pieces of the elephant by technosage
Title: Pieces of the Elephant
Warnings: R, for slash
Characters/Pairing: Mohinder/Peter
Word Count: 1741
Standard disclaimer: Not making money here, not claiming ownership. Not mine, but I wish they were.
Author's Notes: for heroes_flashfic challenge, "In the Beginning", and heroes50 #4 - Search. I have not yet seen episode 3 and am unspoiled. Another entry in the "What If" verse. *g*
Thanks: to just_katarin for handholding above and beyond the call of duty. Anything you don't like is mine.
Summary: Nathan doesn't want to talk about it, but Peter needs to. He thinks the cab driver from the day of the eclipse would understand.
Of course Nathan didn't want to talk about it. He never wanted to talk about the elephant in the living room. Except about how to hide it from the guests.
But they could fly, and he had to talk to someone, or Peter was going to burst. Not the psychiatrist his mom wanted him to see. If he told her he could fly, she'd think he was delusional and put him on meds, and freak out his mother besides.
Simone had promised they'd talk, but it was always "not now", and then her dad passed and it wouldn't have been right anyhow. He even tried talking to Isaac, because of the painting, but Isaac didn't want to hear it any more than Nathan did. Less than Nathan, with his eyes wild and his hands in his hair while he raved about having to warn "them."
Peter agreed. They had to warn "them" but he had no idea who "them" was or how to get them to believe, and he needed to talk, hash it out and figure out what it all meant. Why him and Nathan and Simone's boyfriend?
He'd just got off a long shift with a new hospice patient, a bitter old woman dying but not ready to go, and he'd had all he could take of listening, when he remembered the cab driver. Mohinder.
He had listened. And when he'd looked back in the mirror, he'd even seemed to understand. Some individuals, it is true, are more special, he'd said, and it sounded like he knew what he was talking about.
Maybe Mohinder was just another crazy New York cabbie who might've been someone once, but Peter didn't think so. And if it turned out Mohinder knew a few things he'd cobbled together from here and there to make himself interesting and earn better fares, at least it'd be safe to tell him. He'd never connect Peter with Nathan, and if by some chance he did, well, Nathan would be mad, but who would believe a cab driver?
It'd be easy to hide the elephant.
From the kitsch-cluttered hallway of Carmen Maria Escobar's fourth floor apartment, Peter called the Chelsea Cab Company and asked for Mohinder. The dispatcher acted weird and suspicious, so Peter just gave him his cell and said to tell Mohinder the guy who'd asked about destiny during the eclipse needed to talk to him.
They'd made a connection. The kind people made in New York City every day and always wondered what happened to the girl from the bus stop who'd been on her way to her big break or the guy who'd shared the ride to Kennedy heading home for his stepsister's funeral. Mohinder would remember.
The night nurse raised an eyebrow at Peter and clucked her tongue a few times because he wouldn't get overtime if she was there and what did he think he was doing staying at a client's home after his shift ended, but he smiled and dipped his gaze when he told her he had to wait for an important phone call and his reception was spotty. "Oh ho, a date," she crowed, then went to check Carmen's vitals.
He didn't bother correcting her. In some ways, it sort of was a date, him calling someone he wanted to see and hoping he'd agree. And when Mohinder did call, half an hour later, it even felt like a date.
"This is Mohinder. You wished to speak to me?"
The sexy liquid vowels he remembered sounded tight, nervous, and Peter could understand that. Probably not too many people called a cab company to talk to one of the drivers.
"Hi, Mohinder, this is Peter. You drove me the day of the eclipse, and, well I know this is strange, but what you said, about being special and genetic destiny, really hit home for me." Now he felt nervous; who shared their deepest secrets with a cab driver they barely knew? What had he been thinking? Peter shook his head. They'd connected. He hadn't made that up. "I wondered if maybe you'd be willing to meet somewhere, public of course, to talk."
The pause felt too long. Peter had to remind himself -- like he'd learned from dealing with clients' families -- not to negotiate with the silences and offer alternatives before an answer had been given.
"It is, as you say, a little unusual, but I am curious as to what has happened that you would call me."
Even though part of him wanted to, Peter didn't rush to assure him he wouldn't waste his time or thank him profusely before arranging to meet.
At seven o'clock, there weren't many coffee drinkers at The Second Cup. Mohinder sat at a corner table by the window with his back to the wall, stirring milk into his tea. That gave Peter a chance to settle his thoughts while he waited for the barista to make his hot chocolate.
Putting on his most soothing, patient-smile, Peter pulled out the chair opposite Mohinder's.
"Hello, Peter." Mohinder's voice rolled out, richer than Peter's cocoa and calm despite the situation.
"Hey. It's nice to see you," he started, but then he laughed because it was nice, very nice, but it felt like a dumb thing to say to someone he didn't know.
Mohinder laughed, too, and that made it easier. "Yes, this is awkward, isn't it?"
"A little, but probably not more awkward than me asking you about your destiny less than two minutes after meeting you." He gave Mohinder a wry half-smile, then looked down at his hands.
"It is true, most of my fares talk about the weather, or the city." Mohinder tilted his head, then shrugged, smiling. "But some fares are more special than others."
Peter looked up, sharply. "You do remember."
"My father was a geneticist." Lifting the tea to his lips, Mohinder sipped slowly and watched Peter over the rim of the cup. "He often spoke of the evolution of the human species in such terms. I do not easily forget conversations with strangers on his favorite lecture topic." He set the cup down in the saucer and leaned forward. "You wished to speak again on this subject. Why?"
Biting the inside of his lip, Peter struggled to keep from spilling out the whole story at once. "What you said, about taking the next step, do you believe that?"
"It was my father's life work. I would be a very poor son if I did not."
Which wasn't the same thing as saying yes, but Mohinder's intense gaze never left his. Peter held his hot chocolate, twisting it around in his hands. "I… I think it happened to me," he said finally. "I mean, something happened, and I think it's what you're talking about."
"What happened, exactly?" Now his voice had the same intensity as his eyes, each word sharp and precise.
"I..." His lip twisted and he licked at it before bringing up his chin, defiant. "I flew."
Mohinder didn't laugh. "You flew. You are certain. There is no other explanation?"
"I jumped off a building the morning after the eclipse. There was no wind." Now that he'd said it and Mohinder hadn't called him delusional, he felt stronger, more certain. "I flew."
"My gods. If my father… Have you done it again?"
It felt good to be believed. Good to talk. Like knowing he could fly should feel. "Twice. Once by accident, and once to prove that I could."
"You will show me, yes?"
"Yeah. Yeah." Peter smiled broadly. "Bathroom, come on." He practically bounced out of his chair and didn't wait to see if Mohinder followed.
The other man did, though, longer rapid strides almost overtaking Peter before he reached the men's room in the back. He didn't even care that the barista scowled as they passed by.
Mohinder shut the door behind them, and Peter's heart beat harder. He had to close his eyes, because the fierce interest in the cab driver's eyes made him anxious.
Concentrate, Pete, and the thought came in Nathan's voice, even though Nathan would be pissed if anyone found out about them because of this. Nathan's voice, stern and commanding, the same one that got him through his nursing boards when he'd been petrified, even though Nathan never approved of his career choice.
"My gods. Peter… My father, the research… It's real."
When Peter opened his eyes, he hovered four feet above eye level, rising, and Mohinder had his palms pressed to the door holding him up. Dark eyes shone, fervent. "Extraordinary. Simply extraordinary."
Peter dropped to his feet in front of Mohinder. "So your-"
Mohinder grabbed him and hugged him. "Thank you."
At first, he just stood there, awkwardly hugged by the cab driver whose father had searched his entire life for Peter. Then it all came crashing into him, flying, with Nathan, being special, flying, and the man with his arms around him understood.
Peter pushed against Mohinder's chest, then tilted his head up to reach for the taller man's mouth. Mohinder stiffened as their lips touched, and Peter felt nervous and awkward again. "Sorry, I just thought--"
Mohinder shook his head once. "It's all right, Peter." Then his head tilted, and his mouth curved into a wondering half-smile.
Warm lips tasting of black tea and milk and sweet with honey covered his, kissed him slow and sensual, kind, strong hands supporting his neck and lower back to keep him close. Mohinder's tongue licked along Peter's mouth, seeking, asking are you real? and Peter opened, telling him to take what he wanted and see how real Peter was.
It went on like that, deepening until Peter gripped Mohinder's biceps and moaned, soft and low, into his mouth. Mohinder broke the kiss, and looked down into his eyes. His eyebrow quirked upward. "And now, it's an entirely different sort of awkward, isn't it?"
He ran his tongue over his lips. "Yeah, the good kind."
At that, Mohinder laughed. "I followed in my father's footsteps. Based my research on his theories. You're the proof of everything I've worked for my entire life. It's a little unethical to date a research subject."
It didn't surprise him that Mohinder was also a geneticist. Everyone who drove a cab in New York used to be someone else. He shrugged, smiling. "At least you won't think I'm crazy when I tell you about my dreams."
Warnings: R, for slash
Characters/Pairing: Mohinder/Peter
Word Count: 1741
Standard disclaimer: Not making money here, not claiming ownership. Not mine, but I wish they were.
Author's Notes: for heroes_flashfic challenge, "In the Beginning", and heroes50 #4 - Search. I have not yet seen episode 3 and am unspoiled. Another entry in the "What If" verse. *g*
Thanks: to just_katarin for handholding above and beyond the call of duty. Anything you don't like is mine.
Summary: Nathan doesn't want to talk about it, but Peter needs to. He thinks the cab driver from the day of the eclipse would understand.
Of course Nathan didn't want to talk about it. He never wanted to talk about the elephant in the living room. Except about how to hide it from the guests.
But they could fly, and he had to talk to someone, or Peter was going to burst. Not the psychiatrist his mom wanted him to see. If he told her he could fly, she'd think he was delusional and put him on meds, and freak out his mother besides.
Simone had promised they'd talk, but it was always "not now", and then her dad passed and it wouldn't have been right anyhow. He even tried talking to Isaac, because of the painting, but Isaac didn't want to hear it any more than Nathan did. Less than Nathan, with his eyes wild and his hands in his hair while he raved about having to warn "them."
Peter agreed. They had to warn "them" but he had no idea who "them" was or how to get them to believe, and he needed to talk, hash it out and figure out what it all meant. Why him and Nathan and Simone's boyfriend?
He'd just got off a long shift with a new hospice patient, a bitter old woman dying but not ready to go, and he'd had all he could take of listening, when he remembered the cab driver. Mohinder.
He had listened. And when he'd looked back in the mirror, he'd even seemed to understand. Some individuals, it is true, are more special, he'd said, and it sounded like he knew what he was talking about.
Maybe Mohinder was just another crazy New York cabbie who might've been someone once, but Peter didn't think so. And if it turned out Mohinder knew a few things he'd cobbled together from here and there to make himself interesting and earn better fares, at least it'd be safe to tell him. He'd never connect Peter with Nathan, and if by some chance he did, well, Nathan would be mad, but who would believe a cab driver?
It'd be easy to hide the elephant.
From the kitsch-cluttered hallway of Carmen Maria Escobar's fourth floor apartment, Peter called the Chelsea Cab Company and asked for Mohinder. The dispatcher acted weird and suspicious, so Peter just gave him his cell and said to tell Mohinder the guy who'd asked about destiny during the eclipse needed to talk to him.
They'd made a connection. The kind people made in New York City every day and always wondered what happened to the girl from the bus stop who'd been on her way to her big break or the guy who'd shared the ride to Kennedy heading home for his stepsister's funeral. Mohinder would remember.
The night nurse raised an eyebrow at Peter and clucked her tongue a few times because he wouldn't get overtime if she was there and what did he think he was doing staying at a client's home after his shift ended, but he smiled and dipped his gaze when he told her he had to wait for an important phone call and his reception was spotty. "Oh ho, a date," she crowed, then went to check Carmen's vitals.
He didn't bother correcting her. In some ways, it sort of was a date, him calling someone he wanted to see and hoping he'd agree. And when Mohinder did call, half an hour later, it even felt like a date.
"This is Mohinder. You wished to speak to me?"
The sexy liquid vowels he remembered sounded tight, nervous, and Peter could understand that. Probably not too many people called a cab company to talk to one of the drivers.
"Hi, Mohinder, this is Peter. You drove me the day of the eclipse, and, well I know this is strange, but what you said, about being special and genetic destiny, really hit home for me." Now he felt nervous; who shared their deepest secrets with a cab driver they barely knew? What had he been thinking? Peter shook his head. They'd connected. He hadn't made that up. "I wondered if maybe you'd be willing to meet somewhere, public of course, to talk."
The pause felt too long. Peter had to remind himself -- like he'd learned from dealing with clients' families -- not to negotiate with the silences and offer alternatives before an answer had been given.
"It is, as you say, a little unusual, but I am curious as to what has happened that you would call me."
Even though part of him wanted to, Peter didn't rush to assure him he wouldn't waste his time or thank him profusely before arranging to meet.
At seven o'clock, there weren't many coffee drinkers at The Second Cup. Mohinder sat at a corner table by the window with his back to the wall, stirring milk into his tea. That gave Peter a chance to settle his thoughts while he waited for the barista to make his hot chocolate.
Putting on his most soothing, patient-smile, Peter pulled out the chair opposite Mohinder's.
"Hello, Peter." Mohinder's voice rolled out, richer than Peter's cocoa and calm despite the situation.
"Hey. It's nice to see you," he started, but then he laughed because it was nice, very nice, but it felt like a dumb thing to say to someone he didn't know.
Mohinder laughed, too, and that made it easier. "Yes, this is awkward, isn't it?"
"A little, but probably not more awkward than me asking you about your destiny less than two minutes after meeting you." He gave Mohinder a wry half-smile, then looked down at his hands.
"It is true, most of my fares talk about the weather, or the city." Mohinder tilted his head, then shrugged, smiling. "But some fares are more special than others."
Peter looked up, sharply. "You do remember."
"My father was a geneticist." Lifting the tea to his lips, Mohinder sipped slowly and watched Peter over the rim of the cup. "He often spoke of the evolution of the human species in such terms. I do not easily forget conversations with strangers on his favorite lecture topic." He set the cup down in the saucer and leaned forward. "You wished to speak again on this subject. Why?"
Biting the inside of his lip, Peter struggled to keep from spilling out the whole story at once. "What you said, about taking the next step, do you believe that?"
"It was my father's life work. I would be a very poor son if I did not."
Which wasn't the same thing as saying yes, but Mohinder's intense gaze never left his. Peter held his hot chocolate, twisting it around in his hands. "I… I think it happened to me," he said finally. "I mean, something happened, and I think it's what you're talking about."
"What happened, exactly?" Now his voice had the same intensity as his eyes, each word sharp and precise.
"I..." His lip twisted and he licked at it before bringing up his chin, defiant. "I flew."
Mohinder didn't laugh. "You flew. You are certain. There is no other explanation?"
"I jumped off a building the morning after the eclipse. There was no wind." Now that he'd said it and Mohinder hadn't called him delusional, he felt stronger, more certain. "I flew."
"My gods. If my father… Have you done it again?"
It felt good to be believed. Good to talk. Like knowing he could fly should feel. "Twice. Once by accident, and once to prove that I could."
"You will show me, yes?"
"Yeah. Yeah." Peter smiled broadly. "Bathroom, come on." He practically bounced out of his chair and didn't wait to see if Mohinder followed.
The other man did, though, longer rapid strides almost overtaking Peter before he reached the men's room in the back. He didn't even care that the barista scowled as they passed by.
Mohinder shut the door behind them, and Peter's heart beat harder. He had to close his eyes, because the fierce interest in the cab driver's eyes made him anxious.
Concentrate, Pete, and the thought came in Nathan's voice, even though Nathan would be pissed if anyone found out about them because of this. Nathan's voice, stern and commanding, the same one that got him through his nursing boards when he'd been petrified, even though Nathan never approved of his career choice.
"My gods. Peter… My father, the research… It's real."
When Peter opened his eyes, he hovered four feet above eye level, rising, and Mohinder had his palms pressed to the door holding him up. Dark eyes shone, fervent. "Extraordinary. Simply extraordinary."
Peter dropped to his feet in front of Mohinder. "So your-"
Mohinder grabbed him and hugged him. "Thank you."
At first, he just stood there, awkwardly hugged by the cab driver whose father had searched his entire life for Peter. Then it all came crashing into him, flying, with Nathan, being special, flying, and the man with his arms around him understood.
Peter pushed against Mohinder's chest, then tilted his head up to reach for the taller man's mouth. Mohinder stiffened as their lips touched, and Peter felt nervous and awkward again. "Sorry, I just thought--"
Mohinder shook his head once. "It's all right, Peter." Then his head tilted, and his mouth curved into a wondering half-smile.
Warm lips tasting of black tea and milk and sweet with honey covered his, kissed him slow and sensual, kind, strong hands supporting his neck and lower back to keep him close. Mohinder's tongue licked along Peter's mouth, seeking, asking are you real? and Peter opened, telling him to take what he wanted and see how real Peter was.
It went on like that, deepening until Peter gripped Mohinder's biceps and moaned, soft and low, into his mouth. Mohinder broke the kiss, and looked down into his eyes. His eyebrow quirked upward. "And now, it's an entirely different sort of awkward, isn't it?"
He ran his tongue over his lips. "Yeah, the good kind."
At that, Mohinder laughed. "I followed in my father's footsteps. Based my research on his theories. You're the proof of everything I've worked for my entire life. It's a little unethical to date a research subject."
It didn't surprise him that Mohinder was also a geneticist. Everyone who drove a cab in New York used to be someone else. He shrugged, smiling. "At least you won't think I'm crazy when I tell you about my dreams."