Malcolm smiles brightly at him, tapping his response into the phone before setting it aside. He looks at Ellen. “Are you going to be okay here today if we go out for a bit?”
That smile. God, he would commit crimes for that smile.
He can do this. He can do it.
Ellen confirms she’ll be okay, and after breakfast and the start of a game of scrabble, he and Malcolm head out. He keeps a white-knuckle grip on Malcolm’s hand all the way there.
“What does she know already? Does she know anything already?”
“She knows that I’m seeing an artist that’s an ex-art forger and that you consult for the FBI now and that you went through some stuff that I wasn’t specific about,” Malcolm tells him.
Neal nods, falling silent for the rest of the ride, and staying quiet as Malcolm leads the way into the office. He keeps his hold on Malcolm’s hand.
It’s not what he’s expecting—the fact that it’s so obvious a kids’ therapy office. As soon as he realizes that, though, he tries to set it aside. Malcolm did say he’s been with this woman since he was a child. His grip on Malcolm’s hand tightens when Gabrielle steps out of her office to call him inside.
“If that’s what he wants.” She steps aside to let them into the office, then shuts the door before taking her seat. She looks at Neal. “I assume Malcolm has informed you that I’ve advised him he might be better served by a more age appropriate therapist?”
“Malcolm disagrees,” Malcolm informs him matter-of-factly.
“I trust who he trusts,” Neal says softly. He flashes Malcolm a smile, but it fades back to nerves when he looks at Gabrielle. “And I don’t think… I think maybe you…”
He’s not sure how to put the half-formed thought. “It might be easier for someone who works with kids to… not think I’m nuts.”
Except Malcolm believed him. Then June, then Mozzie. But the people at the hospital hadn’t. His team hadn’t, as little as he’d said. He looks at his hand twined with Malcolm’s. “It’s not the kind of thing people believe.”
Neal can't look at her. He doesn't want to see her face as he starts to describe what happened. It takes him a little bit to sort out where to best start, but he ends up starting at the beginning. He was going about his day, and then... woke up in the snow next to a corpse in a town out of nightmares.
He keeps it as general as it's possible to keep such a thing. He doesn't tell her about any of the interpersonal details, doesn't come out and say he was killed there. Injured, yes, that it was horrible, yes, but killed--he doesn't go that far yet. He doesn't mention anyone else having strange powers. Doesn't mention knowing another Malcolm. He feels like he's navigating a mine field of implausibility.
"And then I just... woke up on the floor in my apartment. I still had the injuries I had in Mathias. My hair was longer, and I'd lost weight, and... it was real. But no one even knew I'd been gone. They'd all seen me that afternoon."
"I mean, it's... part of it." Instinctively, reactively, he reaches up to touch his shirt over the bandage. "It's just--it hasn't gone away. Since I got back. The things I saw there, at first I thought I was hallucinating. That I was crazy. But there are things... Things have happened."
"Last night, while he was dreaming about being there, I woke up. He was bleeding from a cut on torso. And then I saw one form on his shoulder right in front of my eyes. He dreamed he was in that place being torn apart by monsters and it hurt him here for real," Malcolm tells her. "Who do you even go to with a problem like that?"
Gabrielle raises an eyebrow. She looks at Neal.
"Do you sleep in Malcolm's bed?"
"This isn't like the time with Eve," he interjects, " I was awake."
“It wasn’t him,” Neal says, his own voice sharp. “If you’re going to assume that this can’t be real just because of what he’s been through…”
He trails off, unsure what exactly he was going to say. “It wasn’t him. He was awake. It’s not the first time something strange had happened. We were upstate, and I was drawing, and the drawing changed. We both saw it.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t believe you,” Gabrielle says firmly. “But being familiar with his pathology, I have to eliminate the logical reasons before I can endorse the supernatural ones.”
“Look,” Malcolm says a little desperately, because he’s afraid Neal will walk out. Possibly without him. “We know this sounds crazy, but it’s true. Is it possible for physical wounds to manifest psychosomatically?”
She takes a breath. “I’ve never heard of it, but I can look into it,” she tells them.
“What does that mean?” He hates not knowing things. Feeling stupid. It’s a wrench to even ask Gabrielle. He wouldn’t mind if it was Malcolm. “Psychosomatic.”
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“Of course,” she says, still smiling.
Malcolm’s phone pings. A message from Gabrielle’s office.
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“She has an opening at 11; is that okay with you?” he asks Neal.
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It’s not good, it’s terrible, this is a terrible idea and he’s half-way to backing out already.
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He can do this. He can do it.
Ellen confirms she’ll be okay, and after breakfast and the start of a game of scrabble, he and Malcolm head out. He keeps a white-knuckle grip on Malcolm’s hand all the way there.
“What does she know already? Does she know anything already?”
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It’s not what he’s expecting—the fact that it’s so obvious a kids’ therapy office. As soon as he realizes that, though, he tries to set it aside. Malcolm did say he’s been with this woman since he was a child. His grip on Malcolm’s hand tightens when Gabrielle steps out of her office to call him inside.
“Stay with me.”
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“If that’s what he wants.” She steps aside to let them into the office, then shuts the door before taking her seat. She looks at Neal. “I assume Malcolm has informed you that I’ve advised him he might be better served by a more age appropriate therapist?”
“Malcolm disagrees,” Malcolm informs him matter-of-factly.
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He’s not sure how to put the half-formed thought. “It might be easier for someone who works with kids to… not think I’m nuts.”
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“Being thought of as crazy is something that concerns you. Has that been a common reaction to what you’re about to tell me?”
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Except Malcolm believed him. Then June, then Mozzie. But the people at the hospital hadn’t. His team hadn’t, as little as he’d said. He looks at his hand twined with Malcolm’s. “It’s not the kind of thing people believe.”
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“Malcolm believes you,” she surmises. “He’s a highly skeptical person if there ever was one.”
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“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” she suggests.
Malcolm nods encouragement.
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He keeps it as general as it's possible to keep such a thing. He doesn't tell her about any of the interpersonal details, doesn't come out and say he was killed there. Injured, yes, that it was horrible, yes, but killed--he doesn't go that far yet. He doesn't mention anyone else having strange powers. Doesn't mention knowing another Malcolm. He feels like he's navigating a mine field of implausibility.
"And then I just... woke up on the floor in my apartment. I still had the injuries I had in Mathias. My hair was longer, and I'd lost weight, and... it was real. But no one even knew I'd been gone. They'd all seen me that afternoon."
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“They didn’t read Sherlock Holmes,” Malcolm supplies.
She gives him a small smirk.
“But that happening to you isn’t what brought you here today,” she tells him.
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He looks helplessly at Malcolm.
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Gabrielle raises an eyebrow. She looks at Neal.
"Do you sleep in Malcolm's bed?"
"This isn't like the time with Eve," he interjects, " I was awake."
She levels a look at him.
"Are you sure?"
He isn't sure and it's all over his face.
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He trails off, unsure what exactly he was going to say. “It wasn’t him. He was awake. It’s not the first time something strange had happened. We were upstate, and I was drawing, and the drawing changed. We both saw it.”
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“Look,” Malcolm says a little desperately, because he’s afraid Neal will walk out. Possibly without him. “We know this sounds crazy, but it’s true. Is it possible for physical wounds to manifest psychosomatically?”
She takes a breath. “I’ve never heard of it, but I can look into it,” she tells them.
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