FIC: Covariance (2/2), Heroes AU, NC-17, slash and het. See header.
Any similarities between scenes across both timelines and the ‘core show’ timeline is likely intentional. Management apologizes for any confusion and hopes that it will be worth it in the end.
(Part 1/2 is here)
* * * * *
Matt doesn’t remember much about the explosion in Kirby Plaza. When the head office sends down a file containing ‘new evidence’ of the scene, implicating Peter Petrelli as the perp, and Hiro Nakamura as ‘aiding a known fugitive,’ Matt feels a sinking feeling in his gut. It doesn’t seem right, but it adds up.
The first team he sends out gets cornered in an industrial power plant in Chicago. Next thing he knows, a ten-block radius has been incinerated and half the city is blacked out.
The sinking feeling deepens. He puts both names out on all department channels, hoping for at least a visit from either man, protesting their innocence. He’d gladly let Hiro take him back to relive the Event if it meant knowing what really happened. Neither come, and reports filter in of both men being seen in the DC area, just prior to several more - increasingly public - displays of violence.
Peter Petrelli and Hiro Nakamura are publicly outed as terrorists and fugitives. Congressman Petrelli makes the announcement himself, somehow transforming a career-breaking confession of family tragedy into an act of martyrdom. It’s a brilliant move, and pundits are starting to mention his name regarding the upcoming Presidential election.
After Nathan’s press conference, there aren’t any more attacks in D.C. Matt wants to think that Peter’s been reformed by his brother’s public censure, but that’s not how things ever turn out, is it?
When Peter and Hiro break into Moab Federal Penitentiary, Matt’s there with his people. Unfortunately, it’s not enough; they escape, with several high-powered prisoners in tow.
The world is going insane. Matt thinks he’s getting an ulcer.
***
The first reported case of the Shanti Virus occurs on March 20th, 2007, although it isn’t shown on the news at the time. Newscasters simply didn’t take any note of the isolated incident - it was only later that the significance of a man in New York dying of an unknown virus would take on monumental significance.
Matt will remember this date for a long time, though, for several reasons:
One, it’s the day he regains consciousness to find himself cuffed to the radiator, his ribs bruised from a kick (which he can’t remember) and one eye swelling shut from falling down towards the doorknob (which is the last thing he does remember). Not a good plan, Parkman, he tells himself, wondering why on earth he bothered to wake up in the first place.
But he’s immediately answered by the sight of Mohinder, equally battered-looking, with Sylar and a strange woman both out cold on the floor. Molly’s right beside Mohinder, holding a skillet.
Matt laughs until his bruised ribs make him stop.
The second reason he’ll remember this day is because, after Molly hugs him and proudly proclaims that she got to save them back, finally, Mohinder unlocks the handcuffs and helps Matt to his feet.
“Dude, I know it sounds gay, but I could totally kiss you right now for saving my butt,” Matt says, when he’s standing.
Mohinder smiles his genuinely delighted smile, the one that starts in one corner of his mouth and quirks an eyebrow upward before turning into blinding brilliance. Matt catches a fleeting thought as it surfaces: …I’d let him, if he honestly wanted to…
He knows his face is doing that fish-out-of-water thing that Molly has pointed out as a total giveaway. “Wait, seriously?” Matt says, before he can consider all the ramifications of even hearing that thought, let alone any possible response to it. Then Mohinder does kiss him, and Matt has to rewrite his whole definition of hot, because apparently it includes skinny Indian dudes and split lips screaming in pain.
When his brain starts working again, Matt calls his friends in blue to take the trussed-up bad guys off in ambulances. Apparently, an eleven-year-old girl with a frying pan and a geneticist with a firearm (its safety still on, mind you), can do a fair amount of damage to two super-powered villains.
Mohinder lets Matt order vegetable pizza, and they both let Molly pick the movie. They pretend not to act too grossed out by Mohinder’s soy ice cream, and douse it in real, honest-to-god Hershey’s chocolate syrup instead of the sugar-free stuff while Mohinder pretends he doesn’t see them.
And Molly pretends she doesn’t see them kissing again in the hallway after they put her to bed.
***
It‘s a total surprise, and none at all, when Matt comes home to find divorce papers beneath a long, hand-written letter.
He reads that Janice loved him more the way he was now, happy and fulfilling his dream, but it took him away from her and their son, and she couldn’t pretend that they had a real family together when he was several states, time zones, continents away all the time. They seemed to either have a relationship without love, or love without a relationship, and she couldn’t ask him to give up his career happiness without some kind of guarantee otherwise. And she couldn’t give him a guarantee.
Matt understands, and it kills him a little inside. He buries himself in his work, and soon finds himself promoted to head of the New York division, where he works closely with local legislators and moneymen to define policy. He starts hanging out with his Congressman for a beer and a game every other weekend or so, and his empty apartment eventually gets a little easier to face.
His ingrained cop instincts are at a total loss when dealing with bureaucracy, though, and he just sticks to what he knows. Nathan helps out with the politi-speak and tips him off on back-door deals just when a particular issue or district is giving him problems. Between the insider tips and his own powers, he earns a reputation for dogged determination bordering on ruthless focus.
Matt gives his secretary a raise every time he overhears her thinking about a job with less paperwork. He keeps sending money to Janice, extra if he hasn’t called that month or if he realizes he’s not paying enough attention to all the details of how his marriage is getting dismantled.
Six months after the divorce is finalized, Nathan Petrelli is elected as the next President of the United States. It’s not a total surprise, after the bipartisan support he garnered while in Congress, lobbying for the Linderman Act. The very fact that he managed to pass it with that name attached shows how powerful he’s become. His public renunciation of Peter ‘s terrorist activities didn’t hurt, either.
The president-elect announces his intended Cabinet a full month before he’s sworn in, promoting a friend - “…with a long history of doing what is right, of serving the people within the police force and other federal offices…” - to head of Homeland Security.
Matt attends the post-announcement party alone, and drinks more heavily than he’d planned, because he keeps overhearing pitying thoughts about his divorce, and besides that, Washington secrets are ones he usually doesn’t want to hear when he’s trying to celebrate, goddammit. There are a lot of people he knows professionally, and even more he knows from watching CNN during his bouts of insomnia. He does what he can to seem charming, and politically savvy, and it’s all just conjuring tricks with mind-reading (without letting people in on the trick, or that it is a trick, really) until his fourth or fifth scotch, when he gives up and finds a convenient way out of the main party room.
He winds up in a cloakroom, surrounded by coats that cost more than his car, but it’s quiet in here and even thoughts seem muffled by all the fur and boiled-wool surrounding him. Plus, it’s nice and dim, and bigger than pretty much his whole apartment back in New York, so he doesn’t feel cramped. He’s not going to question why there’s a couch at the back, perfectly matched to the rug and the wallpaper like it’s supposed to be there, but he’s grateful for the decorating lunacy that put it there.
Matt’s starting to regret not bringing booze in with him, when the door opens and someone stumbles in.
“My apologies, I wasn’t aware this… closet… was occupied,” the other man says, his familiar accent blurred by alcohol. Apparently all languages turn into the same thing when you’re coasting by on three times the legal limit. Matt sees the bottle in the geneticist’s hand and almost rediscovers religion.
“No, no, you’re welcome so long as you share,” Matt says, gesturing, and the other man closes the door and comes over to join him on the couch. He tries to use the coats as support on his way, so Matt gets some entertainment in watching the other man stagger a bit. For that and the liquor, he’s even welcome to part of the couch. Matt swings his feet to the floor and regrets the abrupt movement.
Mohinder sits, missing the couch, and winds up on the floor with the boneless grace of a cat. Like he did it on purpose. They drink to each other’s health, and to their careers, and to their poor planning in going stag to someplace where getting drunk and hitting on strangers would cause international incidents. Or, at least, highly embarrassing headlines.
Precisely how this ends with Mohinder’s palms slipping upwards along Matt’s inner thighs so that his nimble fingers can open the fly of Matt’s slacks and his mouth can breathe heatedly on Matt’s cock is unclear. But after that leap in drunken logic, Matt is not surprised to find Mohinder crawling up onto the couch to pin him against the couch and kiss him with sloppy, drunken fervor.
Yeah, he’s making out with a dude, which Matt hasn’t done before. But on the other hand, it’s not as if he hasn’t considered it. He used to discard the idea because he figured he’d only get the courage if (a) they were both drunk (check), (b) the guy dug him (unlikely, but check), and (c) there were no way of it ruining things between him and Janice (oho, that’s a check).
Mohinder pulls their shirts up, pushes their slacks down, and they just grind against each other with roving, greedy hands and open-mouthed, panting kisses. Matt wonders what it would be like to fuck another man, and the imagined view of Mohinder naked above him, pushing back and down around his cock, stroking himself with one hand, makes him groan and thrust up hard until his vision whites out.
Mohinder’s still moving against him, his voice a stutter-stop of words that Matt isn’t sure are all English. His mind conjures a different scene, a familiar room that Matt thinks he’s seen on TV.
…The Oval Office? Matt chuckles when he recognizes the setting, and Mohinder pulls away, breathing heavily and looking confused. Matt grins reassuringly and pulls Mohinder back to him for a deep, searching kiss. Mohinder’s eyelids flutter shut.
Still got it, Matt thinks, wrapping his hand around Mohinder’s dick and listening in to the other man’s thoughts. It doesn’t actually surprise him that Mohinder fantasizes about being bent over the desk in the Oval Office and fucked raw by someone who will soon be the most powerful man in the world.
It’s just kind of disappointing to hear a memory-echo of Nathan’s voice “…don’t care how, I just want to be sure of his loyalties. Can you do that, Mohinder?”
***
Matt asks Jacobs about Sylar over coffee a few days later. The other detective chuckles grimly. “Guy died in the ICU that night. Some bug he picked up down south, they think.” It’s almost a relief, because Matt’s not sure if there will ever be a cell that can hold someone like Sylar. “We called INS. They’re going to deport his accomplice soon as she gets released from the hospital, but she hasn’t regained consciousness.”
“That’s good to know. Thanks for your help, by the way.” Matt claps him on the shoulder and turns to go. On the way out the door, a familiar face flashes on the screen of the small TV they keep in the break room. He turns up the volume.
“… former Congressman-elect, Nathan Petrelli. No word on what illness caused his collapse during yesterday’s press conference, but he is known to be in critical condition.” A replay of the press conference, Nathan grim and determined, saying, “-not afraid to tell you the truth, especially now that it could save millions of lives.” And then he starts toppling sideways, face flushed from more than the heat of the lights trained on him. Chaos as every reporter scrambles for the best shot, but the image freezes on a clear frame of Nathan cradled in his brother’s arms, his mother standing above them waving away the reporters like a lioness protecting her cubs.
Matt rushes out and calls home from his desk, ignoring everyone who approaches. He gets a busy signal for ten minutes before he thinks of trying Mohinder’s cell phone.
“Matt?” Molly answers, cautiously.
“Molly! Molly, doll, get me Mohinder, will you?” He tries to keep the panic from his voice, because he really doesn’t know anything for sure.
“He’s a little busy. He’s been on the phone all morning.”
That’s all the confirmation Matt needs. He closes his eyes like he’s been punched in the gut. “Just tell him it’s me, Moll,” he says gently, already making plans.
***
Bob and Elle turn out to be amazingly forthcoming about their abilities - and having worked for the Company for so long, they also tell Mohinder about other Specials, some of whom are currently fugitives. He calls Matt Parkman’s office to pass on the information. Their conversation - the first since their drunken encounter - starts out halting, awkward, but Matt readily agrees to come out to Mohinder’s facility to talk to the Bishops personally.
Matt, of course, picks the worst day to come in. But, while his work is consuming, Mohinder will never, ever go back on a promise he made Molly.
So, Matt’s in his office, reviewing what intel Mohinder already has, when Molly comes rushing in with a bouquet she’s assembled from pipe cleaners, filter paper, and food coloring (from home), bundled in an Erlenmeyer flask. She beams even brighter when she sees Matt.
“Officer Parkman!” Molly shouts gleefully, and Matt’s on his feet in an instant, picking her up and spinning her around in the air.
“Molly! What are you doing here?” Parkman’s suddenly a different man, boyish and grinning, and Mohinder wishes he’s called the man sooner, even if it weren’t for work.
“It’s ‘Take your Daughter to Work’ Day! Mohinder promised I could do science stuff!” She brandishes her bouquet proudly.
“I forgot! Mohinder’s been taking care of you!” He sets her on the ground. “That’s very pretty, you know.” His voice lowers to a conspiratorial stage-whisper. “How’s he doing so far?”
She grins over at Mohinder. “He’s doing all right. He doesn’t see why I need a Nintendo Wii, though, even though I told him there are some educational games and that it would improve my hand-eye coordination.”
Mohinder rolls his eyes. “All right, don’t you two gang up on me, now. Especially since Matt and I have work to be doing.” She rolls her eyes right back. “But first, may I have your flowers? I’ve got a bare spot on my desk right here that needs a little something.” She carefully sets the flask where he points and arranges the flowers long enough to let him know she’ll go when she’s good and ready, thank you.
Mohinder laughs when she goes, and Matt shares his grin. “Getting to be quite a handful,” Mohinder comments warmly. “But worth every minute.”
Something sad flits across Matt’s face for a second, and he makes a sudden switch back to his professional mode, asking if he can talk to the Bishops alone for a bit.
After that abrupt cutoff, Mohinder’s surprised to find Matt waiting out front when he and Molly leave for the day. He invites them out for pizza and ice cream, and it would have been a little unnerving if Matt’s presence weren’t somehow familiar and safe. In fact, it’s more unnerving because of how well he does fit into their lives, every time he comes into town - and it seems he’s ‘in town’ on business more often than he really needs to be.
When Molly’s eyes light up every time Parkman shows up on their doorstep, or Matt’s curling protectively around him in the middle of the night, Mohinder can’t really bring himself to care.
***
Peter called Mohinder as soon as it was confirmed: the virus targeted people with abilities, and was highly transmissible and inevitably fatal. Mrs. Petrelli was already showing symptoms. Mohinder immediately called the rest of the people in his database to warn them.
Matt made one phone call.
“Hello?” She sounds harried.
“Janice. Oh, thank god you’re home. Janice, I need you to take Matt Jr. to your aunt’s place, the one in Montana.”
“Matt? What?” He can hear his son screaming in the background.
“Janice, please, the Congressman who passed out - he’s got abilities. He’s sick with something that targets us. Just us. You’ll be fine, but I’m worried about our son.”
“Oh, my god. Are you sure?”
“Yes. Can you just - please?”
“I’ve got…” She sighs. “I already called off because he’s come down with something - Jesus, Matt, do you think it’s-“
“I don’t think so, it’s only just hit New York and-“ Mohinder’s gesturing to him and drawing frantic circles on a map, “-and Houston, and Columbus, nothing by you guys yet, but it’s spreading fast.”
“All right, okay. I’ll leave as soon as I can. Do you - do you want me to call when I get there?”
“Yes, please, yes.” He pauses. “Is it okay if I come, if I bring Molly and Mohinder? He’s a doctor, he might be able to help, and I don’t want Molly…” He trails off again, suddenly uncertain. He thinks about leaving Molly and Mohinder with his son and ex-wife, while he comes back to New York to help the NYPD keep the peace.
“Yes,” she says finally, her voice far away. “Yes, you’re still family, Matt.”
He realizes he can’t come back.
***
It would be perfect, really. If only there weren’t two problems - aside from the increasing moral issues of their respective jobs - that keep cropping up.
One, Mohinder kind of has a thing with the President. He doesn’t think about it more than he has to, and he tries not to define it as more than a ‘thing,’ but it’s always there, in the back of his mind. It boils down to this: every time he hears Nathan’s voice, every time he’s in the man’s presence, it’s like he’s hypnotized, drugged, senseless and helpless.
There’s the sex, sure, but Mohinder keeps making promises. About work, about his life, and he doesn’t always remember even agreeing to them until he’s already made good on them.
Then there’s Matt’s other family - his ex-wife and his son. Which, granted, are part-and-parcel with Parkman, like how he also happens to run the security of the whole country, but Matt’s been getting more fidgety about Janice and Matt Jr.
Mohinder overhears a phone conversation he probably oughtn’t one morning when Matt doesn’t know he’s awake:
“-to stop saying shit like this. I can’t believe-“
“-I could arrest you right now for that kind of talk. Do you really want to keep pushing me on this?”
“-you what? If you take your kid off the radar, that’s a red flag in my system! I’ll have to-”
“…”
“…”
“Shit. Fine. Send over the intel. But I’m not fucking making any promises, do you hear me, Bennet? If you’re giving me the runaround, I can’t protect your family.”
The contrast between both sides of Matt’s life - and Mohinder’s, by association - hits home, and Mohinder has a hard time not pulling Matt back into bed and calling them both in sick. But the problem is, of course, that they couldn’t hide forever, even if they tried.
Matt’s gone for a while, after that. Mohinder starts to worry; not just about Matt, but about everything.
The Haitian mentions once, off-handedly, that he’s never met the President. Mohinder is strangely haunted by the casual statement, especially considering that having the Haitian around would surely be an excellent security precaution to take with so many rogue Specials on the loose.
He falls apart, a little, stops shaving. Molly keeps giving him apprehensive glances whenever he comes home too late from work or when he changes the channel too quickly every time Specials come up in the news.
So when Hiro shows up in his apartment one day after Mohinder picks Molly up from school, he’s at wits end.
“Doctor Suresh, don’t be alarmed.” Hiro’s English is much better than it used to be. With his black clothes and long hair tied back, he’s almost a different person. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to save Molly.”
Later, he won’t believe that he gave in so easily. With Molly gone, he doesn’t have much left. When Matt finds out, he loses the rest. Except his work. And whatever it is he has with Nathan.
It’s not much. It’s all he has.
***
They’re halfway across the country in Mohinder’s cab before they get the news that the virus has mutated and jumped to the non-powered population. They push their truck-stop diner food around on their plates a little, their appetites gone. Mohinder scrubs his palm across his face, weary from the unending stream of phone calls and bad news. “It was only a matter of time, really,” he says.
Molly’s been quiet, sleeping or playing her DS or flipping listlessly through the textbooks that Matt grabbed before he left. He’s not really sure why, but he wanted some sense of normalcy - some reassurance that after this is all over, they can return to their lives.
He’s driving through South Dakota when he realizes he’s flushed. It might just be the sun beating down on him through the window, but his vision’s blurring and he’s only been driving for an hour.
He pulls over at a state park rest stop.
Mohinder jostles awake, but Molly’s still out cold, so she can’t see him cry. He leaves the car, just in case, and Mohinder trails after, sleepy and confused.
“Matt? Matt, what’s wrong?”
“Check me,” Matt says, grabbing Mohinder’s hand and pressing it to his forehead. The air is crisp and cool, and he’s feeling chilled from the sweat that’s soaked into his shirt.
“Oh, my god.” Mohinder takes his pulse, gets a thermometer from the car.
Molly’s woken up, and Matt can see her worried face through the window. “Shit, shit!” he says, turning away from her.
“You must have gotten it from that gas station outside Chicago. I told you it would be dangerous passing that close to another urban-“
“Who the fuck cares, Mohinder! We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere, I’m sick, and Molly might get sick next! What the hell do we do now?” He keeps his voice low, but he’s practically spitting sparks into the air in his frustration.
“We get Molly to the nearest hospital, just in case. They’ll have better facilities to take care of her there. If I drive her, then we can keep the risk of exposure to a minimum.” Matt wants to touch Mohinder, hold him close, kiss him before one or both or all of them die out in fucking South Dakota. But. He doesn’t want the virus to jump to Mohinder, if it hasn’t already.
“That won’t be necessary,” a familiar voice says behind them. Matt turns around so fast he gets dizzy, collapses onto a park bench.
“Hiro!” Molly shouts from the car, waving out the open window.
“You have impeccable timing,” Mohinder says with relief. “Are you sick? Can you take Molly to a hospital?”
“I can, but that’s not why I’m here. I need Molly so I can find Claire Bennet or Adam Monroe. They may hold the cure for the plague.” Hiro’s English has gotten better.
“Wait, but what if she gets sick? I need to be there!” Mohinder insists.
“No, you are most likely already infected, according to the timeline.” Mohinder sits down next to Matt like the wind’s been knocked out of him. Matt throws caution to the wind and pulls Mohinder close while giving Hiro the fiercest glare he can muster while his eyes aren’t focusing properly.
“Take her somewhere safe, where she’ll be okay, or I swear to god, Hiro Nakamura, I will haunt you until the day you die.”
Hiro bows formally, and walks away to the car. Matt turns away and presses his forehead against Mohinder’s so that they can’t see anything but each other. They hear Molly sob, once, before it’s cut off, and she’s gone.
They sit that way for hours before they make their way back to the car. Mohinder gets behind the wheel and just starts driving. It doesn’t matter what direction.
Matt calls Janice to tell her they won’t make it to her aunt’s house.
***
The next time Mohinder sees Matt Parkman, it ends with them locked in a room with the world breaking apart outside. Everything’s been falling apart for a while, but now there are explosions, and lightning, and dead bodies everywhere. The President - who’s not Nathan, but Sylar - is fighting Peter Petrelli, who may have blown up Kirby center but isn’t a terrorist. The past-Hiro has disappeared, with the intent to fix everything before it happens.
Matt got thrown through the door, and Mohinder’s damn near unconscious himself. The battle’s moved further down the hall, but Mohinder looks at the damage around them and finds bleak amusement there. Both fire and ice, ending the world, he thinks.
Matt’s head is in Mohinder’s lap. He’s not even sure if Matt’s still breathing, but his fingers find Matt’s pulse and it’s fluttering weakly. Matt’s hand comes up and grips Mohinder’s wrist, slides down to twine their fingers together, blood-slick.
“Sorry,” Matt rasps. Mohinder can’t find the breath to speak for a moment, so he shakes his head. The Haitian’s dead eyes stare at them.
“Not your fault.”
“Not just my fault, but I - helped.” Matt sounds like he’s choking. Mohinder realizes that the other man is laughing. “I tried to help. Didn’t - didn’t do so well.”
“If you’re guilty, then so am I.”
The door rattles again on its weakened hinges. The end is drawing near.
***
They run out of gas somewhere in Wyoming. The gas station they’d spotted when the road started winding down into the valley turns out to be abandoned, pumps hollowed out and the windows grimy and spray-painted where the boards have fallen away. There’s a storm coming, so they don’t get signal on their phones. They don’t know who to call, anyway.
Mohinder moves their bedding into the storage room of the gas station, figuring it’ll be warmer there and more comfortable than the taxi. Besides, that way he can keep an eye on Matt, who’s convulsing in fits from the chills, and bring him water if he needs it.
The storm shakes the boards and rattles the glass. In the flickering light of each lighting strike, Matt’s face is ashen pale.
Mohinder hasn’t prayed in years, but his own vision swims as he bows his head over Matt’s and invokes every deva he can think of - not for them, but for Molly, and Janice, and Matt Jr.
***
Hiro says, “I’ve been learning to control my power.”
He says, “I think that just like lives branch and intersect, so can timelines.
If I find the right moment, I can keep this future from branching away from a better alternative.”
(Matt thinks Hiro could still use a little work on his English, because that made no sense.)
“Like a bonsai tree. Prune away what is wrong to leave that which is good.”
(Mohinder understands this better. His mother had a garden, and he used to watch her tend it.)
“And I think that everything that happens in one timeline has echoes in the rest.
If we do what is right in our world, maybe we will make other timelines better, too.”
Apparently Hiro can’t just save one world; he has to save them all.
***
Mohinder sits in a corner of the room, Matt’s head resting on his thigh.
They ignore the rubble beside them, and listen to the wall of sound trying to break the walls down.
In the dark, their hands find each other and don’t let go.
They wait for their world to change.
(Part 1/2 is here)
* * * * *
Matt doesn’t remember much about the explosion in Kirby Plaza. When the head office sends down a file containing ‘new evidence’ of the scene, implicating Peter Petrelli as the perp, and Hiro Nakamura as ‘aiding a known fugitive,’ Matt feels a sinking feeling in his gut. It doesn’t seem right, but it adds up.
The first team he sends out gets cornered in an industrial power plant in Chicago. Next thing he knows, a ten-block radius has been incinerated and half the city is blacked out.
The sinking feeling deepens. He puts both names out on all department channels, hoping for at least a visit from either man, protesting their innocence. He’d gladly let Hiro take him back to relive the Event if it meant knowing what really happened. Neither come, and reports filter in of both men being seen in the DC area, just prior to several more - increasingly public - displays of violence.
Peter Petrelli and Hiro Nakamura are publicly outed as terrorists and fugitives. Congressman Petrelli makes the announcement himself, somehow transforming a career-breaking confession of family tragedy into an act of martyrdom. It’s a brilliant move, and pundits are starting to mention his name regarding the upcoming Presidential election.
After Nathan’s press conference, there aren’t any more attacks in D.C. Matt wants to think that Peter’s been reformed by his brother’s public censure, but that’s not how things ever turn out, is it?
When Peter and Hiro break into Moab Federal Penitentiary, Matt’s there with his people. Unfortunately, it’s not enough; they escape, with several high-powered prisoners in tow.
The world is going insane. Matt thinks he’s getting an ulcer.
***
The first reported case of the Shanti Virus occurs on March 20th, 2007, although it isn’t shown on the news at the time. Newscasters simply didn’t take any note of the isolated incident - it was only later that the significance of a man in New York dying of an unknown virus would take on monumental significance.
Matt will remember this date for a long time, though, for several reasons:
One, it’s the day he regains consciousness to find himself cuffed to the radiator, his ribs bruised from a kick (which he can’t remember) and one eye swelling shut from falling down towards the doorknob (which is the last thing he does remember). Not a good plan, Parkman, he tells himself, wondering why on earth he bothered to wake up in the first place.
But he’s immediately answered by the sight of Mohinder, equally battered-looking, with Sylar and a strange woman both out cold on the floor. Molly’s right beside Mohinder, holding a skillet.
Matt laughs until his bruised ribs make him stop.
The second reason he’ll remember this day is because, after Molly hugs him and proudly proclaims that she got to save them back, finally, Mohinder unlocks the handcuffs and helps Matt to his feet.
“Dude, I know it sounds gay, but I could totally kiss you right now for saving my butt,” Matt says, when he’s standing.
Mohinder smiles his genuinely delighted smile, the one that starts in one corner of his mouth and quirks an eyebrow upward before turning into blinding brilliance. Matt catches a fleeting thought as it surfaces: …I’d let him, if he honestly wanted to…
He knows his face is doing that fish-out-of-water thing that Molly has pointed out as a total giveaway. “Wait, seriously?” Matt says, before he can consider all the ramifications of even hearing that thought, let alone any possible response to it. Then Mohinder does kiss him, and Matt has to rewrite his whole definition of hot, because apparently it includes skinny Indian dudes and split lips screaming in pain.
When his brain starts working again, Matt calls his friends in blue to take the trussed-up bad guys off in ambulances. Apparently, an eleven-year-old girl with a frying pan and a geneticist with a firearm (its safety still on, mind you), can do a fair amount of damage to two super-powered villains.
Mohinder lets Matt order vegetable pizza, and they both let Molly pick the movie. They pretend not to act too grossed out by Mohinder’s soy ice cream, and douse it in real, honest-to-god Hershey’s chocolate syrup instead of the sugar-free stuff while Mohinder pretends he doesn’t see them.
And Molly pretends she doesn’t see them kissing again in the hallway after they put her to bed.
***
It‘s a total surprise, and none at all, when Matt comes home to find divorce papers beneath a long, hand-written letter.
He reads that Janice loved him more the way he was now, happy and fulfilling his dream, but it took him away from her and their son, and she couldn’t pretend that they had a real family together when he was several states, time zones, continents away all the time. They seemed to either have a relationship without love, or love without a relationship, and she couldn’t ask him to give up his career happiness without some kind of guarantee otherwise. And she couldn’t give him a guarantee.
Matt understands, and it kills him a little inside. He buries himself in his work, and soon finds himself promoted to head of the New York division, where he works closely with local legislators and moneymen to define policy. He starts hanging out with his Congressman for a beer and a game every other weekend or so, and his empty apartment eventually gets a little easier to face.
His ingrained cop instincts are at a total loss when dealing with bureaucracy, though, and he just sticks to what he knows. Nathan helps out with the politi-speak and tips him off on back-door deals just when a particular issue or district is giving him problems. Between the insider tips and his own powers, he earns a reputation for dogged determination bordering on ruthless focus.
Matt gives his secretary a raise every time he overhears her thinking about a job with less paperwork. He keeps sending money to Janice, extra if he hasn’t called that month or if he realizes he’s not paying enough attention to all the details of how his marriage is getting dismantled.
Six months after the divorce is finalized, Nathan Petrelli is elected as the next President of the United States. It’s not a total surprise, after the bipartisan support he garnered while in Congress, lobbying for the Linderman Act. The very fact that he managed to pass it with that name attached shows how powerful he’s become. His public renunciation of Peter ‘s terrorist activities didn’t hurt, either.
The president-elect announces his intended Cabinet a full month before he’s sworn in, promoting a friend - “…with a long history of doing what is right, of serving the people within the police force and other federal offices…” - to head of Homeland Security.
Matt attends the post-announcement party alone, and drinks more heavily than he’d planned, because he keeps overhearing pitying thoughts about his divorce, and besides that, Washington secrets are ones he usually doesn’t want to hear when he’s trying to celebrate, goddammit. There are a lot of people he knows professionally, and even more he knows from watching CNN during his bouts of insomnia. He does what he can to seem charming, and politically savvy, and it’s all just conjuring tricks with mind-reading (without letting people in on the trick, or that it is a trick, really) until his fourth or fifth scotch, when he gives up and finds a convenient way out of the main party room.
He winds up in a cloakroom, surrounded by coats that cost more than his car, but it’s quiet in here and even thoughts seem muffled by all the fur and boiled-wool surrounding him. Plus, it’s nice and dim, and bigger than pretty much his whole apartment back in New York, so he doesn’t feel cramped. He’s not going to question why there’s a couch at the back, perfectly matched to the rug and the wallpaper like it’s supposed to be there, but he’s grateful for the decorating lunacy that put it there.
Matt’s starting to regret not bringing booze in with him, when the door opens and someone stumbles in.
“My apologies, I wasn’t aware this… closet… was occupied,” the other man says, his familiar accent blurred by alcohol. Apparently all languages turn into the same thing when you’re coasting by on three times the legal limit. Matt sees the bottle in the geneticist’s hand and almost rediscovers religion.
“No, no, you’re welcome so long as you share,” Matt says, gesturing, and the other man closes the door and comes over to join him on the couch. He tries to use the coats as support on his way, so Matt gets some entertainment in watching the other man stagger a bit. For that and the liquor, he’s even welcome to part of the couch. Matt swings his feet to the floor and regrets the abrupt movement.
Mohinder sits, missing the couch, and winds up on the floor with the boneless grace of a cat. Like he did it on purpose. They drink to each other’s health, and to their careers, and to their poor planning in going stag to someplace where getting drunk and hitting on strangers would cause international incidents. Or, at least, highly embarrassing headlines.
Precisely how this ends with Mohinder’s palms slipping upwards along Matt’s inner thighs so that his nimble fingers can open the fly of Matt’s slacks and his mouth can breathe heatedly on Matt’s cock is unclear. But after that leap in drunken logic, Matt is not surprised to find Mohinder crawling up onto the couch to pin him against the couch and kiss him with sloppy, drunken fervor.
Yeah, he’s making out with a dude, which Matt hasn’t done before. But on the other hand, it’s not as if he hasn’t considered it. He used to discard the idea because he figured he’d only get the courage if (a) they were both drunk (check), (b) the guy dug him (unlikely, but check), and (c) there were no way of it ruining things between him and Janice (oho, that’s a check).
Mohinder pulls their shirts up, pushes their slacks down, and they just grind against each other with roving, greedy hands and open-mouthed, panting kisses. Matt wonders what it would be like to fuck another man, and the imagined view of Mohinder naked above him, pushing back and down around his cock, stroking himself with one hand, makes him groan and thrust up hard until his vision whites out.
Mohinder’s still moving against him, his voice a stutter-stop of words that Matt isn’t sure are all English. His mind conjures a different scene, a familiar room that Matt thinks he’s seen on TV.
…The Oval Office? Matt chuckles when he recognizes the setting, and Mohinder pulls away, breathing heavily and looking confused. Matt grins reassuringly and pulls Mohinder back to him for a deep, searching kiss. Mohinder’s eyelids flutter shut.
Still got it, Matt thinks, wrapping his hand around Mohinder’s dick and listening in to the other man’s thoughts. It doesn’t actually surprise him that Mohinder fantasizes about being bent over the desk in the Oval Office and fucked raw by someone who will soon be the most powerful man in the world.
It’s just kind of disappointing to hear a memory-echo of Nathan’s voice “…don’t care how, I just want to be sure of his loyalties. Can you do that, Mohinder?”
***
Matt asks Jacobs about Sylar over coffee a few days later. The other detective chuckles grimly. “Guy died in the ICU that night. Some bug he picked up down south, they think.” It’s almost a relief, because Matt’s not sure if there will ever be a cell that can hold someone like Sylar. “We called INS. They’re going to deport his accomplice soon as she gets released from the hospital, but she hasn’t regained consciousness.”
“That’s good to know. Thanks for your help, by the way.” Matt claps him on the shoulder and turns to go. On the way out the door, a familiar face flashes on the screen of the small TV they keep in the break room. He turns up the volume.
“… former Congressman-elect, Nathan Petrelli. No word on what illness caused his collapse during yesterday’s press conference, but he is known to be in critical condition.” A replay of the press conference, Nathan grim and determined, saying, “-not afraid to tell you the truth, especially now that it could save millions of lives.” And then he starts toppling sideways, face flushed from more than the heat of the lights trained on him. Chaos as every reporter scrambles for the best shot, but the image freezes on a clear frame of Nathan cradled in his brother’s arms, his mother standing above them waving away the reporters like a lioness protecting her cubs.
Matt rushes out and calls home from his desk, ignoring everyone who approaches. He gets a busy signal for ten minutes before he thinks of trying Mohinder’s cell phone.
“Matt?” Molly answers, cautiously.
“Molly! Molly, doll, get me Mohinder, will you?” He tries to keep the panic from his voice, because he really doesn’t know anything for sure.
“He’s a little busy. He’s been on the phone all morning.”
That’s all the confirmation Matt needs. He closes his eyes like he’s been punched in the gut. “Just tell him it’s me, Moll,” he says gently, already making plans.
***
Bob and Elle turn out to be amazingly forthcoming about their abilities - and having worked for the Company for so long, they also tell Mohinder about other Specials, some of whom are currently fugitives. He calls Matt Parkman’s office to pass on the information. Their conversation - the first since their drunken encounter - starts out halting, awkward, but Matt readily agrees to come out to Mohinder’s facility to talk to the Bishops personally.
Matt, of course, picks the worst day to come in. But, while his work is consuming, Mohinder will never, ever go back on a promise he made Molly.
So, Matt’s in his office, reviewing what intel Mohinder already has, when Molly comes rushing in with a bouquet she’s assembled from pipe cleaners, filter paper, and food coloring (from home), bundled in an Erlenmeyer flask. She beams even brighter when she sees Matt.
“Officer Parkman!” Molly shouts gleefully, and Matt’s on his feet in an instant, picking her up and spinning her around in the air.
“Molly! What are you doing here?” Parkman’s suddenly a different man, boyish and grinning, and Mohinder wishes he’s called the man sooner, even if it weren’t for work.
“It’s ‘Take your Daughter to Work’ Day! Mohinder promised I could do science stuff!” She brandishes her bouquet proudly.
“I forgot! Mohinder’s been taking care of you!” He sets her on the ground. “That’s very pretty, you know.” His voice lowers to a conspiratorial stage-whisper. “How’s he doing so far?”
She grins over at Mohinder. “He’s doing all right. He doesn’t see why I need a Nintendo Wii, though, even though I told him there are some educational games and that it would improve my hand-eye coordination.”
Mohinder rolls his eyes. “All right, don’t you two gang up on me, now. Especially since Matt and I have work to be doing.” She rolls her eyes right back. “But first, may I have your flowers? I’ve got a bare spot on my desk right here that needs a little something.” She carefully sets the flask where he points and arranges the flowers long enough to let him know she’ll go when she’s good and ready, thank you.
Mohinder laughs when she goes, and Matt shares his grin. “Getting to be quite a handful,” Mohinder comments warmly. “But worth every minute.”
Something sad flits across Matt’s face for a second, and he makes a sudden switch back to his professional mode, asking if he can talk to the Bishops alone for a bit.
After that abrupt cutoff, Mohinder’s surprised to find Matt waiting out front when he and Molly leave for the day. He invites them out for pizza and ice cream, and it would have been a little unnerving if Matt’s presence weren’t somehow familiar and safe. In fact, it’s more unnerving because of how well he does fit into their lives, every time he comes into town - and it seems he’s ‘in town’ on business more often than he really needs to be.
When Molly’s eyes light up every time Parkman shows up on their doorstep, or Matt’s curling protectively around him in the middle of the night, Mohinder can’t really bring himself to care.
***
Peter called Mohinder as soon as it was confirmed: the virus targeted people with abilities, and was highly transmissible and inevitably fatal. Mrs. Petrelli was already showing symptoms. Mohinder immediately called the rest of the people in his database to warn them.
Matt made one phone call.
“Hello?” She sounds harried.
“Janice. Oh, thank god you’re home. Janice, I need you to take Matt Jr. to your aunt’s place, the one in Montana.”
“Matt? What?” He can hear his son screaming in the background.
“Janice, please, the Congressman who passed out - he’s got abilities. He’s sick with something that targets us. Just us. You’ll be fine, but I’m worried about our son.”
“Oh, my god. Are you sure?”
“Yes. Can you just - please?”
“I’ve got…” She sighs. “I already called off because he’s come down with something - Jesus, Matt, do you think it’s-“
“I don’t think so, it’s only just hit New York and-“ Mohinder’s gesturing to him and drawing frantic circles on a map, “-and Houston, and Columbus, nothing by you guys yet, but it’s spreading fast.”
“All right, okay. I’ll leave as soon as I can. Do you - do you want me to call when I get there?”
“Yes, please, yes.” He pauses. “Is it okay if I come, if I bring Molly and Mohinder? He’s a doctor, he might be able to help, and I don’t want Molly…” He trails off again, suddenly uncertain. He thinks about leaving Molly and Mohinder with his son and ex-wife, while he comes back to New York to help the NYPD keep the peace.
“Yes,” she says finally, her voice far away. “Yes, you’re still family, Matt.”
He realizes he can’t come back.
***
It would be perfect, really. If only there weren’t two problems - aside from the increasing moral issues of their respective jobs - that keep cropping up.
One, Mohinder kind of has a thing with the President. He doesn’t think about it more than he has to, and he tries not to define it as more than a ‘thing,’ but it’s always there, in the back of his mind. It boils down to this: every time he hears Nathan’s voice, every time he’s in the man’s presence, it’s like he’s hypnotized, drugged, senseless and helpless.
There’s the sex, sure, but Mohinder keeps making promises. About work, about his life, and he doesn’t always remember even agreeing to them until he’s already made good on them.
Then there’s Matt’s other family - his ex-wife and his son. Which, granted, are part-and-parcel with Parkman, like how he also happens to run the security of the whole country, but Matt’s been getting more fidgety about Janice and Matt Jr.
Mohinder overhears a phone conversation he probably oughtn’t one morning when Matt doesn’t know he’s awake:
“-to stop saying shit like this. I can’t believe-“
“-I could arrest you right now for that kind of talk. Do you really want to keep pushing me on this?”
“-you what? If you take your kid off the radar, that’s a red flag in my system! I’ll have to-”
“…”
“…”
“Shit. Fine. Send over the intel. But I’m not fucking making any promises, do you hear me, Bennet? If you’re giving me the runaround, I can’t protect your family.”
The contrast between both sides of Matt’s life - and Mohinder’s, by association - hits home, and Mohinder has a hard time not pulling Matt back into bed and calling them both in sick. But the problem is, of course, that they couldn’t hide forever, even if they tried.
Matt’s gone for a while, after that. Mohinder starts to worry; not just about Matt, but about everything.
The Haitian mentions once, off-handedly, that he’s never met the President. Mohinder is strangely haunted by the casual statement, especially considering that having the Haitian around would surely be an excellent security precaution to take with so many rogue Specials on the loose.
He falls apart, a little, stops shaving. Molly keeps giving him apprehensive glances whenever he comes home too late from work or when he changes the channel too quickly every time Specials come up in the news.
So when Hiro shows up in his apartment one day after Mohinder picks Molly up from school, he’s at wits end.
“Doctor Suresh, don’t be alarmed.” Hiro’s English is much better than it used to be. With his black clothes and long hair tied back, he’s almost a different person. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to save Molly.”
Later, he won’t believe that he gave in so easily. With Molly gone, he doesn’t have much left. When Matt finds out, he loses the rest. Except his work. And whatever it is he has with Nathan.
It’s not much. It’s all he has.
***
They’re halfway across the country in Mohinder’s cab before they get the news that the virus has mutated and jumped to the non-powered population. They push their truck-stop diner food around on their plates a little, their appetites gone. Mohinder scrubs his palm across his face, weary from the unending stream of phone calls and bad news. “It was only a matter of time, really,” he says.
Molly’s been quiet, sleeping or playing her DS or flipping listlessly through the textbooks that Matt grabbed before he left. He’s not really sure why, but he wanted some sense of normalcy - some reassurance that after this is all over, they can return to their lives.
He’s driving through South Dakota when he realizes he’s flushed. It might just be the sun beating down on him through the window, but his vision’s blurring and he’s only been driving for an hour.
He pulls over at a state park rest stop.
Mohinder jostles awake, but Molly’s still out cold, so she can’t see him cry. He leaves the car, just in case, and Mohinder trails after, sleepy and confused.
“Matt? Matt, what’s wrong?”
“Check me,” Matt says, grabbing Mohinder’s hand and pressing it to his forehead. The air is crisp and cool, and he’s feeling chilled from the sweat that’s soaked into his shirt.
“Oh, my god.” Mohinder takes his pulse, gets a thermometer from the car.
Molly’s woken up, and Matt can see her worried face through the window. “Shit, shit!” he says, turning away from her.
“You must have gotten it from that gas station outside Chicago. I told you it would be dangerous passing that close to another urban-“
“Who the fuck cares, Mohinder! We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere, I’m sick, and Molly might get sick next! What the hell do we do now?” He keeps his voice low, but he’s practically spitting sparks into the air in his frustration.
“We get Molly to the nearest hospital, just in case. They’ll have better facilities to take care of her there. If I drive her, then we can keep the risk of exposure to a minimum.” Matt wants to touch Mohinder, hold him close, kiss him before one or both or all of them die out in fucking South Dakota. But. He doesn’t want the virus to jump to Mohinder, if it hasn’t already.
“That won’t be necessary,” a familiar voice says behind them. Matt turns around so fast he gets dizzy, collapses onto a park bench.
“Hiro!” Molly shouts from the car, waving out the open window.
“You have impeccable timing,” Mohinder says with relief. “Are you sick? Can you take Molly to a hospital?”
“I can, but that’s not why I’m here. I need Molly so I can find Claire Bennet or Adam Monroe. They may hold the cure for the plague.” Hiro’s English has gotten better.
“Wait, but what if she gets sick? I need to be there!” Mohinder insists.
“No, you are most likely already infected, according to the timeline.” Mohinder sits down next to Matt like the wind’s been knocked out of him. Matt throws caution to the wind and pulls Mohinder close while giving Hiro the fiercest glare he can muster while his eyes aren’t focusing properly.
“Take her somewhere safe, where she’ll be okay, or I swear to god, Hiro Nakamura, I will haunt you until the day you die.”
Hiro bows formally, and walks away to the car. Matt turns away and presses his forehead against Mohinder’s so that they can’t see anything but each other. They hear Molly sob, once, before it’s cut off, and she’s gone.
They sit that way for hours before they make their way back to the car. Mohinder gets behind the wheel and just starts driving. It doesn’t matter what direction.
Matt calls Janice to tell her they won’t make it to her aunt’s house.
***
The next time Mohinder sees Matt Parkman, it ends with them locked in a room with the world breaking apart outside. Everything’s been falling apart for a while, but now there are explosions, and lightning, and dead bodies everywhere. The President - who’s not Nathan, but Sylar - is fighting Peter Petrelli, who may have blown up Kirby center but isn’t a terrorist. The past-Hiro has disappeared, with the intent to fix everything before it happens.
Matt got thrown through the door, and Mohinder’s damn near unconscious himself. The battle’s moved further down the hall, but Mohinder looks at the damage around them and finds bleak amusement there. Both fire and ice, ending the world, he thinks.
Matt’s head is in Mohinder’s lap. He’s not even sure if Matt’s still breathing, but his fingers find Matt’s pulse and it’s fluttering weakly. Matt’s hand comes up and grips Mohinder’s wrist, slides down to twine their fingers together, blood-slick.
“Sorry,” Matt rasps. Mohinder can’t find the breath to speak for a moment, so he shakes his head. The Haitian’s dead eyes stare at them.
“Not your fault.”
“Not just my fault, but I - helped.” Matt sounds like he’s choking. Mohinder realizes that the other man is laughing. “I tried to help. Didn’t - didn’t do so well.”
“If you’re guilty, then so am I.”
The door rattles again on its weakened hinges. The end is drawing near.
***
They run out of gas somewhere in Wyoming. The gas station they’d spotted when the road started winding down into the valley turns out to be abandoned, pumps hollowed out and the windows grimy and spray-painted where the boards have fallen away. There’s a storm coming, so they don’t get signal on their phones. They don’t know who to call, anyway.
Mohinder moves their bedding into the storage room of the gas station, figuring it’ll be warmer there and more comfortable than the taxi. Besides, that way he can keep an eye on Matt, who’s convulsing in fits from the chills, and bring him water if he needs it.
The storm shakes the boards and rattles the glass. In the flickering light of each lighting strike, Matt’s face is ashen pale.
Mohinder hasn’t prayed in years, but his own vision swims as he bows his head over Matt’s and invokes every deva he can think of - not for them, but for Molly, and Janice, and Matt Jr.
***
Hiro says, “I’ve been learning to control my power.”
He says, “I think that just like lives branch and intersect, so can timelines.
If I find the right moment, I can keep this future from branching away from a better alternative.”
(Matt thinks Hiro could still use a little work on his English, because that made no sense.)
“Like a bonsai tree. Prune away what is wrong to leave that which is good.”
(Mohinder understands this better. His mother had a garden, and he used to watch her tend it.)
“And I think that everything that happens in one timeline has echoes in the rest.
If we do what is right in our world, maybe we will make other timelines better, too.”
Apparently Hiro can’t just save one world; he has to save them all.
***
Mohinder sits in a corner of the room, Matt’s head resting on his thigh.
They ignore the rubble beside them, and listen to the wall of sound trying to break the walls down.
In the dark, their hands find each other and don’t let go.
They wait for their world to change.