They've just finished watching Scrubs. Eden's legs are tucked up, close to Mohinder to steal glances at the Laptop of Non-Helpfulness. Nothing he's doing has worked and it's killing him
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He's sitting pretzel style on the couch, laptop in his lap appropriately.
"You didn't have to make me tea," he states, calling into the other room. Except she really did, because the circles under his eyes are stating a deep need for either sleep or caffeine, and he can't afford sleep right now.
He listens to her talk with a growing sense of weighted responsibility coupled with weariness.
Sometimes he forgets that his father was human.
He can smell it now. "Chai?"
It brings back memories: warm feet against cool tiles, his mother's saree soft against his cheek, the water and brass mixing together against his shoulders.
"It's the spices. I never thought about putting spices in tea." There's a self-deprecating chuckle. "Even living in wild and crazy New York didn't prepare me for the idea of putting spices in tea."
Well, she's done all she can here; the tea needs to steep. She leaves the kitchen and plucks the TV guide from the couch as she speaks.
Eden frowns as she reads. "According to Jim? Vile trash. Everybody Loves-- urgh, the soul recoils." She looks over at Mohinder, then at the TV screen. "Hmm...."
Mohinder is looking back at the computer screen, glasses slipping down his nose. He pushes them back up. "You don't have to stay here if you don't want to, Eden. I'm not much of interesting company."
This is said somewhat bitterly--he's not, and he isn't, usually. Back home, maybe, once upon a time, when he was younger and a student and away from home and his father and ties to everything he believed in.
"You're not squirming out of American Pop-Culture 101 that easily, Mohinder," Eden chides, setting the TV Guide down. "Not that there's anything on worth watching.
"Maybe a little taste of Bollywood would be more to your liking?" She looks at him and smiles coaxingly, hopefully, the kind of smile that asks if you really want to send her away...?
Mohinder looks up at the word Bollywood, smiling mockingly, until his eyes meet Eden's and she looks at him with her own smile. His smile fades to a quiet compliance. "If you say so."
Eden beams. Her face is so little it makes her smile seem even bigger. As she talks, she walks to the door.
"Then I've got a movie for you. It's called Bride and Prejudice. Maybe you've heard of it? Now, I'm not vouching for its accuracy at representing Indi--"
She opens the door. It's not the hallway on the other side, but a bar. That bar. The one she visited almost a year ago but never quite forgot.
Mohinder springs to his feet immediately, putting the laptop down haphazardly, and manages to move quietly to the door, which he opens very, very slowly.
Eden pours out two cups of tea - she unconsciously grabs the same cups Papa Suresh used for this type of tea - more for something to do than because it's actually ready.
Her words are a stream to cover up any hint of a world beyond the normal, the mundane, the easy.
"Yeah, beauty sleep. Gotta say, Little Mohinder is looking more chipper and perky - and he's cold-blooded." She exits the kitchen a few moments later, two cups in hand.
He's still looking into Milliways: the bustle, the talking, and general amounts of people and things. Rats jumping from table to table, the Bar itself far from the doorway.
"Eden," he says, from where he's standing, except he doesn't really know how to finish that sentence.
He jerks to her, eyes wide. "You've seen it before?"
This is one of those moments where Mohinder's entire body becomes alive with scientific curiosity, and he grabs the cups of tea and puts them down so that he can hold onto her hands. "Eden, have you seen it before?"
Because if she has--that means others potentially could. This is not just another one of his father's theories that could be ignored by the rest of the world. This is something that is physically there, something that could be seen.
He's sitting pretzel style on the couch, laptop in his lap appropriately.
"You didn't have to make me tea," he states, calling into the other room. Except she really did, because the circles under his eyes are stating a deep need for either sleep or caffeine, and he can't afford sleep right now.
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She hesitates a moment before saying, "I never was much of a tea person before I met your dad. This stuff in particular. It's great."
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Sometimes he forgets that his father was human.
He can smell it now. "Chai?"
It brings back memories: warm feet against cool tiles, his mother's saree soft against his cheek, the water and brass mixing together against his shoulders.
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Well, she's done all she can here; the tea needs to steep. She leaves the kitchen and plucks the TV guide from the couch as she speaks.
Eden frowns as she reads. "According to Jim? Vile trash. Everybody Loves-- urgh, the soul recoils." She looks over at Mohinder, then at the TV screen. "Hmm...."
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This is said somewhat bitterly--he's not, and he isn't, usually. Back home, maybe, once upon a time, when he was younger and a student and away from home and his father and ties to everything he believed in.
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"Maybe a little taste of Bollywood would be more to your liking?" She looks at him and smiles coaxingly, hopefully, the kind of smile that asks if you really want to send her away...?
(She thinks she knows the answer.)
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"Then I've got a movie for you. It's called Bride and Prejudice. Maybe you've heard of it? Now, I'm not vouching for its accuracy at representing Indi--"
She opens the door. It's not the hallway on the other side, but a bar. That bar. The one she visited almost a year ago but never quite forgot.
She closes the door quickly.
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He catches a glimpse of what was behind the door before she closes it.
And opens his mouth... and closes it again.
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"-- But it might be a bit too long. You've got to get up early tomorrow - would be a shame to interrupt your beauty sleep."
She is now walking away from the closed door to the kitchen to check on the tea.
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Milliways.
Milliways hasn't opened for him in weeks.
"Beauty sleep," he repeats, slowly.
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Her words are a stream to cover up any hint of a world beyond the normal, the mundane, the easy.
"Yeah, beauty sleep. Gotta say, Little Mohinder is looking more chipper and perky - and he's cold-blooded." She exits the kitchen a few moments later, two cups in hand.
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"Eden," he says, from where he's standing, except he doesn't really know how to finish that sentence.
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But she sees Milliways behind him; she's not blind, just willing herself stupid. That hope dies - her expression twitches to one of wariness.
"Oh." A pause. "That place."
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This is one of those moments where Mohinder's entire body becomes alive with scientific curiosity, and he grabs the cups of tea and puts them down so that he can hold onto her hands. "Eden, have you seen it before?"
Because if she has--that means others potentially could. This is not just another one of his father's theories that could be ignored by the rest of the world. This is something that is physically there, something that could be seen.
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"Yes. Once, a while ago, and just recently. It--" she interrupts herself, glancing up at him, "And you?"
There's some worry. She could barely deal with the place when she thought it appeared only for her. That place...complicates things.
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