Apathy In Action: Part 1
Characters: Mohinder, Adam; implied one-sided Bobhinder in this installment
Rating: PG-13 (for this part; probably going up later on)
Words: 3450
Spoilers: Post-season two AU in which a) Adam has always been in charge of the company, meaning he was never locked up and b) season three never happened
Summary: Mohinder’s an angry and unwilling scientist for The Company. Adam is its listless CEO. If six months of Mohinder’s life is equivalent to ten years of Adam’s, then they’ve both been in a funk about the sad state of their respective existences for the same amount of time. Luckily...
A/N: Written for the wonderful carmexgirlfor the Sweet Charity auction. I’m incapable of thinking in terms of non-epics, so this will be quite a few chapters long. Feel free to check out whenever you get bored, bb! Thanks to perdiccasfor the hand-holding. ♥
Thirty years. It had been thirty years since Adam Monroe had founded the organization with those twelve nincompoop idealists and their odd assortment of abilities. Twenty years since he’d one-by-one deprived them of influence, just as he’d always planned. But it had only been ten years, he had recently begun to see, since he’d been trapped in an endless cycle of paperwork and empty schemes. Bit by bit, he'd dissociated himself from the day-to-day running of the place, leaving most of the work to talented underlings who relished that sort of thing.
The problem was that he hadn’t yet found something else to do.
It hadn’t been like this in the old days. Adam remembered when men of power actually did things. They made war. They led nations. They ordered virgins to be sent to their rooms every night. Life was exciting for men of power.
Adam had never been one of those men. There were many advantages to his ability, but one of the drawbacks was the practical impossibility of ever stealing the spotlight. He couldn’t retain power or even the same identity for more than a few years before people started to notice that something was very wrong… or very right, depending on one’s perspective. And so, Adam had always been the unknown but pivotal general, the unrecognized but brilliant statesman, the ‘devoted’ follower who quietly deflowered the virgin before sending her up to the king. This company had been his first attempt to lead on his own, instead of subtly guiding better-known faces to his own whims.
It hadn’t worked out as planned. Since taking full control, Adam had learned that being the leader involved a lot of signatures, a lot of meetings, a lot of incredibly boring bullshit. It was a lonely life, and even worse, Adam wondered if he even had any power. What was he accomplishing? None of his projects had amounted to much. There had been the virus fiasco, and a failed attempt to control the weather. Not even the new scheme he’d recently cooked up was going anywhere.
One of the worst parts of Adam’s year was having to inspect each and every one of Primatech’s outposts. It was actually his only real responsibility, and there weren’t that many outposts, but the task was still tedious. The only way he got through it was by making it into a kind of game for himself, much to the well-hidden but still apparent irritation of his trusted long-time secretary, Mahews. Sometimes he posed as an unnamed executive and enjoyed watching agents scramble in fear. At other times, he’d pretend to be one of the brilliant accountants he employed to siphon money from the legitimate paper business into the secret organization without governments ever finding out.
Adam usually saved the locations closest to home for last, and wrapped it all up with an appearance at the annual New York holiday party. This year, his weekly briefing informed him of a newish addition to the list. Wonderful. It was a laboratory on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. As his towncar pulled up to the entrance, he wondered what in the world Bob had been thinking to start a laboratory here. It was so random, and caused Adam to question if keeping Bob on even in his current low-level administrative role had been a good idea. Adam vaguely remembered seeing the authorization float across his desk months before. Bob had rented an individual loft for a scientist he was trying to recruit, but when curious neighbors had started nosing around, he had simply ordered Primatech’s finance department to buy the entire building, and turned it into a larger operation. Checking his notes again, Adam read that the inception of the idea had been to utilize the studio of a now-deceased prophetic painter who had painted New York City exploding.
Adam cringed at this reminder of yet another one of his failed attempts to do something big, something grand. “Not a very good prophetic painter,” he grumbled to himself.
Adam arranged his features into the bland expression he associated with accountants, and tugged at his suit jacket, which was selected to be as plain as possible for the role he was playing. With a sigh, he let himself into the building and prepared to meet the freaks in the white coats.
********************************************************
Mohinder peered into his microscope. If he were to be honest with himself, he’d have to admit that he’d been peering into a microscope for months, focusing on the minuscule as a way of shutting out the larger picture of what his life had become.
There was a tap on his shoulder, and Mohinder looked up, a scowl already on his face. Helmut, his squirrelly assistant, quaked to see it. Mohinder’s short temper was well-known around the building. Only recently had he gotten an inkling that he was disliked, but Mohinder didn’t care. He hated everything about this place, and extended those negative feelings to everyone he was doing it with.
“What is it?” Mohinder snapped, annoyed at being interrupted. However, just then, he noticed the man hovering behind Helmut. A young man in a shabby-looking suit, much like the ones Mohinder would have bought himself, had he ever needed to buy a suit.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you,” the man said. A Brit, Mohinder realized, and his expression slowly transformed into a small smile. The man held his hand out for Mohinder to shake, a penetrating gaze accompanying it. “I’m an accountant from the Hartsdale office. I’ve come to ask you a few questions about this facility, to understand the budgets before we prepare next year’s tax forms. I promise not to disturb you for longer than is necessary.”
“I didn’t know I had any appointments today,” Mohinder mused absent-mindedly, but he wasn’t very surprised. Keeping track of his calendar had never been one of his strong suits. “No one’s ever come to check up on us before. Is something wrong?” Mohinder asked suspiciously.
“Not at all. This is merely a routine annual interview, and since this facility has only been in operation for eight months, this would be your first. If you could show me around and familiarize me with the work that goes on here. I promise not to disturb you for longer than is necessary, and perhaps you’ll even welcome the distraction. I… I know I do,” he finished under his breath.
Mohinder had to laugh at the barely caught addendum. “Yes, I doubt that the life of a chartered accountant is full of field trips. What do you need from me?”
There was a pregnant pause as the stranger sucked at his lower lip, which was already naturally indented on the right side. “As much as you’d like to give,” he said quietly, staring at Mohinder intently with those almost eerily globular eyes.
Without knowing why, Mohinder gulped despite himself, and then sighed. Something about this man gave him an odd feeling in his gut that he couldn’t place. Plus, the last thing he needed was to baby-sit an accountant---in fact, ‘baby-sitting’ wasn’t too far off of a term, given the man’s unkempt hair and boyish features… he looked about Mohinder’s age---possibly even younger---except for the discomfiting way in which he was currently staring at him, which was uncomfortably adult. Except for a handful of the agents---people like Elle, hired specifically because they were young and sexy---Mohinder had never encountered anyone younger than himself in the employ of the company. He would never admit it, but he’d always been the precociously young genius, no matter where he was. He liked being that person, and a prickle of competitive spirit ran down his spine.
Mohinder put down his papers and gave them to his assistant. “Helmut, will you take over this experiment for the next few minutes while I show this gentleman around?”
“Ja, Herr Suresh,” Helmut squeaked in his silly accent. The visitor laughingly caught Mohinder’s eye, and they shared an eye-brow raise and silent smile.
“Come,” Mohinder beckoned, and they began to walk down the hallway. “I’m Mohinder, by the way,” he said by way of introduction.
“Adam,” was the reply. And then Adam chuckled into his sleeve.
“What?” Mohinder asked.
Adam coughed, but there was still that mysterious twinkle in his eye as he sized Mohinder up and down. “Nothing. It’s simply that I think I just figured out why Bo… why Mr. Bishop set up this facility just for you.”
“Oh yes. We’re doing excellent research here, advancing the capabilities of the power inhibitors that the company has been using for---”
Adam rolled his eyes and cut him off. “I’m sure you are.”
Mohinder didn’t understand, but tried to remain polite. “What would you like to see first?”
Adam shrugged. “Why don’t we start with your office?”
Mohinder considered that the least interesting place in the building, but he dismissed his concern as due to not understanding the profession he was dealing with. “As you wish,” he conceded.
“How many people work here?” Adam asked, but in a very bored tone, as if he either knew the answer or didn’t care.
“Twenty,” Mohinder replied as he shut the door and ushered Adam into the extra chair in his office. “Most of them report to me.”
“You seem rather young for such responsibility,” Adam observed.
“As do you for yours,” Mohinder retorted pettily.
They sized one another up for a second, and all of a sudden, although he’d been looking intermittently at this man for the past five minutes, it occurred to Mohinder that Adam was attractive. Incredibly attractive. There was something about the way in which his otherwise odd features fit together that was very compelling. He wondered how he hadn’t quite noticed it before. Possibly the title of ‘accountant’ had distracted him.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Adam asked knowingly, when neither of them had said anything for a minute.
Mohinder was mortified as he realized that his tongue, completely unbidden, was in the process of trailing across his lower lip. He retracted it and shut his eyes, taking a deep breath to refocus. He remembered his very tall friend from university, who had once told him how he could almost time the moment in which a woman who, meeting him for the first time, would look up to note his height, think about it for a second, and then sneak a wondering glance down at his groin. Mohinder wondered if Adam had just timed him in the same way. He wondered quickly if Adam was as used to people experiencing this delayed kind of reaction to his looks as the friend had been to people experiencing delayed wonderment about his endowment.
Bringing himself back into the professional moment and feeling himself blushing hotly, Mohinder stuttered, “I… I assume you’re looking for our budgets. To see how much money you need to mask from the taxman.” He reached nervously for one of his files, praying that Adam hadn’t ascertained the true meaning behind his moment of inappropriate distraction.
“Yes. Of course. The budgets,” Adam said lamely, rapping his knuckles on Mohinder’s desk and not looking in the least bit interested in his job. Mohinder had trouble understanding such a sentiment. He handed Adam a stack of papers. “I suppose we should go through these together, and I’ll explain any questions you have about our expenses and what we do here? I’ve never done this before.”
But Adam wasn’t even looking at them. “Neither have I,” he admitted.
“Really?” Mohinder was torn between feeling annoyed at having been interrupted from his experiments for this neophyte, and still feeling a little dazed without quite knowing why.
“No,” was the simple reply. Putting the papers on the desk, he leaned forward and said, “How about we get acquainted a bit before going into this? I’d like… it’s important to understand the, er, qualitative data as well as the cash flows and income statements.”
Mohinder let out a long exhalation, drawn despite himself into that intoxicating gaze. “I agree,” he replied, almost hypnotically. “That would be vastly more interesting, for both of us.”
********************************************************
They were finally almost over, Adam’s responsibilities for the year. He made a mental note to thank Mahews for saving that particular facility for last. The visit to the new laboratory had been fascinating… or rather, its director had been fascinating.
Leaving the laboratory in a heady daze of lust, Adam realized that he hadn’t felt those kinds of butterflies in longer than he could remember. Nothing much had happened beyond a cursory personal conversation followed by the apparently driven Dr. Suresh’s discussion of inhibitor drugs and phase one prototypes and next-generation equipment that would cost… blah blah blah… What mattered to Adam was that Mohinder had been to Oxford, had experienced a number of unbelievable things, had a remarkably tragic family history. Adam had left the meeting thoroughly on board with absolutely everything going on in the Reade Street facility, whatever it was that was going on. He was vaguely aware of promising Mohinder whatever funds he needed for whatever experiments he wanted to conduct. It didn’t matter; he’d write a memo to the finance department, and if the money absolutely couldn’t be spared, Mohinder would never attribute the blame to him. The purpose of his disguises for these meetings was more than simply diversion; it was in Adam’s best interest that as few people as possible knew what their ageless CEO looked like.
The last errand he had was to appear at the company party. He usually would have preferred to change into one of his usual Armani suits for the occasion, but not only was there not time, but in the back of his head, he wondered if he would run into Mohinder again. If so, it would be better to keep up the disguise. The party was being held in a relatively generic restaurant in Tribeca. When Adam arrived, it was already in full swing.
“I’m glad you made it, sir,” Mahews greeted him as soon as he walked in, and handed him a gimlet.
Adam took a sniff at the drink, drawing joy from the comforting scent of Tanqueray and replied sarcastically, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
One of the things that ticked the edge of his consciousness from time to time was the question of who was master here---Adam or Mahews.
But the thought didn’t have time to blossom, for his ever-sharp eyes soon locked on a dark, curly head bobbing up and down across the room.
“Excuse me,” he said, and made a beeline for Mohinder, swooping a second drink from the bar on the way. He had no idea what it was, but Adam had a feeling it wouldn't matter to Mohinder, who was looking around the room anxiously. Adam felt a surge of self-satisfaction flow through him; when they’d parted, Adam had urged the other man to attend the party that night. Mohinder had been cagey and non-committal, asserting that there were ‘uncertainties’ and ‘other factors.’ But Adam had leveled his most devastating gaze upon the man, and wrenched out choked half-promises that he had had no qualms would be fulfilled.
“You’re like a bird,” Adam whispered seductively into Mohinder’s ear as he crept up behind him. Mohinder jumped, but smiled shyly when he realized who it was.
“Oh! Hello again! I was just looking for someone,” he explained, and continued looking around.
This wasn’t exactly the greeting Adam had expected.
“Well, you can stop looking, for here I am,” he laughed, and handed Mohinder the extra drink.
“I wasn’t looking for you,” Mohinder said absently as he accepted it, still looking around worriedly.
Adam raised an eyebrow and took another sip of his drink. “Tact. Yet another of the qualities I admire about you. At any rate, I’m glad you made it.”
Still not seeming to understand what was going on, Mohinder replied, “I knew I would get hell from someone I know if I didn’t make an appearance.”
“So, your decision had nothing to do with seeing me again? Honestly, doctor, I’m hurt,” Adam pouted petulantly, but with an underlying smirk so that Mohinder wouldn’t take him too seriously.
It was enough to finally pull Mohinder back into the moment. His body relaxed and he stopped twisting his head around “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. And yes, the opportunity of running into you again did help weigh the odds in the party’s favor.” Mohinder followed up his apology with the kind of smile that had probably earned him forgiveness for anything he’d ever done in his life.
“That’s a better answer,” Adam congratulated, gulping slightly and breathing heavily. “So, do you have many friends in the other divisions?” he asked, although the fact that Mohinder had been standing so awkwardly and alone until Adam had shown up was answer in itself.
Mohinder shook his head. “No. I know a couple of the agents, but my work is demanding enough that… actually, I avoid fraternizing with anyone here.”
“Really?”
Mohinder became stern as he seemed to size Adam up, yet again---Adam felt that he hadn’t been viewed through this many lenses by one person in years. He didn’t mind, though, for it gave him a chance to size Mohinder up one more time---always an enjoyable experience.
Leaning deliciously close, Mohinder whispered, “To be quite honest, I don’t particularly like most of the people who work here.”
“Why is that? And I hope I don't count as one of...” Adam asked, intrigued.
But before he could get an answer, Mohinder’s hand flew to his trousers and he pulled his cellphone out. Looking at the number he said, “I’m so sorry. I know it’s rude but…”
“It’s fine,” Adam shrugged. It wasn’t, but what was he to do? He watched curiously as Mohinder became more and more agitated over the course of his mysterious conversation.
“You’re where? … Why don’t you use the key I made for you? … Again? … Stay still. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Call again if anything else happens.”
“What’s going on?” Adam drawled as Mohinder snapped his phone shut, shaking with fury. His fingers curled into a two-handed fist around the cell phone, squeezing it in his rage.
“This fucking company,” he spat with surprising venom. Conspiratorially, he leaned in to whisper into Adam’s ear as he stood up. “I have had enough with this place. The things that really go on. The things they put people through. It’s monstrous. It’s evil. You probably have no idea...”
Adam hid his laughter by letting it fall into his glass. “Where are you going? I hate to lose you so soon.”
Although he was in the middle of rushing off, Adam was gratified to see Mohinder actually stop in his tracks, not exactly torn, but at least regretful. “I’m sorry. I really am, but a… a friend of mine needs my help. I have to go. And no, you are not one of the people I..." He trailed off wistfully. "I do hope we meet again.”
Adam shook Mohinder’s hand. “So do I.”
Frustrated, he watched Mohinder all but run for the exit. Adam waved a waitress to him and was soon provided with two more gimlets, which he drank quickly before signaling to order more.
Finally, he called Mahews over to him.
“Yes, sir?”
“Did you happen to notice that employee I was sitting with for some time? His name is Mohinder Suresh. He works in the new downtown lab. Could you get someone to pull together some information on him for me? The usual detail.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll call an agent right away.” Mahews shimmered off, efficient as always.
Already working on his next cocktail, Adam finally admitted to himself what a dull existence he had come to lead. In fact, his life was an exercise in apathy, and he now realized what was wrong: Primatech Paper was sucking out his soul. Or whatever was left of it. Never in his wildest dreams had Adam envisioned that his life would be reduced to pouting about an employee leaving a bad party without him, or ordering other people to find out information about someone he was interested in instead of relishing the chase and mystery himself. And yet, here was, doing exactly those things.
He knew that people sometimes went through slow periods. However, Adam realized, his immortality had made him somewhat complacent about the duration of such a period. Where mortals sometimes endured them for just a few months, Adam’s had stretched on for years, not realizing because a year to him was like a week to most people. He had all the time in the world. All the same, he was disappointed in himself for having allowed this to go on for so long. Leaning back against the wall and watching the insignificant drones enjoying themselves around him while he felt so empty only made him angrier.
And so, he continued to drink.
On to Part 2...
Rating: PG-13 (for this part; probably going up later on)
Words: 3450
Spoilers: Post-season two AU in which a) Adam has always been in charge of the company, meaning he was never locked up and b) season three never happened
Summary: Mohinder’s an angry and unwilling scientist for The Company. Adam is its listless CEO. If six months of Mohinder’s life is equivalent to ten years of Adam’s, then they’ve both been in a funk about the sad state of their respective existences for the same amount of time. Luckily...
A/N: Written for the wonderful carmexgirlfor the Sweet Charity auction. I’m incapable of thinking in terms of non-epics, so this will be quite a few chapters long. Feel free to check out whenever you get bored, bb! Thanks to perdiccasfor the hand-holding. ♥
Thirty years. It had been thirty years since Adam Monroe had founded the organization with those twelve nincompoop idealists and their odd assortment of abilities. Twenty years since he’d one-by-one deprived them of influence, just as he’d always planned. But it had only been ten years, he had recently begun to see, since he’d been trapped in an endless cycle of paperwork and empty schemes. Bit by bit, he'd dissociated himself from the day-to-day running of the place, leaving most of the work to talented underlings who relished that sort of thing.
The problem was that he hadn’t yet found something else to do.
It hadn’t been like this in the old days. Adam remembered when men of power actually did things. They made war. They led nations. They ordered virgins to be sent to their rooms every night. Life was exciting for men of power.
Adam had never been one of those men. There were many advantages to his ability, but one of the drawbacks was the practical impossibility of ever stealing the spotlight. He couldn’t retain power or even the same identity for more than a few years before people started to notice that something was very wrong… or very right, depending on one’s perspective. And so, Adam had always been the unknown but pivotal general, the unrecognized but brilliant statesman, the ‘devoted’ follower who quietly deflowered the virgin before sending her up to the king. This company had been his first attempt to lead on his own, instead of subtly guiding better-known faces to his own whims.
It hadn’t worked out as planned. Since taking full control, Adam had learned that being the leader involved a lot of signatures, a lot of meetings, a lot of incredibly boring bullshit. It was a lonely life, and even worse, Adam wondered if he even had any power. What was he accomplishing? None of his projects had amounted to much. There had been the virus fiasco, and a failed attempt to control the weather. Not even the new scheme he’d recently cooked up was going anywhere.
One of the worst parts of Adam’s year was having to inspect each and every one of Primatech’s outposts. It was actually his only real responsibility, and there weren’t that many outposts, but the task was still tedious. The only way he got through it was by making it into a kind of game for himself, much to the well-hidden but still apparent irritation of his trusted long-time secretary, Mahews. Sometimes he posed as an unnamed executive and enjoyed watching agents scramble in fear. At other times, he’d pretend to be one of the brilliant accountants he employed to siphon money from the legitimate paper business into the secret organization without governments ever finding out.
Adam usually saved the locations closest to home for last, and wrapped it all up with an appearance at the annual New York holiday party. This year, his weekly briefing informed him of a newish addition to the list. Wonderful. It was a laboratory on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. As his towncar pulled up to the entrance, he wondered what in the world Bob had been thinking to start a laboratory here. It was so random, and caused Adam to question if keeping Bob on even in his current low-level administrative role had been a good idea. Adam vaguely remembered seeing the authorization float across his desk months before. Bob had rented an individual loft for a scientist he was trying to recruit, but when curious neighbors had started nosing around, he had simply ordered Primatech’s finance department to buy the entire building, and turned it into a larger operation. Checking his notes again, Adam read that the inception of the idea had been to utilize the studio of a now-deceased prophetic painter who had painted New York City exploding.
Adam cringed at this reminder of yet another one of his failed attempts to do something big, something grand. “Not a very good prophetic painter,” he grumbled to himself.
Adam arranged his features into the bland expression he associated with accountants, and tugged at his suit jacket, which was selected to be as plain as possible for the role he was playing. With a sigh, he let himself into the building and prepared to meet the freaks in the white coats.
********************************************************
Mohinder peered into his microscope. If he were to be honest with himself, he’d have to admit that he’d been peering into a microscope for months, focusing on the minuscule as a way of shutting out the larger picture of what his life had become.
There was a tap on his shoulder, and Mohinder looked up, a scowl already on his face. Helmut, his squirrelly assistant, quaked to see it. Mohinder’s short temper was well-known around the building. Only recently had he gotten an inkling that he was disliked, but Mohinder didn’t care. He hated everything about this place, and extended those negative feelings to everyone he was doing it with.
“What is it?” Mohinder snapped, annoyed at being interrupted. However, just then, he noticed the man hovering behind Helmut. A young man in a shabby-looking suit, much like the ones Mohinder would have bought himself, had he ever needed to buy a suit.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you,” the man said. A Brit, Mohinder realized, and his expression slowly transformed into a small smile. The man held his hand out for Mohinder to shake, a penetrating gaze accompanying it. “I’m an accountant from the Hartsdale office. I’ve come to ask you a few questions about this facility, to understand the budgets before we prepare next year’s tax forms. I promise not to disturb you for longer than is necessary.”
“I didn’t know I had any appointments today,” Mohinder mused absent-mindedly, but he wasn’t very surprised. Keeping track of his calendar had never been one of his strong suits. “No one’s ever come to check up on us before. Is something wrong?” Mohinder asked suspiciously.
“Not at all. This is merely a routine annual interview, and since this facility has only been in operation for eight months, this would be your first. If you could show me around and familiarize me with the work that goes on here. I promise not to disturb you for longer than is necessary, and perhaps you’ll even welcome the distraction. I… I know I do,” he finished under his breath.
Mohinder had to laugh at the barely caught addendum. “Yes, I doubt that the life of a chartered accountant is full of field trips. What do you need from me?”
There was a pregnant pause as the stranger sucked at his lower lip, which was already naturally indented on the right side. “As much as you’d like to give,” he said quietly, staring at Mohinder intently with those almost eerily globular eyes.
Without knowing why, Mohinder gulped despite himself, and then sighed. Something about this man gave him an odd feeling in his gut that he couldn’t place. Plus, the last thing he needed was to baby-sit an accountant---in fact, ‘baby-sitting’ wasn’t too far off of a term, given the man’s unkempt hair and boyish features… he looked about Mohinder’s age---possibly even younger---except for the discomfiting way in which he was currently staring at him, which was uncomfortably adult. Except for a handful of the agents---people like Elle, hired specifically because they were young and sexy---Mohinder had never encountered anyone younger than himself in the employ of the company. He would never admit it, but he’d always been the precociously young genius, no matter where he was. He liked being that person, and a prickle of competitive spirit ran down his spine.
Mohinder put down his papers and gave them to his assistant. “Helmut, will you take over this experiment for the next few minutes while I show this gentleman around?”
“Ja, Herr Suresh,” Helmut squeaked in his silly accent. The visitor laughingly caught Mohinder’s eye, and they shared an eye-brow raise and silent smile.
“Come,” Mohinder beckoned, and they began to walk down the hallway. “I’m Mohinder, by the way,” he said by way of introduction.
“Adam,” was the reply. And then Adam chuckled into his sleeve.
“What?” Mohinder asked.
Adam coughed, but there was still that mysterious twinkle in his eye as he sized Mohinder up and down. “Nothing. It’s simply that I think I just figured out why Bo… why Mr. Bishop set up this facility just for you.”
“Oh yes. We’re doing excellent research here, advancing the capabilities of the power inhibitors that the company has been using for---”
Adam rolled his eyes and cut him off. “I’m sure you are.”
Mohinder didn’t understand, but tried to remain polite. “What would you like to see first?”
Adam shrugged. “Why don’t we start with your office?”
Mohinder considered that the least interesting place in the building, but he dismissed his concern as due to not understanding the profession he was dealing with. “As you wish,” he conceded.
“How many people work here?” Adam asked, but in a very bored tone, as if he either knew the answer or didn’t care.
“Twenty,” Mohinder replied as he shut the door and ushered Adam into the extra chair in his office. “Most of them report to me.”
“You seem rather young for such responsibility,” Adam observed.
“As do you for yours,” Mohinder retorted pettily.
They sized one another up for a second, and all of a sudden, although he’d been looking intermittently at this man for the past five minutes, it occurred to Mohinder that Adam was attractive. Incredibly attractive. There was something about the way in which his otherwise odd features fit together that was very compelling. He wondered how he hadn’t quite noticed it before. Possibly the title of ‘accountant’ had distracted him.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Adam asked knowingly, when neither of them had said anything for a minute.
Mohinder was mortified as he realized that his tongue, completely unbidden, was in the process of trailing across his lower lip. He retracted it and shut his eyes, taking a deep breath to refocus. He remembered his very tall friend from university, who had once told him how he could almost time the moment in which a woman who, meeting him for the first time, would look up to note his height, think about it for a second, and then sneak a wondering glance down at his groin. Mohinder wondered if Adam had just timed him in the same way. He wondered quickly if Adam was as used to people experiencing this delayed kind of reaction to his looks as the friend had been to people experiencing delayed wonderment about his endowment.
Bringing himself back into the professional moment and feeling himself blushing hotly, Mohinder stuttered, “I… I assume you’re looking for our budgets. To see how much money you need to mask from the taxman.” He reached nervously for one of his files, praying that Adam hadn’t ascertained the true meaning behind his moment of inappropriate distraction.
“Yes. Of course. The budgets,” Adam said lamely, rapping his knuckles on Mohinder’s desk and not looking in the least bit interested in his job. Mohinder had trouble understanding such a sentiment. He handed Adam a stack of papers. “I suppose we should go through these together, and I’ll explain any questions you have about our expenses and what we do here? I’ve never done this before.”
But Adam wasn’t even looking at them. “Neither have I,” he admitted.
“Really?” Mohinder was torn between feeling annoyed at having been interrupted from his experiments for this neophyte, and still feeling a little dazed without quite knowing why.
“No,” was the simple reply. Putting the papers on the desk, he leaned forward and said, “How about we get acquainted a bit before going into this? I’d like… it’s important to understand the, er, qualitative data as well as the cash flows and income statements.”
Mohinder let out a long exhalation, drawn despite himself into that intoxicating gaze. “I agree,” he replied, almost hypnotically. “That would be vastly more interesting, for both of us.”
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They were finally almost over, Adam’s responsibilities for the year. He made a mental note to thank Mahews for saving that particular facility for last. The visit to the new laboratory had been fascinating… or rather, its director had been fascinating.
Leaving the laboratory in a heady daze of lust, Adam realized that he hadn’t felt those kinds of butterflies in longer than he could remember. Nothing much had happened beyond a cursory personal conversation followed by the apparently driven Dr. Suresh’s discussion of inhibitor drugs and phase one prototypes and next-generation equipment that would cost… blah blah blah… What mattered to Adam was that Mohinder had been to Oxford, had experienced a number of unbelievable things, had a remarkably tragic family history. Adam had left the meeting thoroughly on board with absolutely everything going on in the Reade Street facility, whatever it was that was going on. He was vaguely aware of promising Mohinder whatever funds he needed for whatever experiments he wanted to conduct. It didn’t matter; he’d write a memo to the finance department, and if the money absolutely couldn’t be spared, Mohinder would never attribute the blame to him. The purpose of his disguises for these meetings was more than simply diversion; it was in Adam’s best interest that as few people as possible knew what their ageless CEO looked like.
The last errand he had was to appear at the company party. He usually would have preferred to change into one of his usual Armani suits for the occasion, but not only was there not time, but in the back of his head, he wondered if he would run into Mohinder again. If so, it would be better to keep up the disguise. The party was being held in a relatively generic restaurant in Tribeca. When Adam arrived, it was already in full swing.
“I’m glad you made it, sir,” Mahews greeted him as soon as he walked in, and handed him a gimlet.
Adam took a sniff at the drink, drawing joy from the comforting scent of Tanqueray and replied sarcastically, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
One of the things that ticked the edge of his consciousness from time to time was the question of who was master here---Adam or Mahews.
But the thought didn’t have time to blossom, for his ever-sharp eyes soon locked on a dark, curly head bobbing up and down across the room.
“Excuse me,” he said, and made a beeline for Mohinder, swooping a second drink from the bar on the way. He had no idea what it was, but Adam had a feeling it wouldn't matter to Mohinder, who was looking around the room anxiously. Adam felt a surge of self-satisfaction flow through him; when they’d parted, Adam had urged the other man to attend the party that night. Mohinder had been cagey and non-committal, asserting that there were ‘uncertainties’ and ‘other factors.’ But Adam had leveled his most devastating gaze upon the man, and wrenched out choked half-promises that he had had no qualms would be fulfilled.
“You’re like a bird,” Adam whispered seductively into Mohinder’s ear as he crept up behind him. Mohinder jumped, but smiled shyly when he realized who it was.
“Oh! Hello again! I was just looking for someone,” he explained, and continued looking around.
This wasn’t exactly the greeting Adam had expected.
“Well, you can stop looking, for here I am,” he laughed, and handed Mohinder the extra drink.
“I wasn’t looking for you,” Mohinder said absently as he accepted it, still looking around worriedly.
Adam raised an eyebrow and took another sip of his drink. “Tact. Yet another of the qualities I admire about you. At any rate, I’m glad you made it.”
Still not seeming to understand what was going on, Mohinder replied, “I knew I would get hell from someone I know if I didn’t make an appearance.”
“So, your decision had nothing to do with seeing me again? Honestly, doctor, I’m hurt,” Adam pouted petulantly, but with an underlying smirk so that Mohinder wouldn’t take him too seriously.
It was enough to finally pull Mohinder back into the moment. His body relaxed and he stopped twisting his head around “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. And yes, the opportunity of running into you again did help weigh the odds in the party’s favor.” Mohinder followed up his apology with the kind of smile that had probably earned him forgiveness for anything he’d ever done in his life.
“That’s a better answer,” Adam congratulated, gulping slightly and breathing heavily. “So, do you have many friends in the other divisions?” he asked, although the fact that Mohinder had been standing so awkwardly and alone until Adam had shown up was answer in itself.
Mohinder shook his head. “No. I know a couple of the agents, but my work is demanding enough that… actually, I avoid fraternizing with anyone here.”
“Really?”
Mohinder became stern as he seemed to size Adam up, yet again---Adam felt that he hadn’t been viewed through this many lenses by one person in years. He didn’t mind, though, for it gave him a chance to size Mohinder up one more time---always an enjoyable experience.
Leaning deliciously close, Mohinder whispered, “To be quite honest, I don’t particularly like most of the people who work here.”
“Why is that? And I hope I don't count as one of...” Adam asked, intrigued.
But before he could get an answer, Mohinder’s hand flew to his trousers and he pulled his cellphone out. Looking at the number he said, “I’m so sorry. I know it’s rude but…”
“It’s fine,” Adam shrugged. It wasn’t, but what was he to do? He watched curiously as Mohinder became more and more agitated over the course of his mysterious conversation.
“You’re where? … Why don’t you use the key I made for you? … Again? … Stay still. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Call again if anything else happens.”
“What’s going on?” Adam drawled as Mohinder snapped his phone shut, shaking with fury. His fingers curled into a two-handed fist around the cell phone, squeezing it in his rage.
“This fucking company,” he spat with surprising venom. Conspiratorially, he leaned in to whisper into Adam’s ear as he stood up. “I have had enough with this place. The things that really go on. The things they put people through. It’s monstrous. It’s evil. You probably have no idea...”
Adam hid his laughter by letting it fall into his glass. “Where are you going? I hate to lose you so soon.”
Although he was in the middle of rushing off, Adam was gratified to see Mohinder actually stop in his tracks, not exactly torn, but at least regretful. “I’m sorry. I really am, but a… a friend of mine needs my help. I have to go. And no, you are not one of the people I..." He trailed off wistfully. "I do hope we meet again.”
Adam shook Mohinder’s hand. “So do I.”
Frustrated, he watched Mohinder all but run for the exit. Adam waved a waitress to him and was soon provided with two more gimlets, which he drank quickly before signaling to order more.
Finally, he called Mahews over to him.
“Yes, sir?”
“Did you happen to notice that employee I was sitting with for some time? His name is Mohinder Suresh. He works in the new downtown lab. Could you get someone to pull together some information on him for me? The usual detail.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll call an agent right away.” Mahews shimmered off, efficient as always.
Already working on his next cocktail, Adam finally admitted to himself what a dull existence he had come to lead. In fact, his life was an exercise in apathy, and he now realized what was wrong: Primatech Paper was sucking out his soul. Or whatever was left of it. Never in his wildest dreams had Adam envisioned that his life would be reduced to pouting about an employee leaving a bad party without him, or ordering other people to find out information about someone he was interested in instead of relishing the chase and mystery himself. And yet, here was, doing exactly those things.
He knew that people sometimes went through slow periods. However, Adam realized, his immortality had made him somewhat complacent about the duration of such a period. Where mortals sometimes endured them for just a few months, Adam’s had stretched on for years, not realizing because a year to him was like a week to most people. He had all the time in the world. All the same, he was disappointed in himself for having allowed this to go on for so long. Leaning back against the wall and watching the insignificant drones enjoying themselves around him while he felt so empty only made him angrier.
And so, he continued to drink.
On to Part 2...