“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.”
"I did," Malcolm tells him softly. "Nobody ever invited me in before. Nobody ever thought I was the one they wanted to be inside. I want to know how that feels. Being chosen."
He looks over.
"When you say it makes you wonder about how much people matter when they're not part of the circle, are you talking about Lark or me?"
“You can, and I can still be scared of what it might mean for you. You say you love us and then you say you’ve never been chosen before. How am I supposed to take that?” He closes his eyes, head starting to ache at the temples. “It really sounds like you already know what you want.”
"You know that's not what I'm saying, that you being my friend isn't as important or that it's some lower class of connection. I do love you. That's why I'm talking to you about it. I'm not bringing this to people whose opinions don't matter to me. I haven't made up my mind. I'm allowed to be interested in it without being decided. If I didn't find the idea compelling there wouldn't be a need to talk about it; I would have told him no already," Malcolm insists.
“I don’t know that,” Neal counters softly. “Never in my life have I had any reason to believe I mattered to someone else as much as they mattered to me except for June and Sarah. And one of them left, because I said she should. I don’t know how to feel about any of this and I can’t turn off the fear that it means I somehow failed to be as valuable as someone who wants to change a piece of who you are.”
He massages the bridge of his nose, then takes a sip of cold tea. “It’s impossible for me to be objective about this. I’m trying, I really am. Why can’t Lark love you the way we do without bringing you into his pack physically? What I’m hearing is that you want to know what it feels like to be chosen. Special. Different. You’re the one who wants the exclusivity of that. It doesn’t feel good.”
"But I'll still be me, so why can't you still love me if I try something that isn't an option in my world and isn't even an option for everyone here? Why can't you still love me if I'm me plus something else? It won't change how I feel about you. I know it won't," Malcolm tells him.
“I do love you. I will. I still—I can’t just stop being scared. When Will came into your life and I was already in a bad place, I treated you like shit, and you used everything you knew to hurt me. I’m sitting here and feeling more and more like if I don’t approach this without misgivings that you’re going to take it out on me again.” He drags in a slow breath. “I’m scared for you, I’m scared for me, and I’m trying to be honest about that.”
"I lost my temper, but when I made you come back to therapy, I was trying to help you, not hurt you. The only time I actually aimed for pain was on the deck to shock you into talking to me. In therapy I wanted to move you out of the place of pain you were in by moving through it. But I wasn't... removed enough to be effective. I messed it up. There's nothing I've done in my entire life that I regret more than that but I understand that doesn't erase it."
“It didn’t feel that way,” Neal says, and realizes he never has before. “It felt like you… used what you knew about people leaving me to get me somewhere private so you could…”
He looks away again. That’s not why they’re here. “The point is, I don’t know what to say about this, because I can’t stop feeling like I’m being left again. That’s not exactly a space where I can provide level-headed advice.”
"I'm not leaving. I never have. Even when I thought you hated me," Malcolm points out. "Why would I leave now? I only wanted one thing when you graduated. To be friends properly, without the power imbalance. You were a better Warden than me when you were an Inmate. I want to see you do it for real. Did you decide what you want for your deal?"
Neal doesn’t say anything at once, his eyes on his tea, on the little fragments of leaf at the bottom. He doesn’t know how to explain what it felt like, hearing Malcolm tell him if he didn’t start behaving that everything he’d been promised would be yanked out from under him and their only real obligation to each other would be severed. Hearing what Peter said over and over again from someone who would be leaving him to die instead of leaving him in prison. Someone he loved in a way that felt so much more fragile and dangerous than the way he loved Peter. Who he loved in a way that Malcolm dismissed as a reaction to kindness. A reach for something unfamiliar. He doesn’t know how to articulate it. The compliments are nice, but they’re two stones throwing ripples on the surface of a well of hurt.
“I don’t mean it like that. You can leave someone and still be standing in front of them.” For Neal, that kind of leaving has always been worse. He clears his throat and makes himself take a drink. “Kate. I want to bring Kate back.”
"I thought you did leave while standing in front of me," Malcolm tells him. "But that's no excuse for how I reacted. I know it doesn't make any difference - I know it doesn't make you believe me - but I only got that upset because you abandoned me. I started dating Will and you saw it as a betrayal and you turned your back on me and all I wanted was for you to come back and I threw every single thing I had at the wall in the desperate hope that you would and it was stupid because hurt doesn't soothe hurt."
He takes a chance at looking over.
"Do you want me to make the request to the Admiral? You're decided?"
Again, Neal doesn’t answer right away. He’s been holding on to it, the wish, the boon, whatever it might be called. Keeping it between them as proof of something he didn’t realize he still needed to prove to himself. Acting on it means it’s done.
“I was hurt,” Neal says softly. “I was hurt and I hid from it and I wanted you to come and find me and make it better, which wasn’t fair, and wasn’t the right way to handle it, and got the reaction I should have expected. The reason I kept trying to get you to read my file after—I was so tired of reliving it. I wanted you to know without having to drag myself through it and explain all over again. I didn’t know how to say that then.”
"I understood that. And that's why I didn't really ask you to talk about it. Well. One of the reasons. But I promised you I wouldn't read the file until you really wanted me to and reading it because you don't want to talk about it isn't that. I promised. And having to break the promise because I broke everything else didn't seem... I couldn't, okay? I had to preserve the one thing I really believed I did right by you."
Neal’s smile is small and a little reluctant, a whipped animal reaching out to sniff gentle fingers. “And that’s a part of why I love you. It’s why I don’t understand why you would want this. That’s not a criticism. I don’t get it. You already said Lark thinks of you as pack. So why isn’t who you are as pack right now enough for him?”
“It’s enough for him. But being accepted by Lark doesn’t make me part of the pack in anyone else’s eyes until I’m… part of it.” Malcolm watches his face for a moment. “He said I could track murderers from their scent. Just. Being sensitive to that at a crime scene and then picking it up when I’m around a suspect. Can you imagine that?”
“If it’s enough for the guy who’s supposed to be their leader, it should be enough for them. But what do they matter anyway, here? They’re not the ones you’d be changing for, you don’t even know them. Not including Iris.”
Neal fiddles with the cloth napkin next to his tea, wishing it was paper he could shred. He does smile a little more when Malcolm mentions the practicalities relating to his job. His calling, really. “See, that’s what I’ve been waiting to hear. Why you want it. What makes the choice hard for you. I don’t care about Lark’s feelings one way or the other. What matters to me is that you’re doing this because there’s something you truly want from it other than approval from strangers.”
“He listed a bunch of ways it would help with my work, but… I don’t know. I guess I feel like people don’t really care that much about my job back home. The other thing felt… like it would be relatable,” Malcolm admits.
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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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He looks over.
"When you say it makes you wonder about how much people matter when they're not part of the circle, are you talking about Lark or me?"
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He massages the bridge of his nose, then takes a sip of cold tea. “It’s impossible for me to be objective about this. I’m trying, I really am. Why can’t Lark love you the way we do without bringing you into his pack physically? What I’m hearing is that you want to know what it feels like to be chosen. Special. Different. You’re the one who wants the exclusivity of that. It doesn’t feel good.”
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"I lost my temper, but when I made you come back to therapy, I was trying to help you, not hurt you. The only time I actually aimed for pain was on the deck to shock you into talking to me. In therapy I wanted to move you out of the place of pain you were in by moving through it. But I wasn't... removed enough to be effective. I messed it up. There's nothing I've done in my entire life that I regret more than that but I understand that doesn't erase it."
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He looks away again. That’s not why they’re here. “The point is, I don’t know what to say about this, because I can’t stop feeling like I’m being left again. That’s not exactly a space where I can provide level-headed advice.”
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“I don’t mean it like that. You can leave someone and still be standing in front of them.” For Neal, that kind of leaving has always been worse. He clears his throat and makes himself take a drink. “Kate. I want to bring Kate back.”
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He takes a chance at looking over.
"Do you want me to make the request to the Admiral? You're decided?"
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“I was hurt,” Neal says softly. “I was hurt and I hid from it and I wanted you to come and find me and make it better, which wasn’t fair, and wasn’t the right way to handle it, and got the reaction I should have expected. The reason I kept trying to get you to read my file after—I was so tired of reliving it. I wanted you to know without having to drag myself through it and explain all over again. I didn’t know how to say that then.”
Neal closes his eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I want.”
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Neal fiddles with the cloth napkin next to his tea, wishing it was paper he could shred. He does smile a little more when Malcolm mentions the practicalities relating to his job. His calling, really. “See, that’s what I’ve been waiting to hear. Why you want it. What makes the choice hard for you. I don’t care about Lark’s feelings one way or the other. What matters to me is that you’re doing this because there’s something you truly want from it other than approval from strangers.”
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