Starting Over: Part 1
Title: Tea Lounge
Characters/Pairing: Mohinder and Sylar; references to offstage Matt/Mohinder
Rating: PG-13 for language
Words: 2879
Spoilers: This starts up sometime around Truth & Conequences, but I've reimagined Sylar's season 2 storyline and changes a couple of other things (like Nathan's shooting).
Summary: In which Sylar pays Mohinder a visit.
Author's Note: This is an experiment in minimal-angst Mylar (although, with these two, how minimal can you really get?) inspired by baehj2915's amazing "Matt Is, Mohinder Isn't" series. The premise is: what would happen if Sylar got "better"? Each chapter will have two sections, one from Mohinder's POV, and one from Sylar's POV. But this does not necessarily mean that they always get an even split. It's my first attempt at Mylar, and only my second story ever, so feedback would be greatly appreciated!
Mohinder’s POV:
What a week. I had been recruited by a nefarious organization and wound up trying to save the world from a deadly virus. I had had my nose broken by a schizophrenic blonde with super-strength, met Bob’s psychotic blonde daughter with electricity powers (note to self to investigate any interesting links between the blonde gene, the super-power gene, and mental instability among females), and my ego-boosting spy partnership with Bennet had officially come crashing to the ground.
It was good to be home again after that traumatizing California trip. I was looking forward to seeing Matthew and Molly and being around people who weren’t dangerous, paranoid, or insane. As I dropped my bags by the table and eased my coat off, I noticed a note on the table. It was from Matthew. He had gone somewhere on a case with Nathan Petrelli and didn’t know when he would be back. I smiled as I thought of Matthew. We'd only taken that next step a week before, but things were progressing nicely. He was such a wonderful person. So much more wholesome than…
My thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell. I looked through the peephole, and… speak of the devil. Literally.
I tripped, fell down, got up, and looked through the peephole again. He was still there. My mind was blank. (Matthew would have been ecstatic to hear that.) I’m not sure how much time passed while I stood paralyzed by the door.
“Mohinder?”
It had to be a ghost. Real life serial killers should exude menace, and indeed, the last time I had seen him, he was definitely in menacing psycho mode. However, this time, through the peephole, Sylar looked and sounded shy and nervous---his shoulders hunched, his head bowed, and his hands in his pockets---rather like the first time I met him. So… definitely a ghost. The only problem was that I don’t believe in ghosts, which left only one alternative…
“Mohinder? Is that you in there?”
“What do you want?” I felt angry at myself for having addressed him. I shouldn't have encouraged the existence of this entire situation.
“I just want to talk.”
What? I thought. I decided to ignore that, as it made no sense. Sylar never just wanted to talk. Well, except for during our road trip when he could have killed me instead of following me around. And also the time he called me, since it turned out that he really had been scared of blowing up the city... Fine, maybe it was possible that he just wanted to talk, but I still found it unlikely, so I continued to argue.
“Whatever you’re after, you’re not coming in here,” I shouted through the door.
“Honestly, I’m not after anything, but I can understand why you’re nervous. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to hurt anyone. I promise. We can go somewhere else if you don’t want to let me in. What about Tea Lounge on 7th Avenue?”
This was bizarre. A serial killer was asking me out for tea. I knew he was insane, but this was a new twist. Maybe the best idea was to do what he wanted and see what happened. Being in public was a good idea. I doubted he would kill me in front of the entire population of Park Slope mothers.
“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but fine. You leave first. I’ll watch you from the window to make sure you’ve left the building and then I’ll see you there in five minutes. But don’t pull any tricks.” Spending time with Bennet had given me lessons in the order-barking department, but deep down, I asked myself who I was to be bossing around super-powered murderers. But the amazing thing is that he simply went with it.
“Ok,” he said. “I’ll see you there.”
It actually worked. Dumbfounded, I watched him shuffle away through the peephole, but just as I turned to lean my back against the door and breathe, I heard his voice again. He was back.
“Do you want me to order anything for you before you get there? I remember last time you asked for a chai latte.”
“Um, sure. That would be lovely. I can pay you back when I get there.” This conversation had officially left the realm of the possible, and I found myself just going with it, too.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s on me. Soy milk, right?”
“Yes. Soy. Thanks.” I heard him walk away again and go down the stairs.
What the fuck? I had just agreed to go for tea at the hip local coffee shop with a dead serial killer who remembered my preferences. Was it a dream? Was it a trick? Was he going to kill me? At least Molly was going to be busy with afterschool activities until very late. She was safe enough, I hoped. If I didn’t show up, one of her friend’s mothers would take her home. This had happened earlier in the week when I was in California and Matthew was working late with Nathan.
Matthew. Thank god he was away from this nightmare. What would he do? I couldn’t call him. Sylar had that poor woman’s super-hearing power, and could be listening to see if I would call anyone. Should I bring the company gun? No, shooting Sylar hadn’t gone very well the last time. I went to the window and saw a tall man leave the building and cross the street. My stomach did a little flip that I assume was terror. It was definitely Sylar. I put my coat back on and went outside. There was no point in trying to run away; if I didn’t go, there was no telling what he would do.
And anyway, crazy as it sounds, I did kind of want a latte.
Gabriel’s POV:
I sat down in an armchair in the corner, holding Mohinder’s soy chai latte and my own cappuccino. I hadn’t had one since the day I had spent at Mohinder’s apartment months ago (although it only felt like a couple of weeks ago to me). Mohinder had let me out of the car in front of this very coffee shop to get drinks and snacks while he parked. That had been such a great day… until it all went to shit.
Anyway, I decided not to waste time ruing the past. I was here to try to make things better. Even though it wasn’t quite what I had planned, this coffee shop was actually better than sitting in the apartment. At least that ceiling wouldn’t be hanging over us. And coffee, not tea. A new start. A new beginning. This, this right here was normal, right? I was sitting in a nice coffee shop on a sunny day waiting to meet a friend for a catch-up session.
Except that I was now sane enough to know that the guy I was meeting was not my friend. He was a guy whose father I had murdered, and the last time we spoke in person, he gave me an unanaesthetized spinal tap and I killed an acquaintance of his (a thoroughly annoying one---I still irrationally hated stupid, pretty-boy Peter Petrelli. What was he even doing there that day? Mohinder hadn’t invited him, and he just let himself in like he was used to dropping by all the time). Anyway. I had a lot of making up to do.
I shifted uncomfortably in my armchair, trying to get into a suave yet unthreatening position. I wanted to appear as normal and unscary as possible. Just as I started to worry that Mohinder had panicked and skipped town, he walked in and started nervously scanning the room. I sort of froze, not sure what to do, not sure what I had just gotten myself into. I wasn’t the only one. Mohinder had that quintessential Mohinder look on his face of, “Oh my god, this is a ridiculous situation.” Hee. He really did have a knack for getting himself into ridiculous situations.
He nervously smiled and said hello to the barista, who dropped the coffee she was holding. Ah, people’s reactions to Mohinder’s smiles. I had forgotten about that. I was surprised to see him sporting a huge bandage on his nose. He also had a black eye and looked like he hadn’t slept in days. I wondered what had happened. He was wearing one of his signature shirts under a brown jacket. Basically, he looked like ass.
Oh, who am I trying to kid? Even with a broken nose and wearing stupid shirts, Mohinder still managed to make my stomach jump up and say hi to my trachea.
Finally, he noticed me in the corner, and started to give me the automatic smile that one gives to friends they’ve come to meet. But then I guess he remembered that we weren’t actually friends and he didn’t really want to see me, so he stopped. That hurt, but I knew I didn’t deserve any better.
"Hey, Mohinder," I croaked as he sat down, cursing silently that I sounded so nervous. "Nice to see you again. What happened to your nose?"
Instead of responding, he took his tea, put the exact amount of money on the little coffee table between us, and glared at me with a look that screamed tell-me-why-I-shouldn’t-call-the-FBI. It was obvious that he didn’t want to start the conversation, but all of my prepared scenarios began with him asking me how I was still alive. Since he wasn’t going to cooperate, I decided to do it myself.
“So… yeah, I’m still alive.” Wow, that sounded lame.
“So it would appear.” Now he was looking around the room shiftily, as if he was nervous someone he knew would walk in and see us together. I didn’t see what the problem was. No one who knew I used to be a killer was likely to walk in. I decided to just keep going with my speech, despite the lack of a prompt. He was supposed to ask me how, dammit!
“I woke up from a coma a couple of weeks ago. I was rescued by a woman named Michelle---or maybe Candice... it was unclear---who makes illusions. She works for a secret organization that kidnapped me a few weeks before I first met you. I...” I interrupted my prepared speech because Mohinder was looking like he had seen a ghost. I mean, a ghost more ghostly than me. But at least he was making eye contact.
“Candice?! Elle's friend? You were rescued by the company! They kept you alive? Why?” While the sentiment that lay behind the question wasn’t exactly the friendliest, and I had no idea who Elle was, at least he was responding. Finally, we were on track with one of my imagined conversations.
“They wanted to experiment on me. They tried once before, but I escaped before they could figure out how I absorbed new abilities. But the catch is that this time, it turned out that I didn’t have powers anymore.”
“That’s impossible.” Thank goodness. Mohinder was finally fulfilling his required role in the dialogue. This made it easier for me to continue.
“I know, it’s really strange. No one’s sure what happened, but I lost so much blood that they think I suffered some kind of brain damage to the area that controls them.”
“Oh. That's plausible..." He got a far-away 'I'm thinking about science' look on his face, but quickly snapped back to attention. "So, you’re telling me that you don’t have any abilities anymore? No telekinesis. No super-hearing. Not your original ability.”
“All gone.”
“Why should I believe you?” Behind the bravado, he was interested, though. I could tell.
“What would be the point of lying about it? The other, more important thing I wanted to tell you is that I’m no longer a lunatic. The general consensus is that the insanity was linked to my acquisition of powers; apparently there’s some woman they know of who also went crazy when her powers kicked in. But with all of my stolen ones, I became like ten times crazier. But now I’m just as normal as you are.”
“Normal…?” Mohinder looked like he was trying to figure out what that would mean. “You’re a serial killer. You’ll never be normal.” He was getting angry. This is what I had been afraid of, despite its inevitability.
“I know. I didn’t mean to be flippant about it. I wish this came with amnesia, but I doubt I deserve that. I…I’ve killed a lot of people. Very gruesomely. I’m sorry. I know how dumb that sounds, but I don’t know what else to say. I really am sorry. I wish there was something more I could do about it. I definitely don’t want to do anything like that again. I just want to start over, try to make something better of my life.”
“You don’t deserve to be alive, much less start over. You killed my father, manipulated me into leading you to more victims. Used me.” The eyes that looked at me were full of hatred. It was clear that he was angrier about the lies than about anything else.
“I know I did. I’m sorry. But it wasn’t all lies… I really was trying to be your friend… I was just crazy---”
“Why am I listening to this? Why should I believe anything you say? God, the lies you’ve told me before…” We were back to square one. Mohinder looked at his drink and then back up at me, flipping out. “Did you poison my tea? I can’t drink this.” He made a sign at the barista, who looked schmoopy and started making him another one.
This was going to be even more difficult than I had expected. I tried again.
“No, Mohinder. There’s nothing in there except soy milk and tea. I’m not lying to you Mohinder. Not now.” I unconsciously touched his knee while I said that, and immediately regretted it, because he tensed up and stared at my hand like it was a cockroach. I put my hand back on my lap and blushed, getting frustrated.
There was silence for a moment as he gave me a classic Mohinder bitchface. But there was something struggling underneath his expression. “So, if you were captured by the company, what are you doing here? They’re not the kind of organization that would just let dangerous killers wander the country.” I could tell that he hated letting his curiosity get the better of his anger.
“Well, Candice felt bad about the experiments they had run on me during my months of unconsciousness. And she found out that they were going to experiment on me more, even after I had woken up. Vivisections. I think she had some weird crush on me. She’s kind of nuts. So she projected an illusion that I died of my wounds. They even buried me behind the facility. She let me run. She knew I didn’t want to kill people anymore. I don’t think they’ll be looking for me again.”
Mohinder looked at the floor again, thinking hard. The barista came over and blushingly gave him his new cup. I think something finally clicked, because Mohinder leaned forward and looked deeply into my eyes with a new expression on his face. My heart stopped.
“Are you actually telling me the truth?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you come visit me? Why are we here right now?”
“I don’t really know anyone anymore, and I wanted to talk to someone. And… and I wanted to apologize to you, for everything.”
He kept staring at me but didn’t respond. I couldn’t read his expression. I had a feeling that maybe this was as far as we were going to get that day. I decided to quit while I was ahead.
I pulled a folder out of my satchel. “I stole this from the doctors before I escaped from the facility. This is my file with everything their doctors discovered about me. I can’t understand a word of it, but I wanted you to have it. Maybe you’ll find it useful in your research.”
He snatched it from my hands, looking from me to the folder and back suspiciously but less harshly than when we had started. I could tell that he was torn between wanting to tell me off and wanting to learn about this new scientific mystery. This was the Mohinder I loved…I mean, knew… the man who was so good and moral, but whose weakness was his insatiable curiosity.
“Also, here’s a letter I wrote in case I didn’t get to see you and explain the whole thing. And here’s my phone number and address. I’ve bought a new apartment. I even got a job. I don’t know if it’s possible, but I want to try to put it all behind me. I’m back to just being Gabriel Gray now. That was my name before… before everything started. I’d love it if you called me, although I’ll understand if you don’t.”
I picked up my drink and left him there, staring. I started badly, but I think I finished strong, right?
On to Part 2: Deep Thoughts... of the Angsty Kind
Characters/Pairing: Mohinder and Sylar; references to offstage Matt/Mohinder
Rating: PG-13 for language
Words: 2879
Spoilers: This starts up sometime around Truth & Conequences, but I've reimagined Sylar's season 2 storyline and changes a couple of other things (like Nathan's shooting).
Summary: In which Sylar pays Mohinder a visit.
Author's Note: This is an experiment in minimal-angst Mylar (although, with these two, how minimal can you really get?) inspired by baehj2915's amazing "Matt Is, Mohinder Isn't" series. The premise is: what would happen if Sylar got "better"? Each chapter will have two sections, one from Mohinder's POV, and one from Sylar's POV. But this does not necessarily mean that they always get an even split. It's my first attempt at Mylar, and only my second story ever, so feedback would be greatly appreciated!
Mohinder’s POV:
What a week. I had been recruited by a nefarious organization and wound up trying to save the world from a deadly virus. I had had my nose broken by a schizophrenic blonde with super-strength, met Bob’s psychotic blonde daughter with electricity powers (note to self to investigate any interesting links between the blonde gene, the super-power gene, and mental instability among females), and my ego-boosting spy partnership with Bennet had officially come crashing to the ground.
It was good to be home again after that traumatizing California trip. I was looking forward to seeing Matthew and Molly and being around people who weren’t dangerous, paranoid, or insane. As I dropped my bags by the table and eased my coat off, I noticed a note on the table. It was from Matthew. He had gone somewhere on a case with Nathan Petrelli and didn’t know when he would be back. I smiled as I thought of Matthew. We'd only taken that next step a week before, but things were progressing nicely. He was such a wonderful person. So much more wholesome than…
My thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell. I looked through the peephole, and… speak of the devil. Literally.
I tripped, fell down, got up, and looked through the peephole again. He was still there. My mind was blank. (Matthew would have been ecstatic to hear that.) I’m not sure how much time passed while I stood paralyzed by the door.
“Mohinder?”
It had to be a ghost. Real life serial killers should exude menace, and indeed, the last time I had seen him, he was definitely in menacing psycho mode. However, this time, through the peephole, Sylar looked and sounded shy and nervous---his shoulders hunched, his head bowed, and his hands in his pockets---rather like the first time I met him. So… definitely a ghost. The only problem was that I don’t believe in ghosts, which left only one alternative…
“Mohinder? Is that you in there?”
“What do you want?” I felt angry at myself for having addressed him. I shouldn't have encouraged the existence of this entire situation.
“I just want to talk.”
What? I thought. I decided to ignore that, as it made no sense. Sylar never just wanted to talk. Well, except for during our road trip when he could have killed me instead of following me around. And also the time he called me, since it turned out that he really had been scared of blowing up the city... Fine, maybe it was possible that he just wanted to talk, but I still found it unlikely, so I continued to argue.
“Whatever you’re after, you’re not coming in here,” I shouted through the door.
“Honestly, I’m not after anything, but I can understand why you’re nervous. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to hurt anyone. I promise. We can go somewhere else if you don’t want to let me in. What about Tea Lounge on 7th Avenue?”
This was bizarre. A serial killer was asking me out for tea. I knew he was insane, but this was a new twist. Maybe the best idea was to do what he wanted and see what happened. Being in public was a good idea. I doubted he would kill me in front of the entire population of Park Slope mothers.
“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but fine. You leave first. I’ll watch you from the window to make sure you’ve left the building and then I’ll see you there in five minutes. But don’t pull any tricks.” Spending time with Bennet had given me lessons in the order-barking department, but deep down, I asked myself who I was to be bossing around super-powered murderers. But the amazing thing is that he simply went with it.
“Ok,” he said. “I’ll see you there.”
It actually worked. Dumbfounded, I watched him shuffle away through the peephole, but just as I turned to lean my back against the door and breathe, I heard his voice again. He was back.
“Do you want me to order anything for you before you get there? I remember last time you asked for a chai latte.”
“Um, sure. That would be lovely. I can pay you back when I get there.” This conversation had officially left the realm of the possible, and I found myself just going with it, too.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s on me. Soy milk, right?”
“Yes. Soy. Thanks.” I heard him walk away again and go down the stairs.
What the fuck? I had just agreed to go for tea at the hip local coffee shop with a dead serial killer who remembered my preferences. Was it a dream? Was it a trick? Was he going to kill me? At least Molly was going to be busy with afterschool activities until very late. She was safe enough, I hoped. If I didn’t show up, one of her friend’s mothers would take her home. This had happened earlier in the week when I was in California and Matthew was working late with Nathan.
Matthew. Thank god he was away from this nightmare. What would he do? I couldn’t call him. Sylar had that poor woman’s super-hearing power, and could be listening to see if I would call anyone. Should I bring the company gun? No, shooting Sylar hadn’t gone very well the last time. I went to the window and saw a tall man leave the building and cross the street. My stomach did a little flip that I assume was terror. It was definitely Sylar. I put my coat back on and went outside. There was no point in trying to run away; if I didn’t go, there was no telling what he would do.
And anyway, crazy as it sounds, I did kind of want a latte.
Gabriel’s POV:
I sat down in an armchair in the corner, holding Mohinder’s soy chai latte and my own cappuccino. I hadn’t had one since the day I had spent at Mohinder’s apartment months ago (although it only felt like a couple of weeks ago to me). Mohinder had let me out of the car in front of this very coffee shop to get drinks and snacks while he parked. That had been such a great day… until it all went to shit.
Anyway, I decided not to waste time ruing the past. I was here to try to make things better. Even though it wasn’t quite what I had planned, this coffee shop was actually better than sitting in the apartment. At least that ceiling wouldn’t be hanging over us. And coffee, not tea. A new start. A new beginning. This, this right here was normal, right? I was sitting in a nice coffee shop on a sunny day waiting to meet a friend for a catch-up session.
Except that I was now sane enough to know that the guy I was meeting was not my friend. He was a guy whose father I had murdered, and the last time we spoke in person, he gave me an unanaesthetized spinal tap and I killed an acquaintance of his (a thoroughly annoying one---I still irrationally hated stupid, pretty-boy Peter Petrelli. What was he even doing there that day? Mohinder hadn’t invited him, and he just let himself in like he was used to dropping by all the time). Anyway. I had a lot of making up to do.
I shifted uncomfortably in my armchair, trying to get into a suave yet unthreatening position. I wanted to appear as normal and unscary as possible. Just as I started to worry that Mohinder had panicked and skipped town, he walked in and started nervously scanning the room. I sort of froze, not sure what to do, not sure what I had just gotten myself into. I wasn’t the only one. Mohinder had that quintessential Mohinder look on his face of, “Oh my god, this is a ridiculous situation.” Hee. He really did have a knack for getting himself into ridiculous situations.
He nervously smiled and said hello to the barista, who dropped the coffee she was holding. Ah, people’s reactions to Mohinder’s smiles. I had forgotten about that. I was surprised to see him sporting a huge bandage on his nose. He also had a black eye and looked like he hadn’t slept in days. I wondered what had happened. He was wearing one of his signature shirts under a brown jacket. Basically, he looked like ass.
Oh, who am I trying to kid? Even with a broken nose and wearing stupid shirts, Mohinder still managed to make my stomach jump up and say hi to my trachea.
Finally, he noticed me in the corner, and started to give me the automatic smile that one gives to friends they’ve come to meet. But then I guess he remembered that we weren’t actually friends and he didn’t really want to see me, so he stopped. That hurt, but I knew I didn’t deserve any better.
"Hey, Mohinder," I croaked as he sat down, cursing silently that I sounded so nervous. "Nice to see you again. What happened to your nose?"
Instead of responding, he took his tea, put the exact amount of money on the little coffee table between us, and glared at me with a look that screamed tell-me-why-I-shouldn’t-call-the-FBI. It was obvious that he didn’t want to start the conversation, but all of my prepared scenarios began with him asking me how I was still alive. Since he wasn’t going to cooperate, I decided to do it myself.
“So… yeah, I’m still alive.” Wow, that sounded lame.
“So it would appear.” Now he was looking around the room shiftily, as if he was nervous someone he knew would walk in and see us together. I didn’t see what the problem was. No one who knew I used to be a killer was likely to walk in. I decided to just keep going with my speech, despite the lack of a prompt. He was supposed to ask me how, dammit!
“I woke up from a coma a couple of weeks ago. I was rescued by a woman named Michelle---or maybe Candice... it was unclear---who makes illusions. She works for a secret organization that kidnapped me a few weeks before I first met you. I...” I interrupted my prepared speech because Mohinder was looking like he had seen a ghost. I mean, a ghost more ghostly than me. But at least he was making eye contact.
“Candice?! Elle's friend? You were rescued by the company! They kept you alive? Why?” While the sentiment that lay behind the question wasn’t exactly the friendliest, and I had no idea who Elle was, at least he was responding. Finally, we were on track with one of my imagined conversations.
“They wanted to experiment on me. They tried once before, but I escaped before they could figure out how I absorbed new abilities. But the catch is that this time, it turned out that I didn’t have powers anymore.”
“That’s impossible.” Thank goodness. Mohinder was finally fulfilling his required role in the dialogue. This made it easier for me to continue.
“I know, it’s really strange. No one’s sure what happened, but I lost so much blood that they think I suffered some kind of brain damage to the area that controls them.”
“Oh. That's plausible..." He got a far-away 'I'm thinking about science' look on his face, but quickly snapped back to attention. "So, you’re telling me that you don’t have any abilities anymore? No telekinesis. No super-hearing. Not your original ability.”
“All gone.”
“Why should I believe you?” Behind the bravado, he was interested, though. I could tell.
“What would be the point of lying about it? The other, more important thing I wanted to tell you is that I’m no longer a lunatic. The general consensus is that the insanity was linked to my acquisition of powers; apparently there’s some woman they know of who also went crazy when her powers kicked in. But with all of my stolen ones, I became like ten times crazier. But now I’m just as normal as you are.”
“Normal…?” Mohinder looked like he was trying to figure out what that would mean. “You’re a serial killer. You’ll never be normal.” He was getting angry. This is what I had been afraid of, despite its inevitability.
“I know. I didn’t mean to be flippant about it. I wish this came with amnesia, but I doubt I deserve that. I…I’ve killed a lot of people. Very gruesomely. I’m sorry. I know how dumb that sounds, but I don’t know what else to say. I really am sorry. I wish there was something more I could do about it. I definitely don’t want to do anything like that again. I just want to start over, try to make something better of my life.”
“You don’t deserve to be alive, much less start over. You killed my father, manipulated me into leading you to more victims. Used me.” The eyes that looked at me were full of hatred. It was clear that he was angrier about the lies than about anything else.
“I know I did. I’m sorry. But it wasn’t all lies… I really was trying to be your friend… I was just crazy---”
“Why am I listening to this? Why should I believe anything you say? God, the lies you’ve told me before…” We were back to square one. Mohinder looked at his drink and then back up at me, flipping out. “Did you poison my tea? I can’t drink this.” He made a sign at the barista, who looked schmoopy and started making him another one.
This was going to be even more difficult than I had expected. I tried again.
“No, Mohinder. There’s nothing in there except soy milk and tea. I’m not lying to you Mohinder. Not now.” I unconsciously touched his knee while I said that, and immediately regretted it, because he tensed up and stared at my hand like it was a cockroach. I put my hand back on my lap and blushed, getting frustrated.
There was silence for a moment as he gave me a classic Mohinder bitchface. But there was something struggling underneath his expression. “So, if you were captured by the company, what are you doing here? They’re not the kind of organization that would just let dangerous killers wander the country.” I could tell that he hated letting his curiosity get the better of his anger.
“Well, Candice felt bad about the experiments they had run on me during my months of unconsciousness. And she found out that they were going to experiment on me more, even after I had woken up. Vivisections. I think she had some weird crush on me. She’s kind of nuts. So she projected an illusion that I died of my wounds. They even buried me behind the facility. She let me run. She knew I didn’t want to kill people anymore. I don’t think they’ll be looking for me again.”
Mohinder looked at the floor again, thinking hard. The barista came over and blushingly gave him his new cup. I think something finally clicked, because Mohinder leaned forward and looked deeply into my eyes with a new expression on his face. My heart stopped.
“Are you actually telling me the truth?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you come visit me? Why are we here right now?”
“I don’t really know anyone anymore, and I wanted to talk to someone. And… and I wanted to apologize to you, for everything.”
He kept staring at me but didn’t respond. I couldn’t read his expression. I had a feeling that maybe this was as far as we were going to get that day. I decided to quit while I was ahead.
I pulled a folder out of my satchel. “I stole this from the doctors before I escaped from the facility. This is my file with everything their doctors discovered about me. I can’t understand a word of it, but I wanted you to have it. Maybe you’ll find it useful in your research.”
He snatched it from my hands, looking from me to the folder and back suspiciously but less harshly than when we had started. I could tell that he was torn between wanting to tell me off and wanting to learn about this new scientific mystery. This was the Mohinder I loved…I mean, knew… the man who was so good and moral, but whose weakness was his insatiable curiosity.
“Also, here’s a letter I wrote in case I didn’t get to see you and explain the whole thing. And here’s my phone number and address. I’ve bought a new apartment. I even got a job. I don’t know if it’s possible, but I want to try to put it all behind me. I’m back to just being Gabriel Gray now. That was my name before… before everything started. I’d love it if you called me, although I’ll understand if you don’t.”
I picked up my drink and left him there, staring. I started badly, but I think I finished strong, right?
On to Part 2: Deep Thoughts... of the Angsty Kind