“I’m thinking somewhere that’s near stuff you like, but also secluded, so we can go places but also not be disturbed. Know anywhere like that?” Malcolm asks.
“I can think of a few places that fit.” He takes a deep breath, eyes wandering to the ceiling as he considers the countries, cities, towns he’s missed the most. “Maybe Italy to start. Italy or France.”
“When this is over,” he says, and pauses. It will be soon. It really will. One way or another. He shivers, and then winces as his arm muscles twitch. “When this is over, we’re running away together, and all we’re going to say about where we went is that it’s safe and we’ll be back when we feel like it.”
Malcolm doesn’t sleep, but he stares out the window with his head on Neal’s shoulder, running everything over in his mind. It’s well past dawn when the pounding comes on Neal’s door, making him startle.
Neal doesn't mean to sleep, but he's exhausted. When he jolts awake at the pounding, it's from a nightmare, and his muscles cramp at the sudden motion. He gasps, the sound small and pained.
Malcolm's hand splays on Neal's chest to steady and calm him. Malcolm stills. He doesn't move to open the door. If it Rachel, she can deal with not knowing whether they're home.
Peter, not Rebachel. Malcolm pats Neal's chest and gets out of bed, padding over to the door and opening it a small amount, peeking at the Agent through the crack.
Peter scowls. "I got a call from one of my superiors saying that Interpol requested Neal's services for one of their cases, but they wouldn't give any details as to what that case was. The requesting agent's name is William Murdoch. I looked him up. He's the guy who was here last night with takeout."
Neal stays quiet, feeling uncomfortably like a kid whose parent is making a public scene.
Malcolm’s eyebrows go up. “He scouted us out? How wily of him. I wondered why the delivery guy asked so many questions, but as someone who gets a lot of delivery… a lot of them are just lonely and weird.”
"I don't think that call is yours or mine to make," Malcolm points out, closing the door to take the chain off, then opening it and stepping back to let Peter in. He follows the agent into the apartment as he continues. "If there's a choice to be had, it's Neal's. And if there isn't a choice, then none of us gets a say."
Neal watches Malcolm’s return like someone watching the approach of a mythical animal. He’s never going to get used to hearing those simple declarations that Neal’s actions are his own choice. If there is a choice. There isn’t, really, in this case, but that doesn’t matter so much right now.
Peter draws his attention by clearing his throat. “Glad to see you awake,” he says, soft and gruff.
"After what just happened? After everything that's been happening, with Hagen and now this?" There's genuine worry breaking through the temper now.
"Would it stop you?" Neal challenges him quietly. He eases around so he's sitting next to Malcolm, wincing as he moves. Every muscle hurts, like he's been working at the gym far past the point of good health. "It wouldn't."
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"I expect we'll know when Murdoch's made his call by Peter pounding on the door."
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Once he’s in bed with IV lines untangled, Malcolm tucked in against him, Neal closes his eyes again. “Thank you,” he says softly. “For saving me.”
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"You save me."
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“When this is over,” he says, and pauses. It will be soon. It really will. One way or another. He shivers, and then winces as his arm muscles twitch. “When this is over, we’re running away together, and all we’re going to say about where we went is that it’s safe and we’ll be back when we feel like it.”
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There’s a pause, then more pounding. “Bright! Open up.”
That’s about when Peter seems to remember that Neal might be sleeping and shifts his pounding to insistent knocks.
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"Yes?"
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Neal stays quiet, feeling uncomfortably like a kid whose parent is making a public scene.
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He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. Neal isn’t going anywhere or helping anyone until we know how he’s doing. Let me in.”
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Peter draws his attention by clearing his throat. “Glad to see you awake,” he says, soft and gruff.
“Glad to be awake,” Neal says.
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"Hey, you know what? Peter says that the sushi delivery guy last night is really an interpol agent and he wants you for a job."
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Peter scowls. "They want you to help catch someone they suspect of some seriously violent crimes."
Neal looks at Malcolm, then at Peter. He hates how rough his voice sounds. "Why wouldn't I help?"
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"Would it stop you?" Neal challenges him quietly. He eases around so he's sitting next to Malcolm, wincing as he moves. Every muscle hurts, like he's been working at the gym far past the point of good health. "It wouldn't."
Peter can't really argue with that.
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"I'll look after him," he assures Peter.
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