"Please don't," Malcolm tells him. "You were there. I remember. When I was... fading in and out. It meant a lot to me. And you still made sure one victim didn't turn into two victims. That means a lot to me. You did what was right when it was hard. I'm proud of you for that. Much, much more proud than hurt. I want you to know. Before you...... go. Because it's more important than that other stuff. It's going to matter for so much longer and make so much more of a lasting difference." He fidgets with his own teacup. "I'm not a good Warden, Neal. There are things I'm good at, but this isn't one of them. But if I were a good one, I would have told you that first and just... not the rest of it, because it's what's really important and it's what you should be doing to graduate and getting you there is my job."
Neal shakes his head at the declaration that Malcolm isn't a good warden, denying it while he waits for the other man to finish. When Malcolm stops, Neal isn't sure he's actually done. He's been programmed to expect a different turn to these conversations.
He sits, slowly, more perched on the edge of the couch than comfortable.
"Peter did that the other way around," Neal says, trying to make a joke of it himself. "Told me he was proud of me first, then said I was a disappointment. Though to be fair, he spaced it into two different conversations."
"Well, you shouldn't. You shouldn't have to feel like a failure for what you had to do to survive."
Was that counseling?
"Anyway. You're allowed to choose your friends. If someone is sad that they're not your favorite, that's just a compliment about your friendship; you shouldn't feel bad."
Too long being told the opposite makes Neal balk internally at the idea that he has nothing to be ashamed of. He can't hear it. It won't reach, not yet.
"It's not a favorites thing," he says, quiet and urgent. "I don't like him better than I like you. I never have."
He can't help himself. He still feels like he has to prove it somehow.
Malcolm meets his eyes. “I believe you,” he says plainly. “And I’m glad. And it honestly wasn’t anything you said, okay? Or did. I promise. It was what everyone else there said and didn’t say. Cumulative effect, like I told you. It was just… easy to get caught in an emotional landslide after that.”
Neal finally, finally starts to relax. Not just from the release of tension in this conversation. Relax from all of it. The anxiety going into the meeting, the meeting itself, after. He'll remember soon that he wants to talk to Eiffel and that he's going to the meeting with Malcolm and both things have heavy potential to blow up in his face.
Right now, though, he focuses on playing with his cat's ears gently.
"Thank you," he says again, and means it. "You are a good warden."
Good warden, good person. Neal thinks about saying a couple of things, doesn't, considers again. He makes soft sounds that seem like the start of I don't and I've never but he doesn't put enough force in the words to get them really into the air.
"People don't compliment me unless there's an addendum." He laughs a little, an aborted sound, trying to make it a joke and not getting far. "Whenever you say something nice, I keep waiting for the other half. What you're putting up with, or what I did to make it a good thing I am whatever compliment you used. Or a question about why I am where I am, with as smart as I'm supposed to be."
"Telling someone something ostensibly nice couched in criticism isn't a compliment," Malcolm clarifies. "Compliment but isn't a compliment any more than 'I'm sorry, but' is an apology."
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He sits, slowly, more perched on the edge of the couch than comfortable.
"Peter did that the other way around," Neal says, trying to make a joke of it himself. "Told me he was proud of me first, then said I was a disappointment. Though to be fair, he spaced it into two different conversations."
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For a second he's not sure what to say, but he lands on a very quiet, very genuine, "Thank you."
Neal rubs gently behind George's ears. "I always feel like one."
Which is probably the most straightforward thing he's ever told Malcolm about his general emotional state.
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Was that counseling?
"Anyway. You're allowed to choose your friends. If someone is sad that they're not your favorite, that's just a compliment about your friendship; you shouldn't feel bad."
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"It's not a favorites thing," he says, quiet and urgent. "I don't like him better than I like you. I never have."
He can't help himself. He still feels like he has to prove it somehow.
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Right now, though, he focuses on playing with his cat's ears gently.
"Thank you," he says again, and means it. "You are a good warden."
Good warden, good person. Neal thinks about saying a couple of things, doesn't, considers again. He makes soft sounds that seem like the start of I don't and I've never but he doesn't put enough force in the words to get them really into the air.
"People don't compliment me unless there's an addendum." He laughs a little, an aborted sound, trying to make it a joke and not getting far. "Whenever you say something nice, I keep waiting for the other half. What you're putting up with, or what I did to make it a good thing I am whatever compliment you used. Or a question about why I am where I am, with as smart as I'm supposed to be."
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"That's not a compliment," he says.
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Sorry Malcolm he doesn’t really have a counter or anything to lessen the weirdness of this moment for himself.
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