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]

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."

[of-highdegree.livejournal.com]

"I can have it done. It will be a few days, though." Just as it had been with Mohinder's. Silver-work and enchantments so powerful don't just happen overnight. "I wouldn't worry too much about payment, though. My silversmith and I barter back and forth in favour, not money, and I believe he owes me."

He pauses, lingering near him, and then shakes his head. "It's odd to think I've a son running about in London, let alone a grandson."

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

He'd never thought of it that way. Mohinder lowers his eyelids. "I suppose, in a way... We're the same. You changed me when a bullet aimed at you missed. And the same for me. We had no choice. I simply regret that you and I didn't have enough time."

He misses it all. Crawling into bed with him. Having tea each night. The stories. The history. The lessons on so many things.

"Even so, you taught me many things. You were a much better father than my biological one."

[of-highdegree.livejournal.com]

"I'm sure he feels the same -- the version of me you left behind. More than that, I'm sure he misses you."

A part of this John longs for having him around, too, but he knows that he won't stay. He can't. His pet turned equal can't drop everything here and, based on what John took from Mohinder's blood, he won't leave him. He's the more important of the two, however slightly.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Perhaps that's true now. But of his John, the old, kind, amazing man that pressed his wrist to his lips on his death bed, Mohinder might not have been able to choose Sylar over him. There's love and then there's family.

And now Sylar's family too. Progeny wins out against parents, usually. Leaving John, now, still, is going to be difficult too, though.

"You could meet him, your grandson. It's complicate. He's the President of the United States. But...You can find me. I'd like to see you again. To keep in touch."

Until they are swept apart again.

[of-highdegree.livejournal.com]

"I think I'd like that as well," he answers, allowing Mohinder a small smile that borders vaguely on fond. "If he's the time while you're here, you can bring him along when you come for his ring. If not ... getting Stateside for a bit isn't much of a problem."

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

"I rather like your crow form," Mohinder says, far more than vaguely fond. His voice drips with affection even as he leans in and kisses a smooth, unwrinkled cheek. Very strange. "We'll see each other soon then."

[of-highdegree.livejournal.com]

"I'm far more fond of my other, but unfortunately, last I checked, cougars don't fly." He looks vaguely amused by the idea and turns his head to kiss him back. "Either way, though ... take care, boy."

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

It's with mixed emotions that Mohinder returns to London. There's no car, so he walks it, quite fast and able to cover the trek in relatively little time. Still, he's cutting it close. Two hours before sunrise and he's without a ring and in a phone booth, dialling Matt's phone. "How are the briefings going? Is it possible to get an escort in to see the President?"

[mentalmastery.livejournal.com]

Matt answers the phone near immediately, thinking something's wrong. He relaxes when he realizes there's not and excuses himself from the table to take his call without interrupting anything or being overheard. "We're just about wrapped up here -- I think everyone just wants to get home and go the hell to bed -- so uh ... yeah."

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

"Good." He knows which hotel by feel. He knows they must be using a very secure conference room as well. But Matt can always use the same trick to sneak him in as he used to sneak him out. Mohinder sighs against the receiver. "It went well. With John. As well as can be expected at least. He'll help us. I'll be there in twenty minutes in the men's room on the first floor of the small office building across the street. You can find me there when you're ready for me."

[mentalmastery.livejournal.com]

"I'll be there as soon as I can," he promises, and without so much as a goodbye, he hangs up.

Half an hour later, and looking exhausted, he steps into the men's room and looks looks around. Sylar's not with him, likely finishing up with the rest of his staff. "Uh ... hello?"

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Mohinder grins behind his hand. He can smell Sylar on him. He can smell all of Matt's deliciousness beneath that. And he's hungry. Lack of food will do that. "I'm so very grateful that Gabriel can heal you. Handicapped stall, Matt." He lets it swing open.