Disclaimer: I'm not getting any money from this. Just my own particular sense of satisfaction.
Author's Note: Yes, Mohinder is OOC in this. But as I have already mentioned, this is a Dark!Mohinder fic.
This is also my very first fic that I've had the courage to post... Please be generous and give me some feedback!
Chapter One
Mohinder felt something was off the minute he arrived in the apartment. Cautiously, he walked towards the living room - then stopped.
'You can't be too careful,' the geneticist thought to himself, remembering the man in his apartment in India. Last time he had barely gotten away. Mohinder backtracked to the kitchen and took a large knife from the knives block.
Knife in hand, Mohinder walked softly into the other room. Sure enough, someone was there. He was under the desk, doing... something that involved the phone wire. Mohinder quietly slipped the knife through the back of his belt.
"Hello," he said loudly.
The man seemed startled, and pulled out quickly.
"Just about done," he said, flashing Mohinder an obviously fake smile. "Landlord asked me to fix the -"
"I'm sure," Mohinder said coolly. "If you're done, please -"
He stopped, noticing the piles of his father's papers lying out and open on the desk. This man was one of them, one of those who was trying to steal the research...
The other man realized that Mohinder knew.
He drew a gun and advanced towards the geneticist.
"Look here, doctor," he began, grabbing Mohinder by the front of the shirt. The gun was pointing to the wall near Mohinder's head.
Mohinder acted reflexively, reaching behind him for the knife and plunging it as hard as he could into the man's heart.
The man's mouth opened as he slowly careened to the side, his knees buckling. Mohinder caught the gun before it fell, and watched the man crumple to the floor.
"My God," Mohinder whispered.
He had just killed a man.
There was the sound of his door closing loudly.
"Doctor Suresh," a female voice rang out. She walked across the entrance room and into the hallway - and promptly staggered backwards as a bullet caught her in the chest.
Mohinder stepped to her, awash in feelings, hoping against hope that this murder was justified.
The woman looked at him in horror as she shivered on the ground.
"I'm - your neighbor," she whispered, and Mohinder's heart clenched.
"Wrong place, wrong time," he spoke softly. "I'm sorry."
He was. He truly was. But right now he was most concerned about having his visa revoked if he was arrested for murder - even if it was self-defense, or accidental manslaughter.
Mohinder stepped into the kitchen and took a pair of disposable plastic gloves from under his sink. He walked to the woman's body and, taking her under her arms, dragged her to the door.
After checking to make sure the coast was clear, Mohinder dragged her through the open door across the hallway. A swift check proved that the pictures on the mantelpiece included this woman - it was the right apartment.
He left her on the floor, then carefully proceeded to move the dead intruder into her apartment as well. Next he cleaned the gun carefully with a cloth from his apartment, and pressed it into the man's hand. He stood the man up and let him fall, letting the gun fall naturally too. Next, he cleaned the handle of the knife, until there were no fingerprints left - then he lay the woman's hand over it, several times, to make it seem like she had used it often.
Mohinder smiled as he imagined the story.
The woman had left her door open and a thief had come in... Mohinder threw open a few drawers and moved a fancy vase to the floor, indicating the 'thief's' actions.
The thief had a gun, which he brandished. The woman was frightened, retreated to the kitchen... and grabbed a knife.
Mohinder noticed a picture of his father with this woman on the stand. So they had known each other, good. It wasn't too far of a stretch to think that maybe they had dinner together, or cooked for each other.
Very glad he was wearing gloves, Mohinder transferred several cooking items and utensils from one apartment to the next. Just in case the police figured out that the knife belonged to Chandra's set.
She stabbed him and ran to the phone - but he wasn't dead. As she picked up the phone to dial 911, he shot her, from a distance... Mohinder measured it to make sure it was comparable to the distance between them when he had shot the woman. It was, thankfully.
Both of them died within a short time of one another. A tragic case of home entry, Mohinder shook his head as he imagined how he would act when he received the news.
Mohinder peeked out the hallway again - it was still clear - and went out into it, making sure to leave the woman's apartment door open just a bit...
Then he walked into his own place and inspected everything. There was no blood -- not even a sign of a struggle. He took off his gloves and tucked them carefully in a plastic bag, and put them in the back of the closet, in one of his father's boxes, at the very bottom.
Next he cleaned off the surfaces he suspected the man had touched. Finally, Mohinder knelt by the desk and looked below. Ah, the man was busy installing a listening device.
From the looks of it, he hadn't finished properly. Good, Mohinder smiled. He grabbed the extra wires and pulled them loose. Tucking the wires in his pocket, he grabbed an apple from his fruit bowl and a pre-made sandwich from the refrigerator, and stepped into the hallway, locking up behind him.
He walked down the corridor and didn't look back. It was time to get an alibi.
That was how Mohinder found himself in a pub. The bartender listened as Mohinder told him about his father's death, his bitterness over never being accepted by the old man, and his torn feelings about continuing his father's research.
"Just do what makes you happy," the bartender told Mohinder, clapping him on the shoulder.
"That's good advice," Mohinder slurred as he grinned. Everything he had told the bartender was the truth. Actually telling someone felt so good... He felt he had almost moved on, in fact.
He didn't need his father's approval anymore.
After all, he was better than his father.
Mohinder had survived an attempt on his life when Chandra had not.
It was evolution. One generation survived where the last did not.
'Evolutionary imperative,' Mohinder thought to himself as he thought regretfully about his neighbor, whose name he had never known. He had every reason to be careful - she had no right to come barging in like that...
"Another, please, Jim," Mohinder grinned dumbly at the bartender.
"This is your last one," Jim cautioned him. "Then I'm calling you a taxi."
Mohinder just nodded.
"Thank you, Jim," he said as he stood up, a bit wobbly on his feet. "I think I can get a taxi by myself."
"All right," the large, bearded man said. "Nice meeting you, Mohinder. Good luck with your life."
Mohinder saluted him before walking, slightly stumbling, out of the pub.
He took a taxi home. When he arrived, Mohinder paid the man the exact change, and tipped him ten dollars.
"Thanks," the young man, who looked Pakistani, grinned at Mohinder.
"My pleasure," Mohinder beamed, tripping slightly as he stepped up onto the curb.
"Careful there, pal," the guy laughed.
Mohinder proceeded upstairs and went into his apartment. He locked the door, then flung off his outer clothing as he walked to the bedroom. Mohinder fell into bed and was asleep within minutes.
An hour later, Mohinder was woken by very loud knocking on his door.
"Sir!"
Mohinder opened the door and looked out sleepily.
"Hmm," he yawned. "It's late... I mean early, Officer."
A policeman looked at him calmly.
"We need to talk to you, sir. There's been a murder across the hallway."
Mohinder's eyes widened and he blinked quickly.
"What! A murder!"
"Double, in fact," the police officer said. "Did you hear anything tonight? Any sounds of a fight - gunshots?"
"Nothing," Mohinder frowned. "I got back - oh, what time is it?"
"One thirty," the police officer told him.
"An hour ago," Mohinder said, yawning again. "Sorry... Past midnight, uh, twelve fifteen."
"Where were you before that?"
"I was at this nice little... it was a pub, several streets down... called... oh! Harry's Pub."
"How long were you there?"
"A couple hours," Mohinder told him honestly. "I'd spent most of the day talking to various people about my father... He was murdered a week ago, and I came here to collect his ashes and put his affairs in order before going back to India."
"I'm sorry to hear that," the police officer said, with a small frown.
"Do you..." Mohinder trailed off. "Well, maybe I sound silly, but do you think the murders could be related? My father's and... his neighbor's?"
"How did your father die?" the police officer asked.
"His neck was broken... in his taxi cab," Mohinder said grimly.
"Well, this one looks to be an attempted robbery," the man told him. "A woman, Eden McCain, is the one who was shot. We've yet to identify the intruder - he's dead as well, likely from Ms. McCain's last act of self-defense. It's a completely different situation, probably unconnected to your father's murder. Were you home any other time today?"
"I came back around eight," Mohinder said slowly. "Grabbed some dinner, and started walking... Until I found the pub."
"And you saw nothing?"
"Nothing at all," Mohinder sighed, letting his brow furrow. "I'm sorry, Officer."
"All right, that'll be all then," the officer said, slipping his notebook back in his pocket. "You go back to sleep."
"I don't know that I can," Mohinder said with a sigh. "All these murders here in the city... Sorry, officer, but I'd love to just go home as soon as I can."
"It can get rough out here," the officer admitted. "Good night, Mr. Suresh."
"Good night," Mohinder gave him a small smile as he closed his door and locked it again.
Instead of trying to sleep again, Mohinder got to work organizing his father's things. There were so many papers, so many folders, and it was all so badly organized. Mohinder wondered if there would be any point trying to decipher the work.
At four o'clock in the morning, he had things rather well organized. Feeling satisfied, Mohinder went back to sleep.
He dreamed of murder. But he had no nightmares.