a better word) essence was stuck in his head like a squatter who had moved into an empty house when the true owner had gone away. So he got rid of him, purging himself of that foreign presence until there was only Sylar inside.
Still, he wasn't right. There was a gnawing wrongness inside of him, as if a piece of himself had been put back together wrong or had simply been left behind all together. He was Sylar again in all the ways that mattered -- he looked and sounded like himself, had all the right memories and all the right abilities -- but not in the way he needed to be, and that need was unknown to him.
That's when the idea came to him to look for Mohinder, because in the great joke that was his life Mohinder was still the person who knew him best, but the Indian wasn't where he should have been, where it would be most obvious for him to be. The dingy little Brooklyn apartment he had rented was completely emptied out with only the walls and scrapped floor tiles left behind to tell of their numerous encounters. The Manhattan loft -- the one that had once held a very dead comic book artist and a mural of New York being blown out of existence -- was now abandoned and hidden underneath thick layers of dust.
The natural assumption from there was obvious; Mohinder had gone back to India, and he had, but he wasn't there either, not anymore. In fact, the last anyone had heard of Mohinder -- which was more than two months ago -- was that he had gone on a spur the minute trip to Texas and had disappeared soon after checking into a local motel.
The trail went cold there.
Clearly, the most logical thing to do from there would have been to move on and forget all about finding Mohinder, but that wasn't an option, not for him. If he couldn't find the missing piece of himself, then he would find Mohinder.
It was only through sheer tenacity (and the technopathic ability that he picked up from that kid in DC) that he was able to locate Mohinder in a Florida mental institution. He was shocked to say the least, because while Mohinder was a lot of things, crazy certainly wasn't one of them. And he most certainly wasn't a "Mr. Ahmadi" as the computers in the Riverdale Psychiatric Hospital had him filed under.
Sylar didn't know what he found more perplexing: the fact that Mohinder had obviously been forced into the asylum against his will or that this so called hospital had had an unidentified patient in their care for nine weeks and never did anything to correct it. Stranger still was the medication they were giving him. The Riverdale staff was pumping Mohinder with enough sedatives to keep an elephant sedated for a week. There was no doubt that this was a result of Mohinder's enhanced strength, but Sylar still found it puzzling that the hospital had decided it would be best to simply jam needles into one of their patients instead of taking the time to research his medical history.
Not that any of it mattered anymore. In a few minutes, Mohinder would be far away from this horrible place.
The thick metal door peeled off the walls like the rough skin of an orange. There was a shrill scraping echo that broke the still calm of the hallway as metal broke away from metal and slid across the linoleum floor. Somewhere down the hall an alarm blared and people began to shout, but within the small padded room, Mohinder merely continued to lay on his side, quiet and unmoving. Sylar knew it was the drugs, but it worried him none the less.
Sylar frowned, walking across the soft floor and crouching by Mohinder's side. Outside the sirens continued to wail, frantic feet pounded against the floor, and panicked cries filled the air, but Mohinder continued to breath calm and easy, his eyelids fluttering slightly in deep sleep. He grabbed the smaller man's chin carefully in his hand, turning him slowly so that he was now facing him.
"Mohinder?" he called. His was voice barely audible above the noise now filling the asylum and it would be a miracle if Mohinder was able to hear him over all the sounds interfering. Not surprisingly, there was no reply. He tried again, this time louder and shaking the man a bit. "Mohinder!"
Still there was nothing.
The frustration welling up inside of him only increased when a nurse came by, stopping in the door way shouting something unimportant at him. Sylar didn't even bother to look up as he flung the man away with a telekinetic wave. The stranger's cries of pain were muted in his ears as he used his telekinesis to slice through the straightjacket wrapped around Mohinder's upper body like a pair of scissors over flimsy paper. He peeled the jacket off quickly, freeing Mohinder's slim arms from the restraints that had been holding them for far too long. He rolled up the sleeves of the long white shirt that had been hiding underneath to make sure he hadn't accidentally sliced Mohinder’s arms. Instead of being greeted by smooth brown skin, Sylar saw remarkably thin limbs covered with yellowing bruises and little red bumps that would have looked like mere mosquito bites to anyone else's eye.
Frustration quickly evaporated in favor of something else, something much stronger and more familiar. He sighed as he suddenly realized that this trip wasn't going to be nearly as short as he'd intended.
-+-+-+-
Getting the clerk at the motel's front desk to give him the key to one of their rooms for free was remarkably easy (telepathy was truly a wonderful ability, one that he should have acquired years ago) and under the cover of darkness Sylar hauling Mohinder's unconscious body across the parking lot looked no more suspicious than one man helping a friend who had had too much to drink get to bed.
Sylar groaned as he gently laid Mohinder down on the worn mattress. This motel wasn't nearly as cheap or run down as the ones he usually stayed in, but the springs still groaned under Mohinder's weight and the pattern of the quilt matched the padding in Riverdale cells a bit too well. He wondered if it would make Mohinder uncomfortable when he woke up.
He frowned, fingering the material of Mohinder's scrubs. They didn't look terrible, but they felt stiff and rough. He considered removing them, but then reconsidered. Sylar doubted that Mohinder would appreciate having his clothes removed while he was unconscious.
His hand laid flat against the mattress, brushing the skin of Mohinder's arm. A soft sigh escaped the Indian's lips, the first sound he had made all day. Sylar frowned, cocking his head slightly as he studied Mohinder's face. His eyes were still closed in a dream like state and his lips...
Sylar placed his right knee down on the mattress as his hands framed either side of Mohinder. He leaned down until they were just inches apart. The sight of Mohinder's face, calm and peaceful and so painfully close made something in him stir and the feel of hot, steady breath caressing his face made his tongue go dry.
"Mohinder?" Sylar called out softly, testing the waters. Nothing happened, so he leaned down closer, brushing their noses against each other. "Mohinder?"
Still nothing, but it didn't really bother him.
Sylar knew that kissing him would be wrong, so he did it. Their lips touched, light and gentle. Sylar felt his heart hammering in his chest as Mohinder responded with a breathy sigh.
Sylar pulled back half expecting to see Mohinder's deep brown eyes staring back at him, but they were still closed. Mohinder continued to breathe gently and sleep his deep drug induced sleep.
He sighed, shifting gently on the mattress until he was no longer hovering over the prone body. Laying his head against the pillow, he thought about what would happen when Mohinder woke up. It would probably be a while until the drugs ran their course and were completely out of his system -- a day if not more -- and things would not be easy after that.
He imagined Mohinder waking up with a start, dazed and confused with a dozen questions running through his head. He would look to him and instantly assume that he was in danger, that this was all some sort of trap, that Sylar was his enemy. He probably won’t listen to reason and try to run and Sylar would have to make Mohinder see that there was no danger, that he was safer here with him than he would be out there.
They would argue and they would fight, but for now there was only quiet. He watched Mohinder breathing as he slung an arm over the Indian's waist and brought himself closer. Sylar closed his eyes and smiled as the gnawing wrongness inside of him slowly faded away.