Title: Taxicab Confessional
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Characters: Paire, backwards hints of Mylar (could be construed as Mohinder/anyone though)/ Claire, Peter, Mohinder, mentions of others
Word Count: 1,210
Warnings: AU, cestyness
Note: My wonderful friend ohmygodmuffin gave me the idea for this fic. It was written for your prompts of Mohinder and Claire and Peter/Claire. I so want to write more fic with this theme now… I hope you like this girly as it is my first real dive into incest, het, and Paire. It's been fun writing for you—I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have.

Mohinder glanced over his shoulder at the blonde creature that entered his cab, eying her warily.

"Where are you headed, miss?" he asked in that British lilt, flashing her a smile that was all plastic professionalism.

The girl read him the address, muttering into her shoes in a manner that he could tell was uncharacteristic, even for just having met her.

She was pretty, Mohinder had mused, but in a classic-and-clean, all-American way. She carried herself with the confidence of a woman but bore the face of a much younger individual. Grown-up children always had the same saddening effect on the geneticist.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he prodded gently, catching her eyes in that all-too-stereotypical mirror-stare.

The teen seemed to curl in on herself, quaking hands dragging through her long curls as she visibly fought not to look away.

"Not worth a penny," and Mohinder thought he had imagined the words as they drifted to his ears, barely above a whisper. The man frowned, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the road as he was hit by a crippling wave of empathy. The adolescent seemed to catch his expression as her clear eyes darkened in conflict.

Something struck Mohinder suddenly. "You're not from New York, are you?" He could hear a faint accent in her trembling soprano.

She flashed an easy smile, lips finding a throw-away phrase: "Texas, born'n'bred." Her voice's tremulous quality waned, revealing its natural strength.

"What brings you so far from home?" He tried to keep his tone light, but he was the innately curious sort, and the girl intrigued him.

"I'm having some family… issues back in Odessa," she confessed, a slight flush warming her cheeks.

Mohinder could tell she didn't have anyone to talk to from the relief that sloughed off of her in sheets. He made a face; he knew all about family "issues" and all that they implied. "How unfortunate," he said, brow crinkling in distaste.

"Yeah," the blonde girl agreed, eyes drawn to the grey sky slung over the grey street against grey buildings as Mohinder turned a corner sharply. He wanted to inquire further, but he knew that he was already being invasive. He sighed and refocused on their route. But then his passenger surprised him by saying, "I am visiting my uncle Peter—he's the only person I have left." And didn't that just make him ache.

Just then a pedestrian stepped out in front of his taxi, catching him unawares. He jerked the steering wheel, colliding with the curb but managing to avoid collision. Mohinder heard a rather violent thump as the child in his backseat was thrown forcefully into the door. He screeched to a halt, no doubt jostling her tiny frame even further.

Mohinder whipped around in his seat to see how badly the young woman had been injured. Before he could undo his seatbelt however, he saw a large gash across the girl's face. It wasn't bleeding. Mohinder's breath caught as her skin knit itself back together; mending before his eyes.

"You have the genetic marker," Mohinder announced once he had found the oxygen. A sickening realization nestled its way into the pit of his stomach, sprawling out there: the uncle that this girl spoke of was none other than Peter Petrelli, the man who had claimed he could fly. He had blown Peter off, but here was his niece, healing herself.

The girl's eyes narrowed as they met Mohinder's in a steady gaze. "Claire Bennet," spilt reluctantly from her plump lips and Mohinder found himself imagining those lips on Peter's. He shuddered as the Peter in his head tangled a delicate hand in Claire's silken, wheat-colored hair, making a hesitantly pleased noise as she opened her mouth to him, to her uncle; tilted her face up for better access.

BadBadSickWrong, resonated insistently within his skull; he was recalling the taste of his own blood sliding down the back of his throat. Mohinder crooked a hand out outwardly for Claire to shake. "It is nice to meet you, Miss Bennet," he assured, quirking his mouth into a lopsided grin. The goofy gesture reminded him of the young man who said he could fly, but only around his brother and the memory flung him back into that place in his mind where Peter clutched Claire's waist and drew her close. "I am Dr Mohinder Suresh." His voice pushed just a fraction of an octave too high as Claire took his hand, shaking it lightly.

There was not one indication that her flesh had been broken, and the doctor was in awe as its smoothness stared him down; mocked his inability to recognize potential. His father hadn't recognized Gabriel Gray's talents, and now he was killing everyone else on the list. His shudder renewed itself, beginning at the base of his spine and crawling its way up to his neck. His mental Claire drew her petite, manicured hands down Peter's chest, clutching at his jacket and bringing them imperceptibly close. Mohinder's body quaked in a much more subtle fashion this time, and it had nothing to do with being disturbed.

"Dr Suresh?" Claire's face creased in concern, small hand dropping out of Mohinder's. He nodded, turning right-ways in his seat, aiming for a much calmer expression than he bore. "Can we move?" Cars sounding their horns finally filtered into the forefront of Mohinder's conscious mind, disrupting his reverie.

"Oh, right," he said, more than a little mortified as he applied the gas and sped down an alleyway toward Peter's apartment. "Sorry about that." Mohinder winced apologetically.

When his mental Claire and Peter fizzled back to life he tried to tune them out, but soon their intensity grew as they clung hopelessly to one another, losing clothing; generating friction. The sounds of their coupling drowned real Claire out as Mohinder lost himself completely in his dream.

She didn't seem to notice his disregard for her words as she carried on, completely undaunted as she chatted away animatedly. Her plush, rose lips stretched across her teeth, adding vivid detail to the Indian's sordid hallucination.

Somehow they had reached her destination without further damage coming to neither themselves nor the taxicab. He reciprocated her warm smile, watching Peter carefully through the window of his home. In a matter of moments, Claire was in the room, diving to land in his arms.

Mohinder thought of the arms wrapped around him nights, and sighed as Claire gave her uncle a peck on the cheek, running her hand up his side in cruel mockery of his vision. The gesture spoke volumes sans speech, hundreds of thousands of words left unspoken among the Petrellis; perhaps they didn't want to say the wrong thing.

Mohinder Suresh was certain of one thing: he didn't believe there was such a thing as the right thing anymore. He drove away, schooling his features to stay serene; his eyes to be alert and ready to drive. When he looked back at the dreary, grey apartment building over his shoulder, he convinced himself it was because it disgusted him, even as he felt that ever-familiar envy snake settling in; consuming his bile.

He wished to belong somewhere, anywhere, but there was nowhere for Mohinder but his compact yellow confession box.