It happens so quickly, Mohinder freezes. Oh his hands work, he hears his own voice calling Molly's name, but inside he goes cold. Around him the world becomes a dull, aching grey and he hardly notices.

"Molly?" Matt echoes, looking utterly destroyed. The tears Mohinder can't find well in his eyes, his face etched with the pain Mohinder won't let himself.

And that's the worst of it, Mohinder thinks. What he can't let himself feel, Matthew is taking on in spades. Naturally.

"Move, Matt," Mohinder says, his voice firm. "Let me get her to the bed." Matt stumbles backward, nearly tripping over the furniture in his haste. His eyes stay fixed on Molly as Mohinder lifts her up and turns. She's still so small, frail, and he recalls those days fighting to save her. He'd had no idea then just what he was letting himself in for. Molly, Matt, this apartment, it's all become so much more than he'd intended.

He left India without a clue as to what he was truly searching for. Fitting that it should find him in the most unexpected of ways. If he loses them none of it will matter and the thought almost surprises him. Not so long ago, his father's discovery had been everything in the world to him.

This is the first time he's thought of it in months. The realization makes him hold Molly tighter.

Behind him, Matt is following slowly. He says nothing, but Mohinder can hear the fear in his halting step.

This wasn't supposed to matter like it does.

Mohinder settles Molly onto the bed and checks her pulse, surprised when Matt pushes by him. "What are you doing?"

"Going after her," Matt snaps, closing his eyes and reaching out to touch Molly's temples. Mohinder thinks the rage in Matt's expression should be his. He should be the one raging. "I'm not leaving my little girl in there."

Mohinder bites his tongue and holds back the response, you're the reason she is. Matt flinches, dropping his head forward. "Matthew --"

"No, you're right." Matt says, his voice hollow. "You're right, this is my fault." He sets his jaw and his expression goes slack. So much so that fear seizes hold of Mohinder and propels him forward.

Matt's shoulders beneath his hands are warm, firm, and Mohinder's grip is tighter than he intends. "Be safe," he whispers. "I can't lose you both."

"Safe's not going to get her back," Matt grits out. Sweat beads out on his forehead with the effort and Mohinder tenses.

There are too many ways this can go wrong, too many things that can happen. His mind runs down the possibilities, he sees Matt sprawled on the floor, trapped as Molly is or worse still.

Mohinder shoves the thought aside, pushing the image from his mind. He can't be thinking about that now. Not when Matt might hear, not when he can't bear it.

"Shut up, Mohinder," Matt says. "You're thinking too much."

Mohinder smiles weakly. "An unfortunate habit." And a long-standing joke, one of Molly's favorites. The thought makes his heart clench in his chest. He wishes he could hear her laughter. How he wishes.

"She's right there," Matt says. "I can almost -- " he falls back with a grunt of pain, causing Mohinder to stumble to his knees. When he rights himself, he sees Matt's face. Pale and clammy, blood trickling from one eye, he looks like death.

"Matthew," he breathes and reaches out to touch him. Matt's blood is hot against his fingers.

"God, you're cold," Matt says, his voice faint, confirming Mohinder's own suspicion. Exhaustion written in the lines of his face, Matt slumps forward, leaning his elbows on his arms.

"Shock," Mohinder explains.

"She's there, Mohinder." Matt looks dejected. "I can almost -- she's there. I reach out and she's right there, but then--" He hides his face in his hands, voice breaking. "She didn't want to do this, she just...she wanted to help."

"Yes, she did." Mohinder looks past him at Molly's face. Beneath the ice, he feels anger begin to stir, uncoiling like a snake warming beneath the sun. "Your father is responsible for this, Matt." He's disliked the man from the first hints and suggestions Matt's made. There are no words to accurately describe the depth of loathing he now feels.

The closest thing his daughter has to a grandfather is her own personal boogeyman.

Mohinder's never hated someone so much in his life.

"I'm responsible for this." Matt shakes his head. "I asked her to do it. I can't get her out, Mohinder. I can't."

"Not yet," Mohinder says. "But your father can. If he trapped her, he can free her. All we have to do is make him." He rests a hand on Matt's shoulder, squeezing. "And we're going to."

"We are," Matt agrees. "And once we do..." he looks to Mohinder, utterly lost. His expression speaks to things Mohinder can't bring himself to feel right now.

Yes, Mohinder has truly never hated someone so deeply. It's almost a comfort, the hate brings a clarity of thought he desperately needs. Gripping it tightly, he nods. "Yes, precisely," he says almost pleasantly. "First we find him -- "

"Then we make him pay." Matt finishes. "Doubt it's the reunion dear old dad had in mind."

"Likely not," Mohinder says. "However, this isn't how I imagined introducing him to his granddaughter either."

"God," Matt sucks in a breath, the fight draining out of him. "I didn't --"

Surging forward, Mohinder kisses him. It's hard, messy, and nothing like the embraces they usually share.

"Don't," he says when they part. "Molly needs us right now. We've no time for self-recrimination. What he's done, he will pay for. We are her parents, we'll see to it. All right?"

Matt nods, slowly, and Mohinder smiles.

"Good man," he says, and kisses him again.

They'll reach her, Mohinder's certain of it. Even if he has to tear the world apart to do it; they're going to get her back.

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