Only a short chapter today. But I'm planning to bring this to completion within the next week or so – to move on to my next fic, which I hope to write before Christmas. Reviews welcome!
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It was well past midnight when Peter arrived at Isaac's loft in Reed Street.
Strange that his mind still insisted on calling it Isaac's loft, instead of Mohinder's lab, Mohinder's nesting grounds, Matt's White-House-Bomb atelier, and whatever other uses this place had been put to after the death of Isaac Mendez. But after everything that he had seen here, the memory of a dying Simone was always the first image to enter his mind whenever he stood on the railing outside the apartment.
He blinked to chase the thought away, and peered through the large windows into the dark room beyond. The blinds were half-closed, leaving only narrow strips to look through. Nothing was moving.
"Mohinder?" he asked quietly.
Everything remained quiet.
Peter knocked, causing the blinds on the other side to rattle noisily against the window. "Mohinder!"
Still there was no answer.
He knocked again, even more loudly this time. "Mohinder, are you there?"
Two doors were opened simultaneously, one ten feet down the corridor, with an angry face looking out at the source of the nightly disturbance, and the other in front of Peter, by a startled-looking Mohinder in striped pyjamas.
"What are you—" Mohinder began, then, as his neighbour started reeling off an angry tirade that sounded either well-rehearsed or often-used, he pulled Peter inside. "Come on in," he murmured. The look which he gave Peter was still full of worry. "What's happened?"
Peter suddenly felt sorry and foolish. Mohinder Suresh and he had been through so many strange encounters – together or at opposing ends – in the past that it had never occurred to him that calling at 1:15 AM might be considered strange by anyone. The sight of Mohinder had brought it home to him that other people, too, might be trying to lead normal lives, such as sleeping at night and wearing colourful pyjamas. Inasmuch as the latter could ever be considered normal, that was.
"I'm sorry." Peter cast a look around the loft; Matt's paintings were gone. The place looked tidy, almost empty. "Nothing happened. I – I guess I should have waited until morning. I need your help."
Mohinder leant against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not helping, Peter. I told you I was out of all this until I'd come to terms with a couple of things. I thought you had understood that."
"I don't mean anything you need to help me with," Peter explained. "I just – need to borrow your ability." Behind the scientist, he now noticed two large suitcases standing by the door.
Mohinder's eyes narrowed. "And that couldn't wait until morning?" he asked, crossly.
"Yeah, it could have. But it seems I was lucky I didn't wait. You're leaving?"
Mohinder followed his glance to the two packed suitcases. "My flight goes tomorrow, yes."
Peter drew a deep breath. "Remember what you said in Coyote Sands? You said you weren't ready to forgive yourself yet. I… sort of know how you feel. The Company? They're gonna start over with everything. The same ideas, the same mistakes."
"None of them of your doing."
"So they're not. But look at yourself. What your father did – or supposedly did – that doesn't leave you cold either, does it? Think of what my parents did. Hell, you probably knew my father better than I ever thought I did. If we're going to make amends for everything our parents got wrong, where does that leave me?"
"Where does it leave you?" Mohinder returned the question, but unfolded his arms, his face more inquisitive now than irritated.
"Pretty much where it leaves you," Peter conceded. "Move on? I can't do that. Not yet. Somebody has to find some amount of redemption for what my family did in the name of the greater good."
Mohinder nodded. "As a paramedic."
"Yeah." Peter briefly glanced at his feet. "I failed to save two lives today. I might have been able to save both of them if I had been stronger. I became a paramedic because I wanted to help people with my powers, instead of harming them, imprisoning them, taking away their free will or any of those things. I wanted to be in control. And today, there was nothing at all I could do. I could only sit and watch them die. I don't want to go through that again. Not without trying everything else first."
"You know that, with Sylar dead, you'll probably never get that shapeshifting power again."
"I don't care. It was useful for bringing down Sylar. I don't need it anymore."
Mohinder continued to scrutinize Peter for a few more moments, then he pushed himself away from the wall with a slight smile, extending his hand to the other man. "Good luck, then, Peter. May you find redemption. I'll go and try to find some for myself."
Peter took the scientist's hand, concentrated, and felt the familiar sensation of power leaping over to him. He held Mohinder's hand for a few more seconds. "Thank you," he said at length. "I'll put it to good use."
Mohinder nodded. "I'm sure you will." He walked Peter to the door. "Try to be quiet when you leave. It's not as if it matters now, but even those of my neighbours who have only lived here for a couple of months think I'm a bit of a freak."
Peter gave him a crooked grin. "Aren't we all?"