Fic: Nightmares and Dreamscapes, Heroes: Matt/ Mohinder

[under_hatches]

Even though they each had his own bed, Matt often lay down on the sofa, waiting for the telltale shuffle of feet along the corridor towards the kitchen. After a few weeks, Mohinder even stopped making himself some tea, as he had used to in the stillness of the night that never really was still enough for him to sleep. Or maybe it was too still. Matt himself had always welcomed the sounds Mohinder had made while shuffling through the apartment, the boiling kettle lifted from the oven before it whistled, the quiet clanking of the cups in the cupboard. He had not questioned the why until the apartment felt as quiet as if Mohinder was not there at all, and even though he was, the apartment felt different. In the evenings, Matt settled into an almost numb state, only being shaken out of it by Molly's nightmares.

Matt lay on the sofa, feeling tired and heavy up to a point where he couldn't keep his head up or his eyes open and just before slipping into sleep he remembered. He remembered that they used to sit here together, sometimes watching TV, sometimes in comfortable silence. One image became so clear that Matt did not know whether he had dreamt it or not, but it accompanied him into his dreams nevertheless: Mohinder, warm and sleepy, curled up next to him, barefoot and laughing at something senseless on TV.

Something woke him, though once he blinked into the darkness he could not say what it was. It was like a vortex of absence, almost painful, and he reached out instinctively in the one way that came easy to him when he wasn't entirely conscious. He was met by a tight knot of confusion, thoughts sharp as glass and too shrill for him to decipher.

"Mohinder?"

Matt sat up, the confusion slowly becoming something more solid, like an armour being forged. He did not know what to say without admitting to spying.

"Are you having nightmares again?"

The silence scared him more than the fierceness in which Molly would wake from the demons chasing her. It was as if Mohinder was being swallowed by the darkness of the room. His nightmares where different from Matt's. Matt's dreams never loomed like that, never reduced themselves to a shadow in a corner, never made him turn around and check twice. Silence came close though, absence even closer.

Matt quickly reached out, holding his right arm in front of him while getting up. It was not dark enough to justify the gesture, but when Mohinder touched Matt's outstretched hand, Matt was startled nevertheless. The contact was unfamiliar, and for a brief moment Matt wondered if someone could vanish right under your eyes while still being there somehow. But then Mohinder interlaced his fingers with Matt's. Matt remembered that touch, even though it seemed too long ago.

"Just dreams," Mohinder whispered.

There was a time when it meant something else, but Matt nodded. Mohinder never talked about his dreams and Matt neither asked nor read them. He had tried once, wanting to understand the distance between them, but it had left him feeling sea sick and lost and he had wondered for days if that was how Mohinder felt.

There were so many why's he wanted an answer too.

The next night, he was sitting on the sofa again, not yet quite in the state of just before sleep that he came to like so much when he noticed a movement next to him. Mohinder did not sit down, just stood there, and Matt noticed maybe for the first time how tired the other man seemed. Drained almost, as if he was running on borrowed energy. There was this feeling of absence again. Had he thought about it, he would have stopped himself; but instead he reached out again, waiting for Mohinder to take his hand. And when Mohinder did, Matt pulled him closer so he could look at him. It was baffling how much you could miss during the daytime, but then again, that wasn't news to him.

"Is there a single night where you can sleep?" he wanted to ask.

Instead he simply looked at Mohinder.

Mohinder smiled and then turned, letting go of Matt's hand slowly. In the last second, Matt decided otherwise and held tight, stopping Mohinder. He had not thought much further than that, but he couldn't let him slip away like that again.

"Let's go to bed, alright," he asked.

Mohinder was a different person at night, even more silent, and Matt was not surprised that he didn't say a word when he guided Mohinder into his own bedroom. He decided that not all dreams needed talking, and silently slipped into the bed next to Mohinder.

They did not get rid of the second bed after that. But they both slept more soundly, the shadows in their corners. And when Matt tried to listen in, he received soft feathery images, coloured and glowing.



~*~



Matt had waited for a bitterness that never came. He often had sat on their couch with Mohinder, Molly safe between them, waiting for the lump of regret to form in his throat.

Sometimes when Molly called him and he was distracted or tired, he would understand 'Dad' and silently wonder how it would be to be called that in earnest.

Matt had expected everything but being content. When he came home dead on his feet, the flat was a home indeed. Sometimes he wanted to tell them; instead, he formed thoughts, wishing for the others to be mind readers.