Heroes fic: Stay
It's been six months since I started writing this fic. Six months, guys. Granted, there were looong breaks in between writing spurts, but yeah. I'm glad to finally get this off my hands. :)
Title: Stay
Characters: Peter/Mohinder
Word Count: 4,215
Rating: PG-13 for character death, adult themes
Spoilers: through season 1, and for 2.08 “Four Months Ago;” AU from there
Summary: Peter and Mohinder meet again under less-than-happy circumstances.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the words.
A/N: Influenced in part by eonism’s fanmix, “this is not a love song.” Thanks to my dear imamandajulius for listening to me whine about this for so long and then betaing it for me. :)
Rumors telling me you are mourning
and you haven't slept for several days
you've been turning inside out looking for reasons
and your black sorry eyes made you pale
-The Knife, “One for You”
---
The stretcher appeared in front of Peter in an instant. He lowered Nathan’s body onto it as two doctors swarmed forward and began rolling the stretcher down the hall. On impulse Peter snatched a blanket from the edge of the cot as it whisked away.
“Keep him alive, okay? Do whatever it takes.” Wrapping the blanket around his ashen clothes, he turned to find a police officer staring suspiciously at his blackened face.
“Officer,” someone said, and as soon as the man began to look the other way Peter let the invisibility drip down his skin. He couldn’t stay here. Nathan was nearly dead-Peter had nearly killed him-and he couldn’t stay. The irony festered in his chest before boiling into a dull rage. Bursting through a set of double doors, he shoved past a confused nurse and fell to his knees. He let his head drop into his hands; his fingers were warm, hot against his face, and in a sudden rush of realization he scrambled to his feet.
“No,” he hissed to himself. With a deep breath Peter closed his eyes, trying to silence his thoughts and will his heartbeat to stop pounding. Feeling the radiation subsiding from his veins, he let out a rattled sigh.
Then he grunted as someone walked straight into him. Blanket flying, they collided and collapsed, hitting the floor in a sprawl of visible and invisible limbs.
“Mohinder?” said a girl’s voice. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Peter snapped to attention. On the floor beside him, hoisting himself up on his elbows, lay Mohinder Suresh. And a few feet away stood a little girl Peter had never seen before, her eyes fixed upon the blanket that had just materialized on the linoleum.
“Mohinder?” Peter echoed.
Mohinder looked around in confusion until Peter let the invisibility fall away. “Peter?”
“Yeah.” Peter smiled weakly. “Hi.”
---
“I shouldn’t have to do this,” Peter mutters, tapping his pen against the pad of paper. “I feel like a child.”
“Making a list of your abilities shows foresight and responsibility. I see nothing embarrassing about that.”
“Yeah, well, say that again when I have to ask Sylar to hang on for a minute while I pull out my superpower cheat sheet.”
Mohinder plunks a teacup in front of Peter, a few drops splashing onto the table. “That’s why you memorize it, Peter. And if you’re fully aware of your complete arsenal of abilities, you won’t have to square off against Sylar much longer, anyway.”
Peter isn’t sure that memorizing his abilities is really what he needs to defeat Sylar, not to mention that learning a list of powers doesn’t mean he’ll know how to use them all on cue, but he nods anyway. Mohinder takes a seat across from Peter, nursing his own cup of tea. “So how many have you listed so far?”
Peter counts. “Ten.”
Mohinder seems impressed. “And you’ve exhibited all of these on your own, independent of the individuals from whom they were absorbed?”
Peter begins to nod, then stops himself. “Well, no. I’ve never used Molly’s or Hiro’s powers by myself. Do you remember Hiro? He’s the guy who stabbed Sylar at Kirby Plaza.” He pauses. “And the one who gave me a message on the subway.”
“I remember.” Mohinder shifts in his chair. “I suppose now it’s my turn to feel embarrassed. I’m not proud of my choices from that day.”
“You thought I was crazy,” Peter says with a quirk of his mouth. “I thought I was crazy, too. I don’t blame you.”
“I rejected you when you came to me for help.”
“Mohinder, stop.” He reaches across the table and places his hand over Mohinder’s. “You’re helping me now, aren’t you? At the hospital, here in your apartment-you’re doing more for me right now than I could have ever asked for back then. You’ve been a lifesaver, really.”
Mohinder’s face lights with faint surprise at the touch of Peter’s hand. He makes no move to slide away his fingers. “We’d best start thinking about other people you’ve encountered who might also have abilities,” Mohinder says eventually. “It’s likely that you have absorbed more than you’re aware of.” He stands, adding, “Let me pour you more tea,” and goes to get the kettle.
Peter looks down at his untouched cup of tea and then back at Mohinder, smiling at the color he’s brought to the tips of Mohinder’s ears.
---
Peter sagged into the chair, head in his hands. Between his fingers, he saw Mohinder’s shoes step tentatively over the linoleum, shifting under nervous weight.
“How’s Matt doing?” Peter asked the floor.
“Okay, considering the circumstances. Molly’s sitting with him.” A pause as Mohinder took a seat next to Peter. “How’s … well, how are you doing?”
Peter straightened slowly. “He’s in surgery right now.” He glanced down at his clean clothes, ones which Mohinder had helped him to find in the strip mall across the street. “The doctors believed the story about the fire, at least for the time being.” He placed a shaking hand over his forehead.
“If there’s any way I can help, let me know.”
Peter closed his eyes against the hard lights and tried to focus on the familiar hospital sounds echoing down the hall. “You know,” Mohinder murmured, “I thought you had died.”
Peter looked at him. Mohinder’s shoulders were curved under a heaviness Peter recognized all too well. They seemed to be sharing the world’s weight tonight, between the two of them. “I did too, for a minute,” Peter said. “I guess seeing the explosion from the ground would make anyone think that, huh?”
“Well, apparently it was misleading,” Mohinder shrugged, “seeing as you’re still here.” He almost smiled, then looked down at his hands. “Actually, though, I was talking about earlier than that. Before tonight, I assumed you were already dead and gone.”
“Oh.” He remembered, suddenly, that the last time Mohinder had seen him was after Sylar’s attack in the apartment. The lump of memory hardened in his stomach. “I should have … I don’t know. I should have talked to you.”
“I think we both had more pressing issues to deal with at the time.”
“I guess so.” Peter shifted in his seat.
“Don’t worry about it, Peter. I know now.”
---
“We should run some tests,” Mohinder says. “I’d like to see your abilities in action. Anything in particular you’d like to try first?”
Peter smiles. “I have some ideas,” he answers, leading Mohinder out of the apartment and into the open air.
---
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes.” Mohinder closed his phone. “I talked to Matt’s wife; she’s booking a flight as we speak. I imagine she’ll be here by tomorrow afternoon.” He paused. “You?”
Peter dragged a hand over his face. His eyes felt raw, and the gnawing sensation in the pit of his gut had not yet subsided. He shrugged.
“Is there anyone I can call?”
Peter shook his head. “My mother likely already knows. She was involved with …” He gestured darkly at Nathan’s room. “And Heidi-I’ll wait until there’s news.”
Mohinder was beside him now, a hesitant hand falling over Peter’s shoulder. “When was the last time you sat down?”
“I’m fine, Mohinder.”
“You look horrible. You’re pale, you’re sweating. You should go home, get some rest. If you give me your number, I’ll call you as soon as anything changes with Nathan.”
“I can’t leave him.”
Comprehension dawned on Mohinder’s face. “These are symptoms of an overload of your abilities, aren’t they?” His voice was an anxious whisper in the hospital wing as he led Peter to a bench of chairs and sat him down. “I should have suspected as much; the explosion was only hours ago-”
“I have it under control.”
Mohinder looked at him sternly. “Are you willing to risk the lives of everyone in this hospital on that? Your brother’s life?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Peter said sharply. “I’ll be okay.” He glared at Mohinder’s determined expression. “Nothing you say is going to change my mind.”
Mohinder sighed. “So what, you’re going to spend the night here? I doubt the doctors will be thrilled with that.”
“They already told me to go home,” Peter admitted.
“You should listen to them.”
“They won’t notice I’m here,” Peter replied vaguely.
“Invisibility?” Peter lifted his shoulders. “I’ll not leave you here alone while you use your abilities, Peter.”
“So stay.” Peter looked up; Mohinder’s face stretched in surprise.
“What?”
“Stay here. I’ll hide us both. We can keep an eye on Matt, too. And you’ll know I’m keeping control over myself.”
---
Windblown, they stand upon the pier in the breaking light. Their breaths come hard and fast, gripping one another as though still up there, beyond gravity, in the pregnant space between cloud and sea.
Peter leans forward, pressing his forehead against Mohinder’s own. Mohinder closes his eyes, air shuddering from his lungs, touching his nose to Peter’s. They inhale.
“That,” Mohinder breathes. “That was …” His lips fall open, hesitant. Peter’s hands trace Mohinder’s shoulder blades. I never knew I wanted this.
“I always have,” Peter says.
Mohinder sighs, nudging forward, and kisses him.
---
“So they won’t be able to see us?” Molly asked. “Not at all?”
“Not even a little bit,” Mohinder smiled. “As long as you hold Peter’s hand. And you have to be quiet, too, or else the nurses will hear you. Okay?”
Molly nodded and snatched Peter’s hand without hesitation. “I haven’t seen her this excited since before we brought Matt here,” Mohinder said in a low voice to Peter, on the opposite side of him. “You prove to be an excellent distraction.”
Peter chuckled, then offered his hand. “You’re next.”
He watched Mohinder eye Peter’s hand before taking it in his own. Mohinder was warm against Peter’s cold, clammy skin; he twined his pale fingers among dark ones and took a deep breath. As the invisibility blanketed each of them, Molly giggled.
“That felt weird.”
“You get used to it,” Peter said, and squeezed her hand.
---
Their lives become a comfortable routine. Every morning Mohinder drops Peter off at the hospital before work, where Peter holds vigil at Nathan’s bedside. The brothers keep each other company until Angela visits around noon; Peter lurks in the cafeteria or hides in Matt’s room, waiting for her stiff collar to bob down the hallway before venturing back to Nathan. Until three Peter shares his brother with Heidi, sometimes the boys as well; and when Mohinder calls at the end of his shift, a yellow cab carries Peter home.
When Mohinder is too tired to cook, Peter orders Chinese from the restaurant down the street. They talk about Nathan and work and Mohinder’s list. Mohinder teaches Peter meditation to improve his control and calm his mind. In the later hours Mohinder locks himself in his office until Peter slides inside, offering movies or kisses or early bedtimes. They fall asleep in one another’s arms and wake with dawn on their faces.
The days grow shorter, the nights longer, and in time Peter tells Mohinder that he’s staying at the hospital for dinner. Just for today, he says. But today turns into tomorrow, and tomorrow a week, and soon Mohinder is always picking up Peter well after visiting hours. Peter stops talking about Nathan; he spends most of his time at home deep in meditation, huddled in the corner of the living room while Mohinder paces the office. And Peter comes into the office later and later, until it’s Mohinder who slides out to ask Peter when he plans on going to bed. There are no more movies-sometimes kisses, but in time those fade, too.
Soon Peter finds his dreams too much to bear, and he spends his nights in the kitchen, reading from yesterday’s newspaper. It takes three days for Mohinder to notice Peter’s absence; he tiptoes to the threshold, and Peter pretends he doesn’t sense him there. A month ago Mohinder would have drifted to Peter’s side and stayed with him through the night. But now, Peter knows, things are different.
“I want to help you,” Mohinder says that morning over breakfast.
“There’s nothing you can do,” Peter quietly responds.
---
“And Sylar?”
Mohinder stiffened; Peter could see his clenching muscles even in the darkness of Nathan’s recovery room. Both of their seats were pulled up next to Nathan’s bed; Molly was dozing on a couch on the other side of the room.
“I think he’s still alive,” Mohinder said, softly enough not to wake Nathan. “After the explosion, he … well, I didn’t see his body again.”
Peter ran trembling fingers through his hair. “Christ,” he whispered.
“My father kept a list of individuals who have special abilities-it’s what Sylar was after when he attacked me in my apartment. One version was destroyed that day, but I have a backup copy. It’s not complete, but once it is, I’m going to start finding them again. With Sylar still at large, they need to be warned.”
“I should have killed him,” Peter said bitterly.
“He looked dead to me. We all did what we could. Regardless, you saved the world tonight.”
“No. I tried to destroy the world. Nathan saved it from me.”
Mohinder was quiet for a moment. “But you brought him here, didn’t you?”
Peter shrugged noncommittally.
“I don’t pretend to know either of you well, Peter, but what I do know is this: you saved your brother’s life. He is alive because of you. And I can’t imagine he’ll ever forget that.”
They sat in silence. At length Peter looked down. “Mohinder?”
“Hmm?”
But he said nothing. Face cracking into a wry smile, Peter wrapped his fingers around the hand he still held firmly in his lap, having shed their invisibility long ago.
---
He drops his keys onto the side table on his way in and shrugs off his coat. The air feels numb. He doesn’t remember Mohinder having any fluorescent lights in the apartment, but nevertheless he can sense stale bulbs aching behind his eyes like white lights in a hospital wing.
He sees Mohinder rummaging around in the office, a shadow among shadows. Peter’s feet take him to the open glass doors, and he watches Mohinder’s back until he turns around. At the sight of Peter hovering in the threshold, Mohinder’s expression becomes bleak.
“What’s wrong?” Peter asks.
Mohinder approaches him cautiously, putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You didn’t walk home from the hospital, did you?”
Peter frowns. “The hospital?”
“I told you I’d pick you up at nine. Did something happen?” Mohinder cups a hand over Peter’s pallid face. Peter doesn’t understand what’s going on, doesn’t know why Mohinder’s eyes have started to turn glassy in the light from the window, but he feels like something important is waiting just on the tip of his tongue, something he’s supposed to know but can’t reach. He bites his lip in frustration. “Peter,” Mohinder says again, “something did happen, didn’t it? Is it Nathan? Is he …” His expression falters. “Oh, my God. My God,” he says hoarsely, pulling the confused man into an embrace. “Oh, Peter.”
Peter’s eyes grow wide. He chokes.
The aching white lights, the hollow cold, Nathan’s pale eyes closing-it hurtles back to him like a slap in the face, the day’s memories flooding down his cheeks until his veins are dry and shriveled, his body quaking in Mohinder’s arms as they sink together to the floor, his fingers clinging to Mohinder’s heartbeat through sweater and skin.
“Mohinder,” he sobs, and strong arms tighten around him.
“I’m here. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
And he stays with Peter all that evening, even as Peter begins to fade away alongside the tears; he stays with him into the night, sharing sheets with a stranger; and he stays with him through early morning, making love to a shell who drips with sweat and dying and who can’t feel anything except the end.
---
Peter lifted his head as Heidi approached him, managing to glimpse Simon and Monty in the other room huddled around Nathan before the door creaked closed.
“You look better than you did this morning,” Heidi said, sitting next to him and pressing the back of her hand against his forehead. “Your fever seems to have gone down, too. Did the doctor give you anything?”
“Nah. I just managed to get a couple hours’ sleep now that Nathan’s stabilized, that’s all.”
“You should have called me sooner, Peter.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She slipped an arm around his shoulders. “It’s a miracle you survived that fire without a scratch.”
Peter swallowed.
“So many miracles these past few days. I guess karma decided to balance that out, didn’t it?” She laughed, a loud, desperate noise, and her stare drifted distantly to the floor. Peter took her hand.
“He’ll be okay,” he said softly. “Nathan’s strong.”
She nodded but didn’t say anything. Eventually she stood, taking a deep breath. “I should see how the boys are doing. You coming in?”
“Not right now. I’m actually going to get a coffee-can I bring you anything?”
“No, I’m alright. Thanks, Peter.”
He smiled weakly. “I’ll be back soon.”
---
“You need to rest.”
“I’m fine.”
“You haven’t slept in a week.”
“I’m alive, aren’t I?”
Mohinder doesn’t answer. “You can’t keep going on like this,” he says eventually, an edge to his voice.
“Would you just drop it already? I’m fine.”
Mohinder rises from his seat. “For God’s sake, Peter, your brother just died! You don’t have to pretend you’re fine.”
“Don’t do this,” Peter moans.
“We can get through this together. Let me help you, let me-”
“Stop it!” Peter shouts. “Just stop!”
He takes a step back, shaken by his own voice. Mohinder looks about to say something, but Peter doesn’t give him a chance. With one last hollow glance, he grabs his coat and keys and sweeps soundlessly out the door.
---
The coffee vending machine was just down the hall from Matt’s room. Peter found himself walking toward the open door, two coffees in hand, but was almost knocked over as Molly barreled into his legs.
“Goodbye, Peter,” she said into his jeans.
“Goodbye? Where are you going?”
“To a real bed with real food in her stomach,” Mohinder said, stepping into the hallway. “She’s going home with Matt’s wife.”
“Janice says I can eat as much ice cream as I want,” Molly added.
Peter grinned. “I hope it’s not hospital ice cream. I’ve been in plenty of hospitals, but I haven’t found one yet with good ice cream.”
“She staying with Janice’s mother in New Jersey until Matt is in better shape,” Mohinder said. “Molly, Peter can’t walk if you keep hugging him like that. Can you keep Matt and Janice company while I talk to Peter?”
Molly pulled away from Peter reluctantly. “Will I ever see you again?”
“Of course you will. I’ll run into you when I visit Matt, won’t I? Go on, tell him I say hello.”
She disappeared into the hospital room as Peter and Mohinder stepped toward each other. Peter offered a coffee cup. “I thought you might need it.”
Mohinder smiled. “Thank you. How are you, then?”
“Okay. Nathan’s conscious, and Heidi and the boys are with him. You?”
“Glad that Molly’s looking happy again. I think she’s sick of this place. I should never have made her stay the night.” He looked uneasy. “Not that … it was a good night last night, regardless.”
“Yeah.” Peter paused. “Thank you for staying with me.”
Mohinder waved it away. Then his forehead tightened. “Don’t tell me you’re staying overnight again?”
“No, I think I’m going back to my apartment, now that Nathan’s awake and Heidi’s around. I could probably use the sleep.”
“You could definitely use the sleep.” Mohinder hesitated, shifting his weight. “Although I don’t think it’s wise for you to be alone right now.”
Peter glared at him. “I told you, I have everything under control.”
“And what if something happens?”
“Fine, then I’ll stay at Heidi’s house.” But Peter saw the flaw in this without Mohinder having to say a word. Heidi didn’t know about Peter’s abilities, and it wasn’t his place to tell her now. His mother wasn’t an option, either-he couldn’t face speaking to her right now, let alone live with her. Peter frowned.
“You could stay with me, if you like.”
Peter looked up.
“I could help you recover. Study your abilities, teach you to learn control. And if Sylar ever comes back, I’ll need more than a gun under my pillow to feel safe. We can protect each other. Plus, my couch is reasonably comfortable, otherwise you can sleep in my bed and I’ll take the-”
“Okay.”
Mohinder blinked. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
Mohinder let out a breath. “Okay,” he said again, and they grinned at each other. “Now, this can’t be a permanent arrangement-”
“No, of course not-”
“But as long as you need-”
“I’ll be out of your hair in no time. I owe you, Mohinder.”
They smiled again, and Peter felt his face grow warm.
---
Peter gags under Sylar’s hold, feet dangling, before squeezing his eyes shut and reappearing mere inches in front of the other man. He throws anger behind his eyes, and Sylar hurtles into the wall, knocking books and knickknacks off the shelves. Sylar roars, but by the time he glances up Peter has already blended into the walls. Both of them freeze, waiting for each other’s move. Peter takes a step toward Mohinder’s battered form across the room, but Sylar cocks his head at the sound of footfalls. With a twist of his lips he reaches out for Mohinder and squeezes.
Peter sheds his invisibility only after he and Sylar have crashed through the window, glass lodging in Peter’s flesh. When they hit concrete Peter’s spine cracks. He lies rigidly on his back for a lifetime, the pain reminding him that he isn’t dead, not yet, and when he’s mended enough to hoist himself up and look around, Sylar has already fled into the darkness.
It’s cold. And empty, except for the lace of ice and glass coating the street; and as he takes the stairs to the third floor, he feels the chill lingering in his new vertebrae, the bones groaning with disuse. Upstairs, the door hangs ajar. He finds Mohinder where Sylar left him, scattered about the broken chairs and vases. Peter kneels, takes the man’s head in his lap, and waits until Mohinder’s eyelids lift.
“At least no ceilings were involved this time,” Mohinder manages, trying to laugh but coughing violently instead. Peter holds a hand to Mohinder’s chest until the episode passes, blood staining Mohinder’s teeth. When Mohinder is quiet again, he brushes over Peter’s hand and frowns, touching something beneath the clenched fingers. They relax in invitation, and Mohinder pulls out a wrinkled slip of paper from underneath Peter’s palm. Mohinder rubs his thumb over the creases where the scrap has been folded and unfolded so many times that the paper fibers are nearly transparent. Peter watches Mohinder read the words, ten simple phrases first scribbled at the table that now lies upended by the door.
Mohinder’s eyes travel from the list of abilities to Peter’s face. “I thought you left for good,” he says after a moment. “I came home to find Sylar with my father’s list in his hand, and I was sure I would never see you again.”
“No one is allowed to hurt you but me,” Peter explains.
---
He felt at peace for the first time in a long while as he looked out the passenger-side window of Mohinder’s taxi. The buildings blurred in a whir of brick and steel, and dying sunlight glittered over Mohinder’s ID badge as it swung from the rearview mirror. Peter slipped on his sunglasses and instinctively pushed back his hair.
“Huh,” he said idly.
Mohinder glanced at him. “What is it?”
“Nothing. Just déjà vu.”
---
Outside, snow falls among early sprays of light, golds fanning out beneath airplane wings that shuttle across the airstrip. Mohinder sits beside him, eyes turned toward the windows, curls catching sun. Peter’s gaze falls to his lap where a list of names lies wrinkled and worn.
They don’t speak to each other.
But then Mohinder groans, a sound almost lost to the white noise of the airport, and places a hand to his ribs. Peter’s fingers twitch, but he does nothing. Eventually, his voice softly rises. “You okay?”
Mohinder nods. His hand drops to his lap. “Sore.”
A flight attendant’s drawl carries over the loudspeaker, and Peter rests his hand on the list. “Can we save them, Mohinder?” he murmurs.
Mohinder looks away from the window, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know.” Dawn surrounds him like a cloud. “But it’s a new day; we’ve got time, and hope. And we’re trying. Giving it our all. At this point, that’s all we can do.”
They settle into silence until the flight attendant gives the boarding call. Rising, they gather their bags, walk to the door, and begin.
Title: Stay
Characters: Peter/Mohinder
Word Count: 4,215
Rating: PG-13 for character death, adult themes
Spoilers: through season 1, and for 2.08 “Four Months Ago;” AU from there
Summary: Peter and Mohinder meet again under less-than-happy circumstances.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the words.
A/N: Influenced in part by eonism’s fanmix, “this is not a love song.” Thanks to my dear imamandajulius for listening to me whine about this for so long and then betaing it for me. :)
Rumors telling me you are mourning
and you haven't slept for several days
you've been turning inside out looking for reasons
and your black sorry eyes made you pale
-The Knife, “One for You”
---
The stretcher appeared in front of Peter in an instant. He lowered Nathan’s body onto it as two doctors swarmed forward and began rolling the stretcher down the hall. On impulse Peter snatched a blanket from the edge of the cot as it whisked away.
“Keep him alive, okay? Do whatever it takes.” Wrapping the blanket around his ashen clothes, he turned to find a police officer staring suspiciously at his blackened face.
“Officer,” someone said, and as soon as the man began to look the other way Peter let the invisibility drip down his skin. He couldn’t stay here. Nathan was nearly dead-Peter had nearly killed him-and he couldn’t stay. The irony festered in his chest before boiling into a dull rage. Bursting through a set of double doors, he shoved past a confused nurse and fell to his knees. He let his head drop into his hands; his fingers were warm, hot against his face, and in a sudden rush of realization he scrambled to his feet.
“No,” he hissed to himself. With a deep breath Peter closed his eyes, trying to silence his thoughts and will his heartbeat to stop pounding. Feeling the radiation subsiding from his veins, he let out a rattled sigh.
Then he grunted as someone walked straight into him. Blanket flying, they collided and collapsed, hitting the floor in a sprawl of visible and invisible limbs.
“Mohinder?” said a girl’s voice. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Peter snapped to attention. On the floor beside him, hoisting himself up on his elbows, lay Mohinder Suresh. And a few feet away stood a little girl Peter had never seen before, her eyes fixed upon the blanket that had just materialized on the linoleum.
“Mohinder?” Peter echoed.
Mohinder looked around in confusion until Peter let the invisibility fall away. “Peter?”
“Yeah.” Peter smiled weakly. “Hi.”
---
“I shouldn’t have to do this,” Peter mutters, tapping his pen against the pad of paper. “I feel like a child.”
“Making a list of your abilities shows foresight and responsibility. I see nothing embarrassing about that.”
“Yeah, well, say that again when I have to ask Sylar to hang on for a minute while I pull out my superpower cheat sheet.”
Mohinder plunks a teacup in front of Peter, a few drops splashing onto the table. “That’s why you memorize it, Peter. And if you’re fully aware of your complete arsenal of abilities, you won’t have to square off against Sylar much longer, anyway.”
Peter isn’t sure that memorizing his abilities is really what he needs to defeat Sylar, not to mention that learning a list of powers doesn’t mean he’ll know how to use them all on cue, but he nods anyway. Mohinder takes a seat across from Peter, nursing his own cup of tea. “So how many have you listed so far?”
Peter counts. “Ten.”
Mohinder seems impressed. “And you’ve exhibited all of these on your own, independent of the individuals from whom they were absorbed?”
Peter begins to nod, then stops himself. “Well, no. I’ve never used Molly’s or Hiro’s powers by myself. Do you remember Hiro? He’s the guy who stabbed Sylar at Kirby Plaza.” He pauses. “And the one who gave me a message on the subway.”
“I remember.” Mohinder shifts in his chair. “I suppose now it’s my turn to feel embarrassed. I’m not proud of my choices from that day.”
“You thought I was crazy,” Peter says with a quirk of his mouth. “I thought I was crazy, too. I don’t blame you.”
“I rejected you when you came to me for help.”
“Mohinder, stop.” He reaches across the table and places his hand over Mohinder’s. “You’re helping me now, aren’t you? At the hospital, here in your apartment-you’re doing more for me right now than I could have ever asked for back then. You’ve been a lifesaver, really.”
Mohinder’s face lights with faint surprise at the touch of Peter’s hand. He makes no move to slide away his fingers. “We’d best start thinking about other people you’ve encountered who might also have abilities,” Mohinder says eventually. “It’s likely that you have absorbed more than you’re aware of.” He stands, adding, “Let me pour you more tea,” and goes to get the kettle.
Peter looks down at his untouched cup of tea and then back at Mohinder, smiling at the color he’s brought to the tips of Mohinder’s ears.
---
Peter sagged into the chair, head in his hands. Between his fingers, he saw Mohinder’s shoes step tentatively over the linoleum, shifting under nervous weight.
“How’s Matt doing?” Peter asked the floor.
“Okay, considering the circumstances. Molly’s sitting with him.” A pause as Mohinder took a seat next to Peter. “How’s … well, how are you doing?”
Peter straightened slowly. “He’s in surgery right now.” He glanced down at his clean clothes, ones which Mohinder had helped him to find in the strip mall across the street. “The doctors believed the story about the fire, at least for the time being.” He placed a shaking hand over his forehead.
“If there’s any way I can help, let me know.”
Peter closed his eyes against the hard lights and tried to focus on the familiar hospital sounds echoing down the hall. “You know,” Mohinder murmured, “I thought you had died.”
Peter looked at him. Mohinder’s shoulders were curved under a heaviness Peter recognized all too well. They seemed to be sharing the world’s weight tonight, between the two of them. “I did too, for a minute,” Peter said. “I guess seeing the explosion from the ground would make anyone think that, huh?”
“Well, apparently it was misleading,” Mohinder shrugged, “seeing as you’re still here.” He almost smiled, then looked down at his hands. “Actually, though, I was talking about earlier than that. Before tonight, I assumed you were already dead and gone.”
“Oh.” He remembered, suddenly, that the last time Mohinder had seen him was after Sylar’s attack in the apartment. The lump of memory hardened in his stomach. “I should have … I don’t know. I should have talked to you.”
“I think we both had more pressing issues to deal with at the time.”
“I guess so.” Peter shifted in his seat.
“Don’t worry about it, Peter. I know now.”
---
“We should run some tests,” Mohinder says. “I’d like to see your abilities in action. Anything in particular you’d like to try first?”
Peter smiles. “I have some ideas,” he answers, leading Mohinder out of the apartment and into the open air.
---
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes.” Mohinder closed his phone. “I talked to Matt’s wife; she’s booking a flight as we speak. I imagine she’ll be here by tomorrow afternoon.” He paused. “You?”
Peter dragged a hand over his face. His eyes felt raw, and the gnawing sensation in the pit of his gut had not yet subsided. He shrugged.
“Is there anyone I can call?”
Peter shook his head. “My mother likely already knows. She was involved with …” He gestured darkly at Nathan’s room. “And Heidi-I’ll wait until there’s news.”
Mohinder was beside him now, a hesitant hand falling over Peter’s shoulder. “When was the last time you sat down?”
“I’m fine, Mohinder.”
“You look horrible. You’re pale, you’re sweating. You should go home, get some rest. If you give me your number, I’ll call you as soon as anything changes with Nathan.”
“I can’t leave him.”
Comprehension dawned on Mohinder’s face. “These are symptoms of an overload of your abilities, aren’t they?” His voice was an anxious whisper in the hospital wing as he led Peter to a bench of chairs and sat him down. “I should have suspected as much; the explosion was only hours ago-”
“I have it under control.”
Mohinder looked at him sternly. “Are you willing to risk the lives of everyone in this hospital on that? Your brother’s life?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Peter said sharply. “I’ll be okay.” He glared at Mohinder’s determined expression. “Nothing you say is going to change my mind.”
Mohinder sighed. “So what, you’re going to spend the night here? I doubt the doctors will be thrilled with that.”
“They already told me to go home,” Peter admitted.
“You should listen to them.”
“They won’t notice I’m here,” Peter replied vaguely.
“Invisibility?” Peter lifted his shoulders. “I’ll not leave you here alone while you use your abilities, Peter.”
“So stay.” Peter looked up; Mohinder’s face stretched in surprise.
“What?”
“Stay here. I’ll hide us both. We can keep an eye on Matt, too. And you’ll know I’m keeping control over myself.”
---
Windblown, they stand upon the pier in the breaking light. Their breaths come hard and fast, gripping one another as though still up there, beyond gravity, in the pregnant space between cloud and sea.
Peter leans forward, pressing his forehead against Mohinder’s own. Mohinder closes his eyes, air shuddering from his lungs, touching his nose to Peter’s. They inhale.
“That,” Mohinder breathes. “That was …” His lips fall open, hesitant. Peter’s hands trace Mohinder’s shoulder blades. I never knew I wanted this.
“I always have,” Peter says.
Mohinder sighs, nudging forward, and kisses him.
---
“So they won’t be able to see us?” Molly asked. “Not at all?”
“Not even a little bit,” Mohinder smiled. “As long as you hold Peter’s hand. And you have to be quiet, too, or else the nurses will hear you. Okay?”
Molly nodded and snatched Peter’s hand without hesitation. “I haven’t seen her this excited since before we brought Matt here,” Mohinder said in a low voice to Peter, on the opposite side of him. “You prove to be an excellent distraction.”
Peter chuckled, then offered his hand. “You’re next.”
He watched Mohinder eye Peter’s hand before taking it in his own. Mohinder was warm against Peter’s cold, clammy skin; he twined his pale fingers among dark ones and took a deep breath. As the invisibility blanketed each of them, Molly giggled.
“That felt weird.”
“You get used to it,” Peter said, and squeezed her hand.
---
Their lives become a comfortable routine. Every morning Mohinder drops Peter off at the hospital before work, where Peter holds vigil at Nathan’s bedside. The brothers keep each other company until Angela visits around noon; Peter lurks in the cafeteria or hides in Matt’s room, waiting for her stiff collar to bob down the hallway before venturing back to Nathan. Until three Peter shares his brother with Heidi, sometimes the boys as well; and when Mohinder calls at the end of his shift, a yellow cab carries Peter home.
When Mohinder is too tired to cook, Peter orders Chinese from the restaurant down the street. They talk about Nathan and work and Mohinder’s list. Mohinder teaches Peter meditation to improve his control and calm his mind. In the later hours Mohinder locks himself in his office until Peter slides inside, offering movies or kisses or early bedtimes. They fall asleep in one another’s arms and wake with dawn on their faces.
The days grow shorter, the nights longer, and in time Peter tells Mohinder that he’s staying at the hospital for dinner. Just for today, he says. But today turns into tomorrow, and tomorrow a week, and soon Mohinder is always picking up Peter well after visiting hours. Peter stops talking about Nathan; he spends most of his time at home deep in meditation, huddled in the corner of the living room while Mohinder paces the office. And Peter comes into the office later and later, until it’s Mohinder who slides out to ask Peter when he plans on going to bed. There are no more movies-sometimes kisses, but in time those fade, too.
Soon Peter finds his dreams too much to bear, and he spends his nights in the kitchen, reading from yesterday’s newspaper. It takes three days for Mohinder to notice Peter’s absence; he tiptoes to the threshold, and Peter pretends he doesn’t sense him there. A month ago Mohinder would have drifted to Peter’s side and stayed with him through the night. But now, Peter knows, things are different.
“I want to help you,” Mohinder says that morning over breakfast.
“There’s nothing you can do,” Peter quietly responds.
---
“And Sylar?”
Mohinder stiffened; Peter could see his clenching muscles even in the darkness of Nathan’s recovery room. Both of their seats were pulled up next to Nathan’s bed; Molly was dozing on a couch on the other side of the room.
“I think he’s still alive,” Mohinder said, softly enough not to wake Nathan. “After the explosion, he … well, I didn’t see his body again.”
Peter ran trembling fingers through his hair. “Christ,” he whispered.
“My father kept a list of individuals who have special abilities-it’s what Sylar was after when he attacked me in my apartment. One version was destroyed that day, but I have a backup copy. It’s not complete, but once it is, I’m going to start finding them again. With Sylar still at large, they need to be warned.”
“I should have killed him,” Peter said bitterly.
“He looked dead to me. We all did what we could. Regardless, you saved the world tonight.”
“No. I tried to destroy the world. Nathan saved it from me.”
Mohinder was quiet for a moment. “But you brought him here, didn’t you?”
Peter shrugged noncommittally.
“I don’t pretend to know either of you well, Peter, but what I do know is this: you saved your brother’s life. He is alive because of you. And I can’t imagine he’ll ever forget that.”
They sat in silence. At length Peter looked down. “Mohinder?”
“Hmm?”
But he said nothing. Face cracking into a wry smile, Peter wrapped his fingers around the hand he still held firmly in his lap, having shed their invisibility long ago.
---
He drops his keys onto the side table on his way in and shrugs off his coat. The air feels numb. He doesn’t remember Mohinder having any fluorescent lights in the apartment, but nevertheless he can sense stale bulbs aching behind his eyes like white lights in a hospital wing.
He sees Mohinder rummaging around in the office, a shadow among shadows. Peter’s feet take him to the open glass doors, and he watches Mohinder’s back until he turns around. At the sight of Peter hovering in the threshold, Mohinder’s expression becomes bleak.
“What’s wrong?” Peter asks.
Mohinder approaches him cautiously, putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You didn’t walk home from the hospital, did you?”
Peter frowns. “The hospital?”
“I told you I’d pick you up at nine. Did something happen?” Mohinder cups a hand over Peter’s pallid face. Peter doesn’t understand what’s going on, doesn’t know why Mohinder’s eyes have started to turn glassy in the light from the window, but he feels like something important is waiting just on the tip of his tongue, something he’s supposed to know but can’t reach. He bites his lip in frustration. “Peter,” Mohinder says again, “something did happen, didn’t it? Is it Nathan? Is he …” His expression falters. “Oh, my God. My God,” he says hoarsely, pulling the confused man into an embrace. “Oh, Peter.”
Peter’s eyes grow wide. He chokes.
The aching white lights, the hollow cold, Nathan’s pale eyes closing-it hurtles back to him like a slap in the face, the day’s memories flooding down his cheeks until his veins are dry and shriveled, his body quaking in Mohinder’s arms as they sink together to the floor, his fingers clinging to Mohinder’s heartbeat through sweater and skin.
“Mohinder,” he sobs, and strong arms tighten around him.
“I’m here. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
And he stays with Peter all that evening, even as Peter begins to fade away alongside the tears; he stays with him into the night, sharing sheets with a stranger; and he stays with him through early morning, making love to a shell who drips with sweat and dying and who can’t feel anything except the end.
---
Peter lifted his head as Heidi approached him, managing to glimpse Simon and Monty in the other room huddled around Nathan before the door creaked closed.
“You look better than you did this morning,” Heidi said, sitting next to him and pressing the back of her hand against his forehead. “Your fever seems to have gone down, too. Did the doctor give you anything?”
“Nah. I just managed to get a couple hours’ sleep now that Nathan’s stabilized, that’s all.”
“You should have called me sooner, Peter.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She slipped an arm around his shoulders. “It’s a miracle you survived that fire without a scratch.”
Peter swallowed.
“So many miracles these past few days. I guess karma decided to balance that out, didn’t it?” She laughed, a loud, desperate noise, and her stare drifted distantly to the floor. Peter took her hand.
“He’ll be okay,” he said softly. “Nathan’s strong.”
She nodded but didn’t say anything. Eventually she stood, taking a deep breath. “I should see how the boys are doing. You coming in?”
“Not right now. I’m actually going to get a coffee-can I bring you anything?”
“No, I’m alright. Thanks, Peter.”
He smiled weakly. “I’ll be back soon.”
---
“You need to rest.”
“I’m fine.”
“You haven’t slept in a week.”
“I’m alive, aren’t I?”
Mohinder doesn’t answer. “You can’t keep going on like this,” he says eventually, an edge to his voice.
“Would you just drop it already? I’m fine.”
Mohinder rises from his seat. “For God’s sake, Peter, your brother just died! You don’t have to pretend you’re fine.”
“Don’t do this,” Peter moans.
“We can get through this together. Let me help you, let me-”
“Stop it!” Peter shouts. “Just stop!”
He takes a step back, shaken by his own voice. Mohinder looks about to say something, but Peter doesn’t give him a chance. With one last hollow glance, he grabs his coat and keys and sweeps soundlessly out the door.
---
The coffee vending machine was just down the hall from Matt’s room. Peter found himself walking toward the open door, two coffees in hand, but was almost knocked over as Molly barreled into his legs.
“Goodbye, Peter,” she said into his jeans.
“Goodbye? Where are you going?”
“To a real bed with real food in her stomach,” Mohinder said, stepping into the hallway. “She’s going home with Matt’s wife.”
“Janice says I can eat as much ice cream as I want,” Molly added.
Peter grinned. “I hope it’s not hospital ice cream. I’ve been in plenty of hospitals, but I haven’t found one yet with good ice cream.”
“She staying with Janice’s mother in New Jersey until Matt is in better shape,” Mohinder said. “Molly, Peter can’t walk if you keep hugging him like that. Can you keep Matt and Janice company while I talk to Peter?”
Molly pulled away from Peter reluctantly. “Will I ever see you again?”
“Of course you will. I’ll run into you when I visit Matt, won’t I? Go on, tell him I say hello.”
She disappeared into the hospital room as Peter and Mohinder stepped toward each other. Peter offered a coffee cup. “I thought you might need it.”
Mohinder smiled. “Thank you. How are you, then?”
“Okay. Nathan’s conscious, and Heidi and the boys are with him. You?”
“Glad that Molly’s looking happy again. I think she’s sick of this place. I should never have made her stay the night.” He looked uneasy. “Not that … it was a good night last night, regardless.”
“Yeah.” Peter paused. “Thank you for staying with me.”
Mohinder waved it away. Then his forehead tightened. “Don’t tell me you’re staying overnight again?”
“No, I think I’m going back to my apartment, now that Nathan’s awake and Heidi’s around. I could probably use the sleep.”
“You could definitely use the sleep.” Mohinder hesitated, shifting his weight. “Although I don’t think it’s wise for you to be alone right now.”
Peter glared at him. “I told you, I have everything under control.”
“And what if something happens?”
“Fine, then I’ll stay at Heidi’s house.” But Peter saw the flaw in this without Mohinder having to say a word. Heidi didn’t know about Peter’s abilities, and it wasn’t his place to tell her now. His mother wasn’t an option, either-he couldn’t face speaking to her right now, let alone live with her. Peter frowned.
“You could stay with me, if you like.”
Peter looked up.
“I could help you recover. Study your abilities, teach you to learn control. And if Sylar ever comes back, I’ll need more than a gun under my pillow to feel safe. We can protect each other. Plus, my couch is reasonably comfortable, otherwise you can sleep in my bed and I’ll take the-”
“Okay.”
Mohinder blinked. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
Mohinder let out a breath. “Okay,” he said again, and they grinned at each other. “Now, this can’t be a permanent arrangement-”
“No, of course not-”
“But as long as you need-”
“I’ll be out of your hair in no time. I owe you, Mohinder.”
They smiled again, and Peter felt his face grow warm.
---
Peter gags under Sylar’s hold, feet dangling, before squeezing his eyes shut and reappearing mere inches in front of the other man. He throws anger behind his eyes, and Sylar hurtles into the wall, knocking books and knickknacks off the shelves. Sylar roars, but by the time he glances up Peter has already blended into the walls. Both of them freeze, waiting for each other’s move. Peter takes a step toward Mohinder’s battered form across the room, but Sylar cocks his head at the sound of footfalls. With a twist of his lips he reaches out for Mohinder and squeezes.
Peter sheds his invisibility only after he and Sylar have crashed through the window, glass lodging in Peter’s flesh. When they hit concrete Peter’s spine cracks. He lies rigidly on his back for a lifetime, the pain reminding him that he isn’t dead, not yet, and when he’s mended enough to hoist himself up and look around, Sylar has already fled into the darkness.
It’s cold. And empty, except for the lace of ice and glass coating the street; and as he takes the stairs to the third floor, he feels the chill lingering in his new vertebrae, the bones groaning with disuse. Upstairs, the door hangs ajar. He finds Mohinder where Sylar left him, scattered about the broken chairs and vases. Peter kneels, takes the man’s head in his lap, and waits until Mohinder’s eyelids lift.
“At least no ceilings were involved this time,” Mohinder manages, trying to laugh but coughing violently instead. Peter holds a hand to Mohinder’s chest until the episode passes, blood staining Mohinder’s teeth. When Mohinder is quiet again, he brushes over Peter’s hand and frowns, touching something beneath the clenched fingers. They relax in invitation, and Mohinder pulls out a wrinkled slip of paper from underneath Peter’s palm. Mohinder rubs his thumb over the creases where the scrap has been folded and unfolded so many times that the paper fibers are nearly transparent. Peter watches Mohinder read the words, ten simple phrases first scribbled at the table that now lies upended by the door.
Mohinder’s eyes travel from the list of abilities to Peter’s face. “I thought you left for good,” he says after a moment. “I came home to find Sylar with my father’s list in his hand, and I was sure I would never see you again.”
“No one is allowed to hurt you but me,” Peter explains.
---
He felt at peace for the first time in a long while as he looked out the passenger-side window of Mohinder’s taxi. The buildings blurred in a whir of brick and steel, and dying sunlight glittered over Mohinder’s ID badge as it swung from the rearview mirror. Peter slipped on his sunglasses and instinctively pushed back his hair.
“Huh,” he said idly.
Mohinder glanced at him. “What is it?”
“Nothing. Just déjà vu.”
---
Outside, snow falls among early sprays of light, golds fanning out beneath airplane wings that shuttle across the airstrip. Mohinder sits beside him, eyes turned toward the windows, curls catching sun. Peter’s gaze falls to his lap where a list of names lies wrinkled and worn.
They don’t speak to each other.
But then Mohinder groans, a sound almost lost to the white noise of the airport, and places a hand to his ribs. Peter’s fingers twitch, but he does nothing. Eventually, his voice softly rises. “You okay?”
Mohinder nods. His hand drops to his lap. “Sore.”
A flight attendant’s drawl carries over the loudspeaker, and Peter rests his hand on the list. “Can we save them, Mohinder?” he murmurs.
Mohinder looks away from the window, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know.” Dawn surrounds him like a cloud. “But it’s a new day; we’ve got time, and hope. And we’re trying. Giving it our all. At this point, that’s all we can do.”
They settle into silence until the flight attendant gives the boarding call. Rising, they gather their bags, walk to the door, and begin.