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06 September 1998 @ 09:26 pm
Drabble dump - Heroes, Non/Matt mo  

Drabbles: Heroes, other than MattMo/M3

"You know he will never understand you the way I do."

She was about to leave. It was his last-ditch effort at persuading her. And for a moment, he thought it had worked. The dark-haired woman paused, turned, gave him a smile that was almost pitying.

"It's not about understanding," she said with a sigh. "It's about the children. It's about making sure they have a decent life. It always has been."

"So you are just going to throw it all away?" The stern features twisted in anger, and he pounded the desk. "What we have. What we can accomplish together. It's nothing to you? You'd rather go into hiding? Never again use the abilities you know you have?"

"You know that's not the case!" she insisted, sallow cheeks turning red. "This is killing me inside and you know it. But it's the right thing to do. For my husband. And for Nathan. And for little Peter. If the tests are right, and he is what we think he is..."

Angela trailed off. She walked over and kissed Kaito on the cheek. "And even if he isn't," she said sadly. "I love them. And worry about them. Besides," she added with a touch of amusement, "who else is going to keep them out of trouble?"

A brief pat on his hand, and she was gone.


Mohinder dreamed.

Sylar had returned and was at large. Molly was in danger. Matt was nowhere to be found. And Mohinder dreamed not the dreams of a tortured man but the dreams of one who is enlightened.

He was strolling along a promenade with his father. Seagulls were dotting the skies like dots of pepper. A barge was floating by. Children were playing.

"I don't understand," he said bemusedly as the energetic shouts of the children followed them down the path. "Nothing is happening. Everything is calm. That shouldn't be the case."

"Or, perhaps, it should," Chandra said to him. "Perhaps this is just the place you always wanted to be."

"But I'm not," Mohinder protested, his voice even louder against the young voices. "I'm nowhere close to finding that place. We're in such danger, and I can't trust anyone around me. How can you say I wanted to be here? This isn't what I asked for."

"Isn't it?" Chandra raised an eyebrow and smiled. The white hairs of his mustache spread like thin bolts of chalk until Mohinder could see the skin between each hair. "You have done everything I could have possibly asked you to do, Mohinder. You have found them. You have helped them. And you retain your humanity, which is so difficult to do among adversity. Trust me, I know." He chuckled.

"But it's not enough," Mohinder said, hearing a plaintive note in his own voice that he wasn't sure he liked. "Is this where you would have wanted to see me, were you still alive?"

The children ran back and forth, nearly tripping up the aged man. Mohinder rushed forward to catch him. "I'm grateful," he said as Mohinder's arms came around his.

"Of course."

"No, that is not what I mean." Chandra turned to face him. The barge blew a low note as the sun turned red in the sky. "I mean, I am grateful for all you have done in my memory. But know this, Mohinder. Had you thrown it all away, had you given all those ambitions up, you have found the one thing I always hoped you would find. You have something to love now. And if I can be grateful for nothing else, it is that."

Mohinder was about to respond, when something hit him in the shins. He looked down. A soccer ball had rolled to his feet. He picked it up and tossed it back to the child who had run up.

His smile was wide. His dark hair was shaggy.

Mohinder had seen him in a dream before.

"Damn. You look creepy, even for you."

It still hurt to talk, but Matt's sense of humor was stronger than his pain threshold, and it hung in there even when his lungs ached. Besides, the man who'd stopped by looked more or less like a bespectacled Johnny Cash.

"I'm actually on my way to the funeral. But I wanted to stop by and see how you were holding up," said Noah Bennet, adjusting his collar. "I thought you might want to have me pay your respects for you, so to speak."

Matt's voice broke a little. "Yeah. I appreciate that. Just, um. Put a rock near his grave, would you?"

Eyebrows arched beneath horn-rimmed glasses. "A rock? I'm happy to spring for some flowers, you know, if the hospital fees have already bled you dry."

Matt shook his head. "Flowers die. A rock is permanent. It doesn't go away. Besides, Ted wasn't much for flowers. Said he couldn't keep them alive even before he started lighting up. Convinced the things hated him."

"You knew him better than I did," Noah said. "Very well. A rock it is. I'm going to be late, Matt, I'm sorry."

"Thanks. Thanks for stopping by. I'm glad you did."

"Really? I wasn't sure. I know you said it hurts to talk."

Matt tried to hold back a sniffle. "Sometimes it hurts worse not to."

Robert Bishop thought he was finally safe. He was wrong.

The study of the old house he'd once used as his office was drafty, but he felt comfortable there. It reminded him of the days when he could walk without a walker, when he didn't need the assistance of a nurse, when he was the one who wielded the power to turn lives upside down. Now he was subject to the whims of an aging body and a wandering mind.

And the loneliness. The loneliness was palpable.

"Ungrateful little tart. Should never have taken you in," he muttered, his toothless gums slapping against each other and making him feel sick. "Ungrateful, do you hear me?" he shouted to the air. "Ungrateful!"

"Oh, don't say that, Bob," came a smooth voice. "I'm very grateful."

The old man started. There was a shadow in the curtains. The shadow of a man in a baseball cap and jeans.

Sylar moved forward like a cat on the carpet, soundlessly. "I'm here to say thank you for your years of service," he said, grinning. "Thank you for founding a company that provided me with more headaches than you can possibly imagine."

Bob rang the nurse's call bell repeatedly, although he knew it was hopeless. He tried to transmute his cane into a knife, but Sylar wouldn't let him wield it. His hands were stuck.

"Thank you for making it so difficult for me to win my immortality. Thank you for Angela, and you know what I mean." His eyes flashed. "Thanks a lot for infecting me with a virus that almost killed me and for locking me away in some godforsaken Mexican jungle. Thanks so much for training that bitch of a daughter of yours to keep me sedated for as long as she did."

The catlike eyes were less than a foot from his.

"And now, on behalf of all your many employees and victims over these years--"

Bob's cane-turned-knife began to float from his grasp. It hovered just beneath Sylar's raised hand, and its point gleamed as it turned.

"--I'd like to offer you this lovely retirement gift."

On Sylar
Mohinder had a weakness for a madman.

His heart was racing when he returned to his apartment and found him there. He was almost disappointed to discover that he was accompanied by a Hispanic girl. Wouldn't it have been wild if they had been alone and something had happened to take them back to the way things used to be?

Before Molly. Before the truth. Back when it had been the two of them, a car, the open road. Dreams, potential, destiny. Hot hands and starry nights. And so, so much desire.

Sylar still wanted him, he knew. And God help him, Mohinder still wanted him back.

But wanting someone isn't enough. Desire isn't enough. Mohinder's an adult. He knows that by now. He's been there.

What is at the end of desire? An orgasm? And then what? Nights where he can't sleep for shame? Mornings when he sees his little girl sleeping and knows that he is too weak to keep out the man who would kill her in a heartbeat if he could? Because of sexual tension, of all things?

He had sexual tension with his right hand every so often and it turned out the same. Hell, he even had the same guilt until he learned that masturbation was actually an OK thing to do. For a while in his pre-adolescent years, he was sure he was damaging himself somehow.

Desire is fine. But it's not forever.

So Mohinder wanted Sylar. So what? He was a human being, not an animal.

Perhaps he had not evolved as far as those around him, but he had evolved that far.

When Molly opens the door the boogeyman is there.

She screams. She runs. He doesn't move. He only reaches out an arm and starts to speak, but he can't.

She peeks back at him. He's still not moving. She finally realizes it. He's hurt.

She’s never seen the boogeyman hurt.

"Mohinder!" she shrieks, unable to tear her eyes from the ones that are looking at her with such pain in them.

There is a great clatter and he's there, by her side. "Molly, darling, what's the matter--"

His eyes lock with the boogeyman's and he's quiet. Just quiet. His arms angled over her protectively. Frozen.

"Mohinder," the boogeyman croaks. "Help me."

"Why should I?" he says guardedly.

"Infect me," he says. "Give me the virus."

It's the last think Mohinder expects to hear. "Why?"

"I've taken a power that's killing me," he says. "Everyone around me, all the pain, the suffering. The desperation. I can feel it all. It's unbearable."

His hands are like talons even as he reaches for salvation. "I'd rather lose it all than live like this another second. Help me."

The man was on the ceiling. The four legs of the chair he'd been sitting on were piercing his elbows and knees. The witness couldn't describe what had happened. She was shaking uncontrollably.

Audrey took one look at the crime scene and knew what she was seeing. "This was Sylar's doing. Look at the body. This isn't your run-of-the-mill gangland execution."

"Again with your Sylar theory, Agent Hanson. If this guy even exists, this isn't his M.O. There's no mutilation in the victim. I'd think this would be the work of one of the crime syndicates. Tiny Roberts? The Sanchez gang?"

"Have you ever seen the kind of slipshod work those groups do?" Audrey demanded. "Collateral damage right and left. I was at the Sanchez scene last month and those guys were not subtle. They didn't even care who they were killing. A serial killer like Sylar wouldn't be so indiscriminate. He'd go after who he needed and nobody else. Why do you suppose the witness was completely unharmed?"

"Agent Hanson, that will be quite enough."

Audrey stomped outside and lit a cigarette. Maybe the smoke would kill her, but she was sure the sheer distrust in her unit head's voice would get there quicker. Not being believed in was just about tearing her apart.

The next day, she got a call about an incident in a suburb of Los Angeles. And everything turned around.

It was a birthday present from his dad. Tucked inside an old box in the one of the inner pockets in a moth-eaten duffel bag he'd been carrying around for years. It was just that he'd never actually gone through it.

A set of 1972 Topps baseball cards.

Matt closed his eyes and listened to the barkers and the vendors and smelled the peanuts and the cigar smoke. It was all there when he touched the foil, even though the image on it had long worn away and was now just a set of mottled colors. At that moment he'd been the birthday boy in the bleachers. He'd gotten to swig some beer. He'd eaten two hot dogs. And he was sure he was the luckiest kid alive to have a father like that.

How much of that had been a lie?

He knew he should go get the pack looked at by a collector, at the very least. But how much profit did he want to make on false memories? Not a whole hell of a lot.

"Not worth the trouble," he said as he tossed the pack into the garbage.

challenge: use a movie quote in a drabble

"Matt Parkman."

"Parkman, it's Nathan Petrelli."

"Hey, man. What's up?"

"Calling to let you know I double-checked with your, erm, domestic partner and it looks like I'll be offering him some help with the citizenship process after all."

"Oh. Hey. Hey, that's really great, Nathan. You're a pal."

"Well, he can afford my retainer, so everything seems to be working out."

"Wait, wait a second, you're charging him? What the hell? I asked you a favor."

"And I did your favor and went to consult with him. That includes mentioning my rates. He agreed, and..."

"You're a shameless bastard, you know that?"

"Hey, I've always believed that being kind to your fellow men is profitable, in every sense. Both personally and bottom line."

"Nathan, you are so full of shit that I can smell you from here."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Parkman. Even my shit smells like roses."

"Hatsuon ga dame da," Hiro said, frowning.

"What was that?" Monica looked at him like he had three heads.

"Her Japanese." He waved a loose hand at the screen. "It's no good."

"Oh, really?" She wrinkled her nose. "I wonder how I unlearn something I'm trying to learn for you, then."

This happens when Matt's in L.A., shortly before his marriage to Janice. He's had a bad night and he's in a bar getting plastered when an older guy comes round and starts hitting on him. Tell him he's a well-known actor in the biz and Matt's got a face for show biz, won't he come home with him and maybe he'll hook him up with a job after he hooks up with him, so to speak.

Well, Matt's drunk and intrigued and lets the guy take him home. They're making out in the hallway of the guy's apartment when Matt feels his back crash against something round and plastic. He looks back and it's a stormtrooper helmet. Well, that's about the coolest thing Matt's ever seen. "You were in Star Wars?" he says in awe.

"Yup. Didn't you recognize me? I told you I was connected." The guy's got blue eyes that twinkle at this.

Matt laughs and picks up the helmet. "Put it on."

"Nah. It's a collector's item."

"Put it on!" Matt insists, and the guy rolls the irresistible blue eyes and complies. Matt guffaws and like a true drunken bastard he leans forward and affixes his lips to the plastic helmet.

"Oh, Random Stormtrooper Number 57, how do I love thee?" he slurs.

Then he sees the price tag still affixed to the damned helmet. $15.95. Made in Taiwan, no less.

It's too bad, because if the guy had just said he wanted some nookie Matt might have been OK with it. But lies turn him off. So it ends with a stormtrooper kiss, and Matt goes on to bigger and better things. Well, kind of. But at least he can say he's kissed a Star Wars stormtrooper, right?

Her eyes were shut, so she couldn't see the darkness that surrounded them. She only knew warmth and the sound of her own panicked breaths.

"Shh, shh." His voice was less than a whisper. It was barely anything at all. Had his lips been not brushing her ear with every movement, had she not been able to feel the rumbling in his throat with each exhalation, she might not have made the words out at all.

The stomping footsteps came ever-nearer.

The maniacal voice shattered the stillness. "I know you're here somewhere!" it cried.

She felt tears overwhelm her throat once again. "I'm scared," she whispered.

"Stay close. As long as you're close, he can't see either of us." His voice was warm, full of promises, not panic. "Claire. I won't let anyone hurt you."

She was only able to calm her breathing when his lips found her forehead, pressing a long, reassuring kiss into her skin. Another touched her cheekbone, another her jaw. And Claire found that she was, instead, holding her breath.

"I don't know how many different ways I can explain this," Mohinder said, his brows twitching. "Your father would have my hide..."

"My father's got no power over me anymore." Her eyes were spitting sparks. "This is my decision to make."

"Legally, he certainly does," Mohinder said. "You're not eighteen yet, are you?"

"How would you know?" She tossed her hair defiantly, a movement like a crashing wave, and he watched her curls bounce. "I could be thirty-five."

"But you're not." He crossed his arms.

"Look, Doctor Suresh." She strode up to him, her chin high and haughty, and held out her arm. "You want my blood or not? Believe it or not, I'm a big girl, and I can make my own decisions. And I want to help."

"I don't think I've ever seen this many stars," Peter said abruptly.

Matt turned to him. It was the first he'd spoken since they'd left the hospital.

"Seriously. We both spent our lives in the city," Peter said, smiling sallowly. "God, think of the fun Nathan could have had flying around under these stars. We could have crossed the whole sky together... all these powers and we never found a way to enjoy them..."

A tear trickled down his cheek and Matt reached in to brush it away. You'll find it, he said silently. You'll still find a way to have fun with it. You still have life...

Peter fell, sobbing, against his shoulders.

Matt put a protective arm around him, feeling warmth and wetness pooling at the base of his neck. He rested his chin on the top of Peter's trembling head and looked up at the stars.

"They may never forgive us," he said, running a hand down her arm.

"They probably never will," she whispered. Her eyes were like blazing ice in the candlelight. "For what we've done."

"For what we're about to do." He muttered the phrase into the black lace of her bra, nipping at the flesh.

She shivered as his hands played at the clasp. Her voice was a plea. "Maybe someday they'll understand that we did it all for their sake."

"To save the world," he whispered, cupping her face in his hands.

Their eyes met and for just an instant she was frightened.

"Make me forget," she begged.

"Forgive me," he answered.

Oblivion and redemption. They sought them in each other's bodies. And in the morning, they went their separate ways. To perform their terrible tasks.

> does it count as penpals if we dont use pens do u think
> sure y not
> well should it be key pals or sumthin
> um... that's no good
> y not?
> b/c im not using a keyboard
> ...
> ....ohhhhh
> actually im not even at a computer
> usin an atm in a 7-11
> u lie u are so in ur room
> just checkin to see if you still got it
> i. still. got it. smartass.
> <3

watch as i'm ambiguous about the pairing!

It's the American way, he'd said. Let them all know how much we love each other, he'd said. Mohinder couldn't say no to that face.

This was a flaw he'd have to remedy. Because by the time the gay pride parade passed Times Square and he found himself posing flamboyantly on the float before a crowd of thousands, a feather boa strung around his neck, he was almost positive he would never go out in public ever again.

(is dragged away by mohinder fans)

"Do I want to get what?"

Junior high school age Peter Petrelli looked at his college-bound brother like he'd gone out of his mind.

"High. You know..." Nathan trailed off, pantomiming taking a drag and blowing smoke into the atmosphere.

Peter blinked. "You do drugs?"

"Look, Pete. It's a little bit of weed, not heroin, for Christ's..."

"You're going to go to law school and you break the law?!"

Nathan laughed that deep, rich laugh that always shut Peter up. "I'm going to go to law school to be a lawyer. There's a difference. Anyway, if the law were perfect, lawyers wouldn't need to practice it. Now come over here and have a seat." His tone was so decisive that Peter's feet moved without him.

A few minutes later, Nathan was handing him a hastily rolled blunt. "Inhale," he said.

Peter did and promptly coughed. "It stinks," he complained.

"Come on, Pete." Nathan rolled his eyes and held the blunt up to his baby brother's lips. He ruffled back the fringe of bangs from Peter's forehead with his spare hand and stared intently into those scared blue eyes.

Peter took several long drags, fighting past the stench. Nathan kept staring. His hand on Peter's forehead was slowly getting hot.

A slow smile spread over Peter's face. "I love you, Nathan," he blurted out, grabbing his brother's arms and gripping tightly.

Through the haze, he could feel Nathan press a kiss to his brow. "Love you too, Pete," he said. "Hang on tight."



"Are you sure you're up to it?"

"Of course."

"I don't mean that. Honey, I see how hard you have to work when we're out together to make me look like an adult. You really think you're going to be able to hold it together through labor?"

"Why not? I love you, Claire, We've been together four years. You're an adult."

"Yeah. It's convincing everyone else of that that's the problem."

"You think I don't know that? I'm the one who has to worry that if I let my guard down, I'll be labeled a pedophile!"

"That's what I'm saying!"

"Then why won't you trust me? Don't you think I'll do it? Don't you think I'd do anything for you, Claire? You're my soulmate. You're the best person-- the purest, most beautiful person I've ever met."

"I know, I know. You're good, Matt-- that's why I fell for you. Because with all the confusion, all the moral grayness, you were the only person I knew who was really, honestly trying to do the right thing."

"So let's have kids."

"I can't. I don't know if I can. What if my body tries to heal and kills our child before he has a chance to grow? I don't want to go through that. I couldn't take it. I couldn't take another child away from you!"