seekevolution | Quarantine

Quarantine

News had a way of spreading a little too quickly. The moment Nathan had fallen at the press conference, media began having it's field day. Mohinder paid little attention.

He arrived at Odessa fourteen hours after the incident, severely jet-lagged and with a computer pre-loaded with all of the information that the Company thought he'd need. Mohinder had been down this road before, though never with such dire circumstances. The Shanti Virus was a subject near and dear to his heart, though it was far less stressful when all he needed to cure it was a bit of blood. Even though it was his own blood, at least he felt as if he was doing something.

Knowing from experience that not everything was black and white anymore, Mohinder kept his laptop and medical kit close at hand and made his way to the quarantine line with a grim look in his redrimmed black eyes. "Mohinder Suresh," he said, forgetting his title again for just a moment. "Doctor. You need to let me through."

The National Guard service man looked wary before radioing it in through the barricade. It was tense. Mohinder's shoulder bag slipped twice and he nearly dropped his sample kit. "All right, cleared to go in. Good luck, doctor."

Mohinder nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. He'd gone from New York to India and back again in two days, bringing Molly to stay with his mother. After what Sylar did to her, again, he could not risk leaving her in anyone else's care. Not with Matt gone.

Seeing the man, however, after he'd just gone off on this quest to find his father at the expense of helping him with a child they both sort of promised to look out for, did not make Mohinder smile. If anything, it only made the lines on his face etch in more deeply. He stood in front of him, looking as tired as Mohinder felt, ill fitting clothing a bit more rumpled than usual. Never mind, of course, that Mohinder had done his fair share of leaving too on his attempts to bait the Company through lectures across the globe. "Do I have a lab yet?" Mohinder asked. No greetings. No necessities. That's what happens when you abandon people, Matt.

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Peter nodded and disappeared. Matt didn't think he'd ever quite get used to that - to look at a person and then suddenly be looking at nothing. But with teleportation the entire world was a playground and that meant that trying to find something of that size would be impossible without the information on where to look.

It was a good plan. A good start.

When a different thought occured to him, Matt went past Mohinder to pick up the remote and turn on the TV. They couldn't keep Odessa covered up forever - it had been several days since the initial blackout, after all. And sure enough, the news were littered with theories, even if no one seemed to have the true story or even any footage. Mostly, there were people looking confused, just knowing that nothing added up.

"I wonder how they're gonna cover for this one", Matt said, trying to figure out if they could use it somehow. "Sylar knows about it ... Any chance of telling him we're contagious?" His smile was sardonic.

Door flying off the hinges was a good excuse for Mohinder not to answer and, despite his smaller size, he instinctively dragged Matt down to the floor with him behind the couch as a terrifyingly familiar shadow passed into the apartment.

While Mohinder might not have answered, a new voice certainly did. "I don't think that's something I have to worry about any more," Sylar told the pair and glanced around the apartment. "You really need to sound proof your apartment a little better. I could hear you coming up the stairs."

A swipe of a finger slid the couch into Chandra's curio cabinet, breaking half of what had been left from the first time Sylar had sat in this flat with Mohinder.

"Mohinder, let's not be silly. Your blood is in my veins. We're practically family."

Matt was practically snarling. If Maya's presence in the apartment had gotten under his skin, the way Sylar did it was like cutting him open. The arrogance was expected - the casual familiarity of it slightly less so. Matt had been the one usually seeing what Sylar had done, but not the man himself. If he hadn't hated him before, he certainly did now.

He stood and latched onto Sylar's thoughts. If he could tell his actions before he performed them things would go one hell of a lot smoother. They needed Peter back.

"You're no one's family", Matt snapped at him, instinctively shielding Mohinder by the way he positioned himself. A subtle motion but a very protective one. "You're a killer."

He tuned in on Mohinder's thoughts as well and let it be known, a slight nudge between minds. They needed to work together. They could communicate without Sylar knowing, and that was another thing they had over him.

"Now this is cute," Sylar said, standing his ground with the tilt of his head, like a lion gaining the scent of his prey. Matt might be angry and Mohinder was instinctively afraid, but Sylar was once more at the top of the food chain. His thoughts were violent...and, strangely enough, affectionate. The way he spoke to Mohinder wasn't just familiar or friendly, but there was an underlying enjoyment that Sylar had about him as he watched Mohinder move.

At least until Matt blocked his view. That would never do.

While Mohinder was feeding Matt cues to keep Sylar busy until Peter returned, the psychopath was having none of the pressure he'd smelled coming from the larger man. "What is that you're doing?"

Sylar took a step forward and Mohinder, hearing that, put a hand on Matt's back. "We were trying to watch television," Mohinder stupidly spat out.

"Quiet, Doctor, the big boys are going to have a discussion," Sylar snapped, telekinetically shoving Mohinder back into the television. The anguished sound, and the breaking of the electronic, did make Sylar grin.

Mohinder made the best noises.

Not only a psychopath, but a sadistic one. Matt felt rattled but held his ground, intimidated by the mess of thoughts in Sylar's head but trying to put his training before his emotions. Sylar was a bad guy, Matt was a cop. It was a simple equation.

Especially when he hurt people he cared about. It took him a lot of willpower to not turn away and see if Mohinder was hurt, but he knew his priorities. Right now, they equated to stalling.

He still asked, though. Projected the thought in a hurried mix of words. You okay? I'll kill him --

It made his verbal answer, the one to Sylar, come out half a second too late. Maybe Sylar would take it as fear. That would be good. "Me?" He raised his head slightly to look down at the killer, not afraid of the eye contact. He was only barely taller. His hands were slightly lifted between them. "You want to know what I'm doing? I'm going to put you down. Wanna guess how?"

Sylar seemed to find it highly amusing. Matt inclined his head slightly, listening for anything, ready to move. The gun was still in the drawer - it wouldn't do much good at all, but it was there. Peter could be anywhere.

He would have tried to push his thoughts at Sylar already except the hacked up mess in Sylar's head was frightening to project into, and if it failed, they didn't have backup yet.

Mohinder hadn't been lying when he said that Sylar wasn't really himself. The person that had been Gabriel Gray, the person with such potential, had been turned into something else by the introduction to his ability. Absorbing powers was one thing, but he didn't just make another person's emotions part of himself...he made their very genetic code part of himself. Despite the reset of his abilities, his mind was still scarred and difficult to predict. His desires were bestial and horrifying, and deep down, underneath it all, rather childish. He wanted to be someone. And he wanted to stop everyone else from being anyone.

Mohinder felt jarred, his back and his left arm hurt, but he'd suffered worse and so he did make sure to let Matt know that, no matter appearances, he was all right. You can't kill him, but he can kill you. Memories of that dream, of seeing Matt dead... You have to be careful!

Mohinder groaned as he pulled himself out of the remains of the entertainment centre even as Sylar was giving Matt the wild animal stalking treatment. His smile was indeed sadistic, though he'd seen the way Matt's face had contorted when he heard Mohinder-- Well he couldn't help himself.

"I really hate games. How about you just tell me?" A flicker of dark eyes left Matt's face towards Mohinder, who found himself crawling up the wall by a force against his chest.

It was hard to breathe.

At least the Indian realised what Sylar was doing now. He was back to playing around. Waiting Matt out.

He knows you're able to do something...he wants it.

Matt's eyes flickered as he listened again to Mohinder. He's not getting it. There was no way he would let himself be killed and used by Sylar - with his recent powers ... mind control in the hands of a psychopath - just no. No, he couldn't let that happen.

He could kill him. Everybody died. It was just a matter of patience and skill. Everyone could be outsmarted. This ass could too.

Matt huffed out a breath through his nose, felt so damn vulnerable without a gun in his hands, but he knew he could handle it. Besides, Sylar seemed to like the slow game, at least for now. Drawn out pain, isn't that nice?

Jesus.

"Yeah? Could've fooled me", Matt said, managing to mask the urgency in his tone as he listened to the moving sounds behind him, the shortage of breath. "Way you chase everyone around? It's all a big game to you, isn't it? Tell you what", he said, raising a hand further, the way he did reflexively when talking people down. "Maybe I'll tell you when you stop hurting my friend. Alright?"

"Your friend? Our friend," Sylar corrected. "I know we've had some trust issues in the past, but the Sureshes and I? We have a connection." Mohinder's voice sounded startlingly choked as he gasped and cried out, Sylar's smile morphing into one that could only be described at pleased.

Yes, he took pleasure in hurting people. Yes, even more than he did in scaring people. Mohinder's voice and facial gestures were just about perfect for both of his favorite past times.

"Not only did his dad help me figure out who I could be, but his son showed me who I'm meant to be. I have a lot of thanks to give to him." Sylar dropped his hand and Mohinder dropped with it, though the Indian immediately tried to push himself off of the floor.

Sylar let him. Cute to watch him struggle like that.

"Wait a second, tubby. I know you, don't I? Shot yourself, didn't you? Protective fat layer save your life?" He was starting to get antsy. Sylar's attention was divided. He moved closer to Matt just the same and thought about knocking him into the wall next.

Matt's eyes darkened considerably at that thought but kept in tune to the rest of them. He even dared to smirk slightly when Sylar started taunting him.

"That's right. Forget the time I hit my target? Huh?"

Because he'd hit him, when he'd threatened Audrey. No blood on the scene, no marks later - but he'd dropped. And he'd fled.

It seemed that was what it took for Sylar to rapidly approach the idea of smacking Matt into the wall, and the moment he noticed he took a breath and ... well, he couldn't describe it. It was like a leap. A sudden push, an idea - you don't want to hurt me. Or him.

He kept eye contact because it ... had usually made it somewhat easier, the process of pushing, and pushing hard. It was a struggle, it was surprisingly difficult to plant something like that in the dark fractured mind of the psychipathic killer, but he'd hold him there if he could, as long as he could.

You're not going to do anything.

One moment he'd been lifting his arm and the next, Sylar's eyes glazed over. He held Matt's gaze reluctantly at first and then his body seemed to relax in a big sigh with the fingers of each hand uncurling gently against his pant legs.

Sucking in a breath as he stood, trying not to whimper and look weak, Mohinder limped towards Matt with blood at the corner of his mouth and his hair more of a mess than it'd been in Texas. Rather than look at Matt in horror with what he could do, the geneticist grinned somewhat painfully at his friend.

"How long--"

Interrupted a moment later by a wall of air against his chest and Matt's, sending them into a heap on the floor, Sylar growled dangerously, like a wolf.

"Oh! I'm going to love this one!"

Matt had just been about to reach for Mohinder, his arm or something to check that he was fine. In the end he'd only just looked away from Sylar when he broke through the control and his elbow hit the floor, painfully, when he tried to catch himself.

Sylar approaching them was the last thing he wanted to see.

"Nobody move!"

It was a shout that showed how he'd fall back on his training; it was the instinctive thing to yell in these situations, but he backed it with the urgent, almost desperate mental command that'd trap both Sylar and Mohinder in their movements.

It took effort. He was breathing hard when he got to his feet, but now he didn't dare look away from Sylar, fought with the weird mix of glee and rage to be found in the man's eyes.

It wasn't going to hold unless he did something drastic. They still needed Peter. He should be back by now.

Peter thought they had time. Time enough to stop by his former sister-in-law's to see his nephews. They were the last piece of Nathan he had left and though he'd only meant to be gone a moment or two, he ended up staying for lunch. Despite the peanut butter sandwich Mohinder made for him. They didn't know their father was dead. Peter hadn't been planning on mentioning it until the news about Odessa came out.

Unfortunately, Peter held too much emotion.

Matt was left to struggle with Sylar alone, with the tenacious mind he could feel struggling against him. Sylar's thoughts were still free range but more and more, they were focused on Matt, on the power, on needing to know how it worked. The rage in his head was just as terrifying, caged up and oppressive. Sylar wanted out so badly he was screaming.

And yet-- There was still something in there too, something sickened by himself, by what he could do and what he did with it. Something that needed answers, that wanted to let Matt win this one.

Mohinder was more or less out, no way to protect himself from Matt's suggestion, and it was just as well. He had at least one broken rib and breathing hurt. Staying still was the best thing for him.

Without quite explaining why or how it had come to him, Matt slowly approached Sylar and placed a hand to his temples, fingers spread. His usual go to was eye contact. He'd noticed it increasingly lately, the way it seemed to open something up. He wasn't expecting touch to do the same even if it seemed he would have on a more subconscious level.

It was crazy. It was fractured. He wasn't ready for the onslaught of that sickness in his head - hadn't felt anything like that before, the split open, barely-together ideas that yet ... yet, they were so focused, striving so hard onwards. It was like an animal, a predator, all teeth and no sense, except for the instinct that was terrifyingly clear.

He only fought it for a moment before he had to back away like he was burnt. It was like recoil, shooting up his arm, clawing at his head, and god, it hurt. It hurt a lot.

That flinch let both Sylar and Mohinder loose. Matt felt faint. Was quickly growing to hate that feeling.

"You sick fuck --"

Sylar was dumbstruck, awe in his eyes and across his face as he stared Matt down. He was curious more than anything else, fascinated. He'd lost complete control of himself for just a minute but it was enough to know that he'd be unstoppable with Matt's ability.

That flinch was all that Sylar needed to pull himself together and to pin Matt once more against the wall. Sylar's predatory style was seductive, the way he leaned in, the way his lips pulled back to flash white, even teeth. Even the glimmer in his eyes read sex as he lifted his finger as he'd done so many times before to slice into a person's head.

"Because you care so much, the moment I get finished sorting through your brains, I'm going to try your little tricks out on our good friend the doctor there," Sylar whispered, Mohinder hardly able to get up.

The first slice started easily enough. Getting through bone was difficult and Sylar liked to take things very, very slowly.

"I am going to taste him from the inside out until there's nothing left of his mind but scrambled eggs."

Matt's breathing wouldn't quite make it down his lungs as the panic set in. Not able to move - Sylar so close he could feel his breath, looking at him like that - the finger coming up, and Matt was already bracing for the pain, the "no"s climbing out of his throat --

when the pain hit there was nothing he could do but scream. His skin split open by nothing, just the twisted will of this psychopath, and the blood dripping down the side of his face was warm and way, way too real.

Past that initial outburst though, Matt kept silent, or struggled to. He grit his teeth, closed his eyes, and thought desperately at Mohinder because he couldn't focus nearly long enough to catch Sylar's eyes and make him stop.

do something- you're okay, you're fine, you can take him- hurts- please- anything- Mohinder

Hearing Matt's internal screams was enough to get Mohinder to his hands and knees. He saved Peter the last time Sylar had him like this, hadn't he? There wasn't a giant rolling board to shove at the monster, but he could use something else-- The now-useless laptop computer, perhaps? All he needed was a distraction so that Matt could get control of the situation again.

He gritted his teeth and gasped in pain as he put weight on an ankle only to choke on the smell of ozone as Peter flashed between him and the two struggling at the wall.

Peter knew how to stop Sylar and pain, fresh from his family, left him harder than he'd thought he'd be. A come-here gesture at the knife block in the kitchen sent one into his hand and he drove it, deeply, into the back of Sylar's head.

The psychopath dropped, dead, at Peter's feet, blood pooling into the carpet. He did not go to Matt immediately, crouching instead to be sure he'd gotten the killer. Mohinder was left to tending the detective.

Fearing the worst when he pressed a towel to Matt's forehead, Mohinder parted the skin slightly to see how deep had been cut. He couldn't see bone. That was the biggest relief of all. Headwounds bled profusely however. It would take some time to stop.

He winced as he dropped, choking on his own relief really, coughing and not willing at all to relax until he saw that Peter was there. But when he did, and when Mohinder had his hands on him, he just leaned forward. Grabbed Mohinder by the arm and leaned his head on his shoulder for a moment. It was painful but since he wasn't going to die from it he didn't give a crap.

Peter, meanwhile, seemed satisfied with the way the knife was lodged and was towering over Sylar's body with a grim expression. It had been quick, too quick, and he was still brimming with energy he didn't know what to do with.

He could electrocute him. Could take him anywhere in the world. Fly him into the atmosphere. What did they want to do with the body? If the knife was moved, he'd live.

Matt coughed again and looked up from Mohinder's shoulder, at Peter.

"There's really no way to make sure he doesn't come back? Hey, I- let me", he added in a murmur, making to take the towel from the geneticist to press it against the head wound himself.

It didn't matter what Peter did to Sylar, not to Mohinder at least. His hands were steady on Matt's head, and when he felt the heavy weight of the detective lean against him, Mohinder immediately reciprocated the touch by wrapping one arm around the his shoulders to lightly stroke his hair. He'd nearly died. He nearly became just like his dream--

Mohinder had had prophetic dreams (in a way, though seeing his father's death after the fact was more personally telling than any futurescaped presented to him) before, but the one on the couch in Odessa terrified him like no other. He leaned his chin to Matt's uninjured temple before the American was moving again in his arms. Matt sat up and Mohinder sat back on his heels.

Don't fuss. Let me, came the quick thought. Mohinder didn't feel like speaking right now, though his hand was shaking as he did his best to stop the bleeding. I'm use to having your blood on my hands at any rate.

"I honestly don't know," Peter said, nudging Sylar with his toe. "As long as no one removes the knife from his skull, we're gold. I say encase the bastard in concrete and drop him in the bay."

Matt was unexpectedly soothed by the gesture and for a moment his eyes were closed again and he had the brief thought that if this is what Molly felt like when Mohinder petted her, no wonder he could calm her down so quickly.

He was surprisingly distant at the moment though, from what had just happened. There was pain. There were even tears as a result of it, but the real scare would come later, the shock and the terror. They still had work to do. Matt focused on that.

He nodded briefly when Mohinder thought to him, not really having the energy to fight him on that one, could tell it was something he wanted to do. He did lift a hand to palm at his eyes though, blink the sting and wetness away, but he kept his eyes on Peter. Even if he kept a hand to Mohinder's arm.

"Should probably call Bennet", he suggested. "At least tell him we got him."

Gaze dropping to Sylar's body, he looked at Mohinder, shaking his head slightly. It throbbed. It hurt from where the coarse towel met the open wound but it only led to one or two flinches. He stayed in place.

"He's ... Jesus, I've never- his head is a mess. I couldn't handle it."

It was almost apologetic, but either way he felt the need to voice it.

It was a good thing that Mohinder couldn't read minds. What he'd heard Sylar say to Matt, about scrambling up his mind like eggs, was frightening enough not to have to delve into that mess. "He was insane," Mohinder said, taking one of Matt's large hands to press to the towel while he used the wall to push himself up. "I might have pitied him, once. The early tapes my father had of him-- He'd seemed desperate for someone to love him. Or at least acknowledge him in some way. What he let that do to him is simply unforgivable. Wait here. I have some butterfly closures in the bathroom from when Molly fell."

It would just take Mohinder a little while to get there. He wasn't entirely unscathed either. And this apartment-- There wasn't much of it left to be salvaged at this rate.

While the Indian fiddled around in the medicine cabinet, Peter glanced at Matt. "I'll call Noah but I'm not giving him up. I'm going to take care of this one myself. No rehabilitation, no Company stepping in. I don't want to see him again for the rest of my life."

And that would be a very long life if Adam could be believed.

"I.. I think that might need stitches, Matt. I can do them if you want."

"Knock yourself out", Matt answered tiredly, having been silent after what Mohinder had said; didn't feel like he had a good answer. He felt happier with the idea of Peter handling it anyway. He didn't trust the Company and never would and while he did trust Bennet now when he was no longer with them, he didn't want to just give Sylar up either. Besides, if anything went wrong? Peter was the one most likely to be able to handle it.

And all that probably registered in Peter's head, judging by the grim understanding shared between them.

At the prospect of stitches, Matt seemed a bit taken aback. Mostly because well ... a serial killer was bleeding out on their carpet. Then again, their lives had stopped being normal a while ago.

"Uh, yeah. Sure." He glanced over at Mohinder and added, "Do me a favor and look him over, too."

Peter nodded, and Matt tossed him the phone they'd brought from Odessa, the one that'd have Noah's number in the history. For whenever the opportunity arose, he thought darkly as he slowly stood and carefully stepped over Sylar's legs to go sit on the couch, taking away the towel for a moment to observe all the red stains on it.

"I'm going to...take him somewhere. I'll get some sutures and I'll be back in half an hour. Keep pressure on that cut, Matt. Even if it hurts. And tell Mohinder to sit for a few minutes," Peter said, pocketing the phone. He'd bring it back, but sometimes it was better just to have conversations in private.

"I can hear you," Mohinder groused from the bathroom but by the time he returned to the sofa, all that was left of Sylar was a blood stain. He was beyond happy about that.

Righting the nearly destroyed coffee table, Mohinder carefully sat on the edge to begin to temporarily close the cuts on his friend's forehead.

Now that they were alone--

"What you did-- What you tried to do-- Thank you. You made yourself a target. You didn't have to do that. He's proven before that he's not interested in killing me. I would have been all right." It might be better that Mohinder didn't realise all of the twisted things that had been in Sylar's head about him.

Matt played with the towel in his hands as he felt Mohinder's fingers gently press over his temple. Now, when Peter was gone? It was like things crawled to a halt. He felt slow, sluggish, even his thinking stopped, everything but the emotions, and he felt shaky. Keeping his eyes down, he closed his fingers tighter around the damp fabric he was holding the more he listened.

"No, you wouldn't have", he said in a low tone, angling his head away for a moment to glance up at Mohinder briefly before his gaze fell again. He grimaced faintly as Mohinder's fingers returned to the tender skin around the cut. "He was ... he kept thinking ..."

He didn't quite manage to figure out what he wanted to say because he didn't really have words. There hadn't been too many sentences. Just a lot of impressions. And that was new, too. He distantly remembered telling it to Janice, saying that he could only hear thoughs, not see them. That seemed muddled now. He was sure there'd been pieces of memories in all the chaos.

He trailed off and then just finished, bluntly, "He liked seeing you hurt."

Though there was a pause from Mohinder as he carefully peeled away the backing from one of the adhesive bandages, the Indian didn't meet Matt's gaze. There was a radiation of discomfort at the thought, though Mohinder seemed to have realised that already. "Which is why I know I would have been all right," he said quietly, thumb pressing down on Matt's forehead to be sure the skin on each side of the cut touched each other.

...said he liked it, thought he might keep me for entertainment while he tracked them all down--

There was a very big reason, beyond the one that Sylar was a killer and had murdered his and Molly's parents for Mohinder to loathe the man.

During the time it took for Sylar to stop the bullet to his head and for Peter to waltz into the flat uninvited, Mohinder had been in the mad man's grasp for almost two hours.

And Sylar's tastes-- Well. He knew all about Sylar's tastes.

Mohinder swallowed dryly and wiped his hands off on a fresh cloth over his knee, going in for another bandage. The bleeding was slowing, thankfully, but it still made a mess.

"As I'm sure you've discovered by now, I don't attract normal people. They start off well enough--" He laughed, wetting his lips. "This escalate quickly towards the poorer end of the scale, it seems. I know your relationship with your ex-wife must be trying now, but I still envy you. That's a long time to have another person's love." And not someone wanting to use you...for whatever reason.

Matt was going to protest that. He had some kind of words in his mouth but honestly, he found that when he looked up again, he couldn't quite face Mohinder's expression or tone. He still didn't like it. Didn't like the way he thought. It was so bizarre, but such was his life now.

He blinked when Mohinder brought up Janice, not sure he wanted to think about her. Frowning, he tilted his head back and breathed out a sigh. God, he felt so ... weird. His body was rushing but everything was still. It was like shooting a gun for the first time except he wasn't sure how on earth he'd come down from this.

"Look", he started, almost feebly. "I know we don't ... don't see eye to eye that often. But I'm not going to- use you, okay? I know that's not what you meant, but I ... hear me out."

He was pinching the bridge of his nose. He'd probably hung out with Mohinder a bit too much.

"He was going to hurt you. I couldn't let him do that. ... that's it."

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