For a man with 'use me all you like' scrawled in indelible ink across his forehead, Mohinder never quite managed to look in the mirror. He didn't seem to understand how susceptible he was to being used or how much of a doormat he'd been his entire life. Oh, there was fight in him and he didn't often cower away from tasks put in front of him...even when anyone else would see the signs and edge away.
It could be that Mohinder saw the best in humanity (though he was trained as a skeptic). What was more likely, however, was that he wanted to see the best in humanity and oftentimes, his heart lead where his brain should have taken over. For a genius, Mohinder Suresh was the world's biggest idiot.
The target on his back for predators, therefore, was impossibly large.
Anger ripped through the Indian -- understanding his thoughts didn't matter when Matt could understand the emotion behind those thoughts -- and after filling a fourth vial of his blood, the Indian ripped the needle from his arm and stupidly stood up too quickly with a body suffering from blood loss, hunger, and exhaustion.
He braced himself against the table, close enough to the detective to touch him in he took too deep a breath. Their arguments had always been rather close. Blame that on the geneticist's culture. Mohinder didn't understand the Western Male need for privacy bubbles.
"I was in too deep," he growled. Yes, growled. "I didn't know what else to do." He'd been used by both sides. By that point, he'd been angry, lost-- "Just do it, Matt. I'm not asking for myself." Obviously. "I just want to save these people."
no subject
It could be that Mohinder saw the best in humanity (though he was trained as a skeptic). What was more likely, however, was that he wanted to see the best in humanity and oftentimes, his heart lead where his brain should have taken over. For a genius, Mohinder Suresh was the world's biggest idiot.
The target on his back for predators, therefore, was impossibly large.
Anger ripped through the Indian -- understanding his thoughts didn't matter when Matt could understand the emotion behind those thoughts -- and after filling a fourth vial of his blood, the Indian ripped the needle from his arm and stupidly stood up too quickly with a body suffering from blood loss, hunger, and exhaustion.
He braced himself against the table, close enough to the detective to touch him in he took too deep a breath. Their arguments had always been rather close. Blame that on the geneticist's culture. Mohinder didn't understand the Western Male need for privacy bubbles.
"I was in too deep," he growled. Yes, growled. "I didn't know what else to do." He'd been used by both sides. By that point, he'd been angry, lost-- "Just do it, Matt. I'm not asking for myself." Obviously. "I just want to save these people."