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“Better get going, then,” Malcolm tells him, giving him a gentle kiss before ushering him out the door and back to the car.
Neal is practically vibrating by the time they pull onto Ellen’s block. It’s a nondescriptly pleasant neighborhood, narrow brick townhouses tucked in next to each other like old books jammed on a library shelf.
Ellen opens her door as they get out of their cab, smiling warmly at Neal, and then looking Malcolm over with interest. She waves them inside from the top of the steps. “Well, come in. I put the kettle on.”
Ellen opens her door as they get out of their cab, smiling warmly at Neal, and then looking Malcolm over with interest. She waves them inside from the top of the steps. “Well, come in. I put the kettle on.”
Malcolm gives her a respectful nod, looking around with interest as they walk inside.
“Have you lived here long?”
“Have you lived here long?”
The space is tidy, generic, the only real personalizations the books and the numerous plants. The books are a mix of romance and true crime. The plants are riotously colorful.
"About two months," she says, smiling ironically. "They moved me after Neal came to see me on Roosevelt Island."
Neal starts to apologize and she rests a hand on his shoulder, giving him a little squeeze. "It was worth it."
"About two months," she says, smiling ironically. "They moved me after Neal came to see me on Roosevelt Island."
Neal starts to apologize and she rests a hand on his shoulder, giving him a little squeeze. "It was worth it."
Malcolm looks at Neal curiously.
“You feel responsible for her situation,” he notes. “Isn’t it the other way around?” he asks, looking to Ellen for confirmation.
“You feel responsible for her situation,” he notes. “Isn’t it the other way around?” he asks, looking to Ellen for confirmation.
Neal stares at Malcolm, somewhere between bewildered and protective of Ellen. “What? No she’s not.”
Ellen gives Neal’s shoulder another little squeeze before heading into the kitchen. “He’s right, Neal. We all went into witness protection because of my investigation.”
“But you lost your spot on Roosevelt Island because of me.”
Ellen gives Neal’s shoulder another little squeeze before heading into the kitchen. “He’s right, Neal. We all went into witness protection because of my investigation.”
“But you lost your spot on Roosevelt Island because of me.”
Malcolm looks over at him with his own vague confusion.
“How did you know where she was?” he asks.
“How did you know where she was?” he asks.
“I told him,” Ellen says dryly. She starts pouring hot water into mismatched mugs, and Neal goes to where he knows he’ll find her teas, picking mint off the shelf without noticing that it’s unopened. Without noticing that what they have whenever he sees her isn’t her first choice.
Every so often he has a moment of cluelessness.
“That’s not the point. She always tells me,” he says to Malcolm. “But I went there, and I drew attention to it. Kramer followed my anklet’s signal. She would have maybe been dragged into talking at the commutation, or he would have tried to at least.”
Every so often he has a moment of cluelessness.
“That’s not the point. She always tells me,” he says to Malcolm. “But I went there, and I drew attention to it. Kramer followed my anklet’s signal. She would have maybe been dragged into talking at the commutation, or he would have tried to at least.”
“Does…n’t… she tell you because she wants you to go there…?” Again, he looks to Ellen for confirmation.
“Yes,” Ellen says.
“It’s for emergencies,” Neal says, then looks at her. “Wait, what?”
She comes over and claims the box of tea, pressing a hand against his cheek. “Neal. I never pushed because I know how much you like your privacy and you didn’t want to let anyone find out more about where you’re from. How you grew up. But I told you where I was because I wanted to see you, too.”
“It’s for emergencies,” Neal says, then looks at her. “Wait, what?”
She comes over and claims the box of tea, pressing a hand against his cheek. “Neal. I never pushed because I know how much you like your privacy and you didn’t want to let anyone find out more about where you’re from. How you grew up. But I told you where I was because I wanted to see you, too.”
Malcolm thought it was obvious.
“You’re usually a lot better at reading people,” he notes. He gestures between them. “You have a blind spot.” No judgement; just FYI.
“You’re usually a lot better at reading people,” he notes. He gestures between them. “You have a blind spot.” No judgement; just FYI.
“It’s ideal, actually,” Malcolm tells her. “Stomach issues,” he explains while simultaneously waving them off.
“Neal mentioned that,” Ellen says, nodding. She hands Neal his own cup before carrying hers and Malcolm’s over to the sturdy little kitchen table.
“He loves it, figuring out how to make things for you. Finding restaurants you might like. He’s got a bet going with himself over the things you’ll order depending on where you go.”
“Ellen,” Neal says, sounding for all the world like a teenage boy outed in front of a crush.
“He loves it, figuring out how to make things for you. Finding restaurants you might like. He’s got a bet going with himself over the things you’ll order depending on where you go.”
“Ellen,” Neal says, sounding for all the world like a teenage boy outed in front of a crush.
Malcolm only nods sagely, accepting his cup from her as they join her at the table.
“I expect that’s why he chose a tea you hadn’t opened,” he tells her reasonably.
“I expect that’s why he chose a tea you hadn’t opened,” he tells her reasonably.
Neal joins them, realizing with surprise that Malcolm is right. Ellen just looks amused, and neither confirms nor denies.
“I told him you two didn’t have to come rushing back to the city. The marshals aren’t moving me yet.”
She gives Neal’s hand a little squeeze as he watches her unhappily.
“I told him you two didn’t have to come rushing back to the city. The marshals aren’t moving me yet.”
She gives Neal’s hand a little squeeze as he watches her unhappily.
“I know,” Malcolm tells her, “but I want him to sleep tonight. One insomniac is enough,” he teases with a glance at Neal. He looks at Ellen. “What happened? Why are they moving you?”
Ellen sighs. “That’s one of the annoying parts of being on the witness side of WITSEC. The most they’ll tell me is that they heard something about the New York branch of a crime family I investigated in DC making noise about finding someone they’ve been looking for.”
Neal frowns. “Why now?”
Ellen pauses, hesitating, and Neal takes her hand this time. “Ellen…?”
“You asked about your father, when you came to see me on Roosevelt Island. I… might have rustled the underbrush a little.”
Neal frowns. “Why now?”
Ellen pauses, hesitating, and Neal takes her hand this time. “Ellen…?”
“You asked about your father, when you came to see me on Roosevelt Island. I… might have rustled the underbrush a little.”
“Have you been in touch with him?” Malcolm presses, so Neal won’t have to.
She shakes her head. “No. Not him. I reached out to another old colleague, a man named Sam Phelps. And I looked into a couple of local politicians who were cops in DC when I was active.”
“Ellen, why on earth—”
“You wanted to know about your father, Neal. You’ve never asked me about him, not since you were eighteen.”
“Ellen, why on earth—”
“You wanted to know about your father, Neal. You’ve never asked me about him, not since you were eighteen.”
“Politicians?” Malcolm questions. “Which ones? How high up?”
"A few," she says, folding her hands around her mug. "A state court judge, a liquor lobbyist, and a senator."
The names she ads aren't ones Neal knows, really, except the senator. Terrence Pratt. Even then he knows the name in the way that most people would be aware of a publicity-focused politician they didn't vote for. He sips his tea, frowning, then winces as he burns himself.
"Why Pratt?"
"He and your father were huge rivals in their day, and..." She trails off, frowning. "I heard some things when I was investigating your father's arrest."
The names she ads aren't ones Neal knows, really, except the senator. Terrence Pratt. Even then he knows the name in the way that most people would be aware of a publicity-focused politician they didn't vote for. He sips his tea, frowning, then winces as he burns himself.
"Why Pratt?"
"He and your father were huge rivals in their day, and..." She trails off, frowning. "I heard some things when I was investigating your father's arrest."
"Things that could compromise him?" Malcolm asks bluntly.
"Significantly," she says. "There were rumors that he was--how much do you know about Neal's father?"
Neal blinks, realizing all at once that he hasn't said that much, beyond confessing that his dad was a crooked cop and a killed his superior officer.
Neal blinks, realizing all at once that he hasn't said that much, beyond confessing that his dad was a crooked cop and a killed his superior officer.
Edited 2022-05-31 18:05 (UTC)
Malcolm shrugs expansively.
"Neal said he was a dirty cop."
"Neal said he was a dirty cop."
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