[fanfic] Legacies: Part 2 (PG-13)
Title: Legacies
Chapter: 2
Author: tiptoe39
Characters/Pairings: Matt/Mohinder; Maya; Elle
Rating: The fic as a whole is rated R; this chapter is rated PG-13 for language.
Warnings: Spoilers for all of Season 2 so far; slash. (The slash is integral to the plot, but it is not the plot itself.)
Summary: We are given legacies by those who leave us, but also by those who stay by our side.
Previous chapters: Prologue | One
Mohinder insisted on watching over Maya as she went into what Elle blithely called “detox.” A quiet room, a handful of pills each day. After a week, Maya started to cry from the loneliness of it, and at the sight of her clear, honest tears, Mohinder put his foot down. It was one thing to help her through the hardest part, he said, but it was quite another to imprison her. Bob had allowed Mohinder to visit her, of course, and Elle was in there often as well (Maya’s gratitude to her outweighed her obvious distaste for the girl’s showmanship), but Mohinder had leverage, and the end Maya was allowed to move out to a small, furnished short-term rental close by. She continued to take her pills, though, just like an obedient student. She was the one person for whom it seemed to be a genuine relief to not have any power.
Mohinder couldn’t help but envy her that clarity. There were times, in his darker hours, when he wanted nothing more than to have some demon he could unleash, some power of vengeance he could rain down in the city until he found Sylar and was able to ensure his daughter’s safety.
He had thought many times about asking Molly to find him. But she was still so fragile from having seen him. And Matt would never forgive him if he were to do anything, much less the same thing that nearly tore their household apart when Matt himself had tried it. Plus, it had been days. Sylar was not, apparently, in a hurry to kill them.
Still, they moved that weekend to an apartment high up in Co-op City. It wasn’t particularly pretty, but the altitude made them feel a little more secure. As far as they knew, Sylar still had to use elevators like a regular person. Nathan Petrelli's power remained out of his reach-- he was one of the few people who were victimized by someone else.
Nathan had succumbed quietly after several days of fighting. A warrior to the end. Matt had wanted to go, to be there for Peter, to look over the cold body that had come so close to freeing them all. But he’d sworn to never leave again, and Mohinder was quick to remind him of that. In the end, he’d hung his head and given up. Besides, Peter could drop by anytime, Mohinder reminded him. If he needed to talk, he would get in touch.
Things were almost normal for a time.
Maya was starting to move past the tragedy she'd endured, and she was proving to be fairly pleasant company when she was not petrified or pining-emotions that took up slightly less of her time as the days wore on. What worried Mohinder more was that she started dropping by unexpectedly.
At first it was only to say hello. To tell him she'd taken a job as a waitress in a local restaurant. It was only fast food, she said, but it was something, and the manager didn't ask too many questions. Then it was to see how Molly was doing. To see if they'd heard anything from "that man." To bring over some churros she'd baked on a whim.
Really, Mohinder thought, she was just lonely. She'd been on the run for so long, she'd forgotten what it was to interact with people. She would stand in the doorway, looking like she had something she was struggling to say. Her eyes would flicker past him to see if Matt was home. He had tried to be polite, but she didn't trust cops, and he didn't trust strange women who appeared without warning in small apartments, so Mohinder didn't hold out much hope for a friendship to blossom there.
Then, one day, she showed up with a look of steel on her face.
"I'm sorry to bother you, Doctor," she said politely, but she was not smiling. In the adjoining room, Matt grimaced and waved halfheartedly at her. She didn't notice.
"No, not at all." Mohinder looked between the two of them nervously. Matt was eyeing her like she was likely to spontaneously explode any moment. "Please, come in. How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine." She finally managed a weak smile. "I actually was wondering if I could talk to you."
He sensed some trepidation in her voice, and shot Matt a look. He got up with a Don't mind me, I just live here sort of pout, and went down the hall, leaving them alone. "Of course," he said, pulling out a chair for her at the kitchen table. "What about?"
"Genetics."
Perhaps the one answer he hadn't been expecting. "I beg your pardon?"
"I read every word of your father's book, Doctor," she said, leaning forward. "Ever since this started happening to me, I've tried everything I could to understand it, control it. But one can only learn so much from books, don't you think?"
He was still dumbfounded. "Well, that is true, I suppose," he admitted.
"That's why I'm so glad I'm being allowed to stay here," she enthused. Her face was pink. "I'm sure that if you could teach me, I'll be able to start understanding what's happening to me."
"Is something happening?" he said, drawing in a quick breath.
She waved her hands frantically. "No, no, I mean, what happened. I' m sorry. My English is not good. But, may I come to ask you questions once in a while? I won't be a bother, I promise."
"Well... that's fine, I suppose." He cursed himself for being so reactive. There was just something in him, a cornered animal called instinct, that had pawed at the bars to its cage when she said those words. Something made him afraid, something visceral and irrational. He fought it down. He always did, after all.
"Thank you, Doctor!" She threw her arms around him and gave him a squeeze. Mohinder blushed, unsettled. If she'd been anyone else, he would have suspected an ulterior motive, but Maya was so very innocent. Almost embarrassingly so. Did she even know what it was to embrace another adult? In so many ways, she was such a child inside that he felt he had good reason to doubt.
As he watched Maya go, Mohinder became aware of a presence behind him. "That was a hell of a hug," Matt said darkly.
Mohinder scratched his head and was about to speak when Matt went on. "You know I don't like it when she's over here."
Something about his tone, the judgmental harshness of it, irked Mohinder. "She's no danger to anyone right now," he snapped. "You can't expect her to live like a hermit the rest of her life."
"So let her go make some friends! Why does she have to be here?" When Matt was angry, Mohinder had noticed, he seemed squatter, shorter, like he was trying to fill as much of the room as possible with his presence. Like a dog trying to mark his territory, minus the leg-lifting and bad smell, of course, he thought suddenly, and had to laugh to himself at how very, very well that metaphor worked.
"I don't know," he said, forcing his mind back on topic. "But I can't be rude to the woman. She doesn't know anyone around here, and she has questions that only I can answer."
"Oh, sorry, I forgot you were the Doctor to the Superheroes." Matt rolled his eyes.
How easily he got riled up whenever Matt acted this way! "You didn't mind that appellation when I was saving your life. Or that of your daughter. Or helping you control your new ability."
To Mohinder's great surprise, Matt sighed. "OK, you're right," he said, ruffling his hair. "You've got a point. I'm sorry. I'm trying not to be a pain, but, you know..."
"Old habits die hard." Mohinder's lips twitched with amusement.
Matt grumbled at him with an exaggerated frown and sat down. Like a big, grumpy dog, Mohinder thought again. He wondered idly what sort of look he would get on his face if someone were to scratch him behind the ears.
"You know what I worry about, sometimes?" Matt said, sounding kind of wistful. "What happens if you or I meet somebody? You know. A woman. And want to settle down. Move out."
Mohinder stopped moving. It wasn't something he'd contemplated recently. Romance was so far removed from the bizarre life he'd been living. "Wait. You think Maya...?"
"Not her, not necessarily. Just anyone. What happens to us? I mean, where Molly's concerned."
"That's a very good question. I hadn't thought about it." Mohinder sat down opposite him. "I suppose I don't have any way to adopt her, not being a citizen. I suppose I would have to relinquish custody to you." The words slid out too easily, but they stung once they hit air.
"Aw. No, I couldn't. I'd never take her from you." As though there were any choice in the matter.
"I feel the same way." When Matt's eyes met his, Mohinder felt his breath catch. The relief and joy there were palpable. "You didn't honestly think I'd ever try to..." He shook his head. "Matt, she needs both of us. I'd think by now that'd be obvious."
Matt grinned widely. "I guess we're going to have to avoid falling in love, then?"
"To the extent possible, yes." Mohinder found himself smiling, too. "I pledge to devote my life to science, if that helps."
"It does, it does." Matt nodded. "And I, like Batman, will spend my days going after the bad guys." He crossed his heart and nodded soberly as though taking an oath.
Mohinder couldn't help it-- he snorted. Matt looked at him reproachfully. They smiled at each other for a long moment before realizing how odd that was, then went their separate ways. Mohinder's heartbeat felt jagged and raw for several minutes afterward.
Elle was in the filing room when Mohinder went to pull his files the next morning. Elle, of all people. He'd never seen her read anything more strenuous than an US Weekly.
At the sound of him behind her, she jumped and whirled. "Hi, Doctor S," she said, tilting her head. Her hands were clutched around a manila folder.
"What are you doing in here?" he asked suspiciously.
"Looking for you, actually," she said, grinning. "I had a question."
He held out his hand. "I take it that file's for me, then?"
"What, this?" She held it closer to her chest. "No, that's something else. Anyway. What I wanted to ask you was, how your research was going. About the virus. And stuff. Um, Dad asked me." Her sentences were choppy, hesitant. He had a fairly strong sense that she was lying through her teeth.
He responded icily, "It's going fine. Thank you for asking."
"That's not enough detail. Dad wants a full report. Now get talking." She looked impatient.
"You're serious?"
"As a heart attack. You want one so's you can compare?" She sent an arc of blue lightning up into the air around her palm. A corner of a folder on the upper shelf caught flame for a moment before crumbling to dark ash.
She may have been a lousy liar, but Mohinder knew she'd back up that lie with a hell of a lot of pain. "Fine. You can tell him that I have recently been able to determine the point in the strain's mutation process at which my blood ceases to be effective in counteracting its effects."
He'd hoped he'd lost her at that point, but she nodded and motioned for him to go on. "And what point is that?"
Mohinder sighed. Might as well explain the lot. "It's quite remarkable, actually. The airborne strain, the one that was destroyed by Peter Petrelli, was a contemporaneous sibling of the strain with which Niki infected herself. That is, they were created at roughly the same time and mutated in vastly different ways. What this means is that conceivably, although I wasn't able to cure Niki, my blood probably would be able to cure those infected with Strain 138."
"That sounds good." Elle's eyes had slid to the side, and she was now contemplating her manicure. Mohinder doubted very much she was actually listening.
"Not really," he continued in a weary tone, "The airborne nature of the strain would mean that if it were released, it would spread more quickly than I would be able to contain. So I could cure perhaps a dozen people in the time it took for half the world to be wiped out. Still, in theory it's a very interesting bit of trivia."
"But that strain's gone," she said, still looking at her nails. "So it's a moot point. I mean, why bother looking at where it came from?"
It was a decent question, he thought with some surprise. Perhaps he'd underestimated her intelligence. Then the inspiration struck. She'd been restricted to office work since she failed to take care of Bennet; perhaps she was bored.
"Do you have an interest in lab work?" he asked.
She shrugged. "It's better than filing."
"Well, I do realize it's not assassination, but I probably could use your help once in a while," he said, putting on his best and most charming smile. "Drop by anytime you feel an inclination."
Her eyes softened, and she regarded him lazily through catlike eyes. His instinct had been right-- she was still vulnerable. In those moments after Sylar had gone, when he'd praised her, she'd looked like a child. Although he hated himself for thinking it-- Bennet's influence was making him callous-- he could probably manipulate her fairly well. It was possible that she might willingly give him information that Bob would be less forthcoming about.
"Well, OK, then," she said cautiously. "Maybe I will."
"Just..." He cleared his throat. "Knock first."
She rolled her eyes and turned to go. The conversation should have been over at that moment.
But as she passed, he noticed for the first time the name on the folder she’d been clutching. His eyes widened and he grabbed her wrist.
“Why do you have a file on Maya?”
“Why? S...she did have treatment here, did you forget that?” Elle brushed a strand of hair back from her face, her eyes darting back and forth.
“Why are you carrying it?” Mohinder started to feel as though he were playing a game of Questions; first one to get an actual answer wins. He wasn’t in the mood to play games. “Give me that,” he said, grabbing for it. Elle squealed and shocked him; he ended up thrown backward onto a nearby office chair, the electricity spiraling down his spine and into the cushion, then the metallic legs in a series of small, painful jolts. He gaped at her, outraged. "What-- what are you not telling me?"
She turned up her nose. “Frankly, Doctor S,” she said coolly, “that’s none of your business.” Whirling, she marched from the room.
Mohinder could only think blankly that she sounded just like her father.
Elle took him up on his offer, and quickly made a nuisance of herself. It was unexpected visits from Elle at work and Maya at home, and he felt irked, as though a wicked blonde devil and a soulful, tanned angel were tag-teaming him, trying by turns to divert his attention. And his angel and devil quota had already been filled, both at once, in Molly, so he had no room for them.
Stranger and more worrisome still were the brief snips of conversation Matt and he would have. It was the first they’d lived together for any significant length of time, and in addition to the usual adjustments, there was also an eerie sense of familiarity. When they were not bickering, they were thinking the same thing at the same time. The strangeness with which they interacted unsettled Mohinder; he wasn’t sure whether he was bothered more by the friction or by the times of utter parallel.
There were times their eyes would meet and without a word they would know what was coming next. Matt would open his mouth and Mohinder would say “It’s my week to buy the groceries. Right.” Or Molly would have a sore throat and they would both come home with the same flavor of cough drops. Or, worst of all, they would begin to chat in the early evening and the next time they looked up it was three a.m.
What Mohinder realized after a while was that they were actually building a relationship. A partnership was forming between them. Like two sides of a bridge that meet over a rushing river below, utterly scared of falling. Once the two meet, they should be comforted, yes; but they’re still looking at a long tumble to the rapids and jagged rocks should they be unable to fit together in just the right way. It was terrifying.
And it went unsaid for a long time.
There were school meetings to attend and people with extraordinary powers to find. Minds to read and mobsters to corner. Laundry detergent to buy. Keys that got lost. The rise and fall of the normal days, like tides.
It was a late night when the subject finally broke through the surface of the thoughts. It wasn’t that they were drinking; sometimes the lateness of the hour is enough to render an otherwise sane man honest. Fatigue is a powerful truth serum. In any case, it was Matt who looked over at the man at the desk, typing ardently away as 3-D computer models of molecules rotated on the screen, and felt the need to say something.
They’d been silent for a long time; just hanging out in the same room, letting each other pursue his pastime of choice, was a nightly ritual for them. Why the same room? It was just the way it had evolved. Sometimes one or both retreated to the bedroom, but there was something comforting about having someone there who occasionally got up and went to the bathroom, or offered you a cup of tea, or did something to remind you that you didn’t live in isolation. A purely social impulse.
“Does this seem weird to you?” Matt said suddenly.
“Weird?” Mohinder turned and stared at him. Matt had been checking out a sports magazine, squinting at the statistics on the page, but he raised his eyes to meet Mohinder’s.
“The way things have been. You know.” He pointed to Mohinder and then himself, flapping his arms between the two poles repeatedly. The gesture for “between us” for those who couldn’t vocalize it.
It was met by a stiff shake of the head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Matt lowered his eyes again. “Never mind, then.” A grumble.
Mohinder hoped he would leave it there, and he did; amazingly enough, he seemed to be content with that answer. Mohinder wasn’t, however; he felt a strange compression in the chest that he didn’t entirely like. He felt the words burning up inside him and eventually they just had to get said. He stood up. “I’m lying. I do know what you’re talking about.” His fingers ran nervously through his hair. “And yes. It’s very weird.”
He came to sit down beside Matt on the couch. Hip near hip.
Matt scooted away. A little. Trying to be subtle. Trying not to let on--or to recognize himself--that it was the hip-near-hip part that had him so on edge.
Mohinder finished running his hand through his hair and laid his palms flat on the couch cushion.
Except for he didn’t. One of his palms, entirely by accident, came down on Matt’s hand.
“Oh,” he said, and picked it up again.
Except for he didn’t do that either.
Instead, they both stared at those hands, pressed together like a layer cake, like a hinge.
“Oh, shit,” said Matt.
He looked up at Mohinder. There was oh-shit in his eyes, too. They were terrified, those eyes.
“I didn’t mean.”
“I’ve never. I mean, I didn’t... Shit. This is bad.”
“What are we supposed to do now?”
“I don’t know. Ignore it? Hope it goes away?”
“Yes, that’s probably wise.” This time the hand did manage to withdraw. He folded his hands in his lap and his eyes focused narrowly on their clasping fingers.
A long, long silence crept across them, like the shadow of a cat against a fence at night.
“This is really happening, isn’t it.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes, it really is.” Resignation in Mohinder’s voice.
“So, what? Are we just supposed to go with it?”
“I thought we just agreed to ignore it.” And now the voice was ticked off.
“Right. I knew that.” A beat. “Here’s the thing. I don’t think I can.”
“Oh, wonderful.” Spark became fire. Mohinder flew to his feet again. “We’ve finally achieved some measure of stability and you’re going to throw it away because of a momentary weakness.” He paced a moment, then stopped. “How about this. Make it go away. Get it out of my head. Use your ability. You know you can.”
Matt got up as well, his eyebrows furrowed in sudden anger. “What the-- why would I? So I can be the only one who’s thinking about it?”
“At least if it’s unrequited attraction it won’t be destroying both of us!”
Shit. He used the word. Attraction.
“You think I want to be feeling this? You think I want to look into your mind and see me?”
“Then get rid of it.” Desperation now. “Please.”
“Mohinder.”
Somehow the use of the name was like a death knell. Death of denial.
“Maybe... this is a good thing. I mean, maybe this is supposed to happen.”
“Don’t say that!” Gritted teeth. Set jaw. “I am not. It is not.”
“Me neither. I never was. And maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s not supposed to happen.” Soft voice. “But it’s happening.”
And then a white hand went around a brown wrist and there were only two sets of brown eyes in the room, frightened faces a mirror of each other. The free white hand, big and burly, touched the chin of the frightened face and it shivered. Wanted to shake no. Eyes screaming no, no, no. As they closed. As sensation took over. As sensitive lips brushed yearning ones.
That’s all there was. No great rush into arms. No passionate moment of clarity. Just a kiss. Briefly, tentatively, gone.
Next: What happens when you give romantic advice to a stark raving loony.
Chapter: 2
Author: tiptoe39
Characters/Pairings: Matt/Mohinder; Maya; Elle
Rating: The fic as a whole is rated R; this chapter is rated PG-13 for language.
Warnings: Spoilers for all of Season 2 so far; slash. (The slash is integral to the plot, but it is not the plot itself.)
Summary: We are given legacies by those who leave us, but also by those who stay by our side.
Previous chapters: Prologue | One
Mohinder insisted on watching over Maya as she went into what Elle blithely called “detox.” A quiet room, a handful of pills each day. After a week, Maya started to cry from the loneliness of it, and at the sight of her clear, honest tears, Mohinder put his foot down. It was one thing to help her through the hardest part, he said, but it was quite another to imprison her. Bob had allowed Mohinder to visit her, of course, and Elle was in there often as well (Maya’s gratitude to her outweighed her obvious distaste for the girl’s showmanship), but Mohinder had leverage, and the end Maya was allowed to move out to a small, furnished short-term rental close by. She continued to take her pills, though, just like an obedient student. She was the one person for whom it seemed to be a genuine relief to not have any power.
Mohinder couldn’t help but envy her that clarity. There were times, in his darker hours, when he wanted nothing more than to have some demon he could unleash, some power of vengeance he could rain down in the city until he found Sylar and was able to ensure his daughter’s safety.
He had thought many times about asking Molly to find him. But she was still so fragile from having seen him. And Matt would never forgive him if he were to do anything, much less the same thing that nearly tore their household apart when Matt himself had tried it. Plus, it had been days. Sylar was not, apparently, in a hurry to kill them.
Still, they moved that weekend to an apartment high up in Co-op City. It wasn’t particularly pretty, but the altitude made them feel a little more secure. As far as they knew, Sylar still had to use elevators like a regular person. Nathan Petrelli's power remained out of his reach-- he was one of the few people who were victimized by someone else.
Nathan had succumbed quietly after several days of fighting. A warrior to the end. Matt had wanted to go, to be there for Peter, to look over the cold body that had come so close to freeing them all. But he’d sworn to never leave again, and Mohinder was quick to remind him of that. In the end, he’d hung his head and given up. Besides, Peter could drop by anytime, Mohinder reminded him. If he needed to talk, he would get in touch.
Things were almost normal for a time.
Maya was starting to move past the tragedy she'd endured, and she was proving to be fairly pleasant company when she was not petrified or pining-emotions that took up slightly less of her time as the days wore on. What worried Mohinder more was that she started dropping by unexpectedly.
At first it was only to say hello. To tell him she'd taken a job as a waitress in a local restaurant. It was only fast food, she said, but it was something, and the manager didn't ask too many questions. Then it was to see how Molly was doing. To see if they'd heard anything from "that man." To bring over some churros she'd baked on a whim.
Really, Mohinder thought, she was just lonely. She'd been on the run for so long, she'd forgotten what it was to interact with people. She would stand in the doorway, looking like she had something she was struggling to say. Her eyes would flicker past him to see if Matt was home. He had tried to be polite, but she didn't trust cops, and he didn't trust strange women who appeared without warning in small apartments, so Mohinder didn't hold out much hope for a friendship to blossom there.
Then, one day, she showed up with a look of steel on her face.
"I'm sorry to bother you, Doctor," she said politely, but she was not smiling. In the adjoining room, Matt grimaced and waved halfheartedly at her. She didn't notice.
"No, not at all." Mohinder looked between the two of them nervously. Matt was eyeing her like she was likely to spontaneously explode any moment. "Please, come in. How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine." She finally managed a weak smile. "I actually was wondering if I could talk to you."
He sensed some trepidation in her voice, and shot Matt a look. He got up with a Don't mind me, I just live here sort of pout, and went down the hall, leaving them alone. "Of course," he said, pulling out a chair for her at the kitchen table. "What about?"
"Genetics."
Perhaps the one answer he hadn't been expecting. "I beg your pardon?"
"I read every word of your father's book, Doctor," she said, leaning forward. "Ever since this started happening to me, I've tried everything I could to understand it, control it. But one can only learn so much from books, don't you think?"
He was still dumbfounded. "Well, that is true, I suppose," he admitted.
"That's why I'm so glad I'm being allowed to stay here," she enthused. Her face was pink. "I'm sure that if you could teach me, I'll be able to start understanding what's happening to me."
"Is something happening?" he said, drawing in a quick breath.
She waved her hands frantically. "No, no, I mean, what happened. I' m sorry. My English is not good. But, may I come to ask you questions once in a while? I won't be a bother, I promise."
"Well... that's fine, I suppose." He cursed himself for being so reactive. There was just something in him, a cornered animal called instinct, that had pawed at the bars to its cage when she said those words. Something made him afraid, something visceral and irrational. He fought it down. He always did, after all.
"Thank you, Doctor!" She threw her arms around him and gave him a squeeze. Mohinder blushed, unsettled. If she'd been anyone else, he would have suspected an ulterior motive, but Maya was so very innocent. Almost embarrassingly so. Did she even know what it was to embrace another adult? In so many ways, she was such a child inside that he felt he had good reason to doubt.
As he watched Maya go, Mohinder became aware of a presence behind him. "That was a hell of a hug," Matt said darkly.
Mohinder scratched his head and was about to speak when Matt went on. "You know I don't like it when she's over here."
Something about his tone, the judgmental harshness of it, irked Mohinder. "She's no danger to anyone right now," he snapped. "You can't expect her to live like a hermit the rest of her life."
"So let her go make some friends! Why does she have to be here?" When Matt was angry, Mohinder had noticed, he seemed squatter, shorter, like he was trying to fill as much of the room as possible with his presence. Like a dog trying to mark his territory, minus the leg-lifting and bad smell, of course, he thought suddenly, and had to laugh to himself at how very, very well that metaphor worked.
"I don't know," he said, forcing his mind back on topic. "But I can't be rude to the woman. She doesn't know anyone around here, and she has questions that only I can answer."
"Oh, sorry, I forgot you were the Doctor to the Superheroes." Matt rolled his eyes.
How easily he got riled up whenever Matt acted this way! "You didn't mind that appellation when I was saving your life. Or that of your daughter. Or helping you control your new ability."
To Mohinder's great surprise, Matt sighed. "OK, you're right," he said, ruffling his hair. "You've got a point. I'm sorry. I'm trying not to be a pain, but, you know..."
"Old habits die hard." Mohinder's lips twitched with amusement.
Matt grumbled at him with an exaggerated frown and sat down. Like a big, grumpy dog, Mohinder thought again. He wondered idly what sort of look he would get on his face if someone were to scratch him behind the ears.
"You know what I worry about, sometimes?" Matt said, sounding kind of wistful. "What happens if you or I meet somebody? You know. A woman. And want to settle down. Move out."
Mohinder stopped moving. It wasn't something he'd contemplated recently. Romance was so far removed from the bizarre life he'd been living. "Wait. You think Maya...?"
"Not her, not necessarily. Just anyone. What happens to us? I mean, where Molly's concerned."
"That's a very good question. I hadn't thought about it." Mohinder sat down opposite him. "I suppose I don't have any way to adopt her, not being a citizen. I suppose I would have to relinquish custody to you." The words slid out too easily, but they stung once they hit air.
"Aw. No, I couldn't. I'd never take her from you." As though there were any choice in the matter.
"I feel the same way." When Matt's eyes met his, Mohinder felt his breath catch. The relief and joy there were palpable. "You didn't honestly think I'd ever try to..." He shook his head. "Matt, she needs both of us. I'd think by now that'd be obvious."
Matt grinned widely. "I guess we're going to have to avoid falling in love, then?"
"To the extent possible, yes." Mohinder found himself smiling, too. "I pledge to devote my life to science, if that helps."
"It does, it does." Matt nodded. "And I, like Batman, will spend my days going after the bad guys." He crossed his heart and nodded soberly as though taking an oath.
Mohinder couldn't help it-- he snorted. Matt looked at him reproachfully. They smiled at each other for a long moment before realizing how odd that was, then went their separate ways. Mohinder's heartbeat felt jagged and raw for several minutes afterward.
Elle was in the filing room when Mohinder went to pull his files the next morning. Elle, of all people. He'd never seen her read anything more strenuous than an US Weekly.
At the sound of him behind her, she jumped and whirled. "Hi, Doctor S," she said, tilting her head. Her hands were clutched around a manila folder.
"What are you doing in here?" he asked suspiciously.
"Looking for you, actually," she said, grinning. "I had a question."
He held out his hand. "I take it that file's for me, then?"
"What, this?" She held it closer to her chest. "No, that's something else. Anyway. What I wanted to ask you was, how your research was going. About the virus. And stuff. Um, Dad asked me." Her sentences were choppy, hesitant. He had a fairly strong sense that she was lying through her teeth.
He responded icily, "It's going fine. Thank you for asking."
"That's not enough detail. Dad wants a full report. Now get talking." She looked impatient.
"You're serious?"
"As a heart attack. You want one so's you can compare?" She sent an arc of blue lightning up into the air around her palm. A corner of a folder on the upper shelf caught flame for a moment before crumbling to dark ash.
She may have been a lousy liar, but Mohinder knew she'd back up that lie with a hell of a lot of pain. "Fine. You can tell him that I have recently been able to determine the point in the strain's mutation process at which my blood ceases to be effective in counteracting its effects."
He'd hoped he'd lost her at that point, but she nodded and motioned for him to go on. "And what point is that?"
Mohinder sighed. Might as well explain the lot. "It's quite remarkable, actually. The airborne strain, the one that was destroyed by Peter Petrelli, was a contemporaneous sibling of the strain with which Niki infected herself. That is, they were created at roughly the same time and mutated in vastly different ways. What this means is that conceivably, although I wasn't able to cure Niki, my blood probably would be able to cure those infected with Strain 138."
"That sounds good." Elle's eyes had slid to the side, and she was now contemplating her manicure. Mohinder doubted very much she was actually listening.
"Not really," he continued in a weary tone, "The airborne nature of the strain would mean that if it were released, it would spread more quickly than I would be able to contain. So I could cure perhaps a dozen people in the time it took for half the world to be wiped out. Still, in theory it's a very interesting bit of trivia."
"But that strain's gone," she said, still looking at her nails. "So it's a moot point. I mean, why bother looking at where it came from?"
It was a decent question, he thought with some surprise. Perhaps he'd underestimated her intelligence. Then the inspiration struck. She'd been restricted to office work since she failed to take care of Bennet; perhaps she was bored.
"Do you have an interest in lab work?" he asked.
She shrugged. "It's better than filing."
"Well, I do realize it's not assassination, but I probably could use your help once in a while," he said, putting on his best and most charming smile. "Drop by anytime you feel an inclination."
Her eyes softened, and she regarded him lazily through catlike eyes. His instinct had been right-- she was still vulnerable. In those moments after Sylar had gone, when he'd praised her, she'd looked like a child. Although he hated himself for thinking it-- Bennet's influence was making him callous-- he could probably manipulate her fairly well. It was possible that she might willingly give him information that Bob would be less forthcoming about.
"Well, OK, then," she said cautiously. "Maybe I will."
"Just..." He cleared his throat. "Knock first."
She rolled her eyes and turned to go. The conversation should have been over at that moment.
But as she passed, he noticed for the first time the name on the folder she’d been clutching. His eyes widened and he grabbed her wrist.
“Why do you have a file on Maya?”
“Why? S...she did have treatment here, did you forget that?” Elle brushed a strand of hair back from her face, her eyes darting back and forth.
“Why are you carrying it?” Mohinder started to feel as though he were playing a game of Questions; first one to get an actual answer wins. He wasn’t in the mood to play games. “Give me that,” he said, grabbing for it. Elle squealed and shocked him; he ended up thrown backward onto a nearby office chair, the electricity spiraling down his spine and into the cushion, then the metallic legs in a series of small, painful jolts. He gaped at her, outraged. "What-- what are you not telling me?"
She turned up her nose. “Frankly, Doctor S,” she said coolly, “that’s none of your business.” Whirling, she marched from the room.
Mohinder could only think blankly that she sounded just like her father.
Elle took him up on his offer, and quickly made a nuisance of herself. It was unexpected visits from Elle at work and Maya at home, and he felt irked, as though a wicked blonde devil and a soulful, tanned angel were tag-teaming him, trying by turns to divert his attention. And his angel and devil quota had already been filled, both at once, in Molly, so he had no room for them.
Stranger and more worrisome still were the brief snips of conversation Matt and he would have. It was the first they’d lived together for any significant length of time, and in addition to the usual adjustments, there was also an eerie sense of familiarity. When they were not bickering, they were thinking the same thing at the same time. The strangeness with which they interacted unsettled Mohinder; he wasn’t sure whether he was bothered more by the friction or by the times of utter parallel.
There were times their eyes would meet and without a word they would know what was coming next. Matt would open his mouth and Mohinder would say “It’s my week to buy the groceries. Right.” Or Molly would have a sore throat and they would both come home with the same flavor of cough drops. Or, worst of all, they would begin to chat in the early evening and the next time they looked up it was three a.m.
What Mohinder realized after a while was that they were actually building a relationship. A partnership was forming between them. Like two sides of a bridge that meet over a rushing river below, utterly scared of falling. Once the two meet, they should be comforted, yes; but they’re still looking at a long tumble to the rapids and jagged rocks should they be unable to fit together in just the right way. It was terrifying.
And it went unsaid for a long time.
There were school meetings to attend and people with extraordinary powers to find. Minds to read and mobsters to corner. Laundry detergent to buy. Keys that got lost. The rise and fall of the normal days, like tides.
It was a late night when the subject finally broke through the surface of the thoughts. It wasn’t that they were drinking; sometimes the lateness of the hour is enough to render an otherwise sane man honest. Fatigue is a powerful truth serum. In any case, it was Matt who looked over at the man at the desk, typing ardently away as 3-D computer models of molecules rotated on the screen, and felt the need to say something.
They’d been silent for a long time; just hanging out in the same room, letting each other pursue his pastime of choice, was a nightly ritual for them. Why the same room? It was just the way it had evolved. Sometimes one or both retreated to the bedroom, but there was something comforting about having someone there who occasionally got up and went to the bathroom, or offered you a cup of tea, or did something to remind you that you didn’t live in isolation. A purely social impulse.
“Does this seem weird to you?” Matt said suddenly.
“Weird?” Mohinder turned and stared at him. Matt had been checking out a sports magazine, squinting at the statistics on the page, but he raised his eyes to meet Mohinder’s.
“The way things have been. You know.” He pointed to Mohinder and then himself, flapping his arms between the two poles repeatedly. The gesture for “between us” for those who couldn’t vocalize it.
It was met by a stiff shake of the head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Matt lowered his eyes again. “Never mind, then.” A grumble.
Mohinder hoped he would leave it there, and he did; amazingly enough, he seemed to be content with that answer. Mohinder wasn’t, however; he felt a strange compression in the chest that he didn’t entirely like. He felt the words burning up inside him and eventually they just had to get said. He stood up. “I’m lying. I do know what you’re talking about.” His fingers ran nervously through his hair. “And yes. It’s very weird.”
He came to sit down beside Matt on the couch. Hip near hip.
Matt scooted away. A little. Trying to be subtle. Trying not to let on--or to recognize himself--that it was the hip-near-hip part that had him so on edge.
Mohinder finished running his hand through his hair and laid his palms flat on the couch cushion.
Except for he didn’t. One of his palms, entirely by accident, came down on Matt’s hand.
“Oh,” he said, and picked it up again.
Except for he didn’t do that either.
Instead, they both stared at those hands, pressed together like a layer cake, like a hinge.
“Oh, shit,” said Matt.
He looked up at Mohinder. There was oh-shit in his eyes, too. They were terrified, those eyes.
“I didn’t mean.”
“I’ve never. I mean, I didn’t... Shit. This is bad.”
“What are we supposed to do now?”
“I don’t know. Ignore it? Hope it goes away?”
“Yes, that’s probably wise.” This time the hand did manage to withdraw. He folded his hands in his lap and his eyes focused narrowly on their clasping fingers.
A long, long silence crept across them, like the shadow of a cat against a fence at night.
“This is really happening, isn’t it.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes, it really is.” Resignation in Mohinder’s voice.
“So, what? Are we just supposed to go with it?”
“I thought we just agreed to ignore it.” And now the voice was ticked off.
“Right. I knew that.” A beat. “Here’s the thing. I don’t think I can.”
“Oh, wonderful.” Spark became fire. Mohinder flew to his feet again. “We’ve finally achieved some measure of stability and you’re going to throw it away because of a momentary weakness.” He paced a moment, then stopped. “How about this. Make it go away. Get it out of my head. Use your ability. You know you can.”
Matt got up as well, his eyebrows furrowed in sudden anger. “What the-- why would I? So I can be the only one who’s thinking about it?”
“At least if it’s unrequited attraction it won’t be destroying both of us!”
Shit. He used the word. Attraction.
“You think I want to be feeling this? You think I want to look into your mind and see me?”
“Then get rid of it.” Desperation now. “Please.”
“Mohinder.”
Somehow the use of the name was like a death knell. Death of denial.
“Maybe... this is a good thing. I mean, maybe this is supposed to happen.”
“Don’t say that!” Gritted teeth. Set jaw. “I am not. It is not.”
“Me neither. I never was. And maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s not supposed to happen.” Soft voice. “But it’s happening.”
And then a white hand went around a brown wrist and there were only two sets of brown eyes in the room, frightened faces a mirror of each other. The free white hand, big and burly, touched the chin of the frightened face and it shivered. Wanted to shake no. Eyes screaming no, no, no. As they closed. As sensation took over. As sensitive lips brushed yearning ones.
That’s all there was. No great rush into arms. No passionate moment of clarity. Just a kiss. Briefly, tentatively, gone.
Next: What happens when you give romantic advice to a stark raving loony.