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]

"I won't turn it down, sir," he says as politely as possible. He's hungry, but the bagel he had on the way in didn't do anything but get his clothing peppered with crumbs. Smiling, Mohinder did his best to keep up with the other man whose strides always seemed twice as large as his own. "Is everything all right?"

[heroslayer]

Sylar makes a vague hand gesture at one of the several secretaries that seem to be milling about, and they somehow seem to know exactly what he wants. One of them appears in the doorway of Nathan's office with two coffees just as he's settling in behind the desk, and he thanks her, taking a sip from one before pushing the other over the desk to Mohinder.

He stares at his cup for a moment, the coffee almost disturbingly bland, and then sets it aside, sighing. "I'm hoping you have good news for me, actually."

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

This again. This again, which means that there's been really, really bad news. Mohinder straightens up and sets the coffee down on the edge of the desk. "I'm afraid not."

[heroslayer]

Sliding open the top drawer of his desk, Sylar pulls out a stack of file folders and thumbs through them. He finds what he's looking for -- it figures -- at the bottom and sets it on the desk, sliding it over to Mohinder as he had the coffee a moment before. "Parkman brought me this last night. A guy in Jersey goes off the rails and wipes his entire neighborhood off the map. Homeland Security has him in custody, but ... Jesus, Suresh, that neighborhood was full of kids. There was a goddamn school there and people are looking to me -- to us to do something yesterday."

Honestly, he could care less who lived or who died because some special couldn't get a handle on his power, any remorse he might have felt for normal, innocent people as dead now as he's supposed to be, but he has to make a show. And, more importantly, if he can't have that kind of power, he doesn't want anyone to.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

He's heard this speech before. Every time something terrible happens, it's back to that report, the one he made three years ago. Mohinder wishes he could take it back but-- Impossible. "Nathan." There. His name. It tastes bitter slipping from his tongue.

They use to be friends. Mohinder remembers what that had been like. Friends.

"Sometimes terrible things just happen. We're doing our best, the both of us."

[heroslayer]

"You wanna tell that to the two hundred and some people that just disappeared because of this guy?" He gestures to the folder, a hint of anger creeping onto his face, feigned but realistic, then puts his hand to his hair, fingers raking through it. "Because one of us is gonna have to."

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Scapegoat again. Mohinder sits on the arm rest of the the couch in front of the president's desk. "What do you propose we do? You've already labelled the dangerous ones terrorists."

Even the children.

[heroslayer]

If Mohinder knew who he really was and he was allowed to do what he was truly capable of, he imagined the geneticist would find what he was doing far preferable to what he could do. What he was thinking about doing. If Mohinder couldn't deliver results, then maybe it was time to go back to the old ways. He'd have to be careful, of course, not wanting Peter or his ridiculous band of outlaws to realize the truth, but it beat waiting around for Mohinder to provide him with a means of being the most and only special person on the face of the planet.

Or, better yet, maybe he'd put Mohinder's finger on the trigger. That would at least be entertaining.

"I want you to be level with me here, Suresh. Five years ago, you came to to me saying you might be able to find a way of curing people of their abilities. Do you still think it's possible or should we be looking at other options?"

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

He does his best to meet the President's eyes, but falls just short. "The problem, sir, is that we're dealing with genes. These people are born like this and it's not something a drug or corrective surgery can help. I mean, certainly, repressors-- Maybe."

But that isn't what Nathan's asking.

"It's like they're a different species and I--"

Damn it.

"No. I don't think I can cure anyone of this."

[heroslayer]

"Then we're going to have to start looking at alternate methods of dealing with this," he says grimly. "The registration act doesn't work when they're not registering, you can't fix this, and people are going to start wanting heads to roll. The only way to keep this country from becoming some sort of war zone is to give them what they want."

He levels his gaze on Mohinder, waiting for him to realize what he means.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

It does take Mohinder a few very long moments before his eyes widen behind his glasses. "You don't mean genocide?"

[heroslayer]

"If you have a better idea, I'm all ears, Suresh." He shakes his head, looking both torn and resolved all at once. "But from where I'm sitting, it looks to me like we just ran out of options."

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

"It's not even-- It's shouldn't even be an option! Have you forgotten that you are one of them?" Mohinder's heart is just racing and he leans against the desk with earnest eyes. "Please. There must be another way."

[heroslayer]

"I'm harmless, Mohinder," he answers, giving him a pointed look as if to suggest he should try lowering his voice. "I can fly. How dangerous can I be? But look at people like -- like Parkman. Or Hiro Nakamura. Or Pete."

He's not suggesting whatever Mohinder does be used on them -- well, maybe Peter and Nakamura, since they are a threat, but not Parkman -- he's just making a point. "Look at the things they could do. Look at what they have done. You really want another incident like what happened in New York just because these people can't keep it together?"

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

"Your brother's dead." Mohinder had to wince that one out, but only because... Because it's ridiculous. "And Matthew helps you... He does more for you than the rest of your Homeland Security team put together!"

Hiro-- well. Mohinder's still not sure what to make of that terrorist. He kills indiscriminately. And stopping time-- It's too dangerous.

"How would you even like to explain it? Concentration camps? That's not who you are."

[heroslayer]

Sylar winces, looking away, and curls his fingers against the desk. He's silent for a moment, apparently trying to get a handle on his grief or his anger, and when he manages, he huffs out a sigh.

"I know that. I think about what happened with Peter every day. And I know that Parkman's done a lot of good for both this country and me personally, but ... I also know that Pete's the one that got us into this mess in the first place. That Parkman could make us all into his personal zombie army, if he had the inclination. That Nakamura could and probably would have us all in Hell for thirty seconds before any of us knew we were dead. There are dangerous people out there, Suresh, and everyone out there? The rest of this country? The rest of the world? They're starting to catch wind of that too because of people like this guy." He taps a finger against the file folder still on his desk. "Mister I Had A Fight With My Neighbor About a Lawnmower and Wiped Out My Entire Block."

He takes his hand away, leaning back in his seat. "I don't want to do this any more than you do. I'm not as -- as heartless as you seem to think I am. I've got a personal stake in this. My children might develop super powers because of me. My mother does. Going through with this would mean condemning them all, but like I said, I really don't see another option. Either we go through with this or we sit back and watch the world tear itself apart. And it will, Suresh. Make no mistake."

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Mohinder lowers his eyes and pulls back on his anger, doing his best to keep it all in check. His fingers thump blandly on the desk and he feels that surge of hunger again. Maybe he has a tape worm. Maybe he's just working himself too hard he needs more energy--

He doesn't know. It doesn't matter, not really.

Mohinder returns to the sofa and sits on it properly this time. His eyes are unfocused as he stares at the wall.

"And what sort of solution can you think of? What will solve this problem for us?"

[heroslayer]

He seems to debate it for a moment, to wrestle with his conscious, but it's all an act. He hasn't felt anything in almost five years and, judging by Nathan's behavior before he killed him for his ability, neither did he. "We'll tell them we have a cure, and when they come in for it or when we capture the dangerous ones, we'll ... take care of them."

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Just as he suspected. Two months ago, Mohinder thought he'd come up on a cure and all it did was kill people with abilities. It was like the Shanti virus, only so much worse. Mohinder presses his hands together and drops his lips against his thumbs. He's not sure who he's praying to.

Right now, he's just trying to get himself settled. He feels weak...maybe all of this is some sort of illness. He's stressed out-- He's a lot of things.

"You want me to use the retro virus." Not a question. "I'm sorry Mr. President. I'm not feeling well. You'll have to excuse me."

[heroslayer]

"I do," he confirms, nodding. He scrubs a hand over his face, looking just as tired as Mohinder. It's hard even for him to tell whether it's an act or the truth. "Look, just -- just think about it, okay? Keep an eye on the news over the next few days and tell me if the risk is worth it. The needs of the many, right?"

That said, he's more than willing to let Mohinder go.

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

It happens the next morning. Mohinder stands in the vestible of his apartment complex and stares down at the courier. He's backed into the corner, half climbing up the wall, and presses his fingernails into the fancy wallpaper behind him. The blood is creeping closer to his polished Guccis, and it's making him panic. Funny, really, to worry about the blood nearly touching him when it's already coated his teeth and his shirt.

He dashes away, skidding on the puddle, and tracks footsteps up to the next floor where the carpet absorbs the rest just before he enters his flat. "Matt--"

He's done something terrible and Parkman's the only one he can trust. Foolish really, all things considered.

"Matt, I've done something terrible. Can you come?"

He hears the large man muffle the phone, hears him say something to someone else. Hears the bed creak as he gets up. And then thanks him three times when he says he'll be right there.

[mentalmastery.livejournal.com]

Matt shows up some ten minutes later, having abused the siren Sylar lets him keep in his unmarked car to cut through city traffic in a hurry, his gun in hand, and pounds on the door. He knows that Mohinder said that he did something terrible, but as far as he knows, the geneticist isn't a special and from the wounds on the guy he found and the bloody footprints, that's the only explanation he can come up with. Which means Mohinder probably said the wrong thing to the wrong person and is in some kind of trouble now.

"Department of Defense!" he calls, steeling himself for the worst. "Open up!"

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

Just because Mohinder's rather known to say the wrong thing to the wrong people-- There's a reason that the President has moved him to this particular flat. Surveillance everywhere, Mohinder's under his thumb. The lab is in walking distance. No one can get at the professor here. Or, no one had been able to before.

Mohinder answers the door in a robe, wet and clutching at it with fingers that still have blood under the nails.

He yelps at the sight of the gun and then slowly puts his hands up. "It was an accident!"

[mentalmastery.livejournal.com]

Matt pushes up on his tiptoes to peek over Mohinder's shoulder, the muzzle of his gun following his line of sight. When he finds nothing out of the ordinary, he lowers the weapon but doesn't holster it, and turns his attentions to Mohinder. He cants his head to one side, trying to get inside his head even as he asks, "What's going on, Suresh?"

[splice-of-life.livejournal.com]

It's not as if Mohinder's got locks on his mind. He generally just trusts the telepath to stay out. Not that he ever does of course. Not when Sylar's orders have him keeping an eye on his favourite pet doctor.

So, having Mohinder's erratic surface thoughts already in his head, Matt gets quite an easy confession. Mohinder killed the poor girl. No, not just killed. Fed on.