"She said Will will be supervised. But. At all times. And not... she'll be sitting outside his door. She'll be in the room." He watches Neal's hands. "She said she has to keep it from happening again but if keeping it from happening again means sitting on him 24 hours a day, then he's not really learning how to control himself, is he? She's a prosthetic."
Neal makes a noncommittal noise at that. "Regardless, immediately after she puts the measure in place isn't the time to ask about exceptions. If anything she'll take it as you trying to get around her authority, or you being over-emotional at the idea, or you trying to tell Will that he bears no fault and needn't consider alternatives to murder before going that far."
He tries not to clench his jaw. "And the more you tell her that no, you literally just want to know when you might be able to have a private moment again, the more she'll insist that you don't know your own mind until you snap at her and she says you've proved her point."
"I don't want that," Malcolm says. "Why is everything a trap? I'm... I don't want to control how he's taught or what consequences he faces. But he just went through something traumatic and awful and I want to be there for him and why is that supposed to be bad for him? He's like me. He's never had anyone who wanted to be there for him when things were bad. Isn't that good for him? Isn't it good for him that people care and want to... to help him through it emotionally?"
"It shouldn't be a trap," he says, frustrated. "I don't know why it is. I don't know why some people on board are so addicted to being right that even when you absolutely lose your mind with frustration at them, they won't consider that maybe there's a reason for that."
The water, appropriately enough, starts to boil, and Neal takes a sharp, calming breath as he starts to pour two mugs. "Do you think Kiki would want some? You said she's upstairs, right?"
"She is but I just gave her some hot chocolate," Malcolm tells him.
He takes a breath.
"I don't mind restrictions with parameters, you know. And I'm not allowed to say it but I see it on her face. She needs to monitor him personally at all times so she knows everything. That doesn't have an end date and I can't believe otherwise until she tells me one."
"I believe you." His expression tightens again for a moment. "About not minding restrictions with parameters. I think... part of it might be that Shaw got spooked. Not by Will, by the fact that this happened and she didn't see it coming. I definitely don't agree with her, necessarily, that the answer to his supposed slip in her caretaking requires a 24/7 remedy, but this is also her first time dealing with something like this for her own inmate. She's probably dealing with having... less distance than usual, on top of the events themselves."
Neal massages one temple and then runs his hand through his hair. "I'm still trying to figure out when she stopped actually hearing what I was trying to say in our last conversation, to the point that it... went south."
"...It was." Neal takes a long, slow breath to try and release some of his sudden irritation. "As soon as I said that I wished people would care more about who people are than how they're wired to feel, for her sake and yours, that's when the conversation turned."
Neal shakes his head, growling under his breath. "Jesus Christ. I don't understand."
Then takes a breath. "That was badly phrased, and poorly delivered."
He brings Malcolm the tea, not yet drinking from his own. "I don't care if it's normal. People liked Dorian--"
Neal catches himself and lowers his voice a little. "People like others who deserve it less. You do your best, every fucking day, and then everyone points and judges when you get pushed far enough that your best is out of reach for an hour. Fuck them."
Malcolm’s smile is a little watery. “There aren’t many people I’ve ever been able to just be around. Will has been working on helping Shaw to understand me, too. And I appreciate you both. I really do. I’ve never had a friend that would fight for me, either. I just… I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to be a thorn in your other friendships, but… thank you, Neal.”
"I don't know," Neal says, quietly frustrated, though not at Malcolm. "I can make all the points I want about how not everyone is going to like you no matter what you do, but-- the degree to which that's true for you is wrong. It's just... wrong."
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"She said Will will be supervised. But. At all times. And not... she'll be sitting outside his door. She'll be in the room." He watches Neal's hands. "She said she has to keep it from happening again but if keeping it from happening again means sitting on him 24 hours a day, then he's not really learning how to control himself, is he? She's a prosthetic."
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He tries not to clench his jaw. "And the more you tell her that no, you literally just want to know when you might be able to have a private moment again, the more she'll insist that you don't know your own mind until you snap at her and she says you've proved her point."
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...Wait.
Fuck.
That's Peter.
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These are clearly relationship adjectives he's heard before as Bad Things.
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"No, it's fucking not."
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"Thank you."
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He takes a breath.
"I don't mind restrictions with parameters, you know. And I'm not allowed to say it but I see it on her face. She needs to monitor him personally at all times so she knows everything. That doesn't have an end date and I can't believe otherwise until she tells me one."
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Neal massages one temple and then runs his hand through his hair. "I'm still trying to figure out when she stopped actually hearing what I was trying to say in our last conversation, to the point that it... went south."
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Neal shakes his head, growling under his breath. "Jesus Christ. I don't understand."
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Then takes a breath. "That was badly phrased, and poorly delivered."
He brings Malcolm the tea, not yet drinking from his own. "I don't care if it's normal. People liked Dorian--"
Neal catches himself and lowers his voice a little. "People like others who deserve it less. You do your best, every fucking day, and then everyone points and judges when you get pushed far enough that your best is out of reach for an hour. Fuck them."
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"I guess I just don't know what I keep doing wrong."
literally a month later......
Re: literally a month later......