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[conning]

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[conning]

Something is going to tell Malcolm if Neal doesn’t do it himself. Something, someone. It’ll explain to this good man exactly the kind of person Neal has been hiding. The pressure of that thought, the absolute certainty of it, makes it a little hard to breathe.

Neal closes his eyes, reaching up to run a hand through his hair, oblivious now to the little peek of color under his cuff that gives away the fact that he’s wearing Malcolm’s bracelet.

“I destroyed evidence,” he whispers. “I had access to one of the FBI’s storage rooms for cases pending review and I destroyed evidence so a forger, a killer, could get out of prison. I did it so a federal prosecutor he had in his pocket would authenticate a false confession recording to stop a murder indictment.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm’s expression creases a little, but his confusion doesn’t abate.

“A murder indictment? Why… why would you want to get a murder indictment thrown out?”

[conning]

Neal closes his eyes, talking even though he wants to stop, talking even though everything in him screams to shut up. Talking, because whatever is out there, watching, doesn’t think what he’s said is enough.

“He didn’t do it. But there was no way he’d be found innocent. It was his gun. His prints were on it. He had gunshot residue on his hands and was found standing over the body. So I got a friend’s help to fake a recorded confession from my father.”

[abrightboy]

“…Who was the real killer? Do you know?” Malcolm asks, watching Neal’s face carefully.

[conning]

Neal can’t look Malcolm in the face. He keeps his eyes shut. “My dad. We were trying to clear his name when he shot a senator. It turned out there wasn’t anything to clear.”

[abrightboy]

“So… you were trying to clear an innocent man by framing the real killer?” Malcolm clarifies. He pauses, considering what he’s seen on Neal’s face. “Why are you ashamed of that?”

[conning]

“I stole to do it,” he mumbles. “I stole to get Hagen to buy the prosecutor, and he recorded me making the theft. I had to either keep doing what he wanted or the fact that Peter was cleared on false evidence would come out. He’d lose everything. I stole, I lied, and I got a man killed, and I would do it all again.”

[abrightboy]

“Got a man killed? What man? How?” Malcolm presses.

[conning]

No. No, no, no. He grits his teeth a moment, trying to hold the answer in, but it’s like he can’t actually stop himself now that he’s started.

“My handler,” Neal says, quieter than ever. Like maybe if he makes things harder to hear Malcom won’t know what he’s saying. “He saw me meet with Hagen, and he died for it.”

[abrightboy]

“…Did you kill him?” Malcolm asks.

[conning]

He finally opens his eyes, face and voice almost desperate as he looks at Malcolm.

"I might as well have!"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm stays calm in the face of Neal’s assertion.

“Why, did you order someone to kill him?”

[conning]

"You don't understand," Neal insists, the pressure of that invisible judge getting him to bow his head. He digs his hands into his hair, the cuffs of his shirt pulled back a little more obviously this time. "You don't get it. I knew who killed him. I knew why. I didn't say anything, I just stood there knowing while the FBI tried to figure it out around me."

He closes his eyes again. "My consultation work wasn't voluntary. It wasn't even paid. It was part of a conditional release. I didn't quit, I ran. I haven't been back to New York because I can't go back."

[abrightboy]

“You were caught, doing some sort of thieving and you cut a d…” His analytical voice trails off and he tilts his head as Neal’s wrist catches his eye.

“You kept it.”

[conning]

Neal drops his hands to his sides, looking at Malcolm in near-panicked confusion. Whatever is there is still watching him. It's still judging him, still silently demanding that he get Malcolm to understand the kind of person he is.

"What?"

[abrightboy]

"Your friendship bracelet," Malcolm says, gesturing to his hand. "You kept it."

[conning]

Neal lifts his wrist enough to get a better look at it, as though he doesn't know what's there. How can Malcolm care about that right now?

"Malcolm, you're not listening to me."

[abrightboy]

"What? No, I heard you. You stole something and you went to prison and the FBI got you out to work for them and then someone blackmailed you and killed your handler. Sounds like a bad guy. I hope they put him away. Though it sounds like not, since you said you had to flee the country," Malcolm surmises with a shrug.

[conning]

"He's dead," Neal says numbly. "Rebecca killed him."

He's so confused. Chest tight, head full of static. He turns suddenly to face the empty street again, yelling at it in a pitch that makes his voice crack. "What else do you want?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm tilts his head as he watches Neal, then looks down the street. Then he looks at Neal again.

"What do you see there?" he asks curiously.

[conning]

"Nothing," Neal says. He wishes he did. "I don't see anything."

[abrightboy]

"So... who are you yelling at?" he asks, still only logical and curious.

[conning]

"I don't know," he whispers. "There's something there. It's... There's something there."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm gestures ahead, towards the coffee shop.

“Do you think it will help to go inside?”

[conning]

“I don’t know,” Neal repeats, then shakes his head, trying to pull himself together. He gives Malcolm a helpless look.