Happily Ever After AU - for conning

[abrightboy]

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[abrightboy]

Jessica’s hand flies to her mouth.

“An elevator shaft? From how high?”

“Only… three or four floors,” Malcolm grudgingly admits.

“Well, my boy, that explains it. You have a concussion,” Martin concludes while Ainsley checks his pupil response.

“Everything seems… wrong,” Malcolm tells them.

“That’s called Jamais Vu,” Martin supplies.

Malcolm looks confused.

“The opposite of Deja Vu,” Ainsley explains. “Where things that are commonplace seem unfamiliar.”

Malcolm looks at Neal for help.

[conning]

“It means the normal will seem surreal for a bit.” Neal crouches down in front of Malcolm, studying his face worriedly. “Maybe we should go home. We’ve got that interview tomorrow, and I would reschedule, but it’s taken so long to get it hammered out and pulling the plug last minute because you got pushed down an elevator shaft doesn’t offer a picture of the most stable home situation…”

He’s clearly not happy making that argument.

That’s when Malcolm’s phone starts to ring.

[abrightboy]

The interview. Malcolm leans forward earnestly.

“No, we can’t miss that. We…”

He frowns and pulls out his phone.

Ainsley peeks at the screen. “Claremont? The psychiatric hospital? Who do you know there?”

He rejects the call. “Nobody.” He looks at Neal. “Let’s go home. Please. I just… need some rest. Before tomorrow.”

[conning]

“Okay. All right.”

He straightens up, gently drawing Malcolm to his feet. Adolfo drives them home, to 220 East 72nd, the condo building glittering impressively over the street. The doorman greets them by name, asks after them, shows genuine concern over Malcolm’s apparent injury.

Neal unlocks their front door—top floor penthouse—and draws Malcolm in to a brightly-lit, open space, styled in cheerful colors in a seamless blend of old world designs and modern paintings. A young dog runs over, tail swirling in an enthusiastic wag.

“Yes, hello Sunshine, you can drool on your daddies laps in a minute.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm stares at the dog, then glances around the room. White. No brown. Dark colours. A half circle window.... no the windows are rectangular. Tall and bright. He sways in place for a second, then closes his eyes, squeezing them shut. Bright lights above him; a mechanical whirring noise. His eyes snap open again. Still a white, warm room. Still a dog. Still Neal and his concern.

"I... need a glass of water," he says, beelining to the kitchen. Everything is in the wrong place. No, it's right where he left it that morning. He frowns and gets a glass down, filling it and turning to see a folder on the counter top. He frowns again and opens it. Adoption applications. Adoption... He looks confused, then his eyes widen. "Right. The interview tomorrow. We have the interview tomorrow," he says to Neal like it's news.

[conning]

Sunshine whines as Malcolm breezes past, and Neal pauses to rub the dog’s ears before he follows Malcolm to the kitchen.

His worry—the fact that there’s suddenly a lot more of it—is obvious. “Maybe we should go back to the hospital. Get some, I don’t know, special imaging done or something.”

[abrightboy]

"No," Malcolm says, putting his hands down on the counter. "No. I'm not... crazy. I'm just. I'll be fine. I just need to get my head together."

[conning]

“I know you’re not crazy.” Now he’s even more concerned. Neal puts his hand over one of Malcolm’s, trying to catch his eye. “I know that. I’m just concerned. I know it’s been… a struggle to get things to line up, even with your family’s resources, and I know that’s my…”

Guilt. He clears his throat. “But I would rather reschedule and make sure you’re okay if that’s what we need to do.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks at him blankly.

"Reschedule what?"

[conning]

Neal pauses, confused. "The... the adoption meeting."

He touches the paperwork as though to make it extra clear. "Malcolm, I really think we should get another doctor to look at you. Your sister, or one of your dad's colleagues."

[abrightboy]

"Adoption..." Malcolm looks at the paperwork, looks around the apartment. "It's all wrong," he murmurs. He looks at Neal. "Like. Like I'm watching it on TV. Like it isn't mine. Like it never could be mine."

[conning]

"Honey..." Neal cups Malcolm's face gently between his hands, careful not to touch the bruising. "It is yours, I promise. You got hurt. You're confused. That's okay. I'm right here, you're right here--"

Sunshine forces himself between the two of them with a whine, and Neal glances down, smiling momentarily. "Sunshine is right here. This is yours. This is ours."

He kisses Malcolm. "It's that concussion thing your dad mentioned, the jamais vu." Another little kiss. "As many times as you need to hear it, I'll tell you, I promise you, this is yours."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks down at the dog and then looks up at Neal.

"Where's my bird?"

His bird? He looks confused. "Did I dream that?"

[conning]

"You must have..." Neal is not reassured. Familiarly, he strokes Malcolm's cheeks gently with his thumbs. "I'm going to reschedule. Accidents happen. They can't penalize us for that."

He kisses Malcolm one more time and digs in his pocket for his phone.

In the waking world, it's 7:37, and Neal looks up from his painting to realize not only the time, but also the fact that Malcolm hasn't called him. Not even a text to say how things with Ainsley went.

That seems...

Neal frowns and cleans his hands off, reaching for his own phone.

[abrightboy]

"What if they do?" he asks quietly from where he's anchored himself at the counter. "What if they do penalize us?"

His own phone rings. Claremont. His expression steels a little.

"Who is this?"

He listens and then hangs up and then says to Neal "I'll be back in a bit. Don't cancel the appointment."

[conning]

"Malcolm, wait, where are you going? Who was that?" He catches Malcolm's wrist gently, pulling him closer. "Talk to me."

[abrightboy]

"This guy says someone at Claremont wants to talk to me; that he knows the answers."

The answers to what? He doesn't even know, but he's very earnest about it for someone who doesn't even know.

[conning]

"The answers--Malcolm, please listen to yourself. What answers? To your case? You can't do anything on that front until your people find that artist the developer mentioned." He holds on a little more firmly, tone pleading. "Come on, let's clean up, have some tea, go to bed."

[abrightboy]

"But." He looks from his phone to Neal helplessly. "But I have to go talk to this guy."

[conning]

"He's at Claremont, right? He's not going anywhere. Please. Let's get some rest."

Neal folds his hand lightly over the phone, trying to draw it out of Malcolm's hand.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm is weak to Neal's care. That much is always true. He lets him take the phone. He drinks the tea he makes. He lets himself be drawn into bed.

The lights again. The sound. A feeling of urgency.

He sits bolt upright.

"I have to get out of here!" he shouts.

[conning]

Neal jolts awake next to him, as does Sunshine at the foot of the bed, the dog barking in alarm. Neal scrambles to turn on a light for a moment before he realizes there's early-morning sunlight filtering through the curtain.

"Malcolm--?" His tone is panicked, then annoyed as he shushes Sunshine and sits up properly himself, trying to get a look at Malcolm's face. "Out of where? What's wrong?"

[abrightboy]

"I have to get out of here or I'm going to die," he says earnestly, grasping the front of Neal's shirt before his features crumple into confusion and he looks around.

He blinks against the morning light, he looks at the dog, he looks at Neal, at his face, then slowly releases his grip.

"I... I don't know..." he admits.

[conning]

“It was a dream.” Neal kisses him, one part comfort and one part anxiety. “You’re okay, I promise you. You’re safe.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks at him for a moment, then looks around, then looks at Neal again.

"I love you," he says with wonder, because he knows it's true. He knows that's true. So why does everything else still feel wrong?