abrightboy | Happily Ever After AU

"You want idealization--the dolls themselves are modeled to look like the students, and given at graduation. Ideal, flawless, unchanging versions of themselves, minus all the mess of humanity."

Neal studies the sign above the door, trying not to let it show how his skin feels like it's crawling. He understands it, the logic of this man. That makes him feel more than a little sick.

"Since we're looking for someone with a psychosexual obsession with the literal perfect woman, doll making could easily be a fetish turned revenue generator," Malcolm says reasonably. For all of Neal's reservation, Malcolm's anticipation is ramped up to eleven.

Gil sighs, trying not to admit to himself the fact that Neal has been annoyingly helpful so far. Instead, he holds the front door of the shop open, managing to make the courtesy look sarcastic as the other men file past him inside.

Neal studies the shop with interest, all the dolls in various sizes, various mediums, even the "cheap" ones crafted with undeniable care. He's never been much for this kind of artistry--too creepy for him--but he can appreciate the skill involved.

Gil leads the way into the workshop area, which is far less polished, and in Neal's eyes, far more interesting.

"Trevor Falvey? NYPD. We'd like a word."

Neal gives Gil a startled look. "Way to ease into it."

Malcolm smirks. "We don't do easing into it," he explains.

The man in question looks up and looks nervous. He looks between them all.

"What, um. What can I help you with?"

"We were hoping you could tell us why this was found in a corpse this morning." Gil holds up the freshly-cleaned glass eye, eyebrows raised. "We've confirmed it's your work."

“Oh. Um. Let me just check my records,” he says, easing away from them and into a back room.

Malcolm looks at Gil as the door closes behind him and tilts his head towards it. JT snorts and heads into the back room, everyone in tow. The doll maker is dragging a female form towards the back door.

Neal freezes when he sees Falvey dragging the human shape, horror blanking out possible action. The doll maker spots them and runs, and JT goes after him, and Gil heads for the body on the floor. Neal sticks close to his heels, stomach wrenching with relief as they get close enough to see that the thing on the floor isn't a body. Not a corpse, at least.

JT hauls the doll maker back toward them. The detective gives them a wide-eyed look. "Is she alive?"

Gil, dry and ironic, says, "No."

Malcolm grins. As JT removes the suspect, Malcolm kneels down and removes the doll’s head.

“You know, he might not be the guy. When I come into the interrogation, be disapproving,” he advises Gil, tossing the head up in the air and catching it.

Neal retreats into himself a little on the drive to the precinct, calm and casual on the surface and trying hard not to overthink the question of what if the doll that guy had tried to make off with was a person. He stays quiet, letting Malcolm do his thing, and he can't help smiling at the production Malcolm makes of unboxing the head for their guy.

Before Gil and Malcolm even join him behind the observational mirror, Neal has come to the conclusion that Gil asks.

"He's not our guy, is he."

“He definitely has a psychosexual disorder,” Malcolm tells him, confirming the suspicion, “but not the right one. His emotional and physical attraction is to inanimate objects.”

Neal grimaces faintly. "That's something, I guess. Do we have any idea who bought that eye?"

“Objectophilia is more common than most people think. There was a documentary released about it a few years back. One of the featured objectophiles married the Eiffel Tower and ‘consummated’ her relationship with it during regular public tour hours,” Malcolm explains with a brightness in his eyes reserved for real, fascinating psychological oddity. He looks over at Neal at his question, then looks at Gil.

“It was purchased on the school’s account,” he informs them.

Malcolm looks at Neal again with that simmer of excitement just below the surface.

“Who have we met recently who is almost psychotically obsessed with making women perfect and silent?”

Neal grimaces. “I could see it.”

Gil raises his eyebrows. “Care to share with the class?”

Dani interrupts, slamming into the room with a mix of disbelief and fury in her face and voice. “Boss, you’re going to want to see the news, right now.”

Gil turns the TV on and Malcolm goes from an expression of vague curiosity to one of surprise as it turns out that Ainsley is reporting from a crime scene where she discovered a dead body.

"Bring her in," is all Gil says. "And get some unis over there to secure the scene."

Neal feels sick. He feels sick at the footage. He feels sick at Ainsley’s attitude when they bring her in. He stays out of it, while Gil and Malcolm try to talk sense into her, but it doesn’t work, and…

And he can’t take it.

As she gets up, he finally speaks from a corner of the conference room. “Why were you whispering? When you got your camera out?”

He has to steel himself to say the next part, but he manages to sound cold. “She was dead, right? No one around to steal that particular scoop.”

Ainsley looks at him, part ice, part carefree.

“For dramatic effect,” she tells him, like she’s schooling a toddler. But the next slips out before she even understands how she knows it. “You know what I’m talking about: you’re a performer, too.”

She strides out of the room without leaving room for them to respond.

The answer is like one slap after another. Shock, insult, then shock again as he realizes there are only so many ways she could know that with the kind of authority she used.

Gil eyeballs Neal, debating whether or not to ask what that was about. What Ainsley knows about Malcolm’s pet project that she isn’t sharing, beyond the obvious. He rubs his face.

“Go home,” he says. That’s directed at Neal and Malcolm. “Shouldn’t take the techs too long to get that girl’s phone unlocked. We’re waiting on the toxscreen but I’ll bet anything there’s rohypnol in her system. I’ll let you know if we turn anything up.”

Malcolm wants to protest, but can’t think of an argument. His mouth opens and closes a couple of times, then his shoulders slouch and he looks at Neal, tilting his head towards the door before trudging in that direction.

Neal joins him, still dazed. "She remembers me."

He's not sure Malcolm realizes it yet. "I don't know if she knows she remembers me, but. She does."

Malcolm, deep in thought about the crime scene, looks over at Neal with faint confusion.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"Your sister. She remembers me. What she said in there--"

He pauses. "It's possible she went and did some research, I guess."

“No,” Malcolm says. “When she said it…. She let it slip,” he explains, understanding now.

"Yeah." He glances back toward the precinct, then focuses on Malcolm again. He knows the other man isn't happy--about the situation with Ainsley, about the case, any of it.

Which is naturally more important than Gil's instructions.

"Want to go back to the etiquette school for round two?"

Malcolm looks at him like he wasn’t expecting special permission.

“We might be able to get her to admit to it.”

"If anyone can, it's you." Neal kisses his forehead and hails a cab.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject