[Malcolm looks at the file, then his face, then slowly reaches for it, taking it from him. He looks at the cover, then up at his face again, a little wary and a little confused.]
It's not more than you've earned. [His chest aches a little more at how cowed Malcolm is, guilt prowling around the edges of his hurt the way it always inevitably does.] Malcolm, I...
[He stops.] If you want--if you want, I can... coach you, maybe. On being more...
[Neal gestures at nothing in particular.] More participatory. Less prescriptive. About people. Your job, your real job, you have to be prescriptive. You take evidence, you draw conclusions, you present your findings, it's what you do. But you're not... trying to create a profile that will hold up to scrutiny from lawyers here. It's not a contest to be the most right about the people you're talking to. I can help. Maybe. I know how to get people to listen. It just takes practice. Like everything does.
That’s… kind of you. But I’m not really ready to put my feet back under me. I’m going to do something else for a while. Then… if I miss it… I’ll… come see you about it.
[A pause, and he starts into the Gazebo, then stops again on the threshold.] Can we still talk? No therapy. No trying to figure each other out. Just... talk.
[Neal notes the hesitation and shifts his weight uncomfortably.] I just meant I'm not asking you to be my therapist, that I just want to talk to you. I like talking to you.
[A faint laugh.] Recent evidence notwithstanding.
[He pauses.]
I'm... experimenting. With something. An art project.
What is it about people who work in the counseling office and an aversion to letting other people repress their feelings through unhealthy and yet rather effective mechanisms?
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