FIC: If You Were the Last Man on Earth: Book Three (3/4)
Title: If You Were the Last Man on Earth
Book Three: Summer (3/4)
Author: seraphtrevs
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: NC-17
Word count: This part: ~3100
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit made, etc.
Spoiler alert: up through the end of season 2
Summary: AU - It's been a year and a half since the Shanti virus dropped and devastated the planet. After refusing to conduct inhumane experiments in the search for a cure, Mohinder is made into an unwilling test subject by his former colleagues. When Mohinder thinks that things can't get any worse, he is unexpectedly rescued by Sylar, who has plans that include world domination, ultimate power, and domestic bliss. Mohinder isn't sure he's better off.
A/N: Thanks once again to marenpaisley, who is quite possibly the most wonderful beta in the universe.
The chapter title comes from the Tennyson poem In Memoriam.
Previous Parts:
Book One: Winter
Chapter One: A Dubious Rescue, an Improbable Savior, and the Subtle Pleasures of Accurate Time-Keeping
Chapter Two: Clockwork Comfort and Terrifying Tenderness at the Rest and Service Station
Chapter Three: The Trouble with Cockroaches, or Domestic Bliss in Piedmont, Missouri
Chapter Four: How to Keep Your Man: And Keep Him for Good
Book Two: Spring
Chapter One: Better Homes and Gardens and a Happy New Year
Chapter Two: The Morning After, Or a Prophecy Fulfilled
Chapter Three: Lies and Stormy Skies
Book Three: Summer
Chapter One: Familiarity Breeds Consent
Chapter Two: The Capital of the World
Sylar was gone the next morning.
That in and of itself was not unusual; he often left early in the morning to work on his various projects. But he wasn't back that evening, and Mohinder ended up going to bed alone.
He wasn't worried, exactly. Sylar was practically a god; he could certainly take care of himself. And he really didn't think Sylar was planning on abandoning him. But there was something unnerving about being all alone. The world was so still now.
He wasn't back the next evening, either. Mohinder tried not to panic. What if something had happened to him? He may have regenerative abilities, but that didn't mean he was entirely immune to injury. Mohinder could think of several ways that he might be incapacitated: decapitation; exploded by a grenade; chucked off a cliff into a lake with a weight strapped to him, just to name a few. Thinking of ways to kill Sylar had actually been a little game he played with himself. Now instead of filling him with a morbid sense of satisfaction, it just made him queasy.
He was working in his garden the following afternoon, attempting to keep himself distracted from his thoughts, when Sylar pulled up in the hummer. Mohinder felt an intense wave of relief - followed by a wave of anger. He resisted the temptation to get up to greet him and continued his work as if Sylar weren't there. Sylar called out to him and waved as he made his way to the backyard; he pretended not to see.
Sylar tackled him from behind and rolled him over in the dirt. "Hi," he said. He seemed to be in a very good mood. "Miss me?"
"No."
"Oh come on - not even a little?"
"I quite enjoyed the time to myself, thank you. Now get off of me, I'm in the middle of something."
"Someone's in a foul mood," Sylar said, showing no intention of moving off of him. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong? What's wrong?" Mohinder found he was unable to maintain his nonchalant demeanor. "You disappear for two days without telling me where you're going or what you're doing, and you're asking me what's wrong? I can't believe even you are so socially stunted that you wouldn't realize that it was, at the very least, inconsiderate! What if you'd been decapitated in a car accident? Or fallen off a cliff? What would I do then?"
Instead of looking chastised, Sylar's grin widened. "You were worried about me." He leaned down and kissed Mohinder, who found himself kissing back in spite of himself.
Mohinder broke the kiss after a minute and gave Sylar a half-hearted shove. "Oh, stop it. I'm mad at you," he said, although he had to admit he didn't sound very convincing.
Sylar stood up and offered Mohinder his hand. "Come on - I want to show you what I was doing."
Mohinder was curious, but felt like giving in would be setting a dangerous precedent. "No," he said. "I told you I was in the middle of something. And I really am mad at you."
Sylar shrugged. "Suit yourself." He disappeared inside of the house.
Mohinder looked down at his now crushed peonies and sighed. He actually had been just about done replanting them; now he'd have to think of something else to occupy his time with for at least another hour. He couldn't have Sylar thinking he'd won.
About ten minutes later, he began to hear music. It was so soft at first that he barely registered it, but soon he found himself pausing in his work to listen to it. It was a solo cello piece, and probably the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. He didn't think about it, exactly - it was as if the music had replaced his thoughts, and had he been aware of that, it would have disturbed him. But in the moment, his mind was restfully blank, and he found himself smiling.
He stood up and brushed the dirt off of his jeans. As he hummed softly along with the music, he picked up his tools and put them away in the shed, as he normally did, but it was as if he were on autopilot. His head was completely filled with the music. He wander towards the house, and a moment later, he'd stepped through the door and into the kitchen. The music was coming from upstairs; he followed it.
Sylar was standing in the middle of the bedroom next to a radio. Still smiling, still blank, Mohinder drifted towards him until he was in Sylar's arms. He sighed happily and rested his head on Sylar's shoulder. They began to dance, swaying slowly to the music.
Some time later (Mohinder wasn't sure how long), the radio switched off. He continued to sway with Sylar for another minute before the fog in his head lifted. Startled, he pulled away.
"What - " He shook his head. "What happened?"
Sylar smiled. "It's the project that I was working on. I have the ability to create music that will draw people to me. I went to the military base to set up a radio signal that will broadcast this music across the country. I'd forgotten to get a cello, though, which is why I was delayed - it took me a little while to find one."
"So you're basically going to hypnotize people into coming here?" Mohinder said. The music still lingered in his head; it had been so seductive and insidious. It was worse than being drugged. "This isn't right - you can't just supersede people's free will like that!"
Sylar quirked an eyebrow. "Do you have a better idea how to bring people here?"
"Well, you do have a system of broadcast set up. Why not just send out a message telling them our location?"
"Do you really think that most of the survivors would be able to navigate their way here all on their own? No, this way is simpler. Anyone who hears the broadcast will be able to make their way here without any effort."
"I still don't like it."
"I thought you were behind me on this."
"I never said that. And I didn't know you were planning on brainwashing people; if you aren't going to give them a choice as to whether or not they want to come here, then maybe we shouldn't bring them here at all."
"No one's getting brainwashed," Sylar said, rolling his eyes. "I'm just giving them a gentle push in the right direction."
"More like a shove."
Sylar gave him a pointed look. "I think I know what's going on here," he said. "You're jealous."
"What?"
"You think that once other people start arriving, I'll forget all about you." He patted Mohinder on the arm. "Don't worry - just because there will be other people around doesn't mean I'll ever abandon you. No one will ever replace you in my heart."
Mohinder opened his mouth, then shut it. He wasn't going to further dignify that remark by trying to argue the point. He turned and began to walk out of the room.
"Where are you going?" Sylar asked.
"Away from you. And if you turn that damned music on, I will never have sex with you again."
Mohinder went for a long walk, and didn't return until just after the sun had set. Sylar was in the kitchen, making what Mohinder privately referred to as his forgive-me curry.
They ate in silence. After he'd finished his plate, Mohinder finally said: "How do you know it's going to work, anyway?"
"Because the paintings I've made have shown that it works."
"How would you paint people being hypnotized by music?" Mohinder said incredulously. "Were there squiggly little sound lines and people with swirls in their eyes?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I didn't paint it exactly, but I know that people end up coming here, and the music was the idea I had, so I think it's reasonable to assume that that's how it will happen."
It had been a while since they'd discussed the paintings. "How does that ability work?" he asked. "Do you just think of a situation, and then paint the outcome?"
"No, I don't really have any control over what I paint when I use the ability," Sylar said. "And even after I've painted it, I'm not always sure what it means. It sometimes isn't until after an event has happened that I know what the painting depicted."
"How are you so certain that what you've painted is going to come to pass? After all, you painted New York exploding and that didn't happen."
"That's because people were aware of that possible future and took active measures to stop it. You can't prevent what you aren't aware of."
"Is that why you won't show me all of your paintings - because you're afraid if I knew certain things about the future, I'd try to prevent them from happening?"
Sylar didn't answer the question. Instead, he gathered their plates and took them to the kitchen. "I'm going to have some wine. Do you want some?"
Mohinder followed him. "You don't trust me at all, do you?"
Sylar put the plates down on the counter a little more forcefully than was necessary. "Should I? You don't trust me, either."
Mohinder couldn't really argue with that.
They ended up having sex that night, as they often did when they weren't sure what to say to each other. Sylar fell asleep afterwards, but Mohinder's mind wouldn't rest. He ought to be thrilled at the chance to reunite with whatever was left of the human race, but he felt a strange reluctance. He was just getting used to feeling safe again; his time in captivity at the army base had left him with a lingering paranoia of others that he wasn't sure would ever go away.
And beyond that, he was still off-kilter from the recent developments in his relationship with Sylar; whatever it was that was growing between them was too fragile to survive the upheaval that would surely arrive with the other survivors. He was willing to let the past remain in the past for the sake of his sanity, but if Sylar began to return to his old ways, he wouldn't be able to ignore it. Sylar was right - he didn't trust him, not completely. His only hope was that he would be able to temper Sylar's more megalomaniacal impulses, but those weren't battles he was looking forward to.
When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of storms and shattered glass. He woke with a start and turned to Sylar for comfort, but he’d already left for the morning.
****
After that, there was nothing to do but wait.
Mohinder had always been bad at waiting. His poor health in the past few months had given him a sort of artificial patience, but now that he was finally gaining back some of his strength, he itched to do something, anything.
The trouble was that he didn't know what he ought to be doing. Sylar was gone most days, presumably getting everything ready for the people who would be arriving soon. He didn't ask for Mohinder's help, and Mohinder didn't offer it. He had to keep himself busy somehow, though. His work on the garden became borderline obsessional - it was something he could control. He knew he was delaying the inevitable, but he didn't know what else to do.
Two weeks went by without incident. Mohinder was working on installing some edging on a few of the flowerbeds one afternoon when suddenly, the previously sunny sky became overcast. He looked up in puzzlement; a drop of rain landed on his nose. Rain in and of itself was hardly unusual, but the rapidity in which the clouds had rolled in was very strange.
Just then, Sylar emerged from the library. He'd been in there since the morning; Mohinder wasn't entirely sure what he was doing in there, but hadn't bothered him about it. He had a dark expression on his face. He walked past Mohinder towards the house as if he hadn't seen him.
"Something wrong?" Mohinder called after him.
Sylar turned and blinked, as if he'd been aroused from deep thought. "It's nothing."
Mohinder gestured towards the sky. "It doesn't feel like 'nothing.' I'm assuming the bad weather and your bad mood aren't completely unrelated."
Sylar smiled grimly but didn't confirm it. "I'm going to have to leave for a few days; there's something I need to take care of."
Mohinder noticed a smear of red paint on Sylar's thumb. "You made a painting, didn't you? Is that what this is about?"
"Yes."
Mohinder had let the subject of the paintings drop since their last argument, but he decided it was as good a time as any to bring them up again. "May I see it?"
"No."
Mohinder took a deep breath and concentrated on not losing his temper. "Back at the lake, you told me that you wanted my help - that you wanted to hear my opinions on things. Was that a lie?"
"Of course not. And when I want your opinion on something, I'll ask for it. But this isn't something I need your input on."
"Why not?"
"Just drop it, Mohinder. I'm not in the mood for one of your little fits."
"One of my little..." Mohinder stood up and threw down his spade in frustration. "I can't believe you would dismiss me as if I'm some sort of unruly child. Actually, no, never mind - I can believe it, and I have no idea why I'm putting up with it." He turned and began walking towards the hummer.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"What does it look like? I'm leaving. I'll go up to the lake for a few days until you decide that you're going to treat me like an equal, but until then, I - "
A lightning bolt shot out of the sky and hit the ground in front of Mohinder with a deafening crack, missing him by only a few feet. He fell backwards in surprise.
There was a large circle of smoldering grass where the lightning bolt had struck. Mohinder stared at it for several long seconds while he tried to will his heart to stop racing. Without standing up, he turned and looked at Sylar.
His expression was inscrutable. There was none of the anger or loss of control that had accompanied the last storm he'd summoned, nor did he seem particularly surprised at the strike.
Sylar turned and walked up the steps of the porch. He opened the door, then paused. "You ought to come inside," he said. "It's going to start really coming down soon."
Sure enough, the sky seemed to open up, and the rain began to pour down in sheets. Mohinder did not get up immediately. He watched the water drench the still-smoking grass.
Sylar disappeared inside the house. Mohinder stood up. His hair and clothes were already completely soaked. He briefly considered the hummer, but then turned and slowly made his way towards the house.
He went up to the bedroom and shut the door. He stripped out of his wet clothes and dried himself off with some clean towels from the closet. When he was finished, he put on some dry clothes and sat down on the bed. His hands were still shaking.
Had Sylar summoned the lightning intentionally? Or was it another accident, as it had been the last time? And ultimately, did it matter? In the time since their explosive confrontation at the cabin, Mohinder had somehow convinced himself that once he accepted Sylar's advances, they would be partners, working together as equals.
But they weren't equals. Not even close. Even if Sylar was determined to be fair (which seemed unlikely), there would always be the huge gulf of his abilities separating them. He was almost infinitely powerful; Mohinder was not. It was up to Sylar to set the terms of their relationship, and clearly, he did not intend for them to be partners. The only negotiating chip Mohinder had was his consent, which Sylar still seemed to want. But he might not some day, and then Mohinder would be left with nothing.
Mohinder felt a sense of creeping dread come over him. The act of sacrifice always carries with it the expectation of greater gain. Mohinder had given up his personal integrity - his most precious possession, and the only thing he had left. He had thought that with that sacrifice, he had bought security. He had somehow allowed Sylar to convince him that it was only his pride and stubbornness that prevented him from being happy.
The road to hell is not only paved with good intentions; it's also paved with compromises, the small lies you tell yourself to get through the day, and the bigger ones you let yourself believe in order to stay sane. For instance: if you can convince yourself you love your jailer, then you aren't a prisoner anymore. Or that a monster isn't a monster if you can't see his fangs.
He sat on the bed for a long time. Eventually, he got up and went downstairs. Sylar was sitting in the living room, reading.
"There you are," Sylar said, putting the book down. He considered Mohinder for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said. "About your lawn. I'll help you replant it when I get back."
Mohinder forced a smile. "That's very kind of you. When will you be leaving?"
"Tomorrow morning," he said.
"And how long will you be gone?"
"Not longer than a week, I hope." He stood up and walked over to Mohinder. "Hey," he said, cupping his face in his hand. Mohinder managed not to flinch. "It's going to be all right. You believe that, don't you?"
"Of course. I'm sorry I threw such a fit earlier. I wasn't thinking clearly."
A look of relief spread over Sylar face. He smiled and kissed Mohinder. "Don't worry about it. It's already forgotten. Now why don't we have some lunch. Anything you want."
"I'm not very hungry, actually. I think I'll go lie down for awhile."
"Are you feeling all right?"
"Just a bit of a headache. Don't worry, I'll be fine."
Mohinder went back up to the bedroom and shut the door. A week. He hoped that would be enough time. He had a lot of planning to do.
Onto Chapter Four!
Book Three: Summer (3/4)
Author: seraphtrevs
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: NC-17
Word count: This part: ~3100
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit made, etc.
Spoiler alert: up through the end of season 2
Summary: AU - It's been a year and a half since the Shanti virus dropped and devastated the planet. After refusing to conduct inhumane experiments in the search for a cure, Mohinder is made into an unwilling test subject by his former colleagues. When Mohinder thinks that things can't get any worse, he is unexpectedly rescued by Sylar, who has plans that include world domination, ultimate power, and domestic bliss. Mohinder isn't sure he's better off.
A/N: Thanks once again to marenpaisley, who is quite possibly the most wonderful beta in the universe.
The chapter title comes from the Tennyson poem In Memoriam.
Previous Parts:
Book One: Winter
Chapter One: A Dubious Rescue, an Improbable Savior, and the Subtle Pleasures of Accurate Time-Keeping
Chapter Two: Clockwork Comfort and Terrifying Tenderness at the Rest and Service Station
Chapter Three: The Trouble with Cockroaches, or Domestic Bliss in Piedmont, Missouri
Chapter Four: How to Keep Your Man: And Keep Him for Good
Book Two: Spring
Chapter One: Better Homes and Gardens and a Happy New Year
Chapter Two: The Morning After, Or a Prophecy Fulfilled
Chapter Three: Lies and Stormy Skies
Book Three: Summer
Chapter One: Familiarity Breeds Consent
Chapter Two: The Capital of the World
Sylar was gone the next morning.
That in and of itself was not unusual; he often left early in the morning to work on his various projects. But he wasn't back that evening, and Mohinder ended up going to bed alone.
He wasn't worried, exactly. Sylar was practically a god; he could certainly take care of himself. And he really didn't think Sylar was planning on abandoning him. But there was something unnerving about being all alone. The world was so still now.
He wasn't back the next evening, either. Mohinder tried not to panic. What if something had happened to him? He may have regenerative abilities, but that didn't mean he was entirely immune to injury. Mohinder could think of several ways that he might be incapacitated: decapitation; exploded by a grenade; chucked off a cliff into a lake with a weight strapped to him, just to name a few. Thinking of ways to kill Sylar had actually been a little game he played with himself. Now instead of filling him with a morbid sense of satisfaction, it just made him queasy.
He was working in his garden the following afternoon, attempting to keep himself distracted from his thoughts, when Sylar pulled up in the hummer. Mohinder felt an intense wave of relief - followed by a wave of anger. He resisted the temptation to get up to greet him and continued his work as if Sylar weren't there. Sylar called out to him and waved as he made his way to the backyard; he pretended not to see.
Sylar tackled him from behind and rolled him over in the dirt. "Hi," he said. He seemed to be in a very good mood. "Miss me?"
"No."
"Oh come on - not even a little?"
"I quite enjoyed the time to myself, thank you. Now get off of me, I'm in the middle of something."
"Someone's in a foul mood," Sylar said, showing no intention of moving off of him. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong? What's wrong?" Mohinder found he was unable to maintain his nonchalant demeanor. "You disappear for two days without telling me where you're going or what you're doing, and you're asking me what's wrong? I can't believe even you are so socially stunted that you wouldn't realize that it was, at the very least, inconsiderate! What if you'd been decapitated in a car accident? Or fallen off a cliff? What would I do then?"
Instead of looking chastised, Sylar's grin widened. "You were worried about me." He leaned down and kissed Mohinder, who found himself kissing back in spite of himself.
Mohinder broke the kiss after a minute and gave Sylar a half-hearted shove. "Oh, stop it. I'm mad at you," he said, although he had to admit he didn't sound very convincing.
Sylar stood up and offered Mohinder his hand. "Come on - I want to show you what I was doing."
Mohinder was curious, but felt like giving in would be setting a dangerous precedent. "No," he said. "I told you I was in the middle of something. And I really am mad at you."
Sylar shrugged. "Suit yourself." He disappeared inside of the house.
Mohinder looked down at his now crushed peonies and sighed. He actually had been just about done replanting them; now he'd have to think of something else to occupy his time with for at least another hour. He couldn't have Sylar thinking he'd won.
About ten minutes later, he began to hear music. It was so soft at first that he barely registered it, but soon he found himself pausing in his work to listen to it. It was a solo cello piece, and probably the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. He didn't think about it, exactly - it was as if the music had replaced his thoughts, and had he been aware of that, it would have disturbed him. But in the moment, his mind was restfully blank, and he found himself smiling.
He stood up and brushed the dirt off of his jeans. As he hummed softly along with the music, he picked up his tools and put them away in the shed, as he normally did, but it was as if he were on autopilot. His head was completely filled with the music. He wander towards the house, and a moment later, he'd stepped through the door and into the kitchen. The music was coming from upstairs; he followed it.
Sylar was standing in the middle of the bedroom next to a radio. Still smiling, still blank, Mohinder drifted towards him until he was in Sylar's arms. He sighed happily and rested his head on Sylar's shoulder. They began to dance, swaying slowly to the music.
Some time later (Mohinder wasn't sure how long), the radio switched off. He continued to sway with Sylar for another minute before the fog in his head lifted. Startled, he pulled away.
"What - " He shook his head. "What happened?"
Sylar smiled. "It's the project that I was working on. I have the ability to create music that will draw people to me. I went to the military base to set up a radio signal that will broadcast this music across the country. I'd forgotten to get a cello, though, which is why I was delayed - it took me a little while to find one."
"So you're basically going to hypnotize people into coming here?" Mohinder said. The music still lingered in his head; it had been so seductive and insidious. It was worse than being drugged. "This isn't right - you can't just supersede people's free will like that!"
Sylar quirked an eyebrow. "Do you have a better idea how to bring people here?"
"Well, you do have a system of broadcast set up. Why not just send out a message telling them our location?"
"Do you really think that most of the survivors would be able to navigate their way here all on their own? No, this way is simpler. Anyone who hears the broadcast will be able to make their way here without any effort."
"I still don't like it."
"I thought you were behind me on this."
"I never said that. And I didn't know you were planning on brainwashing people; if you aren't going to give them a choice as to whether or not they want to come here, then maybe we shouldn't bring them here at all."
"No one's getting brainwashed," Sylar said, rolling his eyes. "I'm just giving them a gentle push in the right direction."
"More like a shove."
Sylar gave him a pointed look. "I think I know what's going on here," he said. "You're jealous."
"What?"
"You think that once other people start arriving, I'll forget all about you." He patted Mohinder on the arm. "Don't worry - just because there will be other people around doesn't mean I'll ever abandon you. No one will ever replace you in my heart."
Mohinder opened his mouth, then shut it. He wasn't going to further dignify that remark by trying to argue the point. He turned and began to walk out of the room.
"Where are you going?" Sylar asked.
"Away from you. And if you turn that damned music on, I will never have sex with you again."
Mohinder went for a long walk, and didn't return until just after the sun had set. Sylar was in the kitchen, making what Mohinder privately referred to as his forgive-me curry.
They ate in silence. After he'd finished his plate, Mohinder finally said: "How do you know it's going to work, anyway?"
"Because the paintings I've made have shown that it works."
"How would you paint people being hypnotized by music?" Mohinder said incredulously. "Were there squiggly little sound lines and people with swirls in their eyes?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I didn't paint it exactly, but I know that people end up coming here, and the music was the idea I had, so I think it's reasonable to assume that that's how it will happen."
It had been a while since they'd discussed the paintings. "How does that ability work?" he asked. "Do you just think of a situation, and then paint the outcome?"
"No, I don't really have any control over what I paint when I use the ability," Sylar said. "And even after I've painted it, I'm not always sure what it means. It sometimes isn't until after an event has happened that I know what the painting depicted."
"How are you so certain that what you've painted is going to come to pass? After all, you painted New York exploding and that didn't happen."
"That's because people were aware of that possible future and took active measures to stop it. You can't prevent what you aren't aware of."
"Is that why you won't show me all of your paintings - because you're afraid if I knew certain things about the future, I'd try to prevent them from happening?"
Sylar didn't answer the question. Instead, he gathered their plates and took them to the kitchen. "I'm going to have some wine. Do you want some?"
Mohinder followed him. "You don't trust me at all, do you?"
Sylar put the plates down on the counter a little more forcefully than was necessary. "Should I? You don't trust me, either."
Mohinder couldn't really argue with that.
They ended up having sex that night, as they often did when they weren't sure what to say to each other. Sylar fell asleep afterwards, but Mohinder's mind wouldn't rest. He ought to be thrilled at the chance to reunite with whatever was left of the human race, but he felt a strange reluctance. He was just getting used to feeling safe again; his time in captivity at the army base had left him with a lingering paranoia of others that he wasn't sure would ever go away.
And beyond that, he was still off-kilter from the recent developments in his relationship with Sylar; whatever it was that was growing between them was too fragile to survive the upheaval that would surely arrive with the other survivors. He was willing to let the past remain in the past for the sake of his sanity, but if Sylar began to return to his old ways, he wouldn't be able to ignore it. Sylar was right - he didn't trust him, not completely. His only hope was that he would be able to temper Sylar's more megalomaniacal impulses, but those weren't battles he was looking forward to.
When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of storms and shattered glass. He woke with a start and turned to Sylar for comfort, but he’d already left for the morning.
****
After that, there was nothing to do but wait.
Mohinder had always been bad at waiting. His poor health in the past few months had given him a sort of artificial patience, but now that he was finally gaining back some of his strength, he itched to do something, anything.
The trouble was that he didn't know what he ought to be doing. Sylar was gone most days, presumably getting everything ready for the people who would be arriving soon. He didn't ask for Mohinder's help, and Mohinder didn't offer it. He had to keep himself busy somehow, though. His work on the garden became borderline obsessional - it was something he could control. He knew he was delaying the inevitable, but he didn't know what else to do.
Two weeks went by without incident. Mohinder was working on installing some edging on a few of the flowerbeds one afternoon when suddenly, the previously sunny sky became overcast. He looked up in puzzlement; a drop of rain landed on his nose. Rain in and of itself was hardly unusual, but the rapidity in which the clouds had rolled in was very strange.
Just then, Sylar emerged from the library. He'd been in there since the morning; Mohinder wasn't entirely sure what he was doing in there, but hadn't bothered him about it. He had a dark expression on his face. He walked past Mohinder towards the house as if he hadn't seen him.
"Something wrong?" Mohinder called after him.
Sylar turned and blinked, as if he'd been aroused from deep thought. "It's nothing."
Mohinder gestured towards the sky. "It doesn't feel like 'nothing.' I'm assuming the bad weather and your bad mood aren't completely unrelated."
Sylar smiled grimly but didn't confirm it. "I'm going to have to leave for a few days; there's something I need to take care of."
Mohinder noticed a smear of red paint on Sylar's thumb. "You made a painting, didn't you? Is that what this is about?"
"Yes."
Mohinder had let the subject of the paintings drop since their last argument, but he decided it was as good a time as any to bring them up again. "May I see it?"
"No."
Mohinder took a deep breath and concentrated on not losing his temper. "Back at the lake, you told me that you wanted my help - that you wanted to hear my opinions on things. Was that a lie?"
"Of course not. And when I want your opinion on something, I'll ask for it. But this isn't something I need your input on."
"Why not?"
"Just drop it, Mohinder. I'm not in the mood for one of your little fits."
"One of my little..." Mohinder stood up and threw down his spade in frustration. "I can't believe you would dismiss me as if I'm some sort of unruly child. Actually, no, never mind - I can believe it, and I have no idea why I'm putting up with it." He turned and began walking towards the hummer.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"What does it look like? I'm leaving. I'll go up to the lake for a few days until you decide that you're going to treat me like an equal, but until then, I - "
A lightning bolt shot out of the sky and hit the ground in front of Mohinder with a deafening crack, missing him by only a few feet. He fell backwards in surprise.
There was a large circle of smoldering grass where the lightning bolt had struck. Mohinder stared at it for several long seconds while he tried to will his heart to stop racing. Without standing up, he turned and looked at Sylar.
His expression was inscrutable. There was none of the anger or loss of control that had accompanied the last storm he'd summoned, nor did he seem particularly surprised at the strike.
Sylar turned and walked up the steps of the porch. He opened the door, then paused. "You ought to come inside," he said. "It's going to start really coming down soon."
Sure enough, the sky seemed to open up, and the rain began to pour down in sheets. Mohinder did not get up immediately. He watched the water drench the still-smoking grass.
Sylar disappeared inside the house. Mohinder stood up. His hair and clothes were already completely soaked. He briefly considered the hummer, but then turned and slowly made his way towards the house.
He went up to the bedroom and shut the door. He stripped out of his wet clothes and dried himself off with some clean towels from the closet. When he was finished, he put on some dry clothes and sat down on the bed. His hands were still shaking.
Had Sylar summoned the lightning intentionally? Or was it another accident, as it had been the last time? And ultimately, did it matter? In the time since their explosive confrontation at the cabin, Mohinder had somehow convinced himself that once he accepted Sylar's advances, they would be partners, working together as equals.
But they weren't equals. Not even close. Even if Sylar was determined to be fair (which seemed unlikely), there would always be the huge gulf of his abilities separating them. He was almost infinitely powerful; Mohinder was not. It was up to Sylar to set the terms of their relationship, and clearly, he did not intend for them to be partners. The only negotiating chip Mohinder had was his consent, which Sylar still seemed to want. But he might not some day, and then Mohinder would be left with nothing.
Mohinder felt a sense of creeping dread come over him. The act of sacrifice always carries with it the expectation of greater gain. Mohinder had given up his personal integrity - his most precious possession, and the only thing he had left. He had thought that with that sacrifice, he had bought security. He had somehow allowed Sylar to convince him that it was only his pride and stubbornness that prevented him from being happy.
The road to hell is not only paved with good intentions; it's also paved with compromises, the small lies you tell yourself to get through the day, and the bigger ones you let yourself believe in order to stay sane. For instance: if you can convince yourself you love your jailer, then you aren't a prisoner anymore. Or that a monster isn't a monster if you can't see his fangs.
He sat on the bed for a long time. Eventually, he got up and went downstairs. Sylar was sitting in the living room, reading.
"There you are," Sylar said, putting the book down. He considered Mohinder for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said. "About your lawn. I'll help you replant it when I get back."
Mohinder forced a smile. "That's very kind of you. When will you be leaving?"
"Tomorrow morning," he said.
"And how long will you be gone?"
"Not longer than a week, I hope." He stood up and walked over to Mohinder. "Hey," he said, cupping his face in his hand. Mohinder managed not to flinch. "It's going to be all right. You believe that, don't you?"
"Of course. I'm sorry I threw such a fit earlier. I wasn't thinking clearly."
A look of relief spread over Sylar face. He smiled and kissed Mohinder. "Don't worry about it. It's already forgotten. Now why don't we have some lunch. Anything you want."
"I'm not very hungry, actually. I think I'll go lie down for awhile."
"Are you feeling all right?"
"Just a bit of a headache. Don't worry, I'll be fine."
Mohinder went back up to the bedroom and shut the door. A week. He hoped that would be enough time. He had a lot of planning to do.
Onto Chapter Four!