Fic: Thrown Together, Ripped Apart - Ch. 4
Title: Thrown Together, Ripped Apart
Author: starrdust411
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Matt/Mohinder
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Back in India, Mohinder tries to get his life back together. (Word Count: 3,166)
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.
Warnings: Slash, Mpreg, Angst, AU
Chapter 1| Chapter 2| Chapter 3
Chapter 4
It was strange to be back in India. From the moment he stepped off of the plane the entire world seemed different. He had spent so much time overseas that the sights, the smells, the sounds of his homeland suddenly all seemed strangely alien to him. It was like digging into the closet and finding an old favorite shirt that had not been worn in years -- comfortable and familiar, yet not quite the same.
Meeting his mother and Molly at the airport, however, helped to push all those awkward feelings aside. Seeing his mother's warm smile and kind eyes made him feel safe and completely at ease, while Molly's small arms wrapped tightly around his neck filled the geneticist with a strong blend of happiness and guilt. He couldn't stop his insides from twisting when he thought of how he was here and Matt was still an entire world away, let alone all the horrible things he had done, but was still too ashamed of to speak about.
"Mohinder! I'm so glad you're okay," Molly greeted, her thin arms clinging to him impossibly tight.
"Of course I'm alright," he soothed, placing a quick kiss to Molly's cheek. "Why wouldn't I be?" He hadn't bothered to tell his mother or Molly why he was returning so suddenly, feeling it was best not to make the two worry unnecessarily, yet from Molly's words he had a feeling she was already aware that something was amiss.
"We've heard all about what's happening over there, in America," his mother told him, stepping in to hug both Mohinder and Molly.
"Micah's been e-mailing me," Molly explained.
Mohinder frowned, his ears perking up at that name. "Micah Sanders?"
Molly nodded. "He told me what's going, about how the government is rounding up people. People like me."
The geneticist felt his heart twist at the quiet way Molly spoke those last three words. It sickened him to think that if American government's plans succeeded then Molly would have to live the rest of her life in fear, ashamed of who she was and the way she was born. He felt himself give her a protective squeeze at the thought. "Has anything like that been happening here?" he asked quietly.
"No," his mother said, placing a gentle hand on Molly's shoulder. "Other countries have followed the United States' lead, but not here. We are lucky."
"Very," Mohinder breathed as he placed Molly down on the ground. As soon as her feet hit the tiled floor, her small hand instantly slipped into his. He smiled down at her before wrapping his other arm around his mother's shoulder, bringing her close. "Let's not talk about this now. I had a very long flight and would love to relax."
His mother smiled, leading him towards the parking lot. "Yes, let's go home."
Mohinder felt as if every tense muscle in his body unwound at those words. Nothing could sound more appealing to his tired ears.
-+-+-+-
The geneticist gave a long sigh as he stepped out of the bathroom and patted himself dry with the warm, inviting material of the towel. It felt wonderful to be clean again and the clothes his mother had picked up from his old apartment still fit perfectly. Well, almost perfectly.
Mohinder scowled as he pulled at the waist of his pants. Before the material had been loose enough to hang at his hips with plenty of room to spare, now the slacks still fit, but they were tighter, to the point where he couldn't even fit his little finger in the waist band. The extra weight had snuck up on him so gradually that he never noticed it. Now that he had time to actually study himself, he could see the slight swell in his stomach quite clearly.
He sighed, running his hand gently against his abdomen. It had only been a few days since he'd learned about his pregnancy, but Mohinder was still concerned about his unborn child's development. At his best guess he was somewhere between three and four months along, but he hadn't been taking good care of himself, and surely the tasers and sedatives couldn't have been very good for the developing child. What's more, there was a fair chance that the child had been conceived during his mutation. He didn't know whether or not the broken formula could have imprinted on the fetus, but he prayed that that was not the case.
Mohinder swallowed against the tight knot of dread in his throat. He knew that he needed to go to a doctor and get checked out, but that was impossible. Being in a country that wasn't currently hunting down Specials didn't stop his condition from being any less unusual. There was no possible way of going to a hospital without attracting any unwanted attention. Then there was the actual delivery to consider. He was more than certain that he would need surgery in order to deliver the baby, but how was he supposed to walk into a hospital and explain something like that?
Pulling on the bright orange kurta top, Mohinder pushed those troubled thoughts out of his head. Now was not the time to dwell on all this. He had just come home and all he wanted was to be with his family.
His family.
A long, dejected groan escaped his lips as the geneticist rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm. What was he supposed to tell his mother? Or Molly for that matter? Neither one of them new about his ability -- which will be difficult enough to believe on its own -- and explaining his current condition would be painful.
Not now, he told himself, pulling at the hem of his shirt. Not today. It was fortunate that the material was loose and airy. There was plenty of space between his growing stomach and the shirt itself, making his swell virtually invisible. Mohinder sighed, running one last hand over his stomach before slipping into his shoes and walking into the hall.
Walking through the brightly lit bungalow brought back a slew of memories. The house felt homey and comforting, yet strangely distant and foreign as he wandered back over to the kitchen. Out in the garden he saw Molly sitting on a bench fiddling with something in her hands. He smiled. She looked so calm and at peace that Mohinder had to wonder if his return would only disrupt the happy life she had settled into here.
Taking a few steps further he turned into the kitchen to see his mother pouring out hot water into two tea cups. "Ah, just what I needed," Mohinder said as he went to place a quick kiss to his mother's cheek. "How did you know?"
She smiled, patting his cheek affectionately. "Well, you looked troubled and you always did enjoy a nice hot cup of tea when you were upset."
"Am I really that transparent?" Mohinder sighed, as he leaned heavily against the kitchen counter.
"A mother can always sense these things," she said.
Mohinder frowned, worrying his lower lip as he grabbed one of the cups and placed it in front of him. He still didn't feel up to bringing his secret out in the open just yet, but he could tell from his mother's sharp stare that he wouldn't be able to keep his condition hidden for very long. "I just got back," he said slowly, "I don't think now is the time for me to burden you with all my troubles."
"You could never be a burden to me, Mohinder," she told him firmly.
Guilt settled into the pit of his stomach as his mother placed a gentle hand on his arm and gave him an affectionate squeeze. It took all that Mohinder had to stop himself from confessing everything right then and there. He grabbed his tea, blowing away some of the steam before taking a slow, steady sip. "How is Molly doing?" he asked, both out of genuine concern and the need to switch the focus away from himself. "Has she been adjusting well?"
His mother sighed. He could tell that she knew exactly what he was up to, but the woman made no attempt to actually shift the conversation back to the previous subject, most likely sensing his discomfort. "Molly has been doing just fine," she told him. "She's been making friends, picking up on the language well, and doing fine in school. Of course, her math could use some improvement, but I'm sure you will help her with that."
Mohinder smiled sadly at that. Just as he had suspected, Molly was doing much better without him. He couldn't help feeling that he was nothing more than a chaotic influence on the little girl's life. The geneticist wondered if he should allow Molly to continue to live with his mother even after things settled down. What about his baby? If he could barely handle raising a nine year old, what were the odds of him being any better at caring for an infant?
"Mohinder?" she began gently, pulling the geneticist out of his musing. "What's wrong? Something is bothering you. Tell me."
He sighed, looking from his mother's hand on his arm to the pleasant swirls in his tea cup. "It's nothing," he said, and then thought better of his words. It wouldn't do to be completely illusive when his mother was clearly worried about him. "I was just thinking about being a father. A year ago I was so certain that I would never have children. And then there was Molly."
And Matt, he added silently. His heart panged with guilt knowing that he was sitting comfortably among family while Matt was out there somewhere being hunted like a criminal. Cop turned fugitive. It was a bitter irony. Yet he pushed those thoughts aside for now. His mother didn't know much about Matt and if she had caught on to what type of relationship the two had -- either from what Mohinder had told her or what Molly might have unknowingly divulged -- then she did not let it on. Still, it was just another subject that he was not quite ready to talk about.
"I don't think I'm doing a very good job at it," Mohinder went on. "Parenting that is." He sighed, taking another sip of his tea. "Even after all this time I feel like I'm ambling through it all blindly. She was struggling with me, yet here, with you..."
"Mohinder, no one can be a perfect father over night," his mother chided. "I have years of experience from raising you. You are a new father and doing the best that you can with what you have. And Molly loves you. And you love her. That's all that really matters."
He smiled, nodding at her words. "I suppose you're right."
His mother leaned forward and kissed him again. "I know what will make you feel better," she said as she rubbed his arm soothingly. "I'm going to make your favorite meal tonight for dinner."
Mohinder chuckled. "That sounds wonderful. Thank you Mother."
"Think nothing of it," she smiled. "Now why don't you go outside and check on Molly?"
He nodded, grabbing his cup and heading back towards the garden. Molly was still there, sitting on a bench shaded by one of the larger trees. He could see now that the thing she had been fiddling with was her phone, which she cradled carefully in her lap. Her face was twisted into a scowl as she stared down at the screen.
"Something wrong?" Mohinder asked as he approached her from the side.
Molly jumped, twisting around to look at him. She smiled, snapping the phone closed and sliding it away as she scooted over to make room for him. "No, I was just texting Micah," she said simply.
Mohinder frowned, sitting down on the bench beside her. "You're not talking more about all that are you?"
She shrugged innocently. "It's important stuff Mohinder. I can't just ignore it. And I wanna help."
"I know, Molly," he sighed, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. She leaned into his side on her own, resting her head comfortably against his chest. She had grown so much in the months that they had been apart; he couldn't help feeling that she was a completely different person now. Yet as he ran his fingers through her loose hair, he was comforted that she still felt the same. "I just don't want you getting caught up in all of this. It's a dangerous situation and the last thing I want is for you to get hurt."
"I'm only nine, though," she pointed out, looking up at him with a mixture of worry and confusion. "Do you think they're rounding up kids too?"
"I don't know," he said honestly, "but I don't want to take that risk. What is it that you're doing with Micah anyway?"
"He's helping people with his ability," she explained. "Using machines to help Specials escape the government. He sends me texts sometimes asking me to find people and I text him back where they are."
Mohinder didn't like the sound of any of that. Micah was a child playing a very perilous game. He honestly didn't know if the American government would be willing to label a ten year old boy a terrorist, but given the fact that they were willingly rounding up innocent people for no reason other than their potential threat, it wasn't much of a stretch. Yet at the same time a part of him envied both Micah and Molly. What they were doing was brave in its foolishness. It stung his pride to know that two children were doing more to help people like him than he was.
"I don't approve of this, any of it," Mohinder sighed, "but I understand. You tell Micah to be safe and not to take any unnecessary risks. Abilities or no abilities, he's still a child and his own safety should come first."
Molly laughed, rolling her eyes playfully at her guardian's words as she rested heavily against him. "Mohinder, you're such a dad."
+-+-+-+
The walls have turned from soft goo to hard crystal. The hardened cocoon was everywhere, surrounding him completely, just as it had been created to. Made from his own two hands, designed by an unconscious echo in the back of his mind to shape, build, and form.
He couldn't move, he couldn't squirm, and he could barely breathe. He tried to move his arms, twitching his fingers back and forth.
His eyes were blurry. He could barely see an inch in front of his face. Yet he noticed the movement. Something not far away shifted back and forth. The figure was just a haze to his eyes, but the sight of it did not bring him comfort as he would have expected. It chilled him inside.
He closed his eyes as the blur got closer and prepared himself for the pain.
+-+-+-+
When Mohinder awoke he was covered from head to toe in sweat. The heat was sweltering and the sheets that had been draped over his waist were now twisted and tangled around his legs. They were smothering him, constricting his movements. It was still early -- a light blue glow seeped through his curtains and lit the room -- but he found himself scrambling out of bed as his stomach lurched and sank all at once.
The need to vomit was too strong to ignore. He was on his feet and hunting for the bathroom before he could even consider looking for his slippers. In the darkness of the early morning, the bungalow's halls looked painfully unfamiliar to tired eyes. He pushed open the first door in front of him and was grateful to see that he had found the right one. Just as the thought of turning on the lights flicked through his mind, Mohinder found himself bending over and emptying out the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl.
Mohinder coughed as the last traces of his illness left his body before promptly flushing the toilet. He gave another groan as sweat continued to pour out of him, causing his hair to cling to the sides of his heated face.
He cringed as the lights flicked on, stinging his unprepared eyes. "Mohinder?" his mother began, her worried voice causing him to shrink in shame. "Is everything alright?"
"Fine," he lied, rubbing at his tried eyes. "Did I wake you?"
"I heard you talking in your sleep," she explained, stepping into the bathroom and softly closing the door behind her.
He tried to give her a reassuring smile as he pushed himself off of the floor, but his eyes were still struggling to adjust to the blinding light in the small room, causing his grin to look more pained than he intended. "Just nightmares," he told her. "Nothing to worry about."
She frowned up at him, clearly not buying his explanation. "You never used to talk in your sleep," she pointed out. "Did the nightmares also make you sick?"
If at all possible Mohinder felt his already heated skin flush further as he turned towards the sink to wash his hands. "Must have been something I ate," he put in, grabbing a nearby cup and filling it with water.
"But my cooking has never made you sick before," she continued. "And you love my tandoori chicken. You always have."
He did love her tandoori chicken. He loved it so much that he had actually eaten three whole servings last night. Three servings that obviously had not been able to stay steady in his stomach. Perhaps I should add that to the ever growing list of things I can't eat, he thought miserably as he took in some water and swished it in his mouth. "I've just been having a hard time keeping things down lately," he told her after spitting out the water into the sink. "You needn't worry about me mother. Go back to bed."
The geneticist stiffened when he felt her gentle hand on his shoulder. "Mohinder, what's wrong? You haven't been yourself lately."
Mohinder sighed, splashing cold water against his tired face just so he could avoid meeting his mother's gaze for a little while longer. "I know," he said finally. "I know I've been different, but..." He swallowed. The words stuck to his throat. "I'm just not ready to talk about this yet."
"You can tell me anything, Mohinder," she assured him.
He frowned, wiping the excess water out of his eyes. He knew in his heart that he couldn't keep his secret hidden for long and the fact of the matter was that he absolutely hated lying to his mother. What's more, now that he had been caught in a bad light, he was certain that his mother would not simply let the subject drop.
It was now or never.
Next Chapter
Author: starrdust411
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Matt/Mohinder
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Back in India, Mohinder tries to get his life back together. (Word Count: 3,166)
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.
Warnings: Slash, Mpreg, Angst, AU
Chapter 1| Chapter 2| Chapter 3
Chapter 4
It was strange to be back in India. From the moment he stepped off of the plane the entire world seemed different. He had spent so much time overseas that the sights, the smells, the sounds of his homeland suddenly all seemed strangely alien to him. It was like digging into the closet and finding an old favorite shirt that had not been worn in years -- comfortable and familiar, yet not quite the same.
Meeting his mother and Molly at the airport, however, helped to push all those awkward feelings aside. Seeing his mother's warm smile and kind eyes made him feel safe and completely at ease, while Molly's small arms wrapped tightly around his neck filled the geneticist with a strong blend of happiness and guilt. He couldn't stop his insides from twisting when he thought of how he was here and Matt was still an entire world away, let alone all the horrible things he had done, but was still too ashamed of to speak about.
"Mohinder! I'm so glad you're okay," Molly greeted, her thin arms clinging to him impossibly tight.
"Of course I'm alright," he soothed, placing a quick kiss to Molly's cheek. "Why wouldn't I be?" He hadn't bothered to tell his mother or Molly why he was returning so suddenly, feeling it was best not to make the two worry unnecessarily, yet from Molly's words he had a feeling she was already aware that something was amiss.
"We've heard all about what's happening over there, in America," his mother told him, stepping in to hug both Mohinder and Molly.
"Micah's been e-mailing me," Molly explained.
Mohinder frowned, his ears perking up at that name. "Micah Sanders?"
Molly nodded. "He told me what's going, about how the government is rounding up people. People like me."
The geneticist felt his heart twist at the quiet way Molly spoke those last three words. It sickened him to think that if American government's plans succeeded then Molly would have to live the rest of her life in fear, ashamed of who she was and the way she was born. He felt himself give her a protective squeeze at the thought. "Has anything like that been happening here?" he asked quietly.
"No," his mother said, placing a gentle hand on Molly's shoulder. "Other countries have followed the United States' lead, but not here. We are lucky."
"Very," Mohinder breathed as he placed Molly down on the ground. As soon as her feet hit the tiled floor, her small hand instantly slipped into his. He smiled down at her before wrapping his other arm around his mother's shoulder, bringing her close. "Let's not talk about this now. I had a very long flight and would love to relax."
His mother smiled, leading him towards the parking lot. "Yes, let's go home."
Mohinder felt as if every tense muscle in his body unwound at those words. Nothing could sound more appealing to his tired ears.
-+-+-+-
The geneticist gave a long sigh as he stepped out of the bathroom and patted himself dry with the warm, inviting material of the towel. It felt wonderful to be clean again and the clothes his mother had picked up from his old apartment still fit perfectly. Well, almost perfectly.
Mohinder scowled as he pulled at the waist of his pants. Before the material had been loose enough to hang at his hips with plenty of room to spare, now the slacks still fit, but they were tighter, to the point where he couldn't even fit his little finger in the waist band. The extra weight had snuck up on him so gradually that he never noticed it. Now that he had time to actually study himself, he could see the slight swell in his stomach quite clearly.
He sighed, running his hand gently against his abdomen. It had only been a few days since he'd learned about his pregnancy, but Mohinder was still concerned about his unborn child's development. At his best guess he was somewhere between three and four months along, but he hadn't been taking good care of himself, and surely the tasers and sedatives couldn't have been very good for the developing child. What's more, there was a fair chance that the child had been conceived during his mutation. He didn't know whether or not the broken formula could have imprinted on the fetus, but he prayed that that was not the case.
Mohinder swallowed against the tight knot of dread in his throat. He knew that he needed to go to a doctor and get checked out, but that was impossible. Being in a country that wasn't currently hunting down Specials didn't stop his condition from being any less unusual. There was no possible way of going to a hospital without attracting any unwanted attention. Then there was the actual delivery to consider. He was more than certain that he would need surgery in order to deliver the baby, but how was he supposed to walk into a hospital and explain something like that?
Pulling on the bright orange kurta top, Mohinder pushed those troubled thoughts out of his head. Now was not the time to dwell on all this. He had just come home and all he wanted was to be with his family.
His family.
A long, dejected groan escaped his lips as the geneticist rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm. What was he supposed to tell his mother? Or Molly for that matter? Neither one of them new about his ability -- which will be difficult enough to believe on its own -- and explaining his current condition would be painful.
Not now, he told himself, pulling at the hem of his shirt. Not today. It was fortunate that the material was loose and airy. There was plenty of space between his growing stomach and the shirt itself, making his swell virtually invisible. Mohinder sighed, running one last hand over his stomach before slipping into his shoes and walking into the hall.
Walking through the brightly lit bungalow brought back a slew of memories. The house felt homey and comforting, yet strangely distant and foreign as he wandered back over to the kitchen. Out in the garden he saw Molly sitting on a bench fiddling with something in her hands. He smiled. She looked so calm and at peace that Mohinder had to wonder if his return would only disrupt the happy life she had settled into here.
Taking a few steps further he turned into the kitchen to see his mother pouring out hot water into two tea cups. "Ah, just what I needed," Mohinder said as he went to place a quick kiss to his mother's cheek. "How did you know?"
She smiled, patting his cheek affectionately. "Well, you looked troubled and you always did enjoy a nice hot cup of tea when you were upset."
"Am I really that transparent?" Mohinder sighed, as he leaned heavily against the kitchen counter.
"A mother can always sense these things," she said.
Mohinder frowned, worrying his lower lip as he grabbed one of the cups and placed it in front of him. He still didn't feel up to bringing his secret out in the open just yet, but he could tell from his mother's sharp stare that he wouldn't be able to keep his condition hidden for very long. "I just got back," he said slowly, "I don't think now is the time for me to burden you with all my troubles."
"You could never be a burden to me, Mohinder," she told him firmly.
Guilt settled into the pit of his stomach as his mother placed a gentle hand on his arm and gave him an affectionate squeeze. It took all that Mohinder had to stop himself from confessing everything right then and there. He grabbed his tea, blowing away some of the steam before taking a slow, steady sip. "How is Molly doing?" he asked, both out of genuine concern and the need to switch the focus away from himself. "Has she been adjusting well?"
His mother sighed. He could tell that she knew exactly what he was up to, but the woman made no attempt to actually shift the conversation back to the previous subject, most likely sensing his discomfort. "Molly has been doing just fine," she told him. "She's been making friends, picking up on the language well, and doing fine in school. Of course, her math could use some improvement, but I'm sure you will help her with that."
Mohinder smiled sadly at that. Just as he had suspected, Molly was doing much better without him. He couldn't help feeling that he was nothing more than a chaotic influence on the little girl's life. The geneticist wondered if he should allow Molly to continue to live with his mother even after things settled down. What about his baby? If he could barely handle raising a nine year old, what were the odds of him being any better at caring for an infant?
"Mohinder?" she began gently, pulling the geneticist out of his musing. "What's wrong? Something is bothering you. Tell me."
He sighed, looking from his mother's hand on his arm to the pleasant swirls in his tea cup. "It's nothing," he said, and then thought better of his words. It wouldn't do to be completely illusive when his mother was clearly worried about him. "I was just thinking about being a father. A year ago I was so certain that I would never have children. And then there was Molly."
And Matt, he added silently. His heart panged with guilt knowing that he was sitting comfortably among family while Matt was out there somewhere being hunted like a criminal. Cop turned fugitive. It was a bitter irony. Yet he pushed those thoughts aside for now. His mother didn't know much about Matt and if she had caught on to what type of relationship the two had -- either from what Mohinder had told her or what Molly might have unknowingly divulged -- then she did not let it on. Still, it was just another subject that he was not quite ready to talk about.
"I don't think I'm doing a very good job at it," Mohinder went on. "Parenting that is." He sighed, taking another sip of his tea. "Even after all this time I feel like I'm ambling through it all blindly. She was struggling with me, yet here, with you..."
"Mohinder, no one can be a perfect father over night," his mother chided. "I have years of experience from raising you. You are a new father and doing the best that you can with what you have. And Molly loves you. And you love her. That's all that really matters."
He smiled, nodding at her words. "I suppose you're right."
His mother leaned forward and kissed him again. "I know what will make you feel better," she said as she rubbed his arm soothingly. "I'm going to make your favorite meal tonight for dinner."
Mohinder chuckled. "That sounds wonderful. Thank you Mother."
"Think nothing of it," she smiled. "Now why don't you go outside and check on Molly?"
He nodded, grabbing his cup and heading back towards the garden. Molly was still there, sitting on a bench shaded by one of the larger trees. He could see now that the thing she had been fiddling with was her phone, which she cradled carefully in her lap. Her face was twisted into a scowl as she stared down at the screen.
"Something wrong?" Mohinder asked as he approached her from the side.
Molly jumped, twisting around to look at him. She smiled, snapping the phone closed and sliding it away as she scooted over to make room for him. "No, I was just texting Micah," she said simply.
Mohinder frowned, sitting down on the bench beside her. "You're not talking more about all that are you?"
She shrugged innocently. "It's important stuff Mohinder. I can't just ignore it. And I wanna help."
"I know, Molly," he sighed, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. She leaned into his side on her own, resting her head comfortably against his chest. She had grown so much in the months that they had been apart; he couldn't help feeling that she was a completely different person now. Yet as he ran his fingers through her loose hair, he was comforted that she still felt the same. "I just don't want you getting caught up in all of this. It's a dangerous situation and the last thing I want is for you to get hurt."
"I'm only nine, though," she pointed out, looking up at him with a mixture of worry and confusion. "Do you think they're rounding up kids too?"
"I don't know," he said honestly, "but I don't want to take that risk. What is it that you're doing with Micah anyway?"
"He's helping people with his ability," she explained. "Using machines to help Specials escape the government. He sends me texts sometimes asking me to find people and I text him back where they are."
Mohinder didn't like the sound of any of that. Micah was a child playing a very perilous game. He honestly didn't know if the American government would be willing to label a ten year old boy a terrorist, but given the fact that they were willingly rounding up innocent people for no reason other than their potential threat, it wasn't much of a stretch. Yet at the same time a part of him envied both Micah and Molly. What they were doing was brave in its foolishness. It stung his pride to know that two children were doing more to help people like him than he was.
"I don't approve of this, any of it," Mohinder sighed, "but I understand. You tell Micah to be safe and not to take any unnecessary risks. Abilities or no abilities, he's still a child and his own safety should come first."
Molly laughed, rolling her eyes playfully at her guardian's words as she rested heavily against him. "Mohinder, you're such a dad."
+-+-+-+
The walls have turned from soft goo to hard crystal. The hardened cocoon was everywhere, surrounding him completely, just as it had been created to. Made from his own two hands, designed by an unconscious echo in the back of his mind to shape, build, and form.
He couldn't move, he couldn't squirm, and he could barely breathe. He tried to move his arms, twitching his fingers back and forth.
His eyes were blurry. He could barely see an inch in front of his face. Yet he noticed the movement. Something not far away shifted back and forth. The figure was just a haze to his eyes, but the sight of it did not bring him comfort as he would have expected. It chilled him inside.
He closed his eyes as the blur got closer and prepared himself for the pain.
+-+-+-+
When Mohinder awoke he was covered from head to toe in sweat. The heat was sweltering and the sheets that had been draped over his waist were now twisted and tangled around his legs. They were smothering him, constricting his movements. It was still early -- a light blue glow seeped through his curtains and lit the room -- but he found himself scrambling out of bed as his stomach lurched and sank all at once.
The need to vomit was too strong to ignore. He was on his feet and hunting for the bathroom before he could even consider looking for his slippers. In the darkness of the early morning, the bungalow's halls looked painfully unfamiliar to tired eyes. He pushed open the first door in front of him and was grateful to see that he had found the right one. Just as the thought of turning on the lights flicked through his mind, Mohinder found himself bending over and emptying out the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl.
Mohinder coughed as the last traces of his illness left his body before promptly flushing the toilet. He gave another groan as sweat continued to pour out of him, causing his hair to cling to the sides of his heated face.
He cringed as the lights flicked on, stinging his unprepared eyes. "Mohinder?" his mother began, her worried voice causing him to shrink in shame. "Is everything alright?"
"Fine," he lied, rubbing at his tried eyes. "Did I wake you?"
"I heard you talking in your sleep," she explained, stepping into the bathroom and softly closing the door behind her.
He tried to give her a reassuring smile as he pushed himself off of the floor, but his eyes were still struggling to adjust to the blinding light in the small room, causing his grin to look more pained than he intended. "Just nightmares," he told her. "Nothing to worry about."
She frowned up at him, clearly not buying his explanation. "You never used to talk in your sleep," she pointed out. "Did the nightmares also make you sick?"
If at all possible Mohinder felt his already heated skin flush further as he turned towards the sink to wash his hands. "Must have been something I ate," he put in, grabbing a nearby cup and filling it with water.
"But my cooking has never made you sick before," she continued. "And you love my tandoori chicken. You always have."
He did love her tandoori chicken. He loved it so much that he had actually eaten three whole servings last night. Three servings that obviously had not been able to stay steady in his stomach. Perhaps I should add that to the ever growing list of things I can't eat, he thought miserably as he took in some water and swished it in his mouth. "I've just been having a hard time keeping things down lately," he told her after spitting out the water into the sink. "You needn't worry about me mother. Go back to bed."
The geneticist stiffened when he felt her gentle hand on his shoulder. "Mohinder, what's wrong? You haven't been yourself lately."
Mohinder sighed, splashing cold water against his tired face just so he could avoid meeting his mother's gaze for a little while longer. "I know," he said finally. "I know I've been different, but..." He swallowed. The words stuck to his throat. "I'm just not ready to talk about this yet."
"You can tell me anything, Mohinder," she assured him.
He frowned, wiping the excess water out of his eyes. He knew in his heart that he couldn't keep his secret hidden for long and the fact of the matter was that he absolutely hated lying to his mother. What's more, now that he had been caught in a bad light, he was certain that his mother would not simply let the subject drop.
It was now or never.
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