Title: Memories
Pairing: Sylar/Mohinder, Peter/Claude
Rating: R
Summary: Mohinder remembers the past as Peter's big day arrives.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.
Warnings: Slash, AU, Mpreg, spoilers for season 3
The phone call came at three o'clock in the morning. Mohinder jerked awake in his bed, heart pounding and head buzzing, as Manu began to whimper in displeasure at having his own sleep cycle interrupted. Mohinder kept shaking his head back and forth as he sat up in the hotel bed and reached across to his bedside table to grab the mobile device. His eyes, still blurry with sleep, were barely able to recognize the name on the display screen, but he picked it up anyway.
"Hello?" he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.
"Mohinder?" the voice on the other end gasped. He could practically hear the tears in the other man's eyes as he listened to the frantic voice speak. "It's time. It's coming!"
"Peter?" he whispered dumbly as he flicked the lamp on, flooding the room with light. He slipped out of his bed, planting his feet on the ground before walking over to Manu's playpen, which had become the infant's temporary crib. "You aren't due for another three weeks."
He listened in mild panic as the younger man began chanting "Oh God! Oh God!" on the other line before his words faded away into cries of pain. Mohinder knew first hand that the birthing process was going to be very hard on the young paramedic. He didn't have a birth canal, so the baby was just struggling to find a way out, pushing down on his organs in order to break free.
The Indian man held his breath as bent down to lift the still crying baby into his arms. The phone must have changed hands, because he soon found himself being yelled at by a very angry Claude. "Suresh?" the British man all but barked into the phone as Peter continued to moan and whimper in the background. "We're heading to the hospital and you'd better be there when we check in."
"No!" Mohinder cut in quickly. "You can't take him to the the hospital! They won't know how to treat him!" Not to mention the scandal this would cause. A man having a baby wasn't exactly a normal occurrence.
"Then what the hell do you suggest we do? Have a bloody water birth?"
He sighed, rocking Manu in his arms. The child was slowly settling down, but he doubted he'd be able to get him back to sleep any time soon. "You're going to have to take him to the Company," the man sighed. Claude should know all this. Mohinder and Peter had discussed his birthing plan frequently, yet the British man seemed to be hearing all this for the first time.
"Shit, Suresh! That's a four hour drive! He won't make it."
"Some women have been documented to stay in labor for an entire day," he told him, noticing with mild irritation that Manu was now trying to pull at his hair.
"Yeah, well how long did it take for you to push your little miracle into the world?"
Mohinder fell silent, not knowing just how to answer the uncomfortable question.
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"I don't need a doctor," Mohinder argued, crossing his arms over his chest like a stubborn child. "I told you, I'm fine. I'm just feeling a bit... off."
They were all a bit off. No more than a few hours ago, Mohinder had been lying in an artificially induced coma with a series of tubes running in and out of his body. He squeezed his arm absentmindedly, remembering the way the IV tube that had been in him just a few hours ago had felt. It was all too clear and yet so foggy at the same time. Lying there as people stuck needles into him and did who knows what else to his body. The memory still sent a chill down his spine.
And then there was the "funeral." It was eerie to watch Sylar's body burn and know that for the first time in months he wouldn't have to worry about the serial killer. Yet they had experienced this before. Less than a year ago, after the incident in Kirby Plaza, they had all thought Sylar was dead and continued on with their lives, living in ignorance. It was that memory alone that kept Mohinder from feeling completely at ease right now.
"For four months, Mohinder?" Matt chided, flicking his eyes towards the Indian man for a brief second before turning his attention back to the road. "No body feels 'off' for four months without needing to be checked out by a doctor."
Mohinder turned in his seat to look at Peter, who was was currently staring out the window silently and watching the bright lights and tall buildings that had quickly replaced the stars in the dark night sky above the beach where they had burned Sylar. "You're a nurse," he said, bringing the younger man out of his daze. "Or at least you were. Couldn't you just tell Matt that he's worrying over nothing?"
Peter flashed him a lopsided smile, shaking his head. "It's not that simple Mohinder," he chuckled. "You need to be checked out by a doctor and have some tests run. If what Matt says is right, and you were sick before Danko captured you, then your condition could have only gotten worse."
Mohinder rolled his eyes at his American friends. He knew that their hearts were in the right place, but he couldn't bring himself to see why they were so worried. He didn't need to take a trip to the hospital in the middle of the night. He needed to get ready for his flight to Indian. Or, rather, to schedule another one.
"I'm fi-" he started to say, but was quickly cut off.
"Don't say it!" Matt warned. "For the past four months you've been completely out of energy, having massive headaches, dizzy spells, and no appetite. Now, in your professional medical opinion, does that sound normal to you Peter?"
"Nope," the other man said simply, ending the argument there. They proceeded their drive towards the city in silence, as Mohinder continued to think of ways to get out of his current situation.
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Mohinder frowned as he paced back and forth in the hotel bathroom. He'd managed to get himself dressed and put Manu to sleep in record time, yet he was still stuck in New York while Peter and Claude were already on their way to Washington D.C. He knew that both men would never forgive him if he were to miss the birth, but he couldn't leave Manu alone nor could he bring the child with him.
He sighed, glancing at his watch as the phone continued to ring. He had called everyone he knew in the New York area, and they were all either ignoring his calls or on their way to Washington to support Peter. He was about to give up and just bring Manu with him, when the other line finally picked up.
"Do you have any idea what fucking time it is?" a gruff voice greeted him.
The Indian man rolled his eyes, unimpressed by the attempt at intimidation. Classy. "Listen," he began, not caring if the other man thought he was being rude or short tempered. "I'm in a real rush. Peter's in labor and I need someone to watch the baby. I normally wouldn't ask you to do this, but I'm desperate. Could you please watch him for me?"
"Why don't you just take the kid with you?"
Mohinder felt his eyebrow tick in annoyance at the man's question. He should have expected to be given a hard time. "Because it's almost four in the morning and he needs to sleep. Could you please just come?"
There was a long pause, followed by a far too loud yawn on the other line. "Well, since you asked so nicely, I suppose I could be there in a few minutes."
The geneticist breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Sylar."
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"This doctor is a quack," Mohinder snapped irritably as he pulled his hospital gown tightly around himself. "He doesn't know what he's talking about. Honestly, if you two were going to force me to go to a hospital, the least you could have done was spent the extra money to take me to a decent one."
Sweat was pouring down his face and his heart was practically hammer in his chest. He suddenly didn't feel very comfortable here. Before the incident with Danko, Mohinder had never had a problem with doctors or hospitals, but now the sterile room just unnerved him. He had a horrible fear that any second now a group of large men would come in and inject him with something to put him into a deep sleep.
Peter shrugged as he watched the door carefully for the doctor's return. He had only manged to sneak into the exam room with Mohinder because he still possessed Sylar's shape shifting ability and was able to turn himself into one of the medical staff. Peter had been there when the doctor had given his absurd diagnosis, so the geneticist was surprised that his friend wasn't enthusiastically agreeing with him.
"I'd be more incline to agree with you Mohinder if this wasn't the hospital where I'd done my internship," he joked, trying to ease his friend's tense state, but it wasn't working.
"Peter," he snapped, glaring at his friend. "What he said... it's not true. It can't be."
"But you were changed," Peter pointed out. "A few months ago you were about to mutate into some horrible... creature. What if when you got cured it was just external and any internal mutation stayed with you? It would explain why you kept your enhanced strength."
"But we're not talking about lifting a few heavy objects," he hissed urgently. "We're talking about sustaining a life! Pregnant, Peter! He thinks I'm pregnant!"
The younger man sighed, running his hands through his floppy brown hair. "After all the strange things we've seen and done and been through, a guy getting pregnant just doesn't sound that strange."
"But it's not some guy!" Mohinder stressed and he was ashamed to say that there were tears starting to sting his eyes. If Peter said anything about "hormones" he was going to strangle him. "It's me we're talking about!"
The geneticist would have been more than happy to continue his rant when his doctor returned followed by an ultrasound technician and a fleet of other medical professionals. He flushed as they all gathered around him, preparing him for his ultrasound. Once again, he found himself a guinea pig for someone to study and run tests on. His only silver lining was that Matt could easily come in and erase everyone's memory if necessary.
He gasped as the ultrasound tech squirted a clear gel onto his stomach and began spreading it over his skin. The gel was freezing against his flushed skin, and he couldn't help but feel his heart thrumming in his ears as the small woman pressed the transducer probe onto his lower abdomen. It didn't take long for a black and white image to appear on the CPU's display. A collective gasp came from the group as a small, vaguely human shape emerged, flickering and moving about inside of him. He wanted to vomit when the technician flicked a switch and he was able to hear the fetus's heart beat.
"Doctor Suresh," one of the female doctors began, pressing her fingers onto his stomach as if wondering whether what they were witnessing were real. "This is... This is unlike anything we've ever seen."
The room quickly filled with excited murmurs and talk of case studies, but Mohinder didn't want to hear any of it. Hot tears began to pour down his cheeks as he took in what was happening to him. His throat tightened as he gasped and shook uncontrollably. The emotions were just too much for him to hold back.
"Doctor Suresh?" the technician began, noticing his tears and pained expression. "Are you alright?"
The other occupants of the room quickly feel silent as he continued to cry and take in deep, quivering breaths.
"We didn't mean to upset you," one of the male doctors said, squeezing his shoulder apologetically
"Leave," he gasped. "Leave me the hell alone!"
The room quickly emptied as the medical staff poured into the hallway, a sheepish expression on their faces. Only one remained, the doctor who had been squeezing his shoulder. The man quickly shifted back into Peter who then wrapped his arms around Mohinder and held him as he cried his eyes out.
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Mohinder gave Sylar a tight lipped smile as he stepped into his hotel room. Even after all the visits to his home in India, after all the time the former murderer had been "rehabilitated", it still felt awkward to stand in the same room as the man who had ended his father's life.
"He's sleeping now," he told Sylar quietly as he slipped his leather messenger bag on over his shoulder. "He probably won't wake up for another four hours or so, but he'll be a bit cranky."
"I know," Sylar nodded. He did know. The man knew a lot more about taking care of their son than he had eight months ago when Mohinder had first introduced the two. It was more than a bit unsettling to think of. He knew in his heart that Sylar would never hurt their baby -- if there was one thing in the world the serial killer loved, it was their child -- but that didn't stop the situation from feeling wrong. Whenever he left the two alone together, he half expected Sylar to disappear and take the baby away from him forever.
"I suppose you can just go to sleep if you wish," Mohinder shrugged, handing the other man his spare room key. "There's no sense in both of us staying up all night."
Sylar gave him a short laugh, pocketing the key card and studying his lips intensely. They'd talked about this, about them, and Mohinder had made it very clear to the other man that they would never be a couple. Yet that didn't seem to stop Sylar from longing for him, from lusting after him, and staring at him like a hungry dog at a piece of meat. One day he would just have to accept the fact that Sylar would always love him and he'd always be uncomfortable around him.
"Well, tell Peter I said... something."
Mohinder smiled, patting Sylar on the shoulder before leaving the room.
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Mohinder felt his whole body continue to shake as the three men left the hospital in silence. He hadn't stopped crying since he had seen the ultrasound. It embarrassed him to no end to have his two friends witness him falling apart like this. He hiccuped, burying his face in his hands as he shielded his eyes from the rising sun and the all too sympathetic stares Matt and Peter were giving him.
Just as he had expected, Matt had erased everyone's memory back at the hospital. As far as the staff was concerned, Mohinder had come in with a sore throat and a stomachache.
"Mohinder, please stop crying," Peter pleaded, rubbing his shoulders reassuringly. "You're going to make yourself sick if you keep this up."
"I'm surprised he isn't dehydrated yet," Matt grumbled.
They hadn't even left the parking lot yet. They were just sitting in the parked car like a bunch of fools as they waited for the Indian man to settle down. Mohinder sobbed openly, bending over so that any passersby wouldn't be able to see him. That's all he wanted right now; to be invisible to the world. He wanted to just curl up into a ball and disappear.
"I... I can't," he gasped, unable to push out a complete sentence. "I... I can't be a father!"
"What are you talking about?" Matt asked. He could hear the man twisting around in the driver's seat in order to get a better look at him and Mohinder wished he'd just go away. "What about Molly? You were a great dad to her!"
"That... that was different!" he sniffed. "I'm... I'm alone. I... I can't. I can't!"
"You're not alone," Peter assured him. He attempted to wrap his arms around Mohinder only to have the geneticist push him away. He was already acting like a child, he didn't need to be treated like one. "You have us. We'll help you Mohinder."
His throat tightened at Peter's words and he suddenly found it hard to breath. His eyes were starting to burn as tears continued to pour down his cheeks. "Y-you don't... u-understand! This baby... I can't take care of it. I... I don't want it."
The other two men fell silent at his admission. He hated himself for saying something so selfish, but it was going to come out eventually.
"Mohinder," Matt started resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I know it's scary now, but it's going to be okay. This baby is going to change your life, but in a very good way!"
His heart broke at the words. He suddenly felt so cold inside, like his organs were made of the clear gel that had been spread on his stomach. No good could come out of this pregnancy. This baby was evil. It could only bring pain and sadness.
"You don't get it!" he gasped. "The baby... it's Sylar's baby!"
They'd just gotten rid of his evil and now he was already working his way back into their lives through this new life growing inside of him. It was too much. Too much to handle. He could barely look at himself in the mirror knowing that he'd slept with his father's killer, how was he supposed to live with himself when he was carrying the man's child? From the silence that fell upon the small car, Mohinder knew that his friends were thinking the same thing. He must have looked like trash in their eyes. He'd never felt so ashamed.
"So what?"
Mohinder sniffed, raising his head to meet Peter's intense gaze. "What?"
"So what?" the youngest Petrelli repeated. "Who cares if Sylar's the father, it's not his baby, it's yours, Mohinder. This baby will be whatever you want it to be. It's a reflection of the love and care you put into raising it. Sylar's gone now, Mohinder. You're free. Your baby is free. Sylar won't be a part of your lives anymore."
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Angela's cold stare was the first thing that greeted him when he walked into the Company lobby. He squared his shoulders and swallowed the nervous feeling that was welling up inside of him as the older woman approached him.
"You're late," she clipped. "Peter arrived here almost an hour ago and since you were the one who put him in this situation, the least you could have done was showed up when the time came."
Mohinder frowned. "First off, I am not the father of Peter's child, Claude is," he pointed out, much to Angela's irritation. Everyone knew that the woman did not approve of her son's relationship with Claude. Peter was the only child she had left, so it was only natural for her to want the best for him, and dating a man who had spent seven years living on the street and talking to pigeons didn't quite fit that description. "Second, I have my own child to take care of, so excuse me for taking the time to find a sitter for him before I came rushing over here to wait by Peter's bedside."
The Indian man turned and walked towards the elevators, knowing that Angela would be following close behind him. His suspicions were confirmed when he heard echo of her high heels clicking on the tiled floor.
"What floor is he on?" he asked as he pressed the elevator call button.
"He's on the fifth," she told him. The two quickly fell into an uncomfortable silence as they waited for the elevator to arrive.
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Mohinder smiled as he looked at the caller id on his phone and saw that Peter was trying to reach him. The younger man had caught him on a very good day. He had finished grading his students' test papers earlier than he'd expected, Molly's grades were steadily improving, and his mother hadn't pressured him to find a wife in over a week. Things were really starting to look up for him for the first time in a while.
"Hello Peter," the Indian man greeted cheerfully. He smiled, flipping through the small stack of letters that had been resting on his counter top. Molly was still at school and he had the house to himself for another hour. "Have you already bought the plane ticket for your trip next month?"
Before he had left New York, Peter had promised to come to India to visit him before the baby was born, and much to Mohinder's surprise, his friend hadn't forgotten. For the past month it was all Peter could talk about, calling him every other day to make arrangements. Then two weeks ago his American friend had stopped calling, and Mohinder had feared that he had forgotten all about their plans. It was a great relief to hear from him now.
"Mohinder," Peter began hesitantly. His voice sounded strange, thick, as if he had been up all night crying. "I have something to tell you. You'd better sit down."
The geneticist frowned as he sat down at his dinning table. His heart beat quickened as the baby started to squirm around inside of him, sensing his tension. "What is it?" he asked, rubbing his massive stomach in soothing circles. "What happened?"
"It's Nathan," Peter told him. "He's... he's dead."
Mohinder gasped, clutching his stomach protectively. He had never been particularly close to the elder Petrelli brother, but he knew that he had been an important presence in Peter's life. Nathan was his idol, his hero, the one person Peter could always turn to when things looked their worst. He couldn't imagine what his friend must be going through now that he was gone.
"Peter," he whispered gently. "I'm so sorry. When did he die?"
"Four months ago."
The Indian man felt his insides tighten at his friend's words. Four months? That was impossible. Nathan had called him just last month to offer him a job at the newly rebuilt Company. He had declined naturally, telling the man that he had no desire to return to America after all that had happened to him. Of course, he hadn't told him anything about his pregnancy. The only ones who knew were his family, Peter, and Matt (who had practically disappeared since the night he had found out about his baby).
"Four months?" Mohinder repeated incredulously. "But he spoke to me last month."
The young paramedic took in a few quivering breaths before he began to explain that Nathan had been killed by Sylar four months ago and that the man who had been acting as Nathan Petrelli all this time had really been the serial killer in disguise. Sylar had never been killed. The body they had burned had belonged to an evolved human who had shifted into Sylar before the murderer had killed him and stole his ability.
Silence spread over the two men as Mohinder processed this new information. His heart began beating so loudly that it was all he could hear. He wheezed as his throat clenched while horrible thoughts began to fill his head. Nathan was dead. Sylar was alive. If Sylar were to find out about the baby...
His baby. The baby began to push against his palm as tears filled his eyes. It wasn't supposed to be this way. He was supposed to raise this baby without fear, without having to constantly look over his shoulder and wonder when the serial killer would come after them.
He didn't even realize he was crying until he heard Peter's worried voice calling his name from the other ended of the line.
"He's supposed to be dead," Mohinder sobbed, balling his free hand into a tight fist and slamming it against the table. The wooden table cracked in half, crumpling into a pile of splinters on the floor. "He's supposed to be dead dammit! I'm supposed to be free."
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The geneticist bit his lip as he entered Peter's room. Claude was holding the young man's wrist in his hand tenderly as he stroked back Peter's damp brown hair. Peter's skin was flushed red and drenched with sweat as he continued to take in deep labored breaths. It was hard to think that it had only been a year since he had been in the same situation. He couldn't help but smile when he noticed that Claude was being careful to stay out of Peter's grasp. Peter had his abilities, which meant that his strength was greater than that of an average human. If the young man were to reach over and grab his hand, he just might snap the British man's fingers like twigs.
"Hey," Mohinder greeted softly, not wanting to disturb the "tender scene" in front of him.
Claude turned and glared at him, releasing Peter's arm from his grasp. "'Bout time you got here," he snapped. "Ya know, the least you could have done was get here on time seeing how this whole bloody mess is your fault!"
Mohinder frowned, rolling his eyes in annoyance at the British man. He was sick of everyone blaming him for Peter's pregnancy. "I'm not the one who got Peter pregnant," he reminded him.
"Well, you are the one who put this baby business in his head," the Brit pointed out.
The Indian man scowled, pressing his lips into a thin line. "Well I'm sorry I got pregnant," he sneered. "I'm sure Peter never would have thought about having children until he saw me have one first!"
"You two realize that I can hear you, right?"
Mohinder felt a slight blush color his cheeks at his friend's comment. Swallowing his embarrassment, he walked over to the other man's bedside and knelt down next to him. "I'm sorry, Peter," he whispered grasping his friend's hand tenderly. He didn't have to worry about Peter crushing his hand since they both should have been evenly matched in strength. "How are you feeling?"
"Better now that I've gotten my epidural," he joked. He smiled weakly as he caressed the massive bulge that was his stomach. Even after eight months of pregnancy, it was still hard to picture his once slim friend with a large, swollen stomach.
"How far apart are your contractions?"
"'Bout eight minutes," Claude answered for him.
Mohinder frowned, wondering why his friend hadn't been taken into the operating room yet.
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Nirand had driven Mohinder to the hospital after he'd collapsed in the middle of his lecture. The pain had been excruciating, like nothing he'd ever felt in his life. He had thought that his mutation had been horrible, when every breath he took had felt like fire shooting through his body and every movement felt like his skin was going to rip apart. Being in labor had put that sensation to shame. His stomach felt like it was ready to burst as the baby pushed down on his organs, trying to break free.
He let out a strangled cry as he was hit by another stomach crushing contraction. The geneticist twisted in his hospital bed, gripping the sheets so tightly that they began to shred like sheets of paper in his hands.
He was fortunate in a way. An old friend of his father's, a man who he had gone through college with, had been a surgeon. They had arranged for the man to operate on Mohinder and he had promised that he would keep quiet about what would transpire there that day. Of course, the operating room was still being prepped and he hadn't been given his epidural yet. This day felt as if it would never end.
"Breath, Mohinder, breath," he mother instructed, dabbing a wet towel against his burning skin.
He was in more pain than what was usual and he knew it. Even his mother had commented that labor had never been this hard on her, and she had given birth twice. Something was wrong with the baby, he could feel it, and all he wanted right now was for the child to be taken out of him so that they could make sure it was alright.
"His contractions are ten minutes apart," Peter muttered, studying his watch with troubled eyes. "I'm going to go find a nurse."
The young man hurried out of the room, but Mohinder barely registered his departure. Everything was such a blur. He could barely keep his focus on anything except the pain that was hitting him in short bursts.
He felt more than saw as Molly approached him, staring at him with worried green eyes as she placed a tender hand on his shoulder. "It's going to be okay, Mohinder," she assured him. "Everything's going to be fine."
The Indian man smiled warmly at her. It hadn't been that long ago when their positions were reversed, when Molly had been the one in the hospital bed and Mohinder had held her hand tenderly in his and whispered soothing words into her ears. So much had changed in such a short time.
"I know Molly," he smiled weakly. He really wanted to be strong for her, but the pain was just too much to handle. "I know. Everything will be alright, and in a few hours, you'll have a new little brother or sister."
"Hopefully a sister," the little girl teased. They had had this conversation before and Mohinder knew that Molly was hoping that the baby would be a girl. After all, she already had a "little brother" in the form of Matt Parkman, Jr.
"We'll see."
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She was born in late winter, but Peter had decided to name his new daughter "June" after the month in which she had been conceived. Mohinder thought that it was odd, but he said nothing. It wasn't his child after all.
"She's so beautiful!" Claire cooed as she rubbed the newborn's soft pink cheeks with the tips of her fingers.
Peter was barely awake, but he held onto the infant with such intensity that Mohinder had a feeling it'd taken an army just to remove the child from her father's arms. The paramedic was quite the sight. His hair was a mess -- sticking out from all sides and drenched in sweat -- and his cheeks were as red as tomatoes from all the screaming he had been doing just a few hours ago. Yet he had a peaceful glow about him as he gazed down lovingly at his daughter.
"She is," he beamed, rocking June slowly in his arms. "She's perfect."
Claude laughed as he ran his rough fingers over the baby's rich brown hair. "She looks just like her 'mama'," he joked before kissing Peter on the cheek.
"Very funny," the younger man laughed. "But we already agreed that I'll be 'Daddy' and you'll be 'Angry Old Dad.'"
The crowded hospital room filled with laughter at Peter's words. Claude rapped the worn out young man softly on the head, a good natured smirk lighting his features. Peter's crocked smile widened as he turned towards Mohinder and the geneticist suddenly felt very awkward and exposed.
"Mohinder, would you like to hold her?"
The Indian man felt a slight flush spread over his features at the question. Angela and Claude glared at him as Claire flashed him a polite, although somewhat jealous, smile. He knew that the other three occupants of the hospital room wanted to have the honor of holding Peter's baby first and he didn't want to take that away from them (let alone have a fight break out because of him).
"That's alright, Peter," he began politely, but the younger man quickly cut him off.
"But you're her Godfather," Peter stressed, his brown eyes widening in a way that pulled at Mohinder's heart. "Besides, she wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you."
"Now, why is it that when I say it, it's insulting," Claude snapped, "but when you say it, it's okay?"
"Because, unlike you, when Peter says it, he's not trying to be insulting," Claire teased.
"Well I didn't exactly do any of the work," Mohinder began sheepishly, although he was already moving closer towards the bed, "but if you insist."
Mohinder stiffened as Peter placed the little pink bundle in his arms. It had been a long time since he had to hold something this delicate and small. He smiled down at the little girl, already the perfect replica of Peter Petrelli. June was smaller than Manu had been when he was born and she had a lot less hair, but she had come into the world with a lot less heartache and tears than his son had, and for that Mohinder felt jealous.
Claude began to grumble something under his breath, pulling Mohinder's attention away from studying the baby in his arms.
"Don't worry, Claude," Peter sighed, patting the man's hand in a mocking manner. "You can be the first one to hold the next baby."
Claire laughed as Angela's eyes narrowed and Claude stiffened in fear. "Next baby?" the British man repeated. "You just gave birth and you're already planning on having another?"
"We're going to have a very big family," Peter teased, liking how uncomfortable his partner had gotten.
"It's the drugs talking," Angela muttered sharply, although Mohinder could see the slight twinkle in her eyes at the prospect of having more grandchildren.
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"Oh, Mohinder! He's great!" Molly beamed as she gazed down in wonder at the infant sleeping peacefully in Mohinder's arms.
His head was buzzing and his eyes felt like they would slip shut any second now, but he couldn't pull his gaze away from his newborn baby boy. A son. He had a son. He couldn't remember ever feeling so happy and complete in his entire life.
"I'm so proud of you, Mohinder," his mother gushed as she pressed a tender kiss to his sweat covered hair.
"Thank you, Mother," he whispered. He couldn't quite find the volume of his voice just yet. Everything was coming out as a choked whisper and he had a feeling it was because he was scared of waking the baby.
"What are you going to call him?" Peter asked.
"I'm going to call him Manu," he told him. "Manu Suresh." As soon as he spoke the name the baby's lips curled into a smile and he felt his heart melt. Although, he knew in the back of his mind that Manu was too young to smile and it was most likely just a result of gas bubbling inside his little stomach, but to Mohinder's tired eyes it was his very first smile.
"We should be going," his mother announced suddenly. "You have a full day of school tomorrow, Molly."
Molly pouted at her adopted grandmother. "Couldn't we just stay a little bit longer?"
"No, Mohinder needs his rest," she told her. Mohinder recognized that tone all too well. He knew his mother would not tolerate another word in protest from the brown haired girl.
They exchanged goodbyes and Mohinder kissed both of them tenderly on the cheek before they left the hospital room. Only Peter remained now. He had pulled up a chair beside him and was currently staring at the baby, wonder glowing in his brown eyes.
"I don't know how you did it," Peter whispered. "I mean, I've seen women give birth before... I've delivered a few babies myself, but... I don't think I'd ever be able to handle the pain."
The pain. It was already becoming nothing more than a distant memory in the back of his mind. He remembered screaming and crying and smashing Nirand's car radio, but he couldn't remember why. Gazing into his son's sleeping face seemed to erase all of those bad feelings from his mind.
"Do you want to hold him?" Mohinder asked suddenly.
Peter stiffened nervously, clearly caught off guard by his friend's question. "Me?" he asked dumbly. "I don't... I don't think so."
Mohinder smirked at him. The man had saved the world, stopped a terrorist from replacing the President of the United States, traveled through time, and gotten into more fights than a professional wrestler. Yet holding a sleeping newborn unnerved him. "Don't worry, it's not hard," Mohinder teased. "Besides, he wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you."
The words were meant to be comforting, but Mohinder couldn't help but hate himself when he thought about how true they were. That night, when he had sat crying in the back of Matt's rental car, he had been considering terminating his pregnancy. At that time, he was convinced that no child of Sylar's deserved to walk the Earth. Yet it was Peter's words that changed his mind. Peter telling him that this child was his, not the murderer's. Peter reminding him that the baby would be whatever he wanted it to be. Peter had stopped Mohinder from making a terrible mistake that night.
"Well, I didn't really do any of the work," he joked, "but if you insist."
Mohinder smiled as he carefully laid his son in Peter's nervous arms. The younger man trembled awkwardly as he carefully adjusted the sleeping infant into a more comfortable position. Silence fell upon the two as Peter held the baby in his arms, rocking him gently and cooing sweet words to the newborn.
At that moment, Mohinder couldn't help but think that if his father hadn't been murdered by Sylar, Manu may never have been born. The thought frightened and disturbed him, especially when he considered that, even after only a few short hours, he already loved his child more than his father.
"I spoke to my mother, yesterday," Peter whispered. A knot of dread began to form in the pit of Mohinder's stomach. He knew where this conversation was going. "She talked to me about Sylar."
"Please," Mohinder cut in quickly. "Don't mention that name in front of my baby."
Peter frowned. "He's been asking for you," he continued. "He... He wants to see you."
"Well I don't want to see him."
The paramedic sighed as he handed the infant back to Mohinder. "She said he's doing better."
"She also said that he was dead no more than five months ago," he reminded him. "I don't care what Sylar's doing. I don't care if he's working with the Red Cross or planting trees across America. He's a murderer and he's not getting anywhere near my baby. I'm free from him now."
-+-+-+-
Mohinder yawned as he stepped off of the elevator and onto his floor. It had been an exceptionally long day and there was nothing he wanted more than to just crawl into bed and go to sleep. Unfortunately, he had to deal with a bit of unpleasantness first.
The geneticist sighed as he slid his key card into the slot on his door. When the light changed to green, he turned the knob and stepped inside. There was Sylar, sitting on the foot of his bed with Manu on his knee, tickling the baby's stomach playfully. He hated this. He hated seeing Sylar being so tender with their son. Monsters weren't supposed to be tender or playful. They were supposed to be vicious and unforgiving. The geneticist cringed slightly when Manu's giggles greeted his ears. He missed the days when Manu cried whenever Sylar was around.
He closed the door behind him, causing Sylar to look up at him and smile. He truly hated that smile.
"There's Daddy," Sylar whispered as Manu slid from his lap and took a few wobbly steps towards him.
Mohinder bent down and gave his son a tired smile as he lifted the baby into his arms. Manu giggled as he pressed a quick kiss to his son's soft black curls. He whispered tender words in Tamil to his little boy, happy that Sylar was unable to understand his native tongue. It was the one thing he had that was purely between him and Manu.
"So, what was it?" Sylar asked, although Mohinder knew that he didn't care.
"A girl," he told him.
Sylar nodded indifferently as he studied the dark bags under Mohinder's eyes. "You look beat," he said. "Do you want me to take the baby for a few hours so you can get some sleep?"
"No," Mohinder sighed, although in truth, the idea was tempting. He just didn't want Manu and Sylar to spend any more time together. Yet the man just didn't seem to get the hint that he wanted him to leave. He continued to stand far too close to him, running his pale fingers through Manu's hair.
"I changed him and fed him his dinner a little while ago," Sylar told him casually.
"Good. Thank you."
He waited for Sylar to leave, to turn around or at least say goodbye, but he didn't. Instead he said something that Mohinder wasn't expecting; "Do you ever think about having more children?"
Mohinder felt his jaw drop and his eyes widen as he stared at Sylar as if he had never seen him before (or as if he had just asked him if he wanted to get pregnant again). "Wait... What?" he blurted out. "Are you saying you want to have another baby?"
Sylar shrugged casually. There was something off putting about the other man's attitude. He was acting as if he had just asked the most normal question in the world and couldn't understand why Mohinder was overreacting.
"When did this happen?"
"Probably somewhere between you telling me that I was a father and Petrelli getting pregnant," he told him. "Why? Don't you want anymore kids?"
The Indian man felt his mouth go dry as he sat down at the foot of his bed, cradling Manu in his arms. He had never considered having children until he'd met Molly, and even then he had thought that the little girl would be the only one. And then Manu came along and he had been more than content to stop there. Now Sylar was asking him to carry another child?
"I... I never considered it."
"Neither did I," the reformed killer smiled, a strange twinkle in his eye. "Not until I met my son and saw how beautiful he was. I still believe that I'm the next step in evolution, Mohinder, and a natural part of evolution is reproduction. Even if your reproductive capabilities are synthetic, I still see this as a sign, as a part of our destiny. Not only were we meant to be together, we were meant to spawn and create genetically superior offspring."
The geneticist felt a twinge in the back of his eyes as he listened to the insane man speak. He knew that telling Sylar about their child would have disastrous results, but he didn't think that the man would actually want to turn him into a literal baby factory.
"As incredibly romantic as your rambling was," Mohinder began, "I'm not really interested in having children with a crazy person."
The other man's smile only widened as he knelt down in front of him, grasping Manu's tiny brown hand between his large white fingers. "But don't you want to give our baby a brother or sister to play with?"
"He has Molly," Mohinder snapped.
"She's not really his sister though," he pointed out. "Having a full blooded sibling would be very beneficial."
Mohinder sighed, rolling his eyes at the serial killer. "And just how many more children do you expect me to carry? Pregnancy was very hard on me, both emotionally and physically. It's not something I planned on doing for the rest of my life!"
His words seemed to have no effect on Sylar as the man kissed Manu's little fingers gently. "Can you honestly look into those pretty brown eyes and say you don't want to make at least one more little angel?"
The Indian man felt his stomach tighten as he looked down at his son's curly black head. The one year old looked up at him, gazing at him with his wide, sparkling brown eyes. His heart clenched as the boy sucked on his thumb sweetly and wrinkled his nose at him in the way that made Mohinder want to babble and coo like an idiot.
"I'll consider it."
~The End~
