“I’m not leaving. And I’m still going to talk to him, and… do whatever I can to prove I’m still me. It just hurts when a wall goes up that you had no reason to expect or plan for.”
"It does, yeah." He pauses. "That's... " He takes a bracing breath. "That was how I felt when you came back. Not about my screw up over you living more life and me not realizing what was happening. Just. The whole thing with Will and then with therapy. I know I wasn't innocent. I know I really, really wasn't. It just... took me by surprise. When you stopped talking to me. When you stopped coming to our sessions. So all I can recommend is... don't do what I did. Do what you would have wanted me to do."
Oh. Neal has no idea what to say to that. It feels like a compliment, in a strange way, but he isn’t sure why. Like an apology too.
There’s a part of him that wants to ride out this wave of honesty, tell Malcolm that it’s still hard to look at him with Will and not be jealous or resentful. It’s hard not be afraid that things he tells Malcolm will find their way to a man he doesn’t trust.
“I meant it when I said you were a better Warden than me when you were an Inmate. Now you’re in your own class,” Malcolm tells him. “And you’ve already graduated an Inmate, so you’re ahead.”
“I’m not better than you,” he says, just as soft. “I think you’re exactly the kind of warden Kikimora needs, which means you’re exactly the kind of warden someone will need after her, if you choose to stay that long. You keeping your promise about the file—I don’t think I would have ended up anywhere close to graduating if you hadn’t done that, even when I didn’t want you to.”
He draws in a slow, deep breath, then exhales hard. “Don’t go praising me yet when I haven’t even gotten an assignment.”
“I hope so.” He looks past Malcolm at the painted city, worry pinching the expression between his eyebrows. “I hope I don’t… end up with someone violent enough that they’re hard to handle.”
He clears his throat and shakes his head. That isn’t why they’re here. It’s not why Malcolm is here anyway. “What… advice do you want about this? Pros and cons, ‘if it was me,’ something else?”
That startles a small noise of amusement out of him. Not that he’s trying to make fun of Malcolm—it’s just… a sweet answer. Not one he expected.
“I don’t hate dogs. I love dogs.”
Apparently sensing a disturbance in the force, George starts scratching at the closed veranda door. Neal grins over at the cat before getting up to let him out and pick him up.
“I just happened to end up with a cat-shaped one.”
“What if you hate me being one? You don’t like my boyfriend and now you don’t trust Lark and I don’t want to just… get further away from you. I… want to still…” He gestures between them. “This.”
He gently deposits George in Malcolm's lap, which the cat seems content to curl up on. Neal's follow-up impulse is to kiss the top of Malcolm's head. He doesn't, instead squeezing the other man's shoulder.
"I won't hate you being one, and I already didn't trust Lark. That has nothing to do with this, specifically. I don't want him to isolate you. Pull you away from the people who care about you that aren't a part of his 'pack.' That's what worries me."
As for Will... he doesn't have it in him to refute or qualify on that front. He doesn't like Will. He doesn't want to like Will. It's not an equation that can add up to anything different.
Neal smiles a little at that, taking his seat again. "That's true."
It does make him feel fractionally better.
He draws in a deep breath, studying the latticework underneath the glass top of the table. "Look. If it was me... I would be curious. I would be desperately curious. How often would either of us get that chance in our own worlds? We won't. If it was me, I'd do it, because here at least I know it's a change I can reverse if it's not one I want to keep. I don't want you to do it. But my only reasons are selfish."
He's not sure how much more honesty he can take. He's feeling raw, scooped out inside, feelings he knows mean he's close to the edge of how much he can handle in general before he needs to just be away from people for a little while.
Neal forces himself to drink some of his cold-but-not-cold-enough-to-be-refreshing tea, hoping it will make his throat feel a little less squeezed.
"Jealousy. Fear. Worry." The thought that Lark might decide to bring Will in too, and then Malcolm will have no reason to keep ties to anyone outside.
“I don’t know.” It’s honest, quiet, guilty. He would say if he could think of anything. He would say in a heartbeat. “It’s not fair. I do know that. But I don’t know how to fix it.”
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"It does, yeah." He pauses. "That's... " He takes a bracing breath. "That was how I felt when you came back. Not about my screw up over you living more life and me not realizing what was happening. Just. The whole thing with Will and then with therapy. I know I wasn't innocent. I know I really, really wasn't. It just... took me by surprise. When you stopped talking to me. When you stopped coming to our sessions. So all I can recommend is... don't do what I did. Do what you would have wanted me to do."
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There’s a part of him that wants to ride out this wave of honesty, tell Malcolm that it’s still hard to look at him with Will and not be jealous or resentful. It’s hard not be afraid that things he tells Malcolm will find their way to a man he doesn’t trust.
“Thank you,” he says softly.
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He draws in a slow, deep breath, then exhales hard. “Don’t go praising me yet when I haven’t even gotten an assignment.”
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He clears his throat and shakes his head. That isn’t why they’re here. It’s not why Malcolm is here anyway. “What… advice do you want about this? Pros and cons, ‘if it was me,’ something else?”
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“I don’t hate dogs. I love dogs.”
Apparently sensing a disturbance in the force, George starts scratching at the closed veranda door. Neal grins over at the cat before getting up to let him out and pick him up.
“I just happened to end up with a cat-shaped one.”
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"I won't hate you being one, and I already didn't trust Lark. That has nothing to do with this, specifically. I don't want him to isolate you. Pull you away from the people who care about you that aren't a part of his 'pack.' That's what worries me."
As for Will... he doesn't have it in him to refute or qualify on that front. He doesn't like Will. He doesn't want to like Will. It's not an equation that can add up to anything different.
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It does make him feel fractionally better.
He draws in a deep breath, studying the latticework underneath the glass top of the table. "Look. If it was me... I would be curious. I would be desperately curious. How often would either of us get that chance in our own worlds? We won't. If it was me, I'd do it, because here at least I know it's a change I can reverse if it's not one I want to keep. I don't want you to do it. But my only reasons are selfish."
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Neal forces himself to drink some of his cold-but-not-cold-enough-to-be-refreshing tea, hoping it will make his throat feel a little less squeezed.
"Jealousy. Fear. Worry." The thought that Lark might decide to bring Will in too, and then Malcolm will have no reason to keep ties to anyone outside.
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