Fic: Giving Himself Hope (part 1 of 3)
Title: Giving Himself Hope (part 1 of 3)
Author:
squills
Many Thanks To:
aelora , for generously agreeing to beta this for me
Rating: PG (hints of violence and Mylar, a dash of swearing)
Summary: After surviving the events of Five Years Gone, Mohinder finds a way to make one final attempt at changing the past to prevent this future from happening. But it’s a constant struggle to keep from making any mistakes, especially when his subtly-changing attitude towards Sylar starts to distract him.
Spoilers/Warnings: Everything through Five Years Gone. Also, a bit of Moyawnder voiceover crept into this, though I tried to shoo it away.
Words: About 2,980
Notes: This is pretty much smut-free. Not that I’m against smut-I just don’t have any to offer this time around. There’s a fair amount of angst though, and a lovely serving of Gabriel Gray. This was originally posted on my other lj on 14-Jul-2007, and you can read the original comments there though it's a friends-only post.
* * * * * * *
Sometimes he wonders who he is. And who he's going to be.
* * * * * * *
"I wouldn't try to move," Mohinder said quietly. "Those bullets did a lot of damage. You've lost a lot of blood. I patched you up as best I could, but it's a miracle you've made it this far."
The man's eyes flicked around the room, and then shut, squeezed tight.
"You'll find that won't work, either," Mohinder said.
The man's eyes stayed closed. "Should have known...you would have resources..."
"Actually, it's very simple. Curare." Mohinder smiled without mirth. "I've used it before, with some success." And hopefully learned from my mistakes.
As he leaned over the bed, the man involuntarily flinched away and then groaned in pain. "I don't think you're a terrorist," Mohinder whispered. "Not anymore. I think you're the only person who can help me fix what's gone wrong."
* * * * * * *
"I once read a theory that time is like a piece of wallpaper-if you push a bubble down in one place, it pops up in another," Mohinder said. "I think maybe that was why what you were trying to do failed. We can't get rid of the bubble."
"Then what do you suggest?"
"What if we just tried to shift it over a little? Into a place where it could be less ugly?"
* * * * * * *
"Are you ready?"
He stared at the glass of water he wasn't sipping and wished again for chai. No, I'm not ready. How could I be?
They'd made a number of trips in the week they'd been in here, whenever Hiro seemed strong enough and Mohinder thought it was safe to disappear from the guards' prying eyes for a few seconds. He'd filled in a lot of gaps in what he knew about his father's research, and in what he knew about his father. It hadn't been pleasant. Peering from behind a door, he'd watched his father visibly force himself to turn a blind eye to one warning sign after another, for the sake of his theory, as Mohinder's heart broke with despair.
You turned a blind eye too, idiot. Twice. What makes you think you can see the warnings this time?
You have to. Someone has to repair the evil that your father brought into the world, and that you helped to flourish.
Stop avoiding this and get it over with.
They'd both thought long and hard about what they'd seen, and what Mohinder had passed on to Hiro about his father's life, and both came to the conclusion that Chandra Suresh could never be persuaded to stop or to change what he was doing. A demonstration of Hiro's power would simply make his father more determined to push on. Keeping his father prisoner in another time or place seemed even worse than what he was contemplating, and Hiro had agreed with his initial hypothesis that they should make as few changes to the timeline as possible.
Besides, even if they could have somehow put a stop to the path his father was taking, that wouldn't have done anything about the time bomb in Brooklyn that might one day go off even without his father's interference.
"Maybe there is another way. Maybe with some more time-"
Mohinder finally found his voice. "No. I had a visit from the security chief today. I've been told that you'll be taken away for a quick trial tomorrow, regardless of whether or not I say you're strong enough to survive the trip to the gallows. The country is on the verge of anarchy, and they need a visible scapegoat to hand to the people to try to keep things under control. For everyone to find out that their beloved president was secretly one of you, and now is mysteriously vanished? Terrorist attacks, fear, chaos, and Sylar not nearly as dead as we'd told everyone..." Oh, gods. When it had suddenly grown quiet and he'd worked up enough courage to open that door, to see Sylar lying there...even dead, he found the man as strangely fascinating as he was repellent. And once the news came in from New York, it hadn't taken Mohinder long to figure out who'd really ordered him to commit genocide.
"I have to do something. I can't just sit back and accept this as destiny." Sylar...all those times you were alone with the man, looking into his eyes, agreeing with his words and following his directives...
The road to destruction led backwards to Sylar.
If it weren't for his father’s actions, there would have been no Sylar.
At what point did turning a blind eye mean that the blood had splashed onto their hands, too?
He knew.
* * * * * * *
"I fear you are right. Trying to end Sylar did not work," Hiro had said quietly. "If it had, we would no longer be sitting here now."
That was something Mohinder preferred not to think about. If the future was really that malleable, how had that artist been able to keep seeing the same vivid visions of it? What if they changed something and diverted themselves into a future even worse than the one they'd already survived? If he changed the past that led him on this trajectory, he never would have reached this future, so he never would have gone back to the past to change it-
Stop it. That way lies madness.
Sylar couldn't be stopped. Couldn't. Not by them. Peter Petrelli had finally managed it, but at the price of obliteration.
"What if he never was started?" Hiro had said, just as those words flitted through Mohinder's mind.
He'd thought of the obvious way of preventing Sylar's appearance, but kept coming back to that one simple truth.
If it weren't for your father, there would be no Sylar.
HE KNEW.
Mohinder no longer thought that was a lie.
Who is more to blame? The vicious dog that bites? Or the man who lets the animal into its victim's house?
What if you could go back and stop the blow that broke the animal's mind from hitting home?
His father would refuse to believe his research could lead to such horror, and never be able to stop himself from doing whatever was necessary to advance his life's work.
Mohinder, who'd survived the horror, knew that he could. He knew what he had to do.
Let the evil rest on my soul, and not my father's.
He sat down the water glass. "I'm ready," he said.
* * * * * * *
How long before any changes became so magnified that you were not yourself anymore? How would you even know?
* * * * * * *
He knew this door well, though he wished he'd never had to see it.
He knocked politely anyway.
"Mohinder? What...what are you doing here?" His father's face-five years since he'd seen it. It reminded him of Shanti, suddenly, oddly.
He gently pushed his way through the door and eased it closed behind him. "Father. I need to speak with you. About what you're doing. About Patient Zero."
He'd anticipated anger and saw it flash across his father's face, but pride, and the excitement of discovery, briefly won out. "I've made amazing progress. I can find them, Mohinder, just as I'd predicted. I am finding them. There's one in particular-"
"I know, father," Mohinder interrupted. "I know what you can do. And what you're going to do. I know how it ends. You would not be proud. It is not what you were hoping to do." He slid his hand into his coat pocket, fingered the metal there.
The last look that his father gave him was quizzical.
* * * * * * *
"Can I help you?"
He tried to relax. He'd spied on Sylar-no, Gabriel, Gabriel, remember that-in his father's apartment, but being the focus of the man's attention caused Mohinder to freeze for a moment, in irrational fright. Those eyes...
By the time he'd recovered, they had moved on.
"I can fix it."
Hoping his hands weren't shaking, he slipped off his watch, handed it to the man, looked down at the dark head below him, at the fingers lightly and deftly manipulating the tiny gears. Is this what he looked like when he knelt over-
Stop it. It's your job to make sure he never comes to that.
How empty must your life be when becoming a monster gives it a sense of fulfillment?
For the first time, he felt a twinge of pity.
The eyes were on him again, narrowed this time. "You didn't come here for the watch." A statement, not a question.
How could my father have overlooked the clues?
"My name is Mohinder Suresh," he said. They'd decided partial honesty was the best policy. "I'm working with my father on a theory about human evolution, and I-we-think you are a part of it."
When Gabriel walked towards him, hand outstretched for the book, for an instant he was back in his father's apartment, gun in his hand instead, another man who resembled this one advancing murderously on him.
Shit. Get ahold of yourself!
He forced himself to smile, to walk as normally as possible to the door. When he glanced back, Sylar-Gabriel-was staring after him with an expression he couldn't decipher.
He had to get away from those eyes.
At the end of the hallway, he stopped and gave in to the shakes. No, he wasn't ready for this.
Too late now. You've got no choice.
* * * * * * *
It got easier, like he'd hoped. He hadn't expected it would be because his memories became easier to live with. Being with Gabriel was like talking to Zane again-a little shyer, but just as eager to please. Maybe he hadn't just been an idiot suckered by a predator's skillful acting. Maybe there had been something salvageable inside Sylar all along.
By their third session, looking into Gabriel's eyes was not unpleasant.
By their fifth session, for which the always-punctual Gabriel was ten minutes early, Mohinder smiled almost happily when he heard the now-familiar knock, and shoved aside what he was reading without a second thought.
Before the initial round of tests, he'd rehearsed a lot of encouraging words for when he got the expected null results, but his own inborn curiosity took over and made his refusal to give up genuine. He might sometimes wonder what was behind the inscrutable looks on Gabriel's face, but this was one thing that he was certain was inside the man's head. He knew his father's research inside and out, had tested so many others during the five years he'd spent furthering that research, and yet...none of his instruments registered anything with Gabriel. There had to be a way to get ahold of it. Had to!
You have to find a way to keep him from being irreparably damaged.
"So where is your father right now, anyway?" Gabriel asked, as Mohinder stared at the graphs on his screen, lost in thought. "You're always saying that this is his theory, but I've only ever seen his photograph."
Mohinder chuckled uneasily. "He's...traveling," he replied. Not technically a lie. "He tends to keep things to himself." Learned that quite painfully, didn't you? "He, he has a lot of irons in the fire, so to speak, different avenues that all need to be pursued." He looked over and saw the slight tightening of the other man's eyes. Oh, shit. Remember-he's always most important. ALWAYS. "When he calls, he generally just wants updates on any progress we've made. You're...you're Patient Zero. If I can't make this work in you, I won't be able to make it work in anyone. Though, of course, that may be an indication of my own inadequacy as an investigator."
Gabriel tilted his head down. "What if it's me?" he said in a low tone. "What if your father was wrong, if I don't have any abilities?"
Mohinder half-shook his head. "There's every indication that you do, every predicted genetic marker. It's...it's just a matter of figuring out how to quantify it, and where to look. Don't worry-I'm not giving up on you. You're not getting away from me that easily."
Gabriel glanced up at him, with another of those odd looks that he couldn't quite figure out. Something about it made Mohinder's stomach tighten, though. His face seemed placid enough, but something about his eyes seemed to be pleading. Desperate. Like he could be broken with a single word.
Do something. Something, something, something...
He reached over and gently peeled one of the electrodes from Gabriel's forehead. Gabriel sighed and started to yank one off himself. Without thinking, Mohinder batted the pale hand away, startling them both. He cleared his throat and continued removing them himself, while those dark eyes bored into him.
"You know, I was going to have lunch after we were done here. Just leftover takeout-driving a cab doesn't pay a lot. There's enough to last me three days, so...you're welcome to join me. If you'd like." Great. That didn't sound weird AT ALL.
Gabriel hesitated, then smiled at him. Suddenly shy and soft. "Who cares if the shop stays closed another hour?"
* * * * * * *
Can anything really ever be changed? Or is every action of our lives predestined, measured out and anticipated long before our births? Does the future heal itself, no matter how we try to force events down a certain path?
* * * * * * *
As they ate, Mohinder found himself telling stories of his childhood. Gabriel didn't say much but listened intently-he had to remind himself that the dust of India probably seemed exotic to a white boy from Queens. He wandered on to other topics, and suddenly found himself talking of Mira. Why? He hadn't thought of her in years. He'd rarely had enough time to think of women, let alone be with them, he'd been so busy with Nathan's-
More recent memories snapped him out of his amiable mood immediately. He looked harder at the man on the other side of the table. He may be sitting there chatting with you like an old pal, but don't ever forget what he's capable of becoming. EVER.
Trying to recover, he blurted, "So what about you? Surely you've had a few lost loves, too." And immediately regretted it.
Gabriel's mouth twisted in what he hoped was a smirk. "A couple, I suppose," he said. "You might not believe this, but watchmakers aren't exactly high on most women's lists of desirable mates." He sat down his fork.
On impulse: "Gabriel...why do you repair watches?"
"My father didn't exactly give me a choice."
Mohinder saw more ugliness creep into the man's expression, and jumped in in a rush. "Don't you ever wonder...did you ever have a choice? Are some things destined and unavoidable? I mean, look...look at what you did when I first walked in your door. Do you think it's normal to diagnose mechanical problems in a watch from six feet away, without even touching it? Haven't you ever wondered why you're so good at this, why you can see what makes things, well, tick? Think about it, hard. How do you do that? How do you see it, how things work, what to rearrange and adjust? Tell me that, and I'll know where to look inside your head for the proof of what you can do." Gabriel looked down again, his expression lost in shadows.
Mohinder rubbed his neck. Where the hell are you headed with this, anyway? He excused himself to the bathroom and took his time. You've got to find a way to save him.
At what point did this stop being about saving other people, and start to be about saving him?
When he came back out, Gabriel was standing, hands in coat pockets. "I should go," he said. "I've taken up half of your day already, and I really should get back to the shop."
"Would you be willing to come back in a few days? Maybe Saturday? I'd like to review the results again, maybe make a few adjustments to my instruments, and try again."
The taller man smiled and again Mohinder's stomach tightened, in fear this time. He knew that smile. It was Sylar's. Then a hand touched his shoulder and for a strange second, he was standing outside a motel room in Montana.
You wanted to say something to me then. I could tell. You do now, even though you're not really the same person. What is it?
Gabriel let his fingers graze down Mohinder's upper arm as his hand dropped, and Mohinder fought down a thrill. Why? He's-
"Don't worry, Mohinder," he said. "I won't let you down. I'll see you soon." And he was gone.
* * * * * * *
Hours later, washing up after a late dinner, Mohinder froze.
The folders. The folders on the edge of the desk.
He'd stacked them hurriedly when the knock came on the door, thinking to himself that he should have anticipated Gabriel's early arrival. He'd been considering contacting a few other people on the list, wondering if experimenting with someone else might help him figure out what he was missing in Gabriel's brain. When he'd heard Gabriel at the door, he'd smiled and immediately forgotten about them.
The folders were now in an orderly, even pile, lined up precisely with the corner of the desk.
Oh, gods...how could you have overlooked that?
He snatched up the one on top. Of course he'd pulled that one. Of course he'd lingered over it. Opening it and reading the information inside had been almost like greeting an old friend.
PETRELLI, PETER.
He remembered Sylar's smile.
No...oh, no...
I won't let you down.
…to be continued…
You can read part 2 here.