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[conning]

"It's Caffrey. Remember the value of plausible deniability. I'll get back to you."

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[abrightboy]

He’s easily led as he considers that. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m doing really well and really poorly all at once. Did you hear what Kikimora did?”

[conning]

"Smashed a mug on someone's face or something? I figured you were handling it. Is she being..." What word should he even use? Difficult? It seems too mild.

He pulls Malcolm outside, taking a deep breath as they emerge into an enclosed space that somehow manages to feel open. It's the quality of the air inside, which also tastes like New York to a T.

[abrightboy]

He looks up at Neal.

“She smashed a mug in Laura’s face. For punching me.” A beat and he blinks. “But thank you.”

[conning]

Oh. His lips twitch into a brief, brief smile, one that he immediately tries to hide with a sip of tea. Neal sits, gesturing to one of the other chairs at the little wrought-iron table. "Thank you?"

[abrightboy]

“Laura’s Warden didn’t trust at all that I would manage her,” Malcolm says.

He sits.

“Why does everyone love this Rogers guy so much? He didn’t impress me at the meeting and I’m not impressed now.”

[conning]

“Laura’s warden should concern himself with Laura’s violence,” Neal says dryly.

He sips his tea. “No idea or opinion, generally speaking. I haven’t interacted with him much. I know Shaw likes him because he keeps her… steady, when she’s having trouble. But he isn’t in my circles, or at least not enough to intersect yet.”

[abrightboy]

“She stayed ar his cabin for her first death toll,” Malcolm noted. “And she wanted him at the meeting even though he had nothing whatsoever to do with it.”

[conning]

"Yeah, I wasn't exactly thrilled about that." He'd pushed hard enough to exclude people he felt were peripheral to the issue. Having Steve there--he'd assumed at the time he must have had some kind of direct stake. Neal sighs.

He studies Malcolm's face a moment, tone one of slight surprise. "Is that what you want advice around? How to deal with him?"

[abrightboy]

“No. He told me to stay away from his inmate. Like I was the one that walked up to her. Anyway, I’m hoping avoiding her means avoiding him,” Malcolm says.

[conning]

Neal’s eyes narrow, his gentle voice going briefly hard. “Maybe I should ask him what he’s doing to keep his inmate away from you.”

[abrightboy]

“Apparently she doesn’t want anything to do with me because it’s my fault Kikimora messed up her face,” Malcolm shrugs.

[conning]

Another little smirk, which he definitely doesn’t hide fast enough.

“If she doesn’t want violent consequences she shouldn’t take violent actions.”

[abrightboy]

“That’s my point! She started it! What does she get to cry?” Malcolm points out.

[conning]

“Honestly, she sounds like—well, no, she clearly is the kind of manipulator who starts fights she can get other people to finish for her. All it takes is a sympathetic ear attached to a thick head that didn’t see it happen and a little bit of spin. I’ve known the type.”

He clinks his mug gently against Malcolm’s. “Drink. It’ll help your stomach if you’re tense.”

[abrightboy]

He takes a sip.

Dammit, it does help. He takes another sip.

“I’m tired of… I don’t even know what I’m tired of. I’ve always been… apart from other people. This place isn’t different.” He pauses. “Lark… offered me a way to be… less apart.”

[conning]

Neal tenses a little. Just a little. Not enough that anyone who isn't Malcolm would notice.

"Less apart from who?"

[abrightboy]

“He wants me to be part of his pack,” Malcolm tells him. He looks up from his cup to Neal’s face.

[conning]

He presses his lips into a thin line, the tension showing between his eyebrows.

“Which means what, exactly?”

[abrightboy]

“He wants me to be a werewolf. Like him. And be part of their group. He chose me. Just me. Out of everyone. Can you believe that?” Malcolm rambles.

[conning]

Neal’s stomach dips and clenches as Malcolm speaks, immediately going to Dorian’s words about Lark taking advantage of Jon in a moment of personal uncertainty.

“Is that the only reason you want to say yes?”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm’s expression creases.

“…What do you mean?”

[conning]

He pauses. “Let me rephrase. What makes you want to say yes?”

[abrightboy]

He studies Neal for a second.

“There’s a wrong answer. An answer you’re afraid of. What is it?”

[conning]

God Neal hates it when Malcolm does this to him, and not because he’s wrong.

“There’s an answer that makes me more or less in support of the choice, yes.”

Not by much, but by something.

[abrightboy]

“What is it?” Malcolm asks.