Title: Christmas
Pairing: Sylar/Mohinder, implied Peter/Claude
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The holidays can be stressful when your family is so complicated
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes.
Warnings: Mpreg, AU, Slash, Humor
Sylar scowled, using his telekinesis to open the flaps on the cardboard box revealing the tangled mess of synthetic green limbs and twist ties. He was starting to have second thoughts about getting an artificial tree. "So what am I supposed to get him?" Sylar asked into the phone cradled between his cheek and his shoulder. His frown deepened as he reached inside the box, pulling out the instructions. "What do toddlers like?"
"I can't believe you're actually asking me that," Mohinder's irritated voice grumbled from the other end of the line. "You've been begging me to let him spend Christmas with you since July and you don't have a bloody present yet?"
"I've got time," Sylar grumbled, pulling out what looked like the base of the tree.
"You've got one week," Mohinder reminded him tensely. "Have you ever been shopping a week before Christmas? Those toy stores are a mad house!"
"Then I won't go to a toy store," he shot back, fingering the itchy material used to simulate pine needles and wondering if it would ruin his carpet.
"What are you going to get him? A laptop from The Sharper Image? He's two years old! Buy him a fucking toy!" There was a pause on the other end of the line as Mohinder listened to someone whisper something to him. "I know what I said!" he shot back, obviously not talking to Sylar anymore.
"Well, what do you suggest?" he asked, bringing Mohinder back to the topic at hand.
"Sylar, I honestly don't care," the Indian snapped, another voice asking him something in the background, yet this time Mohinder did not respond. "I have itwo/i children to get packed and ready for a very long flight. I have bags to pack, packages to ship, papers to grade, and too many people asking me too many questions! Just get him something appropriate for his age."
The ex-serial killer sighed, rubbing at his slowly throbbing temples. That wasn't exactly the answer he had been fishing for. This was going to be the first Christmas he got to spend with his child and he just wanted everything to be perfect. He wanted Manu's gift to be perfect and special, just like the little boy was, yet Mohinder was (as usual) doing everything in his power to make things harder than they should be.
"Well, are you at least coming?" he asked, holding his breath as he waited for the answer.
"Yes," Mohinder sighed reluctantly. "After I put Molly on a plane to Los Angeles, Manu and I will head over to your apartment."
"Well, why don't I just pick you up?" he put in, his voice a bit too eager. His heart was beating like a drum at the idea of having both Manu and Mohinder with him on Christmas.
"You don't even have a car," the geneticist reminded him.
"I'll take Peter's."
"Don't take Peter's car. What if he needs it?"
"Then he can take a cab like the rest of us peasants."
Sylar could practically hear Mohinder rolling his eyes at his comment. Ever since Peter had become a father, Mohinder had become so protective of the younger man. It was always "stop using Peter's computer to print pictures" or "don't steal Peter's car" or too frequently "stop calling me in India with Peter's phone."
"Just... if you do borrow it, ask him first," Mohinder chided. "Make sure he doesn't have any doctor's appointments or anything like that he'll need to go to."
"Yes Mohinder," Sylar mumbled mockingly.
There was a crash on the other line followed by raised voices. Sylar knew right away that it wasn't anything too serious because Mohinder wasn't screaming himself hoarse. "I have to go," Mohinder groaned before hanging up with an audible thud.
The reformed killer sighed as he put the phone away and looked at the half assembled tree and the two packages of twisted Christmas lights. He didn't think he was going to be able to do all this by himself.
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"So what are you supposed to get a two year old?" Sylar grumbled, flipping through the toy catalogue with a critical eye.
Peter shrugged his shoulders as he untangled the lights with ease. "I dunno," Peter mumbled. "Get him a stuffed animal."
Sylar rolled his eyes at the young man's suggestion. "That's so ordinary," he scoff. "Manu's special. He needs a special present."
"Kids like stuffed animals," Peter said, his eyes turning towards the infant currently strapped into her pink and white car seat, holding a pink stuffed poodle with a purple ribbon tied around its neck. Sylar had a feeling that the doll had most likely been Claude's idea. "Isn't that right, Joon-Joon?" Peter cooed. "Tell Uncle Gabriel how much you love your doggie?"
The former serial killer cringed at Peter's sickeningly sweet tone. He hated when the man spoke baby talk around him. He rarely ever heard Mohinder using baby talk with Manu. "Please don't call me that," he muttered, flipping the page so quickly the paper almost tore under his finger tips. His nose wrinkled as he looked at the catalogue's top item: a pair of oversized, fuzzy red gloves with a cartoon character's face etched on. "Thanks for helping with the tree," he mumbled, knowing that Peter was expecting to hear it sooner or later. "And bringing the extra decorations."
"It's no problem," the paramedic smiled, wrapping the first set of lights around the base of the tree. "I had too many anyway. Claude kept threatening to throw them all away."
"Just don't go overboard on my apartment," he warned him. "Mohinder already thinks I'm mentally unstable. I don't want him walking in here and seeing Santa's workshop."
The young man chuckled softly at his words. "Why don't you get Manu something educational?" Peter suggested, unrolling the next set of lights. "Like a book."
Sylar pinned the paramedic with a sour look at his words. "A book?"
"Okay, not a book," he chuckled awkwardly. "How about a play set?"
The serial killer sighed, thinking over the idea. His eyes scrolled across the page before landing on a toy shopping cart that came with little plastic groceries. That had to be the saddest thing he'd ever seen. "What are you getting your brat?"
"I'm not getting her anything," Peter began, his words exaggerated and careful. "Santa's going to bring Joon-Joon her presents."
"Stop," Sylar grumbled. He was starting to get a migraine.
Sylar couldn't remember ever believing in Santa Claus as a child. He didn't even really recall having a tree. He only remembered waking up early on Christmas morning and braving the falling snow and biting cold to attend Mass. If he got any presents, they were usually from relatives and they were usually socks.
It was then that June started whimpering and Peter practically smashed the lights to get to his child's side. Peter hummed and cooed as he pulled the infant out of her car seat and pulled her into his arms. "Shh, don't cry," he whispered, checking to see if she was wet, but feeling nothing.
Sylar had a feeling that the baby just wanted attention. He had always felt that June was spoiled. Whenever he saw her, she always had some new toy in her arms or a new outfit on, and Peter was always kissing her and whispering how much he loved her. It was sickening.
The serial killer was looking between a toy puppy that boasted it could help teach babies to identify body parts and one that claimed it could learn a child's name when he started to hear Peter singing.
"Baby mine, don't cry," Peter sang. "Baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine."
"Are you singing the lullaby from Dumbo?"
Peter chuckled as June began to suck on her thumb peacefully. "I can't believe your recognized that song."
Sylar sighed, shaking his head wearily as Peter continued to sing and rock the infant in his arms. Mohinder didn't crooned Disney songs to Manu. He usually sung him something in his native tongue or by the Beatles. Sylar's fondest memory was when he had walked in on Mohinder singing "Golden Slumbers" to a sleeping Manu. The song had almost brought tears to his eyes.
"Can I borrow your car on Thursday?"
Peter frowned, raising a curious eyebrow at the man. "You're actually asking? Usually you just take it."
"Mohinder wanted me to ask," he confessed. "I want to pick him and Manu up at the airport."
"Well, why don't June and I come with you?"
"No."
"Why not? It's been so long since she's seen Manu-"
"No!"
Sylar knew Peter having a baby was going to mean trouble for him, he just hadn't realized that Mohinder and Peter would form some secret plan to get their children married. The two men seemed intent on having Manu and June spending as much time together as possible. Mohinder had said that he just wanted the children to be "friends," but Sylar could read between the lines. It would be a cold day in hell before he saw his offspring married to a Petrelli.
"Fine, take the car," Peter sighed, rolling his eyes at Sylar's tone. "But you have to bring them to my apartment for Christmas dinner. I'll make cookies and everything. And, anyway, I'll have to give Manu his present."
Sylar's eyes tripled in size at Peter's announcement. "You bought Manu a present?"
"Yeah," he shrugged. "And I got something for Mohinder too."
"Shit!" June started to cry as Peter pinned Sylar with a horrified look.
"Sylar! Language!"
"I didn't think about getting Mohinder anything!"
"It's the Holidays, Sylar! Why would you not give him a present?"
"Because he doesn't celebrate Christmas!" he groaned, resting his head in his hands. "This is going to be so expensive."
"Sylar, you make gold with your hands."
"That doesn't mean I like spending money!"
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Sylar cringed as Mohinder slammed the car's trunk shut. Usually the serial killer wouldn't care about damaging another person's car -- especially if said vehicle belonged to Peter Petrelli -- but since he knew that Mohinder was only warming up on the car, he couldn't help feeling a bit nervous. "Was your flight really that bad?"
Mohinder grumbled something under his breath as he placed the last of his bags in the backseat of the car.
The serial killer decided then that it would be best not to say anything else to Mohinder. He chose to instead lavish all his attention on the toddler who was practically falling asleep in his arms. "Are you okay, Angel?" he asked, running a gentle hand over Manu's soft black curls.
"Sweepy," Manu whined, resting his head on Sylar's shoulder.
"He should be sleepy," Mohinder grumbled, setting up Manu's car seat. "He spent half the flight either crying until his face was blue or throwing up."
"He's a sensitive boy," Sylar said defensively, continuing to stroke the child's hair as if he were petting a frightened animal. He didn't want to believe that his child was anything short of perfect.
Mohinder was silent as he gently took their son from Sylar's arms before carefully placing him in his car seat. The serial killer went over to the driver's seat, sliding in and starting the car. He waited until Mohinder was ready before pulling out of the parking lot and driving towards his Queens apartment.
He frowned, glancing over at the geneticist who was curled up miserably in his seat and chewing on his finger nails. "So you're not going to talk to me?"
"I don't want to talk. Period," Mohinder snapped. "I just want to go to sleep."
Sylar scowled, setting his jaw tightly and gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles were practically white. He should have expected that Mohinder's attitude would get in the way of them having a pleasant Christmas.
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"Tree!" Manu announced proudly as he toddled over to the plastic Christmas tree, pulling at one of the snow flake ornaments Peter had placed on one of the lower branches.
"That's right, Angel," Sylar smiled, gently guiding the child's hand away from the decorations. At least someone was appreciating the effort he had put into making things look nice.
After falling asleep on the drive back to his apartment, Mohinder had grumpily dragged the luggage upstairs before locking himself in Sylar's room and passing out again. As much as he enjoyed the idea of Mohinder's unconscious body sprawled out across his mattress, the reformed murderer couldn't help feeling bitter at the other man's lack of effort. As usual, Sylar was the only one trying to maintain a normal, healthy family environment while Mohinder sulked and complained.
"Papa?" Manu began, tugging at Sylar's pale hand and pulling him out of his bitter thoughts. "I'm hungwe."
Sylar blanched, suddenly realizing that he didn't have anything that a two year old would actually want to eat in his kitchen. "Um, well," he began, running a hand through his hair.
It was then that Mohinder decided to reappear, his eyes blurry, his curls tangled, and his clothes completely rumpled from sleep. As if sensing his American father's hesitance, Manu left Sylar's side and walked over to Mohinder, wrapping his arms around the Indian's leg. "Fahdur," he began, "I'm hungwe."
Mohinder seemed to sober right up at his child's words. "Well then let's get you something to eat," Mohinder cooed, scooping the toddler up in his arms.
"I don't have-"
"Of course you don't," Mohinder cut in knowingly. "I brought some snacks for him with me." Sylar glared at the other man's back as Mohinder carried the toddler over to a diaper bag and pulled out a pouch of snack food. "Since you still have Peter's car, you might as well go shopping, although going to a grocery store on Christmas Eve would be nothing short of a nightmare." He paused, giving Sylar a critical look. "You did ask to borrow it, right?"
"Yes," he grumbled bitterly. "And in return we have to have dinner at his place tomorrow night."
"That'll be nice," Mohinder commented, ignoring the other man's sour tone. "The children haven't seen each other in quite a while."
The ex-killer rolled his eyes at Mohinder's comment. He still couldn't understand why the Indian was so fixed on having their progeny associate with children who were far inferior to him.
"Did you actually decorate in here?" the Indian asked, his jetlagged eyes finally taking notice of the sea of festive ornaments and twinkling lights that Peter had bathed his living room in.
"Yeah."
"Well it certainly makes your apartment look..."
"Warm? Inviting? Festive?"
"Creepy," he finished, picking up a too friendly snowman figure that Peter had placed on one of his bookshelves with a distasteful scowl.
Sylar sighed, rolling his eyes at the other man's sour look. He should have known better than to let Peter do anything. If this was the young man's idea of going "easy," he hated to see what would have happened if Peter had gone all out.
Manu looked between his two parents before reaching his hand into his bag and pulling out a fist full of cereal and offering it to Sylar. The ex-murderer smiled, allowing the child to pour his snack food into his cupped hand. "Manu likes it."
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Sylar smiled as he watched the geneticist from his place in the kitchen. The ex-serial killer felt his insides warm as he listened to Mohinder's melodic voice sing a gentle tune to the toddler. The song was in Mohinder's native language, so Sylar could not grasp the words, but the cadence of the Indian's voice was enough to make the reformed murderer fall for him all over again.
He put the last dish away as gently as he could, mindful not to make too much noise. His smile widened as he watched Mohinder bend down and place a gentle kiss to the toddler's round cheek, a clear indication that the child was now fast asleep. Mohinder lingered at Manu's side a bit longer, running a gentle hand over the boy's stomach, before getting up and approaching the American's side.
"Did you get my packages?" Mohinder whispered.
"Yeah. They're in my closet."
Mohinder nodded, as Sylar lead him towards the Christmas presents that the Indian had shipped to him. The geneticist was silent as he pulled out the packages one by one, inspecting the wrapping paper carefully to see if it had been ripped.
"You know, you don't have to sleep on the pull out couch with Manu," Sylar said suddenly, breaking the silence of the room.
Mohinder turned and pinned him with a distasteful look before turning back to his task. "I'm fine."
Sylar frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. He knew that now was not the best time to talk about it, but he also knew that, with Mohinder, there would never be a good time. "So are we never going to talk about it?"
"Talk about what?" Mohinder asked casually, not even bothering to look at him.
"About us having another baby."
The scientist froze, taking in Sylar's words, but not responding.
"You said you'd think about it," Sylar reminded him, "but then you never got back to me. Is that my answer?"
"Yes," Mohinder said flatly. "That is your answer, because frankly, Sylar, I can't handle having another baby. I have my hands full enough with the two children I have now!"
"Then let me have it."
The Indian frowned, turning to give the reformed killer a startled look. "You?"
"I'm a shape shifter, remember?" he told him pointedly. "I can change my body so that I'd be able to carry a child."
"No."
Now it was Sylar's turn to frown. "What do you mean 'no'?"
"I mean just that. No." Mohinder sighed, reaching behind Sylar to close the bedroom door before looking him straight in the eyes. Even in the dim light, the serial killer could see the weariness shining in Mohinder's deep brown eyes. "I'm not the type of person that can just impregnate someone and leave. If I have a child, then I have to be an active part in their life."
"That's what I've been saying since you told me I was a father!" Sylar snapped.
"I know, but it's different."
"How?"
"Because I'd be going into this iconscious/i of what was happening, fully aware of the fact that we were creating a life. That makes things different. If I had known then that there was a potential that I'd get pregnant when I slept with you, I'd-"
"What?" he cut in, taking a step closer to the smaller man. "Let me have some say in his life? Let me be a part of this?"
"I would never have slept with you," Mohinder finished, completely unwavering.
Sylar blanched, the words hitting him like a punch to the heart. "That's probably the worst thing you've ever said to me."
"Well, it's the truth," Mohinder said. "And if I'd lied, you'd know it."
"So you'd erase our son?" he asked, allowing the disgust to seep into his words. "You'd stop yourself from having him? How could you say something like that!"
The geneticist tensed, balling his hands into tight fists and for a moment Sylar felt certain that the smaller man was going to take a swing at him. Instead, he turned away, walking over towards the bed and sitting down slowly. "I love my son," Mohinder said firmly. "He's the best thing that's ever happened to me and my life... my life is so much richer for having him." He paused, wiping at his eyes and turning his face away from Sylar's. "But you don't know... you don't know what I went through having him. What my family went through... I felt so sick inside, so dirty. When I found out I was pregnant I wanted to get rid of him."
Sylar felt his heart clench and rip itself in two as he watched silent tears burn their way down Mohinder's dark cheeks. He knew that every word the man had said was true and it only made him feel worse. "Mohinder."
"This is so hard," the geneticist choked, his voice thick with emotions. "I wonder sometimes if I made a mistake. One day... one day he's going to ask us... and we're going to have to tell him. And oh gods what if he's like us? What if he's special? What happens then?"
The ex-serial killer stayed silent as he walked over to the bed, sitting down beside the other man. He suddenly felt like he was seeing Mohinder for the first time. "It's okay," he whispered, wrapping a supportive arm around Mohinder's shoulders as the geneticist continued to sob, trembling in Sylar's arms. "Nothing's going to happen to him."
"You don't know that!" Mohinder sobbed. "He's so different. Growing up is going to be hard on him."
Sylar nodded, remembering the awkwardness of adolescence and how cruel the other children had been to him when he was younger. The very thought that Manu could have it worse made him sick inside. They could make fun of him for anything; for having two fathers, for his appearance, for his background... Sylar hadn't thought of any of those things. He only ever thought of how much he loved his child.
He suddenly wanted to say something, to tell Mohinder how sorry he was, how selfish he had been, but he couldn't find the words. Instead, he just sat there, quietly rubbing Mohinder's arms for support.
Mohinder turned towards him then -- Sylar half expected it was to tell him to stop -- and their lips brushed together. At first, the former serial killer thought it was an accident, that they were just sitting too close and Mohinder hadn't meant to touch him, but then the next thing he knew, Mohinder was grabbing his pale face and kissing him full on the lips. The reformed killer stiffened, taken aback by the sudden gesture, his mind reeling with the familiar sensation even as Mohinder pulled back.
"You... you kissed me," he found himself saying.
"Please," Mohinder whispered, caressing his pale cheeks with the pad of his thumb, "don't wake the baby."
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Sylar awoke at two in the morning to see Mohinder getting dressed. The reformed serial killer pretended to be asleep as he watched the Indian man stealthily gather the packages that they had left forgotten on the floor and go to place them underneath the Christmas tree. After a while, Mohinder came back to close the bedroom door, leaving Sylar to spend the rest of the night alone.
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When Sylar awoke again, it was eight in the morning and Manu had somehow found his way into his bedroom. The American scowled playfully as he felt tiny hands tapping his pale cheek in an attempt to gain his attention.
"It's Cwismis," the child told him.
"It's early," he shot back.
"Don't be a Grinch," he heard Mohinder call from somewhere outside his door. "Manu wants to open his presents, so get out of bed."
Sylar groaned, curling deeper into his sheets, only to have the child start to crawl on top of him. "Up up, Papa."
The ex-serial killer frowned up at the toddler, only to have Manu bend over and plant sloppy kisses on his nose. Even he couldn't resist such a display. "Alright, alright," he grumbled, trying his best to sound annoyed even as the corners of his lips twitched with the urge to smile. "I'm up." Manu beamed, wrapping his arms around his American parent's neck. "You want me to carry you too?" he teased as he cradled the toddler in his arms. "Lazy bones."
"Mewy Cwismis," Manu replied, pressing another kiss to his cheek.
Mohinder appeared in his door then, looking more awake and composed than he had any right to be at such an early hour and holding a camera in his hand. "Let's make a deal," he began. "You take the pictures and clean up the wrapping paper and I'll make breakfast."
"Sounds fair," Sylar shrugged, slipping out of bed and balancing Manu on his hip. "Just promise not to drug my food."
Mohinder gave the other man a slight smile as he handed him the dark red digital camera. "I don't poison people on Christmas."
Ten presents and a mountain of wrapping paper later, Sylar was starting to think he got the raw end of the deal. Given that he had no personal experience with the typical Christmas morning festivities, the reformed killer hadn't realized just how messy the aftermath of unwrapping presents could be. The once beautifully packaged gifts were now no more than a pile of paper, ribbons, and ripped plastic. Yet watching the toddler's face light up with each and every present made the task almost seem worth it.
"Please tell me that was the last one," Sylar grumbled, watching as Mohinder pulled a squirming Manu onto his lap. "My finger is getting tired from taking all these pictures."
"You know well enough that there are still more," the Indian pointed out. "Manu still hasn't opened your present."
Sylar sighed, reaching underneath the Christmas tree to retrieve the medium sized box wrapped in shiny black wrapping paper with a white snow flake pattern.
"Only you could find black wrapping paper."
He shrugged. "Hey, it's Christmassy."
Mohinder rolled his eyes at the other man's comment, but let the subject be as Manu clumsily began to tear at the thin paper. The geneticist helped the child along, using his slim fingers to peel back the carefully taped edges. The Indian's eyes widened, when the boy managed to get enough of the wrapping paper off to reveal the brightly colored picture on the box. "You got him a toy laptop?"
Sylar smirked, taking a picture of Mohinder's startled face, one he knew that the scientist would most likely delete the first chance he got, as Manu beamed at the box. "Well he is a Suresh," he joked. "This is just a place holder until he gets a real one."
The other man chuckled softly, but said nothing.
"Thank you, Papa," Manu said, playing with the wrapping paper curiously.
"You're welcome, Angel," Sylar whispered, kissing the toddler's chubby cheeks.
Mohinder sighed, running his fingers through his curls. "Well, I suppose that's the end of it."
"Not quite," Sylar began, reaching under the tree and pulling out two more boxes. "These are for you. Well, one is the other... well... just... here."
The Indian frowned slightly in confusion, putting Manu aside as he took the two boxes in his hand, studying them both carefully. "Which one should I open first?"
"This one," he said, pointing to the slightly smaller box. "That one's for you."
Mohinder nodded, peeling back the paper with skilled, yet slightly tired, fingers. He smirked slightly as he opened the package and pulled out a black and silver wrist watch. "A watch?"
Sylar smiled taking the timepiece from Mohinder's hand. "Yours is always running a few seconds slow," he told him, as he gently grabbed the other man's hand, slightly surprised that Mohinder wasn't pulling away. His smile widened as he slipped the watch around Mohinder's wrist. "This one will run on time."
"As long as I wind it, right?"
"I could always wind it for you," Sylar said, brushing a stray curl out of Mohinder's face.
The geneticist stiffened and his eyes widened as understanding quickly hit him. "Sylar," he began. "Last night... it didn't mean anything."
Sylar frowned at Mohinder's words. He should have seen this coming. "Its funny how things that mean the world to me mean so little to you."
"Sylar," he sighed, running a tired hand through his hair, "I have two children and a very demanding job. It's been a while since I've..."
"It's been a while for me too," Sylar shot back, although he had to admit that he was startled to hear that Mohinder had been celibate for so long.
"I'm sorry," he said sincerely, lowering his voice so that Manu would not overhear them (not that the child would understand what was being said anyway). "But this cannot happen again. We can't happen again."
"Why not?" he whispered back. "There's obviously still some chemistry between us."
"Sexual chemistry, yes," the Indian agreed reluctantly, "but just because we're good in bed doesn't form the grounds for a deep relationship."
"Mohinder you know how I feel," he sighed. "I love you. And I love our baby."
"I know, but things are more complicated than that. I have my family's feelings to consider. Molly's still terrified of you. It took her months to get past the fact that Manu was your son before she finally started to accept him. And my mother... my mother knows exactly who you are and what you've done. It s bad enough that I bring Manu half way around the world just to see you. What would she think if I started dating the man who murdered her husband?"
Sylar sighed. Mohinder always did put the feelings of others before his own, yet the ex-serial killer didn't dare ask Mohinder just how he felt. He knew the answer would only tear him apart inside. "Here," Sylar began, picking up the last gift and pressing it into Mohinder's hands. "Open this."
The geneticist remained silent as he tore away at the wrapping paper to reveal a book with a worn leather cover and golden letters embroider into it. "A Bible?"
"It was my mother's," Sylar explained. "I wanted to give it to Manu. I don't know how many holidays we'll be able to spend together, but I wanted him learning about my religion from the same book my mother taught me from. I thought... maybe you could hold onto it until he's a bit older."
Sylar half expected Mohinder to make a comment about how his mother's teachings had fallen on deaf ears, but the Indian said nothing. He merely held the book tightly in his hands, staring at it as if he expected it to disappear. "I'll keep it safe for him," Mohinder promised. "I didn't get you anything."
The reformed killer smiled as he leaned in and pressed their lips together in a quick kiss. "I got my present last night."
Mohinder chuckled softly at his words. "Merry Christmas, Sylar."
"Merry Christmas, Mohinder."
