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I
There is no argument.
No matching threat is returned.
Resignation swallowed, set aside for another time, Mohinder simply says, “If you let them go I’ll come with you.”
Molly’s face contorts with anguish as she cries out Mohinder’s name. Matt, panicked and concerned, holds her to him and silently asks Mohinder what he is doing only to be wordlessly told that this is the only way and to go to Peter immediately.
“Do we have a deal?” Mohinder asks.
Sylar could drag this out. He could draw out the pleasure of mind-games meant to break, feel the blood rush of inflicting cuts and bruises and permanent disfigurement; branded by him.
But he likes it so much more when Mohinder is actively playing the game with him and this latest move is a battle declaration.
It is enough for now.
II
Every single action is a move specifically designed with intent at the core and a desired outcome.
Mohinder walks stoically next to Sylar keeping his eyes directed forward and his head held high. He matches the pace and mindfully ignores the presence of the man he has ruefully agreed to accompany.
Sylar carries himself with a gleeful amusement that strikes a sharp contrast to Mohinder’s more serious tone. A simple but noticeable smile in tandem with a relaxed stroll of a walk is a garment of overconfidence he wears shamelessly.
To prove a point Sylar unnecessarily uses his abilities to pull Mohinder closer to his side then shove him away. Mohinder tries not to show his exasperation over his body being moved about without his say but Sylar can feel the rise in his body’s tension.
At a busy intersection they wait for the light to change and Sylar notices two teenage girls, a few feet away, eyeing Mohinder who is oblivious to the attention. Telekinesis keeping Mohinder’s feet glued to the pavement, Sylar takes the opportunity to slide his left arm around his shoulders to narrow the remaining space between them.
When Mohinder turns his face, ever so slightly, in Sylar’s direction out of confusion, Sylar leans his own face closer and gently nuzzles his nose across Mohinder’s cheek, adding a light graze of his lips along his jaw for added measure.
Mohinder tenses and Sylar tightens the grip before loosening it and pulling back. Immediately Sylar’s eyes go to the teenagers who grin knowingly, laughing together as they cross the street with a glance over their shoulders.
Sylar smirks and removes the left over hold on Mohinder, who rolls his eyes upon figuring out what has just happened. Control over his body again, Mohinder stalks forward and realizes that the most action he has gotten in the last year is with a serial killer who keeps inexplicably coming back for him.
III
“I don’t understand what it is I’m looking for,” Mohinder vents with frustration as he peers through the microscope in some makeshift apartment lab Sylar has made their new residence.
Stepping away from the table Mohinder stands up and sets his baffled eyes on Sylar who is hovering next to him.
Anxiousness peeking through annoyance, Sylar returns the stare and says, “You’ll know when you find it.”
“What the hell does that even mean?” Mohinder angrily questions and looks back to the microscope, placing his right hand on top with a contemplative face. Dropping the hand back to his side he looks at Sylar and, consciously keeping his tone in check, says, “I need more information. Is it a specific anomaly? Because every possible oddity I’ve pointed out, any potential strangeness I’ve red flagged, you’ve already dismissed, which means you know something you’re not telling me.”
As Mohinder turns away Sylar grabs him by the arm and forcibly pulls him near. Eye to eye Sylar threatens, “You don’t stop until I tell you to…or I’ll be forced to clarify the terms.”
Mohinder jerks his arm back and instinctively reaches up to rub his hand along the scarred irregular patches of skin on his left shoulder beneath his shirt.
“Because that’s worked so well before,” Mohinder counters defiantly.
For a week, ever since he put it there, Sylar has wanted to take that broken mess of skin away, to heal it and make it as good as new. But pride keeps the offer unspoken.
Fear of showing a weak resolution in front of Mohinder keeps his expression cold.
IV
Sylar eyes himself in the mirror and tenderly touches the stitches of the slowly healing cut above his left eye.
A sharp sting punctuates the initial touch but it subsides quickly. He has chosen to let this heal naturally. The scar is a token reminder, a keepsake of power and fallibility.
When he had removed the invisible hold that kept Mohinder working at the table, clicking through slides, he had watched with curiosity as Mohinder tightly gripped the edge of the thin steel tray with vile samples set upon it.
Hunched over, Mohinder had appeared dejected and lost.
But frustration breeds contempt and emotions begat blind spots.
With all his might Mohinder had swung the tray with both hands, sending samples to the floor in all directions. He had struck Sylar in the face, the surprise of which had knocked him off his feet.
Blood poured from the gash while Mohinder loomed over him with the tray still in both hands. A second later Mohinder was flung across the room into a wall and left unconscious on the floor as Sylar dragged himself to the bathroom for a towel to stop the bleeding.
Hours passed.
Mohinder picked himself up from the floor under Sylar’s burning eyes practically hidden beneath a bloodied towel pressed to the wound.
Without a word Mohinder had walked over to his lab area, opening and closing drawers while gathering supplies. Sylar watched Mohinder approach and gently place his free hand on his shoulder, encouraging Sylar to stand up and follow him to the bathroom.
Patiently Mohinder cleaned the wound and, after agreeing to Sylar’s insistent refusal to allow any anesthetic, he had taken his time to stitch it up. Sylar’s squinting eyes never left Mohinder’s face, swimming in a distraction from the pain that still made him grimace slightly.
Once finished, Mohinder sighed and finally returned the watchful gaze.
“You will never use your powers on me again,” Mohinder stated determinedly. “Is that understood?”
Sylar had thought about snapping his neck or breaking every other bone in his body. He imagined forcing Mohinder to drown in his own blood.
He speculated on saying, “Yes,” and leaving it at that.
Instead Sylar said, “You keep your end of the bargain and I’ll keep mine.”
New terms to an uneasy agreement were violently declared and now Sylar, peering at the wound inflicted one week earlier, listens to Mohinder at his workstation and grins.
His biggest worry in all of this is no longer a concern.
Mohinder is not broken. Mohinder will not break.
V
Trying not to drop the grocery bags Mohinder waits in the hallway while Sylar unlocks the apartment door.
The building is so nondescript from others that Mohinder can make out no distinguishable details; there is nothing of interest that can take his mind temporarily away from the magnitude of his current situation.
Pushing the door open Sylar bends down to pick up the grocery bags at his feet and Mohinder looks over him into the apartment.
In the blink of an eye the empty space suddenly reveals a surprised looking Japanese man whom Mohinder recalls as being from Kirby Plaza. Their astonished eyes greet each other—
Hiro Nakamura, Mohinder thinks, remembering a conversation he had had with Matt.
Recognition brings a wide grin to Hiro’s face and Mohinder opens his mouth to speak when he remembers Sylar. With contained panic he looks down as Sylar stands up. Partly turned towards Mohinder, Sylar notices his bewildered expression.
“Mohinder?”
“Uh—,”
Sylar turns to face the apartment, immediately suspicious of Mohinder’s speechlessness. In the same moment Mohinder worriedly looks beyond Sylar to see—
An empty apartment.
Cautious steps carry Sylar across the threshold with Mohinder tentatively behind him. Sylar comes to a standstill and lets his eyes look about briefly before resting on Mohinder who is watching him closely.
“What is it?” Sylar asks.
Looking into Sylar’s eyes Mohinder is overwhelmed with relief and regret.
They found me.
“We forgot the orange juice,” Mohinder says and steps by Sylar, into the kitchen.
VI
Days turn into weeks and Mohinder begins to think it was all a figment of his imagination.
Against expectations Sylar stays a notable distance from Mohinder.
An uncertainty hangs in the air and they go through the motions like zombies until daily life starts to feel normal, or as close to it, again.
For hours on end Sylar goes out, returning with more blood samples for Mohinder to study but offers no guidance or explanation. It is not part of the plan but the companionship found of sharing a life plagues Sylar with second guesses. Leaving the apartment is no longer reserved for work reasons; it also allows him to think.
He watches—
Mohinder comes to experience a new found intrigue in the different oddities he discovers from sample to sample, his thoughts no longer dictated by what Sylar inexplicably expects him to find.
He awakens—
VII
Mohinder watches the waitress walk away with their dirtied breakfast dishes and pulls his half-full cup of tea closer. Running his fingers along the lip of the cup he carefully mulls over something that has been on his mind.
“Are you ever going to tell me what this is all about?” Mohinder asks thoughtfully, not looking up.
A few wordless seconds pass prompting Mohinder to look across the table at Sylar who is watching him with a contemplative hesitation.
“Restless are we?” Sylar jokes but the humoured inflection is restrained and no telling smile accompanies it. “You’re making strides in your research—,”
“I’m not so naïve as to believe that you’ve set this elaborate arrangement into motion—keeping me—for the benefit of my work.”
Sylar says nothing and Mohinder continues, “You’re keeping me distracted, biding time until…”
Mohinder looks down at the teacup again and Sylar can guess the barrage of thoughts playing out in his silence.
“Don’t worry yourself about Molly,” Sylar wills himself to quell what he knows is Mohinder’s biggest worry.
Sylar does not tell the truth out of kindness, rather he knows that with Molly’s well being at the back of his mind Mohinder will revert to outlandish defiance and introspective brooding, and Sylar has come to enjoy the seeming normalcy of what the past weeks have wrought.
Letting out a concerned breath he did not know he was hiding Mohinder looks into Sylar’s eyes and sees the honesty behind them. At the beginning of this topsy-turvy turn of his world (months now, he guesses) he would have insisted Sylar was no more than a liar. It is still true but Mohinder has learned through observation, watching and listening, how to discern the different sides to Sylar.
In this moment his truthfulness is apparent, the relief of which lessens the burden on Mohinder’s shoulders. Still, there is the worry of the question that has still not been answered.
“But you’re keeping me busy, killing time—,”
“Is there a problem with your research?”
Sylar’s question comes out more argumentative than he means it. He cannot figure out why Mohinder should now be so curious about motives, especially when his work seems to have taken on new life.
“Not at all,” Mohinder says surprisingly fast as he feels the need to dispel the notion that he is not appreciative of the strides he has been able to make.
A tense silence settles about them. Mohinder holds back the other question that has been gnawing at him.
Sylar sighs in frustration.
VIII
Mohinder hops up to sit on the kitchen counter while Sylar washes their dinner dishes.
“Where do you get the blood samples from?” Mohinder asks.
Sylar, not taking his eyes away from the task at hand, slows down a moment and turns the soapy plate under the hot stream of water, before answering, “I should think that would be fairly obvious.”
Expecting that answer, Mohinder shakes his head and states, “No. I know you’re not killing these people—,”
Sylar brings his eyes to Mohinder with a quizzical expression at the words.
“If you were,” Mohinder presses, “You’d be showing off your new powers to me, trying to impress. Someone is giving these to you. Why? And who would work with you? Or is the better question, who would you work with?”
Sylar carefully places the cleaned plate on the dish rack and turns off the tap. Looking to Mohinder he says, “It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with right now.”
“I beg to differ,” Mohinder scoffs. “For all the work I’ve been able to do….it’s not worth if it innocent people are dying for it.”
“There’s nothing innocent about them,” Sylar argues pointedly, drying his hands on a dishtowel and walking away from Mohinder towards the bathroom.
Pushing off the counter Mohinder stalks behind him. “And who are you to decide?”
At the bathroom door Sylar turns around to meet Mohinder’s insistent gaze.
“Don’t push this Mohinder. You know what you need to.”
“S—,” Mohinder starts to say as Sylar steps back and closes the door in his face.
IX
Standing in line to place his coffee order Mohinder’s eyes take in the bustling café filled with chattering conversations and the subtle tones of music over the radio.
Mohinder smiles to himself at how unassuming a day it feels to be. Everything seems to be in the right place and he wonders when accepting this living arrangement had become something that no longer bothered him to the extent that it once did.
How fast the human mind can—
Like that he is jolted back to reality. Outside the window, across the street, Sylar is engaged in what looks to be a very intense conversation with a man Mohinder is unsure if he has seen before. Only a vague suggestion of familiarity is there but not enough to say definitively.
The man’s coiffed blonde hair, open face and well-tailored beige suit run opposite to Sylar’s messy dark hair, almost sinister expression of clenched jaw and furrowed brow, and black three-quarter length jacket over jeans.
The blonde man looks annoyed and Sylar becomes increasingly agitated. Eventually Sylar turns his back on the man and begins to jaywalk across the busy street. Mohinder watches the blonde man shake his head and walk away.
Quickly Mohinder turns his attention back to the coffee line and soon he feels Sylar next to him.
“Still waiting to order?” Sylar asks, showing absolutely no indication that anything out of the ordinary has happened.
“Almost there,” Mohinder replies, a slew of questions demanding answers zaps through his brain but he does not want to reveal what he has seen just yet.
Sylar looks about the busy café. “How about I get us a table?” he suggests.
“Yes, why don’t you do that,” Mohinder agrees and watches suspiciously as Sylar walks away.
X
The rising tide of voices crashes through Mohinder’s sleep and he trudges from his bed to the living room.
The sight of Sylar speaking with the man from outside the café halts Mohinder’s movement abruptly before he moves closer.
“I already agreed to the extra week. It’s time,” Mohinder hears the blonde man say with an English accent.
“And I’m saying it doesn’t have to be now,” Sylar states commandingly.
“That wasn’t the agreement,” the man replies.
“Screw the agreement!” Sylar retorts.
“Well that’s not very sporting of you,” the man tones as if unimpressed by Sylar’s behaviour. “When I—,”
“Sylar? What’s going on?”
Sylar turns his face in Mohinder’s direction and his angry expression momentarily falters.
“Who are you?” Mohinder asks the unknown man.
The stranger eyes him briefly and then turns his attention back to Sylar. “It’s time to go. Now.”
Sylar breaks his longing gaze from Mohinder to address the stranger. “Things have changed—,”
“Go where?”
The man’s eyes go back to Mohinder at the interruption and he takes a few steps towards him.
“We have some business to take care of,” he informs Mohinder. “You will be going back home.”
Blindsided confusion overtakes Mohinder’s mind. “Home—and by that you mean…?”
“I believe her name is Molly? And your flatmate, Matt.”
Not knowing what to think Mohinder tries to focus on the only coherent thought that slams through his mind. “They’re okay,” he says with unmistakable relief in his voice.
“Of course,” the man answers and looks at Sylar. “That was part of the agreement, wasn’t it?”. Looking back at Mohinder he adds, “Although Matt might be a little worse for wear,” with an exaggerated expression of ‘oops.’
Mohinder’s uncertain jubilation is tempered by his growing dismay with Sylar.
“What the hell was all of this?” Mohinder demands, stepping closer. “Why were you plying me with endless research? What are you using it for?”
“Oh no, not quite,” the man says with a small amused laugh, ignoring that the question is directed at Sylar and not him. “The research you did—and it’s quite fantastic actually—is all yours.”
Mohinder crinkles his brow in confusion and closes his eyes. Rubbing his left hand along the side of his head he attempts to organize the chaotic thoughts that are starting to give him a headache. Opening his eyes he settles them on Sylar and closes the gap between them.
“So you’ve been placating me by allowing me to continue beneficial work so that you could…what?” Mohinder asks with a trace plea for understanding.
Sylar’s dark eyes, a menacing extension of his inward irritation, hold firm on Mohinder and he hesitantly says, “It’s complicated.”
“So uncomplicate it,” Mohinder states. “Not that it really matters. I’ll just take my research—,”
“Not exactly.”
Mohinder focuses surprised eyes on the stranger. “Excuse me?”
The man walks towards him, his deep blue eyes piercing through Mohinder. “Even though it’s your work we can’t very well let you leave with it. It’s somewhat…evidentiary…I’m sure you understand.”
Slowly the realization of what leaving means hits Mohinder. Stepping back he can feel Sylar’s eyes on him while he walks to his lab table, filled with equipment and note-filled folders. He has accomplished so much in the last few months that could help so many and to lose it now, to leave it in the hands of these men, seems unconscionable.
“What if I stayed?” he asks quietly, turning around. The first thing he notices is Sylar’s expression of surprise.
“Molly remains safe—safer than if I was with her—and I continue this work…somehow getting the information to those who could use it without drawing attention back to you—either of you,” Mohinder explains provisionally, laying his hand on top of the microscope.
“I don’t think that will work,” the man says after a reflective pause.
“He’s asking to stay,” Sylar says to the man with a mixture of resolve and awe over Mohinder’s rationalization to not go even when the door—his freedom—is being shown to him.
“For the sake of his research and his family,” the man clarifies with curious eyes steady on Mohinder before turning them to Sylar. “Not you. It’s not good enough.”
“Now you’re changing the terms,” Sylar argue, combatively standing in opposition to the man.
“I’m not allowing any loopholes,” the man tosses back as he refuses to back down.
Sylar breathes deeply as he tries to stay calm while everything continues to unravel.
“You’ve seen his work,” Sylar says persistently. “He would be useful to our side.”
“That’s not why you’re doing this,” the man counters knowingly.
Sylar looks over to Mohinder who is watching them with questioning eyes. He knows that Mohinder is not asking to stay for him, but Sylar is certain that with more time that day may still come. In their months together it is not only Mohinder’s work that has seen progress but their own relationship, to the point where sharing this daily life together no longer feels forced or strained.
“He stays,” Sylar states firmly.
A slight roll of his eyes and the man sidesteps Sylar and heads towards Mohinder.
“Dr. Suresh,” he says calmly, another smile on his face on his face. “There is no reason for us to hurt the child, so there’s no need for you to barter. However…the work you’ve done and the work I know you’re capable of would be very helpful if you did come with us. So if the continued research is important enough for you to walk away from your other life…”
Molly’s face flashes in Mohinder’s mind as he acknowledges what he would be willing to give up. The price of not seeing her again indefinitely is high, but if it means she gets the life she deserves while he can keep on doing his best to help those who need it, then maybe it is a decision worth considering.
In addition, not only could he keep an eye on Sylar but there is now a comfort factor he feels with him. Mohinder accepts he is not as concerned about what Sylar might do as he once had to be. There is an understanding brokered between them that has reset their path.
Lost in a deepening thought process Mohinder is startled when a person abruptly appears right next to him.
“Mohinder?”
“Peter?”
The naturally wide grin that spreads on Mohinder’s face upon seeing Peter suddenly in front of his eyes flickers an irritation in Sylar’s eyes.
“Petrelli,” Sylar fumes and takes a step towards them.
“Sorry it took so long to find you again after Hiro did,” Peter tells Mohinder who casts a reactionary look of apprehension over to Sylar at the information he had kept to himself.
Sylar’s confusion gives way to an unsurprised smirk.
“Peter, so nice to see you again my friend,” the blonde man says with mocking condescension.
Peter looks over and his eyes grow wide in shock. Looking between the man and Sylar, Peter incredulously says, “Adam?!”
Mohinder reels from the rug being pulled out from under him. “Monroe?” he asks as he remembers Bob’s files on the immortal.
In the same moment Mohinder looks at Sylar in shock and disbelief over what was held from him and that Sylar is working with someone capable of matched horrors.
Peter seems less thrown by the discovery but still disappointed at the realized fact. “I’m not surprised…”
Peter places a hand on Mohinder’s shoulder. Quickly reminded of the research Mohinder says, “Wait.”
“Sorry. We have to go. We’ll do this another time,” Peter tells Adam and Sylar.
“Stop them,” Adam orders and Sylar raises his hand—
Peter firmly grasps Mohinder’s shoulder—
Sylar and Mohinder’s eyes clasp onto each other and for a second they only see each other.