Fic: The Geneticist and the Frog - Ch. 2
Title: The Geneticist and the Frog
Author: starrdust411
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When the Prince kissed the Frog the real story began.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or The Princess and the Frog.
Warnings: Humor, Language, Slash, AU
Prologue| Chapter 1
Mohinder chuckled, fingering the brightly colored feathers of the stuffed parrot stuck to the boy's shoulder. He had to admit that the younger man's costume was very well done -- the life like parrot on his shoulder, the golden earring clipped to his earlobe, the polished cutlass at his hip, and the black eye patch covering his left eye -- but there was no doubt in the Indian's mind that his family must have been rather miffed.
"A pirate costume Lyle?" Mohinder laughed. "Really?"
"I told you, Mohinder," Lyle began, flashing him a very impish grin, his blue eye twinkling, "I'd rather be a pirate than a dumb ol' prince."
The Indian laughed that much harder at the comment, although he was sure that the Bennets weren't laughing. After all, Lyle was ruining the family's theme with his little act of rebellion. He looked over to main gates, where Sandra and HRG were standing side by side, arms happily locked as they greeted their guests. It was a beautiful night, the air was crisp and clean and just right for an outdoor affair such as this and the smiling guests seemed to agree as they made their way into the courtyard. Music drifted through the air, everywhere you looked people were eating and drinking and smiling, a clear sign of another successful Bennet affair.
Sandra looked absolutely stunning and Queenly with her elegant purple gown, complete with a golden, jeweled crown resting on top of her pinned up blonde locks and a painted on mole just above her left cheek. HRG's tall, imposing frame was dressed in a rich green suite, complete with cape and white gloves and a powerful crown on his head, very clearly stating his position to all.
The idea for the family’s costumes had been conceived by Claire when they had heard that HRG was to be King of the Mardi Gras parade, although Mohinder was certain that the girl had really wanted to dress the family in such a manner in order to impress the visiting royalty.
"Hey, Lyle," Monica greeted, approaching the two and smiling broadly at the boy's outfit. "Nice costume."
Lyle blushed as Monica reached out to finger the brim of his pirate hat, yet he pulled away just before she could touch. "Cheese and crackers, fellas," Lyle laughed. "When did I become the center of attention? That's something I'm not exactly used to."
"Well, what do ya expect when ya pull a stunt like this?" the young woman chided, smirking playfully to show that there was no malice to her words.
"Well, I wanna talk about somebody else's costume," Lyle laughed. "Monica, you look quite lovely."
Now it was the waitress's turn to blush as she fingered the plain -- and admittedly simple -- costume that she had purchased at the last minute. It was a generic outfit, a medieval dress with matching bonnet made with a dark mustard and earthy brown pattern. Of course, Monica was a beautiful young woman and could look good in anything. Even the plainness of her dress couldn't take that away from her.
"Thank you, Lyle," she beamed, rubbing the young man's shoulder affectionately. "And doesn't Mohinder look handsome?" she asked, turning towards Mohinder and catching the Indian off guard. He stiffened as she wrapped an arm around his shoulder, placing her free hand on his flat chest. "Looks really good in the costume I bought him, don't he?"
Mohinder chuckled, smirking playfully as he placed one hand on his hip and used his other to twirl the cheap magnifying glass that went with his outfit between his thumb and forefinger. He didn't know what had inspired Monica to purchase the detective costume, but he couldn't really complain. After all, she had done him a favor by purchasing this outfit for him. Of course, that didn't keep him from feeling more than a bit foolish.
"Yes, quite handsome," he said dryly, rolling his eyes as his two companions laughed at his expense. "I look just like Sherlock Holmes, if he had been from New Delhi instead of London."
All traces of mirth and merriment quickly disappeared from Lyle's eyes when he spotted something just over Mohinder's shoulder, and his laughing face turned into a weary scowl. "Look out, here comes Hurricane Claire," he grumbled.
Mohinder spun around just in time to see Claire approaching them, a troubled pout marring her usually bright features as she clutched the fabric of her light pink gown in her gloved hands. "He's not here!" she cried, and Lyle's automatic response was to heave an exasperated sigh.
"Who isn't here?" Mohinder asked, although the second he did, he realized his mistake.
"The prince!" she practically shouted. "He's not here yet. He was supposed to be here hours ago, but he's still not here! Oh dear. It's getting to be so late!"
"Well, you know royalty," Monica offered shrugging her shoulders casually, yet Mohinder could tell that Claire's frantic behavior had the young woman on edge. "They can barely keep track of their own two feet let alone the time."
"I'm sure, Monica's right," Mohinder put in, placing a reassuring hand on Claire's shoulder. "It's no big deal. Your parents don't seem worried."
Claire huffed, placing a very annoyed hand on her hip. "My parents don't seem worried, because they're too busy playing host and hostess! I have to do all the worrying for them!"
Mohinder glanced to his right only to see Lyle whispering something to Monica, most likely a plan to escape from Claire's small break down, before turning back to see the girl chewing on the tip of her gloved finger, a worried look on her face. She looked as if she were on the verge of frustrated tears and Mohinder felt very trapped.
"Mohinder, can I tell you a secret?" she whispered.
He glanced back and saw that Lyle and Monica were already gone. He sighed and reluctantly let Claire lead him towards the steps of the balcony. The Indian suddenly wondered why he had allowed everyone to talk him into going to this event. "Of course Claire," he assured her sincerely. "You can tell me anything."
"Well, I didn't want to say it earlier in the diner -- not in front of dad or anyone really -- but... and bare in mind that this is all really silly, I kind of had this idea that... when the prince got here he'd, well..." Claire blushed, turning away from him as she struggled to push out the words that seemed stuck to the roof of her mouth. "I thought it'd be like a fairy tale," she told him. "Like one of those books you used to read me. I thought when he got here our eyes would lock and he'd ask me to dance and we'd-"
"Live happily ever after?" he finished, a small smile on his lips. It was silly and childish, but he couldn't make fun of Claire. Not when she was pouring her heart out to him.
The teenager laughed, walking up the stairs sadly, looking ready to give up and go to bed. "I guess I'm still just a baby," she sighed, tipping her head upward and looking towards the clear evening sky. The crystal blue crown resting on top of her golden curls sparkled in the moonlight as her green eyes locked on the evening star shining in the bright center of the sky. "I know you said wishing on stars won't work, but... I'm gonna give it a try."
She closed her eyes, clasped her hands together, and began muttering something under her breath. Mohinder had to fight against the urge to laugh -- because it would have been just hurtful and cruel -- but he honestly couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"Claire," he began, placing a tender hand on her shoulder, just as trumpets sounded off in the distance.
Mohinder turned and glanced over the edge of the railing, watching as the gates opened and the crowd of guests parted like the sea. He saw a figure approaching, but he was wrapped in shadows and completely obscured. It was then that the Indian heard a voice booming over the hushed whispers and sending the guests into an awed silence.
"Presenting his royal highness, Prince Gabriel Gray of Maldonia!"
It was then that the figure stepped into the light and Mohinder instantly recognized the face from the morning paper. He was just as pale as Mohinder had anticipated, yet much taller. He was dressed in an ebony suit with a crimson cape and matching sash and a silver crown resting ontop of his head. He was dark and imposing, not what Mohinder had imagined a prince to be, but one look at the man's proud features erased any and all doubts of his royal heritage.
The Indian turned to smile reassuringly at Claire, only to find that the teenager was gone. He gaped, spinning back towards the prince only to see that Claire was already at his side. She curtsied gracefully and the prince smiled, bowing low before extending a gloved hand her way. The heiress hesitated for just a moment before placing her hand in the prince's massive palm. The Indian could practically hear the delicate gasp that escaped the girl's lips as the prince lead her in a waltz, the two of them gliding across the dance floor as if they had been made to dance with each other. Suddenly Mohinder felt as if he were watching a fairy tale come to life.
He chuckled, glancing back up at the evening star shining bright in the sky before descending the steps and rejoining the festivities.
Mohinder couldn't find Lyle or Monica, but as he scanned the crowd for a familiar face, he spotted one that he had not been expecting to see. His eyes widened when he caught Eric Thompson, head of Primatech Publications, standing at the refreshments table. The man's costume left much to be desired. He wore only a Viking hat -- grand horns and polished metal plating -- on top of his head, choosing a modern suit instead of something more fitting to complete the outfit. It was the sort of thing one wore when they felt they were above the idea of getting dressed up and put the barest effort into it out of good humored "politeness."
The Indian felt his throat go dry as the missing letters and phone calls suddenly filled his head. A part of him wanted to turn away, pretend he had never seen the man -- because it would be too forward to go up to Mr. Thompson and ask about his book while they were at a party -- but given the fact that when Mohinder had brought the manuscript to him, Mr. Thompson had winked and assured the young man to expect a phone call accepting his submission within the week, he felt justified approaching.
"Mr. Thompson," he called, walking towards the man from behind.
Thompson spun around and for a moment he merely stared at Mohinder in stunned confusion. "Suresh," he began, recovering from his initial shock. "What are you doing here? This is a pretty exclusive party."
Mohinder had to fight to keep the scowl off his face, because he caught the hidden meaning in the man's question. "Exclusive party" clearly meant "not for coloreds." "The Bennets are clients of mine," he informed him. "I was invited personally."
"I see," the man said, flashing the Indian a very condescending smile. "Well... isn't that something." The man turned, intending to walk away, but Mohinder grabbed his arm before he could go.
"Actually, Mr. Thompson," Mohinder began, noticing the way Thompson was staring at his hand. "I was wondering if I could speak to you about the book I submitted-"
"Oh right, your manuscript." Thompson sighed, scratching his chin thoughtfully, his eyes darting around the courtyard in search of escape. "Well, I'm afraid it's been rejected."
"Rejected?" he repeated. He could practically feel the color draining from his face as a sickening feeling filled his stomach. "Wh-why?"
"Listen, Suresh, the idea was cute, but you're just a kid. You didn't really expect to get something like that printed on good will alone did you?"
"But I already paid you. I gave you my money!"
"I'll see if I can get you a refund," he said dismissively. "I'm sure someone of your background will need it for... something. I have to go."
Thompson was anything but gentle as he yanked his arm out of Mohinder's grasp, hustling back towards the crowd. It was only because he was so stunned that Mohinder hadn't caught up with the man right away. "Wait!" he cried, hurrying to reach out and grab him, to keep him and his ambitions from slipping from between his fingers, but he stumbled, slamming into someone's side.
"Watch it!" a voice barked, just before Mohinder found himself being shoved away.
His feet failed him once again and suddenly the Indian was sent crashing into the refreshment table. He winced in pain as the table collapsed under his weight punch and hors d'oeuvres landing on top of him as if he were no more than a pile of used up goods. His face was burning bright red, yet as much as he wanted to get up and slink away, he felt far too numb to even consider moving.
"Oh, Mohinder! Everything's going so well," he heard Claire's excited voice gush, just as he began wiping pâté off of his tweed cloak. Yet her enthusiastic squeals came to a sudden halt and the Indian found his face burning up even more, knowing that his pupil was seeing him in his least flattering moment. "Oh dear... Mohinder, what happened?"
"I... uh..." was all he could say, too embarrassed to tell the teenager the truth even as he struggled to his feet.
"It's okay," she assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder, not caring that her silky pink gloves were now stained red from the punch, "you don't have to talk about it. Let's just get you cleaned up and changed."
-+-+-+-
Even in his foul mood, Mohinder had to marvel at how well the suit fit him. The shimmering blue fabric clung to him in all the right places, yet allowed him plenty of slack for movement. He tugged at the crisp white pants with his equally white gloves.This suite -- this costume -- was probably better made and more expensive than anything he had in his own wardrobe. This all felt too much for him, especially given the humiliation he had just gone through. He sighed, wondering if Claire would understand if he told her that he wasn't planning to rejoin the party.
"Are you alright Mohinder?" Claire called from the other side of the dressing screen. "I hope everything fits. I mean, that costume was meant for Lyle, but it was way too big for him, and of course, being the baby that he is, instead of having it resized he just went ahead and got a new costume. He won't admit it though. He'd rather just pretend he's being rebellious with the pirate outfit." She sighed, clucking her tongue wearily before adding a very exasperated lament of "little brothers."
Mohinder sighed, smoothing down the front of his suit, before stepping out from the other side of the screen. Claire -- who had very dutifully had her back facing him the entire time -- turned around when she heard the sound of his footsteps. She gasped at the sight of him, a hand pressed firmly against her chest. If he were in a better mood, he would have told the girl to stop teasing, but he just sat back and allowed her to have her fun at his expense.
"Mohinder," she breathed, grabbing the silver crown resting on the bureau beside her, "you look so handsome. I'm sure there's not a girl downstairs that wouldn't want you filling up her dance card."
"Thank you," he whispered, not really feeling the words. He wasn't sure what the fuss was. He may be dressed up like one, but he wasn't a prince. When the night was over and the clothes came off he'd still be Mohinder Suresh -- unwanted tutor, struggling college student, and overworked waiter. Yet he kept those words inside as he bent down to allow Claire to place the crown on top of his black curls.
"It feels like just yesterday my Dad hired you to teach me and Lyle our letters," Claire mused with more thoughtfulness than someone her age should have. "But here we are, all grown up. Soon, you'll be a doctor, ready to take on the world with your theories and I'll be going off to college myself." Claire sighed, standing up on the tips of her toes to place a quick kiss to Mohinder's cheek. It was a gesture that would usually make Mohinder smile, but the young man was feeling to frustrated and angry to even notice. "I'm going to head back downstairs... are you sure you're okay?"
"Fine," he lied, knowing that the softness of his voice alone would be enough to give him away. "I just need a moment."
Claire nodded, giving his shoulder a gentle pat before heading out the door. As soon as the door slipped closed, Mohinder felt his legs give out. He collapsed onto the floor on his hands and knees, frustrated tears burning in the back of his eyes and a scream building up in his throat. He sobbed, stuffing his fist in his mouth to stifle the cry that he knew was coming. In a way, it was fortunate that he was in Claire's room, because it kept him from flying off the handle and smashing everything in sight. The Indian grunted, huffed, as he balled up his other hand into a fist and began pounding the smooth surface beneath him.
He was a fool to even entertain the idea that he could succeed, to believe that he could knock down one small obstacle. Life didn't work that way, not for people like him.
It took him a few minutes and several deep breaths before he was calm enough to even think about standing. He heaved a weary sigh, getting to his feet and heading out towards the balcony to take in some much needed fresh air.
Hard to imagine that just a few hours ago he had felt certain that he was "almost there." His mother and his friends were always telling him to stop working so hard, but this experience only proved that he had to work even harder.
Resting his weight on the concrete railing, Mohinder suddenly felt so grateful that Claire's balcony was so far above the party down below. He could barely hear the music let alone see the guests dancing and milling around. The Indian was in absolutely no mood to watch others having a good time. He sighed, his eyes drifting to the night sky and catching the evening star Claire had wished on earlier. He remembered how, as unlikely as it was, Claire's wish had seemed to come true.
"Oh God," he breathed, pushing himself away from the balcony and squeezing his eyes shut. Mohinder couldn't believe what he was thinking, yet given the day he had been having... one more humiliation wouldn't kill him. He took in a deep breath, standing up straight and mimicking Claire's pose from earlier that evening. "Please," he whispered, squeezing his eyes tightly. "Please, please, please."
He opened his eyes, looking around him. Nothing was different. He groaned, slumping against the railing. What did I think would happen? he thought bitterly. He sighed, listening to the crickets chirp and the flies buzz and the frogs-
The Indian gasped, flinching away at the sight of a frog sitting perched on the railing just a few inches away from him. In spite of himself and everything that had happened, Mohinder actually found himself laughing. The frog was huge, easily the biggest frog he had ever seen, and from the way the little creature was staring at him, the young man would have sworn that it was actually studying him.
"Very funny," he laughed, glancing up at the star before turning his attention back to the frog. "So what now? I suppose you want a kiss."
The frog's lips twitched into what looked like a smile as the creature shifted and sat up straighter. "That wouldn't be too bad."
Mohinder had to admit that when he heard the frog speak instead of croak he let out a screech that could be described as anything but manly and probably jumped a good foot into the air. He stumbled, scrambling backwards in a frantic attempt to put as much space between himself and this bizarre creature only to end up crashing into Claire's bookcase. His head collided with the wooden structure, causing all the little girlish knick-knacks that had once been collecting dust on their respective shelves to come crashing down on top of him.
The world went black for a split second and suddenly Mohinder found himself kneeling on the floor, surrounded by a pile of toys and children's books. His head snapped up when he heard a strange voice calling to him, saying "I'm sorry!" over and over again.
The frog hopped down from the railing and onto the balcony, an apologetic look on its green features, and that wasn't right because frogs shouldn't be able to look apologetic. "I'm sorry Prince," the frog said with all the sincerity of someone who had never had to apologize for anything before in his life. "I didn't mean to startle you."
Dear God! It spoke again!
Mohinder screamed, grabbing the first thing his finger touched -- a stuff bear, no surprise there -- and hurled it with all his might at the creature. He was no zoologist, but he knew for a fact that frogs should not be able to speak and he sincerely didn't care if he was doing the scientific world a disservice by trying to kill the first known talking frog, because this was all just too much.
The frog ducked the bear, but his brown eyes stayed trained on Mohinder, so he picked up another item -- a hair brush -- and threw it.
"Wait a minute!" the frog said, ducking the brush. "I can explain." A shoe this time. "You know you have a very strong arm."
The stuffed monkey he threw hit the frog square in the face, shutting him up just long enough for Mohinder to get to his feet, clutching a thick book to his chest for protection. The little bastard didn't stay down long, however, as it hopped onto Claire's bureau, and proceeded to stand -- wobbling and struggling to keep itself erect -- on its hind legs. "Allow me to introduce myself," the frog began, and Mohinder felt as if he were going to be sick. "I am Prince Gabriel Gray-"
Mohinder didn't let the creature finish his introduction. He took the book in his hands and smashed it down on the frog, hoping against hope that it would just die and stay dead.
It didn't. Instead he heard the frog's strained voice croak out "... from Maldonia" with its last ounce of strength.
"Wait a minute," he began, slowly peeling the book off of the frog's crushed form. "A prince? But I didn't wish for..." He stopped himself, because what he was about to say was too ridiculous.
His mind was whirling as he thought back to just a few minutes ago. He remembered a tall, handsome figure with strong features and ghostly white skin dressed in silver and ebony, a crimson cape fluttering behind him and a silver crown adorning his slick black hair. That was Prince Gabriel Gray from Maldonia! He was downstairs right now being charming and regal and sweeping Claire Bennet off her dainty little feet.
"If... if you're Prince Gabriel," he began, clutching the book to his chest once again as the frog barely managed to pull itself back together, "then who the hell is that dancing with Claire?"
"I don't know," the frog, "Gabriel", sighed; glaring up at him from underneath two incredibly thick eyebrows. (Were frogs supposed to have eyebrows? Were frogs supposed to have hair?) "All I know is that just a few hours ago, I was human -- tall, dark, and brooding -- then, the next thing I know, I'm a slimy little frog!"
"Well, that's not really slime," Mohinder corrected. "It's mucus."
"Should I care?" Froggy Gabriel snapped; an impatient look on his little green face.
Mohinder sighed, trying to get a good hold on the situation. He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. Yes. The frog had croaked and it had startled him, so when he bumped his head on the bookshelf he had actually passed out. Yeah, that made sense. That made perfect sense.
"Wait," the frog said, interrupting his train of thought. There was hope and excitement in his voice as he stared at the leather bound text in Mohinder’s hand. "Let me see that book."
The Indian frowned, glancing down at the book in his hands, finally realizing that he was holding a copy of The Frog Prince. How ironic. He placed the novel down beside Froggy Gabriel and the little creature's eyes lit up as it flipped the book open and began turning the pages. "Yes, this is it! This is the answer."
Mohinder leaned forward, inspecting what had gotten the amphibian so excited. His frown deepened when he saw that it was staring at an illustration of a princess kissing a frog. Froggy Gabriel then flipped to the next page, revealing a vibrant illustration of the frog in the story transforming into a human prince.
"You have to kiss me," the frog announced and Mohinder had to admit that he saw a twinkle in those deep brown eyes.
"What?" he shrieked, flinching away from the animal. "That's ridiculous!"
"In the story, a kiss from a princess broke the spell," Froggy Gabriel pointed out. "Obviously, I'm under some sort of curse so maybe if you kiss me-"
"I am not a princess!" he barked, the sheer volume of his voice causing the amphibian to stumble and lose its balance.
"You might be close enough," the frog said dryly.
Mohinder was about to give another indignant cry when he looked down at the sparkling blue costume he was wearing. The suit. The cape. The crown! The frog thought he was a prince. This dream was starting to make a little bit more sense. "Well I doubt there's any scientific evidence to prove that," Mohinder snipped. "And even if there was... Well, I do not kiss frogs."
"Even if it were to turn me human again?" the frog pressed. Mohinder merely frowned, squaring his jaw and crossing his arms over his flat chest. Froggy Gabriel scowled. Obviously this little creature was not used to being turned down, let alone having to ask more than once to get what he wanted, yet he showed no sign of backing down. "You know, my family is incredibly powerful. And rich. If you help me, maybe I can give you something in return."
Mohinder's heart leaped into his throat at the amphibian's statement. His mind instantly went to his book -- his father's book. Maybe this wasn't a dream. Maybe this really was Prince Gabriel. And if that were the case, then surely the word of a prince would be more than enough to get his father's theories published.
What am I thinking? This is mad! This isn't happening, it's a dream!
Yet even as he thought all this, even as the doubt still swirled in his head, his heart clung to the fleeting hope that the dream he had shared with his father wasn't dead just yet. "Alright," he began, taking in a long breath. "I kiss you and then you help me get my father's book published."
"Done," the frog swore, crossing his heart for emphasis. "Once I'm human again, I'll make sure it happens. Now kiss me."
The creature closed its eyes and puckered its lips and Mohinder felt his skin crawl. He gagged, turning away. Oh God! Oh God! I can't do this! ... But I have to... for Father. He allowed himself a long shudder before screwing up his courage to try this again. "Just... one kiss, right?" he asked, watching as the frog licked its green lips. The little bastard looked far too happy to humiliate him like this!
"Just one," he agreed, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, "unless you want more."
"Don't get cocky," he snapped tersely. "And stop smiling!"
Froggy Gabriel allowed himself one last smirk before closing his eyes and puckering up his lips once more. Mohinder swore that if this didn't work he was going to kick the bastard's little ass. He took a deep breath, held it, and then leaned forward, allowing his soft brown lips to meet wet green ones. His body tingled and his vision was consumed by a sparkling white light and when he opened his eyes, everything was wrong.
Chapter 3 - When We're Human
Author: starrdust411
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When the Prince kissed the Frog the real story began.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or The Princess and the Frog.
Warnings: Humor, Language, Slash, AU
Prologue| Chapter 1
Mohinder chuckled, fingering the brightly colored feathers of the stuffed parrot stuck to the boy's shoulder. He had to admit that the younger man's costume was very well done -- the life like parrot on his shoulder, the golden earring clipped to his earlobe, the polished cutlass at his hip, and the black eye patch covering his left eye -- but there was no doubt in the Indian's mind that his family must have been rather miffed.
"A pirate costume Lyle?" Mohinder laughed. "Really?"
"I told you, Mohinder," Lyle began, flashing him a very impish grin, his blue eye twinkling, "I'd rather be a pirate than a dumb ol' prince."
The Indian laughed that much harder at the comment, although he was sure that the Bennets weren't laughing. After all, Lyle was ruining the family's theme with his little act of rebellion. He looked over to main gates, where Sandra and HRG were standing side by side, arms happily locked as they greeted their guests. It was a beautiful night, the air was crisp and clean and just right for an outdoor affair such as this and the smiling guests seemed to agree as they made their way into the courtyard. Music drifted through the air, everywhere you looked people were eating and drinking and smiling, a clear sign of another successful Bennet affair.
Sandra looked absolutely stunning and Queenly with her elegant purple gown, complete with a golden, jeweled crown resting on top of her pinned up blonde locks and a painted on mole just above her left cheek. HRG's tall, imposing frame was dressed in a rich green suite, complete with cape and white gloves and a powerful crown on his head, very clearly stating his position to all.
The idea for the family’s costumes had been conceived by Claire when they had heard that HRG was to be King of the Mardi Gras parade, although Mohinder was certain that the girl had really wanted to dress the family in such a manner in order to impress the visiting royalty.
"Hey, Lyle," Monica greeted, approaching the two and smiling broadly at the boy's outfit. "Nice costume."
Lyle blushed as Monica reached out to finger the brim of his pirate hat, yet he pulled away just before she could touch. "Cheese and crackers, fellas," Lyle laughed. "When did I become the center of attention? That's something I'm not exactly used to."
"Well, what do ya expect when ya pull a stunt like this?" the young woman chided, smirking playfully to show that there was no malice to her words.
"Well, I wanna talk about somebody else's costume," Lyle laughed. "Monica, you look quite lovely."
Now it was the waitress's turn to blush as she fingered the plain -- and admittedly simple -- costume that she had purchased at the last minute. It was a generic outfit, a medieval dress with matching bonnet made with a dark mustard and earthy brown pattern. Of course, Monica was a beautiful young woman and could look good in anything. Even the plainness of her dress couldn't take that away from her.
"Thank you, Lyle," she beamed, rubbing the young man's shoulder affectionately. "And doesn't Mohinder look handsome?" she asked, turning towards Mohinder and catching the Indian off guard. He stiffened as she wrapped an arm around his shoulder, placing her free hand on his flat chest. "Looks really good in the costume I bought him, don't he?"
Mohinder chuckled, smirking playfully as he placed one hand on his hip and used his other to twirl the cheap magnifying glass that went with his outfit between his thumb and forefinger. He didn't know what had inspired Monica to purchase the detective costume, but he couldn't really complain. After all, she had done him a favor by purchasing this outfit for him. Of course, that didn't keep him from feeling more than a bit foolish.
"Yes, quite handsome," he said dryly, rolling his eyes as his two companions laughed at his expense. "I look just like Sherlock Holmes, if he had been from New Delhi instead of London."
All traces of mirth and merriment quickly disappeared from Lyle's eyes when he spotted something just over Mohinder's shoulder, and his laughing face turned into a weary scowl. "Look out, here comes Hurricane Claire," he grumbled.
Mohinder spun around just in time to see Claire approaching them, a troubled pout marring her usually bright features as she clutched the fabric of her light pink gown in her gloved hands. "He's not here!" she cried, and Lyle's automatic response was to heave an exasperated sigh.
"Who isn't here?" Mohinder asked, although the second he did, he realized his mistake.
"The prince!" she practically shouted. "He's not here yet. He was supposed to be here hours ago, but he's still not here! Oh dear. It's getting to be so late!"
"Well, you know royalty," Monica offered shrugging her shoulders casually, yet Mohinder could tell that Claire's frantic behavior had the young woman on edge. "They can barely keep track of their own two feet let alone the time."
"I'm sure, Monica's right," Mohinder put in, placing a reassuring hand on Claire's shoulder. "It's no big deal. Your parents don't seem worried."
Claire huffed, placing a very annoyed hand on her hip. "My parents don't seem worried, because they're too busy playing host and hostess! I have to do all the worrying for them!"
Mohinder glanced to his right only to see Lyle whispering something to Monica, most likely a plan to escape from Claire's small break down, before turning back to see the girl chewing on the tip of her gloved finger, a worried look on her face. She looked as if she were on the verge of frustrated tears and Mohinder felt very trapped.
"Mohinder, can I tell you a secret?" she whispered.
He glanced back and saw that Lyle and Monica were already gone. He sighed and reluctantly let Claire lead him towards the steps of the balcony. The Indian suddenly wondered why he had allowed everyone to talk him into going to this event. "Of course Claire," he assured her sincerely. "You can tell me anything."
"Well, I didn't want to say it earlier in the diner -- not in front of dad or anyone really -- but... and bare in mind that this is all really silly, I kind of had this idea that... when the prince got here he'd, well..." Claire blushed, turning away from him as she struggled to push out the words that seemed stuck to the roof of her mouth. "I thought it'd be like a fairy tale," she told him. "Like one of those books you used to read me. I thought when he got here our eyes would lock and he'd ask me to dance and we'd-"
"Live happily ever after?" he finished, a small smile on his lips. It was silly and childish, but he couldn't make fun of Claire. Not when she was pouring her heart out to him.
The teenager laughed, walking up the stairs sadly, looking ready to give up and go to bed. "I guess I'm still just a baby," she sighed, tipping her head upward and looking towards the clear evening sky. The crystal blue crown resting on top of her golden curls sparkled in the moonlight as her green eyes locked on the evening star shining in the bright center of the sky. "I know you said wishing on stars won't work, but... I'm gonna give it a try."
She closed her eyes, clasped her hands together, and began muttering something under her breath. Mohinder had to fight against the urge to laugh -- because it would have been just hurtful and cruel -- but he honestly couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"Claire," he began, placing a tender hand on her shoulder, just as trumpets sounded off in the distance.
Mohinder turned and glanced over the edge of the railing, watching as the gates opened and the crowd of guests parted like the sea. He saw a figure approaching, but he was wrapped in shadows and completely obscured. It was then that the Indian heard a voice booming over the hushed whispers and sending the guests into an awed silence.
"Presenting his royal highness, Prince Gabriel Gray of Maldonia!"
It was then that the figure stepped into the light and Mohinder instantly recognized the face from the morning paper. He was just as pale as Mohinder had anticipated, yet much taller. He was dressed in an ebony suit with a crimson cape and matching sash and a silver crown resting ontop of his head. He was dark and imposing, not what Mohinder had imagined a prince to be, but one look at the man's proud features erased any and all doubts of his royal heritage.
The Indian turned to smile reassuringly at Claire, only to find that the teenager was gone. He gaped, spinning back towards the prince only to see that Claire was already at his side. She curtsied gracefully and the prince smiled, bowing low before extending a gloved hand her way. The heiress hesitated for just a moment before placing her hand in the prince's massive palm. The Indian could practically hear the delicate gasp that escaped the girl's lips as the prince lead her in a waltz, the two of them gliding across the dance floor as if they had been made to dance with each other. Suddenly Mohinder felt as if he were watching a fairy tale come to life.
He chuckled, glancing back up at the evening star shining bright in the sky before descending the steps and rejoining the festivities.
Mohinder couldn't find Lyle or Monica, but as he scanned the crowd for a familiar face, he spotted one that he had not been expecting to see. His eyes widened when he caught Eric Thompson, head of Primatech Publications, standing at the refreshments table. The man's costume left much to be desired. He wore only a Viking hat -- grand horns and polished metal plating -- on top of his head, choosing a modern suit instead of something more fitting to complete the outfit. It was the sort of thing one wore when they felt they were above the idea of getting dressed up and put the barest effort into it out of good humored "politeness."
The Indian felt his throat go dry as the missing letters and phone calls suddenly filled his head. A part of him wanted to turn away, pretend he had never seen the man -- because it would be too forward to go up to Mr. Thompson and ask about his book while they were at a party -- but given the fact that when Mohinder had brought the manuscript to him, Mr. Thompson had winked and assured the young man to expect a phone call accepting his submission within the week, he felt justified approaching.
"Mr. Thompson," he called, walking towards the man from behind.
Thompson spun around and for a moment he merely stared at Mohinder in stunned confusion. "Suresh," he began, recovering from his initial shock. "What are you doing here? This is a pretty exclusive party."
Mohinder had to fight to keep the scowl off his face, because he caught the hidden meaning in the man's question. "Exclusive party" clearly meant "not for coloreds." "The Bennets are clients of mine," he informed him. "I was invited personally."
"I see," the man said, flashing the Indian a very condescending smile. "Well... isn't that something." The man turned, intending to walk away, but Mohinder grabbed his arm before he could go.
"Actually, Mr. Thompson," Mohinder began, noticing the way Thompson was staring at his hand. "I was wondering if I could speak to you about the book I submitted-"
"Oh right, your manuscript." Thompson sighed, scratching his chin thoughtfully, his eyes darting around the courtyard in search of escape. "Well, I'm afraid it's been rejected."
"Rejected?" he repeated. He could practically feel the color draining from his face as a sickening feeling filled his stomach. "Wh-why?"
"Listen, Suresh, the idea was cute, but you're just a kid. You didn't really expect to get something like that printed on good will alone did you?"
"But I already paid you. I gave you my money!"
"I'll see if I can get you a refund," he said dismissively. "I'm sure someone of your background will need it for... something. I have to go."
Thompson was anything but gentle as he yanked his arm out of Mohinder's grasp, hustling back towards the crowd. It was only because he was so stunned that Mohinder hadn't caught up with the man right away. "Wait!" he cried, hurrying to reach out and grab him, to keep him and his ambitions from slipping from between his fingers, but he stumbled, slamming into someone's side.
"Watch it!" a voice barked, just before Mohinder found himself being shoved away.
His feet failed him once again and suddenly the Indian was sent crashing into the refreshment table. He winced in pain as the table collapsed under his weight punch and hors d'oeuvres landing on top of him as if he were no more than a pile of used up goods. His face was burning bright red, yet as much as he wanted to get up and slink away, he felt far too numb to even consider moving.
"Oh, Mohinder! Everything's going so well," he heard Claire's excited voice gush, just as he began wiping pâté off of his tweed cloak. Yet her enthusiastic squeals came to a sudden halt and the Indian found his face burning up even more, knowing that his pupil was seeing him in his least flattering moment. "Oh dear... Mohinder, what happened?"
"I... uh..." was all he could say, too embarrassed to tell the teenager the truth even as he struggled to his feet.
"It's okay," she assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder, not caring that her silky pink gloves were now stained red from the punch, "you don't have to talk about it. Let's just get you cleaned up and changed."
-+-+-+-
Even in his foul mood, Mohinder had to marvel at how well the suit fit him. The shimmering blue fabric clung to him in all the right places, yet allowed him plenty of slack for movement. He tugged at the crisp white pants with his equally white gloves.This suite -- this costume -- was probably better made and more expensive than anything he had in his own wardrobe. This all felt too much for him, especially given the humiliation he had just gone through. He sighed, wondering if Claire would understand if he told her that he wasn't planning to rejoin the party.
"Are you alright Mohinder?" Claire called from the other side of the dressing screen. "I hope everything fits. I mean, that costume was meant for Lyle, but it was way too big for him, and of course, being the baby that he is, instead of having it resized he just went ahead and got a new costume. He won't admit it though. He'd rather just pretend he's being rebellious with the pirate outfit." She sighed, clucking her tongue wearily before adding a very exasperated lament of "little brothers."
Mohinder sighed, smoothing down the front of his suit, before stepping out from the other side of the screen. Claire -- who had very dutifully had her back facing him the entire time -- turned around when she heard the sound of his footsteps. She gasped at the sight of him, a hand pressed firmly against her chest. If he were in a better mood, he would have told the girl to stop teasing, but he just sat back and allowed her to have her fun at his expense.
"Mohinder," she breathed, grabbing the silver crown resting on the bureau beside her, "you look so handsome. I'm sure there's not a girl downstairs that wouldn't want you filling up her dance card."
"Thank you," he whispered, not really feeling the words. He wasn't sure what the fuss was. He may be dressed up like one, but he wasn't a prince. When the night was over and the clothes came off he'd still be Mohinder Suresh -- unwanted tutor, struggling college student, and overworked waiter. Yet he kept those words inside as he bent down to allow Claire to place the crown on top of his black curls.
"It feels like just yesterday my Dad hired you to teach me and Lyle our letters," Claire mused with more thoughtfulness than someone her age should have. "But here we are, all grown up. Soon, you'll be a doctor, ready to take on the world with your theories and I'll be going off to college myself." Claire sighed, standing up on the tips of her toes to place a quick kiss to Mohinder's cheek. It was a gesture that would usually make Mohinder smile, but the young man was feeling to frustrated and angry to even notice. "I'm going to head back downstairs... are you sure you're okay?"
"Fine," he lied, knowing that the softness of his voice alone would be enough to give him away. "I just need a moment."
Claire nodded, giving his shoulder a gentle pat before heading out the door. As soon as the door slipped closed, Mohinder felt his legs give out. He collapsed onto the floor on his hands and knees, frustrated tears burning in the back of his eyes and a scream building up in his throat. He sobbed, stuffing his fist in his mouth to stifle the cry that he knew was coming. In a way, it was fortunate that he was in Claire's room, because it kept him from flying off the handle and smashing everything in sight. The Indian grunted, huffed, as he balled up his other hand into a fist and began pounding the smooth surface beneath him.
He was a fool to even entertain the idea that he could succeed, to believe that he could knock down one small obstacle. Life didn't work that way, not for people like him.
It took him a few minutes and several deep breaths before he was calm enough to even think about standing. He heaved a weary sigh, getting to his feet and heading out towards the balcony to take in some much needed fresh air.
Hard to imagine that just a few hours ago he had felt certain that he was "almost there." His mother and his friends were always telling him to stop working so hard, but this experience only proved that he had to work even harder.
Resting his weight on the concrete railing, Mohinder suddenly felt so grateful that Claire's balcony was so far above the party down below. He could barely hear the music let alone see the guests dancing and milling around. The Indian was in absolutely no mood to watch others having a good time. He sighed, his eyes drifting to the night sky and catching the evening star Claire had wished on earlier. He remembered how, as unlikely as it was, Claire's wish had seemed to come true.
"Oh God," he breathed, pushing himself away from the balcony and squeezing his eyes shut. Mohinder couldn't believe what he was thinking, yet given the day he had been having... one more humiliation wouldn't kill him. He took in a deep breath, standing up straight and mimicking Claire's pose from earlier that evening. "Please," he whispered, squeezing his eyes tightly. "Please, please, please."
He opened his eyes, looking around him. Nothing was different. He groaned, slumping against the railing. What did I think would happen? he thought bitterly. He sighed, listening to the crickets chirp and the flies buzz and the frogs-
The Indian gasped, flinching away at the sight of a frog sitting perched on the railing just a few inches away from him. In spite of himself and everything that had happened, Mohinder actually found himself laughing. The frog was huge, easily the biggest frog he had ever seen, and from the way the little creature was staring at him, the young man would have sworn that it was actually studying him.
"Very funny," he laughed, glancing up at the star before turning his attention back to the frog. "So what now? I suppose you want a kiss."
The frog's lips twitched into what looked like a smile as the creature shifted and sat up straighter. "That wouldn't be too bad."
Mohinder had to admit that when he heard the frog speak instead of croak he let out a screech that could be described as anything but manly and probably jumped a good foot into the air. He stumbled, scrambling backwards in a frantic attempt to put as much space between himself and this bizarre creature only to end up crashing into Claire's bookcase. His head collided with the wooden structure, causing all the little girlish knick-knacks that had once been collecting dust on their respective shelves to come crashing down on top of him.
The world went black for a split second and suddenly Mohinder found himself kneeling on the floor, surrounded by a pile of toys and children's books. His head snapped up when he heard a strange voice calling to him, saying "I'm sorry!" over and over again.
The frog hopped down from the railing and onto the balcony, an apologetic look on its green features, and that wasn't right because frogs shouldn't be able to look apologetic. "I'm sorry Prince," the frog said with all the sincerity of someone who had never had to apologize for anything before in his life. "I didn't mean to startle you."
Dear God! It spoke again!
Mohinder screamed, grabbing the first thing his finger touched -- a stuff bear, no surprise there -- and hurled it with all his might at the creature. He was no zoologist, but he knew for a fact that frogs should not be able to speak and he sincerely didn't care if he was doing the scientific world a disservice by trying to kill the first known talking frog, because this was all just too much.
The frog ducked the bear, but his brown eyes stayed trained on Mohinder, so he picked up another item -- a hair brush -- and threw it.
"Wait a minute!" the frog said, ducking the brush. "I can explain." A shoe this time. "You know you have a very strong arm."
The stuffed monkey he threw hit the frog square in the face, shutting him up just long enough for Mohinder to get to his feet, clutching a thick book to his chest for protection. The little bastard didn't stay down long, however, as it hopped onto Claire's bureau, and proceeded to stand -- wobbling and struggling to keep itself erect -- on its hind legs. "Allow me to introduce myself," the frog began, and Mohinder felt as if he were going to be sick. "I am Prince Gabriel Gray-"
Mohinder didn't let the creature finish his introduction. He took the book in his hands and smashed it down on the frog, hoping against hope that it would just die and stay dead.
It didn't. Instead he heard the frog's strained voice croak out "... from Maldonia" with its last ounce of strength.
"Wait a minute," he began, slowly peeling the book off of the frog's crushed form. "A prince? But I didn't wish for..." He stopped himself, because what he was about to say was too ridiculous.
His mind was whirling as he thought back to just a few minutes ago. He remembered a tall, handsome figure with strong features and ghostly white skin dressed in silver and ebony, a crimson cape fluttering behind him and a silver crown adorning his slick black hair. That was Prince Gabriel Gray from Maldonia! He was downstairs right now being charming and regal and sweeping Claire Bennet off her dainty little feet.
"If... if you're Prince Gabriel," he began, clutching the book to his chest once again as the frog barely managed to pull itself back together, "then who the hell is that dancing with Claire?"
"I don't know," the frog, "Gabriel", sighed; glaring up at him from underneath two incredibly thick eyebrows. (Were frogs supposed to have eyebrows? Were frogs supposed to have hair?) "All I know is that just a few hours ago, I was human -- tall, dark, and brooding -- then, the next thing I know, I'm a slimy little frog!"
"Well, that's not really slime," Mohinder corrected. "It's mucus."
"Should I care?" Froggy Gabriel snapped; an impatient look on his little green face.
Mohinder sighed, trying to get a good hold on the situation. He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. Yes. The frog had croaked and it had startled him, so when he bumped his head on the bookshelf he had actually passed out. Yeah, that made sense. That made perfect sense.
"Wait," the frog said, interrupting his train of thought. There was hope and excitement in his voice as he stared at the leather bound text in Mohinder’s hand. "Let me see that book."
The Indian frowned, glancing down at the book in his hands, finally realizing that he was holding a copy of The Frog Prince. How ironic. He placed the novel down beside Froggy Gabriel and the little creature's eyes lit up as it flipped the book open and began turning the pages. "Yes, this is it! This is the answer."
Mohinder leaned forward, inspecting what had gotten the amphibian so excited. His frown deepened when he saw that it was staring at an illustration of a princess kissing a frog. Froggy Gabriel then flipped to the next page, revealing a vibrant illustration of the frog in the story transforming into a human prince.
"You have to kiss me," the frog announced and Mohinder had to admit that he saw a twinkle in those deep brown eyes.
"What?" he shrieked, flinching away from the animal. "That's ridiculous!"
"In the story, a kiss from a princess broke the spell," Froggy Gabriel pointed out. "Obviously, I'm under some sort of curse so maybe if you kiss me-"
"I am not a princess!" he barked, the sheer volume of his voice causing the amphibian to stumble and lose its balance.
"You might be close enough," the frog said dryly.
Mohinder was about to give another indignant cry when he looked down at the sparkling blue costume he was wearing. The suit. The cape. The crown! The frog thought he was a prince. This dream was starting to make a little bit more sense. "Well I doubt there's any scientific evidence to prove that," Mohinder snipped. "And even if there was... Well, I do not kiss frogs."
"Even if it were to turn me human again?" the frog pressed. Mohinder merely frowned, squaring his jaw and crossing his arms over his flat chest. Froggy Gabriel scowled. Obviously this little creature was not used to being turned down, let alone having to ask more than once to get what he wanted, yet he showed no sign of backing down. "You know, my family is incredibly powerful. And rich. If you help me, maybe I can give you something in return."
Mohinder's heart leaped into his throat at the amphibian's statement. His mind instantly went to his book -- his father's book. Maybe this wasn't a dream. Maybe this really was Prince Gabriel. And if that were the case, then surely the word of a prince would be more than enough to get his father's theories published.
What am I thinking? This is mad! This isn't happening, it's a dream!
Yet even as he thought all this, even as the doubt still swirled in his head, his heart clung to the fleeting hope that the dream he had shared with his father wasn't dead just yet. "Alright," he began, taking in a long breath. "I kiss you and then you help me get my father's book published."
"Done," the frog swore, crossing his heart for emphasis. "Once I'm human again, I'll make sure it happens. Now kiss me."
The creature closed its eyes and puckered its lips and Mohinder felt his skin crawl. He gagged, turning away. Oh God! Oh God! I can't do this! ... But I have to... for Father. He allowed himself a long shudder before screwing up his courage to try this again. "Just... one kiss, right?" he asked, watching as the frog licked its green lips. The little bastard looked far too happy to humiliate him like this!
"Just one," he agreed, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, "unless you want more."
"Don't get cocky," he snapped tersely. "And stop smiling!"
Froggy Gabriel allowed himself one last smirk before closing his eyes and puckering up his lips once more. Mohinder swore that if this didn't work he was going to kick the bastard's little ass. He took a deep breath, held it, and then leaned forward, allowing his soft brown lips to meet wet green ones. His body tingled and his vision was consumed by a sparkling white light and when he opened his eyes, everything was wrong.
Chapter 3 - When We're Human