Happily Ever After AU - for conning

[abrightboy]

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[abrightboy]

Malcolm grins at him, looking over one shoulder and then the other to follow him around the kitchen with his eyes as he pours egg into the pan, Martin and whatever he wants far, far away.

"Scrambled okay?"

[conning]

"Scrambled sounds perfect." While Malcolm handles the eggs, Neal deals with the coffee, caught up in the surreal domesticity of it.

This is what he wants. It's what he's always wanted. It feels somehow too good to be true, now and then, but he does his best to ignore that feeling when it arises. He sets a cup of coffee down next to the stove and wraps an arm around Malcolm from behind, his other hand occupied with its own cup of coffee.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm smiles as Neal's arm slides around him and tilts his head to look up at him.

"Am I doing these right?" he asks, but in the tone of someone asking an expert, not someone afraid of fucking up.

[conning]

"Here," Neal says, resting his chin on Malcolm's shoulder and guiding Malcolm's hand with his free one. "'Scrambled' is something of a misnomer. You want to fold them evenly over low heat. Theoretically, the slower you cook your eggs, the creamier they'll be. You can turn the heat up high and whisk things around and be done in less than a minute, sure, but they'll have a harder texture and the curds will be a lot larger and wildly inconsistent in terms of thickness and degree of cook-through."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm makes a face at the pan. “I like them better when they’re soft.”

He just lets Neal guide his hand for a moment then tilts his head slightly to ask “is it true that the real test of how good a chef is is how they cook eggs?”

[conning]

A soft chuckle. “Eggs, roast or seared fish, Hollandaise sauce, consommé. To paraphrase Julia Child, a chef that can’t perfectly roast a chicken is no chef. That’s on the primarily European side. If you’re looking at Cantonese cooking, one of the primaries is congee, along with stir-fried bean sprouts. Vietnamese chefs can take particular pride in their tableside nuoc mam, which is essentially a dipping sauce prepared right before the meal. Being good, seeing how good someone is, it’s not about how complicated they can make something. It’s about how patient they are, and their focus on getting the simple things just right.”

[abrightboy]

“I bet you can roast a chicken,” Malcolm tells him. “Do you need something besides eggs and toast?”

[conning]

“Perfectly,” Neal says haughtily, then smiles. “No, I think that will do it for me, Chef Bright.”

He kisses the back of Malcolm’s neck again before letting him have control of the spatula back.

Neal doesn’t want to bring Martin’s presence into this conversation, but he’s also desperately curious what Malcolm thinks the man could want to talk about.

The way he hovers in Malcolm’s space a moment longer without doing anything in particular before he steps to the side to get plates probably gives his hesitation away.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm lifts the pan off the heat, glancing over just in time to see Neal’s hesitation, though he isn’t sure how to read it.

“Is everything okay? Oh! I didn’t put the toast in yet. The eggs are going to get cold, right?” That must be it.

[conning]

Neal lets that be it. He's not going to take a single moment of happiness away from Malcolm that he has some ability to preserve.

He notices Malcolm going quiet on the way to Claremont, retreating internally the way he does sometimes, and he reaches over to take Malcolm's hand. "Do you want me in the room or no?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm almost startles when Neal speaks, but he clutches Neal's fingers.

"Come with me," he says.

Like he usually does, he squeezes Neal's hand then lets go as they walk through the first door to Martin's cell.

As they walk into the cell, Malcolm stops short when he see Jessica seated there, just on the visitors' side of the red line.

"What is this?" he asks.

"We could ask you the same question; I don't remember inviting your plus one," Martin tells him.

[conning]

"You didn't," Neal says evenly. "Malcolm did."

He lifts a hand to brush the small of Malcolm's back gently, an unobtrusive gesture of support.

[abrightboy]

"What did you call me here for?" Malcolm demands.

Jessica looks at Martin, tilting her head towards Malcolm. Martin gives her a little shrug. She gives him a look, then turns a hundred watt smile on her son.

"We - your father and I - were thinking that... maybe it's time to tell Ainsley the truth."

"No," Malcolm says immediately. "Her mind is protecting her..."

"But she may start to remember things soon," Martin points out, "and imagine the effect on the psyche of being lied to about something as seismic as murder."

[conning]

"Imagine," Neal drawls, sharply sarcastic. He lifts his hand to rest it against Malcolm's back again. He gives Malcolm an uncertain look, one that's equal parts worry and... agreement with Martin and Jessica. Which is distinctly uncomfortable.

He pauses, not sure if he has the right to an opinion here, but he finally, gently, says, "But... wouldn't it be better if she knows what she's remembering, if and when she starts to?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks at him, then looks at his parents, who look more pleased than he likes.

"No. No."

"You know, if you're on board with overlooking murder, I could have used some of that energy back in '98," Martin drawls.

"Do you really think she wants to know that she's a cold blooded killer? I wish I didn't know," Malcolm says, his voice rising. "I wish I didn't know about you!" he shouts sharply, then turns and bangs on the door, not looking back at any of them as he storms out.

"Well," Martin says to Neal. "That was nice while it lasted, huh?"

[conning]

Neal gives him an impatient look and walks out after Malcolm, jogging a little to catch up once he’s out of sight from Martin and Jessica. His heart is in his throat even though it’s not much of a jog.

“Malcolm, wait—please?” He catches Malcolm’s hand tentatively. “I don’t think you’re wrong, I don’t, I just…”

And he trails off at that. Neal Caffrey, advocating for honesty. Suddenly he feels like a hypocrite.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm stops when Neal touches him, looking up for a moment and then down.

"Look, maybe I never handled it right, okay? But she stabbed a man in cold blood. I couldn't just let...." He puts a hand to his head, but it's shaking and he stuffs it in his pocket instead. "I'll talk to her. I will."

[conning]

Neal moves around in front of him, still holding one hand and reaching out to gently take the wrist of Malcolm’s hidden hand. Something in Neal twists painfully at Malcolm’s instinct to tuck his tremor out of sight. “You did what you had to. You protected her, and your family, you did do the right thing, it was the only thing you could have done.”

He lifts both hands to brush Malcolm’s cheeks with his thumbs. “But it’s not the only thing you can do now. You’re not alone, not this time, and neither is she. You should be the one to talk to her about it. You were there. They weren’t.”

Tentative, not sure if Malcolm will pull away, Neal leans in to kiss him.

[abrightboy]

He doesn’t pull away. When it breaks, he looks a little deflated.

“Once she knows, she has to live with it. With what she did. She can never un-know it. She can never be who she used to be ever again.”

[conning]

Neal bites his lip. "I know. Believe me. I understand, at least a little."

[abrightboy]

“Why does everyone want to do that to her?” Malcolm asks. It’s not a guilt trip; he’s really asking.

[conning]

It still bites into one of Neal's small, guilty places. For a second he wants to backpedal, say Malcolm is right and that Neal changed his mind, but...

"Because... it happened," he says softly. He hesitates another moment, looks down. "It's like when Ellen told me who my dad was, who he really was, before I could enroll in the police academy and find out the hard way. I didn't want to know it, sometimes I still wish I didn't, but... it's better to know than to believe a lie when everyone else knows the truth."

[abrightboy]

He wants to say that everyone doesn't know, but everyone who counts does. The whole family knows, except for her.

Finally he nods.

"Okay."

He turns and heads out of the hospital, reaching the sidewalk to hail a cab.

The weight lifts a little when he receives a text. A case. He looks at Neal. "We have a case."

He gives the taxi the address.

[conning]

Neal holds Malcolm's hand all the way there. He can't think of anything to say. He wants to, though. It distracts him from their neighborhood--until they pull to a stop.

"...The Canmere Hotel? There's a case in the Canmere?" Neal spares a moment to think about how odd it is that he's perking up over one of Malcolm's cases, but he can't help himself.

[abrightboy]

"I heard Duke Ellington used to stay here," Malcolm tells him as they get out of the car. He looks up at the building then heads inside, where JT is waiting for them.