Chapter 2

After all of the drama at Pinehearst, Mohinder wanted nothing more than to try and resume some semblance of normal. Unfortunately, that meant leaving behind the single constant of the young geneticist's life—his research. Only his most important files were saved in a chocolate-brown file box stashed under the floorboards of his closet. Suresh had also left behind his father's former apartment, there were just too many negative memories there. Not to mention of course, that Matthew still lived there. He and Mohinder had grown apart in the months since they began to share that apartment and share the parenting duties of Molly Walker. The girl was now safely away in Madras with Mohinder's mother. Mohinder's only recent contact with his former life came in the form of a very familiar face. Suresh was at the corner of Lexington and 67th when a man in a long khaki-colored trench entered his cab. His hair was longer than it had been when Mohinder last saw this man, and he'd grown some facial hair as well. It made him look every ounce the boy he remembered nearly two years ago as well as a man that he didn't know at all. Peter had a very determined look on his face, he was focused. Not at all the dreamer who lazed in the backseat behind dark sunglasses—staring at the eclipsed orb of the sun with a near-childlike fascination and wonder, who had no concept of what his life was to become but knew it could be something special.

Peter was recognized by Mohinder before he himself realized who drove the unassuming cab he chose to step into on that gray afternoon. When he did see that it was Mohinder driving the cab, and the other man had recognized him as well—Peter could feel a palpable moment of tension in that confined space. After all, the last time they saw each other it would be fair to say that the situation was tense—hostile even, but Mohinder spoke softly to break the silence in an effort to reinforce normal. What happened before wasn't going to matter.

"Where to, my friend?"

The very lightest of white scars could be made out on Peter's cheekbone, likely from the cut that Mohinder remembered seeing Peter with when they last met. Seemed the boy couldn't heal any longer. Peter rattled off the address of one of the three homes that the Petrelli family owned on this coast. It was his hope that he could force a meeting with his older brother…that this could all be stopped still. Three months had passed since he saved Nathan's life and they had not spoken a word since Nathan uttered out 'that's not what I would have done' and broke Peter's heart. Then he started hearing about disappearances in the night--what Nathan and his mother were involved in. For blocks, the cab remained quiet except for the soft rumble of the vehicle as it moved toward its destination. Peter thought about Mohinder being in the same occupation that he was in when the two men first met. It provided a sense of calm reassurance that they both were seeking out a return to ordinary lives. That maybe the things they'd done that were regrettable or were mistakes made out of flights of passion and misdirected determination—maybe these things could be forgiven and one day forgotten. A slight smile creased Peter's lips while he thought back on the day he and Suresh met. It was the type of meeting that two people who became friends would look back on fondly as they lived their normal lives. It was with that idea in his mind that Peter reiterated the words he said to Mohinder on the first day the sun disappeared.

"Do you ever get the feeling that you were meant to do something…extraordinary?"

The slightest scoffing breath was exhaled from Peter's lips after he spoke, deep brown eyes met a pair not unlike his own. Though Mohinder's held a more golden tint to them in the light of the sun as it disappeared for another day behind an endless, stark horizon of skyscrapers and high-rises. Mohinder looked at Peter for a good long moment before he responded with a derisive smirk of his own.

"I used to. Turns out I was mistaken."

Peter nodded in the backseat, he agreed fully with the sentiment. The cab rolled into a right turn as they neared the younger man's destination. With each block the quality of housing increased from apartment complexes to brownstones and townhouses. The conversation continued as Mohinder remembered the simple joy that could be found in engaging in small talk.

"What are you doing with yourself these days Peter? I mean since you're not out saving the world."

He shook his head a little, dark curls bounced against the shoulders of his jacket.

"Actually I'm an EMT for the city. A friend of mine from Med. School helped me get the job. It's nice, I like it—it feels good to be able to help people with my current um, capabilities. What about you, Mohinder? Just driving a cab again?"

"Well that's still very noble of you Peter and yes, I've been back at this for a couple weeks now. Unfortunately, it's the only job experience I have in the States. Well, that I would care to mention on an application. I've put my former work aside—my research, as much as I wanted for it to have a noble purpose. It just never worked out that way. As well as it not being safe to engage in, as we've both seen how easily mine and my father's research can be perverted by the misuse of others."

Outside they arrived at Peter's destination—the brownstone where he had spent a good portion of his life when living directly in the city. He craned his neck to look up at it, and though he couldn't see him—everything inside of the young man burned with the knowledge that Nathan was in there right now. Peter reached inside of his jacket for his cash.

"I mean yeah I can see why you would make that decision…Well, I um have to go before he leaves. Thanks for the ride Mohinder, what do I owe you?"

Suresh didn't look at Peter through the rearview mirror as he had been the whole ride so far, he parked the car and turned around as fully as he could in the seat to look at him directly. A warm smile creased his lips while the younger man continued to fumble with folded up bills and random pieces of change in his hand. Mohinder waved his hand dismissively at the gesture.

"Peter after all we've been through your money is no good here. The ride is on me this time."

Peter's hand stopped trying to pull out a couple of bills and instead re-folded them to go back into his pocket. That familiar crooked grin present while he nodded at Mohinder and unbuckled his seat belt.

"Thanks, um so I know you said that you're not doing your research anymore but maybe you should know something, Mohinder."

He leaned forward, every word whispered out as only one other person knew this secret.

"I can fly again."

Peter looked at him for a few moments as the words and their implications sunk in for Suresh. The formula worked—but Mohinder knew that. He knew it very well as he retained an ability of his own and hadn't told a soul. Such temptation sat in his backseat, a chance to delve back into the work. But he wouldn't take it, he could not. It wasn't something that he was meant to trifle with.

"I see. I'm glad for you Peter, but I hope you don't fall back into old habits either."

Old habits like trying to make his brother understand what he was doing was wrong. Peter smiled grimly and nodded.

"Let me give you my number, I'd like to see you again Mohinder."

Peter reached into his jacket and took out his cell phone, trading numbers with Mohinder then putting it back into his pocket. Mohinder placed his phone in a small area underneath his meter. Another glance at the brownstone, it had to be something to do with his family, the very look of the place screamed 'Petrelli'. Peter left the taxi that day and walked up to the front step—he disappeared behind the door and Suresh drove off to find his next fare. No one needed to know that the serum had affected Mohinder as well, because that wasn't part of what he wanted to achieve: normal.

A few weeks later and Mohinder had still not heard back from Peter. This shift wasn't very productive in terms of finding fares, he drove around almost aimlessly searching for someone who needed a ride. His eyes were strained and tired from staring at the road for so long—pavement softly lit only by the beams of the headlights. It would have made sense to just take the cab back to the station and call it a night. At this rate, he was losing money on fuel by continuing, but just then he spotted on the corner of 54th and Bismarck Ave. a lone figure—hand raised in the sky to signal he was the fare that Mohinder was looking for. Suresh passed through the stoplight and pulled up against the curb. The stranger shifted then moved to get inside the cab, into the backseat. Sounds of fabric rustling against fabric as the passenger slid onto the seat while Mohinder adjusted his mirror. The angle of a streetlight would have provided for a very limited view of his new passenger. However, out in this particular area, there were no streetlights to be found and the man in the backseat remained enrobed in shadow.

Mohinder leaned forward and shifted the taxi into 'drive' again as he spoke.

"Where to, my friend?"

A soft click echoed dully throughout the vehicle—every lock clicked simultaneously into place. When Mohinder went to press the accelerator, he found that only the sound of an engine revving up was the result. His eyes averted to the shifter, placed firmly back in 'park' but not by his own hand. Technically, not by anyone's hand.

"What the—"

Mohinder attempted to press the shift back into drive but the smooth gray lever would not budge. Tiny black hairs stood on-end on the back of Mohinder's neck before he even heard the smooth, arrogant voice that still haunted the occasional bad dream.

"What's the rush Mohinder? I think you and I have well, all night."

Suddenly, Mohinder found his arms moving as if they were on strings. Each rose into the air with a certain delicate manipulation present in even the slightest twitch. Fingers splayed out until they landed gently on the steering wheel—curling until his grip was tight on the surface of the wheel itself. Mohinder's heart clenched in his chest as he felt the strange sensation overtake his body.

"What…what is this, it's not telekinesis—there's no pressure being applied."

Days after he was pinned to the ceiling with naught but the concentration of a man who felt incredibly betrayed—there were odd bruises all over his body. Splotches of purple and blue that were sensitive to the touch due to tender flesh. But with this, he couldn't feel anything on his arms or wrists themselves, no they felt rather light when lifted.

A soft, dark chuckle spilled out from Sylar's smirking lips. The man's laughter always held a menacing, taunting quality to it in Mohinder's opinion. The backseat squeaked as the man leaned forward so that his lips were mere centimeters away from the shell of Suresh's ear.

"No, it's not. I just obtained this fascinating ability—such a slovenly, shabby excuse for a man didn't deserve such a graceful—"

Sylar lifted his hand and Mohinder's did the same in turn—off the steering wheel and into mid-air.

"…and intricate—"

Sylar's pale fingers flexed and wriggled as Mohinder's hand continued to be the mirror image of the killer's actions.

"…ability. It will be put to much better use with me."

To demonstrate what sort of use—Mohinder suddenly found his own fingertips dragging along the front of his jacket, grasping at the zipper and taking it down along its metal track. The breeze of the air conditioning found its way to seeping past the thin cotton of Mohinder's shirt. Next, his hand was at the end of his shirt, fingers moved to twist momentarily at the fabric before they roamed over the waist of his khakis and traveled even further below that point to reach the warmth of the crotch of his pants. Mohinder wondered if this ability allowed Sylar to feel how hard the subtle, well-placed stimulations were making him—he certainly hoped not.

"Wh-what are you doing? Stop it."

Not a sound from his passenger as Suresh's nimble fingers curled to grasp at the middle of his erection and roughly, painfully tug at himself. Every grunt and groan stifled except for the first—it was the most shocked—Mohinder struggled to maintain some semblance of control while his own body turned against him. As his hand jerked and pawed over the wrinkled material, Sylar finally spoke once more.

"Enjoy it Mohinder….You know, it was completely random that I was given your file as my assignment—it could have been any one of Nathan's men who was to bring you in. I think that right there is a testament to our very special shared destiny, wouldn't you say Doctor?"

Finally, Mohinder's hand stopped and lifted once more—moving to undo his seat belt as Sylar mimicked the same motion in the backseat. Once the belt rested against the inside of the cab's door, Mohinder's hips started to turn and his leg sought to balance his body during the move inside the vehicle. His body turned to face Sylar, he could see the man then—even more so when both moved forward, leaning in. But it was a limited view at best—the first thing of note was the lack of his typical sort of outfit. No, he was in uniform. A black jacket with a four-button closure over a black shirt, black pants that were bunched around his ankles and combat boots. A vest was strapped over the front of his shirt, various pockets that Mohinder had no idea what other purposes the equipment on his vest could be for. The only thing that lit his face was the console of his dashboard—leaving Sylar's stubbled jawline and chin to be the parts of his face in view.

"Nathan's…men."

Suresh scoffed and chuckled derisively at the man who still held the 'strings' of his body.

"So you've finally sold yourself out huh? I don't find there to be much of anything 'special' in being a glorified blunt object for Senator Petrelli's use. Honestly, is there anything more mediocre than being a middleman—a lackey? And don't call me 'Doctor' as if nothing has changed between us, I don't participate in my research any more. I'm trying to move on with my life, away from the mistakes my father left behind."

A palpable moment of tension made the sudden stillness from both men that much more pronounced. Suddenly, the strings were cut and Sylar was back to his old bag of tricks—a telekinetic grip around Mohinder's neck. The cool glass of the window stung initially at Suresh's cheek as it was pressed to his warm flesh. His teeth very nearly smacked into the window from the suddenness of the shove. Sylar leaned forward more, the soft light spread over his features—for the first time since he entered the vehicle, Mohinder could finally see Sylar's nearly-black eyes as they gazed upon him. Cruel indifference in each orb as his face stopped only an inch away from Mohinder's own.

"Would you like to know how I feel right now, Mohinder? Nostalgic—nostalgic for the last time I was in the backseat of a taxi cab in New York City."

That was all Sylar needed to do—insinuate the 'anonymous' brutal murder of Chandra Suresh and Mohinder knew the threat to his life was clear. When Mohinder shifted his gaze, he could see the cracked wristwatch still on Sylar's wrist. Thanks to the ability of a boy named Sanjog Iyer back in India—Suresh knew exactly how that watch was damaged.

"Your, ugh—your nostalgia is evident from that watch…What is it that you want from me this time, exactly?"

Sylar didn't know what to think about that, what would he know about the watch? It never came up after he sought out Suresh to get his powers back, and he never had it on during his 'Zane' days. But he didn't have time for this—he had a job to do and so he had to focus. The grip on Mohinder's neck was relinquished and again the strings took hold of his body. Sylar moved his hand until Suresh's stiff body tilted perfectly upright again. From being moved again, Mohinder had a stray lock of hair that dangled over his right eye. Without even thinking about the intangible strings that he still held—Sylar reached across and brushed his fingers through Mohinder's wavy curls. Mohinder had no choice but to mimic the motion as his own hand swept through Sylar's dark brunette strands with a swift, fluid motion.

For a very slight moment—a flicker of nerves flashed across Sylar's face when Mohinder touched him. It wasn't something they'd ever done before, and it certainly rattled him. Mohinder's arm was placed back at his side while both men sat there—each staring at the other as Sylar spoke.

"This is a bit of a first for us, Mohinder. Every time that I've found you in the past—it's been for my own gain. But this time, I can assure you that I'm only here for the good of my country."

Sylar grinned deviously at these last words before he went on.

"Nathan wants you on his side—wants your research…that's why I'm here. All he wants to do is talk Mohinder, you should count yourself lucky. I mean, I doubt most of the others will be handled that way. But here, I want to show you something…neat."

Mohinder raised a brow at this then watched as his left arm rose into the air until it was straight and perpendicular with the seat itself. Sylar's arm did the same while his opposite hand reached over and his fingertips brushed along the sleeve of his shirt.

"Now, I haven't got anything up my sleeve—neither do you."

Mohinder's fingers dragged against his jacket sleeve while Sylar kept control of his limbs. Next, Sylar's hand moved over to the front of his tactical vest. The tips of his fingers slipped into a pocket as Suresh's hand founds its way into the small pocket on the front of his own shirt.

"And there's nothing in your pocket but—there's definitely something in mine."

Both withdrew their hands slowly—Mohinder's was indeed empty but Sylar's held a small, thin syringe. It housed a very powerful sedative that was protocol to use on these extractions. Mohinder could practically tell what it was the second Sylar produced it from his vest. The man smirked and held his hand out while Mohinder copied him during the motion. The syringe was carefully passed from Sylar's hand to Mohinder's own and then his fingers curled tightly around it, thumb on the plunger while Sylar held nothing but air.

"Sylar, wait! What are you doing, stop this now! This isn't what you want to do—follow someone else's orders! You don't want to listen to Nathan Petrelli all of your life!"

For a second, Sylar paused with his hand still clenched in mid-air as if he were contemplating not going through with it. He leaned in an inch, Mohinder forced to do the same.

"I'm sure you and I will have plenty of opportunity to discuss this in further detail but for now let's just say for right now, it's because family is important, Mohinder."

He wondered if Mohinder remembered that he was related to these men now—Nathan and Peter were his brothers. As much as Sylar had been alone in his life, there was certainly a sense of security to be found in knowing that he had a family. Or at least part of one—Peter didn't quite fit into their plans and would be dealt with accordingly.

Before Mohinder could resume his protests—Sylar's arm lifted up and then he brought it down again with a stabbing motion. Sylar's fist hit his arm and the syringe tore into Mohinder's flesh, his thumb moved to press the plunger down all the way—the contents of the tube emptying into his system. When the tube was empty, Sylar stopped using the manipulation of Doyle's former ability and watched as Suresh dropped the syringe and tried to fight off the sedatives shutting down his system bit by bit.

"You…errrm…regretthissss…you'rewrong…ugh…"

Mohinder passed out, slumping half off the seat as his body crumpled into itself in the front seat. The backseat squeaked again as Sylar leaned forward to check—Mohinder was definitely out. He reclined again and touched the device clipped to his ear, a Bluetooth wireless device.

"Target has been subdued, I need a collection/transport team at the corner of Bismarck Ave. and 54th."

Sylar flicked the backseat open and left the vehicle. Thick black soles crunched the gritty pavement as his boots thudded with every step around the vehicle—opening the front seat and shifting Suresh over.

"No struggle was made—no civilians involved this time. I'll be contacting the Senator myself ab—"

He stopped when something quite strange caught his glance out of the corner of his eye. Sylar leaned down and held the driver's side door open as he inspected the steering wheel Suresh had his hands on not long ago. There were marks in it—nearly half an inch deep that were in the shapes of fingertips. He felt the hard plastic of the wheel and a flash of getting pummeled by this man at Pinehearst went through his head. He turned and looked down at Mohinder again—the light was better by the dashboard so he could see his skin. But there were no scales or disfigurations this time. Sylar smirked as he realized that Mohinder was holding onto a very big secret about himself.

"—Bring a mobile sedative kit…Suresh has an ability still."

Present Day. September 2008.

A single black Lincoln town-car pulled into the massive airplane hangar housed at a top-secret military base in Virginia. Its tinted windows kept any possible curious onlooker unaware of the presence of the man inside. When the vehicle parked, a single secret service agent left the front passenger seat and went around to let out President Petrelli. Nathan was dressed in a smartly-tailored Versace suit underneath a black Burberry pea-coat. The very hints of bags under his stern, amber eyes that were proof of his steadily sleep-less nights. Ever since the failed detainment of Luke Campbell—Nathan lost sleep as he tried to strategize and make his next move. He strode into the hangar and looked around at the twisted remains of the former aircraft suspended from the ceiling. Every piece was constantly looked over by a team of both structural engineers and agents. The more this incident could be kept quiet—the better. He had worked far too hard and sacrificed a great deal to get where he was now. Certainly it wasn't going to be ruined by the man who shouldn't even be alive—the man he reluctantly called brother. As he looked upon a piece of the scorched cockpit door—another car pulled into the hangar.

This was a black Lincoln Navigator, windows tinted as well, parked diagonally away from the town-car, and the man who got out didn't look so out of place on a military base. Maybe it was his haircut, neat and short. Or the glasses that placed him right out of the 1960's and the glory days of the CIA. However, Noah Bennet was not a military man nor was he a government man necessarily. He sort of operated on a playing field of his own design even though he technically answered to Nathan. Bennet walked over to Nathan who's back was facing him.

"I received the tape and I've reviewed it extensively. I'm assuming that you want me to bring him in."

Nathan didn't shift or look away from the pieces of wreckage as he replied.

"Dead or alive—either way he can be dealt with accordingly Noah. So, if you've watched the footage that much then you've noticed all the little things that have kept me up at night about it."

Bennet adjusted his glasses and looked at the wreckage himself as he spoke.

"Everything about it is off for him. He's a cocky bastard yes but he is usually smarter than that. Using the uniform, the protocol…after everything that happened with you and he, I'm amazed he would do that and not just go in on his own as himself. You're sure he was on the plane when it went down?"

"Positive. I'm positive of it—he could have healed if the impact wasn't too much. Honestly Noah I watch the footage and it's like…he thinks this is the most clever idea ever."

The president turned and looked at Noah right in the eye now as he went on.

"Do you think he could have forgotten, say there was something off with his mind—amnesia maybe. I know that Peter's had it before and well, it would explain a lot. I look at Sylar in that mask in the video and I wonder why he doesn't just show his face. The only thing I can come up with is that he honestly thinks going 'undercover' as an agent is something new for him. Otherwise, that type of move would just be idiotic, and I know my younger brother better than that by now. I guess we'll find out. Find him, Noah. He could ruin all of this with his persistence and we both know that."

Bennet nodded and checked his watch.

"I'll leave now, I assume that I'll be able to work with the Haitian on this? He's best-suited for the job."

Nathan stared blankly ahead of himself—he wondered what Peter was doing now. How bad he was after the crash…who he was with now.

"Of course. And thank you Noah for all of your hard work, your dedication to what needs to be done now."

Bennet buttoned his jacket up, moving his tie aside and straightening it.

"I'll bring him 'home' Nathan."

Bennet smiled some and turned on his heel, walking back to the Navigator and getting inside. Sylar with memory loss could be an incredibly dangerous thing. The sooner he was brought down—the better. He pulled the car out of the hangar and went back down the private road that lead to the base.