"You're not going to ruin this." There's no doubt in his tone. "Malcolm, think about what we've been through since we met. The things we've seen, or thought we saw."
The latter is very deliberately added.
"'Trial by fire' might be an ironic choice of words at the moment, but I'm pretty sure we've survived it."
"A little," Neal admits. "But not nearly as much as the things here freak me out. I'd rather have you, with or without hallucinations, than not have you at all. ...Let's do it, when the blizzard passes. Go to New York. It's not Christmas any more, maybe, but the city hasn't gone anywhere."
"Go to New York? Together?" He smiles again, but this one doesn't falter. He looks into the corner of the room. There's nobody there. "I'd like that. If my apartment is there, I can show you my paintings."
Neal blinks in surprise at that. "You think it might be? I did some digging when I first got here to see if anyone I knew was in the city and turned up nothing."
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"But you're not... sick," he points out. "I don't want to ruin this," he says quietly.
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The latter is very deliberately added.
"'Trial by fire' might be an ironic choice of words at the moment, but I'm pretty sure we've survived it."
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"You're not freaked out?" he finally asks.
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"A little," Neal admits. "But not nearly as much as the things here freak me out. I'd rather have you, with or without hallucinations, than not have you at all. ...Let's do it, when the blizzard passes. Go to New York. It's not Christmas any more, maybe, but the city hasn't gone anywhere."
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As for the latter question—“That would assume we’d choose a place based on our salaries.”
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“How else would we do that?”