Heroes Fic: Mohinder's Mom (Part 1 of 3)
Mar. 15th, 2008 03:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
out_thereTitle: Mohinder's Mom
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Matt/Mohinder
Rating: R
Word Count: Approximately 23,000.
Disclaimer: I own the ideas, not the characters.
Notes: I can't believe a silly idea that made me giggle got so long. Huge thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
celli who listened to me talk about this story for weeks and happily let me steal entire ideas from her. (No, really. At least a third of this is cannibalised straight from her head.) Thanks to everyone who commented with enthusiasm and glee as I worked on this and thank you to boymommytotwo for the careful beta.
Summary: Mohinder's mom didn't know about Molly or Matt, not until she stayed with her son for three weeks.
When Matt told his mom, it was surprisingly easy. Probably because he hadn't meant to tell her.
He'd been on the phone with her, giving her details about his new address (Mohinder's apartment), his new job (NYPD; "Like Law and Order?" she'd asked brightly) and his new living arrangements. He talked about Molly and finding her in L.A; he talked about being shot protecting her again in New York. (He didn't know how to tell her about their powers, so he'd improvised and said the guy who killed Molly's parents had tracked her down). He explained that her guardian had let Matt stay with them while his transfer came through.
"So what's he like? This..." Pause. She was never good with names. "This... Manjinder?"
"Mohinder, Mom," Matt said, pausing while tried to formulate an answer. An answer other than 'amazing'. "He's smart, like freakishly smart. He was a genetics professor in India."
"And...?"
Matt shrugged, shifted the phone in his hands and said, "He's a good guy. He's a good cook and he's great with Molly -- she adores him -- and... he's a really decent guy, Mom. You'd like him. He's polite and--"
"Matty," she said, and she hadn't called him that in a while, "is this like Steve Waugh back in the eleventh grade?"
It was as if someone had turned the gravity up high and dragged all Matt's organs to the floor. He took a shallow breath and managed, "Steve?"
"You know," she said gently, "like you and Steve?"
Matt would have sworn on his grandfather's grave that his Mom didn’t know about Steve. That had been years ago, all the way back to high school. For nearly a year Steve had walked home with Matt, spent most afternoons on the couch together -- watching TV, listening to music, making out -- but he was always gone before Matt's mom got home. Matt had been sure it was a secret.
Except there was something in her tone. It made him think of the first time she met Janice. It took Matt six months to build up the courage to take Janice home. And then his mom simply stepped forward and said, "It's lovely to meet you."
So he swallowed. "Yeah, Mom. It's... It's a lot like that."
"Then the three of you will have to visit sometime," she said, barely breaking her rhythm as she continued, "and speaking of visiting, your cousin..."
***
When Mohinder told his mom...
Well.
That was more difficult.
***
"I was talking to my mother," Mohinder explained, although it wasn't necessary. Every time he called home, Matt could hear the difference in his accent. For the next few hours, Mohinder would sound, well, more like Apu from the Simpsons. His r's would roll around his mouth, his s's morphed into z's and the pitch of his vowels became higher.
"Yeah?" Matt asked, trying not to think, 'Thank you, please come again!' inside his head. It was a hard battle. "She good?"
"She's decided to visit me." Mohinder swallowed, avoiding Matt's eyes. "She thought it would be a delightful surprise. She'll be here next week."
"No offence, but you look kind of worried." He looked freaked out and almost terrified, but Matt didn't want to put it that way. "Is there a problem?"
"She's coming for three weeks. I'm wondering how we can explain you living here." Mohinder smiled nervously, and Matt figured the joke had fallen flat. "Maybe you should say that your place is getting exterminated."
"For three weeks?"
"Maybe it has a lot of cockroaches," Mohinder said hopefully.
Matt blinked a few times and then said slowly, "You're not joking."
"No."
"You really didn't tell her?"
"She's my mother!" Mohinder declared defensively.
"That's my point," Matt replied. He lowered his tone so the conversation could escape Molly's attention. "How did you not tell your mom that Molly and I are living with you?"
"Let me think," Mohinder replied, slow and sarcastic. "How did I not mention to my mother that I am now living in America with two gifted individuals who possess powers, and that I am raising an orphaned child with my male lover?"
There was a pause, and then Matt said, "Is it the gay thing?"
"No," came the quick reply. "Well, yes, but it's not only that. As dreadful as the possibility of her knowing my romantic history may be, it's possible. However, she doesn't know about Molly."
"The minute she meets Molly, she'll fall in love with her. You know she will." Matt huffed a laugh, and bumped Mohinder's shoulder with his. "We did."
Mohinder didn't look reassured. "Of course she will. But do you have any idea how my mother will react when she finds out we're raising her grandchild in America?"
***
Matt laughed easily at Mohinder's irrational fears. He chuckled when Mohinder started scrubbing their already clean (okay, their close-enough-to-clean) apartment. He smiled indulgently when Mohinder had moved the terrarium and set up a small Hindu shrine in its place. (He even had the self-control not to make any bad Quik-E-Mart jokes.)
But when Mohinder started worrying about sleeping arrangements, it wasn't funny any more.
"Where do you expect me to sleep?"
"You can't sleep in my bed." There was a slight tinge of panic to Mohinder's quiet tone. It had been there for days. "You simply can't."
"She's staying for three weeks. I'm not taking the sofa for three weeks," Matt said as Mohinder went back to hanging up shirts. The main outlet for Mohinder's growing tension had been laundry. The past five days their closet had been arranged by colour, then style, then formality. Matt had no idea what tonight's rearrangement was based on, so he decided to fight dirty.
Stepping behind Mohinder, Matt slid his arms around up and around, pulling Mohinder back against his chest. He smoothed a hand down low on Mohinder stomach and pressed a kiss behind his ear. "You don't want to share a bed with me for three whole weeks?"
A soft gasp escaped Mohinder's lips, and Matt knew he had him. He pressed back against Matt and wrapped hands around Matt's wrists. "I want to share a bed with you right now," Mohinder said suggestively.
"That can be arranged." Matt pressed another kiss to the soft skin at Mohinder's neck. Mohinder sighed.
Then Mohinder froze.
"But that is not the issue," he said, pulling away and turning around. "I can't tell my mother goodnight and then go to bed with you. Not while she's under the same roof."
Matt rolled his eyes. The other stuff had been amusingly insane, but there was nothing funny about being kicked out his own bed. "I'm not suggesting international sexcapades while she's here. I'm saying that this is my bed and--"
"There is no way I can tell my mother that."
Matt huffed out a breath. Normally, he would have left the conversation, headed back to Molly and the TV. But Mohinder's expression was desperate. And scared.
Matt was lucky. He'd practically won the Mom Lottery and managed to tell her without having to actually tell her…but Mohinder hadn't and he looked terrified. Matt wasn’t the type to walk away from someone scared and needing help.
"Look," he said, leaning forward and pulling Mohinder into a hug. "Maybe there's some middle-ground here. Maybe we can come up with a reasonable excuse for sharing a bed that doesn't involve coming out to your mom."
The whisper was so quiet Matt nearly missed it. "Thank you."
***
Matt understood once he met the woman. She was classy, dressed in a exquisite, traditional sari. She was graceful when she moved and the way she spoke. She was quietly authoritative in a way that Matt was convinced he only recognized from the Interpersonal Communication of Criminal Leadership in-service they'd held at the station. This woman had Molly saying 'yes, please' and 'thank you very much’ and left Matt with the urge to say, 'Yes, ma’am, no ma'am, three bags full, ma'am.' For a woman who only came up to his shoulder and didn't carry a weapon, that was impressive.
Her presence made Mohinder stand up straighter. It made him speak quietly and not in English. (Matt thought it might have been Tamil. Mohinder had tried to teach him one night, but they'd been naked at the time and Matt was fairly distracted.) It made Mohinder hold doors open, carry suitcases and duck his head when he spoke.
It was a superpower: the ability to replace a sarcastic, mischievous Mohinder with a dutiful, painstakingly polite copy.
They finished a tour of the apartment and Matt decided to jump in feet first -- "We're so glad you're here, Mrs. Suresh," he said. "Dr. Suresh," she calmly corrected -- and went on to explain that she would be sleeping on the fold-out sofa bed.
"That's usually where I sleep, but I'll bunk up with Mohinder while you're here," Matt said, pasting on his most believable trust-me-I'm-a-cop smile. "It'll be fine."
He paused, waiting for Mohinder to interpret but she replied in careful, accented English. "That is very hospitable of you, Mr. Parkman."
"Please," he said, wondering if Mohinder had told her he was a detective (since she clearly understood the importance of titles), "call me Matt."
***
Mohinder cooked a dinner he had carefully planned. His mother -- Matt refused to think of her as Dr. Suresh, his household already had one of those -- raised an eyebrow, sharp gaze watching him slice cucumbers and carrots. She said something, not in English, in a sweet, concerned tone. From the strain in Mohinder's smile, she managed to hit a nerve.
The conversation over the dinner table didn’t make things any better.
Matt knew Mohinder spoke other languages (real languages, not just Pig Latin like Matt) but it was surprising to hear Mohinder speak them fluently with his mother. They switched languages a few times from Tamil to French (or maybe Italian) to what sounded like German and then something Matt couldn't recognise. (Chinese? Japanese? Arabic?) Whatever it was, it made Mohinder frown, shake his head and return to Tamil.
Just as Matt had emptied his plate and was desperately wishing Mohinder's mom ate faster, she turned to Molly in precise, careful English. "How old are you, Molly?"
"I'm ten," Molly said. There was a moment of hesitation, like she was wondering if she should add a please or thank you to that sentence. Matt understood completely.
"Do you learn any other languages at school?"
Molly nodded, carefully swallowing before she spoke. "We do Spanish on Fridays. Last week we learned how to ask where something is. Estoy buscando mi hotel."
"Or la policia," Matt added, grinning at her. She'd taught him that phrase on their trip home from school.
"Very good," Mohinder's mom said to Molly. "My Mohinder never learned Spanish. It is a very useful language, especially if you wish to travel South America."
Mohinder's mother wasn't constantly rude. She was nice to Molly asked about her school and her favourite subjects, what she loved most about California and if she missed LA. And while Matt did the dishes, Mohinder talked to his mom and relaxed. He smiled, even laughed, so the woman wasn't mean.
But she didn't talk to Matt. Unless she was speaking to Molly, Mohinder's mom didn't speak in English. And even when she was talking to Molly, she made it quite clear that she was only talking to Molly.
***
Matt cornered Mohinder the first moment he got alone with him. It happened to be the bathroom, so the conversation was hissed while Mohinder washed his hands.
"Is your mom uncomfortable using English?" Matt asked.
"I doubt it." Mohinder turned off the tap and wiped his hands on the towel. "When I was a child, we spoke it at home."
"Then is it my imagination that she's only speaking English for Molly?"
"No." Mohinder paused. "Not exactly. But..."
"But what?" Matt asked, eyes narrowing. He knew Mohinder's hopeful, slightly guilty expression meant he was about to hear something he wouldn't like.
Mohinder tried to smile; it looked more like a grimace. "She's under the impression that Molly is your daughter."
"Yeah," Matt said, nodding.
"And that you were recently divorced."
"From a certain perspective, both of those things are true."
Mohinder hid his head in his hands. It was an oddly childlike gesture of surrender. He took a deep breath and said, "She doesn't like the idea of a man leaving his wife and taking her child to the other side of the country. She thinks it's a needlessly vicious thing to do."
"Your mom doesn't like how I acted in our cover story? That's why she doesn't like me?" Matt kept his voice low, but only because he couldn't believe this. "For the record, I'm great with parents. Parents love me. Moms, dads, even grandparents love me."
"I'm certain they do." Mohinder smiled a little; for a moment, it made Matt feel better about the crushing unfairness of being disliked for something he hadn't actually done. "But I can't argue in your favour without drawing her attention to lies."
"So, she thinks, what? That I'm selfish and nasty?"
Again, that guilty expression flashed across Mohinder's face. "Matt, she was married to my father for many years."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning that she holds certain traditional opinions about marriage."
"I get that she doesn't believe in divorce, but it doesn't warrants this silent treatment. Especially not for the next three weeks."
"I'll talk to her. Ask her to be more considerate of you. But still," Mohinder shrugged, clearly not happy with the direction of the conversation, "she is only acting out of concern for me."
"Because I'm such a bad influence?"
"Actually, yes," Mohinder said and Matt felt his jaw drop open in surprise. "She's worried that I'm over thirty and still not married. She's worried that she raised me with too much freedom and has done me a disservice by not encouraging me to marry when I was younger. Apparently, I am now living in America, where my closest friend failed at marriage and abandoned his family when life became difficult. She's worried that staying here will ensure I remain single."
Mohinder glanced up and saw the expression on Matt's face. Matt must have looked as hurt as he felt because Mohinder quickly stepped forward and kissed him gently.
"Matthew, clearly she's wrong. I know what kind of man you are and how deeply you love. But there is no way I can explain that to my mother without her seeing how much I love you in return."
There was another kiss, warm and soft. This time, Matt was the one to break it. "We can do this. It's only three weeks, right?"
"Just another twenty days," Mohinder said. Then he looked horrified at the thought.
Matt snorted. "Hey, don't forget we saved Manhattan. Well, we helped save it."
"But we didn't have to save it from my mother."
Matt rolled his eyes. Then he pushed Mohinder out the bathroom door.
***
Matt decided he was fine with it. He could handle it. He'd been a cop for over a decade: junkies had yelled at him, hookers had sworn at him and abusive boyfriends had threatened to "have his badge" for interfering while they gave their girlfriend a black eye. He could handle one slightly-over-middle-age, quietly spoken Indian woman.
He could ignore her disapproving frown as he poured a bowl of Frosty Loops. ("Breakfast is a very important meal, Molly. Would you like to try some of my yogurt and muesli?" she asked.)
When he got stuck at the station and picked Molly up late, Mohinder's mom greeted them and immediately looked at the small, delicate gold watch on her wrist. That was fine with him (even if he heard her say, "Being punctual is not only about convenience and being organized, Molly. It is also a way of showing respect to the people you have agreed to meet," as he hung his jacket up).
He could even cope with eating spinach. Three nights in a row. (She must have seen him pull a face the first night but at least she didn't lecture Molly on the importance of vegetables.)
Mohinder seemed pleased to have his mom staying with them but the nervousness of the last week hadn't completely disappeared, so Matt waited until Mohinder closed their bedroom door that night. He didn't want to make a big deal of it, so he approached the topic casually. "Is it my imagination, or did we have spinach last night?"
"And the night before," Mohinder agreed softly, shrugging out of his shirt. Matt watched him closely. Just because he couldn't touch for another seventeen days, didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the view. "My mother's trying to teach Molly to cook it."
"Any particular reason?" Matt asked carefully.
"It was one of my favourite dishes as a child." Mohinder smiled, soft and a little wistful. For that smile, Matt would eat spinach all week.
***
Matt was good at rolling with life's punches.
Switching from Frosty Loops to toast for breakfast: small sacrifice. Swallowing mouthfuls of slushy spinach only hurt the tastebuds. He even made an effort to get out of work on time, using the excuse of, "Mother-In-Law. Don't ask."
He happily compromised his nights off. He started listening to his iPod and reviewing case files, or playing board games with Molly. (He'd noticed the disapproving glances when they'd spent nights watching TV together. They had TiVo. He could catch up on Prison Break later.)
Matt was dealing well with his fairly-polite-yet-rude houseguest. Right up until she argued with Mohinder.
It wasn't a family argument Parkman-style. If it had been Matt's family, there would have been screaming, yelling, flailing arms and gifts thrown back in someone's face. It would have ended with shouts of 'I have no son!' and 'I can't believe I was in twenty hours of labour for this!'
The Sureshes, it seemed, argued differently. Mohinder's mother was speaking quite gently and reasonably, but it made Mohinder tense up, shoulders hunching as his answers became shorter and shorter.
Mohinder ended it by switching into English. "This is ridiculous. I am not discussing this any further." He walked sharply into the bedroom.
Mohinder's mom had the nerve to glare at Matt, as if he'd been the cause of this. Matt just rolled his eyes at her, obvious enough that she had to have noticed, and went after him.
"You okay?" Matt asked, closing the door behind him.
Mohinder was sitting on the end of the bed, straight as a post with his fingers laced tightly on his lap. "I am fine, thank you very much."
That level of politeness couldn't be a good sign.
"Yeah, you look fine." Matt shrugged and sat down beside Mohinder. "Mind you, I don't have a great base for figuring these things out. In the Parkman household, that's a minor squabble. The main attraction would be someone throwing a plate across the room and someone else smashing a glass just on principle."
Mohinder looked sideways at him. For a moment, there was the hint of a smile. "There was a discussion."
"Sure, there was a discussion. Like the Vietnam War was a negotiation."
"Luckily, I don't think guerrilla tactics will be used." Mohinder huffed out a sigh and collapsed backwards onto the bed. Staring up at the ceiling he said, "It is amazing that one can love and respect one's parents but still be incredibly thankful that they live in another country."
"Families," Matt said with another shrug. "Can't live with them, can't shoot them without doing time."
Matt twisted, leaning down on an elbow. He used his free hand to cup Mohinder's cheek. Mohinder leaned into the touch, which was a nice change from the last week. Before his mom had even got here, Mohinder had started pulling back guiltily, apologising. Even at night, while they were sleeping fully clothed, Matt had to coax him into holding hands beneath the covers.
Matt was starting to feel touch-starved. He'd forgotten what it was like to live with someone, to lie beside them in the same bed, without being touched. With Janice, this pattern had become permanent: no kissing, no hugging, no friendly hand on his shoulder or casual touches as they passed each other.
It was going to be a long three weeks.
Matt dragged his mind back to the current issue. "What did she say?"
"The short version?" Mohinder closed his eyes. "I care too much for Molly."
"The hell?"
"My mother thinks that it is quite admirable that I should take such a responsible and loving attitude towards a child, especially one missing a parental figure. However, in the long run, it is not in Molly's best interest to encourage her to rely upon me. It is also not in my best interest to become so attached to a child that is not my own."
Matt blinked, lost for words.
"It is, apparently, highly ill-advised for me to allow this to continue. I am a single man and when it is convenient for this situation to end, when I am offered a better job or you--" Mohinder opened his eyes, looking at Matt. "I am not going to repeat what she said about you but she implied..."
"That I'm a bad father?" Matt suggested, and Mohinder winced, nodding. "Yeah, she's been implying that to me for a while."
"I can't believe that she travelled across oceans to tell me that Molly would be better off if I cared less. That if I did less at home, spent less time with her, concentrated more on my research and career, it would be best for both of us."
It took Matt a moment to recognise the expression on Mohinder's face. He was hurt. Leaning over, Matt pressed a kiss to the smooth, warm skin of Mohinder's forehead. "She's wrong."
"Maybe," Mohinder allowed, "but--"
"No buts. She's wrong. She thinks that Molly only belongs to me, and we should move out." Clearly, she hoped it would be sooner rather than later, but Matt figured this wasn't the best time to mention the 'For Lease' ads miraculously circled in his morning paper. "She's scared that you and Molly will end up heartbroken. It's a compliment, really."
"My mother thinks the best thing I can do for a child is stay out of its life," Mohinder said, voice sounding suspiciously rough. "How is that a compliment?"
"She can see how much Molly loves you and how much you love her. She can see, after only being here a week, that the three of us are a family." Matt reached up to push a strand of hair off Mohinder's forehead, then smoothed it down, enjoying the soft slide of hair against his fingers. "That you're Molly's dad as much as I am."
Mohinder managed a small smile, and Matt took advantage of the moment to kiss him. It was just once, open-lipped with a tiny brush of tongue, but he wasn't surprised by Mohinder pulling back with a shocked gasp and a reprimanding, "Matthew!"
It was still worth it.
***
Matt hadn't thought about his upcoming days off. Sure, he thought about them in the sense of 'thank heavens I've only got two more shifts to go' and planning what to clear off the TiVo first, but he hadn't considered how having another person at home would effect his precious time off work.
He had a routine going. He'd get up, get dressed, take Molly to school. He'd come home, change into sweats and the rattiest t-shirt he could find, clean the bathroom and do the vacuuming, and the laundry if he absolutely had to. Then he'd get a bowl, a spoon, a box of Frosty Loops and a carton of milk, settle down on the couch and spend the rest of the day clearing Prison Break, NCIS and Desperate Housewives out of the TiVo. (They were the shows that were too adult for Molly to watch and too unrealistic to hold Mohinder's attention.)
It started okay. He was too busy cleaning and sorting clothes, thankful there wasn't enough to warrant a trip to the Laundromat, to notice the extra presence in the house. But when he went to watch TV, it was hard not to feel the judgmental stare directed at his box of cereal.
Mohinder's mom was sitting at the small table, newspaper pages spread across the surface, so it wasn't like there was space for him to eat at the table anyway. But she still glared at his cereal as he padded over to the couch and took every available opportunity to turn pages loudly, paper rustling and crinkling through every quiet scene.
They only had one TV, so Matt couldn't disappear into the bedroom to watch. He tried suggesting that the light in Molly's room might be better for reading, but she gave a tiny, extremely false smile and shook her head.
He could feel himself getting edgy. Sitting on the couch, he couldn't help concentrating on the crinkle sound of paper behind him, the occasional long-suffering sigh, the quiet footsteps as she went to the bathroom and came back. All of this without saying a word to him.
He tried listening to her thoughts but, unlike Mohinder, she didn't think in English at all.
Matt figured he was reading too much into it. Maybe she wasn't trying to be rude, she just didn't want to interrupt his show. "Are you a big fan of TV?"
She shook her head slightly.
"More into reading, huh?"
He got a blank look and a striving-to-be-polite smile.
"It's one of my guilty pleasures. I get a day off and it's great to take some time, slob around on the couch and catch up on my favourite shows. I know it's trashy stuff, and there is no way that real casework ever goes as well as this," he pointed to the screen, at the paused shot of NCIS, "but it's fun to switch the brain off for a while and stop thinking."
She blinked at him once and then turned back to her newspaper. Actually, Matt was sure she was reading his newspaper. And she was probably circling the "For Lease" section again.
Matt stabbed at the play button.
***
The real trouble came at lunch. "I'm making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch. Do you want one?"
It wasn't a hard question to answer. In fact, Mohinder's mom answered it with a short shake of her head and went back to reading, ignoring him as he made his sandwich.
It wouldn't have been a problem. Wouldn't have bothered him, except the moment he cut the sandwich and walked out of the kitchen, she walked past him and started making a sandwich of her own.
A peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
He could have made that. He'd offered to make that. It was insane.
"I just offered to make you that," he said, annoyed and sounding it.
She raised an eyebrow as if she couldn't understand him.
"This whole 'not talking to me' thing is wearing thin. You speak English to Molly. You speak English in front of me. I know you know what I'm saying."
Her expression didn't change.
"Do you have any idea how rude you're being to me in my own home? You can stay under our roof, you can accept our hospitality, but you can't even manage the most basic of manners?"
"This is my son's home," she said in a sickeningly-sweet tone. "If you dislike how you are treated in it, Mr. Parkman, please feel free to leave it at any time."
Matt spluttered. "Hey, lady, just because you're here for another two weeks doesn't mean you have the right to dictate your son's entire life."
"I have Mohinder's best interests at heart."
"Like I don't?" Matt demanded, stalking back into the kitchen.
She stared at him, as cool and calm as Angela Petrelli. What was it with New York City and scary moms? After a moment of careful thought in Tamil, of course, she said, "I am quite sure you don't intend any deliberate harm to my son."
"That's rich! You think you can swan over here and act like you're the only one who cares about Mohinder? I don't remember you even seeing him in the last year we've been here. From what I remember, there's been a call a month."
She raised an eyebrow at him, and he felt like a bug under a microscope. It only made him angrier.
"A week. You've been here a week and you think you've got the right to tell him not to love Molly, to imply that him being in Molly's life is somehow wrong? Ask him sometime how he saved her life. Ask her why she calls him as her personal hero." Matt shoved the plate down on the bench, banging it loudly. "Just because you think I'm some dumb cop who's only ever lived in one country and only ever learned one language, don't think I haven't noticed how often you mention Chennai University. You have no right to come here and tell Mohinder he's not living his life right. He's happy here. So how about being a half-decent mom and supporting your kid?"
She smoothed a non-existent crease in her pink sari. "Not all parents take such a lackadaisical approach to guiding their children, Mr. Parkman."
"Since you've come here you've been a rude, judgemental busybody, sticking your nose into things that are none of your business!" Clenching his fists, Matt dragged a breath through his nose and tried to get his temper under control. It took three deep breaths before he could manage, "I'm going to go pick up Molly."
Mohinder's mom stared pointedly at the wall clock.
"I'm going to go for a very long walk and then pick up Molly," Matt corrected, realising Molly would still be in school for another two hours. "I think we'll go to the cinema and be back much, much later tonight."
Matt picked up his uneaten sandwich, grabbed his jacket out of the closet and very carefully did not slam the door on his way out.
***
They never got to the cinema. As soon as he picked Moll up, she shoved a pink and purple invitation into his hand and started talking a hundred miles a minute.
"It's a birthday party and I think all of the girls in my grade are going but Sharona was only allowed to invite three girls to sleep over at he place and she asked me and can I go, Matt? Can I go?"
She looked up at him, puppy-dog eyes in full force, but Matt ignored it. "That depends, Molly. When is it?"
"Next weekend. The party's on Saturday and I'd be home on Sunday, so it wouldn't interfere with school and Sharona said her mom can drop me home so you wouldn't even have to come pick me up," Molly said, in one excited rush.
Matt paused for effect. He knew Sharona's parents. He'd ransacked their minds the first time Molly had gone over to play, so he knew Molly would be fine. But it was a bad idea to give in to Molly straight away. She needed boundaries, or at least the illusion of dads that thought about her requests before they gave in.
"Okay," he said and kept talking through her squeal of delight. "You can go to the party. I'm not sure about the sleep-over so we'll discuss it with Mohinder when we get home."
Molly looked a little disappointed, but not much. Probably because she knew Mohinder was a pushover when it came to these sorts of things. "We'll need to buy her a present," Molly said seriously. "I can't go to her party without a present."
"How about we go buy one now?" Matt suggested and was rewarded with an enthusiastic hug.
***
After setting a budget of twenty bucks, they trawled through four different stores, only to return to buy the doll Molly had seen in the first one. They stopped for milkshakes and then headed home.
Hours in Molly's company had completely erased Matt's bad mood. He'd forgotten about the day's argument.
Until he opened the door and saw the thunderous expression on Mohinder's face.
Mohinder hugged her hello, saying, "Molly, sweetheart, can you stay here for a moment? I need to talk to Matt outside."
Molly shot Matt a sympathetic wince, showing she understood what that tone meant. "I'll get started on my homework."
"Good girl," Mohinder said and released her.
Matt put his keys back in his pocket and silently followed Mohinder out to the hall. They didn't start talking until the elevator doors closed behind them.
"My mother is only here for three weeks," Mohinder said, quietly furious. "You couldn't spend a day alone with her without fighting?"
"It's not like I started it."
"Did you call her rude and interfering?"
Matt cringed. "Yes."
"Did you say that my life was none of her business?"
"It's not as bad as it sounds," Matt started but the doors dinged open and Mrs. Ledson stepped in.
Mrs. Ledson was sixty-seven years old, five foot two inches and had permed white hair that fell flat across the crown. She smiled at them and said, "Good afternoon, Matt, Mohinder."
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Ledson," they replied in unison. There was something about her that made Matt feel like he was Molly's age and lived upstairs from his teacher. He secretly suspected Mohinder felt the same.
She turned back around to face the closing doors and Mohinder leaned closer to him. "I can't believe you told my mother we've lived together for a year."
"I didn't tell her that," Matt hissed back, keeping his voice low.
The slightly insulting eyebrow-raising thing had to run in the family, because Mohinder did it too. "Really?"
"I didn't tell her." Matt stopped, trying to remember precisely what he'd said. He hadn't told her they were living together. He'd only said she hadn't visiting in the last year… "I didn't mean to tell her."
"But you did," Mohinder said, a little too loudly.
Mrs Ledson turned around (thankfully saving Matt from the upcoming lecture). "Matt, have I ever told you about Mr. Ledson's mother?" she asked, reaching out and taking Matt's hand between hers.
"I don't think so, Mrs. Ledson."
"She was a horrible, nasty, scheming troublemaker," she said, cool, dry, wrinkled fingers patting the back of his hand. "Just remember that you marry the person, not their family. And if possible, make sure you don't live in the same state."
The elevator doors opened on the ground floor and Mrs. Ledson left them with a friendly wave.
Matt managed to keep a straight face while the doors closed. He pressed the button for their floor and managed to restrain his smile to a twitch of the lips. Then he looked sideways and caught Mohinder's eye.
They both burst out laughing.
"I can't believe we just got marriage advice from the nice little old lady who lives downstairs," Matt managed between gasping breaths. Mohinder was still laughing too hard to talk.
After a few false starts, the giggles finally subsided. "What are we going to tell my mother?" Mohinder asked tiredly, looping an arm around Matt's waist.
"We could invite Mrs. Ledson over," Matt suggested, which set them both off again.
***
In the end, they settled on an edited version of the truth. Matt had been shot in the line of duty, Mohinder had been Molly's doctor, and Matt's wife had divorced him while he was still in hospital. Matt had stayed with Mohinder while recuperating, and they'd decided they liked living in their makeshift family.
When Mohinder's mom looked at Matt, there was a new speculative gleam in her gaze. Matt wasn't sure if that was a good sign.
***
Matt couldn't sleep. Not because his pseudo-mother-in-law snored like a freight train (she did), but because Mohinder had messaged him twice tonight to say he'd be late.
It was eleven o'clock and Matt was slouched over the end of the bed, organising the last four months utilities' bills because it needed to be done. Not because he was worried. Certainly not because the idea of facing Mohinder's mom alone in the morning and tell her that her son hadn't come home terrified him.
There was a jingle of metal and a squeaking door in the other room. Matt reached for his gun on the shelf and stood up. He counted to seven, then the bedroom door opened and Mohinder stepped in, squinting at the light.
"You know," Mohinder said, pulling off his jacket and hanging it up, "I've actually memorised the furniture in that room. If we ever move it, I'm going to bruise my shins trying to navigate in the dark."
"Good thing I'm not planning to move it," Matt said, sliding his handgun onto the top shelf of their closet. Then an idea hit him. "Good thing you didn't wake up your mom, too."
By the time Mohinder looked up from undoing his shirt buttons, Matt had taken three steps closer. "Matt," Mohinder said, warningly.
Matt smoothed a hand under the open shirt, running his palms over body-warm cotton. He leaned in, close enough that their lips almost touched. "Your mom's asleep."
Mohinder breathed in sharply but a hand still landed on Matt's hip. "You can't be sure."
"I can hear her snoring." Matt tugged at Mohinder's next layer, getting inches of warm, bare skin for his effort.
"She could wake up," Mohinder said, but he didn't sound convinced. His eyes were half-closed, and his other hand was now squeezing Matt's ass. "She could hear us."
"Then we won't use the bed. No squeaky, muffled noises," Matt said, breathing the words against Mohinder's ear and feeling him shudder. He started working on Mohinder's belt, saying, "I'll just drop to my knees right here and blow you against the wall."
Mohinder's hands clenched, fingers digging into Matt's skin.
"You just need to stand here and be quiet," Matt said, unzipping and reaching past underwear to get his hand on Mohinder's half-hard cock. "I'm sure you can do that."
Then there was a scream.
It was Molly. A nightmare. They both rushed out the bedroom door, pulling clothes into place as they moved.
"Nightmare?" Mohinder asked.
"Normal nightmare," Matt confirmed, scanning Molly's thoughts as they opened her bedroom door and headed straight for her bed. It was an everyday type of nightmare: giving a Spanish presentation in her underwear and everyone laughing at her.
They were both well-trained for nightmares now. Mohinder went for the lamp. Matt went for the bed and gathered Molly into a hug before she really woke up. He rocked her and she mumbled against his chest, "It was a nightmare, but it wasn't... I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, guys."
Matt pressed a kiss against her forehead. "Honey, just because it isn't terrifying doesn't mean it wasn't scary."
She pulled back far enough to give him a strange look.
"Hey, you know what I mean," Matt said as Mohinder crouched beside them, wrapping an arm around Molly's back.
"What Matt means," Mohinder said gently, "is that it doesn't matter what type of nightmare it is. If anything scares you, sweetheart, we're going to be here."
"And we'll do something about it," Matt added.
"Even if that something is just tucking you in and making sure you know there's nothing you need to be scared of," Mohinder finished.
Matt smiled at him as he let go of Molly and got off the bed. He started pulling the covers up, but Mohinder apparently saw that as a challenge, since he jogged to the other side of her bed. He folded the covers over her shoulders, tucking the covers under her arms and sides.
"Oh, like a pastry," Matt said, getting the idea, repeating it on the other side, all the way down to Molly's ankles. It wasn't his fault that his tucking pulled the covers untucked Mohinder's side. Somehow it turned into a tucking war, and then a tickle-fight when Molly started giggling and objecting to being 'wrapped up like a mummy'.
It finished with Molly squealing her giggles. "Stop! Stop! Come on, you guys, stop!" They collapsed face down onto her bed, one each side of her and she wrapped a small arm around each of their shoulders and said softly, "You guys are the silliest dads ever."
She kissed them goodnight, which was their cue to leave. "Sweet dreams," Mohinder said, as he got up.
"Because if you don't have good dreams," Matt said, standing up, "there's a second tickle fight coming straight to this room."
Molly grinned. "Goodnight, guys."
It was only when Matt turned to leave that he saw Mohinder's mom standing in the doorway, quietly watching them. She asked something quietly and Mohinder nodded. Then he turned to Matt, asking, "Do you want a cup of tea? Or hot chocolate? I'm going to stay up for a bit."
"Nah," Matt said, internally cursing the lost opportunity. "I'm going straight to bed. Need my beauty rest."
Mohinder smiled. "I'll see you in the morning."
***
Matt was halfway through washing a dish when he paused and looked over at the couch. Mohinder was sitting on one end, lamp on beside him, flicking through scientific journals. Molly was snuggled up against his side, reading her English novel. Every so often she'd turn to Mohinder for help, pointing at an unfamiliar word and he'd bend his head down to hers, murmuring softly.
Smiling, Matt put the plate away and started drying the next one.
He continued to sneak glances of the pair of them, watching Molly's serious expression, the one she always wore for school work. Smiling as he recognized the fond affection on Mohinder's face. A less noble part of Matt noticed the curve of Mohinder's lips, the way the light caught on Mohinder's neck and the curve of cheek. Matt took a moment to imagine being alone in the apartment with Mohinder, walking over and licking just behind the curve of his ear...
He was startled out of his imagined scenario by a quiet, accented voice. "Perhaps I was somewhat wrong, Detective Parkman."
"Huh?" Matt asked, turning to face Mohinder's mom. "About what?"
"Perhaps," she said slowly, glancing over at the couch, "you are not indifferent to Mohinder's best interests."
Then she picked up her cup of tea and sat down on the other end of the couch.
Matt liked it better when she wasn't talking to him. At least then he'd been certain she didn't like him. Now he had that itch in the back of neck, that vague coiling in his gut, like he was interviewing a witness and being lied to. He didn't like it.
***
It was the calm before the storm. Matt was sure of it.
Mohinder's mom was speaking to him. Nothing deep and meaningful, nothing more intense than "Good morning," and an occasional "Will you be eating with us tonight?" but it was enough that he didn't feel like an invisible intruder in his own home.
It should have put him at ease, but there was something about the way she kept watching Mohinder and watching him. He'd be in middle of talking to Mohinder -- innocent how-was-your-day conversations -- and look up to find her dark eyes on them, her mouth pressed into a straight line.
There was a slim chance that she knew.
Matt had a pretty good intuition about these things. Part of being a cop was recognising what information someone already knew and what they were putting together from the cop's questions. He was pretty sure Mohinder's mom was figuring something out.
***
Part Two
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Matt/Mohinder
Rating: R
Word Count: Approximately 23,000.
Disclaimer: I own the ideas, not the characters.
Notes: I can't believe a silly idea that made me giggle got so long. Huge thanks to
celli who listened to me talk about this story for weeks and happily let me steal entire ideas from her. (No, really. At least a third of this is cannibalised straight from her head.) Thanks to everyone who commented with enthusiasm and glee as I worked on this and thank you to boymommytotwo for the careful beta.Summary: Mohinder's mom didn't know about Molly or Matt, not until she stayed with her son for three weeks.
When Matt told his mom, it was surprisingly easy. Probably because he hadn't meant to tell her.
He'd been on the phone with her, giving her details about his new address (Mohinder's apartment), his new job (NYPD; "Like Law and Order?" she'd asked brightly) and his new living arrangements. He talked about Molly and finding her in L.A; he talked about being shot protecting her again in New York. (He didn't know how to tell her about their powers, so he'd improvised and said the guy who killed Molly's parents had tracked her down). He explained that her guardian had let Matt stay with them while his transfer came through.
"So what's he like? This..." Pause. She was never good with names. "This... Manjinder?"
"Mohinder, Mom," Matt said, pausing while tried to formulate an answer. An answer other than 'amazing'. "He's smart, like freakishly smart. He was a genetics professor in India."
"And...?"
Matt shrugged, shifted the phone in his hands and said, "He's a good guy. He's a good cook and he's great with Molly -- she adores him -- and... he's a really decent guy, Mom. You'd like him. He's polite and--"
"Matty," she said, and she hadn't called him that in a while, "is this like Steve Waugh back in the eleventh grade?"
It was as if someone had turned the gravity up high and dragged all Matt's organs to the floor. He took a shallow breath and managed, "Steve?"
"You know," she said gently, "like you and Steve?"
Matt would have sworn on his grandfather's grave that his Mom didn’t know about Steve. That had been years ago, all the way back to high school. For nearly a year Steve had walked home with Matt, spent most afternoons on the couch together -- watching TV, listening to music, making out -- but he was always gone before Matt's mom got home. Matt had been sure it was a secret.
Except there was something in her tone. It made him think of the first time she met Janice. It took Matt six months to build up the courage to take Janice home. And then his mom simply stepped forward and said, "It's lovely to meet you."
So he swallowed. "Yeah, Mom. It's... It's a lot like that."
"Then the three of you will have to visit sometime," she said, barely breaking her rhythm as she continued, "and speaking of visiting, your cousin..."
***
When Mohinder told his mom...
Well.
That was more difficult.
***
"I was talking to my mother," Mohinder explained, although it wasn't necessary. Every time he called home, Matt could hear the difference in his accent. For the next few hours, Mohinder would sound, well, more like Apu from the Simpsons. His r's would roll around his mouth, his s's morphed into z's and the pitch of his vowels became higher.
"Yeah?" Matt asked, trying not to think, 'Thank you, please come again!' inside his head. It was a hard battle. "She good?"
"She's decided to visit me." Mohinder swallowed, avoiding Matt's eyes. "She thought it would be a delightful surprise. She'll be here next week."
"No offence, but you look kind of worried." He looked freaked out and almost terrified, but Matt didn't want to put it that way. "Is there a problem?"
"She's coming for three weeks. I'm wondering how we can explain you living here." Mohinder smiled nervously, and Matt figured the joke had fallen flat. "Maybe you should say that your place is getting exterminated."
"For three weeks?"
"Maybe it has a lot of cockroaches," Mohinder said hopefully.
Matt blinked a few times and then said slowly, "You're not joking."
"No."
"You really didn't tell her?"
"She's my mother!" Mohinder declared defensively.
"That's my point," Matt replied. He lowered his tone so the conversation could escape Molly's attention. "How did you not tell your mom that Molly and I are living with you?"
"Let me think," Mohinder replied, slow and sarcastic. "How did I not mention to my mother that I am now living in America with two gifted individuals who possess powers, and that I am raising an orphaned child with my male lover?"
There was a pause, and then Matt said, "Is it the gay thing?"
"No," came the quick reply. "Well, yes, but it's not only that. As dreadful as the possibility of her knowing my romantic history may be, it's possible. However, she doesn't know about Molly."
"The minute she meets Molly, she'll fall in love with her. You know she will." Matt huffed a laugh, and bumped Mohinder's shoulder with his. "We did."
Mohinder didn't look reassured. "Of course she will. But do you have any idea how my mother will react when she finds out we're raising her grandchild in America?"
***
Matt laughed easily at Mohinder's irrational fears. He chuckled when Mohinder started scrubbing their already clean (okay, their close-enough-to-clean) apartment. He smiled indulgently when Mohinder had moved the terrarium and set up a small Hindu shrine in its place. (He even had the self-control not to make any bad Quik-E-Mart jokes.)
But when Mohinder started worrying about sleeping arrangements, it wasn't funny any more.
"Where do you expect me to sleep?"
"You can't sleep in my bed." There was a slight tinge of panic to Mohinder's quiet tone. It had been there for days. "You simply can't."
"She's staying for three weeks. I'm not taking the sofa for three weeks," Matt said as Mohinder went back to hanging up shirts. The main outlet for Mohinder's growing tension had been laundry. The past five days their closet had been arranged by colour, then style, then formality. Matt had no idea what tonight's rearrangement was based on, so he decided to fight dirty.
Stepping behind Mohinder, Matt slid his arms around up and around, pulling Mohinder back against his chest. He smoothed a hand down low on Mohinder stomach and pressed a kiss behind his ear. "You don't want to share a bed with me for three whole weeks?"
A soft gasp escaped Mohinder's lips, and Matt knew he had him. He pressed back against Matt and wrapped hands around Matt's wrists. "I want to share a bed with you right now," Mohinder said suggestively.
"That can be arranged." Matt pressed another kiss to the soft skin at Mohinder's neck. Mohinder sighed.
Then Mohinder froze.
"But that is not the issue," he said, pulling away and turning around. "I can't tell my mother goodnight and then go to bed with you. Not while she's under the same roof."
Matt rolled his eyes. The other stuff had been amusingly insane, but there was nothing funny about being kicked out his own bed. "I'm not suggesting international sexcapades while she's here. I'm saying that this is my bed and--"
"There is no way I can tell my mother that."
Matt huffed out a breath. Normally, he would have left the conversation, headed back to Molly and the TV. But Mohinder's expression was desperate. And scared.
Matt was lucky. He'd practically won the Mom Lottery and managed to tell her without having to actually tell her…but Mohinder hadn't and he looked terrified. Matt wasn’t the type to walk away from someone scared and needing help.
"Look," he said, leaning forward and pulling Mohinder into a hug. "Maybe there's some middle-ground here. Maybe we can come up with a reasonable excuse for sharing a bed that doesn't involve coming out to your mom."
The whisper was so quiet Matt nearly missed it. "Thank you."
***
Matt understood once he met the woman. She was classy, dressed in a exquisite, traditional sari. She was graceful when she moved and the way she spoke. She was quietly authoritative in a way that Matt was convinced he only recognized from the Interpersonal Communication of Criminal Leadership in-service they'd held at the station. This woman had Molly saying 'yes, please' and 'thank you very much’ and left Matt with the urge to say, 'Yes, ma’am, no ma'am, three bags full, ma'am.' For a woman who only came up to his shoulder and didn't carry a weapon, that was impressive.
Her presence made Mohinder stand up straighter. It made him speak quietly and not in English. (Matt thought it might have been Tamil. Mohinder had tried to teach him one night, but they'd been naked at the time and Matt was fairly distracted.) It made Mohinder hold doors open, carry suitcases and duck his head when he spoke.
It was a superpower: the ability to replace a sarcastic, mischievous Mohinder with a dutiful, painstakingly polite copy.
They finished a tour of the apartment and Matt decided to jump in feet first -- "We're so glad you're here, Mrs. Suresh," he said. "Dr. Suresh," she calmly corrected -- and went on to explain that she would be sleeping on the fold-out sofa bed.
"That's usually where I sleep, but I'll bunk up with Mohinder while you're here," Matt said, pasting on his most believable trust-me-I'm-a-cop smile. "It'll be fine."
He paused, waiting for Mohinder to interpret but she replied in careful, accented English. "That is very hospitable of you, Mr. Parkman."
"Please," he said, wondering if Mohinder had told her he was a detective (since she clearly understood the importance of titles), "call me Matt."
***
Mohinder cooked a dinner he had carefully planned. His mother -- Matt refused to think of her as Dr. Suresh, his household already had one of those -- raised an eyebrow, sharp gaze watching him slice cucumbers and carrots. She said something, not in English, in a sweet, concerned tone. From the strain in Mohinder's smile, she managed to hit a nerve.
The conversation over the dinner table didn’t make things any better.
Matt knew Mohinder spoke other languages (real languages, not just Pig Latin like Matt) but it was surprising to hear Mohinder speak them fluently with his mother. They switched languages a few times from Tamil to French (or maybe Italian) to what sounded like German and then something Matt couldn't recognise. (Chinese? Japanese? Arabic?) Whatever it was, it made Mohinder frown, shake his head and return to Tamil.
Just as Matt had emptied his plate and was desperately wishing Mohinder's mom ate faster, she turned to Molly in precise, careful English. "How old are you, Molly?"
"I'm ten," Molly said. There was a moment of hesitation, like she was wondering if she should add a please or thank you to that sentence. Matt understood completely.
"Do you learn any other languages at school?"
Molly nodded, carefully swallowing before she spoke. "We do Spanish on Fridays. Last week we learned how to ask where something is. Estoy buscando mi hotel."
"Or la policia," Matt added, grinning at her. She'd taught him that phrase on their trip home from school.
"Very good," Mohinder's mom said to Molly. "My Mohinder never learned Spanish. It is a very useful language, especially if you wish to travel South America."
Mohinder's mother wasn't constantly rude. She was nice to Molly asked about her school and her favourite subjects, what she loved most about California and if she missed LA. And while Matt did the dishes, Mohinder talked to his mom and relaxed. He smiled, even laughed, so the woman wasn't mean.
But she didn't talk to Matt. Unless she was speaking to Molly, Mohinder's mom didn't speak in English. And even when she was talking to Molly, she made it quite clear that she was only talking to Molly.
***
Matt cornered Mohinder the first moment he got alone with him. It happened to be the bathroom, so the conversation was hissed while Mohinder washed his hands.
"Is your mom uncomfortable using English?" Matt asked.
"I doubt it." Mohinder turned off the tap and wiped his hands on the towel. "When I was a child, we spoke it at home."
"Then is it my imagination that she's only speaking English for Molly?"
"No." Mohinder paused. "Not exactly. But..."
"But what?" Matt asked, eyes narrowing. He knew Mohinder's hopeful, slightly guilty expression meant he was about to hear something he wouldn't like.
Mohinder tried to smile; it looked more like a grimace. "She's under the impression that Molly is your daughter."
"Yeah," Matt said, nodding.
"And that you were recently divorced."
"From a certain perspective, both of those things are true."
Mohinder hid his head in his hands. It was an oddly childlike gesture of surrender. He took a deep breath and said, "She doesn't like the idea of a man leaving his wife and taking her child to the other side of the country. She thinks it's a needlessly vicious thing to do."
"Your mom doesn't like how I acted in our cover story? That's why she doesn't like me?" Matt kept his voice low, but only because he couldn't believe this. "For the record, I'm great with parents. Parents love me. Moms, dads, even grandparents love me."
"I'm certain they do." Mohinder smiled a little; for a moment, it made Matt feel better about the crushing unfairness of being disliked for something he hadn't actually done. "But I can't argue in your favour without drawing her attention to lies."
"So, she thinks, what? That I'm selfish and nasty?"
Again, that guilty expression flashed across Mohinder's face. "Matt, she was married to my father for many years."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning that she holds certain traditional opinions about marriage."
"I get that she doesn't believe in divorce, but it doesn't warrants this silent treatment. Especially not for the next three weeks."
"I'll talk to her. Ask her to be more considerate of you. But still," Mohinder shrugged, clearly not happy with the direction of the conversation, "she is only acting out of concern for me."
"Because I'm such a bad influence?"
"Actually, yes," Mohinder said and Matt felt his jaw drop open in surprise. "She's worried that I'm over thirty and still not married. She's worried that she raised me with too much freedom and has done me a disservice by not encouraging me to marry when I was younger. Apparently, I am now living in America, where my closest friend failed at marriage and abandoned his family when life became difficult. She's worried that staying here will ensure I remain single."
Mohinder glanced up and saw the expression on Matt's face. Matt must have looked as hurt as he felt because Mohinder quickly stepped forward and kissed him gently.
"Matthew, clearly she's wrong. I know what kind of man you are and how deeply you love. But there is no way I can explain that to my mother without her seeing how much I love you in return."
There was another kiss, warm and soft. This time, Matt was the one to break it. "We can do this. It's only three weeks, right?"
"Just another twenty days," Mohinder said. Then he looked horrified at the thought.
Matt snorted. "Hey, don't forget we saved Manhattan. Well, we helped save it."
"But we didn't have to save it from my mother."
Matt rolled his eyes. Then he pushed Mohinder out the bathroom door.
***
Matt decided he was fine with it. He could handle it. He'd been a cop for over a decade: junkies had yelled at him, hookers had sworn at him and abusive boyfriends had threatened to "have his badge" for interfering while they gave their girlfriend a black eye. He could handle one slightly-over-middle-age, quietly spoken Indian woman.
He could ignore her disapproving frown as he poured a bowl of Frosty Loops. ("Breakfast is a very important meal, Molly. Would you like to try some of my yogurt and muesli?" she asked.)
When he got stuck at the station and picked Molly up late, Mohinder's mom greeted them and immediately looked at the small, delicate gold watch on her wrist. That was fine with him (even if he heard her say, "Being punctual is not only about convenience and being organized, Molly. It is also a way of showing respect to the people you have agreed to meet," as he hung his jacket up).
He could even cope with eating spinach. Three nights in a row. (She must have seen him pull a face the first night but at least she didn't lecture Molly on the importance of vegetables.)
Mohinder seemed pleased to have his mom staying with them but the nervousness of the last week hadn't completely disappeared, so Matt waited until Mohinder closed their bedroom door that night. He didn't want to make a big deal of it, so he approached the topic casually. "Is it my imagination, or did we have spinach last night?"
"And the night before," Mohinder agreed softly, shrugging out of his shirt. Matt watched him closely. Just because he couldn't touch for another seventeen days, didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the view. "My mother's trying to teach Molly to cook it."
"Any particular reason?" Matt asked carefully.
"It was one of my favourite dishes as a child." Mohinder smiled, soft and a little wistful. For that smile, Matt would eat spinach all week.
***
Matt was good at rolling with life's punches.
Switching from Frosty Loops to toast for breakfast: small sacrifice. Swallowing mouthfuls of slushy spinach only hurt the tastebuds. He even made an effort to get out of work on time, using the excuse of, "Mother-In-Law. Don't ask."
He happily compromised his nights off. He started listening to his iPod and reviewing case files, or playing board games with Molly. (He'd noticed the disapproving glances when they'd spent nights watching TV together. They had TiVo. He could catch up on Prison Break later.)
Matt was dealing well with his fairly-polite-yet-rude houseguest. Right up until she argued with Mohinder.
It wasn't a family argument Parkman-style. If it had been Matt's family, there would have been screaming, yelling, flailing arms and gifts thrown back in someone's face. It would have ended with shouts of 'I have no son!' and 'I can't believe I was in twenty hours of labour for this!'
The Sureshes, it seemed, argued differently. Mohinder's mother was speaking quite gently and reasonably, but it made Mohinder tense up, shoulders hunching as his answers became shorter and shorter.
Mohinder ended it by switching into English. "This is ridiculous. I am not discussing this any further." He walked sharply into the bedroom.
Mohinder's mom had the nerve to glare at Matt, as if he'd been the cause of this. Matt just rolled his eyes at her, obvious enough that she had to have noticed, and went after him.
"You okay?" Matt asked, closing the door behind him.
Mohinder was sitting on the end of the bed, straight as a post with his fingers laced tightly on his lap. "I am fine, thank you very much."
That level of politeness couldn't be a good sign.
"Yeah, you look fine." Matt shrugged and sat down beside Mohinder. "Mind you, I don't have a great base for figuring these things out. In the Parkman household, that's a minor squabble. The main attraction would be someone throwing a plate across the room and someone else smashing a glass just on principle."
Mohinder looked sideways at him. For a moment, there was the hint of a smile. "There was a discussion."
"Sure, there was a discussion. Like the Vietnam War was a negotiation."
"Luckily, I don't think guerrilla tactics will be used." Mohinder huffed out a sigh and collapsed backwards onto the bed. Staring up at the ceiling he said, "It is amazing that one can love and respect one's parents but still be incredibly thankful that they live in another country."
"Families," Matt said with another shrug. "Can't live with them, can't shoot them without doing time."
Matt twisted, leaning down on an elbow. He used his free hand to cup Mohinder's cheek. Mohinder leaned into the touch, which was a nice change from the last week. Before his mom had even got here, Mohinder had started pulling back guiltily, apologising. Even at night, while they were sleeping fully clothed, Matt had to coax him into holding hands beneath the covers.
Matt was starting to feel touch-starved. He'd forgotten what it was like to live with someone, to lie beside them in the same bed, without being touched. With Janice, this pattern had become permanent: no kissing, no hugging, no friendly hand on his shoulder or casual touches as they passed each other.
It was going to be a long three weeks.
Matt dragged his mind back to the current issue. "What did she say?"
"The short version?" Mohinder closed his eyes. "I care too much for Molly."
"The hell?"
"My mother thinks that it is quite admirable that I should take such a responsible and loving attitude towards a child, especially one missing a parental figure. However, in the long run, it is not in Molly's best interest to encourage her to rely upon me. It is also not in my best interest to become so attached to a child that is not my own."
Matt blinked, lost for words.
"It is, apparently, highly ill-advised for me to allow this to continue. I am a single man and when it is convenient for this situation to end, when I am offered a better job or you--" Mohinder opened his eyes, looking at Matt. "I am not going to repeat what she said about you but she implied..."
"That I'm a bad father?" Matt suggested, and Mohinder winced, nodding. "Yeah, she's been implying that to me for a while."
"I can't believe that she travelled across oceans to tell me that Molly would be better off if I cared less. That if I did less at home, spent less time with her, concentrated more on my research and career, it would be best for both of us."
It took Matt a moment to recognise the expression on Mohinder's face. He was hurt. Leaning over, Matt pressed a kiss to the smooth, warm skin of Mohinder's forehead. "She's wrong."
"Maybe," Mohinder allowed, "but--"
"No buts. She's wrong. She thinks that Molly only belongs to me, and we should move out." Clearly, she hoped it would be sooner rather than later, but Matt figured this wasn't the best time to mention the 'For Lease' ads miraculously circled in his morning paper. "She's scared that you and Molly will end up heartbroken. It's a compliment, really."
"My mother thinks the best thing I can do for a child is stay out of its life," Mohinder said, voice sounding suspiciously rough. "How is that a compliment?"
"She can see how much Molly loves you and how much you love her. She can see, after only being here a week, that the three of us are a family." Matt reached up to push a strand of hair off Mohinder's forehead, then smoothed it down, enjoying the soft slide of hair against his fingers. "That you're Molly's dad as much as I am."
Mohinder managed a small smile, and Matt took advantage of the moment to kiss him. It was just once, open-lipped with a tiny brush of tongue, but he wasn't surprised by Mohinder pulling back with a shocked gasp and a reprimanding, "Matthew!"
It was still worth it.
***
Matt hadn't thought about his upcoming days off. Sure, he thought about them in the sense of 'thank heavens I've only got two more shifts to go' and planning what to clear off the TiVo first, but he hadn't considered how having another person at home would effect his precious time off work.
He had a routine going. He'd get up, get dressed, take Molly to school. He'd come home, change into sweats and the rattiest t-shirt he could find, clean the bathroom and do the vacuuming, and the laundry if he absolutely had to. Then he'd get a bowl, a spoon, a box of Frosty Loops and a carton of milk, settle down on the couch and spend the rest of the day clearing Prison Break, NCIS and Desperate Housewives out of the TiVo. (They were the shows that were too adult for Molly to watch and too unrealistic to hold Mohinder's attention.)
It started okay. He was too busy cleaning and sorting clothes, thankful there wasn't enough to warrant a trip to the Laundromat, to notice the extra presence in the house. But when he went to watch TV, it was hard not to feel the judgmental stare directed at his box of cereal.
Mohinder's mom was sitting at the small table, newspaper pages spread across the surface, so it wasn't like there was space for him to eat at the table anyway. But she still glared at his cereal as he padded over to the couch and took every available opportunity to turn pages loudly, paper rustling and crinkling through every quiet scene.
They only had one TV, so Matt couldn't disappear into the bedroom to watch. He tried suggesting that the light in Molly's room might be better for reading, but she gave a tiny, extremely false smile and shook her head.
He could feel himself getting edgy. Sitting on the couch, he couldn't help concentrating on the crinkle sound of paper behind him, the occasional long-suffering sigh, the quiet footsteps as she went to the bathroom and came back. All of this without saying a word to him.
He tried listening to her thoughts but, unlike Mohinder, she didn't think in English at all.
Matt figured he was reading too much into it. Maybe she wasn't trying to be rude, she just didn't want to interrupt his show. "Are you a big fan of TV?"
She shook her head slightly.
"More into reading, huh?"
He got a blank look and a striving-to-be-polite smile.
"It's one of my guilty pleasures. I get a day off and it's great to take some time, slob around on the couch and catch up on my favourite shows. I know it's trashy stuff, and there is no way that real casework ever goes as well as this," he pointed to the screen, at the paused shot of NCIS, "but it's fun to switch the brain off for a while and stop thinking."
She blinked at him once and then turned back to her newspaper. Actually, Matt was sure she was reading his newspaper. And she was probably circling the "For Lease" section again.
Matt stabbed at the play button.
***
The real trouble came at lunch. "I'm making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch. Do you want one?"
It wasn't a hard question to answer. In fact, Mohinder's mom answered it with a short shake of her head and went back to reading, ignoring him as he made his sandwich.
It wouldn't have been a problem. Wouldn't have bothered him, except the moment he cut the sandwich and walked out of the kitchen, she walked past him and started making a sandwich of her own.
A peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
He could have made that. He'd offered to make that. It was insane.
"I just offered to make you that," he said, annoyed and sounding it.
She raised an eyebrow as if she couldn't understand him.
"This whole 'not talking to me' thing is wearing thin. You speak English to Molly. You speak English in front of me. I know you know what I'm saying."
Her expression didn't change.
"Do you have any idea how rude you're being to me in my own home? You can stay under our roof, you can accept our hospitality, but you can't even manage the most basic of manners?"
"This is my son's home," she said in a sickeningly-sweet tone. "If you dislike how you are treated in it, Mr. Parkman, please feel free to leave it at any time."
Matt spluttered. "Hey, lady, just because you're here for another two weeks doesn't mean you have the right to dictate your son's entire life."
"I have Mohinder's best interests at heart."
"Like I don't?" Matt demanded, stalking back into the kitchen.
She stared at him, as cool and calm as Angela Petrelli. What was it with New York City and scary moms? After a moment of careful thought in Tamil, of course, she said, "I am quite sure you don't intend any deliberate harm to my son."
"That's rich! You think you can swan over here and act like you're the only one who cares about Mohinder? I don't remember you even seeing him in the last year we've been here. From what I remember, there's been a call a month."
She raised an eyebrow at him, and he felt like a bug under a microscope. It only made him angrier.
"A week. You've been here a week and you think you've got the right to tell him not to love Molly, to imply that him being in Molly's life is somehow wrong? Ask him sometime how he saved her life. Ask her why she calls him as her personal hero." Matt shoved the plate down on the bench, banging it loudly. "Just because you think I'm some dumb cop who's only ever lived in one country and only ever learned one language, don't think I haven't noticed how often you mention Chennai University. You have no right to come here and tell Mohinder he's not living his life right. He's happy here. So how about being a half-decent mom and supporting your kid?"
She smoothed a non-existent crease in her pink sari. "Not all parents take such a lackadaisical approach to guiding their children, Mr. Parkman."
"Since you've come here you've been a rude, judgemental busybody, sticking your nose into things that are none of your business!" Clenching his fists, Matt dragged a breath through his nose and tried to get his temper under control. It took three deep breaths before he could manage, "I'm going to go pick up Molly."
Mohinder's mom stared pointedly at the wall clock.
"I'm going to go for a very long walk and then pick up Molly," Matt corrected, realising Molly would still be in school for another two hours. "I think we'll go to the cinema and be back much, much later tonight."
Matt picked up his uneaten sandwich, grabbed his jacket out of the closet and very carefully did not slam the door on his way out.
***
They never got to the cinema. As soon as he picked Moll up, she shoved a pink and purple invitation into his hand and started talking a hundred miles a minute.
"It's a birthday party and I think all of the girls in my grade are going but Sharona was only allowed to invite three girls to sleep over at he place and she asked me and can I go, Matt? Can I go?"
She looked up at him, puppy-dog eyes in full force, but Matt ignored it. "That depends, Molly. When is it?"
"Next weekend. The party's on Saturday and I'd be home on Sunday, so it wouldn't interfere with school and Sharona said her mom can drop me home so you wouldn't even have to come pick me up," Molly said, in one excited rush.
Matt paused for effect. He knew Sharona's parents. He'd ransacked their minds the first time Molly had gone over to play, so he knew Molly would be fine. But it was a bad idea to give in to Molly straight away. She needed boundaries, or at least the illusion of dads that thought about her requests before they gave in.
"Okay," he said and kept talking through her squeal of delight. "You can go to the party. I'm not sure about the sleep-over so we'll discuss it with Mohinder when we get home."
Molly looked a little disappointed, but not much. Probably because she knew Mohinder was a pushover when it came to these sorts of things. "We'll need to buy her a present," Molly said seriously. "I can't go to her party without a present."
"How about we go buy one now?" Matt suggested and was rewarded with an enthusiastic hug.
***
After setting a budget of twenty bucks, they trawled through four different stores, only to return to buy the doll Molly had seen in the first one. They stopped for milkshakes and then headed home.
Hours in Molly's company had completely erased Matt's bad mood. He'd forgotten about the day's argument.
Until he opened the door and saw the thunderous expression on Mohinder's face.
Mohinder hugged her hello, saying, "Molly, sweetheart, can you stay here for a moment? I need to talk to Matt outside."
Molly shot Matt a sympathetic wince, showing she understood what that tone meant. "I'll get started on my homework."
"Good girl," Mohinder said and released her.
Matt put his keys back in his pocket and silently followed Mohinder out to the hall. They didn't start talking until the elevator doors closed behind them.
"My mother is only here for three weeks," Mohinder said, quietly furious. "You couldn't spend a day alone with her without fighting?"
"It's not like I started it."
"Did you call her rude and interfering?"
Matt cringed. "Yes."
"Did you say that my life was none of her business?"
"It's not as bad as it sounds," Matt started but the doors dinged open and Mrs. Ledson stepped in.
Mrs. Ledson was sixty-seven years old, five foot two inches and had permed white hair that fell flat across the crown. She smiled at them and said, "Good afternoon, Matt, Mohinder."
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Ledson," they replied in unison. There was something about her that made Matt feel like he was Molly's age and lived upstairs from his teacher. He secretly suspected Mohinder felt the same.
She turned back around to face the closing doors and Mohinder leaned closer to him. "I can't believe you told my mother we've lived together for a year."
"I didn't tell her that," Matt hissed back, keeping his voice low.
The slightly insulting eyebrow-raising thing had to run in the family, because Mohinder did it too. "Really?"
"I didn't tell her." Matt stopped, trying to remember precisely what he'd said. He hadn't told her they were living together. He'd only said she hadn't visiting in the last year… "I didn't mean to tell her."
"But you did," Mohinder said, a little too loudly.
Mrs Ledson turned around (thankfully saving Matt from the upcoming lecture). "Matt, have I ever told you about Mr. Ledson's mother?" she asked, reaching out and taking Matt's hand between hers.
"I don't think so, Mrs. Ledson."
"She was a horrible, nasty, scheming troublemaker," she said, cool, dry, wrinkled fingers patting the back of his hand. "Just remember that you marry the person, not their family. And if possible, make sure you don't live in the same state."
The elevator doors opened on the ground floor and Mrs. Ledson left them with a friendly wave.
Matt managed to keep a straight face while the doors closed. He pressed the button for their floor and managed to restrain his smile to a twitch of the lips. Then he looked sideways and caught Mohinder's eye.
They both burst out laughing.
"I can't believe we just got marriage advice from the nice little old lady who lives downstairs," Matt managed between gasping breaths. Mohinder was still laughing too hard to talk.
After a few false starts, the giggles finally subsided. "What are we going to tell my mother?" Mohinder asked tiredly, looping an arm around Matt's waist.
"We could invite Mrs. Ledson over," Matt suggested, which set them both off again.
***
In the end, they settled on an edited version of the truth. Matt had been shot in the line of duty, Mohinder had been Molly's doctor, and Matt's wife had divorced him while he was still in hospital. Matt had stayed with Mohinder while recuperating, and they'd decided they liked living in their makeshift family.
When Mohinder's mom looked at Matt, there was a new speculative gleam in her gaze. Matt wasn't sure if that was a good sign.
***
Matt couldn't sleep. Not because his pseudo-mother-in-law snored like a freight train (she did), but because Mohinder had messaged him twice tonight to say he'd be late.
It was eleven o'clock and Matt was slouched over the end of the bed, organising the last four months utilities' bills because it needed to be done. Not because he was worried. Certainly not because the idea of facing Mohinder's mom alone in the morning and tell her that her son hadn't come home terrified him.
There was a jingle of metal and a squeaking door in the other room. Matt reached for his gun on the shelf and stood up. He counted to seven, then the bedroom door opened and Mohinder stepped in, squinting at the light.
"You know," Mohinder said, pulling off his jacket and hanging it up, "I've actually memorised the furniture in that room. If we ever move it, I'm going to bruise my shins trying to navigate in the dark."
"Good thing I'm not planning to move it," Matt said, sliding his handgun onto the top shelf of their closet. Then an idea hit him. "Good thing you didn't wake up your mom, too."
By the time Mohinder looked up from undoing his shirt buttons, Matt had taken three steps closer. "Matt," Mohinder said, warningly.
Matt smoothed a hand under the open shirt, running his palms over body-warm cotton. He leaned in, close enough that their lips almost touched. "Your mom's asleep."
Mohinder breathed in sharply but a hand still landed on Matt's hip. "You can't be sure."
"I can hear her snoring." Matt tugged at Mohinder's next layer, getting inches of warm, bare skin for his effort.
"She could wake up," Mohinder said, but he didn't sound convinced. His eyes were half-closed, and his other hand was now squeezing Matt's ass. "She could hear us."
"Then we won't use the bed. No squeaky, muffled noises," Matt said, breathing the words against Mohinder's ear and feeling him shudder. He started working on Mohinder's belt, saying, "I'll just drop to my knees right here and blow you against the wall."
Mohinder's hands clenched, fingers digging into Matt's skin.
"You just need to stand here and be quiet," Matt said, unzipping and reaching past underwear to get his hand on Mohinder's half-hard cock. "I'm sure you can do that."
Then there was a scream.
It was Molly. A nightmare. They both rushed out the bedroom door, pulling clothes into place as they moved.
"Nightmare?" Mohinder asked.
"Normal nightmare," Matt confirmed, scanning Molly's thoughts as they opened her bedroom door and headed straight for her bed. It was an everyday type of nightmare: giving a Spanish presentation in her underwear and everyone laughing at her.
They were both well-trained for nightmares now. Mohinder went for the lamp. Matt went for the bed and gathered Molly into a hug before she really woke up. He rocked her and she mumbled against his chest, "It was a nightmare, but it wasn't... I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, guys."
Matt pressed a kiss against her forehead. "Honey, just because it isn't terrifying doesn't mean it wasn't scary."
She pulled back far enough to give him a strange look.
"Hey, you know what I mean," Matt said as Mohinder crouched beside them, wrapping an arm around Molly's back.
"What Matt means," Mohinder said gently, "is that it doesn't matter what type of nightmare it is. If anything scares you, sweetheart, we're going to be here."
"And we'll do something about it," Matt added.
"Even if that something is just tucking you in and making sure you know there's nothing you need to be scared of," Mohinder finished.
Matt smiled at him as he let go of Molly and got off the bed. He started pulling the covers up, but Mohinder apparently saw that as a challenge, since he jogged to the other side of her bed. He folded the covers over her shoulders, tucking the covers under her arms and sides.
"Oh, like a pastry," Matt said, getting the idea, repeating it on the other side, all the way down to Molly's ankles. It wasn't his fault that his tucking pulled the covers untucked Mohinder's side. Somehow it turned into a tucking war, and then a tickle-fight when Molly started giggling and objecting to being 'wrapped up like a mummy'.
It finished with Molly squealing her giggles. "Stop! Stop! Come on, you guys, stop!" They collapsed face down onto her bed, one each side of her and she wrapped a small arm around each of their shoulders and said softly, "You guys are the silliest dads ever."
She kissed them goodnight, which was their cue to leave. "Sweet dreams," Mohinder said, as he got up.
"Because if you don't have good dreams," Matt said, standing up, "there's a second tickle fight coming straight to this room."
Molly grinned. "Goodnight, guys."
It was only when Matt turned to leave that he saw Mohinder's mom standing in the doorway, quietly watching them. She asked something quietly and Mohinder nodded. Then he turned to Matt, asking, "Do you want a cup of tea? Or hot chocolate? I'm going to stay up for a bit."
"Nah," Matt said, internally cursing the lost opportunity. "I'm going straight to bed. Need my beauty rest."
Mohinder smiled. "I'll see you in the morning."
***
Matt was halfway through washing a dish when he paused and looked over at the couch. Mohinder was sitting on one end, lamp on beside him, flicking through scientific journals. Molly was snuggled up against his side, reading her English novel. Every so often she'd turn to Mohinder for help, pointing at an unfamiliar word and he'd bend his head down to hers, murmuring softly.
Smiling, Matt put the plate away and started drying the next one.
He continued to sneak glances of the pair of them, watching Molly's serious expression, the one she always wore for school work. Smiling as he recognized the fond affection on Mohinder's face. A less noble part of Matt noticed the curve of Mohinder's lips, the way the light caught on Mohinder's neck and the curve of cheek. Matt took a moment to imagine being alone in the apartment with Mohinder, walking over and licking just behind the curve of his ear...
He was startled out of his imagined scenario by a quiet, accented voice. "Perhaps I was somewhat wrong, Detective Parkman."
"Huh?" Matt asked, turning to face Mohinder's mom. "About what?"
"Perhaps," she said slowly, glancing over at the couch, "you are not indifferent to Mohinder's best interests."
Then she picked up her cup of tea and sat down on the other end of the couch.
Matt liked it better when she wasn't talking to him. At least then he'd been certain she didn't like him. Now he had that itch in the back of neck, that vague coiling in his gut, like he was interviewing a witness and being lied to. He didn't like it.
***
It was the calm before the storm. Matt was sure of it.
Mohinder's mom was speaking to him. Nothing deep and meaningful, nothing more intense than "Good morning," and an occasional "Will you be eating with us tonight?" but it was enough that he didn't feel like an invisible intruder in his own home.
It should have put him at ease, but there was something about the way she kept watching Mohinder and watching him. He'd be in middle of talking to Mohinder -- innocent how-was-your-day conversations -- and look up to find her dark eyes on them, her mouth pressed into a straight line.
There was a slim chance that she knew.
Matt had a pretty good intuition about these things. Part of being a cop was recognising what information someone already knew and what they were putting together from the cop's questions. He was pretty sure Mohinder's mom was figuring something out.
***
Part Two
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Typo
Date: 2008-03-15 05:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-15 06:25 pm (UTC)Re: Typo
Date: 2008-03-15 10:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-15 06:04 pm (UTC)I sooo cannot wait to read the rest, though I might not have time to finsih any right now. LOVELY! <3
no subject
Date: 2008-03-15 10:43 pm (UTC)(And I'm glad you've enjoyed it so far!)
no subject
Date: 2008-03-15 07:41 pm (UTC)You're kidding, that's a universal phenomenon? I thought my family was the only one whose biggest fights revolved around laundry!
"Your mom doesn't like how I acted in our cover story? That's why she doesn't like me?"
That was unexpected. Those boys and their crazy backfiring schemes! I imagine wackiness will now ensue (I'm commenting as go; I actually don't know the outcome of this).
"I can't believe we just got marriage advice from the nice little old lady who lives downstairs," Matt managed between gasping breaths. Mohinder was still laughing too hard to talk.
And there's that wackiness. Heh. Matt and Mohinder have a sixty-seven-year-old hag.
It's not at all surprising that this idea would expand to a three-part series. And I'm glad it did; their family drama is fun to watch.
no subject
Date: 2008-03-15 10:46 pm (UTC)Hee! I don't know about everyone, but I know that my family's been known to yell about where anyone left their washing to dry.
Those boys and their crazy backfiring schemes! I imagine wackiness will now ensue
Hee! That makes them sound like something from I Love Lucy. I love it.
no subject
Date: 2008-03-18 02:26 am (UTC)