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Title: What We Are or Might Have Been (8/?)
Author: Seraphtrevs (My Fic Masterlist)
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar (...and Mohinder/Peter.)
Rating: R
Genre: Tragicomedy
Word Count: (this part) ~5450
Warnings: Contains depictions of characters suffering from mental illness
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit made, etc.

Summary: Sequel to Down To This. Company man Sylar has brought a superpowered (and psychotic) Mohinder to the Primatech facility in Hartsdale for treatment. After some finagling, he manages to get himself put in charge of Mohinder's recovery. With Mohinder by his side, Sylar hopes to live his newly minted dream of being Gabriel Petrelli, a Good Guy with a nice house in the suburbs, a loving partner, and a (relatively) honest job. Changing his identity, however, is proving to be much more difficult than he originally assumed, particularly when the people around him refuse to let him forget about his past.

A/N: So we're finally getting to some actual Mylar. \o/ Hope you enjoy!
Thanks again to my fantastic beta, [livejournal.com profile] aurilly!

Introduction and Table of Contents
Prologue and Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven




Peter was on the phone with his mother for an hour. Sylar didn't ask what exactly Peter had told her; he was too exhausted to get into it that night. Peter and Mohinder were tired themselves, so they decided to stay the night at Peter's and head for the house in the morning. The sleeping situation was awkward; in the end, Mohinder took the bed, Sylar took the couch, and Peter slept in a sleeping bag on the floor. Sylar slept surprisingly well – or maybe it wasn't so surprising. He'd been through a lot.

Since Sylar had nothing to pack, he decided to leave ahead of Peter and Mohinder. He was impatient to get to the house; moving back in was the first step towards a new life, one that was real this time. When he arrived, he spent a moment just looking at the house. It was still perfect. Things were going to work out this time. He could feel it.

He got out of the car. As he was walking up to the front door, he heard someone call out to him. It was Ed, who was waving and making his way across the street. Sylar sighed inwardly.

“Hey!” Ed said. “Where have you been? I haven't seen you in a week, and four days ago, Dr. Suresh and his nurse cleared out of here, too. I was starting to get worried. Where were you?”

“Virginia, then New Jersey, and then Brooklyn. “

“What were you doing there?”

Sylar didn't have it in him to lie anymore. “I went to kill someone.”

“Golly,” Ed said. “A terrorist?”

“No. He was a man with the power to cause objects to disintegrate. There are people who have super powers, and I'm one of them, only my ability is dependent on taking the abilities of others. I managed to stop myself, though. I used to kill a lot of people, probably because my mother was almost murdered in front of me as a child, but I'm working on reforming myself now.”

Ed was silent for a moment. “You know, if it's top secret business, you could just say so,” he sniffed. “There's no need to make fun of me.” He made his way back across the street. Sylar shrugged and let himself into the house.

It was messy inside; Sylar was actually glad for it because it gave him something to do. He washed the dishes and emptied rotten food out of the fridge before moving on to the living room, picking up clutter and vacuuming. When the downstairs was sufficiently clean, he moved on to the bedrooms.

The guest room was fine. The bed remained neatly made, just as he had left it. The master bedroom, however, was a mess. The closet was still filled with spiderweb-covered tissues that smelled – not a rank odor, but musty like a dank basement. He went and got a pair of rubber gloves, a trash bag, and a bottle of Fantastic.

When he was finished with the closet, he went to strip the sheets from the bed. As he was taking off the pillowcases, he noticed that one of the pillows didn't match. He puzzled about it for a moment before realizing that it must be Peter's pillow. Had he slept there? He frowned. He supposed it made sense; Mohinder had needed supervision, and the bed was king-sized. Sharing the bed was probably more comfortable than sleeping on the floor. He decided it didn't bear thinking about too much. He made the bed with fresh linens and threw the dirty ones in the washing machine.

Peter and Mohinder still hadn't arrived, so Sylar went to the mall to get a blow-up bed for Peter. He set it up in the family room (or maybe it was the living room – he still wasn't sure about the distinction). He'd just finished putting sheets on it when Mohinder and Peter came through the front door, each carrying a dufflebag over his shoulder. Peter also had a white paper bag in his hand. “We brought lunch,” he said, holding the bag out to Sylar. “Falafel – hope that's okay with you.”

Sylar took the bag. No one had ever bought him lunch before. “Thank you.”

Mohinder and Peter deposited their bags upstairs before joining Sylar in the kitchen. Mohinder used a fork and knife to cut his sandwich into tiny bites. Sylar was afraid this was a repeat of the potato incident, but Mohinder made his way slowly through each piece.

“So I told Ma we'd come into the facility tomorrow to talk,” Peter said.

“What did she say when you told her what happened?”

“She was shocked. She didn’t know anything about your condition.”

“Did she say anything about why she lied about giving me up?”

“She danced around it. You know Ma – you can never get a straight answer from her. Hopefully we can get more out of her tomorrow.”

“I'm coming, too,” Mohinder said.

Peter let out an exasperated noise. “Are we really going to have this fight again?”

“I didn't mean to stay,” Mohinder said. “I want to go back to work.”

Peter and Sylar exchanged looks. “Do you think you're ready for that?” Peter asked.

Mohinder shrugged. “I suppose we'll find out, won't we?”

“And you're sure you want to work for the Company?”

“What else can I do? It's either that or sit around here all day. That hasn't been particularly good for my mental health.”

“True,” Peter said. “What about you, Sylar? Do you want to go back to work?”

Sylar hesitated. “I don't know. I don't think it's a good idea for me to be an agent anymore.”

“Yeah, I was going to say the same thing,” Peter said. “I mean, it's like putting an alcoholic to work as a bartender – it's destined to end badly.”

Sylar was struck with a brilliant idea. “But maybe I could work with Mohinder.”

“What could you possibly help me with?”

“My ability is intuitive aptitude. If you showed me your research, maybe I could help. And – well, I do have some knowledge of how abilities work.”

“How could you know -” Mohinder started, and then stopped. “Oh. Right.”

They was an uncomfortable silence as they all reflected on how Sylar had come across that knowledge. “Well, I think that's a great idea,” Peter finally said.

“It's a terrible idea,” Mohinder said. “I don't care how intuitive his aptitude is – it's not the same as having a doctorate in genetics.”

“But it couldn't hurt to try,” Peter said. He took Mohinder's hand. “Come on, please?” He gave him a lop-sided grin.

Mohinder looked at Peter’s hand on his own. His expression became very complicated. “Fine,” he said, pulling away. He turned to Sylar. “But don't expect me to waste my time walking you through things. I'm going to be very busy.”

“I think I can handle it.”

They finished eating. There wasn't much to do for the rest of the day, so they just hung out. It was glorious. Sylar had never just “hung out” with anyone. Other than Chandra Suresh, who’d spent most of the time experimenting on him, and Mohinder, who hadn’t known who he really was, Sylar’s previous interactions with people had been limited to victims and the occasional anonymous sex partner.

This was an entirely different experience. For the first time, Sylar wasn't pretending to be someone else. The dynamic between the three of them felt surprisingly natural. They all migrated to the living room after lunch. Mohinder found a notebook and a pen and curled up in the armchair, scribbling ideas for his research. Peter and Sylar found a movie to watch. When it was over, Sylar made a pizza while Peter went out and got beer.

They ate dinner off of TV trays while watching “Dancing with the Stars,” which Sylar found oddly compelling. The three of them joked about it together. Mohinder was much less hostile than he had been the previous day; he was still his prickly self, but he actually talked to Sylar without screaming at him or being sarcastic.

They decided to call it a night at around 10. Peter retired to the family room, and Mohinder and Sylar went upstairs together. They stood awkwardly in the hallway for a moment.

“Well, good night, then,” Mohinder said.

“Good night,” Sylar said. As Mohinder turned to enter the master bedroom, Sylar called out to him. “I cleaned out the closet,” he said. “And the bed's made with fresh sheets.”

Mohinder didn’t respond at first; he simply stood at the bedroom door with his hand on the door knob. Just as Sylar was about to leave, Mohinder said very quickly and quietly, “That was very kind of you.” He disappeared behind the door.

Sylar went to his own room and got ready for bed. All in all, it had been one of the best days of his entire life.

* * *

They left around 9:30 am next morning for the facility. Sylar drove his pitiful Geo Metro while Peter and Mohinder rode in Peter's car. Sylar had been hoping Mohinder would want to ride with him, but it was probably best not to push things.

The three of them made their way to Angela's office. The door was closed, so Peter knocked. “Ma?” he said. “It's us.”

A few moments later, the door opened and Angela appeared. The first thing she did was give Peter a hug. “It's good to see you, dear,” she said.

Peter returned the hug. “Good to see you, too.”

Angela turned to Sylar. He examined her face carefully, trying to see if there were any similarities between her and the image he had of Heart. They had the same hair color and they were both petite. Maybe the differences in their appearances were due to the fact that Angela was older; people often looked different from their younger selves, didn't they?

“You put me in a very difficult position,” Angela said a little icily.

“I'm sorry.”

She put her arms around him. “You’re forgiven. I'm just glad you're all right. You know that I wasn't going to have you hurt in any way, don't you? I just wanted to get you back.”

“I know,” Sylar said, although he hadn't until she said it. It was good to hear.

Finally, Angela turned to Mohinder. “Dr. Suresh – how nice to see you. I hear your treatments are going well?”

“They are,” he said. “I thought I might take up my research again.”

“What wonderful news,” she said. “I'm afraid that my current crop of scientists have been a bit of a disappointment. It will be nice to have someone with real talent working for us again. The lab and the staff are at your disposal.”

Mohinder seemed surprised. “You're putting me in charge of the entire lab?”

“I told them you would be taking over eventually. I'll call the lab and tell them to expect you.”

“Just like that, then?”

“Just like that,” Angela said with a smile. “I've always believed in you.”

“Thank you,” Mohinder said, still sounding a little stunned.

“You're welcome. Just don't disappoint me.”

After Angela had called the lab and sent Mohinder on his way, she turned back to Sylar and Peter. “I suppose we have a lot to talk about. Why don't you have a seat?”

They sat in the two chairs in front of the desk while Angela took her place behind it. Instead of feeling like he was about to have a life-altering discussion with his loving mother, Sylar felt more like he and Peter had been called to the principal's office. Then again, there wasn't anywhere else to sit.

“I don't know where to begin,” Angela said. “What do you want to know?”

“Have you always known that he was your son?” Peter asked.

“No,” she said. “I didn't even remember I had another son until Linderman restored my memories. It was around the time that Nathan was in that car crash.”

“Why would he help you?” Peter asked. “Wasn't he the one who was carrying out Dad's orders to kill Nathan in the first place?”

“Yes, but he regretted it. I know you think he was a terrible man, but he did have a conscience. He restored my memories so I could stop your father from killing Nathan.”

“So, that was when you knew I was your son,” Sylar said.

“No. I only remembered that I'd had another child, but not who it was. Your abilities were so similar to both Arthur's and Peter's that I began to suspect your were mine. When you were detained in Texas, I had the doctors perform a DNA test. They confirmed my suspicions, but before I had a chance to do anything about it, you had escaped. Not long after that, you were killed - or so I thought. Bob Bishop had you taken to Mexico without my knowledge.”

“Why did you say that you were the one who gave me up?”

She looked down at her hands. “I was ashamed that I couldn't prevent your father from taking you from me,” she said. “I'm ashamed of all the things I let him do to me, and to our family. I didn't know that you would remember. I didn't know how you'd been affected, or how shattered it made you...” She trailed off, and then added, almost to herself, “That any child should go through what you went through – it's unthinkable.” She reached across the desk and took Sylar's hand. “But that’s all in the past. I'll be your mother, and you'll be all right.”

Sylar breathed a sigh of relief; Angela had explained everything perfectly.

She reached out her other hand to Peter. “We all will, won't we?” Peter relented and put his hand in hers.

“Then that's settled. I'm so happy to have both of you back. Will you be returning to work soon, Gabriel?”

“It's Sylar now,” Sylar said. “And I don't think I should be an agent anymore.”

“Oh,” Angela said, taken aback for a moment. “Of course. Sylar. Why don't you want to be an agent?”

“Why do you think?” Peter said. “He has a compulsion to kill people with special abilities, and you put him in charge of finding them. Seriously, what were you thinking?”

Angela pursed her lips. “Gabri – I mean, Sylar, has so many gifts,” she said. “It would be a waste not to take advantage of them. And you ought to be grateful – it's only because of his gifts that you're alive.”

“Maybe,” Peter said. “But you still shouldn't put him in that position. He wants to get better, and that's not going to happen as long as he has temptation thrown in his face every day. And another thing – he really should be on power suppressants.”

Angela looked even more displeased. “I see,” she said. She turned to Sylar. “Do you agree with this?”

Sylar felt caught in the middle. “Maybe.”

“But you can do so much good with your abilities, dear. And after all the damage you've done, I would think you'd want to make up for it.”

At that, Peter exploded. “What the fuck is wrong with you? His powers have caused him so much suffering, and you're trying to guilt him into keeping them?”

“Don't take that tone with me. I'm simply pointing out that making amends might help him deal with the guilt – that's in his best interests.” She turned to Sylar. “You understand what I mean, don't you, dear?”

Peter made a disgusted noise and stood up. “You really are a piece of work, Ma. And you wonder why I stay away from you. Come on, Sylar - let's go.”

Angela’s eyes filled up with tears. “I finally get you back, and you're leaving me again. And Nathan has left me, too. My own children - I have nothing if I don't have you.” She started to cry.

Sylar shot Peter an angry look. He got up from his seat and embraced Angela. “Please don't cry, Mother,” he said. “I'll never leave you.”

“I'm sorry,” she said, trying to compose herself. “Peter's right – I am selfish. You can go on the power suppressants if you want.”

“But you're right,” Sylar said. “I do want to make amends. I was thinking of going on a light dose – nothing that would suppress my powers completely. Then I could use my intuitive aptitude to help Mohinder with his research.”

Angela dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. “I hadn't thought of that before. That's a wonderful idea; you're so clever.”

Sylar smiled. He turned to Peter, who had his arms crossed and a sour expression on his face. “Can we not fight, please?” he asked.

Peter sighed and uncrossed his arms. “Fine.”

Angela held out an arm to him. The three of them hugged.

“My boys,” Angela said. “What would I do without you?”

“I'm sure you'd manage,” Peter said. Angela ignored the comment and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Angela called Dr. Riceman to tell him that Sylar was coming to see him. Peter and Sylar left the room. As they were walking down the hallway, Sylar punched Peter in the arm.

“Ow!” Peter said. “What was that for?”

“Why would you say that to her? After all that she's been through!”

“And what about what you've been through? She should want to help you get over this. Instead, she’s manipulating you into doing what she wants.”

“She wasn’t,” Sylar insisted. “She just wants what's best for me.”

“No offense, but you haven't had her in your life as long as I have. This is what she does – she manipulates, and she's so good at it that you don't even know even know if what you're doing is your idea or hers.”

“She was abused for years. She had her memories stolen from her – she had a child stolen from her! And she's your mother. Give her a break.”

Peter sighed and leaned his back up against the wall. “Maybe I was a little hard on her.” He gave Sylar a half-grin. “So now you're giving me lessons on empathy. Kind of funny.”

Sylar grinned back. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“You know what the ironic thing is? When I was a kid, I wished for superpowers. I always thought that having superpowers would solve all my problems, and now it turns out that abilities were responsible for everything that was wrong with my life in the first place.” He laughed humorlessly. “And even though I finally got rid of my power, my life still revolves around this shit. I thought I could cut it out of my life, but that's never going to happen.”

“I'm sorry I dragged you back into this.”

Peter seemed to remember that Sylar was there. He pushed himself off of the wall. “Oh no, Sylar – I didn't mean that. I don't regret helping you – shit, I'm such an asshole.” He grabbed Sylar into a hug. “I'm sorry.”

That was the third hug he’d received in less than thirty minutes. Sylar wasn’t sure if that was normal or if the Petrellis were particularly touchy-feely. “It's okay. I know what you mean.”

Peter let him go. “I think it's time I get out of here before I say something even stupider. Besides, you need to get to the doctor. I'll see you back at the house tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure.”

After Peter left, Sylar made his way down to Dr. Riceman's office. The doctor gave him an examination; he asked him some questions about his abilities and what he wanted to do about them. He was surprisingly open to the idea of partial suppression; in fact, it was an idea he'd been thinking about himself. Each person with abilities manifested them differently, he explained. It made more sense to tailor treatments instead of hitting everyone with the same medication regimen. He took some blood from Sylar and said he'd get back to him in a week or so.

By the time all of that was done, it was around noon. Sylar decided to go see if Mohinder wanted to have lunch. He knew it was a long-shot since Mohinder didn't like either him or eating very much, but it couldn't hurt to try.

When he reached the lab, he didn't see Mohinder immediately; it turned out he was in an office in the back. The door was open, but Mohinder was too absorbed in sorting through papers to see him. Sylar wrapped lightly on the door frame.

Mohinder jumped. “You startled me.”

“Sorry.”

Mohinder waved his hand dismissively. “No, no, it's all right. Although if you're here to start work, I'm afraid you'll have to wait until I have things a bit more organized. As you can see, I've got quite a mess on my hands,” he said, gesturing to the piles of files around him. “I don't even know what I'm doing yet.”

“Actually, I was going to see if you wanted to grab some lunch.”

Mohinder blinked. “Oh,” he said. He looked around the room for a few moments before saying, “All right. I suppose this can wait a little while.”

“Really?” Sylar said, surprised.

“Yes. I could use the break, actually.”

“Great!” Sylar said, grinning hugely. “That's really, really – um, great,” he repeated, feeling a little like an idiot, but mostly he felt fantastic.

They ended up going to a deli down the street. Sylar got a sandwich, and Mohinder got a bowl of black bean soup and a side of bread. They sat down in a quiet corner in the back.

“I have to admit, I'm surprised you agreed to this,” Sylar said.

“Yes, well – I did promise Peter I'd try to be nicer to you.”

Sylar felt deflated. “Is that the only reason why you said yes?”

“Not entirely. I did some thinking last night. I'm coherent right now, but I'm not sure how long that's going to last. It seems self-defeating to spend the sane moments I have being angry and miserable. Since you're going to be in my life indefinitely, I should probably try to make peace with you.”

It wasn't exactly what Sylar was hoping for, but he'd take it. “That's good to hear.”

Sylar started in on his sandwich. Mohinder began to rip his bread into smaller pieces.

“Why do you do that?” Sylar asked.

Mohinder looked embarrassed. “My appetite isn't very good, as you know. It's a side effect of my abilities. When I was at my worst, I'd stopped eating solid food all together; I survived on milk. It's a little better now, but food still seems overwhelming. If I break it up into small bites, it isn't as intimidating.” Mohinder shrugged. “That probably sounds mad.”

“No, it doesn't,” Sylar said. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you self-conscious.”

“So how did the conversation with your mother go?” Mohinder asked, changing the subject.

“Okay, I guess. It got a little heated. Peter and Mother have a lot of unresolved issues.”

“You don't say,” Mohinder said, sarcastic as always. This time, however, his tone seemed to invite Sylar to share in the joke.

“Yeah, I probably should have seen that coming. Peter really doesn't want to be involved in all this; he went on a little rant about how much he hates this whole super power stuff, and how he wishes he could get away from all of it.”

“He said that exactly?”

Sylar nodded.

Mohinder was very quiet for a moment. He started to shred his bread into even smaller pieces. “I can't say that I blame him,” he said eventually. “After all, why would he want to be involved in this any more than he already is? Why would anyone want to be involved with this ghastly, disgusting mess?”

Sylar wished he hadn't brought it up. “He's not leaving us,” he said gently.

“But he won't stay forever.”

“I guess not. We can think about that later.”

Mohinder stopped tearing his bread. “And now I have a table full of crumbs. So much for sanity.”

Sylar picked up one of the pieces. “They're not crumbs – they're croutons. Here.” He put one in Mohinder's cup of soup. “Perfectly normal.”

Mohinder stared at him for a long moment. “You're so different now.”

“Really? I mean, I feel different, but am I really acting that differently?”

“Yes. Very much so. And your eyes are...they've changed.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you looked at me before, it was like being stared down by a snake. But now...”

Their eyes met. When Mohinder didn't finish his sentence, Sylar prompted him. “Now what?”

“You seem human.” Mohinder turned his attention back to his lunch.

They ate in silence for a while. When they were done, Sylar stood up to take their tray to the trash can, but Mohinder stopped him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he said, sitting back down.

“Why are you interested in me? Romantically, I mean. Is it because we had sex?” A startled expression came over his face. “Good lord – I wasn't your first, was I?”

“No,” Sylar said, suppressing an eye-roll. “And that's not it.”

“Then why? I shoved a needle in your spine, and then I tried to shoot you in the head. You deserved it, of course, but I should think that you wouldn't have a favorable opinion of me after all that. And in my current state, I'm not exactly pleasant to be around.”

Sylar tried to think of what to say. He wanted to tell him it was because he was at odds with everything and everyone, and because he was passionate and stubborn and tragic and beautiful. But he thought that would be too much, so instead he said, “When we took that trip together, before you knew who I really was...it was the nicest time I'd ever had with anyone.”

Mohinder looked surprised. “Really? How incredibly sad.” And then he added quickly, “I'm sorry, that was rude.”

“No, you're right,” Sylar said. “It is sad.”

The corners of Mohinder's mouth quirked upward for a second – it was very close to a smile. “I was on my best behavior on that trip. Unfortunately, I'm not usually as easy to get along with, as you have no doubt surmised.”

“It's okay. You've been sick.”

“I'm afraid that even at the peak of health, I'm not the most congenial person. I'm 'infuriatingly stubborn and impossibly moody,' as my last girlfriend put it.”

“I can deal with that.”

“But why would you want to?”

“Because I like you. That and you're probably the most attractive person I've ever seen,” he said with grin that was hopefully flirty rather than creepy.

“I'm sure that's not true,” Mohinder said, sounding a little embarrassed. “And even if were, it certainly isn't anymore. Not unless you like the reptilian look.”

“I like your scales. They're like freckles.”

The corners of Mohinder's mouth quirked up again, and this time he laughed, too. It wasn't a maniacal or derisive laugh – it was a sound of genuine amusement, soft and surprised. It made Sylar feel light-headed. “And anyway,” Sylar continued, “you're looking much better. How are your hands?”

Mohinder held out one of his hands, palm up. Sylar carefully pulled it forward to have a look. The skin seemed normal. He touched it with one finger; it was slightly spongy, but not anything he would have noticed unless he had been looking for it. “It looks good,” he said. He looked up until his eyes met Mohinder's. There was a heartbeat's worth of silence.

Mohinder broke eye contact, but didn't pull his hand away. “It's only because I had the transfusion recently. In a few days, I'll be back to being disgusting.”

“I don't think you're disgusting,” Sylar said.

Mohinder let out a derisive snort. “I find that doubtful, but thanks all the same.”

“I mean it,” Sylar said with conviction. “I'm not disgusted by you, or frightened by you; I never will be, no matter how bad you get.” He put his other hand on top of Mohinder's. “Listen, the way I made you come with me – that was wrong. And you don't owe me anything – you don't have to love me, or even like me. But I promise that for as long as you need me, I will be here for you.”

Mohinder abruptly pulled his hand back. “We should get back to the facility,” he said.

Sylar felt his heart sink. “I said the wrong thing again, didn't I?”

“No,” Mohinder said after a moment. “It was a little too right.” He stood up and walked towards the door. Sylar left the tray and hurried to catch up with him. They didn't say much to each other on the way back to the facility. Sylar was in a kind of daze. That – had gone well. It was nice to have something happen to him that was pleasantly unexpected for a change.

Things continued to go well for the rest of the day. Sylar offered to help Mohinder sort through the files on the research that had been conducted in the last few months. He actually left Sylar in charge while he talked to the research staff. They chatted on the way home; Mohinder did most of the talking, going over ideas he had, and even asked Sylar's opinions on a few things.

Peter had dinner waiting for them when they got home. After they ate, Mohinder went upstairs to go through some of the files he'd brought home. Peter and Sylar watched some TV; Sylar didn't bring up what had happened that morning, and neither did Peter.

After a while, Sylar went upstairs to turn in for the night. The light was still on in Mohinder's room, so he knocked on the door. After a moment, Mohinder answered. “Yes?”

Sylar was distracted for a moment by how good Mohinder looked in the soft bedroom light. “I just wanted to say good night.” Sylar wanted desperately to touch him, so he did the only thing that he knew wouldn't get him punched – he stuck out his hand for a handshake.

Mohinder gave him a puzzled look, but took his hand and shook it briefly. “Good night,” he said.

“Good night.”

Sylar drifted off towards his bedroom, not quite believing his luck. He and Mohinder had had lunch today. He'd smiled at Sylar– multiple times, even. And now they were working together, and living together, and Sylar wasn't getting screamed at or having furniture thrown at his head. Peter probably wouldn't approve of all this, but screw him. Sylar was ready for romance.
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