Written for comment_fic on livejournal
Prompt was Mohinder, He's Just Not that Into You
Angela Petrelli held up a dress in front of her body and raised an eyebrow at Mohinder. She knew that despite whatever pretenses of shopping were made, Mohinder was actually here for some relationship talk. Still, she might as well get some new clothes out of the afternoon.
But Mo just shook his head and said, "It's not really your color."
"Penny for your thoughts? Let me guess, you're thinking about the bad boy that got away."
"The hard part is, I know he'll come back. He always does. I'm just not sure what I should do when he does."
"Kill him. That's what I'd do."
Mohinder sighed. "Yeah, it's a nice thought, but every time I try we always end of wrestling on the ground, or with one of us pinned to the ceiling, and you know what that leads to."
"Yeah, of course," Angela said as she ran her fingers over some scarves in the accessories department and tried to pay attention.
"I mean, why would he keep coming back if he doesn't want to be with me? Is he scared of intimacy? Is he frightened by how strong our feelings are and he feels a need to run away?"
"Maybe he's married and didn't tell you," Angela muttered nonchalantly as she tried on a horridly pink felt hat.
"What? To who? Better not be to that bitch, Peter."
Angela gave him a look.
"Sorry, I mean, Peter's a lovely boy. It's just, he's all wrong for Sylar."
"That's one thing we can agree on, at least," Angela replied.
"But you know, he's had so many chances to kill me. But Sylar never has. Even when I got a really cool power that Sylar doesn't already own? He has never killed me. And he even let Molly get away that one time, and I think he did that for me. Isn't that sweet?"
"Maybe he let her go since he felt bad for murdering her parents in front of her."
"Nah, that's not how he thinks."
"Seriously, Mohinder, if you feel like making a dumb mistake with your ex, don't get the kids involved."
"Of course, Sylar would have to really prove himself before I introduced him to Molly."
Angela rolled her eyes. "Mohinder. You know I care about you. But if Sylar comes back, it won't be to stick around. He'll hit it and quit it, just like always. I'm sorry, but it's his pattern."
"But if I could figure out why he's so terrified to be loved - "
"I don't think that's the problem. I think he's just not that into you."
"What do you mean? How can he- but - no, that.... But then why does he keep having sex with me if he doesn't love me? It's because he can't let go!"
"It's because it's sex. With you."
"What do you mean?"
"Have you looked in a mirror lately?"
"Yeah. Why?"
Angela gave an exasperated sigh as she tried to distract herself with the handbag section. "Look, Mohinder. He doesn't care about you. He keeps coming back because he knows you won't say no."
"No, he calls me when he's in trouble. When he needs help."
"Okay. He shows up when he needs something. Or when he wants to play. But that's it right? Mohinder, you can't have a relationship without trust and care and commitment."
"We do have trust, though. I mean to do the things we've done, it takes a lot of trust. I mean seriously, Angela, the things we've done...."
Angela had to try very hard to stifle an eye roll. 'Kids these day,' she thought to herself, 'They think a little needle and gun play makes them the kinkiest cats around.'
But instead she said, "Mohinder. I'm sure he fucked you well into next Tuesday. But he doesn't care about you enough to do any more than that. I'm sorry. But you may have to let this one go."
Mohinder sighed. "I know. My brain tells me you're right. But when I'm face to face with him, there's yelling and threatening and then fighting and then, well, you know what comes then. And in the morning, it's just an empty bed."
"If you don't like it, then don't let him do that to you again. Tell him that you deserve someone who knows what a great catch you are. Because you really are, Mohinder."
Mo smiled. "Thanks, Angela. You really are a good friend." Mohinder hugged her, and she took the opportunity to pilfer three pairs of socks from the rack behind him.
"Let's go have a martini lunch," she said, "My treat."
