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06 September 1998 @ 09:47 pm
Drabble Dump - Mattmo, M3 (post 1)  

Drabble Dump - Matt/Mohinder and M3 drabbles

"Look, I thought we said we'd never talk about that!"

Nathan looked up from his hospital bed. "What's your issue, Parkman?"

"You. Told. Her." Matt slammed the table once with each syllable.

"Of course I told her. She asked me why you were in Alabama one minute and Louisiana the next. What was I going to say? You want me to lie to an eight-year-old kid?"

Matt tapped his foot. "Your kids still believe in Santa Claus."

"That's nonsense from their mother," Nathan snapped coldly. "Besides. You said we'd never talk about it. You didn't tell me I had to keep it a secret from your daughter. Who's very charming, by the way." He winked.

"Great. The world's biggest Casanova is macking on my kid." Matt rolled his eyes and leaned forward in confidence. "She told Mohinder," he whispered under his breath. "And now Mohinder's not talking to me."

Nathan broke out in a wide grin. "He's jealous."

"Wait, what?" Matt shook his head, confused. "Jealous? Of wha-- you think he just wants to go for a flying lesson or something? Well, by all means, then!" He threw up his hands. "When you get better, you know what, you go right ahead. In fact, you can fly him around the world. See if I give a damn."

The man in the hospital bad laughed. "For a mindreader, you sure are insecure," he said. "He wasn't jealous of you."

Matt stared at him blankly.

"So he won't talk to you? Fine, then." The politician smile faded into something more sinister. "Try doing something other than talking. See what kind of reaction you get."
When Molly wasn’t with him, Mohinder visited only when Matt was asleep. He’d peer in the tiny window, and if the eyes were closed, he’d step inside. If Matt was facing away, or if the eyes were open, he’d beat a trail away.

Until, one day, Matt fooled him.

Mohinder saw the closed eyes and the rapid rise-and-fall of breathing and tiptoed inside. He brushed a few damp strands of hair off the man’s forehead and sighed with longing. The pull of destiny was so strong it made his whole body ache. He wanted so badly to have the courage to talk to him, to get to know him, to tell him every insane dream that rocketed through his mind when he looked at him.

And then the eyes blinked open. “Why do you keep coming here?” Matt said.

Mohinder jumped. “You’re awake. I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

Matt’s eyes were serious, and Mohinder knew then that he hadn’t been sleeping at all. “Why?” he repeated.

“I just want to make sure that you heal well,” he said noncommittally, looking away. Matt caught his wrist.

“I have a confession to make,” he said. His grip was hot. Mohinder looked down at the place where their skin touched, white on brown.

“A confession?” he echoed stupidly.

“I know the real reason you come back,” he said. “I can read minds. I hear your thoughts whenever you pass by, even when you don’t come in.”

Mohinder’s jaw flapped open and shut. He felt the unsettling boom of a dream exploding and dying in flames.

“Stop that. Nothing’s dying,” Matt said. “It’s OK.” His hand trailed down Mohinder’s wrist toward his hand, and he gently bent those slim fingers over his own.

“Great.” Mohinder blinked away what he hoped were tears. “Everything’s OK. Sure. I’ve just been caught red-handed falling in love with a man I just met. That sounds perfectly cheerful to me.” He bit his lip.

“Mohinder. You’re not falling in love,” Matt said gently. He pressed his lips to Mohinder’s knuckles. “We’re falling in love.”
Straining at the handcuffs. "Please, Detective. Have some heart. I'm completely at your mercy here."

"Damn straight." Matt looked over his prisoner. "And do you know why you're completely at my mercy?"

Lips twitching. "That's because you put a gun on the table, Detective Parkman. Sir."

A satisfied smile itching to become a grin. "That's right. And when my gun goes on the table, what does that mean?"

"It means I have to do whatever you say..." The smile erupting. "Damn it, Matt, I can't..."

"I know." They both broke down laughing. Crying laughing. Stomach-hurting, lung-bursting laughing.

When he could stop doubling over, Matt shook his head. "OK. So we can say we gave serious bondage a try and it wasn't for us. Oh well, life is short."

"Oh, dear. Oh, I haven't laughed that hard in months," Mohinder gasped. Matt reached forward to brush the tears from his eyelashes.

"I kinda like you in the handcuffs, though," he said, brushing a kiss against his stomach.

Mohinder half-sighed, half-moaned. "Yes, the handcuffs are fun. But I've seen you with the stomach flu and with your toenails painted. So I think calling you 'sir' is just impossible at this point."
"Well, I thought it was rather nice of her, actually," Mohinder sniffed as he put the key in the door.

"Are you kidding me? That whole spiel about how we should welcome alternative family arrangements? Like we needed more attention than we were getting." Matt dumped his coat over the back of his favorite easy chair and sat down in it with a gruff humph.

Mohinder leaned over him, hands on the arm rests, and smiled devilishly. "Well, you've done your parental duty, at the very least. It wasn't that bad, was it?"

Matt looked at his thumbs. "Nah, I guess not. Kind of cool to think about coaching soccer, you know? Sort of thing I thought I'd never get to do."

"You should go ahead and volunteer," Mohinder said, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "It'd be good for you."

"I'll think about it," Matt said evasively and grinned.

"Speaking of thinking," said a rich voice in his ear, "do you know what I'm thinking about?"

"How can I not? You're practically screaming it." Matt stretched out his arms and pulled Mohinder onto his lap.

Mohinder's hands moved up to anxiously stroke the sides of his face.. "I can't help it. You're sexy when you're parental."

"I never asked you to help it," groaned Matt as he leaned forward.
It was cold, Mohinder had said. You've got to wear a scarf, Mohinder had said. You're going to catch your death of cold, Mohinder had said. For a guy with an education in England he sure couldn't take the cold. Hell, Matt was from Southern California and he didn't think it was cold enough for scarves.

Well, fine, if Mohinder wanted him to wear a scarf he was going to wear a scarf.

And nothing else.

Mohinder took one look and decided he'd do the rest of the job of warming Matt up.

By the end of the night they were both plenty warm and wrapped up in scarf and sheet and each other.

Except for Matt's feet were cold. But he wasn't going to let on, because next thing you know, Mohinder would start insisting he wear boots.

And that? Might hurt.
"You are absolutely bull-shitting me," said Mohinder.

"I am not! Why does it seem so hard to believe?"

"I refuse for one moment to believe that Mister Law and Order could possibly have gone skinny-dipping with his high school girlfriend in Regis Philbin's swimming pool." Mohinder had had a few too many, and his record with alcohol was abysmal. He could barely get a few words out. "It's bullshit!"

"Hey, I had to do something traumatizing enough to get roped into law enforcement," Matt shrugged, leaning in lecherously to his neck. "And he only lived a few blocks away. Why, are you jealous?"

"Noooo, that's rillijukus." Mohinder slurred, squinting at him. "I just would like to think that if I had been there I would have had the good graces to at least put on a Speedo."

Matt's jaw dropped (and something else rose... just for balance's sake). "You wear Speedos?"

Mohinder grinned. "Now I'm bull-shitting you."
"That's the one," Molly said, pointing. She'd dragged the both of them, one by each hand, for the past three blocks, insisting that she'd found the absolute cutest thing in the world and if she never got another Christmas or birthday present as long as she lived she had to have it.

They'd thought it was a toy. Or maybe a dress. It wasn't.

It was a real live, mewling, yawning, furry grey kitten.

And it was damned cute. Matt started with the "No way, nohow" bluster, but Mohinder seemed oddly transfixed by its gray-green eyes.

"You can't trust that thing," Matt insisted. "Those eyes are planning something."

"Oh, let's just go in and let Molly hold her a minute," Mohinder said in a voice like molasses. It made Matt a little sick to his stomach.

The kitten's name was Lila, and the woman who ran the shop was rambling on about vaccines and declawing and neutering and litter boxes and things Matt couldn't begin to try to comprehend as she scooped the animal out of the cage and gave her to Molly. At the first feel of the weight and warmth and slipperiness of a real live animal in her arms, Molly squealed and nearly dropped her. The kitten pawed at her tamely and settled in, regarding Matt with suspicious eyes.

"Oh, she's so cute!" Molly said when she could speak again. Her eyes were diamonds of delight. "We've GOT to have her!"

"We'll think about it," said Mohinder.

"How about a dog? Dogs are friendly," said Matt, just to be contrary.

"Would you cut it out?" Mohinder hissed at him.

"You can't trust cats!" Matt warned. "Unless you were planning to murder your furniture one way or another and you were really sick of your apartment NOT smelling like pee."

Mohinder turned away from him, huffing, and asked Molly, "Can I hold her?" Molly nodded and held Lila out.

As with everything and everyone he'd ever come across, Mohinder charmed the kitten immediately. She walked across his outstretched arm and actually settled on his shoulder, nuzzling his neck and chin. Mohinder laughed, tickled by the fuzzy nose, and Matt suddenly needed a shot of insulin.

"She is adorable," Mohinder said, his smile brilliant.

"See? See? Mohinder likes her!" Molly entreated.

Matt looked down at the girl by his side and over at the curly-haired man with the brilliant smile. "We'll... think about it," he heard himself say.
"Evil is obvious only in retrospect."
-Gloria Steinem

Looking back, it had been too easy to tell. Zane knew too much. He was too eager. He understood too readily. He spoke of destiny only when it suited him; other times he was a skeptic who could not be dissuaded. He spoke in the voice that suited his purpose and no other.

So in contrast, there was Matt. And Matt seemed to always take on the position that least suited him. He seemed unwilling to stake a claim on anything he truly wanted. He asked Janice what she wanted before even consulting a lawyer. He gave her everything. Somehow he'd managed to make himself the one who had to pay for her indiscretions. And every time an unpleasant task came up, Matt would volunteer only when he was sure it was something no one else cared to do. Which meant, Mohinder learned, that he didn't particularly want it. It was like he relished being the put-upon one.

still, in a manner of speaking, if the face of evil was taking only what was convenient for him, wasn't this its polar opposite?

Mohinder'd had some fun manipulating Sylar once he knew his character flaws. He was planning on having just as much fun manipulating Matt's weakness. One way or another, the big lug was going to learn how to take what he wanted. And once he did that, Mohinder planned on doing the same.
The story must involve a bench in the beginning.

There's a bench under his head.

A park bench, to be exact. And for what it's worth, it's hard. Freaking hard.

Matt's unhappy. This is not how he likes to wake up.

What the hell kind of screaming fight did they have anyway that he went to the park to mope at three in the morning?

Hell, he almost got himself arrested for loitering. Good thing the beat cop recognized him. Said the phrase like a name, "ParkmanwhattheHELL?"

He Wonders if it's safe to go home yet.

(Safe. Hah. Like Mohinder's such a freaking danger to his life. No, it isn't about safe. It's about being able to stand looking in those eyes and seeing so much anger.)

Too sleepy and dirty to avoid it any longer. He trudges up the stairs.

Mohinder's at the kitchen table. His eyes are red and his thoughts are full of regret and sorrow.

It doesn't matter what they were fighting about. The fight is over at that moment. They go back to bed, fall asleep, and don't wake up until noon.
It was kind of a spur of the moment decision. The guy had been selling flowers at the subway stop every morning for months now. He always felt a little bit badly for him. I mean, the guy was just trying to make a buck. Probably had a wife and too many kids and not enough to take care of them. Five bucks for a dozen tulips.

Well, OK, then. Five bucks wasn't a lot of money. And it wasn't like the apartment couldn't use a little something. The walls were barer than a D-list actress on the casting couch. It wasn't so terribly momentous.

Except for it was the worst five bucks he'd ever spent, because Molly shrieked when she saw them and started jumping up and down. "Ohmygodohmygod you bought him flowers! That is soooo romantic!" And then Mohinder came out of the bedroom to say hello and Molly was jumping up and down in front of him saying "Matt brought you flowers he loves you he totally loves you!"

At which point Mohinder turned pink and Matt wondered if he should in fact claim that he bought them for him because for a moment he actually looked pleased.

Then he turned up his nose. "Do I look like the kind of person who has time to take care of flowers? Those things are your responsibility." As he stalked away Matt could hear him sniffing internally. I'm still a man, for fuck's sake. I have a little pride left.

That's it. Next time he wanted to spruce up the apartment, he was buying a bouquet of power tools.
Mohinder asked, once again thoroughly proving his lack of knowledge of American culture, what the deal was with Elvis.

"What do you mean what's the deal with Elvis?" This was after a viewing of Lilo & Stitch, which they both agreed was an adorable movie. Even if its heroine's fascination was beyond Mohinder's understanding.

"I mean, isn't he terribly gaudy and flamboyant? How was it that he was a sex symbol?"

"This from the man whose country invented Bollywood." Matt rolled his eyes.

"You underrate Bollywood significantly," Mohinder pouted. "But I seriously don't see the attraction."

Matt grinned wickedly. "Allow me to demonstrate," he said, coming over to stand beside him. With two strong hands he took Mohinder's hands from his sides and planted them on his own hips. "Ready?"

Mohinder looked down at his hands, firmly planted at Matt's side. "You tell me," he said.

Matt stood stock still, then, without warning, cocked one of those hips and swung them in a wide circle, bumping Mohinder obscenely. Tossing one of his shoulders back, he sneered and said in a low drawl, "Thankya very much." He raised his eyebrows above dark, smoldering eyes and smiled.

Mohinder stood a moment, dumbfounded and red-facd. Then he removed his hands from Matt's hips and adjusted himself conspicuously, clearing his throat. "I... see," he mumbled.
It was never meant to be like this. Life was never meant to be like this.

Life was full of disappointment and heartache and frustration. Fathers that left you. Wives that cheated on you. Partners that betrayed you. Powers you couldn't explain. Friends you couldn't trust. Dark alleys and shadows and sharp angles and twists and turns. Arguments. Tension. Pushing people away.

And yet when it got dark and the world was closing in, there he was.

There was no explanation for it. There was no reason that a heart that had been long since asphyxiated and snuffed out should feel a light like a candle when he was there. It was all too perfect, too warm and fuzzy for Matt's taste. He distrusted him because of it. Distrusted himself. There was no place in his life for warm and fuzzy feelings. He fought like hell to keep them away.

And yet when she screamed in the night and they both poured in from their separate rooms with identical looks of anxiety, Matt felt his mind resonate with Mohinder's. And the singular clarity of purpose-- "We are here for her"-- was comforting. Despite all his best efforts.

And when they stood in the doorway to discuss the matter, yes, of course they were focused only on making her feel better. But Mohinder's eyes were bright like a candle. That same candle. Flickering dimly in the darkness to remind him there was something there.

But right now the world was too cold and hard for warm and fuzzy feelings. He couldn't afford them. Couldn't tolerate them.

And one day their fingertips brushed together over the photo of Matt's father and the others, and Matt knew with an inward weakening that he couldn't escape them, either.
Matt is a coffee man. Mohinder is a tea guy. Can they really find happiness together? The outcome, for a while, seemed seriously in doubt.

Matt tried making coffee for them early on in the relationship, only to be faced with a look of utter disdain. "I don't drink that," Mohinder had said, thankfully leaving the word swill only in his mind.

"You are never gonna make it in America," Matt said, half-jokingly. But Mohinder literally would not set foot in the kitchen until the pot and mugs had been washed and the whole area had been sprayed with air freshener.

That's when it became clear this was going to be a problem.

Matt needs his coffee. To function. To survive. It amazes him that Mohinder can interact with blood and plasma all day long and yet the smell of coffee is enough to turn his stomach. How does he work with college students? Or do they not drink the stuff in India? More importantly, how does he work with anyone now?

Meanwhile, Mohinder makes kettles of tea at night. The whistle of the tea kettle is unbelievably shrill, and Matt doesn't understand why he can't just heat water up in the microwave. As though nuked hot water would taste anything remotely like a good boiled mug of tea. And why go for caffeine in the morning? The morning's when the human body is naturally awake. It's when you need to stay up late that you should drink something. Otherwise, you risk throwing off your internal clock.

So can a coffee man and a tea guy find happiness together? They're sure trying. For one thing, Mohinder is learning that there is one time he doesn't mind the taste or smell of coffee-- when it's on Matt's lips. For another, Matt is beginning to develop a Pavlovian response to the whistle of the tea kettle at night, because a caffeinated Mohinder is a frisky Mohinder. To put it delicately.

And most importantly, the ever-diplomatic Molly has introduced them both to that great peacemaker: hot chocolate.
"You've set me up on a what?"

"A blind date. With someone I think you'll really, really like." Molly grinned. "Now, here's the thing. Your date's daughter goes to my school. She's even in my class. So if you screw this up, she won't forgive me. So you're going to treat this nice, nice person to dinner and a movie and be home by eleven or I will be very disappointed."

Matt looked at his wallet dejectedly. "Do I have to treat?"

"You both like children," Molly continued obliviously. "You're both very nice, attractive people and I just know that if you got to know each other you'd fall madly in love. So don't disappoint me, OK? Your date's waiting in that restaurant over there. Bye!"

And she was skipping back down the block toward home before Matt could say a thing.

He opened the door to the cafe. Bells jangled on the door. He might as well get this over with.

"What the hell?"

A flustered Indian scientist with whom Matt was very, very familiar stood up from a booth near the window.

A certain eight-year-old wanna-be Cupid was going to pay for this.
"No. So dizzy."

Mohinder squeezes his eyes shut and feels the waves of dizziness-- always in pairs, one, two-- wash over him. He tries to push Matt off him. "Stoppit. Not strong enough to fight you this morning."

"I like that." The voice in his ear is tinted by a grin. Kisses dot his earlobe.

"Seriously." Flat palms against his chest, straining hopelessly. "Don't feel well."

"I'll make you feel better." A hand now between his thighs. Such a warm hand. Mohinder makes a little noise in spite of himself.

But one, two, bam, the waves of dizziness are back again. "Damn it, I said no!" He pushes harder and squeezes his whole face up. His head does a sick wavy thing and he can feel sweat bead on his brow.

Matt sits up. "Oh, Jesus, Mohinder, you are sick..." He feels his forehead. Clammy and cold.

Mohinder shivers. "Yes... not fair... I eat right, you eat monstrous amounts of preservatives... why am I the one who gets sick?"

"I'm all plastic inside from all the synthetic shit. You're still human. I'm half-cyborg by now." Matt gets up, lumbers over to the linen closet and drags out a second blanket. "Immune to all forms of earthly disease."

"I'll make a note of that." Mohinder grabs the blanket, pulls it over his head. "Infect Matt with computer virus."

"Your sense of humor isn't sick," Matt notes.

Mohinder grumbles. "Yours is."
When Mohinder came home Matt was already sleeping. Sprawled on his back, taking up most of the bed. He was like a gigantic cocker spaniel, Mohinder thought with amusement. You just wanted to rub his belly. That is, if you were more innocent than Mohinder was at that moment.

He shoved one great thigh aside and squeezed into the small bed beside him, trying to insinuate himself into that small space. Matt snored loudly but otherwise didn't react. His face was angled toward Mohinder's on the big pillow, and his lips were tinged with a touch of saliva.

Mohinder shook his head with a small chuckle. "You're an absolute brute," he said, wiping away the smear of drool and drying his hand on the fold of Matt's shirt. "Good night, darling." He brushed a kiss against the slack lips.

All at once, Matt opened his eyes and rolled onto his lover, trapping the scientist beneath huge arms and strong legs. Mohinder flailed. "Off me, you great big damned-- Matt, you are too heavy," he wailed.

"Cry me a river," Matt intoned into the curve of his jaw, kissing him there fast and wet and hot. Mohinder gasped. Damn it! Weren't you asleep?

"I was, yeah," Matt said. "Now I'm awake. Aren't you glad?"

As their lips met in a searing kiss, Mohinder wrapped his arms around Matt's waist and nodded mutely.
"Suresh, S-U-R? Let me see."

Mohinder drummed his fingers on the counter. Behind him, Molly held up her crossed fingers. Matt gave him the thumbs-up.

"No, honey, I'm not seeing your application," the woman said flatly. "The way these files are organized is abysmal. I think there's a hole there that you must have fallen through." She shuffled them again, as though it might help. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. You might have to fill out the form again."

Mohinder grumbled. "You can't keep me out of this country forever. I have a little girl over there," he half-threatened as he took another blank form. "And I am going to adopt her."

And then I'm going to marry my boyfriend and we're going to live happily ever after, he telegraphed across the room. Matt cracked up. Molly and a dozen other folks looked at him like he had three heads.

In the end, he went home no closer to citizenship than he'd been that morning. "Hardly matters," Matt said, slipping his hand into Mohinder's casually. "I kinda like the whole forbidden-love aspect of it."

"As long as you don't refer to me as your mail-order bride, I suppose I can live with that for the time being," sniffed Mohinder.

"What's a mail-order bride?" Molly asked innocently.

"Something you will never, ever be," said Matt. "And that's all you need to know."

"Oh, hi, did I wake you up?"

"Ma-- 's three in the morning here."

"Aw. Crap, man, I forgot."

"Something wrong? 'Vrything OK?"

"Yeah, man. I just missed you."

A heavy sigh. Even through his sleepiness Mohinder could picture him. Sprawled out on the couch, phone in his lap, the lamplight making him look sort of yellow and inviting. The look on his face, sort of bittersweet.

"Miss youtoog'night."

"Mohinder. Don't hang up."

Groaning. "What?"

"Dream of me." He could hear the grin in his voice.

"Was. You interrupted. Ratbastard."

"Really?" A hint of light in his voice.


Warm, soft chuckles like smoke, like warmth, like a blanket. "Good to know. G'nite."

Mohinder murmured "loveyou" and dropped the phone, but Matt had already hung up.
Mohinder needs his coffee with some sugar. And preferably some chocolate. He's a closet chocoholic with a gigantic sweet tooth; some people know this about him but not many. So when Elle gives him a look of absolute shock when he empties three Splenda into his cup of coffee PLUS flavored creamer, he sighs. Another secret he's inadvertently let out.

"That's kind of disgusting," she says.

"Are you even reporting to your father on my coffee break habits?" he says impatiently. "Because you can let him know I'd much prefer a latte machine. Or perhaps he can transmute the place into a Starbucks. Just wave his magic wand and turn that garbage can into a barista. That's my expert recommendation."

"Yikes," she responds, rolling her eyes. "Maybe I should tell him to just keep decaf around here."

"Please, God, no," he says. "That would be a fate worse than death."

"Doesn't your boyfriend make you coffee in the morning, though?" She sips her own, black, and arches an eyebrow.

Mohinder blushes. "Sometimes. Our work schedules aren't well aligned."

"But he gets you up, right?"

Coffee goes all over the floor. Mohinder nearly chokes.

"What? What did I say? I mean, he does wake you up in the morning, right?"

Mohinder's hands are on his knees. He's doubled over. Weakly, he looks up at Elle. Is she really that innocent?

No. Not possible.

Now he needs another cup of coffee...