"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.”
Neal hesitates, then recounts the confrontation that came after Bucky pulled Neal and Malcolm out of the tunnel. He almost stops after Malcolm departed the conversation, but even more haltingly goes on, all the way through Daisy ordering him to just go home.
“She… lost a lot of people. It was a thing, with her, the worry. The… fear.”
“I didn’t know how to explain. I thought there was something wrong with me, that I… I’m not sure. We realized later, that those feelings were there, but then it was just… Me dying, then burning alive, then waking up and risking my life again.”
“Three,” Neal mumbles after a moment’s silence. “I remember them all. The third time I drowned, and that… that was the worst. That’s when she got so upset she walked out, and then Bucky got angry. And I realized neither one of them asked what happened. They just… got angry that it did, that I would put myself at risk without them.”
His voice keeps going quieter. “They weren’t totally wrong. I didn’t tell them that Negan and I were going to explore that cave… We got stuck in there, water coming in too fast to get out.”
"You're saying a bunch of irrelevant words; I'm hearing 'no'," Malcolm points out. He watches Neal's face for a moment. "So she got mad at you again and then... disappeared?" he clarifies.
Neal takes a breath, exhales a sigh, and draws Malcolm over to the couch to sit down. He's still holding both of Malcolm's hands, focusing his attention there when he starts talking again.
"Not exactly. After the third time, when I realized they hadn't asked, I just... left. I walked out. She called, or... I called, I can't remember, but we were on the phone and something she said... I don't know. I told her I couldn't come back. For a little while after that she was still... there. Avoided me, which."
He shrugs. It's understandable. "Then she disappeared, and I found out from someone else that she'd come back with no memory of Mathias or anything that happened. I still don't know if. I'm grateful for that."
"Neal... you didn't owe her obedience. You know that, right? A partnership..." He looks down at their hands, then at his face with a wry smile. "I know you know how a partnership works. Did that feel like one?"
Neal meets Malcolm's eyes, the worry that's so common in him now showing. "I wanted... her to be happy, to have a chance to be happy. I wanted to be something that made her happy."
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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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“She… lost a lot of people. It was a thing, with her, the worry. The… fear.”
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His voice keeps going quieter. “They weren’t totally wrong. I didn’t tell them that Negan and I were going to explore that cave… We got stuck in there, water coming in too fast to get out.”
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“They… had abilities, powers. Experience with weirdness.”
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"Not exactly. After the third time, when I realized they hadn't asked, I just... left. I walked out. She called, or... I called, I can't remember, but we were on the phone and something she said... I don't know. I told her I couldn't come back. For a little while after that she was still... there. Avoided me, which."
He shrugs. It's understandable. "Then she disappeared, and I found out from someone else that she'd come back with no memory of Mathias or anything that happened. I still don't know if. I'm grateful for that."
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