Empire State 2/?
Rar. This was almost posted a lot earlier, but my smartphone isn't 4000+ words smart.
Edit: I am teh dumb, and forgot to mention that this one is part of Piping-Hot's prompt table (Blindly, I don't deserve this, Sylar is necessary).
Title: Empire State, part 2 of ?
Summary: In a 19th Century America still under British control, the West India Company has a special assignment for Captain Suresh.
Rating: PG this chapter for a single curse word and mild violence.
Pairings: Mylar and Plaude, so far.
Other characters: Bob, Nathan, Molly, Matt, Elle
Warnings: Oh my god, schmoop. Pre-Mylar (closer than last chapter), mangling Victorian history, standard AU OOCness, general flounciness of prose.
Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes, and I don't own history.
A/N: Still more Merchant Ivory than Stephenson, but I promise there will be gears and difference engines in the near future. Very frothy.
Link to part 1
Empire State
Part 2: The unwilling, Destiny drags them
Sometimes I think I've lost
What used to be my cost and currency,
Hop scotch string skipper,
Just another tongue twister.
Resistance, resistance!
The gig is up my targets blurry but
Business is business,
The blame reflects straight back at me.
-Harlequin Jones, 'Worried Ugly'
He was so very far from home.
The physical distance had grown no greater; he was still oceans and continents away from where he grew up, but his whole life, Mohinder Suresh had never felt further from anything he could call familiar or safe, explicable or his. Even the clothes he wore didn't belong to him. He half expected to no longer understand English, to be suddenly struck blind and deaf, to hold up his hand and find his skin no longer his own either. He doubted that he could feel more lost if he did.
Worse even than that, he had failed. He was not particularly regretful that he'd failed to kill the madman whose madness was apparently catching because now Mohinder was seeing miracles too. He'd seen a bullet stop itself in midair, had a wound soothed by a breath chillier than the coldest wind he'd felt in this godforsaken colony. (He was distracted momentarily by the fact that he'd never enjoyed the cold and yet that icy breath on his finger had been so…)
No, he did not regret his failure in killing, but his failure in dying. That failure was a bloody disaster. He'd been relieved of his pistol and anything with which he might do himself harm and locked in a room in this strange labyrinth underground by the Highbridge, alone.
At least he thought he was alone. The first man he'd met, Claude, had a disconcerting habit of just vanishing into thin air, nothing but a cheeky voice drifting about the room. The man who'd placed a sword to his neck had been named Nathan, and the impetuous boy his younger brother, Peter. The man called Matthew had been calling for his death, and, with luck, was convincing the other sane madmen or mad sane men to kill him as he sat there. He perked up hopefully when the lock thudded open and the door creaked wide.
"You must be starving," Nathan said. "His Excellency will be livid if we let you waste away."
"It's only been a few hours, I expect," Mohinder replied, rising and rubbing his hands on his unfamiliar trousers. "Is this my last meal? Should I straighten up a bit?"
Nathan gave him a quizzical look.
"Not that I'm aware of," he replied. "If you would, please; meals here tend to be a bit raucous."
Mohinder followed Nathan through the passages which were not quite tunnels and not quite corridors (how had such a place been formed, he wondered), towards laughter and chatter that increased in volume as they approached.
"…being so sour a man!"
"I am not sour, you harpy!" came Claude's voice.
"Just because he doesn't find your jokes-"
"Just because you're a lovestruck puppy, Peter-"
"A little civility, Elle-"
All voices cut off as Nathan guided Mohinder into the room.
"My goodness, Bennet's never sent anyone that pretty!" a fair-haired girl smiled coyly. "Are you sure he's ordinary?"
"Ordinary as an Indian tiger in New York can be," Claude smirked. "Which is not at all. Come have a seat, cub, before the tow-headed termagant eats your share."
The fair haired girl batted her lashes fetchingly.
"Don't be silly, Claude. I won't start stealing his food 'til he's wrapped around my little finger like you."
Peter rolled his eyes as Claude laughed.
"So that's your plan, you monster, putting everyone off their food with talk like that? My eyes are elsewhere, as are the young Captain's, I expect."
"The young Captain thinks we mean to do him in," Nathan put in quietly.
"Still?" Peter asked.
"I did shoot at the Archduke," Mohinder reminded.
"That was hours ago," Peter said, slightly perplexed. "If we were going to kill you, we'd've done so before now."
"You're not going to just… let me go."
"You haven't got anywhere to go," Matt said, speaking for the first time. "So it wouldn't matter if we did."
Mohinder's temper flared, hotly thinking that this man was so very presumptuous to believe he knew so much about Mohinder's situation.
"I don't know you," Matthew conceded as though he'd spoken that thought out loud. "But I know Bennet better than you think."
"Just think in something besides English if you're tired of him reading over your shoulder," Elle supplied. Matthew threw his hands in the air.
"Why would you tell him that?!" he snapped. "What if he knows something?"
"He's not going anywhere," a dark voice came from the doorway. The Archduke strolled in, sitting in a chair a bit away from the rest of them and resting his feet on a box. He raised his hand and an apple drifted from the table into it.
"Besides," he continued, taking a bite of the apple, the white flesh bright against blood red skin, "the Captain is our guest for the moment. It wouldn't do at all to violate his thoughts for our own comfort."
Sylar rose, gathering a plate and placing a more substantial meal upon it before starting back to the adjacent room. "Captain, would you join me? I'd like to discuss a few things."
Mohinder glanced at the others at the table nervously. Nathan gave him a small, reassuring smile and Mohinder went to follow.
"Don't abandon your plate, cub, you might well be in there a while," Claude said, holding up the plate with Mohinder's supper on it. Mohinder accepted it tentatively and followed after where Sylar had gone.
It was a much dimmer room, lit softly by a few gaslights and the glow of embers from a small fireplace. Mohinder stood nervously, glancing around the room.
"Sit, please," Sylar said, gesturing to a small table by the fire. Mohinder did so, back to the corner, eyes on the door. Sylar glanced at this and smiled coyly, and the door shut of its own accord.
Sylar sat and regarded him for a long moment. Mohinder met his gaze with a tense calm, not breaking the silence for a long while.
"What was it you wanted to discuss?" Mohinder finally prompted quietly.
"Nothing really. How you came to find yourself here, what you mean to do now," Sylar replied mildly. "Forgive the informality, please, I'm just curious how someone like you winds up working for someone like Bennet."
"I joined in Madras as a sepoy," Mohinder said. "My father worked with the Company Raj at first. He was all for the integration of cultures, ever the student of humanity. He was such an idealist that it never even occurred to him that that wasn't the East India Company's motivation."
"Why did you join?" Sylar prompted.
"My father died during the sepoy mutiny. He believed so much in rationality that…" Mohinder cleared his throat. "Someone had to look after my mother. She has no one else."
"There are other ways to make a living. You're brilliant, I can tell. Why soldiering?"
Mohinder laughed bitterly.
"Isn't it sad? The English decided I wasn't good enough, in my own home, where I was born, for anything else." Mohinder tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling and sighing. Sylar tilted his head and watched, a glance at the twitch of the pulse in Mohinder's throat, a gaze on the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. "I'd hoped that if I put in for a transfer to the colonies of West India that things would be different here. But gods help me…"
"Bennet."
"Bennet. They let me get just far enough, rise just high enough, to give me hope. 'Captain Suresh.' I was such a fool."
"You're free of him now," Sylar replied, leaning forward and covering one of Mohinder's hands with his. Mohinder tilted his head down to look at him. Sylar's face looked so young, so earnest. Mohinder felt a lump in his throat as he looked into those maroon-brown eyes, black in the dim light.
"I'm not," Mohinder whispered hoarsely. "I never will be while I'm alive. Bennet trapped me very well. If I don't kill you, or die, I'm branded a coward and a deserter. They'll leave my mother with nothing. And I can't kill you."
Mohinder swallowed and withdrew his hand.
"If you would… leave my body someplace where they'll find it. Otherwise I'm right back where I started with desertion-"
"Be quiet," Sylar's voice broke in, soft and so very dangerous. Mohinder, startled, met his stare. The passion in them, just a moment ago soft with concern was now needle sharp with fury.
"It has to be done-" Mohinder started, trying to explain. He stopped as Sylar rose, looming at his full height in the flickering light of the lamps.
"Bennet doesn't have the power to force my hand, and neither do you, Captain," Sylar stated. Mohinder sighed,
"You misunderstand me; I can dispatch myself, but afterwards-"
"No, Captain, you misunderstand me," Sylar corrected. "You're not getting dispatched. By anyone. Including yourself."
"I have to provide for the only family I have left, even if it means suicide," Mohinder protested.
"There are other ways. I'll fix it."
"I'm afraid they didn't accept your currency in Madras when I was last there," Mohinder said, sounding more scornful than he intended. "I haven't got a choice."
"You're half right," Sylar replied, giving a slight smile that didn't reach his eyes as he stepped around the table and hauled Mohinder to his feet. That brutal cold was back, and this time it was not at all soothing as the door crashed open and Sylar dragged him through the dining room.
"Excellency!" Nathan shouted, knocking over his chair in his haste as he hurried after them. Everyone else sat impassively and continued their meal. Mohinder could hear Nathan's protests as he followed after them, but the words just didn't sink in as Mohinder kept his eyes on the Archduke's furious face.
Sylar wrenched open the door of the room Mohinder had been locked in before and tossed him bodily onto the bed.
"Just a moment ago you said I was free," Mohinder snarled furiously. Sylar braced his hands on either side of the doorway and leaned in, chest arching forwards as he hung from his own arms.
"Free from Bennet, Captain. Never from me."
He shoved himself backwards and slammed the door shut as Mohinder leapt to his feet.
"Sylar!" he shouted, trying the handle and finding it locked. "Archduke!" he tried instead. He kicked the door in petulant rage. "Damn you, Major!"
"Bugger me sideways," a voice muttered. Mohinder rolled his eyes and turned back to the room as Claude winked into view in the corner.
"Oh wonderful," he muttered. "Just what are you doing here?"
"Snooping through your belongings," Claude said, getting up and trying the door himself, finding it locked and turning back. "Naively, I thought that it would take you and his nibs a bit longer than…" he drew a watch from his pocket. "…seven minutes to get into a lover's spat."
"Lover's spat? That man doesn't understand anything!" Mohinder sputtered. "And neither do you!"
"Calm down," Claude scoffed. "And his nibs understands just about everything, but this is new for him, I'm sure. So what did you say that got him all in a snit?"
"How is that any business of yours?"
"Just trying to gauge how long I'll have to wait before he lets Nathan let you, and by proxy me, out."
"Can't you just spirit yourself out?" Mohinder sneered.
"I can be invisible, cub; I don't do immaterial. How did you make him so cross so fast?"
"I made a simple request as to where to leave my body," Mohinder said through gritted teeth, "so that my widowed mother isn't cheated out of my pension and what little money I've saved on this ludicrous continent."
Claude dropped his chin and looked over the bridge of his aquiline nose at Mohinder.
"And you don't know what's upsetting him? If he'd wanted you dead, you'd be dead, and he certainly wouldn't be eating with you, talking with you or soothing your burns."
"Or showing off supernatural powers, I get it."
Claude kicked his lanky legs out, flopping straight onto the bed and reclining.
"He'd show off to the birds and the trees and the sky if no one was about to see him do it," Claude said dismissively, staring at the ceiling before letting his head flop to the side. "I've seen him show his powers to people without any once or twice before. It's not the same as it is for us, those of us who can do things we know we shouldn't be able to. They got so terrified. Thought that the devil himself was behind it, that his nibs was a witch or a fraud. Fear and scorn, it's all he ever received for all his talents. Maybe that's why he's mad."
Mohinder turned in surprise.
"So he is mad?"
"Oh, completely. Touched in the head. But he's also right."
Claude smiled.
"Me ma always said that God protects children and madmen. His nibs must be quite mad indeed for God to have guarded him so. Maybe God sent you along as well, cub."
"Does your god frequently protect Major Gray by sending people to shoot him?" Mohinder asked skeptically.
"Mysterious ways," Claude chuckled. "No one has ever looked at his nibs with the kind of wonder you did."
Mohinder blushed and dearly wished one or both of them could get out of that room.
"So your god sent me to shoot at him, flatter him, and then infuriate him?"
"Who knows why God decides to give one man to another?"
"Why did your god give you to him then?" Mohinder said hotly. Claude's eyebrows shot up.
"Me? The good Lord never sent me into those arms, cub."
"Then I'm sure I don't understand what you mean to imply," Mohinder said coldly.
Claude sighed.
"You're a stubborn one, Captain. With all the shocking things you've seen today, does the suggestion of a bit of buggery really alarm you so?"
"What on earth are you suggesting?" Mohinder exclaimed. "That some higher power has engineered my life to this point as a… as some sort of harem boy?!"
"Well when you say it like that it sounds so crass-"
"No, I'm thrilled that we can wire the East and West India Company and tell them they can pack up as their collective divine work in playing matchmaker for an Indian man and a lunatic has at long last come to fruition!" Mohinder snapped, voice rising in volume.
"I saw how you looked at him," Claude pressed.
"Like a man who'd just seen a bullet stop in mid-air?" Mohinder cut him off, desperate to shut him up.
"Like a man who'd just seen his own true love for the very first time," Claude answered, smiling benevolently.
At which point Mohinder leapt on him, fisting both hands in the collar of his shirt.
"I don't give a damn what you think you saw!" he snarled. "And I don't give a damn what you think is the will of this or that god, or what you think I'm here for. I'm here to kill him, or be killed by him. So stop talking about love!"
"What were you thinking when he was holding your hand, eh cub? Matthew looked utterly shocked. Were you picturing his nibs out of his coat and into-"
Claude really hadn't left Mohinder a choice, the latter thought as his fist crashed into the former's face, splitting the corner of his lower lip. Claude touched the wound incredulously.
"Ouch!" he exclaimed. "You're powerless and scared, but there's no reason to take it out on me!"
"I am not powerless!" Mohinder snarled, shaking Claude once before letting him drop back to the floor and rising, scrubbing his hands over his face. "And I don't deserve this," he added, kicking the locked door.
"I'm sorry," Mohinder moaned from behind his hands. "I shouldn't have… but you're wrong."
"I've been in worse scraps with Elle," Claude retorted, getting up. "He's not going to let you kill yourself, and you may not know it yet, but you need him. The sooner you accept it, the sooner you can decide what to do with the rest of your life."
"So far it doesn't appear I have a great deal of choice in the matter," Mohinder said dryly. "Let me see your lip."
"As opposed to before when Bennet had you completely spoilt for choice?" Claude pointed out, batting at Mohinder's attempts to check on his wound. "It's a scratch, cub, stop it!"
"So what shall I expect my choices here to be?" Mohinder asked, finally relenting and letting Claude escape his attempts at examining the cut.
Before Claude could give an answer that made him hopeful, or give an answer that would make Mohinder hit him again, the door swung open.
"Wow," Nathan said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him, though it didn't lock again. "I haven't seen him that worked up in months."
"Nothing by halves with this one," Claude said, rolling his eyes and gesturing at his lip.
"In fairness, he suggested that-"
"We could all hear, I'm afraid," Nathan cut Mohinder off with a wince. "It's… being cut into the rock, things can tend to echo."
"So everyone heard…"
"More or less all of that. No one expects you to be a concubine, Captain," Nathan attempted to soothe. His attempts went out the window when Peter knocked on the door and slipped into the room.
"What happened to your face?!" he exclaimed, immediately sweeping over and taking Claude's face in his hands.
"You said they were in love!" Claude accused, though Mohinder did note that he allowed Peter to touch him with fretting fingers. "He certainly doesn't act like it!"
Peter looked confusedly at Mohinder, then back at Claude, his jaw dropping.
"You didn't!" he said, smacking Claude's shoulder.
"You said-" Claude began shrilly. Mohinder glanced at Nathan who rubbed his forehead and sighed.
"I didn't tell you that so you could bother him about it, I told you so you'd help me keep Elle off of him so the Duke doesn't kill her!" Peter protested.
"Quiet," Nathan broke in. "Peter. Be more responsible with your talents. Claude. Be more responsible with Peter's talents. Captain, we have some questions for you, if you'd come with me."
Mohinder gave one last look over his shoulder at Claude and Peter. The younger man was muttering, soothing, patiently explaining, while the older man rolled his eyes and reluctantly nodded.
Peter's hands slipped up to Claude's face, grazing the rough fringe of his scraggly beard, and Claude smiled down at him with adoration. So that's what he'd meant when he'd told Elle that his eyes were elsewhere.
Nathan, Matt, and Bob Bishop were standing over a table with many maps on them.
"Madras, you said?" Nathan asked, pulling out a map. Mohinder nodded cautiously. "If you'd point out where you mother lives."
"Why?" Mohinder asked cautiously.
"We can't very well help her if we can't find her, Captain," Bob said, fiddling with a pile of tin rings on the edge of the table.
Mohinder glanced despondently at the map.
"Madras," he said. "It's hard to describe the way. It's been so long, and the Company's changed the names of so many roads…"
"Do you have a picture of her?" Bob asked. Mohinder nodded, reaching into his pocket for the small locket even as Matt's gaze snapped up.
"She's too sick," he protested.
"Who's too sick?" Mohinder asked, alarmed.
"She'd want to try," Nathan pointed out.
Matt looked reluctantly at Mohinder and sighed.
"Fine," he muttered, stalking out and returning shortly afterward holding a frail looking little girl in his arms. In spite of her pallor, she was giggling, and Matt smiling for the first time that Mohinder had witnessed. The little girl looked over at him, eyes wide.
"Who's that?" she asked.
"This is Captain Suresh," Matt said.
"I'm not a Captain anymore, really," Mohinder said. "Perhaps… just Mohinder."
The little girl looked at him like that was a very strange thing to say, which he supposed it was, but perked up immensely when she saw the maps strewn across the table.
"Do you need me to find somebody?" she smiled, eyes lighting up as she squirmed in Matt's arms.
"Are you sure you're up to it?" Matt asked, setting her down gently.
"I want to help!" Molly answered plaintively. "Who am I finding? Did Peter get lost again?"
"No, we need you to find someone new. Mohinder used to work for Colonel Bennet, but he's going to be staying here with us from now on," Nathan said, crouching down to speak to her face to face.
"Like me and Matt!" she beamed, turning a delighted smile towards Mohinder.
"Exactly. But Mohinder needs to look after his mother, and now that he doesn't work for Bennet, we need to help him. Captain, the picture?"
Nathan looked up at him.
"Forgive me," he said, holding out his hand. "Mohinder."
Mohinder gave him the locket, which he handed to Molly.
"She's pretty. She looks nice. What's her name?"
"Nimali Suresh," Mohinder said.
"That sounds like my name!" she smiled. Mohinder couldn't help but join her, walking around the table and crouching beside Nathan.
"And what is your name, sweetheart?" he asked.
"Molly. Now I just need the maps," she said, clambering up on a chair by the table. Nathan smiled and handed her a pencil. Her eyes shut tight, she marked an 'x' over Madras. Nathan took that one away and handed her a smaller one. Molly repeated her action, pinpointing Nimali's location more closely.
"She's in a blue house. There are lots of other ladies there. They're having tea. There's a sign on the door that says Saint Swithin's Home for Widows."
Mohinder twitched.
"Does the house have a green door?" he asked.
"Mm hm. There's a temple next door that has a statue of a man with four arms and the head of an elephant."
"Ganesha. That's the right house. I have no idea why it's some sort of asylum now."
"Maybe she was lonely," Matt shrugged. "Wanted to help other people."
"Or maybe I didn't send her enough money for her to live on," Mohinder muttered, shame burning in his chest.
"Bennet and the Company aren't known for their generosity. It won't be a problem anymore," Nathan said, looking at the spot Molly had marked on the maps and took out a compass, measuring. He looked up sadly at Mohinder.
"You very nearly couldn't be farther from home, Mohinder," Nathan sighed.
"Can you do it?" Matt asked Nathan.
"Do what?" Mohinder asked.
"Nathan can fly," Molly supplied happily. Mohinder looked at Nathan, stunned.
"Can you really?"
Nathan gave a wry smile and rose a few inches off the ground. Mohinder looked stunned.
"Not the most useful ability-" Nathan self-deprecatingly began, descending.
"That's amazing!" Mohinder replied in a hushed voice. Nathan looked a bit surprised.
"That's too far to fly, Nathan. It'd take you over ten hours, there's very few places you could stop and rest," Bob said. "Peter should go."
"Peter will wind up in the Netherlands or something," Matt muttered. "But Bob's right, Nathan, that's very far."
"It takes a week by airship, and that's with perfect weather," Mohinder confirmed. "Company ships have been delayed for a month, sometimes more."
Nathan rubbed his forehead in frustration.
"Look, I can take the location right out of Molly's head and put it into Peter's," Matt said. "He'll be able to find it."
"Does… does Peter fly faster than you do?" Mohinder asked Nathan, perplexed.
"Not exactly," Nathan replied evasively. Mohinder narrowed his eyes.
"You can fly. Parkman can read thoughts. The little girl-"
"Molly," Molly corrected.
"-Molly can see far away places in her mind, Mister Bishop… I have no idea. What does Peter do?" Mohinder asked, eyes narrowing.
"Peter is a jack of all trades," Matt supplied. Bob snorted.
"And master of none. Peter can do everything we can do, Suresh," Bob supplied. "But his control leaves something to be desired."
"So why would Peter be flying be in any way preferable to Nathan?" Mohinder asked perplexedly. Nathan set aside his compass.
"It's a seven day trip by airship. It's a ten hour trip by flight. Well, my flight. For Peter, it's all of a heartbeat."
"Or four, depending how many times he misses," Bob muttered.
"Peter can quite literally be one place and vanish, reappearing miles away the next," Nathan explained. "His aim just leaves a bit to be desired, at times, but he can do this."
"Then I suppose it's my turn," Bob smiled. Like a stage magician, he picked up the tin rings and let each one clatter to the table with a far deeper and less hollow clunk than tin should have. Each one gleamed bright gold in
the lamplight, causing Mohinder's jaw to drop.
"Impos- I suppose it would be best if I just stopped saying things like that," Mohinder said. "Base metals into gold, and why not?"
"Impressively adaptable," Bob said with a small smile. "No wonder he likes you."
"I'll speak to Peter," Nathan cut in. "Perhaps you'd like to write your mother a letter?" he prompted Mohinder.
"Of course," Mohinder nodded.
"I'm sure his Excellency could provide you with pen and paper," Nathan smiled tactfully. "He's in his study."
Mohinder nodded even as his gut twisted and he struggled not to hesitate as he returned to the room where they'd all eaten and knocked on Sylar's door.
"What?" the growled response came through the wood.
"It's Cap- it's Suresh. Might I speak with you a moment?"
There was a bit of scraping, some footsteps, and then Sylar's pale, surprised face in the open doorway. He quickly schooled his expression into something more stern.
"What do you want?" he asked. Mohinder took a step back.
"I just… I'd hoped to speak with you for a moment."
Sylar just stared at him, and Mohinder shifted on his feet.
"This isn't a good time; forgive me for disturbing you," Mohinder inferred, turning to go, only to find himself spun back around. Sylar's hands had never left the doorframe.
"Wait."
Mohinder stood there, still gripped by invisible forces.
"I haven't got a choice," Mohinder pointed out.
"Come in," Sylar demanded. Mohinder was free to walk, but that invisible presence now rested on his back, guiding him forward and brooking neither retreat nor delay.
"Sit," Sylar ordered, but then appeared to relent. "If you want to," he added in a quieter tone, still attempting to sound indifferent. Mohinder settled in a chair, Sylar taking up one on the other side.
They sat for a moment, looking at each other in silence.
"What was it you wanted to discuss?" Sylar finally smirked bitterly, throwing Mohinder's words from earlier back at him.
"I want to apologize," Mohinder answered, "and to thank you. If I'm not being presumptuous, would I be correct in thinking that you arranged for Bishop to perform that strange alchemy for my benefit?"
Sylar neither confirmed nor denied this, but stopped meeting Mohinder's gaze to stare at a knot in the wood of the table.
"You were part of their army too, once," Mohinder said with a sad smile. "I don't know if you were ever powerless, but I am so accustomed to having to maintain a prideful facade when what precious little I had to be proud of is a distant memory. It was drilled into me that it's better to die proudly than to live with humility so…"
Sylar slapped his hand palm down on the table, eyes burning with frustration and hurt.
"Was it a mistake to have Nathan unlock your door?" he whispered.
"No," Mohinder said, reaching out across the table and covering Sylar's hand. "I'll adapt. Pride isn't-"
Sylar leapt up and grabbed Mohinder's face.
"I like you proud, you foolish fucking man. I've been waiting years for you! I've waited seven years for you, longing to come and find you, and now you're finally here and all you can think about is leaving again!"
"What could I possibly offer you?" Mohinder railed against him, rising to his feet and grabbing Sylar's wrists. "I can't fly around the word, I can't read minds, I can't spy for you, or turn lead to gold, even the sick little girl is more use to you than I am! What am I to be to you? Is Claude right? Am I your concubine, a caged bird? How am I to be all of that and still be proud?"
"Captain-" Sylar growled warningly. Mohinder twisted out of Sylar's grip, but couldn't bring himself to let go of his hands.
"I'm not a captain. And I'm not one of the demigods you have collected here. All I am now is a son, and a prisoner. That's all."
He dropped Sylar's hands and stepped away from the table.
"I'm sorry if you were waiting for me," Mohinder sighed. "I don't know how you could know I would be coming here before I ever set foot in this colony. But whatever it is you think I'm meant to be, I'm sorry, I'm simply not."
"Very well. What was it you wanted to discuss?" Sylar ground out after along pause.
"I had hoped I could trouble you for a pen and paper to write a note to my mother before Peter goes," Mohinder replied. Sylar opened a drawer in a small table and extracted both.
"Will this be enough?" he asked coolly.
"It will, thank you," Mohinder replied, accepting the blank pages and the fountain pen that Sylar offered, their fingertips brushing slightly as they made the exchange.
"Mohinder?" Sylar said quietly, an introspective look on his face. Mohinder looked over his shoulder, pausing with his hand on the door handle.
"Yes?"
"I've waited years for the world to catch up with destiny," he said. "Give me time and I'll come up with a destiny for you which will put everything accomplished by Bennet and his Company to shame."
"I am very much in your debt already, Excellency," Mohinder replied. "If my time is what you want, then it's yours."
Sylar smiled once the door clicked shut.
Edit: I am teh dumb, and forgot to mention that this one is part of Piping-Hot's prompt table (Blindly, I don't deserve this, Sylar is necessary).
Title: Empire State, part 2 of ?
Summary: In a 19th Century America still under British control, the West India Company has a special assignment for Captain Suresh.
Rating: PG this chapter for a single curse word and mild violence.
Pairings: Mylar and Plaude, so far.
Other characters: Bob, Nathan, Molly, Matt, Elle
Warnings: Oh my god, schmoop. Pre-Mylar (closer than last chapter), mangling Victorian history, standard AU OOCness, general flounciness of prose.
Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes, and I don't own history.
A/N: Still more Merchant Ivory than Stephenson, but I promise there will be gears and difference engines in the near future. Very frothy.
Link to part 1
Empire State
Part 2: The unwilling, Destiny drags them
Sometimes I think I've lost
What used to be my cost and currency,
Hop scotch string skipper,
Just another tongue twister.
Resistance, resistance!
The gig is up my targets blurry but
Business is business,
The blame reflects straight back at me.
-Harlequin Jones, 'Worried Ugly'
He was so very far from home.
The physical distance had grown no greater; he was still oceans and continents away from where he grew up, but his whole life, Mohinder Suresh had never felt further from anything he could call familiar or safe, explicable or his. Even the clothes he wore didn't belong to him. He half expected to no longer understand English, to be suddenly struck blind and deaf, to hold up his hand and find his skin no longer his own either. He doubted that he could feel more lost if he did.
Worse even than that, he had failed. He was not particularly regretful that he'd failed to kill the madman whose madness was apparently catching because now Mohinder was seeing miracles too. He'd seen a bullet stop itself in midair, had a wound soothed by a breath chillier than the coldest wind he'd felt in this godforsaken colony. (He was distracted momentarily by the fact that he'd never enjoyed the cold and yet that icy breath on his finger had been so…)
No, he did not regret his failure in killing, but his failure in dying. That failure was a bloody disaster. He'd been relieved of his pistol and anything with which he might do himself harm and locked in a room in this strange labyrinth underground by the Highbridge, alone.
At least he thought he was alone. The first man he'd met, Claude, had a disconcerting habit of just vanishing into thin air, nothing but a cheeky voice drifting about the room. The man who'd placed a sword to his neck had been named Nathan, and the impetuous boy his younger brother, Peter. The man called Matthew had been calling for his death, and, with luck, was convincing the other sane madmen or mad sane men to kill him as he sat there. He perked up hopefully when the lock thudded open and the door creaked wide.
"You must be starving," Nathan said. "His Excellency will be livid if we let you waste away."
"It's only been a few hours, I expect," Mohinder replied, rising and rubbing his hands on his unfamiliar trousers. "Is this my last meal? Should I straighten up a bit?"
Nathan gave him a quizzical look.
"Not that I'm aware of," he replied. "If you would, please; meals here tend to be a bit raucous."
Mohinder followed Nathan through the passages which were not quite tunnels and not quite corridors (how had such a place been formed, he wondered), towards laughter and chatter that increased in volume as they approached.
"…being so sour a man!"
"I am not sour, you harpy!" came Claude's voice.
"Just because he doesn't find your jokes-"
"Just because you're a lovestruck puppy, Peter-"
"A little civility, Elle-"
All voices cut off as Nathan guided Mohinder into the room.
"My goodness, Bennet's never sent anyone that pretty!" a fair-haired girl smiled coyly. "Are you sure he's ordinary?"
"Ordinary as an Indian tiger in New York can be," Claude smirked. "Which is not at all. Come have a seat, cub, before the tow-headed termagant eats your share."
The fair haired girl batted her lashes fetchingly.
"Don't be silly, Claude. I won't start stealing his food 'til he's wrapped around my little finger like you."
Peter rolled his eyes as Claude laughed.
"So that's your plan, you monster, putting everyone off their food with talk like that? My eyes are elsewhere, as are the young Captain's, I expect."
"The young Captain thinks we mean to do him in," Nathan put in quietly.
"Still?" Peter asked.
"I did shoot at the Archduke," Mohinder reminded.
"That was hours ago," Peter said, slightly perplexed. "If we were going to kill you, we'd've done so before now."
"You're not going to just… let me go."
"You haven't got anywhere to go," Matt said, speaking for the first time. "So it wouldn't matter if we did."
Mohinder's temper flared, hotly thinking that this man was so very presumptuous to believe he knew so much about Mohinder's situation.
"I don't know you," Matthew conceded as though he'd spoken that thought out loud. "But I know Bennet better than you think."
"Just think in something besides English if you're tired of him reading over your shoulder," Elle supplied. Matthew threw his hands in the air.
"Why would you tell him that?!" he snapped. "What if he knows something?"
"He's not going anywhere," a dark voice came from the doorway. The Archduke strolled in, sitting in a chair a bit away from the rest of them and resting his feet on a box. He raised his hand and an apple drifted from the table into it.
"Besides," he continued, taking a bite of the apple, the white flesh bright against blood red skin, "the Captain is our guest for the moment. It wouldn't do at all to violate his thoughts for our own comfort."
Sylar rose, gathering a plate and placing a more substantial meal upon it before starting back to the adjacent room. "Captain, would you join me? I'd like to discuss a few things."
Mohinder glanced at the others at the table nervously. Nathan gave him a small, reassuring smile and Mohinder went to follow.
"Don't abandon your plate, cub, you might well be in there a while," Claude said, holding up the plate with Mohinder's supper on it. Mohinder accepted it tentatively and followed after where Sylar had gone.
It was a much dimmer room, lit softly by a few gaslights and the glow of embers from a small fireplace. Mohinder stood nervously, glancing around the room.
"Sit, please," Sylar said, gesturing to a small table by the fire. Mohinder did so, back to the corner, eyes on the door. Sylar glanced at this and smiled coyly, and the door shut of its own accord.
Sylar sat and regarded him for a long moment. Mohinder met his gaze with a tense calm, not breaking the silence for a long while.
"What was it you wanted to discuss?" Mohinder finally prompted quietly.
"Nothing really. How you came to find yourself here, what you mean to do now," Sylar replied mildly. "Forgive the informality, please, I'm just curious how someone like you winds up working for someone like Bennet."
"I joined in Madras as a sepoy," Mohinder said. "My father worked with the Company Raj at first. He was all for the integration of cultures, ever the student of humanity. He was such an idealist that it never even occurred to him that that wasn't the East India Company's motivation."
"Why did you join?" Sylar prompted.
"My father died during the sepoy mutiny. He believed so much in rationality that…" Mohinder cleared his throat. "Someone had to look after my mother. She has no one else."
"There are other ways to make a living. You're brilliant, I can tell. Why soldiering?"
Mohinder laughed bitterly.
"Isn't it sad? The English decided I wasn't good enough, in my own home, where I was born, for anything else." Mohinder tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling and sighing. Sylar tilted his head and watched, a glance at the twitch of the pulse in Mohinder's throat, a gaze on the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. "I'd hoped that if I put in for a transfer to the colonies of West India that things would be different here. But gods help me…"
"Bennet."
"Bennet. They let me get just far enough, rise just high enough, to give me hope. 'Captain Suresh.' I was such a fool."
"You're free of him now," Sylar replied, leaning forward and covering one of Mohinder's hands with his. Mohinder tilted his head down to look at him. Sylar's face looked so young, so earnest. Mohinder felt a lump in his throat as he looked into those maroon-brown eyes, black in the dim light.
"I'm not," Mohinder whispered hoarsely. "I never will be while I'm alive. Bennet trapped me very well. If I don't kill you, or die, I'm branded a coward and a deserter. They'll leave my mother with nothing. And I can't kill you."
Mohinder swallowed and withdrew his hand.
"If you would… leave my body someplace where they'll find it. Otherwise I'm right back where I started with desertion-"
"Be quiet," Sylar's voice broke in, soft and so very dangerous. Mohinder, startled, met his stare. The passion in them, just a moment ago soft with concern was now needle sharp with fury.
"It has to be done-" Mohinder started, trying to explain. He stopped as Sylar rose, looming at his full height in the flickering light of the lamps.
"Bennet doesn't have the power to force my hand, and neither do you, Captain," Sylar stated. Mohinder sighed,
"You misunderstand me; I can dispatch myself, but afterwards-"
"No, Captain, you misunderstand me," Sylar corrected. "You're not getting dispatched. By anyone. Including yourself."
"I have to provide for the only family I have left, even if it means suicide," Mohinder protested.
"There are other ways. I'll fix it."
"I'm afraid they didn't accept your currency in Madras when I was last there," Mohinder said, sounding more scornful than he intended. "I haven't got a choice."
"You're half right," Sylar replied, giving a slight smile that didn't reach his eyes as he stepped around the table and hauled Mohinder to his feet. That brutal cold was back, and this time it was not at all soothing as the door crashed open and Sylar dragged him through the dining room.
"Excellency!" Nathan shouted, knocking over his chair in his haste as he hurried after them. Everyone else sat impassively and continued their meal. Mohinder could hear Nathan's protests as he followed after them, but the words just didn't sink in as Mohinder kept his eyes on the Archduke's furious face.
Sylar wrenched open the door of the room Mohinder had been locked in before and tossed him bodily onto the bed.
"Just a moment ago you said I was free," Mohinder snarled furiously. Sylar braced his hands on either side of the doorway and leaned in, chest arching forwards as he hung from his own arms.
"Free from Bennet, Captain. Never from me."
He shoved himself backwards and slammed the door shut as Mohinder leapt to his feet.
"Sylar!" he shouted, trying the handle and finding it locked. "Archduke!" he tried instead. He kicked the door in petulant rage. "Damn you, Major!"
"Bugger me sideways," a voice muttered. Mohinder rolled his eyes and turned back to the room as Claude winked into view in the corner.
"Oh wonderful," he muttered. "Just what are you doing here?"
"Snooping through your belongings," Claude said, getting up and trying the door himself, finding it locked and turning back. "Naively, I thought that it would take you and his nibs a bit longer than…" he drew a watch from his pocket. "…seven minutes to get into a lover's spat."
"Lover's spat? That man doesn't understand anything!" Mohinder sputtered. "And neither do you!"
"Calm down," Claude scoffed. "And his nibs understands just about everything, but this is new for him, I'm sure. So what did you say that got him all in a snit?"
"How is that any business of yours?"
"Just trying to gauge how long I'll have to wait before he lets Nathan let you, and by proxy me, out."
"Can't you just spirit yourself out?" Mohinder sneered.
"I can be invisible, cub; I don't do immaterial. How did you make him so cross so fast?"
"I made a simple request as to where to leave my body," Mohinder said through gritted teeth, "so that my widowed mother isn't cheated out of my pension and what little money I've saved on this ludicrous continent."
Claude dropped his chin and looked over the bridge of his aquiline nose at Mohinder.
"And you don't know what's upsetting him? If he'd wanted you dead, you'd be dead, and he certainly wouldn't be eating with you, talking with you or soothing your burns."
"Or showing off supernatural powers, I get it."
Claude kicked his lanky legs out, flopping straight onto the bed and reclining.
"He'd show off to the birds and the trees and the sky if no one was about to see him do it," Claude said dismissively, staring at the ceiling before letting his head flop to the side. "I've seen him show his powers to people without any once or twice before. It's not the same as it is for us, those of us who can do things we know we shouldn't be able to. They got so terrified. Thought that the devil himself was behind it, that his nibs was a witch or a fraud. Fear and scorn, it's all he ever received for all his talents. Maybe that's why he's mad."
Mohinder turned in surprise.
"So he is mad?"
"Oh, completely. Touched in the head. But he's also right."
Claude smiled.
"Me ma always said that God protects children and madmen. His nibs must be quite mad indeed for God to have guarded him so. Maybe God sent you along as well, cub."
"Does your god frequently protect Major Gray by sending people to shoot him?" Mohinder asked skeptically.
"Mysterious ways," Claude chuckled. "No one has ever looked at his nibs with the kind of wonder you did."
Mohinder blushed and dearly wished one or both of them could get out of that room.
"So your god sent me to shoot at him, flatter him, and then infuriate him?"
"Who knows why God decides to give one man to another?"
"Why did your god give you to him then?" Mohinder said hotly. Claude's eyebrows shot up.
"Me? The good Lord never sent me into those arms, cub."
"Then I'm sure I don't understand what you mean to imply," Mohinder said coldly.
Claude sighed.
"You're a stubborn one, Captain. With all the shocking things you've seen today, does the suggestion of a bit of buggery really alarm you so?"
"What on earth are you suggesting?" Mohinder exclaimed. "That some higher power has engineered my life to this point as a… as some sort of harem boy?!"
"Well when you say it like that it sounds so crass-"
"No, I'm thrilled that we can wire the East and West India Company and tell them they can pack up as their collective divine work in playing matchmaker for an Indian man and a lunatic has at long last come to fruition!" Mohinder snapped, voice rising in volume.
"I saw how you looked at him," Claude pressed.
"Like a man who'd just seen a bullet stop in mid-air?" Mohinder cut him off, desperate to shut him up.
"Like a man who'd just seen his own true love for the very first time," Claude answered, smiling benevolently.
At which point Mohinder leapt on him, fisting both hands in the collar of his shirt.
"I don't give a damn what you think you saw!" he snarled. "And I don't give a damn what you think is the will of this or that god, or what you think I'm here for. I'm here to kill him, or be killed by him. So stop talking about love!"
"What were you thinking when he was holding your hand, eh cub? Matthew looked utterly shocked. Were you picturing his nibs out of his coat and into-"
Claude really hadn't left Mohinder a choice, the latter thought as his fist crashed into the former's face, splitting the corner of his lower lip. Claude touched the wound incredulously.
"Ouch!" he exclaimed. "You're powerless and scared, but there's no reason to take it out on me!"
"I am not powerless!" Mohinder snarled, shaking Claude once before letting him drop back to the floor and rising, scrubbing his hands over his face. "And I don't deserve this," he added, kicking the locked door.
"I'm sorry," Mohinder moaned from behind his hands. "I shouldn't have… but you're wrong."
"I've been in worse scraps with Elle," Claude retorted, getting up. "He's not going to let you kill yourself, and you may not know it yet, but you need him. The sooner you accept it, the sooner you can decide what to do with the rest of your life."
"So far it doesn't appear I have a great deal of choice in the matter," Mohinder said dryly. "Let me see your lip."
"As opposed to before when Bennet had you completely spoilt for choice?" Claude pointed out, batting at Mohinder's attempts to check on his wound. "It's a scratch, cub, stop it!"
"So what shall I expect my choices here to be?" Mohinder asked, finally relenting and letting Claude escape his attempts at examining the cut.
Before Claude could give an answer that made him hopeful, or give an answer that would make Mohinder hit him again, the door swung open.
"Wow," Nathan said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him, though it didn't lock again. "I haven't seen him that worked up in months."
"Nothing by halves with this one," Claude said, rolling his eyes and gesturing at his lip.
"In fairness, he suggested that-"
"We could all hear, I'm afraid," Nathan cut Mohinder off with a wince. "It's… being cut into the rock, things can tend to echo."
"So everyone heard…"
"More or less all of that. No one expects you to be a concubine, Captain," Nathan attempted to soothe. His attempts went out the window when Peter knocked on the door and slipped into the room.
"What happened to your face?!" he exclaimed, immediately sweeping over and taking Claude's face in his hands.
"You said they were in love!" Claude accused, though Mohinder did note that he allowed Peter to touch him with fretting fingers. "He certainly doesn't act like it!"
Peter looked confusedly at Mohinder, then back at Claude, his jaw dropping.
"You didn't!" he said, smacking Claude's shoulder.
"You said-" Claude began shrilly. Mohinder glanced at Nathan who rubbed his forehead and sighed.
"I didn't tell you that so you could bother him about it, I told you so you'd help me keep Elle off of him so the Duke doesn't kill her!" Peter protested.
"Quiet," Nathan broke in. "Peter. Be more responsible with your talents. Claude. Be more responsible with Peter's talents. Captain, we have some questions for you, if you'd come with me."
Mohinder gave one last look over his shoulder at Claude and Peter. The younger man was muttering, soothing, patiently explaining, while the older man rolled his eyes and reluctantly nodded.
Peter's hands slipped up to Claude's face, grazing the rough fringe of his scraggly beard, and Claude smiled down at him with adoration. So that's what he'd meant when he'd told Elle that his eyes were elsewhere.
Nathan, Matt, and Bob Bishop were standing over a table with many maps on them.
"Madras, you said?" Nathan asked, pulling out a map. Mohinder nodded cautiously. "If you'd point out where you mother lives."
"Why?" Mohinder asked cautiously.
"We can't very well help her if we can't find her, Captain," Bob said, fiddling with a pile of tin rings on the edge of the table.
Mohinder glanced despondently at the map.
"Madras," he said. "It's hard to describe the way. It's been so long, and the Company's changed the names of so many roads…"
"Do you have a picture of her?" Bob asked. Mohinder nodded, reaching into his pocket for the small locket even as Matt's gaze snapped up.
"She's too sick," he protested.
"Who's too sick?" Mohinder asked, alarmed.
"She'd want to try," Nathan pointed out.
Matt looked reluctantly at Mohinder and sighed.
"Fine," he muttered, stalking out and returning shortly afterward holding a frail looking little girl in his arms. In spite of her pallor, she was giggling, and Matt smiling for the first time that Mohinder had witnessed. The little girl looked over at him, eyes wide.
"Who's that?" she asked.
"This is Captain Suresh," Matt said.
"I'm not a Captain anymore, really," Mohinder said. "Perhaps… just Mohinder."
The little girl looked at him like that was a very strange thing to say, which he supposed it was, but perked up immensely when she saw the maps strewn across the table.
"Do you need me to find somebody?" she smiled, eyes lighting up as she squirmed in Matt's arms.
"Are you sure you're up to it?" Matt asked, setting her down gently.
"I want to help!" Molly answered plaintively. "Who am I finding? Did Peter get lost again?"
"No, we need you to find someone new. Mohinder used to work for Colonel Bennet, but he's going to be staying here with us from now on," Nathan said, crouching down to speak to her face to face.
"Like me and Matt!" she beamed, turning a delighted smile towards Mohinder.
"Exactly. But Mohinder needs to look after his mother, and now that he doesn't work for Bennet, we need to help him. Captain, the picture?"
Nathan looked up at him.
"Forgive me," he said, holding out his hand. "Mohinder."
Mohinder gave him the locket, which he handed to Molly.
"She's pretty. She looks nice. What's her name?"
"Nimali Suresh," Mohinder said.
"That sounds like my name!" she smiled. Mohinder couldn't help but join her, walking around the table and crouching beside Nathan.
"And what is your name, sweetheart?" he asked.
"Molly. Now I just need the maps," she said, clambering up on a chair by the table. Nathan smiled and handed her a pencil. Her eyes shut tight, she marked an 'x' over Madras. Nathan took that one away and handed her a smaller one. Molly repeated her action, pinpointing Nimali's location more closely.
"She's in a blue house. There are lots of other ladies there. They're having tea. There's a sign on the door that says Saint Swithin's Home for Widows."
Mohinder twitched.
"Does the house have a green door?" he asked.
"Mm hm. There's a temple next door that has a statue of a man with four arms and the head of an elephant."
"Ganesha. That's the right house. I have no idea why it's some sort of asylum now."
"Maybe she was lonely," Matt shrugged. "Wanted to help other people."
"Or maybe I didn't send her enough money for her to live on," Mohinder muttered, shame burning in his chest.
"Bennet and the Company aren't known for their generosity. It won't be a problem anymore," Nathan said, looking at the spot Molly had marked on the maps and took out a compass, measuring. He looked up sadly at Mohinder.
"You very nearly couldn't be farther from home, Mohinder," Nathan sighed.
"Can you do it?" Matt asked Nathan.
"Do what?" Mohinder asked.
"Nathan can fly," Molly supplied happily. Mohinder looked at Nathan, stunned.
"Can you really?"
Nathan gave a wry smile and rose a few inches off the ground. Mohinder looked stunned.
"Not the most useful ability-" Nathan self-deprecatingly began, descending.
"That's amazing!" Mohinder replied in a hushed voice. Nathan looked a bit surprised.
"That's too far to fly, Nathan. It'd take you over ten hours, there's very few places you could stop and rest," Bob said. "Peter should go."
"Peter will wind up in the Netherlands or something," Matt muttered. "But Bob's right, Nathan, that's very far."
"It takes a week by airship, and that's with perfect weather," Mohinder confirmed. "Company ships have been delayed for a month, sometimes more."
Nathan rubbed his forehead in frustration.
"Look, I can take the location right out of Molly's head and put it into Peter's," Matt said. "He'll be able to find it."
"Does… does Peter fly faster than you do?" Mohinder asked Nathan, perplexed.
"Not exactly," Nathan replied evasively. Mohinder narrowed his eyes.
"You can fly. Parkman can read thoughts. The little girl-"
"Molly," Molly corrected.
"-Molly can see far away places in her mind, Mister Bishop… I have no idea. What does Peter do?" Mohinder asked, eyes narrowing.
"Peter is a jack of all trades," Matt supplied. Bob snorted.
"And master of none. Peter can do everything we can do, Suresh," Bob supplied. "But his control leaves something to be desired."
"So why would Peter be flying be in any way preferable to Nathan?" Mohinder asked perplexedly. Nathan set aside his compass.
"It's a seven day trip by airship. It's a ten hour trip by flight. Well, my flight. For Peter, it's all of a heartbeat."
"Or four, depending how many times he misses," Bob muttered.
"Peter can quite literally be one place and vanish, reappearing miles away the next," Nathan explained. "His aim just leaves a bit to be desired, at times, but he can do this."
"Then I suppose it's my turn," Bob smiled. Like a stage magician, he picked up the tin rings and let each one clatter to the table with a far deeper and less hollow clunk than tin should have. Each one gleamed bright gold in
the lamplight, causing Mohinder's jaw to drop.
"Impos- I suppose it would be best if I just stopped saying things like that," Mohinder said. "Base metals into gold, and why not?"
"Impressively adaptable," Bob said with a small smile. "No wonder he likes you."
"I'll speak to Peter," Nathan cut in. "Perhaps you'd like to write your mother a letter?" he prompted Mohinder.
"Of course," Mohinder nodded.
"I'm sure his Excellency could provide you with pen and paper," Nathan smiled tactfully. "He's in his study."
Mohinder nodded even as his gut twisted and he struggled not to hesitate as he returned to the room where they'd all eaten and knocked on Sylar's door.
"What?" the growled response came through the wood.
"It's Cap- it's Suresh. Might I speak with you a moment?"
There was a bit of scraping, some footsteps, and then Sylar's pale, surprised face in the open doorway. He quickly schooled his expression into something more stern.
"What do you want?" he asked. Mohinder took a step back.
"I just… I'd hoped to speak with you for a moment."
Sylar just stared at him, and Mohinder shifted on his feet.
"This isn't a good time; forgive me for disturbing you," Mohinder inferred, turning to go, only to find himself spun back around. Sylar's hands had never left the doorframe.
"Wait."
Mohinder stood there, still gripped by invisible forces.
"I haven't got a choice," Mohinder pointed out.
"Come in," Sylar demanded. Mohinder was free to walk, but that invisible presence now rested on his back, guiding him forward and brooking neither retreat nor delay.
"Sit," Sylar ordered, but then appeared to relent. "If you want to," he added in a quieter tone, still attempting to sound indifferent. Mohinder settled in a chair, Sylar taking up one on the other side.
They sat for a moment, looking at each other in silence.
"What was it you wanted to discuss?" Sylar finally smirked bitterly, throwing Mohinder's words from earlier back at him.
"I want to apologize," Mohinder answered, "and to thank you. If I'm not being presumptuous, would I be correct in thinking that you arranged for Bishop to perform that strange alchemy for my benefit?"
Sylar neither confirmed nor denied this, but stopped meeting Mohinder's gaze to stare at a knot in the wood of the table.
"You were part of their army too, once," Mohinder said with a sad smile. "I don't know if you were ever powerless, but I am so accustomed to having to maintain a prideful facade when what precious little I had to be proud of is a distant memory. It was drilled into me that it's better to die proudly than to live with humility so…"
Sylar slapped his hand palm down on the table, eyes burning with frustration and hurt.
"Was it a mistake to have Nathan unlock your door?" he whispered.
"No," Mohinder said, reaching out across the table and covering Sylar's hand. "I'll adapt. Pride isn't-"
Sylar leapt up and grabbed Mohinder's face.
"I like you proud, you foolish fucking man. I've been waiting years for you! I've waited seven years for you, longing to come and find you, and now you're finally here and all you can think about is leaving again!"
"What could I possibly offer you?" Mohinder railed against him, rising to his feet and grabbing Sylar's wrists. "I can't fly around the word, I can't read minds, I can't spy for you, or turn lead to gold, even the sick little girl is more use to you than I am! What am I to be to you? Is Claude right? Am I your concubine, a caged bird? How am I to be all of that and still be proud?"
"Captain-" Sylar growled warningly. Mohinder twisted out of Sylar's grip, but couldn't bring himself to let go of his hands.
"I'm not a captain. And I'm not one of the demigods you have collected here. All I am now is a son, and a prisoner. That's all."
He dropped Sylar's hands and stepped away from the table.
"I'm sorry if you were waiting for me," Mohinder sighed. "I don't know how you could know I would be coming here before I ever set foot in this colony. But whatever it is you think I'm meant to be, I'm sorry, I'm simply not."
"Very well. What was it you wanted to discuss?" Sylar ground out after along pause.
"I had hoped I could trouble you for a pen and paper to write a note to my mother before Peter goes," Mohinder replied. Sylar opened a drawer in a small table and extracted both.
"Will this be enough?" he asked coolly.
"It will, thank you," Mohinder replied, accepting the blank pages and the fountain pen that Sylar offered, their fingertips brushing slightly as they made the exchange.
"Mohinder?" Sylar said quietly, an introspective look on his face. Mohinder looked over his shoulder, pausing with his hand on the door handle.
"Yes?"
"I've waited years for the world to catch up with destiny," he said. "Give me time and I'll come up with a destiny for you which will put everything accomplished by Bennet and his Company to shame."
"I am very much in your debt already, Excellency," Mohinder replied. "If my time is what you want, then it's yours."
Sylar smiled once the door clicked shut.