| Oct. 11th, 2007 @ 05:05 am Narrative--Uncertain Beginnings |
|---|
Mohinder is aware that the longer he stays in Chennai, the more he risks getting into a potentially sticky situation by running into alternates of his friends and family there. But the last place he ever expected to see Mira Shenoy again is the Nexus.
It's undoubtedly the Mira from the universe he's staying in; they meet by the portal. It's all he can to do even make an effort to keep his eyes off her.
She must think he's her Mohinder, the one who really belongs in that universe, because her awkwardness seems to be simply the awkwardness of running into an ex and not being sure if he's happy to see you or not. Mohinder doesn't even know whether he is--it was over between them in his universe even before she died, and he thought he'd made his peace with that. They'd been done with each other three times over--she'd given him a second chance, he'd thrown it back in her face and left again, and then surely, somewhere along the line, the superflu had killed her...
He realizes, staring at her, that he'd half forgotten what she looked like. He didn't think he had, but either his mind hadn't gotten her down quite right, or this Mira really is more beautiful than the one he'd left back home.
He is happy to see her, he realizes. She's part of home, just like Nirand. She's like another little window back into his pre-apocalyptic life.
They say hello, and she brightens visibly. Mohinder can't go through this conversation letting her think he's his alternate, he knows, but how the hell do you tell someone, even in the Nexus, all about how you've survived an apocalypse?
Mira asks about his research, and here he can sense the trepidation. Of course she's nervous about asking. Nothing was ever better at reducing them to flinging loud, hateful insults at each other than talk of the research she despises. He's amazed she's even asking at all.
"It's going well," he says shortly. "Very well. Better than I ever expected."
She nods, thoughtfully. "I had to make sure you were still doing it."
Mohinder doesn't even know what that means, let alone how to take it. Surely she'd know what his alternate was working on--and surely she'd want him to stop; she always did. "I'm...afraid I don't understand."
"I know you're an alternate," she says patiently. "I just didn't know--" She pauses. "How much like my Mohinder you were."
This seems to embarrass her, and she averts her eyes, but Mohinder doesn't care about that. He starts forward, only just stopping himself from reaching out to grab her arm. "How? How did you know?" Because god knows that's going to be dangerous, if just anyone can tell...
Her smile is sad. "Haven't you looked at yourself lately? You've lost weight, somehow. A good deal of it. You don't look well."
Of course. Food had grown scarce in Hell, as they'd known it would eventually have to. They'd all been starting to waste away, but when everyone around you is growing just as malnourished, you don't notice...
"And I've never known you to dress like that before," she says, looking as though she wants to touch him, maybe to see if he at least feels the same way he used to. He won't. He knows that much. "Mohinder, you look like a refugee."
He can't stop the bitter little bubble of painful laughter. Even now, months after Antinora, his ribs still twinge. They never had healed properly. "You don't know the half of it, Mira."
It seems to him that she doesn't know whether to be worried for him or triumphant that she was right, and that doesn't surprise him--it's typical Mira, and that's what makes this such a horrendously bad idea. He takes her hand in his own, his hand with the chemical-burned wrist, and holds it.
"Let me explain," he says softly. |
|  |
