There are moments, quiet snippets of time stolen in the night, when he wonders, is this how my father felt? Moments in which the truth of what his life has become suddenly crystallize, edges sharpening to cut like a razor through his soul. Seconds that tick by like little eternities where he can almost feel the touch of his father's hand on his shoulder.

He's had far too many of those moments since he first felt the concrete of New York City beneath his feet when he's wondered that, but never like this. Never when holding his firstborn in his arms and staring out at the sky through the smudged, cracked window of a cheap motel in the middle of the desert.

Out there, somewhere, he knows his friends and comrades are in situations not dissimilar to his. Pursued by all sides, the better part of valor these days has become saving one's self.

"He who fights and runs away -- " Mohinder looks at his daughter and then at the sleeping woman behind him. Sees his family live another day.

*

He remembers the day things changed, as much as he's tried to forget, there's no letting go.

It was a perfect day, the worst ones always are. Eden at his side, they'd found a young boy with a nasty penchant for inadvertant lightning strikes. They were all set to do the usual explanation, slip the boy into hiding through Bennet and company, when the warning had come down.

He'll never be sure exactly who it came from, he's not sure he'll ever care, but it didn't matter. They ran.

*

The news is chaos: reports of mutant powers, viruses, and descriptions of a man that might be Sylar. They stop watching.

*

In the next town, Eden walks into a computer store. She walks out a half hour later with as much as she can carry. They share a look, Mohinder opens his mouth, the apology already on his lips.

From her carrier, Asha cries. She's hungry.

Eden feeds her, Mohinder puts the equipment in the trunk and they drive on.

*

"Mohinder." Peter doesn't smile anymore, but the distance in his eyes fades.

"Peter," Mohinder doesn't smile either. Asha is colicky, Eden has pneumonia, and he's exhausted. "How are the others?"

"Safe, mostly." Peter looks amused. "Nobody's sure where Hiro is but, he'll turn up. Always does." Mohinder watches him look around. "Where's -- "'

"With her mother." Mohinder sighs then explains. "The joy of life on the run."

Peter nods. "We think it will be safe soon."

Neither one of them believes it. "What do you have for me?"

"Three more cases." Peter passes over the flashdrive. "It's going to get a lot worse, Mohinder. Nathan says the CDC is telling him they're stumped."

Mohinder makes a dismissive noise. The CDC isn't even trying. Nathan's stymied by too many people in too many places with too many plans. "I'll let you know."

"Take care." Then Peter's gone, a rush of wind in his wake.

Mohinder turns away.

*

The data is conflicting, frustrating, and Mohinder pushes it away from him in disgust. Someone created this, he can see hints of it in the dna, the telltale markers of a designer's hand.

Someone is murdering them.

*

Eden looks at him. "It's not pneumonia, Mohinder." She insists. She won't touch Asha anymore. Insists on bottle feeding her formula. "We both know it."

He looks away. "You just need to give the antibitoics time."

"They've had more than enough."

"Just a little longer," he pleads and she sighs. He just needs a little more time. He thinks his father might have said the same thing.

*

She's gone when he wakes up. He reaches for the phone and calls Bennet. Molly will know.

*

"You should have let me go," Eden tells him, scratching her arm, just above the IV. "I'm dying, Mohinder."

He kisses her. "Like hell you are."

*

Thompson is waiting when he walks out of the cubicle. "Well?"

Mohinder passes him by. "You know what I'll need for this."

"You already have it."

He takes his daughter from Claire's arms. "Good."

 

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