For the first time in a week, Matt could actually hear the silence of the night. It was beautiful, clear and cool, but he wasn't paying attention to it. Instead, his attention was focused on the tiny human being lying in the wooden crib in the center of the room. Its miniature fists were clenched next to the pudgy baby face, and the little chest moved in and out slowly, the sweet indication of restful sleep. He sighed and smiled. His son. He was the most beautiful thing Matt had ever seen, and he knew he'd be happy if he could just sit like that for the rest of his life, looking.
"There you are," a soft voice said behind him. He turned to find his wife, Janice, standing in the doorway, smiling.
He smiled back. "I just…wanted to watch him. Couldn't help it."
"I know what you mean. But I guess that's the way you always feel with your first." Janice came and sat down next to her husband. "You should be getting to bed. Little Matt's finally calmed down. Take advantage of it."
"Oh, that's all right. Tomorrow's Sunday. I've got the whole day to rest."
Janice chuckled. "As new parents, we need to treasure our sleep. Even if it is Father's Day."
At the mention of the holiday, Matt sighed. Janice looked at him in a puzzled way and asked what was wrong.
"I'm thinking of him," the former policeman told his wife. "What he's going to inherit from me."
Janice sighed and put her hand on his shoulder, smiling sadly. Her expression was comforting, but then Matt heard her thoughts. I know what you mean. If I knew my son was going to be a freak, I'd never have married you.
Matt sat back in surprise. How could Janice think something like that?
But she acted as if she didn't understand. "Honey…what's wrong?"
"Did you forget that I can hear thoughts?" Matt snapped. "I didn't realize you thought that I was a freak." He got up from his chair and walked to the window.
"Wha—Matt, what are you talking about?" Janice asked in shock. "I don't think you're a freak. Or our son. Where did you get that idea?"
"I just heard you, Janice," Matt argued. "I heard you as clearly as if you were talking. You thought that if you knew that your son was going to be a freak, you would never have married me."
Janice gasped in surprise, and walked up to him, putting out her hand to touch his back. "I didn't think that! I swear I didn't. I was thinking that no matter what happened, we'd be all right, as long as we were together."
Matt shrugged off her hand and turned to face her. He opened his mouth to retaliate, but decided that he didn't want any more arguments. Finally, he said, "I'm going to bed. Good night." With that, he left the room.
Janice stood there for a while, trying to figure out what happened. She hadn't been thinking what Matt had heard at all—nothing even close to it. She couldn't understand. If it wasn't her that Matt heard—who was it?
Eventually she went to bed, fell asleep, and they each silently agreed the next day not to talk about what had happened the previous night. Matt awoke, at eight, alone. Janice was sitting in the rocking chair by the window, feeding their son. Her hair looked red in the bright streams of sun.
He smiled, and promptly forgot the words he had heard in his head. Then the phone by the bed rang. He reached over and answered it.
"Matt?" a voice with a refined British accent came on the other end. "Did I wake you up?"
"Mohinder?" Matt sat up straight in bed now. "It's fine, man. I actually woke up a few minutes before you called. How are you?"
There was a light chuckle. "Feeling a bit sheepish, actually. I forgot that there's a five hour difference. I just wanted to wish you a happy Father's Day."
Matt chuckled as well. "Well, thanks. I—well, sometimes I can't believe I'm actually a father. It's like a dream." The last sentence came out a bit lower in key, though Matt hoped that Mohinder didn't pick that up.
Unfortunately for him, the geneticist had noticed the change in his friend's tone. "Matt? Is—is everything all right?"
Matt paused, and looked at Janice, who was cooing to their newborn son and was apparently oblivious. Carefully he got out of bed and walked out of the room.
"Yes, I'm fine," Matt finally answered when he felt he was at a safe distance. He didn't know if he should tell Mohinder about his worries about his son. He was sure that if he did tell his friend, that the latter would probably give him a very scientific explanation, designed to make him feel better: that it was all evolution, and inescapable. But that didn't help Matt's worries.
"Are you sure?" Mohinder asked.
Matt laughed as lightly as he could. "Yes. I guess it's just 'new father' jitters."
"And…that's everything?"
With that question, the events of the previous night flashed through Matt's mind. Should he tell Mohinder? What could the Indian geneticist do about it, anyway? He closed his eyes and sighed. "Yes. Yes, that's everything." He quickly changed the subject. "How's Molly? Is she enjoying England?"
"I think she is. She loves the parks, hates the food."
Matt laughed. "Ok. Well, give her a hug for me. We can't wait for you two to visit and see the baby."
"Neither can we. I'll let you go. Tell Janice I said hello."
"I will. Bye."
"Bye."
Matt pressed the button on the phone to end the call, then, sighing, made his way back into their bedroom. Janice was now standing up from the rocking chair, about to put him back to bed. When she saw him, she smiled.
"He was hungry this morning," she told him. "But he's ready for another nap. Aren't you, my pretty little boy?"
"I'll take him back to bed," Matt told her. She acquiesced and she put their son in his arms. He walked him to the next room, laying him down in the soft blue covers of the crib.
Little Matt stared up at his father with large dark eyes. Matt gently smoothed the soft fuzz of hair on his head.
"Hey buddy," Matt told him. "Today is a special day for me, and you know why? It's because of you." He now put a light cover over his son. "Ohh…son. It's a strange world now. I wish I could have made it easy for you. But I promise, I'll do everything in my power to protect you and your mom…no matter what comes our way." He reached over and kissed his son's head. "I love you, Buddy. Never forget that."
FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF
Molly sat up in the big stuffed chair as her guardian chatted with their friend, Matt Parkman. His wife Janice had had the baby just a few weeks ago—a boy—and she couldn't wait to see him. Mohinder thought it would be nice to call Matt and wish him the best on his first Father's Day.
At last, Mohinder smiled and hung up the phone. Then he turned to her and took her in his arms, swinging her around and then coming to rest on the sofa. She squealed in delight.
"Finally, I have a day off from my work, and we can spend the day together," Mohinder said. "What would you like to do, darling?"
Molly beamed and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I don't care. As long as we're together."
Mohinder smiled and put Molly down. "Why don't we go visit Picadilly Circus? We haven't seen that yet."
"Sounds good. I'm gonna go get my purse!"
Mohinder couldn't help but smile as he watched his young charge run to her room to get the purse he'd bought for her a few weekends earlier. She loved the blue denim bag; she took it everywhere they went, feeling that she was grown up like all the other girls and women on the streets. She didn't have much to carry, but every time she got something new—a watch, a pad of paper, a pen—she'd put it in the bag.
Behind Mohinder's smile, he sighed from his own pensiveness. Molly was still a little girl, but she was growing up. She was happy with him, for now, but what about in just a few years, when she was a young woman? She'd want a mother around to talk to about…certain things. He had cringed once when he thought of having to have "the talk" with her someday. Knowing himself, a doctor, his approach would be very black and white scientific. But Molly needed more than that. She needed to know about those moments in life that separated childhood from adulthood.
It was moments like these that Mohinder almost wished that he'd made Molly go to live with D.L. and Niki Hawkins. The newly reunited couple had a boy about Molly's age, and they were very enthusiastic about making the little girl a part of their family. But Molly set her chin and insisted that she "had" to stay with Mohinder.
He remembered all of them gathering at a diner not too far away from Kirby Plaza, after everything had happened. Molly held on to Mohinder's hand tightly, whispering to him, "I want to stay with you."
Mohinder looked at Niki with uneasiness, but the blond woman smiled and said, "That's all right. D.L. and I are still trying to get back on our feet financially. And it's clear she's fond of you."
So Mohinder took Molly. They got through the somber moments in New York, lived through their encounter with Sylar and Claire in Ohio, and were now enjoying the comfort of his lectureship at Oxford. He was at the university three times a week, and the rest of the time he spent at the apartment doing his research, and tutoring Molly. He had to admit, it was all pleasant. But beneath the everyday contentment, even beneath his doubts about his ability to be a foster parent, there was dread lurking in Mohinder's heart. It was the calm before the storm. He just hoped that he and Molly would be able to weather it.
Their day at Picadilly was pleasant enough. Molly enjoyed the shops, but Mohinder wished he had taken her at night, so that she could see the neon signs all lit up. He bought her ice cream and sat with her as she greedily gulped it down. People walked by and smiled at the dark slender man and his little companion. Mohinder was sure that they wondered how they were associated. Certainly no one would mistake them for being father and daughter.
Yet, Mohinder loved this girl like his own. He was beginning to feel that in protecting her, in putting her life before his, she was his strength. He wondered if his father would be proud of him.
He had never forgotten his conversation with Sylar when he'd finally captured him. Bound and supposedly helpless, but still with that maddening smirk on his face, the serial killer rubbed it in his face that Chandra had considered him fragile. He lashed out, holding it over his prisoner's head that he was the more moral of the two. But the whole time, he knew that Sylar was right. He was fragile, and his father had seen that.
However, Mohinder was not the fresh-faced scientist with all the answers as he had been in India. The world was bigger, and darker. Sometimes he wished he'd stayed in India, denying to himself that he had more questions than answers.
"Mohinder?" the tiny voice brought him back to reality.
He looked down at his charge, who had now finished her cone and looked like she was ready to go. "I'm sorry, darling," Mohinder said, putting on a smile. "I was lost in my own thoughts."
He felt her warm little hand grasp his. "It's going to be okay. It'll be hard for a while, but it will work out. You'll see."
Mohinder smiled now, genuinely, at Molly's words. He wondered if part of her gift was precognition in addition to tracking. She was a child, and she loved the things of childhood, but every now and then she would say something beyond her years.
As they now arrived at their flat, Mohinder couldn't help but think back to what she'd said. "Molly…what did you mean when you said that it will be hard for a while, but it will work out?"
The little girl was now looking through the bags of things she'd persuaded Mohinder to buy for her. She calmly took out a book of sudoku puzzles and began to look through it. "I meant that there's something big coming. I don't know what it is, but it'll bring us all together again."
Mohinder walked closer to the sofa where she sat. "Who?" he asked.
She now looked at him. "Matt, Micah, D.L., Niki, Claire, Mr. Bennet…the Boogey-Man. We're all connected to one another."
He sighed. How to take care of a child who seemed to know more than he? Finally, he said, "Well, we'll see, love. We'll see. I'll go start dinner." He began to walk away.
Molly looked down in her purse and pulled something out. "Mohinder? Wait."
He turned around. "Yes?"
She walked up to him and handed him a light blue envelope. "Here. I bought it while you were looking at computers in that one big store."
Puzzled, Mohinder opened the envelope to find a green and white card with a picture of a boat on the water. In dark gold lettering at the very top, it read: "To a Wonderful Father on His Special Day."
He opened the card and tried to read the words inside, but he was too overwhelmed by the few words on the front to concentrate. Wordlessly he held the child against him and kissed the top of her head. He now knelt down to her level and saw, much to his surprise, that she had tears in her eyes. He said gently, "Darling…you know I love you like my own, but…you had a father."
"So did you," she told him. "And I know you didn't forget him. I didn't forget my dad either. But we're together because we're supposed to be. I need you, and you need me. You're my dad now."
They didn't say any more about it for the rest of that night. Mohinder made them dinner—Molly's favorite, spaghetti—then afterwards tucked her into bed.
He kissed her soft round cheek. "Goodnight, my love," he told her. "Sleep well." He left the room, turning out the light and shutting the door behind him.
She smiled and snuggled into the covers. She tried to sleep, but she couldn't help thinking of what was to come. And, as always, thinking of what was coming made her think of him.
And she was there, with him. He could see her. His eyes were burning right into her. The worst thing about him was that he looked perfectly sweet, perfectly harmless. But Molly knew better.
He smiled his evil smile at her. "Can't stop thinking about me, Sweetheart?" he said in a grandfatherly voice. Molly felt sick listening to it. She held her head in her hands, trying to make herself stop thinking of him.
"Awww…what's the matter? Do I frighten you?" the old man taunted. Suddenly, he pried her hands away from her face and pulled her to him. "You can't stop me. No one can stop me. When all of this is over, all of you will be dead, including that little Indian surrogate father of yours."
"No!" Molly cried out, throwing his arms from her. "We'll fight you." She shut her eyes tightly now, thinking only of Mohinder.
And then, she was back in her bed. She panted and looked around, her nerves still on fire from what had happened. She lay back in bed, staring out the window. He was out there. And he had someone with him. She could just barely make her out; she appeared to be dark and slight, but it hid a much different form that she was ashamed of. Molly closed her eyes when she thought of the young woman with him. He would ruin her. Molly was sure of it.
She opened them again, and her mind wandered to the only other man who had put fear in her heart. He was very far away, still in America, but she knew she'd see him again. He was very different now. Molly knew he loved Claire, and, in his own way, he cared for Mohinder as well. She knew the Boogey-Man made Mohinder uneasy. But she also knew that they all needed him—if any of them wanted a future.
Gabriel wasn't thinking about the future at that moment. He wasn't thinking of the road stretched in front of him, or the dark storm clouds that seemed to be gathering, or even of the pretty blonde girl who was driving the car and that he loved. The only thing he could concentrate on was the terrible pain he was in.
It wasn't physical pain—not all of it, at least. It was, mainly, the pain of his mind. He was beginning to feel the effects of a soul reclaimed—the terrible guilt of the crimes he had committed.
It had begun as a twinge, a nagging thought. He started having it after he had awakened from his coma. Then, he began to relive his crimes in shattering vividness. He'd close his eyes and he'd see the terror in his victims eyes, hear their bloodcurdling screams. Why hadn't he seen and heard all that before? But he had, he knew. He just didn't care at that time. All he was concerned with was the power he was going to get. His victims were like defective watches with useful parts inside. He just needed to crack open the glass and metal frames and pick out the working parts.
But they weren't watches anymore; they were people. Granted, he still had his qualms with the laziness, superficiality, and idiocy of some of humanity, but they were all people to him now. Claire had made him see that.
And now, knowing that his victims were people that he had killed, he was in agony. He'd look at his hands, expecting to see blood coating them. But there was no blood. He was in the world, and free. Someone loved him. He didn't deserve it.
There was one way, he found, that he could make his pain go away. When he saw one of his victims in the back of his mind, he'd take Claire in his arms. He'd caress her back, rubbing in a circle in that way she loved. He'd bury his face in her neck or between her breasts, concentrating on the sweet scent of her skin and its softness. She was nearly always willing and yielding to him. They'd make love, sometimes softly, sometimes with a fierceness that surprised both of them. Then they'd lie spent together, and Gabriel was able to forget for a while, basking instead in the feelings of post-coital euphoria…
But those feelings always wore off and he'd go back to quietly writhing in the weight of his conscience.
Now, he couldn't even use sex as a way of relieving his mind. The previous night, he had a dream that began pleasantly enough. He was in a field of wildflowers, the sun just above him and shining with all its heat and intensity. He was lying on top of Claire, her golden skin fully exposed to the day. Her hair spread out on the ground like a cloud of yellow silk, and her beautiful blue eyes got darker as he entered her, again and again.
Her face began to cringe, and she pursed her lips as if to cry out. He knew she was close to climax. He wrapped his arms under her, pulling her closer to him. Her head came to rest in his shoulder as she screamed her release.
But as she pulled away, Gabriel realized, in horror, that it no longer was Claire lying beneath him, but instead, Charlie Andrews. She was looking up at him now, fear and horror, and agony on her face. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head, and now there was blood pouring from her forehead. Gabriel cried out and tried to let go of her, but now he found he was in a river of blood, sinking, drowning…
His eyes flew open, and he found with relief that he was in bed and it had been a dream. Reality came back to him quickly as his heart started to return to a normal beat. He turned over to find Claire lying next to him, peacefully asleep. He gently moved a stray lock of her from her face and looked at her. He couldn't tell her. What good would it do? It would just upset her, and there was nothing she could do, anyway.
He turned now to lie on his back and he stared up at the ceiling. He couldn't—didn't want to—go back to sleep. He knew from the light coming through the window that day was about to come. It was all right. He didn't need more sleep.
But now, with the two of them on the road, Gabriel felt drowsy. He was glad Claire volunteered to drive, because he didn't think he could do it. But at the same time, he didn't want to sleep. He was afraid of what might be waiting for him, in his dreams.
"Gabriel?" Claire's voice roused him out of his thoughts.
"What?" he said, now looking at her.
"I said, it's almost noon. Maybe we should stop for some lunch."
"Yeah—yes, that's fine."
Claire looked at him, briefly, before turning her eyes back to the road. "Are you all right?"
Gabriel looked out of the window. "Yes. I'm just tired. I didn't sleep well last night."
He felt her take his hand in hers. "Well, I'll finish out the drive for today. We'll get a good night's rest, and then you'll feel better."
Gabriel all of sudden felt like he was holding something in his hands that he had no right to and quickly let go, still hoping that she wouldn't be offended in his rash action. "Actually, I'm going to try to take a nap. Why don't you wake me when you've found a place you want to eat?"
Claire was silent for a moment, but then nodded.
Gabriel pressed his head to the window and closed his eyes, making sure he didn't fall asleep, but instead trying to retreat into his memories. He wanted to remember a time when he felt no pain…
Eight year-old Gabriel pulled open the door to his father's shop, slightly surprised at the weight of it. There was the ding of the bell above, letting his father know that a customer was here. His father walked out of his work room, preparing to give his customary greeting, but instead grinned when he saw it was his only child. He opened his arms.
"Gabe! What are you doing here?" his father asked as he enveloped his son in a hug.
"Mama sent me to tell you to pick up some milk and eggs tonight," young Gabriel replied.
"I see," John Gray said, his face darkening slightly. "Is she outside?"
"Uh huh," Gabriel answered.
John looked at the front door to his shop and, telling his son to stay there, went outside. Gabriel wandered around the floor of his father's store, looking at the glittering little watches, the larger mantle clocks, the big clock with the cuckoo in it. He heard the rising voice of his mother outside and looked toward the door, but was by now somewhat used to it. His parents fought a lot.
But his father returned with a smile. "Your mother's going to go home, and you're going to stay with me till the end of the day. Then, we'll go to the store together and get the things for dinner: sound good?"
"Yep!" Gabriel said. "Daddy…why do you fix watches?"
With that, John Gray lifted Gabriel to the stool at his workbench and looked at him closely. "Why do you ask? Did your mother say something to you?"
"No," he replied, picking up a magnifying glass. "I just wondered why. It looks like it would be boring to do this all the time."
John chuckled. "It's not boring to me, Gabe. I find it fascinating. Besides," he said, taking the glass out of his son's hand, "It's important work."
"Really?" Gabriel couldn't believe it. His mother always said that it was useless, but he knew better than to bring her up at a time like that.
"Oh yes. Did you know that God is a watchmaker?"
"God?"
"Yep. God. According to some people, God wound the universe up like a clock, and then let it run all on its own. The universe keeps its own time, and works by it."
"Who believes that?"
"Well, a lot of people have. Do you know who Thomas Jefferson was?"
"Yep. In school, we learned he was the third president of the United States."
"That's right! And he believed that God was the first watchmaker, making the world and all of us, and letting us live our lives the way we want."
Gabriel was silent for a while, staring at all the cogs and springs on the table. "But…that's not what Mommy believes. She said that God controls everything we do."
John now put his hands on his sons shoulders and looked him right in the eye. "Gabe…there's something I want you to remember, no matter what happens. Your life is yours to live the way you want. Don't let anyone tell you that it's not good enough or not exciting enough. You'll find your own way in this world. Do you understand me?"
Gabriel stared at his father. He'd never heard him talk like that. "Yes, daddy. I understand."
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he opened his eyes. He was in the mustang, and Claire had opened his door, standing outside of it and looking in at him. "We're here. Let's go get something to eat."
Gabriel yawned and stretched himself. Then he followed Claire into the diner she'd chosen for lunch.
"I just realized something," Claire told him as their order arrived.
"What's that?"
"Today is June 17th."
"And…?"
"It's Father's Day, Gabriel."
He chuckled to himself. Claire smiled in confusion and asked what was so funny.
"It's appropriate, because I was thinking of my father before we got here."
"You don't think of him often?"
Gabriel looked away. "I don't like to think of him, because then I remember how far I strayed from the person he wanted me to be."
"And what did he want you to be?"
"Good. Happy."
"I see," Claire sat back in her seat. "Well, I know you're working on the 'good' part, but…you're not happy?"
Gabriel could see the look in Claire's eyes. She wanted to know that she made him happy. It was one of the things that annoyed him—her insecurities. She wouldn't understand that it just wasn't possible to be happy all the time, that there were moments, fleeting moments, that gave him happiness but faded away as surely as the sun set in the sky every evening.
So, he quickly remade his answer. "My father had a certain idea of what happiness was. And my life hasn't adhered to that."
To his relief, Claire just nodded. "My father always had a similar idea. At least, that's the front he put on. Now, I'm not sure what he wants."
Gabriel cocked a brow. He knew how much Noah loved Claire, and vice versa, but she rarely spoke of his secrets. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean that I had a clear picture of who my father was as a child: a hard-working family man. But, now that I've grown up, and all these things have been revealed, he's a different person. And I just haven't had the chance to learn who he is."
Gabriel nodded. In a way, he knew what that was like. He knew who has father was as a child, but he spent a good part of his adulthood without him. Had his father lived, would he still have become Sylar? Now, that he thought about it, probably not. His father would have continued the store; Gabriel might not have even retained his job. And even if he did, his father would have been there the day Chandra Suresh entered his store. Not only would Gabriel have not felt the need for a father figure if John had been there, but when Chandra Suresh told him he wasn't special, his father would have been there to comfort him. Yes, if John Gray had lived, Gabriel wouldn't have become Sylar.
And he wouldn't have become a murderer…oh, he wouldn't have all that blood on his hands now. His soul would be clean. His mind would be at peace. His body wouldn't ache. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what that would have been like: to live in the world and live with himself.
Claire watched her lover from across the table, watching him wrestling quietly with something dark and compelling. She was sure that he thought she didn't know what was happening, but she did. She felt it in their lovemaking, in his frantic embraces, in his needy caresses. He wanted her to help him forget.
Truthfully, Claire hadn't minded. She wanted to do some forgetting of her own. After all she had been through, she'd found that her most fulfilling moments now were when she and Gabriel were in each other's arms.
She remembered when it wasn't like that. There was a time when contentment was guaranteed with every second of her life. She lived and breathed happiness. And, what now surprised her, was that she never even realized it.
What she also now realized was that it had been her father who had sculpted that fragile, perfect world for her. He took her in, raised her, watched her, protected her from the Company that wanted her back. His life revolved around hers, when all along it seemed that her life revolved around his.
God, she missed him so much. She didn't think it was possible to long for someone to that extent. She now felt tears burning her eyes as she sat in silence with her partner.
"You miss him, don't you?" she heard Gabriel say.
"Yes," Claire said with a sad smile. "I'd give anything to see him again."
"He's not gone, you know," he replied. "It's not like he's…" he hesitated saying the man's name.
"It's not like he's who?" Claire prodded. "Do you mean…Nathan?"
Gabriel nodded. "Petrelli's your real father. Do you ever think of him?"
Claire rolled her eyes. "All I think is how much of a disgrace he saw me as." She now looked at her partner, anger rising. "The great senator of New York couldn't stand to have his illegitimate child ruining his campaign. Well, I didn't ask to be born! No one forced him to have an affair with my biological mother. And I never asked him for anything. I didn't want his money, or his name. I just wanted to know who I was."
"Claire…he's gone now. What's the point in dwelling on all of that?"
Claire realized he was right and chuckled bitterly. "Maybe…it's because I never had the chance to make up with him."
Gabriel shrugged. "You've got a good relationship with…Peter," he said the name somewhat distastefully; he disliked the pretty boy, after all. "And there's still your grandmother, and Nathan's wife…and the children he had with her."
"Peter and I are fine. My grandmother…well, she's as much of a stranger to me as Nathan is. And Nathan's wife and children? Why would they want to have anything to do with me?"
"Well…you might be right about that, Chief. But just remember: you might not consider Nathan your father, but he was a father to someone. And today is not going to be easy for them."
Claire was taken aback by Gabriel's statement. For the first time since she learned of her heritage, Claire now took a moment to think of Nathan's sons—her half-brothers—and what this day would mean for them.