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.”
“The mind can be so powerful that it affects the body. But this would be an extreme example. Still… people have manifested illnesses… pregnancy symptoms…” Malcolm explains.
“Yes, but don’t get ahead of the diagnosis, Malcolm,” Gabrielle tells him. “Have any other incidents like the drawing happened?”
“It showed the fire starting, consuming the town, and when I came out of it it was just… scribbles.”
He shivers, looking down, his apprehension back, unsure what else to say. There’s so much he hasn’t. Malcolm trusts Gabrielle. Why is it so much harder for Neal to? He’s been building toward this, in one way or another, almost since he and Malcolm met. Okay maybe it’s not that long ago, but… Neal shivers.
“I would see things sometimes. I do still sometimes. Less lately. But I still feel like some of the monsters I saw there are watching me.”
“Sometimes. More before. Lately it’s been in drawings and dreams, and sometimes I swear they’re there but I can’t see them. Like they’re hiding, but they want me to know they’re present.”
He scrubs a hand through his hair. “Sometimes it is just a bad feeling, just me feeling like something’s going to happen. Other times… it’s more than that.”
It takes him a few long, silent seconds to put his thoughts in order and decide how much of them to share.
In the end he goes for honesty, hanging on to Malcolm’s hand. “It’s like sitting in a dark room you know well, knowing there’s someone in there with you. Not knowing who, or what they’re going to do. But knowing someone is there, without a doubt.”
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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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“Yes, but don’t get ahead of the diagnosis, Malcolm,” Gabrielle tells him. “Have any other incidents like the drawing happened?”
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He’s calmed a little, at least. Enough that it’s clear he’s not going to get up and leave immediately.
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"What did you draw while in the trance?" she asks Neal.
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This was a mistake.
“…Mathias burning,” he says quietly. “And it moved. It moved and changed while I was drawing it.”
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Malcolm looks at him and nods encouragement, like he can see his faith waning.
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He shivers, looking down, his apprehension back, unsure what else to say. There’s so much he hasn’t. Malcolm trusts Gabrielle. Why is it so much harder for Neal to? He’s been building toward this, in one way or another, almost since he and Malcolm met. Okay maybe it’s not that long ago, but… Neal shivers.
“I would see things sometimes. I do still sometimes. Less lately. But I still feel like some of the monsters I saw there are watching me.”
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He scrubs a hand through his hair. “Sometimes it is just a bad feeling, just me feeling like something’s going to happen. Other times… it’s more than that.”
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In the end he goes for honesty, hanging on to Malcolm’s hand. “It’s like sitting in a dark room you know well, knowing there’s someone in there with you. Not knowing who, or what they’re going to do. But knowing someone is there, without a doubt.”
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