Famous Last Words

[splice_of_life]

"And the way I can feel you...its...I never want to lose that."

Mohinder wakes with a start and stares up at the ceiling. Those weird dreams again. They need to stop. They're starting to affect his ability to do his job. Well, not that he'd slept much these five years since Sylar blew up. The alarm goes off a moment later and he pulls himself to his feet.

Another day in the lab. Another report due. A meeting with the president that afternoon? He'd have to check his schedule.

He's in the shower when he gets the call. That meeting with the president? Moved up to a breakfast briefing. Mohinder groans and slips on a silver and lapis lazuli ring before he heads down to the waiting limo.

Comments

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

"England is always an adventure for us," Mohinder murmurs, changing the subject subtly. His fingers absolutely help the transition as he lightly bites at his chin. The stubble has never stopped exciting him. He pushes thoughts of John from his mind. It was where he'd last seen his sire and the wound is so very raw, even with so many memories in place between then and now. "We should visit the Eye while we're there. Matt's not afraid of heights. Or head to Soho. Quite a few good restaurants--"

And then they'll head to John's estate. It's the only way they'll ever get a matching ring for Sylar.

[heroslayer]

"Whatever you want to do," Sylar says, tilting his head to steal a kiss from him. He nips lightly at his lower lip as he pulls away and tries to keep himself from hoping they'll actually get to experience London this time rather than being pulled away from it, not wanting Mohinder to catch that thought and be upset.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

The crate idea works beautifully. It's loaded into the President's personal room in the rear of the plane, the windows tinted black to prevent any entry of light, and once they're in the air, Matt uses a crowbar to break Mohinder out. The India's found curled up inside with his pillow and blanket, oddly sound asleep.

[heroslayer]

Sylar doesn't find it that odd -- in fact, he's a little envious. He might not have to sleep during the day, but young as he is, young as they both are, it's tiring. Even with the ring, even with the sunlight barred entrance by the windows, he's still exhausted and, not bothering to take his sunglasses off, he settles back in his seat and tells Matt to wake them when they get there. Between the flight time and the time difference, it should be dark by the time they disembark, he figures.

He wakes up on his own, just after dusk, the plane making it's descent onto the tarmac. He looks up at Matt, half out of his chair, apparently intent on waking him in just a few more seconds, and then over to Mohinder. He waves the larger man away and climbs out of his seat to join the Indian on the floor.

"Mohinder."

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

And he slept through it all? The entire way there, missing out entirely on Airforce One? Mohinder stretches and groans in the small presidential cabin. Sylar's staff has no doubt been told not to enter. That suits him just fine. As he nuzzles into Sylar's arms, his eyes opening slowly. "We're here," he murmurs. There's a tug. A very small one. Mohinder's not sure if it's due to John's presence or if it is simply his own hopes.

[heroslayer]

Sylar hums, agreeing, and gathers him into his arms. He's silent for a moment, simply holding him, then tilts his head to one side slowly. " ... can you feel it?"

It's apparently not just wishful thinking on Mohinder's part. Through him, he can feel a shadow of the Indian's sire, too.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

"Really?" he breathes, sitting up immediately. "How long will it take you to get settled?" The answer is likely hours. Sylar's the president. He'll have to get his hotel secured, the motorway secured, and all of that before meeting press and getting briefed on security. Mohinder almost can't wait.

[heroslayer]

"Too long." It's kind of a shame he's never picked up the ability to duplicate himself or that Peter's not around to pretend to be him pretending to be Nathan. He makes a face and a note to find someone with that ability before too much longer, and glances over his shoulder at Matt. "Think you'd be okay without us for a little while?"

Normally, he wouldn't even suggest it, but Mohinder's not as breakable as he used to be.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Sylar gets a kiss, a biting kiss. Mohinder can't help himself. Matt's already on the phone, ordering a car up for one of the president's aides. He'll make the people on the plane see Mohinder as a short, lightly chubby blonde with big eyes and a stylish, pink coat. The thought only has to remain in their minds for the few minutes it takes Mohinder to get to the car. The driver will be British, after all, and won't need the illusion. "Give me a mobile, Gabriel. I'll call you if I have to. If not, come as soon as you can."

And bleed Matt. He needs to be marked. I don't know how John will be.

Matt gets a kiss too as Mohinder passes. "Keep him safe."

[heroslayer]

"I'll know." If Mohinder's in trouble, he'll be able to sense it. Still, he gives Mohinder one of their phones, as ordered, and watches him as he heads down out of the plane and into the car as it arrives on the tarmac.

He waits a moment, until he's out of sight, then rounds on Matt, putting a hand to his shoulder to guide him back into the plane for a moment. He doesn't explain -- he doesn't need to, Matt able to realize what's going on on his own -- he just makes sure they're alone before leaning in to press his mouth to the other man's throat. It's a pleasant experience for the both of them, regardless of how necessary it may or may not end up being.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Sitting in the back of the car as they drive off the tarmac, Mohinder just grins. He can feel them both, Sylar far more than Matt, purring through his veins. Good. He's never actually been curious about his lack of jealousy once Matt became 'theirs' rather than just 'Sylar's.' It likely doesn't matter now that he's been assured that Sylar isn't going anywhere.

It takes a little time for the car to make it to the manor he'd seen once but had committed to memory in just those few short hours he'd stayed there. He sends the driver away before he walks up the stairs.

John. John. He can feel him. So close, right there. Mohinder thinks he might weep to see him.

[of-highdegree.livejournal.com]

The door opens before Mohinder even thinks to knock on it, but it's not John that pulls it open. It can't be. He's far too young to be the elder vampire, even if he looks uncannily like he must have in his younger years, barely even twenty. He's dressed wrong, too, not shabbily, not by any means, but more modern. The cane that John would have carried is missing entirely.

Still, though, he smells right. And that sense of longing Mohinder carries seems to be centered around the boy standing in the doorway. His eyes, ever ancient but still bright and clear, give him away, too, and he tilts his head to one side curiously. Whether or not this actually is John may still remain up for debate, but he's at least a vampire and he can sense the same in the Indian.

"Can I help you?"

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

It's a terrible blow. Not that John is young, not that he looks differently from the man he's seen as his father figure, but because John doesn't know him. Well, of course he doesn't. Their lives here make no sense. John never bit him. They'd never met. Mohinder only woke up a vampire in this life after three years of memories of not being one. There's no correlation.

And yet--

"John." His eyes well up.

[of-highdegree.livejournal.com]

"I'm afraid you have me at a terrible disadvantage," he says, lips pressing in a familiar thin line. "You know me, but I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure of your name."

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

No, that's fine John. Rip his heart out. "Can't you tell already--" Maybe the bond is one sided. Maybe it has to do with crossed time streams. He doesn't know. Mohinder looks away immediately. "Mohinder Suresh."

[of-highdegree.livejournal.com]

"I could have looked, but I find that sort of thing terribly rude," he answers, still frowning. He's silent for a moment, studying him, and then turns, nodding into the house. "Come inside, boy. We'll have tea and you can explain to me why you smell ... "

Like him. His half of their connection maybe defunct, but he can still tell whose blood he carries.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

He holds his tongue. Mohinder can wait a few minutes for tea. He can swallow the tears that make him want to choke at being called 'boy.' Honestly, how can he be so 'John' and so 'not John' at the same time?

Once the tea's been made and Mohinder resists the urge to make it for him, he settles into his chair and looks into the milky tan liquid. "You made me. In another time. A very different place. But you're still you. It's fascinating and horrible."

[of-highdegree.livejournal.com]

John's not sure how to respond to that. He, like the John Mohinder knew and told about specials, has an open mind, so it's not that he doubts the story, it's just that he has no idea what to do with it. He knows that Mohinder's pain must be great -- he remembers what it was like to be separated from his own sire permanently -- but he can't just be who Mohinder needs him to be. He doesn't know him. He doesn't have their experiences together to draw on or their bond.

Frown deepening, he looks away. "I'm terribly sorry."

It's the best he can offer.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

No, he doesn't. But he can have Mohinder's memories of it. Mohinder knows he'll be leaving here empty handed. He knows he's lost John permanently. And it's too much for him. "Feed from me. It won't be much. It won't do-- Much. But I need a favour even if you don't know me and I need you to understand why."

And he needs John. He needs a last embrace.

[of-highdegree.livejournal.com]

John nods immediately, not unsympathetic, and stands up from the table to round it. He gestures for him to do the same, to stand up, and takes a half-step backwards to allow him the room to do so. "Alright, then, boy."

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

John had always been handsome. Mohinder finds him quite handsome now. Wrong, obviously. Too younger. Younger, physically, than he is, but that's hardly an issue. At least he's still taller. Mohinder can still, potentially, feel protected in his embrace. He hopes. He undoes the buttons of his collar. Sure, a wrist would work. He doesn't care.

[of-highdegree.livejournal.com]

John wasn't looking for a wrist, anyway. If he had been, he could have just pulled his hand up to his mouth and been done with it rather than telling him to stand. He's much more overtly sexual here than he was before. He's young enough in body that he doesn't feel awkward doing so and he didn't have the time while alive to fall so deeply in love with his wife that he shuns physical contact.

He puts a hand to his hair gently, at least partially compelled to reassure him -- this John may never have been a father to human or vampire children, but his instincts are still good -- and turns his head to one side slowly. He slips his fingers down out of his hair, brushing over his collar bone as he pushes his shirt aside, and leans into his throat. His other arm loops around his waist and, humming, he bites into the Indian's throat as gently as possible.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Oh see there? Mohinder's not really use to it and it shows. His knees go weak and he sighs, half miserably, half happily, into John's arms. The memories, Mohinder's memories at least, are all right there. Brilliant and bright and lovely, playing like a film on a screen in his skull.

John. An older John. Taking care of him. Feeding from him. Rescuing him. Turning him. And then Mohinder losing him. And knowing he's lost.

Pleasure aside, Mohinder's tears aren't quite able to be held back.

[of-highdegree.livejournal.com]

When John pulls away, his own eyes are damp as well, and he rubs at them briefly, furiously, and clears his throat. It takes him a moment or two after that to compose himself, his fingers running though Mohinder's hair soothingly and for both their sakes as he works at it, then he steps back. He doesn't look at him. He finds it oddly painful to, just as the John Mohinder knew had issues looking at paintings of his granddaughter.

" ... what is it you need, then?" He knows from being in Mohinder's head, but he feels a need to make conversation.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Mohinder's fingers move over the wounds, covering them slowly, almost tenderly. "A lapis lazuli. You...my John made me a ring. My... Pet, I suppose. Former pet? Is using it. I was wondering how I could go about procuring another. Payment ought to not be an issue."