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[abrightboy]

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[abrightboy]

It’s not a ‘no’ from him; it’s an invitation to convince him, but Tim’s argument isn’t compelling.

Malcolm watches him a moment. Watches him weigh something and then watches his whole demeanour change.

“I’m not the partner in crime you’re looking for.” A statement of fact, not something he’s asking or suggesting. He’s reading it off Tim’s face. “You were testing me. I didn’t pass. I’m in a different category now.” He tilts his head towards the dining chairs at the faintest fidget from Tim. “You can sit, if you want.”

He pours hot water on the teabags, then looks at Tim again.

“I’m not against testing boundaries, but it has to be worth it. My friend Gil is staying in the complex. I can’t risk eviction without a damn good reason.”

[ployboy]

Tim waves away the offer to sit despite the tiredness.

He has no idea why.

He wants to save face, here, dispute the fact that he has a damn good reason for what he does, and for when. "For the record," he tries, disarming, "I wasn't actually going to ask you to pull a fire alarm for seven dollars."

Something, something-- delinquency. Yikes.

Tim bites down an easy yawn, eyes that tea like it's the only liquid he's seen all day.

Thinks, Arroyo would love to take Tim's room in B1, and would make an infinitely better roommate. No question.

"Gil Arroyo?" Like it's a surprise. "I met him. He's nice."

[abrightboy]

“I wouldn’t judge you if you did ask me to pull the fire alarm for seven dollars; I just want you to understand why I might not do it.”

He set a mug in front of one of the chairs, then took his own and sat opposite it.

“Gil is nice. He raised me. He saved me. If you ever need someone you can trust to turn to, you can turn to him.”

[ployboy]

Well now he feels like a jerk for standing while Malcolm's taken a seat. So... Tim, gracefully, slinks into that chair.

Blessed be.

He nods. And strongly doubts his own inclination to turn to... well, anybody. There's no time to get all tangled up in things like that. "You two are close," he says. A parody of captain obvious himself. "I don't know if that's a good or bad thing to have around here, someone you know like that. Not gonna lie: I'm kinda jealous."

[abrightboy]

"It's always a good thing to have a connection to other people. It keeps us sane," Malcolm tells him. "What did you do before you got here?"

[ployboy]

No argument there, and Tim makes that obvious in his understanding. He risks a drink of that tea-- it's not something Alfred would've stocked and brewed but it's good.

Will it help with sleep?

Hey, at least Tim didn't see any strange pills crushed in his mug.

"I was working as head of... a company." The reply's more measured than Tim had figured it'd be. He frowns at that minutely. This would be a disaster of an interview; small mercies that roommates aren't keen on distributing footage of fumbles. "Recently I was preoccupied with expanding a charity. We made it all the way to Moscow. I did a lot of public speaking, figurehead kind of stuff, mostly."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm grins at him.

"That's a lot of responsibility to go from to systems testing via pulling a fire alarm and running," he teases.

[ployboy]

"Can lock in a crook nollie flip off a twelve-stair too," Tim chirps. His eyes brighten with the bluff--

can't remember the last time he even stepped on a board. But if it helps whatever image he's painted for Malcolm... Tim returns the grin, relaxes into the chair. Finally. "Don't underestimate me."

No bite, no heat, no latent expectations.

"Mind if I ask something personal?"

[abrightboy]

He doesn't underestimate Tim, but he also knows a breezy lie when he sees it on someone's face. It just tilts his lips upwards a hint at it.

He makes a sweeping gesture with his hand.

"Please do."

[ployboy]

Tim's already confident he can get under Meredith's skin (excuse the expression), not that he would ever really want to. But what would it take to get this guy to lose of all that patience?

Tim drinks the tea, and feel better for it. He looks at Malcolm's hands, instead of the man himself, for a moment. "Those meds you have. Obviously you have them because they help you, but what will you do when they run out? Just refill at the ADI clinic?" He pauses, then adds, "Mr. Arroyo was worried about you."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm's right hand comes to grip the cup, so the tremor isn't as evident.

"Lieutenant Arroyo is always worried about me. But they said I could refill at the clinic. Do you think that's a bad idea?"

[ployboy]

Well that confirms something Tim had sent to the back burner, and the visceral reaction is that damn frown of his again.

Cops?

That answers questions that he didn't have.

"I don't know," he says. It sounds like a confession. "I was just wondering. It doesn't sound like something I get an opinion in. I've never--"

Taken medication? Needed medication? What's that going to gain them? He shrugs. "I wouldn't know what to do."

[abrightboy]

“I’m heavily dependent,” Malcolm admits freely. “I don’t have a choice. It’s refill where I can or go through intense and debilitating withdrawal.”

[ployboy]

Yeah, man, he had figured that one out.

(Don't be a dick.)

"There's a... Walgreens around here," he tries. It's down Main. But really. He's serious. (Honest.) Tim has (deserves) no say. And wild theories aren't worth the heavy risk of someone else's reality. "I don't know," he says again. Sounds like a kid. "I sound like a jerk, but I hope it works out."

Everything.

The dependency on ADI.

The fact that his sleep was not so atrocious, until he shared walls with a man who wakes up screaming (Don't be a dick. Jeez!) and a woman with two splinted hands.

[abrightboy]

“You don’t sound like a jerk,” Malcolm tells him. “I saw the Walgreens, but there’s no way to reach my therapist at home to have my prescriptions sent to them. ADI will refill based on what I have with me.” He glances to where the bottles are lined up tidily on the counter, then looks at Tim. “Would you feel more comfortable if I told you what they were for?”

[ployboy]

"God, you really trust these guys, don't you?"

There's enough film of frustration to let that just tumble out. Tim suppresses a wince, more so at the above-optimal volume for Dead O' Clock at night than at the words.

He can falsify records. He's pretty sure he can falsify records. It would take time. The resources here are-- well, no. There are none. There is no help. Tim wants to help. God, this is frustrating. A fake ID in his wallet isn't enough to even begin a false paper trail leading to prescription drugs.

Tim, belatedly, shakes his head.

If the meds have stayed on the counter? Then he knows what they are. Good ol' Google.

He clarifies, "You don't make me uncomfortable."

[abrightboy]

“I don’t trust them,” Malcolm says quietly, wrapping his other hand around his cup and his less reliable hand. “I just don’t have a choice. I need the chemical balance. I need the help, and right now they can provide it.”

[ployboy]

Not all's lost: Tim thinks he now knows how to poke the bear. He doesn't want to. He nods and doesn't really know what else to do. There's no promise to uphold here, no worthwhile smokescreen.

It sucks.

Everything sucks.

He's dejected, or disheartened, something. The fight's gone out. It's Late O' Clock and he hasn't had a good night's rest in... did it matter?

Tim taps his fingers against the still-warm mug. "Let me know..." he trails off, mulls over it for a second, and carries on. "If there's anything I can ever do to help. We'll figure it out."

[abrightboy]

“I appreciate it,” Malcolm tells him sincerely, though he’s not sure what Tim could possibly do to help. He understands the gesture for what it is. “I live alone at home. I’ve never had roommates. I’ve never wanted to… put all this on anyone else. I’m sorry you have to deal with it. The… screaming and the thrashing.”

[ployboy]

It's fine, he wants to say. But it's not. Whatever keeps the man that high on alert and robs him of the most basic peace of sleep can't possibly be fine. And it's kind of a pain when someone tells you it's fine when you know it's absolutely not. Tim nods, like he gets it.

"I lived alone too," he says. "I emancipated but I was on my own for a while before then, anyway. Being here just reminds me of being back in boarding school, honestly. I guess that's one reason why I hate feeling trapped here." But back to the... relating. "Man, everyone's got problems. No 9 AM quiz of world history? Already an improvement to Brentwood."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks at him with piqued interest.

“I went to boarding school, too,” he says.

[ployboy]

Crap. The neuroticisms
track. This is like looking in a mirror, and just tells Tim that he should never really think about... a future. Tim manages to look sympathetic without knowing if he's, like, supposed to or not. "Yeah? It's like I was off to a new one every other semester. That last one- Brentwood. The dean had a dog so I'd give it, like, half my dinner every night so I could slip curfew."

Nothing was ever Elan levels or even remotely close to. It was just-- boarding school. Eagerly waiting for phone calls from home, or postcards for the holidays saying that his parents were home, reminding him that he's not. It's a lot of... gray. Feelings. A lot of his life is like that, though.

"I thought you were a cop, though?"

Double crap, he was not supposed to say that. Also: holy prejudice, Batman. Tim is glad he wasn't drinking. The kid backpedals. Hard. Eyes wide like he's surprised himself with that. "Uh-- I didn't mean that."

[abrightboy]

“I’m not a cop. I work with the cops. Special consultant.” He takes a sip of his tea. “I went to two different ones, with an assortment of private schools in between. I didn’t last long anywhere, either.” How does a such a patient man move schools so much? “Got expelled in my senior year and finished the semester in homeschooling.”

[ployboy]

Like looking in a mirror.

Save for the afflicting spontaneous combustion.

Maybe.

"That's cool."

Maybe.

"I dropped out."

Which he offered, why?

"At least ADI doesn't require much for now."

[abrightboy]

“Why’d you drop out?” Malcolm asks curiously.

They weren’t going to get far if they danced around the elephants.