“Who else would I call with his life on the line?” he asks, his voice a little crisper and frostier this time.
He looks at Edrisa. “I’m not sure it wasn’t a random attack, actually. He was injected walking out of the coffee shop down the street. If you get a profile on the drug cocktail, keep it to hand, in case any more potential victims come in.”
She nods eagerly, buoyed again by Malcolm's response to Peter. To put it mildly. Edrisa pops the last of her sushi into her mouth and gets to her feet. "I'll drop it by the lab on my way home. Get it started."
A pause, and she hugs Malcolm tightly. The angle is a little awkward, but it doesn't stop her.
Peter waits until she's gone before taking the spot she'd occupied. He eyes the remains of the wine, then decides against it. Goes back to watching Neal with tired, worried eyes.
"Right out of it," Malcolm replies wearily. "He didn't know up from down. Sometimes he knew me and sometimes he didn't. It's hard to assess any given moment. Why?"
Peter gives him a blank look, then registers what Malcolm means and snorts. "Oh good. I was starting to wonder."
Another moment of silence. Peter starts to say something else, but there's a knock on the door and he gets up. It's the EMT, Diana still at her side. She comes in, eying Malcolm and Neal with an uncertainty that might be a little impressed. "Burke said he could use some more fluids."
"You got it," she says, significantly more respectful now than she was the first time she was here.
Peter hovers as she replaces the IV and adds a second bag, before Diana finally makes him sit down again. "Have you heard of anyone else showing up at the ER with his symptoms?"
"Emergency Department now," she says dryly. "They've gotten testy about being called a room. But no, I haven't."
"This formulation of drugs indicates a... calculated precision. This killer won't attack a swathe of people in one day. They'll wait," Malcolm tells them. "They may even tweak the formula in the meantime."
Diana looks at Peter. "I'll put out feelers. See if there have been any recent deaths with similar symptoms, that kind of thing."
"Thanks, Diana," Peter murmurs.
The EMT straightens up. "I can stop by after my shift in the morning and see how he's doing, if you want."
Peter watches Neal sleeping for a moment then rubs his face. "Yeah. Yeah, that'd be great. I'm... going to ask June if I can take a guest room for the night."
“You don’t have to do that,” Malcolm tells him. “I’ll call you if anything changes.” He tilts his head to look over and up at the EMT. “But if you could stop in the morning to check in and replenish his fluids, that’d be great.”
Nobody had made Malcolm Neal’s caregiver, but Malcolm took on the role anyway.
"I know I don't have to," Peter snaps, then immediately looks sheepish. "I just. Want to be close by if anything does."
For once, it's clear that his motivation is pure worry.
The EMT eyes Peter with raised eyebrows, then shrugs, nodding to Malcolm. "I'll bring some extras, show you how to change things out. Diana told me you don't want him in a hospital for a few days, but he's gonna need hydration."
She doesn't hang around to see how the conversation between Malcolm and Peter progresses. Diana doesn't follow immediately. "You good, boss?"
Peter nods. She comes over to give his shoulder a little squeeze before she leaves.
Malcolm thanks her as she leaves, then leans over to set his sushi on the side table by the couch before settling back in his chair to watch Neal sleep. Part of him wants to go pour a scotch, but it feels like showing Peter weakness.
Peter nearly dozes off in his chair for a moment before straightening up a little. He’d gone downstairs after Diana, briefly, to talk to June, who then came upstairs to hover over Neal for a few minutes and sing softly to him while she held Malcolm’s hand.
It’s hard to say, but he seems to be sleeping a bit more deeply.
Once June leaves, Peter gets up. “Gonna go downstairs,” he mumbles. Then doesn’t move right away.
“…Who started it? The two of you, as a… thing. Was it him or was it you?”
Malcolm looks at him oddly. “That’s weird and personal,” he says bluntly, but considers it, watching Neal while he thinks. “I don’t really know. It felt mutual.” He looks up at Peter. “He kissed me first, if that’s what you were looking for.”
Malcolm’s posture finally sags when the door shuts behind Peter and he’s alone in the silence of Neal’s quiet breathing. He gets up and locks the door, then turns off most of the lights, but returns to his chair. He’s not going to bed. Not with any lingering uncertainty.
Somewhere after midnight, Neal moans softly and shifts in his sleep. The motion drags another groan out of him. He opens his eyes blearily and orients on Malcolm, squinting a little in the dimness.
“Malcolm?” His voice is hoarse and he immediately starts coughing, grimacing in pain at the motion of it.
"It's late but it's still the sane day," Malcolm assures him. "Rebecca poisoned you, but we got you through it. Peter is here, but he doesn't know. I have a plan. When you feel a bit better. To finish things with Rebecca and to get you free."
He grimaces again as little cramps seem to ripple through his muscles. Still, he tightens his hold on Malcolm’s hand. “I had dreams… weird dreams. Felt real. It doesn’t feel like the same…”
His eyes snap open and he tries to sit up. “Mozzie! He’s alone with her, we have to help him.”
Malcolm shrugs like it was nothing. Like he’s certainly not exhausted from keeping all those balls in the air.
“You should know that Peter took a room here last night. He’s in the building, so be careful.” A beat. “…Do you know why he would ask me which one of us initiated our relationship?” he asks.
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“Who else would I call with his life on the line?” he asks, his voice a little crisper and frostier this time.
He looks at Edrisa. “I’m not sure it wasn’t a random attack, actually. He was injected walking out of the coffee shop down the street. If you get a profile on the drug cocktail, keep it to hand, in case any more potential victims come in.”
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A pause, and she hugs Malcolm tightly. The angle is a little awkward, but it doesn't stop her.
Peter waits until she's gone before taking the spot she'd occupied. He eyes the remains of the wine, then decides against it. Goes back to watching Neal with tired, worried eyes.
"How delirious do you think he was?"
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Another moment of silence. Peter starts to say something else, but there's a knock on the door and he gets up. It's the EMT, Diana still at her side. She comes in, eying Malcolm and Neal with an uncertainty that might be a little impressed. "Burke said he could use some more fluids."
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Peter hovers as she replaces the IV and adds a second bag, before Diana finally makes him sit down again. "Have you heard of anyone else showing up at the ER with his symptoms?"
"Emergency Department now," she says dryly. "They've gotten testy about being called a room. But no, I haven't."
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"Thanks, Diana," Peter murmurs.
The EMT straightens up. "I can stop by after my shift in the morning and see how he's doing, if you want."
Peter watches Neal sleeping for a moment then rubs his face. "Yeah. Yeah, that'd be great. I'm... going to ask June if I can take a guest room for the night."
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Nobody had made Malcolm Neal’s caregiver, but Malcolm took on the role anyway.
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For once, it's clear that his motivation is pure worry.
The EMT eyes Peter with raised eyebrows, then shrugs, nodding to Malcolm. "I'll bring some extras, show you how to change things out. Diana told me you don't want him in a hospital for a few days, but he's gonna need hydration."
She doesn't hang around to see how the conversation between Malcolm and Peter progresses. Diana doesn't follow immediately. "You good, boss?"
Peter nods. She comes over to give his shoulder a little squeeze before she leaves.
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It’s hard to say, but he seems to be sleeping a bit more deeply.
Once June leaves, Peter gets up. “Gonna go downstairs,” he mumbles. Then doesn’t move right away.
“…Who started it? The two of you, as a… thing. Was it him or was it you?”
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He considers adding another question, but leaves instead.
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“Malcolm?” His voice is hoarse and he immediately starts coughing, grimacing in pain at the motion of it.
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“Welcome back,” he says with a soft smile, setting a hand on his chest.
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He screws his eyes shut, trying to sort through his memories. “What day is it?”
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His eyes snap open and he tries to sit up. “Mozzie! He’s alone with her, we have to help him.”
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“Mozzie’s fine. He got out. He disappeared himself. She doesn’t know whether you’re alive or dead. The ball’s in our court.”
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“I’m not used to this. To having someone take care of things when I can’t.” A little chuckle, a wince. “At least not these kinds of things.”
Softly, he adds, “Thank you.”
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“You should know that Peter took a room here last night. He’s in the building, so be careful.” A beat. “…Do you know why he would ask me which one of us initiated our relationship?” he asks.
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