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"There's no other explanation," Malcolm points out. "But that's not even the point. It's about what hurt you, not whether they think that it should have."
“I was catatonic when I first went to her,” Malcolm confesses. “She’s helped me a lot.”
“I don’t want to tell you what to do, I just want you to feel better than this,” Malcolm responds softly.
Malcolm tilts his head and watches Neal’s face.
“What if what?”
“What if what?”
“She’s not like that,” Malcolm promises. “Many people have suggested I’ve belonged in one and she never put me there.”
“Of course,” he says earnestly. “I’m happy to give her an advance heads up about your situation, too, if that makes it easier for you.”
“Good,” Malcolm says, setting a gentle kiss on Neal’s mouth. “Then I’ll set it up.” He kisses him again. “Tomorrow.”
"That's what I was hoping you would say," Malcolm tells him with a sweet smile. He shrugs off his coat and drapes it over one of the dining chairs and heads towards the bedroom with a look over his shoulder to ensure Neal is following.
Neal sheds his own clothes except for his boxers as he follows, feeling worn to the bone and prepared to sink into the softness of the bed. As soon as Malcolm is settled, Neal joins him, sliding down enough that he can rest his head on Malcolm's chest.
Yeah, Malcolm might be the smaller of the two of them, but that doesn't mean Neal can't fake being the little spoon now and then.
Yeah, Malcolm might be the smaller of the two of them, but that doesn't mean Neal can't fake being the little spoon now and then.
Malcolm is glad he strapped in before Neal snuggled up. Dislodging him now feels like it would be a crime. Instead, he sings an old lullaby softly.
Neal blinks, sleepily surprised at how nice Malcolm's voice is. He closes his eyes, lets himself listen, and it's minutes before he's asleep.
The dream starts the same way it did before. Mathias, a summer sky, a feeling of emptiness so profound that it makes Neal feel sick to his stomach. The worst part is, he remembers the other dream. He turns to see Raylan walking toward him again, shadows flickering over his body like little flames, dissolving the skin underneath and burrowing inward. Every once in a while a shadow, fat with god know what, drops off of Raylan and oozes away toward the houses.
"Raylan?" Neal can barely make himself whisper the name. The other man doesn't react. Keeps walking toward him. Neal backs up, not wanting those shadows anywhere close. "Raylan, say something. Please say something. Please tell me this isn't real."
The cowboy just keeps walking.
The dream starts the same way it did before. Mathias, a summer sky, a feeling of emptiness so profound that it makes Neal feel sick to his stomach. The worst part is, he remembers the other dream. He turns to see Raylan walking toward him again, shadows flickering over his body like little flames, dissolving the skin underneath and burrowing inward. Every once in a while a shadow, fat with god know what, drops off of Raylan and oozes away toward the houses.
"Raylan?" Neal can barely make himself whisper the name. The other man doesn't react. Keeps walking toward him. Neal backs up, not wanting those shadows anywhere close. "Raylan, say something. Please say something. Please tell me this isn't real."
The cowboy just keeps walking.
Malcolm hasn’t fallen asleep. He’s thinking about the case. Alessa. Christine. A chance to steal the baby not taken. There’s a piece missing. He’s missing something.
He realizes Neal is stirring. He rubs his hand on Neal’s arm.
“Neal? Neal, wake up.”
He realizes Neal is stirring. He rubs his hand on Neal’s arm.
“Neal? Neal, wake up.”
He gives a sharp little exhale in his sleep, a panicked un-noise. Raylan isn't the only one in the dream any more. Others, some half-eaten by shadows, some practically untouched, have started to walk out from between the houses. Doc, Daisy, Athena. Neal keeps backing away. Calls their names. Begs them to stop, or go away, or say something.
Finally he turns to run.
Malcolm stands in arm's reach of him, face practically eaten away, but Neal would know that voice in any world.
"What's wrong? We missed you."
Neal screams himself awake.
Finally he turns to run.
Malcolm stands in arm's reach of him, face practically eaten away, but Neal would know that voice in any world.
"What's wrong? We missed you."
Neal screams himself awake.
Edited 2022-01-12 02:02 (UTC)
Malcolm, startled, holds on to him tightly. He doesn’t know what else to do; he’s not usually on this side of the screaming.
Neal fights him for a moment, fights the familiarity of Malcolm's arm, sobbing until he's out of breath--
Then he starts to realize where he is. He looks around the room like he's never seen it before, and then his focus falls on Malcolm. Whole, healthy.
This one, at least.
Neal shudders and wraps his arms around the other man, pressing his face into the curve of Malcolm's neck. He's still crying.
Then he starts to realize where he is. He looks around the room like he's never seen it before, and then his focus falls on Malcolm. Whole, healthy.
This one, at least.
Neal shudders and wraps his arms around the other man, pressing his face into the curve of Malcolm's neck. He's still crying.
Malcolm just clings to him, trembling. Is this what it’s like for Neal. Does he wonder whether Malcolm will come out of it every night.
“It’s okay,” he says, because it is, now that Neal is back. “It’s okay now. You’re home.”
“It’s okay,” he says, because it is, now that Neal is back. “It’s okay now. You’re home.”
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