Heroes: Armed with Knowledge (Mohinder/Peter) PG
Title: Armed with Knowledge
Author: technosage, originally posted Jan 2007
Characters/Pairing: Mohinder/Peter
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 1040
Spoilers/Warnings: speculation off 1.11
Disclaimer: Not mine?
Summary: Mohinder knows he's made some mistakes. This time, he's going to do it better.
Notes: Written for 60_minute_fics. My first one of these, my first time writing Mohinder, totally stream of conscious. *hands* COMPLETELY unbeta'd. For those who don't know, 60 minute fics are written in 60 minutes from a prompt delivered shortly before the hour begins. No foreknowledge or planning went it to this, which may possibly be reflected in Mohinder's quite opposite attitude. Hee.
Trigger: This story in answer to 011207 Trigger #1 Fortune Cookies: Go to the magic Fortune Cookie Generator and see if you can't find yourself something fun to work into a 60 minute fic.
Inspired by: drvsilla because she made me want to try.
~*~
Experience is what causes a person to make new mistakes instead of old ones.
~*~
The first time he tried to warn one of them, he went armed with his father's book, a name from Sylar's map, and fear. "Your life is in danger," he'd told Nathan Petrelli, and he'd been "escorted" away by the man's staff.
His mistakes? Too many to count. But chief among them: no foreknowledge of his subject, a public approach, too much passion and not enough logic.
This time, he would do better.
Isaac Mendez.
Not just a name on a map. This man, he'd heard of from Peter Petrelli, Nathan's brother. Another mistake. Peter had come to him, wide-eyed fresh with wonder and a belief in the principles, and he had acted the boor. Treated Peter like a crazed meth-rat, despite a story that, if true, would have proved his father right.
He'd gone with Peter, oh yes, to Isaac Mendez's studio-loft. He'd gone intending to prove Peter wrong, and had gotten what he'd wished for. No proof, Peter clearly delusional, Mendez not even present.
And because he'd been angry about Nathan, distressed by the disappearance of Sylar's things, encouraged by Eden, he'd behaved like Nathan. Disbelieving, harsh, unsympathetic, unwilling to listen.
His mistake? Pride, thinking he knew better, because this young man could not know, could not have proof, when he had failed.
Yes, this time he would do better.
Isaac Mendez, an artist, work sold in a gallery owned by one Simone Devereaux. Style of work: bold lines, bright colors, tending toward surreal, sharing a 'feeling' in common with the so-called prophetic painters of the war era as well as with the comic book form in which he also works. Creator, artist, writer of new comic book: Ninth Wonders., currently chronicling the adventures of two Japanese men, Hiro Nakamura with the power to bend space-time, and his sidekick Ando Masahashi. Recently addicted to heroin and possibly violent-tempered, having also recently broken up with girlfriend-business associate Simone.
According to Peter Petrelli: Isaac paints the future, but only when he is "chasing", high on heroin; however, Peter was able to absorb and use the power without drugs. So, presumably, the ability does not require hallucinogens, only a willingness or desire to shift perception in order to allow the future to be foretold.
Assuming, always that Peter has told the truth, but this time he will not make the mistake of pride; there is independent confirmation in the form of Hiro's name. On his father's list.
This time when he goes, he goes armed with knowledge, the book, a plan. Ask questions, express interest in his work, in the comic book. Set him at ease, and then mention Peter. Be aware that Peter - so obvious in his face when he spoke of her - had some involvement with Simone, that this may be a source of friction. Don't mention Simone. Listen. Speak of general dangers, not specific ones, not until he has earned Isaac's trust.
He parks the cab, steps out, still rehearsing his plan. His greeting, "Hello, Mr. Mendez? I've been reading your comic book and only just discovered your art. If I might have a moment of your time, I'd like to inquire about your paintings. About possibly commissioning a piece?" Hopeful look, full of understanding for the hectic pace, the trauma of the underfed artist, please I can help.
The place is familiar from his visit with Peter. The stairs still creak under his heels. When he knocks, no one answers.
Foolishness, weariness and resignation wash over him. He should've known that one, since he and Peter had made the same error. Category: overeager. Precise nature: failure to ascertain whereabouts of subject individual before attempting to initiate contact. Remedy: Call ahead.
Still, he knocks again. Perhaps Isaac Mendez is painting, absorbed and not hearing the door. He is here, he might as well try again.
The door swings open, the face behind it familiar: Peter Petrelli.
"What are you doing here?" they both say at once, then it is up to him to explain, what he has learned, why he has come. Peter is not in the plan, and he must shuffle, reorganize, think. "I went back to India to bury my father and found the answers I sought."
He meets Peter's gaze, and waits, because he knows what Peter will say, what Peter must say, has every right to say. "I thought there weren't any answers," Peter does say, but his voice is surprisingly devoid of heat. The door opens to let him in.
"I thought there were no answers as well." He enters, cautious, but needlessly. The studio is empty. Questions in the quirk of his lips, and the lift of his eyebrows, but he seeks Peter's gaze again. "I was wrong."
"Yes." Leaning against a counter, body slumped, Peter pushes a hand through his (too long) bangs. Expressive eyes and mouth show weariness, confusion, concern. "You were. We saved the cheerleader." He shrugs. "I don't know about the world."
The urge to turn away, reject Peter's words again, burns through him. He resists it. "The man from the future. Will you tell me? And where is Isaac?"
"You believe me?" Head tilt, uncertain twist of his mouth, and yet his voice rises, hopeful.
"I do. I am sorry, Peter, I should have listened." He reaches out, when Peter turns away.
"I think Isaac's in trouble."
Mohinder's hand makes contact with Peter's wrist on a caught breath. "Why?"
Peter shakes his head, pleads. "I don't know, but he should be here. It's not right, him being just gone."
Deep breath, long thought - slow. "All right. Tell me what you know. We'll begin from there."
All passion, energy, emotion, Peter turns, smiles brilliantly. "You'll help?" Breaching all propriety, he flings himself at Mohinder, hugs tight. "You'll help," whispered softly against his cheek in what sounds like relief.
His arms come up - to disengage Peter, but settle in, hand at the nape of his neck, in his hair.
They kiss, and it is unexpected, unintended, unplanned. Mohinder thinks of Nathan, and wonders if it's a mistake. His lips curve against Peter's, tongue teases them open.
Mistake? Possibly. But if so, at least it's a new one.
Author: technosage, originally posted Jan 2007
Characters/Pairing: Mohinder/Peter
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 1040
Spoilers/Warnings: speculation off 1.11
Disclaimer: Not mine?
Summary: Mohinder knows he's made some mistakes. This time, he's going to do it better.
Notes: Written for 60_minute_fics. My first one of these, my first time writing Mohinder, totally stream of conscious. *hands* COMPLETELY unbeta'd. For those who don't know, 60 minute fics are written in 60 minutes from a prompt delivered shortly before the hour begins. No foreknowledge or planning went it to this, which may possibly be reflected in Mohinder's quite opposite attitude. Hee.
Trigger: This story in answer to 011207 Trigger #1 Fortune Cookies: Go to the magic Fortune Cookie Generator and see if you can't find yourself something fun to work into a 60 minute fic.
Inspired by: drvsilla because she made me want to try.
~*~
Experience is what causes a person to make new mistakes instead of old ones.
~*~
The first time he tried to warn one of them, he went armed with his father's book, a name from Sylar's map, and fear. "Your life is in danger," he'd told Nathan Petrelli, and he'd been "escorted" away by the man's staff.
His mistakes? Too many to count. But chief among them: no foreknowledge of his subject, a public approach, too much passion and not enough logic.
This time, he would do better.
Isaac Mendez.
Not just a name on a map. This man, he'd heard of from Peter Petrelli, Nathan's brother. Another mistake. Peter had come to him, wide-eyed fresh with wonder and a belief in the principles, and he had acted the boor. Treated Peter like a crazed meth-rat, despite a story that, if true, would have proved his father right.
He'd gone with Peter, oh yes, to Isaac Mendez's studio-loft. He'd gone intending to prove Peter wrong, and had gotten what he'd wished for. No proof, Peter clearly delusional, Mendez not even present.
And because he'd been angry about Nathan, distressed by the disappearance of Sylar's things, encouraged by Eden, he'd behaved like Nathan. Disbelieving, harsh, unsympathetic, unwilling to listen.
His mistake? Pride, thinking he knew better, because this young man could not know, could not have proof, when he had failed.
Yes, this time he would do better.
Isaac Mendez, an artist, work sold in a gallery owned by one Simone Devereaux. Style of work: bold lines, bright colors, tending toward surreal, sharing a 'feeling' in common with the so-called prophetic painters of the war era as well as with the comic book form in which he also works. Creator, artist, writer of new comic book: Ninth Wonders., currently chronicling the adventures of two Japanese men, Hiro Nakamura with the power to bend space-time, and his sidekick Ando Masahashi. Recently addicted to heroin and possibly violent-tempered, having also recently broken up with girlfriend-business associate Simone.
According to Peter Petrelli: Isaac paints the future, but only when he is "chasing", high on heroin; however, Peter was able to absorb and use the power without drugs. So, presumably, the ability does not require hallucinogens, only a willingness or desire to shift perception in order to allow the future to be foretold.
Assuming, always that Peter has told the truth, but this time he will not make the mistake of pride; there is independent confirmation in the form of Hiro's name. On his father's list.
This time when he goes, he goes armed with knowledge, the book, a plan. Ask questions, express interest in his work, in the comic book. Set him at ease, and then mention Peter. Be aware that Peter - so obvious in his face when he spoke of her - had some involvement with Simone, that this may be a source of friction. Don't mention Simone. Listen. Speak of general dangers, not specific ones, not until he has earned Isaac's trust.
He parks the cab, steps out, still rehearsing his plan. His greeting, "Hello, Mr. Mendez? I've been reading your comic book and only just discovered your art. If I might have a moment of your time, I'd like to inquire about your paintings. About possibly commissioning a piece?" Hopeful look, full of understanding for the hectic pace, the trauma of the underfed artist, please I can help.
The place is familiar from his visit with Peter. The stairs still creak under his heels. When he knocks, no one answers.
Foolishness, weariness and resignation wash over him. He should've known that one, since he and Peter had made the same error. Category: overeager. Precise nature: failure to ascertain whereabouts of subject individual before attempting to initiate contact. Remedy: Call ahead.
Still, he knocks again. Perhaps Isaac Mendez is painting, absorbed and not hearing the door. He is here, he might as well try again.
The door swings open, the face behind it familiar: Peter Petrelli.
"What are you doing here?" they both say at once, then it is up to him to explain, what he has learned, why he has come. Peter is not in the plan, and he must shuffle, reorganize, think. "I went back to India to bury my father and found the answers I sought."
He meets Peter's gaze, and waits, because he knows what Peter will say, what Peter must say, has every right to say. "I thought there weren't any answers," Peter does say, but his voice is surprisingly devoid of heat. The door opens to let him in.
"I thought there were no answers as well." He enters, cautious, but needlessly. The studio is empty. Questions in the quirk of his lips, and the lift of his eyebrows, but he seeks Peter's gaze again. "I was wrong."
"Yes." Leaning against a counter, body slumped, Peter pushes a hand through his (too long) bangs. Expressive eyes and mouth show weariness, confusion, concern. "You were. We saved the cheerleader." He shrugs. "I don't know about the world."
The urge to turn away, reject Peter's words again, burns through him. He resists it. "The man from the future. Will you tell me? And where is Isaac?"
"You believe me?" Head tilt, uncertain twist of his mouth, and yet his voice rises, hopeful.
"I do. I am sorry, Peter, I should have listened." He reaches out, when Peter turns away.
"I think Isaac's in trouble."
Mohinder's hand makes contact with Peter's wrist on a caught breath. "Why?"
Peter shakes his head, pleads. "I don't know, but he should be here. It's not right, him being just gone."
Deep breath, long thought - slow. "All right. Tell me what you know. We'll begin from there."
All passion, energy, emotion, Peter turns, smiles brilliantly. "You'll help?" Breaching all propriety, he flings himself at Mohinder, hugs tight. "You'll help," whispered softly against his cheek in what sounds like relief.
His arms come up - to disengage Peter, but settle in, hand at the nape of his neck, in his hair.
They kiss, and it is unexpected, unintended, unplanned. Mohinder thinks of Nathan, and wonders if it's a mistake. His lips curve against Peter's, tongue teases them open.
Mistake? Possibly. But if so, at least it's a new one.