“I’m sure they have…” He flutters a hand towards the window. “Lessons or something. I was in the rowing club at Harvard for a little while. I’m sure I picked up some transferrable skills.” Before they asked him to leave. “Maybe we can find a private little island out there somewhere and pretend we’re the only people in the world.”
The only people in the world. Neal shudders. He knows that’s not how Malcolm meant it, that he wasn’t trying to stir things up, but remembering Mathias already has things closer to the surface than he usually allows.
Neal turns his face against Malcolm’s chest, shivering again.
“I don’t want to be the only people in the world,” he whispers.
Malcolm’s fanciful gaze out the window shifts to Neal, trying not to let his sinking feeling of having said the Wrong Thing show.
“They have excursions,” he manages, trying not to sound like his heart is in his throat. “We could go with a whole group. Take a tour of the river with… they serve lunch.”
Neal can hear something off in Malcolm’s voice. He levers himself upright a little, resting his free hand against Malcolm’s chest. “I’d like it, just us. With lunch, and…”
He rubs Malcolm’s skin lightly with his thumb. “I don’t want to be stuck somewhere, that’s all. Not… stuck, that’s not what I meant, I…”
“This is our escape,” Malcolm tells him earnestly. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do or even anything you don’t feel like doing. It’s okay,” he promises. “I want you to tell me if you’re not comfortable.”
It’s easier, with his pulse returning to normal, to be reassuring himself. Neal’s not getting dressed to go downstairs and call for a car.
Malcolm presses his lips together once the kiss breaks, then throws his arms around Neal and hugs him tightly.
“Of course I care,” he says, his voice muffled by Neal’s shoulder. He presses a kiss there, then pulls away enough to look up at him. “I’ll get our swimming trunks,” he says, kissing him one more time, then scooting off the rumpled bed to run - naked - down to their suitcase and rummage in it right there in the living room, returning triumphant in his trunks, waving Neal’s at him.
Neal laughs in surprise when Malcolm comes back as he does, getting up to accept his own and get dressed. Mostly dressed.
The walk to the mineral pool is another impromptu tour of Victorian architectural history, one that ends with several people stopping to listen--or stopping Malcolm and Neal to ask a question.
“They should be paying you,” Malcolm teases, shrugging out of his robe as they reach the pool and throwing it on a nearby chaise lounge. “You know. For conducting historical tours of the property.”
Neal grins, the expression one that hasn't seen a lot of use since Mathias. He sheds his own robe a little more self-consciously, even though he's still wearing a loose t-shirt to cover his scars. Malcolm and the doctors are the only ones who have seen those, at least with Neal's consent.
"Maybe they'll give us a discount on the room, since I'm sure you need one."
Malcolm smirks back at him, dipping his toes into the hundred degree water.
“My trust fund runs deep; we could live here for the rest of our lives if we fancied it.”
He steps into the pool and extends his hand to beckon Neal in to join him. He only has the one scar on his abdomen. He’s not self-conscious about it at all, but he’s not judging Neal, either; this is a place for him to be comfortable.
“My mother keeps threatening to cut me off but she and I both know she won’t.”
His grin persists for another moment, until he takes Malcolm's hand and starts to sink himself into the water little by little. It feels amazing. Scalding, but amazing. He kisses Malcolm's temple.
“It’s good, right? Maybe we can go to an ancient natural hot spring some time,” he suggests, sinking down into the water. “I bet you know some good ones.”
Neal lights up at the prospect and starts expounding on the virtues of several, some of them in China and Japan and Korea and others in Russia and Europe.
Things like this, these kinds of talking points—they haven’t been relevant in such a long time.
"Russia isn't exactly a vacation destination for most people, and the secret police are very much a thing still. They don't even bother to pretend they aren't."
He sinks deeper himself, staring into space for a moment. "I can't imagine that's changed. It probably hasn't. It hasn't been that long since I was there."
When Malcolm scoots in, Neal leans toward him, but that question gets a burst of laughter. Someone lounging nearby gives them a curious look before going back to their book, and Neal bites his lip for a moment, still tickled.
"It wasn't on my to do list, but I might have accidentally seen it."
Malcolm grins. “It’s the most interesting collection in the whole place.” He leans back, shoulder to shoulder with Neal, and looks up at the sky. “There were rumours he killed them, of course, but he didn’t. They chronicle fatal birth defects and still births and other things that plagued infant mortality at the time.”
Neal mirrors Malcolm's pose, studying a wisp of cloud as it passes overhead, a little melancholy pressure squeezing at him.
"Not any more. That's why I would adopt," he says. Then pauses. "If... If we ended up having children. At some point. If that's something you decide you want to do."
He looks at Malcolm, suddenly worried that he's misstepped again.
“If you decide that’s something I’m capable of doing,” he muses. “Influencing a child. Holding a baby without dropping it. Living in a home with a family and not traumatizing everyone.”
“It is,” Neal says softly. He lifts a hand to turn Malcolm’s face down and toward him. “Some hurting, angry kid in the system—you’d be the best, most patient, most compassionate parent they could ask for.”
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“No offense, but I’m having a hard time picturing either of us in a canoe.”
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Neal turns his face against Malcolm’s chest, shivering again.
“I don’t want to be the only people in the world,” he whispers.
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“They have excursions,” he manages, trying not to sound like his heart is in his throat. “We could go with a whole group. Take a tour of the river with… they serve lunch.”
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He rubs Malcolm’s skin lightly with his thumb. “I don’t want to be stuck somewhere, that’s all. Not… stuck, that’s not what I meant, I…”
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It’s easier, with his pulse returning to normal, to be reassuring himself. Neal’s not getting dressed to go downstairs and call for a car.
“Do… do you want to go to the hot mineral pool?”
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Neal bites his lip, trying not to tear up. “I believe you when you say that. I believe you, and I even believe you’ll care.”
The last part is said with a watery little laugh. He leans down to kiss Malcolm tenderly. “That sounds wonderful.”
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“Of course I care,” he says, his voice muffled by Neal’s shoulder. He presses a kiss there, then pulls away enough to look up at him. “I’ll get our swimming trunks,” he says, kissing him one more time, then scooting off the rumpled bed to run - naked - down to their suitcase and rummage in it right there in the living room, returning triumphant in his trunks, waving Neal’s at him.
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The walk to the mineral pool is another impromptu tour of Victorian architectural history, one that ends with several people stopping to listen--or stopping Malcolm and Neal to ask a question.
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"Maybe they'll give us a discount on the room, since I'm sure you need one."
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“My trust fund runs deep; we could live here for the rest of our lives if we fancied it.”
He steps into the pool and extends his hand to beckon Neal in to join him. He only has the one scar on his abdomen. He’s not self-conscious about it at all, but he’s not judging Neal, either; this is a place for him to be comfortable.
“My mother keeps threatening to cut me off but she and I both know she won’t.”
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"Thank you. For this."
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Things like this, these kinds of talking points—they haven’t been relevant in such a long time.
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He sinks deeper himself, staring into space for a moment. "I can't imagine that's changed. It probably hasn't. It hasn't been that long since I was there."
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"Can neither confirm nor deny I was related to any alleged crimes that took place there."
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He probably would have gone to Russia if it was on display in the public gallery, but he doesn’t have the skills to bust into the back archives.
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"It wasn't on my to do list, but I might have accidentally seen it."
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"Not any more. That's why I would adopt," he says. Then pauses. "If... If we ended up having children. At some point. If that's something you decide you want to do."
He looks at Malcolm, suddenly worried that he's misstepped again.
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“If you decide that’s something I’m capable of doing,” he muses. “Influencing a child. Holding a baby without dropping it. Living in a home with a family and not traumatizing everyone.”
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