Title: A New Day at Midnight

Characters/Pairings: Mohinder/Peter, discussions of past Peter/Claude

Rating: R

Warnings: AU, character death (past tense), angst

Spoilers: Written during the hiatus following "Parasite," so anything up through there just to be safe. Loosely shares some themes with the episode "Five Years Gone" but was primarily written without prior knowledge of the episode's content.

Summary: In an alternate universe where heroes are persecuted rather than celebrated, Mohinder and Peter meet under different circumstances, each hiding dangerous secrets.

Disclaimer: Heroes and the associated characters don't belong to me.

A New Day at Midnight

Part 1/19

Eden's apartment had been empty only a week when Mohinder, sitting at his computer, heard a commotion outside his door followed by a loud and vicious curse in an unfamiliar voice. He'd been hearing the shuffling footsteps in the hallway all morning but had not been persuaded to concern himself with the building's new occupant until now. The very painful sounding crack of what Mohinder could only guess was someone's head hitting the concrete on the stairwell's nearest landing had him wincing in sympathy and on his feet in moments. He was careful to close out of the screen on his computer before stepping out into the corridor.

"Hello?" he said into the emptiness he was met with, noting the trail of debris that led from the top of the stairs downward. An overturned cardboard box rested three steps down. Below that, a young man lay sprawled as expected on the landing, looking dazed in the way most people did when one moment they were balanced and upright and the next they were on the ground, still trying to process what had happened in between.

"Well, that was embarrassing," the stranger said after a moment, pushing himself up into a sitting position. His fingers went immediately to the back of his head. He hissed as they met with what must have been a tender spot before pulling them away, checking for blood. There was none.

Mohinder descended the first few stairs, pausing to pick up the box that had fallen with its owner. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yeah," the stranger said, sheepish now, annoyed with himself. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and the dirt off his clothes. "I just lost my balance, I guess. I should be fine as soon as the stars go away." He blinked owlishly in Mohinder's general direction without actually seeming to see Mohinder. "Wow. I always thought that was a figure of speech. Seeing stars." He blinked again as if a part of him enjoyed the effect.

"I wouldn't know," Mohinder said. "You should probably put some ice on your head."

The stranger snorted. "It's my ass I'm worried about," he replied. "It's bad if I can't feel it anymore, right?"

Mohinder was beginning to wonder if perhaps he shouldn't have simply gone with his original instinct and refrained from associating with his new neighbor.

"I imagine the numbness is a blessing, judging from how hard and how far you fell," Mohinder said dryly. "Perhaps you can ask whoever is helping you move in to keep an eye on it for you. So to speak."

Mohinder turned, intending to climb back up the stairs and close himself in his apartment so that he could go back to work and forget that any of this had ever happened. But the stranger spoke before he had the chance to fully get away.

"There isn't anyone helping me," the other man said, pushing himself painfully to his feet. He wobbled slightly but managed to steady himself using the railing at his side. Mohinder noticed he was favoring his left leg slightly and still couldn't seem to properly focus his vision. "I'm kind of on my own."

Mohinder sighed. Against his better judgment he said, "I think I have some ice in my apartment, if you think you can make it up the stairs this time."

The stranger nodded and pulled himself up the stairs, making it to the top without incident. He paused every now and then to pick up his scattered possessions along the way, tucking them under his arm so he could offer his hand to Mohinder, a crooked, socially awkward half smile pulling up one side of his mouth. "I'm Peter," he said.

"Mohinder Suresh," Mohinder replied, taking the proffered hand briefly.

Seeing Peter up close for the first time, Mohinder was startled to discover that the man taking over Eden's apartment was not quite as he had appeared from the distance of ten steps down. Like a Monet painting seen from too close, Mohinder could now see the brush strokes and textures that partially belied the original naivete Mohinder had perceived in Peter. Before, Mohinder would have inferred Peter was nothing more than a young man recently graduated from college, out on his own for the first time. Now he saw the barely visible lines of premature age, the kind that could only be brought on by the weight of some unnamed experience. He began to wonder what had brought Peter to this apartment building, to New York.

Peter followed Mohinder into his apartment without comment. Mohinder had inherited the place from his father on coming to New York and it wasn't without its quirky details, the most prominent of which included an incomplete map tacked to the wall directly across from the door, a number of strings hanging limply from it, leading nowhere. Peter politely pretended not to notice and Mohinder didn't explain that after his father's death, this had been among the first things they'd taken. For their investigation, they'd said.

Mohinder moved to the icebox while Peter lingered at the front of the apartment.

"Let me guess," Peter said as Mohinder rooted around for a towel to wrap the ice in. "You're a professor or something." He gestured to the stack of textbooks that sat atop Mohinder's desk.

Mohinder considered his answer. "I was," he admitted. "These days I spend most of my time on research." He handed Peter the ice, now wrapped in a musty dish towel he had found under the sink. "Is this your first time to New York?"

Peter smiled mysteriously. "Not exactly," he said. "I'm from here. I was just kind of…gone for a while."

"I see," Mohinder said, though he didn't.

The natural progression of the conversation should have led Mohinder to ask what it was Peter had left New York for and why he had decided to come back. But questions like these were dangerous, increasing the chance for a misguided reciprocation Mohinder couldn't risk. With this in mind, he decided to hold back.

"I suppose you're my new neighbor, then," he said lamely instead.

"Yeah, I guess so," Peter replied, glancing over his shoulder and into the hallway as if to confirm his new apartment hadn't gone anywhere while his back was turned. The neglected ice was beginning to melt in the towel, soaking it and dripping through Peter's fingers onto the floor. He didn't appear to notice. "It was pretty lucky. The landlord said the girl who was living there left kind of abruptly." He turned back to Mohinder. "Did you know her?"

Mohinder nodded, thinking of Eden and her slow suicide of macaroni and cheese. But that wasn't what Peter was asking him. No question that they were both familiar with the posters, the television ads, the newspaper articles. Keep a close eye on those around you, they said, each in their own way. Report any suspicious behavior to the proper authorities. Your safety and the safety of those you love depends on it. Mohinder thought of his father's body, barely recognizable in that bleak morgue.

If there had been more to Eden than what was readily apparent, she'd had the decency not to violate Mohinder's opportunity for plausible deniability by sharing any of it with him. For that, he was grateful. He liked her well enough and had no desire to be put in a position where that kind of decision was necessary. Not after what had happened to his father.

To Peter, he said, "Her name was Eden. She knocked on my door every now and then. Made sure I hadn't buried myself in my work too deeply. That I was still alive." He swallowed, feeling surprisingly emotional at the memory of her sweet smile, knowing he wouldn't see it again.

"I can see how that might be easy to miss," Peter commented. "Your being alive, I mean. You were so quiet. I had no idea anyone else was up here."

Something in that sounded like an untruth, but Mohinder didn't tax himself by trying to figure out what.

"How's your head?" he said, moving around Peter so that he could examine the wound himself. "I don't see a bump." He reached up his fingers to feel for one, but Peter pulled away before he could make contact.

"I'm okay," he said. "Really."

"I suppose you must be if you're dripping all over my floor like that," Mohinder said, gesturing to the puddle that had gathered by Peter's feet, the ice pack now almost fully melted.

Peter looked down. "Oh," he said. "Sorry. I didn't even notice."

"It's all right," Mohinder said, taking the towel from Peter and putting it in the sink where the ice could continue its deterioration without causing any further damage. "I'm not going to ask about your backside. I hope you don't mind."

Another crooked smile played on Peter's lips, though he made an unsuccessful attempt at covering it with a mock-serious expression when he said, "No, I understand."

"Do you need help with the rest of your things?" Mohinder asked, the offer escaping him before he had time to think about it. Apparently the reminder of Eden's absence had done something to his former reticence. That or he was even less eager to return to his work than he'd realized.

"Actually, that was the last box," Peter said. "But I could use some help picking up what I dropped in the hallway. You know, if you're bored."

"If it hasn't been stolen yet, you mean," Mohinder said.

"True," Peter said. "It has been out there by itself for all of fifteen minutes." He made a show of checking his watch. "Closer to twenty." More seriously, he added, "It's nothing that anyone would want."

Mohinder refrained from pointing out that this would hardly be a deterrent for would-be thieves, especially in this building. Instead, he gestured for Peter to lead the way back into the corridor where they began gathering the scattered belongings--all of which were present and accounted for, if slightly worse for the wear. As they worked, Mohinder began to think that Peter was right. These were sentimental objects, talismans in the form of souvenirs from places both exotic and familiar. They would be of no interest to anybody, nor would the handful of pictures, only one of which had been deemed important enough for a frame. It rested face down on the floor halfway between Mohinder and Peter. They both reached for it at once, but Mohinder happened to get there first, turning the frame over to expose the cracked glass and the image it had been meant to protect.

Mohinder drew in a breath as Peter froze, waiting for him to absorb what he was seeing, watching him closely for a reaction. Not generally given to nosiness, Mohinder nevertheless scrutinized the picture, seeing a much younger Peter standing in cap and gown next to another man, the formality of their pose doing nothing to lessen the impression of obvious affection between them as they leaned slightly toward one another, properly centering themselves in the camera's frame.

The second man was significantly older than Peter--at least a decade between them--but their physical similarities were enough to place them as brothers. This in and of itself was not disturbing.

Like anyone who had been living in New York during the election, Mohinder recognized the face of Peter's brother immediately as one he had seen attached to countless campaign posters and newspaper headlines. Nathan Petrelli had been a promising political candidate, a shoo in for the election until the moment his body and the bodies of his wife and children had been found in their home the morning before voters went to the polls. The investigation into his death had been a popular news topic for weeks, the case still unsolved. Still, the popular rumor was that it had been one of Them.

Mohinder had a feeling he knew why Peter had left New York.

Catching sight of Peter's grim, pained expression, Mohinder handed the picture back to him without comment. Together, they stood and walked into Peter's apartment, where in silence they set their burdens down along with the boxes Peter had already managed to carry successfully to his new living space. Wordlessly, Mohinder turned to go but was halted in the doorway when Peter spoke.

"I suck at macaroni and cheese," he said. "Even the stuff that comes in the box. I always undercook it. But I can stop by once in a while and make sure you're still alive. If you want."

Mohinder nodded, glancing at Peter over his shoulder. "All right," he said. "I'll do the same."

Even as he walked back to his apartment, it occurred to Mohinder that there was something strange about what Peter had said. It wasn't until hours later, going over their conversation in his mind while watching endless streams of nonsense flow past his eyes on a computer screen that Mohinder realized in what little he'd said of Eden that he'd never mentioned her macaroni and cheese.