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[abrightboy]

 This is Bright. Leave a message.

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[abrightboy]

No. I have night terrors. If I can’t wake up, it’s like I’m trapped in there.

[cactusy]

[Oh. Well.

She crosses her arms, leaning a shoulder against the wall.]

You getting help with that?

[abrightboy]

…It’s a parasomnia. I sleep in a mouthguard and restraints. That’s about all the help there is for that. Neal asked the Admiral to get rid of them when inmates had warden powers. It subdued some of them for a bit but they’ve mostly come back.

[cactusy]

[-- Ah. So that's what the restraints are for. Time to reorient a few things in her mind.]

Why not just ask for them to be gone again?

[abrightboy]

Because it was kind of nice to sleep for the first time in my adult life for a bit, but it was worse when they came back.

After the Port

[empathicfault]

Will has phoned ahead today, made sure Malcolm has some real time set aside to talk. Will finds himself a little nervous as he heads to Malcolm's place. No dogs this time, although he debated it. Ultimately, the need to be uninterrupted trumped the desire for a possible easy distraction. Neither he nor Malcolm really fell for that, anyway. Both Jet and Winston are at the kennel for now, getting plenty of attention.

Will stares at Malcolm's door for a moment, hands in his pockets. He puts away the vision his brain oh-so-helpfully provides, of Malcolm impaled with every weapon in his displays, making him look almost like the Wound Man. Will closes his eyes, sniffs in a deep breath, an lets it out slowly. His shoulders relax and he opens his eyes, then reaches forward to knock.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm opens the door at the knock. Despite the fact that Will seemed… grave on the phone, he can’t help looking pleased to see him there.

“Hi.” He steps back to let him in. “You sounded really serious. Is everything okay?”

[cactusy]

You can't ask for them to be gone permanently?

[abrightboy]

He did ask for that. It just… didn’t take.

[cactusy]

["Well, shit" x100000.]

You're talking about this to people besides me, right?

[empathicfault]

Will smiles- even though it's one of his more uncomfortable smiles, the kind with too many teeth. It's still there. He sweeps into Malcolm's place, now comfortable with the layout. "Oh, yeah. In fact, it's probably good. I came to some decisions on things and figured I should talk to you before anyone else dies or something crazy takes our attention away."

And as such, he jumps right into it, walking to Malcolm's kitchen island and leaning against it. "First off, Shaw is going to have me start seeing Kiryu. Apparently, she read through my file and decided I could use all the help I could get. She might get me talking to Sheehan at some point, too." He looks- well, not particularly happy about it. But he seems resigned to the idea. This is not exactly what he came here to talk about, but at least it's a good jumping-off point?

[abrightboy]

Like… conversationally?

[abrightboy]

“Because she thinks I’m a shitty therapist?” Malcolm confirms, though he knows that she does, so why else dissuade Will from seeing him?

[cactusy]

Conversationally, professionally. Take your pick.

[empathicfault]

A very good jumping-off point. Will raises an eyebrow and gives Malcolm a flat look. "No. Because she thinks I need more therapists. She's not saying I shouldn't see you, too. Although I'm pretty sure she knows that what we have isn't a normal doctor-patient relationship."

He looks down at the counter, at the pill bottles, and licks his lips. It was easier to know what to do when he was on the other side of this, when he had a particular goal in mind. Now, he's mostly full-to-the-brim of scenarios he wants to avoid. "Malcolm. Do you know how much I care about you?"

He looks up, trying to catch Malcolm's gaze. His own eyes are clear, unguarded, but worried. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you. I won't." Before anything else, Malcolm needs to know this. Will cycles through another heavy huff of breath before he tilts his head to the side, just a bit. "Okay?"

[abrightboy]

Well, the restraints were my therapist’s idea. I almost ran into traffic once when I was fourteen. A late night jogger tackled me out of the way of a truck. I don’t remember it. I remember waking up sitting on the sidewalk with my mother screaming at me.

[cactusy]

Here, Malcolm.

[She says, rolling her eyes.]

Who's helping you with this here.

[abrightboy]

There… isn’t anything to be done for it here. I take my meds and do my morning routine and wear my restraints to sleep. That’s… all their is for it. Restraints and good mental health hygiene.

[cactusy]

Yeah? That something you'd say to a patient in your position?

[abrightboy]

That in cases of extreme trauma, the maintenance of stability is the best you can do for yourself? Yes.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm meets his gaze, but there’s a waver of uncertainty in them at the question.

“I’m not… really a doctor,” he manages, almost apologetically. “Kiryu thought I could help people in the Counselling office when he found out I studied psychology. I’ve liked it more than I thought I would. But.” But when people call him out for being a weird or unprofessional or ridiculous excuse for a therapist, he knows they’re right. “But I’m glad you’ll still be…. Around. Here.”

So yes. That much is okay so far.

[cactusy]

Well. That's pretty crappy, Malcolm.

[abrightboy]

I’ve been in therapy since I was eleven. I was nonverbal when I started seeing this therapist, after my father’s murder trial. I promise I’m currently the very best me that I can be.

[empathicfault]

Out of all the things, that's what Malcolm gets caught up on? Will doesn't wave off the explanation, but he does shake his head almost imperceptibly. Yes, Malcolm, he knows. Will's not a doctor, either, and he knows almost as much. Possibly more in a couple of areas.

There's still a question hanging in the air. Will sighs as he thinks about how to address it, but he at least looks less nervous and more settled. "Not just...here. With you." He finally looks down, at his hands. "We're very used to being alone, the both of us. To not being recognized. To people leaving...giving us that betrayed look and then backing out of our lives. You need someone you can rely on, and I-"

He stands up straighter and walks over to Malcolm. He doesn't get entirely in his personal space, but he's close enough for a private conversation- if they weren't already in a private space. "I'm not sure what's going to happen in the future. I've been...concerned, for your safety especially, if Hannibal somehow found his way here. I thought maybe, if I backed off, or- or tried to press in the right places and found a mold I could fit you in...maybe you'd be safer." He looks very briefly apologetic, glancing at their feet before looking up again. "But you are your own unique creation. And if I tried to influence that, I'd only be marring what could be a masterpiece. So I don't-"

God, where is he even going? He's getting stuck in the whorls of his complications again. He lets out a frustrated groan, rubs a hand over his face. "I don't know what to do about it."

[abrightboy]

With you. Someone you can rely on. He feels his heartbeat speed up a little, even though he’s not entirely sure what’s happening.

“I don’t… understand what you mean by pressing places to put me in a mold,” he says, then immediately distracted himself with “Wasn’t Hannibal here before? I mean, you’ve told me a lot about him and I’ve stabbed a serial killer or two in my time.” A beat. “Okay. Exactly two. But one of them twice. Anyway. I promise I won’t let him eat me,” he says with a charmed smile, teasing just slightly.