Birthday Fluff for Mabes!
Ominous shadows cast their sharp fingers against the alley walls as Matt waited in silence and the dark. He was doing this for Molly and Mohinder, he had to remember that, because though his mind and his heart told him to stay, his every instinct told him run. Run and don’t look back.
“Did you get it?”
Matt whirled around, faster in his head than in reality. The looming figure was dressed all in black, baseball cap hiding all but his mean mouth as the rain fell about them. Matt held up the piece of paper and the figure snatched it and read.
“If this is wrong, I’ll rip out your liver and feed it to the brat.” He stalked off into the night, his long black coat whipping behind him like a swarm of flies. Matt exhaled and rubbed the raindrops from his face ineffectually before heading for home.
….
Sylar pushed his ear to the hotel room door to ascertain that his target was alone before he entered quietly, pulling an unwilling companion behind him. He stood patiently by the bed and pulled the curtains closed with a flick of his wrist as he waited for the room’s occupant to finish in the bathroom.
When the Indian man emerged, still towel drying his hands, Sylar put a finger to his lips as an onslaught of unknown language filled the air. “Hello Mohinder,” he said softly. “I have a favour to ask.”
Mohinder Amarnath shook his head. “How did you two get in here? I should call security!” He looked to the phone which was unceremoniously pulled from the socket without being touched. “Asur*!” he gasped. “What do you want?” He started as he saw Sylar reach into his pocket but his anxiety turned to confusion when he saw it was simply a cricket ball. He glanced at the tied up Japanese man, who just shrugged.
“You bowled with this today. I’d like you to sign it, for my friend’s birthday. His name is also Mohinder. Could you date it?” He held out a sharpie which he’d had the foresight to pick up on the way. These famous types never carried their own.
Amarnath edged towards Sylar and took the ball and pen from him, writing ‘To Mohinder, Happy Birthday 08.04.84, Mohinder Amarnath.’ He handed it back as if it were a live grenade.
Sylar beamed as he read the inscription. “Thank you Mr Amarnath. And congratulations on winning the Asia Cup.” He pocketed the ball and disappeared with Ando into the hallway. Amarnath shook his head. The match was only half way through, how did the asur know they would win? For a second he wished fervently that he drank so that he’d have something to blame this on.
Sylar ducked into the alleyway behind the hotel where Hiro was waiting. “Okay, I’m done, back to the present day,” Sylar said. “And don’t try anything because I’ll snap his neck before you can react.” He nodded towards Ando, who he had gripped.
Hiro set his jaw and touched the Bad Man’s shoulder, and seconds late they were back in New York. Sylar shoved Ando back towards Hiro. He had one more stop to make before party time.
…..
The old man in the trophy store peered at the mysterious customer over the rims of his glasses. “Sure, I can mount it and put a glass case over it. I can even add a little plaque if you’d like.”
Sylar shook his head. “It will be fine without one. In any case I really don’t know what it would say.”
The shopkeeper nodded started to write out a docket. “It’ll be thirty minutes if you’d like to come back…”
“No, thank you I’ll wait if it’s all the same to you.”
The man shrugged and picked up the ball, heading into the workroom at the rear of the store. Later that night he would tell his wife how a young man had brought a very valuable cricket ball , signed by one of India’s most celebrated bowlers, into the store to be cased, and how he’d paid with a hundred dollar bill for a forty dollar job and told him to keep the change.
…
Mohinder looked into the mirror and practised his fake smile. Molly was still at that age where birthdays were the most important day of the year, she hadn’t yet reached that cynical state which saw no real reason for celebration. For weeks she had been talking about the ‘party’ which consisted of himself, her and Matt, and the things they were going to do, the presents Mohinder was going to get.
It had been 23 years since he had been excited about birthdays. When he was about to turn ten, his mother had told him it was an important birthday. His father was away, but promised that he would be back in time to celebrate with him. Of course, he wasn’t. He had been at a week long conference in the United Arab Emirates, and had stayed on for an extra week to watch India play in the Asia Cup. Mohinder had been so disappointed, but hoped he might at least get a cricket ball out of it. He had asked for a cricket ball for his birthday, and when his father returned, a week late, and handed him a box, he had pretended to be thrilled when it was found to contain a teddy bear with the Sharjah stadium logo on it.
He thought back to Molly’s birthday, how he and Matt had agonised over what to get her, their whispered conversations and Matt’s mind reads which had been a last resort when she assured them she didn’t have a preference for a birthday present. He wondered if anyone would ever get him something he actually wanted ever again. If anyone would actually care enough.
Sighing heavily, he painted the smile back onto his face and prepared to re-enter party central. Just a few hours and then he could relax.
….
Sylar perched on the fire escape outside the apartment window, listening to the cacophony of indulgence inside. The brat was giggling, doing most of the talking while Parkman humoured her. He couldn’t imagine Mohinder was having much fun, he didn’t like the attention that birthdays brought, and he was mostly a bad liar. He watched as Mohinder unwrapped a gift from Parkman, clothes shaped, squishy, bound to contain something boring. The yellow paper came off, and there it was, the most bland pale blue shirt ever created. The colour wouldn’t work with Mohinder’s skin tone, he would never wear it. Sylar looked at Parkman’s face, the brainless naivety he displayed made his blood boil. He had lived with Mohinder for months, and yet he had never noticed what kind of clothes he liked, what he wore every day. Sylar could have identified every single outfit Mohinder had worn in the last year. Seeing Mohinder every day had made Matt lazy and unappreciative of the precious gift he could look upon whenever he liked.
His eyes strayed to the sickly looking cake which sat sadly on the kitchen table, half demolished by the tubby cop. Mohinder didn’t even like chocolate cake, how did they not know this? He liked walnut cake, carrot cake, but his favourite was a lemon drizzle cake. Only a cursory monitoring of his daily activities could have told them that. Or they just could have asked him.
Mohinder was unwrapping the gift from Molly. A microscope. Genius. What to get for a man who makes his living as a research geneticist? He couldn’t possibly already have a dozen exceedingly expensive microscopes, no he would need a $20 piece of crap from a department store. She could have made him something, drawn him something, he would have loved that. Sylar looked at his face, ignoring the fake smile and only seeing the boredom and sadness in his eyes. He should have given the cricket ball to Parkman to give to him. He was going to, but he knew the cop wouldn’t accept it, he’d be too paranoid.
He saw Molly make a face and surmised it must be her bed time. Parkman got up and left the room with her as she kissed Mohinder goodnight. Now was the time to make a move. He picked up the gift and jogged down the fire escape, entering the building and heading upstairs. As he settled the gift outside Mohinder’s apartment door and knocked he felt a strange racing in his chest. He ducked down the stairs and positioned himself out of sight, peeking at the door from the shadows. He saw Mohinder emerge and glance around cautiously before picking the gift up and holding it at arms length. Sylar smiled as Mohinder took the gift inside. He would have loved to have seen the look on his face as he opened it, but he knew that wasn’t possible. Once Mohinder saw what was in the box he would look for him on the fire escape, and he didn’t want to see the joy on the man’s face turn hard.
Sylar made his way out of the building and stood by the entrance, running the events in the apartment through his head. He wanted to play the moment through in his mind before he left, wanted to at least be in the vicinity when Mohinder was happy because of him.
….
Mohinder sat the gift on the coffee table and looked at it. He could list maybe two people who would leave a gift and run away. One was Maya, and the other was…
Mohinder jumped back just as Matt returned from tucking Molly in. The two men looked at each other as the very presence of the gift made them uneasy. “Shall I open it?” Mohinder asked.
Matt was so tempted to say no and just throw the thing out, but as much as he hated Sylar he knew that Mohinder would be ecstatic with what he saw. “Open it. It’s okay, it’s safe.” He said grudgingly.
Mohinder pulled the ribbon and carefully ripped the wrapping. As the coloured paper fell away Mohinder’s hands began to shake. He stared at the inscription on the ball and felt his eyes get wet as he remembered the anticipation he had felt on that tenth birthday in Chennai, now satisfied twenty three years later and thousands of miles away. He looked up at Matt and bolted out of the apartment and down the stairs. Matt watched him go a little sadly, annoyed that a man Mohinder supposedly detested was the one to make his birthday so special.
…
Sylar was about to leave when he heard the footsteps hammering down the stairs. He turned and stopped Mohinder in his tracks. The man approached cautiously, waiting for something to happen. He looked for self-satisfaction in Sylar’s face, but saw only that unique kind of needy trepidation after a gift is given to someone close. “How did you….”
“I got Parkman to find out, then I got Hiro Nakamura to take me there.”
“Did you…”
“I didn’t hurt anyone” Sylar snapped. He had hoped Mohinder wouldn’t ask the question and it hurt more than he could say that he had.
“No! I mean.. I didn’t think you had. I was wondering….did you meet him?” His eyes widened like a child as Sylar grinned and nodded.
“He was a little surprised but he was a good sport about it. Nice moustache.”
Mohinder beamed. “I tried to grow a moustache like that, but it wouldn’t take. I was only ten of course…”
They both laughed in spite of themselves and Sylar dug his hands into his pockets self-consciously.
“Thank you. It’s the best birthday present I’ve ever had.” Mohinder crumbled as he forced the words out. It wasn’t the ball, a long forgotten wish, which he valued. It was the time, the effort, the single-minded determination to make him happy that he had abandoned hope for all those years ago. Since that day he had learned not to hope for anything, scared of more painful disappointments. Now the gift sat on his coffee table said to him “You’re worth it. Your hopes, your dreams, the things you value, you should have them, you deserve them.”
Sylar saw the tears run down Mohinder’s face and reached out to squeeze his arm. At once Mohinder fell against him, clasping his face as he kissed him, and trembling when he felt strong hands on his back. With every ounce of pressure on Sylar’s lips he silently thanked him, and told him that their connection, though damaged irreparably, remained.
When he felt Mohinder start to back away, Sylar let him go. Mohinder smiled kindly at him. “Don’t forget this.” He said, turning to go.
“Mohinder.” Sylar half-whispered as the doctor turned back. “Happy Birthday.”
Mohinder smiled again and headed back into the building. Sylar watched him go, and looked out into the rainy street. He turned up his collar and began the walk back to his apartment, with a grin on his face which wouldn’t subside for a good long time.
*asur = demon (Punjabi)