seekevolution | Quarantine

Abandon people. Yeah, right. Matt looked at Mohinder just as darkly for a moment before he nodded, his answer a little clipped. "Yeah. If you can call it one."

What Mohinder didn't seem to understand - never had seemed to understand about Matt's way of thinking, was that protecting people always came first. It had to come first. Or else, what was the point? Matt hadn't abandoned anyone and never could, and that was part of why he glanced over his shoulder to make sure Mohinder was following him when he turned to guide him through the building.

It was tense, of course it was. The whole situation reeked of barely-controlled chaos. The people who weren't scurrying left and right like scared animals stood awkwardly to the sides, awaiting direction, wanting to know what to do. The majority of them looked lost and that gave Matt and advantage when he made his way through the people almost-blocking the hallways; he didn't.

The room that had been hastily and only partially cleared out wasn't much of a lab, but it was a place with a door and that was probably as good as anything right now.

He opened the door for Mohinder and leaned against the door frame with his arm held out across the door to let the other man pass.

He didn't say it, but he inclined his head in a way that clearly spoke of, there you go.

Though Matt was no longer lost in a drug induced haze that didn't allow him too much control over his abilities while he couch surfed, and though he had gotten much, much better at control in general, Mohinder almost automatically switched to thinking in a mixture of Hindi and Tamil. Partially it was to protect himself (not that his thoughts were all that interesting at the moment), but also to protect Matt too. He didn't need to know about Sylar just yet.

Oddly enough, there were more important things to do. Like stare at the high school science lab and the mismatched equipment that wouldn't even let him create DNA gels, let alone separate blood samples. From what he'd been told, the CDC would be coordinating with him in a day or so but given his antibodies, he was currently the best bet for getting something started here. Mohinder had less red tape than governmental agencies did, after all.

And that included the white strip on his nose too. The break was healing. Slowly. But he didn't even have time to think about taking pain medication, let alone worry about the side effects knocking him out.

"Apa mērē sātha majāka kara rahē haiṁ...," the Indian muttered in Hindi. You're kidding me. He didn't require Matt to answer so he didn't bother to repeat the line in English. His shoulder slumped a little. He needed to get to work quickly, but the feel of the painted blue cinder block walls of the lab, covered in laminated posters of the periodic table and anthropomorphic molecules sent his thoughts back to the wretched parent-teacher night he and Matt had both attended at Molly's school.

Being cold now, no matter his emotional level, would do no one any good.

"How is Peter?"

Yeah, he hadn't missed that little bandage. Nor the fact that Mohinder looked like complete and utter hell. But he still seemed sharp, and as far as this whole situation went that was the most important thing right now, and Matt closed the door behind him as he tried to guage something from the foreign mess of words that were pouring from Mohinder's mind.

Right now, he didn't care too much about not listening. This was all way too important, too high-priority. Any thought could mean something, get someone on the right track. Or at least, that's what he hoped. Not that he would get a read on Mohinder anyway - he'd long since gotten used to that at-times-careful way he thought - but he could at least tell that Mohinder seemed to be thinking about as quickly as usual.

And that was probably a good sign.

He breathed in as he considered the question and found himself looking up at the ceiling for a moment before he looked back to Mohinder, watching him set up.

"Pretty bad, but he's dealing. Scared the crap out of a couple of guards." If there was one thing Matt had learnt about Peter Petrelli during their reunion, it was that he'd changed a lot from the guy he'd known four or five months earlier. This version of him seemed darker and more on edge. But what could you expect from a guy who'd almost blown up New York?

Not giving Mohinder much time to reply, he added a question of his own: "Where's Molly?"

There was nothing to say anyway about Peter that a nod of the head couldn't take care of. Mohinder was nothing if not verbose when he wanted to be (generally often), though words in the face of personal tragedy tended to come slower to him. If only Peter's problems stemmed from a misused scientific principal or improper etiquette! Mohinder would certainly be able to engage with him on an intellectual level, even if they both were probably the most emotional men anyone else knew.

So when Matt asked after Molly, Mohinder at least had time to focus on that for a moment, popping open his case to begin to reduce it to needed components and miscellaneous equipment to be sorted later. "She's safe," he replied a little stiffly. "Don't ask me where that is. And don't try to probe me for it either."

He didn't want to have this conversation now when he was running on empty as it was and he only had so much chai stuffed into an overnight bag. An overnight bad. What sort of idiot packed for an extended, full-city quarantine situation with only two changes of clothes and a few extra pairs of socks?

He'd not even brought more than a travel sized container of contact solution so he wouldn't have to check a bloody bag!

"And how about you? Any symptoms yet?"

Matt crossed his arms, just about ready to argue. Assuming Molly wasn't anywhere near Odessa, of course she was safe, or as safe as that girl could be. It was the way Mohinder had specified it. Asked to keep out of his head. And fine, Matt would admit that he'd used his powers without okaying it with people on more than one occasion, but he didn't have to be a mind reader to figure out that there was something Mohinder wasn't telling him here.

His mind went to the Company, the all-too-clear memory of Molly hooked up to beeping machines in one of their beds. What Mohinder considered safe, Matt wasn't all that sure he could trust, not at the moment. And it showed in his expression when he opened his mouth, but he only wound up snapping "Fine" when the other question interrupted whatever he'd been about to say.

They definitely weren't done with that topic yet.

His arms were still crossed.

"I'm fine", he said, still watching Mohinder with a somewhat hard gaze. "So far, anyway. Hey- you're immune, right?"

Or else it was another one of his spectacularly stupid ideas to come down here, right into the epicenter of what could be the death of everyone. Molly wouldn't be safe with both of them dead.

"I can only hope that I am," the professor said without any real smile to his voice, nothing like there use to be when 'family outings' to the Brooklyn Zoo or figuring out that Molly had learned to play one against the other within the first three weeks of their cohabitation would always just make his eyes glow and an innate laughter hit his voice. It had been awhile since any of that happened, mostly because he'd chosen not to carry on with a normal life, driving a cab, playing one half of the parents to an orphan. Mohinder didn't want to take responsibility for that, in all honesty, so he tended to ignore his part in the matter. "There are multiple strains of the virus. From what I've been told, the strain taken from the Company has an exceedingly high mortality rate."

He wouldn't go much further than that by way of explanation. Partly that was due to Matt's ability to understand complex sciences (not a slight, but the man was a police officer-- A detective. He wasn't a scientist) and partly because Mohinder didn't even want to think about it let alone give a lecture on why that happened to do. And what it might mean for them all.

"If I believed that Odessa was doomed--" Oh, who was he kidding? He'd have come any way, even if there was no chance in being able to help. He did like to worm his way into the thick of things. One might assume that he had a death wish, even if the opposite happened to be true.

Mohinder wanted to be a hero. But that's what made him a good guy, even when he royally screwed up everything in the name of attempting help someone else.

Pulling on a pair of gloves, Mohinder gestured to a stool that looked like it had seen better days. "Mind if I take a look at your blood?" This was less invasive than Matt's ability. I ought to have gotten something to eat at the airport.

"Of course it does", Matt muttered in a way that probably didn't help at all. But he hadn't trusted the Company from the start and he definitely wasn't about to now, not when they were playing with that kind of fire. He still wasn't sure where Mohinder stood with them, either. It was infuriating because he really, honestly wanted to trust the guy, but he had a way of making it increasingly difficult.

But this situation didn't exactly make time for bickering. They both knew they'd been terrible at seeing eye to eye on far too many insignificant details and the many hushed arguments could vouch for that, but ultimately? They'd still managed to stick by each other decently enough to provide a safe environment for a traumatised girl. That had to count for something.

Still, the way he pushed away from the door was almost reluctant, but he sat down where Mohinder wanted him and started pulling up one of his sleeves.

"Look- just do me a favor and try not to to drop dead, alright?" He paused, then added, "There's still food in the cafeteria."

Mohinder would never think Matt Parkman simple, but the unfiltered things that come out of his mouth did give the Indian pause as he prepared a blood slide. More than use to having his thoughts echoed out loud, and thankfully, no longer instantly annoyed at such things, he bypassed any snark in regards to death and instead wet thin lips and thanked Matt for the information.

He might not be a religious man, certainly no where near what his mother gravitated towards, but he did have trouble keeping up the ideal atheist mindset of his father as well. Hinduism did not discount science the way that Christian sometimes could but it didn't make being a child of two faith systems any easier. And he'd found himself calling on God (some god, any god) more often than not lately.

Even so, he did try to keep vegetarian. At first, it was just to please his mother, and then, because it was healthier in his mind. It still made the prospect of finding something to eat in a cafeteria outside of salad somewhat difficult.

Perhaps an apple, later.

He was quick with a tourniquet and quicker still to roll up Matt's sleeve as he pulled up another stool with his foot. The grating sound of metal on linoleum gave him chills. "You've been exposed for at least twenty hours. If you don't have any markers by now, you likely won't get them. That doesn't mean you can't still be a carrier, of course, but at least you'll be all right."

That was one thing they'd never agree on. Matt wouldn't give up meat to save his life - but then, as he'd joked at some point, it did offer Molly the best of both worlds.

He searched Mohinder's eyes when he caught them. Not probing his mind, his own gaze didn't have quite that focus (yet, anyway), but something guarded instead. He'd heard about an airport. He wanted to ask about that. But there was also the fact that yeah, know what? He was more worried than he wanted to admit about how there was quite a real possibility that he might be affected.

Wasn't that a line straight out of all those lectures on evolution, eh Doc? All man does is strive to survive.

Put simply, having watched Nathan collapse almost without warning, hearing how quickly the damn thing spread and knowing that this was all pretty damn bad and yet not knowing any specifics ...

"Yeah, okay. And if I do have them?"

To see the one person Mohinder had never expected to see afraid actually be afraid is sobering. Though the areas around his eyes were as dark as his eyes himself from the bruising, though he'd been through a very tough few days trying to do what was best for anyone but himself, Mohinder wasn't heartless. He finished drawing a full vial of bloody, removing the needle, and placed his thumb over the wound until it could clot on it's own before he moved his hand to Matt's shoulder.

Be strong. The words filtered between choice selections of various Indian dialects stood out clear as day, white lettering on a black background. They were obviously a reminder for himself, not at all meant for Matt.

"If you're infected... We determine the average incubation period, find out of the mutation to your genome compared to Nathan Petrelli's makes you less susceptible. If the virus has mutated. We'll work on cultures first. I'll need more blood samples, from the living and the dead." He had to stop himself. Matt didn't need science here. "We cure you. Molly will be very cross with me if I don't return home with you. I promised."

His smile was weak.

"Luckily, I know what I'm looking for." He prepared a slide quickly and efficiently before scooting over to the microscope. He was at home in a lab, moreso than he'd ever been hitting people with bed pans and trying to keep them conscious afterwards with enough bullets in their chest to cure any iron deficiency.

After a few tense minutes, Mohinder's shoulders relaxed. Nothing. Oh thank God-- Losing him now--

"I believe you're in luck. I'm not sure why you're not infected, but it's a good sign. I'm going to synthesis your proteins and go from there."

Maybe surprisingly, Matt smiled when he hung his head down and listened to Mohinder speak in his birth language: Science. It was surprisingly reassuring to listen to even though half of it went right over his head, and he hadn't expected that it would be. It was probably the familiarity of it that was comforting, something that was helped even more with the mention of Molly.

He nodded. Maybe to show that he'd heard that thought, or in a subconscious notion to signal that he understood, or he was fine - it didn't really matter.

His smile wasn't weak when he looked up, although it quickly took on a very grim quality before it faded away. "Last I heard, there's eleven dead." Mohinder probably already knew, but it served as a reminder for what they were doing here. As if they needed one.

It was a tense few minutes for Matt, waiting as he watched Mohinder work. He thought distantly that if he'd been conscious when they'd dug the four bullets out of his chest and decided whether he was fit to fight another day, he might have felt a bit like this.

The relief at Mohinder's words- and thoughts, it was all there, it painted a complete picture, no lies, just relief - it showed mostly in a slow sigh when Matt rubbed his hands over his face.

"Good", he said, standing up, telling them both. "That's good. Okay." He moved a bit closer to where Mohinder was, a hand on the desk now as he found his focus again. "So what does that mean - I mean, what's the next step here? Let me know what I can do", he added, that stubborn determination so characteristic of him back loud and clear with the knowledge that he was unlikely to die right now, "I'll fix it. I don't need to know the details to know that we don't have a lot of time."

Already back at the microscope, mostly because Mohinder found a home in a lab and with a task that he didn't have elsewhere, he began to explain polymer chains and fatty tissue deposits, genetic proteins and RNA blockers, before he realized that he was speaking to Matt as if he was lecturing a university class well past that particular module. A glance up proved the doctor's sheepishness and he pushed away from the table, away from Matt slightly as well, so he could look up at the larger man.

"Right now, what I need are as many samples from as many people as possible. Infected people, those showing symptoms, have to be separated from those who aren't. I was told that the CDC would be here tomorrow and they'll know how better to handle the containment but--" And it was a big 'but' Matt. "The Shanti virus effected people like you, originally. This virus has jumped ship and yet certain genetic mutations are making people immune. Perhaps it has to do with natural antibodies. Perhaps it's something else. I'm not sure if my research on specials will even matter and if it does, I'm not sure they'll listen to me. That means that I'm going to need you to have Peter draw as much blood as possible and I'll try to rule out a need for my presence here in any other capacity than being able to run lab work."

He wasn't going to leave. Of course not.

"And this still doesn't mean that either of us are immune. Or that immunity for this virus exists at all. We could simply be more resilient for any number of reasons."

When the man started talking, it was hard to get him to shut up.

"I'm going to run cultures. If anyone not presenting symptoms here happens to be able to help... Send them to me." Of course, Mohinder had no way of knowing that the last half an hour he'd spent with Matt brought with it the deaths of five more people.

There was a bit of a smirk hiding in Matt's features that would probably have been a lot more pronounced if the situation hadn't been such a critical one, when Mohinder caught himself before he got down to protocol. It was reminiscent of the teasing that sometimes had the grace of showing between them but ultimately it was a short lived moment, and he listened with attention when he was given the run-down.

He was good at that, listening, and not just to words. He was a cop. Point him towards the bad guy and he'd pursue. It aggravated him that it wasn't so easy here, with a sickness you couldn't exactly gun down, but if given the means he was still dedicated. He did what needed to be done. He wanted to, had always wanted to help keep people safe.

So he nodded, then made quick work of it. "I'll talk to Peter, get the word out." He kept his eyes on Mohinder for a moment before he left to see if there was anything else, but he was out the door quickly despite the many questions he did have. Back out into the chaos.

It had been a whole lot quieter when it had just been him and Mohinder in a room. The voices and presences rushed over him and he steeled himself mentally. It didn't take much effort to block people out, these days, but he was walking a bit of a line given how he still felt the need to listen for anything important.

There were a lot of words floating arond, many of them the same. Virus. Die. Can't believe it. What's going on. But when he caught Nathan's name repeated in an almost obsessive way Matt latched onto that and followed it straight to its source on the other wing of the building where Peter seemed caught between bossing people around and hovering by Nathan's side.

Some separation work had already begun but telling Peter he shouldn't be by his brother's side seemed like a particularly bad idea, so instead Matt was quick to tell him in what ways he could help. Peter just nodded. Fell into action.

Matt found a biology teacher who had just been there working overtime before being stuck in the flurry and sent her Mohinder's way before he headed over to Primatech. They'd set up most of the quarantine work in the high school because there was a lot more room, but quite a lot of activity was still happening at the just-a-paper-factory facility and he was going to check that out before he came back.

He was tired. He disregarded it.

The influx of help was useful and maddening at the same time. With only one of him and too many blood samples to deal with, by the time Matt managed to get men and women with symptoms in a separate location from those without, he'd been through nearly one hundred samples. The prognosis wasn't as good at he was expecting either. It wouldn't take a telepath to realise that.

Having switched out contacts for glasses, though the latter rubbing against his nose was a dull pain, to combat the sting in his aching eyes, Mohinder stared at the racks of test tubes with a dread bubbling in his empty stomach.

Matt would find Peter and Mohinder half snarling at each other the next time he checked back.

"What do you mean, six--" Peter's anger wasn't helping and since Mohinder had gotten over the relief of seeing the man alive on the television a day ago, he was on the verge of strangling him.

It didn't take a lot these days for the professor to snap. "What I mean is that out of a hundred samples, only six show no signs of infection by the virus. I still can't tell why it affects some more quickly than others, but the important thing now is to keep the sick away from the healthy and--"

Peter might as well have Nathan written across his forehead, but his brother was doomed, as were most of the other people here. They weren't equipped to deal with symptoms and to work on an anti-virus.

"There is only one of me, Peter. It would take a team weeks of trials to solve this!"

"Hey. Hey."

Matt threw his hands up when he entered the yelling match in the universal bid for peace. He shot Peter a quick glare that wouldn't silence him for a long period of time at all - and he got it, he really did, because even if Peter wasn't thinking so loud he'd heard half of this argument before coming into the room, he understood wanting to protect a loved one. He understood feeling guilty about it.

"Shut up a second, both of you! Look", he started, looking between them, practically feeling the tension in the air. And he agreed - six out of a hundred was really bad news. Really, really bad news. But yelling at the messenger wasn't the brightest of ideas. Especially when the messenger was one of the few who could manage to make sense of the problem. "I went to Primatech, it's pretty bad. Lots of people who aren't dead yet. They're getting someone to send over some blood from there but they could use more help."

He fixed Peter with a look. "You want to help your brother - I get that. Yeah, I do. I want to help him too. Best way of doing that, right now? Helping everyone else."

The hard look on Peter's face wasn't at all unexpected and Matt fully expected an argument, but at the moment, he was trying to be practical. You want to fix a problem? Go after the problem.

That, and Mohinder would probably get far better results if he didn't have to defend them at every turn.

He might get better results if he had a few hours of sleep, but as it wasn't likely to happen, he'd settle for some coffee. Pulling off his glasses, Mohinder dropped them to the lab table and watched Peter go in a bit of strutting peach and gray blobs of varying shades before his attention returned to Matt. "There is absolutely no pattern," he said, talking quickly and with his hands as he stowed processed blood samples back in the mini-fridge that had been wheeled in from the teacher's lounge. "I'll admit that I'm hardly a viral expert, but I should at least have seen a pattern in the onslaught of symptoms."

He changed the weight of his body from one foot to another before snatching up his glasses again. Perched on the tape across his nose like that, they looked almost comical.

"Some people show symptoms right away. Others take longer. Some die within hours. Others...it's stretched out. We need Claire Bennet's blood--" He probably ought to explain that, but he won't. They're short on time. "I'm going to start drawing my own. It will do no one any good unless we can access Claire. I'm afraid that I've burned my bridges with his father."

In other words, Matt, make something happen while Mohinder drains his blood into rubber stoppered vials. He already has his shirt sleeve rolled up. It's been awhile since he's taken his own blood, but right now, he'd rather not call Peter back in here to help.

"Bennet?" Matt echoed in an incredulous tone. Last he'd gathered, yeah, there'd been some tension between him and Mohinder, but before that, hadn't they been awfully buddy-buddy about the little plan of theirs? Narrowing his eyes at Mohinder's choice of words, Matt could only conclude that the 'burnt bridges' he meant had to be an understatement.

That wasn't the sole reason for his reaction, though. "What makes you think he'd let his daughter within five hundred miles from here?" He went further into the room, giving Mohinder a skeptical look that only somewhat bordered on darkness. "There's no way he'll agree to that. Definitely if you've managed to piss him off. What did you do, Mohinder?"

He knew Bennet, was the thing. Knew he was smart but also reckless. And knew he'd do anything to keep his daughter safe. (It didn't occur to Matt that he understood Bennet a lot more now than he had before, but maybe it would, later.)

It might look that way, but it wasn't just about putting Mohinder on the spot. True Matt was still kind of pissed at him for his whole James Bond stunt but right now it was about facts. If they needed Claire they also needed to look at the surrounding complications.

Bennet could be one hell of a complication if he wanted.

"She doesn't have to come," Mohinder said without looking up, curls, no longer held in place with too much product and starting to frizz, fringing a shadow across his forehead and over his eyes. "I just need her blood. As much as she can spare. If the virus hasn't spread beyond Odessa, I should be able to cure those still alive with it and my own antibodies."

Mister moral high ground didn't feel the need to explain himself to Matt Parkman, but if Mohinder wanted the help, he would have to come clean. His atonement had already occurred in a hospital with a bag of Claire's blood and a feeling of loss of self. He really could do without Matt giving him another guilt inducing look-- The best way to avoid that now was to work at taking too much of his own blood to put on ice until Claire's could arrive.

He wet his lower lip again. The bile in his throat, unheeded by a decent meal in half a day, caused his nose to wrinkle slightly.

"You'll need to ask for it because I shot him." A good shot too for someone with few lessons-- Just a slip of a thought, but without any real back patting. "Claire's blood is...remarkable. But only if administered quickly and in large doses. Even to the dead. Five pints should do the trick here--"

Hopefully they wouldn't need that much. Mohinder didn't have five pints to spare himself.

Matt stared. "You're kidding", he said in a low tone, but that wouldn't convince either of them - it was just the initial denial making itself known. Because if Mohinder had gone as far as to shoot Bennet it meant he was much deeper in the Company's pocket than Matt had thought and that doubt and anger showed on his face.

A good shot. What the hell did that mean?

"So you need me to ask the guy you shot for five pints of his daughter's blood? Are you serious?" He threw an arm out, his voice rising, the effects of Claire's blood for the moment not quite listened to.

In a weird way, this was personal. Whenever him and Mohinder had gotten to the point of personal, Matt couldn't say and didn't care - he just knew that at the moment, for all that he trusted Mohinder when it came to this virus thing, he felt betrayed.

For a man with 'use me all you like' scrawled in indelible ink across his forehead, Mohinder never quite managed to look in the mirror. He didn't seem to understand how susceptible he was to being used or how much of a doormat he'd been his entire life. Oh, there was fight in him and he didn't often cower away from tasks put in front of him...even when anyone else would see the signs and edge away.

It could be that Mohinder saw the best in humanity (though he was trained as a skeptic). What was more likely, however, was that he wanted to see the best in humanity and oftentimes, his heart lead where his brain should have taken over. For a genius, Mohinder Suresh was the world's biggest idiot.

The target on his back for predators, therefore, was impossibly large.

Anger ripped through the Indian -- understanding his thoughts didn't matter when Matt could understand the emotion behind those thoughts -- and after filling a fourth vial of his blood, the Indian ripped the needle from his arm and stupidly stood up too quickly with a body suffering from blood loss, hunger, and exhaustion.

He braced himself against the table, close enough to the detective to touch him in he took too deep a breath. Their arguments had always been rather close. Blame that on the geneticist's culture. Mohinder didn't understand the Western Male need for privacy bubbles.

"I was in too deep," he growled. Yes, growled. "I didn't know what else to do." He'd been used by both sides. By that point, he'd been angry, lost-- "Just do it, Matt. I'm not asking for myself." Obviously. "I just want to save these people."

Blame Matt's part in it on the fact that he hated backing down. In arguments like these he believed that if he gave an inch he'd have lost the debate. There was no way he was losing this one when he knew he was right. He'd told Mohinder from the very beginning that he was in way over his head and while he wasn't cruel enough to say "I told you so", he'd stand his ground in a literal way to show his position.

Mohinder was in his face. Matt was in his, too. They were both too stubborn to yield like that, and yeah, Matt wasn't the most comfortable with that kind of proximity most of the time, but here? It wasn't all that different from getting up close and personal with a suspect to intimidate them to fess up.

"You're an idiot, Mohinder", he snapped at him, leaning subtly closer for a second himself, subconsciously using his size as a way to emphasize his words. But then he backed away and held out his hand, snapping his fingers, still looking thoroughly angry with the other man - still speaking in clipped tones. "Give me your phone."

While intimidation worked in Matt's case, Mohinder had changed his bandages for a month, seen him literally at his worst with a divorce pending and his future looking only as bright as the couch Mohinder let him sleep on because Molly couldn't be without her hero. There was no need to back down now and Mohinder sure as hell wasn't going to even attempt it. Not when pride was on the line and guilt was emblazoned in his eyes all ready.

Sorrow didn't quite override anger and nearly to the point of giving Matt little pushes with his fingertips on the larger man's chest, entirely too macho for his slight frame to be doing any way, he decided to try to diffuse the situation before his broken nose became any worse.

Or he added broken ribs as a side effect.

He was stupid. He meant well, he wanted to keep Molly and people like her safe. And in the end, all he managed to do was lose part of his soul and some of his good looks due to bruising and blood shot eyes.

"I'll do it myself," Mohinder said, turning away. It was easier in New York, his mind echoed. Only because of Molly-- She wasn't the sole reason to their friendship but Mohinder's bruised ego dismissed Matt as something less desirable than friend.

All of this posturing, however, wasn't a good idea on a run down system with four vials of it's blood sitting on the counter rather than his veins. God forbid Matt try to catch him when his knees nearly go, however. Mohinder had a stool to help him, thanks.

The thing was that Matt knew. It was easy to dismiss when he was angry (and boy, was he ever), but he thoroughly believed Mohinder to be a good guy. It was impossible to watch him with Molly and think anything else. But that's exactly what made it so infuriating, the way Mohinder insisted on putting himself and others in danger because he couldn't seem to grasp that people didn't always have each other's best interests at heart.

Matt, on the other hand, was suspicious by nature. He'd learned early on. From his dad, in school, by being a cop, not to mention now with his ... his mind thing. Hearing people's thoughts didn't instill a lot of trust most of the time. Those few times things matched up between what people thought and what they said, that's when he latched onto them.

And he had, too. With Molly and Mohinder both. That's why he was still seething even as he watched Mohinder wobble, even as he reached for him on instinct but ultimately let it be when the other man all but crawled onto the stool, but he still pinned him with a look that was even harsher now when he could actually look down on him.

"Like hell you are. Just give me the damn phone, I'll make the call."

In a way, Mohinder learned to be the man he was from his father too. Never feeling the man's love, though he had stayed with his family rather than walk out on them (physically, though Mohinder often wondered if his mother didn't assume Chandra had emotionally checked out some time after his book took over his life), only left Mohinder with a deep seated need to crave affection wherever he could.

The moment someone took interest in him, no matter their underlying intent, Mohinder was willing to do what they wanted. It was how Eden had easily gotten her hooks into him without use of her power, how 'Zane' led him to Montana on what he'd hoped might be a long, fruitful killing spree, how Noah got Mohinder to agree to infiltrate the Company and, ultimately, how Bob turned Mohinder against his own ideals.

"Just-- I can do this myself. He'll need an explanation." Mohinder didn't say it, or even think it, but the idea that, likely, Matt wouldn't be able to convey the reason certainly laid between them. Mohinder turned his back to the larger man this time, rubbing some of the strain from his forehead. He needed something sugary. He'd have to produce a lot more blood than that.

Dialing the number? Easy. Getting Noah to answer? Understandably impossible.

"You wouldn't have asked me if you thought he'd listen to you." It was a sensible observation and one Matt made with some impatience. He got it - he wasn't the brains between the two of them, but him and Bennet had worked together on more than one occasion and even though it was well known that him and Mohinder had formed a kind of team to help protect Molly he suspected Bennet might listen a bit more to him than the guy who'd hit him with a good shot. Especially given Matt's known distrust of the Company to begin with.

Besides, Mohinder was looking shaky to a downright worrying degree. It only took Matt a moment's worth of deliberation before he circled the damn stool, a muttered "For God's sake--" before he just snatched the phone from the other man's hands. He shoved an apple towards Mohinder in its place. "Eat. Explain what I have to tell Bennet and I will, but just trust me for once in your life!"

It was easy to be angry. He hadn't been angry when he'd grabbed the apple from the cafeteria after he came back from Primatech.

Now he held the phone hostage, holding it in the air and practically daring Mohinder to reach for the thing.

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