Mohinder had it worse than Gabriel, hunched over and hands on his knees as waves of nausea passed over them. No one on the street seemed to notice, human beings were incredibly good at not noticing anything they didn't want to and a pair of guys trying not to puke at the mouth of an alley who hadn't been there a minute before was just an example of those things.

Mohinder sucked it all in before he wobbled back to a standing position and pulled down on his suit. "You complained about lines," the Indian said as if he had had this conversation before (and he had), "so you should transfer it to your ankle. Problem solved."

Not that it mattered. They were going to sign a license and they were going to say a few words with an appointed judge or marriage officiant. And they were going to exchange the bands that they had picked up while they were in Egypt-- There wouldn't be cameras or doves to release on cue. If there was a bit of bulk on Gabriel's wrist, it wouldn't matter in the slightest to Mohinder.

Today was just perfect. No matter what else happened. And so he offered his hand to Gabriel for the last few steps they would make as single men.