"I'd go anywhere with you," Malcolm tells him. It's matter of fact, like he's reporting something mundane, not making a big romantic declaration. Blame the head injury.
Neal smiles with a softness very few people get to see. "I confess that I love you, I rejoice that I love you. I thank the maker of Heaven and Earth that gave you to me - the exultation floods me. I cannot find my channel - the Creek turns Sea at thought of thee."
Hopefully Dickinson won't mind his playing with the words a little.
Malcolm smiles brightly at him. “You can always think of a poem for the moment you want to make,” he says. He’s about to say something else when Neal’s phone beeps.
Neal looks at his phone and grimaces. “He wants to meet. I’ll say we can do it in the afternoon.”
He wants to know what James thinks he’s discovered. Desperately wants to know. But he’s not going to drag Malcolm out of bed now that they’re finally settled.
He's not wrong. It's hard to argue with genuine sincere love and protection. With a jingle of restraints, he snuggles up into the crook of Neal's shoulder.
"I'm not going anywhere. Not tonight." He holds Malcolm close, gentle enough not to put pressure on any hidden bruises. Almost thoughtfully, he adds, "You saved more lives today. Including your own."
Malcolm turns his face against Neal's shoulder and smiles into his skin.
"Maybe I just wanted to see the you that listens to me again," he points out, but he knows that's not all it was. He always wants to save people by putting killers away. His whole identity revolves around it. "Don't leave without me tomorrow?" he murmurs sleepily. He doesn't trust James and he doesn't want Neal left vulnerable in his presence alone.
Neal makes a soft noise, pretending to be amused instead of touched. He breathes in the smell of Malcolm's clean body pressed close to his, the scent of his dry cleaned pajamas. "Wouldn't dream of it."
He kisses Malcolm's crown. "Now sleep. The me that listens to you will be right here when you wake up."
Malcolm does stir in his sleep, but he doesn’t outright thrash and it’s almost six hours later before he wakes up, his eyes fluttering open with a soft gasp while he grapples for purchase on whatever is under his hands.
Neal sleeps through the stirring, emotionally exhausted himself. When Malcolm gasps he twitches into half-wakefulness, enough that he's reaching out to touch Malcolm's cheek as the other man scrabbles at him and the sheets.
For some reason, that makes Neal's skin crawl in a way that other nightmares haven't. Maybe because it's too close to something that could happen in that other place, or... he's not sure. It just disturbs him in a visceral way he can't explain. Neal shivers, kissing Malcolm gently.
"I'm here. The real me. The me that listens to you."
That makes Malcolm smile and he leans up to steal one more kiss.
"You'll always be here when I wake up," he says. He looks at Neal's phone on the night stand. "Your dad. We're supposed to go see your dad." Look how well his brain is working. "In a bit. Coffee? I'll make coffee."
He doesn’t know if Neal needs the intimacy because of what’s going on with his dad or if he’s just worried about Malcolm and his injuries rushing into things, but staying in bed with him a while longer sounds like heaven and Malcolm curls back up against him, holding out his other wrist to be freed.
Malcolm doesn't think of himself as someone that can sing, but once he realizes that that's what Neal wants, he does give in a sing along, laughing self-consciously part way through when he flubs the words.
Neal grins as Malcolm laughs, carrying the tune on until the other man falls into it again. When the song trails off, Neal rolls over enough to kiss Malcolm before sitting up with a groan. “I think I need coffee before I start getting a caffeine headache.”
"Sit," Neal commands gently. He scoots to the edge of the bed, gently touching Malcolm's cheek as he gets up. "I'm going to make you breakfast, coffee included."
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Hopefully Dickinson won't mind his playing with the words a little.
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Neal looks at his phone and grimaces. “He wants to meet. I’ll say we can do it in the afternoon.”
He wants to know what James thinks he’s discovered. Desperately wants to know. But he’s not going to drag Malcolm out of bed now that they’re finally settled.
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He's concussed and bruised. But he's sure he's fine if Neal needs him.
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"You'll stay with me?"
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"Maybe I just wanted to see the you that listens to me again," he points out, but he knows that's not all it was. He always wants to save people by putting killers away. His whole identity revolves around it. "Don't leave without me tomorrow?" he murmurs sleepily. He doesn't trust James and he doesn't want Neal left vulnerable in his presence alone.
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He kisses Malcolm's crown. "Now sleep. The me that listens to you will be right here when you wake up."
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He means to say, "You're okay."
It comes out kind of like, "Yurrickay."
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"I dre..." He trails of, scrubs his hand over his face, then tries to fumble the buckle open on the cuff. "Anyway. I'll. Make coffee."
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"I'm here. The real me. The me that listens to you."
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"You'll always be here when I wake up," he says. He looks at Neal's phone on the night stand. "Your dad. We're supposed to go see your dad." Look how well his brain is working. "In a bit. Coffee? I'll make coffee."
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He looks immediately, guiltily at Neal.
"Just a little dizzy. I'm okay."
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But he sinks down to sit on the edge of the bed because he’s not okay and he probably can’t help.
“I might go back to work.”
He absolutely shouldn’t.
“After we meet with your dad, obviously.”
There is no human way to stop him from coming to that.
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