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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"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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