“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.”
"I think... I would like that. I like helping people. I like... " His voice trails off and he searches Neal's face. "I think I would like... to be a father that someone can be proud to love."
Malcolm’s reaction soothes Neal’s own nerves, making him feel just a little pleased with himself.
“I think so.” He teases a bit of hair back behind Malcolm’s ear with his fingertips, sinking a little deeper into the heat and soft pressure of the water. Apropos of nothing: “We should have brought the wine down.”
"Oh!" Malcolm turns and climbs half out of the warm, leaning over the stone deck and waving at someone just inside the sun room to get their attention.
"Hello! Can we get a bottle of..." He pauses and then looks at Neal for help. "What do we want a bottle of?" What pairs with 'hot tub'?
Neal grins. “A light, dry red with low alcohol content would—”
He trails off, looking past Malcolm to an old portrait on the wall, a black-and white group photo in front of the building under construction. Except he’s not seeing this building. He’s seeing the lodge, Mathias’s lodge, and the figures in the photo are a little too crisp, a little too real.
Malcolm looks at Neal with a faint frown and then, noticing the distance in his expression, unease. He looks back at the waiter. "Do you have something like that?"
"Sir," the waiter says, heading back inside to get the wine.
Malcolm slides back down into the water, watching Neal carefully for a moment.
Neal startles fractionally, blinking a few times as he orients on Malcolm. “I’m fine.”
Even though Malcolm hadn’t been questioning that. He makes himself focus on Malcolm’s face when what he wants to do (and doesn’t want to do) is look back at that picture and see if it’s changed.
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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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"I think... I would like that. I like helping people. I like... " His voice trails off and he searches Neal's face. "I think I would like... to be a father that someone can be proud to love."
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"I'm already proud to love you," he mumbles, embarrassed for some reason. Maybe it's the intimacy of the statement in a public place.
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“I’m excited by the idea more than I’m nervous. That’s good, right?”
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“I think so.” He teases a bit of hair back behind Malcolm’s ear with his fingertips, sinking a little deeper into the heat and soft pressure of the water. Apropos of nothing: “We should have brought the wine down.”
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"Hello! Can we get a bottle of..." He pauses and then looks at Neal for help. "What do we want a bottle of?" What pairs with 'hot tub'?
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He trails off, looking past Malcolm to an old portrait on the wall, a black-and white group photo in front of the building under construction. Except he’s not seeing this building. He’s seeing the lodge, Mathias’s lodge, and the figures in the photo are a little too crisp, a little too real.
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"Sir," the waiter says, heading back inside to get the wine.
Malcolm slides back down into the water, watching Neal carefully for a moment.
"Neal?"
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Even though Malcolm hadn’t been questioning that. He makes himself focus on Malcolm’s face when what he wants to do (and doesn’t want to do) is look back at that picture and see if it’s changed.
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"What did you see?"
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