11. Insight Over Alcohol

Lucy wouldn't have believed at first sight that Mohinder used to be a cab driver in Manhattan. He was too nicely dressed, for one. She vaguely wondered if they required like an American metro-fashion class along with the American dialect classes over in those Indian call centers, until she remembered that he had been a university professor and didn't seem very prone to slipping into an American accent. Ah well, it made for fun speculation about it involving whip-wielding ex-girlfriends and copies of Esquire hidden inside genetics textbooks.

But anyway, the second reason why Lucy didn't believe in Mohinder's most previous occupation was that his street smarts, she observed, amounted to whatever he had paid attention to in that movie The Fugitive. This included wandering together around a public place for several hours (which was a good way to stay inconspicuous), separately walking into an eatery to use the phone (another good method), and Mohinder counting his money out loud within ear shot of the bartender (not so good).

"Okay…five euros…plus thirty cents…" Mohinder muttered to himself, counting out his change.

"Yeah, talking to your money in English in a Portuguese restaurant," said Lucy, scooting up on the edge of her barstool nearby as she sipped her Port wine. "That's not gonna attract attention."

"Shut up," he snapped, but a minute later he realized he was urging the ringing phone to pick up. She giggled as he turned his back towards the cantina, ignoring her.

Mohinder recognized that irreverent look in Lucy's eye. He was well aware that he was probably giving her plenty of good reason to mock him (aside from his refusal to do a round of "almost got killed" shots), but he was way too anxious to care at the moment. Even two hours after finding Dr. Vicente dead and taking to the streets for safety, he was still as alert and uneasy as ever. Someone had to be, even if Lucy tried to temper it with her ever-present lax attitude.

The phone continued to ring on. He knew that it had to be something like 2 AM in California, but he had to try. When the house phone went to voice mail twice, he tried the cell. Surprisingly, he got an answer.

"Mohinder!" Matt answered, sounding surprised. Then, edgy and fatigued, he questioned, "Hey man, where the hell have you been? I left like fifteen messages at your hotel, I thought something had happened to you!"

"Something did happen," he affirmed. "The man I was supposed to meet, Dr. Vicente, is dead. Lucy and I walked into his office and saw a little too much. We've been laying low in the markets for the past few hours."

"Someone's after you?"

"Yes, but I'm not exactly sure how much peril we're in yet. Lucy is as handy as I thought she'd be, though, so we have that going for us. I'm going to have to take a look into Dr. Vicente's death, but I don't think it will delay our return by too-"

"—You can't do that," said Matt suddenly. "You have to come back, right now."

"…Excuse me?"

"Look, the Company is back. They sent some people after me and Jan and Molly. They sent someone else after the Sanders' family and the Bennets."

"The Company?" Now that was just uncomfortably coincidental. Were they responsible for Dr. Vicente's death? And had they known he and Lucy were coming to visit? Were they here, watching his every move once more?

Mohinder's senses seemed to heighten, and he felt even more exposed and insecure sitting in the middle of that foreign cantina. He darted an apprehensive look at Lucy…more irreverence, as usual…Damn girl and her liquor…

"Listen Mohinder…" Matt continued, hesitant. "You need to know…I um, was only able to get out of town with one packet of blood for Molly."

Mohinder might've burst a vein, already being intensely wound up before hearing that. "You what?"

"Look, you're going to have to book the next flight out of there, she's only going to hold up for-"

"—Yes, three days, Matt, I told you that myself," Mohinder said impatiently, his voice raising. Lucy arched a curious brow at him. "I spent a whole week overworking my bone marrow so that you'd have more than enough antibodies on hand, and you're trying to tell me that you could only get one?" He asked incredulously. "Where were you keeping them? I even left you with an extra cooler! Oh God, poor Molly…"

"Hey, hold on!" Matt interrupted defensively, although he sounded as ashamed as the idiot Mohinder was accusing him of being. "For your information, I risked my life sneaking back into my house retrieving that packet, so don't take it out on me. It was an accident, these things happen."

Mohinder sighed. "Did you at least get her medicines?"

"Yes. Everything except the one thing you need to be here to provide."

Mohinder couldn't have said it more pointedly himself. "Alright," he sighed. "I'm going to make travel arrangements right now. Where will you be?"

"Uh, I'm not sure exactly; Bennet's supposed to call me back on that. Don't you have a cell phone or-"

The line went dead, and Mohinder looked up to see Lucy with her finger on the phone cradle.

"Lucy, that was Matt!" he exclaimed. "Molly's in danger, we-"

"—Might be in deeper water right now. See those thugs staring at us at the door?"

Sure enough, there were three thugs at the door. Just like in the movies.

"Huh," was all Mohinder could gasp out. "Um…is there an exit somewhere?"

He heard a window break somewhere, and he turned to see a winded Lucy lifting her bar stool and hurtling it at the thugs twenty feet away. It hit them speedily, and she grabbed Mohinder's wrist. "It's the window! You know what to do, move it!"

Nathan was enjoying a frosty Sam Adams and the astoundingly picturesque New Mexican desert glowing dimly under the moonlight when Aster walked out on the patio area, completely killing the tranquil mood with his pompousness. One of these things did not belong in this picture.

"You're looking very well since I saw you last, Mr. Petrelli," said Aster, settling himself down on the deck chair next to Nathan.

"Why would you say that?" asked Nathan, sipping his beer. "I barely saw you this morning." Coincidentally, Aster had ruined a perfectly good sunrise during that visit.

"No reason," he answered breezily. "Have you enjoyed your alone time? Put it to good use?"

"I enjoyed it very much, thanks. I especially enjoyed the fact that you and Candice gave me my space."

Aster chuckled. "Is that supposed to be a hint to leave?"

"It's a simple statement of opinion," Nathan said matter-of-factly, brushing a stray flower stem off his khakis. "We politicians like those."

"Almost as much as you all enjoy being circuitous."

"It's the reason we are circuitous."

Aster watched him directly now, but Nathan continued to appear transfixed on the insect symphony emanating from the wilderness before him. "So will you give me your answer now, and stop being circuitous?"

"That's a compound question, John, I'm not able to think through all that complication while imbibing alcohol-"

"—I'll take that as a 'yes, I will continue to be an evasive lawyer.'" Aster looked mildly annoyed. Nathan was going for the whole nine yards, but mild annoyance at least merited a slight grin.

They were silent for a while, and that was perfectly fine by Nathan. He downed his beer as Aster looked off into the sunset, expressionless but clearly thoughtful.

"I think this deal of yours is way too simple," said Nathan at last. "The easy way or the ridiculously hard way. You're only humoring my thinking time so it looks like you respect me."

Aster only tried to play the Voice of Reason once again. "We're not trying to keep you here against your will, Mr. Petrelli-"

"—Only because it's unnecessary," Nathan explained the truth for him. "As you've made perfectly clear, I have no other place to go. You've presented all of your angles, continuously reiterated all of your arguments every time you've seen me, and you've even topped it off by offering me a normal life with my family again. I'd congratulate you, John, but I've used the same tactics to win cases so many times before."

"Nathan, do you want something?" Aster asked, actually somewhat exasperated. He was losing the game show host flare; Pat Sajak certainly never lost his cool like that on TV. "You wouldn't dress me down like this if you weren't going to either give me your answer or get something in return."

"I do want something, as a matter of fact. How about a test drive?"

There were a few confused, silent moments between them. "…Of what?"

Nathan gave him a condescending smile of his own. "Of my new job, dipshit. Why not let me try before I buy into this?"

An incredulous look passed over the man, and Nathan's smile grew. "Nathan, this is an organization, not a vacuum commercial, you don't get a 30 day trial to wear the damn thing in!"

"I'm not asking for a 30 day trial. I want to run an assignment." Steeling up his best courtroom face, he stared down Aster. "You don't think I've noticed how busy you've been? Don't expect me to believe that you've been sending Candice and the rest of your people out for groceries."

"Why does that matter?" he asked defensively. "You don't know the first thing about how we do things."

"Which means you're hiring me for my skills," Nathan reasoned. "I'm a lawyer and a politician. I can lead people, I can look at a situation and think on my feet, I can strategize like no other. I did this in Bosnia, John. I won't interfere with whatever plan you already have in place, but I want to see this business firsthand."

"And if I say no?"

Nathan paused before answering. Content was crucial, but timing almost as much so. "You'd be doing yourself a disservice, then, if you really want a good adviser on your staff."

Aster turned towards the sunset so he could think and not have to look at Nathan's sincere gaze.

In his head, Nathan was enormously pleased with himself. That was what happened when you negotiated with politicians. They tried to argue you out of your own goddamn deal. It was the only reason people drudged up old stories on them about teenage crack use or med school kitty slaughtering. Dubious leverage was better than no leverage against silver tongues.

Regardless, silver tongues could still find battles to win. Currently, Nathan hardly had anything going for him, and here he had the heir of a dead mobster actually contemplating the bullshit deal he had made up while drinking.

It wasn't entirely bullshit; aside from his dealings with Linderman (which he learned well from), Nathan always looked for some advantage in any of his business and legal affairs, even a small one. Anyway, when you woke up four months after your last conscious moment, very much alone and absolutely vulnerable to any kind of influence, you grasped at straws affording you any kind of control over the situation.

"Fine," said Aster at last. "I'll let you tag along with Candice, but she'll be calling the shots. You can participate," he added, seeing Nathan's mutinous glare, "but only act on Candice's orders. She's been in charge of the operation for weeks, I can't relinquish her lead just because you had a whim request."

"Fair enough," Nathan conceded. "So why is this so important, then? I assume you're going after someone, but who?"

Aster smirked, back on his game once more. "You ever beat up a bully for your little brother before?"

Nathan's eyes narrowed.

Goddamn John Aster and his smug foreshadowing.

"Are you drunk?" Mohinder yelled over the noise, as they peered at their pursuers from behind some pillars.

"I'm buzzed, thanks much," Lucy insisted, finding the coast clear and then leading him into a bread store.

"Your speed's a little sluggish, you probably ran me into five walls while we were fleeing those people."

"It is not, I sober up well under pressure. Also, you're the lankiest thing I've ever seen, so it's not my fault your limbs kept flailing into things. And for God's sake," she picked up a roll and shoved it into his hands, "look like you're actually supposed to be here, don't act so neurotic just because you are."

Mohinder kept his head down, comparing the roll to another and occasionally glancing out the window. "We need to get back to the States," he muttered. "Molly needs more blood."

Lucy sighed. "Don't you think those people would be looking for you at the airport?"

"I thought so. That's why we need to find someone who can provide us with fake documentation."

"Where are we gonna find someone like that?"

"I don't know, but this market looks seedy enough, don't you think?" He sidled away, putting the rolls down. "Meet me outside in the back, we'll figure out a better plan from there."

He spotted the back door and smiled at the smitten teenage girl watching him shyly from the counter as he paid for a loaf of bread. Snatching up the bag and making his way outside, his mind was racing again, working through potential ideas for their next move as he waited for his intoxicated companion to catch up.

"Good morning, Doctor Suresh," said the deep, unfamiliar voice that came up from behind.
"Care to share to break bread with a hungry stranger?"

But he never got to answer, as he was too busy dealing with the subsequent unconsciousness induced by the syringe suddenly thrust into his back.

Sorry bout the long break. Work and events and a little bit of writer's laziness (not block, really) contributed to that. Back at it though, so yay!

The kitty-slaughterer was fmr. Sen. Bill Frist. Swear to God.