THE OG AU

[conning]

[summary tk]

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[abrightboy]

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.

[conning]

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?”

[abrightboy]

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.”

[conning]

“It was,” Peter says dryly.

He considers adding another question, but leaves instead.

[abrightboy]

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.

[conning]

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.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm was staring at the wall, but his eyes snap to Neal at the sound and he scoots forward in his seat.

“Welcome back,” he says with a soft smile, setting a hand on his chest.

[conning]

It takes an annoyingly exhausting amount of effort to put his own hand over Malcolm’s. “What happened? Wh…”

He screws his eyes shut, trying to sort through his memories. “What day is it?”

[abrightboy]

"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."

[conning]

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.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm shakes his head.

“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.”

[conning]

He collapses back onto the couch in relief, closing his eyes again. A tiny smile flickers across his face.

“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.”

[abrightboy]

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.

[conning]

Neal frowns, trying to sort through the mess in his head to recall if there might have been a reason for something like that.

“Other than the fact that he doesn’t trust my romantic instincts in general, I have no idea.” He clears his throat, embarrassment tingeing his expression. He doesn’t like asking for help, even now, but— “Could I have some water?”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm supposes he can’t defend romantic interests that landed Neal with a mess, even if he benefitted from them.

He nods and gets up, going over to the fridge to fill a glass with cold water, then bringing it over to Neal, offering him a hand to sit up before placing it in his hands.

“Murdoch is going to request your transfer to interpol today.”

[conning]

He drinks slowly, combatting his desire to chug as the cold freshness hits the back of his throat. When he stops for a breath--leaning heavily on Malcolm's support, as much for comfort as anything else--he studies Malcolm's face. "How much do you trust him with?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm tilts his head to meet Neal’s gaze.

“Only what he needs to know. And as far as he knows, Rebecca Lowe being Rachel Turner was news to us when he told me about it. But I told him you have a chance to get close to her that we will only take if he follows my instructions to the letter.” He studies Neal carefully for a moment. “You have to do that too,” he says. “She’s a sadist. You have to handle her how I tell you.”

[conning]

"Rebecca Lowe being Rachel turn is news to me," Neal says, slightly dazed, but not from the poison this time. Or not totally from the poison. "I knew she wasn't who she said she was but... who's Rachel Turner?"

At Malcolm's order, he nods slowly, though there's clear reluctance in it. He's not sure why.

[abrightboy]

“A killer. An ex-spy. A sadist.” He looks at Neal. “But we can get her. Close a high profile case for interpol and then get you free.”

[conning]

“How was I so close to falling for her?”

He stares at his now-empty glass, a confused revulsion twisting his stomach.

[abrightboy]

“Because that’s what spies do. They become someone else just long enough to get what they need.” Malcolm is quiet for a moment. “Peter thinks that’s why you fell for me, too. He thinks I’ve manipulated you into it,” he realizes.

[conning]

Neal hones in on Malcolm all at once. “He’s wrong.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks at him, a smile slowly curving his mouth.

“I know.” He pushes Neal’s hair - matted with sweat and then dried as he slept - back from his face. He picks up the tray of cucumber rolls and offers them to Neal. “Do you want these?”

[conning]

Neal realizes, as Malcolm offers the food, that he’s ravenously hungry. “God, yes. I don’t even care what they are.”

[abrightboy]

“Cucumber rolls,” Malcolm supplies. “Eat them up. They’re for you.”