Fic: Need (part 2 of 2)
Title: Need (part 2 of 2)
Rating: PG-13
Words: 3560
Characters: Mohinder, Sylar, Peter
Warnings: Mild violence and Mylar
Spoilers: Through 2.07
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not writing this for profit.
A/N: Thanks to
aelora for continuing to give great advice. And also,
nothingtosay , I hope you like this part too.
Summary: In a near-future AU, the virus has been stopped, but Peter's got a bigger problem. And the only person Mohinder can get help from is also the last person he wants to get help from.
Part 1 is here
* * * * * * *
Peter held it together for a surprisingly long time before losing control. And of course, it was a visit from his brother that triggered it.
Mohinder had taken to having lunch with them. Peter had claimed that he hated both eating alone, and eating alone with Sylar. He’d practically begged Mohinder to come by at noon each day. Mohinder wasn’t sure how his presence improved things, as Peter generally sat quietly as he and Sylar made small talk, and even that would falter if Sylar held his eyes for too long. But this day, Nathan had come by earlier than usual to visit, and the brothers had gone to the other side of the room to talk. Sylar’s attention kept flickering to them as he sat opposite Mohinder, picking at his food. “Do you want to talk about it?” he suddenly asked.
Mohinder jumped. “About what?”
“About whatever’s bothering you.”
Mohinder fidgeted and looked away. He felt his cheeks flush. Hell, no, I don’t want to talk about it. He cast about for something to say and finally blurted, “Do you ever wish for a quiet, normal life? Somewhere far away from all of this?” Then he chuckled. “Look who I’m asking.” Sylar stared at him-but not unkindly, he thought.
“You talked to Molly last night, didn’t you?”
Surprised, Mohinder nodded. That hadn’t been what he was thinking about.
“You miss her. You wish you had her back.”
“She’s better off where she is now,” Mohinder said. “She needs a real home, stability. Not a life like this, whatever this is.”
Sylar continued to watch him, and for a moment Mohinder felt oddly naked, like he was being pulled apart and measured, all his secrets laid out for the world to see. Finally Sylar said softly, “You were meant for something bigger than that, Mohinder. Bigger than teaching bored students in a half-empty lecture hall, or a life of suburban fatherhood. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you were destined for all of this?”
Before Mohinder could retort, Peter’s voice raised loud enough that even Mohinder could hear it. “I don’t care! Wherever Claire is, she’s safer there! You can’t-”
Nathan’s reply was unintelligible. Mohinder turned to look at them.
“No!” Peter growled back. “You can’t-”
Mohinder felt a tearing pain deep inside him that he’d only felt once before, when Maya and Peter had both overloaded, and as he looked, the blackness appeared on Peter’s face. He gasped, doubled over, but Sylar was already in motion, without hesitation, as if this was something they’d done many times before. Mohinder could barely see as Sylar knelt by Peter’s side and took the other man’s hands in his own.
“Peter. Peter, look at me.”
Peter turned his head, and Mohinder dimly saw Sylar shudder. Long seconds of agony ticked by before his own eyesight cleared and he realized Peter’s face was normal again. He stared at Peter and Sylar as they looked at each other with something like awe. They sat, unmoving, until Nathan tugged at Peter’s arm and said roughly, “Pete, I think you should go lie down.”
Sylar watched Peter leave, eyes wide, and Peter looked back over his shoulder as he left the room.
Mohinder wanted to ask him, what passed between the two of you? But something told him the only answer he would get would be, you could never understand it.
* * * * * * *
“How do you do…it?” Peter asked curiously. “You know. Cutting.”
On the other side of the lab, bent over his computer, Mohinder froze. As far as he knew, no one ever spoke to Sylar about his life before this big experiment, other than the occasional hint that he should consider himself lucky to be allowed to live. And now Peter was bluntly requesting details of his murder techniques.
“Are you volunteering for a demonstration?” Sylar taunted him.
Peter flushed. “I just don’t understand how you do it,” he said. “I mean, I’ve tried to do it with telekinesis. And I can’t. Not tried it on people, I mean…” He flushed deeper.
Sylar laughed. He pulled the rubber tubing off a nearby Bunsen burner and laid it on a table. “Watch. And not with your eyes.” He held a finger out and sliced the tubing neatly in half.
Peter slowly shook his head, still puzzled.
“I don’t understand how your mind works,” Sylar said. He threaded his arm through Peter’s, clasped their hands together, pulled Peter up against his side. “If you can’t see it…trying feeling it.” He reached out his finger again, and this time, slowly split the tube down the middle. As he finished, Peter suddenly jerked.
“Do you see it now?”
“Yeah,” Peter grinned. “That’s really…wow.”
“Try it.”
Mohinder watched unnoticed, from the other side of the room, as Peter duplicated the trick to the encouraging sound of Sylar’s laughter. Their arms were still entwined.
* * * * * * *
“My point is, I’m not sure why we need him any more,” Nathan said testily.
“Peter may have absorbed the complementary ability from Sylar, but that doesn’t mean he can use both of them at the same time,” Mohinder said. “It comes out because he loses control. He can’t switch to something else. That’s what ‘losing control’ means.”
“Maybe we should be concentrating on training him to control himself.”
“What are you getting at?”
“You’ve been working on this for weeks, and don’t seem to be getting anywhere. Maybe we need to try a different tactic.”
Mohinder frowned. “I’m making progress slowly. Scientific progress can’t be scheduled. Besides, this is something that could potentially benefit many people besides the two of them.”
“Besides Peter.”
Mohinder set his jaw. “Sylar has been nothing but cooperative. He could have let us all die. He could have left at any time - we both know that.”
Nathan leaned forward. “And why doesn’t he? What’s he after?”
“Maybe he’s tired of running. Have you ever considered that?”
“Or maybe he just hasn’t gotten whatever it is he wants yet.”
* * * * * * *
Mohinder realized that lunches had somehow changed. He was the one who sat silently, while Peter and Sylar talked, often animatedly. Sometimes it was about something they had read-Peter surprisingly was partial to poetry, but he would smile and listen to Sylar’s descriptions of the academic journals he devoured-and sometimes about the latest news. Sometimes it was even about their abilities-one day Peter actually teased Sylar, demanding to know when he would demonstrate freezing so that Peter could add it to his repertoire-and Sylar had smiled back at him, eyes shining.
The look on his face reminded Mohinder of days spent with “Zane”, of reactions he’d thought had all been lies, but now he wasn’t so sure. Only this time it was directed, not at him, but at Peter.
Mohinder found excuses to stay in his lab after that.
* * * * * * *
Mohinder groggily locked the door behind him after another late night. He slowly walked down the corridor and turned a corner, and was startled by a noise. He whirled to see Sylar leaving Peter’s room, a book tucked under his arm.
“What are you doing still awake?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Mohinder said tightly.
Sylar smiled at him. “All I have to do tomorrow is have a few needles stuck in me. It doesn’t require a lot of concentration,” he answered. Then his expression went serious as he studied Mohinder’s face. “You’re the one with the circles under your eyes that seem a little darker every time I look at you-not that I get to look at you much lately. You’re working yourself to death, Mohinder.”
“I’m fine,” Mohinder said through clenched teeth.
Sylar suddenly frowned and touched fingers to Mohinder’s chest. “You’re upset.” He leaned closer. “What is it?”
Mohinder slapped his hand away. “Nothing!”
Sylar’s eyes were hurt, then indignant. “Don’t lie to me. You’ve been acting strange for days. And now you’re angry. With me. And I’m tired of it. What’s wrong?”
Mohinder opened his mouth but shut it again. Something inside him ached and wanted this tension to be over, one way or another, but putting words to his feelings, actually admitting them aloud, would require more strength than he had.
“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered as he turned away. He felt like Sylar’s eyes were burning into his back until he walked through the steel doors at the end of the corridor.
As he climbed the stairs, he numbly admitted to himself, You’re jealous over who a murderer spends his time with. What are you going to do now?
* * * * * * *
“Ow! You’d think you’d be getting better at this by now, not worse,” Peter said, wincing. Mohinder set his jaw and steadied the needle he’d just shoved in.
“He was up late last night.” Sylar was rolling down his own sleeve. “Perhaps it’s the aftereffect of a lack of sleep.”
“How did you-”
“Why do we always go through this?” Sylar snapped. “You were pacing around your room, endlessly. It was like a drum pounding in my head.” He stalked out the door.
“He worries about you, you know,” Peter said mildly, watching Mohinder’s face. “We hardly ever see you any more.”
“I’m always busy,” Mohinder said abruptly. “And you two seemed to be getting along just fine.”
“If you couldn’t sleep, why didn’t you come down here?” Peter asked. “One of us would have been happy to keep you company.”
And which bed would I have found you in? Mohinder thought caustically. He realized his mistake as Peter’s eyes widened.
“What? It’s not like that! At all!” Peter was open-mouthed as Mohinder pulled the needle out of his arm and turned away.
Maybe it’s not like that to you. But what if it is to him?
“God, Mohinder…I didn’t realize you…” Peter looked stricken but didn’t say anything else.
* * * * * * *
“So you’ve finally figured it out?” Nathan said.
“I believe so,” Mohinder answered. “It’s been so difficult because of the way they’ve modified themselves. I had to develop two completely different methods-”
“But you can cure Peter,” Nathan interrupted.
“Yes,” Mohinder said, after a pause. “At least, I think I’ve found a way to inhibit this ability. It will require regular treatments, but as long as he gets those, he should no longer pose a danger to anyone.”
“You think?” Nathan snapped.
“I’ve done what experiments I can, with samples,” Mohinder said. “There’s no way I can precisely duplicate Peter’s genetic structure in lab animals. In the end, all I can do is try the formula and hope that it works as I expect it to.”
“Try it on Sylar, first.”
“You’re not listening,” Mohinder said. “Their genetic codes are different. What would work in one wouldn’t help the other - it might even kill them. What if I’m wrong, and…and Sylar dies?” He paused, then hurried on, “How would we keep your brother under control then? He’s getting worse - he’s lost it twice this week.” He didn’t add, he’s been getting worse since I accused him of fucking Sylar.
Nathan considered. “All right.”
* * * * * * *
Sylar was waiting in his suite when he got back, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “You can’t avoid talking to me forever,” he said.
“I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve been busy,” Mohinder snapped. “In case you haven’t noticed.” He headed for the bathroom. Sylar flicked a hand and the door slammed closed. Mohinder whirled on him. “I don’t need this from you right now!” he shouted.
“I don’t need for you to shut me out, but you’re doing it anyway.”
“Don’t lecture me on what-”
“I trusted you!” Sylar suddenly yelled. He cleared his throat in the silence that followed. “You wanted to trust me, when you started this. So I trusted you. But now, you’re closed off. I don’t know what you’re thinking, I don’t know what you’re doing…and there’s just a bad feeling around you.”
“Thanks for your concern. I had no idea you cared.”
Sylar glared. “I could leave any time, Mohinder. I’m out of the secure area right now. Don’t you ever wonder why I stick around?”
“For Peter’s sake,” Mohinder said acidly.
Sylar opened his mouth and then looked away, like he was struggling with something. Finally he said, “A few weeks ago, I felt like I actually had a place. I felt like I was repairing things with…with you, and I’d finally found… I felt like I belonged somewhere. For the first time. I felt like I fit with everyone around me. Now, suddenly, everything’s gone wrong. Peter’s falling apart, and you’re…” He cleared his throat again. “You say you’ve found the cure you were looking for. You don’t need me anymore. So what are you going to do with me, now?”
Mohinder suddenly felt a lump in his throat. He knelt in front of Sylar and laid a hand on his knee. Sylar threaded his own fingers through Mohinder’s and said brokenly, “Can I trust you?”
“Why do you keep using that word?”
“I know I’ve, I’ve done a lot of horrible things. And I know I can’t ever really apologize for what I’ve done to you. But Mohinder, please… I’ve already seen what it’s like to go back to living without power. Please. If you’re still angry at me, please…please just kill me. Please don’t strip me of everything, and…and leave me.”
Mohinder was stunned. Finally he said, “I would never do something like that. Not to you.”
“You would have, once.”
“You were a different person then,” Mohinder replied. He hesitated, then continued, “The man I wanted to kill would never even attempt to apologize.”
“Maybe I’ve learned a few things from being around Peter.” Sylar looked down, plucked invisible lint from his shirt.
“This cure is only temporary,” Mohinder said. “With more work I may be able to make it permanent. But as far as I can tell, it will have to be administered every week. I couldn’t destroy you even if I wanted to.”
Sylar’s face lightened as he listened. He sniffed, then smiled crookedly. “Every week? Some cure.” He sighed and traced his thumb over Mohinder’s. “So it’s still you and me. And Peter. Marching on together.”
Frustration and anger shot through Mohinder at that thought. He pulled away from Sylar and stood up. “Something like that, I suppose.” He gathered up a stack of files from the side table and said, “I have a few things I really need to finish up tonight.”
He glanced back as he left the room, but Sylar’s head was bowed and he was staring at his hands.
* * * * * * *
Mohinder tossed aside the last file. It was late, he was exhausted…he should give up for the night. He had to be steady tomorrow. He turned around and jumped. Peter was standing behind him.
“What…”
“You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about you,” Peter said. “It surprises me how well you can close yourself off. You’ve a lot harder to read than Sylar, when it comes down to it. But I’ve figured out what to do with you in the end.” He paused. “For a smart guy, you can be really stupid.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Peter laughed. “You can hide from yourself, but not from me. I know what you really think, Mohinder. I know what you dream about, better than you do yourself. I don’t blame you for hiding, though-I’d be pretty damn freaked out too.”
“I have no idea…” The automatic denial stuck in his throat.
“Good. Maybe we can get somewhere now. Because I know what he thinks about, too, and you may not want to believe it, but it’s not me. Do you have any idea how he looks at you, when your back is turned?”
Mohinder flushed, and hated himself for it.
“You saw him this afternoon, didn’t you? What did you say to him?” Peter suddenly asked. “Because he looked pretty damn hopeless tonight.”
“I don’t see that that’s any of your business,” Mohinder snapped.
“He’s killed me twice. I think his mental state is definitely my business.”
Mohinder shoved past him and headed for the door. Suddenly the room whirled around him. Something slammed against him, hard-no, he was slammed, against the wall. Pain thumped through his head and Peter advanced on him.
“I’ve spent a lot of time with the guy. I’ve started to see what he’s like underneath it all. He might not deserve to be forgiven, but maybe he deserves a chance to do something decent with his life. To actually do some good for once. He’s changed-or at least, he wants to change, right now. I want to keep him headed that way. And I can’t let you screw it all up.”
“Peter, what-”
Peter grabbed Mohinder’s chin, cocked his head, seemed to study Mohinder’s face. “You're blaming me because you know you shouldn't want him, and you're looking for an excuse to stay away,” he whispered. “You shouldn’t be angry anymore. You shouldn’t be afraid anymore. I can fix that. I’m really sorry, Mohinder, but I have to, whether you want me to or not.”
Panic shot through Mohinder as he remembered-
Peter chuckled grimly. “Yeah, I do probably look like him right now, don’t I? Maybe he’s rubbed off on me a little. But I promise you, you’re not in any danger now.”
The grip on Mohinder’s chin tightened.
“I’ve only seen how to take things out,” Peter murmured. “But I think I’ve figured out how to do it the other way around, too. It’s okay-it’s not gonna hurt.” He reached up his other hand and pressed his thumb and finger to Mohinder’s temples. Mohinder tried to pull away, but he couldn’t-he couldn’t move-
He was in a bed.
He opened his eyes and looked around. It was his room, up on the ground floor, and the light coming in around the blinds meant it was morning. He heard movement, then a shape loomed over him. He blinked, tried to focus.
Sylar.
He relaxed. Part of him thought that that was the wrong reaction, but something else whispered that Sylar’s presence meant comfort, and safety.
“How are you feeling?”
“My head hurts,” Mohinder answered.
Sylar sat on the edge of the bed and touched his temple. Mohinder flinched away.
“You’ve got a fairly large bruise there,” Sylar said. “What happened last night?”
Mohinder shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said slowly, and he realized he honestly didn’t. Now that he thought back, the last few weeks seemed rather hazy, and he wasn’t sure why. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I was ordered to watch you. So I’m watching you.” Sylar looked at him intently. “Peter said he found you on the floor. The doctor said you must have collapsed from exhaustion and hit your head on something. You don’t remember anything?”
Peter. Mohinder had a vague feeling that he should be upset with Peter, but he had no idea why. He shook his head weakly again.
Sylar leaned forward. “You were terrified, Mohinder,” he hissed. “You woke me up. You were terrified, and then you weren’t anything. You’ve been out for hours. You honestly don’t remember what happened?”
“No.”
Sylar’s fist tightened in the blanket. He murmured, “If they’ve done something to you…”
“I…” Mohinder suddenly didn’t want to think too hard about the gaps in his memory. “I woke you up? Are you keeping tabs on me?”
“Someone has to.”
Mohinder chuckled and reached for Sylar’s hand, felt fingers curl around his own. Just like last night, he thought. And suddenly he remembered, with staggering clarity, kneeling in front of Sylar, reassuring him…and then the rasp of stubble against his palm as he pulled Sylar’s face down to meet his, the thrill of Sylar’s hands sliding roughly under his shirt and tugging it upwards. There was an odd quality to the memory: it was almost too vivid, like a dream, like it wasn’t exactly real. But it was so intense, and it felt… He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself.
“You should probably rest some more,” Sylar said as he started to stand. Mohinder grasped his hand tighter and pulled him back.
“No,” he whispered. “Please don’t go.”
Sylar’s face softened and he stroked Mohinder’s sore temple again. This time, Mohinder turned his cheek into the warmth of Sylar’s palm. Then he surprised himself by saying, “About yesterday…”
Sylar pulled away. “I shouldn’t have been that way. It’s just that…Mohinder, I…”
Mohinder sat up and was dizzy for a moment. Sylar grasped his arm, steadying him, and asked, “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Mohinder breathed deeply again and then slid a hand onto Sylar’s waist, letting his fingertips graze under the shirt to the skin below. Then he nodded and said, “I’m sure about a lot of things, now.”
He leaned forward as he stared directly into Sylar’s widening eyes. As Sylar’s lips parted, he stopped, and whispered, “I'm sure I need you.”
The shy smile he got in return, just before he leaned the rest of the way in, was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.