Happily Ever After AU - for conning

[abrightboy]

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[abrightboy]

Malcolm laughs again. It’s possible he’s exerted himself a little too much on his very recent serious head injury.

“Right? But. You know, there’s anxiety… and there’s anxiety,” he clarifies. “Like. You know. There’s feeling nervous and on edge and there’s feeling like a million bees are screaming inside of your head non-stop. Plus, I just. Need the downer, or I crawl up the walls,” he explains, mimicking rock climbing. “Like in the Exorcist.” He looks at Neal. “That was the Exorcist, right?” He snaps his fingers. “Oh, did I tell you I investigated the murder of an exorcist a little while ago and the killer was an artist with lead poisoning? He was doing restoration. I bet you’d be great at restoration, but just don’t get lead poisoning. That guy went cuckoo. I had to call a mission oriented serial killer to find out how to do an exorcism to calm him down. It was a whole big thing.”

He looks at James. “Friend of my dad’s in prison. Runs the inmate bible study.”

[conning]

Neal doesn't have a chance to answer the question before Malcolm is off and talking again, and he's weirdly charmed in the midst of his worry. He's had limited exposure to this kind of tame mania from Malcolm, and it's a bit like watching someone get very excited about a familiar movie.

Peter and James, meanwhile, now have somewhat similar expressions on their faces.

"I'd love to do restorations," Neal admits, and almost at the same time, Peter says, "No one would let him anywhere near a restoration room."

James eyes Malcolm. "You called a friend. A friend of your dad's in prison. To help you with a case."

Neal's defensiveness snaps back into place. "He uses a criminal consultant. That's what I am."

"Were," Peter says.

"That's different," James mutters.

[abrightboy]

“Not really,” Malcolm points out to James. “You use a forger to catch forgers and an art thief to catch art thieves and a monk that tortured everyone in his monastery to death to catch extremely religious spree killers. Like. What? You’re going to call a pickpocket to catch someone who pickles his victims’ faces as souvenirs?” He snorts. “Good luck with that. I’ll tell you how you catch that guy,” he explains, waggling a finger in James direction. “You find out what makes him feel safe.” He looks at Peter. “It was cicadas. And meat hooks.” He glances around. “Can I make anyone a cup of tea?” He’s already moving into the kitchen and he starts riffling in a cupboard.

[conning]

"You, tell Peter what happened," Neal says coldly. The tone of his voice takes Peter by surprise, but Neal is more concerned about Malcolm right now.

He follows the other man into the kitchen area, trying to get a look at his eyes. "Maybe you should sit down. They have beer. They're fine. Or I can make tea."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm stops rummaging like a squirrel on caffeine to look at Neal, grounded by his voice.

His eyes stay on Neal's face.

"You're worried about me. Because I hit my head?" A beat. He looks over his shoulder at where James is talking to Peter and they're both keeping half a wary eye on him. He looks at Neal. "It's too much? I'm too much right now. Dial it back, right? Just. Dial it down." He takes a breath.

[conning]

He frowns, confused. “Dial it… no, you’re fine, I’m—I mean I’m worried you’re not fine. That you’re pushing too hard.”

[abrightboy]

He glances back at them again, then looks at Neal, leaning close to whisper "Am I freaking everybody out?"

[conning]

“I don’t care if you are,” Neal says gently, and presses a hand against Malcolm’s cheek. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks up at the cupboard, then looks at Neal.

"Can we still have some tea?"

He looks over at James and Peter.

"I fell, like, forty feet," he tells them apologetically.

[conning]

"I'll make it," Neal says, smiling a little. "If you'll go sit down."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks at him, then looks over at Peter and James, between him and the couch, then nods hesitantly and goes all the way to the bedroom, to the chair in the corner by the half moon window and sits, pulling his feet up under him.

[conning]

That wasn't where Neal had intended for him to go, but he doesn't protest it. He's not going to push Malcolm toward something that makes him uncomfortable, even if he doesn't think that James and Peter would be physically hostile with Neal himself right there. He sets the water to heat as James finishes telling Peter about their so-far-limited conversations, stiff and wary.

Peter is about the same. He looks Neal's way. "I'm going to make a call. See what I can find out about the Flynns."

[abrightboy]

"They have a relationship with someone. Someone who put them on to James being in New York," Malcolm calls across the room. "That's who you want to find. The string-puller."

[conning]

Peter almost snaps something—probably something about how he knows how to do his job—but catches Neal’s eye and sees something there that makes him… not. He shakes his head and pulls out his phone. “I’ll have to be careful how I ask. Your FBI friend is already watching me. Trying to anyway, not very well.”

Neal makes a face. James frowns, swiping at some blood on his lip with a thumb. “Another FBI friend?”

“Malcolm’s. And she’s less friendly.”

Neal pulls the kettle off the burner as it starts to hiss and makes Malcolm his tea first, a high-end brand made to half-remembered Mathias specifications.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm pulls his knees up to wrap his arms around his legs and snorts.

“Collette? PS she’s a very sore loser,” he calls to them.

[conning]

James eyes Malcolm from across the room, something on his face that Neal doesn't like. He can't tell what it is, though. It's not scorn, exactly--or is it?

It bothers Neal that he can't pinpoint it. He shakes the thought off and takes Malcolm his tea. "How's your head feeling?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm gives him a weak smile but tries to compensate for it with a stab at humour.

"Like I fell on it from thirty or forty feet. Shouldn't it be better by now?"

He lets his knees fall to the sides so he can reach up and take the tea with both hands.

[conning]

Neal makes a sound of exasperated amusement. "Unfortunately, the body doesn't work that way."

[abrightboy]

He sips his tea.

"How annoying and inconvenient," he remarks, looking up at Neal. "I can still help," he promises.

[conning]

"Malcolm." Neal gets down on one knee, pressing both his hands around Malcolm's own. "Even if you couldn't, I--"

Something tells him not to say I wouldn't care. "Even if you couldn't, that would matter less to me than you being okay. You know that, right?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm nods, then winces because that hurts.

"I do know. But this is... this is important to you. Personally. And I'm not good at sitting around convalescing but I am good at solving a murder."

[conning]

“I don’t want to lose you either,” Neal says, his voice dropping enough that only the two of them can hear him. “I can’t.”

It’s selfish, but it’s true.

[abrightboy]

"You won't," Malcolm says matter of factly. "This is what I do. Better than you." He gestures over Neal's shoulder towards Peter and everything he represents. "Better than any of them. Even with a brain injury."

[conning]

He can feel his eyes welling, and he tries to blink it back. He's not comfortable crying in front of James. He's barely comfortable crying in front of Peter. Neal just nods, not trusting himself to say anything immediately.

"You okay over there?" Peter's wariness seems more over the question of whether or not Malcolm is going to have a manic episode than anything else.

[abrightboy]

“I’m deeply moved by your concern for my health,” Malcolm calls back. “But I’m sorry to report that I’ll probably live.”

He winks at Neal mischievously.