Voicemail (IC Contact Post) OLD - at capcha

[abrightboy]

 This is Bright. Leave a message.

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[henchgal]

Niece. And let me know when you're home-home.

[abrightboy]

[Several hours later.]

I'm home now.

[henchgal]

Meredith's bedroom door opens. She shuffles out (without her cane, this isn't going to be a far walk) and flumphs herself down on the couch. You know. Casually, as you do.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm is in the kitchen, putting leftover lasagna in the fridge. He puts the kettle on when he sees her. He takes out two mugs and drops tea bags in them, then walks over to sit on the couch.

"Do you want cookies with it?"

[henchgal]

"Yes? I mean, you don't have to bribe me with tea and food or anything, I kinda just want to lean on you for a bit, if you'll let me do that."

She pulls the couch blanket over herself. "Maybe even cuddle. I'm kinda touch-starved. Fuck, I still miss Ches."

[abrightboy]

"It's not a bribe," he tells her, going to the kitchen to put cookies on a plate. "It's care." He sets the plate on the coffee table and sits down next to her, putting an arm around her and giving her a squeeze.

[henchgal]

"I thought you were mad at me. You're not supposed to care." She leans into that arm and curls her legs in close, using him for support.

[abrightboy]

"I'm mad at you because I care," Malcolm tells her.

[henchgal]

"Okay." She sighs. "So get mad at me. Don't bottle it up, Malcolm, that's not good for you."

Hypocrite, our Meredith is.

[abrightboy]

"What do you think my little outburst on the network was?" Malcolm asks.

[henchgal]

"Mildly dickish at best." She lets out a huff of laughter that holds no real humor.

[abrightboy]

"That's as angry as I get at anyone who hasn't committed wanton serial murder," Malcolm tells her.

The kettle howls. He gets up and pours the tea, bringing the mugs back over to the coffee table before sitting down and wrapping Mere back up in his arm again.

[henchgal]

"The only cereal I murder is frosted mini wheats." It's a weak little joke as she settles into him again, boneless as a jellyfish. "I'm still not talking to Tim, though."

[abrightboy]

"I won't argue with that. But. What happened before I got here? What did he say?" Malcolm asks gently.

[henchgal]

"That...I had to know it was coming. That I couldn't just sit there and cry. Like he blamed me for my reaction. And...I know. I know it was displaced anger at Jeff or whatever, but I didn't fucking deserve any of that."

She sniffs quietly, but she's Not Going To Cry.

[abrightboy]

He gives her a squeeze.

"No, you didn't. Tim doesn't know how to process his emotions. Not just his anger. Any of them. That's not an excuse for him to treat you like that and if you want distance, that's more than fair. But. He has no tools for dealing with his feelings. None."

[henchgal]

"So what am I supposed to do, Malcolm?" It's more exasperated than actually pissed off at this point.

[abrightboy]

“Well, the conventional wisdom for punishing misbehaving children under your care is to take away privileges or freedoms, but never your love,” Malcolm points out. “And for all his damage and big boy bluster and digital scheming, Tim’s still a child. A broken child far from his home.” He presses a kiss to her temple. “And you’re hurt by him but you do still love him.”