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[abrightboy]

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[conning]

"Good for your ten year old self," Neal mutters. He chews the corner of his lip. "Why do you think this showed up? This injury? Why not... I don't know, your hand?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks pained.

“Because… that’s when I found out.”

[conning]

Neal feels a little guilty. He feels like Malcolm wouldn't be saying this if he was more coherent. But it will help, he also knows that.

And he's curious.

"When you found what out?"

[abrightboy]

“I’d seen too much. The chloroform was losing efficacy,” he recites miserably. “He told me they took me on the camping trip to kill me.” Dull eyes look to meet Neal’s. “My father wanted to kill me.”

[conning]

It's worse than Neal expected, somehow. Yeah, sure, Malcolm's dad is a serial killer. He never kept that a secret. But Neal knows. He knows what it's like, to want something more from a man who won't give it. He knows what it's like to be betrayed. The look on his own father's face the last time they saw each other, the threat of violence hanging in the air-- Neal bites his lip.

"I'm sorry." He blinks a few times to keep himself from getting too obviously emotional, clears his throat, ignores the ache of the gunshot wound that comes with the use of those muscles. "I'm sorry."

[abrightboy]

“He wants to use me, too,” Malcolm tells him. “What did she want you for?”

[conning]

"She was looking for the Hope Diamond's lost twin," he admits. "Well. We were, I guess. A man named Mosconi hid it, once upon a time, and left clues to its whereabouts in case of his death. Which happened, predictably enough."

A pause, then, "How are you feeling?"

[abrightboy]

“A bit better. Did you love her?” Malcolm asks.

[conning]

The question takes him aback. He doesn't know what to say, though his first instinct is denial. He's not sure why, but it is.

"I don't know." He doesn't want to have loved her. He doesn't want to be in love with her, still.

[abrightboy]

“Yes you do,” Malcolm tells him, gesturing to the wound. “Your heart is broken.”

[conning]

“That’s just where she shot me.” Except he can’t even believe himself. “…Everyone kept saying at the end that she really loved me. That she really must be in love, that she wanted to stay, to be the alias she made for me. But if that’s true she wouldn’t have taken the shot.”

[abrightboy]

“Why not? That’s exactly what some people do. If there was no way to stay with you, why should she let anyone else have you? But that’s not what I asked,” he points out. “I didn’t ask how she felt about you.”

[conning]

“You must be feeling better,” he says, trying for a joke. He swallows. “Think you can manage some more water?”

[abrightboy]

“You always deflect. Redirect. Does that usually work because you’re pretty and charming?” Malcolm asks curiously, easing himself back down onto his back, but still watching Neal’s face.

[conning]

“Yes,” he says, tired and tense and not wanting to fight the inevitable weight of Malcolm’s persistence. “Water?”

[abrightboy]

He settles his head back on the floor and waves off the offer.

"I'm good," he says. Obviously. Laying on the floor is normal.

"I thought you said talking about it helps. Am I doing it wrong?"

[conning]

Malcolm, you so often confuse him. “Which part?”

[abrightboy]

"Asking you about it. You came here to talk about it and you don't want to. Did I ask it wrong?" Malcolm asks.

[conning]

"Oh." He did, didn't he. "I came more to let you talk. If you wanted to."

It's mostly true. He looks down at his own injury briefly. "And I thought I knew what mine was already."

[abrightboy]

"A broken heart. They're hard to talk about," Malcolm acknowledges. "Tell me about a friend that doesn't use you."

[conning]

Neal pauses. Considers it. "June. My landlady."

He smiles a little, but it fades. "I wonder if she knows I died. She must, right? Or maybe not, since I'm here."

[abrightboy]

“If you’re dead there, wouldn’t someone tell her?” Malcolm asks.

[conning]

"Yeah. Not sure how it works, being here, if time keeps moving without me or..." It's too much to think about, honestly. "I met June my first day back in New York City, after I started working for the FBI. She was dropping some of her late husband's clothes off at a thrift store and I was trying to find anything I could tolerate wearing."

He smiles a little at that. "They were nice clothes. Really nice clothes, Sy Devore originals. We started talking--she and her husband had played cards with Sy Devore and the Rat Pack. She liked me. Took me in."

[abrightboy]

“So ‘landlady’ isn’t a wholly accurate description of who she is to you,” Malcolm surmises.

[conning]

He makes a softly amused noise. “No. Not really. She’s… family.”

There’s a sting starting at his ankle, a prick at the word family that starts hurting worse moment by moment. Neal shifts in his seat on the floor and hisses in pain and surprise, unfolding his legs from under him all at once in a scramble.

There’s blood on the cuff of his pant leg.