Disclaimer: Don't own.
A/N- also posted on my livejournal. This is my first heroes fic and appears to be making itself longer and giving itself a bigger plot. Hmm...anywho- pairings include MOHINDER/SYLAR, PETER/NATHAN (yes, i am actually fully aware that they are related. go away if it bugs you) and HIRO/ANDO (hinted at I believe). Spoilers for the finale of season three...and maybe some other things thrown in here and there. Enjoy and review!
Mohinder watches the funeral pyre, continues to watch it long after the fire has gone out and the sun is peeking up over the desert and all that's left is ashes. Claire leaves, Bennet leaves, Angela Petrelli leaves- he cannot.
His feet remain glued to the sand beneath him, eyes unable to leave the sight before him.
It's all over. It can't be all over he tells himself. It cannot be all over because Sylar is dead and Mohinder wasn't there to-
He brutally cuts off the thought before he can finish it.
Sylar is dead and yet Mohinder is still obsessed. Obsessed with the denial that the body they burned is Gabriel's. His obsession hasn't been about revenge for a long time; it merely got twisted and contorted until it appeared that way for everyone to see, Mohinder included.
"Dr. Suresh?" He jumps and tears his eyes away from the ashes. Ando smiles somewhat guiltily at him, he had thought that Ando and Hiro had left.
"Please, just Mohinder." They've been through so much; it seems too formal to call him by his title. Sylar only called him by his title to taunt him.
"Mohinder," Ando tries the name out. "I just wanted to say goodbye before we left." Mohinder follows Ando's gaze to the small car parked a little ways away. He can see Hiro in the passenger seat, staring off into space. He looks lost.
"Will he be alright?" He asks, nodding at Hiro. Ando rubs the back of his head, eyes tinged with worry for his friend.
"Maybe. His powers- they meant a lot to him." They meant that he could protect the people he loves; they meant he could protect Ando. "I'm worried that my powers will reject as well."
Ando never really seemed the type of person to worry overly about himself; this is why Mohinder knows there's more than one side to what Ando is saying. He knows that Ando would sacrifice himself for Hiro if given the chance.
"If my powers don't work, then who will look after Hiro?" He asks quietly, almost to himself. Mohinder isn't sure how to reassure him; there is the very real possibility that they could reject, but also that nothing may happen. Hiro's powers could simply be evolving into something else, something more.
"I am certain," Mohinder begins, looking at the ashes again. "That you will always be there for Hiro and that he knows this." The other man smiles at this, looking away from their friend sitting in the car and back to the doctor.
"You seem sad." Ando notes, no accusation, just simple concern for a friend. Sylar has almost killed them all on more than one occasion, yet Ando appears to hold no great loathing for the deceased man.
"I am." Mohinder admits quietly. It will do no good for the others to hear.
"You didn't hate Sylar as much as you said?" The other man asks, studying him, searching for something. Mohinder isn't sure what it is he's looking for.
"Perhaps I didn't." He muses, scratching his cheek and smudging some soot that landed there. He hated what Sylar was, but he didn't hate Zane or Gabriel. They were all the same person in many ways; you just had to find them.
"I had better get going; we have a flight to book." Ando gestures over his shoulder at the car, where Hiro is glancing at them curiously. Mohinder wonders if Hiro knows what he has. Maybe not at first, but perhaps he does now.
Mohinder watches as Ando walks away, wants to call out keep in touch, but he doesn't. He'll hear from them again one day, they're all connected after all.
DI
The second hand was off by eight seconds on every hour. The thought is gnawing away at him as he sits in the dining room. It's an old clock, a good clock- it deserves better. He can fix it, push the second hand back and then listen as it plays sweetly for him.
Clocks were easy, you just needed to understand them and he understands them.
"Nathan?" His mother and brother watch him curiously, expectantly.
"Sorry," He says smoothly, taking a sip of his wine. "Got caught up in my thoughts." Thoughts about clocks of all things.
DI
In the end, Claire is the first one to notice. She and Peter are at Nathan's office, trying to force him out to lunch; he works too hard, Peter tells her. She can see that.
She sits across the desk from her biological father, Peter, her uncle (and she will never get used to that) sitting next to her. They're joking around, talking about some of the weirder powers they came across over the years, carefully talking around anything that may be painful when Nathan breaks off, staring at something over her shoulder.
Claire turns and follows his gaze but doesn't see anything of interest.
"Nathan?" Peter catches his brother's attention. "You alright?"
Nathan looks dazed and irritated by something that she cannot spot.
"Yeah, it's just," He breaks off, frowning. Nathan stands and walks over to the bookshelf, picking up the small, antique clock that sits there, and then pushes the minute hand back slightly. "This clock was four minute off. It was driving me crazy."
Peter stares at him for a minute like he's lost his mind, then shrugs and goes back to talking about a kid that could imitate any voice perfectly. Claire tries to unclench her fingers from where they're gripping the arm rest. The two men don't notice.
She tries to breathe normally, tries to appear calm but ends up having to excuse herself to the bathroom. Her reflection is pale and shaky, her eyes haunted.
Claire can hear it now; can hear the slips in his voice, the silky tone it takes on sometimes. And the clocks- how could she have missed the clocks?
That is not Nathan Petrelli sitting behind the desk.
DI
Nathan can feel that something is wrong. He tries to ignore it in the beginning, but after zoning out to the ticking of a clock for the sixth time, it's time to admit that something isn't right. That something is him.
He misses two meetings, thankfully not too important, because the clock in his office has entranced him but every time he goes to get rid of it, he cannot. He finds himself taking it apart and putting it back together one night and promptly gets incredibly drunk.
Heidi leaves him shortly after he gets back; only, he's not sure how or why. When he tries to remember he only receives brief glimpses. It's like a blank in his memory. He has a few of those.
Two weeks after Sylar's impromptu funeral, he begins to have nightmares. Nightmares about killing everyone he loves, of slicing open innocent's heads and taking something from them.
The worst part is, sometimes they feel more than nightmares; feel more like memories. One night he dreams, dreams of himself at the hotel, unmoving in one of the chairs as blood seeps from a cut to his throat. He wakes up knowing he is dead.
But he's sitting in bed, so it was just a dream, just a dream- nothing more, not a memory.
He has lunch with his mother and a few times he looks up from his food and can almost see the mistrust and doubt in her eyes and a strange chill runs through him. Then he blinks and it's gone; he must be getting paranoid. More paranoid than usual.
Nathan tries to keep Peter away, sometimes, when he's feeling strong. More often than not, he's incapable of saying no to his baby brother, of saying no to shy smiles and lingering touches. He's broken, something inside him has broken and he needs to keep Peter safe.
He's not sure if Peter's safer closer or further away from him.
DI
Mohinder dreams of Sylar. He tries to go without sleep for as long as he can, anything to stave off the dreams he knows are going to come, but eventually he gives in and slips under.
Nightmares are all he sees for the first few weeks after the funeral. For one ridiculous moment when he's barely slept, he entertains the idea that this is Sylar's way of telling him not to forget about him.
Then the nightmares become more, and he wakes most nights with an aching need coursing through him and an invisible lover burning their touch into his skin. His skin is slick with sweat and more, with the blankets twisted around his legs from where he had tried to pull his dream closer, to make it real. His throat is hoarse from calling out to someone that will never reply.
But every so often his dreams slip; he sleeps a full, long night, feeling refreshed the next day and ready to get on with his work.
Those nights he dreams of coming home after work, curling up on the couch and resting his head on a t-shirt clad shoulder with pale arms wrapping around his waist. He should feel ashamed of these dreams- of wishing for a cold blooded killer so much it hurts- but he doesn't.
He just feels empty.
DI
"There's something wrong." Nathan pauses outside of the dining room, as voices filter through the crack in the door.
"It's fine, it's probably just some lingering feelings." Bennet's voice tries to reassure his Ma. Nathan knows that he should turn around and leave them be or announce his presence, let them know he's there.
He remains silent and presses himself closer to the door. He can't see them but he can hear the soft tread of Bennet's shoes as he paces around the room.
"It's more serious than that." His mother insists. She sounds worried, an edge to her voice that he hasn't heard in awhile. "You haven't seen him with the clocks." Something inside of him freezes at the mention of his slight obsession. There isn't anyone else they could be talking about.
"It's just clocks, Angela." But Bennett is beginning to sound worried. Nathan's hand clenches at his side. He knows there's something wrong with him, but what right do they have to discuss it without him there?
Tic-tock.
He glances around, but there aren't any clocks in the long hallway. There once was, but he has the feeling his mother moved most of the clocks in the house, protecting him- but from what?
Tic-tock.
He doesn't need to be protected. He's the one that does the protecting.
"He's entranced by them. He knows exactly how they work." Why is she worried about him knowing how to fix a clock? He thought she'd be glad that he fixed the grandfather clock upstairs, it hadn't worked for years.
Tic-tic-tock.
"There was always the chance that this could have happened." Bennett lowers his voice so Nathan has to strain to hear him. "You know Parkman isn't infallible."
Parkman? What the hell did Parkman have to do with anything?
Tic-tic-tic-tock. Tic-tic-
"Hey! I'm here!" Nathan jerks upright, unaware that he had been slouching forwards. His hands are clench into fists tightly at his side, he unclenches them. The voices in the room drop to furtive whispers. "Anyone here yet?"
Nathan ignores the whispers and turns, heading out to the front hall to greet his brother.
DI
Mohinder arrives last, a bottle of wine clutched in his hand. He's not sure what to expect; Peter's idea for a group dinner was a brilliant idea, but he wonders if they can still all be in the same space with nothing more to run from.
The dinner is awkward to say the least. He catches himself looking around the table, at a few empty seats and filling them in his head with Hiro, Ando and Sylar. This happens once and he viciously stomps down on the thought. The last thing he needs is Matt in his head.
Peter and Nathan sit at one end of the table, grinning and laughing loudly, inviting everyone else to join in on the joke. Matt laughs lightly but it seems forced and Mohinder notices right away how he refuses to meet the Petrelli brother's eyes. Something has happened but he isn't sure what.
Surprisingly, Claire has positioned herself far away from Nathan. He'd thought she would take the seat next to him, spend time with her other father, but she sits next to Bennett, staring stonily at the wall opposite her. Bennett speaks to her quietly but Mohinder doesn't think she's about to tell anyone what is wrong.
Angela Petrelli takes his hand at one point and comments on how thin he is looking. Mohinder laughs it off, says something about missing a few meals because of the exciting new turns in his research.
He doesn't mention how he's in mourning for someone that tried to kill him repeatedly.
Ando and Hiro send their regards but they're back in Japan and settling back into life. Last he heard Ando had asked Hiro to move in; to keep an eye on him, Ando had written. Mohinder suspects there's more to it.
Wine is passed around and after another hour, everyone seems to relax, maybe there's a chance that this will happen again. He hopes it does, it appears to be good for everyone.
Mohinder excuses himself early when he catches himself drifting off at the table. He calls a taxi, which is still an odd feeling and says his goodbyes.
But as he's walking to the door, familiar brown eyes catch his and his breath catches in his chest. There's no way, no possible way.
He blinks and it's gone and he's staring at Nathan Petrelli again.
Mohinder shakes his head and smiles ruefully as he continues to the door. He must be more tired than he thought.
"Mohinder." He freezes. "Safe drive." Nathan says, clapping him on the shoulder. But for a second he could have sworn that Nathan's voice dipped down, taking on a silkier quality.
DI
Nathan's curled up on the couch, Peter's side pressed firmly against his as they watch some old movie and try to bridge the gaps that have formed. It's the way they should be, a united front, together. Nathan hesitates on the word forever.
He cuts off half way through his impersonation of Harrison Ford when Peter's eyes go wide and his brother stiffens next to him. Nathan tenses, prepared to take on whatever has startled his brother, but Peter is staring at him and Nathan feels something inside of him twist uncomfortably at the look.
"Pete-" His brother blinks but remains pale, startled- afraid. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Your eyes." Nathan is on his feet in an instant, confusion warring with panic as he strides over to the mirror mounted on the wall.
His eyes- they aren't his eyes. They're too dark, warm but sinister. A stranger's eyes he wants to say, but they're familiar. The image of him in the chair, blood pouring down from his neck comes to mind.
Nathan reaches out unsteadily, gripping the end table, using it to hold his body up. He feels weak, nervous, excited. It scares him.
"I think…" He licks his lips nervously. "There's something wrong with me, Pete."
Peter rises from the couch slowly, probably so as not to startle Nathan and approaches. Nathan watches their reflections in the mirror, Peter slightly behind his shoulder, watching him with worry and something deeper than just brotherly love.
Then the image twists slightly and suddenly it's not Nathan standing there. Sylar's cold smirk taunts him for a moment before it twists and suddenly the smirk is replaced by a lost, confused look.
Nathan blinks and it's just him and Peter standing before the mirror and his eyes have returned to normal. Peter keeps gazing at him, he didn't see Sylar. It proves Nathan must be losing it.
"I'll help you, Nathan." There's his brother, saving the world, saving Nathan. "I've got your back." He knows.