“I’m not playing your little games anymore. When you want to have a serious conversation, call me back.”
Malcolm hangs up before she can answer, slipping the phone back into his pocket before stepping over to the kitchen to press a kiss to Neal’s forehead.
“Want some more tea?” he asks, threading his fingers through Neal’s hair. “You need to stay hydrated.”
“Oh.” He glances down and then back up with a bashful smile. “I haven’t done anything.” He turns towards the stove, then looks back at Neal and holds up a finger. “Yet.” Then he goes to make more peppermint tea.
He drinks the tea, grateful for the freshness and the sharp flavor. He's not quite done with his cup when his phone starts to ring where it sits in the middle of the table. He looks to Malcolm for guidance.
“You’re the one that needs it. Make me an offer. Please don’t assume it can sound too much like begging for my tastes. I could entertain a little light groveling,” he informs her stonily.
Another fuming silence. A pause. “He’s not dead, is he. You wouldn’t care about making a deal with me if he was actually dead. You want me to leave him alone? Fine. Give me what I want and I’m gone.”
“He may yet survive. The FBI doesn’t know. Nobody knows. But the time to simply leave him alone is well past. We already offered you that chance. It’s too late. It doesn’t involve you suffering for the suffering you inflicted. Try again.”
“I don’t need you to kill people for me,” Malcolm scoffs like he’s insulted. “I know how to kill people. Your late colleague was blackmailing him. I want the so-called evidence. And I want fifty percent of the take.”
He doesn’t care about money, but he did mention wanting her to suffer.
“Blackmail and thirty percent,” she snaps. “Or I can send the footage along to Burke and wash my hands of this whole thing. I can disappear just as well as Caffrey.”
“We’ll take the deal,” Malcolm tells her. “Call me tomorrow to see if he’s still alive. If he makes it until then, he’ll be far enough out of the woods to solve your little puzzle. We want the blackmail stuff upfront, like a deposit. Our thirty percent to follow.”
“She’s always been pressing the urgency of it,” Malcolm says. “She was quietly pushing the clock even when she was pretending to be innocent Rebecca. She’s promised it to someone already. Someone she needs something from desperately or someone she’s afraid of.”
Malcolm leans over to kiss his temple.
“Rest up. I’ll call Murdoch.”
He arranged the meeting for the next day on purpose; he saw Neal trying to walk around.
It doesn't occur to Neal that the delay is for his sake. For the sake of planning and coordination, sure. For him? Not so much. Neal closes his eyes, basking in the kiss.
Murdoch, to his credit, doesn’t miss a beat. “I’ve secured permission to work with Mr Caffrey outside of the purview of the FBI. What scenario are we running?”
“Mr Bright… if you had been in pursuit of a violent, sociopathic criminal for some time with minimal support and significant obstacles, and had come close several times to securing that person only for superiors or technicalities to allow their escape, would you be satisfied with being told—unique opportunity notwithstanding—that you would be given a place and time and that you were expected to wait on the sidelines until your job had been done for you by a third party?”
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Malcolm hangs up before she can answer, slipping the phone back into his pocket before stepping over to the kitchen to press a kiss to Neal’s forehead.
“Want some more tea?” he asks, threading his fingers through Neal’s hair. “You need to stay hydrated.”
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He drinks the tea, grateful for the freshness and the sharp flavor. He's not quite done with his cup when his phone starts to ring where it sits in the middle of the table. He looks to Malcolm for guidance.
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"Hello?" he says politely, like he doesn't know who it could be.
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Neal, for his part, is captivated.
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A pause, the next words poisonous. “You want me to kill someone for you? Or give you evidence on people I’ve worked with? That I can do.”
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He doesn’t care about money, but he did mention wanting her to suffer.
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After a moment, Neal says, “She went straight to thirty and the evidence from twenty? She wants whatever this is, badly. Enough to make her careless.”
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Malcolm leans over to kiss his temple.
“Rest up. I’ll call Murdoch.”
He arranged the meeting for the next day on purpose; he saw Neal trying to walk around.
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"We're going to do this. It's going to work."
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“Mr Bright… if you had been in pursuit of a violent, sociopathic criminal for some time with minimal support and significant obstacles, and had come close several times to securing that person only for superiors or technicalities to allow their escape, would you be satisfied with being told—unique opportunity notwithstanding—that you would be given a place and time and that you were expected to wait on the sidelines until your job had been done for you by a third party?”
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