Impossible Things

Part 5

AN: I am so sorry for the long delay in posting. My muse had to go and die on me. Anyway, here is the last chapter. Enjoy!

As always a huge thank you to Motsureru for the amazing beta work.

"Forgiving does not erase the bitter past. A healed memory is not a deleted memory.

Instead, forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember. We can change the memory of our past into a hope for our future."

- Lewis B. Smedes

This time when they come together, there is no doubt or fear.

It has crumbled away to a dull roar as they collide in a kiss that leaves them both breathless.

They revel in the feel of the other, the strange, calm beauty of finally understanding. It is not like the first time. It is not about desperation, impulsive lust, or the bitterness of unrequited love.

This moment is deeper, more spiritual than that.

Nor is it anything at all like the second time, where it had been a coupling born out of the need to possess, to control - born out of jealousy and betrayal and need at whatever cost.

This time there is no desire for either one to punish, be punished. No need to mark each other with the stain of such an encounter.

Instead, they move together slowly as if they have all the time in the world. They allow this moment, one of total acceptance, to drown them both.

They stumble back towards the bed. Their lips never leave one anothers' as Sylar gently pushes Mohinder back.

Mohinder falls backwards as he reaches up to pull the other man down with him.

When his outstretched hands find nothing but empty space; he opens his eyes and sees a genuine fear hovering like a shadow in Sylar's intense gaze.

It stops his heart.

Mohinder sits up and Sylar stands before him as Mohinder goes to speak. He is stopped by Sylar's long graceful fingers trailing down his face, cupping his chin as he leans forward to capture Mohinder's lips once more in another agonizingly slow kiss that curls a fiery path through Mohinder.

Mohinder reaches up and pulls Sylar down towards him.

They tumble onto the bed and for a moment they simply lay there Sylar adjusts his weight so Mohinder is pinned firmly but comfortably beneath his larger body.

Their eyes meet one another's; Mohinder is the first to break the spell as he raises his hand and lightly touches Sylar's face.

Sylar turns his cheek into Mohinder's palm and nuzzles it, eyes closed for a moment. "Look at me," Mohinder says, and Sylar does as he requests.

"Tell me what you want." Mohinder insists.

Sylar responds by leaning down and putting his mouth to Mohinder's own.

A moan escapes Sylar's mouth and Mohinder is there to press his lips against it, savoring the feel of Sylar trembling in his arms, shy and hesitant.

"What I have always wanted. Just you." Sylar whispers.

There is something so freeing in this. They move against one another and Mohinder sits up slightly to allow Sylar to pull his shirt off before they collide together once more.

There are more kisses, more fingers and hands and lips exploring every inch of exposed flesh.

They savor it, become intoxicated in the moment.

It is a moment where the past is lost to the both of them. All that surrounds them now is taste, sensation, touch- and they dive head first to greet it.

The past and the pain it has brought the both of them they ease away in this tangle of limbs and burning desires, renewing the desperate passion between them.

Mohinder knows now that he can no longer pretend that his heart is a dead and useless thing.

He can no longer pretend that it has not yearned for this, wanted this – even at the expense of sanity, of good and right and all shades in between. This is what he wants, who he wants, even though there have been mistakes taken, wrong paths that he has walked to come to this place of absolute acceptance.

Mohinder realizes it could never have happened any other way.

It is in this very second as they make love to one another, when Sylar enters him with one firm, solid thrust that steals the very breath from his lips, that he understands how it is possible for two people to heal one another. Mohinder wraps his legs around Sylar's waist, arches his back, and starts to beg for it.

Sylar bends down now to capture his mouth with his own, whispering endearments into it as he takes Mohinder's body past the point of pleasure, past the point of pain - to a place neither has a name for.

His whole body starts to tremble, and an orgasm deeper and more earth shattering than any Mohinder has ever known before starts to rush through him.

Mohinder closes his eyes, thrusting up to meet Sylar. He finds the moment, the truth, and opens his eyes to embrace it.

He looks into Sylar's eyes now, hooded with lust, need for him, and …. Mohinder knows:

He has at last truly forgiven Sylar, and Sylar has forgiven himself.

&&&

It has taken him awhile, but Peter has finally managed to get the skills he absorbed from Hiro under control, barely . He materializes and finds himself on some back country road, having missed his mark. Peter stands there under an impossibly brilliant night sky, looks up, and breathes a sigh of relief. He is at least where he needs to be more or less. Still, he silently curses himself now as he stands on this deserted, road somewhere in Texas, that he has not spent these last seven months further developing and tweaking his skills. He had been far too busy wrapped up first in self pity and then in keeping Mohinder sane and happy and now – now, both of their lives are at stake.

Peter knows he has to be smart about this in his planned approach. The last thing he wants to do, that he can't do, is fail.

He has failed far too many people in his life; the names and faces that hover along the surface of his mind now, but he hardens his heart for the time being and pushes them away. Their presence will only weaken him and he can't allow even the thought of weakness now.

No, he came here to put an end to this whole sorry saga, to get justice for them, and for himself.

He hates Sylar. Once he had thought himself the kind of man incapable of such a thing. He found the concept of hatred horrifying and soulless but there is no other word to describe the coil spring of fury that is racing through his bloodstream as he walks up this moonlit dirt path. He is ready to face the man who has taken his life apart and taken everything from him.

There will be no peace for Peter until he has killed the man who dared to come between him and Mohinder, who deserves to die for every innocent staining of his monstrous hands with blood.

Peter hurries along as he comes to a clearing in the path and spies a huge, rundown farmhouse made of brick and peeling white shingles situated in the middle of an overgrown field.

The wind causes the porch swing in front to squeak on its chain rusty and it is obvious that this place has not been used in quite some time.

Peter wonders why Sylar chose this particular house; there is something so desolate about it.

It seems like Sylar himself, cold and deceiving.

Peter creeps closer to the house and sees that all lights are off. It is quiet but there is a truck parked out front, an older late model Ford with Arizona plates. Peter has no doubt that it is stolen and its original occupant dead. He gets closer to the house and pauses to steady his breaths as he wonders how he should approach this.

He could go in, guns blazing, and challenge him head on, or he could sneak in, invisible, and wait for his opportunity.

Peter would much prefer to go in the first way and simply open the door and confront him fearless and ready, but Peter also knows that he has only the element of surprise on his side.

Peter knows that for all of his gifts he is no match for the other man. He needs, therefore, to be cautious and play the situation as carefully as possible.

After all, it is not only his own life that is at stake, it is Mohinder's. He will be damned if he gets him hurt or, God forbid, killed.

Peter fades into the night air, unseen and invisible now, and walks towards the silent home. He climbs the porch, pausing as it squeaks under his weight. The floorboards are ancient and rotted through in some spots. He pauses, cocks an ear, and listens for any signs of movement.

There is none.

Peter simply slides his body through the door, phasing right through it. He suddenly feels thankful for this useful ability he picked up from that blonde woman's husband the night of Kirby Plaza. He finds himself now in the darkened front hall. A swatch of moonlight from an open window helps him adjust to the heavy gloom and he is able to make out heavy oak furniture and threadbare sofas.

The whole house has a musty, decaying smell and Peter fights back the urge to cough as a layer of dust settles into his lungs.

Peter walks towards the staircase and slowly makes his way up.

He is very slow; he pauses and counts to ten between each step, not wanting to rush things and give away his presence in the house.

Peter is half way up the stairs when he hears voices and sees a light switch on in the hall.

Peter knows he's invisible, but it doesn't stop him from reacting to the light as he presses himself into the banister and looks up, watching as Sylar comes into view.

Sylar is at the top of he stairs and he is wearing nothing but a pair of pajama pants and a white tee shirt. It surprises Peter, just how normal he looks; there is even a small smile on his lips as he turns back.

Peter watches with heart sick agony as Mohinder comes up behind Sylar and wraps his arms around him. He nuzzles his back and Sylar twists his head to kiss Mohinder, full on the mouth.

It is a gesture that nearly knocks Peter back. He almost comes apart from the scene before him. Of everything he expected – this wasn't it.

Peter creeps down the stairs slowly, his eyes still locked to the two before him. They are laughing together, a sound so foreign and painful that Peter can feel the tears already stinging his eyes. Feeling he will be sick, he moves down and away from them.

Peter finds himself at the back of the house and finding a door leading out of the kitchen and out onto the yard opens it – not even thinking, simply needing to get away from the scenehe has just witnessed. Peter stumbles out of the house and into the yard, where he falls down to his knees. He's sick before he can stop himself.

How could you Mohinder, how could you do this to us?

"He doesn't know you're here."

Peter hears the low grumble of his voice, and turns around, still invisible. He eyes Sylar on the back steps, scanning the backyard, eyes narrowed.

"I want to keep it that way, so here's your chance, leave."

Peter feels his heart speed up as anger floods over him. He stands there shaking with his hands clenched into tight fists. Peter stares down the man before him, one whose cool confidence only enrages him further.

"I can hear your heartbeat," Sylar says, "Really, why did you even bother, Peter?"

The rage continues to fill Peter has he stands there, shaking with it.

It erupts out of him as Peter sends Sylar flying back with his mind and into the back door, which shatters under the force.

Sylar flies through the air and slams into the kitchens counters, landing in a heap on the tiled floor.

Peter is after him in a second as he hurtles himself across the broken door and into the kitchen, ready to attack.

Peter is almost upon his opponent as he is suddenly forced back by a large kitchen knife being hurtled in his direction.

The blade gets him clean in the shoulder, pinning him to the wall behind him with a force strong enough to crack the dry wall behind him.

The pain of it forces Peter to drop the invisibility as he finds himself screaming in agony. He looks up, trying to pull himself together,only to see Sylar rise to his feet, slowly, and with that same infuriating confidence.

Sylar's eyes narrow as he wipes away a smear of blood from his lips.

Peter watches in horror as the injuries he had managed to inflict heal instantaneously. "You can thank your niece for that one, Pete," Sylar says coldly.

Peter's eyes narrow; he grabs the knife from his shoulder and wrenches it free, hurling it to the ground.

The wound closes up as Peter now faces the man whom he despises more than anything.

"I told him I would let you live, don't make me break that promise," Sylar says as he eyes the smaller man, "Just leave."

"Not before I see you dead!"

"You and I both know you can't stop me," Sylar snarls, "Even with that amazing ability of yours, you're too weak."

The knife suddenly moves from its spot on the floor and flies through the air at Sylar, who feels an unseen force push him from behind. He loses his footing and falls into the knife, impaling himself in the chest.

It is almost in the exact same spot where he had sustained his earlier stab wound. This time things are different.

Sylar can feel his skin fighting to heal around the blade as he reaches out and grips Peter by the throat using his telekinesis. He watches as the other man squirms like a baited worm in his grasp.

Peter tries to catch his breath but can't – this is like last time. He is being choked by an invisible hand as he is slid up the wall and held there. He watches as Sylar rips the blade from his body and hurls it at Peter, getting him in the shoulder once more.

Peter screams, eyes burning with fury as Sylar approaches. A kitchen drawer opens and knives rattle and shake. He tries to will himself away, stop time – anything— but the panic of being strangled is taking over and he can do nothing.

"Don't!"

Peter twists watery eyes towards the voice; both men recognize it.

"Go back upstairs Mohinder," Sylar says.

Mohinder ignores him, stepping into the room, and is completely horrified by the scene before him. There is blood everywhere; it covers the floor, making his feet stick to the linoleum surface. It drips down the walls, violent and ugly. He stares in shock from each man to the other.

Then he turns to Sylar, shaking his head.

"Don't do this Gabriel, don't kill him…"

Sylar pales at the name but doesn't acknowledge it. He cocks his head to the side and studies Mohinder's stricken expression.

"Why? Do you love him?"

"Yes," he admits, "I love you both – don't – you're choking him," Mohinder pleads.

"Don't worry, he's not going to die," Sylar answers with a sarcastic sneer.

Mohinder races up towards Sylar and grabs his arm, but it feels like marble in his grasp. Sylar laughs low and mean as he throws Mohinder to the ground.

"Decide, Mohinder…"

Mohinder just stares at him before he turns his eyes to Peter's, sees his eyes trying to focus even as the life is being strangled right out of him.

"I love you," Mohinder says as he turns his attention back to Sylar, watching as the hardened look on his face dissolves slowly. Mohinder is at last able to see once more the traces of the man he spent the afternoon locked in the arms of.

"I choose you, it's always been you. But I can't stand here and watch you kill Peter, not when I have done enough to him already."

Sylar nods and releases Peter, who tumbles to the floor like a broken rag doll, gasping and choking for air. He backs against the wall and leans into himself, gulping air. Mohinder ignores the angered look on Sylar's face as he moves towards Peter and crouches down next to him, smoothes his hair from his brow.

"Are you alright?"

Peter knocks Mohinder's hand away.

Mohinder pushes him back down but Peter is too overcome for rationality.

He heaves himself up, using the wall for support and turns to face his rival.

All Peter wants is for that smug son of a bitch to die, and die screaming.

The pain of having Mohinder chose this monster over him is more than he figures he is capable of standing, but there will be a time and a place to heal from it.

Now isn't it - in fact, it's not the priority.

That will have to wait until later. Right now Peter has a plan and he needs to set it into motion before Sylar succeeds in stopping him.

Peter reaches over and pulls Mohinder to him with his mind, grabbing the startled man by the throat and throttling him

"You know what Sylar, none of it matters. Because I win," Peter growls as he keeps his arm locked firmly around Mohinder's throat.

He glares at the other man.

"I am taking him away from you – and you will never find him again –and even if you do, he won't remember you!"

The look in Peter's eyes hit Sylar with a panic he has never known before - desperation races to the surface as he knows with certainty that Peter can and will carry out such a threat.

Sylar steps forward with two quick steps, meeting Mohinder's terrified eyes as he struggles against Peter's grip in vain. Mohinder throws out his hand towards Sylar. Sylar goes to reach him, finger tips inches from one another as Mohinder feels the force of Sylar's telekinesis tugging him out of Peter's grip.

Mohinder blinks and everything disappears around him, goes into a white and dizzying haze. Coming to, Mohinder stumbles as he feels Peter release him.

He is standing in a small, gray, windowless room of cinderblock walls. In the room is nothing save Bennett and a tall, dark skinned man standing there beside him. They have their arms folded and their eyes are hooded and unreadable. Their expressions are devoid of all emotion.

They simply watch as the initial shock eases out of Mohinder and replaces itself with an uncontrollable rage.

"What did you do to me, Peter!" Mohinder screams as all control bursts out of him. He throws himself on Peter, hurling fists and words. Peter simply grabs his flailing arms and squeezes them in hopes of getting Mohinder to calm down. Yet Mohinder only fights against him all the harder.

"You don't understand!" Mohinder shrieks, "How could you do this to me?"

"You're in shock, Mohinder, that's all...You don't know what you are saying."

Mohinder pulls back slightly and meeting and holding Peter's gaze.

"I know exactly what I am saying. Take me back - now!"

Peter only shakes his head in response, his thoughts hidden, his stare impenetrable.

Mohinder goes to speak but stops as he feels something sharp prick his skin.

Mohinder turns just in time to see the needle sliding out of his arm. Peter releases his hands and Mohinder stumbles backwards away from Bennett, who hands the needle over to the darker man beside him.

"This is for the best, doctor," Bennett tells him.

Mohinder simply shakes his head as already the faces before him start to blur and the room spins around him crazily.

It is only a moment before Mohinder starts to fall over. Bennett catches him and lowers him down gently to the ground. Peter stands back as Mohinder collapses; tears sting his eyes as he looks to Bennett who nods towards him.

"Tell I am doing what's best for him?" Peter whispers, "Tell me this is for his own good."

Bennett does not hesitate with his answer, "it's for his own good, Peter…"

Peter takes a deep breath and kneels down beside an unconscious Mohinder. He pulls Mohinder up and towards him so that his head rests against his chest. Peter then nods his consent, breath held in his lungs as he prays that he has done the right thing. That he has saved Mohinder, given him back the life that Sylar had stolen from him. Bennett places a hand on the Haitian's arm.

"You just make sure that he never remembers him, okay?" Peter says as the Haitian steps closer to their spot on the cold cement floor.

"That's what he is here for." Bennett says. The Haitian pauses for only a moment before he kneels down beside Peter and Mohinder.

The Haitian holds Peter's troubled gaze and gives him a slight nod.

"He will not remember any of this, you need not worry."

Peter swallows back tears and takes a deep breath, while pulling Mohinder's unconscious form closer to his body, cradles it.

"He better not," Peter says fiercely as he locks eyes with Bennett.

Then the Haitian places his hand on top of Mohinder's forehead – like a vacuum, the man's amazing ability sweeps through Mohinder's sleeping brain. Like a whirlpool, it sucks away every last memory associated with the man whom Mohinder has turned his world upside down to forgive, to allow himself to love.

Yet -

… Like the unrealistic dream of so many happily ever afters, it disappears - gets sucked into the drain and is lost forever.

Epilogue

The bedroom is near empty, save for their bed and a dresser. There are boxes piled in the corner of the room. Mohinder pauses to set down a crate in hand, then goes over to them sighing at the long day a head of unpacking.

Still, he is elated. He and Peter have finally found a place to call their own. A cozy two-story ranch with a nice manicured lawn and a swimming pool.

He is just anxious to make it feel like a true home for the both of them.

Mohinder opens one of the boxes and starts to rifle through it. Mostly it is papers - some books, nothing he knows what to really do with at the moment.

He starts to put it aside so he can ask Peter when he comes back from returning the moving van to the rental place when he spies a small, cedar box.

There is something about it, something that doesn't quite click, but nevertheless gives him pause. He reaches for it, pulling it out from under a mountain of loose-leaf paper.

He steps back and opens the lid. Inside there a few odds and ends, old coins – a swatch of material and a crumbled up piece of paper, brittle and worn, creased into wrinkles from being read so often.

Mohinder takes it in hand as he sits the box down, backs up until legs hit the back of the chair they had pushed into the far corner of the bedroom, and sits down in it. Mohinder carefully unfolds the fragile paper in his hands and reads, the faded ink –

"I'll be back for you."

It was not his hand writing in fact, he had no idea whose it is or what they had meant by such a sentiment. But the words hit Mohinder hard as he sits there, reading and rereading that line over and over again, until it started to blur and he was crying, clutching it to his chest and sobbing though he had no idea why. No reason at all as why the words written there in his hand hurt far deeper than any pain he had ever known before, or why one name found itself on his lips, ghosting the surface – aching for something unreachable, something he could not define: Gabriel.