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[abrightboy]

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[abrightboy]

"I'm not. I'm not. George was killed today," Malcolm tells Neal in an almost numb ramble. "Multiple gunshots. Probably exsanguinated in minutes if the wounds didn't cause immediate organ failure. At least one punctured lung. Sucking chest wound. Left in an alley behind the church. Nick was leaking too. Fluid everywhere. Found his hat but no sign of him."

[conning]

Neal's grip tightens. "Jesus," he whispers. "Were you--you weren't there when it happened, were you?"

[abrightboy]

“No. They sent me to investigate the Church after the fight. But I never got inside. He was… there,” Malcolm tells him.

[conning]

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs. “I should have gone with you, I should have been there—”

No, it’s not about what he should have done. That doesn’t matter. What matters is what Malcolm needs now. “Are you hurt? Physically?”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm lifts and starts to shake his head urgently when Neal suggests he should have been there. He doesn’t want him to have seen that and he’s mollified when Neal cuts that line of thought, pressing his face back into the crook of Neal’s neck.

“It was all done when I got there,” he says numbly. “Nobody left to hurt me.”

[conning]

“Let’s clean you up,” he says into Malcolm’s hair. “Can you get up?”

[abrightboy]

Can he? He is sure he can; there’s nothing wrong with his legs. Reluctantly, he lifts his head again, trying to move to the edge of the bed without letting go of his death grip on Neal.

[conning]

Neal lets Malcolm hang on and gathers Malcolm up into his arms, lifting the smaller man off the bed and carrying him into the bathroom. He sets him down on the closed toilet, starting a hot bath before he turns back to Malcolm and kneels in front of him.

Neal starts carefully unfastening Malcolm’s buttons, trying not to get dried blood under his nails. “I’ve got you.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm watches Neal’s fingers on his buttons with the wonder of someone who’s never seen hands before. The truth is, he’s never seen hands treat him with this kind of care.

“You don’t have to…” he says weakly. He doesn’t want him to stop, but it seems selfish not to give him an out.

[conning]

“I know,” Neal says, gentle and patient and brushing off the idea that he’s doing this from obligation at the same time. He finishes the last button and stands enough to peel the blood-crusted shirt away from Malcolm’s skin. Neal kisses him gently. “It’s not about having to.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm cooperates, pulling his arms out of the sleeves as Neal pulls them away, then finds himself staring at one of his own bloody hands.

“I had to carry him back to ADI,” he explains. He didn’t throw himself on the corpse. He loved George, but he wasn’t Neal. “I brought him back on foot.”

[conning]

“Jesus, Malcolm.” Neal leans forward and gives him a chaste kiss, not sure what else to say or do. Then he gets up, lifting Malcolm to his feet as well to get him out of his pants and underwear. The bath is about ready, scented with lavender and steaming.

[abrightboy]

“They just left him there.”

He looks at the water, then looks at Neal suddenly. “Are you coming in with me?”

[conning]

Neal looks at the tub, then at Malcolm. “I was going to stay with you. Help you clean up.”

If Malcolm wants him to get in the tub, though, he will.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm, fingers fidgeting against his leg, looks at the door and then at Neal.

“…But you’re not going to leave?”

He doesn’t want to ask that; he knows it’s childish, but he can’t stop himself. It’s one cut too many.

[conning]

“No, love.” He touches Malcolm’s face gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[abrightboy]

He’s mollified by that, by the touch, and he climbs into the bath, sinking down into it.

“Do you think they do it… to get more sadness to feed on? Bring people here and send them away? Do you think they feed on me a lot because I was already messed up when I got here?”

[conning]

"I wouldn't be surprised." Neal gets a wash cloth and soap and lathers it up, gently rubbing at the places where blood soaked through Malcolm's shirt to stain his skin.

[abrightboy]

“Doesn’t that make me a liability? To ADI… to you? To this whole world?” Malcolm guesses.

[conning]

"No," Neal says without hesitation. "You're not the only one who's ever felt those things. Or ever will. You're a source, you're not the source. I'm a source. Tim is a source. Everyone in this building is. We don't know every life story."

He keeps cleaning Malcolm up as he talks.

[abrightboy]

"I just... don't want them to take you when they get hungry again," Malcolm tells him.

[conning]

“If they try, I won’t rest until I get back to you.” He turns Malcolm’s face toward him with a fingertip. “I’m not leaving you. Not willingly, not ever. If they try and take me I’ll fight it. There’s always another way.”

[abrightboy]

That earns a watery smile.

“I love you,” he whispers.

[conning]

“What a coincidence: I love you,” Neal says, softly teasing. He sets the cloth aside and shifts around onto his knees to comb his fingers into Malcolm’s tangled hair. “Lie back. Let me shampoo you.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm leans back, holding up one still crusty hand so he can look at it.

“Do you think it’s permanent? Death? Can’t he just… come from a different time in his life?”