tracker_lucifer still insists that this series will end in Peter and Mohinder's big gay California wedding. That remains to be seen.

Title: Ways and means
Author: eonism
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to NBC. I'm just having a laugh at their expense
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Mohinder, Matt
Word Count: 2,102
Author's notes: Takes place after Such a cautious display. General season two spoiler stuff.
Summary: If Sylar was capable of coming back to do it a second time then he would do it again. And if Peter was going to have to kill him for it, he needed to be sure Elle was telling the truth.



“I think we need to talk.”

The diner was busy with the din of the lunch hour rush, people in suits and headset cell phones crammed into booth seats and across small four-chair dinette sets. Talking over the clatter of coffee cups and clink of silverware on heavy white ceramic plates, they gave their orders to waitresses in jeans with hair pulled up into messy ponytails as they went from table to table with tea pitchers and glass coffee pots.

Peter had debated coming here for only an hour and a half. He had waited until Mohinder had showered, dressed and left for work, hearing the familiar creak of door hinges and turn of the lock before he grabbed slipped his keys and wallet into his coat pocket and stepped outside with Molly’s directions in mind.

It was not that he did not trust Mohinder. Peter made sure to tell himself that every time he glanced across the room, or across the table at the other man, his thoughts blank and innocuous, who smiled in that small, reassuring way he did whenever Molly or Matt were there, and he did not want to be too obvious. They were about three steps passed obvious, as far as Peter could tell, but at least it made Mohinder feel better about the situation. Still he could not bring himself to ask Mohinder the question Elle had raised the week earlier: about Sylar, the kidnapping, and everything else that danced on the tip of Peter’s tongue whenever he closed his eyes and saw broken glass and empty New York skylines.

The thought had occurred to him that Elle had been lying to him. It was not as though it was out of character for her and that had been Peter’s initial hope; it felt like a reasonable one to cling to, every night that he went back to the apartment or Mohinder went to his. It seemed somehow unfair to call Mohinder into question over something as dire, but still Peter could not shake the feeling that lined the thin skin around his knuckles whenever he thought about it: Odessa High School, Kirby Plaza. The night in Mohinder’s apartment, the blood on his face and in his hair and in the crack between the tiles of the kitchen floor, that Peter could still see if he looked close enough.

Sylar had killed Peter twice; he had gone after Claire. He hurt Mohinder more than once, and Molly, too, in ways that Peter could not imagine and only nod his head to whenever Mohinder spoke of his father, voice tight and strained. If Sylar was capable of coming back to do it a second time then he would do it again. And if Peter was going to have to kill him for it, he needed to be sure Elle was telling the truth.

From behind the drooping edge his newspaper and bulbously-shaped ceramic coffee mug, Matt looked only mildly confused as he glanced up to meet Peter’s gaze. His eyes followed Peter as he slid into the cramped booth across from him, neatly arranging his legs in the narrow space between the slender metal table legs in a position close to comfortable.

“O – kay. About what?” Matt asked, folding the crossword page over to the entertainment section and setting it down on the table beside his cup, “And how did you find me anyway?”

“I asked Molly.” Peter hoped that he did not look as sheepish as he suddenly felt for asking the 10-year-old. He could have called Matt himself, and probably should have in hindsight, but he knew things between them had not always been entirely diplomatic.

Then again, how could he really expect Matt to be towards him? Peter just kind of materialized in his apartment one day, started sleeping with his roommate, and never left.

“She said you usually come here during your lunch break. And I need to ask you something – it’s about Mohinder.”

“Uhh.” Immediately Matt’s hands came up. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but whatever the tension is between you two right now, just – please – leave me out of it. It’s bad enough hearing you guys think about it, I don’t need to be personally involved.”

It probably would have helped if Peter had been a bit more diplomatic on his end of things in the past, come to think of it.

“What?” Peter inwardly flinched. “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s, just...I think he might be lying to me. About Sylar.”

With a sigh, Matt’s shoulders sagged. “Okay, who told?” he asked, “It was Molly, wasn’t it?”

“Who told?” It was Peter’s turn to look confused with a shake of his head. “You mean all of you kept this from me on purpose?”

“Not on purpose, per se,” Matt gestured vaguely, trying to defend himself, “we just, figured it was in your best interest just to…gloss over some of the details of what happened after you disappeared.”

At that Peter’s brow lowered. “I didn’t disappear,” he firmly asserted, to which Matt sighed again, “but whatever. Who’s ‘we’?”

“Look, it was Mohinder’s idea. When you came back to New York, you had a lot to deal with, with your brother and Adam, and everything else. Then you started staying with us, and he just thought…” Matt cleared his throat, looking to the tabletop as though reading the rest of the sentence in its weathered finished. “Mohinder just told me not to mention it to you. I think he wanted to, protect you or something, I guess. I didn’t ask, so I dunno.”

“I’m not the one who needs protecting,” Peter said pointedly, to which Matt put up a hand in acquiescence. “And you knew this whole time about Sylar? He’s still out there killing people and no one thought to mention it to me? I mean, Christ, what if he comes back for Molly –?”

“Look.” At that Matt leveled Peter a warning look, and Peter knew well enough to lean back and close his mouth. “I dunno why Mohinder wanted it this way. Ask him yourself. All I know is that I assumed he was doing it to keep you out of it.” Matt lifted his shoulder to shrug. “It was right after I got back from Texas when Mohinder told me what happened, then you turned up and he was so – adamant, about not telling you. So I told him I wouldn’t. With your past together and everything, what else could I say?”

“Past?” Peter only looked more confused. “What past?”

“Well, I dunno.” Matt mimicked his expression. “The way Mohinder thought about you sometimes – after I moved to New York and started staying with him and Molly. You’d just, I dunno – pop up in his head from time to time. Kinda hard to miss, as loud as he thinks. I just figured you two used to date or something.”

“…Oh.” At that Peter sat back, his shoulders sagging. “Well, no. I mean – we barely even knew each other, before I came back to New York.” His expression smoothed, a tight and indefinable feeling pooling in the pit of his stomach. “I only met Mohinder a handful of times. We mostly just used to fight a lot…I used to think he was kind of an asshole, really.”

Then Peter came back, and everything…changed, somehow. When he thought about it now none of the differences they had shared stood out in his mind in any way he could assign a feeling to, as though they never happened. They were shadows ghosting subway walls.

“He is kind of an asshole.” Matt shrugged. “But he means well, most of the time.”

Peter suddenly felt somehow small for having come here, and sank down into the cushion of his seat. “So he never told you?” Mohinder had never said anything because he had been quietly pining for Peter in his absence. Now Peter was the biggest asshole on the face of the planet. “I thought you two were friends.”

“We are – sort of.” Matt let out a sigh. “Look, Mohinder’s the kind of guy who tells you everything or absolutely nothing. And he doesn’t say anything about you – which, I guess in his head, makes you pretty important.”

Peter was no longer small, he was microscopic. He was a single-celled dot, blotting the lens of one of the microscopes sitting on Mohinder’s makeshift work desk in the corner of the bedroom, something to be studied, or dissected. If Matt had looked sympathetic it fell away as he glanced to his watch.

“I gotta get back to the precinct,” he sighed to himself, and pushed his cup and paper back across the table. Giving Peter an understanding once-over, Matt paused before standing.

“Just, breathe, Peter,” he offered. “I really don’t know what else to tell you. I know you’re probably still kinda pissed off but, just go home and sort it out – it sucks, but you’ll live. Trust me.”

Peter did not meet his gaze, and could only nod dumbly and lick his bottom lip as Matt slid from his seat and stood to pay his bill at the cashier’s stand by the door. He was right, and probably knew better than most. Still Peter did not move to stand for another moment, until a vibration caught his attention. In his pocket his cell phone rattled, dull electronic chirping muffled in the heavy folds of his cotton pullover. Pulling it out, Peter flipped it open to give the caller ID an irritated glance when he saw his mother’s home number.

Definitely not now, Peter decided, and with a frown hit the ‘end’ button, setting his phone down on the table. Another ring, sharp and sudden, and he opened it and put it to his ear with an aggravated sigh.

“Look, now is really not a good time –”

“Oh,” came the apologetic sound of Mohinder’s voice from over the line, “I’ll just call back later then.”

“No!” Peter clapped a hand across his forehead, quickly warming in embarrassment. “It’s fine – I thought you were somebody else. I’m sorry, s’been a stupid day.” He straightened, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh, something warm immediately settling in the core of his chest. “I’m really glad you called, actually.”

“Well, that’s a little – unexpected, but I am glad to hear it.” Peter could practically hear Mohinder’s smile on the other end of the line. “I was just calling to ask if you were coming over tonight. I’ve been thinking about what you said last week, about the apartment…” A nervous breath. “I told you that I would have to think about it first, but, I do think you’re right. And I think it’s a good idea. I was hoping perhaps we could discuss it some more, later on?”

“Of course,” Peter nodded, although Mohinder could not see it, “but um, look. I know I’ve been kinda weird in the past few weeks, but I’ve been messed up about some things. More messed up than usual, I guess, and I’m sorry.”

“Peter, I told you before –”

“But, there’s something I have to ask you, because Elle told me last week at the lab.” Peter swallowed, and quietly hoped he would not end up regretting this conversation as well. “She told me about Sylar, when Matt and Nathan were in Texas.”

The line dissolved into momentary static. “…Elle had no right to say anything about that,” Mohinder finally responded, his voice tight, suddenly cold. “And I know this looks, awful of me, to have kept that from you but I assure you, I had my reasons for wanting to keep your involvement in any of his schemes to a minimum.”

“You don’t need to explain anything. Matt already told me.” Combing his fingers through his hair, Peter sighed again. “And I know why you did it, but…just, let me do the protecting for once, okay? I wanna be the Superman around here for a while.”

“I…thank you.” After a moment’s silence, Mohinder chuckled softly. “Even if that ego of yours is astounding sometimes.”

“Hey, if the cape fits.” The corner of Peter’s mouth quirked fondly. “Pretty sure I can leap tall buildings, too.”

“As long as that doesn’t make me your Lois Lane, you can leap over all the buildings you like. And when you’re finished I expect you back at the apartment when I get home tonight.”

“I will.”

“You better be.”

Peter let out a soft laugh. When the line closed with a click, he snapped his phone shut again, and sighed.