"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.
Shame knots at Neal’s gut. He looks down at the simmering water, feeling like he’s tainting this trip already, somehow, bringing his damage into their safe retreat.
“Just a picture. A group photo. There were pictures all over town, group shots of people standing in front of this big old lodge. Raylan was obsessed with finding it.”
Once again Neal has that deja vu moment of you should know this, but he’s gotten good at hiding those. “For a while there was a gorge in the middle of town, keeping us all on one side. There was this fog, in the woods all around. If you tried to walk through it… there was a fear that just. Felt like it would kill you. And it it burned to breathe.”
He touches his throat lightly, remembering the night he woke up barefoot at the edge of the forest. “The lodge was in the woods, somewhere. Right before I left the fog lifted in a bunch of places, and a little before that the gorge disappeared.”
One of the people nearby, the same one who gave them a once-over before, seems to be listening with a mix of curiosity and judgmental confusion. Mercifully, Neal hasn’t noticed yet.
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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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“Just a picture. A group photo. There were pictures all over town, group shots of people standing in front of this big old lodge. Raylan was obsessed with finding it.”
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“He did. Right before I left. We couldn’t get to it, but he found it.”
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“I didn’t mean…” His voice trails off. He tries to recover. “Why did it take so long to find it? It was a pretty big building?”
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He touches his throat lightly, remembering the night he woke up barefoot at the edge of the forest. “The lodge was in the woods, somewhere. Right before I left the fog lifted in a bunch of places, and a little before that the gorge disappeared.”
One of the people nearby, the same one who gave them a once-over before, seems to be listening with a mix of curiosity and judgmental confusion. Mercifully, Neal hasn’t noticed yet.
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“Did finding it help at all?”
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"No," he says softly. "Nothing helped. Nothing we found ever helped. If it did anything, it made things worse."
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