Tears that had not come yesterday morning, even when he'd finished singing Molly to sleep and crawled into his own bed near by, came that morning. Mohinder rushed to the bathroom and put a folded towel over his mouth to soak up the horrible sobbing that sent shudders through his spine. He didn't know what had happened or why, just that Matt had been fine at breakfast and gone before dinner came.
Mohinder cried until there were no more tears and he was left sobbing pitifully with voice alone and then rocking when even that failed him. His throat closed itself off and any song he might have gone to wake Molly with did not come.
He let her sleep, put an apple and a juice box by her bed, and went to the lab. No one asked him what was wrong when he snapped at them to run the simulations again, to test their control group of monkeys and to get him a latte.
He threw himself into his work so completely that he didn't realise his daughter had arrived, mask in place, to tug at his sleeve for nearly a full minute. "Molly," he said, voice still raw, "sweetheart." Matt's name for her. Stupid. "This isn't the place for you." She held up her atlas instead, grin covered by the mask but her eyes shone bright blue through the goggles.
Mohinder didn't understand but when someone called his name, excited, about a result from a test no doubt, he shushed her. Molly came first. Molly was all he had left.
"I don't--"
The girl dropped the book into his lap and flipped towards New York. The pushpin in her hand flashed as she closed her eyes and then sank down in Manhattan. Isaac's loft. "Found him."
Perhaps he ought to have spoken to someone about leaving. Perhaps he should have left Molly behind, or taken more than a few days worth of food and water with him. Perhaps there were smarter things to do than drag an eleven year old girl across the George Washington Bridge, Pinehearst ID gaining him access through the garrison of scared young men and women stationed there, towards a war torn city.
Alas.
Mohinder was never one for thinking on his feet.
At least he was a former cabby. He knew the best way to get the lab, the quickest. If only he could have gotten there completely unscathed.
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Mohinder cried until there were no more tears and he was left sobbing pitifully with voice alone and then rocking when even that failed him. His throat closed itself off and any song he might have gone to wake Molly with did not come.
He let her sleep, put an apple and a juice box by her bed, and went to the lab. No one asked him what was wrong when he snapped at them to run the simulations again, to test their control group of monkeys and to get him a latte.
He threw himself into his work so completely that he didn't realise his daughter had arrived, mask in place, to tug at his sleeve for nearly a full minute. "Molly," he said, voice still raw, "sweetheart." Matt's name for her. Stupid. "This isn't the place for you." She held up her atlas instead, grin covered by the mask but her eyes shone bright blue through the goggles.
Mohinder didn't understand but when someone called his name, excited, about a result from a test no doubt, he shushed her. Molly came first. Molly was all he had left.
"I don't--"
The girl dropped the book into his lap and flipped towards New York. The pushpin in her hand flashed as she closed her eyes and then sank down in Manhattan. Isaac's loft. "Found him."
Perhaps he ought to have spoken to someone about leaving. Perhaps he should have left Molly behind, or taken more than a few days worth of food and water with him. Perhaps there were smarter things to do than drag an eleven year old girl across the George Washington Bridge, Pinehearst ID gaining him access through the garrison of scared young men and women stationed there, towards a war torn city.
Alas.
Mohinder was never one for thinking on his feet.
At least he was a former cabby. He knew the best way to get the lab, the quickest. If only he could have gotten there completely unscathed.