Understanding [14/17]
Title: Understanding [14/17]
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairing/Characters: Mohinder/Sylar, Ensemble
Spoilers: Seasons 1 & 2, and some of the online comics.
Warnings: None! This part is rated PG-13 for mild language only.
This Time: Sylar ponders his situation and his next move, while Mohinder is forced to deal with Peter's concern.
A/N: The delay in getting this out is entirely due to the conversation between Peter and Mohinder that is the centerpiece of this chapter. It was hell to write. 4 astoundingly different drafts later, I'm finally happy with it. ladywilde80 was essential to this process with her input, advice and encouragment. I simply could not have done this without her.
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Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13
Light splashed across Mohinder’s face and he groaned in weary protest. However many hours of sleep he’d managed to accumulate, it clearly hadn’t been enough. The sun’s morning rays didn’t seem to care about his lack of sleep. They ignored his feeble protests and continued to jab painfully at his eyelids until he was forced to take action.
Mohinder muttered a curse and rolled out of bed. His eyes were still stuck three-quarters shut with sleep as he stumbled clumsily across the cold floor. He reached the curtains and managed to tug them shut before collapsing back into his bed, but the damage was done. His mind had switched on and started to process what had happened the night before. There was no way he’d be getting back to sleep any time soon.
He let out a sigh and ran his hands through bed-messy curls. He didn’t remember crawling into bed, let alone getting changed, but apparently he had at some point. He supposed he should be grateful. Through the years he’d fallen asleep sitting in all manner of chairs, and waking up afterwards had never been pleasant. They were times filled with aching muscles, odd cramps and the inevitable headache. Not to mention the lack of real, restful sleep.
A glance at the alarm clock blinking on his bedside table told Mohinder that it was 9:42am, and unless he’d slept more than 24 hours it was Sunday. As such, he was under no obligation to head to work (though his obsession with his research meant that it was always still an option). More importantly, there would be no harassment from Bob or anyone else at the Company. Unless there was some sort of emergency that required his attention, but if that happened Mohinder was pretty sure his head might just explode.
Though he’d never been particularly slothful, Mohinder was tempted to lie back down, pull the blankets over his head and escape into what he could only hope would be a dreamless sleep. Even after the super-sharp clarity of Sanjog’s ability-induced dreams had faded away, and harbingers of an apocalyptic future had left him in peace, Mohinder’s mind had whirred like mad. Though most of the true dreams had faded from his memory already, their intensity and the emotions they had provoked still lingered. Nothing specific, no one moment or feeling stood out. It was more like a whirlwind had stormed his mind and left chaos in its wake.
Sylar.
The implications, the pieces of the puzzle that had snapped into place the instant the words had left Patricia’s mouth, were enough to leave him weak in the knees. The potential compared with the reality, the paths that lay before them both. None of it would be in any way simple or easy. Mohinder wasn’t sure that he had the strength to do what had been asked of him. This past week had upended his world entirely, and now? Now he was drowning in an endless ocean of possibilities. What he could do, what he should do, what he wanted to; he was supposed to be in control of these things, but the more that happened, the more he felt that control slipping away. What little he had left was filled with painful choices that caused Mohinder to question himself in ways he never could have imagined. Dealing with Bob, the Company, and all the deceit and moral ambiguity therein felt like a walk in the park compared with what he was facing now.
Still, there was hope. Molly’s words echoed dangerously inside of Mohinder’s skull. Hope could be a double-edge sword.
“Peter Petrelli, you have a lot of explaining to do.”
Mohinder blinked at the sound of a thickly accented voice drifting in from the direction of his kitchen.
“I know Hiro,” Peter’s unmistakable voice sighed out. “God, I know.”
Mohinder was back out of bed in a flash, now wide awake and utterly indifferent to his disheveled state of being. He must have made a fair amount of noise before he burst out of his bedroom and into the main room of his apartment, because Hiro and Peter had both already turned in his direction as he skidded into sight.
“Where have you been?!” It was the only thing Mohinder could think to say. He’d been practically making himself sick with worry before sleep had finally dragged him away.
Peter tossed him a confused look before he glanced out the window at the bright light of the new day. Understanding sunk into his features and his mouth dropped open into a small, almost inaudible ‘oh…’
“I, er... must have time traveled on the way back.” He admitted with embarrassment, curling into himself a little with shoulders hunched. “Sylar nearly hit us with the door to Hiro’s apartment. I guess it messed with my concentration a bit.”
“Have we met before?” Hiro asked abruptly before Mohinder could inquire further. “You seem very familiar.”
It was then that Mohinder took in his current state of disarray. He needed a shower, shave, caffeine and a change of clothes rather desperately. The only consolation was that Hiro didn’t seem in much better shape. Still, Hiro wasn’t in his pajamas.
“Well I’m usually much more presentable than this,” he replied sheepishly. “But I’m sure we’ve never met. Well, not properly. I was in Kirby plaza then night when- well, but I’ve heard all about you though, Mr. Nakamura.” He offered his hand awkwardly, trying not to come across as a complete fool. “Mohinder Suresh.”
Hiro took his hand and shook it with a growing enthusiasm, his eyes going wide with delight.
“No, I have met you before!” He declared with excitement. “In future that no longer exists! You look very different without glasses or beard, but I never forget that voice. You save my life!”
Despite what could only be described as waking up on the decidedly wrong side of the bed, Mohinder couldn’t help but smile in amazement at the mere idea.
“I should very much like to hear all about it.”
Hiro’s excitement seemed to fade quickly though and he looked away off into a distant corner of the room.
“It was bad future,” he muttered softly. “Filled with many bad things…”
The words trailed into silence and nothing rushed to fill in the gap. Mohinder was silently pondering whether to press further, to ask about Hiro’s ability or address what had just happened with Sylar, when he noticed that Peter was staring at him. More specifically, he was trying to pretend like he wasn’t staring at the undisguised blemish on Mohinder’s neck and failing miserably at it. He did notice that Mohinder had noticed, however, and averted his gaze as Mohinder turned away to plug in the kettle, conveniently hiding the mark from sight for the moment.
“I should really get cleaned up,” he said in an attempt to direct things in a more comfortable direction. “Would you like some tea? Something to eat? Although, you must be tired Peter. It must feel like it’s somewhere around one in the morning to you right now.”
Peter nodded slowly. “Ya, but too much adrenaline in the system, ya know?” He coughed a little and spared Hiro a glance. “Anyway, Hiro and I have to talk some things out. There’s more privacy at the place Nathan got, and he’s probably worrying himself sick.”
“I expect he is,” Mohinder agreed politely, secretly glad for the return to privacy. At any other time he would have loved to pick Hiro’s brain, but he really had enough to deal with at the moment. Besides which, being around Peter these days was becoming increasingly exhausting.
“I’ll come back soon, though.” Peter added with certainty. “I’m sure you want to know what happened and… and there are some things we need to talk about.”
Lovely, Mohinder thought sarcastically. He really didn’t care if Peter heard that one either.
“Well you know where I live.”
“Right, of course.”
----------
Sylar let out a small yawn as his plane back to the US settled at cruising altitude. Adam, as it turned out, had some quite amazing resources built up over the years. His contacts were 30 years out of date, as was his grasp on technology, but he was a fast learner and money was the one constant that made the world go ‘round. Adam had caches all over the world: storage lockers, bank accounts, property. So no matter where he ended up, there were always resources at hand.
Sylar turned to frown at the occupants of the two seats in front of him. The woman resting her head on Adam’s shoulder, mumbling something about rescue missions and kidnappings being exhausting work, had come as a shock. One Sylar still wasn’t sure he was over.
After he’d finished dictating his terms and the deal was sealed in blood, so to speak, Adam had seen fit to introduce Sylar to his until-then silent partner. She was a partner in more than just business, but apparently his wife as well. When he first took in the polite but quiet red-head, Sylar had felt the strangest niggling of recognition. He’d flashed her his scariest grin out of habit as he ran through his memory, trying to figure out who she could be.
She had a bit of a frail build, tall for a woman but tiny compared to Sylar. Hair that seemed to refuse to decide whether it wanted to be curly or straight framed a pleasantly chiseled face and determined eyes that were the only hint that she was anything other than a timid little church mouse.
It was the eyes that finally did it. The ones he remembered with more world-weary, older, but they contained that same determination. Once he put that together it was easy to fit the rest of the puzzle around it. She was the woman who had come back from the future, only she wasn’t. This was the version from the present. Adam introduced her as Patricia and Sylar had nodded absently as his mind whirred with discovery.
There was no doubt about it. This Patricia was several pounds lighter with less muscle. The one from the future had been covered in layers of rags and dirt which had distorted her features and made her difficult to recognize, not to mention the attitude change, but Sylar’s eidetic memory didn’t lie. Unless she had a twin, they had to be the same woman. He didn’t doubt that 200 years of life where the world was dying around you could change a person, harden them.
It was strange to say the least and for a moment he wasn’t sure what to say. Then the old habits, the appropriate mask, swung into place. Intimidation was a useful tool in almost any situation.
“Another Empath, how wonderful,” he observed scornfully before rolling his eyes over towards Adam. “Is she as out of control as Petrelli?”
Adam’s expression made it plain that he hadn’t expected Sylar to be able to deduce what Patricia’s ability was just by looking at her, but he moved past the surprise swiftly and easily.
“No, as a matter of fact,” Adam had replied smoothly. “Empathy comes in varying strengths and degrees. Peter’s variety has the most raw power but, as you’ve so aptly observed, it can easily spiral out of control.”
Sylar quirked an eyebrow and ran his eyes up and down Patricia’s frame. She stood firm against the intense scrutiny, folding her arms and glaring stubbornly at him.
“You don’t want what I can do,” she told him firmly, though there was the slightest quiver of worry underneath. It was the most she had said to him up to that point and Sylar couldn’t resist letting out an amused chuckle as he deliberately ran his eyes along the invisible line on her forehead where he might draw his trademark incision.
“Not for the moment, at least,” he replied with a grin before moving on to more important matters. Even if he wanted her ability, Sylar got the distinct impression that her future self wouldn’t take too kindly to an attempt; more importantly though, he -rather grudgingly- owed this woman his life. Infuriating though that thought might be, killing her could mess with the future, and the past, in ways he didn’t particularly want to risk just yet. Besides which, he had agreed to leave her alone as a part of his deal with Monroe. Serial killer he might be, but he kept his promises; at least, unless he had sufficient reason not to.
Sylar let out a small puff of air, not quite a sigh, as he pushed Adam and Patricia from his mind. He closed his eyes, leaned back in his seat and set his thoughts to what was waiting for him back in New York. Though he couldn’t say he was all that surprised, he was definitely frustrated with himself over the fact that the first thing to spring to his mind was neither revenge nor the powers he was going to collect, but how much he was looking forward to seeing Mohinder again. He couldn’t even blame it on lust this time, though that was undeniably a factor.
Perhaps it was from spending his time with the disgustingly happy newlyweds. Though neither seemed overly enthusiastic about public intimacy, it was impossible to miss the signs. It was a glaring weakness, a potential Achilles heel for an enemy of either of them to exploit. Adam may have underestimated Sylar -everyone did at first, it was almost amusing- but he had a smart, sharp and devious mind. A little insane, granted, but then Sylar had never pretended to lay any claims on sanity himself. Someone with that much experience, who would quite likely exploit the same weakness in another, shouldn’t fall pray to it himself. Yet here he was, laying a light kiss to his wife’s temple, and Sylar’s chest tightened at the sight.
Jealousy was something he had experience with, but before it had always made sense. He craved the abilities that others squandered. As a child, he’d felt envy; he’d coveted his fair share of material objects. He’d wanted a life of meaning and significance, wanted to be special. Feeling jealous over something as paltry and mundane as the human connection between two people, it was beneath him.
Growling lightly to himself, Sylar grabbed at the bag sitting at his feet. He was wasting time sitting here, contemplating intangibles. He had work to do, facts to verify, deaths to plot. Little details like Mohinder’s scent, still lingering in the leather of the satchel, were adamantly pushed from his thoughts. He pulled the pilfered bag up off the floor and laid it slowly on his lap. Deft fingers undid the clasp and tugged its plain-looking contents free: his file. Gabriel “Sylar” Gray’s history as documented by Company researchers, stuffed in front of the far more detailed records of every experiment and medical procedure they had performed on him.
Sylar remembered precisely where the information he’d been most interested in rested. His memory didn’t require more than a cursory glance to effortlessly store and recall information. Sketchy details of how he got his abilities back were the first substantive contents beneath the cover sheet. Notation on the death of the talented agent acting as his jailer came next. These were followed by page after page of medical data. He planned to go through them all in detail later. For now, his interest lay in one particular event, his injection with the Shanti Virus.
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It was a little after noon before Peter returned once more.
Mohinder had taken the time to get cleaned up, eat, and try and sort his head out. Eating was the easy part. He’d finally had a chance to go grocery shopping the previous day before dinner. Sorting out his head had mostly taken place while standing under the hot stream of the shower. There was a lot still to be dealt with, but the things that worried him the most would have to wait until the next time he saw Sylar. There was no doubt in his mind there would be a next time either. There was that mildly sore and painfully visible reminder on his neck of Sylar’s promise to that effect.
The bruise had made getting dressed an unbelievable ordeal. Sylar had done an excellent job of causing damage and things had really only gotten worse overnight. Another turtleneck would have been the ideal solution, but New York had decided to finally, properly welcome spring and it was a maddeningly beautiful day. After more stressful contemplation than he cared to admit, he eventually decided he didn’t care what anyone saw or didn’t see. He wasn’t going to let Sylar get to him. Peter had already seen it and Mohinder didn’t intend to be particularly social otherwise. He’d thrown on a loosely buttoned white shirt over a pair of comfortable slacks and sat down on the couch to think and wait.
The knock on the door, when it finally came, jarred Mohinder out of his thoughts. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he forced his mind to change tracks. He got to his feet with a soft sigh and opened it after only the barest glance through the peephole. Reckless, perhaps, but Mohinder was feeling more than a bit reckless as of late.
“Hey,” Peter greeted softly, almost nervously, as he entered and closed the door behind him.
“Tea?” Mohinder offered automatically, going ahead and plugging in the kettle for himself.
“Sure, thanks. I could use the caffeine.” Peter stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, while Mohinder started pulling open cupboards and pulling out supplies. The tense silence was like a gaping wound, a chasm between the two men. Mohinder didn’t particularly feel like talking, and Peter seemed a bit at a loss. Eventually Peter took a seat at the table, though he couldn’t manage to keep still, shifting awkwardly in the chair.
“There isn’t much to tell, really.” Peter offered up finally. “I arrived a couple minutes before Sylar did. Thanks to Molly’s ability I could almost… feel his presence. It was really weird, you know, like a combination of seeing it in my mind and knowing. Well, anyway, he must have heard us talking because the last thing I saw before teleporting us both away was the door flying in off its hinges.”
“Well at least Hiro’s safe,” Mohinder mused as he poured out the boiling water.
“Ya,” Peter nodded absently. “Well, safe from Sylar anyway.”
“Right,” Mohinder added dryly before passing Peter his hot beverage and taking the seat opposite him. There were several moments of awkward silence in which Peter seemed to be struggling with his words and Mohinder’s patience grew increasingly thin. He focused on his annoyance, rather hoping that Peter picked up on it and didn’t do what Mohinder thought he was about to do. Then Peter took one long draw on his tea (which probably should have burned his tongue wickedly, but Peter seemed not to notice) before clearing his throat.
“I know we haven’t had a chance for private conversation since, well…”
“Since I basically accused you of being a lunatic?” Mohinder replied dryly with a thick undercurrent of regret.
“Don’t worry about it.” Peter dismissed before Mohinder could work out the words for an apology. “I know how I must have sounded and given your father- well…”
“Yes,” Mohinder acknowledge softly. Having an excuse for his behavior didn’t assuage his guilt at all, but now was really not the time to dwell on it.
“Right,” Peter plowed on diligently. “So we haven’t had a chance to talk just the two of us, but you have to know that I think of you as a friend, Mohinder. I wasn’t feeling very receptive at the time, but I do appreciate that you wanted to help when you showed up at my place with Nathan. Plus you saved his life a few days ago and, well, my point is that I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Mohinder averted his eyes, toying absently with his thumb ring. “I appreciate the sentiment Peter, I do. I wish things had gone differently and we had gotten to know one another before; but if you’re about to suggest- Listen I’m sorry I lied to you about coming back here, but I don’t need you to protect me. I can take care of myself.”
“You sure about that?” Peter questioned dubiously. He was met with a defiant stare and unyielding silence, but Mohinder wasn’t the only one capable of being stubborn and Peter plowed on. “I know you feel guilty for what happened to me; but it was my decision to make and I’d make it again.”
“You nearly died, Peter.” Mohinder broke his silence with evident frustration. “Now more than ever you’re the one that needs protecting. Just because he knows what’s at stake doesn’t mean you’re safe from Sylar. Just, trust me and stay away.”
“And what about you, huh?”
“I told you I can take care of myself.”
There was a long pause before Peter spoke again, this time prying from a different angle.
“Why did you lie about seeing Sylar?”
“I didn’t lie,” Mohinder retorted automatically. He didn’t like where this was going, but he couldn’t let Peter know that. “I told you both I saw him when he returned my keycard and that’s the truth.”
“But not the whole truth.” Peter insisted and Mohinder visibly twitched; his indignant façade dropping for a heartbeat before settling firmly back into place.
“You want to know all the details of how he taunted me about using me for his nefarious deeds again?” Mohinder sneered, walls of defense now fully erect. “Seems a bit nosey even for you.”
Peter reacted with a look that eerily resembled a kicked puppy, but was not discouraged.
“You can say as many hateful things about me as you want, Mohinder, but I’m not going away.”
Mohinder winced at the implication that he was being cruel, but bit back on the urge to deny it or retaliate. Denial was useless; he was resorting to nasty tactics to get Peter to leave him alone. Starting an argument now, however, would accomplish nothing. Mohinder took a long sip of his rapidly cooling tea and leveled a clearly annoyed glare at Peter.
“You tell Matt that he shows up at your apartment and nearly kills Elle, but doesn’t. Weird enough on its own,” Peter plowed on despite the cold shoulder. “Then he somehow follows us to the hospital where he knocks you out and attacks Nathan. Why bother with stealth? If Claire and I had shown up five minutes later would he have just been gone? Why kidnap you when he could have used the confusion to escape or maybe even kill us all? Why even kidnap you it the first place?”
He paused for breath in the vain hope that Mohinder would answer at least the last question, but Peter was met with yet another wall of silence, so he continued.
“You avoided me after that, and I thought maybe you were just traumatized or something. Maybe you just needed space to deal with it. Now I’m thinking there was something you didn’t want me to overhear.”
Mohinder averted his gaze with the last observation. Peter had hit the proverbial bull’s-eye and Mohinder’s traitorous subconscious spit out the thought, memory, indignation of ‘the bastard kissed me’ before he could stop it.
“It’s none of your business, Peter. Please, just leave it alone.” He pleaded immediately, forestalling whatever Peter’s reaction to that stray thought might have been; if he had heard it at all.
“As long as Sylar is a threat it is my business,” Peter protested. “More than that though. Ever since Saturday morning… I’m an Empath, Mohinder, and it means more than just absorbing abilities. Something major happened to you Friday night, and I don’t need to read your thoughts to know it. You do a good job of hiding it, but I can almost feel your pain and confusion. Just- I just want to help.”
“That’s new! When did you realize you-“
“If you want to study me you’ll have to answer my questions first.” Peter interrupted with a faint grin.
“Then I guess we’ll both just have to go unsatisfied,” Mohinder groused stubbornly.
Peter huffed in frustration, staring around the apartment as if something within it might hold the key to getting Mohinder to open up to him.
“Don’t you ever get tired of keeping everything bottled up inside you?”
“As opposed to wearing my heart on my sleeve and sharing my private life with the world?” Mohinder drawled disdainfully.
“You consider Sylar part of your private life?” Peter quirked an eyebrow at that and Mohinder sighed deeply.
“You’re really not going to give up are you?”
“Nope. You’re a smart guy. I thought you would have figured that out a while ago.” Peter retorted with a pronounced grin. It was the good-natured smile more than anything else that did Mohinder in. He threw himself to his feet and started pacing absently.
“Fine. Yes, Sylar was here longer than I said. Is that what you wanted to hear?” He crossed his arms over his chest and paused in his pacing to shoot a withering glare at Peter once more. Maybe it was petty or unnecessary, but the indignation felt right.
“Why?”
“Because he’s obsessed with me, ok? Maybe because when we first met I didn’t know who he was and showed him some kindness. Maybe because he wants to use me to find more victims. Maybe because he’s insane and his reasons won’t ever make sense to the rest of us. I don’t know!” He’d picked up his pacing once more and ran a hand through his hair, briefly tugging his curls in frustration. “I’ve got a serial killer stalker who thinks that murdering my father was a way of bringing us closer together!”
Peter’s mouth formed a surprised ‘O’, but he stayed silent and let Mohinder continue on. Now that he’d started, Mohinder was barreling ahead full steam, letting the flood of repressed anxiety pour forth.
“Oh it gets better! Either he’s a very good actor, or there’s an intelligent, philosophical man beneath the obvious psychosis. One I liked. One I made friends with, before I discovered the truth. So now he’s convinced that I can just ‘get over’ all the atrocities he’s committed. Except-“ Mohinder trailed off, unsure, and flopped exhaustedly into his chair once more.
“Except?” Peter prompted softly. The disgust and horror Mohinder had half expected were absent. Peter’s face was a simple picture of concern. Whether it was a mask or not, well it didn’t matter just yet.
“He didn’t kill Elle… I don’t know what that means, except she’s only alive because I begged him not to. It’s probably just another way to mess with my head, but…” he let out a deep sigh. “I had a… a dream last night.”
“Don’t tell me you’re getting prophetic dreams now too,” Peter joked lightly. “I thought you didn’t have an ability.”
Mohinder quirked the barest of smiles.
“I don’t, but there are others who can… enter the dreams of others. I met one when I went back home. He was almost like a spirit guide. If it weren’t for him I would have given up…”
Peter nodded and Mohinder pressed on.
“I saw a lot of different things last night, but the last…” He leaned forward onto the table. “Remember what Sylar said about an Empath from the future? Well I met her.”
“She came to you in a dream?”
“Skeptical?”
“Not at all,” Peter protested. “I mean, maybe if she hadn’t been right about me, but… no. Just, picturing how Nathan would be rolling his eyes right now, I guess.”
Mohinder nodded faintly. It didn’t take long to pick up on Nathan’s disdain for the fantastical; regardless of the reality of his own family’s incredible nature.
“So what did she say?” Peter prompted after a brief, awkward silence.
“You won’t believe it.”
“Oh come on, it’s me! Save the Cheerleader, Save the World, remember?”
Mohinder graced Peter with a long, penetrating look, clearly still skeptical. In the end though, he shrugged.
“She said that Sylar might be the only one who can save the world this time.”
“Bullshit!”
“Told you.”
“How? Anything he can do, I can do!”
“Theoretically,” Mohinder insisted gently. “No offense Peter, but the one thing he’s got that you don’t is control.”
Peter’s consternation was plastered clear as day on his face. Obviously he didn’t believe it, but then Mohinder was still having a hard time with that himself and he was pretty sure he knew what Sylar ‘saving the world’ entailed.
“At least it explains why she didn’t kill him when she had the chance,” Mohinder offered.
“How?” Peter demanded angrily. “How is Sylar supposed to save the world?”
“Well, I think, by helping me cure you.”
“You think?!”
“She was rather vague about it.”
“I don’t buy it. This has got to be some sort of trick.”
“I’ll admit the thought had crossed my mind, but the evidence would suggest otherwise.”
“You said he tricked you before.”
“That was different.” Mohinder insisted, “but thanks for twisting that dagger. It’s not like I feel enough guilt over what happened.”
Peter didn’t seem much affected by the sarcasm, though clearly not believing what Mohinder was saying. On a positive note, however, he seemed sufficiently distracted from further digging into Mohinder’s psyche.
“I need to borrow Molly’s maps again.” Peter finally offered out of the blue. “I promised Hiro I’d make sure his friend isn’t in any danger.”
----------
The plane shook jerkily as it passed through a pocket of turbulence. Various passengers muttered in annoyance or let out little hisses of fear. Sylar was not among them. In fact, he hardly registered the event. His mind was preoccupied with far more important things.
Soft breathing wafted through the air, also heedless of the turbulence. Patricia was soundly asleep, had been for a while now, and from the sound of his breathing Adam wasn’t far behind.
No rest for the wicked, Sylar thought nastily as he prodded Adam in the back of the head with a telekinetic jab. Adam grumbled something Sylar suspected was supposed to be crude and batted a hand sleepily through the air. As if he could brush away some petty annoyance. Sylar did not like the comparison; even if it was only of his own fabrication. He jabbed at Adam’s neck this time, sharpening the point of his telekinetic prod, drawing blood.
Adam startled awake with a curse. A flight attendant raised an eyebrow in his direction before asking if he needed anything. Adam shook his head, sent her away before turning back to flash a thinly veiled glare at Sylar.
“There are more civilized ways to get a man’s attention, you know.” He chided coolly.
Sylar leaned against his armrest, chin in hand.
“There are,” he agreed evenly.
Adam sighed with annoyance before extricating himself from his seat and coming around to take the empty one to Sylar’s left.
“Well, now you have my undivided attention,” Adam declared as if he was dealing with a petulant child. Sylar narrowed his eyes dangerously, but Adam held his gaze evenly, without flinching.
“Good,” Sylar replied with mock pleasantness. It wasn’t worth the commotion to kick Adam back into line. Not here, now, at any rate. With a flick of his finger, the single sheet Sylar had set aside floated into his grasp, where he held it up for Adam to see. “Robert Bishop, I want to know everything about him.”
Adam’s lips curled into a smile, “Oh we are going to work well together indeed”
----------
Peter pulled a map of the world out from within the others and spread it over the table. It was a strange sight for Mohinder, who was so used to seeing Molly rifle through these maps. It was almost wrong, in a way.
“Ok, here goes.” Peter announced before closing his eyes and letting a hand hover over the map.
Mohinder watched in silence. He still didn’t know what he was going to do, but getting Sylar’s whereabouts would at least give him an idea of how much time he had left.
Peter’s hand waved back and forth, smooth movements interspersed with erratic, jagged ones. His brow furrowed in concentration, teeth gritted as if he were having more trouble than the previous night. Mohinder noted this with some concern, but as the movements of Peter’s hand became more focused, he became consumed with the placement of the pushpin above all else. Abruptly Peter’s hand stopped, placing the pin in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, and let out a strangled gasp.
“Oh shit.” He breathed unsteadily and Mohinder gazed at him quizzically. This meant that Sylar was on his way back but it certainly wasn’t a reason to panic just yet, except Peter looked ready to.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Peter exclaimed almost frantically, dropping the pin and jumping away from the table as if it had suddenly burst into flames.
“What? What is it?” Mohinder demanded immediately.
“Adam,” Peter whispered the name with an indecipherable mixture of emotions. “Shit, Adam’s with Sylar!”
Mohinder ran what he knew of Adam through his head and had to reluctantly agree that this was not a good development.
“You saw them together?” Mohinder inquired after a moment, “and Adam’s not dead?”
“Side-by-side plane seats,” Peter offered as he leaned back against the couch for support. “It can’t be just a coincidence right?”
“Cellular regeneration has to be the one ability Sylar wants above all others. If he knows what Adam’s capable of, he shouldn’t be alive.” Mohinder affirmed, though with less confidence than he would have liked.
“Unless they’ve come up with some kind of deal,” Peter suggested immediately. “Adam, well he’s very good at manipulation.” He trailed off there with something of an embarrassed sigh.
“So is Sylar.” Mohinder rebutted half-heartedly. “To call it a coincidence would have to be wishful thinking.”
“We have to go tell Hiro. He’ll want to know Adam’s escaped…”
“Escaped?”
“Er… well, Hiro told me he left Adam somewhere he couldn’t hurt anyone ever again. Clearly it didn’t take.”
“Clearly."
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairing/Characters: Mohinder/Sylar, Ensemble
Spoilers: Seasons 1 & 2, and some of the online comics.
Warnings: None! This part is rated PG-13 for mild language only.
This Time: Sylar ponders his situation and his next move, while Mohinder is forced to deal with Peter's concern.
A/N: The delay in getting this out is entirely due to the conversation between Peter and Mohinder that is the centerpiece of this chapter. It was hell to write. 4 astoundingly different drafts later, I'm finally happy with it. ladywilde80 was essential to this process with her input, advice and encouragment. I simply could not have done this without her.
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Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13
Light splashed across Mohinder’s face and he groaned in weary protest. However many hours of sleep he’d managed to accumulate, it clearly hadn’t been enough. The sun’s morning rays didn’t seem to care about his lack of sleep. They ignored his feeble protests and continued to jab painfully at his eyelids until he was forced to take action.
Mohinder muttered a curse and rolled out of bed. His eyes were still stuck three-quarters shut with sleep as he stumbled clumsily across the cold floor. He reached the curtains and managed to tug them shut before collapsing back into his bed, but the damage was done. His mind had switched on and started to process what had happened the night before. There was no way he’d be getting back to sleep any time soon.
He let out a sigh and ran his hands through bed-messy curls. He didn’t remember crawling into bed, let alone getting changed, but apparently he had at some point. He supposed he should be grateful. Through the years he’d fallen asleep sitting in all manner of chairs, and waking up afterwards had never been pleasant. They were times filled with aching muscles, odd cramps and the inevitable headache. Not to mention the lack of real, restful sleep.
A glance at the alarm clock blinking on his bedside table told Mohinder that it was 9:42am, and unless he’d slept more than 24 hours it was Sunday. As such, he was under no obligation to head to work (though his obsession with his research meant that it was always still an option). More importantly, there would be no harassment from Bob or anyone else at the Company. Unless there was some sort of emergency that required his attention, but if that happened Mohinder was pretty sure his head might just explode.
Though he’d never been particularly slothful, Mohinder was tempted to lie back down, pull the blankets over his head and escape into what he could only hope would be a dreamless sleep. Even after the super-sharp clarity of Sanjog’s ability-induced dreams had faded away, and harbingers of an apocalyptic future had left him in peace, Mohinder’s mind had whirred like mad. Though most of the true dreams had faded from his memory already, their intensity and the emotions they had provoked still lingered. Nothing specific, no one moment or feeling stood out. It was more like a whirlwind had stormed his mind and left chaos in its wake.
Sylar.
The implications, the pieces of the puzzle that had snapped into place the instant the words had left Patricia’s mouth, were enough to leave him weak in the knees. The potential compared with the reality, the paths that lay before them both. None of it would be in any way simple or easy. Mohinder wasn’t sure that he had the strength to do what had been asked of him. This past week had upended his world entirely, and now? Now he was drowning in an endless ocean of possibilities. What he could do, what he should do, what he wanted to; he was supposed to be in control of these things, but the more that happened, the more he felt that control slipping away. What little he had left was filled with painful choices that caused Mohinder to question himself in ways he never could have imagined. Dealing with Bob, the Company, and all the deceit and moral ambiguity therein felt like a walk in the park compared with what he was facing now.
Still, there was hope. Molly’s words echoed dangerously inside of Mohinder’s skull. Hope could be a double-edge sword.
“Peter Petrelli, you have a lot of explaining to do.”
Mohinder blinked at the sound of a thickly accented voice drifting in from the direction of his kitchen.
“I know Hiro,” Peter’s unmistakable voice sighed out. “God, I know.”
Mohinder was back out of bed in a flash, now wide awake and utterly indifferent to his disheveled state of being. He must have made a fair amount of noise before he burst out of his bedroom and into the main room of his apartment, because Hiro and Peter had both already turned in his direction as he skidded into sight.
“Where have you been?!” It was the only thing Mohinder could think to say. He’d been practically making himself sick with worry before sleep had finally dragged him away.
Peter tossed him a confused look before he glanced out the window at the bright light of the new day. Understanding sunk into his features and his mouth dropped open into a small, almost inaudible ‘oh…’
“I, er... must have time traveled on the way back.” He admitted with embarrassment, curling into himself a little with shoulders hunched. “Sylar nearly hit us with the door to Hiro’s apartment. I guess it messed with my concentration a bit.”
“Have we met before?” Hiro asked abruptly before Mohinder could inquire further. “You seem very familiar.”
It was then that Mohinder took in his current state of disarray. He needed a shower, shave, caffeine and a change of clothes rather desperately. The only consolation was that Hiro didn’t seem in much better shape. Still, Hiro wasn’t in his pajamas.
“Well I’m usually much more presentable than this,” he replied sheepishly. “But I’m sure we’ve never met. Well, not properly. I was in Kirby plaza then night when- well, but I’ve heard all about you though, Mr. Nakamura.” He offered his hand awkwardly, trying not to come across as a complete fool. “Mohinder Suresh.”
Hiro took his hand and shook it with a growing enthusiasm, his eyes going wide with delight.
“No, I have met you before!” He declared with excitement. “In future that no longer exists! You look very different without glasses or beard, but I never forget that voice. You save my life!”
Despite what could only be described as waking up on the decidedly wrong side of the bed, Mohinder couldn’t help but smile in amazement at the mere idea.
“I should very much like to hear all about it.”
Hiro’s excitement seemed to fade quickly though and he looked away off into a distant corner of the room.
“It was bad future,” he muttered softly. “Filled with many bad things…”
The words trailed into silence and nothing rushed to fill in the gap. Mohinder was silently pondering whether to press further, to ask about Hiro’s ability or address what had just happened with Sylar, when he noticed that Peter was staring at him. More specifically, he was trying to pretend like he wasn’t staring at the undisguised blemish on Mohinder’s neck and failing miserably at it. He did notice that Mohinder had noticed, however, and averted his gaze as Mohinder turned away to plug in the kettle, conveniently hiding the mark from sight for the moment.
“I should really get cleaned up,” he said in an attempt to direct things in a more comfortable direction. “Would you like some tea? Something to eat? Although, you must be tired Peter. It must feel like it’s somewhere around one in the morning to you right now.”
Peter nodded slowly. “Ya, but too much adrenaline in the system, ya know?” He coughed a little and spared Hiro a glance. “Anyway, Hiro and I have to talk some things out. There’s more privacy at the place Nathan got, and he’s probably worrying himself sick.”
“I expect he is,” Mohinder agreed politely, secretly glad for the return to privacy. At any other time he would have loved to pick Hiro’s brain, but he really had enough to deal with at the moment. Besides which, being around Peter these days was becoming increasingly exhausting.
“I’ll come back soon, though.” Peter added with certainty. “I’m sure you want to know what happened and… and there are some things we need to talk about.”
Lovely, Mohinder thought sarcastically. He really didn’t care if Peter heard that one either.
“Well you know where I live.”
“Right, of course.”
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Sylar let out a small yawn as his plane back to the US settled at cruising altitude. Adam, as it turned out, had some quite amazing resources built up over the years. His contacts were 30 years out of date, as was his grasp on technology, but he was a fast learner and money was the one constant that made the world go ‘round. Adam had caches all over the world: storage lockers, bank accounts, property. So no matter where he ended up, there were always resources at hand.
Sylar turned to frown at the occupants of the two seats in front of him. The woman resting her head on Adam’s shoulder, mumbling something about rescue missions and kidnappings being exhausting work, had come as a shock. One Sylar still wasn’t sure he was over.
After he’d finished dictating his terms and the deal was sealed in blood, so to speak, Adam had seen fit to introduce Sylar to his until-then silent partner. She was a partner in more than just business, but apparently his wife as well. When he first took in the polite but quiet red-head, Sylar had felt the strangest niggling of recognition. He’d flashed her his scariest grin out of habit as he ran through his memory, trying to figure out who she could be.
She had a bit of a frail build, tall for a woman but tiny compared to Sylar. Hair that seemed to refuse to decide whether it wanted to be curly or straight framed a pleasantly chiseled face and determined eyes that were the only hint that she was anything other than a timid little church mouse.
It was the eyes that finally did it. The ones he remembered with more world-weary, older, but they contained that same determination. Once he put that together it was easy to fit the rest of the puzzle around it. She was the woman who had come back from the future, only she wasn’t. This was the version from the present. Adam introduced her as Patricia and Sylar had nodded absently as his mind whirred with discovery.
There was no doubt about it. This Patricia was several pounds lighter with less muscle. The one from the future had been covered in layers of rags and dirt which had distorted her features and made her difficult to recognize, not to mention the attitude change, but Sylar’s eidetic memory didn’t lie. Unless she had a twin, they had to be the same woman. He didn’t doubt that 200 years of life where the world was dying around you could change a person, harden them.
It was strange to say the least and for a moment he wasn’t sure what to say. Then the old habits, the appropriate mask, swung into place. Intimidation was a useful tool in almost any situation.
“Another Empath, how wonderful,” he observed scornfully before rolling his eyes over towards Adam. “Is she as out of control as Petrelli?”
Adam’s expression made it plain that he hadn’t expected Sylar to be able to deduce what Patricia’s ability was just by looking at her, but he moved past the surprise swiftly and easily.
“No, as a matter of fact,” Adam had replied smoothly. “Empathy comes in varying strengths and degrees. Peter’s variety has the most raw power but, as you’ve so aptly observed, it can easily spiral out of control.”
Sylar quirked an eyebrow and ran his eyes up and down Patricia’s frame. She stood firm against the intense scrutiny, folding her arms and glaring stubbornly at him.
“You don’t want what I can do,” she told him firmly, though there was the slightest quiver of worry underneath. It was the most she had said to him up to that point and Sylar couldn’t resist letting out an amused chuckle as he deliberately ran his eyes along the invisible line on her forehead where he might draw his trademark incision.
“Not for the moment, at least,” he replied with a grin before moving on to more important matters. Even if he wanted her ability, Sylar got the distinct impression that her future self wouldn’t take too kindly to an attempt; more importantly though, he -rather grudgingly- owed this woman his life. Infuriating though that thought might be, killing her could mess with the future, and the past, in ways he didn’t particularly want to risk just yet. Besides which, he had agreed to leave her alone as a part of his deal with Monroe. Serial killer he might be, but he kept his promises; at least, unless he had sufficient reason not to.
Sylar let out a small puff of air, not quite a sigh, as he pushed Adam and Patricia from his mind. He closed his eyes, leaned back in his seat and set his thoughts to what was waiting for him back in New York. Though he couldn’t say he was all that surprised, he was definitely frustrated with himself over the fact that the first thing to spring to his mind was neither revenge nor the powers he was going to collect, but how much he was looking forward to seeing Mohinder again. He couldn’t even blame it on lust this time, though that was undeniably a factor.
Perhaps it was from spending his time with the disgustingly happy newlyweds. Though neither seemed overly enthusiastic about public intimacy, it was impossible to miss the signs. It was a glaring weakness, a potential Achilles heel for an enemy of either of them to exploit. Adam may have underestimated Sylar -everyone did at first, it was almost amusing- but he had a smart, sharp and devious mind. A little insane, granted, but then Sylar had never pretended to lay any claims on sanity himself. Someone with that much experience, who would quite likely exploit the same weakness in another, shouldn’t fall pray to it himself. Yet here he was, laying a light kiss to his wife’s temple, and Sylar’s chest tightened at the sight.
Jealousy was something he had experience with, but before it had always made sense. He craved the abilities that others squandered. As a child, he’d felt envy; he’d coveted his fair share of material objects. He’d wanted a life of meaning and significance, wanted to be special. Feeling jealous over something as paltry and mundane as the human connection between two people, it was beneath him.
Growling lightly to himself, Sylar grabbed at the bag sitting at his feet. He was wasting time sitting here, contemplating intangibles. He had work to do, facts to verify, deaths to plot. Little details like Mohinder’s scent, still lingering in the leather of the satchel, were adamantly pushed from his thoughts. He pulled the pilfered bag up off the floor and laid it slowly on his lap. Deft fingers undid the clasp and tugged its plain-looking contents free: his file. Gabriel “Sylar” Gray’s history as documented by Company researchers, stuffed in front of the far more detailed records of every experiment and medical procedure they had performed on him.
Sylar remembered precisely where the information he’d been most interested in rested. His memory didn’t require more than a cursory glance to effortlessly store and recall information. Sketchy details of how he got his abilities back were the first substantive contents beneath the cover sheet. Notation on the death of the talented agent acting as his jailer came next. These were followed by page after page of medical data. He planned to go through them all in detail later. For now, his interest lay in one particular event, his injection with the Shanti Virus.
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It was a little after noon before Peter returned once more.
Mohinder had taken the time to get cleaned up, eat, and try and sort his head out. Eating was the easy part. He’d finally had a chance to go grocery shopping the previous day before dinner. Sorting out his head had mostly taken place while standing under the hot stream of the shower. There was a lot still to be dealt with, but the things that worried him the most would have to wait until the next time he saw Sylar. There was no doubt in his mind there would be a next time either. There was that mildly sore and painfully visible reminder on his neck of Sylar’s promise to that effect.
The bruise had made getting dressed an unbelievable ordeal. Sylar had done an excellent job of causing damage and things had really only gotten worse overnight. Another turtleneck would have been the ideal solution, but New York had decided to finally, properly welcome spring and it was a maddeningly beautiful day. After more stressful contemplation than he cared to admit, he eventually decided he didn’t care what anyone saw or didn’t see. He wasn’t going to let Sylar get to him. Peter had already seen it and Mohinder didn’t intend to be particularly social otherwise. He’d thrown on a loosely buttoned white shirt over a pair of comfortable slacks and sat down on the couch to think and wait.
The knock on the door, when it finally came, jarred Mohinder out of his thoughts. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he forced his mind to change tracks. He got to his feet with a soft sigh and opened it after only the barest glance through the peephole. Reckless, perhaps, but Mohinder was feeling more than a bit reckless as of late.
“Hey,” Peter greeted softly, almost nervously, as he entered and closed the door behind him.
“Tea?” Mohinder offered automatically, going ahead and plugging in the kettle for himself.
“Sure, thanks. I could use the caffeine.” Peter stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, while Mohinder started pulling open cupboards and pulling out supplies. The tense silence was like a gaping wound, a chasm between the two men. Mohinder didn’t particularly feel like talking, and Peter seemed a bit at a loss. Eventually Peter took a seat at the table, though he couldn’t manage to keep still, shifting awkwardly in the chair.
“There isn’t much to tell, really.” Peter offered up finally. “I arrived a couple minutes before Sylar did. Thanks to Molly’s ability I could almost… feel his presence. It was really weird, you know, like a combination of seeing it in my mind and knowing. Well, anyway, he must have heard us talking because the last thing I saw before teleporting us both away was the door flying in off its hinges.”
“Well at least Hiro’s safe,” Mohinder mused as he poured out the boiling water.
“Ya,” Peter nodded absently. “Well, safe from Sylar anyway.”
“Right,” Mohinder added dryly before passing Peter his hot beverage and taking the seat opposite him. There were several moments of awkward silence in which Peter seemed to be struggling with his words and Mohinder’s patience grew increasingly thin. He focused on his annoyance, rather hoping that Peter picked up on it and didn’t do what Mohinder thought he was about to do. Then Peter took one long draw on his tea (which probably should have burned his tongue wickedly, but Peter seemed not to notice) before clearing his throat.
“I know we haven’t had a chance for private conversation since, well…”
“Since I basically accused you of being a lunatic?” Mohinder replied dryly with a thick undercurrent of regret.
“Don’t worry about it.” Peter dismissed before Mohinder could work out the words for an apology. “I know how I must have sounded and given your father- well…”
“Yes,” Mohinder acknowledge softly. Having an excuse for his behavior didn’t assuage his guilt at all, but now was really not the time to dwell on it.
“Right,” Peter plowed on diligently. “So we haven’t had a chance to talk just the two of us, but you have to know that I think of you as a friend, Mohinder. I wasn’t feeling very receptive at the time, but I do appreciate that you wanted to help when you showed up at my place with Nathan. Plus you saved his life a few days ago and, well, my point is that I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Mohinder averted his eyes, toying absently with his thumb ring. “I appreciate the sentiment Peter, I do. I wish things had gone differently and we had gotten to know one another before; but if you’re about to suggest- Listen I’m sorry I lied to you about coming back here, but I don’t need you to protect me. I can take care of myself.”
“You sure about that?” Peter questioned dubiously. He was met with a defiant stare and unyielding silence, but Mohinder wasn’t the only one capable of being stubborn and Peter plowed on. “I know you feel guilty for what happened to me; but it was my decision to make and I’d make it again.”
“You nearly died, Peter.” Mohinder broke his silence with evident frustration. “Now more than ever you’re the one that needs protecting. Just because he knows what’s at stake doesn’t mean you’re safe from Sylar. Just, trust me and stay away.”
“And what about you, huh?”
“I told you I can take care of myself.”
There was a long pause before Peter spoke again, this time prying from a different angle.
“Why did you lie about seeing Sylar?”
“I didn’t lie,” Mohinder retorted automatically. He didn’t like where this was going, but he couldn’t let Peter know that. “I told you both I saw him when he returned my keycard and that’s the truth.”
“But not the whole truth.” Peter insisted and Mohinder visibly twitched; his indignant façade dropping for a heartbeat before settling firmly back into place.
“You want to know all the details of how he taunted me about using me for his nefarious deeds again?” Mohinder sneered, walls of defense now fully erect. “Seems a bit nosey even for you.”
Peter reacted with a look that eerily resembled a kicked puppy, but was not discouraged.
“You can say as many hateful things about me as you want, Mohinder, but I’m not going away.”
Mohinder winced at the implication that he was being cruel, but bit back on the urge to deny it or retaliate. Denial was useless; he was resorting to nasty tactics to get Peter to leave him alone. Starting an argument now, however, would accomplish nothing. Mohinder took a long sip of his rapidly cooling tea and leveled a clearly annoyed glare at Peter.
“You tell Matt that he shows up at your apartment and nearly kills Elle, but doesn’t. Weird enough on its own,” Peter plowed on despite the cold shoulder. “Then he somehow follows us to the hospital where he knocks you out and attacks Nathan. Why bother with stealth? If Claire and I had shown up five minutes later would he have just been gone? Why kidnap you when he could have used the confusion to escape or maybe even kill us all? Why even kidnap you it the first place?”
He paused for breath in the vain hope that Mohinder would answer at least the last question, but Peter was met with yet another wall of silence, so he continued.
“You avoided me after that, and I thought maybe you were just traumatized or something. Maybe you just needed space to deal with it. Now I’m thinking there was something you didn’t want me to overhear.”
Mohinder averted his gaze with the last observation. Peter had hit the proverbial bull’s-eye and Mohinder’s traitorous subconscious spit out the thought, memory, indignation of ‘the bastard kissed me’ before he could stop it.
“It’s none of your business, Peter. Please, just leave it alone.” He pleaded immediately, forestalling whatever Peter’s reaction to that stray thought might have been; if he had heard it at all.
“As long as Sylar is a threat it is my business,” Peter protested. “More than that though. Ever since Saturday morning… I’m an Empath, Mohinder, and it means more than just absorbing abilities. Something major happened to you Friday night, and I don’t need to read your thoughts to know it. You do a good job of hiding it, but I can almost feel your pain and confusion. Just- I just want to help.”
“That’s new! When did you realize you-“
“If you want to study me you’ll have to answer my questions first.” Peter interrupted with a faint grin.
“Then I guess we’ll both just have to go unsatisfied,” Mohinder groused stubbornly.
Peter huffed in frustration, staring around the apartment as if something within it might hold the key to getting Mohinder to open up to him.
“Don’t you ever get tired of keeping everything bottled up inside you?”
“As opposed to wearing my heart on my sleeve and sharing my private life with the world?” Mohinder drawled disdainfully.
“You consider Sylar part of your private life?” Peter quirked an eyebrow at that and Mohinder sighed deeply.
“You’re really not going to give up are you?”
“Nope. You’re a smart guy. I thought you would have figured that out a while ago.” Peter retorted with a pronounced grin. It was the good-natured smile more than anything else that did Mohinder in. He threw himself to his feet and started pacing absently.
“Fine. Yes, Sylar was here longer than I said. Is that what you wanted to hear?” He crossed his arms over his chest and paused in his pacing to shoot a withering glare at Peter once more. Maybe it was petty or unnecessary, but the indignation felt right.
“Why?”
“Because he’s obsessed with me, ok? Maybe because when we first met I didn’t know who he was and showed him some kindness. Maybe because he wants to use me to find more victims. Maybe because he’s insane and his reasons won’t ever make sense to the rest of us. I don’t know!” He’d picked up his pacing once more and ran a hand through his hair, briefly tugging his curls in frustration. “I’ve got a serial killer stalker who thinks that murdering my father was a way of bringing us closer together!”
Peter’s mouth formed a surprised ‘O’, but he stayed silent and let Mohinder continue on. Now that he’d started, Mohinder was barreling ahead full steam, letting the flood of repressed anxiety pour forth.
“Oh it gets better! Either he’s a very good actor, or there’s an intelligent, philosophical man beneath the obvious psychosis. One I liked. One I made friends with, before I discovered the truth. So now he’s convinced that I can just ‘get over’ all the atrocities he’s committed. Except-“ Mohinder trailed off, unsure, and flopped exhaustedly into his chair once more.
“Except?” Peter prompted softly. The disgust and horror Mohinder had half expected were absent. Peter’s face was a simple picture of concern. Whether it was a mask or not, well it didn’t matter just yet.
“He didn’t kill Elle… I don’t know what that means, except she’s only alive because I begged him not to. It’s probably just another way to mess with my head, but…” he let out a deep sigh. “I had a… a dream last night.”
“Don’t tell me you’re getting prophetic dreams now too,” Peter joked lightly. “I thought you didn’t have an ability.”
Mohinder quirked the barest of smiles.
“I don’t, but there are others who can… enter the dreams of others. I met one when I went back home. He was almost like a spirit guide. If it weren’t for him I would have given up…”
Peter nodded and Mohinder pressed on.
“I saw a lot of different things last night, but the last…” He leaned forward onto the table. “Remember what Sylar said about an Empath from the future? Well I met her.”
“She came to you in a dream?”
“Skeptical?”
“Not at all,” Peter protested. “I mean, maybe if she hadn’t been right about me, but… no. Just, picturing how Nathan would be rolling his eyes right now, I guess.”
Mohinder nodded faintly. It didn’t take long to pick up on Nathan’s disdain for the fantastical; regardless of the reality of his own family’s incredible nature.
“So what did she say?” Peter prompted after a brief, awkward silence.
“You won’t believe it.”
“Oh come on, it’s me! Save the Cheerleader, Save the World, remember?”
Mohinder graced Peter with a long, penetrating look, clearly still skeptical. In the end though, he shrugged.
“She said that Sylar might be the only one who can save the world this time.”
“Bullshit!”
“Told you.”
“How? Anything he can do, I can do!”
“Theoretically,” Mohinder insisted gently. “No offense Peter, but the one thing he’s got that you don’t is control.”
Peter’s consternation was plastered clear as day on his face. Obviously he didn’t believe it, but then Mohinder was still having a hard time with that himself and he was pretty sure he knew what Sylar ‘saving the world’ entailed.
“At least it explains why she didn’t kill him when she had the chance,” Mohinder offered.
“How?” Peter demanded angrily. “How is Sylar supposed to save the world?”
“Well, I think, by helping me cure you.”
“You think?!”
“She was rather vague about it.”
“I don’t buy it. This has got to be some sort of trick.”
“I’ll admit the thought had crossed my mind, but the evidence would suggest otherwise.”
“You said he tricked you before.”
“That was different.” Mohinder insisted, “but thanks for twisting that dagger. It’s not like I feel enough guilt over what happened.”
Peter didn’t seem much affected by the sarcasm, though clearly not believing what Mohinder was saying. On a positive note, however, he seemed sufficiently distracted from further digging into Mohinder’s psyche.
“I need to borrow Molly’s maps again.” Peter finally offered out of the blue. “I promised Hiro I’d make sure his friend isn’t in any danger.”
----------
The plane shook jerkily as it passed through a pocket of turbulence. Various passengers muttered in annoyance or let out little hisses of fear. Sylar was not among them. In fact, he hardly registered the event. His mind was preoccupied with far more important things.
Soft breathing wafted through the air, also heedless of the turbulence. Patricia was soundly asleep, had been for a while now, and from the sound of his breathing Adam wasn’t far behind.
No rest for the wicked, Sylar thought nastily as he prodded Adam in the back of the head with a telekinetic jab. Adam grumbled something Sylar suspected was supposed to be crude and batted a hand sleepily through the air. As if he could brush away some petty annoyance. Sylar did not like the comparison; even if it was only of his own fabrication. He jabbed at Adam’s neck this time, sharpening the point of his telekinetic prod, drawing blood.
Adam startled awake with a curse. A flight attendant raised an eyebrow in his direction before asking if he needed anything. Adam shook his head, sent her away before turning back to flash a thinly veiled glare at Sylar.
“There are more civilized ways to get a man’s attention, you know.” He chided coolly.
Sylar leaned against his armrest, chin in hand.
“There are,” he agreed evenly.
Adam sighed with annoyance before extricating himself from his seat and coming around to take the empty one to Sylar’s left.
“Well, now you have my undivided attention,” Adam declared as if he was dealing with a petulant child. Sylar narrowed his eyes dangerously, but Adam held his gaze evenly, without flinching.
“Good,” Sylar replied with mock pleasantness. It wasn’t worth the commotion to kick Adam back into line. Not here, now, at any rate. With a flick of his finger, the single sheet Sylar had set aside floated into his grasp, where he held it up for Adam to see. “Robert Bishop, I want to know everything about him.”
Adam’s lips curled into a smile, “Oh we are going to work well together indeed”
----------
Peter pulled a map of the world out from within the others and spread it over the table. It was a strange sight for Mohinder, who was so used to seeing Molly rifle through these maps. It was almost wrong, in a way.
“Ok, here goes.” Peter announced before closing his eyes and letting a hand hover over the map.
Mohinder watched in silence. He still didn’t know what he was going to do, but getting Sylar’s whereabouts would at least give him an idea of how much time he had left.
Peter’s hand waved back and forth, smooth movements interspersed with erratic, jagged ones. His brow furrowed in concentration, teeth gritted as if he were having more trouble than the previous night. Mohinder noted this with some concern, but as the movements of Peter’s hand became more focused, he became consumed with the placement of the pushpin above all else. Abruptly Peter’s hand stopped, placing the pin in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, and let out a strangled gasp.
“Oh shit.” He breathed unsteadily and Mohinder gazed at him quizzically. This meant that Sylar was on his way back but it certainly wasn’t a reason to panic just yet, except Peter looked ready to.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Peter exclaimed almost frantically, dropping the pin and jumping away from the table as if it had suddenly burst into flames.
“What? What is it?” Mohinder demanded immediately.
“Adam,” Peter whispered the name with an indecipherable mixture of emotions. “Shit, Adam’s with Sylar!”
Mohinder ran what he knew of Adam through his head and had to reluctantly agree that this was not a good development.
“You saw them together?” Mohinder inquired after a moment, “and Adam’s not dead?”
“Side-by-side plane seats,” Peter offered as he leaned back against the couch for support. “It can’t be just a coincidence right?”
“Cellular regeneration has to be the one ability Sylar wants above all others. If he knows what Adam’s capable of, he shouldn’t be alive.” Mohinder affirmed, though with less confidence than he would have liked.
“Unless they’ve come up with some kind of deal,” Peter suggested immediately. “Adam, well he’s very good at manipulation.” He trailed off there with something of an embarrassed sigh.
“So is Sylar.” Mohinder rebutted half-heartedly. “To call it a coincidence would have to be wishful thinking.”
“We have to go tell Hiro. He’ll want to know Adam’s escaped…”
“Escaped?”
“Er… well, Hiro told me he left Adam somewhere he couldn’t hurt anyone ever again. Clearly it didn’t take.”
“Clearly."