Neal toys with Malcolm's top button, frowning at it, clearly seeing something and somewhere else. "Maybe that's the wrong way to put it. Maybe it... did, like you. After it showed up the first time, after it hurt people, you started seeing it all the time."
"Maybe," Neal says softly. He's not convinced, though. "Maybe."
He looks over at lunch, noting that it's been a few hours at least since it got delivered, at least based on the way the light shifted. He should set a good example, eat something.
Neal reaches out instinctively to rest a hand on Malcolm's waist as he sits down, inviting the smaller man to share his chair or at least sit down next to him. He shivers. "I wondered about that."
He doesn't want to eat. He makes himself, though, because Malcolm is right there, and he should. One the taste of the dish is in his mouth--even cold--his appetite gets pricked, and he starts to eat with a little more enthusiasm. "That was what Mathias did, more than anything. Messed with our heads. The physical torture, that was one thing, but it wanted us crazy even more than it wanted us in pain."
Malcolm sits on the arm of his chair, so he can reach his food and his drink and Malcolm as he wishes.
"I started out crazy, so it didn't have to work that hard on me." He pauses. "I can't believe that didn't... put people off. Going off my meds would be... god, some serious withdrawal. And then my symptoms slamming in full force. I don't even want to contemplate what I would have been like. Why did people stick around and deal with that?"
Neal keeps his hand on Malcolm like an anchor as he eats, pausing for the occasional sip of his cosmo. It's good, very good, but he's not surprised.
He still doesn't eat nearly as much as he used to.
"Because..." He looks up at Malcolm where he's perched on the chair, studying his face. "Because. You're worth it. You're worth it, and no one in 1306 was going to let one of our people be on their own."
Malcolm smiles down at his knees, but then looks at Neal uncertainly.
"How could they have known? I was a stranger. Acting like a lunatic. Seeing things? Talking to myself? Shaking? I don't even know what else. I just don't... sometimes I go out walking when I can't sleep and people cross the street to avoid me and I'm not anywhere near that bad. Why did it suck in all the kindest people in the world." A beat. "Oh my god, was I so in love with Raylan because he was the first one to... take me in?"
"They were good people who saw someone hurting," Neal says firmly. "And then they got to know you, when the worst of the hurting was over."
Neal laces his fingers through Malcolm's and hangs on, looking at their linked hands. When Malcolm says that about Raylan, Neal blinks and looks up in surprise. "I. I hadn't thought of that."
“Didn’t you commit to her on, like, your second day there or something?” Malcolm asks. He’s been trying to piece together events from the bits and pieces he learns. Maybe he’s wrong. “Before I even got together with Raylan?”
Neal makes a softly amused noise, letting his hand drop onto Malcolm’s knee. “No. First one was getting isolated and bitten by a vampire outside during the middle of a blizzard. Raylan found me in the snow.”
He can almost feel it now, the fog of anemia and burgeoning frostbite. “I don’t remember it, really, not after he had his teeth in me. Just being scared and getting more and more tired.”
Neal toys with the leftovers on his plate with his fork, other hand still on Malcolm’s knee.
“The crush was hard to miss,” Neal says, and it’s hard to tell if his tone is teasing or pained. Even for him. “But it wasn’t because of that. He’s a US marshal.”
Neal pauses, realizing he’s never mentioned that particular fact. “And I’m… me.”
Neal ducks his head, smiling a little. “I was still expecting the worst, back then, when it came to law enforcement. Any law enforcement. I was waiting for him and you and everyone else to stop looking at me like a person and start looking at me like a criminal.”
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"I was off my meds, right? Maybe it was psychosis. They've put me on antipsychotics because I hallucinate."
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He looks over at lunch, noting that it's been a few hours at least since it got delivered, at least based on the way the light shifted. He should set a good example, eat something.
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"You don't think that's it," he surmises. "There's another possibility," he points out. "That being off my meds made me vulnerable to mental attacks."
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He doesn't want to eat. He makes himself, though, because Malcolm is right there, and he should. One the taste of the dish is in his mouth--even cold--his appetite gets pricked, and he starts to eat with a little more enthusiasm. "That was what Mathias did, more than anything. Messed with our heads. The physical torture, that was one thing, but it wanted us crazy even more than it wanted us in pain."
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"I started out crazy, so it didn't have to work that hard on me." He pauses. "I can't believe that didn't... put people off. Going off my meds would be... god, some serious withdrawal. And then my symptoms slamming in full force. I don't even want to contemplate what I would have been like. Why did people stick around and deal with that?"
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He still doesn't eat nearly as much as he used to.
"Because..." He looks up at Malcolm where he's perched on the chair, studying his face. "Because. You're worth it. You're worth it, and no one in 1306 was going to let one of our people be on their own."
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"How could they have known? I was a stranger. Acting like a lunatic. Seeing things? Talking to myself? Shaking? I don't even know what else. I just don't... sometimes I go out walking when I can't sleep and people cross the street to avoid me and I'm not anywhere near that bad. Why did it suck in all the kindest people in the world." A beat. "Oh my god, was I so in love with Raylan because he was the first one to... take me in?"
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Neal laces his fingers through Malcolm's and hangs on, looking at their linked hands. When Malcolm says that about Raylan, Neal blinks and looks up in surprise. "I. I hadn't thought of that."
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“But isn’t that what happened with you and Daisy?”
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He feels like he should sound less unsure.
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"Not quite. But close." The third day? The fourth? It's hard to remember. "Before you and Raylan, yeah."
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“Second,” he says, softly ironic. “Or third, if you count tripping over a teenager’s frozen corpse right when I woke up.”
The way he says that almost like a joke makes him shudder at his own attitude.
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He can almost feel it now, the fog of anemia and burgeoning frostbite. “I don’t remember it, really, not after he had his teeth in me. Just being scared and getting more and more tired.”
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“The crush was hard to miss,” Neal says, and it’s hard to tell if his tone is teasing or pained. Even for him. “But it wasn’t because of that. He’s a US marshal.”
Neal pauses, realizing he’s never mentioned that particular fact. “And I’m… me.”
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"I work for the police, you know," he teases, bumping Neal's shoulder with his elbow gently.
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“I’m not sure,” he finally says. “I think… maybe around the time I fell in love with you, though I’m not sure when that was either.”
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"If you don't know when that was... do you know why that was?"
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