Don't Be Bashful, I Don't Bite

[splice_of_life]

"Don't Be Bashful, I Don't Bite"
Who: Mohinder, Sylar, etc


He's nervous, sitting in the car for almost half an hour..  The man on the phone had been the only one, so far, that would talk to him.  Well, besides Nathan Petrelli's brother, of course.  Not that the boy had anything to really go on.  Zane Taylor might very well be the key that he needs to find so that his research makes sense again.  So that he can carry on with his father's work.

Pulling up his jacket, though it's not really that cold at all in Virginia, Mohinder raps lightly on the door and waits.  He can hear movement in there and it causes him to rock forward on his toes, teeth indenting the inside of his lower lip.

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[heroslayer]

It's something of a miracle he made it back to the right time, he thinks, but he did. He did it. He's standing in Zane's living room, plastic stretched out over the floors to keep puddles of melted metalic goo from staining the carpet, and he can hear his younger self taunting the musician just as he did before killing him in the other room. Mohinder hasn't arrived yet, as far as he can tell, and that's good. That gives him time without having to stop time.

He sets his bag down on one of the very few unruined surfaces -- he stopped back at the Indian's apartment in the last reality he was in long enough to grab his things and, as always, a couple of clippings from his plants -- and passes into the kitchen. His younger self stands there, leering terribly over a still-living Zane, but neither of them notice him which suits his purposes fine. It means he doesn't have to fight his other self; he just puts a hand on his back and teleports him to the bottom of the ocean before he can so much stiffen at the touch. He doesn't mourn for the other man, he just steps into his younger self's place, looking down at Zane coolly, trying to decide what to do with him.

Last time, Zane's obituary tipped Mohinder off to who he really was, and while he'd probably shrug off being drugged, or at very least survive the experience, he has no desire to repeat it. Nor does he have any real need for the musician's power, seeing as how he already has it, but he can't just let him hang around. He still needs to be Zane Taylor. He still needs to go on his road trip with the geneticist, even if he doesn't bother killing any of the people they happen across. He presses his lips into a thin line, then slips into his mind, telling him to go out the back door and go visit his parents for a good, long time -- they're still alive, as far as the other man's memories tell him -- but not before he takes a blood sample from him. Mohinder will still likely want a swab of his cheek, and without a body in the kitchen to take it from, he'll have to have a means of providing it himself. This way, he can shift his mouth to Zane's for a second or two. Just long enough to give Mohinder a sample.

Zane gone, he moves to steal some of his clothing -- the same Ramones shirt and canvas sneakers he wore the last time he was here, when he did this for real -- and stashes his bag in the other man's room. He'll grab it when he and Mohinder are on their way out, along with more of Zane's clothes. Now all he has to worry about is trying to remember what he said to the Indian the first time they met, wanting this to be as true to history as possible, and he's still trying to call bits and pieces of the conversation to mind when Mohinder rings the door bell. He frowns, takes a deep breath, and moves to answer it.

Show time.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Mohinder's hair bounces a bit as he slips passed Zane and nearly blunders into a stain of glossy paint spread out on the floor. His eyes dart everywhere, to and fro, noting that plastic covered everything from the waist up minus a large black chair and the sliding glass door onto a balcony. What a view.

He half smiles at the taller man, watching him fidget with his sleeves. He doesn't really notice the question about tea as he opens his coat, swallowing and fixated on the pools. "Sorry I...took so long."

Earl Gray?

"Yes, that will be fine." He pulls off his gloves. "You sounded rather alarmed on the phone."

He's not prepared to be quoted at. Especially by a scholar he doesn't know. Zane doesn't look the sort.

[heroslayer]

He continues tugging at his sleeves as he explains the philosophy, though he'd much rather be fidgeting with the ring under his shirt. He doesn't want Mohinder seeing that, though, doesn't want to have to explain the truth to him since that didn't work all that well last time, so he restrains himself. If his eyes linger for a bit too long, or if he smiles warmly where he hadn't last time they'd gone through this, however, that's not his fault. That can't be helped. It takes him a moment longer to go retrieve the toaster and the plastic matting from the other room, too, once he's asked the Indian if he wants to see his ability. He's more interested in him than showing off old tricks.

He doesn't bother telling Mohinder to back off this time, "nice jacket" or not, wanting him in his personal space. He just holds out a hand over the toaster and lets the power flow through him, glancing over his shoulder at him for approval when it dissolves into a puddle. He does, however, ask if he wants to see it again -- the look he can remember Mohinder giving him is worth it.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Everything about this is wonderful. Almost all of Zane's things have been melted by the time that the kettle goes off and Mohinder asks him to swab his cheek. Unlike the last time, for Sylar at least, Mohinder's actually allowed into the kitchen. He asks where the mugs are and they prepare the tea together just as they had had the night in Sylar's apartment.

Their fingers touch twice in the process.

Over tea, the discussion turns far more business like, though Mohinder's thoughts buzz a bit at how remarkable Zane is. And what lovely eyes he has. "You're the only one that hasn't hung up on me, if I am to be honest."

What Mohinder's not nervous or afraid, his smiles are almost perfect.

[heroslayer]

Sylar offers him a smile in return and forces himself to take a mouthful of tea. It wouldn't make sense for him not to -- Mohinder might notice, and then what would he say? That he's not a big tea person? That would go over exceptionally well, considering this is supposed to be his place and he had it in his cabinets to begin with. At least it's not as bad as he remembers. Likely because it's not chai.

"I just -- needed someone to talk to, I guess. Epiphanies aside, it's ... hard. Feeling like I'm the only person in the world like this." He shrugs and hopes that's enough to prompt Mohinder to mention the others so he can suggest he come with him to meet them.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

"Get your things, if you really do want to come with me." Oh, the things that they can do together! Mohinder's excitement is palpable. It leaves him tingling as he hops across the pools of black and silver and copper towards the door. "You might have some better luck making the calls as well. I've a car."

[heroslayer]

He grins, the expression not an act as he's thrilled that that actually worked, and gets up to head in the opposite direction, back towards Zane's room. He peeks out the door a second after he's ducked inside, as if he's afraid Mohinder might just leave him there, even if it was his idea to come with him in the first place, and calls back to him. "Just give me a minute."

He raids Zane's closet, pulling out a handful of clothing that he already knows will fit him, likely from a time when the man was thinner, and tosses them into his bag. He checks to make sure his plants are still in there and safe, rooted in one of his own shirts, brought with him from home when he left to begin his trek through time, and then shoulders it, grabbing his coat as he heads out to join Mohinder outside.

"Okay. Ready."

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Mohinder is standing on the back deck, by Zane's grill, staring out at the ocean. It's like the dreams, the times when Mohinder would share them with Sylar and they'd be at this house. The only difference is that Mohinder, this Mohinder, won't dream about beer bottle sand or bloody water.

He's still pristine. And when Zane joins him, he smiles effortlessly. He catches the look he's been given. The admiration. Mohinder's just a man. Of course he likes the attention.

"I suppose, if you don't mind, we could head to Montana first. I know, rather far. But there's a man there I think might be receptive."

[heroslayer]

A man? That's different -- unless, of course, Mohinder thinks that Dale's a man, based solely on the name. He did the first time the went through this, didn't he? He can't quite remember, but he smiles regardless, moving to join him, looking out over the ocean. His hands fall on the railing and his heart hurts, the smile disappearing. He misses his Mohinder more than anything in that instant, ruined sand and bleeding sea included. Even if he has a chance for happiness here, he wants to go home more than anything right now.

It's an effort not to touch the ring under his shirt or fidget with his sleeves. He doesn't want to give Mohinder a reason to be suspicious of him, even if his reasons are mostly perfectly innocent. "That's fine. We can take turns driving. Maybe stop somewhere on the way."

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

"Likely, yes, unless you care to spend the next day and a half in the car with only me for company," Mohinder jokes and opens the trunk for Zane's bag. He feels vindicated, finally. Sylar might have been his father's patient zero, but for the moment, Zane is his. His tie to this. Likely, he's the first person a scientist has ever met to see an ability like this and not be killed.

He's got no idea what his father had been doing in the sixties, however. Chandra kept that all from him. From everyone, really. Five hours into the drive, it's getting and Mohinder's getting sore. He had driven all the way from New York City that morning.

"Oh, there's a rest stop. We can at least have a meal."

[heroslayer]

"Sounds good," he agrees, allowing Mohinder another smile. "I'm starving. I had breakfast, but ... "

But he hasn't eaten since then and, as his Mohinder figured out some time ago, the more he does with his abilities, the more it messes with his metabolism, and he's done a lot today. Shapeshifting -- three times. Time travel. Melting things for Mohinder. Poking around in his thoughts idly, if only because it's force of habit. And so on and so forth.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Dinners, Mohinder will come to learn, are not good places to go for meals. He orders a salad, and then sends it back once because there's lunch meat on it. It comes back with just ham the second time, so he picks it off carefully and then goes back to it.

Zane's watching and Mohinder ducks his head sheepishly. "Vegetarian," he explains, as he had to Sylar ages ago. "It's part of my religion. You never want to accidentally eat a relative!"

[heroslayer]

"I figured," he says, gesturing to the meat Mohinder pulled off his salad, neatly sitting folded into a napkin and off to one side. "I tried that once, but I couldn't really get into it. I missed hot dogs too much."

Among other things, though he didn't have much of a choice, what with the whole world ending. The first thing he'd done after leaving the Indian's loft after jumping back in time was to get a hotdog off of one of the carts that line the streets near Central Park. Mohinder's a good cook, but nothing he made with the plants he grew could ever compare to a New York footlong with everything on it.

"Which, speaking of, this doesn't bother you, does it?" He gestures to his own burger. He already knows what Mohinder's answer will be, but he wants to seem polite enough.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

"Oh, no, certainly not. It does smell delicious. Please, don't worry about me. My dietary choices are more tradition and religion than actual ethics." He does into telling Zane about his first rebellious act at the age of fifteen, getting a hamburger for the first time. Oh, he'd loved it! The first bite at least. "I'm afraid to report that I spent the next week in tears. Never underestimate culture and upbringing."

The latter of which is something Sylar can certainly relate to. Life with Virginia had been a culture in and of it's own.

[heroslayer]

"Trust me, I don't," he answers, offering Mohinder a half-smile. He can't remember if he and Mohinder discussed this, the last time they were together, but the Zane persona was as much truth as it was fiction, so he figures he can continue on that trend. That in mind, he continues, "My mother was really religious -- Catholic school and paint-by-numbers of the Virgin Mary and all -- so I get it."

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

'Was' sends up red flags. Mohinder's face softens and he seems to enjoy the ability to connect with Zane. Not over his powers, but their own backgrounds. "I lost my father very recently. He was not entirely religious, a normal amount I'd say. When did your mother pass?"

Perhaps he just needs to formally grieve. He's still running from it himself.

[heroslayer]

He looks away, his mother's death still painful after all this time. She is, technically still alive here -- and he considers going to see her, sans showing off his powers this time -- but still. His mother is gone, just as his Mohinder is gone.

"It's been a little more than two years, now."

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

With that knowledge and some more pleasantries, they split the bill and it's back on the road for them again until Mohinder nearly nods off behind the wheel. That certainly hadn't happened the first time, but they stayed in the diner so much longer as well.

The promise of a hotel half a mile ahead, one of the chains that appear every few miles along the highway looms in the distance with bright lights guiding weary travelers to it, was taken up immediately.

They got separate rooms and Mohinder bids Zane a good night.

He does notice those lingering looks and in his own room, he's really rather pleased by them. Everyone likes being checked out!

[heroslayer]

He's not surprised by having separate rooms -- it's how they did things the last time he went through this -- and he retreats to his without complaint. He is, however, tempted to go to him, but he thinks better of it. Mohinder needs his sleep and he'd probably think it odd if a man he supposedly just met that day were to show up at his door in the middle of the night. Maybe he'll go after they've gotten to Montana and seen Dale, on the night he went and killed her last time, but not now. Now he just stretches out on the bed and listens to Mohinder's breathing through the wall, skimming the surface of his dreams, until he fall asleep.

It's well before dawn when he wakes, and he goes back to it, half-tempted to check in on the Indian's dreams out of force of habit or to try and change them, to feed him little bits of their time together in hopes that it'll bring them closer together somehow here. He decides on the former, just watching, not actually inserting himself into Mohinder's dreamscape for fear of ruining something or giving himself away.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Mohinder still dreams of India. He dreams of the beach beside the river. But he's not the Mohinder that Sylar's known. He's young, so much younger. Ten? Eleven? He's with other boys his age, brown skin tanning in the sun as they kick around a football by the lapping waves.

He wakes with his alarm, not all that longer after Sylar, and meets the man for breakfast. Waffles. It will eventually be a little ritual that they'll have over, as Sylar remembers it at least, the four days that this little road trip occurs.

Mohinder lets Zane take over the course by lunch, though he doesn't really nap. The conversation is good and Mohinder rather enjoys the company. They get on well. Despite the band t-shirts, they're actually intellectual equals. It's refreshing.

"Let me drive for a bit. You must be exhausted. We can stop for the night soon. We're nearly there."

[heroslayer]

"I'm okay," he says honestly. He's never needed much in the way of sleep, not that this Mohinder knows that. "Besides, you drove all day yesterday. I guess it's only fair if I drive all day today."

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Mohinder touches his forearm gently. "All right. But the moment you get tired, please let me know. We only ought to be an hour or two out from the city. We can find a motel there." Hopefully. They seemed to be less plentiful this far to the north in the centre of the country!

[heroslayer]

He shifts into Mohinder touch without even realizing he's doing it and offers him a vaguely sheepish smile when it does come to his attention. Not that he makes any motion to back off. "I'll let you know."

There may not be a lot of motels around Bozeman when they finally reach it, but he finds one easily enough. Mostly because he's been here before -- it's the same one they stayed at last time they came to see Dale. He pulls into a parking space, kills the engine and turns to look at him for lack of anything better to do. He supposes he should be getting out of the car and collecting their things so they can head inside and see about a room for the night, but well. He'll get there in a minute.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Sylar can take as long as he needs. Mohinder's fallen asleep, head turned towards the driver of the car, long neck exposed. He has no reason to be worried about Sylar, no need to fear him at all. It's so very unlike the first time Mohinder fell asleep on his couch, struggling with himself to relax.

He's not yet gone deep enough into sleep to dream, but his thoughts are all over the place, jumping around between Zane and Dale and his father and adventure.

[heroslayer]

And Mohinder wanted to take a turn at the wheel. Amused, he shifts in his seat to face him more fully, his fingers brushing over his hair lightly, tentatively. "Mohinder ... we're here."