TRAUMABEANS AU

[conning]

boop

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[conning]

Neal tries to get himself to relax, tries every trick he knows, but it isn’t until he imagines Malcolm holding his hand in the precinct bathroom while they breathe together that it starts to work. That image, that memory, that helps.

He doesn’t realize it’s the first time he’s thought of this Malcolm first, for comfort. “I do know. It’s what I do too.”

More or less. Tangentially. Another deep breath. Neal strokes his cheek. “It’s not the risk, it’s that I wasn’t there to take it with you.”

[abrightboy]

“You did take it with me,” Malcolm tells him earnestly. “By trusting me. Like I trusted you. Now we’re all safe. Ellen, too.”

[conning]

It's true. That's true. Malcolm is right. Neal nods slowly, and then remembers that he dropped his glass. He half-turns to look at the mess, but Ellen is midway through cleaning it up.

"No, Ellen, you don't have to--"

"Nonsense," she says comfortably. "You were busy."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks over at her.

“…How did you find my dustpan? I don’t know where it’s kept,” he exclaims.

Rich boys.

[conning]

Ellen laughs at that, though it turns into a slight groan as she straightens up. “I know where Neal would put his.”

[abrightboy]

He supposes it makes sense that Louisa would put it somewhere… sensible.

“My mom’s housekeeper comes in twice a week,” he explains awkwardly. “I tried to stop it, but. That doesn’t work. You’ll get it when you meet my mother.”

When. He doesn’t even hear himself. It just seems right.

[conning]

Ellen chuckles, shuffling over to the garbage to dump the broken glass. Neal beats her to the kitchen area for a damp rag to wipe up what’s left of the alcohol and catch any last shards. She lets him win, holding the now-empty dustpan up in surrender.

“She seems like quite a character, from what little I know.”

Neal smiles a little, thinking of his last conversation with Jessica Whitly. “She probably hasn’t forgiven me for hanging up on her the last time we talked.”

Ellen tsks without real disapproval as she puts the cleaning implements away. She flashes Malcolm a smile. “You’re perfect for this one, you know. For a lot of reasons, from what I can tell, but he likes a clean space. He was fastidious even as a little boy.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm smiles at the floor.

“When you can’t control a lot of things, it’s normal to want to control what you can,” the psychologist in him points out.

They both had so much they couldn’t control pushing down on them.

[conning]

Neal blinks, surprised. It makes sense, of course, but he’d never thought about it in those terms.

For a second Ellen’s expression goes sad, and he hates that, so he goes over to her and kisses her cheek before shaking the rag out into the trash. “I learned good habits, that’s all.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm’s medication sits in its tidy row on the island next to his affirmation cards. His suits are in the closet, arranged by colour. His bed is neatly made, restraints sitting on top of the blankets. He knows what he can and can’t control.

He watches Neal and Ellen for a moment. There’s a second when he thinks maybe he said something wrong, but then realizes that’s not it.

“Do you want something to eat?” he asks them.

[conning]

“Oh, yes, that would be wonderful,” Ellen says. Neal is about to note that he’s not really hungry when his phone starts to buzz. He pulls it out and answers with a slight frown.

“Peter? What—” His eyes widen. “Oh. Uh. No, I’m. I’m fine.”

He glances at Ellen and goes with the truth. “She hasn’t called me, no. Could you come by Malcolm’s place? I don’t want to hear this over the phone. Yeah. Thanks.”

He hangs up.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm’s brow creases faintly.

“Are you sure about this? What if he feels duty-bound to report her whereabouts to the Marshals?”

[conning]

Neal gives Malcolm a bleak look. "They're dead. The marshals."

Ellen gasps, hand going to her mouth. Neal pockets his phone slowly.

[abrightboy]

“Not all the Marshals. Who do they suspect? Did they see that her door was forced? That the inside of the house was shot up? We don’t know who’s involved. They’ll probably suspect a gang. God. Why do they always go with the easy but stupid answer at the FBI?” Malcolm rambles.

[conning]

'Not all of them,' Malcolm says, and Neal has a moment of mental dissonance where he can't figure out why that distinction matters. Ellen stares at Malcolm, clearly also bothered, but she's more clear about why:

"Two good men are still dead," she says, shocked.

"He knows that," Neal answers, immediately coming to Malcolm's defense. He steps over to slide an arm around Malcolm's waist. "He's just concerned about your safety."

[abrightboy]

“The fact that they’re dead is what’s currently vouching for the fact that they weren’t involved in the plot to kill you,” Malcolm explains matter-of-factly. “We can’t save them now. We can save you.”

[conning]

Ellen's expression hardens a little at that, and she nods, and for a second Neal can see the cop she must have been when he was too young to remember. She looks at Neal. "You don't think telling Peter is a risk?"

"I'm willing to take it," Neal says quietly. "He'll see that whoever did this has to be part of the service somehow."

[abrightboy]

“I hope you’re right.”

If he thought about it, he’d have to see something wild in an ex-thief trusting the FBI more than an ex-FBI agent. Well. Trusting one FBI, anyway.

“Maybe we should have asked to meet him somewhere more… neutral.”

[conning]

"I can meet him outside. Take him somewhere else, have you meet us there?" He looks at Ellen, then at Malcolm. "You being... you."

He gestures at Malcolm specifically. Ellen makes a wry noise.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm watches his face for a long moment.

"Do you trust him? With her life?"

[conning]

"I do," Neal says, and he's relieved to note that he doesn't feel a moment's hesitation in doing it. He kisses Malcolm gently. "But it's not just about me."

[abrightboy]

"I trust you," Malcolm points out. "Bring him in here."

He squeezes Neal's arm, then moves around the island to put the kettle on and rummage in the fridge for anything that might still be good from before their trip that he won't have to do too much to assemble. He pulls out a piece of cheese and considers it. Does that go with tea? Probably, right?

[conning]

Neal loves that he can see the internal dialogue play out on Malcolm’s face. He loves that he knows where it comes from, loves the feeling of warmth and affection it spurs.

He comes up to Malcolm from behind and slips an arm around his waist. “We could grab some groceries from that little place down the street, or order from a cafe.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks at the cheese, then looks at Neal over his shoulder.

“We can’t make anything with this, huh?” He looks over at Ellen apologetically. “We were on vacation. Normally there’s food.” Only because of Neal, but that counts. He looks at Neal again. “What do you want to have?” Because Malcolm never really wants anything.

[conning]

"We could, potentially, but not with only that." Neal kisses his temple, grinning a little. The amusement is welcome, if brief.

Food. What does he want to eat? He's not sure. Something would be a good idea, though.

This shouldn't be such a hard question to answer.

"Something light?"

Ellen comes to their rescue. "There's a place I know of around here that has very good soups and salads."