Warnings: Slash. Yaoi. Sex. Mentioned Rape. Mpreg.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sylar or Mohinder, Zachary Quinto or Sendhil Ramamurthy. Tom Kring owns Heroes, Sylar and Mohinder, and his own genius. Sendhil and Zachary own themselves.

Inspiration: Series three, episode one. When Mohinder injects himself with the formula.

Mood: Happyish

Music: P!ATD ~ I Write Sins

Prologue

Lying semi-conscious in the docks of Brooklyn, New York is not a clever thing to do alone, at night. Anything could happen: You could get murdered, for instance. But that didn't cross Mohinder Suresh's thoughts when he knew that he could jump at the chance to be special. He had seen many people with many different abilities. Hell, he lived with a telepathic cop and a young clairvoyant. He had met a man that could paint the future. He had met a young woman that could regenerate at an exceptionally rapid pace. So, why couldn't Mohinder be like them? Why couldn't he be special?

In his semi-conscious state, Mohinder didn't quite know or understand what was happening when two rough-looking guys came over to him; and started to pat him down, searching him for anything valuable. But, other then his watch and a ten dollar bill, Mohinder had nothing of value on him. So, if the two thugs couldn't get nothing decent from Mohinder, why not just drop him into the water? Or beat him so badly that he'd drop himself into the cold water? No. If Mohinder couldn't give them anything that they could sell or trade in for some decent crack. They would take something from Mohinder which would not only scar him mentally, but change the young geneticist's life forever.

Later and later into cold night at the docks in Brooklyn, New York; Mohinder lay, found by a tall figure, darkened by the shadows.

Perspiration practically waterfalled off of Mohinder. His fever was high. Even in Tamil Nadu, India; the temperature had never felt as bad as this. Not only was his fever bad, but his nightmares were even worst. Memories of what had happened when he was a child. What had happened when Shanti, his sister, had died. What happened when his father, Chandra, was murdered by Sylar. What had happened the night at the docks. In his head, he was replaying every moment. From the moment when he injected himself the formula, right through to when he thought he was going to die. In his dream-filled sleep, Mohinder heard someone calling out his name in the distance. The voice sounded so familiar to him, but Mohinder couldn't pin-point the owner of the voice.

In his unconscious, nightmare-fuelled state, Mohinder screamed. The feeling of his nightmare felt so real, and it hurt so terribly. Mohinder awoke with a start, his hand eerily and instinctively rested on his stomach. His breathing was heavy. His dark, curly hair was a mess. His was still wearing clothes (A/N: Sighs in relieve). And he was comfortably situated in a bed, a bed that belonged to the same person that had... changed him?

Mohinder looked around frantically. Somebody had found him. Had saved him. But who? How? He was alone at the docks early hours in the morning; only idiots wander around Brooklyn alone early hours in the morning (A/N: Really? Like who?). Looking around, Mohinder was trying to find some sort of clue, anything, that would tell him who's room it was that he was asleep in.

The room itself was a nice size. And the furnishing wasn't over-crowed. Whoever owned the room had neutral taste is decoration. There was a dark, three-door, wooden wardrobe. A full-length mirror, that matched the wardrobe. And a chest-of-draws that also matched. As did the king-sized bed Mohinder was lying on. The walls were a plain cream colour, but the paintings contrasted the walls. One painting in particular stood out, and caught Mohinder's attention for a moment. A painting of the Arc Angel Gabriel sat a few inches above the bed Mohinder lay in. It was the most elegant, peaceful, sensual piece of art work Mohinder had ever seen.

Deciding that he wasn't going to find out who saved his life by sitting in the said person's bedroom, Mohinder exited from the king-sized bed. Mohinder stumbled to the bedroom door, making his was through the house is saviour own. Again, the interior design was nothing to brag about. But the art work, again, was. Whoever had painted them must have had years of skill. Meaning to explore the house some more, Mohinder felt a shooting pain through his back and fell. Only to be caught by his angel, an angel Mohinder never would have thought he had.

Gabriel Grey.