Hide And Seek

by roxierocks

Waking up to a world where the undead walk the streets, Mohinder Suresh finds safety with Peter Petrelli and his brother. But how can he help them reverse the devastating damage caused by the virus Strain 138? And who, exactly, is Sylar?

Title: Hide and Seek

Author: roxierocks

Pairing: Peter/Mohinder, hints of Matt/Mohinder, Mohinder/Sylar

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Or the storyline. But I do own the writing.

A/Ns: I finished this bout a year ago, and am only now getting round to posting it. AU (sort of) inspired by '28 Days Later'. Let me know what you think!

'Spin me round again, and rub my eyes. This can't be happening.' –Imogen Heap, Hide and Seek

When Mohinder Suresh wakes on Tuesday morning, the world has changed.

He's aware of it as soon as he's opened his eyes. The usual early morning traffic that rumbles past outside his Brooklyn apartment is absent. The cacophony of voices is silent. The light that filters through his blinds is a sickly, pale colour, not at all like the morning sunlight that has plagued him to wakefulness all week.

Everything's different.

He slides out of bed and stumbles to the window, cautiously peeling at the side of the blind.

The street is deserted.

He stares for a long moment, sure he must still be dreaming, that he has not yet woken up.

Outside nothing moves, not even the abandoned newspapers that litter the sidewalk. There is no sign of life at all.

Shivering, Mohinder steps back, the blind making a flat sound as it falls back into place. He reaches automatically for the telephone, hesitating only momentarily on who he could possibly call, before lifting the receiver to his ear.

There is no dial tone.

The lights don't work either, he realises, as he fumbles desperately with the switch. The sky outside had been an odd yellow colour, heavy with ill looking cloud.

The apartment suddenly feels cold.

He gets dressed with shaking hands. He'll go to the police station, to the supermarket, to a church – anywhere there might be people. He just needs to find some people, someone who can help him make sense of what's happening.

For a moment he entertains the possibility that he might be the only one left, in this city, in this country. In the world.

The thought nearly overwhelms him, and he has to lean against the doorjamb for a moment.

No.

There must be others. If he's still here, there has to be others.

His cell phone is in his pocket, although there is no network. He might need it. He takes money and his laptop, although he has a feeling that won't work either.

The hallway outside his apartment is full of dead, stale air. He swallows, then strides forward purposefully. He will not let his fear conquer him.

His footsteps in the deserted street seem loud and invasive. He moves cautiously, hyper aware of any sort of movement around him.

There is none.

When he turns the corner of his apartment building, he finds the first body.

The man has had his insides ripped out, his chest a gaping, hollow wound. Mohinder stumbles back, trying not to retch. Beyond the man he sees another body, and another beyond that.

"My God," he whispers. "It's a massacre."

He moves between the dead, feeling as if has entered a gruesome horror film. He has no idea what could have done this, and he has a feeling he doesn't want to find out.

Panic thrums through his veins now. He doesn't know where to go. He doesn't know who's alive. He doesn't know why he isn't dead He doesn't know what to do.

The blow catches him off guard, as he's walking past the entrance to an alley.

One minute he's alone, the next he's flat on his back with a man on top of him, snarling and spitting into his face. The man's eyes are blood red, and his grip is like iron as he pins Mohinder to the ground.

Mohinder flails, struggling under the sudden strength of this feral man, crying out in fear and agony as he feels the grip tighten.

His knee is crushed against his chest, and he pushes up, sharply, kicking at the man, dislodging him enough to roll away, scrabbling across the sidewalk to try and get away.

The man lets out a creature-like shriek of rage and launches himself at Mohinder.

Mohinder knows he is about to die.

Hands grip him from behind –another one, he realises dimly- and his instinct is to lash out, only realising, a long second later, that his feet are no longer on the ground. He is spinning, falling, through the air, landing with a painful jolt several metres away. Looking up with blurred eyes he sees a figure in a black coat standing between him and the creature.

"Come and get it!" the figure sings, then Mohinder watches in amazement as blue lightening seems to come out of the figure's hands, frying the creature mid leap with a sickening sizzling sound.

Mohinder stares, then starts as the figure –man- turns and steps towards him.

"You okay?" he asks gruffly. He is younger than Mohinder, with long dark hair that hangs in his face.

Mohinder nods as he scrambles to his feet.

"I think so."

"Good. We have to leave. Now. There'll be more."

The man turns and begins to walk away, long strides, and Mohinder hurries after.

"Wait! What is happening here? And who are you?"

The man stops.

"My name is Peter," he says. "Peter Petrelli. If you want to live you have to come with me now."
Mohinder hesitates.

"How did you do that?" he asks. "With your hands?"

"Now is not the time!" Peter snaps. "I'll answer all your questions, Mohinder, but you must come with me now!"

Mohinder feels his blood freeze.

"How do you know my name?"

Peter's eyes are very blue. He meets Mohinder's gaze unflinchingly.

"Because you're special," he says. "Please. We must go."
It isn't an answer. But Mohinder hears more of those unearthly shrieks, close by, and knows he has no choice.
Peter holds out his hand, and Mohinder takes it.

*

He is standing in a subway station, still holding Peter's hand, and he has no idea how he got here.

He pulls away with a small cry, looking wildly around him, his gut churning in an odd, unrecognisable way.

"What happened?" he gasps. "How did we get here?"

"I teleported you here," Peter says simply.

"Tele.." Mohinder stares. "There's no such thing."

Peter shrugs.

"Fine," he says. "There's no such thing. You know, I did just save your life back there, you could be a little grateful. If I hadn't happened to be flying by, you'd be dead by now."

There's something about the way Peter says flying by, as if he doesn't just mean it as a figure of speech.

"Who are you?"

"I told you. Peter Petrelli. And you're Dr Mohinder Suresh."

"You weren't outside my apartment building by co-incidence."

Peter smiles, thinly.

"Of course not. I came to find you as soon as I could. And just in time too."

The flippancy in Peter's tone ignites a spark of anger in Mohinder's belly. He almost died, for God's sake!

"What the hell is going on here?"

Peter stills at the shout.

"I don't think I'm the best one to explain," he says softly.

Mohinder opens his mouth to argue.

"Pete?"

Another man emerges from a shadowy tunnel, taller than Peter, dark hair dishevelled, a smear of blood on his cheek.

"Thank God you're back!"

The man crosses the space in four long strides and embraces Peter. Mohinder watches the way Peter's head drops onto the new man's shoulder, the relief on both faces.

"I was afraid-"

"I'm fine, Nathan. And I brought back Suresh."

Nathan looks past Peter's shoulder to Mohinder, sharp eyes sliding over Mohinder's figure.

He untangles himself from Peter and stretches out his hand.

"Nathan Petrelli. I'm glad you made it here safely."

Mohinder hesitates, then reaches out to shake the proffered hand.

"Am I to take it you already know who I am too?"

"We all know who you are, Dr Suresh." Nathan's grip is firm, unyielding. "We've been waiting for you."

Mohinder's eyes flick between them, unsure.

"Who are you people?"

Nathan's expression is grim. He releases Mohinder's hand and takes a step back.

"A week ago we were just like you," he says.

Peter gives him a sideways glance.

"Well," Nathan amends, "not just like you. But we were living normal lives. Now we're the only ones left. At least here, in New York."

"What do you mean?" Mohinder asks. "The only ones left?"

"He means everyone else is dead or infected," Peter says. There is a strange blankness in the statement. Mohinder feels it like ice on his skin.

"Infected? By what?"

Nathan grips his shoulder. Mohinder thinks it is meant to be a comfort. It feels like a restraint.

"Come downstairs," he says. "We'll explain everything."

"It doesn't seem as if I have much choice, does it?"

Neither Peter nor Nathan reply. Nathan's hand guides him firmly towards an unmoving escalator. Peter goes first and Mohinder follows, aware of Nathan's presence behind him. At the bottom, Peter takes a sharp left, then right. Mohinder trails him down a seeming maze of passages until Peter comes to a heavy metal door. He stares at it for a moment, and the door slides aside.

Mohinder knows he is staring, but he can't help it. First the lightening, then the teleportation, now this?

Who is this man?

Behind the door is a small control room. Mohinder can see the back wall has been knocked through into another room. Nathan pushes him in, and the door slams shut behind them.

"We can't take any chances," Nathan says, when he sees Mohinder's expression.

Through the control room is another small room which has been knocked through into a tunnel that leads onto a platform. There is a train on the tracks, still, with the doors open. Mohinder tries not to notice the blood smears on the outside.

"Peter!"

The joyous shout makes him start, and a moment later a little girl flies out of the train, into Peter's arms.

He smiles, the first real expression Mohinder has seen, and cradles the back of her head with a gentle hand.

"Hey Molly," he says.

Molly kisses him on the cheek.

"I'm so glad you're safe! I kept checking, just to make sure."

"My own little guardian angel."

He sets her carefully back down on the platform, and her gaze turns to Mohinder.

"You're Dr Suresh," she says. "I looked for you too. Every morning. Are you going to fix him?"

"Fix who?" Mohinder asks. The little girl looks at him.

"Isn't that why you're here?"

"Molly," Nathan says gently. "We need to explain the situation to Dr Suresh. Why don't you go and sit with Matt, hmm? Maybe read to him?"

Molly nods solemnly.

"He likes it when I read to him," she tells Mohinder. She disappears back into the train car with a flick of her long hair.

Mohinder turns back to the two men before him. He has never felt so lost or out of his depth in his life.

"You brought me here to save someone?" he asks.

Peter shakes his head.

"No Dr Suresh. We brought you here to save the world."
*

"The first case was reported two months ago, in China."

They are sitting in one of the train cars. Mohinder can see Molly in the next one along. She seems to be bending over someone, reading avidly from a big book on her knees.

"It was contained, but only barely. About a hundred people died. The official report said they died in a plan crash."

"It was covered up?"

Nathan nods gravely.

"They would have done anything to stop this getting out. They thought they had it locked down, that it had been stopped."

"Who's 'they'?"

"The Company," Nathan says shortly. Mohinder doesn't consider that an answer, but he lets it go.

"They were wrong?" he half asks, half guesses.

"Obviously," Peter says.

Nathan shoots him an annoyed look.

"Yes," he says. "They were wrong. It was no accident that the virus was released. Someone let it out."

Mohinder rubs a hand across his eyes. He doesn't understand any of this.

"So, you're telling me that someone knowingly released a deadly virus into the world, just like that?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you, Dr Suresh. This man, he's not normal."

"He's insane," Peter puts in helpfully.

"Yes, that too."

"Wait, wait." Mohinder holds up a hand. "Go back a little bit. First what, exactly, is this virus?"

"It's a genetically modified strain of something called the Shanti Virus."
Mohinder's head snaps up, suddenly.

"Shanti?" he repeats.

Nathan nods.

"Yes. The Shanti virus first appeared in 1974 in India. The only known case was a five year old girl named Shanti Suresh."

"My sister," Mohinder breathes. "My father always said he knew he could have cured her…" He trails off. He hasn't thought about Shanti in a long time.

"No one knew where the Shanti virus came from, or how it could be cured. It didn't seem to spread to anyone apart from your sister. There have only been a few cases since then, all fatal."

"But now it has spread?"

Nathan nods.

"This mutated strain is highly contagious. But it doesn't kill its victims. It infects them so that they become mad, feral. All it takes is a drop of infected blood into your eyes, mouth, even nostril. And you have about one minute left before you go insane."
Mohinder stares.

"My God." He shakes his head. He can't seem to grasp all this. "But you said someone let this thing, this virus out into the world? Knowingly?"

"A very dangerous man. He convinced someone to help him mutate the Shanti virus into something called Strain 138. Then he went to China and tested it. The Company, an organisation which has monitored and studied the virus ever since it first appeared in your sister, thought they had the problem contained."

"But they didn't count on Sylar," Peter says.

"Sylar?"

"The man who released the virus. That's his name."

"And he did this?" Mohinder watches them both nod in confirmation. "Why?"

"Because he's insane," Peter says.

"Because he's angry," Nathan offers.

"Angry about what?"

Peter shrugs.

"The world. Your father."

"My father?" Mohinder repeats. "What does my father have to do with this?"

Peter's gaze is curiously blank as he answers.

"Your father was the one who mutated the Shanti virus. Your father created Strain 138."

Mohinder sinks back onto the seat, his head reeling.

"No," he says. "You're wrong. My father wouldn't…he wouldn't!"

"He did," Peter says flatly.

"Pete, stop!"

Nathan's voice is sharp. In the other car, Molly stops reading, looks in their direction.

"Perhaps you should go and sit with Molly," Nathan continues more gently. "Let me talk to Dr Suresh, okay?"

Mohinder thinks it is possibly the most patronising thing he has ever seen. To his amazement, however, Peter only nods and does as he is told, wandering slowly down into the next car. Mohinder can hear him talking quietly to Molly.

"You'll have to excuse my brother," Nathan says. "He's not himself at the moment. He…lost someone. We lost someone. Our mother."

"I'm sorry." It's automatic. He doesn't really mean it.

Nathan nods, though, as if he does.

"He'll be okay. He just needs time."

His gaze lingers on his brother for a long moment, the concern clear in his eyes.

"My father?" Mohinder prompts.

Nathan blinks.

"Of course." He's quiet for a moment. "Peter wasn't lying, Mohinder. Your father did create Strain 138."

Mohinder feels cold again, though this time it is worse. He feels as if his very being is frozen from inside.

"It wasn't his fault," Nathan says, almost gently. "He couldn't help it."

"Couldn't help it?" Mohinder repeats sharply. "What do you mean?"
Nathan blows out a long breath.

"Did your father ever talk to you about his work, his research?" he asks.

Mohinder scowls before he can stop himself.

"I tried my hardest to have nothing to do with my father's research," he says coldly. "It made him a laughing stock, lost him his job, caused him to abandon his family and move half way around the world."

"So you don't believe it then? His theories on evolution, genitive abilities?"

Mohinder stares.

"Of course I don't! It was mad talk."

Nathan smiles an odd, unreadable smile.

"Mohinder, there's something I need to show you."

He steps out of the train, onto the platform. Mohinder stands in the train doors, waiting.

Nathan looks at him, winks, then is suddenly floating four feet off the ground.

Mohinder is vaguely aware that his mouth is open, that he is staring, but he cannot believe it.

"I can fly," Nathan says.

Mohinder can see that. He can see that Nathan is, indeed, flying around the subway platform.

But he still cannot believe it.

After a few moments, Nathan comes back down and pushes Mohinder gently towards their seats.

"You…can fly," Mohinder says slowly.

Nathan nods, with a little grin.

"All of us here have abilities. I believe it's why we weren't affected with the virus."

"Before…Peter, he said he teleported us here." Mohinder stares. "He wasn't joking, was he?"

Nathan laughs. It sounds odd, strained.

"No. He's the only one of us who can get in and out. The rest of us daren't risk it, in case we lead the infected here."
Mohinder shakes his head.

"I don't believe it," he says softly. "All my father's work, it's true? He was right. And I ridiculed him for it. I hated him for it."

Nathan lays a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he says. "But there is more I need to tell you."

Mohinder nods, even as his mind whirls. How could he have ever doubted his father? How could they have parted on such needlessly angry terms? And Mohinder would never get to tell him he was sorry, that he had been right.

"Your father was searching for people like us, people with abilities. He wanted to study them, to try and understand how the abilities worked. And that was how he met Sylar. Sylar worked with your father, gained his trust. He used your father to find others with abilities and then he killed them and stole their abilities."

"Stole?" Mohinder repeats. "How?"

Nathan grimaces.

"He removes their brain."

Mohinder almost wishes he hadn't asked.

"One of the abilities he took enabled him to force people to do his bidding. He used it on your father and forced him to create Strain 138. It was modified to infect anyone when it entered the bloodstream, except those with abilities."

"Why?"

Nathan shrugs.

"The only explanation I can imagine is so it wouldn't infect him, too."

Mohinder frowns

"But I don't have an ability. So why am I still alive?"

"Maybe you do. Maybe you just don't know it yet."

"That's all very well, but I'm still not sure why you brought me here."

"You said so yourself. Your father knew a cure for the Shanti virus. He created Strain 138, he must have known a cure. We need you to find it."

Mohinder is shaking his head.

"I'm not my father. I don't have his research. I couldn't possibly-"

"We have your father's research here, Mohinder. You can study it. We even have basic equipment."

"You don't understand," Mohinder insists. "I can't do this."

"You have to." Nathan's tone brooks no argument. "We don't know who's dead or alive. We don't know how far the virus has spread. You are the only person in the entire world who may be able to stop it. You have to."
Mohinder closes his eyes for a long moment. He isn't his father. He isn't good enough.

"How did you know this was going to happen?" he says finally. "You brought my father's research, equipment, found a hiding place. It happened overnight. How did you know?"

There is a long moment of silence, and when he opens his eyes Nathan is staring at him.

"What?"

"Mohinder, this didn't happen overnight. The first outbreak was two weeks ago, right here in New York City."

"That's impossible. I would have known. It would have been on the news!"

"It was on the news," Nathan insists. "They tried to evacuate, but by the time it was set into motion it was too late, the virus had already spread."

"But everything was fine yesterday!" Mohinder insists. "I went out! No one was dead, or infected. It was normal!"

Nathan is watching him with a strangely guarded expression, as if he is afraid Mohinder will attack him.

"Mohinder," he says slowly. "What date is it?"

"May 15th," Mohinder replies.

Nathan shakes his head, just once.

"It's May 28th," he says.

Mohinder blinks.

"No-"

"Yes. It is. You've lost two weeks. Somewhere between going to sleep and waking up, you've lost two weeks."

"It's not possible," Mohinder says softly.

"That's why Molly couldn't find you. You weren't here! You were…I don't know where the hell you were, but you definitely weren't here."

"So it would appear," Mohinder says faintly. The train car is beginning to spin a little. "I suppose the question is then, where was I?"

*

Peter glances up as he sees Nathan walking down the other train car towards him. Molly is still happily reading her story, and he places a gentle hand on her head before getting up to meet Nathan halfway.

"You explain everything?" he asks, jerking a head towards Suresh, who is sitting back against the seat, looking dazed.

"Not everything."

Nathan cups a hand around his elbow, guides him onto the subway platform where they can have a bit of privacy.

"We have a problem, Peter. Suresh doesn't remember anything about the last two weeks. As far as he's concerned, today is May 15th."

"What, he's lost two weeks? Just like that?"

Nathan's expression is unreadable.

"So it would seem."

"Isn't that a bit convenient?" Peter asks. He doesn't trust Suresh. Not yet. "He can't remember the last two weeks. Molly couldn't find him. It just so happens the virus was released two weeks ago."
Nathan glances at him, sharply.

"You think Suresh is in this with Sylar?" He shakes his head in disbelief. "You're being ridiculous."

Peter feels a sharp stab of annoyance.

"Am I?" he asks. "It's a pretty big co-incidence, Nathan."

"I trust Suresh," Nathan says shortly. "That should be enough for you."

"And what if it isn't?" Peter challenges.

Nathan regards him carefully.

"Maybe you should try and get some sleep, Peter." He places a hand on Peter's shoulder, firm, comforting. "You look like hell."
Peter shakes his head, once.

"I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see her."

"Mom?"

Peter shoots him a withering look.

"Simone."

Nathan closes his eyes, as if her name causes physical pain.

"You need to forget about Simone, now. She's gone."

"How can I?" Peter snaps, shrugging Nathan's hand away angrily. "I killed her, Nathan! I murdered her! How can I forget something like that?"

"You had no choice!" Nathan hisses. He reaches for Peter again, pulling him close. "She was already gone, Pete. There was nothing you could do."
Peter feels himself crumple, falls into his brother's arms

Simone…he can still remember the expression on her face, the complete lack of recognition in her eyes. Her beautiful face, twisted into such a horrific bloodlust.

"I loved her," he whispers.

"I know," Nathan says. His hands are warm on Peter's back, familiar. "I know. I'm sorry."

When he eventually pulls back he sees Suresh watching them from inside the train. Immediately the doctor looks away. The expression on his face is unreadable.

"Did you tell him about Matt?" Peter asks.

Nathan shakes his head.

"I figured the fate of the world was enough to burden him with for now, let alone the life of one of our friends."

He casts a look towards Molly in the train car, bent over Matt's still body, reading avidly. He hasn't moved in weeks.

"Do you think that's what will happen to all of us?" he asks. "If we get infected?"

He doesn't want to end up like Matt, in a lifeless coma, neither dead nor alive.

"I don't know," Nathan says. "I don't have any answers. But I do know that you won't end up like him. You can't."

Peter nods. Sighs.

"I'm going to talk to him," he says, nodding at Suresh.

He half expects Nathan to stop him, but he only warns "be nice".

Peter waves the words away.

Suresh looks up as Peter gets back into the train. He looks a little suspicious, a little wary. Peter supposes he can't blame him. If Suresh is telling the truth about having no memory of the last two weeks, this must all be a bit overwhelming to him.

"So…Nathan says you can't remember the last two weeks?"

Suresh nods.

"I thought it was the 15th," he says. He seems a bit dazed.

Peter bites his lip.

"I can…there's this thing I can do. Read minds, well, more like thoughts really. Can I…do you mind…?" He trails off, aware of how bizarre it sounds. Glad that he's the kind of guy who asks permission.

Suresh is staring at him.

"You can read my mind?" he asks.

Peter nods.

"I just need to check. If you're working with Sylar-"

"I don't even know who Sylar is!" snaps Suresh. "I'm certainly not working with him!"

Peter nods, more to appease him than anything.

"Please," he says. "Just let me."
When Suresh doesn't protest further, Peter reaches out, feels Suresh's mind, his thoughts a jumble of English and what Peter presumes is his native tongue. He's confused, scared. He thinks Peter and Nathan are a little mad. And he really does think today is May 15th. There's no memory of Sylar. No recognition.

Peter sighs, draws back. He can still feel Mohinder's mind, but he tries not to actively focus on the thoughts. There's no need to be more invasive than necessary.

"Well," he mutters. "At least you are who you say you are."
Mohinder bristles a little at that, but Peter ignores him.

"Our friend got infected," he says. He gestures to Matt. "It didn't send him mad but it put him in a coma. We figured if you could find the cure you could save him." He's suddenly so tired. Going outside seems to have that effect now. He comes back drained, exhausted. He guesses it's the whole fighting for your life thing.

Mohinder's eyes slide over Matt, over Molly. She looks up. And Peter sees their eyes connect. Something in her expression must make up Mohinder's mind.

"I'll try," he says. "But I'm not my father."

Peter nods in acknowledgment.

He supposes they can't ask for more than that.

*

Over the next few days Mohinder comes to know Molly Walker very well.

He learns that her favourite colour is purple and her favourite books are Peter Pan, Harry Potter and Alice in Wonderland. He learns that she lives with Matt, because her parents were murdered by Sylar, for their abilities, and that Matt was the one who saved her. He learns that she can find anyone in the world, just by thinking about them.

She finds him mother for him, and when she asks if she can find his father, he only smiles sadly and shakes his head.

"You won't find him on a map, Molly."

Molly frowns for a second.

"He's nowhere?" she guesses. "Like my parents."

Mohinder nods, fighting the sudden wave of sadness he now associates with his father's memory.

"Exactly."

She purses her lips.

"It's sad," she says. "And it hurts a lot. But it gets better."

Her hand squeezes his. He feels a wave of warmth shudder through him.

"Thank you," he whispers.

She smiles, sunnily.

"I wish I could help fix Matt. Can I?"

He can't resist her. He's completely lost.

"You can be my assistant. There is something I need help with."

Her eyes shine.

"What is it? What do I do?"

"It's a very important job," he tells her, seriously. "But you must follow my instructions to the letter."
She nods, solemn.

"To the letter," she echoes.

Mohinder leans forward, so that they are at eye level.

"I need you to go out onto the subway platform and brig me something. It's in a yellow bag."

"Yellow bag. Got it…wait, what is it?"

He lowers his voice to a whisper.

"Peanut M&Ms."

She mouths the words, then breaks out into giggles.

"M&Ms! That's not real work!"

"No," he agrees with a laugh. "It's not. But they are necessary. I'm starving."
Molly laughs, then bounds out onto the subway platform, towards their food store. As soon as she's turned away, Mohinder feels his smile drop. He wasn't exaggerating; his blood sugar's low and he feels exhausted. Most of his father's research is incomprehensible to him, and he has to wade through it piece by piece.

He doesn't know whether he should be looking at the work connected to the Shanti virus, Strain 138 or the genetic abilities. He's been in this train car for close to two days now, and still has nothing to show for it.

As if sensing his despair, Nathan appears at his shoulder.

"You should take a break, Mohinder."

Mohinder shakes his head, once.

"I need to get through this. There's so much to read, to try and understand. I have to grasp my father's research before I can even begin to decipher it. I barely know where to start!"

In an uncharacteristic show of frustration, he throws the folder he is holding onto the floor. Outside, Molly looks up, startled. Mohinder closes his eyes and tells himself to get a grip.

He feels Nathan's hand squeeze his shoulder.

"Take a break."

It isn't a request.

Mohinder nods and stands up, following Nathan into the next train car along, out of the makeshift lab that they had set up. The equipment was limited, at best, but he was coping.

Molly follows them in.

"I brought you the M&Ms."
She holds out the yellow packet; Mohinder takes them gratefully.

"Thank you, Molly."

Nathan catches her hand and gives it a quick squeeze.

"How's Matt today?"

She tilts her head to one side, as if considering.

"He's okay. I try talking to him. I sometimes think he can hear me, in his mind."

"I'm sure he can, sweetheart."

She nods, taking obvious comfort from Nathan's words.

"I'm going to go sit with him for awhile."

Both men watch her move along the train.

"She's a sweet kid," Nathan says.

"She's very special," Mohinder murmurs. "Her parents were murdered for their abilities?"

"The father," Nathan confirms. "The mother was just a casualty. Although I suspect Molly may have been the real target. Her ability would be very lucrative to someone like Sylar." He rubs a tired hand across his eyes.

"How long ago was it?"

"I think about six months."

Mohinder casts his gaze to Molly.

"That poor child."

"Do you have family, Dr Suresh?"

Mohinder narrows his eyes.

"You know I don't. Are you hoping to tell me all about yours?"

Nathan smiles sheepishly. There's sadness in it.

"Wife and two boys. Heidi, Monty and Simon."

"Are they…in a safe place?" Mohinder ventures.

Nathan levels his gaze.

"They're gone. Infected. Like my mother. Like Peter's girlfriend." He closes his eyes for a moment, briefly. "I thought one of my boys might…be like me. Special. I thought they might have been able to survive. Sometimes I wonder what we're even bothering to fight for. Who are we trying to save?"

Mohinder's eyes slide back to Molly.

"We're trying to save her," he says. "The Molly Walkers of this world. Or at least those who are left. I'm sorry for your losses."

"I'm sorry for your father," Nathan returns.

Mohinder tries to smile, but it won't come.

"Killed by a low life who just wanted his taxi fares," he says sadly. "He left India for that."

"What?" Nathan asks.

"That's how he died. He was mugged." There is a most strange expression on Nathan's face. "But didn't you already know that?"

For a moment Nathan appears oddly flustered.

"I knew he had been killed," he says finally. "I wasn't entirely sure how."

Mohinder nods. Something tells him Nathan is lying. He doesn't know if he should press the issue.

"I should get back to work. I have a lot to do."
Nathan nods. He doesn't look Mohinder in the eye.

"I'll find you something to wash your M&Ms down with."
Mohinder is standing when Peter suddenly appears on the subway platform. It makes him jump, although neither Nathan or Molly bat an eye.

"I have bad news," he says. "That cheerleader, Nathan, remember her? The one from Texas?"

"Of course."

"She's dead," Peter says bluntly. "I received a message from her father, Bennett. She was found with her skull sawed open."

"Sylar got to her."

Peter nods. Nathan's expression is unreadable.

"What does this mean?" Mohinder asks.

"It means Sylar can't die," Peter says. "Or at least, not very easily. He has Claire's regenerative powers. Like me."

"You can't die?" Mohinder repeats.

"That's why I go outside. I can fight the infected. Even if they bite me, my blood can counteract the infection before it can take affect."

"This means that Sylar will be practically unstoppable. He can control anyone that is left."

Mohinder's mind is racing. Something Peter said has triggered his memory. Something in his father's research…blood…

Ignoring the others he races back to the lab car and begins digging through the various folders of paper research. He peels open the folder with Sylar's name on the front; all the transcripts of his father's initial interviews with Sylar are in here. He used Sylar's blood and DNA to create a formula to find others with abilities, although he never had a chance to complete it before he was killed. Mohinder hasn't found anything about Strain 138, connected to Sylar or otherwise, but there is information on the Shanti virus.

He pulls out the Shanti folder and opens it, ignoring the picture of his sister which stares up at him from the first page.

Although it doesn't detail exactly what the cure his father found, or was trying to find, for the Shanti virus, the file does contain basic, systematic notes and research. There are mentions of blood and DNA here too; he pauses for a long moment, trying to quiet his mind and connect the information.

Blood. Blood, blood, blood. Why is that striking such a chord?

He remembers what Peter said, about his own blood counteracting the effects of infection. Could that be true for all cases? Could Peter's blood be the cure?

He turns in his chair to find Peter and Nathan watching him from the door way.

"I need a sample of your blood," he tells Peter, already reaching for the needle.

Peter looks bemused, but rolls his sleeve up none the less.

"Can I ask what for?"

Mohinder hurries to place an arm band on his forearm, tightening it to try and bring out a vein.

"If your blood can protect you from infection, maybe it can do the same to others. It may cure your friend."

Nathan nods slowly.

"That almost makes sense."

"Nothing makes sense anymore," Mohinder mutters absently. He draws a syringe of blood from Peter's arm. It's thick and dark. Looks like everyone else's blood.

Molly appears in the doorway.

"What's going on?" she asks.

Mohinder ignores her, focussing on transferring Peter's blood to a needle. He carries it carefully back along the train, to Matt's car, the other following behind him.

He studies Matt's still, round face for a moment.

He feels strangely like he knows this man, even though they have never spoken. He knows him through Molly, through the way she talks about him, the time she spends with him. He knows him through his blood and DNA, from his genetic ability.

"Please," he murmurs, under his breath, "Please work."

He wants this man to open his eyes. He wants to know him.

He injects Matt and then steps back, to wait. He can sense the others behind him, holding their collective breath.

Nothing is happening.

"Matt?" he asks, firmly and clearly. "Can you hear me?"
For a second Mohinder swears he can hear the murmur of a voice, then it is gone.

"Talk to him in you head," Molly says softly. "He hears you best like that."
Mohinder hesitates a second, aware of how bizarre that sounds.

Matt? he thinks. Can you hear me?

For a long moment there is only aching silence, the others' breathing loud and oppressive in his ears, then he hears a faint echoing voice, but it is not out loud. It is in his head.

Where am I?

Mohinder doesn't recognise the voice; it is warm and gruff, confused as it reverberates in Mohinder's head.

My name is Mohinder Suresh, he thinks. You have been very ill and I am trying to take care of you.

Suresh? I know your name… The voice hazes in and out for a moment Molly?

She's here. Mohinder attempts to be reassuring. We're taking care of her.

Everything's so dark. Matt's voice is getting further away. Mohinder has to strain to hear it. I don't know where I am…

"Matt, open your eyes. Matt!"

There is sudden, ominous, silence in his head. Mohinder hurries to check his vital signs. All stable.

"What happened?" Peter asks.

"I spoke to him," Mohinder replies, dazed. "I spoke to him, in my head. How is that possible?"

"He can project his thoughts," Molly says. "It's something new. He couldn't always do it. What did he say?"

Mohinder shakes his head.

"He, uh, asked about you. He recognised my name. He said it was dark."

"Will he be okay?" Molly's voice sounds so small. She grips Matt's head tightly, her brown eyes on Mohinder's face.

He feels a sudden rush of determination. He will find a way to cure Matt, if only for her.

"Yes," he says. "He's going to be fine. I promise."
*

Three hours later he's not feeling so sure.

He's missing something. He knows he's missing something, but what the hell is it? How did his father inoculate Sylar and the others against Strain 138? And how does that tie into the Shanti virus? He knows the answer is there, just beyond his reach.

Peter's blood didn't cure Matt, not completely, but it did bring out his ability, even if he wasn't fully conscious. It did something. He can only suppose that the cure to the Shanti virus is the key. If only he knew what it was…

"How's it going?"
He glances up at Peter, leaning in the doorway to the train car, and forces a smile.

He has come to enjoy Peter's company over the last few days, after he managed to get past Peter's prickly exterior. He isn't at all as Mohinder first imagined; he's sensitive and caring, and still talks about the world as if he can save it, even though Mohinder can see the bright shadow of pain in his eyes. He tells Mohinder all about Simone, about how they had barely been together when the infection has hit. She had had a boyfriend, Isaac, who was a heroine addict and things between them all had got a bit messy.

"What happened to Isaac?" Mohinder had asked.

Peter looked tired. And sad.

"Sylar killed him. Isaac could paint the future."

He had shown Mohinder, then, shown him paintings of Mohinder himself, painted weeks before they had ever met, in this very subway station.

"You knew this would happen?" Mohinder asked.

Peter shrugged.

"I knew it was a possibility. Not all the paintings come true, or at least not in the way you'd expect. When Matt went down, though, I knew we had to find you. I knew you were the key."

Now, Peter comes to sit beside him on the train car seat.

"No more breakthroughs?"
Mohinder sighs, shakes his head.

"I'm missing something, the line to draw it all together. It's…frustrating."

"You'll find it." Peter squeezes his shoulder with a quiet affection. "I believe in you."
Mohinder stares at him thoughtfully.

"What?" Peter asks.

"The cheerleader, Claire. When was she killed?"

"About three months ago, I think. Bennett had tried to contact us before, but the message seems to have got waylaid." Peter sighs. "I guess it's the last thing you want to worry about when you're grieving for your daughter."

"And this Bennett? Is he alive now?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Probably not. Why?" Peter seems to have sensed Mohinder's change in mood. "What is it?"

"I think…" he hesitates, the idea still drifting round in his head. "I think my father may have used Sylar's blood in Strain 138, and that's the reason Matt isn't infected. If he had Claire's regenerative powers at the time…" He frowns, urging the bigger picture to come into focus. "But if that was the case, then why didn't your blood cure Matt?" He stands up, walking along the train car and back again, trying to organise his thoughts. Peter doesn't speak, just watches him patiently.

"There must have been something else in Sylar's blood…something that could counteract the initial virus." His eyes widen, as the possibility suddenly occurs to him. "Sylar must have had the cure to the Shanti virus! It makes sense! That would have worked against the initial virus, and then the regenerative blood would have countered Strain 138. His DNA was what my father used to formulate the list. There is something in the DNA of those with abilities that protects them against Strain 138, which has been created from Sylar's blood. It's all connected!"

He turns back to Peter, eyes shining with the possible discovery.

"That's it! That's the cure, not just for Matt, but for everyone!"

"Wait." Peter looks confused. "What's the cure?"

"Sylar's blood! Sylar's blood is the cure!"

He stops suddenly, sitting hard onto the seat as he realises what he's just said.

"Sylar's blood is the cure," he repeats softly.

Peter looks grim.

"Which means we have a whole new problem."
Mohinder nods soberly. Because exactly how does one get blood from a violent serial killer?

"There must be another way," he murmurs. "Sylar himself isn't the cure to the Shanti virus. My father believed he'd found that only a few months after my sister died, before he ever knew Sylar. So Sylar's blood is only the cure because it has the cure for the Shanti virus in it."

"So what is it?" Peter asks. "The cure for the Shanti virus?"

Mohinder sighs, the weight of the world settling back onto his shoulders.

"That's the problem. I have no idea."

*

Mohinder doesn't sleep that night.

Peter knows because he doesn't sleep either, watching Mohinder shift restlessly as he himself lies still as a stone.

He allows himself to listen to Mohinder's thoughts sometimes, just snatches of the surface, not enough to be invasive. Mohinder thinks about the virus constantly. He thinks about Sylar, wonders about Sylar.

He thinks about Matt.

Peter doesn't know why this last one disturbs him so much. He shouldn't care that Mohinder thinks about Matt so much. He should be glad that Mohinder's thinking about his patient.

Except Mohinder doesn't think about Matt in a patient only sense. He thinks about seeing Matt's eyes with life in them, about the way Matt might drink his coffee, about his voice, low and gruff.

And Peter does care.

He cares a lot, more than he should. Mohinder is like an enigma to him, and whilst part of him is still reeling from the loss of Simone, another part of him is already beginning to get lost in Mohinder.

Mohinder shifts, and his eyes connect with Peter's across the train car. Peter blinks, caught, then forces a wry smile.

Mohinder smiles back, but it looks tired, defeated.

"You okay?" Peter whispers, aware of Molly and Nathan, sleeping beside them.

"I can't get my mind to rest," Mohinder confesses.

Peter's wry smile is genuine this time.

"I know. I can hear it."

For a moment Mohinder looks slightly panicked, then he relaxes and nods.

"My thoughts are too loud. I apologise."

Peter laughs softly.

"I don't mean to listen. Though you should try and take a little break. Stop thinking about the virus so much."

"I can't," Mohinder says. "The cure is there, I know it is. It's within my reach."

Peter's silent for a long moment. There's something he wants to ask, something he's been holding back. He's afraid of Mohinder's reaction.

"Mohinder?"

"Yes?"

"Where do you think you were? Those two weeks?"
There's a pause which only last seconds, but to Peter feels much longer.

"I wish I knew."

*

They devise a plan.

They know that Sylar is looking for them, Peter especially, and decide that the only way they can defeat the virus is to lure Sylar into a trap and then take a sample of his blood.

Exactly how they are going to do this, they're not sure.

"Back of the head," Peter says. "It's the only way. It was the only way I couldn't come back. Shoot him, right up into the brain."

"And how do you suggest we get close enough to do that, Pete?" Nathan asks, a tense edge to his voice.

"He still doesn't have Claude's ability," Peter says. At Mohinder's evident confusion he elaborates. "Invisibility. We lure him into the open, I sneak up and bang. He's out, we steal his blood, save the world."

"You're forgetting one thing, Peter. You are the bait. How are we supposed to lure him if you're invisible?"

Peter blinks at Mohinder for a long moment. Mohinder can see the thought forming before he's even had a chance to express it.

"You are not using Molly for bait."
The sharp edge to his tone leaves no room for argument. Peter looks slightly shamed, lowers his eyes.

"No, of course not," he says.

"I'll have to do it," Nathan says. "Sylar knows I have a power. He'll go for it."

"How do we even know Sylar is here?" Mohinder asks. "He could be anywhere."

"He's here," Nathan replies confidently. "He knows we're here, so he's looking for us. We're some of the last, remember. He knows."

Mohinder feels a shiver trip down his spine. This plan will put them all in such potential danger. What if Sylar kills them all, leaving Matt in a permanent coma and Molly all alone?
He starts slightly at Peter's hand on his arm.

"That won't happen," he says softly.

Mohinder nods, once. The words bring a strange comfort. Something in Peter's voice lets him believe it.

Nathan eyes them curiously, but doesn't comment.

"So we do this as soon as possible. Tonight."

"Tonight?" echoes Mohinder. "That's not enough time!"

"We've sat around and waited for long enough," Nathan says firmly. "It's time we did something."
Later, Mohinder takes Molly aside and explains to her, as best as he is able, what they are going to do, why they have to leave her alone for a little while.

"But you'll come back?"

"Yes," Mohinder says, even thought he can't guarantee it. "I promise."
She clings to him tightly.

"I'll look for you," she whispers. Mohinder can hear the tears in her voice, but when he pulls back she looks determined, jaw clenched, eyes dry.

"I love you, Mohinder," she says seriously.

Mohinder feels as if a hand is squeezing his heart.

"I love you too," he whispers.

He says goodbye to Matt, laying a gentle hand on his face.

I'm going to find you a cure, he thinks. I'm going to save you.

He doesn't know if Matt can hear him, but he hopes so.

When he straightens up he sees Peter watching him, an unreadable expression on his face.

As soon as their eyes connect he turns way, talking brusquely to Nathan, and Mohinder shakes his head.

Sometimes he has no idea what is going on in Peter's head. He finds it a little unfair that Peter knows exactly what is going on in his.

Peter teleports them all to the surface together, holding tightly to Nathan and Mohinder's hands. Mohinder blinks as one second they're on the subway platform, then the next they're on an abandoned sidewalk.

"Now what?" Peter asks.

"Now we wait," Nathan replies.

They don't have to wait long. The infected can sense them, and as soon as one has come, others begin to follow. Peter fights them off, trying, Mohinder notes, to incapacitate rather than kill.

He believes I can find the cure, Mohinder realises.

Of course I do, comes into his mind, and he starts at Peter's voice, so intimate, inside his head.
They're doing okay, until Mohinder gets bitten.

An infected strikes him from behind, drags him to the ground before he can fight back, his leg already flailing at one in front. He can't break that ridiculously strong grip, and he lets out a cry as the teeth sink into his arm, his eyes meeting Peter's as the pain rips through him.

"Mohinder!" Peter yells, and a second later the creatures are gone, their heads bashed against the sidewalk with an equally superhuman strength.

"Mohinder," Peter gasps, on his knees beside him now, pulling Mohinder against him, heedless of the infected that swarm around them.

"You have to do it," Mohinder gasps, the pain from the bite emanating through his whole being. His arm is bloodied and mangled; it hangs limp, by his side. "You have to kill me."

Peter shakes his head, once.

"No. No, we'll get Sylar and I'll give you the cure myself. I'm not going to kill you."

"I'd rather die than live as one of those monsters," Mohinder rasps.

"No!" Peter says again, more forcefully. An infected latches onto his shoulder, and he throws it off with an angry roar.

Mohinder has never seen Peter like this. His eyes are so dark they are almost black. Blood leaks from the wound on his shoulder, dripping down onto Mohinder's infected arm. Mohinder watches as Peter's wound heals, right before his eyes.

It's fascinating.

He wishes he could study Peter's blood, its regenerative properties.

"Don't you ever stop thinking about science?" Peter asks.

"Peter, you have to kill me. Now. There are only seconds left."

"Shut up," Peter snaps. He stands, protecting Mohinder's body with his own as the infected try to attack.

Mohinder closes his eyes, the blood loss making him feel suddenly so tired.

It's the virus, he realises. It's taking me. Oh Molly, I'm so sorry.

"Mohinder?" Peter asks from above him. His teeth are gritted as he fights off another infected. "Shut the hell up."

Mohinder barely registers Peter's boot in his vision before it collides with the side of his head and-

*

He's aware of voices, close by, talking in hushed tones.

"We agreed-"

"Everything's different now, Nathan. Don't you get it? We need to get him back underground. Now. It's too dangerous-"

"We need to get Sylar's blood. We need to-"

"Mohinder?"
The change of tone is obvious. Concern, desperation, warmth.

Mohinder forces his eyes open.

"You kicked me in the head," he says.

Peter laughs, a laugh of relief tinged with hysteria.

"Yeah, I did. Sorry."

Mohinder sits up, surprised at the lack of pain. He looks down at his arm. It is completely healed.

"Why am I not dead?"
"We don't know," Nathan says honestly. "You're not dead, you're not infected. And it's been at least fifteen minutes since you were bitten. Your arm looks…it's almost as if it's regenerated."

"Like Peter," Mohinder murmurs thoughtfully. Suddenly, his mind is as sharp as glass. "Your blood dripped onto my arm after I was bitten, I remember watching it just before your wound closed, marvelling at it."

"So what, I healed you?" Peter asks.

"Yes, but that still does not explain why I am not infected. Your blood alone does not cure infection."

"You said it would only work with the cure to the Shanti virus."

Mohinder nods.

"But I cannot have had the cure as I have no abilities. I cannot contract the Shanti virus."
His father found the cure only just after Shanti died. A few months too late, his father had always said, eyes sad as they tracked Mohinder's face.

A few months…

"My God," Mohinder breathes. "It can't be possible."

"What can't be?" Nathan asks.

Peter doesn't ask. Mohinder can tell by the expression on his face that he already knows, that he heard the moment Mohinder had the realisation.

"He doesn't need to find the cure to the Shanti virus," he says softly. "Because he is the cure."

There's a long moment of silence.

"You…are the cure?" Nathan repeats sceptically.

"My blood, more specifically," Mohinder murmurs, suddenly dazed. "My father said he found the cure too late, and I was born just after my sister died.

"A few months after," Peter says.

Mohinder nods. "A few months too late."

"So that's why you aren't infected? Because when Peter's blood got into you it mixed with your blood and created the cure?"

"Hopefully an antidote. An inoculation, of sorts."

"And if it works on you, then it should work on others, right?"

Mohinder is at a loss.

"I honestly don't know. This may be the cure. I hope it is the cure."
Peter blinks slowly.

"So Sylar has your blood in him. And now you and he are the only ones on the entire planet with the ability to cure this virus."

"Ability?" Mohinder repeats. He looks at Peter, finds the unspoken confirmation that the choice of word was not incidental.

"You're more special then any of us, Mohinder."

The words seem to have a dual meaning. Mohinder feels an unfamiliar heat in his cheeks.

Special.

"Yes, Dr Suresh. I'm only just beginning to realise how truly special you are."

The hands on his shoulders are strong, the unfamiliar voice close to his ear. Mohinder freezes for a second, eyes automatically flitting to Peter.

Peter is still looking at him with that unfamiliar expression that had caused Mohinder such warmth only moments ago.

It takes Mohinder a moment to realise he isn't moving.

The hands on his shoulders tighten, the thumbs rubbing intimate circles hard enough to bruise.

"And to think, I almost killed you months ago."

Mohinder knows, quite suddenly, who this is even though they have never met.

"Sylar."

The name slips from his lips with a hiss.

Sylar chuckles.

"So you do remember me? I was beginning to think you'd forgotten all about our little encounter."

"What are you talking about?" Mohinder snaps. "I've never met you before."

Sylar sighs, breath warm against Mohinder's neck in a grotesque parody of a lover. Mohinder shudders.

"My dear Dr Suresh. Allow me nudge your memory slightly."

He squeezes Mohinder's shoulders, and then next moment they are standing in Mohinder's apartment. Mohinder stares, disbelieving, at himself.

Himself, pinned to the floor beneath Sylar's body, moaning with abandon as Sylar fucks him roughly against the wooden floor boards.

"This isn't real," he whispers.

"I assure you it is," says Sylar, pulling Mohinder back against him, pressing their bodies together as their mirror images grunt and gasp on the floor.

"Let me re-acquaint you with two missing weeks of your life."

*

Sylar had trapped Mohinder in some kind of dream, some kind of nightmare. Those two weeks, those two missing weeks…

"I wouldn't want this," Mohinder says. "Not if I was in my right mind."

Sylar hasn't let him go. He holds Mohinder tightly against his own body. Mohinder is unable to tear his eyes aware from the grotesque show being played out in front of him. Unable to block out the sound of his own moans of pleasure.

"How do you know?" Sylar asks. "How do you know I even told you who I was? Maybe you just wanted me Mohinder."

The sound of his name on Sylar's lips sounds wrong, too intimate.

"Let me go," he whispers.

Sylar tightens his grip, shifts his hips against Mohinder's ass.

"Oh, but now I'm quite in the mood for a little replay."

Mohinder feels a wave of nausea wash over him at the words. He twists in Sylar's super human grip.

"You're a monster," he hisses.

"Oh Mohinder." Sylar's breath is hot on his neck. "You have no idea."

One hand slips around the front of Mohinder's chest, caressing him through the material of his shirt. "You have no idea what I'm capable of. I could screw you right here, pin you down while you kick and scream and cry. And you would be helpless."
Mohinder feels the words pierce him like ice. He knows, instinctively, that Sylar would do it. He would rape him on his own apartment floor while mere metres away their doubles imitated the actions with an enforced pleasure.

"What do you want from me?" he asks.

Sylar laughs in his ear, low and unpleasant.

"I want you to pay for the sins of you father."

"My father?" he echoes.

"Your father betrayed me. He told me he would give me the world and then abandoned me. He created me. He created Sylar."

"I don't understand," Mohinder whispers. How could his father have created this monster?

Sylar continues as if he had not spoken.

"I took my revenge on him. I forced him to create Strain 138. I let it out into the world. And then, when he could see what I had done, what he had done, I killed him."

The words are like a blow, and Mohinder feels himself sagging, suddenly, in Sylar's grip.

"What?" he murmurs, disbelieving.

"Oh, didn't your friends tell you?"
Mohinder shakes his head. He remembers Nathan's expression the day he talked of his father's murder, remembers thinking Nathan was lying to him.

"That's because they don't care about you. They're just using you, Mohinder."

He turns Mohinder, almost gently, until they are face to face.

"We could have such a perfect world, you and I. The only two people left in existence. Two halves of a whole. We would be like light and dark." His hand touches Mohinder's cheek. Mohinder feels a fluttering at the edge of his mind, finds the prospective so very attractive. He wouldn't have to worry anymore, Sylar would take care of him. All he has to do is give in…

A pleasured cry breaks through the haze in his mind and his eyes snap open, focussing on himself, spread out and moaning like a whore in a situation he has no memory of.

"Go to hell," he spits.

Sylar's eyes darken.

"Then you have to pay for his sins, Mohinder. Let's start with the lives of those who you call your friends."

Mohinder narrows his eyes, stubborn.

"I won't tell you where they are."

Sylar smiles.

"Oh, I think you will. You just need a little persuasion." His grip tightens on Mohinder until it is almost painful. "Then you'll tell me everything."

*

Peter blinks and then panics.

One minute he is looking at Mohinder and then next the alley in front of him is empty. He whirls around, clocking Nathan on his left, but no sign of Mohinder.

"Where is he?" he asks, his voice tight with panic.

Nathan is staring, confused.

"What just happened?" he asks.

"Where's Mohinder?" Peter repeats. "He's gone, Nathan. He's fucking gone!"

Nathan is shaking his head.

"He was right here…"
Peter closes his eyes, tries to sense Mohinder's mind nearby. There is nothing.

"This isn't happening," he says. He can feel the panic, hot and sharp, rising in his throat.

"This isn't happening!"

"Calm down," Nathan barks. "We have to get back underground."

"No! We can't go back down without him!"

"Pete we have to!" Nathan grips his arms tightly. "Otherwise we might as well be dead! We can't figure anything out up here!"

Peter knows he's right. He can already hear the infected coming back. They need to move.

"Mohinder!" he yells frantically. "MOHINDER!"

"Peter, now!"

Peter takes one more, desperate, glance around, then squeezes his eyes shut, and the next moment they are back on the subway platform.

Molly jumps up immediately and runs out to greet them

"Where is he?" she's asking. "Where's Mohinder?"

"Molly-"

"He was with you guys! Then the next minute he's nowhere! Where did he go?"
Peter shakes his head helplessly.

"We don't know. We don't know what happened."

He feels dazed, lost. He can't believe this is happening. He can't believe Mohinder's gone.

"Molly." Nathan is crouching down by her, trying to calm her. "I need you to be very brave ok? Tell me if you can find Mohinder on the map."
Molly is already shaking her head.

"I told you, he's gone! I was watching you guys all the time!"

"Is he nowhere, Molly?" Peter asks. He isn't sure he wants to hear the answer. "Is he nowhere like your parents?"

He senses Nathan's stillness, even as Molly shakes her head, and the instant relief is almost too much.

"It's like before," she says. "Before he came here. He's just gone."
Peter takes a moment to absorb her words.

"We never found out where he was, those two weeks."

"And now he's gone back?" Nathan asks, a note of disbelief in his voice. "You were in that alley too, Pete. One second he was there and the next he was gone. I didn't even blink." He's looking at Peter, eyes serious. "There are only two people in the world with the ability to move like that, and you're one of them."
It takes Peter a moment to understand.

"Hiro?" he asks. "But why would Hiro just take him? Why wouldn't he talk to us?"
Nathan looks just as lost.

"It's the only explanation. If he's been taken to another time, then no wonder Molly can't find him."

Something about this whole thing isn't adding up.

"If Hiro had taken him to another time those weeks then why couldn't he remember? Hiro doesn't have that sort of power."

"No," Nathan agrees heavily. "But Sylar does."

There is a moment of complete silence.

"No," Peter says. "No. If Sylar had taken Hiro's power he would have found us before now."

"Unless he was waiting for Mohinder."

Peter's mind is reeling. He sags against the platform wall. "Mohinder's blood is the cure to the Shanti virus. Sylar will be looking to destroy any inoculation to Strain 138."

"He can't know about Mohinder. He only just figured it out himself."
"But he said it, didn't he? That's the last thing we were talking about before he disappeared. If Sylar heard that…" He trails off. He doesn't want to have to think about it. He doesn't want to imagine what Sylar could be doing to Mohinder at that very moment.

"Ah but he's so much more useful to me alive."

The new voice is one Peter hears in his nightmares, often.

Sylar stands on the subway platform, Mohinder held in his arms, eyes glassy.

Peter registers three things at once: one, that Nathan was right and Sylar has taken Hiro's power. Two, that Mohinder is under Sylar's influence and has unknowingly led him right to them. And three, they are all in very serious danger.

It only takes a moment for this to sink in, and then he is forcing Nathan and Molly into the train, slamming and sealing the doors behind them without moving a muscle.

His eyes do not leave Sylar's.

"Let Suresh go. He has nothing to do with this."

"On the contrary, he has everything to do with it. He's at the centre of it all, Peter. Don't you see? He belongs to me."

Peter's face twists at the words, in utter revulsion.

"He doesn't belong to anyone. Let him go."
Sylar holds Mohinder more tightly. Peter can't help but see the way he presses their bodies together, the way Mohinder's head drops back onto Sylar's shoulder.

"Oh, but he does belong to me. I own him now, and you can't change that. He's mine."

Peter feels a wave of rage building in him, at the way Sylar is handling Mohinder, at the complete lack of anything on Mohinder's face. How dare Sylar use him like that?

"Is that why you took him in the first place?" he asks with barely contained fury. "To screw with him?"

Sylar laughs.

"That was just a pleasant side effect. I took him to try and get the cure of the Shanti virus from him."

"He didn't know," Peter hisses through gritted teeth.

"Oh I know that now."

Sylar's hand slips lower, settling on Mohinder's hip. Peter tracks the movement with furious eyes.

"But now I want him for an entirely different purpose, you see. First I'm going to kill you, and then your brother, and then darling Molly Walker. And then I'm going to find everyone else who's special and kill them too. And when I have all your powers, when I am the only special one left, I'm going to use him to cure everyone who's still alive. I will have such power."

Peter shakes his head.

"You're mad," he spits.

"It's funny," Sylar says. His hand tightens on Mohinder's hip, forcing their bodies even closer. "His father once said exactly the same thing about me."

He uses his other hand to turn Mohinder's head towards him and then kisses him, eyes flickering up to meet Peter's.

Peter feels the revulsion. The rage.

He tears them apart with a wave of his hand, Mohinder spinning halfway down the platform, and launches himself at Sylar, electricity bursting from his finger tips.

He will kill Sylar. He will kill him.

They are locked in a supernatural struggle, Sylar gripping Peter telepathically by the throat whilst Peter attempts to prise Sylar's hold away with his mind, and it takes a moment for his name to cut through the angry haze in his mind.

"Peter."

The weak words almost don't register, then Peter realises it is Mohinder, and in the split second he turns towards him, Sylar gets the upper hand.

Peter is suddenly flat on his back on the platform, Sylar looking down on him, a finger pointed steadily at his head. He is vaguely aware of Molly screaming, Nathan shouting his name. There is a strange pressure around his head, as if it is being squeezed gently.

This is it, he realises dimly. Sylar is going to kill me.

He turns his head fractionally to see Mohinder half way along the platform, staring at him with dazed eyes. Blood drips down one side of his face.

I'm sorry, Peter tries to say, but the words stick in his throat as the pressure around his skull increases. He has failed them all.

"Don't," Mohinder rasps.

It takes Peter a moment to realise that the words are not directed at him.

"Don't," he says again. "I'll come with you. Freely. Just don't."

Sylar's eyes are locked onto Mohinder. The pressure around Peter's skull is almost unbearable.

No Mohinder, he thinks, and he tries to project his thoughts. No!

"Please," Mohinder says. "Take me. But leave them. Take me and I'll come freely. I won't fight you. I promise."

No. Please, no.

There is a second when Peter thinks his skull is about to explode, and then suddenly the pressure is gone. He sees Sylar step back, eyes still on Mohinder. It seems impossible, but as much as Sylar wants ultimate power, he seems to want Mohinder more.

"You're mine," Sylar says.

Mohinder's eyes flicker, briefly, to Peter, and then they settle on Sylar's face.

"I'm yours," he repeats.

"Mohinder-" Peter tries, but Sylar silences him with a wave of his hand.

"You do not talk to him," he says. "He's mine."

Peter's head is pounding and he feels sick. He isn't sure what's happening.

Sylar walks away from him, down the platform towards Mohinder. He reaches down to touch Mohinder, draws him to his feet.

"You're mine," he says again.

Mohinder nods, slowly.

"I know," he whispers.

Peter shakes his head, and the movement catches Mohinder's eyes.

Goodbye Peter, he thinks. Look after Molly. Cure Matt.

NO! Peter projects. No, you can't, you-

He stops, mid thought.

The subway platform is empty.

They've gone.

Mohinder's gone.

*

He never sees Mohinder again.

The infected become cured, one by one.

He knows Mohinder must be responsible for the cure, but he never has any proof. The blood of the cured is used to heal the rest of the infected. That's how they manage to bring Matt out of his coma. The first thing he does is ask about Dr Suresh.

With news of the cure comes other news, too. News of different individuals who have been found with their skulls sawed open. Sylar is still out there, killing. It makes Peter sick to think that Mohinder is involved, that he has become a part of it.

Nathan tries to talk to him about it, sometimes, those dark weeks trapped on that subway platform. Peter doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't want to think of Mohinder, still out there somewhere, chained to Sylar.

He doesn't want to think.

He visits Matt and Molly often.

Molly loves to see him, and they spend hours watching TV or colouring together.

One day, quite out of the blue, she looks at him and says "Did you love Mohinder?"

Peter blinks, taken aback by the question.

"I barely knew him," he says finally.

"But you did love him." This time it isn't a question.

Peter hesitates.

"What makes you say that?"

"You're sad all the time," Molly says. She sounds as if this makes her sad too. "You miss him."

Peter nods slowly.

"I do miss him," he admits.

"I know where he is."
The words are completely unexpected and Peter stares at her for a long moment.

"You can find him?"

She nods.

"I look for him every night. Just to make sure. In case he ever needs us."

"And do you think he needs us?" he asks quietly.

Molly's silent for a moment, the scritch of her marker on the paper suddenly too loud.

"I think he misses us as much as we miss him," she says finally.

Peter doesn't ask her to tell him where Mohinder is. He doesn't trust himself not to barge in and try and rescue Mohinder. Whatever strange bargain Mohinder struck it seems to have worked. Sylar has never come after Molly or Nathan or Matt.

Or himself.

The weeks turn into months.

Peter works in a hospital, pulling night shifts in an ER in a bad part of town. Nathan mocks him for it, but Peter doesn't mind. He likes it in a strange way, seeing the lowest of the low, those who have no money, or no pride.

He can give help where it is so desperately needed.

Nathan returns to his former life of politics. He speaks about the virus, helps co-ordinate the measures needed to re build the city and restore the infected. He is good at his job, Peter realises. They need someone to lead them, and Nathan inspires their trust, their confidence.

Slowly, things begin to get back to normal, or what they perceive as normal.

Peter doesn't think he knows what normal is anymore.

It catches him, at the oddest of times, the thought of Mohinder. And then he has to stop, just for a moment.

He doesn't think he'll ever forget.

He watches Nathan, watches Molly, watches Matt. All alive because of Mohinder.

He watches himself, in the mirror, everyday,

The face of someone he's no longer sure he knows.

Alive. Because of Mohinder.

No, Peter Petrelli will never forget.

*

Fin.

30