Fiction: Regret

[kethni]

Name: Regret
Rating: PG
Pairing: Matt/Mohinder one-way
Note: Prequel to Testing 1 & 2 and Forgiveness

 

 

 

 

I’ve never been good at words. Never. Even when the actual words are correct I get the tone wrong. People look at me like they can’t believe what I’ve just said. Sometime they say it. But it always sounds right to me before I say it!

 

Matt’s stopped looking surprised when I ram my foot in my mouth. Now he just looks resigned and embarrassed, or resigned and hurt. I never mean to and I feel horrible as soon as it happens. I don’t think he believes me when I apologise anymore though. He just nods and says okay.

 

It’s him more than anyone. If I lie it’s because we live in the same apartment so we’re together more. If I tell the truth it’s because the more nervous I get the more I say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Just being in the same room as him makes me shake.  

 

It’s horrible because there was never any chance and that was always clear. It should be easier in a way; when it’s futile and you know it. I can hardly blame him for leading me on. He has his own problems and they consume him. I wish so much I could help but what can I do?

 

He doesn’t really talk to me much if he can avoid it, and that hurts. He did when he first moved in; when he was still raw and open. He talked about his wife and how much he loved her and how much he’d wanted the baby to be his. But I said all the wrong things. I wanted so much to be soothing and comforting and instead just hurt him again. I wasn’t trying to seduce him. I just wanted to stop the bleeding. I wanted to make him smile. He very quickly stopped opening up to me. He’d be upset or stressed and I’d ask if he wanted to talk. He started saying, too politely, thanks but that he didn’t feel like it, and I knew it was my fault. I wanted to throw up every time it happened.

 

He won’t even let me help him with his reading any more. He struggles so hard with some things that seem like second nature to other people. I’m sure he thinks I laugh at him but I don’t, I admire him. He doesn’t give up he just keeps trying and trying until he gets there. I’m sure if I had half his dedication and determination I’d have got a lot further with my research. He won’t even tell Molly he can’t read her reports and assignments. He spends hours poring over them, piecing them together. I watch him working so hard at something other father’s spend scant minutes on and my heart hurts.

 

He’s reluctant to come to the lab for some tests. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s Primatech, or me, or simply that he doesn’t like the idea of being tested. He’s happier when he finds out that Nathan and Nikki will be there as well. He and Nathan seem mismatched on paper but in person they seem to mesh. Nathan makes him laugh and knows what to say, and when to say it. They sit; casually intimate in a way I know Matt and I will never be, and I feel so small and stupid. He’s different with Nikki. She’s like me; agitated and highly strung, but he doesn’t mind it from her. They talk about Micah and Molly, about Janice and DL, about what it is to have someone you love and lose them. They don’t flirt, thank god, I don’t think I could cope with that. She flirts with Nathan and Matt just shakes his head.

 

He doesn’t seem to date. Still too damaged, too bruised, from Janice’s betrayal I suppose. Probably for the best, his tough exterior is wafer thin; underneath he’s so vulnerable and hurting. He wants so many things so much and seems doomed to never have them. Nothing ridiculous; no movie stardom, or racing car driver aspirations; just to be a partner, a father, a detective, happy.  

 

 

 

He can never find his shoes. Some people put down their keys and immediately lose them; with Matt it’s his shoes. Every morning he stumbles around getting increasingly annoyed. So I start watching when he comes home and make a note of where he is when he takes his shoes off. After he goes to bed I find his shoes and put them under the coffee table. It takes him an awful lot longer than I expect to see the pattern. Morning after morning he looks for his shoes under his bed, by the coat rack, in the kitchen, and then eventually, finally, under the coffee table. But I suppose he’s not quite woken up at that time in the morning and I guess habits are hard to shake. After a while though he starts looking under the coffee table first and then, eventually, he starts putting his shoes there at night. I’m selfishly disappointed that he doesn’t need me to do that for him anymore.

 

He manages to dye all of his shirts pink in the wash. I think it’s funny and I expect him to laugh with me. But he just stands in the laundry room surrounded by his pink clothes and looks like he feels so small and stupid. I start doing his washing for him after that. Empty his pockets, wash his clothes, press his shirts and trousers, hang them all up. It’s surprisingly satisfying even when he doesn’t appreciate it; even when he seems annoyed and embarrassed about it.

 

“I can wash my own clothes, Mohinder.”

 

“Clearly not. If you can’t even master something as simple as separating out the white from the colours then you probably shouldn’t try use anything more complex than the toaster.”   

 

It’s meant to be a joke. It sounded funny in my head. But it comes out sharp and bitter and he seems to shrink a little.

 

“Right,” he says. That’s all, just ‘right’. As if he’s accepting it.

 

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t... I didn’t mean it like that.”

 

“Okay,” he says quietly and nods, says it too quickly for it to be anything but automatic. He doesn’t believe me.

 

 

 

He doesn’t eat properly. He lives on fast food and pre-packaged meals. I try telling him that kind of food is practically toxic – it can’t be expelled the body properly, it has little nutritional value, and it’s certainly not going to help him lose weight.

 

He nods, says ‘yeah, yeah’, and carries on regardless. I don’t know why he does it. I’d be more than happy to cook for him as well as Molly and myself. I’m a good cook and the food I prepare is healthy and nutritious. And Molly likes it. But he won’t even seem to consider it and I don’t know why. I see him poking at his gut sometimes and the self-disgust is practically vibrating off him. Even though, in complete honesty, he’s really not that far over the ideal weight for his height and build. Certainly he doesn’t seem anywhere near obese; which is how he seems to view himself, it’s certainly how I’ve heard him describe himself when he’s particularly drunk and maudlin.

 

Not that he drinks regularly. He doesn’t, he’s not an alcoholic or anything! But sometimes it’s as though the simple day-to-day routines of his life are too much for him and he needs some relief. I see him, rubbing and rubbing at the faint pale line around his ring finger where his wedding band had been or looking at old photographs he takes pains not to let me see.

 

 

 

I should be glad. I am glad. I’m glad. He and Nathan and Nikki all go out to a bar after one of the sessions. I’m not invited. I suppose I wouldn’t understand. I’m not special. I’m glad he’s spending time with people, coming out of his shell a little. I’m glad.

 

They go every week now. Peter goes too I hear, and Elle sometimes. Even Hiro and Ando apparently. I hear Matt joking about that, wondering when they’re going to get engaged. Because homosexuality is so amusing, apparently. I wonder what jokes he’d make if he knew how I felt about him.

 

 Well. It must be difficult being different I suppose. Even if different is better. I suppose it does him good to spend time socially with other people like him. I’m sure that’s all it is. If I was special I’d be invited too, I’m sure.

 

It’s ridiculous really for me to pity myself. He lives here. I get to see him every day. I see him every morning when he’s stumbling about the apartment getting ready. I see him in the evenings so tired and worn down. If he won’t let me get close, if he won’t let me look after him, well I should be grateful that I get to see him. 

 

It’s natural for people to group together with others like them. It’s natural, I know that. It’s just that I’m not... I don’t fit. I’m not special. If I was special I’d fit, I’d be in the group, I’d be included.

 

The End

 

 

 

 

 

Comments

[boudecia7.livejournal.com]

Poor Mohinder, it's so sad to see him spiralling into creepiness here. :P It's a great setup to Testing though, you can almost see how the hot mess he becomes is out of his desire to fit in and be accepted by Matt, even though of course he only makes things way worse. Nice work! <33333

[kethni.livejournal.com]

Thanks :)

Poor Mohinder, it's so sad to see him spiralling into creepiness here.

Although he wouldn't have been violent or abusive without the serum he was already right on the edge of appropriate behaviour. He knows he's having the wrong effect but he doesn't know how to put it right.

you can almost see how the hot mess he becomes is out of his desire to fit in and be accepted by Matt

Yeah, I thought it would be interesting to show how his feelings in Testing had been completely warped and twisted. Poor boys.

[leadaisy.livejournal.com]

I know I Twittered you that I was going to read this like five hours ago, but then my phone rang and things just went downhill from there :/ But I finally got some peace and quiet to enjoy this :)

This look in Mohinder’s head was so sad! I know I wanted to beat the crap out of him in “Testing” but now I just want to give him a hug. Very good, loved it!

[kethni.livejournal.com]

:hugs:

This look in Mohinder’s head was so sad! I know I wanted to beat the crap out of him in “Testing” but now I just want to give him a hug. Very good, loved it!

I really like the whole 'road to hell paved with good intentions' thing and I wanted Mohinder to have a good reason for taking the serum. (Goodness only knows what the canon reason is!) People unable to properly communicate is always sad :(

Thanks, I'm glad you liked it! <333