“But what about any of that makes this necessary? Why do you want it? So there are assumptive perks that Lark has shared. Has he said anything about risks or losses?”
“Like… what will it do to you, physically? In ways that aren’t strength and speed? Mentally? What does he mean when he says ‘unbreakable bond’? How does that play out on a practical, personal autonomy level? Will you change unwillingly once a month? Will you suffer if you’re separated on a permanent basis?”
Neal could keep going, but he’s posed enough questions for one round. His expression pulls into another little frown and he sips his tea. “And how did he ask you about it? What did he say when he brought it up?”
“He didn’t say ‘unbreakable bond’, that’s just how I described it. You change when you want to. Will and I are going to travel after this place. We’ll always be able to visit them. And you. And anyone else we want; that’s the appeal of that technology.”
“I don’t know how I’m feeling, to be honest.” He owes Malcolm that much truth. “I don’t… like it. I don’t like the idea of what it could mean. I don’t like the unknowns. How was it proposed?”
“I didn’t say it was bad.” That comes out a little more coldly than intended, trying to hide the hurt behind it.
Neal gets up, leaving his tea to walk to the edge of his veranda and look out at the painted city. Normally he loves this, seeing New York rendered by an artist’s brush, taxis leaving smudges of paint behind as they turn down narrow streets. Right now he just wishes it was really New York.
“Oh, fuck you.” Neal turns and glares at him. “Did you come here because you wanted my opinion and care what I have to say or did you come here so I’d validate a choice you’ve already made?”
Malcolm physically flinches at the ‘fuck you’. He’s still helplessly clutching the mug of tea as it goes cold.
“I thought you’d understand what it feels like to be invited in when you’ve always been kept out,” he says quietly, looking into the cup so Neal can’t see the glassy sheen to his eyes now.
“Nobody ever mentions that part of being given something, I guess. Guilt. Jealousy. Strain.” He puts the cup down on the table and it clatters a little because his hand is shaking. “I’m not leaving, whether I go through with it or not. So.” He crosses his arms so he can tuck his hands tightly under his elbows. “I’ll be… here somewhere. If you…” he stops. Takes a shaky breath, closing his eyes for just a second while he tries to control it. “I have to go. Thank you for the tea.”
“I care what you think but all your questions are angry,” Malcolm says. “I haven’t decided yet. I have… misgivings. I just… expected a collaboration not… a bombardment of negativity.” He looks up. “Okay?”
Neal stares at him a moment, genuinely baffled and intensely frustrated at the same time.
“Malcolm. I have no idea what this means for you beyond a dramatic and permanent physiological change and possibly a mental one too. I’m worried and I’m trying to address those worries with information. How am I supposed to do that if I don’t ask about what might go wrong and how thoroughly you’ve considered it yourself?”
“The physical change is why I’ve held off, like with the healing. There aren’t mental changes. There are… sensory changes that come with the transformation. And some… heightened emotions he talked about but when I said I was concerned about that, he said he’d help me learn how to handle that,” Malcolm says quietly, looking at a spot on Neal’s shirt rather than his face.
“It’s all one system, remember? That’s what you told me. You change your body, you will be changing your mind.”
His tone is at least quieter now, not angry or forceful. “Come back and sit down and tell me what you want me to say. How you want to talk about this instead. Because right now what I see is someone I care about being offered something desperately important by someone whose motives I don’t trust.”
“My first exposure to Lark was being indirectly told he wanted to murder an inmate. Yeah, it was during a flood, and yes, I know why he wanted to, but it’s hard to change that kind of first impression.”
He looks away. “And then he replied to the post I made about what Dorian said to me and it didn’t feel like he cared one bit. The only thing that seemed to matter was being smug that Dorian publicly screwed up.”
"Before the... murder controversy, he did get to me fast enough to save my life. He already considers me one of his pack. That's why he wanted retribution. If I was more... cogent, I would have told him I didn't want that, like I told Will. But I didn't know until after. I think they sent Iris to stop him."
He moves to the little seating area and sits, fidgeting at his abandoned tea cup.
"I would have stopped Kikimora, too. I'm going to teach her other ways to manage her anger. I already started to before she became my inmate."
“That. There’s another reason. He already considered you pack, and the way he responded when you got hurt—it makes me wonder how much people matter when they’re not part of that circle.”
He shrugs, sitting down opposite Malcolm to stare at his own tea. “He’s been good to you. I can’t contest that. Like I said, I barely know anything about him. But this is a big change. It’s a… a permanent investment of your future into someone you’ve known for a handful of months. And what you said to me is true, no matter what he might say about it not impacting you mind. You will be changing yourself, fundamentally, significantly, and permanently. While part of a liminal space you don’t intend to stay on board forever.”
He leans back in his chair. “You haven’t really answered my question about why you want it so badly.”
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“But what about any of that makes this necessary? Why do you want it? So there are assumptive perks that Lark has shared. Has he said anything about risks or losses?”
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Neal could keep going, but he’s posed enough questions for one round. His expression pulls into another little frown and he sips his tea. “And how did he ask you about it? What did he say when he brought it up?”
Okay, maybe he had a couple more.
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He watches Neal warily.
“Are you mad at me?”
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Neal gets up, leaving his tea to walk to the edge of his veranda and look out at the painted city. Normally he loves this, seeing New York rendered by an artist’s brush, taxis leaving smudges of paint behind as they turn down narrow streets. Right now he just wishes it was really New York.
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“I thought you’d understand what it feels like to be invited in when you’ve always been kept out,” he says quietly, looking into the cup so Neal can’t see the glassy sheen to his eyes now.
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He turns back to the view, crossing his arms on top of a dip in the wall and resting his chin on them.
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He heads into the apartment, towards the door.
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He turns on his heel, strides past Malcolm and yanks the veranda door shut before he can go inside. “Answer my question.”
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“Malcolm. I have no idea what this means for you beyond a dramatic and permanent physiological change and possibly a mental one too. I’m worried and I’m trying to address those worries with information. How am I supposed to do that if I don’t ask about what might go wrong and how thoroughly you’ve considered it yourself?”
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His tone is at least quieter now, not angry or forceful. “Come back and sit down and tell me what you want me to say. How you want to talk about this instead. Because right now what I see is someone I care about being offered something desperately important by someone whose motives I don’t trust.”
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"Why don't you trust him? He's been nothing but good to me."
But it's not an accusation; he's genuinely asking.
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He looks away. “And then he replied to the post I made about what Dorian said to me and it didn’t feel like he cared one bit. The only thing that seemed to matter was being smug that Dorian publicly screwed up.”
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He moves to the little seating area and sits, fidgeting at his abandoned tea cup.
"I would have stopped Kikimora, too. I'm going to teach her other ways to manage her anger. I already started to before she became my inmate."
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He shrugs, sitting down opposite Malcolm to stare at his own tea. “He’s been good to you. I can’t contest that. Like I said, I barely know anything about him. But this is a big change. It’s a… a permanent investment of your future into someone you’ve known for a handful of months. And what you said to me is true, no matter what he might say about it not impacting you mind. You will be changing yourself, fundamentally, significantly, and permanently. While part of a liminal space you don’t intend to stay on board forever.”
He leans back in his chair. “You haven’t really answered my question about why you want it so badly.”
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