seraphtrevs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
seraphtrevs) wrote2010-03-03 05:42 pm
seraphtrevs) wrote2010-03-03 05:42 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: Reprieve (3/3)
Title: Reprieve (3/3)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
seraphtrevs
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: NC-17
Word count: This part: ~5700
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit made, etc.
Spoiler alert: Through Volume 4 (slightly AU)
Summary: After being separated from the other prisoners in the crash of Flight 195, Mohinder makes his way to Texas in an attempt to flee to Mexico. While trying to find a way to cross the border, he runs into Sylar. Is it destiny, or just a run of extraordinarily bad luck?
A/N: Written fornowhack for the Mylar Ficathon for the prompts "Fighting with powers" and "destined." This is hugely, massively, enormously overdue - so huge, massive, enormous apologies!
Thanks, as always, to the talented, patientmarenpaisley for the beta - she is amazing.
Part One
Part Two
Mohinder didn’t want to wake up. The bed was extremely comfortable, and he was still so tired. He just wanted to sleep for a little while longer – a couple of years, tops. But he couldn't fall back asleep - something wasn't quite right. His sleep-addled brain took a few moments to sort it out. He wasn’t in his apartment; he was in a motel somewhere, and for some unknown reason.
And he wasn’t alone.
The events of the last week suddenly came back to him – his capture, the plane crash, and his escape. Then there was his strange meeting with Sylar, who had brought him here… Mohinder sat up and slowly turned his gaze to the other side of the bed. Sure enough, Sylar was sleeping peacefully beside him. He let out a startled yelp and clapped a hand over his mouth, afraid that he’d woken him. But Sylar merely turned over and started to snore softly. He noticed with horror that the other man was naked - or at the very least, shirtless. Mohinder wasn’t about to peak under the covers to determine if he was bottomless as well.
Mohinder got out of bed as quickly and quietly as he could. He took a few deep breaths to compose himself. Finding himself in a motel room with Sylar again was bad enough, but waking up naked in bed with him was beyond the pale.
He should leave. He had no idea what kind of madness had persuaded him that taking a nap while waiting for a serial killer to return from running a few errands was a good plan, and actually agreeing to go anywhere with him was an even worse one. He blamed the fact that he’d been shot to death and then resurrected. That was bound to mess with anyone’s judgment. He was rested now, though, and in full control of his faculties, so he should get out of here immediately, before Sylar woke up.
Only he still had the problem of not having any clothes. He wondered if Sylar had bought the items he’d promised. He decided to look around and see if he could find any packages Sylar might have brought back.
He walked over to the kitchenette and turned on the light, glancing nervously over at the bed. When the other man didn’t stir, he let out a sigh of relief. He turned his attention to the table; there were two black tee-shirts and a pair of jeans sitting on it, all neatly folded. Beside them were a pair of shoes, two pairs of socks, and two pairs of underwear. There was also a knapsack, which contained a large water bottle, a plain black baseball cap, and a pair of sunglasses.
He got dressed, put the remaining clothes in the knapsack, and made his way to the front door. He put his hand on the doorknob, but paused. He looked back over at the bed. Sylar still appeared to be sleeping peacefully. It surprised him that he was such a sound sleeper. Perhaps giving up his blood to help Mohinder had taken a lot out of him.
Almost against his own volition, he found himself walking over to the bed. He looked down at Sylar. He should kill him; he would probably never have an opportunity like this again. He could crush his head into a bloody pulp – would Sylar be able to regenerate from that? He didn’t think so.
But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he knew he couldn’t do it. He may have crossed some questionable moral boundaries in the past few months, but he didn’t think that he’d sunk so low as to becoming capable of murdering someone in their sleep. And strangely, he found that he didn’t particularly want to kill him. Regardless of what had come before, the man had just saved his life.
A life that he very well might be throwing away. He had no mode of transportation, no money, and no place to hide. He’d be right back where he was before he’d run into Sylar; in fact, he’d probably be even worse off. Sylar was right – their rather public disagreement had probably attracted a lot of unwanted government attention. If he was honest with himself, his best chance at getting out of the country still lay with Sylar.
Of course, that was assuming that he could trust him. Given their past history, it seemed stupid to believe that Sylar’s motives were as pure as he’d stated. But what if they were? His mind flashed back to his own experiences in the past few months. He thought about the people he’d harmed while in the grips of delusion – how it had all felt so right at the time.
Was that how Sylar felt? And was he capable of feeling the same crushing guilt afterward that now consumed Mohinder? In his desperate need to somehow lift that weight, he’d gone after Maya. What would have happened if he’d actually had the courage to stay after he’d knocked on her door? What would her reaction have been? Would she have responded with disgust and contempt? And if she had, what would that have done to him?
He sat the knapsack on the floor and sat down on the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do. He noticed that the bloodstained bedspread had been folded and placed on the sofa. Beside it were Sylar’s clothes, also carefully folded. The morning after their night in Montana, Mohinder had awoken to find that his suitcase had been organized and his clothing neatly put away. “Zane” had even insisted on making the bed before they left. Mohinder had found his tidiness oddly endearing, especially since he himself was generally a mess.
The quality had seemed less charming once he knew the truth of Sylar’s identity. He now connected it with the eerie fastidiousness of Sylar’s apartment. He remembered the uneasiness he and Eden had felt as they examined the plastic-covered furniture and the rows upon rows of carefully organized books. It had all spoken of an obsessive need to keep order – with the exception of that one horrible room, covered in messy, red scrawl that begged for forgiveness.
Mohinder shuddered. He didn’t like this line of thinking – the last thing he wanted to do was sympathize with the man who killed his father and so many others. He was a monster of a magnitude that Mohinder could never match even at his very worst. But still – was it really that impossible to believe that there was something human lurking somewhere inside him? That there was a part of him that truly longed for forgiveness from Mohinder, in the same way he himself had longed for forgiveness from Maya?
He picked up one of the shotgun pellets from the nightstand. He crushed it into a flat disk between his fingers; his strength made the metal as malleable as clay. The terrible irony of gaining his ability was that it had led him to feel more powerless than he’d ever felt in his entire life. And in the end, his super-strength hadn’t made him safer – he died as easily as he would have if he’d still been an ordinary man.
It was difficult to believe that something so small could have ended his existence. Succumbing to an impulse, he shrugged off his shirt and examined his chest, looking for any trace that he’d been shot. There was none.
"I'm surprised you're up and around already."
Mohinder nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned to find Sylar sitting up behind him.
“Sorry,” Sylar said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Mohinder found that very doubtful. “How long have you been awake?” he asked with annoyance.
He shrugged. “For a little bit.” He looked down at the crushed pellet in Mohinder’s hand. “Penny for your thoughts?”
Mohinder flipped the disk over a few times. “Was I really dead?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t remember,” he said and immediately felt stupid. Of course he didn’t remember. He’d been dead. His neurons had ceased to fire, and his brain had been nothing more than a lumpy grey substance, rapidly cooling and slowly starting to decay, along with the rest of his body. He’d been a thing. “For how long?”
“A couple of hours.”
He tried to picture it. Rigor mortis probably hadn’t set in – he would have still been soft and pliable. He wouldn’t have been cold yet, but with the amount of blood he’d lost, he was probably very pale. “Where exactly was I shot?”
He felt Sylar move up closer behind him. "Here," he said, putting a hand on Mohinder's chest. "Well, it was a shotgun blast, so it was sort of everywhere."
The image in his head became clearer: his chest had been a gaping hole, his heart exploded into unrecognizable pulp. He was going to ask, Were my eyes closed or open?, but his stomach lurched unexpectedly as a feeling of horror jolted through him.
“Shhh,” Sylar said. He hadn’t moved his hand away from Mohinder’s chest. “Try not to think about it. The important thing is that you’re alive. You’ll be okay.”
The wave of emotion that those words caused took Mohinder completely by surprise. He wasn’t sure which he found more horrifying: the fact that Sylar, of all people, was comforting him, or the fact that he needed it so badly.
He was aware suddenly of the beating of his heart – how had he ever taken that for granted? It began to thump faster as he thought of it; he could almost feel the blood pumping through his veins. It occurred to him that this was a new heart; it had been reconstructed from the old decimated tissue and Sylar’s regenerative blood, and he would be dead without it.
Mohinder put his hand over Sylar’s. He could feel Sylar’s chest hair and the taut peaks of his nipples brushing against the skin of his back. When he turned his head, Sylar’s lips were there to meet his own.
The odd angle of their heads kept the kiss shallow, gentle. Sylar broke away after a few moments and dragged his open mouth along Mohinder’s jaw. He paused to give his earlobe a brief nip before descending down Mohinder’s neck, leaving wet kisses along his skin. He pulled them down until they were lying on their sides, his hand still over Mohinder’s heart and Mohinder’s still on top of his. Sylar’s hips rocked forward, and Mohinder could feel the length of his erection pressing against him. He slipped his hand away from under Mohinder’s grasp and cupped Mohinder through his jeans, squeezing lightly.
Mohinder shut his eyes and moaned. He wasn’t sure why he was letting this happen. He felt like his body had taken over, wanting to assert itself after his brush with annihilation, to prove he was still alive. And bizarrely, doing this with Sylar felt somehow easier than being with anyone else – he didn’t have to worry about hurting him, and he didn’t have to explain who he was or what he’d done. Sylar already knew.
Mohinder quickly removed the rest of his clothes and moaned again as he felt Sylar’s bare cock pressed up against his ass. It appeared that Sylar hadn’t worn anything to bed. He’d think about that fact later – for now, he grabbed Sylar’s hand and wrapped it around his growing erection. Sylar gave him a few quick strokes, but then released him. He reached over Mohinder’s shoulder to the nightstand and removed a small bottle of lotion from the drawer. He deftly removed the cap with one hand, but once it was open, he fumbled and half of the contents of the bottle ended up all over Mohinder’s stomach. Mohinder drew in his breath at the coldness of it on his skin, then let it out again with a sigh as Sylar worked the lotion over his hardening cock.
It had been so long since Mohinder had felt anything; he’d been sleep walking through his life since the madness at Pinehearst had ended. He didn’t allow himself pleasure because he didn’t deserve it, and he had to block out the pain to keep from completely collapsing. He still hadn’t processed his recent trauma from his capture and subsequent flight; it all felt like a horrible dream.
But now, under Sylar’s hands, it was as if he was slowly waking up. He felt present in his body, and although they’d only been together once before, Sylar moved with a familiarity that was oddly reassuring. He kept his touch strong and steady, seeming to sense that Mohinder was not in any condition to deal with teasing. His other arm was wrapped across Mohinder’s chest, holding him close.
Mohinder’s hips began thrusting of their own accord. Without letting up on his strokes, Sylar used his other hand to gather up some of the lotion and smooth it over his own cock. He didn’t move to enter Mohinder; instead, he let his cock settle into the cleft of Mohinder’s ass and rode with Mohinder’s motions. He drew his arm around Mohinder again, pressing it a little too tightly against Mohinder’s throat. His whole body surged with adrenaline, and he bucked back against Sylar hard.
“Oh God, yes,” he gasped.
Sylar groaned in response and splayed his fingers across Mohinder’s throat, pressing lightly. It wasn’t hard enough to really interfere with his breathing, but the implied danger of it made Mohinder acutely aware of every cell in his body. The thought alive I’m alive I’m alive ran through his head over and over again as he writhed in Sylar’s grip, thrusting forward into his hand and back against his cock faster and harder. Sylar tightened his grip under Mohinder’s jaw, forcing his head back until he could capture his mouth in a kiss again, and suddenly Mohinder was coming, his cock pulsing in Sylar’s hand.
Sylar milked him through his orgasm, only releasing him after Mohinder was completely spent. As the last shudders of his climax ran through his body, Sylar grabbed Mohinder’s hips with both hands and rutted against him frantically. After a few minutes, Sylar let out a shout, and Mohinder felt the splash of semen against the small of his back.
They lay together for a long time, breathing heavily. Mohinder felt blank, as if he’d been temporarily anesthetized by the afterglow. Whenever a coherent thought attempted to form in his head, he squashed it mercilessly. He could deal with how deeply, completely, and hopelessly fucked up that had been later. Right now, he just wanted to sleep.
He started to drift into unconsciousness, but then he felt Sylar stir beside him. Mohinder wanted to ignore him, but to his horror, he realized that Sylar was actually trying to snuggle. He kissed Mohinder just below his ear. “You know, you are probably the moodiest bastard I have ever met.”
“Shut up,” Mohinder said. Sylar just laughed.
Mohinder sat up and started to get to his feet, but Sylar stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Where are you going?”
“I need a towel.”
“Allow me.” Sylar made a gesture, and a moment later a towel floated from the bathroom and into Sylar’s hand. He used it to clean off Mohinder’s back, but Mohinder snatched it from him when he moved to clean Mohinder’s cock.
“I can do that myself, thanks.”
“Okay, okay,” Sylar said. “You know, you weren’t this touchy after sex last time.”
“Oh, stop it!” Mohinder snapped. “Just shut up – and stop looking so damn smug!”
“I’m not smug,” Sylar said smugly. “I’m…gratified.” He ran a finger absently down Mohinder’s arm. “Things are finally coming together. This is like another piece to the puzzle – one I didn’t know was missing, but it’s starting to make sense.”
“What the hell are you blathering on about?”
“I’ve been so lost these past few months. There have been so many people lying to me and manipulating me, trying to make me into a tool that would serve their ends. But I managed to break away from all that, and now I’m finally on the right path.” He put a hand on Mohinder’s cheek. “Don’t go to Mexico,” he said. “Come with me instead.”
Mohinder jerked away. “And why on earth would I do that?”
“Because you don’t want to go back to India,” Sylar said.
“Oh really? Please, do enlighten me on how you came to that conclusion.”
“It’s been six months since Primatech and Pinehearst were destroyed, and yet you’re still here.”
Mohinder hated it when he had a point. “I was going to leave – I was just…taking care of a few things.”
“Does it have something to do with that little girl – what’s her name, Mary?”
“It’s Molly, and no, and as if I would tell you if it did.”
“Then why are you still here?"
Mohinder didn’t respond. The truth was that he was afraid - afraid to face his mother and Molly after everything he’d done, afraid of losing control of himself again, afraid of being shunned by his former colleagues. He didn’t even know if there was a life for him there anymore. It seemed easier just to stay in New York and drive cabs.
“Why would you think that I would want to go anywhere with you, anyway?” Mohinder asked in lieu of an answer.
“Well, you did just have sex with me,” Sylar said, not entirely unreasonably.
“And where would we be going? What would we be doing? I can’t imagine you being up to anything I’d want to be a part of.”
“How about the destruction of the agency that’s targeting people with abilities? Would that interest you?”
“If it’s so you can steal the abilities of the people they’ve captured, then no, I most definitely would not be interested.”
Sylar waved a hand dismissively. “That’s not my primary objective anymore.”
“Really. And what brought about this sudden change of heart?”
Sylar didn't answer right away. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “I met my father," he said eventually. "My real father."
Mohinder wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't that. "I didn't realize you were adopted."
"I wasn't, exactly. My father sold me for cash to the people I thought were my parents, right before murdering my real mother."
Sylar looked at him as if trying to gauge his reaction, but what exactly did you say to that sort of revelation? That's terrible? I'm sorry? That certainly explains a lot? "Oh," he ended up saying.
"He was like me – same powers, same…compulsions.”
“Do you mean he was able to take other people’s powers, the same way you do?”
"Yes."
Mohinder's mind started to whir as he thought of his father's theories on the inheritability of abilities. He was about to ask Sylar another question when he caught himself. Why should he care? Hadn't his father's research already cost him enough?
Sylar continued. "When I finally found his house, I almost didn't go in because the stench was overwhelming. There were animal carcasses everywhere."
"Good God," Mohinder said. "Why?"
"Because he's a killer. It's who he is." Sylar looked away. "It's all he is."
"And that bothers you?"
"Of course it bothers me!" Sylar snapped. "I had hoped that he would have some answers for why I turned out the way I did. He couldn't tell me why I am who I am. All he could show me was what I am, and what I will be. I always thought that I was the pinnacle of evolution; I was shaped to be the next step in humanity's natural history. But my father spent his whole life gathering abilities, and it all added up to nothing. His entire life was meaningless." He entwined his fingers with Mohinder's. "I don't want that to be me."
For a very brief moment, Mohinder felt himself sympathizing. He remembered holding the urn of his father's ashes in the apartment in New York, surrounded by the half-finished remnants of his father's research. He'd been gripped suddenly with an odd feeling of horror, not only at the terribleness of his father's death, but of the utter uselessness of his life, and that by coming to New York, he'd damned himself to the same fate.
The feeling of sympathy, however, faded quickly when he remembered exactly who had put him in that position in the first place. He ripped his hand away from Sylar's.
"Oh, so you had an existential crisis? How very sad for you," he said, fuming. "At least you still have an existence to have a crisis about - something that you've denied to God knows how many people! And now you think that you can just say you're sorry and expect everything to be all right? Even if you did manage to save us all, it wouldn't undo the damage you've caused. It doesn't work that way - not for what you've done."
Sylar cocked his head. "I never said I was sorry."
"...oh," Mohinder said. He felt like a train car that had been abruptly diverted to another track. "No, I suppose you didn't." It took him a minute to recompose himself. "Then why on earth do you want to take on the government?"
"It's going to be difficult to rediscover my destiny if I have them chasing me everywhere."
"Yes, I imagine so," Mohinder said, his voice impressively calm considering the circumstances. He wondered if it was possible for a person to pinpoint the exact moment when they completely lost their mind. "So you aren't sorry for what you've done, then."
"Well, I'm sorry it had to happen, of course, but it's what was necessary to bring me to this point. If I were to say that I wanted to take it all back, it would be like all those deaths were meaningless. Those deaths are proof that I'm meant for something greater - otherwise, why would they have happened? Don't you see that there has to be a reason for it?" Sylar sounded less sure of himself now; he seemed to need Mohinder's reassurance. He continued, almost to himself. "Otherwise, I'm as meaningless as a hurricane, or as mindless as a savage animal. No, I'm special. I know I am. And that was why I was brought to my father - to show me that I couldn't let my life sputter out without meaning." As he continued to speak, his voice became quieter and quieter until Mohinder had to strain to hear him. "And that's why you're here now - to help me discover what it is I'm supposed to do. And why your father had to die - to bring you to me."
It took a moment for that last sentence to sink in. Mohinder gave Sylar a shove, which sent him sailing off the bed. He crashed into the mirrored closet door, shattering it and sending him tumbling into the hangers.
"What the hell was that for?" he said as he struggled to his feet. A shard of mirror had ripped a large gash into his forehead, and several smaller shards had embedded themselves in his face and arms; it must have hurt, even with his healing ability, but Sylar seemed not to notice.
"I would try to explain it, but seeing as you are utterly, barking mad, I'd be wasting my breath."
"I was trying to help you! Doesn't it comfort you to know that your suffering means something?"
Mohinder started laughing. "Oh yes, it's very comforting to know that destiny forced you to brutally murder my father so that you wouldn't have to be lonely. You know, your insanity is so incredible that it's almost hypnotic - I can't think of any other explanation as to why I didn't leave the minute you stepped out of this hotel room." He began to rummage through the sheets. "Where the hell are my pants?"
"You're leaving?"
"Of course I'm leaving!" He couldn't find his underwear, so he yanked on his jeans without them. "You don't feel an ounce of remorse, and I can't believe I deluded myself into thinking you might. You're incapable of it because you are a monster, and I ha- "
His tirade was cut short as he felt himself flung across the room until he was pinned with his back to the wall by an invisible force. Sylar stalked towards him as he struggled.
It wasn't the first time he'd called Sylar a monster, but he generally meant it in an abstract way. No matter how much he demonized him, he was always very aware that he was only a man, after all. But now, as Sylar moved towards him, completely naked, blood dripping down his face even as the cuts healed, Mohinder became keenly aware that he wasn't a man, not anymore, and the fear that gripped him was so all-encompassing that he forgot his own humanity and was, for a moment, no different than a field mouse, or a rabbit - a thing of prey, cornered, about to be devoured.
Then Sylar began to make a strange whistling noise, and the fear somehow diminished. Mohinder felt as if he'd been dosed with morphine; all of his senses were dampened, and he had to fight to retain consciousness.
The invisible force that held him to the wall disappeared. He struggled to speak, but his tongue felt thick in his mouth. "What...what did you do to..."
"It's a trick I picked up from my father." Sylar sighed. "I really wish it hadn't come to this. I'm so tired of fighting. Aren't you?"
Mohinder attempted to run, but instead he fell forward. Sylar caught him in his arms. He did his best to struggle, but he felt an overwhelming urge to simply be still. So he was.
Sylar dragged him over to the bed and sat him down on it. He lifted one of Mohinder's legs up onto the bed, and then the other, and scooted him backward until he was sitting up with his back against the headboard. He put some pillows behind his head. "There. Are you comfortable?"
Mohinder opened his mouth to answer, but only managed a thick, wordless noise.
Sylar gave him a pat on the leg. "I'm not going to kill you, in case you were worried. I already have your strength; I don't need to kill any more to gain abilities. Haven't for awhile now, actually, but I somehow always end up doing it anyway." His tone wasn't exactly remorseful, but it did have a sort of wistful quality about it.
Mohinder managed to lift his hand, but couldn't do anything more useful than touch Sylar's face. Sylar caught his hand in his own and smiled, as if Mohinder had meant for it to be a caress.
"You know, I kind of like you like this. Quiet. You'd be a lot happier if you learned to keep your mouth shut every once in a while."
At that, Mohinder did manage to lunge at Sylar with more force, but Sylar made that strange whistling noise again, and soon he couldn't remember why he was fighting him to begin with.
"I wish I could stay, but I have an appointment to keep. And honestly, you aren't exactly being as open-minded as I hoped you'd be; you could probably use some time to think things over. We can always finish this later."
A thousand thoughts floated through Mohinder's head, but his head felt so muddled that he had trouble grasping onto any of them. He felt he ought to try to say something, so he focused on the thought that was the loudest: "Why me?"
Sylar looked thoughtful. "Why you? Why me? Why any of us, any of this? I don't know yet, but I will, eventually. But what I do know is this: All my life, people have wanted something from me. My mother wanted me to fulfill her dreams. Your father wanted to study me. Angela wanted my power. Elle wanted to reform me. Luke wanted me to save him. But not you. You don't want anything from me at all." Sylar sounded a little sad. "I guess that makes you special. " He touched Mohinder's face tenderly. "You should rest now. Give up the fight, for a little bit at least."
The suggestion was irresistible. Mohinder shut his eyes and knew no more.
******
Mohinder awoke later - how much later, he wasn't sure, but the sunlight shining in from the window was dusky and orange. His head still felt cloudy, and it took him several long moments to get his limbs to cooperate enough to stand up.
Sylar was nowhere to be seen. The whole scene had been so bizarre that he was tempted to dismiss it as an unusually vivid hallucination. The stress he'd been under lately was enough to make anyone snap. But no, there was the bloodstained comforter and the broken mirror, and how would he have made his way into a hotel room to begin with unless Sylar had brought him here?
He walked over to the bathroom and splashed his face with water. When he looked up at the mirror, he noticed an envelope taped to it. Warily, he took it from the mirror and opened it.
The envelope contained about $500 in cash and a letter written in small, tidy handwriting.
Dear Mohinder,
How's your head? Not too foggy, I hope. You're going to need your wits about you.
I'm leaving you some money. If I were you, I'd lay low for a week or so. I wouldn't worry too much about the government - they're going to have their hands full. After that, you can try to make your way to Mexico, but there won't be any real need to. Go back to India for a little while, if you want. I think you'll find yourself back here soon enough.
I guess you're probably wondering why I'm helping you. I don't think I can explain it in a way you're ready to understand, but I'll try. My ability is to know how things work. I can see the secret mechanics that underlie everything. Up until this point, I've been very short-sighted. But now I've widened my gaze, and the things that I can see will change the world. We're all part of a great design, Mohinder, and you and I are linked. You don't realize it yet, but you will, someday.
See you around.
-S
He put the money and the letter back in the envelope and placed in on the counter. The letter unnerved him. He wanted to dismiss it as crazy nonsense, but a small part of him had a sneaking suspicion that he might be on to something.
He needed to plan his next move. He sat down again on the edge of the bed and held his head in his hands, but after several long moments, the only concrete goal he could think of was that he really, really wanted a sandwich. And maybe a nap. There was only so much one person could take in a day.
He found a phonebook and flipped through it until he found a deli that delivered. He then did some additional detective work to figure out where the bloody hell he was, and once he'd determined that, he called and placed an order. He wondered briefly if the state of the room would raise the delivery person's suspicions, but decided that he must be in a particularly shady neighborhood if no one had bothered to investigate what was going on when Sylar and he had been throwing each other around the room.
As he waited for his food, he flipped on the television. The five o'clock local news had just started; the lead story was about a freak car accident that had left a man decapitated. The man in question was the store owner who had shot him. He hastily turned off the TV.
Sylar was still murdering people. He wasn't going to stop, no matter what high-minded ideals he'd convinced himself he had. Could Mohinder really turn and run now that he knew that? Who else would be able to stop him?
And what of the government? He'd run away once from his friends, but it wasn't too late to rectify that mistake. If Sylar of all people could summon up the courage to stand up for what was right, then he certainly had no excuse.
He stretched out on the bed and shut his eyes. He'd eat and rest, and the first thing in the morning, he'd set out for Washington, D.C. He wasn't sure if he was destined to hurt Sylar or help him or some strange mixture of the two, but he wasn't going to run away anymore.
He was sick of beating himself up for the things he'd done wrong. He knew he'd have to face the consequences of the bad decisions he'd made in the past year. Maybe he deserved to be punished for them, but the only thing his self-flagellation had accomplished was making him feel even worse about himself.
In an odd sort of way, the whole incident had brought things into perspective. He'd been more himself in the past twenty-four hours than he had in months. He could wait for the universe to execute the sentence for his crimes.
But in the meantime, he might as well make himself useful.
[Poll #1533501]
Author:
seraphtrevsPairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: NC-17
Word count: This part: ~5700
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit made, etc.
Spoiler alert: Through Volume 4 (slightly AU)
Summary: After being separated from the other prisoners in the crash of Flight 195, Mohinder makes his way to Texas in an attempt to flee to Mexico. While trying to find a way to cross the border, he runs into Sylar. Is it destiny, or just a run of extraordinarily bad luck?
A/N: Written for
nowhack for the Mylar Ficathon for the prompts "Fighting with powers" and "destined." This is hugely, massively, enormously overdue - so huge, massive, enormous apologies!Thanks, as always, to the talented, patient
marenpaisley for the beta - she is amazing. Part One
Part Two
Mohinder didn’t want to wake up. The bed was extremely comfortable, and he was still so tired. He just wanted to sleep for a little while longer – a couple of years, tops. But he couldn't fall back asleep - something wasn't quite right. His sleep-addled brain took a few moments to sort it out. He wasn’t in his apartment; he was in a motel somewhere, and for some unknown reason.
And he wasn’t alone.
The events of the last week suddenly came back to him – his capture, the plane crash, and his escape. Then there was his strange meeting with Sylar, who had brought him here… Mohinder sat up and slowly turned his gaze to the other side of the bed. Sure enough, Sylar was sleeping peacefully beside him. He let out a startled yelp and clapped a hand over his mouth, afraid that he’d woken him. But Sylar merely turned over and started to snore softly. He noticed with horror that the other man was naked - or at the very least, shirtless. Mohinder wasn’t about to peak under the covers to determine if he was bottomless as well.
Mohinder got out of bed as quickly and quietly as he could. He took a few deep breaths to compose himself. Finding himself in a motel room with Sylar again was bad enough, but waking up naked in bed with him was beyond the pale.
He should leave. He had no idea what kind of madness had persuaded him that taking a nap while waiting for a serial killer to return from running a few errands was a good plan, and actually agreeing to go anywhere with him was an even worse one. He blamed the fact that he’d been shot to death and then resurrected. That was bound to mess with anyone’s judgment. He was rested now, though, and in full control of his faculties, so he should get out of here immediately, before Sylar woke up.
Only he still had the problem of not having any clothes. He wondered if Sylar had bought the items he’d promised. He decided to look around and see if he could find any packages Sylar might have brought back.
He walked over to the kitchenette and turned on the light, glancing nervously over at the bed. When the other man didn’t stir, he let out a sigh of relief. He turned his attention to the table; there were two black tee-shirts and a pair of jeans sitting on it, all neatly folded. Beside them were a pair of shoes, two pairs of socks, and two pairs of underwear. There was also a knapsack, which contained a large water bottle, a plain black baseball cap, and a pair of sunglasses.
He got dressed, put the remaining clothes in the knapsack, and made his way to the front door. He put his hand on the doorknob, but paused. He looked back over at the bed. Sylar still appeared to be sleeping peacefully. It surprised him that he was such a sound sleeper. Perhaps giving up his blood to help Mohinder had taken a lot out of him.
Almost against his own volition, he found himself walking over to the bed. He looked down at Sylar. He should kill him; he would probably never have an opportunity like this again. He could crush his head into a bloody pulp – would Sylar be able to regenerate from that? He didn’t think so.
But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he knew he couldn’t do it. He may have crossed some questionable moral boundaries in the past few months, but he didn’t think that he’d sunk so low as to becoming capable of murdering someone in their sleep. And strangely, he found that he didn’t particularly want to kill him. Regardless of what had come before, the man had just saved his life.
A life that he very well might be throwing away. He had no mode of transportation, no money, and no place to hide. He’d be right back where he was before he’d run into Sylar; in fact, he’d probably be even worse off. Sylar was right – their rather public disagreement had probably attracted a lot of unwanted government attention. If he was honest with himself, his best chance at getting out of the country still lay with Sylar.
Of course, that was assuming that he could trust him. Given their past history, it seemed stupid to believe that Sylar’s motives were as pure as he’d stated. But what if they were? His mind flashed back to his own experiences in the past few months. He thought about the people he’d harmed while in the grips of delusion – how it had all felt so right at the time.
Was that how Sylar felt? And was he capable of feeling the same crushing guilt afterward that now consumed Mohinder? In his desperate need to somehow lift that weight, he’d gone after Maya. What would have happened if he’d actually had the courage to stay after he’d knocked on her door? What would her reaction have been? Would she have responded with disgust and contempt? And if she had, what would that have done to him?
He sat the knapsack on the floor and sat down on the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do. He noticed that the bloodstained bedspread had been folded and placed on the sofa. Beside it were Sylar’s clothes, also carefully folded. The morning after their night in Montana, Mohinder had awoken to find that his suitcase had been organized and his clothing neatly put away. “Zane” had even insisted on making the bed before they left. Mohinder had found his tidiness oddly endearing, especially since he himself was generally a mess.
The quality had seemed less charming once he knew the truth of Sylar’s identity. He now connected it with the eerie fastidiousness of Sylar’s apartment. He remembered the uneasiness he and Eden had felt as they examined the plastic-covered furniture and the rows upon rows of carefully organized books. It had all spoken of an obsessive need to keep order – with the exception of that one horrible room, covered in messy, red scrawl that begged for forgiveness.
Mohinder shuddered. He didn’t like this line of thinking – the last thing he wanted to do was sympathize with the man who killed his father and so many others. He was a monster of a magnitude that Mohinder could never match even at his very worst. But still – was it really that impossible to believe that there was something human lurking somewhere inside him? That there was a part of him that truly longed for forgiveness from Mohinder, in the same way he himself had longed for forgiveness from Maya?
He picked up one of the shotgun pellets from the nightstand. He crushed it into a flat disk between his fingers; his strength made the metal as malleable as clay. The terrible irony of gaining his ability was that it had led him to feel more powerless than he’d ever felt in his entire life. And in the end, his super-strength hadn’t made him safer – he died as easily as he would have if he’d still been an ordinary man.
It was difficult to believe that something so small could have ended his existence. Succumbing to an impulse, he shrugged off his shirt and examined his chest, looking for any trace that he’d been shot. There was none.
"I'm surprised you're up and around already."
Mohinder nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned to find Sylar sitting up behind him.
“Sorry,” Sylar said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Mohinder found that very doubtful. “How long have you been awake?” he asked with annoyance.
He shrugged. “For a little bit.” He looked down at the crushed pellet in Mohinder’s hand. “Penny for your thoughts?”
Mohinder flipped the disk over a few times. “Was I really dead?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t remember,” he said and immediately felt stupid. Of course he didn’t remember. He’d been dead. His neurons had ceased to fire, and his brain had been nothing more than a lumpy grey substance, rapidly cooling and slowly starting to decay, along with the rest of his body. He’d been a thing. “For how long?”
“A couple of hours.”
He tried to picture it. Rigor mortis probably hadn’t set in – he would have still been soft and pliable. He wouldn’t have been cold yet, but with the amount of blood he’d lost, he was probably very pale. “Where exactly was I shot?”
He felt Sylar move up closer behind him. "Here," he said, putting a hand on Mohinder's chest. "Well, it was a shotgun blast, so it was sort of everywhere."
The image in his head became clearer: his chest had been a gaping hole, his heart exploded into unrecognizable pulp. He was going to ask, Were my eyes closed or open?, but his stomach lurched unexpectedly as a feeling of horror jolted through him.
“Shhh,” Sylar said. He hadn’t moved his hand away from Mohinder’s chest. “Try not to think about it. The important thing is that you’re alive. You’ll be okay.”
The wave of emotion that those words caused took Mohinder completely by surprise. He wasn’t sure which he found more horrifying: the fact that Sylar, of all people, was comforting him, or the fact that he needed it so badly.
He was aware suddenly of the beating of his heart – how had he ever taken that for granted? It began to thump faster as he thought of it; he could almost feel the blood pumping through his veins. It occurred to him that this was a new heart; it had been reconstructed from the old decimated tissue and Sylar’s regenerative blood, and he would be dead without it.
Mohinder put his hand over Sylar’s. He could feel Sylar’s chest hair and the taut peaks of his nipples brushing against the skin of his back. When he turned his head, Sylar’s lips were there to meet his own.
The odd angle of their heads kept the kiss shallow, gentle. Sylar broke away after a few moments and dragged his open mouth along Mohinder’s jaw. He paused to give his earlobe a brief nip before descending down Mohinder’s neck, leaving wet kisses along his skin. He pulled them down until they were lying on their sides, his hand still over Mohinder’s heart and Mohinder’s still on top of his. Sylar’s hips rocked forward, and Mohinder could feel the length of his erection pressing against him. He slipped his hand away from under Mohinder’s grasp and cupped Mohinder through his jeans, squeezing lightly.
Mohinder shut his eyes and moaned. He wasn’t sure why he was letting this happen. He felt like his body had taken over, wanting to assert itself after his brush with annihilation, to prove he was still alive. And bizarrely, doing this with Sylar felt somehow easier than being with anyone else – he didn’t have to worry about hurting him, and he didn’t have to explain who he was or what he’d done. Sylar already knew.
Mohinder quickly removed the rest of his clothes and moaned again as he felt Sylar’s bare cock pressed up against his ass. It appeared that Sylar hadn’t worn anything to bed. He’d think about that fact later – for now, he grabbed Sylar’s hand and wrapped it around his growing erection. Sylar gave him a few quick strokes, but then released him. He reached over Mohinder’s shoulder to the nightstand and removed a small bottle of lotion from the drawer. He deftly removed the cap with one hand, but once it was open, he fumbled and half of the contents of the bottle ended up all over Mohinder’s stomach. Mohinder drew in his breath at the coldness of it on his skin, then let it out again with a sigh as Sylar worked the lotion over his hardening cock.
It had been so long since Mohinder had felt anything; he’d been sleep walking through his life since the madness at Pinehearst had ended. He didn’t allow himself pleasure because he didn’t deserve it, and he had to block out the pain to keep from completely collapsing. He still hadn’t processed his recent trauma from his capture and subsequent flight; it all felt like a horrible dream.
But now, under Sylar’s hands, it was as if he was slowly waking up. He felt present in his body, and although they’d only been together once before, Sylar moved with a familiarity that was oddly reassuring. He kept his touch strong and steady, seeming to sense that Mohinder was not in any condition to deal with teasing. His other arm was wrapped across Mohinder’s chest, holding him close.
Mohinder’s hips began thrusting of their own accord. Without letting up on his strokes, Sylar used his other hand to gather up some of the lotion and smooth it over his own cock. He didn’t move to enter Mohinder; instead, he let his cock settle into the cleft of Mohinder’s ass and rode with Mohinder’s motions. He drew his arm around Mohinder again, pressing it a little too tightly against Mohinder’s throat. His whole body surged with adrenaline, and he bucked back against Sylar hard.
“Oh God, yes,” he gasped.
Sylar groaned in response and splayed his fingers across Mohinder’s throat, pressing lightly. It wasn’t hard enough to really interfere with his breathing, but the implied danger of it made Mohinder acutely aware of every cell in his body. The thought alive I’m alive I’m alive ran through his head over and over again as he writhed in Sylar’s grip, thrusting forward into his hand and back against his cock faster and harder. Sylar tightened his grip under Mohinder’s jaw, forcing his head back until he could capture his mouth in a kiss again, and suddenly Mohinder was coming, his cock pulsing in Sylar’s hand.
Sylar milked him through his orgasm, only releasing him after Mohinder was completely spent. As the last shudders of his climax ran through his body, Sylar grabbed Mohinder’s hips with both hands and rutted against him frantically. After a few minutes, Sylar let out a shout, and Mohinder felt the splash of semen against the small of his back.
They lay together for a long time, breathing heavily. Mohinder felt blank, as if he’d been temporarily anesthetized by the afterglow. Whenever a coherent thought attempted to form in his head, he squashed it mercilessly. He could deal with how deeply, completely, and hopelessly fucked up that had been later. Right now, he just wanted to sleep.
He started to drift into unconsciousness, but then he felt Sylar stir beside him. Mohinder wanted to ignore him, but to his horror, he realized that Sylar was actually trying to snuggle. He kissed Mohinder just below his ear. “You know, you are probably the moodiest bastard I have ever met.”
“Shut up,” Mohinder said. Sylar just laughed.
Mohinder sat up and started to get to his feet, but Sylar stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Where are you going?”
“I need a towel.”
“Allow me.” Sylar made a gesture, and a moment later a towel floated from the bathroom and into Sylar’s hand. He used it to clean off Mohinder’s back, but Mohinder snatched it from him when he moved to clean Mohinder’s cock.
“I can do that myself, thanks.”
“Okay, okay,” Sylar said. “You know, you weren’t this touchy after sex last time.”
“Oh, stop it!” Mohinder snapped. “Just shut up – and stop looking so damn smug!”
“I’m not smug,” Sylar said smugly. “I’m…gratified.” He ran a finger absently down Mohinder’s arm. “Things are finally coming together. This is like another piece to the puzzle – one I didn’t know was missing, but it’s starting to make sense.”
“What the hell are you blathering on about?”
“I’ve been so lost these past few months. There have been so many people lying to me and manipulating me, trying to make me into a tool that would serve their ends. But I managed to break away from all that, and now I’m finally on the right path.” He put a hand on Mohinder’s cheek. “Don’t go to Mexico,” he said. “Come with me instead.”
Mohinder jerked away. “And why on earth would I do that?”
“Because you don’t want to go back to India,” Sylar said.
“Oh really? Please, do enlighten me on how you came to that conclusion.”
“It’s been six months since Primatech and Pinehearst were destroyed, and yet you’re still here.”
Mohinder hated it when he had a point. “I was going to leave – I was just…taking care of a few things.”
“Does it have something to do with that little girl – what’s her name, Mary?”
“It’s Molly, and no, and as if I would tell you if it did.”
“Then why are you still here?"
Mohinder didn’t respond. The truth was that he was afraid - afraid to face his mother and Molly after everything he’d done, afraid of losing control of himself again, afraid of being shunned by his former colleagues. He didn’t even know if there was a life for him there anymore. It seemed easier just to stay in New York and drive cabs.
“Why would you think that I would want to go anywhere with you, anyway?” Mohinder asked in lieu of an answer.
“Well, you did just have sex with me,” Sylar said, not entirely unreasonably.
“And where would we be going? What would we be doing? I can’t imagine you being up to anything I’d want to be a part of.”
“How about the destruction of the agency that’s targeting people with abilities? Would that interest you?”
“If it’s so you can steal the abilities of the people they’ve captured, then no, I most definitely would not be interested.”
Sylar waved a hand dismissively. “That’s not my primary objective anymore.”
“Really. And what brought about this sudden change of heart?”
Sylar didn't answer right away. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “I met my father," he said eventually. "My real father."
Mohinder wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't that. "I didn't realize you were adopted."
"I wasn't, exactly. My father sold me for cash to the people I thought were my parents, right before murdering my real mother."
Sylar looked at him as if trying to gauge his reaction, but what exactly did you say to that sort of revelation? That's terrible? I'm sorry? That certainly explains a lot? "Oh," he ended up saying.
"He was like me – same powers, same…compulsions.”
“Do you mean he was able to take other people’s powers, the same way you do?”
"Yes."
Mohinder's mind started to whir as he thought of his father's theories on the inheritability of abilities. He was about to ask Sylar another question when he caught himself. Why should he care? Hadn't his father's research already cost him enough?
Sylar continued. "When I finally found his house, I almost didn't go in because the stench was overwhelming. There were animal carcasses everywhere."
"Good God," Mohinder said. "Why?"
"Because he's a killer. It's who he is." Sylar looked away. "It's all he is."
"And that bothers you?"
"Of course it bothers me!" Sylar snapped. "I had hoped that he would have some answers for why I turned out the way I did. He couldn't tell me why I am who I am. All he could show me was what I am, and what I will be. I always thought that I was the pinnacle of evolution; I was shaped to be the next step in humanity's natural history. But my father spent his whole life gathering abilities, and it all added up to nothing. His entire life was meaningless." He entwined his fingers with Mohinder's. "I don't want that to be me."
For a very brief moment, Mohinder felt himself sympathizing. He remembered holding the urn of his father's ashes in the apartment in New York, surrounded by the half-finished remnants of his father's research. He'd been gripped suddenly with an odd feeling of horror, not only at the terribleness of his father's death, but of the utter uselessness of his life, and that by coming to New York, he'd damned himself to the same fate.
The feeling of sympathy, however, faded quickly when he remembered exactly who had put him in that position in the first place. He ripped his hand away from Sylar's.
"Oh, so you had an existential crisis? How very sad for you," he said, fuming. "At least you still have an existence to have a crisis about - something that you've denied to God knows how many people! And now you think that you can just say you're sorry and expect everything to be all right? Even if you did manage to save us all, it wouldn't undo the damage you've caused. It doesn't work that way - not for what you've done."
Sylar cocked his head. "I never said I was sorry."
"...oh," Mohinder said. He felt like a train car that had been abruptly diverted to another track. "No, I suppose you didn't." It took him a minute to recompose himself. "Then why on earth do you want to take on the government?"
"It's going to be difficult to rediscover my destiny if I have them chasing me everywhere."
"Yes, I imagine so," Mohinder said, his voice impressively calm considering the circumstances. He wondered if it was possible for a person to pinpoint the exact moment when they completely lost their mind. "So you aren't sorry for what you've done, then."
"Well, I'm sorry it had to happen, of course, but it's what was necessary to bring me to this point. If I were to say that I wanted to take it all back, it would be like all those deaths were meaningless. Those deaths are proof that I'm meant for something greater - otherwise, why would they have happened? Don't you see that there has to be a reason for it?" Sylar sounded less sure of himself now; he seemed to need Mohinder's reassurance. He continued, almost to himself. "Otherwise, I'm as meaningless as a hurricane, or as mindless as a savage animal. No, I'm special. I know I am. And that was why I was brought to my father - to show me that I couldn't let my life sputter out without meaning." As he continued to speak, his voice became quieter and quieter until Mohinder had to strain to hear him. "And that's why you're here now - to help me discover what it is I'm supposed to do. And why your father had to die - to bring you to me."
It took a moment for that last sentence to sink in. Mohinder gave Sylar a shove, which sent him sailing off the bed. He crashed into the mirrored closet door, shattering it and sending him tumbling into the hangers.
"What the hell was that for?" he said as he struggled to his feet. A shard of mirror had ripped a large gash into his forehead, and several smaller shards had embedded themselves in his face and arms; it must have hurt, even with his healing ability, but Sylar seemed not to notice.
"I would try to explain it, but seeing as you are utterly, barking mad, I'd be wasting my breath."
"I was trying to help you! Doesn't it comfort you to know that your suffering means something?"
Mohinder started laughing. "Oh yes, it's very comforting to know that destiny forced you to brutally murder my father so that you wouldn't have to be lonely. You know, your insanity is so incredible that it's almost hypnotic - I can't think of any other explanation as to why I didn't leave the minute you stepped out of this hotel room." He began to rummage through the sheets. "Where the hell are my pants?"
"You're leaving?"
"Of course I'm leaving!" He couldn't find his underwear, so he yanked on his jeans without them. "You don't feel an ounce of remorse, and I can't believe I deluded myself into thinking you might. You're incapable of it because you are a monster, and I ha- "
His tirade was cut short as he felt himself flung across the room until he was pinned with his back to the wall by an invisible force. Sylar stalked towards him as he struggled.
It wasn't the first time he'd called Sylar a monster, but he generally meant it in an abstract way. No matter how much he demonized him, he was always very aware that he was only a man, after all. But now, as Sylar moved towards him, completely naked, blood dripping down his face even as the cuts healed, Mohinder became keenly aware that he wasn't a man, not anymore, and the fear that gripped him was so all-encompassing that he forgot his own humanity and was, for a moment, no different than a field mouse, or a rabbit - a thing of prey, cornered, about to be devoured.
Then Sylar began to make a strange whistling noise, and the fear somehow diminished. Mohinder felt as if he'd been dosed with morphine; all of his senses were dampened, and he had to fight to retain consciousness.
The invisible force that held him to the wall disappeared. He struggled to speak, but his tongue felt thick in his mouth. "What...what did you do to..."
"It's a trick I picked up from my father." Sylar sighed. "I really wish it hadn't come to this. I'm so tired of fighting. Aren't you?"
Mohinder attempted to run, but instead he fell forward. Sylar caught him in his arms. He did his best to struggle, but he felt an overwhelming urge to simply be still. So he was.
Sylar dragged him over to the bed and sat him down on it. He lifted one of Mohinder's legs up onto the bed, and then the other, and scooted him backward until he was sitting up with his back against the headboard. He put some pillows behind his head. "There. Are you comfortable?"
Mohinder opened his mouth to answer, but only managed a thick, wordless noise.
Sylar gave him a pat on the leg. "I'm not going to kill you, in case you were worried. I already have your strength; I don't need to kill any more to gain abilities. Haven't for awhile now, actually, but I somehow always end up doing it anyway." His tone wasn't exactly remorseful, but it did have a sort of wistful quality about it.
Mohinder managed to lift his hand, but couldn't do anything more useful than touch Sylar's face. Sylar caught his hand in his own and smiled, as if Mohinder had meant for it to be a caress.
"You know, I kind of like you like this. Quiet. You'd be a lot happier if you learned to keep your mouth shut every once in a while."
At that, Mohinder did manage to lunge at Sylar with more force, but Sylar made that strange whistling noise again, and soon he couldn't remember why he was fighting him to begin with.
"I wish I could stay, but I have an appointment to keep. And honestly, you aren't exactly being as open-minded as I hoped you'd be; you could probably use some time to think things over. We can always finish this later."
A thousand thoughts floated through Mohinder's head, but his head felt so muddled that he had trouble grasping onto any of them. He felt he ought to try to say something, so he focused on the thought that was the loudest: "Why me?"
Sylar looked thoughtful. "Why you? Why me? Why any of us, any of this? I don't know yet, but I will, eventually. But what I do know is this: All my life, people have wanted something from me. My mother wanted me to fulfill her dreams. Your father wanted to study me. Angela wanted my power. Elle wanted to reform me. Luke wanted me to save him. But not you. You don't want anything from me at all." Sylar sounded a little sad. "I guess that makes you special. " He touched Mohinder's face tenderly. "You should rest now. Give up the fight, for a little bit at least."
The suggestion was irresistible. Mohinder shut his eyes and knew no more.
******
Mohinder awoke later - how much later, he wasn't sure, but the sunlight shining in from the window was dusky and orange. His head still felt cloudy, and it took him several long moments to get his limbs to cooperate enough to stand up.
Sylar was nowhere to be seen. The whole scene had been so bizarre that he was tempted to dismiss it as an unusually vivid hallucination. The stress he'd been under lately was enough to make anyone snap. But no, there was the bloodstained comforter and the broken mirror, and how would he have made his way into a hotel room to begin with unless Sylar had brought him here?
He walked over to the bathroom and splashed his face with water. When he looked up at the mirror, he noticed an envelope taped to it. Warily, he took it from the mirror and opened it.
The envelope contained about $500 in cash and a letter written in small, tidy handwriting.
Dear Mohinder,
How's your head? Not too foggy, I hope. You're going to need your wits about you.
I'm leaving you some money. If I were you, I'd lay low for a week or so. I wouldn't worry too much about the government - they're going to have their hands full. After that, you can try to make your way to Mexico, but there won't be any real need to. Go back to India for a little while, if you want. I think you'll find yourself back here soon enough.
I guess you're probably wondering why I'm helping you. I don't think I can explain it in a way you're ready to understand, but I'll try. My ability is to know how things work. I can see the secret mechanics that underlie everything. Up until this point, I've been very short-sighted. But now I've widened my gaze, and the things that I can see will change the world. We're all part of a great design, Mohinder, and you and I are linked. You don't realize it yet, but you will, someday.
See you around.
-S
He put the money and the letter back in the envelope and placed in on the counter. The letter unnerved him. He wanted to dismiss it as crazy nonsense, but a small part of him had a sneaking suspicion that he might be on to something.
He needed to plan his next move. He sat down again on the edge of the bed and held his head in his hands, but after several long moments, the only concrete goal he could think of was that he really, really wanted a sandwich. And maybe a nap. There was only so much one person could take in a day.
He found a phonebook and flipped through it until he found a deli that delivered. He then did some additional detective work to figure out where the bloody hell he was, and once he'd determined that, he called and placed an order. He wondered briefly if the state of the room would raise the delivery person's suspicions, but decided that he must be in a particularly shady neighborhood if no one had bothered to investigate what was going on when Sylar and he had been throwing each other around the room.
As he waited for his food, he flipped on the television. The five o'clock local news had just started; the lead story was about a freak car accident that had left a man decapitated. The man in question was the store owner who had shot him. He hastily turned off the TV.
Sylar was still murdering people. He wasn't going to stop, no matter what high-minded ideals he'd convinced himself he had. Could Mohinder really turn and run now that he knew that? Who else would be able to stop him?
And what of the government? He'd run away once from his friends, but it wasn't too late to rectify that mistake. If Sylar of all people could summon up the courage to stand up for what was right, then he certainly had no excuse.
He stretched out on the bed and shut his eyes. He'd eat and rest, and the first thing in the morning, he'd set out for Washington, D.C. He wasn't sure if he was destined to hurt Sylar or help him or some strange mixture of the two, but he wasn't going to run away anymore.
He was sick of beating himself up for the things he'd done wrong. He knew he'd have to face the consequences of the bad decisions he'd made in the past year. Maybe he deserved to be punished for them, but the only thing his self-flagellation had accomplished was making him feel even worse about himself.
In an odd sort of way, the whole incident had brought things into perspective. He'd been more himself in the past twenty-four hours than he had in months. He could wait for the universe to execute the sentence for his crimes.
But in the meantime, he might as well make himself useful.
[Poll #1533501]
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And I love that you show how difficult it'd be for someone with empathy and a conscience to really guard against him. You *feel* for him, and then that sneaks up on you. It's what's most terrifying about him.
SO. I'm glad you're writing again!
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And I love that you show how difficult it'd be for someone with empathy and a conscience to really guard against him. You *feel* for him, and then that sneaks up on you. It's what's most terrifying about him.
I can't tell you how thrilled I am to hear you say that: that's so well put and exactly what I was hoping for.
Thank you so much. ♥
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I like Sylar in this fic. He was crazy, but with a tenderness (that was also crazy) to him.
But enough about Sylar, let's talk about Mohinder! I loved his inner termoil. That's always the most interesting aspects of Mylar fics to me, Mohinder's struggle against what's right and what he's lusting after.
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Mohinder's inner turmoil is the most fun thing to write about, ever. That, and his ~sassiness.~ And just him, in general. *loves him*
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Ahem. Anyway... so glad to see this posted! Yay!
You know what's going to be funny? If people ask for a sequel to this. Oh yes, they might do! Have fun with that. >:)
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ME TOO! SO AWESOME.
AND AHHHHH, I'm sure I'll come up with an idea and it will haunt me. D: (See next post)
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(Anonymous) 2010-03-04 09:22 am (UTC)(link)You are one of the more superlative fanfic writers. Please go reward yourself with a nice tasty Hero.
(And afterwards? By all means... go have dinner.)
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Awwww, I have missed your writing! And this bit is exactly right. You write some of the most logical, realistic thought processes ever. I think that's what makes the characterizations so good. You're not just writing "Sylar" and "Mohinder", you're writing recognizable "people". It's beautiful.
"I would try to explain it, but seeing as you are utterly, barking mad, I'd be wasting my breath."
LOVE! Hah!
I really liked why/how they ended up doing it. It wasn't your usual "rip off clothes" scene, and I think the fact that there's a a practical reason why Mohinder was already naked helped to make it realistic that they would do it. The prolonged thought proceess at the beginning was also key in making it realistic. These kinds of FoeYay ship sex scenes only work if there's believable build-up to why said protagonist would suddenly have a change of heart and get with the villain, and I think the shock of just having DIED is a pretty good reason. I also really liked that Mohinder threw a hissy fit afterwards and that they didn't skip off together or anything. Sometimes a good clarifying afternoon is all one needs to feel romantically satisfied.
This was the first Heroes fic I've read in so many months, which tells you what a rare treat this was to see in my flist! I love getting unexpected conclusions to good WIPs. Now I can go about my day with a smile on my face.
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Thank you - that's an awesome compliment! The characters are always in such crazy situations that I try really hard to ground the story in realistic human reactions, so it means a lot to hear that that's coming across.
AND YAY, I'm glad that the sex worked! I love FoeYay so much (it's my absolute favorite relationship dynamic), but it's so hard to write OMG. Trying to get them to the point where it at least makes a little sense that maybe they might get into bed is always a challenge (and probably why I seem to be incapable of writing anything under 10,000 words, lol.)
I'm so glad I made you smile - your comments always put a smile on my face, too. :D
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(Anonymous) 2010-03-04 08:19 pm (UTC)(link)of last man on Earth.
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I really loved that they didn't end up together in the end, but that's it's left open-ended because OMG THEY'LL PROBABLY END UP TOGETHER AT SOME POINT. LOVE IT!
And I love that, of course $500 won't get Mohinder very far, lol. So it's pretty obvious that Sylar doesn't plan on him going much of anywhere far, in his own passive-aggressive way of thinking.no subject
The ending was tough! Probably what tripped me up more than anything else, because they really couldn't end up together, but I also wanted to be clear that things weren't over between them by a longshot. SO YAY, glad it worked for you.
Lol, Sylar's so passive-aggressive. And regular aggressive. Poor Mohinder.no subject
First of all, I absolutely love this. Love, love, love. I went back and re-read the first two parts, and after finishing everything, I found that there were major things that especially stood out to me in each part. The first one had awesome action and description in it, the dialogue in the second one was phenomenal, and in this last part, there was a combination of things that I loved, and I think you combined them all flawlessly in here: Mohinder's internal conflict, the smut - which, by the way, I thought was incredibly hot - the dialogue, the visual imagery, and the open-ended conclusion. And those are just things I could think of to summarize right now, LOL.
To me, the sex didn't seem like it was a focal point to the arc, and I really like that. I was wondering if this would turn out to end in them having sex, then deciding to team up again to take down the government, but the actual outcome was perfect, IMO. I love that they first had a physical release together, then had a more emotional/psychological one afterward, and that in the end, Mohinder still saw Sylar for who he was and he wasn't willing to go along with him.
You hit a lot of points that I flailed at because it was great to get acknowledgments, and then exploration, of what happened to them while they were apart from each other, especially Mohinder thinking about Maya, Mohinder's apprehension of going back to his mother and Molly, and Sylar's encounter with his dad. I thought it was brilliant how you acknowledged the parallel of Mohinder turning into his father (and whose fault that was), and Sylar's fear of turning into Samson, in addition to Sylar's explanation of his epiphany, but that it didn't mean he was feeling remorseful or wanting to completely change his ways. That's the kind of Sylar I'd wanted to see developing throughout the last two volumes, not him flipping back and forth between extremes.
Ooh, also, I LOVE that there wasn't anal penetration in the smut. I mean, that would have also been great, but I thought it was hot enough as it was, and especially that it was so charged and that Mohinder was reveling in just being alive and giving into the moment. Then he was back to being all snippy and GTFO with Sylar afterward, which was awesome. I love how you wrote both of them in here so, so much.
One last thing: that paragraph with Sylar walking toward Mohinder, all naked and dripping blood... OMG. It gave me chills! You do such an amazing job with the imagery, as with other moments like when Mohinder crushes the pellet and Sylar coming up behind Mohinder and putting his hand on his chest. Going back to the description of Sylar, again, I love - OMG, I'm being really repetitive with that word, but I don't know how else to put it! - that it really showed how Sylar is still dangerous and, as he explains later on, just because he's not necessarily interested in killing for abilities, doesn't mean he's all of a sudden a nice guy, or that he wants to be a hero.
Thank you so, SO much for this! I... you guessed it, loved it from beginning to end! It was an incredibly entertaining, enjoyable, and thought-provoking read. Mohinder was kickass, defiant, but still realistically and understandably conflicted, which is how I like him best, and you nailed both his and Sylar's voices - also, I thought it was fantastic that you set it up so that Sylar ended up goading Mohinder into going back and doing the right thing.
I really appreciate that you wrote all this for me, and I'm so happy that you're posting fic again!
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ X infinity! :D
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but the actual outcome was perfect, IMO.
I'm glad you liked it! The ending gave me a lot of trouble, lol - I toyed with several different ideas, ranging from reconciliation to Mohinder vowing to kill Sylar at the end, but neither of those felt right.
You hit a lot of points that I flailed at because it was great to get acknowledgments, and then exploration, of what happened to them while they were apart from each other
That was probably the most satisfying thing about writing this fic for me; I got to go in and - well, not fix what had happened in canon, exactly, but make some sense out of it. (And I thought for sure that in canon they were going to draw parallels between Sylar daddy issues and Mohinder's - alas. I guess that's what fic is for.)
That's the kind of Sylar I'd wanted to see developing throughout the last two volumes, not him flipping back and forth between extremes.
YES EXACTLY. It frustrates me so freaking much what they do with him - there are ways to develop his character without completely changing who he is. I really thought they were off to a good start in Volume 4, but they pissed it all away - but that's a rant for another day.
Ooh, also, I LOVE that there wasn't anal penetration in the smut.
Hee, you know, my beta said the exact same thing! The world needs more frottage.
that it really showed how Sylar is still dangerous and, as he explains later on, just because he's not necessarily interested in killing for abilities, doesn't mean he's all of a sudden a nice guy, or that he wants to be a hero.
So glad that came across! I really wanted to make sure he was still scary, even if he's changed his MO a little.
also, I thought it was fantastic that you set it up so that Sylar ended up goading Mohinder into going back and doing the right thing.
Glad it worked! :D I wanted to move Mohinder forward in this fic - have him gain something out of the encounter and end on a somewhat positive note, even though things didn't end so well between the two of them.
So yay! I am so thrilled you enjoyed it! :D
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the way you write Mohinder's side of the experience, the way he wavers between pissed off, to empathetic, to angsting over his own mortality was so pitch perfect, and your writing is so expressive and intelligent that you manage to send your readers on that journay with him.
Thank you! I'm really glad that you felt it flowed well - Mohinder's on such an emotional rollercoaster here that I worried that readers would get whiplash!
Your Sylar is closer to the image I have of him in my head than the way the show's writers have portrayed him has been (especially lately), so I want to thank you for giving us a character that walks the line between psychotic and almost-sweet and just the way we love him, even when canon-Sylar isn't exactly holding up his end of the bargain.
Happy to be of service! I find Sylar as a character so fascinating, which makes it all the more disappointing when they write him so poorly in the show. I'm glad other people enjoy my idea of Sylar, because I enjoy writing him!
I don't have the words to say how much I love the way you ended this arc. Leaving their connection open, without belittling Mohinder's principles or values; having him unsure of whether he plans to help Sylar or hurt him, I have so much respect for this, and for you for not taking the easy way out with the "they-have-sex-and-team-up-and-live-happily-ever-after" option (not that I have anything against those fics, hell, I've written a few, but it's nice to see someone change it up every now and then).
That's so good to hear! Writing the ending was the most challenging part of this fic - I don't have anything against happily-ever-after either, but it just didn't fit with this story. At the same time, ultra-depressing didn't fit either. I also wanted to make sure I was true to both Sylar AND Mohinder - I'm really pleased that it worked well for everyone.
Once again, thank you! Comments like this make my day. :D
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Anywhoo, I love how your Mohinder is impulsive and scrappy and how the attacking/escaping/shagging are all explained as logical reactions to the circumstances. And double-woo for logic-driven crazy sauce Sylar!
Thanks for writing this!
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Now that is high praise!
I'm so glad you enjoyed it - thank you!
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“Twice,” Sylar said. “We did it twice.”
“It was one night – it only counts as once,” Mohinder snapped.
hahaha! I almost expected Sylar to follow up with "Twice and a half if you count what we did in the car the next morning."
Anywho, I always enjoy how you write Sylar. very focused on his own goals and perspective, with moments that remind the reader, oh right, he's freakin' insane even if he's right about being able to see the Grand Plan.
Even though I wasn't a fan of Mohinder getting powers, at the same time it is an interesting turn for his character to take, dealing with how awry his actions got from his intentions, trying to reconcile it with his usually strong moral compass. And it fit well here that it made him reconsider Sylar's motivations (however foolish that turned out to be).
And the sex scene.... was much appreciated. XD And definitely wasn't out there considering how Mohinder was dealing with his mortality and failures and needed some comfort, despite the source.
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Thank you! Sylar is such a tough nut to crack, especially since the writers can't even make up their own damn minds about who Sylar is. I try really hard to portray him as someone who is massively self-contradictory without making myself come across as self-contradictory as a writer!
I also didn't like Mohinder getting powers, especially the way they did it - which is probably why I spent waaaay too much time going over it in my head and trying to make some damn sense of it.
And glad you liked the sex! That was tough - it's good to hear that it seemed somewhere in the realm of possibility for you.
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And your Mohinder was so real. There is nothing I can say that hasn't already been said in the above comments. Cheers!
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