Disclaimer: Heroes and those things pertaining to it belong to NBC, Tim Kring, etc., and are only being used here for fun.

Tomorrow Never Came

By Cheshire/mneiai

There was a time when Parkman wouldn't have been able to comprehend the majority of thoughts that Mohinder had, they would be a jumble of Tamil and big words, scientific words that must have sounded like gibberish to him. But Parkman had transcended language barriers a few years before, around the same time that the Haitian stopped being able to block only mind-based powers. It took a whole new way of thinking for Mohinder to get past Parkman's obvious probing, but sometimes it was worth it.

For example, with the bodies of the Haitian and their present day Hiro the only others in the room with Mohinder when he finally throws aside the door and runs for cover, Parkman and the one remaining grunt with him falling inside, guns drawn as if anything in the room could be scarier than what was going on at their backs. Mohinder was good, had found that it was a matter of keeping surface thoughts benign, and it wasn't hard to convince Parkman that it had been the Haitian who was the traitor (Parkman never had managed to read any of his thoughts, after all), who had subdued Mohinder and freed the younger Hiro just before Mohinder stopped him. The most obvious lies always worked the best.

Parkman nodded as if he had been expecting that story, eyes flashing towards the battle that had moved to the other side of the building, but was still visible in its horror. "How long have you known?" Mohinder drew Parkman's attention back to him, too interested in the answer to remind himself that any attention from Parkman was not wanted.

He opened his mouth, giving a look as if the next words out of his mouth would be "known what?" with a falsely innocent smile following, but he didn't go through with those actions. Mohinder hoped that Parkman had known him long enough to know that while he could often i be /i fooled, he wasn't actually a fool. "I began suspecting a while ago, unlike you I just acknowledged it instead of blocking it out. I figure I found out about half a year after he started."

Mohinder swallowed. What Parkman suggested could very well be right—it wouldn't be the first time Mohinder was willfully ignorant about Sylar's deceptions. "How long has that been? How long has it been Sylar?"

The name drew a flinch, as if that somehow made it a reality. "Almost as soon as Nathan Petrelli was elected president."

It was…worse and better than Mohinder had thought. Worse because it had been years, years working alongside "Nathan," of private meetings, and too-friendly touches, and too-bright smiles. Better because it hadn't always been Sylar. Mohinder had started working for Nathan, the original idea had been shared with someone who wasn't a serial killer, his father's murderer.

"How could you go along with him?"

Parkman snorted, then glanced away again. The light show outside the room had stopped. Someone had won…Mohinder was sure they'd find out soon enough. Peter knew Mohinder, would realize that maybe having Mohinder on his side would be a good idea. And Nathan—Sylar—had never been very good at leaving Mohinder alone.

"It wasn't a matter of going along with him, it was a matter of continuing the way I started. Homeland Security had a place for me, doing something important, something right. And what Sylar is doing is what has to be done—there's too many dangerous people out there." There was something close to the glint of the fanatic in Parkman's eyes.

"And now there's one less." Mohinder's eyes jerked towards the figure blocking the doorway, taller than Nathan, wearing a long black jacket, with a type of grace that was less breeding and more that of a natural predator. The voice trickled over Mohinder's skin, each word drawing up the hairs on his arms and making his mind stutter just before going into fight-or-flight response.

"I'm going to check on my men…Mr. President," Parkman said, shooting a knowing glance between the two of them before leaving.

Sylar paid him no attention, crouching down before Mohinder and offering him a familiar quirk of the lips that could possibly be a smile. "Hello, again, Mohinder." He said Mohinder's name the way "Nathan" always seemed to want to—drawing it out and putting more emotion behind it than anyone else ever had. Mohinder wondered if he said Sylar's name the same way, if that was why he always drew odd looks when he talked about him.


"Is dead." The smile hadn't left, instead becoming more pronounced, as if that was truly something to celebrate. And why not? Now Sylar could have any power he could come across, he didn't have to worry about hiding a murder.

Mohinder's dark eyes met Sylar's for the first time in years. "Are you going to kill me?"

"Why would I kill you, Mohinder? You're the only person I can trust." He stood and made a movement with his hands at the same time, gently picking Mohinder up from his slumped position and telekinetically putting him back on his feet, supporting him as if afraid that he would topple over without help.

"You hate me. I tried to kill you, I wouldn't give you the list." Mohinder motioned to the Haitian's body behind the fencing, unsure why he was antagonizing Sylar when he should be finding a way to escape him. "I betrayed you."

Sylar grinned. "No one needs to know that last part except the two of us. The lie you fed Parkman will work." There was still the wall at Mohinder's back, the subtle grip of a mind on his body, and now there was Sylar's tall form centimeters away from him. "You try and you try, but you could never really betray me, Mohinder, all you can do is sit back and let others attempt to bring me down. You're always the accomplice."

Mohinder could feel their breath mingling, shuddering at the warmth. He was caught, unable to respond or move away. He hadn't seen this face in five years, it was fascinating.

"I was going to give you the chance to actually act, to understand what it's like to have the power of life and death in your hands." He still had that smile, that reptilian expression of sick joy. "But I should have known that wasn't for you, you can't just kill, you need an excuse—you weigh your morals against someone else's life. When you tried to kill me, it was to avenge your father. When you killed the Haitian, it was to save Nakamura. Aren't you worth a body count?"


The sequel, Waking Up Is Harder, can be found at my fandom livejournal (check out my profile). It's rated NC-17.