Neal still glares, irritated. “Not like that, you shouldn’t. That’s not a joke. The way you said it was an insult, and you know that too. It’s not something you can share and laugh about. It’s something you can laugh about that Malcolm spends every day living. And he’s still him, all the good things you’d be lucky to see in your kid.”
He lets go of his irritation, or most of it, feeling squeezed out all over again. Neal looks up at Malcolm, those beautiful eyes. “He’d be a good godparent, too.”
Neal abandons the hot chocolate, starting to take Malcolm’s hand, but he stops himself after a moment and switches hands. Like the other one will leave a ghost of blood on Malcolm somehow.
It doesn’t take very long to get a cab, and on the way out Neal spots Christina, Alessa, and Nina, gathered in a little bubble of human warmth.
Neal rests his face against Malcolm’s shoulder for a moment, then he straightens up again to make sure he doesn’t fall down the stairs.
Malcolm doesn’t say anything on the ride, but he watches.
Once the door to Neal’s apartment closes behind them, Malcolm presses his lips together, reaching out to thread fingers through Neal’s hair at his temple.
Malcolm’s face settles into an intimate understanding of that sentiment.
“He’ll live,” he assures. “He was going to kill us all to take that baby. Take that baby and raise it on abuse. You saved all of us, but especially Nina.” Malcolm takes Neal’s right hand - the one he’s been avoiding touching Malcolm with - and kisses his fingers.
He resists briefly when he realizes what Malcolm is doing, but not too hard. The gentle kiss feels simultaneously like a benediction and like Malcolm has inflicted something unnecessary on himself.
“I couldn’t let him hurt you,” he murmurs. “Them either, but… you’re the one I was thinking about.”
It wasn't a chiding. He won't find any too much or too far there.
"It's pretty standard. But I have a feeling that standards are changing around here," he notes. He considers Neal's face. "You meant that," he says, letting himself absorb that. "You meant it when you said he'd be lucky."
Anything Neal might have said about that treatment being standard gets set aside for later. He touches Malcolm’s face with that shy reverence he’s had for this man in general since he saw him in New York the first time.
"Don't forget the impulse control problems and insomnia..." he says with a soft laugh. He holds Neal's gaze a moment. "Nobody's... ever said that to me," he finally admits. "Nobody's suggested that before and... and I didn't know how hard it could hit me to be... seen through it."
Malcolm's hand runs across Neal's abdomen, along his waist.
"People don't usually have to remember that sort of thing. I wish you didn't either. That's horrible." He bites his lip. "I can't have been much help with that."
“You’d be surprised.” Neal shivers, goosebumps rippling along behind Malcolm’s fingertips. “After it happened… When we came back, the ones who died… there was something wrong with some of us. This. Need to put ourselves in situations where we could get hurt, or worse. You felt it yourself, even though you hadn’t gotten hurt that time. But you still talked me through it, told me how you learned to ignore the little voice that told you how to do things to other people the same way.”
He rests his hand over Malcolm’s at his waist, keeping it there, against his shirt, against the scars hidden underneath. “You understood what was happening to me, that I wasn’t trying to upset you, even when other people… didn’t.”
Some things have gotten a little easier to think about with time. A little easier to face. Or he thought so, anyway. Neal realizes then that he hadn’t really told Malcolm about Daisy. About… any of that, other than their first conversation where he mentioned the paper flower garden and that the person he made it for disappeared. There’s a part of him—a large part, it turns out—that even through the hurt and the anger still wants to curl up and wilt with shame at the thought of the fights he and Daisy had.
Neal bites his lip. It’s okay to talk about that here though, right? It’s okay. He’s not broken and lonely the way he was there, he’s not pining for someone who was unrelentingly kind and out of reach.
Malcolm sees the conflict in his expression and, without realizing it, extends the same kindness.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he says, hand sliding up from his waist to come to rest with the other on Neal’s chest. “I just… I see you’re hurting and I wish I could help.”
That melts his resistance. At least enough of it to start talking a little.
“The woman I knew there, the one that disappeared… She… It upset her, when I did things she thought were reckless. After we came back, when she found out that you and I had gone somewhere dangerous, that was when she got mad the first time.”
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“Hey, man, it was a joke, okay? We joke around.”
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He lets go of his irritation, or most of it, feeling squeezed out all over again. Neal looks up at Malcolm, those beautiful eyes. “He’d be a good godparent, too.”
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He gives Neal a soft smile, holding out his hand to him.
“Take me home?” he requests sweetly.
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It doesn’t take very long to get a cab, and on the way out Neal spots Christina, Alessa, and Nina, gathered in a little bubble of human warmth.
Neal rests his face against Malcolm’s shoulder for a moment, then he straightens up again to make sure he doesn’t fall down the stairs.
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Once the door to Neal’s apartment closes behind them, Malcolm presses his lips together, reaching out to thread fingers through Neal’s hair at his temple.
“Are you okay?”
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“I’ve never hurt someone like that before.”
His tone is one of realization.
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“He’ll live,” he assures. “He was going to kill us all to take that baby. Take that baby and raise it on abuse. You saved all of us, but especially Nina.” Malcolm takes Neal’s right hand - the one he’s been avoiding touching Malcolm with - and kisses his fingers.
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“I couldn’t let him hurt you,” he murmurs. “Them either, but… you’re the one I was thinking about.”
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"Like when you got mad at JT's joke?"
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“It wasn’t a joke. Not a good one.”
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"It's pretty standard. But I have a feeling that standards are changing around here," he notes. He considers Neal's face. "You meant that," he says, letting himself absorb that. "You meant it when you said he'd be lucky."
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“Of course I did.”
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It's still weird, that Neal's seen the side of him that he hides from the world. He's seen a side of Malcolm that he doesn't let his family see.
And Malcolm never saw him see it. There's a weird sort of disconnect there.
"It's still... weird for me. For someone to... feel like that. Even the people that love me the most feel bad for me."
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“That’s because they forgot somewhere along the way that you’re not just night terrors and complex PTSD. You’re… everything.”
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“You saw me,” he says quietly. “You in Mathias, you here. I… get it.”
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"I think... I like it." He pauses. "People say that stuff all the time. They don't mean it, but... they say it all the time."
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Wetting myself. He shudders, decides to curtail that line of thinking. “Anyway, no one is that scary. Even your mom.”
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"People don't usually have to remember that sort of thing. I wish you didn't either. That's horrible." He bites his lip. "I can't have been much help with that."
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He rests his hand over Malcolm’s at his waist, keeping it there, against his shirt, against the scars hidden underneath. “You understood what was happening to me, that I wasn’t trying to upset you, even when other people… didn’t.”
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"What do you mean?" he asks softly. "What happened?"
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Neal bites his lip. It’s okay to talk about that here though, right? It’s okay. He’s not broken and lonely the way he was there, he’s not pining for someone who was unrelentingly kind and out of reach.
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“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he says, hand sliding up from his waist to come to rest with the other on Neal’s chest. “I just… I see you’re hurting and I wish I could help.”
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“The woman I knew there, the one that disappeared… She… It upset her, when I did things she thought were reckless. After we came back, when she found out that you and I had gone somewhere dangerous, that was when she got mad the first time.”
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