"Forty-eight hours on the outset," Mohinder said, looking around the corner before moved towards the stairs. "Viruses don't move that quickly. It's acting like radiation sickness. The fever. The nausea. It's the most excelerated version of the strain I've ever seen and--" All Peter had to do was glance at him. "And that was the point," he supplied. "There's a potential cure. Noah Bennet's daughter--"

"Claire?!" Peter's hostility was frankly a little frightening to the Indian. "I have her power."

Mohinder's head tilted down but his eyes lifted for just a moment before he turned on his heels and ran back to his lab. Peter was on his heels, however.

"It won't work! Don't you think I tried to give my blood to Nathan again?!"

"You didn't have my blood to mix with it!" And this was the problem with groups. No one felt the need to tell everyone else anything. Mohinder's thoughts were erratic and guilt strewn and so very hopeful. "This cured the strain they gave to Sylar." What? He failed to mention that? And now it sounded like he happily cured their number one enemy?

Whoops.