Beneath the Suffocating Night
Title: Beneath the Suffocating Night
Pairing: Sylar/Mohinder, implied Sylar/Luke
Word Count: 5600
Rating: R
Warnings: Spoilers through 3.17 “Cold Wars.” Threatened noncon. Implied sexual activity with a minor.
Summary: While on the run from Danko’s forces, Mohinder is nabbed by Sylar and Luke.
Everything was chaos: searchlights and barking dogs and armed soldiers shouting orders. The dogs and the soldiers sounded like they were heading in the other direction, and the helicopter had moved entirely out of the area, but really, nothing else was breaking Mohinder’s way. The afternoon drizzle had turned into a pounding rain by early evening, and now that it had been dark for several hours, he could barely remember what it felt like to be warm and dry. He was exhausted, and his bones ached. He was stranded in the middle of nowhere. They could hunt him all night, and all the next day, and all the day after that. Sooner or later, they’d find him. And when they did…
The attack came out of nowhere. Mohinder barely had time to process the blur of movement to his right, and then he was on his back on the soaked earth, the air knocked out of him, staring up through the rain at his assailant.
Not a soldier. Someone with a plain freckled face, wearing a jeans jacket over a black concert t-shirt. Just a kid, really, not yet out of his teens. He straddled Mohinder’s waist with his knees and held an open hand a few inches from his nose. His hand emanated a sudden focused heat, so extreme that Mohinder instinctively flinched and turned his head to the side to avoid it. “Move, and I’ll fry you,” the kid said.
“Knock it off, Luke,” someone said. Mohinder knew that voice, he knew who that was, but it was someone who shouldn’t be here, not in this muddy field, not in this context. He blinked up at the new arrival. Tall and powerful, wide shoulders, dark spiky hair, dark wool coat.
“Hello, Mohinder.” It was almost a purr. Sylar crouched down and smiled at him. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Sylar.” Mohinder gaped at him. “What are you...?” He tried to sit up, but the kid -- Luke -- planted a hand against his chest and shoved him back.
“I’ll hold him down while you take his power,” Luke said.
The thought of dying here, at Sylar’s hands, his head sliced open and his brain removed, eclipsed the terror of the soldiers pursuing him. “I don’t have a power,” Mohinder said.
Still crouching, Sylar cocked his head to the side and examined him. “You did the last time we met.”
“It’s gone now,” Mohinder said. “Nathan Petrelli -- the government -- they locked me up and forced me to create a serum to remove abilities. They tested it on me.” He exhaled. “It worked.”
Sylar continued to stare at him. “You’re telling the truth,” he said after a moment.
Luke snorted. “He’s worthless. We’ve wasted a day chasing him. Do we kill him, or leave him for those soldiers to find?”
“Rule number one, kid: Mohinder is never worthless. Exasperating at times, but never worthless.” Sylar motioned to Luke. “Get off of him. We’re taking him with us.”
Luke looked surprised. “Why?” he asked, even as he obeyed Sylar’s order.
“Because I said so.” Sylar took Mohinder’s arm and hauled him to his feet. “Come along, Mohinder. Let’s get you out of this rain.”
Sylar’s grip on his arm was loose. Mohinder should make a break for it, run for the cluster of trees he’d been hiding among all day. Being captured by Sylar was catastrophic, the worst possible outcome of an increasingly awful series of events. But Sylar could use any one of his numerous abilities to stop him, and it seemed like Luke had a power, too, and Mohinder was exhausted and dazed and chilled to the bone. Better to cooperate for the time being, until he could find some opportunity for escape that wasn’t destined to end in disaster.
They headed for the road, toward a nondescript station wagon parked on the shoulder. They weren’t making any particular effort to stay hidden. Mohinder supposed that made sense. If the soldiers spotted them, Sylar could defeat them easily.
Sylar fished in his pocket and tossed a set of keys at Luke. “You drive,” he said. He marched Mohinder over to the passenger side and opened the door. He yanked Mohinder around to face him. “Behave yourself, or I’ll knock you out and tie you up. Understand?”
Mohinder nodded.
“Good boy.” Sylar smiled and patted his cheek. He pushed Mohinder into the front seat and climbed in after him. There was barely room; Mohinder was jammed uncomfortably between Sylar and Luke. Sylar extracted a pair of handcuffs from his coat pocket and snapped them around Mohinder’s wrists. “Luke, get us out of here.”
At least the car was warm. That was something to be grateful for. Rivulets of water dripped from Mohinder’s curls down his face and neck; his prison-issue shirt was plastered to his body.
Sylar smirked at him. “You picked a bad day for your escape attempt. Maybe you should have tried it back when you still had your super-strength.”
“I didn’t escape,” Mohinder said. “After I developed the serum for them, they decided I knew too much. They drove me out to the middle of nowhere and gave me a head start. They’ve been hunting me down all day.”
“So they could say you were killed while trying to escape. Nice,” Sylar said. “You do have a knack for making friends.”
A two-way radio, resting unnoticed on the dashboard, crackled into life with a burst of static. Mohinder jumped at the noise. A muffled voice came over the little speaker: “Red Team to base camp, west sector is clear. No sign of the target.”
Sylar nodded at the device. “That’s how we were tracking you. We’ve been monitoring their communications since this morning, trying to find you before they did.”
“You must’ve really wanted my ability,” Mohinder said. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
Sylar frowned at him. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Was I?” Mohinder asked.
“I wouldn’t kill you just for an ability,” Sylar said. He shrugged. “Other reasons, sure, but not for that.”
Luke took his eyes off the road long enough to glance over at them. “What’s he good for? Why are we taking him with us?” he asked.
“Mohinder knows all kinds of things, Luke. He’ll be very helpful to us. For starters, he can tell us where to find more people with powers,” Sylar said.
Mohinder’s stomach tightened. It was best to nip that idea in the bud. “Haven’t you noticed? We’re all fugitives now. Everyone’s on the run or in hiding. I have no idea where anyone is,” he said.
Sylar snorted. “Sure you don’t. Not even little Molly Walker?”
“Not even Molly. I haven’t been in contact with her for months. It was the only way to keep her safe from you.” It sounded believable, Mohinder hoped.
Sylar appeared to wince, like he was recoiling from a sound only he could hear. “That’s a lie,” he said. He looked at Mohinder. “I have this shiny new ability, see. I can tell when people aren’t truthful. That means you’re going to have suppress your urge to be a lying little bitch around me.”
A human lie detector. That was bad, very bad. “I won’t tell you anything, Sylar.”
“I don’t know, Mohinder. I can be pretty persuasive.”
“You tortured me once before,” Mohinder said, with a bravado he wasn’t feeling. “You didn’t get anything out of me.”
“I was just getting warmed up. You think Peter Petrelli will burst in and rescue you this time?”
Luke, his attention still on the road, shot them a sidelong glance. “I guess you two know each other pretty well, huh?”
“Mohinder and I are old friends,” Sylar said.
“He killed my father,” Mohinder said. He looked at Luke, struck again by how innocuous he appeared. Sylar had a gift for choosing odd traveling companions. “You do know what he is, right?”
Sylar grinned. “He knows. He’s not Maya.”
“Who’s Maya?” Luke asked.
“No one,” Sylar replied. His tone indicated he considered the topic closed, which was good. Mohinder knew Maya’s current address, if she hadn’t been captured or forced into hiding by Nathan Petrelli’s goon squad, and if Sylar got it into his head to torture it out of him…
The rain slowed to a drizzle. Luke kept the wipers on the lowest level, a hypnotic back-and-forth pulse. The windows started to fog over. In the warm car, with the heat of Sylar’s body close against him, exhaustion threatened to consume Mohinder. Despite the sustained terror of the situation, he found himself fighting the urge to nod off.
They passed through a small rural community, not much more than a cluster of gas stations and fast-food restaurants on either side of the road. “I’m starving,” Luke said. “Are we going to get dinner here?”
Sylar squinted through the foggy window. “Might as well find a motel while we’re at it. I don’t feel like driving all night.”
The town had two motels. Luke picked one at random, a national chain with a generically cheerful exterior, and parked just outside the registration office.
“I’ll check us in,” Sylar said. “Keep a close eye on our guest. He’s trickier than he looks.” Sylar gave Mohinder’s leg a quick pat. “I’ll be able to see the car from the front desk. Try anything smart, and I’ll kill the clerk. Got it?”
Mohinder nodded once. Sylar gave him a warning look and sauntered toward the office.
And now Mohinder was alone with Luke. Might as well find out whatever he could about Sylar’s new accomplice. “What did you use on me, back in the field?” he asked. “Was it a heat ray?”
Luke shrugged. “Kind of. It’s more like a microwave oven ray, I guess. See?” He extended his hand toward the cup holder, in which rested a lonely paper cup half-full of cold coffee. In seconds, the liquid within began to boil, while the surrounding cup remained unaffected. Luke grinned at Mohinder. “What do you think of that?”
“That’s very impressive, Luke,” Mohinder said.
“You should see what it does to a person. The blood boils, then the skin bursts. It’s really cool.” Luke smirked at him, his cherub face contorting into something ugly and foul. “Maybe I’ll get to show you what it’s like.”
There wasn’t much that could be said to that, so Mohinder abandoned his attempt at conversation and kept quiet until Sylar popped back into the car, two room keys clutched in his hand. “Park around the corner. We’re in the back.”
“Two rooms?” Luke asked. Mohinder might be imagining things, but Luke sounded a little disappointed.
“Three of us in one room would be awfully cozy,” Sylar said.
Luke parked. Lots of empty spaces, which meant the place was mostly unoccupied. Sylar grabbed a black duffel bag from the back seat. He held onto Mohinder’s arm and marched him the short distance to one of the rooms. He unlocked the door and gave Mohinder a small shove inside. Mohinder glanced around. Small. Bland. Tidy. Couch, armchair, armoire. Mass-produced landscape prints on the wall. One bed, queen-sized, with a bedspread printed with cabbage roses.
Luke, clutching an overstuffed backpack, lingered in the doorway. “How are we going to divide up the rooms?” he asked.
Sylar snorted. “Gosh, Luke, I don’t think it would be too smart to give Mohinder his own room, do you?” He handed Luke the other key. “You’re next door.”
“What are we going to do about grub?”
“Pick us up something and bring it back here,” Sylar said. He fished about in his wallet and handed Luke a couple of bills. “Here.”
Luke looked peevish. “I’m not your errand boy,” he said.
Sylar grinned. “Yeah, you are. And you like it, don’t you?” While Mohinder watched in surprise, Sylar grabbed Luke by the collar of his jacket and shoved him back against the door frame. He leaned in and gave him a firm, closed-mouthed kiss, then released him with a small push out the door. “Go. I’m getting hungry.”
Luke glanced at Sylar and Mohinder, then headed back toward the car without another word. Sylar closed the door. He tossed the duffel bag on the bed, then crossed over to Mohinder, grabbed his wrists, and unlocked the handcuffs. He chuckled at Mohinder’s expression. “Don’t look so scandalized,” he said.
“How old is that boy?” Mohinder asked.
Sylar shrugged. “Old enough. Depending on state law, it might even be legal.”
“Statutory laws aside, I highly doubt anything you two are up to is legal,” Mohinder said. “Has he been helping you murder people?
“Not that I need any help in that area, but I’ve been showing him the ropes. He’s got a natural instinct for it.”
“You turned a teenaged boy into a killer,” Mohinder said. He didn’t even try to kept the contempt out of his voice. “Well done, Sylar.”
“I gave him a nudge, but he was headed in that direction anyway.” Sylar unzipped the duffle bag and rummaged around inside. He pulled out a dark t-shirt and sweatpants and handed them to Mohinder. “Here. You’re dripping on the carpet, and you’re turning blue. Which, for you, is something of an accomplishment. Instead of seething with moral disapproval, why don’t you take a shower? Get warm.” Sylar made a perfunctory search of the bathroom, probably to make sure it was windowless and devoid of anything that could be used as a weapon. “Do you need me to remind you to behave yourself?
“Perhaps you’d better,” Mohinder said. “I have a slow learning curve.”
“Maybe I should join you, then. I’ll make sure you remember to wash behind your ears.”
Mohinder glowered at him and didn’t answer. He stalked into the bathroom and shut the door.
Alone in the shower stall, separated from Sylar by a flimsy door and a flimsy thumb lock, Mohinder stood under a comforting gush of hot water and felt life return to his numb and aching limbs. He availed himself of the teensy bar of motel soap and the teensy bottle of motel shampoo and lathered himself clean. It was tempting to stay in there forever, or at least until the hot water supply ran out, but Sylar had to be faced sooner or later. He changed into the clothes Sylar provided for him, left his own sodden things to dry over the shower rod, and padded barefoot back into the room.
Luke had returned and was unpacking vast amounts of paper-wrapped burgers and cardboard trays of fries from grease-stained paper bags. Sylar clicked the handcuffs around Mohinder’s wrists once again and guided him over to the couch. “Sit,” he said, and pulled Mohinder down beside him.
They ate in silence. Mohinder fumbled with his cuffed hands to unwrap and eat a tasteless, rubbery burger. Still, it was warm and somewhat nourishing, and it certainly wasn’t worse than some of the things he’d eaten during his recent stint as an unwilling guest of the United States government. Luke had picked up chocolate milkshakes as well, thick and syrupy and cloying.
He was aware of Luke watching him closely. Luke’s expression was hard to pinpoint: curiosity, he supposed, tinged with the barely-contained sadism he’d glimpsed back in the car, when Luke had demonstrated his ability.
“You keep staring at Mohinder,” Sylar said to Luke.
Luke shrugged and swallowed a gigantic mouthful of burger. “He looks like a doll.”
“Yeah. He does. Kind of a scruffy, pissed-off doll at the moment,” Sylar said. “I sometimes forget how damn pretty he is, and then I look at him and it takes my breath away.”
Mohinder turned to stare at Sylar, but Sylar only cocked an eyebrow at him, bemused.
“You said you were friends,” Luke said. “Were you and him lovers?”
”No,” Mohinder said. Firmly.
“We would have been,” Sylar said. “There’s always been this spark between us. There still is.” He grinned. “And here, Luke, we see the higher purpose of being a human lie detector. If I didn’t have this ability, Mohinder would be falling all over himself to deny that.”
He leaned closer to Mohinder, conspiratorial. “Come on, Mohinder. Tell me you didn’t want to sleep with me, back before you figured out who I was, and let’s see if it’s the truth.”
“I’m not playing this game, Sylar.”
“Don’t get petulant. I’ve been nice to you so far, but it doesn’t have to stay that way. If I want to play games, we’ll play games,” Sylar said.
Mohinder looked at him. Sylar met his stare, calm and unruffled, but with heat somewhere just behind his eyes.
The silence was broken by Luke. “If you’re not going to finish your shake, can I have it?”
“Why don’t you go to your room, Luke?” Sylar said, not looking away from Mohinder.
“I’m not done with my fries.”
“Take them with you.”
Luke was quiet for a moment. Then: “Are you going to fuck him?”
Mohinder froze. Sylar looked at Luke at last. His brows were raised slightly, but otherwise he showed no reaction. “I think Mohinder would object to that.”
“So what?” Luke reached across the end table and picked up Mohinder’s neglected shake. He sucked it down, staring at Mohinder all the while. “He’s our prisoner. Does it really matter what he wants or doesn’t want? It’s not like he can do anything about it, right? You want to fuck him, there’s nothing to stop you.”
“Do you want me to?” Sylar asked. He examined Luke with what seemed to be genuine curiosity.
“Maybe.” Luke shrugged. “Sure. If you let me watch.”
Sylar was silent for a long, long moment. Mohinder kept still. He couldn’t stand the avid eagerness on Luke’s face, and he was too afraid of finding out what Sylar thought of Luke’s suggestion to look at him, so he settled for staring down at his bound hands.
“Go to your room,” Sylar finally said. “It’s late, and I want to be ready to leave early tomorrow.”
Luke hesitated. “Can I suck you off first?” he asked.
Sylar made some kind of faint exasperated noise. “Good night, Luke.”
“Fine.” Luke got to his feet. “Have fun, you two. Don’t kill Mohinder without me, okay?” He scooped up his tray of fries and Mohinder’s shake and left.
Mohinder kept staring at his hands. Sylar chuckled. “I’ll say this for Luke: he sure knows how to shut you up. I can’t remember you ever being this quiet,” he said.
Mohinder looked at him. “Your protégé is charming,” he said.
Sylar shrugged. “He’s creepy and annoying as all hell. But he has his uses.”
“So I gather.”
“Apart from the obvious.” Sylar smiled. “Come on, Mohinder, give me some credit. You think I’m putting up with Luke just for his delightful conversational skills and the occasional bit of sloppy head? I’m on a mission. He has information I need.” Sylar considered, then shook his head. “Maybe I’ll tell you about it later.”
“And when you’re done with your mission, what happens to Luke?” When Sylar didn’t answer, Mohinder nodded. “That’s about what I figured. He’s in love with you, you know.”
“I know. I don’t really care. If I were you, I’d spend less time worrying about Luke, and more about what I’m going to do with you,” Sylar said.
Mohinder shrugged. “Fair enough. I’ll bite. What’s the plan, Sylar? What are you going to do with me?”
“Good question,” Sylar said. “I don’t really know the answer. A lot of it depends on you.” He reached over and touched the side of Mohinder’s neck, where a purple bruise peeked over the collar of his borrowed shirt. Mohinder flinched away. “How’d you get the bruise?” Sylar asked.
“I don’t know. Probably while I was escaping,” Mohinder said.
“That’s a lie,” Sylar said. Stating a simple fact. “You’ve been beaten, haven’t you?”
No sense denying it, not with Sylar using his ability. “Yes. Before they released me.”
“Show me,” Sylar said. He leaned across Mohinder and unfastened the cuffs. “Stand up. Turn around and lift your shirt.”
Mohinder considered arguing, then decided he was too exhausted to start a battle he couldn’t win. He got to his feet and complied with Sylar’s request.
He could feel Sylar’s touch against his back, feather-light, tracing the bruises. “What’d they use, a rubber hose?”
“A foam-covered baton. They didn’t want to break bones.”
“Why were you beaten? Had you given them trouble?”
“No. I hadn’t. I was cooperative.” Mohinder exhaled. “There was no reason for this. They beat me because they were cruel and stupid and violent, and because they wanted to hurt someone. Maybe it was because of my ability, or because of my accent or ethnicity, or because I annoyed them in some way. I don’t know. They didn’t need much of an excuse.”
Sylar’s hand rested on his shoulder. “Do you want me to kill them for you?”
Mohinder turned to face him. “You’re the only one who’s allowed to hurt me, is that it?”
Sylar shrugged. “Something like that.”
“I don’t want you to kill anyone, Sylar. There’s been enough death.”
Sylar examined him. “You pulled the trigger on me once. Do you still want me to die?”
“I think you should die. You kill and kill, and you show no signs of ever stopping. You’ve caused so much harm to so many people. As long as you’re alive, you endanger everyone around you.” Mohinder exhaled. “But I don’t want to be the one who kills you.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Sylar smiled. “I did save your life today, you know.”
“It doesn’t count if you’re going to end up murdering me.”
“I probably won’t. I don’t know. It’s hard to say.” Sylar shrugged. “You know what I find strange?”
“What?”
Sylar’s eyes were bright. “After all we’ve been through together, all our shared history, I’ve never done this.”
He raised his hand and cupped Mohinder’s cheek. Before Mohinder knew what he was about to do, Sylar bent his head down and kissed him. His lips were rough, and he tasted of chocolate.
Mohinder pulled away. Sylar looked at him, half-smiling. “Don’t ever do that again,” Mohinder said, as calmly as he could.
“That sounds like a challenge,” Sylar said. “Consider this your way of thanking me.” He placed his hands on Mohinder’s shoulders, then leaned in and kissed him again. It was rougher this time, more invasive. Sylar began backing him up, until Mohinder was pressed against the wall.
Mohinder shoved him off, hard. He could feel bright spots of color rising in his cheeks. His breath came too quickly. “Don’t,” he said.
Sylar wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Luke was right, you know,” he said. “It really doesn’t matter what you want or don’t want. You can’t stop me.”
“It doesn’t mean I have to let you do whatever you want.”
“It does if you don’t want to get hurt. Too bad you don’t have your enhanced strength anymore,” Sylar said. “If you did, you might be able to stop me from doing this.”
He stepped forward. Mohinder tried to slide along the wall and dodge away, but Sylar grabbed him and, with one swooping motion, caught his legs and scooped him up into his arms. He swung around and dropped Mohinder onto the bed. Mohinder tried to scramble away, but Sylar pounced on him and pressed him against the gaudy bedspread.
Sylar knelt across him, his face close to Mohinder’s, his hands on either side of Mohinder’s shoulders. “This frightens you, doesn’t it?”
Mohinder stared up at him. “Of course it does,” he said.
“It doesn’t have to,” Sylar says. “If you don’t fight me, I won’t hurt you.”
The simplest path was to go along with this, to give up the battle, to let Sylar do what he wanted. He could try to fight, but the outcome would be the same. Sylar shifted his position and moved his weight onto his elbows. He slipped a hand inside the waistband of Mohinder’s sweats and cupped his bare hip. His hands were large and warm and calloused.
These were hands that had broken his father’s neck. This was the man who had murdered Isaac Mendez, and Molly’s parents, and Maya’s brother, and poor crazy Elle, whose charred remains had been found on a deserted stretch of beach after she’d gone on the run with the man she thought loved her. Zane Taylor, Dale Smither, Arthur Petrelli, Bob Bishop, so many others whose names he didn’t know. No. Going along with this wasn’t an option.
He looked up at Sylar. “What can I say to get you to stop this?” he asked.
Sylar stared down at him. He touched the side of Mohinder’s face. “Don’t say anything. Just let me take what I want.”
“It’s not what you want,” Mohinder said. He placed his hands flat against Sylar’s chest. “If you wanted a rape, you would have done it months ago. You want me to be a willing participant, and you’re never going to have that.”
“Then I’ll have to take what I can get, won’t I?” Sylar settled on top of Mohinder, pinning him down with his weight. Mohinder could feel the heat of Sylar’s abdomen pressing against his own. He fought down a surge of fresh panic at this closeness, this unprecedented level of intimacy.
“It won’t be enough,” Mohinder said. Calm, very calm. He had to keep himself under control. Sylar would meet anger with anger, violence with violence, and then things would spiral beyond his ability to contain them. “It won’t satisfy you.”
“Maybe it’ll be enough to get you out of my system for good.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you’ll ruin everything.” He moved his hand to Sylar’s face and rested it against his cheek. “You know that connection between us you’re always going on about? This will break it. If you do this, everything changes between us forever. Is that what you want?”
Sylar looked at him. His expression darkened. “Damn it, Mohinder,” he said at last.
He rolled off of him. Got to his feet. Stood beside the bed, glaring down at Mohinder, who remained absolutely still. Sylar looked a breath away from exploding into violence.
Sylar reached out a hand. The handcuffs, left on the side table, flew into it via his telekinesis with a sudden jangle that made Mohinder flinch. Sylar snapped one cuff around Mohinder’s wrist. Mohinder felt a fresh new surge of fear.
Sylar yanked on Mohinder’s arm. “Move,” he said. He pulled him off the bed and pushed him to the floor, then cuffed his wrists behind the leg of the bed, trapping him in place. Without another word, he stormed off to the bathroom and slammed the door.
Left alone, Mohinder took a deep, shaky breath. It was too much to hope the storm had passed, but at least he could have a moment of calm to keep himself from going to pieces. The only way he’d get through this was to remain composed and reasonable. If he believed in any kind of deity, this would be an excellent time to say a few prayers.
Mohinder wasn’t religious, but maybe there was someone out there who could hear his silent plea for help. He could try to contact Matt. It was a useless gesture, probably. He didn’t know where Matt was, or the range of Matt’s telepathy, or even what he’d do in the unlikely event he received Mohinder’s message -- he and Matt had parted under the worst possible terms, in a flurry of violence and betrayal and misunderstandings -- but it was all he could think to do.
He concentrated, focusing on Matt, concerting all his thoughts into a single fervent wish. Matt. I doubt if you can hear me, and maybe you never want anything to do with me again, but… it’s Sylar. Sylar has me. He silently transmitted as many details as he could, the name of the town, the hotel, their room number, sending it all into the void. It felt foolish and futile. Please help me, Matt.
Sylar emerged from the bathroom. He glared at Mohinder on the floor. Mohinder had a moment of dread when Sylar began removing his clothes, stripping down to his boxers, but the action seemed perfunctory and passionless. He crouched down in front of Mohinder and uncuffed him.
“Get in bed.” When Mohinder hesitated, Sylar shook his head in annoyance. “It’s been a long fucking day, and I’m tired of arguing with you. Just do it.”
Mohinder pushed back the covers and slid in, keeping as far to the edge as possible. He felt the mattress shift as Sylar climbed on in the other side. All the lights shut off at once, presumably from Sylar’s telekinesis.
Sylar spoke into the darkness. “If you ever find yourself questioning what you mean to me, remember that I had you helpless in my bed, and I didn’t do a damn thing.”
Mohinder was quiet. “Thank you,” he finally said, his voice muffled against the covers.
Sylar let out a curious sigh, some mix of exasperation and affection. “Sleep tight, Mohinder,” he said.
Mohinder tried. And failed.
In the morning, Sylar was grumpy and non-communicative. They drank weak coffee from the tiny in-room coffee maker and dressed in silence. Sylar rapped on the door to the adjoining room, and a groggy and disheveled Luke, hair sticking up in all directions, shuffled out. They loaded their bags into the back seat of the station wagon.
Luke yawned and stretched his arms above his head. “Let’s find a truck stop. Greasy hash browns and coffee that’s been left on all night,” he said. He glanced from Sylar to Mohinder. “Did you two have a good time last night?”
Mohinder was silent. Sylar glowered at Luke. Luke shrugged. “Guess not,” he said cheerfully. He slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
“Get in, Mohinder.” Sylar sounded tired. It was about the first thing he’d said all morning. “Do I need to cuff you?”
“No, Sylar.”
“Good. Just… be good, and you’ll come through this okay.” He leaned forward and kissed Mohinder lightly on the forehead.
Something happened then. It took Mohinder far too long to pick up on what was going on. Sylar had been holding the passenger door open with one hand and gripping Mohinder’s arm with the other. His expression suddenly went blank, like he was having trouble remembering what he was doing. He looked at Mohinder in confusion, then seemed to look through him, as if he wasn’t there.
“Sylar?” Mohinder asked. Sylar didn’t seem to hear him. He released Mohinder’s arm, the slid into the passenger seat and closed the door behind him. While Mohinder stared, incredulous, Luke pulled out of the parking lot and headed for the road, leaving Mohinder standing on the sidewalk outside the motel.
Mohinder gaped.
A soft noise behind him made him jump. He swirled around.
Somehow, miraculously, Peter Petrelli was standing there. He grinned at Mohinder and motioned toward Sylar and Luke in the retreating station wagon. “They can’t see us,” he said. “They don’t remember you were with them. I don’t know how strong Matt’s illusion is, so let’s get out of here before it wears off.”
Mohinder finally managed to speak. “It’s very good to see you, Peter.”
“Ditto. Hey, did I see Sylar kiss you?”
Mohinder didn’t answer. Peter gave him a curious look, but didn’t push the point. He wrapped his arms around Mohinder’s waist. “Hang on tight, but don’t touch my skin. I don’t want to absorb your power and end up plunging to earth.”
“I don’t have a power anymore,” Mohinder said.
“That makes it easier.” Peter smiled at him, wide and carefree, and before Mohinder had time to prepare himself, they shot straight up into the air. Mohinder clung to Peter’s shoulders and tried to shoot down the sudden wave of vertigo, but the flight was over in seconds. Peter landed just across the road, next to a car parked at a gas station. From the driver’s seat, Matt looked up and beamed.
“Hey. You got him,” he said to Peter.
“Thanks to you. Worked like a dream, Parkman.”
“Matt. You heard me,” Mohinder said.
“Loud and clear, babe. Lucky for you Petey and I were in the general area.”
Peter piled into the back seat. Mohinder slid in beside Matt. “What happened back there?”
“I implanted a suggestion. I made Sylar and his little buddy forget you existed. I think we better peel rubber in the opposite direction, though. It’ll wear off soon, and I don’t think we want to be anywhere in the area when it does.” He looked at Mohinder. “I feel kind of rough about leaving that kid with him. Does he need rescuing?”
“Probably, but he doesn’t know it, and we’re not the ones who can help him.” Mohinder leaned back against the seat, then glanced over at Matt. “Matt, I…”
“I know. Me too. Save it for the moment. We’ll talk later. What did Sylar want with you?”
Mohinder let out a little noise of exhaustion. “I’ll let you know when I figure that out,” he said.
A sidelong glance. “Did he hurt you?”
“Not really,” Mohinder said.
“You okay?”
“Not really,” Mohinder said again. He paused. “Don’t read my thoughts, okay? They’re a little bizarre at the moment.”
Another quick glance, then Matt returned his attention to the road. “No problem, buddy.”
Mohinder settled into the seat and watched the scenery as they traveled further and further away from Sylar.