Understanding [7/?]
Title: Understanding [7/?] - Rumination
Rating: R / NC-17 overall
Pairing/Characters: Mohinder/Sylar, Ensemble
Spoilers: MASSIVE SPOILERS - Seasons 1 and 2
Warnings: None this time. O.o
This Time: Mohinder tries to return to some semblance of "life as usual" but he is relentlessly haunted by memories of the past.
A/N: As you may have noticed, I've changed the rating. I did mention in Part 1 that this would hit NC-17 if I didn't chicken out. Well I didn't. This part is pretty much PG, but I figured now that I know for sure its going to end up going there that I should change the overall rating. When the time comes, you can all thank my amazing beta ladywilde80. I would never have dipped my toe into the smut pond without her encouragement.
Thanks again to everyone who has left/leaves me such wonderful comments. They make me feel so wonderful and encourage me to write more/faster, which in turn is good for you. ^_~
Oh, one more thing! Apparently in my head Mohinder has an en suite bathroom. I'm not sure why, but I basically established this in the first chapter, so its cannon for this story now. I can't picture Mo's bedroom without it for some reason. Anyway, figured I'd admit to this before someone called me on it, since I'm pretty sure Mohinder's apartment is only big enough for one bathroom. So lets say it has two doors, my friends have a bathroom like that. One opens into Mo's room, and one into the hallway. Ok? ^^;
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Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
Mohinder woke up the next morning back in his own bed.
Peter had eventually been persuaded to talk about Adam in the abstract, though not what had passed between the two men. Mohinder had thought the idea of two people (of no discernable relation) with identical abilities was interesting enough, but when Peter divulged that Adam was supposed to be 400 years old Mohinder’s jaw had dropped. Claire had been paying rapt attention as well, the realization that her abilities meant immortality slowly sinking in. It wasn’t every day you found out that you might live forever.
Peter hadn’t wanted to talk about how he knew Adam though. So instead Nathan had provided what his mother had told him about Adam’s relation to the Company. It was all certainly food for thought.
Somewhere in the conversation Claire seemed to warm, just a fraction, to Mohinder. Though only in that she offered to tell about another example of different people with the same powers. To say that Nathan didn’t like to discuss his ability was an understatement, but once Claire told them about West he’d definitely been interested.
The conversation had managed to cheer Peter up a little, and eventually talk turned to the more serious issues of the present. There were arrangements that needed to be made. Mohinder insisted that he had to get back to work the next day if he wanted to keep his access to the Company’s resources, more important now than ever. So after dropping Nathan and Claire off temporarily at a hotel, Peter had taken Mohinder back to his lab. Not actually in the lab though, of course. They did want to avoid the security cameras.
Peter hadn’t been comfortable being back at Issac’s loft. The last time he’d been there Issac had tried to shoot him and ended up killing Simone instead; unpleasant memories to say the least.. Mohinder had muttered something about it not being his choice of location before he slipped quickly into the room, gathered together what he needed, and then came back to collect several samples of Peter’s blood.
Memories of doing the same to Sylar just a few meters away swam to the forefront of his mind, but he’d tried to focus on what he was doing and if Peter had picked up on anything he hadn’t said. It wasn’t exactly new information anyway.
It wasn’t long before Mohinder found himself back in his old apartment. The Company must have sent someone to clean up the mess from the fight that had broken out just a few short days ago; there was hardly any sign of it anymore. The only indication that anything had happened was that it had all been tidied a bit too neatly. There was no sign of the usual mess and clutter that came of two men and a kid living in such a small space.
It was strange, crawling into bed knowing that Molly wasn’t in the next room. He missed her already but he knew that Matt would be taking good care of her, wherever they were hiding. Mohinder had decided he’d rather not know the details, just in case. Better that he just comfort himself with knowledge that they were safe. That was enough for now.
Mohinder had told Peter that he would check into a hotel for the night, just in case Sylar came looking for him. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t done just that. He knew in part it was that he just needed to be back home again. He needed familiar surroundings and familiar scents. It worked too, for the most part. Mohinder found himself drifting off to sleep with much more ease then he had expected.
Morning came all too quickly. The paralysis of sleep weighing heavily on him. If it weren’t for the fact that he was so wrapped up in his blankets that he was practically suffocating, Mohinder might have simply rolled over and gone back to sleep. Instead he felt stifled, trapped, and though he hadn’t held onto his dreams long enough to remember them, he was sure they hadn’t been pleasant ones. It was an uncomfortable enough combination to prod his protesting limbs into motion, untangling himself from the sheets and stumbling half-blind into the shower.
The comforting flow of hot water helped immensely to refresh his senses and for a few moments he was feeling better. At least until his brain had the gall to remind him what a hellish day this was bound to be.
He had a vague idea of what he was going to tell Bob when the inevitable interrogation hit. Mohinder’s association with Bennet had at least taught him how to come up with a plausible lie or cover story. Telling half-truths and lying only through omission were best. He just had to get his facts straight beforehand. Improvising had never been one of his talents.
Mohinder left the soothing warmth of the shower regretfully. He finished cleaning up, got dressed and headed out towards the kitchen for breakfast. His hand paused on the handle of the bedroom door, the memory of his last morning here breezing uninvited across his vision. No odd scents wafted past his nose, no strange noises filled his ears. When he finally shook the sudden trepidation off and entered the kitchen it was only to find it as empty as he had left it.
A small surge of disappointment mingled with relief shot through him. No Sylar, no Matt, no Molly. His small apartment suddenly felt much too big. Really, it had been too small for the strange little family he had ended up with; but now that they were gone it seemed enormous by comparison. Massive and empty, a hollow and abandoned husk.
Mohinder sighed as he plugged in the kettle and fished for a teacup, purposefully avoiding the green set. He couldn’t think about that right now. For the moment he had to keep his head in the present. One foot in front of the other. Tea, food, work. Get the conversation with Bob out of the way, head back to the lab, and take a look at Peter’s blood. Then, if he had time, he could panic. Until then he simply couldn’t afford to.
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His meeting with Bob went much better than expected. The man was clearly distracted with other things and didn’t press for details. As such, Mohinder found it ridiculously easy lie through his teeth about his absence. He explained about phoning Matt up to tell him about Sylar. He claimed that Matt insisted on getting Molly as far away as possible. He said that he’d gone back with Peter to comfort his apparently-not-as-dead-as-they’d-thought friend. Bob had given him an odd, searching look at that point but Mohinder pretended not to see it. He was good at playing dumb.
Whether Bob was suspicious of Nathan’s mysterious relocation or Mohinder’s lack of comment on the potential use of Claire’s blood in this case, he didn’t know. The subject hadn’t been broached. Mohinder got the feeling that Bob simply wanted to avoid the Nathan topic altogether. It wasn’t a good sign of the Company’s involvement, but as Mohinder was currently fervently avoiding the truth he wasn’t going to try digging in that direction just yet.
He left Sylar out of the story completely. There was simply no way he was going there when he could easily claim he’d spent the last 36 hours trying to comfort an old friend instead.
They also avoided the subject of strain 138. Mohinder wasn’t prepared to admit how much he knew about what Nathan, Peter and Matt had done or planned before Nathan was shot. It was highly dangerous territory. Bob didn’t seem to want to offer up the information either; after all, it was a subject they’d already fought about. Either he didn’t want to have to answer related questions, or he simply didn’t want to give Mohinder the satisfaction of knowing that his friends had gotten the upper hand and done what Mohinder had once told Bob was absolutely necessary.
The conversation hadn’t lasted more than five minutes before Bob dismissed him, and Mohinder muttered something about getting back to his research. The tension of things unsaid had been nearly unbearable and they were both relieved to be free of the other.
Mohinder was quite thankful that he managed to avoid running into anyone who wanted to talk to him as he beat a hasty retreat and he was back out of the building within a few short minutes. Breathing a long sigh of relief, he wound his way back to his lab, stopping back home briefly to pick up Peter’s blood. He hadn’t wanted to bring it with him earlier. Maybe it was paranoia, but he wanted to avoid questions and attention on the matter at all costs.
Mohinder set up quickly once he reached his lab. He’d figured out where all the cameras were a while back, and used that knowledge to try and make it look as if he was merely getting out a sample of Shanti Virus infected blood. It wasn’t foolproof, but it was the best he could do.
With the deft ease of years of practice, Mohinder prepared a slide from Peter’s blood and slid it under the microscope. It was obvious at first sight that something was wrong with Peter’s blood. It was flooded with what looked like gray clouds. He could still see the normal cells, but the sample was riddled with large amounts of something so small he couldn’t make out any real detail, even at maximum magnification. Still, one question was definitely answered. What Sylar had told them had to be true. Peter was, once again, a ticking time bomb.
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The rest of the day passed in a slow haze. Tests took time to run and until he got some initial results Mohinder couldn’t do much more than wait. He hadn’t been in his lab since he’d brought Sylar there and now that he was no longer preoccupied the place felt haunted. It was odd, really. Issac Mendez had been brutally murdered on the floor behind him, as Sylar had felt obliged to remind him, but it was the memories of a man who still survived that clung to the very air.
Flashes of moments assaulted his system without warning. Here Sylar taunting him with Issac’s memory. There, the gun going off and Maya crumpling to the floor. Molly’s screams rending the air in twain. Terror for his adoptive daughter only eclipsed when Sylar had pointed the gun back at his own head, demanding the cure. The look on the killer’s face when he realized that Mohinder had been holding out on him, playing for time. In that moment Mohinder had been sure Sylar was going to pull the trigger. Mohinder had been playing a dangerous game, praying that someone at the Company was watching those ‘secret’ security cameras. It had been his only hope of keeping Molly safe. He’d known going into it that eventually Sylar would catch on, eventually Mohinder would have to face that homicidal rage.
In fact it was more of a shock when Sylar just shook his head at Mohinder and said, ‘you and I have trust issues Doctor.’ How was it that just when Mohinder thought he could predict what Sylar was going to do, Sylar managed to turn things completely on their head? The next words, ordering him to try the cure on Maya first, explained it a bit. Sylar wasn’t taking any chances; he wasn’t going to risk getting poisoned again. If he hadn’t been so terrified, Mohinder might actually have felt pleased with himself. It seemed as if Sylar considered him enough of a threat now that he wasn’t going to trust a single thing Mohinder did. He wondered if it was memories of the curare fiasco that spurred that cautiousness on, or if it was just Sylar’s vulnerability at no longer having his fearsome powers. He probably considered a gun to be an absolutely pathetic weapon.
Mohinder was fairly certain that he had spent more time in Sylar’s presence than anyone still alive and yet Sylar remained so much of an enigma to him. From what Mohinder had managed to figure out, Sylar had been infected with the virus for a significant length of time and yet he hadn’t displayed any of the physical symptoms. Aside from the loss of his powers, Sylar seemed completely unaffected. Was it simply this Company-favoured strain? Mohinder didn’t know how long it took for that particular strain to cause death, but he’d been under the impression that it wasn’t much longer than the other documented cases. Had he been misled? Was Sylar naturally resistant or was it something else about the man altogether?
On the other hand, it wasn’t the least bit surprising that Sylar had managed to deceive Maya and her twin brother. Mohinder already knew far too well what a master of deception Sylar was. Perversely, it made him feel a little better about falling for the Zane ruse.
Mohinder found his mind wandering to who Sylar had been before he’d met Chandra Suresh, before he’d taken on that name. The day Sylar had come looking for the cure, after making sure Molly was going to be ok, Mohinder had managed to get his hands on Sylar’s file. He knew Bob must have given him a heavily edited version, since the details concerning his imprisonment by the Company were practically non-existent. It had, however, contained what was probably everything they knew about his life before he became a murderer.
The life of Gabriel Gray.
At first Mohinder had thought that it was some twisted joke on Sylar’s part, picking the name Gabriel for his deception this time. Mohinder didn’t know that much about Christianity, but he did know that Gabriel was an angel of some sort and Sylar was anything but angelic. So it made more sense to learn it was his real name, if still a little surreal. There was a small note beside the name warning agents against using his original name as it had a tendency to provoke violent outbursts. So why give that name to Maya? Was it psychological? Did he associate his powerless self with his past self? Or was it for some other reason entirely? Whatever the reason, Mohinder knew he’d never be able to associate the man with any name but Sylar. He stored away the information anyway though, anger was an emotional response and there might be a time when Mohinder would need to knock Sylar off balance. A dangerous thought, one that could potentially backfire, but he was certain Sylar would be back in his life soon enough and he needed every weapon he could get.
I must be mad! I should be running for the hills.
Mohinder didn’t know why he wasn’t. He couldn’t even explain it to himself. On the one hand he was fairly certain at this point that his life wasn’t in immediate danger. That didn’t necessarily mean he’d survive their next encounter, but it did mean that he’d have time to figure out just what was going on. Forty-eight hours ago in that motel…
“Don’t worry Mohinder, I can fix you.”
That eerily tender touch. The way the violence of being flung into a wall had been contradicted moments later by soft caresses. Kisses that had the force of possessiveness while still being gentle. Was it all just some elaborate mind game? Was this some sort of twisted revenge, prolonged so that in the end Mohinder would only suffer more? It was the logical conclusion, and yet Mohinder found himself having a hard time believing that it was the right one.
“Deny it all you please but you want this just as much as I do.”
Had he been telling the truth? Just how much of Zane had been real? How much had been pure deception and how much had been Sylar/Gabriel? Was there actually someone still in there that was capable of compassion or was it all just smokescreens and mirrors? Did it matter? Even if Sylar thought he was -unbelievable though the idea might be- attracted to or even in love with Mohinder, it still wasn’t a good thing. Whatever Sylar thought it was, how could someone like him be capable of it? Was it some sick fixation?
Above all, why him? Why Mohinder? What had he done to provoke this response? How had he managed to pick up a homicidal stalker?
When Elle had returned from chasing Sylar away, Mohinder had assured her that she’d saved all their lives, but now that he thought back on it…
“I’m sure Maya won’t mind if I’m not here when she wakes up.”
Sylar had grabbed the cure and stood up. His words, now that Mohinder thought objectively about it, seemed to indicate that he’d actually intended on just leaving and letting them all live. A few days ago the very idea would have seemed impossible, but now… Had Sylar really intended on leaving them alive? Why would he do that? Was his obsession with Mohinder really not about revenge for the curare incident, or the list?
If Sylar’s intentions had included rape -Mohinder shuddered at the thought- why had he been so gentle? Why had he been so seemingly intent on convincing Mohinder to stop resisting? The memories of those caresses flooded his senses all at once and Mohinder’s stomach churned. His despair and revulsion at his own reactions returned with a vengeance.
Was that why he wasn’t panicking, why he wasn’t running away? Did he want Sylar to catch up to him? What was so damn alluring about that dangerous, fascinating, complicated, homicidal man? Why couldn’t he stop remembering the thrill of those telekinetic touches, the way Sylar’s fingers and lips had sent his heart racing and thrilled him in ways that made his kiss with Eden seem like a chaste gesture between family members?
The man was a cold-blooded serial killer who had even murdered Mohinder’s father. Mohinder should be thinking of things like revenge and justice, but instead he was wondering about what other things Sylar could do with those fascinating powers of his. It was disgusting. He hated himself for entertaining those thoughts and yet they kept on coming.
What had happened? What had he become? Mohinder didn’t even know who he was anymore and it was utterly terrifying. He couldn’t concentrate on work. His head was a mess. Now that he’d let these thoughts back in they had consumed him. They stormed through him, ravaging the countryside as they went. He felt nauseous; he needed to go lie down. He could feel himself unraveling and couldn’t bear having it all caught on camera.
Stumbling a bit over his own two feet, Mohinder grabbed his coat off the back of the chair and fled his lab. His stomach was in turmoil and his heart a tangled mess of thorns. They were just thoughts and yet they elicited such immense physical agony. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He needed to escape from himself, from his own internal hell.
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Sylar sat perched on the edge of a high-rise rooftop, his long legs dangling over the edge. His long black coat was folded neatly behind him, his black silk shirt undone and hanging half off, flapping lightly in the breeze. There was a pile of empty wrappers being slowly tugged away by the wind as Sylar pulled a sterile bandage tight with his teeth. Aiding healing by knitting together cuts with his telekinesis wasn’t too hard but burns were completely different. The charred skin ached every time he moved his arm and there was nothing he could do but keep it moist and clean. A liberal application of antibiotic cream and sterile bandages were the best he could manage for now.
He slipped back into his shirt and jacket, gazing out at the city below. By now Mohinder must have determined whether or not that strange woman had really been telling the truth. It was the first time in his life that Sylar hoped he had been deceived. At least then he could kill Petrelli, something he very much wanted to do. It was just past mid-day though, and Sylar had learned the hard way that Mohinder’s lab was under surveillance. There was really no other explanation behind that annoying blonde showing up when she did, or why Mohinder had insisted on dragging them all there in the first place.
It was infuriating, knowing that the doctor had been playing for time, withholding the cure in the hopes that his friends at the Company would figure out what was going on. The betrayal stung, though it hadn’t really been all that surprising. If he’d expected Mohinder to co-operate he wouldn’t have needed the gun. After all, the last time they’d seen one another before that they’d tried to kill each other. True, Sylar probably wouldn’t have gone through with it, but Mohinder didn’t know that and Mohinder had certainly gone through with his attempt. Probably wished he hadn’t delayed too, wished he’d gone through with it before Sylar had regained access to his powers.
Mohinder was an itch that needed to be scratched. Just like that proverbial itch, scratching it only ever made things worse. It only harmed Sylar more in the long run, and yet the temptation was irresistible. He’d spent all that time pretending to be Zane when he really should have just killed Mohinder and taken the list. Not to mention calling Mohinder for advice when he’d thought he was going to blow up New York. It had made sense at the time. Mohinder had been his only real friend, even if the friendship had been shrouded in lies. He should have known better really, after the betrayal. He should have known that Mohinder wouldn’t help him. It had been a disgusting moment of weakness, a mistake.
Four months later and he’d wound up with the blunder twins. He discovered they had Chandra’s book and that they wanted to go to New York to meet him. It was fate, destiny bringing them back together again. Mohinder would know what to do. Mohinder would know how to restore his powers.
Life did have its poetry.
It had been so much fun playing with Mohinder again. It was quickly becoming his favourite game: throwing Mohinder off balance, seeing fear and confusion in those wide eyes. Sylar couldn’t explain why he had such a fascination with Mohinder. If he knew why, then maybe he could figure out how to rid himself of it. He certainly had better things to do. He had revenge to take, against two separate groups of people no less. He also had powers to collect, though at least he’d be able to do that while taking his vengeance. He should really forget all about Mohinder, get on with things, but he couldn’t.
The only saving grace was that Mohinder was connected with both groups. It seemed even more like destiny when he thought about it that way. He comforted himself with the knowledge that he could use the scientist to further his other, more practical goals. It made the obsession feel a little less pathetic at least.
He smiled lazily to himself as he thought about his plans for that afternoon. Weakness or not, seeing Mohinder again was going to be quite the enjoyable experience.
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Mohinder reached blindly for his keys, fingers fumbling about clumsily in his jacket pocket. His shallow breathing was coming faster than normal, the vaguest hints of tears beading in the corners of his eyes. His fingertips were tingling, as if they were going slowly numb. Fortunately he knew he just had to sit down with a cup of tea, do some deep breathing and he should be able to fight off what he now realized was a minor panic attack. It was no surprise, really, after everything he’d been through in the last week.
It took nearly two whole minutes to get the key into the lock and enter the sanctuary of his home. Unlike this morning, he was grateful to find the apartment blessedly empty. Mohinder tossed his bag absently onto his desk and plugged in the kettle.
The whole way home he had been playing past events over and over in his head. There was one in particular that he kept coming back to, something he absolutely couldn’t explain without feeling disgusted with himself. A moment of weakness that he could attempt to rationalize, but all his excuses sounded hollow.
On one side was Peter Petrelli, lying facedown on the floor, a large shard of glass imbedded in the back of his head, dead. On his other side was Sylar, unconscious, vulnerable, defenseless. Knocked out by Mohinder’s own doing. Mohinder was aching from having been slammed from wall to wall and falling from the ceiling. He was shaking with shock, Peter was dead and it was all his fault. He couldn’t leave Peter there. Sylar could wake up at any moment and he’d be after Peter’s brain. Mohinder couldn’t allow such a horrible desecration. He had to get Peter out of there right away.
First though, he had to destroy the list. Keeping that from Sylar was more important than either of their lives. He made short work of the laptop, destroying it beyond repair. No time to mourn the loss of all of his and his father’s work. What had it caused but death anyway?
He was making his way back to Peter when he found himself no longer able to ignore the serial killer sprawled unconscious on the floor. Sylar looked oddly peaceful. He looked more like bright, friendly Zane than the psychotic murderer Sylar. How could such a serene, peaceful face have gazed down on his victims as he sliced open their skulls?
Mohinder had to remind himself of the urgency of the situation, shake himself out of his reverie. He’d lifted Peter onto his shoulders and made good his escape.
At the time he hadn’t questioned it, but looking back now he realized what an idiot he’d been. He could have finished Sylar off right then and there, once and for all. There were deadly glass shards all over the apartment; it would have been fitting to end his life with the same weapon that ended Peter’s. Why hadn’t he been thinking of revenge then?
The gun had still been in the apartment. Sylar had tossed it off to the side, but Mohinder had known pretty much where it was. If he’d been squeamish he should have gotten the gun and done what he’d failed to do earlier, put a bullet in the bastard’s brain.
But the thought hadn’t occurred to him.
Was it panic? Not likely. He certainly wasn’t more panicked than when he’d first realized Zane was Sylar and he’d managed to keep that realization from the other man. Had kept his head, mostly.
Was it a reluctance to become a murderer? To kill someone absolutely defenseless? Pulling that trigger had been so hard the first time, despite all his justification, but he’d done it. He’d thought that Sylar was absolutely helpless then and he’s still gone through with it. So why hadn’t he thought to do it this time? He hadn’t hesitated to shoot Noah Bennet when that had become necessary.
The list of excuses went on, each more pathetic than the last. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t come up with an answer. Not one that he could live with. He made his tea and drank it thoughtlessly, without tasting. He needed so badly to come up with a reasonable answer.
Mohinder was so deep in thought that he didn’t hear the locks on his front door click open. He was so desperate for an answer that he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching from behind. It wasn’t until large hands came to rest on his shoulders that he snapped out of his contemplation, his entire body tensing. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
Warm breath tickled the back of his ear.
“Miss me?”
Part 8
Rating: R / NC-17 overall
Pairing/Characters: Mohinder/Sylar, Ensemble
Spoilers: MASSIVE SPOILERS - Seasons 1 and 2
Warnings: None this time. O.o
This Time: Mohinder tries to return to some semblance of "life as usual" but he is relentlessly haunted by memories of the past.
A/N: As you may have noticed, I've changed the rating. I did mention in Part 1 that this would hit NC-17 if I didn't chicken out. Well I didn't. This part is pretty much PG, but I figured now that I know for sure its going to end up going there that I should change the overall rating. When the time comes, you can all thank my amazing beta ladywilde80. I would never have dipped my toe into the smut pond without her encouragement.
Thanks again to everyone who has left/leaves me such wonderful comments. They make me feel so wonderful and encourage me to write more/faster, which in turn is good for you. ^_~
Oh, one more thing! Apparently in my head Mohinder has an en suite bathroom. I'm not sure why, but I basically established this in the first chapter, so its cannon for this story now. I can't picture Mo's bedroom without it for some reason. Anyway, figured I'd admit to this before someone called me on it, since I'm pretty sure Mohinder's apartment is only big enough for one bathroom. So lets say it has two doors, my friends have a bathroom like that. One opens into Mo's room, and one into the hallway. Ok? ^^;
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Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
Mohinder woke up the next morning back in his own bed.
Peter had eventually been persuaded to talk about Adam in the abstract, though not what had passed between the two men. Mohinder had thought the idea of two people (of no discernable relation) with identical abilities was interesting enough, but when Peter divulged that Adam was supposed to be 400 years old Mohinder’s jaw had dropped. Claire had been paying rapt attention as well, the realization that her abilities meant immortality slowly sinking in. It wasn’t every day you found out that you might live forever.
Peter hadn’t wanted to talk about how he knew Adam though. So instead Nathan had provided what his mother had told him about Adam’s relation to the Company. It was all certainly food for thought.
Somewhere in the conversation Claire seemed to warm, just a fraction, to Mohinder. Though only in that she offered to tell about another example of different people with the same powers. To say that Nathan didn’t like to discuss his ability was an understatement, but once Claire told them about West he’d definitely been interested.
The conversation had managed to cheer Peter up a little, and eventually talk turned to the more serious issues of the present. There were arrangements that needed to be made. Mohinder insisted that he had to get back to work the next day if he wanted to keep his access to the Company’s resources, more important now than ever. So after dropping Nathan and Claire off temporarily at a hotel, Peter had taken Mohinder back to his lab. Not actually in the lab though, of course. They did want to avoid the security cameras.
Peter hadn’t been comfortable being back at Issac’s loft. The last time he’d been there Issac had tried to shoot him and ended up killing Simone instead; unpleasant memories to say the least.. Mohinder had muttered something about it not being his choice of location before he slipped quickly into the room, gathered together what he needed, and then came back to collect several samples of Peter’s blood.
Memories of doing the same to Sylar just a few meters away swam to the forefront of his mind, but he’d tried to focus on what he was doing and if Peter had picked up on anything he hadn’t said. It wasn’t exactly new information anyway.
It wasn’t long before Mohinder found himself back in his old apartment. The Company must have sent someone to clean up the mess from the fight that had broken out just a few short days ago; there was hardly any sign of it anymore. The only indication that anything had happened was that it had all been tidied a bit too neatly. There was no sign of the usual mess and clutter that came of two men and a kid living in such a small space.
It was strange, crawling into bed knowing that Molly wasn’t in the next room. He missed her already but he knew that Matt would be taking good care of her, wherever they were hiding. Mohinder had decided he’d rather not know the details, just in case. Better that he just comfort himself with knowledge that they were safe. That was enough for now.
Mohinder had told Peter that he would check into a hotel for the night, just in case Sylar came looking for him. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t done just that. He knew in part it was that he just needed to be back home again. He needed familiar surroundings and familiar scents. It worked too, for the most part. Mohinder found himself drifting off to sleep with much more ease then he had expected.
Morning came all too quickly. The paralysis of sleep weighing heavily on him. If it weren’t for the fact that he was so wrapped up in his blankets that he was practically suffocating, Mohinder might have simply rolled over and gone back to sleep. Instead he felt stifled, trapped, and though he hadn’t held onto his dreams long enough to remember them, he was sure they hadn’t been pleasant ones. It was an uncomfortable enough combination to prod his protesting limbs into motion, untangling himself from the sheets and stumbling half-blind into the shower.
The comforting flow of hot water helped immensely to refresh his senses and for a few moments he was feeling better. At least until his brain had the gall to remind him what a hellish day this was bound to be.
He had a vague idea of what he was going to tell Bob when the inevitable interrogation hit. Mohinder’s association with Bennet had at least taught him how to come up with a plausible lie or cover story. Telling half-truths and lying only through omission were best. He just had to get his facts straight beforehand. Improvising had never been one of his talents.
Mohinder left the soothing warmth of the shower regretfully. He finished cleaning up, got dressed and headed out towards the kitchen for breakfast. His hand paused on the handle of the bedroom door, the memory of his last morning here breezing uninvited across his vision. No odd scents wafted past his nose, no strange noises filled his ears. When he finally shook the sudden trepidation off and entered the kitchen it was only to find it as empty as he had left it.
A small surge of disappointment mingled with relief shot through him. No Sylar, no Matt, no Molly. His small apartment suddenly felt much too big. Really, it had been too small for the strange little family he had ended up with; but now that they were gone it seemed enormous by comparison. Massive and empty, a hollow and abandoned husk.
Mohinder sighed as he plugged in the kettle and fished for a teacup, purposefully avoiding the green set. He couldn’t think about that right now. For the moment he had to keep his head in the present. One foot in front of the other. Tea, food, work. Get the conversation with Bob out of the way, head back to the lab, and take a look at Peter’s blood. Then, if he had time, he could panic. Until then he simply couldn’t afford to.
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His meeting with Bob went much better than expected. The man was clearly distracted with other things and didn’t press for details. As such, Mohinder found it ridiculously easy lie through his teeth about his absence. He explained about phoning Matt up to tell him about Sylar. He claimed that Matt insisted on getting Molly as far away as possible. He said that he’d gone back with Peter to comfort his apparently-not-as-dead-as-they’d-thought friend. Bob had given him an odd, searching look at that point but Mohinder pretended not to see it. He was good at playing dumb.
Whether Bob was suspicious of Nathan’s mysterious relocation or Mohinder’s lack of comment on the potential use of Claire’s blood in this case, he didn’t know. The subject hadn’t been broached. Mohinder got the feeling that Bob simply wanted to avoid the Nathan topic altogether. It wasn’t a good sign of the Company’s involvement, but as Mohinder was currently fervently avoiding the truth he wasn’t going to try digging in that direction just yet.
He left Sylar out of the story completely. There was simply no way he was going there when he could easily claim he’d spent the last 36 hours trying to comfort an old friend instead.
They also avoided the subject of strain 138. Mohinder wasn’t prepared to admit how much he knew about what Nathan, Peter and Matt had done or planned before Nathan was shot. It was highly dangerous territory. Bob didn’t seem to want to offer up the information either; after all, it was a subject they’d already fought about. Either he didn’t want to have to answer related questions, or he simply didn’t want to give Mohinder the satisfaction of knowing that his friends had gotten the upper hand and done what Mohinder had once told Bob was absolutely necessary.
The conversation hadn’t lasted more than five minutes before Bob dismissed him, and Mohinder muttered something about getting back to his research. The tension of things unsaid had been nearly unbearable and they were both relieved to be free of the other.
Mohinder was quite thankful that he managed to avoid running into anyone who wanted to talk to him as he beat a hasty retreat and he was back out of the building within a few short minutes. Breathing a long sigh of relief, he wound his way back to his lab, stopping back home briefly to pick up Peter’s blood. He hadn’t wanted to bring it with him earlier. Maybe it was paranoia, but he wanted to avoid questions and attention on the matter at all costs.
Mohinder set up quickly once he reached his lab. He’d figured out where all the cameras were a while back, and used that knowledge to try and make it look as if he was merely getting out a sample of Shanti Virus infected blood. It wasn’t foolproof, but it was the best he could do.
With the deft ease of years of practice, Mohinder prepared a slide from Peter’s blood and slid it under the microscope. It was obvious at first sight that something was wrong with Peter’s blood. It was flooded with what looked like gray clouds. He could still see the normal cells, but the sample was riddled with large amounts of something so small he couldn’t make out any real detail, even at maximum magnification. Still, one question was definitely answered. What Sylar had told them had to be true. Peter was, once again, a ticking time bomb.
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The rest of the day passed in a slow haze. Tests took time to run and until he got some initial results Mohinder couldn’t do much more than wait. He hadn’t been in his lab since he’d brought Sylar there and now that he was no longer preoccupied the place felt haunted. It was odd, really. Issac Mendez had been brutally murdered on the floor behind him, as Sylar had felt obliged to remind him, but it was the memories of a man who still survived that clung to the very air.
Flashes of moments assaulted his system without warning. Here Sylar taunting him with Issac’s memory. There, the gun going off and Maya crumpling to the floor. Molly’s screams rending the air in twain. Terror for his adoptive daughter only eclipsed when Sylar had pointed the gun back at his own head, demanding the cure. The look on the killer’s face when he realized that Mohinder had been holding out on him, playing for time. In that moment Mohinder had been sure Sylar was going to pull the trigger. Mohinder had been playing a dangerous game, praying that someone at the Company was watching those ‘secret’ security cameras. It had been his only hope of keeping Molly safe. He’d known going into it that eventually Sylar would catch on, eventually Mohinder would have to face that homicidal rage.
In fact it was more of a shock when Sylar just shook his head at Mohinder and said, ‘you and I have trust issues Doctor.’ How was it that just when Mohinder thought he could predict what Sylar was going to do, Sylar managed to turn things completely on their head? The next words, ordering him to try the cure on Maya first, explained it a bit. Sylar wasn’t taking any chances; he wasn’t going to risk getting poisoned again. If he hadn’t been so terrified, Mohinder might actually have felt pleased with himself. It seemed as if Sylar considered him enough of a threat now that he wasn’t going to trust a single thing Mohinder did. He wondered if it was memories of the curare fiasco that spurred that cautiousness on, or if it was just Sylar’s vulnerability at no longer having his fearsome powers. He probably considered a gun to be an absolutely pathetic weapon.
Mohinder was fairly certain that he had spent more time in Sylar’s presence than anyone still alive and yet Sylar remained so much of an enigma to him. From what Mohinder had managed to figure out, Sylar had been infected with the virus for a significant length of time and yet he hadn’t displayed any of the physical symptoms. Aside from the loss of his powers, Sylar seemed completely unaffected. Was it simply this Company-favoured strain? Mohinder didn’t know how long it took for that particular strain to cause death, but he’d been under the impression that it wasn’t much longer than the other documented cases. Had he been misled? Was Sylar naturally resistant or was it something else about the man altogether?
On the other hand, it wasn’t the least bit surprising that Sylar had managed to deceive Maya and her twin brother. Mohinder already knew far too well what a master of deception Sylar was. Perversely, it made him feel a little better about falling for the Zane ruse.
Mohinder found his mind wandering to who Sylar had been before he’d met Chandra Suresh, before he’d taken on that name. The day Sylar had come looking for the cure, after making sure Molly was going to be ok, Mohinder had managed to get his hands on Sylar’s file. He knew Bob must have given him a heavily edited version, since the details concerning his imprisonment by the Company were practically non-existent. It had, however, contained what was probably everything they knew about his life before he became a murderer.
The life of Gabriel Gray.
At first Mohinder had thought that it was some twisted joke on Sylar’s part, picking the name Gabriel for his deception this time. Mohinder didn’t know that much about Christianity, but he did know that Gabriel was an angel of some sort and Sylar was anything but angelic. So it made more sense to learn it was his real name, if still a little surreal. There was a small note beside the name warning agents against using his original name as it had a tendency to provoke violent outbursts. So why give that name to Maya? Was it psychological? Did he associate his powerless self with his past self? Or was it for some other reason entirely? Whatever the reason, Mohinder knew he’d never be able to associate the man with any name but Sylar. He stored away the information anyway though, anger was an emotional response and there might be a time when Mohinder would need to knock Sylar off balance. A dangerous thought, one that could potentially backfire, but he was certain Sylar would be back in his life soon enough and he needed every weapon he could get.
I must be mad! I should be running for the hills.
Mohinder didn’t know why he wasn’t. He couldn’t even explain it to himself. On the one hand he was fairly certain at this point that his life wasn’t in immediate danger. That didn’t necessarily mean he’d survive their next encounter, but it did mean that he’d have time to figure out just what was going on. Forty-eight hours ago in that motel…
“Don’t worry Mohinder, I can fix you.”
That eerily tender touch. The way the violence of being flung into a wall had been contradicted moments later by soft caresses. Kisses that had the force of possessiveness while still being gentle. Was it all just some elaborate mind game? Was this some sort of twisted revenge, prolonged so that in the end Mohinder would only suffer more? It was the logical conclusion, and yet Mohinder found himself having a hard time believing that it was the right one.
“Deny it all you please but you want this just as much as I do.”
Had he been telling the truth? Just how much of Zane had been real? How much had been pure deception and how much had been Sylar/Gabriel? Was there actually someone still in there that was capable of compassion or was it all just smokescreens and mirrors? Did it matter? Even if Sylar thought he was -unbelievable though the idea might be- attracted to or even in love with Mohinder, it still wasn’t a good thing. Whatever Sylar thought it was, how could someone like him be capable of it? Was it some sick fixation?
Above all, why him? Why Mohinder? What had he done to provoke this response? How had he managed to pick up a homicidal stalker?
When Elle had returned from chasing Sylar away, Mohinder had assured her that she’d saved all their lives, but now that he thought back on it…
“I’m sure Maya won’t mind if I’m not here when she wakes up.”
Sylar had grabbed the cure and stood up. His words, now that Mohinder thought objectively about it, seemed to indicate that he’d actually intended on just leaving and letting them all live. A few days ago the very idea would have seemed impossible, but now… Had Sylar really intended on leaving them alive? Why would he do that? Was his obsession with Mohinder really not about revenge for the curare incident, or the list?
If Sylar’s intentions had included rape -Mohinder shuddered at the thought- why had he been so gentle? Why had he been so seemingly intent on convincing Mohinder to stop resisting? The memories of those caresses flooded his senses all at once and Mohinder’s stomach churned. His despair and revulsion at his own reactions returned with a vengeance.
Was that why he wasn’t panicking, why he wasn’t running away? Did he want Sylar to catch up to him? What was so damn alluring about that dangerous, fascinating, complicated, homicidal man? Why couldn’t he stop remembering the thrill of those telekinetic touches, the way Sylar’s fingers and lips had sent his heart racing and thrilled him in ways that made his kiss with Eden seem like a chaste gesture between family members?
The man was a cold-blooded serial killer who had even murdered Mohinder’s father. Mohinder should be thinking of things like revenge and justice, but instead he was wondering about what other things Sylar could do with those fascinating powers of his. It was disgusting. He hated himself for entertaining those thoughts and yet they kept on coming.
What had happened? What had he become? Mohinder didn’t even know who he was anymore and it was utterly terrifying. He couldn’t concentrate on work. His head was a mess. Now that he’d let these thoughts back in they had consumed him. They stormed through him, ravaging the countryside as they went. He felt nauseous; he needed to go lie down. He could feel himself unraveling and couldn’t bear having it all caught on camera.
Stumbling a bit over his own two feet, Mohinder grabbed his coat off the back of the chair and fled his lab. His stomach was in turmoil and his heart a tangled mess of thorns. They were just thoughts and yet they elicited such immense physical agony. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He needed to escape from himself, from his own internal hell.
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Sylar sat perched on the edge of a high-rise rooftop, his long legs dangling over the edge. His long black coat was folded neatly behind him, his black silk shirt undone and hanging half off, flapping lightly in the breeze. There was a pile of empty wrappers being slowly tugged away by the wind as Sylar pulled a sterile bandage tight with his teeth. Aiding healing by knitting together cuts with his telekinesis wasn’t too hard but burns were completely different. The charred skin ached every time he moved his arm and there was nothing he could do but keep it moist and clean. A liberal application of antibiotic cream and sterile bandages were the best he could manage for now.
He slipped back into his shirt and jacket, gazing out at the city below. By now Mohinder must have determined whether or not that strange woman had really been telling the truth. It was the first time in his life that Sylar hoped he had been deceived. At least then he could kill Petrelli, something he very much wanted to do. It was just past mid-day though, and Sylar had learned the hard way that Mohinder’s lab was under surveillance. There was really no other explanation behind that annoying blonde showing up when she did, or why Mohinder had insisted on dragging them all there in the first place.
It was infuriating, knowing that the doctor had been playing for time, withholding the cure in the hopes that his friends at the Company would figure out what was going on. The betrayal stung, though it hadn’t really been all that surprising. If he’d expected Mohinder to co-operate he wouldn’t have needed the gun. After all, the last time they’d seen one another before that they’d tried to kill each other. True, Sylar probably wouldn’t have gone through with it, but Mohinder didn’t know that and Mohinder had certainly gone through with his attempt. Probably wished he hadn’t delayed too, wished he’d gone through with it before Sylar had regained access to his powers.
Mohinder was an itch that needed to be scratched. Just like that proverbial itch, scratching it only ever made things worse. It only harmed Sylar more in the long run, and yet the temptation was irresistible. He’d spent all that time pretending to be Zane when he really should have just killed Mohinder and taken the list. Not to mention calling Mohinder for advice when he’d thought he was going to blow up New York. It had made sense at the time. Mohinder had been his only real friend, even if the friendship had been shrouded in lies. He should have known better really, after the betrayal. He should have known that Mohinder wouldn’t help him. It had been a disgusting moment of weakness, a mistake.
Four months later and he’d wound up with the blunder twins. He discovered they had Chandra’s book and that they wanted to go to New York to meet him. It was fate, destiny bringing them back together again. Mohinder would know what to do. Mohinder would know how to restore his powers.
Life did have its poetry.
It had been so much fun playing with Mohinder again. It was quickly becoming his favourite game: throwing Mohinder off balance, seeing fear and confusion in those wide eyes. Sylar couldn’t explain why he had such a fascination with Mohinder. If he knew why, then maybe he could figure out how to rid himself of it. He certainly had better things to do. He had revenge to take, against two separate groups of people no less. He also had powers to collect, though at least he’d be able to do that while taking his vengeance. He should really forget all about Mohinder, get on with things, but he couldn’t.
The only saving grace was that Mohinder was connected with both groups. It seemed even more like destiny when he thought about it that way. He comforted himself with the knowledge that he could use the scientist to further his other, more practical goals. It made the obsession feel a little less pathetic at least.
He smiled lazily to himself as he thought about his plans for that afternoon. Weakness or not, seeing Mohinder again was going to be quite the enjoyable experience.
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Mohinder reached blindly for his keys, fingers fumbling about clumsily in his jacket pocket. His shallow breathing was coming faster than normal, the vaguest hints of tears beading in the corners of his eyes. His fingertips were tingling, as if they were going slowly numb. Fortunately he knew he just had to sit down with a cup of tea, do some deep breathing and he should be able to fight off what he now realized was a minor panic attack. It was no surprise, really, after everything he’d been through in the last week.
It took nearly two whole minutes to get the key into the lock and enter the sanctuary of his home. Unlike this morning, he was grateful to find the apartment blessedly empty. Mohinder tossed his bag absently onto his desk and plugged in the kettle.
The whole way home he had been playing past events over and over in his head. There was one in particular that he kept coming back to, something he absolutely couldn’t explain without feeling disgusted with himself. A moment of weakness that he could attempt to rationalize, but all his excuses sounded hollow.
On one side was Peter Petrelli, lying facedown on the floor, a large shard of glass imbedded in the back of his head, dead. On his other side was Sylar, unconscious, vulnerable, defenseless. Knocked out by Mohinder’s own doing. Mohinder was aching from having been slammed from wall to wall and falling from the ceiling. He was shaking with shock, Peter was dead and it was all his fault. He couldn’t leave Peter there. Sylar could wake up at any moment and he’d be after Peter’s brain. Mohinder couldn’t allow such a horrible desecration. He had to get Peter out of there right away.
First though, he had to destroy the list. Keeping that from Sylar was more important than either of their lives. He made short work of the laptop, destroying it beyond repair. No time to mourn the loss of all of his and his father’s work. What had it caused but death anyway?
He was making his way back to Peter when he found himself no longer able to ignore the serial killer sprawled unconscious on the floor. Sylar looked oddly peaceful. He looked more like bright, friendly Zane than the psychotic murderer Sylar. How could such a serene, peaceful face have gazed down on his victims as he sliced open their skulls?
Mohinder had to remind himself of the urgency of the situation, shake himself out of his reverie. He’d lifted Peter onto his shoulders and made good his escape.
At the time he hadn’t questioned it, but looking back now he realized what an idiot he’d been. He could have finished Sylar off right then and there, once and for all. There were deadly glass shards all over the apartment; it would have been fitting to end his life with the same weapon that ended Peter’s. Why hadn’t he been thinking of revenge then?
The gun had still been in the apartment. Sylar had tossed it off to the side, but Mohinder had known pretty much where it was. If he’d been squeamish he should have gotten the gun and done what he’d failed to do earlier, put a bullet in the bastard’s brain.
But the thought hadn’t occurred to him.
Was it panic? Not likely. He certainly wasn’t more panicked than when he’d first realized Zane was Sylar and he’d managed to keep that realization from the other man. Had kept his head, mostly.
Was it a reluctance to become a murderer? To kill someone absolutely defenseless? Pulling that trigger had been so hard the first time, despite all his justification, but he’d done it. He’d thought that Sylar was absolutely helpless then and he’s still gone through with it. So why hadn’t he thought to do it this time? He hadn’t hesitated to shoot Noah Bennet when that had become necessary.
The list of excuses went on, each more pathetic than the last. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t come up with an answer. Not one that he could live with. He made his tea and drank it thoughtlessly, without tasting. He needed so badly to come up with a reasonable answer.
Mohinder was so deep in thought that he didn’t hear the locks on his front door click open. He was so desperate for an answer that he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching from behind. It wasn’t until large hands came to rest on his shoulders that he snapped out of his contemplation, his entire body tensing. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
Warm breath tickled the back of his ear.
“Miss me?”
Part 8