[fanfic] Legacies: Part 6 (R)
Title: Legacies
Chapter: 6 (of 8)
Author: tiptoe39
Characters/Pairings: Matt/Mohinder; Maya; Elle
Rating: R for sexual content (situations and discussions) (stop cheering, you know who you are!)
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.
Author's note: I have heretofore forgotten to credit ilsaluvsrick for her amazing beta work on this, and this needs to be remedied. She deserves a lot of credit for inspiration and excellent discussion to make everything work better. Kisses, hun!
Previous chapters: Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five
Mohinder awoke with a headache, as though he'd been drinking. The bright morning was far too much to take. He crossed the room, shut the blinds, and tumbled back into bed. Anything but daylight.
But his mind was racing even in the darkness, and eventually he cursed and sat up again. He'd ruined things, he was sure of it. He'd actually slammed his door on Matt last night. Without saying a word, like a three-year-old. Thank God Molly wasn't up. She'd lecture him on being childish, and that would be too embarrassing to handle.
What a fool he'd been. He should have known better than to dare get involved with Matt to begin with. Isn't this what he was afraid of? Walking on eggshells under his own roof? High drama in what was supposed to be a stable environment for a child? These were the things that happened when one allowed oneself to feel, to be vulnerable. He remembered what his father had said about a true scientist having a heart of stone. He envied the resolve that had allowed him to say that.
There was clanking coming from the kitchen. Running water and singing silverware, and a treble and bass voice. The usual morning music of conversation and preparation. He supposed he'd better face the music himself. He tugged on a bathrobe and trudged out into the hallway.
A smile and a mug of coffee met him at the entrance to the kitchen. The smile from Molly, the coffee from Matt, who leaned forward and muttered, "Not in front of her," before drawing back and grinning "Good morning, sleepyhead," in warm, paternal tones. Mohinder managed a sleepy smile and answered. He didn't even like coffee that much, but anything blacker than his mood promised to make him feel better in comparison.
He worked at the lab in the morning and took the subway out to Brooklyn after lunch. His mind was still in chaos, and when he climbed the steps into daylight, he found himself staring up blankly at the facade of a Cuban restaurant across from the subway station. The bricks around the entryway were painted with an oversized map of the Caribbean. Each island nation was dotted with a palm tree, putting a cluster of tiny trees in the small islands along the eastward side-- St. Thomas, St. Croix, St. John, Antigua, so many others-- and five fat ones along the larger islands that lay in a wide slab above the windows-- Cuba, Jamaica below it, Haiti and the Dominican Republic like Siamese twins, tiny Puerto Rico. He felt like a lonely, misunderstood island under the thumb of a superpower, too. Then the comparison made him laugh.
"Doctor Suresh!" A familiar voice from across the street. He looked around to see Maya rushing toward him, her face aglow. She was wearing a short-sleeved sundress, and her elbow was bandaged, as though she'd just had a shot.
"Are you all right?" he asked, gesturing toward the bandage.
"Oh! Yes. Nothing. I... was writing a letter home, and I wasn't thinking and my pen was very sharp. It was very stupid," she said, blushing.
"Oh." He felt foolish at the suspicion that had flashed through his mind. "Did you... just come from the office?"
She nodded. "Yes. I'm glad I don't have to lie to you about it anymore." She flashed him a smile. "Do you like this dress, Doctor?" She twirled like a child playing ballet dancer. "It's new. We really did go shopping, you know. She bought me new clothes. My first new clothes in a long time."
"Elle did?" A nod. "It's... very flattering." He looked up at the restaurant's facade again. "Is that home?" he asked, pointing to the right-hand side of the twin palm trees.
She followed his gaze and smiled. "Yes." Her gaze was nostalgic, and he hoped she had was remembering a happy childhood. There had been nothing but pain for her ever since she discovered her ability, and he'd seen how she glowed in those ever-more-frequent moments when she was happy. Anybody who lit up like that deserved as much happiness as they could get. If only because the rest of the world seemed a little brighter in the vicinity of her smile.
"How did you end up here?" he asked, looking at the turquoise-painted oceans that surrounded the island.
"When it all happened, Alejandro and I had to run," she said, her eyes distant. "We had family in Mexico, so we went west to find passage there. We were chased the whole time. Sometimes by the police, sometimes by others. I fear... I fear I may have killed then, too. But most of the time Alejandro was with me. With him there to calm me, I was able to stop."
"Yes, you mentioned. You've come a long way since then."
"I have," she agreed, twining her fingers together and stretching out her arms. "I think... I think he would be proud of me now. I think he would forgive me for trusting that man." Her eyes flickered dark for a moment.
"I'm sure he would. I'm sure your trusting nature is one of the reasons he loved you so much," Mohinder smiled.
It used to be times like these that he thought he heard Sylar's laughter. His grin was still dancing in the back of her eyes, after all. Mohinder felt a kinship with her even more in those times. She was the unlucky sequel to the story he had failed to end. They were bound by the evil that had confounded them, that they had confronted, that happy chance permitted them to live through. He wished he'd had the fortitude to end that story before she came along.
But right now he was unable to feel quite as guilty, or as unfortunate, as he usually did when thoughts of the past floated by. Because with every memory came another, more recent one. A pair of laughing brown eyes. An unassuming smile. A hand in his. And despite the tension that had been plaguing them, he couldn't help but feel good.
"You remind me a lot of myself, before I lost faith in the world," he mused. "It's funny, but just now, I'm starting to get that faith back."
The wind picked up briefly, and he shivered, wondering if it was going to rain. A bus came rumbling by, rattling the newspaper racks on the corner. How odd. He had been torturing himself over the words they'd had last night. But all things considered, he was happy to know who he'd be going home to tonight. He was glad Matt was there.
And that knowledge, like a spring long coiled at the bottom of his mind, burst into freedom, releasing an overwhelming torrent of joy. He staggered from the strength of it. He was glad Matt was there. What a revolutionary concept to him, to lean on someone. He'd been holding himself up so straight and so stiff for so long, he'd forgotten what it was to do that. To close one's eyes and fall backwards, trusting in a pair of arms to be there before one hits the ground.
He couldn't imagine a scenario in which Matt would let him fall. And that set him free.
"Doctor Suresh?" Maya was peering up into his face, confused at the myriad expressions she saw there.
"I'm sorry." He sighed, looked at the pavement, and smiled. "Happiness is a funny thing, isn't it? I'm unsure whether to laugh or cry."
"Doctor Suresh--" Maya began.
"Part of me wants to go running from it," Mohinder went on, leaning against a lamppost for balance as the vertigo of voicing his feelings hit him. His eyes found some spot far beyond and above her. "But when I face it, and there it is, right before me-- my heart just flies away." Again, he came to his senses. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm saying."
"I do. I understand completely. And if I can..." She steeled herself, took a step toward him.
"I suppose I ought to tell you what I'm talking about." He had to. He had to talk about it. The happiness was too much to keep inside.
"Yes. Please do." Hope lit her voice.
"It's... This may sound strange to you, but... it's Matt." Her gasped breath mirrored his own, and he fought to find his tongue again. "He and I have... that is... I never thought this would happen to me. I..." He looked her in the eye, seeking borrowed strength to say the words. "I've fallen for him." And he caught me, he added to himself, feeling once again the powerful relief of that knowledge.
The confession hit her like a gust of wind, and she scrambled for breath. "...What?"
He was thinking now of their tete-a-tetes on the living room couch at night, past and future, memories and dreams, sliding like butter across their tongues until they knew each other that much more. And then inevitably they would progress to a different kind of knowing, and there was so much more he wanted to do of that, so much further he wanted to descend into that madness, trusting that sure grip and those steady eyes to keep him from losing his footing.
"We're..." He cleared his throat. "Dating. I suppose. Seeing each other. A... a couple. I don't even know if it's possible to be dating someone you're living with. But we are. And I'm..." For the first time in his life, the breathy, awed voice he heard felt like his own. "It's great."
God, his head was full of Matt now, full of the way he felt when he was around, the dull thudding of his heart against his ribs when skin touched skin accidentally in the day-to-day crush of the small apartment. There was a presence, or maybe a scent, because he was sure he could smell it when Matt was around, and even now he buzzed with the memory of it. Something palpable and heady. A spice, or a pull, like gravity. He wanted to be in that place, wanted to feel his control slide into nothing.
"But... but..."
"I know," he grinned. "It's insane. I've never even looked at another man, and now this... it's all so..." His heart was buzzing, but his voice was clear. "I'm so happy," he breathed. "We're both confused and panicking, and we are so happy."
He refocused on the real world. Maya was standing stock still, her eyes full of questions. Of course it would knock her for a loop. It did the same to him. "Thank you for listening," he said. "I am glad I have a friend to talk to about this."
"I am..." Maya stopped and forced a smile onto her face. "I'd better go."
Mohinder waved as she walked away, too lost in his own thoughts to really see her. It was so clear now. This was a good thing. Something he wanted. He wanted to be able to go home and lean on that broad shoulder, have those strong fingers curled around his. He was the richer for knowing what it felt like to be scared out of your wits and burning up with the desire to touch someone. His first mistake had been running from it so long; his second had been pushing it away once it was within reach. For the first time that day, he had the hunch that things might just work out. If Matt could be persuaded to forgive him.
He went to pick up Molly that afternoon and took her out for ice cream. He'd barely seen her over the past few days. His dazzling, darling little girl, his brave beacon of hope and survival, are he'd been so wrapped up in his own affairs that he'd practically forgotten about her. So if she wanted the big sundae, the big sundae she got.
She licked her spoon and looked at him thoughtfully as he gaped, not knowing from what side he should attack this monstrous creation. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. Everywhere he looked, there was something about to dive to its death: fudge, marshmallow, a drip of ice cream.
"Just eat it," Molly finally said, taking a huge bite as though to demonstrate. He felt a swell of panic as her spoon knocked the scoop of chocolate ice cream out of alignment, loosening a huge chunk of it to melt, glacier-like, leaning over like a hunchback until it hit the breaking-and-falling point. In a blind rush, he reached out his spoon to salvage the breakaway chunk. When he caught it successfully, he felt a little like a hero.
"Save the sundae, save the world," Molly sang, amused.
"Oh, quiet, you," Mohinder retorted snidely.
"Matt's not mad at you, you know," she said.
A good bit of ice cream got sucked into Mohinder's lungs along with the air. He coughed. "Is he teaching you how to read minds, now?"
"Noooo." She looked at him like he was thirty shades of stupid. "I'm just telling you. 'Cause you look upset."
"I do?" The way Molly was looking at him reminded him now of his imagined if-she-had-lived Shanti. Skeptical. Half-amused. Curious. His heart constricted painfully in his chest. Perhaps he had conjured her out of his imagination, but he needed her wisdom. Why couldn't he go down to her house and sit in her sunny kitchen and talk about all his troubles? It seemed horribly unfair.
"Are you gonna cry?" Molly asked.
He shook himself. "No. No, I'm sorry. I was just thinking." After a pause, he steeled himself and asked, "Why are you so sure Matt isn't angry with me?"
"Cause he's buying you flowers right now," she said brightly, her eyes lustily peering atop the sundae. "Can I have the cherry?"
There were indeed flowers on the table when they came home, but they were daisies, thick and full in a tightly bound, opaque ball of blooms, and Mohinder figured Molly had located Matt at a flower shop and jumped to conclusions. (What else was that girl conjuring up about the two of them? he wondered in consternation.) The table was set, and Matt was at the stove, wearing his favorite apron and tasting spaghetti sauce with a wooden spoon. He turned and gestured with it. "Sit down." Then he stopped and pouted. "You guys had ice cream. That's the last time I come home early to cook dinner for you ungrateful brats." He harrumphed and shook the spoon with them. "Sit down anyway. I'll make you eat my cooking if I have to shovel it down your throats myself."
"It might just come to that," Mohinder muttered under his breath. His heart was throbbing high in his throat, and he felt wild elation along with anxiety. Matt looked like home, and he wanted desperately to be sheltered by that high roof, held in by those strong walls. His eyes raked quickly over the full length of his body, and he was seized with a desire to touch it all, to memorize each inch of it. This ran so much deeper than mere affection. This was a feeling hot to the touch, and reactive, and uncompromising. With a sudden shuddering of breath, Mohinder realized he was suffering from a bad case of lust. He quickly crossed to his seat, denoted by a half-full wine goblet on the far side of the table, and sat down.
Tucked into the daisies, invisible from the other side, was a single, short red rose, drooping like a sleepy swan over the neck of the vase. Around its curving neck was folded a noose of string, attached to a small hole-punched slip of paper. Mohinder leaned in to read the word scrawled on it.
SORRY
He looked at Matt. Who was looking at him, red-faced. Forgetting to breathe, he struggled to hold the eye contact, hoping the man standing there in the sauce-spattered apron with the shy gaze could see what he was feeling. It never occurred to him to think it.
They ate, cleaned up, clowned around, the normal routine, and then it was Molly's bedtime. Mohinder brought her to her room, putting his arms around her as she grabbed her favorite stuffed rabbit and tied her hair back for the night. He'd never questioned the rightness of living here with her, or of loving her, not for a moment. It had all fallen into place so easily. And he'd never been betrayed by that faith. Why, then, had he been so hesitant to embrace it when it came once again?
"Thank you for the ice cream," she said, snuggling into his embrace.
"We both needed it." He kissed her forehead. "Sleep well."
When he re-emerged, Matt was sitting at the kitchen table, hands folded in front of his face, staring at the bouquet and its hidden rose. He looked nervously at Mohinder, the anxiety in his face twitching. His hand gripped the table as though he was trying to summon the strength to rise.
Mohinder walked over, his head clear and his gaze deep. Matt watched, blank confusion in his eyes. All at once, he found his control and jumped to his feet, explaining at a mile a minute. "I really felt bad about what I said but you have to understand that I really just, I don't know even what I want to say, but I..."
Something about watching his lips fumble about was frustrating. So Mohinder stopped them. With his own.
God, he was melting.
When he pulled away they both stared in surprise. Matt blinked, then squeezed his eyes shut briefly, as though he expected to open them again and see a completely different scene.
Mohinder fought his heartbeat out of his throat. "I'm sorry, too," he said.
A grin of relief spread over Matt's face. He turned, paced a little bit. "Oh God. OK. All right. I'm about ready for my heart to slow down now." He fanned himself with one palm. "This is, this is... so nerve-wracking. I don't think I remember anything ever being this nerve-wracking. And I've been in gunfights. I'm going insane, you know. You've ruined me for sanity. How do you do that?" He peered back at Mohinder. "How do you stand there and look so beautiful and then get to say you're sorry? I'm the one who's sorry, didn't you get my note? Oh, God. Stop it, stop looking like that, you're killing me." He threw his hands in the air comically.
It was an exact mirror, in a different voice, of every emotional peak and valley Mohinder had been through over the past several days. He had no idea Matt had felt all this. He'd said he was nervous, said he was scared, but this was the first time Matt had shown it. Mohinder felt impossibly touched, as though the small breakdown was the greatest compliment this man could pay him. He felt himself smile, felt warmth flood him. This was the feeling worth all the uncertainty and the fear, he knew. It gave him chills that he knew so completely. But when Matt answered his smile, he felt the warmth break into heat, and it was too much. He had to break the silence or he'd be swallowed by it.
"I spoke to Maya today," he said in a guarded tone.
"Oh?" There was that pinch of doubt in his voice. Mohinder was expecting it.
"About you." His eyes flickered over Matt's face, watched the surprise twitch his cheeks slightly. "About us, actually."
"You... you told her?" Matt was reddening fast. In no time, he was precisely the color of Molly's fuschia marker. It made Mohinder want to break out laughing.
Instead, he just nodded. "I had to talk to someone. Besides you. I hope you don't mind."
Matt shook his purple head. "Wha-- what did she say?"
Come to think of it, he hadn't really worried much about her reaction. "Nothing. She had to leave. But I'm fairly sure she will understand."
For a moment he thought Matt was going to protest that conclusion. Instead, he just walked around the table to lock the front door for the night. Across the room, he took another deep breath. "What did you say?" he asked tentatively.
Now Mohinder was sure he was the one who was blushing. He could feel heat prickling at his skin. "I said..." He swallowed, fixed his gaze on the face turning toward him. "I said that I was happy."
He'd never seen a man's eyes go quite so wide in his life.
Matt moved to him, took his face between two large palms, and kissed him. Mohinder whimpered slightly and put arms around his neck. The kiss lingered. Matt licked at his lips lightly. Mohinder's hand snaked down under the neckline of his shirt. Skin on skin.
What on earth? Mohinder thought, feeling the contact and the power of his kiss like a force pushing down on him. Matt suddenly took his lower lip between his teeth and sucked hard, and Mohinder felt it in his toes. His legs shuddered, and he gave a little cry of surprise.
Matt leaned them forward, Mohinder's back arching beneath him. And just to make his intent completely clear, Matt stopped him right there, bending over him, one hand on his waist, another beneath his shoulders.
"Mohinder. I want you," he said.
The words were like fire. Mohinder wasn't sure he wasn't incinerated on the spot.
But then the kisses started again and he was a ball of flame because Matt's lips were on his neck, and hands at his waist, his hips... He was gasping, it was too much, it was so fast. "Matt-- wait, if Molly wakes up..."
"Your bedroom's bigger," was the mumbled reply. Half of Mohinder's shirt was unbuttoned by this time; he thought he'd be naked in the hallway if he didn't stop and make a mad dash for the bedroom right now. He gave a great push and took off down the hall, feeling the heavier footfalls behind him. Matt ducked into his own room first, pointing a finger upward in the sign for just a minute. Mohinder took the moment to sit down on his bed and take a breath.
Holy God, this was really going to happen. This was going to happen tonight.
He looked down at himself. Open shirt, tented pants... he looked a sight. He tried to remember everything he'd read. How would they figure out who was going to do what? Would it happen naturally? Would the positions work out? Would he have a cramp in the morning? And what about that? Would it be disgusting? Would he be able to feel it? Would they smell bad afterwards? His mind was abuzz with questions, so much so that when Matt appeared again, shirt hanging loose and open, just above him, he almost didn't notice.
"Matt, I'm not sure..." he began before Matt put one knee over his legs and trapped him in a kiss.
The warmth was overpowering. Mohinder's brain nearly short-circuited. All of a sudden he was being pressed into the bed by a strong, wide frame. Could the moth-eaten mattress take it? he wondered. Dimly he was aware that he was kissing back, that his hands were on the smoothness of Matt's chest, that there was an answering heat to his pressing into his hips, and that he was probably on fire and burning to death. He heard himself groan, heard a low growl in Matt's throat, and felt electricity whip through him as he jerked his hips upward to grind into that heat. Nothing deserved to feel this good. Nothing.
"I..." he whispered shakily into Matt's mouth. "I bought a book... I tried to learn..."
Matt's eyes met his. "Me too..." he said. "I bought some things, too..." He jerked his head toward a small plastic bag on the floor near the bed. "Oh, God, I really, really want this," he said in abandon, pressing his lips into Mohinder's neck.
"Me, too," whispered Mohinder, his mouth dry. He did. He didn't care what happened or how disgusting it was. He swallowed, gasped for air. "I want this. I want you..."
Matt eased off of him, never losing eye contact, and reached down onto the floor for the bag. Their eyes steadied each other as, shaking, they both began to undo their pants. Belts and zippers like the final guardians of denial, cast away, slowly, but finally, as the tops of boxers came into view, soon it would be all over and they'd be looking at each other nude, there'd be no turning back. The moment felt like an eternity.
Then there was a sharp rap at the apartment door.
They drew in sharp, sucking breaths. "What the hell?" Matt growled. "Who could--"
"Doctor S!" came a sharp, treble voice.
"Elle? What the..." Mohinder pulled his belt back on, fumbling with the buckle desperately, like a blind man. The buttons gave him trouble. Matt helped, swearing a blue streak under his breath.
"Doctor S! Open up! Please! I'll burn up your door, I swear!"
"I'm coming!" Mohinder hissed, launching himself up from the bed and stomping down the hall. "What on earth..."
He opened the door and Elle rushed right past him into the apartment. She made for the kitchen counter and leaned against it heavily, panting. When she looked up again, he could see that she was flushed and out of breath.
"I lost her," she said.
"What? Elle, of all the..."
"Maya." She was as scared as Mohinder had ever seen her. "She never came home. She's gone."
Next: What's in Maya's file.
Chapter: 6 (of 8)
Author: tiptoe39
Characters/Pairings: Matt/Mohinder; Maya; Elle
Rating: R for sexual content (situations and discussions) (stop cheering, you know who you are!)
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.
Author's note: I have heretofore forgotten to credit ilsaluvsrick for her amazing beta work on this, and this needs to be remedied. She deserves a lot of credit for inspiration and excellent discussion to make everything work better. Kisses, hun!
Previous chapters: Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five
Mohinder awoke with a headache, as though he'd been drinking. The bright morning was far too much to take. He crossed the room, shut the blinds, and tumbled back into bed. Anything but daylight.
But his mind was racing even in the darkness, and eventually he cursed and sat up again. He'd ruined things, he was sure of it. He'd actually slammed his door on Matt last night. Without saying a word, like a three-year-old. Thank God Molly wasn't up. She'd lecture him on being childish, and that would be too embarrassing to handle.
What a fool he'd been. He should have known better than to dare get involved with Matt to begin with. Isn't this what he was afraid of? Walking on eggshells under his own roof? High drama in what was supposed to be a stable environment for a child? These were the things that happened when one allowed oneself to feel, to be vulnerable. He remembered what his father had said about a true scientist having a heart of stone. He envied the resolve that had allowed him to say that.
There was clanking coming from the kitchen. Running water and singing silverware, and a treble and bass voice. The usual morning music of conversation and preparation. He supposed he'd better face the music himself. He tugged on a bathrobe and trudged out into the hallway.
A smile and a mug of coffee met him at the entrance to the kitchen. The smile from Molly, the coffee from Matt, who leaned forward and muttered, "Not in front of her," before drawing back and grinning "Good morning, sleepyhead," in warm, paternal tones. Mohinder managed a sleepy smile and answered. He didn't even like coffee that much, but anything blacker than his mood promised to make him feel better in comparison.
He worked at the lab in the morning and took the subway out to Brooklyn after lunch. His mind was still in chaos, and when he climbed the steps into daylight, he found himself staring up blankly at the facade of a Cuban restaurant across from the subway station. The bricks around the entryway were painted with an oversized map of the Caribbean. Each island nation was dotted with a palm tree, putting a cluster of tiny trees in the small islands along the eastward side-- St. Thomas, St. Croix, St. John, Antigua, so many others-- and five fat ones along the larger islands that lay in a wide slab above the windows-- Cuba, Jamaica below it, Haiti and the Dominican Republic like Siamese twins, tiny Puerto Rico. He felt like a lonely, misunderstood island under the thumb of a superpower, too. Then the comparison made him laugh.
"Doctor Suresh!" A familiar voice from across the street. He looked around to see Maya rushing toward him, her face aglow. She was wearing a short-sleeved sundress, and her elbow was bandaged, as though she'd just had a shot.
"Are you all right?" he asked, gesturing toward the bandage.
"Oh! Yes. Nothing. I... was writing a letter home, and I wasn't thinking and my pen was very sharp. It was very stupid," she said, blushing.
"Oh." He felt foolish at the suspicion that had flashed through his mind. "Did you... just come from the office?"
She nodded. "Yes. I'm glad I don't have to lie to you about it anymore." She flashed him a smile. "Do you like this dress, Doctor?" She twirled like a child playing ballet dancer. "It's new. We really did go shopping, you know. She bought me new clothes. My first new clothes in a long time."
"Elle did?" A nod. "It's... very flattering." He looked up at the restaurant's facade again. "Is that home?" he asked, pointing to the right-hand side of the twin palm trees.
She followed his gaze and smiled. "Yes." Her gaze was nostalgic, and he hoped she had was remembering a happy childhood. There had been nothing but pain for her ever since she discovered her ability, and he'd seen how she glowed in those ever-more-frequent moments when she was happy. Anybody who lit up like that deserved as much happiness as they could get. If only because the rest of the world seemed a little brighter in the vicinity of her smile.
"How did you end up here?" he asked, looking at the turquoise-painted oceans that surrounded the island.
"When it all happened, Alejandro and I had to run," she said, her eyes distant. "We had family in Mexico, so we went west to find passage there. We were chased the whole time. Sometimes by the police, sometimes by others. I fear... I fear I may have killed then, too. But most of the time Alejandro was with me. With him there to calm me, I was able to stop."
"Yes, you mentioned. You've come a long way since then."
"I have," she agreed, twining her fingers together and stretching out her arms. "I think... I think he would be proud of me now. I think he would forgive me for trusting that man." Her eyes flickered dark for a moment.
"I'm sure he would. I'm sure your trusting nature is one of the reasons he loved you so much," Mohinder smiled.
It used to be times like these that he thought he heard Sylar's laughter. His grin was still dancing in the back of her eyes, after all. Mohinder felt a kinship with her even more in those times. She was the unlucky sequel to the story he had failed to end. They were bound by the evil that had confounded them, that they had confronted, that happy chance permitted them to live through. He wished he'd had the fortitude to end that story before she came along.
But right now he was unable to feel quite as guilty, or as unfortunate, as he usually did when thoughts of the past floated by. Because with every memory came another, more recent one. A pair of laughing brown eyes. An unassuming smile. A hand in his. And despite the tension that had been plaguing them, he couldn't help but feel good.
"You remind me a lot of myself, before I lost faith in the world," he mused. "It's funny, but just now, I'm starting to get that faith back."
The wind picked up briefly, and he shivered, wondering if it was going to rain. A bus came rumbling by, rattling the newspaper racks on the corner. How odd. He had been torturing himself over the words they'd had last night. But all things considered, he was happy to know who he'd be going home to tonight. He was glad Matt was there.
And that knowledge, like a spring long coiled at the bottom of his mind, burst into freedom, releasing an overwhelming torrent of joy. He staggered from the strength of it. He was glad Matt was there. What a revolutionary concept to him, to lean on someone. He'd been holding himself up so straight and so stiff for so long, he'd forgotten what it was to do that. To close one's eyes and fall backwards, trusting in a pair of arms to be there before one hits the ground.
He couldn't imagine a scenario in which Matt would let him fall. And that set him free.
"Doctor Suresh?" Maya was peering up into his face, confused at the myriad expressions she saw there.
"I'm sorry." He sighed, looked at the pavement, and smiled. "Happiness is a funny thing, isn't it? I'm unsure whether to laugh or cry."
"Doctor Suresh--" Maya began.
"Part of me wants to go running from it," Mohinder went on, leaning against a lamppost for balance as the vertigo of voicing his feelings hit him. His eyes found some spot far beyond and above her. "But when I face it, and there it is, right before me-- my heart just flies away." Again, he came to his senses. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm saying."
"I do. I understand completely. And if I can..." She steeled herself, took a step toward him.
"I suppose I ought to tell you what I'm talking about." He had to. He had to talk about it. The happiness was too much to keep inside.
"Yes. Please do." Hope lit her voice.
"It's... This may sound strange to you, but... it's Matt." Her gasped breath mirrored his own, and he fought to find his tongue again. "He and I have... that is... I never thought this would happen to me. I..." He looked her in the eye, seeking borrowed strength to say the words. "I've fallen for him." And he caught me, he added to himself, feeling once again the powerful relief of that knowledge.
The confession hit her like a gust of wind, and she scrambled for breath. "...What?"
He was thinking now of their tete-a-tetes on the living room couch at night, past and future, memories and dreams, sliding like butter across their tongues until they knew each other that much more. And then inevitably they would progress to a different kind of knowing, and there was so much more he wanted to do of that, so much further he wanted to descend into that madness, trusting that sure grip and those steady eyes to keep him from losing his footing.
"We're..." He cleared his throat. "Dating. I suppose. Seeing each other. A... a couple. I don't even know if it's possible to be dating someone you're living with. But we are. And I'm..." For the first time in his life, the breathy, awed voice he heard felt like his own. "It's great."
God, his head was full of Matt now, full of the way he felt when he was around, the dull thudding of his heart against his ribs when skin touched skin accidentally in the day-to-day crush of the small apartment. There was a presence, or maybe a scent, because he was sure he could smell it when Matt was around, and even now he buzzed with the memory of it. Something palpable and heady. A spice, or a pull, like gravity. He wanted to be in that place, wanted to feel his control slide into nothing.
"But... but..."
"I know," he grinned. "It's insane. I've never even looked at another man, and now this... it's all so..." His heart was buzzing, but his voice was clear. "I'm so happy," he breathed. "We're both confused and panicking, and we are so happy."
He refocused on the real world. Maya was standing stock still, her eyes full of questions. Of course it would knock her for a loop. It did the same to him. "Thank you for listening," he said. "I am glad I have a friend to talk to about this."
"I am..." Maya stopped and forced a smile onto her face. "I'd better go."
Mohinder waved as she walked away, too lost in his own thoughts to really see her. It was so clear now. This was a good thing. Something he wanted. He wanted to be able to go home and lean on that broad shoulder, have those strong fingers curled around his. He was the richer for knowing what it felt like to be scared out of your wits and burning up with the desire to touch someone. His first mistake had been running from it so long; his second had been pushing it away once it was within reach. For the first time that day, he had the hunch that things might just work out. If Matt could be persuaded to forgive him.
He went to pick up Molly that afternoon and took her out for ice cream. He'd barely seen her over the past few days. His dazzling, darling little girl, his brave beacon of hope and survival, are he'd been so wrapped up in his own affairs that he'd practically forgotten about her. So if she wanted the big sundae, the big sundae she got.
She licked her spoon and looked at him thoughtfully as he gaped, not knowing from what side he should attack this monstrous creation. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. Everywhere he looked, there was something about to dive to its death: fudge, marshmallow, a drip of ice cream.
"Just eat it," Molly finally said, taking a huge bite as though to demonstrate. He felt a swell of panic as her spoon knocked the scoop of chocolate ice cream out of alignment, loosening a huge chunk of it to melt, glacier-like, leaning over like a hunchback until it hit the breaking-and-falling point. In a blind rush, he reached out his spoon to salvage the breakaway chunk. When he caught it successfully, he felt a little like a hero.
"Save the sundae, save the world," Molly sang, amused.
"Oh, quiet, you," Mohinder retorted snidely.
"Matt's not mad at you, you know," she said.
A good bit of ice cream got sucked into Mohinder's lungs along with the air. He coughed. "Is he teaching you how to read minds, now?"
"Noooo." She looked at him like he was thirty shades of stupid. "I'm just telling you. 'Cause you look upset."
"I do?" The way Molly was looking at him reminded him now of his imagined if-she-had-lived Shanti. Skeptical. Half-amused. Curious. His heart constricted painfully in his chest. Perhaps he had conjured her out of his imagination, but he needed her wisdom. Why couldn't he go down to her house and sit in her sunny kitchen and talk about all his troubles? It seemed horribly unfair.
"Are you gonna cry?" Molly asked.
He shook himself. "No. No, I'm sorry. I was just thinking." After a pause, he steeled himself and asked, "Why are you so sure Matt isn't angry with me?"
"Cause he's buying you flowers right now," she said brightly, her eyes lustily peering atop the sundae. "Can I have the cherry?"
There were indeed flowers on the table when they came home, but they were daisies, thick and full in a tightly bound, opaque ball of blooms, and Mohinder figured Molly had located Matt at a flower shop and jumped to conclusions. (What else was that girl conjuring up about the two of them? he wondered in consternation.) The table was set, and Matt was at the stove, wearing his favorite apron and tasting spaghetti sauce with a wooden spoon. He turned and gestured with it. "Sit down." Then he stopped and pouted. "You guys had ice cream. That's the last time I come home early to cook dinner for you ungrateful brats." He harrumphed and shook the spoon with them. "Sit down anyway. I'll make you eat my cooking if I have to shovel it down your throats myself."
"It might just come to that," Mohinder muttered under his breath. His heart was throbbing high in his throat, and he felt wild elation along with anxiety. Matt looked like home, and he wanted desperately to be sheltered by that high roof, held in by those strong walls. His eyes raked quickly over the full length of his body, and he was seized with a desire to touch it all, to memorize each inch of it. This ran so much deeper than mere affection. This was a feeling hot to the touch, and reactive, and uncompromising. With a sudden shuddering of breath, Mohinder realized he was suffering from a bad case of lust. He quickly crossed to his seat, denoted by a half-full wine goblet on the far side of the table, and sat down.
Tucked into the daisies, invisible from the other side, was a single, short red rose, drooping like a sleepy swan over the neck of the vase. Around its curving neck was folded a noose of string, attached to a small hole-punched slip of paper. Mohinder leaned in to read the word scrawled on it.
SORRY
He looked at Matt. Who was looking at him, red-faced. Forgetting to breathe, he struggled to hold the eye contact, hoping the man standing there in the sauce-spattered apron with the shy gaze could see what he was feeling. It never occurred to him to think it.
They ate, cleaned up, clowned around, the normal routine, and then it was Molly's bedtime. Mohinder brought her to her room, putting his arms around her as she grabbed her favorite stuffed rabbit and tied her hair back for the night. He'd never questioned the rightness of living here with her, or of loving her, not for a moment. It had all fallen into place so easily. And he'd never been betrayed by that faith. Why, then, had he been so hesitant to embrace it when it came once again?
"Thank you for the ice cream," she said, snuggling into his embrace.
"We both needed it." He kissed her forehead. "Sleep well."
When he re-emerged, Matt was sitting at the kitchen table, hands folded in front of his face, staring at the bouquet and its hidden rose. He looked nervously at Mohinder, the anxiety in his face twitching. His hand gripped the table as though he was trying to summon the strength to rise.
Mohinder walked over, his head clear and his gaze deep. Matt watched, blank confusion in his eyes. All at once, he found his control and jumped to his feet, explaining at a mile a minute. "I really felt bad about what I said but you have to understand that I really just, I don't know even what I want to say, but I..."
Something about watching his lips fumble about was frustrating. So Mohinder stopped them. With his own.
God, he was melting.
When he pulled away they both stared in surprise. Matt blinked, then squeezed his eyes shut briefly, as though he expected to open them again and see a completely different scene.
Mohinder fought his heartbeat out of his throat. "I'm sorry, too," he said.
A grin of relief spread over Matt's face. He turned, paced a little bit. "Oh God. OK. All right. I'm about ready for my heart to slow down now." He fanned himself with one palm. "This is, this is... so nerve-wracking. I don't think I remember anything ever being this nerve-wracking. And I've been in gunfights. I'm going insane, you know. You've ruined me for sanity. How do you do that?" He peered back at Mohinder. "How do you stand there and look so beautiful and then get to say you're sorry? I'm the one who's sorry, didn't you get my note? Oh, God. Stop it, stop looking like that, you're killing me." He threw his hands in the air comically.
It was an exact mirror, in a different voice, of every emotional peak and valley Mohinder had been through over the past several days. He had no idea Matt had felt all this. He'd said he was nervous, said he was scared, but this was the first time Matt had shown it. Mohinder felt impossibly touched, as though the small breakdown was the greatest compliment this man could pay him. He felt himself smile, felt warmth flood him. This was the feeling worth all the uncertainty and the fear, he knew. It gave him chills that he knew so completely. But when Matt answered his smile, he felt the warmth break into heat, and it was too much. He had to break the silence or he'd be swallowed by it.
"I spoke to Maya today," he said in a guarded tone.
"Oh?" There was that pinch of doubt in his voice. Mohinder was expecting it.
"About you." His eyes flickered over Matt's face, watched the surprise twitch his cheeks slightly. "About us, actually."
"You... you told her?" Matt was reddening fast. In no time, he was precisely the color of Molly's fuschia marker. It made Mohinder want to break out laughing.
Instead, he just nodded. "I had to talk to someone. Besides you. I hope you don't mind."
Matt shook his purple head. "Wha-- what did she say?"
Come to think of it, he hadn't really worried much about her reaction. "Nothing. She had to leave. But I'm fairly sure she will understand."
For a moment he thought Matt was going to protest that conclusion. Instead, he just walked around the table to lock the front door for the night. Across the room, he took another deep breath. "What did you say?" he asked tentatively.
Now Mohinder was sure he was the one who was blushing. He could feel heat prickling at his skin. "I said..." He swallowed, fixed his gaze on the face turning toward him. "I said that I was happy."
He'd never seen a man's eyes go quite so wide in his life.
Matt moved to him, took his face between two large palms, and kissed him. Mohinder whimpered slightly and put arms around his neck. The kiss lingered. Matt licked at his lips lightly. Mohinder's hand snaked down under the neckline of his shirt. Skin on skin.
What on earth? Mohinder thought, feeling the contact and the power of his kiss like a force pushing down on him. Matt suddenly took his lower lip between his teeth and sucked hard, and Mohinder felt it in his toes. His legs shuddered, and he gave a little cry of surprise.
Matt leaned them forward, Mohinder's back arching beneath him. And just to make his intent completely clear, Matt stopped him right there, bending over him, one hand on his waist, another beneath his shoulders.
"Mohinder. I want you," he said.
The words were like fire. Mohinder wasn't sure he wasn't incinerated on the spot.
But then the kisses started again and he was a ball of flame because Matt's lips were on his neck, and hands at his waist, his hips... He was gasping, it was too much, it was so fast. "Matt-- wait, if Molly wakes up..."
"Your bedroom's bigger," was the mumbled reply. Half of Mohinder's shirt was unbuttoned by this time; he thought he'd be naked in the hallway if he didn't stop and make a mad dash for the bedroom right now. He gave a great push and took off down the hall, feeling the heavier footfalls behind him. Matt ducked into his own room first, pointing a finger upward in the sign for just a minute. Mohinder took the moment to sit down on his bed and take a breath.
Holy God, this was really going to happen. This was going to happen tonight.
He looked down at himself. Open shirt, tented pants... he looked a sight. He tried to remember everything he'd read. How would they figure out who was going to do what? Would it happen naturally? Would the positions work out? Would he have a cramp in the morning? And what about that? Would it be disgusting? Would he be able to feel it? Would they smell bad afterwards? His mind was abuzz with questions, so much so that when Matt appeared again, shirt hanging loose and open, just above him, he almost didn't notice.
"Matt, I'm not sure..." he began before Matt put one knee over his legs and trapped him in a kiss.
The warmth was overpowering. Mohinder's brain nearly short-circuited. All of a sudden he was being pressed into the bed by a strong, wide frame. Could the moth-eaten mattress take it? he wondered. Dimly he was aware that he was kissing back, that his hands were on the smoothness of Matt's chest, that there was an answering heat to his pressing into his hips, and that he was probably on fire and burning to death. He heard himself groan, heard a low growl in Matt's throat, and felt electricity whip through him as he jerked his hips upward to grind into that heat. Nothing deserved to feel this good. Nothing.
"I..." he whispered shakily into Matt's mouth. "I bought a book... I tried to learn..."
Matt's eyes met his. "Me too..." he said. "I bought some things, too..." He jerked his head toward a small plastic bag on the floor near the bed. "Oh, God, I really, really want this," he said in abandon, pressing his lips into Mohinder's neck.
"Me, too," whispered Mohinder, his mouth dry. He did. He didn't care what happened or how disgusting it was. He swallowed, gasped for air. "I want this. I want you..."
Matt eased off of him, never losing eye contact, and reached down onto the floor for the bag. Their eyes steadied each other as, shaking, they both began to undo their pants. Belts and zippers like the final guardians of denial, cast away, slowly, but finally, as the tops of boxers came into view, soon it would be all over and they'd be looking at each other nude, there'd be no turning back. The moment felt like an eternity.
Then there was a sharp rap at the apartment door.
They drew in sharp, sucking breaths. "What the hell?" Matt growled. "Who could--"
"Doctor S!" came a sharp, treble voice.
"Elle? What the..." Mohinder pulled his belt back on, fumbling with the buckle desperately, like a blind man. The buttons gave him trouble. Matt helped, swearing a blue streak under his breath.
"Doctor S! Open up! Please! I'll burn up your door, I swear!"
"I'm coming!" Mohinder hissed, launching himself up from the bed and stomping down the hall. "What on earth..."
He opened the door and Elle rushed right past him into the apartment. She made for the kitchen counter and leaned against it heavily, panting. When she looked up again, he could see that she was flushed and out of breath.
"I lost her," she said.
"What? Elle, of all the..."
"Maya." She was as scared as Mohinder had ever seen her. "She never came home. She's gone."
Next: What's in Maya's file.