abrightboy | Voicemail (IC Contact Post) OLD

Malcolm presses his lips together. It feels like a test.

"You had a relationship with someone you used to work with. A man named Keller. But you fell out over his... violent tendencies."

He watches Neal's face carefully.

There are a lot of things he would never tell anyone. Of those things, his relationship with Keller didn't even make the top ten of 'stuff I might unwillingly admit in a bad moment.' He tenses, his expression running counter to his reaction in the way his face goes blank.

After a moment, he manages, "Oh."

It's... small is the wrong word. Faint. Wispy. The sort of syllable you could pass a hand through like smoke.

"You trusted me," Malcolm points out quietly. And maybe he never will again. "I would... never tell anyone."

"That's... I appreciate that." He still has his hand over Malcolm's. He stares at that, at how natural it feels, like he can make that make sense.

Then he lifts his hand away with the excuse of picking up his teacup to take a drink of the slightly cooler liquid.

Malcolm shivers faintly when the warmth of Neal's hand leaves his.

"I trust you, too," he points out, though he's not sure that will matter to him.

That gets Neal’s fully arrested attention. “Sorry?”

He didn’t hear that right.

Malcolm looks chastened by Neal’s tone and his own assumption that he’s said something wrong, but repeats himself.

“…I trust you, too,” he says quietly.

“Oh.”

There’s that syllable again.

He hates that look on Malcolm’s face. He hates that he put it there, but doesn’t know how.

Neal sets his tea back down without actually drinking any. “…Seriously?”

If it’s ever been more than a no, before, it’s always included a qualifier—when it matters, when you need him, when it’s important. He’s not sure what to do with simple, flat-out trust. He doesn’t feel like he’s earned it.

“Of course,” he says automatically. It’s the only answer. He doesn’t have to think about it; there are no qualifiers. He smiles a little. “The first time I saw you, you were… being kind. To someone who would never know.”

“Historically, ‘of course’ is not what I usually hear in response to that question.” He keeps his tone ironic to mask the way his throat tightens around the words.

“I know. You don’t let most people see that side of you. And people you’ve tried to let in haven’t wanted to,” Malcolm says matter of factly.

He doesn’t quite flinch. The implication of a flinch is there. His expression as he looks at Malcolm is shifting, though, to a guarded longing. He can see why he would want to be with this man. He can see how it would be easy to get caught up in his orbit.

He pauses, then says, “I didn’t lie to you when we met? Pretend to be somebody else?”

“You didn’t even know that I saw you,” Malcolm points out. He assumes Neal specifically means this act of kindness he saw. “You did try to shrug it off, but… I saw it.”

"No, I mean..."

He stops awkwardly. Kate, Alex, Sara, Rebecca... even Keller, really. They all started with a lie. "I mean did I try to use you for something."

Neal grimaces as soon as the words are out.

Malcolm frowns faintly in clear confusion.

“Wh… like what?” he asks. Then immediately says “No. Um. You made a comment about the state of my wardrobe?” Close? No?

Neal isn’t sure what to do with any of this.

He picks up his tea and actually takes a drink to buy himself some time.

“I didn’t… I didn’t meet you on your first day here or anything.” Does that make a difference to whatever expectation Malcolm is failing to meet here? “You didn’t even want to go out with me for, like. Months.” Maybe he never will again. Malcolm goes quiet and looks down at his lap, flexing his hand, clenching it again, then flexing and clenching.

"Hey." He sets the tea aside and takes Malcolm's restless hand between both of his own. This is easy, responding to this insecurity, this hesitation. He's good at making people feel good. Always has been.

"I just. Don't tend to tell people who I am the first go-around. That's all."

A pause, then he adds, "Glad I got my head out of my ass though."

Malcolm watches his face carefully. Is… this really okay?

At Neal’s explanation, he smiles a little bit, but hopefully.

“Everyone wants someone to see them. Maybe I just… wasn’t scary.”

A little knot of guilt wads itself down in the base of his stomach, right next to the anxiety at the idea that he doesn't know Malcolm but Malcolm... sees him.

I truly don't believe that you'd do anything knowing someone would get killed because of it.

Malcolm's voice, firm and gentle, but Neal has no context to go with the sentence. He lets go of Malcolm's hand and presses his fingertips to one temple, that uneasy wonder on his face again. He looks at Malcolm, nakedly fearful this time, though it doesn't last in his expression for more than a moment. "Good at squash and axe throwing, bad at pool and bowling. I don't remember why I know that."

Malcolm’s smile broadens a little.

“I told you. I told you that about me. Are… do you remember fragments?” he asks. Is his voice too hopeful? Does that put too much pressure on him? Malcolm tries to rein it in, but he’s never been able to control his emotions well.

“Sorry. I just. Have missing time, too. From when I was a kid. But sometimes fragments of memories come back.”

"I remember you telling me something. Or I remember your voice saying it, at least."

He feels weirdly anxious and self-conscious over admitting to what he remembers. Or half-remembers. "It's like little bits of dialogue on a black screen."

“I don’t… want to push you or make you uncomfortable,” Malcolm starts as a caveat. “So I just really want you to be honest about what… you feel and what you…. want.”

"Well. It's not permanent, right? This." He gestures at his own head, trying to come across as cavalier. "It hasn't been for other people."

Dismissive of his own emotional needs? Neal Caffrey? Never.

“So….” Malcolm reasons, “you just want to wait it out?” He pauses. “You’ve been staying here quite a bit. With me. Probably you… want to… put a pin in that until after, right?”

He assumes.

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