In Darkness
Pairings: Claire x Mohinder
Ratings: Hard R for sexual situations, language, and angst.
Word Count: 5427
Summary: For a year afterwards she haunted him.
Written for the mission insane table: hurt/comfort, prompt: haunted
XPosted like Whoa

 

Thank youwidestance75 for the awesome beta services. *loves you forever and ever and ever*

AN: I have decided that this fic works more or less as the prologue to a new 'verse that I am working on. This won't be so much a chapter fic as a series of interconnecting fics that will center on this pairing but set several years in the future.
Also: Claire is eighteen in this, so nothing underage. Still, if age gaps aren’t your thing, I’d stay away from this one.


AN2: Irony is posting your first Heroes het fic on the day that CA bans same sex marriage. Hmm. Go figure.


Love is plunging into darkness towards a place that may exist.

- Marge Piercy 
 
 
*** 
 
For a year afterwards she haunted him. Walking in step with him during his days and keeping vigil over his sleepless nights. Nights that were filled only with the sight of her face, frozen mid-scream. She had raced across that parking lot, trying to stop the inevitable from happening.

She tried to stop him from pulling the trigger. It was a split second decision that had in a moment’s time broken something vital within him.

It was a split second that had taken apart every fabric of his life and changed him forever after.

He had murdered that poor girl’s father right before her wide, terrified eyes. It was only fitting that since, as penance, he would live out the rest of his days as a slave to the memory of that moment. Live to be kept prisoner by her face.

He was a killer now. The semantics of it all matter not. He was a killer. It didn’t matter that her blood had resurrected her father, had saved him. When he had pulled that trigger, fired that shot he had not been certain that it would work and even still he had done it anyway. There was no taking that back.

He had taken a chance, made a choice.

One that the sound of her panicked and horrified screams had berated him for having taken ever since.

So much had happened since then and yet, so little. His days were monotonous ones, full of dull and tedious research that led him nowhere.

From day until long into the night he was at his laboratory, –the scene of yet another one of his foolish and costly mistakes. Yes, he had made many, and all had cost him. Bit by bit they had taken hold of him, taken hold of the man he had believed himself to be and had shattered that image beyond repair, beyond hope.

Nevertheless, he came there every day and tried to tame his dark and lonely thoughts as he submerged himself in trying to find answers. Trying to find something under a microscope, in a file that he had missed that would somehow salvage his wounded pride.

Hour upon hour, he stayed there hunched over vials of blood where he spent all his waking moments cataloging, researching exhaustively. Yet he was still no closer to understanding anything of the strange and amazing things he had seen and witnessed.

The answers swam just out of his reach – mocking him for his failures, his false sense of hope. Had he once really been that naïve? That trusting? He had learned from his mistakes, now he did as he was told. He went to work, he went home – now that Molly was gone the apartment felt even lonelier. Matt, in his concern for her safety, had taken her away from him. He had been forced to make do with the occasional visit and a weekly phone call.

Loneliness was all that was there to greet him now when he unlocked his apartment door every evening. Unlocking it to find himself alone with the mocking laughter of the people he had failed. Pacing the same tired floorboards from sunset to sunrise, he found neither peace nor solace living amongst the tired and shattered remains of one too many hungry ghosts all out to claim what was left of him.

***
He had never expected to see her again. Yet there she was, standing in front of him now. She hadn’t changed much from when he had seen her last. She was still young and beautiful, and yet one only had to look a bit closer to see her pain. To see it in the lines of her face, one that seemed so battle-worn and tired.

She was still only a teenager but she looked older now. The pain in her blue-gray eyes told him of her sad stories. The heartbreak in them mirrored his own.

He took a step towards her and stopped, not sure of how to best approach her.

She was dressed in skinny black jeans, boots, and a long, dark sweater. Her hair was pulled back and out of her face. When she saw him, she paused on the bottom step and waited for him to meet her. Her eyes lifted up to meet his with a direct and challenging stare.

“I let myself in,” she said softly, not apologizing, simply stating.

“Hello, Claire.”

“Hello, Dr. Suresh.”

He took another step towards her. It suddenly dawned on him that they had never been properly introduced before. That seemed strange to him given the nature of their shared history together.

“Please, the name is Mohinder,” he insisted as he extended his hand to her in greeting.

He watched as her eyes crawled over his outstretched hand, and for a second he suspected she might ignore it. Instead, she took it, squeezing before releasing it.

“I am sorry to simply stop in. I know I should have called first.”

“Nonsense, I could use the distraction. I'm happy you stopped by.”

“You are?” Her eyebrow rose questioningly.

“I never had the opportunity to apologize…” He floundered there but she shook her head, waving off his concerns.

“Forget it. I have…”

“Claire…”

“Dr… Mohinder,” she corrected herself, “I am here for something other than apologies. To be honest, I have a reason for being here. Could we sit down somewhere and discuss it?”

He nodded, his curiosity piqued, as he gestured to his desk tucked into the far corner of the loft. It was a desk that was weighted down by piles upon piles of books and loose papers.

She nodded, stepping past him, and took the chair next to it. He followed over.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“No, thank you. Please sit.” She said as she patted the seat next to her. He did as she asked.

“Claire, does your father know…?”

She looked up, her eyes stormy as she spoke. “Which one?”

He didn’t say anything as he waited for her to continue.

“My biological father who refuses to take my calls or the man who raised me and has now since abandoned his family for reasons he refuses to discuss – shipping me off to some college so I am away and out of everyone’s hair.”

“I’m sorry,” Mohinder said sincerely.

There were tears in Claire’s eyes, and she angrily wiped them away with the heel of her hand and straightened her shoulders.

“None of that matters. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be, I understand.”

“I wish I did,” she said with a faint trace of a smile.

“What can I do to help?”

“Simple, you can let me help you.”

Mohinder was confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do – my father made some sort of deal to keep me out of Company hands, didn’t he?”

Mohinder chewed his lip and looked away.

“Didn’t he?” Claire demanded. Mohinder turned his gaze back over to her and tried to answer her as best he could.

“Forgive me, but I am not at liberty to say.”

“I will take that as a yes then…” There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Mohinder took a deep breath and spoke.

“So, what is it, Claire? What do you want me to do for you?”

“Let me help. Don’t shut me away like everyone else has! I am not some weak, fragile little girl. I have this blood, this ability for a reason. Let me do something with it. Please…”

“I can’t… I can’t be involved,” Mohinder said protesting. “Please understand me, Claire. I can’t allow this.”

“Yes – yes you can.” Claire insisted, but Mohinder shook off her words.

“Your father, Bob – I can’t deceive them.”

“But, you’re curious, aren’t you? The scientist in you wants to cut me open, study me from the inside out. Admit it!”

Mohinder stood up and turned his back on her, took a few shallow breaths in order to calm himself. He could hear Claire’s ragged breath behind him. He could feel those accusing eyes of hers all but burning a hole into the back of his neck as she waited for his answer.

“Mohinder, please…. Don’t toss me aside.” She whispered into her hands, lowering her head.

“I don’t want to, Claire, believe me, I truly don’t,” he said softly.

“So don’t…” She sounded on the verge of tears.

Mohinder turned back towards her, his heart aching. He knew how she felt - powerless and afraid yet wanting to be part of something, something bigger than herself. He understood better than she would ever know.

“It’s complicated, please understand me, I would help if I could but my hands are tied…”

“I should go,” she said abruptly as she stood. “Thanks anyway –”

“Wait,” he said, catching her arm as she moved past him.

“Let go,” she hissed as she tugged her arm free. The look in her eyes was pure venom.

“Please take care of yourself,” he whispered as their eyes met and held. She was the first to look away.

“It’s not as if I have a choice,” she grumbled under her breath as she stormed out of the loft, slamming the door behind her.

***

After Claire left, Mohinder couldn’t concentrate. He tried going back to work but he was besieged by the thought of her face as she had peered up at him, disappointed and hurt by the way in which he had brushed her aside. He understood her need to want to help, to feel as if she was doing anything other than wasting what was an extraordinary gift.

He managed to work for a few more hours before he could no longer do so. He went to get his coat, shutting off lights and equipment before he left for the day, locking the doors and windows behind as he went, and switching the security system into place.

He took the long subway ride back to his apartment, using the time to further run through his meeting with Claire. He kept playing back the sad and accusatory expression on her face as he had dismissed her. The guilt was already beginning to gnaw at him. Wearily, he made the arduous climb to his third floor apartment and, after unlocking the front door, entered the apartment, flicking on lights as he did so.

Mohinder sighed as he tossed his messenger bag down on a nearby chair, and went to the fridge to get a drink. A noise – a rustling behind him – stopped him. He tried to act nonchalantly as he casually backed up from the fridge and closed the door, and calmly reached for one of the many guns he now kept hidden around his apartment, spinning around to face his intruder.

It was Claire. Behind her were open windows which led out onto the fire escape, letting him know how she had gotten in. Her hands were raised in a gesture of surrender.

“Are you going to shoot me?” she asked, not sounding very frightened by the prospect.

He sighed and lowered the gun in hand. “No.”

She put her hands down then and stepped towards him. He surprised himself by taking a step back, away from her.

“I am sorry to break in but I had to see you.”

“You could have knocked.”

“I know. Please, don’t make me leave.”

“I won’t,” he said quietly as he tucked the gun away into the waistband of his jeans. “I should, but I won’t.”

She eyed him cautiously as she made her way over to one of the kitchen chairs and sat down, putting her head in her hands. “I can’t go back yet. I just can’t….”

He sighed and pulled out a chair for himself and sat down across from her.

“It is not safe for you here. The Company…” Mohinder said softly, trying to reason with her.

She looked up. “You told them?”

He shook his head. “No, but they do check in on me, watch me on occasion.”

“Oh,” she said, “but that’s what I want, Mohinder. I want to be a part of this.”

“You don’t,” he told her firmly. Claire went to speak but he held up a hand, stopping her. “Trust me, you don’t.”

She sighed. “So what do I do now? Go back to school and pretend to be some brainless, normal little Barbie doll?”

He met her eyes. “Yes.”

It was clearly the wrong thing to say. Claire exploded into a rage.

“How dare you! ” she snarled as she stood up and slammed her chair into the table. “I am not a child!” She yelled again. “God sakes, I am sick and tired of everyone around me treating me like I am not capable of dealing with this – with who I am. This is my fight too!"

The strength of her outburst alarmed him. Not knowing was else to do, he reached for her and, taking her by the shoulders, forced her to sit back down. She did so reluctantly.

“Now listen to me," Mohinder said, as he forced her to look at him. "You don’t want to work with them. They are ruthless and they are brutal and physically you may be able to survive everything they care to dish out, but mentally, emotionally – they will make you do things that…” He paused and looked away.
“Every night, every single one for a year now, I have lived with the image of your face, Claire – what I did to you, to your father. You don’t want guilt like that. Run away while you still…” He didn't get a chance to finish because it was then that she surprised him by doing the most unexpected thing.

Claire leaned forward, cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him, effectively cutting off his words in the process.

He kissed back, her soft lips against his own, hot tears against his face, and she smelled fresh and clean, like lemons and lilacs. He folded her up and continued to return her kisses, gasping as she opened her mouth and his tongue met hers. The strength of her passion was overwhelming.
He pulled back, cinching her fragile wrists with his hands, holding her at arm’s length.

“I can’t do this,” he said, panting as he struggled to set aside the strong and overwhelming feelings of desire that surged through him. She simply looked at him.

“Why?” she asked. The question was not said in bitterness or anger, but simply questioning, wanting an answer.

"I don't know how to answer that," he told her as honestly as he could.

"Is this because you still see me as a little girl?"

The question hit its mark; he shook his head as if trying to clear it.

“Yes…no…” He released her and stood up. "I don't know. But this is too much, too soon." He turned towards her. "This is wrong, Claire."

Calmly, she rose from her seat and followed after him, but he turned and held up a hand, stopping her from coming closer.

“Please don’t…”

“I am eighteen. I know who I am. I know what I want.” she protested.

He shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. Please understand, you're a beautiful gi - woman - but I can’t…”

There was a pause. He looked away from her, no longer able to meet her eyes, afraid to see not the young woman who had followed him this long year, taunting him for the mistakes he had made and couldn't erase, but a woman, wanting and hungry, needing something from him he wasn't sure he could give her, worse still what he did not deserve.

When his back was turned, she waited a moment before she cautiously went over to him and touched his arm shyly, hesitantly. Her fingertips danced along the flesh there, slowly and sensuously. The touch sent a chill racing up his spine, one that settled in his gut, burning.

“Would you like me to leave out the window or would the front door suffice?” She asked, her voice light and teasing. Was this a game to her? He turned on her, suddenly angry.

“You can leave through the front,” he said, quickly realizing how harsh his tone was, how beneath the hardness of her expression, there was pain in her eyes.

His heart softened then, letting her in slowly. He could nothing to turn her away now.

Part of him wanted her to stay - something drawing him to her in a way he couldn't articulate. The harsh truth was that the broken look in her eyes was his own.

“I’m sorry. Stay…”

She took a step towards him, looked down at her hands and then back up to his eyes.

“Only if you want me to…” she murmured as she reached for his hand, laced her fingers through his.

“I want you to,” he said, as he stared down at their entwined hands, the knot in his gut tightening.

Then she was stepping closer, and now, now he found he could not pull away from her. He reached for her instead and felt her all but melt into his arms, willing, wanting him.

In the end it was the feel of her skin that did him in. The feel of her body pressed flush against him, as clothing was discarded, left in a pile around their feet until she was nude, nude and warm and vibrantly alive. He swept her up in his arms - how light and small she was - her arms around his neck and her legs locked around his waist.

He carried her to his bed and sat her down on the edge, staring into her eyes, trying to find the words to say that would end this. But then her hands deftly went right for the zipper of his jeans, tugging it down and sliding his pants down and off and, almost as if on their own volition, his legs stepped out of them. She started to reach for him but he caught her hand, held it.

“Claire…”

“Don’t ruin it,” she whispered as she drew him close to her.

Sound was drowned out at the feel of her, nothing more but the pit, tap, pat of the rain outside hitting the panes of the window. The storm outside cased everything around them in shadows and darkness.

He sank down next to her, drowning in touch and sensation, in the sound of her panting breaths and soft sighs, until there was no fight left inside him.

He followed her down to the bed, pushing her back into the mattress and covering her body with his own. He set about covering every inch of her body with his lips, the tips of his fingers. He bent his head to kiss her breasts, taking a nipple, hard and waiting, into his mouth, sucking gently. The sensation had her keening and moaning against him, begging him for more.

She took him in hand and helped guide him in, and she was already wet and ready for him. He slid right in, pausing at the sensation of her body’s tightness. She gasped out and arched backwards as he slammed his way fully inside.

“Claire…” He hesitated as her face scrunched up in pain, but she shook her head and hooked her legs over the small of his back, dug her heels in.

“It’s okay… I’ll be alright in a minute… just don’t stop…”

He moved slowly, carefully, not wanting to hurt her, but soon she was clawing at his back, whispering pleas for ‘harder’ and ‘more.’

And he could do nothing but give in to the silky smooth softness of her beautiful young body, peppering her face, her neck with kisses as he moved inside her.

He felt her tense beneath him, her nails digging into him as she cried out. Her body, tightening around him in a series of spasms, brought upon his own release, and together they rode the crest of their pleasure, moaning as they came.

“Please don’t send me away…” she whispered into his lips, a breathless pant. “I have nowhere else to go…”

“I won’t. I promise,” he vowed, lowering his lips to hers. "I promise.".


***


Mohinder was disoriented when he awoke some time later that night. It was dark, the only light a small sliver of moonlight peaking out from behind closed curtains. It took him a second to get his bearings. He sat up and turned towards where Claire had fallen asleep beside him, only to realize that she was gone, the place where she should have been icy cold to the touch. Confused and worried, he hurriedly jumped up and out of bed and started hunting along the floor, groping in the darkness for his boxers. Finding them, he slipped them on in a hurry and left the bedroom, calling Claire’s name as he moved towards the front of the apartment.

Mohinder found her in the living room, curled up on the sofa, wrapped only in a sheet. He breathed a sigh of relief.

The relief lasted for only a moment before he realized that she was crying.

When she saw him standing in the doorway, she turned her face away from him, holding up a hand as if she were ashamed for him to see her this way. He was at her side in a moment, kneeling down beside her and peeling her hands away from her face, making her look at him.

“What is it, Claire? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, Mohinder… Just leave me alone,” she protested, trying to pull out of his steadfast grip.

But he wouldn’t leave her alone. This sad, beautiful girl, too young for him, too complicated, had somehow against his will woven her way into his life, into his heart, and now that she was here, he had no intention of letting her go.

“Is it me? Did I do something to hurt you?”

“No…”

“Then what is it? Please talk to me.” She wiped at her eyes and looked away, taking a couple of deep breaths as she did so.

“I hate the nights - so long. So lonely and it just reminds me that…” Claire paused.

“What?” Mohinder urged.

“That I am going to wind up alone. Everyone I know. Everyone I love will die… except me. I won’t.”

His heart sank at those words. “You don’t know that, Claire.”

She turned to look at him then. Her eyes were old and wise, and tears fell down from the corners of her eyes, trailing down her cheeks. She absently wiped at them.

“I think I do… I can feel it, that loneliness. It is already there, eating away at me, letting me know…” Her words broke as a shudder rolled through her body and she put her head in her hands and wept brokenly into her palms. The sound of her sobs filled Mohinder with a deep sorrow. His heart broke for her, for her fear and her pain.– To have to endure so much… and she was still so young, so vulnerable.

He was at her side in an instant, pulling her body against his own and folding her up in his arms, allowing her head to rest against his chest. Her hands went to his arms, gripping them as she curled into his side and cried. He stroked her hair and kissed the side of her face until her sobs tapered off, until at long last she drifted off to sleep.

Mohinder sat there for the longest time afterwards, wondering just what he was getting himself into, but somehow that didn’t matter. He wanted to help her, love her, be there for her, no matter what.

Somehow, without even realizing it, he had fallen in love with her, but perhaps he had been long before this night. Perhaps he had spent the last year falling in love with a ghost, a ghost that now, for better or worse, had been suddenly brought back to life.


***

For a month, everything was as near to happiness as either of them had ever known. He went to work and came home to find Claire there, making dinner, reading books, always happy to see him, to kiss him hello.

They would eat dinner and then sit together, maybe watch television, sometimes getting into long analytical discussions on everything from science to philosophy. Mohinder found her to be extremely intelligent, despite her age; she seemed to grasp complex situations easily, having her own well-developed opinion on things. He found her stimulating and charming and though she had dark periods of depressions that came and went with no real regularity, he had imagined that from this strange and unlikely new relationship, he had found the woman with whom he could share his life.

In bed, she was aggressive and demonstrative, making love to him with a passion he found addictive. He couldn’t get enough of her - morning, noon and night, every room of the apartment, every surface. Every time, he made sure to tell her he loved her, wanting her to know that he wanted her and he wanted her for good.

Yet a shadow loomed over them, knowing that her family must be looking for her, wondering where she was. Though he had promised that he wouldn’t call them, the thought of them, of her father worried sick over her absence, ate away at him.

He decided it was a topic they could no longer ignore; they were sitting down to eat when he brought it up.

“Have you thought of calling your father?”

He watched as she lifted her head, looked up at him, the fork dropping from her hand, clanging against her plate.

“What?”

“Claire…”

“No, Mohinder - either you want me here or you don’t.”

“They’re your family and they love you, Claire. They must be worried sick about you.”

“I don’t want to talk about them.”

There was a moment of silence before she stood abruptly and shoved her chair into the table, her eyes blazing with anger before she turned and stormed out of the room. He got up and followed her into the bedroom.

“Claire, I’m sorry.” She whirled on him when he took her arm and tried to make her look at him.

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed.

“I only want to help you.”

“No, you don’t. You just want to push me on someone else. I am not some kind of burden!”

Mohinder was taken aback by the absolute viciousness of her words.

“That is not true,” he said.

Claire just looked at him for a moment and then, shaking her head, she laughed in his face.

“You’re lying to me. Just leave me alone,” she told him as she stumped past him and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

Mohinder went back into the kitchen and cleaned up the table, did the dishes. When he was done, Claire had still not come out of the bathroom. Shutting off the faucet, he could hear the sound of her crying and his heavy heart wanted to go to her, to comfort her, but he knew that she would only yell for him to leave her alone. He realized that he had crossed some sort of imaginary line that existed between them, that he had managed to hurt her and hurt her deeply. He made himself a bed on the couch and sat there mindless watching television, wishing that he had it in his power to fix whatever it was that was wrong.


***

When Mohinder awoke in the morning, the first thing he was aware of was how stiff and sore his body felt. He had fallen asleep half reclining, half sitting up on the sofa. The sunlight was in his eyes, and his body was warm, too warm. He shoved off the blanket he had covering him and set his feet down on the floor, his knees and back cracking as he did so. Groaning, he stood, testing his weary bones and shaking sleeping ones awake.

A quick glance at the clock hanging over the kitchen stove told him that it was only seven in the morning. It was Sunday, and gratefully he reminded himself that he had nowhere pressing to be. He hoped that Claire had forgiven him for their fight last night, as he wanted nothing more than to climb back into bed with her, hold her and drift off into a more comfortable sleep, waking later so that they could spend the day together. He knew that a quiet and peaceful afternoon was just what the both of them needed to help fix the terrible fight that they had had the night before.

He grabbed his pillow from the sofa and shuffled off into the bedroom, pushing the door open slowly so as not to wake Claire, but there was no Claire. The bed was empty. He stood there staring stupidly for a moment before he noticed the piece of paper left on her pillow. He hurried over to it and snatched it up.

His eyes quickly scanned her cursive scrawl.

Mohinder,

Last night taught me something that I had been reluctant to learn before, and that was how alone I truly am. As much as being with you as brought me more happiness than I ever thought possible, I know that what we have cannot last…

There is no future for us. I will only bring you pain. Everyone I care about winds up hurt because of me, and I cannot bear the thought of adding you to that list. I'm sorry. Please don't hate me.

Your Claire

He released the letter and allowed it to flutter down to the floor. He stood there for a long while, staring at nothing, her words replaying in his head.

Finally, the realization that she was gone struck him and struck him hard. For a long time afterwards he could do nothing more than sit at the edge of the bed, holding his head in his hands.


***

Claire didn’t come back that day or the next. Days blended into one another as Mohinder wandered from one end of his apartment to the other, wearing down the floorboards and thinking of her. Everything reminded him of her, his blankets still smelled of her perfume, the walls echoed with the sound of her voice. He awakened in the middle of the night swearing he could feel the bed dip under her weight as she climbed in beside him.

If he had thought he lived with her ghost before, he had been mistaken - this was torture, plain and simple. Like a phantom limb, he ached without her, gone but not forgotten.

Then the phone rang late one night, and he knew before he even reached for it and whispered a desperate ‘hello’ into it that it was her. There was nothing but breathing and the sound of someone sobbing hoarsely into the phone. He felt his stomach drop. “Claire, talk to me.”

Still there was nothing but the sound of her breathing and her tears, and he wanted to reach through the phone and pull her to him. “Claire, can you hear me? Just come home. Come home.”

The strength of her sobs only strengthened at that.

“I love you,” he told her. In response she hung up on him, leaving him clutching the phone painfully in his hand, the dial tone buzzing in his ears.


***

Some time later that night, Mohinder awoke to the sounds of a particularly violent thunderstorm raging outside of his bedroom. He lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, suddenly wide awake and full of yearning as his fingertips found his lips and rubbed them, still tasting her there, lingering.

This was his life now. Nothing but a series of minutes, one following the next, during which he would wait, wait for the phone to ring, wait to hear her voice on the other end, wait for her to whisper the words he longed to hear. "I need you."

Waiting, in darkness, for her to return to him.