bakerstreet | The "Be Careful What You Wish For" Meme

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The "Be Careful What You Wish For" Meme

Everyone has something they wish for. If we didn't have desires, we wouldn't have hearts. Sometimes we want mundane things: a turkey sandwich sounds pretty good right about now. And sometimes we want impossible things: if only I could make her love me.

Just for today, your heart's desires are granted. Maybe it has something to do with that monkey paw you found at a flea market. Perhaps you've gone on an expedition and returned with some rusty old lamp. It could be a wish on a shooting star, an extinguished birthday candle, or even the work of a good old-fashioned Faery Godparent. Whatever's caused this sudden change in your luck, one thread holds true. It turned out wrong.

Now, your crush loves you so much she's stalking you. You can turn objects into gold with a touch, but all the food turns inedible on your tongue. Everyone's left you alone to read, but you've just broken your glasses. The sandwich is a little dry.

Can you handle getting what you want?
Thread around and find out.

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Mohinder is tired of being alone. With the ten year old orphan girl he'd started to think of as 'daughter' sent back home to India to live with his mother after a telekinetic serial killer tried to kill them all, his telepathic roommate off rekindling his romance with his estranged wife, and the woman he was trying to help remove her powers from currently afraid of him (and for good reason), Mohinder's sort of lost his way.

It was suppose to be so easy. He found out how to stimulate the genetic mutation in normal human beings to cause them to evolve. To give them powers, abilities. To make the playing field even. Despite the obvious consequences of experimenting on himself, Mohinder had gone ahead and turned from a mild mannered, trilingual professor and genetics expert from India into...

Into this.

He feels healthier than ever. His metabolism is extremely high now, but so is his aggression. And his dominance. He can climb walls like a spider or a lizard. He's super strong. But he can't control his anger. Or his sex drive. And he's started to change... There are the beginings of scales on his shoulder. Under his arm. He's afraid.

And though Mohinder has not been spiritual in a very long time, he prayed, prayed his heart out, for someone to help him.

That doesn't stop him from hiding up in the rafters of the New York loft he uses as his lab when a stranger walks in uninvited.

What... the...

Bruce stares in slow confusion at where he suddenly finds himself. He had been holed up in a tiny motel room, down long past Mexico, with every intention of finding something to eat. The warm weather has been good for him, and he's dressed in his loose, simple cotton clothing.

Ever since he had said goodbye to Tony, everything had changed. It was cold in his life, quiet, and dark. He misses Tony like he would miss his arm, but he doesn't know how to do it - how to go back to New York and be there and say he doesn't care about alien life forms and morals as long as maybe they can stop being alone together.

That is what he has been for-- he isn't even sure anymore-- for a while now. Utterly alone. He wants it to end ~~wants to end it all~~. He misses Tony, misses Steve, and knows he's spiraling into dark places he's tried to avoid for so long.

That sure as hell doesn't explain how he ends up here after stepping out of his motel room!

The first instinct is to pounce, but Mohinder isn't that far gone yet. He still can wrap his mind around what is good and what is not. The voice that comes from the ceiling is so very soft, British with a touch of foreigness. It's not a voice twanged with the typical Indian accent, Mohinder was completely schooled by a British teacher during his young and his English is perfect.

And like velvet.

"And what are you doing here?" Inquiring minds want to know. "And why do you smell like that?"

With the voice, Bruce gets a very strange feeling of ~~ceiling!~~Clint watching him, but instead he sees a young man who seems to be of Indian origin. "...I'd like to know what I'm doing here and where even is," Bruce says cautiously as he definitely seems to be intruding on someone's home. "And I shouldn't smell..." He took a bath just this morning, even if he hasn't shaved in a few days.

"You're in Manhattan." He jumps easily from the darkness of the high ceiling with it's exposed beams -- this use to be an artist's loft after all -- and lands neatly in front of Bruce. They're roughly the same height, though Mohinder is slimmer and younger by about ten years. He leans in and sniffs the air between them before his head tilts to the side. Curls fall across his eyes. "Your blood isn't quite right, my friend."

Bruce's jaw works once, twice, before he rubs his brow. "I was south of Mexico. I left my motel room and stepped into your home." His hand drops just in time to see the young man decidedly sniff him like a dog.

"...Neither is the ability to smell that."

That makes Mohinder laugh. "I assure you, we're not in Mexico," he says as he shrugs and moves back towards his work station. Voice recorder is slipped into his pocket. Notes are put away. The computer is turned off. "And the odour detection is a relatively new occurance. I meant no disrepect. I apologize."

New occurance. It sounds much like the kind of tone he would use, making him arch an eyebrow. "...are you a mutant?" he asks quietly, cautiously. The young man seems a bit on the older side for the X-Gene to start affecting him this late in his life.

"Well that's fairly rude, isn't it? I wouldn't use that term, no." Mutant. It sounds so B horror film! "Are you here because you believe yourself to be?" His father, Chandra Suresh, had written a widely ignored book on human evolution, on the mutation of the genome that causes abilities to manifest. He'd died for it too. People still seek him out even now and are forced to have his son meet them instead. "I'm afraid that I'm not the Suresh you're looking for, but perhaps I can help. What is it you can do that most humans can not?"

Bruce just holds up a hand. "Forgive me if it's rude, I suppose I get a bit caught up with the popular term. That family name is certainly of the origin matching the face, but at least it gives him a name to work with.

"You... help-- those who are... beyond human?" Cautious in his choice of words now. Mutant does, in his mind, put it succinctly but he could have called it 'the more evolved' or something similar.

"Like I said, I have no idea how I even came here. Or who you are."

Still a scientist. Always a scientist... He smiles at Bruce. Obviously American and confused. For his own research, having a person older and just discovering their potential is...typical. Or at least not atypical. "Help? Well, I'm rubbish at it frankly. It's my life work, however, studying the evolved human genome. And people like you."

He shrugs and fishes the recorder out of his pocket before he offers his hand.

"Doctor Mohinder Suresh. Pleasure. I tend to call people like you 'special.' Suddenly finding yourself here suggests an ability to teleport. Is this the first time you've done such a thing?"

"A pleasure, but I'm not a mutant like you're thinking of," he shakes Mohinder's hand warmly. He isn't about to tell this stranger anything else about him. There's something playing at the edges of his memory... Dr. Suresh... but where has he heard it.

"Dr. David Bixby." His name's somewhat famous now in certain circles considering Tony announcing him to his stock holders and outside companies about his new hire. "My work now has much to do with the same. I've been working on immunizations and when I can, learning more about the X-Gene."

"Oh! Yes, I believe I've read some of your papers recently. Aren't you employeed by Stark Industries?" He's a scientist. Keeping up on journals is important to all scientists. "But that hardly explains your teleportation. Or why you...and i'm terribly sorry to be so rude again...but something about you just smells...off. Incorrect. Might I fetch you some tea?"

He promises not to drug it. He has a small of habit of doing that but he's not convinced that Bixby is a threat. Yet.

"I am. No offense meant, but if you keep pointing out my scent, I'll have to point out that it isn't entirely human to be able to smell such things either." Not exactly subtle but he's never been wonderful at subtle.

"...Tea would be nice, however." He watches Mohinder curiously, trying to figure out several things. Such as this teleportation - how could it have happened? It wasn't him, that is the one thing he can easily guess. And of all places, how did he end up back here?

"Ah, that." Mohinder doesn't have far to go. He makes tea on a Bunson burner, afterall. The pot is distinctly Indian, however. As is the flavour chosen. Mohinder's always been fond of chai. This blend is tinted with vanilla and is really very mellow. "I wasn't born with a...as you put it, a mutation, no. I've, unfortunately, been met with a bit of an accident during my research."

If you can consider injecting yourself with mutated genes and the adrenaline of a woman that kills people through breaking down blood vessels when she gets upset purposefully an accident....

"Do you take cream?"

"No, thank you." Well, either this young lad knows exactly who he is, or he's found someone with strangely similar circumstances. "I guess you could say that is why my scent is off as well. Seems something I've found awfully similar among those of us who make it a study."

He does, though, change languages and try the tongue he spoke for the last few years. "Are you originally from America?"

It makes Mohinder chuckle before he realizes Bixby's switched to Hindi. It's a language he's heard only in his own head of in music for two years now. He turns, almost too quickly, and blinks at the man. His smile widens.

"No," he replies. The accent usually makes people believe he's from London, the British extremely pronouced. "I'd originally been with the University of Madras in India. My degree is from Cambridge. You speak Hindi! That's fantastic."

"I lived and worked in Calcutta for the last several years until Stark found me and asked me to come with him to the States." There's something refreshing about being able to speak in Hindi again, enough to finally pull a smile from him.

"I'm glad to speak it again, and I think you are as well."

"Telepathic now too, doctor?" He's just teasing. Mohinder is simply relieving. There is nothing about Bruce that makes him want to harm him -- though he has this really insane desire to shove his nose into his hair and figure out why he smells like that.

Something tells him that would not go over well.

He offers Bruce his tea and apologizes for the chip in the cup lip. "The light bothers my eyes so I rarely get to the shops to pick up anything new."

"Not telepathic, but I can read a man." He takes the tea and breathes in the scent of it, waving off the apology.

"What changes have happened to you?" Instead of outright asking what had happened, he will go for the less direct approach and ironically, perhaps try to help the man who had offered to help him.

This...is exactly what Mohinder needs. He's good hearted, mostly, though this thing inside of him is changing him rapidly. To have someone to consult--

Well, he's never been the brightest man. It doesn't occur to him that he shouldn't trust men. Even after the last two times he trusted men who used him and tried to kill him, Mohinder is still terribly niave.

"Come. Sit." He has switched back to English because describing things scientifically in Hindi, when Bruce is obviously not a native speaker, could get hairy. He removes his files and offers them up. He's kept notes on everything that has happened since the injection. First the black out. Then the strength. The ability to climb walls. The sensitivity to light. The noticeable aggression... He refrains from going into the physical changes. Instead, he offers Bruce his formula. "I'm trying to reverse it. Or to stabalize it."

Absolute last thing Bruce would have expected was this. No one has his formulas (anymore) on how he was changed, and no one ever would. The only copy sat in his head and he wouldn't tell. Yet... this young man offers up everything in an instant.

Maybe he can understand the idea of being so afraid, so alone, you'll reach out for help.

Bruce sits down with the files and pulls out his glasses, glad they came with him (damn, that means his phone is somewhere south of Mexico) as he starts to read and quickly. His brows raise from time to time as he reads, taking it in.

"How long has it been?" he finally asks, looking up to Mohinder. "The changes, for them to still be happening..." That is a deep worry.

"It's been just a little over two weeks now." Really, he just wants to share. If Bixby is another expert on human mutation, he might have some ideas on how to stabalize the formula.

Mohinder wants his abilities. He's tired of feeling useless. That's why he did it to himself in the first place, isn't it? If Sylar comes for him again, he'll be ready and waiting. He won't be a victim. But--

"Some of the side effects are...worsening. The aggitation. The aggression... I've been afraid to go out."

Hell.

Bruce swallows, knowing more than a little bit of something about agitation and aggression in this area. Two weeks and the mutation is still taking place. "How recently have you checked yourself, how it's changed you down to the deepest levels? Genes, do you have the ability to extract DNA in here as well?"

Bruce Banner | MCU | OTA

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Trying so hard not to LOL at work.

XD

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