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[ Continued from here. ]

Will thinks over Malcolm's question. Of course he doesn't think Malcolm's stupid to make any decision on this, but getting past that and to the heart of the question...

"I do think that maybe you're too scared it won't help. That you can't let anything try, because if it doesn't help and you get...out of hand, then it's too late," Will replies quietly. "I wish I could give you advice there that isn't just to let it happen."

He sighs and looks up towards the ceiling. Because as much as he'd like a partner in this experience- "I don't want you to follow my path. And I'm not going to let you get demoted. But if you don't let the reins loose a little, the unknown fear will always remain that- unknown. And that means the fear doesn't have a limit, as to how large it can get. I know how consuming that can be."

But he also knows that just makes it harder to let go. The worse it got, the tighter Will clung to his control, until it had been forcibly taken away, multiple times. "Maybe you can let yourself enjoy what you know you enjoy. We'll go running more often. But if something pops up and concerns you, just think of...whether you really don't like it, or whether it's a path you've long since turned away from out of fear. And maybe see if you can get comfortable with the idea of your pack helping you with it." And now that he has it all out, he looks slightly uncertain. "Does that make sense?"

Malcolm nods, his eyes large and trusting, but also… longing.

“I want… I want to just…. be part of it. I guess… I mean everyone makes it look so natural that I thought when I changed, it would be part of my nature.” He puts a hand on Will’s chest. Lets himself just feel Will’s heartbeat for a moment. “When I was thinking it over… Neal and Raylan suggested that maybe I wanted it for the wrong reasons. After the moose, Lark disappeared, and I thought… what if he made a mistake? What if they were right and I made a mistake? But then you were going to turn and…. it was exciting. Going down a new path with you that isn’t yours or mine. But I wanted to do it. I wanted to. And I wanted to say something even up to the moment it happened, but I didn’t want to ruin your day by being selfish because I knew how much it meant to you, but all of it… it won’t go away.” He looks up from his hand to Will’s face. “How do I let the reins loose?” he asks earnestly. “How do I… let something happen? I want to feel something… that isn’t this. I’m always a square peg in a round hole and I want to feel something else.”

"Oh...Malcolm..." Will hugs him close, hugs him tightly even. "You have conditioned yourself to not get your hopes up, so you don't believe it when you do fit. I did the same, but you've...you're still trying, so it just means you get disappointed over and over. I gave up and isolated myself, as much as that did." People still found him.

"I didn't know how much turning me meant to you. I'm sorry. We could've talked about it." He kisses the top of his head. "I'm usually good at figuring out those things, but I'm...too close to you now, I think. I miss things sometimes. Our feelings are too in sync," he explains, and that part (at least) is completely unapologetic.

"There's no mistake, though. Not on your or Lark's side. Raylan and Neal, they care about you, but...they don't know how it is. To be so alone that even your thoughts are unique and considered inappropriate...to be considered a monster by people close to you." He leans his forehead against Malcolm's for a moment, closing his eyes. "Having a group that accepts you after that, it's valuable. And maybe it'll take a while to sink in, but you have it now." It wasn't an unattainable dream.

Malcolm breathes him in, lets himself actually notice how it’s different now, since he turned. And moreso again since Will turned.

“I could have talked to you. But I was trying to… be a good… wolf. Follow the hierarchy. It’s not my… natural way to be. But I was trying to be part of it by doing it the right way. I could have said something.” He pauses. “I keep battling myself to be ‘good’ and I just feel worse after. And it doesn’t help my case with anyone. I want to try what you said. But. With you watching. Just in case. To stop me.”

He lifts his head to look up at Will. “Sweeney likes me now,” he says grimly. “Because I’m a wolf. And Maggie came to see me. She’s going to have Iris turn her, just like that. She doesn’t even want to be in the pack, she just wants to be a wolf and then go home to her world. I asked why she doesn’t just ask the Admiral for that, if she doesn’t want to be in the pack, but apparently she’s close with Iris and Iris will do it. What even is that?”

So many of their conversations are held like this, with them sprawled across or holding each other. Maybe someday, one or the both of them would be less touch-starved, but Will suspected they still had years to catch up on.

"Sweeney has been trying to do better with you for months," Will concedes. "Because of me. And he recently got news that undid at least one of the knots in his stomach. He got some grass and some people at the station. He was already in a better space to accept you. Although I'm sure you getting turned helped him realize he could connect with you, so there was definitely some influence."

He's not going to argue how Malcolm felt about it, but he does want him to have full context. "Maggie...I talked to her, too. I understand that less. Probably because she has a whole pack of people already. But she hasn't decided for sure yet, either. There's a lot of apocalypse habits she'd have to get past."

He shakes his head. "Ultimately, I don't think that matters. You just need to know what you want out of this change, and we can work on it together. You don't have to be 'good' to anyone else's standard but your own. I do think Lark's pack has less...structure than you might've assumed, but there's nothing saying we can't add to it some ourselves."

"Sweeney was trying before for you but he was weird about it. Now he's just relaxed and nice. ...Do you think that's really the grass?" He considers that.

"I don't... I don't have anything against Maggie or against people who prefer canines to humans..." He trails off and looks up at Will's face. "Obviously," he concedes and there's a hint of a smile there for the first time in all of this. "But.... being chosen to be part of the pack felt special. Being part of the pack is part of the point of getting turned. So... I guess I feel like it cheapens everything about it if you can just walk up and be like 'hey I want dog powers, hook me up and then goodbye forever'. That's not what it's about. And it's not special if it's handed out like flyers in front of a pizza joint to anyone who wants it but doesn't want to be part of it." He looks at Will uncertainly. "Is that stupid? Is it unfair?"

"It's a lot," Will responds to the question about Sweeney. "But the grass helps. Nature's more important to him than humans, I think." And they're not talking about Sweeney right now, but he'll get into more detail later...and try to skirt any secrets. Suffice it to say, weights have been lifted off his chest, at least to some degree.

He smirks when Malcolm mentions not minding people who like dogs, but listens quietly to the rest of it. And he shakes his head at the end. "It's not. Although I think my sense of 'fairness' has been irrevocably skewed for a long while now." He lets out a small sigh and looks down. "Maggie seems the sort that decides what she wants and then just does it, and it works for her. Maybe that's a new development for her, here on the Barge. I can't say I've had that skill in anything that's not murder...and not even that, here." Probably a good development, honestly. "But it does take the shine off of it a bit, doesn't it?"

He looks at Malcolm with a small, thoughtful frown. "Hey, uh...should I have waited on this wolf change? Let you get settled with it more, not stuck my nose in? I didn't want to make it...less, for you, either."

Malcolm is shaking his head before Will even finishes the question, his hands grasping at the front of Will’s shirt.

“No, no, no,” he protests once it’s out. “No. I wanted to do this with you. I just… I thought we would have to wait. Until I’d be allowed to change someone. And it didn’t occur to me that it would happen and it wouldn’t be me. And then suddenly it was happening, like, now and I wasn’t doing it and it was a lot. And I didn’t want to ruin it. And I thought I’d get over it, and I don’t know why I thought that; I never get over anything,” he admits, looking down at Will’s chest again. He fidgets with a button there. “And I still wish I did it, but I don’t wish you didn’t go through with it yet. I wanted it for you. I knew… I knew it would be easier for you. Sweeney told me to ask you about dog behaviour before I even did it. Everyone knew, if they thought about it.”

Will contemplates telling Malcolm that he knows and it's okay. He was just making sure. But Malcolm continues and- not only does Malcolm clearly need to get this out, but it does help specify just what part of this Malcolm has the problem with. So Will listens, giving Malcolm a kiss on his head when it dips down.

"Everyone knew but Lark. He knew it should be you. Because you needed what he was going to offer, as part of the pack. A place to belong. To become more confident. And then- he got tugged away," Will adds before pulling Malcolm close and hugging him again.

"It'd be nice if things just went our way sometimes. Although us being together certainly qualifies. Malcolm..." He pulls away a bit. "I'm sorry you didn't get to do it, and that it all happened too quickly. I'm glad you don't mind me...being a werewolf too. I...I just wanted to make sure. We should ask Iris about the glow, maybe get your feelings out into the open? So she knows where you're coming from, and you aren't holding it in."

He nods along faintly, in agreement with what Will is saying, right up to and including asking Iris about the glow, but then he suggests bringing his feelings about it all out into the open and his eyes go wide and he shakes his head in an almost panicked way.

"No. No. I don't want her to know that I can't handle it," Malcolm says firmly. "No." He's already the black sheep of the wolf pack.

Will stares at Malcolm for a long moment, then nods. "Okay. I'm not going to force anything. I'm not sure what you mean about 'can't handle it', though. You're allowed to have feelings, sweetheart."

The use of the endearment might be a little tactical, for as honest as it is.

“I know that,” Malcolm says quietly. He’s allowed to have them. Of course he is. Showing them, though? That’s never worked out well. Except for with Will. His feelings via his mouth damaged the bonds he has with Neal and with Raylan. Iris barely knows him. “But the time for telling her about them was before she turned you. Telling her now will just… mess things up. With the leader of the pack. And won’t change anything.”

"I don't think it would mess things up," Will replies, matching Malcolm's quiet tone. "I know you don't know her well, but Iris is used to dealing with big feelings and strong responses. Still..." He takes in a deep breath and lets it out. "I can understand why you're worried about the timing. Sorry...I didn't mean to worry you."

“You didn’t worry me,” Malcolm tells him. “I’m just awkward.” He leans up to hug him tightly. “And I don’t have a single ounce of regret or resentment about you becoming a wolf. I’m glad about that. I want you to be part of the things I’m part of. That’s important to me. That’s more important to me than anything.”

Will smiles in response, looking about ten years younger with the utter genuineness of it. "Well, I don't know what it'd be like being awkward," he mentions mildly, then chuckles. "That's the most important part to me, too. I never thought there would be someone I could share all the parts of my life with. Even this..."

He hugs Malcolm back, taking a deep inhale in. And then realizing what he's doing, he chuckles again. "You tell me if...smelling you gets too creepy. I'm still getting used to all the extra information."

“No. It’s fine,” he says, finally actually laughing, but still kind of holding on for dear life. “I’ll… figure it out. My… nonsense. I’ll get my head sorted. Don’t worry.”

"We both have plenty to sort out," Will notes. He is the inmate here, after all. "We'll work things out together, help each other where we can. Right?" Will sounds fairly confident about that, at least.

Malcolm nods, then kisses him, then buries his face in his shoulder again.

“You really think we’re still the same?” comes a muffled question. Still the same thing as each other since his change. He can live with not being the same kind of wolf as everyone in the pack or the pack being cobbled together. But he wanted to be joined, specifically, to Will by sharing this. “We’re… the same thing?”

"I do," he says seriously, quietly. "We come from the same originator, we're Pack. We're the same. There's been no deviation from each other- in fact, I think we're tied closer together than ever. In an immutable bond."

He lets his cheek rest against Malcolm's head, his mouth close to Malcolm's ear. He might look sleepy to an outside observer, but he's just lost in the sensations of being here with Malcolm. The outside world might as well not exist. "You know, I've sometimes wondered if we're too similar. If people might wonder what's wrong with me psychologically, to fall for someone so much like myself." Malcolm might hear the warmth enter his voice as he smiles. "And then I laugh."

Malcolm’s fingers, always restless, fidget absently at the collar of Will’s shirt as he listens, rapt, until that last makes him smile. He lifts his head so he can look up into Will’s eyes.

“We’re like… two separated halves, then. And when we’re together, we’re whole.”

Will loves Malcolm's fidgeting. It makes him feel fussed over, something he realized recently that he appreciates. So he's still smiling easily as Malcolm looks at him.

"Mmmhmmm. We both came here with large chunks taken out of us. Where we can't mend ourselves, the other can fill in," he replies. His eyes shut briefly in a look of bliss. "And then we're whole. It works for us. Damn well, too, I might add."

“Like… a really romantic and yet sometimes horrifying jigsaw puzzle,” Malcolm muses with a grin. “I’ve never felt better. Like. In my life,” he realizes. Not that he remembers what he felt like Before. He doesn’t even count that time, before he ate from the tree of knowledge of what his father was by opening a travel trunk in the basement of their home. “I really never have.” He pauses, his brow creasing faintly. He looks up at Will again. “I really did want to do it, though. I have to figure out how to let that go.”

Will chuckles at the example of a horrifying jigsaw puzzle. He feels like it's fairly accurate, if he's honest. But he also knows how beautiful horrifying things can be. He knows and accepts.

The last bit makes Will smile, even if slightly apologetically. "I know you did. I am sorry about that, Malcolm. That I let it happen so fast, and I didn't follow your wishes...even if we know why. If there's anything I can do to help make you feel any better about it, I'll do my best." He knows how tough it is for Malcolm to let things go, but he also doesn't think Malcolm should feel like he always has to.

“You just… being makes me feel better about everything,” Malcolm concedes. Maybe it’ll still creep around the corners of his mind, but… at the end of each day, he’ll still have Will, and it will be okay.

Continued from here.

Absolutely. Lounge, right? I can be there in ten minutes.

Edited 2023-09-28 01:45 (UTC)

I'm already there.

Well, outside the door since I don't have the goddamn key.

Getting you a key is something we’re working on.

[He’s already on the move and comes around the corner a moment later.]

Hi! I’m glad you came.

Whatever, man. I had nothing else to do.

[He folds his arms across his chest and glances to the door.]

Let's just go in.

Sure.

[Malcolm takes a small leatherbound notebook out of his inside jacket pocket and waves it at the door. It opens and he gestures for Aaron to go ahead.]

Can I get you something to drink?

"I don't know. Whatever you're having."

He is more of a 'drink whatever is available at some random guy's house' guy. There are no discerning tastes.

Malcolm brings over two tumblers, each with a couple fingers of whiskey in it, setting one down in front of Aaron.

He sits.

“How have you been feeling this week?”

"Fine."

He clasps his hands together on the table.

"Just doing my job, I guess."

"Cleaning the chapel? Or did you take something new?" Malcolm asks.

"Warden wants me in the library," he says with a shrug. "But I like the chapel."

And he likes working for Norton, as much as Norton makes him uncomfortable.

"In the library where he can keep an eye on you or in the library where you can learn things?" Malcolm asks.

"I like to read. Guess he wants me somewhere I like being," he explains, picking up the glass and taking a small sip of it.

"What a monster," Malcolm teases, taking a sip of his own drink.

"Shut up," he snaps, but there's actually no bite to it.

"I don't want to work there because I just want to be there. I don't want to do shit."

"That seems reasonable. Did you tell Jesus you'd rather work in the chapel and hang out in the library?" Malcolm asks.

"Yes," he groans. "It doesn't fucking matter. Work is work. I don't want to do any of it."

"Did you work back home?" Malcolm asks.

He nods. "Been working since I was nine years old, doc. That's what you do in Creekside," he answers. "You work, you get married, you have kids so they can work, then you die."

"What did you do there?" he asks curiously.

"Little bit of everything. Worked at the shop, worked for the doc," he says softly. Following his dreams, he told himself at one time. Aaron had wanted to be a doctor. He had wanted to learn all about medicine. All about healing.

Boys like him don't get to be doctors, though.

He downs the rest of the whiskey with a cough.

"What did you like the best?" Malcolm asks.

"Working for the doctor," he answers quickly. "He did everything for everyone. Did the autopsies and healed anyone who needed healing." He grins. "Kept me out of the mines." Said like a joke.

"If you enjoyed that, have you considered helping in the infirmary here?" Malcolm asks.

"No," he mutters. "I don't know enough to do anything but get in the way."

He doesn't want to feel like a burden.

"Nobody knows anything before they learn how to do it," Malcolm points out. "The people who work there could teach you. Do you know Doctor Reid?"

"The vampire? Not really," he mutters. "I've met Hunter. The kid there."

“I know him. I could introduce you. If you’re going to be stuck here, you may as well learn skills you’re really interested in. There’s nothing stopping you here, in that respect,” Malcolm points out.

"No," he says with a shake of his head, something like panic in his voice. "I'm not going back home to be a fucking doctor."

“Are… you going back home? Because when you graduate, you can go anywhere. Don’t you hate it there?” Malcolm asks.

"No," he laughs. "Not really. I get fed here. Got a place to stay. Huge library. And no one knew the Bishop."

"I like it better here than at home, too," Malcolm tells him.

"Yeah? So where are you going after you graduate Kikimora?"

"Probably nowhere right away. Kikimora is my second inmate. I never had a firm plan on how long I was going to stay, but now that I'm with Will, I won't be leaving before he graduates," Malcolm tells him.

"Will?"

He sits back. "Why?"

"Because we're together. We're probably going to get married once he graduates," Malcolm tells him.

He almost argues that men can't get married, but he's pretty sure that Malcolm is from the future, and that's likely the direction things have gone.

Or, he reminds himself, Una was right about multiverses. Either way, Aaron has no personal objection to it, though it still makes him antsy in the same way Norton does.

"You want to get another drink?" he drawls.

Malcolm glances at his own glass, which still contains most of its contents. He smiles. "I'd be happy to pour you another," he says, getting up.

When he walks away, Aaron lets out a breath and leans back. He doesn't intend on drinking much more, if anything, if only because it'll make him chatty, but this gives him a moment of a break.

At least he's not trying to take a swing at him.

So when Malcom returns, Aaron's comfortable again.

"You know, the infirmary isn't going anywhere," Malcolm tells him as he hands the glass over. "You can work in the chapel now and if you decide you want to learn some medical skills later, you can. You're not hedged in, in that respect."

"Yeah, I'm all talked out about work, doc," he tells him, holding the glass but not actually drinking from it.

"Fair enough. What do you want to talk about?" Malcolm asks.

"Dunno. Aren't you supposed to ask me about my feelings and tell me everything's my moms fault?" he snorts, putting the glass down, untouched.

"Why? What did your mom do?" Malcolm asks curiously.

"Oh. She was crazy," he says simply. "Least she was right before I left. Talking to herself. Arguing with people who weren't there."

Which is a much more interesting subject.

“Is that where you got the idea for the Aaron and Roy Show?” Malcolm asks.

Aaron remembers pouring over every book in the town library's collection about mental health which, admittedly, was miniscule. He wanted to know how someone could go from slightly odd and a little quirky but mostly functional to full out hallucinations in what seemed like a short time. He had so desperately wanted to fix his mother, to save her somehow, but the only useful information he found was about multiple personality disorder and how it manifested. He didn't think it was relevant then, but he kept that knowledge like he did everything else, locking it away for further study at another time.

"Nah. Saw an old movie once. It was called uh - Dave and Lisa! No. David and Lisa. The girl had other personalities."

Malcolm smiles a little, but it’s tired.

“You’re still telling me stories,” he says. He saw something cross Aaron’s face before he spoke. He can’t put a name to it yet, but he saw him settle on his answer. An easy answer. A glib, safe answer. “Are they for my benefit or yours?” he asks.

Aaron hasn't had anyone call him out on his lies before. It's disarming, the way Macolm so easily does it. No one's ever simply been...disappointed in him rather than angry. He hates that even more.

He clenches his hand, but he remembers how Malcolm had so easily put him on the floor and decides against it.

"I don't give a shit about your feelings, doc."

It's mostly a true answer.

“So for yours. To protect yourself,” Malcolm surmises.

"Guess so," he mutters, finally picking up his glass and drinking from it.

"Did see that movie, though."

And he gives him a lopsided little grin.

"There's a newer movie about DID you might enjoy. It's called Split, if you're poking around the movie section of the library," Malcolm tells him.

"Don't care about it that much," he laughs. "I found a whole bunch more that I used to watch the other day. Had a whole movie marathon in the common room."

"Cool. Which movies?" Malcolm asks.

Confident that he's gotten around the subject he didn't want to talk about, he leans forward, enthusiastic.

"Uh, Bill and Ted. Ferris Bueller. That kind of stuff. That kid, uh...Hunter. He came and joined me for a while, actually. Felt a little normal."

"They made a third Bill and Ted, you know. Shortly before I came here," Malcolm tells him.

"No way! Really?"

He finds himself laughing a genuine laugh. "I gotta see it."

"I'm sure they have it in the library. Keanu Reeves is a huge action movie star by that time, if you can believe it," Malcolm tells him. "Had Speed come out by the time you got here? What year was it when you left your world?"

"That's the one with the bus, right? It's - uh - 1996," he answers, remembering the question just in time.

"Yeah, that's the one. It ends up being his catapult to action movie stardom," Malcolm tells him. "Along with a movie called the Matrix, which you've only missed by a couple years or so. You should check that one out."

"Huh." Hard to think of that guy as being a movie star in any capacity.

"I'll have to find it."

"So what about music? What's your favorite band or type of music?" Malcolm asks.

"I dunno. Metallica. The Stones. Pearl Jam. Nirvana. I like all kinds of music. Why?"

"I don't know. Isn't that a safe subject that people talk about with people they're getting to know?" Malcolm confirms.

"Dependa on if you're being my shrink or being my friend," he tells him. "If there's any kinda lesson in this."

"I can't really be your shrink until this..." He gestures at the space between them. "Is a safe place for you. So, in the meantime, we chat. I'm not great at chatting, because I accidentally read people's faces and body language a lot. But. Certain topics are socially safe, right? Books, movies, music..."

"The hell does that mean? Safe place for me? No one's gonna attack me in here."

"A safe place for you emotionally," Malcolm clarifies. "Where you feel comfortable opening up about stuff."

"I feel like I've told you a lot. You're like Miss Rebecca. 'Cept she's better looking."

"I feel like you've told me a lot, too. Who's Miss Rebecca?" Malcolm asks.

"She's my teacher. She didn't want me goin' to the mines, so she helped me get to the high school. Gave me extra lessons and shit," he explains.

"She believed in you," Malcolm observes. "Did you graduate?"

"Yeah, she did," he agrees, a little smile on his face. "And uh - I did. Did a few college courses by mail, but never finished, obviously."

He shrugs. "Maybe I will later."

“You’ve got lots of time,” Malcolm tells him. “You can get a jump on it in the Library here.”

"Yeah, I know."

He downs the rest of the second drink, swallowing back the cough this time.

"I know what I can and can't do."

“What do you think you’d like to study if you do that?” Malcolm asks.

"Don't know. Everything. Medicine. Literature. I don't gotta choose when I'm here."

Aaron wants to do everything. He's still young, still unsure of what he wants and how he wants to do it.

“That’s a great approach. Leave all your doors open,” Malcolm agrees.

"I plan on it, doc." He leans forward. "We done for today?"

He's feeling like he got far too close to the sun on some subjects, but he's still feeling like he came out on top. It's a balance.

“These are your sessions. We’re done when you say we’re done,” Malcolm tells him.

"Yeah, then I think I'm done. Same time next week?"

He so much wants Malcolm to approve of him, to like him, and that means coming to these sessions. But he also wants to keep his privacy and his secrets, which also means keeping him at a distance. It's a very fine line he's trying to walk.

“Absolutely,” Malcolm agrees. “Do you want to meet here again or somewhere else?”

"Here's fine, doc." Anywhere else would be a distraction and people might see him. Thats' not what he wants.

“Sounds good. See you then,” Malcolm tells him.

Aaron pauses at the table, almost like he wants to add something, then turns and walks off, whistling to himself.

[After some of some of this]

Malcolm, darling, I think your inmate might be upset about something. [He shows Malcolm a video of an upturned table with dishes smashed and food scattered.] She came into the dining hall, pushed the table over, made a general mess of things, and then Sebastian came and picked her up and tossed her outside and banned her.

Not sure he has the authority to do that.

Anyhoo, it was the most excitement the dining hall's seen since Envy's portal killed people over their prandial plates.

...What? Where is she? Did she say what set her off?

[The middle question is rhetorical. He's pulling out his Warden item now.]

No idea. She didn't make a villainous speech before murdering the dishware, just went right to it.

How inconsiderate of her.

It was, wasn't it. Now someone is going to have to talk to her to find out what her motives are.

Guess I’ll do that. Looks like she’s at the wardrobe.

She's not ruining the clothes, is she?

[Norton has priorities. Food and broken dish mess that he doesn't have to clean up? Not an issue for him. Clothing that he might want to wear? Issue.]

I suppose I’ll find out when i get there…

Bugger.

Well, could be worse. At least she's not running through the ship murdering everyone. Property damage is almost wholesome compared to a lot of inmate rampaging.

Apparently Archer doesn’t think so.

...

Archer would rather she'd murdered people? Sounds odd, although he is friends-ish with Kirei and I'm pretty sure Kirei would have preferred murder....

He wanted me to restrict her access to the dining room so she can’t enter without a chaperone. I told him I won’t commit to a particular consequence until I finish investigating her conduct. He said if I wouldn’t, he’d take matters into his own hands. I tried to point out that I didn’t say I wouldn’t, I only said I want to understand what happened and then not overreact to it. Apparently that is equivalent to killing people.

[There's a long pause. Then Norton starts to giggle. And before long the giggle turns into sharp and shrill laughter.]

I couldn't get a lick of justice every time I was murdered and now someone comes along and banishes the pitiful little twerp from the dining hall over some broken dishes and a solo food fight?

This is kind of my point. And if she doesn't pose a continuing danger to the flatware, I won't allow that kind of heavyhandedness and if he doesn't like it, then we'll see about that.

[Norton gets his unpleasant giggles under control although he's still got a tense smile.]

Officially, I'm not entirely certain his remit extends beyond the kitchen. Dining hall is a different room. More common area than work area. Like banning someone from the deck if they made a mess of the greenhouse.

Unofficially, getting on the bad side of someone who handles your food can lead to unpleasant consequences, as I have the misfortune to know. Also Archer is one of those wardens who probably once fought off two-hundred soldiers, a dragon, and a pair of sharks simultaneously and thought it a pleasant diversion. If he gets stubborn about it, it might be difficult to stop him from blocking her from going in, regardless of what you decide.

I know I give the impression of an effete, mentally unstable talker, but I'm dangerous, too, I don't eat that much and I'm fed up with people treating murder like a parking ticket and parking tickets like murder.

I know you are, sweetheart, but if you're there fighting with Archer to let Kikimora in, and making sure she's allowed to stay, then in the process you're also providing the very chaperoning presence Archer wants in the first place.

What you do think ought to be done with her?

I haven't finished my investigation, so I don't know yet, but if this was a one off - and I currently suspect it was - then I think she should spend a week working in each area she vandalized, to understand and learn respect for the time and effort put into the things she destroyed. I think that would be fair restitution.

Very fair, although fair isn't always satisfying.

I think one problem the ship has after events like this is that there's no consensus on whether afterward the point should be punishment, prevention, or...blast, I can't think of another word that begins with "P." Let's just stick with "restitution" then. Can't do all three equally so someone's always displeased with the result.

If the point is to graduate inmates, then prevention - for the safety of people and property - and restitution - for the rehabilitation of the inmate and the peace of mind and justice for those already harmed - should be the priority. And openness about how the decided course of action provides those things is important too. And a just course of action, well-executed, provides all of them. Punishment may be periphery, if the inmate dislikes any part of their requirements or restrictions, but it shouldn’t be the point. And at this point, I feel this ticks all the boxes. It even ticks stupid Archer’s stupid boxes, except I won’t require her to be chaperoned into the dining hall until she’s made restitution; I won’t allow her to use any common areas she vandalized at all until she’s made restitution at them. So far, nobody has suggested that she attacked any people and her motives in her little crime spree align with that. I’ll hold off until everyone has had a chance to respond, because someone may yet bring evidence or testimony that changes my mind, but if I’ve done due diligence and the solution is fair, then I can stand by it. Everyone will never agree with anything.

What do you do if the people who would be the recipient of restitution only want punishment? Not that it's a given in this particular case, but I can tell you, darling, when Envy smashed in my skull some time ago, I'd have had no interest in restitution. Not even sure what restitution would look like for that. Anyhoo, at the time all I really wanted was for him to suffer in pain and fear and have enormous regrets about every choice that led to that moment.

Come to think of it, I still rather want that.

That’s an understandable impulse, Norton. But you don’t really want that. You want recognition of that. You want to be heard. You want that damage acknowledged, and it should be. And for violent crimes, restrictions and limitations should be involved. That’s when public safety is a factor. [He pauses.] Envy causes a lot of pain. What do you think it’s here for?

I want those things, but that doesn't exclude wanting Envy to suffer. I told you once that I never murdered just for fun and laughs. I don't think I mentioned at the time that I did thoroughly enjoy the murdering when it was someone who deserved it, though. And Envy absolutely deserves it.

I don't know why he's on the ship, but considering his behaviour here, I'm fairly sure good people back where he came from would celebrate his demise, too.

Of course. It will always be the natural impulse. But you’re a Warden here because you can rise above it. We’re not going to like everyone we’re here to help.

It's not worth getting demoted over, certainly. I'm a warden because I learned not to let my impulse to get even get in the way of more important things.

[He thinks of leaving it at that, but he respects Malcolm enough to be honest with him and Malcolm's never judged him badly for his less-than-nice feelings.]

I'm not really here to help people, though. That's just the job. I'm here for the payment, and because I like it here. There are some people I like, that I want to help. Inmates and wardens. But inmates collectively? [He gives a small shake of his head.] There've been some inmates I've been downright angry to see graduate. Like Henry. I don't care if he changed, or became a better person, or whatever. He did something extraordinarily awful to me and never really paid for it and I hate that he gets to go off and live his life.

[Arthur's tone is Pissed, with a side note of Very Tired.]

Bright, come get your fucking inmate from the wardrobe before she tries shoving over a shelf instead of ripping everything on it to shreds.

Norton just called. I'm already on my way. Is anyone hurt?

Minorly, when I tried to pick her up to make her stop she tried- biting me, I think. Clawed up my hand, but it's superficial.

[Look you know enough types of pain, you learn the difference blind.]

Miss Givens is minding her currently, so I'd suggest you make haste. I don't expect Kikimora to stay put.

I’m making all kinds of haste. She doesn’t like being picked up even when she’s not apoplectic with rage, though. Did she say what the problem was?

Not in the slightest. I didn't even know it was her for a good few minutes, she wasn't speaking.

That’s a bad sign.

Inarticulate, mostly, but given that she doesn't sound human in such I'll admit I thought for a long minute there that there was an animal loose in the Wardrobe.

She's not an animal.

I am aware, Bright. But I was also not in a position to positively identify her whatsoever.

I’ll take care of it.

I trust you will. Thank you, Mr Bright.

Thank you for letting me know. Say hi to John for me.

Good evening, Dr. Bright.

Have you been made aware of your Inmate’s recent vandalism of the dining hall area?

Yes, thank you. The calls have been rolling in. Was anyone hurt?

Sam was injured in an altercation with her, but it’s wasn’t life-threatening.

I take it you’re getting to the bottom of whatever caused this outburst.

That’s my job. In two capacities.

Quite.

I’ve no interested in meddling in your business as far as that is concerned, but considering this is not the first time the dining hall has suffered damages in the last several weeks, I wanted to discuss restrictions with you.

Specifically pertaining to her access to the dining hall. Because of all places, the dining hall needs to be a safe for people to work and eat in.

[More flatly this time.]

Was anyone hurt?

[He doesn’t wait for the reply,]

She’s never done anything like this. If there’s an imminent danger she’ll start doing it again, I’ll restrict her from common areas. But she was clearly trying to work through something and if it was a one off reaction to pain that she didn’t know how to process, I don’t think it would be fair to restrict her access to the room where food is. But we’re not there yet either way. We’re still figuring things out.

Yes. Sam was hurt.

[ His response is equally flat. ]

And while I understand your position, you must also understand mine. Food service is thankless work as it is, and it is quite unfair to expect us to deal with feeding the entire ship and to deal with outbursts like these at the same time.

It is also quite unfair to expect the rest of the ship to feel less safe in one of the most used open spaces on this ship because she wanted to “work something off” through destruction of property.

The restriction I would propose to you is that someone accompany her - you or someone else you trust with her - when she comes for her meals. I am not banning her from the space, but until she is more stable, I do not want her causing further harm or damage.

Edited 2023-10-02 00:38 (UTC)

You said Sam is okay. Maybe I should talk to him myself.

In the meantime? I’m not agreeing to any restrictions until I know more about it. Of course there will have to be consequences, but whether those consequences involve restricted movements will involve factors I haven’t fully investigated yet. So I’ll let you know. Though I expect having her make restitution for the damage she caused would be more productive than punishing her for it.

I said it wasn’t life-threatening. And you can speak to him as you like.

Though perhaps you aren’t hearing me correctly, Doctor Bright.

I understand you are invested in the welfare of your Inmate, but the safety of everyone who enters the dining hall and works there is my particular concern.

And I frankly find it absurd that you aren’t willing to concede to even chaperoning her.

I didn’t say I would or wouldn’t. I said I won’t agree to anything until I finish investigating. I won’t let her swan around the dining room or anywhere else if she poses a danger to the people there. But I won’t impose restrictions on her if there’s no need for it, like she’s more dangerous than any other inmate on board if that isn’t, in fact, the case. So we’ll see and I’ll let you know.

I frankly find it absurd that you want me to come to conclusions without all the facts.

There is no “if”, Doctor Bright. You are speaking as though she has not already engaged in destruction of properly and harmed someone in the process.

That moment has passed. If you are not willing to agree to chaperone her for a period of time on the basis of that alone, then I will see to it myself.

I’m not willing to agree at this time, but she’s also currently under supervision, so try not to lose any sleep tonight. It’s not like she’s going to set a guy on fire.

Wait, someone did do that, right? But I’m sure that inmate is under a Warden’s supervision at all times, though. They sound dangerous. To all the other people here.

Anyway, I’ll let you know the outcome of my investigation and until it’s completed, she’ll be under supervision.

I didn’t suggest putting her under constant surveillance, Dr. Bright. I asked you to take a simple measure and supervise her while she takes her meals.

And for the record - not that I suspect you actually care - Florian’s magic is restricted, and he was penalized for his actions. But apparently, a simple request to supervise her in the dining hall for other people’s sake is too much for you to handle.

So again- I’ll be looking into other measures on my own time.

Good evening, Dr. Bright.

[ And with that, he hangs up. ]

I never said ‘no’. I said I want to understand first so I can determine the most effective consequences. I find it appalling that YOU don’t want all the facts before you mete out restrictions. You can tell me you don’t respect how I handle this AFTER I decide how to handle it. Good night.

I want you to know, I did it in private because I thought it would be more productive, but I spoke to Shaw about her reaction to Crozier, and about telling you to shut up. It was uncalled for on several levels.

Oh. Thank you. I appreciate that.

[And he wasn't expecting it, but he's trying not to sound like that. It doesn't feel fair to be a little surprised.]

[Neal can hardly take offense, given Malcolm's experiences.]

You're welcome. I just--I didn't want you to think no one cared, this time. That I didn't care.

I love her. She's also an asshole. [The last said with more exasperation than condemnation.]

Thank you. Francis did everything he should have. Confiscated his privileges, put him on lock down, got in touch with the victim, informed everyone. There was absolutely no reason to attack him.

Yeah. [That one word manages to sound t i r e d.] I also... might have... used it as an opportunity to introduce the idea that just because she can't see how hard you try with her, that it doesn't mean you weren't, and that... not taking you at your word, looking for implications that weren't there? Was... well, it was insulting, for one thing, and confusing for another. That there might be some blind spots and issues for her that she hasn't identified.

[Malcolm straightens up a little, blinks a moment.]

You did? ...I... I really appreciate that. What did she say? ...Is it okay to ask that? You don't have to tell me if it's not.

That one might be a little too ongoing for me to comfortably share at the moment.

[Voice slightly muffled as he rubs his face.] But it seemed like a good chance.

Thank you. I have to stay here with Kikimora right now. She kind of made a mess and I'm still trying to find out the full scope of it. Do you want to come play a game of chess or something?

[PERHAPS HILARIOUSLY SINCERE:] God, chess sounds great, actually. There are some other discussions I've had recently that I wanted to talk to you about. Nothing ultimately bad, I promise, just... hard. And tiring.

Oh. Of course! Should I have a glass of scotch ready or do you want to bring wine?

[in a tone that's slightly baffled without really knowing why:] Actually, neither. Tea would be welcome, though, if it's on offer.

Tea is always on offer. Mostly because my consumption of it isn't restricted. I'll leave the door open. Kikimora is upstairs. At least she came down for part of the day, which is an improvement from 'I want to sit in this room until I graduate or die'. I think she'll be okay. ...At least until I tell her what she has to do to make things right.

[quietly amused noise.] I'll be over in five.

------

AND LO HE IS OVER IN FIVE, knocking on then opening the door to let himself in. "Malcolm?"

He's just pouring hot water over the tea. It's a herbal mix of cherry and hibiscus. There's a fruity-floral scent in the air as the water hits the tisane.

"Right here," he calls back.

"That smells amazing." He feels odd about the relief in him at the thought of tea and chess. No hazards, no grand excitement, just tea and chess. "Cherry and... floral--hibiscus?"

That makes Malcolm smile broadly.

“Yes. Do you like that? I find the aroma calming.”

"I do. It's lovely."

He takes up a position at the kitchen island, smiling lightly at Malcolm. "How are you doing? I guess this is the first time your inmate has started shit that wasn't just verbal."

“I’m okay. She came with me and settled down when I asked her to. And in the middle of it all, Francis’ inmate did something worse. The only thing I’ve really been annoyed about is the people who won’t wait to find out what I’m doing before complaining about it,” Malcolm tells him.

Neal snorts. "I wonder if that doesn't come from the expectation that you're not going to do anything, or that they'll never get to know if you did. Seems as though it's been like that long enough here that even if you're being honest, they might think you're just trying to put them off."

He sighs. "Which doesn't make it more tolerable. But maybe more understandable."

...Christ who is he, sitting here trying to sympathize with people who would be annoying the hell out of him if he was in Malcolm's shoes. Neal shakes his head.

"...I think I know why I graduated when I did. I thought--I assumed--it was about trust, but I don't think that was it. Or it wasn't just that."

"Oh." ...Well, then, he was right and he didn't really have anything to do with it. "Why was it?" He's still very curious. He also agrees with Neal's theories about the annoying people, but he distracted him with something infinitely more interesting to him.

"I believed you. I believed you really wanted to help me, even though we fought, even though we hurt each other. You didn't punish me for being hurt. You let me have the feelings."

Neal studies his tea with a faint frown. "It wasn't just that I thought I could trust you with the details of a life I never share with anyone if I can avoid it. It's that you convinced me, finally really convinced me, that your goal wasn't to use me. It was to help, because you thought I was worth helping."

Malcolm's expression turns earnest.

"I do want that," he concedes. "I still want to help, any time you need it." He studies Neal's face for a second. "You're worth... well, more than that, honestly. But it's all I have to offer. I really do think that you're the one that's going to usher in real, positive change in this place."

Neal makes a noise that's equal parts pleasantly surprised and mortified.

"I think that may be overstating."

"It's not, though. You have passion for justice and fairness and compassion for people. And people like you. Even if you were just telling them off for being jerks. People I tell off for being jerks hate me forever. You're likeable. Don't underrate that quality. It gets stuff done," Malcolm tells him.

Neal's internal monologue, much like Willa's was when she was included with the Adult Wardens, is currently somewhere along the lines of AAAAAAAAAA.

"Thank you. I... Thank you." He's not sure what to do with all that praise oh god. Neal clears his throat. "I still think it might be overstating a little, but... thanks. Uh. I actually... the other reason I wanted to talk to you, is more around... the why of my graduation. Things I started to accept that I still very much need to practice."

Malcolm’s eyebrows go up. “Oh? Like what?” he asks.

"I believed you wanted to help me. I didn't believe... almost anyone else."

His tone is wry and dry. "And I took--take, really--almost any question or comment as some kind of criticism in disguise, waiting for me to figure out whatever verbal trap they're laying before they can spring it."

It's all very healthy really.

“You mean that’s not the case?” Malcolm teases self-deprecatingly.

Neal breathes out an ironic laugh, looking down at his tea again.

"What I'm saying is I didn't... I didn't approach the other wardens on board with the idea that they were here to help anyone. I didn't have it in me to believe it, I wasn't able to hear any negative word about an inmate's situation without going on the attack because I'd spent so long living in the middle of a bunch of 'wardens' who never let me forget what I used to be in the eyes of the law. To hear what felt like the same thing in a place explicitly meant for redemption... set me off."

"Not everyone agrees what this place is for and nobody agrees how to accomplish it. But you've just... you've made amazing strides in your time here. I told you that you didn't need me for that. You're inherently good and compassionate and noble. You just needed a place that could be safe enough to work out how to be that outloud. I meant it when I said you were a better Warden than I am when you were still an Inmate. I mean it when I say you're just... a better person than I am in general," Malcolm tells him. "I'm so glad I had the opportunity to help you."

"Why do you say that?" It's a sincere question and and a protest at the same time. "Why do you always say I'm a better person than you? I'm not, Malcolm."

Malcolm blinks at him like he just asked why Malcolm always says water's wet.

"Because you... are. I'm... I have this... darkness in me. It peeks out when I'm angry or upset. People see it. People saw it last night when the Kikimora thing blew up. You've seen it before. It's... I can usually contain it but... I can't get rid of it."

"You do remember what I did to you, right? When you found someone who made you happy?"

"I remember what happened. But there's a difference between... between having an argument and... and having a seed of evil in you that flavours it." Malcolm presses his lips together. "I didn't want to hurt you. But I did."

"...I did want to hurt you, so how is that better? Malcolm." His name is both lightly amused and gently chiding. A pause, and Neal purses his lips briefly. "Tell me what you remember. About what happened."

He frowns faintly. "Um. ...You were mad when you found out I was dating an inmate after I wouldn't go out with you. So then you ignored us in art class and after that you stopped coming to counseling for a bit so I went looking for you and... you didn't want to talk, so I was... I said uncalled for harsh things to get your attention and goad you into arguing with me, because it was... talking to me, unlike ignoring me and avoiding me and... I didn't want you to get a different Warden. But then you came and I got caught up in arguing the argument."

Malcolm looks up at him. "I knew you were hurting. You apologized for what you said. But... I did permanent damage," he says. "There are still things where.... I can tell. That you're keeping a wall between us. Because I broke something that I can't fix."

Edited 2023-10-06 19:05 (UTC)

...Okay, Malcolm remembers more than Neal thought. Still. Neal grimaces a little, testing a sip of tea for heat before he takes a proper drink.

"It wasn't your fault. It wasn't wholly your fault, the barrier." He's working on bringing that down, too, since he saw the ring that Will gave Malcolm and heard the reasons for it. Neal's eyebrows knit as he tries to piece it together, tries to find the thread of logic that will let him explain what happened. Why he recoiled so hard for so long.

"I..." He can't. He's not sure. He doesn't know, and it's frustrating. A little bit of that frustration bleeds into his voice, but it's clearly not aimed at Malcolm. "We'd never had a fight like that before. You'd never said anything like that to me before, and I think--I don't know, but I think it was that I couldn't find any new factors other than Will. I was hurt, and jealous, and he was still there. As long as he was there, the potential for you to find reasons to hurt me was there, too. I know that doesn't really make sense. It doesn't."

"Sure it does," Malcolm answers simply. "People you respect or trust always betray you. Of course it felt the same." He pauses. "I didn't... say what I said because it was Will. I said what I said because I thought I was losing you and I just... flailed for purchase in anything I could reach. And it blew up in my face, because provoking you enough to make you speak to me just... made you hate me and that was even worse. I didn't think something could be worse, but then I did it and it was worse."

"I mean, that might be... overstating a little, as well. The always part." He shifts a little on his stool, uncomfortable less because of what Malcolm said than because he can think of instances in which almost everyone but Sara and June did. Peter, El, Mozzie, Jones--not Diana. She hid things from him, certainly, but she never betrayed him.

He looks up, blue eyes worried. "It was impermanent. That feeling. The reason I said it. I was angry, furious, at the things you said, yeah, but... I also was so angry at you for not existing before then, for being so kind until that point, and caring so much when no one else did. For doing all that and then finding Will and turning into someone I couldn't keep."

"But I want you to keep me," Malcolm answers plainly.

A smile, small and unsteady but real.

"I know. I want to. It just... It's hard for me to care about someone as much as I care about you without weighing how likely it is you'll pick me if it came down to that kind of choice. In my life..." A soft, mirthless noise. "In my life, it always has. And I'm never the one that gets chosen."

“So…” He’s clearly trying to parse and understand rather than judge. “So it’s always a contest? Between you and… everyone?”

Neal shrugs a little helplessly. "I don't mean for it to be."

“That sounds lonely,” Malcolm admits.

"I really don't mean for it to be."

Edited 2023-10-07 01:04 (UTC)

"I'd never turn you away when you need a friend," Malcolm says. "Even if it's just because you're feeling lonely and you just want to..." He gestures around. "Drink tea and play chess with someone."

Neal has no idea how grateful his own expression is. "I know. It's one of many reasons that I love you."

That brings a charmed smile to Malcolm's face.

"I'm never had a friend that let me do that for them."

"...Really?" He finds that baffling, personally. "You're really good at chess."

“Sure. If you get past the fact that I’m macabre and peculiar,” Malcolm points out. “That kind of puts a stop to things before the opportunity to be a supportive friend comes up.”

Neal smiles crookedly at that. "Half the barge is macabre and peculiar in their own ways. Anyone who can't acknowledge it respectfully in someone else is a hypocrite."

"Yeah, but when I tell them that, they just tell me I don't understand people like I think I do," Malcolm says with a smirk. "Apparently, I'm bad at my job, but it isn't personal or judgemental of them to say so. ...I think the next time someone tells me that, I'm going to ask what it is, then."

Malcolm, you there?

[ It's a little strange. He's calling in the middle of the day, for one thing. It's during his shift. He doesn't have it on video, and he sounds rather tentative. ]

Yes. Are you okay? [Because he sounds wrong and Malcolm is already texting Yunlan to come cover him.]

Uh...mostly. I'm not hurt.

[ The hesitation feels like manipulation. He doesn't know if it is or not. ]

I killed Avalon. They were following me again...I'm currently in my cabin, with Shaw.

I'm coming. Yunlan will be here in a minute and I'm coming.

[Once Yunlan arrives, Malcolm runs down to Will's cabin and bangs on the door.]

Will?? It's me!

Hey. I need to talk to you.

[The video flicks on and Malcolm is in his own cabin, hunched over ginger tea at his kitchen island. He didn't sleep last night. It's not a subtle effect on his face.]

About what?

Will told me what happened.

So?

You remember when you said you'd recuse yourself from the inmate part of his being here?

I haven't tried to be his Warden.

So what's been happening?

Nothing. I was a bit worked up when I first went over because Avalon tortured and stabbed Will before. But he was okay and he calmed me down and we sat and talked for a bit while Shaw lurked and then I had to leave because she said it was bedtime. I followed her instructions. I was being there for his emotional support, not to decide what's done about the incident. I haven't even contacted Rawne, even though I'm dying to hear what he said about Avalon. Shaw's bringing Will over later and I'm waiting to ask her.

Okay.

[A small pause]

You know I'm worried about you, right?

Honestly? I'm not sure I do know that. Everything is messy and everything I say is wrong and I don't know why it's weird and invasive for me to want to be there for him after he had a traumatic experience - for emotional support - and nobody can explain it to me, but I'm being given the distinct sense that I'm driving out of my lane and I'm only being his partner, not his keeper. After I got there, we both calmed down. We ground each other.

He just beat someone to death with his bare hands. Maybe what he needs right now is his warden while she finishes investigating, not a boyfriend.

And maybe with everything you've gone through you need some space too.

Edited 2023-10-11 19:57 (UTC)

He admitted what he did. And what he went through was traumatizing and when you've been traumatized and you're accustomed to people close to you turning away from you, what you need is for them to stand by you. So who are you to tell me what we need? If he didn't want to see me right now, he'd tell me he needed to take a break from stimuli and he'd take it. It's the nature of his disorder that he needs space sometimes and he knows how to ask for it. Maybe he needs his Warden to be his Warden and his boyfriend to be his boyfriend and the rest of you to drive in your lanes. I'm not interfering with Shaw's work. I've seen him for like twenty minutes since it happened!

You can be as defensive as you want, you can yell at me, but the fact is if Shaw says you're overstepping, you have a duty to back off.

I thought so. [And lo, Neal appears in the background with his own fresh cup of tea and the blandest, most politely interested look imaginable on his face.] Excuse me, I couldn't help overhearing. Did Will tell you what happened or were you talking to Shaw, the only truly objective person on board, who surely has absolutely no biases of her own, and now you feel the need to intercede because of her honestly fucking insane image of who Malcolm is as a person?

[Malcolm looks up at Neal in surprise, then back at the phone then at the counter.]

I wasn't yelling at you. And she never told me that. In fact, she's bringing Will by tonight to watch a movie. So.

How about we talk when you don't have company?

[Since he has no interest in talking to Neal about the situation]

I personally advise you to have a lawyer present. [Flatly, to Malcolm.]

Edited 2023-10-11 21:04 (UTC)

I don't need one. Neither does he.

[Why is this ship full of children]

Then maybe Shaw can speak for herself next time. Maybe even when she's here later. Wouldn't that be an idea.

[The boy is so far beyond giving a shit what people think is mature, because literally no one is.]

Edited 2023-10-11 21:06 (UTC)

Why don't you ask Will what he told me, Neal?

I do in fact plan on checking in with Will. After I'm done spending time with my friend, who's worried about his partner and stressed about his own inmate's grief.

I'm more curious about what Shaw told you.

Ask her that, too.

The last conversation we had, she heard the words I was saying and then took the complete opposite meaning from them right before insulting me. So at the moment, I don't care to speak to her.

[Malcolm sits up and speaks up.]

What did he tell you?

[At that, Neal will go tensely silent and sip his tea.]

Call me when you have a free moment. I'm not really interested in fielding a conversation like this when you're both worked up.

Ah, so dangle that bit out for him to want and then leave, so you can get to talk to him alone. That's charming.

Did you think I called him to talk to you? I get you're protective but he doesn't need protecting from me, Neal.

What did he say?

Fucking doesn't he? Did you call for Will or did you call because something Shaw said made you think you had to?

Because of Will.

[Simple, honest. Not ruffled.]

I don't work for Shaw, Neal.

You brought it up. So tell me what he said.

[In a cold, too controlled voice.]

Talk to him yourself.

[He would have gone into this, but not with Neal there.]

[With absolutely no warning, Malcolm screams and whips the phone across the flat as far and as hard as he can throw it, then retreats into the bathroom and closes the door.]

[Neal picks up the phone, makes sure it's undamaged--hangs up, if it's still connected--and goes to knock on Malcolm's bathroom door.]

I thought he was supposed to step off.

Well. That conclusion wasn't ideal. Not that Neal regrets the part where he stepped in when Jesus started down the inevitable 'here is why it is in fact all your fault, Malcolm Bright' road. He regrets the way it ended. Not much else.

Neal knocks lightly on the bathroom door. "Malcolm? Do you want me to head out? I'm sorry, I just-- I couldn't take listening to someone telling you why your concern for Will is the fucking problem."

Edited 2023-10-11 21:29 (UTC)

There's a pause, then "Don't go," he calls back weakly.

"I won't then." A pause. "Can I open the door and bring you your tea? It, unlike your phone screen, suffered no consequences from my poor timing."

Another pause.

"Okay."

He's sitting on the far side of the toilet with his knees pulled up to his chest.

"He said Will told him something after you came on. He said it when he knew you were here. He brought it up."

Neal comes in and holds out the tea, refreshed as it is with a bit more hot water. "He did. It was fucking manipulative, and if he speaks to me again before apologizing to you, I can't be entirely sure I won't spit on him."

He knows better than to suggest he can land a punch on anyone but Eiffel.

“He means well,” Malcolm says, but it sounds a little bitter. “He told me the other day that he thinks me being with Will is basically sexual misconduct. So it wouldn’t take much to convince him that the best thing for Will is us being apart,” Malcolm says sullenly, sniffling over his tea.

"Fuck him." There's a viper viciousness in Neal's words that Malcolm probably hasn't heard since it was aimed at Malcolm. "Fuck him, fuck Sheehan, and--"

Nope, he can't say fuck Shaw, apparently, no matter how angry he currently is.

“People want terrible things to be true about people they hate. They whisper about how they knew they were a bad apple and smirk,” Malcolm says.

Kikimora doesn't exactly know how to look at Malcolm at the moment.

She feels...strangely guilty. Because while she still feels she had the right to throw a tantrum all over the ship, she's been hearing things from her time up in his loft that make her think that maybe this was...not the most ideal time to do so. These last few days she's heard snippets of conversation between Malcolm and others about Will Graham, someone she barely knows except as an offshoot of her warden. Evidently he's killed someone.

And the screams in the middle of the night. They make her shudder.

She patters down the stairs and settles her hands in front of her, waiting for Malcolm to see and acknowledge her presence.

Malcolm’s phone is sitting on the kitchen island. The screen is cracked. He’s making popcorn. He’s filling an absurdly large bowl. He turns around and spots her there.

“Kikimora! When did you come down? You walk so quietly. You’d be the mistress of stealth magic. If… that was a thing. What can I do for you?”

"It was required of me as Belos' second to always be seen and never heard." She answers, matter-of-fact.

She sniffs the air - observes the cracked screen of the phone - and then turns back to Malcolm.

"May I ask what you're doing now?"

“I’m making popcorn. Warden Shaw is bringing Will over to watch a movie in a little bit.” He looks over at her. “You’re welcome to join us, if you like.” He holds out a piece of popcorn. “Have you tried popcorn?”

She walks over, taking the piece dutifully in claw and giving it a once-over.

"Briefly. May I ask, is Will under the same restrictions as I am?" Is he forbidden to leave his warden's side, as Kikimora naturally assumes she is, too?

“More, actually,” Malcolm tells her. “His Warden sleeps in his bedroom and reads all his messages.”

Her visible eye widens in horror and outrage. But she can't complain - it's against policy for inmates to voice complaints of wardens to other wardens.

"I see." She manages, after only a brief second to process this.

“I’m not going to do that,” he assures her. “One of the reasons I have you staying upstairs is because some of the people mad about what you did are dangerous people and I don’t want someone to implement their own justice before you fulfill your obligations. Once you’ve finished the program, I think they’ll have simmered down and they won’t have anything to complain about. You’ll be… as relatively safe as someone can be here,” he explains.

A slight sigh of impatience, once she relaxes back in her skin.

"If I had my magic, I could defend myself against dangerous people without any assistance or restrictions."

He gives her a clearly affectionate smile.

“Kikimora, I say this with love, but if you had all your magic back, you’d be the dangerous people and you’d never graduate.”

She scoffs, crossing her arms.

"You don't know that for certain. I'm a target here."

Malcolm raises his eyebrows. “Is anyone targeting you that isn’t just mad at you for wrecking the place?”

She shuts her mouth and refuses to look Malcolm in the eye, glaring at the wall. Diversion time!

"Is that you screaming I hear every night from upstairs?"

Interesting.

“I did warn you.”

"I crept downstairs in the middle of the night."

She takes a breath, then prompts;

"You were chained down. Like some mindless beast."

"Yeah... I can see how that would be... alarming. But I can let myself in and out of them. They're for my safety. When I was about sixteen - when they started getting really bad - I actually ran out into traffic in the middle of the night. Almost got hit by a truck. That's when my therapist suggested the restraints and the mouthguard. So I wouldn't hurt myself or someone else walking during them and so I wouldn't bite my tongue," Malcolm tells her, gesturing to his face.

Alarming? Kikimora scoffs. Try terrifying!

"And you have made no progress since you were sixteen? I can't imagine ever feeling safe sleeping in a new place!"

"Well... I don't. But sometimes we have to do things that are uncomfortable. Though I wouldn't say I've made no progress. It's just... not enough to get rid of the restraints," he explains.

Unacceptable!

"Have you tried spells! Hypnosis? Knock-out gas?"

No knock-out gas. I have to be able to wake up, or it’s like I’m trapped in there. But I’ll tell you what: when you earn back your healing magic, I’ll let you try a spell.

She scowls, unhappy, and moves away from the table.

"Healing magic doesn't WORK like that."

“You’re the one that suggested a spell.” He leans forward. “So how does it work?”

"I am only saying that you would need something else." She explains, scowling. "A diagnosis spell, to begin with. And then maybe a potion, to help you sleep through the night unencumbered."

“How would you be able to be sure I’d sleep unencumbered as opposed to trapped in a mental hellscape?” Malcolm asks curiously.

"Because the POTION is called Dreamless Sleep." She retorts, in that condescending tone of voice she rarely uses with Malcolm. Honestly!

"Dreamless, huh? ...Does it work on parasomias, though?"

"Only one way to find out."

Can’t argue with that. So you’d need healing magic and potion magic for that?

A dramatic sigh.

"Yes."

"Then I think it's going to be a while," Malcolm tells her. "Sorry about all the noise. When you finish your restitution, you can sleep in your own cabin again." He pauses. "If, at that point, you ever feel like anyone might be... plotting anything against you, please come to me. Some people here seem to have an insane amount of regard for mashed potatoes and walls." And less for lives.

She scoffs, waving a claw.

"I have been handling plots since I was freshly hatched. I will not bother you with such trivial matters."

“Kikimora… I want you to bother me with trivial matters. I’m here to support you,” he insists gently.

"I can support myself. WITH my magic!" She insists, frustrated about this circular argument.

"I could even protect YOU better."

"I know," he says sympathetically. "But any time you've had access to it, you've proven that what you'll be is a danger to the population. I think that we're going to have to see a diminishment in your tendency to use violence as a solution for violence and your tendency to see might as right before we can talk about a really big restoration of your power. Do you understand why?"

Kikimora scowls, glaring at Malcolm's feet.

"How am I meant to PROVE I can do something unless I am given the opportunity?" She says, ignoring his question to her.

"By proving you're open to the principles that would govern that. You haven't displayed any tendencies that aren't about using power to exact punishment and control," Malcolm explains.

She mutters something very unkind under her breath, scowling. Taking a breath, Kikimora smooths out her bangs and addresses Malcolm properly.

"Then I hope others who have power here also have the same attitude as you. I'm sure I won't run afoul of anyone who could, say, toss me over the ship or throw me around. Fortunate I'm such a small target."

"If someone threatens you with violence or tries to harm you in any way, you call me immediately. You're clever and you're resourceful. I think if you were going to get thrown over the side, it would have been during the ages and ages you didn't have a Warden to look after you at all," Malcolm tells her. "But that's also a pretty long and dry desert from having anyone you could try to manipulate into giving you your full powers back before you were ready for that, am I right?"

Titan damn it, that was going to be her next move. She sighs, irritated. Might have to cultivate an arch rival, even plan a death toll while she's at it.

"So instead of being a threat, I'm now inconsequential. Such an improvement."

He studies her for a moment.

"Are those the only two options in your mind?" he asks.

A pause, before she looks back up, glaring, with some humiliation in her face;

"They were the only two options if I wanted to survive."

"Not anymore. This place isn't like that place," Malcolm tells her. "You need different skills here."

"Until I return to the Demon Realm." She crosses her arms, annoyed. "I loathe this place."

“When you return to the demon realm, what do you plan to do there?” Malcolm asks.

She lapses into an angry silence.

The truth is, she doesn't know. Kikimora has never been a very forward thinker, usually the person to latch herself onto the aid of others with more grand ideas of her own. Even the few times she was able to do something original, it was cribbing off of someone else's answers.

“Maybe by the time you graduate, you’ll think of something,” Malcolm suggests.

"Doubtful." She mutters, under her breath.

“…Then why do you want to go there?” he asks.

"Must I have a plan to satisfy you, Warden?" Kikimora asks, her fists balling up. "I don't KNOW what is going to happen, but at least I'd be around familiar things and people and animals! I would know the terrain and the smells and just...everything. Titan! Why are you so irritating?!"

“I’m told it’s my primary personality trait,” he admits. “But it’s not an interrogation. I’m just trying to understand you so I can help you graduate.”

"It doesn't MATTER what comes after! I didn't get here through any future planning, I CAME here because of past actions!"

“When you took those past actions, were you thinking about the future?” Malcolm asks.

"I was THINKING about clawing my way up to a position of power and authority! But oh, wait! That was a LIE, wasn't it!"

She throws her claws up, dramatic!

"Because the person I most aspired to be wanted me DEAD. And all my planning and work went into making myself HIS PERFECT SERVANT! So NO, Warden Bright, I do not plan for the future, because it's burned to ashes somewhere in the Human Realm, but at least it's less confusing and isolating than here, where nobody LOOKS like me or acts like me or wants to KILL ME. I don't want to go to a human realm, EVER."

Kikimora has to take a breath here, panting, her face red from effort.

“Do you think it’s possible there are places that are similar to your home that aren’t your home, but also aren’t the human realm?” Malcolm asks. “Alternatively, you could fix your realm. You do get my deal when you graduate.”

"No." She retorts, going to go fix herself some hot cocoa in Malcolm's kitchen. "I'll believe that when I see it. And I...it's too late for this. I don't care. Go back to bed, Warden."

“I don’t usually go back to bed. Would you like to do some yoga with me?” he asks.

"If yoga is a human drug, no thank you." She pulls out a step stool to reach the counter, hauling out a milk carton half as big as she is. Nothing is ever sized right in these places.

It’s what he keeps the step stool around for.

“It’s a form of exercise and… mindfulness.”

She rolls her eyes, pouring the milk with care.

"If it will get you to shut up about it."

"In that case, I'll get a two mats out and you can come over here when you're done over there," he tells her cheerfully.

He does, indeed, go to the cupboard and retrieve two yoga mats and lays them both out in the open space between the living room and the kitchen.

Kikimora finishes making her cocoa first. Damn her warden for getting her to like this stuff, she can't get this back in the demon realm.

She clutches her mug, walking over and experimentally prods the yoga mat with her chicken foot.

"Do I need to change clothing?

He glances over. "Is that clothing comfortable and stretchy?" he asks.

She's wearing a t-shit that can fit a ten-year-old, going down to her knees. It has a train on it.

"It's stretchy." The train is a bit much.

The train is the best part.

"Then it's perfect."

He props his phone up on the credeza under the window, which the yoga mats are pointed towards and stands in the middle of one, looking to her to do the same on the other.

She sighs, but sets her mug down beside her mat to copy her warden in his stance.

The phone plays a soothing voice instructing them when and how to breathe, and then tells them the name of a pose in a different language. Malcolm moves into downward dog, like the lady on the little screen, still following the breathing.

Kikimora copies appropriately. Her limbs aren't long enough for a lot of things, so certain poses give her trouble. When she inevitably collapses, she takes an angry bite out of the yoga mat and sets herself up again.

"This is foolish."

“It feels that way at first, but the more you do it, the more relaxing it becomes,” Malcolm promises with a laugh, rolling up onto his knees.

This part is at least easy. She settles down in the same position, palms on her thighs.

"I am not relaxed."

“Okay, well maybe we’ll try something a little different. When in your life have you felt the most relaxed?” Malcolm asks.

She thinks back, and then shakes her head.

"All the times I can think of are tainted now. They were all with Belos. I prefer this...as ridiculous as it makes me feel."

“What if we take Belos out of the equation? What was it about those times that made you feel relaxed?” Malcolm asks.

"I was doing a good job." Kikimora answers immediately. "Being praised, instead of scolded. I could see the possibilities of my future opening up. Becoming a powerful witch, secure and looked up to."

She pauses, then lowers her arms back down.

"There's nothing now."

“If you can’t see any version of that in your world without Belos, what about starting here and becoming a respected Warden, looked up to for your wisdom and experience graduating inmates?” Malcolm asks.

She shakes her head:

“I don’t like people. Here OR in my world. Most of them are irritating or annoying and chances are I will get an inmate I can’t stand.”

"Has that ever happened to anyone here?" Malcolm asks.

"I'm sure it has! But you - you like everyone."

She says it like an accusation.

He frowns faintly. “That hasn’t been my experience at all, actually. What makes you think so?”

"Because you're irritatingly nice to everyone." She stares back hard at Malcolm's phone, wishing now she wasn't so quick to give up yoga. This conversation is so much worse. Kikimora decides she needs to stop having conversations this early: it leaves her vulnerable.

"You would have liked any inmate that fell into your lap."

“Being nice to everyone isn’t the same as liking everyone. And everyone certainly doesn’t like me. Off the top of my head, I can think of…. Five inmates I would have been miserable being paired with. But I didn’t get paired with them. They put me with someone I already liked who needed me. I think pairings are one of the things the Admiral actually seems to get right,” Malcolm concedes.

Oh.

All right, well. It's too much for her to say the appropriate thing back - I like you too - even if it's the truth. She pretends she's rubbing sleep from her eyes, flushed with embarrassment.

He likes her. He doesn't have to, per his own admission, but Malcolm likes her. She hadn't been sure until this moment whether it was him doing his wardenly duties or whether his feelings had been genuine.

"One of the few things.." She mutters, to turn the conversation away from the ache in her chest.

“You won’t get any argument from me,” Malcolm tells her warmly. “But you should go drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold.” He gives her an out.

She recognizes the escape for what it is, and though there's some resentment for not having come up with a way out herself, she still takes it.

Kikimora stands up, picking her mug up with her.

"I'll leave you to your yoga." She says, stiffly and with careful lack of emotion.

He smiles. "I do it every morning if you ever feel like trying it again. A few times a week up on deck with a group!" Because she loves groups as much as yoga.

Oh, not in a million years.

"I doubt it. Thank you for the offer, warden." Says Kikimora, escaping back upstairs with her hot chocolate.

There's no knock or other signifier, but the next time Malcolm opens his door, he's met with a simple cotton bag, large enough to hold two black tins. One contains Irish breakfast tea. The other holds five neatly rolled joints. There's no note.

[When Norton hears a sudden, harrowing scream from next door, his immediate assumption is that someone's murdering Malcolm. Or possibly torture. Neither are that unlikely on this ship, alas. He leaps up from the settee, tea cup spilling across the floor, snatches up one of the pistols from the small arsenal hidden in a trunk at the foot of his bed, and dashes into the hall.

If he could burst into Malcolm's cabin, he probably would, so as not to give a potential murderer warning of his arrival, but since that's not an option he pounds on the door instead.]

Malcolm, petal, are you all right?

[He thinks there are three likely ways this might play out. Malcolm opens the door and is fine, just loudly stubbed his toe or something silly and they can laugh and go about their business. Malcolm's murderer answers the door and either A) attacks Norton too, or B) tries to cover up the situation. Or no one answers the door, no response at all, in which case he'll need to call someone to open it.

Or, fourth scenario, he thinks belatedly, the scream was on account of some kind of entirely consensual kink Malcolm and Will are getting up to and they're all about to be a teensy bit embarrassed.]

[Neal is willing to answer the door, but Malcolm insists. He opens it, his face a little hollow and tearstained.]

Oh. Hey. Um. [He attempts to look casual. He fails.]

What’s… um… Is everything okay?

[This is a possibility he somehow didn't consider, that Malcolm's not in the process of being murdered, but is clearly in distress.]

At a guess, I'd say no? [He still has a pistol. Clicks the safety, but he's not wearing his holster so it hangs in his lowered hand.]

Edited 2023-10-12 04:31 (UTC)

[The movement draws his attention.]

You have a gun.

[Thank you, Captain Obvious.]

Only Neal and Kikimora are in here. Who are you looking for?

Oh. [He glances down at the gun in his hand and then casually tucks it behind his back in a way that is not suspicious at all.] No, not Neal or Kikimora. Not with a gun. And not you, either, well sort of you, but also not what the gun was for, I was looking for the person whom I though might have been horribly murdering you. But you're not being horribly murdered so gun not needed, absolutely no one is getting shot today.

[He could let it go there, bid Malcolm good day and return to his cabin, except his curiosity keeps him lingering.]

You did scream, though. I heard you. Did something happen?

[Neal decides that this is a safe moment to interject, and he steps in behind Malcolm, holding the door open should the other man try to close it. Given that Malcolm is looking at Norton like fawn might look at an oncoming car, it's a possibility. Even if the expression on Neal's face is as furious as Norton might ever have seen it, his tone is entirely calm.]

Shaw has been getting third parties to harass Malcolm about leaving her alone in a stunning display of complete hypocrisy, and Jesus is a manipulative piece of shit. Tea?

Ah, so typical warden behaviour. [He doesn't mean it in a good way. He's fairly sure wardens steamroll each other more than inmates do. An inmate might murder you but it takes a warden to really fling you to the kerb. He glances between Malcolm's distraught expression and Neal's fury.]

On the one hand, I'm dying to find out what's going on. On the other hand, I don't want to be an imposition. Or rather, I do, but I shouldn't.

[Malcolm seems shaken out of some thought and looks at Norton.]

No. Stay.

[Norton nods once.]

Okay. [And then looks back to Neal.] Tea would be delightful.

[Neal's whole demeanor absolutely softens when Malcolm voices an opinion, one that invites more people in who will care about him, who won't act like he has no emotional stake in what's happening.] Black, green, or herbal?

[He steps back so Malcolm can open the door more, heading to put the kettle back on.]

Edited (i can words) 2023-10-12 19:41 (UTC)

Black, please. Milk and three sugars. [He has a feeling he's going to need the boost.]

Did you hear about the murder? Not. The one you thought was happening here. The incident with Will and Avalon.

No?

I'm not aware of any incident between Will and Avalon, but it sounds as if it might have been the sort of thing that would have been nice for the wardens of the inmates in question to inform other wardens about.

[He pinches the bridge of his nose.]

So, who murdered whom?

Avalon threatened to hurt Will like before and to finish him this time. Will killed them. Now Shaw has him under constant supervision at all times twenty-four hours a day and I don’t know what direction that’s going in because she won’t explain.

I see. [He decides right then he'll talk to Rawne later, find out what's happening on the Avalon side of the equation to keep Avalon from carrying out that threat, but for now he'll put a pin in it and focus on what's in front of him.]

And the agonized scream earlier? Was that do to with Shaw?

"That," Neal says, tone once again acidly delicate, "was the result of Jesus calling saying he needed to talk to Malcolm because Will told him what happened. Then telling Malcolm not to try being Will's warden, which he hasn't been. And he said, in all his infinite knowledge of their relationship, that Will and Malcolm might need some distance from each other right now and that Will needs his warden, not a boyfriend."

He fills one of the infusers as he talks. "Malcolm rightly called him on his concern, at which point he told Malcolm he could yell and be as defensive as he wanted--which Malcolm wasn't doing or being--but if Shaw said he was overstepping, he needed to back off. Malcolm saw Will after it happened for--what did you say it was, twenty minutes? Thirty? So, yes, overstepping by miles, wildly intrusive, particularly given he hasn't called Rawne--more restraint than I would have--or done more than ask Shaw for the fucking reasoning behind her choice to glue herself to Will and allow him absolutely no privacy for an indeterminate amount of time."

Neal takes a deep breath, pausing to check how the water is coming. "At that point I stepped in because I wasn't in the least interested in another episode of This Is Your Life: Barge Asshole Edition where the object is to convince Malcolm that he is in fact the one to blame for every bad turn in every fucking conversation in which he's ever taken part."

He fetches the kettle and pours the freshly heated water carefully over the infuser, far more carefully than necessary. "Jesus told me to ask Will what he said, at which point Malcolm asked Jesus to elaborate on that. He wouldn't. Because I was present. But he would absolutely bring up the fact that Will said something, dangling it out there like a worm on a lure to get a private conversation with Malcolm later."

The absolute disdain on Neal's face as he brings Norton his cup is tempered a little by the way he relaxes at the other man's presence. He kisses Norton's temple and sets the mug down in front of him. "When Jesus continued to refuse to answer, and then told Malcolm to talk to Will himself after spending the first half of the goddamned conversation telling Malcolm to stay away from Will, Malcolm expressed his displeasure. Which is what you heard."

“And then I threw up for a bit,” Malcolm adds.

Neal makes a face at that. He had a Thing about vomit, but that's hardly important right now. He gets the sugar and a tiny little container of cream and sets them down next to Norton as well.

"Thank you, love," he says casually as Neal brings him cream and sugar. He adds them to his teacup as he sorts through everything he's been told.

"A few years ago, a warden tried to separate two inmates who were going steady. One of the inmates in question was assigned to that warden. It didn't go well. No violence or anything--well, no violence about that--they just both refused to break up."

"I know she can't make us break up. But... what if she doesn't let me see him? She's supervising him 24/7. What if she just won't let me be where he is or alone with him at all indefinitely. What did they do about that?"

Neal's voice is smooth as silk gliding over the edge of a blade. "What they did about it is less significant in this scenario than the fact that you have two former inmate friends, one of whom is an expert at getting in and out of forbidden spaces unassisted and the other of whom has--some relevant talents of his own."

Neal glances at Norton with a smile, not wanting to share what isn't his to share, but he doesn't think Norton will mind the implications.

Norton flashes a quick grin. "Absolutely. Mind you, I don't think the situation's come down to gaol break operations yet. Everything's still in the post-murder early chaos and confusion stage of things." He waves his hands around in wild gesticulation to go with his words. "Even if Shaw hasn't set a particular end to her extremely close Miss Surveillance State supervision, it'd be difficult to keep it up long term. For one thing, her wife might object at some point."

He pauses to take a dainty sip of his tea.

"Hmm, speaking of surveillance state, I'd operate under the assumption that Shaw monitors Will's network communications. She's the background and temperament for it. Maybe planted a teensy tiny futuristic microphone or transmitter or some other sort of thingummy like that on his communicator."

Norton always assumes it's possible (even if unlikely) that someone, somewhere is monitoring his network communications. Five years of working in signals intelligence before being recruited into Torchwood will do that to a person. But where Shaw is involved, he thinks it's raised from a distant possibility to a very likely probability.

“Shaw has always monitored his communications,” Malcolm tells them. “All of them. Always. And I hope she does hear what I said this morning, even though I think she can only creep his side.” He pauses and looks back and forth between them, his eyes wide and vulnerable. “You guys would help me see him if she locks him down?”

"I knew it! I knew I was right to be paranoid!"

He clears his throat and settles himself down.

"Anyhoo, yes, I should imagine so. A few days of lock down to sort out what's going on and determine what needs to be done long term is one thing, but if it stretches on too long that becomes an unreasonable punishment for what was...if not entirely self-defense, exactly, certainly provoked." He shrugs. "I might get accused of undermining another warden's authority, but I'm comfortable with that. I'd wait a week, however. Everything else aside, Will did murder someone and a week with Chaperon Shaw is better than a week in Zero. After week there'd be a stronger case to be made that continued lock down is excessive for the circumstances."

"A week?" He looks from Norton to Neal and nods. "I can do a week, if it comes to that." It's a time limit; the longest he'll have to potentially go without seeing Will. That's all he wanted. Some of the tension ebbs out of him.

"Then it's settled. If there's no change after a week, we make other arrangements."

And if a teensy bit of Norton's motive for going above and beyond in supporting Malcolm and Will's relationship is lingering fear that Neal might leave him for Malcolm if Malcolm became available, well, he'll just keep that bit to himself. It's not the only reason. He does consider Malcolm a friend. And he does think that total lack of privacy perpetuated for too long could become disproportionately punitive for the circumstances. But he's honest enough with himself to know it's not just altruism driving him.

Neal nods slowly, satisfied, his own temper cooling a little as Norton takes point. It's a relief to calm down, which is a strange feeling. He slips an arm half-way around Norton's waist and hooks his thumb over the top of Norton's slacks. Not suggestive--steadying. Grounding. Letting someone else pilot the emotional forklift for a few minutes.

"Sounds good to me."

“Thank you so much. Both of you.” He splays a hand on his own chest. “Really. I just. Feel like I’ve been shouting into a void all day. I don”t know what I’d do without you. Thank you.”

"Always glad to be a calming influence," he says, usually being more the opposite. "And to help a friend. I can't imagine how I'd feel if someone said I wasn't allowed to see Neal indefinitely, but I'm very sure there's be sneaky assignations before long." He glances up at Neal and rests a hand on his shoulder.

Neal's expression softens out of the tension he's been carrying most of the day. Neal reaches up to give Norton's hand a squeeze. "Oh, without a doubt."

"Everyone else made it sound like I was being selfish," Malcolm admits. "Like what I wanted was more important than what was good for him. But he wants to see me, too."

"Sounds to me like both you and Shaw want to help Will but have different notions what that entails."

[Rather than speaking over the network, Crozier seems out Malcolm with the intent of just talking to him and seeing how he’s fairing. It seems like there are quite a few large feelings floating about here and there, and being on the Barge long enough has made him spot a telltale ramp up.

Frankly, it was always going to happen with personalities like Malcolm or Shaw.]

Malcolm’s doing better today. Will was allowed to stay the night before. He’s a little more certain he won’t be completely banned from seeing him. But he’s still mad at a few people.

Francis isn’t one. When he opens the door and sees him there, his tired face lights up a little.

“Francis! Come in!” He steps back. “I still have some coffee. I can make tea? Or would you like something else?”

Oh, Malcolm. Stressed himself out to the point of exhaustion, or something else?

“Coffee, please, my lad,” he says, stepping past him into the cabin. “Xingchen’s polite about it, but I know he can’t stand the smell.”

“Coffee it is,” he says, smiling a little broader at the casual mention of Francis’ partner.

He walks into the kitchen to grab a second mug and fills it from the french press, setting it in front of one of the stools in an invitation to sit.

Malcolm’s phone is also laying on the island, its screen cracked. There are dirty dishes in the sink, which isn’t common. There are still a few partial bowls of popcorn scattered around.

Malcolm leans on the counter across from Francis, wrapping his hands around his own mug.

“What brings you by? Is everything okay?”

The disorganized appearance of Malcolm’s cabin only furthers Crozier’s worry over the state of his mental health.

“Everything’s as you’d expect on the Barge,” he tells him vaguely. He’s not here to talk about himself.

He sits down at the table and rubs where the prosthetic connects to his wrist. “To be upfront, Shaw’s reached out to me. I don’t intend on fighting her battles, but I did want to check on you. I’m concerned.”

Malcolm looks down at the counter and nods.

"Concerned about her allegations?" Malcolm asks. "She had Jesus call me yesterday. He suggested it would be better for Will and also for me if we separated for a while."

Crozier feels like he's been slapped upside the head a couple of times. "What? No --"

Christ almighty, this has already become a mess, hadn't it? He's surprised it hadn't spilled over into the public arena.

"No, I'm concerned about this." Messy household, dirty dishes, worn face.

That’s a relief, honestly. He does trust Francis in ways he had never worked up to with Jesus.

Malcolm glances around. “I had a bad day yesterday.” He gives Crozier an almost sly smile. “It ended okay, though. She let Will stay with me last night.”

A bad day seems like a bit of an understatement. Crozier returns the smile very gently, the worry in his eyes not lessened.

"Tell me what's happened."

“Do you… know what happened before? What Avalon did to Will shortly after arriving?” Malcolm asks.

"Can't say that I do."

There are too many instances of Barge violence for Crozier to really keep up.

“When they first arrived, they had these… powers. Telepathy and shapeshifting. They became obsessed with Will and started transforming into nightmare images from his mind. Psychoses he’d had. A person he lost. Then they tried to kill him. They stabbed him. After that, their Warden took those powers away, but… the other week, on the space station, they tried to stab John Doe. Then they started following Will. He caught them and they told him things between them were unfinished and they wanted to stab him again. Will… lost it on them and killed them.” He watches Francis for a moment. “It was a trauma fear response. Avalon poses a real danger to him.”

He follows it all well enough. Avalon seems a touch obsessive -- sounds as though there needs to be a few wardens watching out for them, if there aren't already.

"And what happened next?"

Shaw gave him her side of the story: her worry about Will's progress, Malcolm's rigidness when it comes to the reasons Will's an inmate to begin with, his refusal to recuse himself. He wants to hear what Malcolm has to say about it.

“Will called me to tell me what happened. I went to see him, to see if he was okay. Shaw said she was going to be with him twenty-four hours a day going forward. I told her that I could stay with him some of the time. She kind of scoffed at that. So I sat with Will for a bit, which calmed us both down some, then she said it was time for bed. So. I left. She said she’d bring him by last night for a movie, but I texted Will early in the morning, expecting he’d be awake but she might not be. I mean, I know she reads all his communications regularly, but if she was sleeping she wouldn’t be able to stop us talking. Anyway she hadn’t told him how long this 24 hour constant surveillance was going to go on, and then people started contacting me about it… I think she asked them to. I think she’s been recruiting people to handle me the same way she called you. So I started getting worried she wouldn’t bring him over. And then I started getting worried she’d stop me from seeing him altogether. So. I was… That’s where I was in my head yesterday,” Malcolm explains, looking at the counter. “And I didn’t know for sure they were coming until Will walked in. But after the movie, Shaw said Will could stay with me and she’d pick him up in the morning when he called her.”

Two very different sides to the same story. Shaw’s - analytical, to the point, and Malcolm’s - emotional, with a wider breadth of the timeline. They both wanted the same thing, did they not?

Crozier sits back and furrows his brow, quietly musing over the pieces to himself.

“My boy,” he says after a moment, leaning forward and taking Malcolm’s hand. He squeezes it gently. “I’m going to give you a piece of advice that may be difficult to hear. Indulge me as someone who’s been on both sides, won’t you?”

His expression soft, he pushes on. “You love Will, and Will quite obviously adores you. I don’t suppose it’s in either of your plans to make your life here, in this damned place, is it?

“Will is dead, Malcolm. The only thing keeping him alive is by being here. You can’t live your life with him when he’s like this, trapped in-between. Now I don’t know about Shaw’s methods - she’s harsh, strict, and Christ knows she rubs people the wrong way - but her job here is to do what you cannot, to bring Will back to life. There’s nothing more difficult than entrusting somebody else with the redemption of the person you love, but nothing more vital than giving them that job.”

He nods softly, as though trying to push through his meaning. “I never saw the reasons Xiao Xingchen was an inmate. I had to step back and allow someone else to help him in those ways that I could not. I had to acknowledge flaws, even if I couldn’t see them. I needed to let his warden work, even if their methods were strange or odd. There’s no one solution here.

“And…Will has a warden. A devoted one. There are so many inmates who just…disappear one day, Malcolm.”

Malcolm’s expression creases and he feels that creeping misery crawling in every direction from the chasm opening in his chest.

“Did Xiao Xingchen‘s Warden ever tell you that you weren’t allowed to see him? That you weren’t allowed to be in a room alone?”

He looks down at Francis’ hand over his.

“I know why he’s an inmate and I haven’t interfered with her work, except in her head. Maybe she should focus on her job.”

Crozier’s smile falters, but it isn’t because of what Malcolm said. It’s what’s behind it.

He takes back his hand, but only to move beside him and oh-so-tenderly, oh-so-carefully cup his face.

“You’re so afraid of being left alone, my boy,” he whispers. “Of having something good taken away. Your whole life has been unsteady, searching for someone to hold onto who won’t betray you.”

That, from Francis, makes his eyes well.

“Why is that a crime this week?” he whispers.

“It was never a crime,” he murmurs, thumb poised to catch any tears that may fall. He remembers how Malcolm reacted at even the thought that he may one day leave.

“Will you do something for me?

He nods faintly, constrained a little by Francis' hands but not trusting his voice.

His hand moves to his shoulder, and he grips him tightly. “Remember that you have a place in Will’s life. It’s vital for some people to make those connections, to have something to live for and work towards.”

Crozier makes sure to catch his eyes for this next part— “Will is an inmate, and you’re not his warden, nor would he want you to be. Sometimes we have to let go, and trust that things we chafe against serve a purpose. It can be…infuriating, worrying. It might even make you ill.” As is clearly the case. “But Shaw is his warden, and she’s the one who’s going to do the harsher work to get Will his life back. He won’t be taken from you, lad. You know that’s not how this place works.”

"It's not about that," Malcolm tells him. "I know she's been telling people that it us, because they keep calling me and coming here and saying that, but I don't want to be his Warden or dictate how he's Wardened. Literally I just wanted her to tell me the 24 hour chaperoning him everywhere would have an end date. I just wanted to know that we could spend time together, without her, at some point. But until after the movie last night, she wouldn't say that. I didn't even need specifics. And I have been trying and trying to explain that to everyone who's come here with these concerns and I feel like I've been screaming into a void." He takes a breath. "I didn't want to even necessarily see him right then or anything. I just wanted to know that I would be able to. Alone. Eventually. And she wouldn't say it. Instead, she apparently texted everyone I know and told them I'm crazy."

Crozier shakes his head. “She didn’t say that.”

And he feels as though the point is getting away from him.

“It might be beneficial to speak with mediation about boundaries you’ll both need to set. Ultimately though Malcolm, she makes the decisions for Will. I know it’s upsetting, but it’s what she’s been brought here to do.”

Malcolm presses his fists against his eyes.

"I don't want her not to make the decisions!" Malcolm says through gritted teeth. "I wanted her to tell me what one specific decision of hers about him was! And when she refused, I left her and Will alone! She's the one that has since sent a parade of harassment to me about respecting her wardening. We already are supposed to meet with Kiryu when everything calms down. Am I speaking English?" he asks, letting his hands drop. "Or am I really screaming into a void? I went over after it happened, after Will called me, that night for like twenty minutes. Then I left because she wanted me to and then I left them alone. What sort of interference am I supposed to have been causing that warrants her sending everyone I know down here to chide me for it? Please. I'm begging you to explain it to me. I want to know."

“I can see you’re frustrated,” Crozier says coolly. “But I know you, Malcolm. I can see how distressed you are, and I’m trying to offer some advice. As for the rest — I don’t know.

“I don’t know any of it. I don’t know how she reacted, I don’t know the details of what happened with Will. I’d appreciate it if you’d quit lumping me in with the battalion of people that Shaw sent your way, because I’m not here for her or to talk reason into you or whatever damn thing you think is going on.

“I see the path you’re going down. I see the push and the pull between you and here, and I’m offering advice because it’s a man’s life at stake and you’re both wardens. Take it or not, my boy, but don’t mistake my intentions.”

Malcolm looks at the floor between them, cowed.

"Of course I want your advice. I'll... do what you said."

Crozier sighs and raises his hand to massage between his eyes.

“I’d tell you to start guarding your heart just a little more, but we both know I’d be a hypocrite if I did. I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

"You're not mad at me?" Malcolm clarifies.

He shakes his head softly. “I’m not mad at you, Malcolm. Of course I’m not.”

“I’m mad at me,” he says softly.

His brow furrows. "Why's that?"

“Because as far as I know, everyone she called to come handle me thought I needed it and I can’t put that on her. I’m a mess. But I was trying to be a mess that stayed in his corner and didn’t bother her and it didn’t help.” He lifts his eyes to look at Francis’ face. “Did she tell you how many people she asked? I just… want to know how many people were told… the things people who’ve talked to her have been saying. How am I supposed to work in counselling if nobody respects me enough to talk to me?”

Crozier shakes his head. "I know she spoke with Kiryu. Shaw and I's own conversation was short, rather to the point. I said I'd speak with you because I was concerned."

He debates on whether to say the next point, but Malcolm deserves to know what's being said. "She's worried. She believes Will can be manipulative, and you can be susceptible to it. She worries that you're both overly dependent on each other."

“…Kiryu? That… makes sense, actually. I should have guessed that. And… I’m always glad to speak to you. But… we’re not… I mean… it’s even worse if that’s what she’s telling people. Oh my god that must be why Jesus told me we should split up.” His expression creases with consternation. “What… what would you have done if you were being…. talked about like this?”

“Did…no one say that to your face, Malcolm?”

Well, no wonder he’s been so bloody confused! Or maybe he just wasn’t ready to hear it from anyone other than him.

He shakes his head a little. “You forget, I was an inmate, and before that I was a goddamned mess of a person. I was being talked about constantly. I was miserable and I drank to cope. I put people in danger, Malcolm. I’d be more surprised if people weren’t talking about me.

“Eventually…I realized I need to change something about myself. I was doing harm to others.”

Malcolm’s eyes widen. “…Is that what I’m doing?”

"Doing harm? I don't think you are," he says gently. "I was merely speaking on my own experiences."

He looks relieved.

He can’t, in truth, picture Francis doing harm, but he has said he had a journey.

“Um. Nobody has told me that. To answer your question. That… they think Will might be manipulating me.”

"Unconscious or consciously, perhaps. I couldn't say for certain, nor would I want to believe that of him. But...it very well could be a possibility, Malcolm."

"He loves me," Malcolm says quietly. "He means it. I can tell."

"I don't think that's an issue," he says gently. "Of course he loves you."

“Why would he manipulate me? To what end?” Malcolm asks.

"I wouldn't know, Malcolm. I'm not the one calling him manipulative, his warden is."

“He’s very open with me. She doesn’t get us. She’s concerned he’ll turn into his abuser and put me in the role he held in that relationship. But he won’t. It’s not like that,” he assures.

"It isn't her job to understand your relationship. Her job is to redeem him."

As gentle as his voice is, he's still firm in this.

“Not being completely wrong about it would probably help her relationship with him,” Malcolm protests quietly.

"That's for them to hash out," he says simply. "Or it should be."

He lets the weight of the conversation hang in the air between them for a moment.

"In any case, I'm happy you were able to see him."

“Thank you,” Malcolm says. He takes a breath, lets it out. “I didn’t… I didn’t do anything, Francis. I don’t know how to be if everyone thinks I need to be dealt with when I’m doing what I was told.”

"Wait a few days," he tells him sagely. "It'll die down, all of it. People will calm. See reason."

He looks truly hopeful for the first time today.

“You think so?”

"It's the one thing you can count on in this place," he reassures him. "People always move on to the next thing."

“I’ve just… I’ve already struggled in the counselling office. I don’t… I’m worried if the messiness of… all this gets bandied about, the few people I see will drop me and then what am I doing? How can I be a counsellor if everyone thinks I’m a joke?” he explains.

Crozier crosses his arms over his chest thoughtfully. "Are you happy in the counselling office?"

“Most of the time. It’s going better this time than last time. I stopped making myself a target by encouraging everyone to go,” Malcolm tells him.

"Oh, well, you were never going to win that fight, were you?" He chuckles softly. "Don't fret. Those who are passionate usually find their way."

Malcolm smiles a little. “Well, if nobody comes to see me anymore, you’re going to have to come talk to me so I don’t look like a loser,” he huffs with grudging good humour.

"Ah, well, I've got a standing appointment to come visit you every other day as we speak. I think you'll be just fine."

“If she keeps letting Will come over at the end of the day, I’ll be fine,” Malcolm tells him. “How are things going with your man? Still good? It was nice to talk to him for real.”

Probably best not to comment on that first bit. Crozier doesn't want Malcolm to be dragged back into that earlier state of mind, not when he's finally climbed the metaphorical hurdle.

"Still good, still good," he says, eyes crinkling. And that's all he really cares to say about him and Xingchen, but he'll throw Malcolm a bone. "I was pleased to see you spoke."

“He was kind. I know I can be… a lot,” Malcolm concedes.

[Once the signs flood is over, Jedao waits for a time when Malcolm and Kikimora are out and about doing their work study repentance before jimmying the lock with his mind and slipping into the room. There's a weird impulse to take something from the fridge, as per Malcolm's own invitation, even though he doesn't even like food. He also ignores the weapons case, despite a vague coil of interest in his chest, and heads for his target. In the end, he doesn't even have a full cup - closer to a quarter cup of glitter, discretely removed from the art room. He sprinkles the glitter over Malcolm's sock drawer, closes it, and is out the door again in under a minute.]

Hey. Sorry I missed last week.

You need another week off or something?

A lot went on last week. I can make this week. How are you doing?

Fine.

Don't have much happening, I guess. Might be why I didn't say anything last week. Had a lot of stupid shit on my signs.

Any you want to talk about?

I dunno.

You got any you want to talk about? I feel like I'm always talking about me. [He laughs.]

Aren’t we supposed to be talking about you? I don’t really know what mine were. I had a lot going on. My inmate trashed some rooms and my boyfriend got into an altercation with another inmate.

Yeah, I saw your inmate all upset. She's pretty destructive for how little she is.

Your boyfriend alright?

He’s doing better; thank you for asking. Kikimora is almost finished her first week of restitution for her vandalism. She’s doing better too.

Are you still working in the chapel?

Yeah.

Jesus wants me working on doctor stuff, too. So I'm gonna volunteer in the infirmary maybe, like you said.

That’s great! If it’s what you want. I think you’ll be good at it. Have you met Hunter?

Why does everyone ask that?

[But he laughs.]

Just cuz he looks like he's my age?

He is your age. And he works in the infirmary. And he’s nice. And he has a magic bird.

I know Flapjack. Hunter and me watched movies together.

That surprise you, doc?

No. That’s why I asked if you met him. I’m glad you have friends to watch movies with.

Yeah, me too.

[He pauses, as if bothered by something. The rest of the sentence comes in a rush.]

Hey, doc. That...uh, altercation your boyfriend had. Is it something I should be worried about? I try and keep on top of the dangerous ones, and if he was hurt or whatever by someone -

I dunno. I'm a real good liar, but I ain't a fighter or anything. I mean, you got me down in one move. I just - I'm trying to be real good, you know? Stay out of trouble.

Avalon seems to target particular people. Have you met them?

[Aaron seems suddenly younger, his voice small.]

Yeah. They - took me to the Enclosure. Attacked me. I was so fucking - I don't know. So scared. I didn't fight back. They kept going, asking why I wouldn't.

I - I don't know. They're fucking scary.

Avalon attacked you? Did they kill you? Did you tell anyone?

They didn't kill me.

I didn't say anything because I didn't want to give my secret away. I think they suspected and saying they attacked me might have - I dunno. Fucked me over.

Do you think they were interested in you because they thought you had the disorder? Will has a different disorder, but it seems to be the nexus of their interest in him.

Maybe.

Doc, what happened?

Avalon is very dangerous. If they have expressed an interest in you, you should let Jesus know.

I will.

Thanks for the warning. Guess I didn't realize it were that bad.

They're that bad. And I'd hate to see something happen to you.

Eh, doc. You worry too much.

Only about people I like.

Aww, I'm flattered.

Hey, what do you know about nightmares? How to get rid of them or sleep through them?

Are they nightmares related to memories?

Kinda, yeah.

Dealing with those requires processing the trauma behind them. Are you ready to work on that?

Ugh. No.

Okay, well. Until you are, there are some exercises you can do with your mind that might help mitigate them.

Like what?

Are you familiar with the concept of lucid dreaming?

Uh, no, not really.

Basically, it’s a technique where you train yourself to control your actions in dreams. So say you often have a nightmare where you go into a particular room and inside that room you get stabbed. As you learn to take control, you could - when you see that door in a dream - lock the door instead of opening it. That redirects the dream and your subconscious.

Yeah, that. I want to do that.

It takes practice. So tonight when you go to sleep, focus on changing any one thing in any dream.

It's that easy?

No. You won't be able to do it right away. It takes practice. That's why you start with trying to change anything and work up to changing specific things. Just remember to hold that thought in your head before you fall asleep: that you can control what happens in your dreams.

Huh. Alright.

Anything else you want to talk about, then?

Nothing I can think of off the top of my head. But try that for a couple of nights or so, then call and let me know how it’s going. If you’re struggling, there’s a bedtime meditation you can try.

I'm gonna try it, doc, but I don't think it's going to work.

Why not?

Seems a little weird, that's all.

Brains are weird. This stuff works. Sort of. For a time. Like I said: the only way to really stop it is to process the trauma.

That's not something I really want to talk about, doc. So drop it, huh?

I wasn't asking you to do it, Aaron. Just letting you know that making the lucid dreaming work is probably your best option if you don't want to do that. And I understand not wanting to, believe me.

Yeah?

Something you know from experience?

I have mountains of inadequately processed trauma. Mountains.

You're a bad doc, doc.

[But it's said with a laugh.]

Why's that?

On the contrary, I know exactly what I'm talking about.

Some of it is stuff I just don't want to talk about; that's why I never try to force you, even if it might be good for you.

Some of it is stuff I don't want to let go of, even if it's attached to stuff that's terrible.

Who's the doc for the doc, then? You got anyone you do talk to? Your man?

I talk to a few people. Including Will. Back home I had an actual therapist.

You ain't got that here.

You gonna lose your fucking mind?

No, I don't think so. I have a lot more friends here than I do at home. A lot better friends. That fills in the gap. It's a support system.

Guess that helps.

Alright, doc. Thanks for the chat. Guess I'll see ya next time.

See you soon, Aaron.

I'm told I've done you a serious unkindness. That wasn't my intent.

I wondered if I might ask your own thoughts on the matter.

[In the spirit of humility, Jedao is wearing a very sparkly blue sweater.]

On what matter?

Alright, that's fair.

I do know you know it was me who placed the glitter, but I'll say it first. I was aiming for 'mild inconvenience', rather than 'emotional harm' which is why I waited until your plan for Kikimora seemed to be progressing smoothly.

Did I miss?

….All the glitter was in the drawer. Is… that what you’re asking?

...you know, I genuinely can't tell if you're telling me to fuck off or not.

Was it a mild inconvenience, or do I owe you an apology?

…Oh. I don’t know. I mean. I’ve been on the receiving end of worse pranks. It’s fine. Obviously I can’t leave my inmate with you after this; she doesn’t grasp nuance enough to be unaffected by pranks but. A+. Very funny stuff.

Ummmm… did you pick me for a reason?

That's fair. And I'm sorry for it; it seems like you're doing a good job with her. I mean that sincerely.

I did.

[He flips a playing card through his fingers, pensively. There are things he can say and things he can't.]

I spent most of my life imprisoned, before I came to the barge. Quite comfortably, I should add - my quarters in the Citadel were closer to my cabin here than anything I've heard of about Earth prisons. But it did leave me with a sense of, hmm. Ideas about what captors have a right to expect from their captives. I'm not trying to lecture you - I believe we simply disagree on that issue.

I don't believe you deserved to be hurt for losing your temper in a difficult moment. That would be disproportionately cruel. But I did think the inmates involved deserved, mm. The novelty of being defended.

Edited 2023-10-16 05:58 (UTC)

…Which inmates?

I've promised to keep names out of my mouth.

I do own that this renders the exercise more petty than productive.

[But Jedao considers that Sebastien's call, not his.]

Is it so hard to guess?

I apologized to everyone I thought I offended or was out of line with, so I was wondering if there was anyone I missed.

Huhn. Did you really?

[It's not disbelieving. It's just surprised. Coming from a world where speaking carelessly could and would land a person in re-education or worse - where anyone prone to doing so would have been executed long before he had a chance to meet them - it's hard for Jedao to really process that someone could say inflammatory things in public for any reason other than fatal carelessness or irrepressible conviction. A year of wardening James Flint, who had obnoxiously irrepressible conviction practically coming out of his ears, didn't do anything to undermine that instinct.

For the first time, he runs his fingers along the edge of that blind spot in his mind. Quietly,]

You seemed very confident of your positions at the time. May I ask what changed?

Edited 2023-10-16 12:48 (UTC)

There was nothing wrong with my position; how I conveyed it was wrong. If... you don't understand losing one's temper, I'm not sure how to explain what it feels like, but the point is, people make mistakes. When people make mistakes, it's important to try to make it right after. Like Kikimora's shifts in the areas she wrecked. Like apologizing for things said in a heated conversation. I actually think that's a better example to set for inmates than suggesting that wardens don't lose their temper or make mistakes. It's a human quality. You can make mistakes and learn and atone and maybe that's the path to graduation for some.

I understand being angry. I'm angry right now, in fact, although I suspect that's unfair. You care too much about Kikimora for human quality to have been a deliberate jab, and it's the sort of colloquialism people rarely think about.

[His voice is quiet and very even; he draws in a slow breath, and lets it out.]

I don't disagree about atoning for mistakes. I'm trying to figure out if I've misjudged you right now, but what you're telling me is. Mm. From my point of view, conflicting. I don't want to make more assumptions.

When you say there was nothing wrong with your position, which position are you thinking of?

That I couldn't commit to a particular course of action without completing my investigation.

I think that's entirely reasonable. There were times I needed to do a lot of digging to find out what the fuck had actually happened with James. And I had the luxury of approaching people in private, most of the time.

[Flipflipflip. The card looks like a tarot card more than a playing card, maybe the ace of coins?]

Here's my dilemma, Malcolm. I'm concerned about a completely different part of that conversation. And while neither is great and both are understandable, there's a difference between saying things you didn't mean in anger, and saying things you very much did mean in anger, that you might have kept quiet otherwise.

If I ask you what you believe were your mistakes, that can come across as, mm, the bad sort of game-playing? Making you grovel and guess in a way you clearly don't care to indulge, and fair enough, I've no right to demand that you do. But if I ask you directly whether you believe the things I took exception to, I worry that comes off as an accusation you'll feel defensive about whether the answer is yes or no.

I'd very much like to actually understand what you did and did not mean, Malcolm. Perhaps you don't care whether I do or not. But if you're willing to help me understand, how should I ask?

Just ask. I hate conversational games. The thing is, I didn't specify who I apologized to or for what for the same reason you didn't name who you think I mistreated. It's going to be hard to get into specifics like that. So maybe you could check in with the anonymous person I wronged, ask if I apologized and ask their permission to talk to me about it, if you still don't feel good about it. Then call me back and just ask. And if they don't want you to talk to me about it, then that's their choice, right? I think that would be the best way to proceed.

Alright, I'll take you at your word.

I will reach out. In the meantime, in the interest of bluntness...

[Jedao rubs his mouth for a moment, deliberately telegraphing his very real discomfort.]

Does Neal have your permission to share details of your file?

I trust Neal’s discretion to decide whether he needs to. Why?

Because he told me a lot of things. The kinds of things that, if someone I loved and trusted was telling people, whom they were actively mad at regarding their treatment of me, about me - I'd want to talk to that person and make sure they understood my preferences. About discretion. That's all.

Maybe he does. What sorts of things?

[Do you look like your father, Malcolm? whispers the part of him that knows exactly where to slide a knife, metaphorically and literally. I look exactly like mine.

He doesn't say that.]

About your father, and how people treated you because of it.

Edited 2023-10-20 02:37 (UTC)

I pretty much thought everyone knew that. That’s me one-oh-one.

Among people who know you well, I suppose.

It was just - a lot of details. He talked about how you got your scar, and the friend who broke things off with you, and the time you were trapped in a closet.

He seemed quite sure the glitter would seem...of a piece, to you. A message of larger, unrelenting antipathy, or salt in those old wounds.

I mean… I guess when I opened the drawer, I was like… oh, this again. But it’s so commonplace in my life, I didn’t really see the point of pursuing it. …Neal said that?

Not in so few words. But that was my understanding.

And I don't bear you unrelenting anything, for the record.

[Malcolm smiles to himself.]

I’ve never had a friend like him.

I'm not sure he's necessarily making your best case to everyone, but it is very nice to have a partisan, sometimes. And he seems like a man of wonderful convictions.

He makes a better case than I can make. People hear him, at least. He knows how to be heard. And he cares. Not just about me. About anyone he sees being treated unfairly.

I'll admit, it is precisely the limits of what he sees that bothers me, somewhat. But perhaps I'm just being terribly Shuos about it.

Which limits?

There's a lot of people's files he hasn't read. Nor will nor should he, in many cases. But it is a factor.

A factor in what?

Just...fraught situations, in general.

…Okay. So… talk to the person and let me know?

I will.

[ - Some 24 hours later -]

Well, the good news is, to my knowledge you haven't missed anyone.

Um. Okay. Cool. Does ‘the good news is’ mean there’s bad news?

Maybe. It's Sebastian I spoke to; he's interpreted your apology in a way I hope is incorrect, as well as uncharitable.

…I told him I was completely out of line and exhibited behaviour that wouldn’t be acceptable coming from anyone. Which part did he object to?

I'm afraid he took "It just wasn't acceptable behaviour on anyone's part," to imply that he was equally in the wrong. On anyone's part referring to the behavior of everyone involved, rather than your hypothetical position.

Which - frankly, awkwardly phrased, but Sebastian does make something of a sport of uncharitable readings, that's not all on you. I'm glad to hear you meant the other thing.

Well, I think trying to clear it up even more will just… continue to have an increasingly opposite effect, so… I should probably just let it stand.

Probably, yes. I'm quite fond of Sebastian, but he can be extremely petty.

[This is actually one of the things Jedao likes about him, but it's definitely Difficult.]

You said things before, about losing your temper. I don't...I don't lose my temper. It wasn't safe, in my life. For that to happen. I get angry. But when I'm angry I don't...well. I don't do much of anything. I go very still, if I don't have another facade I need to keep up.

When I imagine losing my temper, I imagine saying a lot of things I do mean, but that would be...unfair, or cruel to say. So I normally choose not to say them. I imagine hurting people, physically, even though I believe that's generally wrong. But I don't imagine saying things I don't mean.

I didn't expect you to apologize. I misjudged you, and I'm sorry for that. That's the most important thing.

But I would...like to know, if you're willing to tell me, whether making mistakes means you think the things you said to Sebastian initially weren't true, or if you just think they shouldn't have been said to him.

'Fuck off, Jedao, I don't answer to you,' is a perfectly reasonable answer.

Of course I didn’t mean them. I don’t even know him.

[Well, that's a relief. On the other hand, of course is doing a lot of work.]

People believe terrible things about people they don't know all the time.

[He points out mildly.]

On some level they know it’s based on a stereotype, or one out of context moment, or their own imagination. They think terrible things about people they don’t know. They assume. They project. ‘Believe’ is a bit strong for most people, in that respect.

...please don't take this the wrong way, but I think you understand other people less well than you think you do.

What’s the right way to take being told that I’m bad at my job?

Lots of people are also bad at their jobs. It's not a moral judgement.

I suppose you could say "well, I'm working on it," or you could change jobs again, or you could tell me I'm speculating from partial data. Or you could consider that whatever training you've gotten on Earth is insufficient to the breadth of the multiverse.

What exactly do you consider your job to be, anyway?

I don’t mean my job here; I mean my real job. But I wasn’t asking you for career counselling. You told me not to take the following comment ‘the wrong way’; I was just curious how you imagined someone taking it the right way looked. When someone tells you not to take something the wrong way up front, it means they assume the balance of probability is that - without a disclaimer - most people would. Or does that also have a different meaning in the multiverse?

I imagine "You're over-estimating your skills" has the potential to upset people regardless of their level of professional investment.

The right way to take it is as an observation that might or might not be accurate or actionable. The wrong way to take it would be "this person is insulting me because they hate me," or perhaps, "how dare you insult me." I feel like you're doing fine so far, for the record.

I also meant your job in your own world. What is it?

Behavioural analysis of murderers based on their crimes to aid in their detection and capture.

...ah.

[Several things fall into place.]

I do keep telling people I’m a profiler, not a therapist.

[Because he thought they might and also they should.]

But apparently people can’t see Psychology as more than one thing.

Perhaps you could send them to me. I'm sure I could find a way to explain the difference.

I explained it. Do you think another explanation would solve the problem?

[Very dryly.]

I think I'm a better communicator than you are. Even with the occasional cultural barrier.

Feel free to communicate.

I don't need to explain it to you, you already know.

Unless you meant something other than the distinction between therapy and execution work?

I didn’t mean to me. I meant to other people. As you suggested.

Are you planning to redirect people or would you like me to do a broad announcement?

A broad announcement seems kind of defensive doesn’t it? It must come up now and then.

Most likely.

As I said. Feel free to send me confused candidates.

Okay.

[God, he doesn't wanna do thiiiiiiiis. Being an adult fucking sucks.

But he's doing it for Neal, because he said he'd try, and he has to at least hold out some hope that Malcolm will give him the time of day.]

So, uh. Parley?

…Like in a pirate cease fire sort of way?

Pretty much. White flag against all snide comments and petty bullshit on both sides of the boat.

Sooo... can we talk?

…Okay.

Okay.

[Great start.

Except for the immediate and gaping awkward silence.]

...sssssoooo. For what it's worth, I don't... actually hate you?

…Oh. …….Well. Thank you. For clarifying that.

...

You know, for two guys that the whole Barge hates listening to 'cos we both sound like we swallowed a whole-ass Wikipedia category page, we're not actually that great at this?

In fairness, I don’t actually know what we’re doing. Did you want to discuss something in particular?

...you know what, fair enough.

So Iiiii am... kinda sorta trying to apologise for giving you a hard time before? Mostly about the whole calling you an emotionless robot killer when I was mad at you during the whole Intervention For A Vampire thing?

Oh. Well. People... say things in heated moments.

Yeah, well, the thing I said in the heat of the moment was a crappy thing to say. 'cos it looked to me in that moment like you were getting mad that no-one was listening to you and storming off and leaving your buddy to the wolves.

[It's not- trying to be an insult. It's a fairly plain statement, actually, commentary without any real judgement.]

There weren’t any wolves that were there for him. He didn’t want me to fuss over him in public. I promised to respect his boundaries. We just talked about it, like… a couple days before?

...okay, exclusive tip from your local communications officer who's really trying to live up to the title--

You know there's a halfway between the full Annie Wilkes and the dad who went out for a pack of cigarettes and never came back, right?

Which category did Neal feel it fell under?

You know this isn't like... actually about Neal, right? I'm trying to explain where I came from.

Like, I was figuring you hated me 'cos I went off at you in public and made you look like the bad guy?

I know where you were coming from, but I didn't hate you for humiliating me in front of a bunch of other Wardens over it. I hated you because you were wrong in your reasoning for doing it and you never admitted that. And you're still not admitting that. I understand what you thought and why you went off because of what you thought, but what you did was fundamentally wrong because you did it over something you were wrong about.

[Eiffel blinks into space for a moment.]

So you're mad because I was wrong about... something I couldn't possibly know I was wrong about?

No, I'm mad because you humiliated me over something you were wrong about and when you found out you were wrong, you didn't even try to make things right.

Okay, progress! I'm the asshole!

[And that's not disparaging, either. Or at least not to Malcolm.]

Look, I... honestly, I don't know if I can apologise for something I didn't know was wrong, at the time. Kinda just feels insincere, 'cos I know me, and even knowing that I probably still would've yelled at you. [Hey, at least he's honest.] But I will say - I am sorry for picking the fight about it in public. That wasn't cool, it was not goddamn professional, and I made things a lot harder for both of us, and Neal.

You can’t apologize for saying things about me that were wrong because you didn’t know they were wrong when you said them, even though you found out they were wrong after that and the fact remains that they were both wrong and mean.

[Just to make sure he correctly understands.]

[There's the sound of a cigarette being lit in the background. Mostly it's giving him time to think, but he does want the calming embrace of garbage tobacco as well.]

I'm not sure if me shattering a window you just got replaced means I need to apologise for the old window getting broken in the first place?

What are you suggesting is the ‘old window’ in this case?

So I said something that hurt you, sure. I get that. It's not like it's my fault that you were already hurt in that exact way before I went and kicked a soccer ball into it, right?

…You believe that what you said wasn’t hurtful on its own? You were aiming for hurtful. You kicked the ball through the window intentionally. How many times it’s been broken doesn’t even matter.

Yeah, but-- wait. Hold on...

[.......

...shit.

Hoisted by his own metaphor. Like the world's dumbest atomic wedgie.]

...oh.

Look, I know I’m an easy target. I’m awkward and weird and mentally ill and neurodivergent. I was always an easy target. I was fielding that ball well before anyone ever found out I was an evil nepobaby. That just made it easier to aim and easier to justify. I get it, okay? I understand why I rub people the wrong way. It takes time to get used to me - my mentor used to call me an acquired taste - and if there isn’t time, then it doesn’t happen. I was alone in that room, but I’ve been alone in a lot of rooms full of people. The only surprise was that it surprised me that time and between that and the frustration that Reid had already made his decision before we got there, I just… had a little meltdown and… I just wanted to remove it from everyone’s eyes because it’s not fun losing control of your emotions with everyone staring at you. Believe me, I wish I could be normal and act normal and feel things a normal amount. Maybe if I keep one of my deals down the road, I’ll ask the Admiral to make me less of a headcase.

[Sorry Malcolm - Eiffel is listening, but he's also trying to process what a massive fuck-up he's been towards Malcolm over all this.]

Hey, I was the high-school screw-up too, you know? [But it's soft, solidarity rather than scalding.] I moved to Houston when I was fourteen and nobody liked me, nobody got me - I've been this? My whole life. And it turns out no one likes the guy whose whole personality is just dumb pop culture references.

[Was that the right thing to say? Evil nepobaby sure fucking wasn't.

But if there's one thing Eiffel is good at, especially these days, it's eating his humble pie.]

...I'm sorry, Bright. For being an asshole and for not coming by to apologise earlier when Neal was trying to call me out on it.

Thank you. I'm sorry, too. For what I said last time we talked. It was kind of childish to be petty like that.

I'm... surprised. That you struggled that way. I always thought you were really cool. Like. Cool kids cool.

[That gets a good long silence.]

...wait, seriously?

Yeah. Your network broadcasts are always really fun. I always wanted to respond, but I never knew what to say. People like you. People who don’t know you. [Obviously a trait of Cool People. Neal has it too.]

[Eiffel is now actively squinting at his communicator.]

...Bright, half the ship can't hablas my ingles. Most of the half that can wanna punch me in the face like my nose is a mute button. There's like... five people that actually like me, everyone else is on varying levels of tolerance. Like-- [He's sort of physically flailing in a way that translates verbally.] Lestat tried to kill me because I was annoying, twice!

Oh, me too! Well, just once. But I think mostly because it caused such a kerfuffle for Reid.

…People don’t want to punch you in the face for real, do they?

[He finds that hard to believe. Because of the coolness. Though he did want to punch him briefly….]

It’s probably jealousy. [Only reason to punch a cool person who hasn’t called you names.]

Yeahhhh, I don't think that Lydia Dye-job and Beetleboy kicking my face in for making a dead mom joke was 'cos they were jealous.

...also to be fair Jacobi kind of deserved his, but he still punched me for being annoying. True facts.

I don’t think I know those people.

Oh- Crozier's last inmate and Lester's current inmate? Also Jacobi was an inmate who graduated, he's from my world. Same ship and everything, but he's got more history on us than I do since I'm the blast from the past.

Lester’s current… oh, Mandrake?

Yeah, a couple of tweens curb-stomped my ass.

Teenagers are generally kind of mean, though.

"Will."

The noise filters through his subconscious, intertwining with dreams of that cliffside driveway, the black blood in the moonlight, the very real feel of blood-drenched fabric clenched between his shaking fingers...

"Will, it's time to wake up," comes the clipped, accented voice to his right, outside of the warm bed. "Your paramour will be suffering with pavor nocturnus soon."

Will frowns, squeezing his eyes together, before finally opening them onto a confusing sight. Hannibal, somewhat dressed down without his vest or suit jacket, is standing and folding clothes. Will looks to Winston, still fast asleep on one of the dog beds. He looks back up to Hannibal.

"I admit, I didn't expect to be here, either. I thought you had banished me from your thoughts after taking up with Mr. Bright on a more serious basis."

"Not possible," Will says quietly. As he croaks the words, he realizes he's speaking aloud.

Hannibal's lips curl ever-so-slightly into a smile. "Indeed. Well, I will simply have to cherish the time we now have together. You may perhaps want to ready yourself for Mr. Bright's episode. I suspect it will be grander than most."

Malcolm is in his bed, in his cabin on the Barge, with Will. No. He's in his bed, in his loft in SoHo, alone as always, waking with a start. Straining at the restraints, a scream muffled by his mouth guard. No. He's in the Woodsman's cabin in the forest and the restraints are attached to the ceiling, crusted blood in his eyelashes. Another shape hanging slouched from another set of restraints as his eyes adjust to the dark. His father. No. ...Isn't it supposed to be his father? It's Will.

"Will. Will, it's time to wake up."

He doesn't know he's speaking outloud in his sleep, straining at the restraints.

Where's his father?

His father has the knife.

"I was always a good father," he says. "You were never a good son."

He plunges the knife into Will's chest.

Malcolm wakes screaming Will's name, sitting bolt upright, reaching as far as the restraints allow, in the darkness in his cabin on the Barge. Shapes start to emerge. He blinks into the darkness and turns, heart pounding in his chest, to look at where Will should be...

Will's gotten used to this process, at least. There's a lot of times Malcolm's calling for him, and those days are the ones that Will clings, holds Malcolm. But he's bucking more insistently than usual today, and Will gets knocked in the eye with an elbow. He's checking the area for damage (well, blood- any other damage disappears quickly), as Malcolm comes out of it.

"It's all right. I'm here, Malcolm. This is Will, and I'm here. Everything's okay. It's morning," he says, reaching forward for Malcolm's shoulder, hopeful to pull him into the usual hug.

"I see you have your own grounding exercise here," Hannibal notes, now standing behind him. "Does it make you feel as safe as mine did?" Will ignores him, focusing even harder on Malcolm (if such a thing is possible).

Malcolm clings to him. "We were in the Woodsman's cabin, except..."

"I see your night terrors haven't improved any, my boy. Are you sure this place is any better for you than home was?"

Malcolm stills and then slowly, cautiously, warily looks over his shoulder, even as he still holds on to Will. Martin Whitly is standing in front of the kitchen island. Malcolm rolls his eyes.

"It's going to be one of those days, I guess," Malcolm says nuzzling his face back into the crook of Will's neck. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" he murmurs.

Will hears the pause, can feel something in Malcolm tense back up. Will's eyes flick to Hannibal's smug smile as the hallucination stands next to the bed. Hmmm.

"I'm okay. See?" he confirms, pulling back to show not a single bruise on his face.

Although he glances past Malcolm, and something about that makes him reconsider his words. "So...are you hallucinating right now? Because I seem to be." And that's more unusual for Will. A sign that something is wrong- maybe even something outside the two of them.

"...You are too?" It's more common for Malcolm, despite the antipsychotics in his regimen of prescriptions. "That probably... doesn't bode well." He pauses. "Is it... him?"

Will nods, then nods again. "It's Hannibal, yes. Sharper than he's ever been when I pull him up myself."

He sees Hannibal raise an eyebrow and he raises one right back. Then he looks back down at Malcolm. "You have your Dad?"

“Yeah, but…” He glances over and Martin smiles indulgently. “He’s the same as he always is, if maybe more… persistent.”

"All right, well." Will looks at Malcolm, then Hannibal, then...vaguely towards the kitchen, where Martin surely would be. "Tell me if you start seeing my hanger-on and I'll do the same. This could be a coincidence, but-"

Well, it's the Barge. It probably isn't. He leans his forehead against Malcolm's and then leans in for a kiss, pointedly ignoring the sounds of throat-clearing behind him. "I'd say let's go back to sleep, if I thought that was an option for either of us. You want some coffee? I can put it together this time." He's watched Malcolm do it plenty.

Malcolm smiles at the offer of coffee as he cuddles up against him again in the wake of the kiss.

“Only if I can come with you,” he murmurs.

“Careful, son. That could come across as a little codependent. You don’t want to scare him away.”

“If one more person - real or imaginary - gives me relationship advice this week, I’m throwing something heavy at their head,” he tells the empty space behind him sharply.

Will smiles back, saying, "Of course you can. It's your house, after all."

But he realizes as he starts shifting to get up that Martin had to have been talking over him. Malcolm's complaint gets a huge scoff. "You know, I don't think your father has any business giving relationship advice. Nor do half the people on the Barge."

He rolls his eyes and stands, then holds a hand out as an invitation to help Malcolm up. He's not letting these two imaginary men mess up his morning.

God, Will’s the best. He’s just the best.

Malcolm takes his hand and doesn’t let go of it until they reach the kitchen and he needs it back. Then he leans on the counter near his elbow to watch him work.

“I thought we just had a flood. I wonder what…” He gestures vaguely around them at the talkative empty spaces. “All this is about.”

Will squeezes Malcolm's hand as they head to the kitchen. Hannibal follows them, looking at various items in the open concept apartment and seeming pleased by every new encounter. "He has better taste than you, Will. On those occasions when you let yourself have any at all."

Will starts the kettle boiling and sets up the grounds in the French press, ignoring further backhanded compliments and a one-sided discussion on the most appropriate technique for using this particular device.

Other than a couple of twitches in his eyes, his distraction is not particularly noticeable- or it wouldn't be if Malcolm wasn't so observant. "It really is too soon for a flood. The more veteran residents are probably being blindsided by this, too. We can check the Network after breakfast-" 'Breakfast' being a more nebulous term for the two of them, which didn't always include food, but always involved coffee or tea. "Maybe someone has an idea."

He chuckles a bit, his cheer feeling only slightly forced. He rubs the kinks out of the back of his neck as he considers how to put it. "I wonder if we're too used to this place. I'm thinking about hallucinations like a hurricane or a blizzard. Just have to wait for it to pass over and the weather to return to normal."

Edited 2023-10-18 23:40 (UTC)

“Usually I can make him go away. You know. Squeeze my eyes shut, tell myself he’s not real…”

“Ah, but what if the obvious fact that you’re just glossing right past is that maybe I AM real?”

He sighs

“I feel like that’s not going to cut it this time.”

He reaches across the counter for his pill bottles.

"Nope. Mine's too smart to claim he's real himself-" Will looks up at Hannibal and glares, but the little twinkle in Hannibal's eyes as he smiles back makes Will look away. "-but I don't doubt he'd claim so if he thought he'd get it past me."

Will pours the water, sets a timer, and stares at the liquid and grounds swirling together in the French press. "Hope we've got it worse than others, just because we're prone to it."

“Unless we have it easier because we have it the same except we do it all the time,” Malcolm suggests.

Will lets out a (rather overdramatic, especially for him) sigh, then smiles wryly at Malcolm.

"I was hoping that wouldn't be true if we didn't say it," he says with a chuckle. "Yeah, I can already tell- today's going to be one of those we talk about to other newcomers in hushed tones and grumbles. Like the time Steve tried to mutiny and got demoted."

"Steve tried to mutiny? Captain Perfect? What for?" Malcolm asks.

"Oh, Steve's not perfect. Idealistic, yes," Will replies. "I think he took issue with people being brought here against their will. I still haven't talked with him about it."

The timer goes off and Will pushes the plunger down slowly, then goes about the business of pouring a cup for both of them. "I suspect asking inmates if they want to join up came after that display, although I'm not sure. I know it's still a fairly new development."

"I guess he does seem like a smash all the walls for specifically his idea of justice sort of guy," Malcolm concedes. He takes his cup and wraps his hands around it, taking a cautious sip. "The only time he's ever spoken to me was when Kikimora threw a glass at Laura for hitting me at the party. And only then because she asked him to tell me not to talk to her."

Edited 2023-10-19 20:31 (UTC)

Will doesn't comment that he's that type of guy, but he doesn't have to- Hannibal makes sure to note it. Will glares in his direction and just thinks: 'Have you always been this chatty?'

He almost misses the last bit of what Malcolm's saying, but he makes a a face once it registers. "What a great first impression. Well, I like him all right, but I don't know how well you two would get along, even without your inmates at cross purposes."

“His inmate has been coming to me for therapy,” Malcolm tells him with a quirk of his lips.

"Has she?" Will says, a surprised smile crossing his face. "Good for her. I'm curious what changed her mind, but I probably shouldn't ask now that she's a patient."

“That’s okay, because I don’t really know,” Malcolm admits. “Sometimes people are resistant to visiting their problems until they reach a point where they just want any help and they don’t care what it is. Maybe it was that.”

Malcolm, sweetheart, could you help me move a body?

…A body? What happened?

Neal fell into stasis during our dinner date. He's fine, but...in the past it seems as if he usually stayed in your cabin when that happened. Is that what he prefers? We'd never discussed it, although perhaps we should have. Some help making him comfortable would be dolly either way, and I think you're the person on this ship he trusts most.

Yeah, he c… I am? The most?

Well, I don't have numeric scoring for it, darling, but that's my impression.

[He knows there are other people Neal is close to. Raylan. Eiffel. Shaw. But none of them were his former warden, too. It creates a bond.]

Okay. Well. I’m coming to get him. I can carry him, unless you want to.

No, I can have him outside your cabin in a jiffy, just have your door open to help carry him inside and don't ask how I got him there.

[And with that statement, Norton pulls Neal up out of the chair and into his arms, and teleports himself and Neal to deck three.]

[Malcolm opens his door and spots them immediately, taking Neal’s arm to gently steer him into a fireman hold across Malcolm’s shoulders.]

Come on in, Norton.

[Norton helps get Neal securely on Malcolm's shoulders, fluttering about to make sure he doesn't fall, and follows Malcolm into his cabin.]

I was going to give him my inmate file when he fell unconscious. I think it's a cosmic sign.

That you should have given it to him weeks ago? I know, but you can’t change the past. You should do it on a night you make him dinner, and when I say ‘make’, I mean have catered, like we talked about… is there sauce on his collar?

Could be. I thought I'd cleaned it all up but... [He spots the stain Malcolm is talking about and rubs his thumb over it.] Damn. That's a good shirt, too. I'll bring you one of his shirts so he won't have to wear stained clothing when he wakes up. Maybe pajamas as well? That would more comfortable, I should think.

[He's fussing a little, knows he's fussing and that he should probably stop, but it always makes him a bit nervous when people go into a stasis.]

Pajamas. Yes. I might move him to the sofa upstairs, too. Kikimora has the bedroom up there but she shouldn't mind a coma patient in the next room. That way he won't feel like a museum exhibit.

Stasis. [Norton says automatically. He rejects the word "coma" to describe the phenomenon, has for over two years now. Thinks it sounds much too alarming. He hasn't yet managed to get the rest of the ship to change vocabulary, but he won't stop trying.]

If he were a museum exhibit, I'd go to the museum every day.

I don't think you're the only one. He's magnetic, right?

He certainly is. I don't know how you ever turned him down. But your loss is my gain.

He was my inmate at the time. That would have been taking advantage of him.

Would it have been? When I was an inmate, I slept with a few of my temporary wardens and tried to sleep with both my permanent wardens. Never felt the least bit taken advantage of.

Not to say it's never a consideration, but I don't think it's inherently baked in.

But your permanent Wardens didn’t sleep with you. An inmate’s permanent Warden is the only person on board with direct authority over an Inmate. That’s what makes it messy.

Still wouldn't say they were avoiding taking advantage of me. If I'd been successful, I would have absolutely taken advantage of my wardens, though. Their attachment. But that doesn't necessarily require sex, does it. Lots of wardens befriend their inmates, adopt their inmates, have deep ties with their inmates, but as soon as charvering is involved, people start clutching their pearls.

I don’t think it’s about prudishness. It’s about the extremely fraught emotional dimension sex adds. And doesn’t the Admiral demote Wardens for sexual relations with their own Inmates?

I've never heard of the Admiral demoting a Warden over that. Although I don't know anyone who's done it, either. I did offer my inmate a blowjob, but he declined.

I still don't see why sex should be presumed to automatically add a fraught emotional dimension. Or an emotional dimension at all. Friendship has emotions. Sex is just a physical act. I've had sex with people I don't even like very much.

Which you should probably examine; you did point out that you use it to manipulate people, as well.

I don't think there's much to examine there. You encourage someone to want something, then you give it to them so they get a taste for it, and once you've established yourself as the source of the thing they want, they're inclined to do favours for you to keep getting it. [Very romantic.]

Or sometimes a terrible person is just hot. Or it can mollify a bad situation. There's lots of reasons to have sex with someone I don't like.

All of which are excuses to avoid emotional intimacy.

Why would I want emotional intimacy with someone I charver and don't like?

You wouldn’t. That’s why doing them is a sure fire way to avoid emotional intimacy.

Oh I see what you mean!

Well. Yes. Is that a problem?

It depends. Obviously you do it to protect yourself and that served you at your old job. And you graduated just fine. But, at the same time… do you really not want to ever be close to anyone? That’s so lonely.

I can be close to people. Some people. [It's a work in progress.] Just not everyone I have sex with.

I wouldn’t recommend it with everyone you have sex with. We’re talking about sex as part of intimacy, though. With someone.

Why can't intimacy and sex just be separate things? Part of the reason I developed a bit of a pash for you back when I did was because you turned me down. [People who like him but don't want him feel safer, on the whole, more trustworthy. With a few rare exceptions.]

I think getting to know each other and trust each other first is a good start. But if I hadn’t gotten together with Will, we would have done it eventually. We were definitely working up to it. Would you have… had less of a ‘pash’ after that?

I don't know. Difficult to predict what didn't happen. In the past, with other people, I've had it go both ways. Sometimes it's wonderful and I feel very close, and sometimes it creates a distance in me that wasn't there before. The opposite of intimacy.

Are you still attracted to me, even though you're with Will? [Since Malcolm's asking blunt and probing questions, Norton thinks turn about is fair play.]

Of course I am. You’re a great person and good looking, too.

I am, aren't I. But despite that being objectively true, not everyone is attracted to me.

Why did you choose Will? And not just why you like him, you're obviously well suited to each other, but since you're the sort who only choses one person, how did you decide to chose him? I was in the offing, and Neal would have waited for you until he graduated if you'd asked. Was it the timing, the circumstances, something else entirely?

I... you have to understand that I've never been in a position to have one person who wants me to choose them before. And I didn't know any of you were... interested like that. I didn't expect... Anyway, Will came to me one night and confessed. And so... I guess timing? He told me plainly and... when I thought about it, I felt that way too, but... I just... I guess up to that point I didn't think it mattered what I felt. What I felt has never panned out before. But if all three of you told me at the same time and I had to choose with all the information? I don't... really know what I would have done. I don't have tools for that. And I wouldn't want to lose you or Neal. I was... worried I had right after I told you.

The snogging wasn't a clue?

Golly, all three of us lined up would have been like the bloody Judgement of Paris. Trojan War on the horizon.

Neal only did it the once, right after a breakthrough in counselling. And you do that with people you don’t have feelings for all the time. So. No. Not so much.

Point taken.

Just as well, maybe. I don't think you'd have been very happy with me, in the long run.

Why not? I like you a lot.

I think eventually you'd want more stability than I have in me to provide. Will might be a teensy bit nutters but he's solid. I don't think it's quite in my nature to be anyone's "home."

[And he sounds sad about that, wishes it could be otherwise. Although at least Neal's plan, that Raylan will be his home and Norton will flit about as his usual capricious self and always have a place, has reassured him that he won't lose Neal over it. Neal's found a way to have it all.]

Because you don’t want to be or because you’re afraid of how much responsibility that sounds like?

[It’s not pointed or judgemental; he’s sincerely asking.]

Neither. It's just what I am. Everyone says so.

'Everyone' doesn't get to decide what you are. I don't think that's what you are. But I think you're really good at hiding what you are. You fooled me for a while.

What do you think I am?

[As he says it, he thinks it's maybe not wise to ask a profiler that question, but too late now.]

[Malcolm observes him for a moment, his head tilted just slightly to one side.]

I think you’re a fundamentally good man who’s been wounded too many times to believe in your own goodness. I think you want connection, like any of us do, but somewhere along the way, you decided it was safer to wall your heart off from your body and truly indulge in the next best thing. And I think nothing scares you more than taking down that wall, because your heart’s been in there for a very long time and things that have peeked through holes in the mortar so far haven’t made you think it isn’t still needed.

[Well. He can't say he didn't ask for it. Although as Malcolm adds details, Norton's shoulders hunch slightly like he's about to either pounce or curl up on himself.]

That's...a lot of thoughts.

If it helps, I don't believe in the goodness of a lot of people, not even a lot of the wardens here. [He laughs but it's a little too high-pitched.]

[Malcolm blinks when Norton speaks, like he’s been snapped out of deep concentration. But at the next remark, he realizes something. Norton can probably see that on his face before he actually says what it is.]

You want to let Neal behind the wall, because he has one too, but he let you in already. And you’re not quite sure how. That’s why you’re trying to make a big gesture of trust. Maybe that’ll do it.

[That gets the laughter and too-bright smile to stop.]

I'm all for risky endeavours. Crack myself open and either the wall will be shattered or I'll be left broken and alone but either way it will be...real.

He loves you. [He doesn't sound uncertain.]

I know. [He says softly.]

But love isn't a magic potion that always makes everything okay.

No. But real love comes with accepting every part of that person because they wouldn’t be them without any of them.

He hasn't had a chance to accept every part of me because I haven't shared the more unpleasant bits. And he's under no obligation to if it's too much. It's not as if we're under contract.

No, I know he doesn’t have to. I’m telling you I’m confident he will.

I hope you're right. But too many people haven't for me to be entirely confident. [Larry. Gideon. People he'd loved--although he'd never said so--and he thought loved him back, pushed him away when they saw the ruthless side of him.]

Well. There's one way to find out.

Which is why I have to give him my inmate file, despite all my misgivings about it.

Yeah. Sorry. But I do think it’s going to go fine, Norton.

They're not sleeping so much, anymore. Just catching an hour here or there. The Barge is a little too active for either of them to have much of a chance at it. Sill, Will wakes from a two-hour doze on the couch, dog on his lap and a blanket tucked around him. He rubs one eye and then risks cracking it open to see the fake light pouring in the windows.

"Mmmf. Morning," he croaks as he straightens up and cracks his back.

Malcolm is in tree pose with his eyes closed when Will wakes up, so it's his voice that stirs Malcolm from his thoughts. He smiles and opens his eyes.

"Hey. I made coffee." He gave up on sleep after watching Will doze for a bit.

Will lets out a grunt of approval and rises, sleepily stomping his way over to the kitchen. He visibly enjoys the smell as he pours himself a cup. He's drinking it straight today.

"I assume your visitor is still here?" Because why would any of the myriad of magic users on this ship have figured this out by now?

Malcolm puts his foot down on the floor from tree pose and pads over to slip an arm across Will's stomach to give him a gentle squeeze before getting up on his toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

"Of course he is. He pointed out the disservice I was doing your spinal alignment letting you sleep on the couch like that."

Edited 2023-10-19 20:29 (UTC)

Will smiles with bliss at the kiss, putting one arm around his partner in turn. "Ah, so caring all of a sudden. Like he hadn't been the cause of half of my sleep problems in the first place."

Hannibal, of course, had been the second half.

“Pretending he cares about the consequences of his abuse like he had nothing to do with them is his favourite hobby,” Malcolm points out. “At least, it has been since they locked him up where he couldn’t kill people anymore,” he adds with an overly innocent smile, like he had nothing to do with it.

Will snorts with amusement. "If only. Don't tell me you've planted decades of evidence at his place, too?"

Will's eyes sparkle as he looks up. "I know, it's too late. But I would love to see him in a Baltimore State jumpsuit. Or the focus of his own Evil Minds Museum." He takes a sip of his coffee, thinking of other satisfying things to happen to Jack Crawford.

“He had to spend some time in gen pop at Riker’s, so he did get a jumpsuit for a bit. He also has an exhibit in that serial killer museum in LA. I haven’t seen it, but I do remember my mother yelling at them for calling her, looking for any of his stuff. She told them she burned it all and if they wanted to send over whatever macabre scraps they had gotten their hands on already, she’d happily send those up her chimney, too,” Malcolm recalls.

Will stares at Malcolm for a little too long after he speaks, looking mildly amused. "I don't blame you. I wouldn't have wanted to hold onto those sessions, either. Burning them was more satisfying, in the end."

That had been a good night, even if what followed wasn't. But he doesn't want to think about Bella or Abigail right now. He smooths a hand up over Hannibal's shirt, resting it on his shoulder and just enjoying the body heat. "I'd like to go back sometime, you know. Finish things up," he says, expression moving from amused to mildly entreating.

"...Back? Back where?"

Ooooh he's losing it, my boy. Don't pretend you think he's still talking to you.

"...Will?"

Will drops the hopeful look and his eyes look down at his coffee on the counter. His hand squeezes Malcolm's shoulder before he pulls back a step.

"I know. It's not really conducive to graduating. But I can't help but think Jack's still due some recompense. I doubt I'll ever feel differently about it."

Malcolm watches him cautiously.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting the people who wronged you to face justice or make restitution. Whether that justice is institutional or... karmic."

It's a sad thing to see a perfectly nice young man completely losing his mind...

Malcolm turns towards the fireplace and shouts "SHUT. UP."

Will's eyes fly open in surprise. While Will can understand losing patience with a different that won't leave- Hannibal never yells. Never.

Will looks at his partner with concern and reaches up to place his palm on Hannibal's forehead. "Are you all right? I think these effects are getting worse. I've seen people in the halls go into rages, getting ill. It can hit with multiple things at once."

Ah. He's still here, on the Barge.

It's Malcolm that's not.

"That's probably what it is," he says weakly.

"Sit. I know it goes against all your instincts, but let me take care of you for once," Will replies with a small smirk. He puts an arm around Malcolm's shoulder and walks him gently to the couch. "Where would you most like to be, right now? What says 'soothing' to you?"

Will's going to make some tea. He thinks there's some of that delicate pu-erh somewhere, that had gotten some praise.

"Are you sure we should just sit around if there's a plague of mental illness ravaging the Barge?" Malcolm asks, glancing at him sidelong.

Will is still making eye contact, at least, even if his words aren't entirely making sense.

"Perhaps I want to keep you from poking and proding the temporarily insane for a few hours. Give them a fighting chance, at least, Doctor."

It's gently said, rather than biting. If Hannibal is significantly afflicted, Will doesn't want him at risk.

"Are you worried I'm going to take advantage of the situation to kill people?" Malcolm asks.

"Oh, hardly. I'm worried you'll take advantage of the situation to convince people to kill other people."

He leans over to kiss the side of Hannibal's head, clearly not particularly worried about that, either. "I'll make some tea. Do you have a preference?"

"...But you don't want to do that?" Malcolm clarifies.

Will stops and looks at Malcolm again, furrowing his brow. He's been trying to keep it light, but he's starting to get worried. "You know what I'm about, Hannibal. We run across another Mason Verger or Lestat or Dolarhyde, and I would love to make a masterpiece of them. Until then, I have to make do with you."

He raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms. "You didn't answer my question, you know. Where would you want to be, right now? If you could pick. Back to Florence?" The distraction is clumsy, but Will isn't operating at his best right now- and they both know it.

"There's nowhere I'd rather be than right here with you," Malcolm tells him honestly, though there's a note of sadness in his voice. It's not mutual; that's obvious.

Will watches Malcolm's face, frowning slightly in thought. But it's such a standard Hannibal answer that he decides to just leave whatever it is that's bothering him about it.

"Cop out," he jokes, but it lacks enthusiasm. His tone warms as he adds, "Thank you."

He tries to decide between puttering around in the kitchen and staying here- he ultimately decides to stay. "It sounds like most of the Barge believes this is magic. Maybe a curse. So our resident experts will have it figured out fairly soon, I'm sure."

"It's probably only a matter of eliminating the source. Does anyone know what might be causing it?" Malcolm asks.

"No," Will replies. "Or if they have an idea, they aren't sharing. Sounds like it would have to be something big to affect this many people in this strange of a reality at once. But that's...conjecture."

Will rubs at one eye. "I hate waiting, too, but- this is not our purview. We'll have to wait and see who's responsible, and if it was done with malicious intent or gross incompetence." He thinks about it, tilts his head to the side. "Or both, I suppose."

"What if it's malicious intent? Is that our purview?" Malcolm asks cautiously.

"It could be," Will says, looking from his hands up into Hannibal's eyes. Will isn't smiling, but it seems like he could break into one at any time. He blinks slowly, like a contented cat, and his voice is like velvet when he speaks. "Would you like it to be?"

Edited 2023-10-20 21:27 (UTC)

"Would that make a difference? If I wanted it or didn't want it?" Malcolm asks.

Will tilts his head to the side as he considers. "...it's merely a gauge of interest. No plans yet, but I'll keep you informed." As much as they ever did, with each other.

"That's not what I asked," he points out.

"No, it isn't," Will confirms, with a small frown. And here things were starting to feel Normal again.

His tone takes on a more careful edge to it. "You should know by now that you can't herd me towards any particular direction. But I will take suggestions into consideration."

“I see. But you won’t take everyone’s suggestions into consideration,” Malcolm points out.

Now Will is sounding downright icy. "No. Why would I? Playing by the rules hasn't exactly worked out for me in the past, now has it?"

“What about graduation?” Malcolm asks.

And now his mood is thoroughly ruined. Is that what Hannibal's trying to do? He's having mood swings, so he's putting Will through them, too. Will lets out a heavy sigh.

"There is that. Not that I see myself graduating anytime soon." He looks into Hannibal's eyes again, his own suspicious and calculating. "What are you getting at?" He's getting tired of this, whatever it is.

“I’m not Hannibal,” Malcolm says quietly, watching warily as he says it. “I’m not him.”

Will frowns even more deeply at that assertion. That didn't make any sense, with the conversation they were just--

There's a flash of light in front of his face, sweeping like a pendulum. And Malcolm's behind it, not Hannibal. Will's eyes widen and he backs up, almost tripping over the couch. "What- who-"

Malcolm’s expression crumbles and he gets up and opens his mouth to say something, then closes it, then opens it, then closes it.

Then he turns and runs out of the cabin, barreling blindly down the hall.

Unfortunately for Will, the flash continues, briefly changing the fleeing figure to Hobbs before showing Malcolm again. He sees- he sees--

He can't trust what he sees. He collapses to his knees and then sits on his heels. Winston walks up and licks his hand. Will hugs him, burying his face in the dog's fur.

It doesn’t take long after he stops running for him to realize he has nowhere to go. Neal is in a coma, Raylan is in a rage. He hasn’t seen Francis, but considering the state of his other friends, he’s afraid to.

He goes back to his cabin, steps inside cautiously, looks around.

“Will?”

Edited 2023-10-21 00:44 (UTC)

Will is asleep on the couch.

No, scratch that- Will is lying on the couch with his eyes open, staring blankly into the space ahead. When the door opens, Will sits up.

And he turns at hearing his name. "Malcolm...?" His shoulders relax when he sees the man.

“Oh, thank god,” Malcolm says, rushing over to drop onto his knees beside the couch, looking him over to make sure nothing happened to him while he was gone, fumbling for Will’s nearest hand with both of his own.

Will is wearing different clothes, but that's the only indication he did anything at all between Malcolm's departure and return.

He reaches forward and his Malcolm as soon as the man is in reach. He lets out a slightly shaky breath. "So much for not being that affected, huh?" he says quietly. "Did I...think you were...?" He can't quite seem to get the name out. His mind is telling with implications.

Malcolm’s posture stiffens slightly and he nods, but immediately waves it off.

“It was just an hallucination. It just… got really vivid. It’s the… whatever this is.”

It’s so sweet of you to lie to him, son. But what if he’s actually losing his mind for real? What are you going to do when the psychotic break happens and the line between real and imagined is permanently blurred?

Malcolm grits his teeth slightly and angles his body more towards Will’s head. Like he’s showing his back to something behind him.

“Someone needs to put a stop to the… curse… thing.”

Will notices the shift and wants to make some sort of joke about Malcolm's father to lighten the mood. But after everything that happened...they're both too shaken to make light of anything now. "Yeah. Someone really does."

He hugs Malcolm close, his fingers digging into Malcolm's back, and murmurs, "I'm sorry. I didn't want to see you...like that. I- he's gone now, at least. I think. Left a bunch of...flashes, in his wake."

Malcolm melts into his warmth, finally relaxing a bit. He nuzzles lightly at his neck.

“It’s not your fault. It’s… whoever did this.” He pauses. “What do you mean by ‘flashes’?”

Will lets a shaky breath out, as if he's been holding it the whole time Malcolm has been away. "Oh, you know...that visualization thing I do? It's not so optional, at the moment. But it's navigable, at least."

He'll argue the 'not your fault' portion of this once they're out of it, probably. That's not for now. But it all still came from his head.

“Are you getting anything from me?” Malcolm asks, a little muffled because he hasn’t lifted his head.

Will hesitates to answer. It's worse than it's been right now. "The living room is your dad's cell. Your head is covered in some sort of static fuzz- I assume that's our current affliction. Sometimes it takes the form of a figure behind you."

He takes a deep breath and lets it out. "I can usually see the layer of reality under it, if I'm paying attention."

“He is still lurking here,” Malcolm tells him. “Trying to drive a wedge between us like he always does.”

"He has a good opportunity for it now. I'd be surprised if he wasn't trying," Will replies. Probably not a good idea to refer to a figment as of it were real, but they both know the fears that these come from.

"I wish I had advice for you, but clearly I didn't handle my own demon all that well," he says. "Anything you want to try to do to settle, or distract ourselves?"

“It’s not going to work,” Malcolm tells him. In case he’s concerned. In case he’s concerned and Malcolm clinging to him like a life preserver in a choppy ocean doesn’t allay those concerns.

He lifts his head to look at Will’s face.

“I’m sorry that I ran. I thought if I kept talking to you, you’d… realize it was me and then… it started to feel like I was deceiving you, not saying anything. And then I said something and… it seemed like… when you actually saw me, you didn’t know who I was. And… that was the scary part that I couldn’t handle.” A beat. “But I should have handled it better than that.”

"It's not," Will confirms quietly (at least partially to himself).

As Malcolm pulls back to start apologizing, Will's brow furrows a bit in confusion. "No, I...I don't know what would've been better. I wasn't seeing you. Some part of me was trying, but my mind was fighting it. Like there was suddenly a crack in reality. I could see there was a distortion, but not what was under it."

Malcolm blinks surprise. "So when you could see it wasn't him, you couldn't see it was me?"

That's better, honestly. That's a relief.

"I saw you, briefly. And then I saw Garret Jacob Hobbs. And I wasn't sure about any of it."

Will's eyes lower, then, staring at Malcolm's shoulder. "It...felt similar to the encephalitis, before. But I could tell I wasn't sick this time. I just...didn't know what was happening."

"Like... a psychotic break?" Malcolm asks. In which case, he needed Malcolm's support more, not... down the hallway somewhere. "It's still not your fault," he reminds him.

Will nods, moving somewhat shakily, at the psychotic break question. Well, he knows what that feels like now in earnest. Lovely.

"I- I know it's not. It's whatever thing is going on with the Barge this week. But it's- it's all still from my head."

He smiles mirthlessly. "And boy, is there a lot to work with." A lot of sharp edges for even Malcolm to cut himself on.

"You could never scare me away away. A brief regrouping at most. I promise. I don't care what happens. Okay? I'll always end up right here." Clinging to his side like a giant chatty barnacle. "Always. It's had a lot to work with in my head too. It's just..... he's always been in my head. My whole life. I've been conditioned to battle him there all my life. I just have more practice. I'm not... more sane than you are."

Will lets him talk, and it's like a soothing balm to all the unusual- but not entirely unfamiliar- recent events. Will hugs him close again at the promise, so the rest of it is probably slightly muffled.

Malcolm's assurance that he's not more sane has Will chuckling. "I know. I know, and I'm sorry you have more practice. But...thank you for understanding." There's plenty more to talk about, but Will is feeling more steady now. It's not just him and his faulty visions anymore.

This barnacle likes to be squeezed.

“I love you. All the parts of you.”

He hasn't been by here in weeks and he's only coming by for one reason. He knocks lightly on the open door.

"Hey. You have a minute to talk?"

Malcolm looks up from his notebook, looking faintly surprised by who's standing there.

"Um. Sure."

He gestures to the chair across from him and closes his notebook.

He doesn't plan to stay long but he sits anyway. "I wish I'd heard you out."

Malcolm gives a very small head shrug.

"I wish you had too. But if it makes you feel any better, you weren't the only one."

"It doesn't," he says with a soft huff.

Malcolm shrugs, fidgets with his pen, looks at it instead of Jesus.

"It wasn't a good day."

"No. And I was prioritizing Will," something he won't apologize for. Inmates come first. "But that doesn't mean you weren't a priority, too."

"I'm all for prioritizing Will. Did you talk to Will or just Shaw?" Malcolm asks. "Because your talking points were the Shaw Talking Points I heard from everyone she sent by."

"I talked to Will, too. He's the one who told me what happened." Which he'd said.

"Yeah, well... what you said was 'ask Will what he told me' and I spun out all day after that and then when I did get to ask Will, he said you talked about killing people and serial killers he killed and Hannibal and you made him a drink. So... what was your point? Because he did not want to separate," Malcolm tells him firmly, poking his finger on the desk with each emphasized word.

If Malcolm can't see the reasons for taking a break even now, there's nothing he can say that will make it clear. "Forget it."

Malcolm's eyebrows go up faintly.

"Why? You still haven't heard me out. Or even asked to. Did you actually wish you had or... not so much? Because 'this is what happened that day' being followed by 'forget it'? Does not make me feel like a secondary priority but a priority nonetheless. Just saying."

"Because I don't think you'll hear me out. I came to say I'm sorry for how things went and my part in it, but that doesn't mean I trust that you'll hear anything without spinning out again. And I don't want that."

"Spinning out? I just matter of factly recapped what happened last time. What are you talking about? Maybe you're the one having a little... emotional episode, my mother would call it, when faced with the fact that I may have been spinning out that day, but I remember what happened with clarity," Malcolm tells him. "You haven't actually said you're sorry and we haven't talked about what happened beyond a few simple facts of, mostly, a completely different conversation. I asked you what you were trying to accomplish when bringing that conversation into our conversation - looking for the opportunity to hear you out, in fact - and you said 'forget it'. I was asking you what point you were trying to make; what the correlation was between them. How can I hear you out if you won't explain? That's what's going on right now, here in this office. And you quit before you tried, to be frank. If that's all the consideration you have for me, then I don't know what you came here for in the first place."

He opens his notebook again, scanning his notes for where he left off.

Emotional episode? Jesus just stares at him a moment. He feels, frankly, not much in the moment; no emotions are guiding him in any direction right now. "I quit because Neal jumped in and you screamed and threw your phone across the room. I quit because you're convinced you've done nothing at all to complicate things for Shaw despite her telling you that you have. No one can tell you anything, Malcolm, and when they say anything you don't like you dig in deeper or you lose control. It's exhausting."

Edited 2023-10-28 18:44 (UTC)

"Neal was the only person who was there for me that day, you know," Malcolm muses quietly. "I don't normally need rescuing, but... he's a real friend. I've never had someone who would stand up for me like he did. I've never had someone in my life who didn't care about social censure if it meant making it clear that they cared what happened to me," he continues in the same soft, almost wistful tone, looking up from his book. "What you just explained? That's why you quit last time," he adds matter of factly. "That's not why you quit this time. I haven't shouted or gotten emotional. Neal isn't here. And you haven't asked me what I think about whether I've complicated things for Shaw or what was true and not true in what she told a bunch of people about me on a day when I made a deliberate effort to stay out of her way and not complicate her business so, quite frankly, you don't have any idea what I think on the subject. That's Shaw's talking point, though. Malcolm thinks he hasn't done anything wrong and Will is perfect. The Shaw Version. You still haven't heard mine or made any effort to. Still. So... tell me about this 'they' that can't tell me anything. Is this the same legion of people whose lives I make difficult that Shaw talks about but can never name? Who are all these people I'm exhausting by existing? I'm dying to know."

"Sheehan, for one. But I'm not using her talking point I'm telling you what I've observed when we've talked. You dig your heels in--you're doing it now. I never said you think Will is perfect. You're putting words in my mouth. So why don't you tell me all these things you say I'm not asking about? I'm listening."

Edited 2023-10-28 19:07 (UTC)

"I'm putting words in Shaw's mouth. That was Shaw's talking point, is what I said. And she's said it to me, so I guess... technically Shaw put those words in Shaw's mouth," Malcolm corrects. "Anyway. What was the thing you were saying about wishing you heard me out? How can I dig my heels in when I haven't told you my account?"

"Tell me your account," he says, motioning with a hand, go on.

"Are you actually interested?" Malcolm asks sincerely. "Or are you looking for more ammunition?"

"Malcolm, I don't want ammunition. I'm here because I'm sorry I hurt you--I never meant to."

Malcolm looks at him sharply. That wasn't what he was expecting.

"Nobody listened to me," he starts, quietly. "She called a bunch of people I know and told them I was dangerously unstable and she needed someone to intervene and that... wasn't even true. The night before... Will called me and told me Avalon threatened him again. I don't know if you know what Avalon did to him before. They tortured him. So that night I was over at his place - Shaw was there - for... maybe twenty minutes. She wasn't leaving for the night, so I couldn't stay. I admit I was wound up when I arrived, but I sat with Will for a bit and I was calm when I left. Which, by the way, I left when she said it was time for bed. She said it was time to go and I went. She said she was going to be with him 24/7 and she wouldn't say for how long, but she did say she would bring Will over for a movie the next night. So I texted Will briefly in the very early morning when we both usually get up and just made sure he was okay and then I stayed away. I didn't contact either of them all day. But part way through the day... people started contacting me about it. She was telling people that I was trying to be Will's Warden and I've literally never done that. And nobody asked me before they chided me for it. Nobody. Including you. So, yeah. And because she was clearly going so hard on this, I started to get concerned she would stop me from seeing Will. That she might even cancel the arranged visit that evening. And nobody could give me any information about that. They just kept telling me not to do something I didn't even do."

Edited 2023-10-28 19:35 (UTC)

"She never said you were unstable or that you were dangerous, Malcolm. She told me she couldn't get through to you, and when you're wound up you are very hard to talk to. Is it possible that she, with her lack of emotions, just couldn't communicate clearly with you when you were experiencing so many emotions at once? Because she felt like she wasn't being heard. That's why she reached out. It wasn't to slander you or attack you, it was because she felt she wasn't being understood."

"She didn't even try to talk to me, Jesus. She told me some information the night before. I heard it. Hence leaving them alone all day. The next day she talked to other people instead of me. And I've contacted her about it since. Because I don't think anyone here would like someone to go around talking about how difficult and impossible they are on their worst day on the Barge without even talking to them any more than I did," Malcolm points out.

"How are things with you and her now?"

Edited 2023-10-28 19:50 (UTC)

"We were supposed to have a meeting this morning, but she didn't answer my message." He shrugs. "I'm sure we'll connect at some point. She's letting Will stay with me at night, so ironing things out is more about preempting future misunderstandings. Kiryu has agreed to mediate a more... permanent delineation of expectations."

"He's a good choice for that." He's glad Shaw has Kiryu as a resource.

"I didn't know she'd spoken to him before I did until later. But when it came up, he told me," Malcolm says. He considers Jesus a moment. "She said you reached out to her, though. So who told you I was a problem?"

"No one." He gives him a wry smile. "It's not always about you," he teases. "I reached out to her after Will told me what happened because I assumed she'd be stressed and I wanted to see if I could help somehow."

"So Shaw did. It wasn't that nobody told you, it was that you contacted her and then she told you," Malcolm points out. "Because that's the help she was looking for."

"I guess? But she didn't go looking for me for it, and I didn't contact her because I thought you were trouble."

"Semantics. Because she didn't think to look for you. She looked for other people and told them and you showed up and she told you too. It's worse that she didn't call you and still told you my business anyway. How was it anyone's business? I wasn't doing anything," Malcolm points out.

"You don't think you were doing anything. There's a difference. She was reacting to something, Malcolm, it didn't come out of nothing. You may not realize you were putting pressure on her, but clearly she was feeling it."

"Because she has notions about me, many of which are untrue assumptions, but that doesn't warrant jumping all over me just for existing. Or does it?" Malcolm asks.

"No and that's not what she was doing. Every person in that situation was trying to do right by Will the best they knew how, Malcolm."

"So was I, so how am I the bad guy here and everyone else's intentions were noble?" Malcolm asks. "I was in my own cabin, not disturbing her or him. What kind of 'pressure' was I putting on her, exactly, that warranted mobilizing a whole bunch of Wardens against me? If it wasn't in her head, what was it? Point to it."

"Yes, I meant you, too, Malcolm. Why don't we bring Shaw in and ask her what she experienced?"

"I'm already supposed to do that with Will and Kiryu. How many of that meeting do you think I need to have?" Malcolm asks. He holds up a finger. "I'll tell you what: I'll let you know after the Kiryu meeting if we need another one. Or you can ask her. But let's just put this out there: you didn't know and you still don't know what I actually did but you still thought you would call me the day after someone who tortured my boyfriend to death had their hands on him again and use her vague accusations about me to push your break up agenda. Unless you would like to dispute that observation?"

Wait. What? "My break up agenda?"

"You're the only one who suggested we separate. You have already come down on the side of we shouldn't be together to start with. That wasn't in your calculations when you pulled out that suggestion?" Malcolm asks.

"No. Now you think I'm calculating?" All Malcolm has done this whole talk is paint himself as a victim, he probably shouldn't be surprised that Jesus's concerns are being vilified now, too.

"This was a mistake, Malcolm. I'm sorry I hurt you, but if all you can see are malicious intentions being flung at you when all the rest of us were doing was trying to help Will...I don't know what else there is to say."

“I appreciate you trying to help Will, I’m just trying to understand how you thought what you did would accomplish that,” Malcolm tells him. “And every time I question that, you try to leave instead of explaining. Am I asking wrong?” He’s really asking.

"It feels like you're ascribing motives to me that aren't there, and nothing I say can change your mind. It feels like you've already made up your mind that I'm persecuting you and Will, that none of my concerns are valid so you've dismissed them or--worse--decided that it's part of some weird agenda. I have no agenda, Malcolm."

“And that’s what my whole day was like that day. If two or three more people you kind of know and/or respect showed up to tell you the same thing and also pay no heed to what you tell them was actually true, about how far would you throw your phone if one of them gave you the runaround to one simple question?” Malcolm asks. “Hypothetically.”

"Do I get someone to yell at you when you do start to listen to me, too?"

“How were he or I supposed to know you were about to listen to me? Nobody else had. You barely have today. And I get it. It’s not about me. It wasn’t then and it isn’t now. Can you tell me just one thing, though? Please?” Malcolm asks leaning forward with earnest.

"Maybe."

“What was the thing Will said that you wanted me to know? You said you’d tell me if Neal wasn’t here. And he’s not here,” Malcolm points out.

"His response to killing people. It's like mine. And as a therapist that should worry you. I didn't think Neal needed to hear it; it's a personal thing."

“An exact quote, please. I’m not familiar with your response to killing people,” Malcolm tells him.

"Is the cumulative impression from the whole conversation not just one thing that was said," he shakes his head. "But I assume you are familiar with his response already anyway."

“I know what he thinks about murder. About committing murder. But I want to hear your alarming summary that makes me agree with you that he needs space away from me,” Malcolm says reasonably.

A soft laugh. "You're never going to agree to that, Malcolm. And I'm tired, and I don't want to argue about it. It doesn't matter."

Malcolm will just do what he wants anyway.

"I'm here for a reason. I'm just going to focus on that."

“So you’re just going to decide what my opinion on stuff is without giving me the information to form it? Okay. I guess. What is the reason you’re here, then?”

His opinion on Will and being with Will is abundantly clear already.

"I told you; to apologize for hurting you."

“For being dismissive when I was in crisis?” Malcolm asks. “Or for assuming everything Shaw said was true before asking me?”

"Both?" He tips his head. "I wanted your side of it, Malcolm. I wouldn't have spoken to you at all if I didn't."

"When I told you my side, you didn't seem to find it... credible. Is there room for Shaw and I to both have valid feelings here? Our history was complicated before she became Will's Warden. I have no interest in causing problems with that. I want Will to graduate. We have plans."

"Of course you're both valid. I think reality usually lies in the middle of two perspectives." So whatever stress Shaw was feeling, and whatever innocence Malcolm is claiming, are both valid and both suspect in equal measures. "Why are things so complicated with you two?"

Malcolm shrugs a shoulder.

"We just... can't communicate. There is a literal wall. She thinks I can't possibly say what I mean without some kind of coded subtext and I wish she would say what she means. Neal and Will are trying to help, because they both understand both of us."

"Whereas you assume I have subtext when I don't," he chuckles. "Maybe you should apply some of that to her."

"I didn't assume you had subtext. I assumed you had ulterior motives. It's not the same thing," Malcolm points out.

"Semantics." The difference is negligible.

He finds the difference substantial.

"One is a coded language and one is just subterfuge."

"And you accused me of it based on nothing."

"I changed my mind to reserving judgement after that. You're the one that brought it up again." He pauses. "I can see why you get along with Shaw."

"She makes sense to me. She would've done really well in my world." Malcolm wouldn't. Malcolm is pre-virus emotions, pre-virus priorities. It's hard for Jesus to connect with old world people now, something he's disappointed to have learned.

Edited 2023-10-29 02:06 (UTC)

"Your world is post-apocalyptic," Malcolm points out. "I'm not sure that's a compliment."

"It's hard for me to not see people as either survivors or the dead," he admits softly.

And that feels too much like therapy so he sits up a little more. "Anyway. That's all I came here for."

"I've been called a survivor," Malcolm tells him matter of factly.

"You've survived some horrible things." He's not discounting that. "But you're reactive in ways that get people killed where I'm from. We're just from different worlds. Literally and figuratively."

"We are. But your way and her way aren't the only ways," Malcolm says simply. "What, exactly, is the problem with having emotions?"

"Nothing. I have emotions. I feel things fully. I just don't make my big decisions based on what I'm feeling. I don't let my emotions run me."

"What if you tried it some time before you judge?" Malcolm suggests.

"Try letting my emotions make my decisions for me?" That's how people die, Malcolm.

"No. Just let them have a vote. Take them into consideration. It's not a post apocalyptic hellscape here. Try living in a community and not a refugee camp," Malcolm offers. "I don't make my decisions with my emotions, either, but it looks like I do to you because you think having a single emotion is going to get everyone killed. Guess what? I've been here a year and it doesn't."

"I'd argue it gets a lot of people here killed. It's why Will killed Avalon; it's why Avalon is obsessed with Will."

"Uh, Avalon doesn't feel anything, so no it isn't. And Will killed Avalon in a preemptive bid to protect himself, which sounds very your world, from what I've heard," Malcolm muses.

"Will would probably do fine in my world." But like Malcolm observed it's not a compliment.

“And yet Will feels everything,” Malcolm says. “His feelings, everyone else’s. Sometimes he can’t even tell the two apart. Maybe emotions aren’t the factor in that delineation that you think they are.”

"I feel everything, too. I feel things, Malcolm. I'm not afraid of my feelings, I just don't let them run my decisions. When did you talk to Avalon last?"

Malcolm presses his lips together, then leans back in his chair a bit.

“I wasn’t suggesting you don’t feel things.”

He laces his fingers together, tapping one index finger against the knuckle of the opposite hand beneath it.

“Okay. I saw them the day after they attacked Will the last time. They came to this office for counselling. I told them I was willing to help them, but they couldn’t attack Will anymore. They seemed fine with that then, but then they never came back.”

"You only spoke to them once but you think they can't feel anything?"

“That was the last time. Not the only time. And I’m not the only person I know who’s spoken to them. But it wouldn’t really be ethical to go into details I learned in therapy, so that’s all you get,” Malcolm tells him.

He has doubts that anyone on the Barge can't feel anything, but considering what Avalon did to Will it probably makes things much easier to believe they can't. That he's the sort of sick they're used to from their respective homes.

"Who's their warden now, do you know?"

“Elim Rawne. If you want to know how Avalon… perceives, ask Avalon. They went after Will because he has an abundance of emotionality and they lost theirs,” Malcolm replies.

"So there's a yearning in them?"

“They recognize a piece of them is missing,” Malcolm says.

It makes him think of Sephiroth, makes him fall quiet a moment. "That has to be hard."

“Certainly. That’s why I offered to help them. But that doesn’t justify torturing people to death. They were warned about that. But they have a weak Warden, so I don’t know if anything will change,” Malcolm observes.

"What would you do if you were his warden?"

“I would have talked to the rest of the Barge well before now, for one thing,” Malcolm says.

He shrugs. Yeah, Rawne's silence is pretty deafening. "Okay. Then what?"

“I usually love chatting about this stuff but…” He studies Jesus for a moment, then gestures between them. “What is it about this that makes me feel like you’re evaluating me?”

"I'm not. No more than I usually am, anyway." People are constantly evaluating each other. "I'm just curious how different people would handle a massive issue like what Avalon presents."

“And we should have all had that discussion already. Kind of twisted that Will’s the only one that’s been punished so far, just for protecting himself. Even more twisted that the only person whose behaviour was brought to a crowdsourcing forum was mine. For caring about that.” He shrugs. “My inmate just had a big problem, right before Avalon happened. Do you think my actual decision on that issue was too emotional?”

"You're softening the reality of what happened with Will. And I understand why you're doing it, but you're not doing him any favors with it. He lost control, Malcolm. It wasn't self defense."

“I didn’t say it was self defence. I said he was protecting himself. There’s a distinction there. And you didn’t answer my question,” Malcolm points out.

He gives him a Look. "And you're still spinning it to soften the reality."

“It wasn’t emotional. It was rational and well managed and you don’t want to credit me with that, so you’re deflecting to that,” Malcolm points out. “Guess what: people can be more than one thing.”

"You're changing the subject. I had no problem with how you handled it, Malcolm; remember? And I've never said people are one thing." He's risked his life trying to prove that people contain multitudes. "It's insulting that you're trying to paint me this way just to avoid talking about how you're spinning things to make sure you're somehow the victim."

“I’m not a victim. I asked you a question before you made your insinuations about how I view Will. You didn’t answer, so I asked again. You didn’t answer, so I answered it for you and drew my own conclusions. You had your chance. Now. As for Will. Do I think he lost control? Absolutely. He had an outsized fear response based on how Avalon harmed him before. Is that right? No. Is it understandable? Yes. Should he face more consequences than the provocateur that previously tortured him and promised, this time, to sink a blade in his back? No. Should his Warden be working on other methods for coping with a situation like that? Yes, but she knows that. Does that clarify matters?” Malcolm asks.

"This? This is why I'm not doing therapy with you, Malcolm. You need help. More than I do. I really hope you take it."

“…You’re not doing therapy with me anymore?” First he’s heard of it, though he shouldn’t be surprised. This guy has gotten on the Shaw koolaid since their early conversations. “Okay, I guess. Your call. But what exactly did I say that indicates I need help more than you do? I gave you a very reasonable analysis just now. So… what gave off the crazy vibes?”

"I don't want a therapist who makes assumptions about me when I'm trying to stay on topic. I don't want a therapist who puts words in my mouth or who assumes I see the world in black and white terms. I don't want a therapist who resists taking any accountability for his own part in arguments. You're just not the right fit for me, Malcolm. No one here is right now."

“We’re not doing therapy right now. This would be a whole different conversation if we were,” Malcolm points out. “And you haven’t answered my question. Again. Is that just… something you don’t do? Answer people’s questions so they can understand your shades of grey? They have to just trust they exist without knowing what they are? I’m not allowed to understand how you draw conclusions about me? What is it?”

"I'm not going to trust someone who assumes the worst about me, Malcolm."

"I didn't do that. I asked you questions and you assumed I assumed that. But, like I said, your call. Let's go back to the other thing. What exactly did I say that made you think I need more help than you do?" Malcolm asks.

"You literally said you assigned ulterior motives to me. I didn't imagine that, did I?"

Edited 2023-10-29 18:15 (UTC)

"I did say that. About our previous conversation. I also said that I put them on hold in light of you coming here. And even then, I only brought it up because I was making a distinction between subtext and ulterior motives. Right? That's what I told you about it."

"So you only admitted to me you were assuming wrong, dark motives about me because you were being pedantic, and that's supposed to make me feel better...? Malcolm, I think you're a good person. But I think your fears and your anxieties and your experiences lead you to assume the worst about people--about me, in particular, because I had the gall to be concerned about your ethics and your interactions with another warden. And I can't trust you with myself because of that."

"You still haven't answered my question," Malcolm points out.

He shakes his head. "Which question?"

"What did I say today that made you think I need more help than you do?" Malcolm repeats.

"Your terror of being the bad guy. Of letting someone you love be the bad guy. Your fear of losing people."

"Those are the most normal things about me," Malcolm tells him.

"Well, they make us incompatible as therapist and patient." So maybe reexamine the extent to which they run your life, bro.

“Or they could be things you can use more of. We could both possess traits that would benefit the other. Maybe the problem is that you say you need help, but you don’t actually want it. You don’t want to change your coping mechanisms of pretending your emotions don’t affect your reason at all - something you have in common with Shaw - and meddling without invitation to do so, so you can feel good about offering your largesse in solving other people’s problems to avoid examining your own.” He holds up a finger. “Before you take offence to all that, just… consider it. Give it a thinking over. We did good work together before… all this blew up. So. One more food for thought for old times’ sake. Cool?”

"And who do you do your therapy through, Malcolm?"

“Are you looking for a recommendation?” he asks with a friendly smile.

"Something like that," he says, his own expression polite but guarded in a way it never is.

“I talk to Kiryu. I talk to Francis, who used to work in this office. I talk to Raylan and Norton and Neal. I talk to Will. Is this now the guest list I can expect to hear is on the phone tree for my next meltdown?” But it’s rhetorical. He leans forward. “Can I ask you one more thing?”

"No, I think I'm done with your passive aggression," he says, standing, stretching. "Thanks, though."

“Why do you think Will wasn’t in control when he killed Avalon?” Malcolm asks anyway.

"He told me he wasn't, Malcolm." So maybe Will's lied to one of them. He is manipulative.

“Fair enough. Thanks for coming by. I accept your apology,” Malcolm tells him.

"Get help, Malcolm. I really hope you do." He turns, leaves, doesn't look back.

[After all of this.

Norton makes an effort to put on a facade of being a calm, reasonable person after his night and day of increasingly distressed texting to Neal going unanswered.]

Malcolm, have you heard from Neal lately?

...Not since the Halloween party. Do you need help looking?

Yes, we were supposed to have a date yesterday but he never arrived. And I've not seen or heard from him all day today, either. If Raylan weren't in stasis, I'd ask him too, since he's got experience conducting manhunts. But you know him as well as anyone on board, any idea where he might go? His cabin door is still there so he hasn't been whisked away from the ship, but I'm a bit worried he might have gone overboard.

It’s been a while since I saw him in the sort of state of mind he was in when he went overboard. He goes to the gazebo, but it would be unusual for him to get caught up in a piece for twenty-four hours or more. Um. The library? … Eiffel’s cabin? Shaw and Raylan are both in c-stasis but… Kendall’s cabin?

Kendall's cabin is just down the hall, so let's try there first. Then Eiffel, then the library.

I’m coming.

[Malcolm runs out into the hall and almost collides with Norton.] After the party, I got a few texts from him. Normal stuff. Nothing today, though.

Try texting him now, see if he responds. [He says as he takes Malcolm's arm in the near-collision and starts hurrying them both to Kendall's cabin.]

Okay……. He usually answers pretty fast……. Done.

Has he replied? [Norton asks impatiently, about two seconds after Malcolm says he sent the text.] If not, maybe text him again in case he missed the first one.

Give him a chance to type more than five letters.

Oh. Right. [Norton manages to wait a full sixteen seconds this time.]

Anything?

[It’s sixteen seconds wherein Malcolm also grows concerned.]

…No. If he’s not with Kendall, where can we look next?

Eiffel next, I'll contact him while we knock on Kendall's door. I can manage two conversations at the same time. I think.

[And without thinking about it further, he calls up Eiffel.]

Lark has been awake all of two hours. He showers, he eats something quick, and then his next stop is Malcolm. He tracks him by scent.

Malcolm comes around the corner on the way back to his cabin and he almost runs into him. And when he sees who he almost ran into, he just stops and stares.

"....Lark?"

He gestures vaguely at himself. "I guess the Admiral missed me. Hello, Malcolm."

"...Are... are you back for good?" he manages.

"Yeah. I'm back on the payroll," he says with a little grin. "Catch me up on what I've missed?"

His expression is somewhere between wary and relieved. And then he’s put on the spot.

“…Oh. Have… you talked to anyone else yet?” he asks. He means specifically from the Pack, all of whom are more comfortable with it than he is, despite two of them being newer than him.

"No. I wanted to catch up with you first." Malcolm is his youngest pup; maybe not younger than Maggie or Will, but they have Iris to lean on.

Edited 2023-11-21 01:05 (UTC)

“Do you know about the new wolves?” Malcolm asks carefully.

"Will and Maggie." He's smelled them, tracked them, made sure of it. "Iris told me. When I got here."

Not before. Not when they could have discussed it.

“Sweeney told us you said it was okay for Will to be changed,” Malcolm says. He hesitates. “Iris did it,” he tells him. He hesitates longer, debates not saying it. “…I wanted to. But it all happened so fast and I didn’t want to make trouble. They said she’s the boss when you’re not here.”

"She is." That much is clear, at least. "She's worried you don't feel welcome with her, though. Have you had trouble working with her?"

“…No. She’s very kind to me. I just… I know I don’t know what the rules are, but… I’m not sure she follows them? And… a thing happened when she turned Will that didn’t happen when you turned me. A glowing. …Are we the same kind of wolf, me and Will?” The question comes out before he can consider that he might not like the answer.

"Yes. He smells the same to me. My blood is the only thing that lets Iris turn; my blood is the only thing that could turn Will. She can't make him a Time Lord with a wolf ritual. It was probably a thing to do with her more than him."

Edited 2023-11-21 02:59 (UTC)

“Did she do it because only the leader can do it?” Malcolm asks. He was hoping they just had to wait a bit. He wanted to do it. He still wishes he was the one that did it.

"Yeah. Only the leader and the girl get to decide who is brought into the pack. We're obligated to kill anyone who's not approved." Which would get tricky here on the Barge where murder means a demotion.

“…But he had permission. I just mean the logistics.”

Though, if he’s being real, any attempt to kill Will would be a Real Problem between them.

"It's still my pack, Malcolm. The decisions about when it expands and who it includes are still down to me. I'm sharing my DNA, my people's history and traditions and culture, with you, with Will. It's a permanent, life-altering decision. I have a right to lead on that."

“I…I know that. That’s not what I’m…” His expression creases. “Nevermind. It’s… everything’s fine. We’re happy, anyway. Um. What else… there was a cursed sword that made everyone crazy and there was a flood that made people have uncomfortable facts about them flash on big signs above their heads…”

"Oh yeah?" He's sorry he missed the signs, even though he himself would have been locked away in his cabin the entire week. "What facts did you learn that week?"

“It… didn’t really seem right to pry,” Malcolm admits. “But Will killed someone and Shaw sat on him and it was a bit… difficult for a few days. Then she went into a coma.”

"Who's been filling in for her?" Something he always hated about the Barge is the answer is probably 'no one'.

"He's mostly been with me," Malcolm tells him.

He's a Warden!

Lark gives him an amused look. "You don't count. Trust me you don't want to blur those lines. It's hell. Alec and I did that when he was a warden." He shrugs. "But I can step in."

Edited 2023-11-21 17:18 (UTC)

"I wasn't being his Warden, but he was with someone who cared about his wellbeing and his graduation."

"I assume she didn't leave any instructions about what she wanted done if she was out?"

"If she did, she wouldn't give them to me," Malcolm tells him. "But nobody came looking for him."

Will's a low risk inmate, compared to some of the others. He's not surprised that if there was an interim warden assigned they didn't come looking.

"Why wouldn't she tell you?"

"Because we haven't really been getting along," Malcolm confesses. "For a while. And it blew up badly right after Will killed Avalon."

"Have you tried bringing her cookies?" That's the currency on the Barge. "I never got along with anyone Alec was paired with, either. And vice versa."

Malcolm looks at him.

"...Did any of them ever try to keep you apart?"

A grimace. "Yeah, when I acted out, as punishment. And then one of Alec's inmates tried to get between us, trying to get sexual leverage over him. Is she trying to keep you away from him?"

"Not yet. But I was concerned she might. There was a possibility of it. And... now she's in a coma, so she's not doing anything at all. And even without her constant supervision, he hasn't killed anyone else, so maybe she'll stop it," Malcolm suggests.

"Will's a new wolf. It's going to be a lot harder for him to avoid violence now. We were created for violence. But that's why we're here--to help him learn to be a healthy wolf." To help Malcolm learn it, too. "But I don't think any warden here would try to permanently separate two people. If they tried, people would intervene. We're here to learn how to handle our relationships in better ways, and avoiding them entirely is...counter productive."

"I don't want to do violence," Malcolm tells him, and it's also a confession.

"I know." He's thought about this a lot, had before he ever brought up the change to Malcolm. "That's why I want you to be my pack's counselor."

Malcolm blinks and looks up at him.

"...It is?"

"My current LA pack is made up of veterans and people who've escaped the black market. They're used to violence. I want someone who can help them reconnect with the other parts of themselves. And I've felt for a long time that you could be that person."

"...I do have a lot of experience with trauma," Malcolm confirms, faintly hopeful. "So I don't have to.... hunt or anything?"

"No. But we do go running in Death Valley some nights. Burns off the energy that builds up in the city. Has Iris taught you to howl?"

“I do like running,” Malcolm tells him. It’s his favourite wolf thing to do. The question makes him pause. “…Taught me? Um. I guess not. She took me out around the ship before. Just. Being a wolf.”

Lark grins. "Oh but it's a part of being a wolf. Music will sound different to you the more you learn. We share all our history in howls through the night. We sing all our legends. You didn't think it was all chasing balls and curling together against the cold, did you?"

“I guess….I don’t really know what all it involves. But I’ve never chased a ball. Will and I just like… running in nature. Are you going to talk to Will?” Malcolm asks.

"He's my next stop." And then Maggie, and then Iris.

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t tell Iris what I said about wanting to change Will,” Malcolm says.

"You think she'd be offended?"

“I just don’t want to make trouble when it can’t change anything. Will doesn’t even glow when he changes anymore,” Malcolm tells him.

"Why did it bother you that he was glowing?"

“Because I don’t, so I thought we weren’t the same,” Malcolm tells him.

"Is it important to you to be the same as him?"

“More than anyone,” Malcolm says honestly.

He tilts his head. "Why? Would he love you less if you didn't glow and he did? Would you understand him less if he glowed?"

Malcolm frowns. “It’s not about that.”

He watches Malcolm. "Help me to understand?"

“When we talked about him becoming a wolf too, it was… something to share. A way to strengthen our bond. So if we’re not the same thing, then it doesn’t accomplish that,” Malcolm explains.

"Is that all it was to you?" There's no judgment but it is, admittedly, a thing he should know.

Malcolm looks at him like he’s seeing something new where he wasn’t expecting that.

“As opposed to what?”

"I didn't offer this as a way to strengthen your romantic relationship, Malcolm." Will was nowhere in his mind when he offered the change. "I'm not a marriage counselor and my culture doesn't exist just to bolster your fun time."

“That isn’t what I’m talking about, either,” Malcolm says evenly, his expression going carefully coolly neutral. Well, as much as that’s possible for him. Something wounded by the accusation might have slipped through on the way. But his demeanour has changed. It’s guarded now.

“And I said it’s sorted out now. We sorted it out on our own. Without you. Because you were gone.”

Why did he think, back in the moment, that Lark would have handled it differently than Iris did? Of course he was kind and soft to him before. He was wooing him. He has him now. He can say stuff… like that.

“Anyway. Welcome back. Let me know what the program is if… there’s a program.” Was he supposed to get any training? Will he still? He doesn’t know. He lingers uncertainly.

He studies Malcolm, his expression softening a little. "What are you thinking right now?"

Malcolm holds his gaze for a moment, but he can’t hold it and keep it steady. He looks down. He clenches his hand into a fist when he realizes it’s shaking.

“A lot of people here take everything I say in the worst light, no matter what. And now you are. So I’m thinking… what if I made a mistake?” His voice shakes just a little before he’s done.

There’s a pause.

“I was hoping you’d come back,” he adds quietly. “I thought being part of the pack meant I would automatically feel like part of the pack. It’s been better lately, but I struggled, because it didn’t work like I thought. The sense of belonging wasn’t… inherent. I thought it would be.”

He looks up from under his brow cautiously.

“Are you going to kill me?”

He’s a failed experiment, right?

"I'm sorry, Malcolm. No, I didn't mean to take it in the worst light, it's...been a concern I've had since Iris was turned. That people are using me for what they think the change is like, because I've put the work into managing the downsides to it." That's not on Malcolm.

"I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to help you. You're my pack. And you're part of my Los Angeles pack, not just this one. The sense of belonging is more inherent with them than it is here where things are...different. If I'd been here I think it might have been easier; I didn't want to leave. It wasn't up to me. But I am back now, and you are part of the pack. Both packs. The first in a long time I've wanted to bring into both worlds."

Malcolm watches him for a moment.

You’re the one he chose, Will had pointed out.

He takes a risk.

“But Will can come too?”

"Of course." A small smile. "Male wolves are monogamous, Malcolm. I wouldn't dream of separating you two."

A flicker of a smile crosses his face. He shifts his weight.

“That’s what I told Maggie, you know. When she asked me. I said I didn’t see the point of joining the pack to not be part of the pack. If she just wanted cool dog powers, she could ask the Admiral for that.”

Lark grins. An honest grin, a surprised one. "Yeah?" It feels good to hear that. To know that something that means everything to Lark was being protected while he was gone. "Thank you."

Malcolm blinks surprise.

“That was right? It just felt right. …I think she thinks I’m a bit of a loser for choosing it just to… belong. But I think the belonging is the fundamental core of it.”

He shakes his head with a wry smile. "The Barge pack is a different thing than a real pack. A normal pack. Everyone in LA chose it to belong. It's why I chose it. It's why my maker chose it. Of all the people I've turned here, only you and Zinzi have made it back to LA. Even if you don't stay there, it's something different about you."

“We do want to travel,” Malcolm admits. “But I can see it being our base. Our family.”

"I'd like that. A lot," Lark admits. "I think you'll like the pack. You'll fit in. I wish I could take you both to meet them now but..."

But Will needs to graduate.

“I can’t leave the Barge until Will can leave.”

In case something happens and he can’t get back.

"I understand. It's the same reason I'm going home on the weekends." To see Alec. Just in case.

“…You’re not worried about getting stuck again?” Malcolm asks.

He shrugs. "It's only happened once in fourteen years. We're not being chased by the Authority anymore, which means the reason it happened last time is moot. So no, not really."

“Is there… training that we’re supposed to do?” Malcolm asks cautiously.

He shrugs. Training is part of everyone's everyday life in a way. "Yes but it's not like military drills. I'm just going to teach you how to really use your new senses."

“What about… the rules? I’ve been basically guessing about them,” Malcolm notes.

It reminds him of when he'd been a pup, only he'd been gleefully testing the rules as soon as he learned them. It's how he learned which ones were unbreakable.

"Most of them are instinctive. And they're a little looser around the Barge, since we don't have to hide what we are in order to survive. Which ones do you know already?"

“…None of them. Except that apparently if I turned Will without permission, you’d murder him. And probably me when I got in the way,” Malcolm says. “And… I guess I was right about turning being about the community….”

"Wolves use violence in ways humans don't. It's a part of our language. I want to transcend that but some things can only be solved with teeth. You are part of how we're going to learn to do things in less bloody ways." But where to start now?

"We call lone wolves 'coyotes'. They don't live long. The pack helps channel your instincts; alone they run amok. Humans don't trust us, animals hate us. It's hard to hold down a job with your instincts running wild and your boss instinctively lashing out at you, so the pack is where we all want to be. You never want to be a coyote."

“I don’t want to be a coyote,” Malcolm confirms earnestly. “You really want my help to make the pack less violent?”

"I do. I want better for our people than scraping by in black market deals. I want our people to have options." And Malcolm's training means maybe they have a shot at that.

"I have one pup who's going to make a great governor if I can get him through some of his trauma, I have another who wants to go back and get a high school diploma so he can go to college, but he has to learn to control himself first. Trauma, again."

“Trauma’s my specialty,” he gushes, like Lark doesn’t know; like Lark isn’t detailing that that’s why he chose him. It’s a clue he’s starting to feel excited about it again.

"I've got a pretty wide variety for you to work through in LA." He doubts Malcolm will ever be bored.

"That's the thing about being a wolf; we've all gone through something terrible to become what we are. We all have trauma. Cutter was a veteran, he fought in Iraq. He lost everything overseas and then lost even more when he came home. Jason dropped out of high school and became a prostitute. He'd never had a real family before the pack. It overwhelms him sometimes."

“Will and I have never fit in anywhere. I think he feels it. Innately. The belonging of the pack. He’s helping me learn to trust it,” Malcolm tells him.

"It was hard for me at first. It took me time to trust the pack, too. You and Will are monogamous but if you ever did split up...don't fall for a wolf girl."

He doesn’t foresee ever splitting with Will, but he’s curious.

“Why not?”

Edited 2023-11-26 19:51 (UTC)

He's had to tell Maggie so he might as well tell Malcolm, too. Even if the threat of it is less for him. "Because part of your free will will be tied up in her. She'll own a piece of you until the day she dies."

“…What? Why?” Malcolm asks.

"It's a biological imperative. Just one of the downsides of being what we are." A pause. "Although you and I lucked out because we like men."

“I don’t… actually have a preference. So.” Good to know? “But Will and I are permanent. Permanent.”

"I go both ways. I fell in love with a woman here, when I was a new inmate... It scared the hell out of me not knowing if she'd be able to control part of me if I fell too hard." But it's not a thing you get to choose once it starts to happen, not really. "Anyway that's how I learned it's specific to wolf girls. Although be careful with your jealousies--you'll feel those more keenly. It's part of how we bond our packs together. We're just more predisposed to envy now."

“What do you mean by control, though?” He’s not worried about jealousy. He knows Will’s devotion to him is as strong as his to Will. “Is that literal?”

"Yeah. It's sort of like a blissful fog settles over you. You'd die for her; you'd kill for her. You'd do anything to earn a reward from her. And then one day she gets shot and your head clears, and you realize you never want to be in that position again. That's how I came up with the way I run my packs."

“…….No heterosexual men?” Malcolm hazards.

"No, most of my pack are straight." It's just a numbers game. "We just don't sleep with the girl. Anyone who wants to take that risk is free to make that choice but most of them are fine just getting their needs met with humans."

"...But our pack has two girls," Malcolm points out. "Is that not normal?"

"Yeah that doesn't happen in the real world. Iris isn't a real wolf like we are; if she was she and Maggie would be tearing each other apart. And Maggie is going to start a pack in her world, and you're going to LA. The Barge pack is different. We work together to make sure we all get our deals, and to set each other up for the best possible next steps, but settled packs are different."

"...But Will is definitely one of us, right?" Malcolm confirms, with Lark raising concerns about Iris again.

A sympathetic smile. "He's one of us. Like I said: Iris can't make him into a Time Lord with a wolf ritual. She can only make him a wolf. He's got my blood in him. You can't smell that?"

"...I didn't try to smell it. I can tell our pack from another pack by smell?"

"It takes a lot of focus. I can teach you that. Imagine the next crime scene you're on once you're trained up."

"What else can I smell?" Malcolm asks curiously.

That has such a broad answer. "Illness. Bedbugs. Hormonal imbalances, the onset of seizures in other people before they hit. Anything a dog can smell you can smell better, and with the advantage of a mind that can problem solve if people try to confuse the trail."

"...I noticed illness on... someone. Recently." He pauses. "So I could follow a trail from crime scene like a bloodhound?"

Lark did, too. But Kiryu is keeping it quiet so he doesn't pry.

"Depending on what time you get to the crime scene you'd be able to tell how much adrenaline was pumping through the killer's veins when it happened. You'd know if their blood sugar was low, where they'd been before they got into the scene."

"How could I know I was smelling the killer's blood sugar and not some random person who'd passed by there that day?" Malcolm asks.

"By how close in time it is to the decay of the body. Everything the killer left should degrade at roughly the same rate as everything the victim left. But like I said--that's what I'll teach you. How to hone in on one scent in the middle of thousands."

"...So if you never came back I wouldn't have known that?" Malcolm surmises. "What else can we know?"

He considers. "Most people can't lie to us. If you pay attention you can hear their heart beat, you can smell their stress as they try to deceive us. It makes playing poker a little easier."

"Most people can't lie to me anyway," Malcolm says plainly. No point in being modest with Lark.

"Now you've got even more tools in your belt, then." A way to be even more sure.

"Okay, well maybe we should meet once a week or something. I have an inmate and Neal's been in a coma in my cabin and I still do a bit of counselling and I want to go see Will now, so regularly scheduling something might be best," Malcolm suggests.

He nods. He trains up his pups at home more rigorously but, like he said, the Barge pack is different. "I'm going to try to get home on the weekends to see Alec, but any day other than that should work fine."

Malcolm is still uneasy about that, but he shifts his weight and doesn't say anything this time.

"Okay, well we can try Thursday mornings for now and if it's not enough we could do two or even three days a week," he suggests.

Lark grins at him. Three days is more like it. "Now we're talking. What are your hours like in the counseling office? Maybe we can work together an hour or two after you get off; might help you unwind."

"I work strictly by appointment now," Malcolm tells him. "I was having problems w... I was having some problems and had to take a break and now I assess people before I take an appointment with them. So I don't get walk-ins that don't understand what I do."

"That's how I did it, before we had wardens assigned to the positions." It's less stressful that way anyway, in his experience.

"It feels like I failed somehow. When Kiryu asked me to work there, I really thought it was a place where I could do good. It was so exciting. And it just... mostly didn't work out because I'm not really cut out for... talking to people. I guess. I still want to do it, but it just feels... diminished now. Because I wanted counselling to be a thing that could help anyone who needs it and everyone who wants it and I can't offer that to them because I'm not... fit for it," Malcolm explains.

"Malcolm, you will never find a group of people more resistant to therapy than the Barge citizens. You're in a job where you're fighting a half dozen currents at any given time. It's a thankless job. It doesn't mean you don't help; it just means you may not reach people as readily as you will off this ship." Lark has faith in him, enough faith to bring him to Los Angeles--something he rarely does. "Reaching one person here is like reaching five people at home, in terms of difficulty."

"But the people I had problems with were people who came to me to get counseling," Malcolm says.

He shrugs. "That honestly doesn't mean they're ready to hear what a therapist has to say. What were your problems with them, though?"

“Being understood. Like. Semantically. I say things and people consistently take it in a way other than how I mean it. I don’t know what to do about that,” Malcolm admits. “But it’s clearly me that’s the problem.”

"I have that problem, too." Lark can usually make himself understood if someone sticks through the conversation but he's stepped on plenty of toes, sometimes without meaning to. Sometimes he does.

"But people still like you," Malcolm points out.

A faint chuckle. "Opinions on me are mixed at best, Malcolm. A lot of people here hate me."

“What? Who?” Neal, probably, but Malcolm doesn’t know that. He hasn’t heard a word against Lark save for a couple friends concerned about him.

"Zack, Jedao, Eiffel, Neal, Iris sometimes. Sweeney." To name but a few.

“…How can Iris and Sweeney not like you? They’re in the pack,” Malcolm asks.

"Sweeney's not," he shakes his head slightly. "He's just an ally. And Iris doesn't like how I do things sometimes. Like the fact I have rules."

“I guess… since she said Sweeney is in the pack. Plus he came to the turnings. They were, like, big party do’s,” Malcolm muses.

Something dark crosses his expression. "Really." A faint twitch of his lip. "Then you're the only one who had the real ritual. It's a private matter."

“I preferred it with just me and Will. I don’t really like getting undressed in front of everyone. Or eating red meat,” Malcolm says making a bit of a face.

He’d gone along with it, though. He really wants to feel like Pack.

"I normally wouldn't have even allowed Will to be there, but I knew he'd want to take the change, too." You adapt or you die. That's the way of things. "Iris didn't know better. I didn't turn her the way I turned you, it was an experiment with her, test tubes.... But no, Sweeney isn't Pack, and I wouldn't have let him be there. It would have been a smaller affair."

“I think he enjoyed the… spectacle of it, though. Iris has a really cool hat that she saves for it,” Malcolm tells him.

Does he like hearing about his culture being made into an entertaining spectacle?

No. Not even a little.

But it's done.

"Good for him," Lark drawls. "I'm sure he'd love if we all gathered to gawk at his rituals, too."

Malcolm’s face falls. He said what he was saying wrong again.

“No,” he says, though there’s uncertainty in the way he fidgets again. He clears his throat. “No. I didn’t mean Sweeney. I was just trying to say that I don’t think Will feels cheated by getting Iris’ made up version of the ritual. Which was. Very ritual-y.” He shifts his weight uncomfortably.

"It's hard for me to see the pack change," Lark admits softly. "To have what I have at home and then see it here where it's...so different."

Adapt or die.

"Will's happy? Really happy?"

“Yeah. He loves being a wolf. He’s better at it than I am. But he’s always spent a lot of time with dogs.” He pauses. “If Iris is supposed to be in charge when you’re gone, why didn’t you train her?” It’s curious, not accusatory.

"Is Will thinking about life after the Barge yet?" Lark asks, and might have left the question unanswered. In Los Angeles he would have. He ignores the questions he doesn't feel like answering there. He does that on the Barge sometimes, too.

But Malcolm's pack, his last chosen pup, so he deserves an answer. "I don't always know what traditions she'll respect. They don't mean as much to her--she's very nontraditional. I don't want to pass along something that matters to me to someone who can't appreciate it."

“Will and I talk about our future a lot,” Malcolm admits, but he doesn’t elaborate.

He eyes him curiously. "And you still see yourself solving murders?"

“We want to do a lot of different things,” Malcolm tells him.

He hums. "Give me some examples?"

“Travel. Stop killers. Visit friends,” Malcolm lists.

"No home base?" Some people don't have one. Iris doesn't, and neither will B and Steve as far as Lark knows.

“I kind of thought our base would be the pack in LA. Because you invited us,” Malcolm says.

Lark grins. "Yeah. I'd like that. There are different homes you can choose from."

That piques his interest.

“What are they like?”

"Well what kind would you like? Beach house, house in the suburbs? House in a trailer park?" He's got a little of everything.

He makes a bit of a face at 'trailer park'. Lark, he's from Upper East Side old money.

"Something with an open floor plan. I like... a nice open space."

"The beach house," Lark decides. "The one near Alec and me. You'll like it, it's a new build, custom designed for wolves. All the handles are friendly to paws."

Malcolm watches his face for a second.

"...Just like that? We can just... have a beach house?"

He shrugs. Yeah, just like that. "You're pack and I want you nearby so I can help you both adjust to city life."

"Where does the money come from?" Malcolm asks curiously. "Does the pack have investments?" His mother is a shrewd investor. Especially in real estate.

He nods. "Investments, real estate, the law firm, grants from the government for the nonprofit interests. It's all pretty above board now. My second pack was made up mostly of lawyers and that got the money rolling in; the pack since then has mostly been veterans so I had to look for outside resources."

"And I'll be working... for the Pack? Or... foe you directly?" Malcolm asks.

He tips his head, thinking. "I could see you working for the CBI. California Bureau of Investigations. You still want to stop killers, right? But ultimately, yes, you'd report to me."

“…I thought you wanted me to do counselling for the Pack,” Malcolm says.

"I do. And I'll pay you for that. But I thought you still wanted to find killers?" And Lark isn't here to interrupt anyone's life goals.

“I think that might be more the sort of thing we do in our travels. Sort of… on our own terms,” Malcolm tells him.

He studies Malcolm. "You want to be a vigilante?"

“…Not exactly. We’re going to be traveling in the multiverse,” Malcolm tells him.

He nods; he and Alec are going to be doing some of that, too. "But how will you stop killers without authority to arrest them?"

“There’ll be a learning curve, but there must be such a thing as a citizen’s arrest or an authority we can call with our information,” Malcolm says.

He nods; reasonable. "Alec and I are going to take down super soldier programs. Every one we've ever heard of has been rife with abuse and corruption."

“That’s a good one, too,” Malcolm tells him, looking down in what’s almost a reflex when he smiles. “Maybe we’ll cross paths out there too.”

Lark grins. "I'd like it if we did. There's plenty of room for your skillset in that kind of work."

“I’m sure we’d both be happy to help,” Malcolm tells him.

hey. hope the breach didn't suck for you. and hope it's okay for me to contact you like this but

is there any chance we can meet? soon? or like whenever is best for you.

let me know

It wasn't bad at all. I hope it treated you okay too. I'm free now, if you want. Where do you want to meet?

actually, pretty sure i was back in another coma for all of it.

you have a problem with coming here to my cabin? i got coffee and a couch

No problem at all. Be right there.

[Malcolm shows up about fifteen minutes later with some cookies leftover from the ones Sweeney brought him and knocks. When she answers, he smiles and holds them out for her to take.]

Hi. How are you? Is everything okay?

[ Laura starts the coffee, a nice house blend since she isn't sure what he prefers. He's from New York and that place has an obscene amount of cafes on every block. She's even got some variation of Coffee Mate available if he wants.

Just as it finishes brewing, he knocks and she answers. ]

Hey, yeah fine I guess. Not really sure I'm back back though.

[ She lets him through and gestures to the couch. ]

Not... back back? What do you mean? [He follows her direction and perches on the edge of the couch.]

I.. I don't know how to explain it. People tell me it's because I was sleeping for so long and the first time is always this big fucking experience.

[ Laura pauses, looking around before falling into the corner of her sectional. She looks at him; unsure. ]

I feel different. More calm. Less... angry.

Like... you left something behind in... wherever stasis holds your mind?

Maybe? Whatever that means. It's confusing as fuck but I woke up from that month-long coma not thinking about the shit that happened before I got here. Like it's some memory from a long time ago...

What do you think that means?

There are multiple possibilities, but… maybe you processed that trauma in your subconscious, while you were out. It was a longer than average coma. Maybe the Admiral thought you needed to shed that in order to move forward.

That means he's in my head and I'm not entirely sure if I like that thought.

Based on everything that happens here, I think we have to accept that about him, regardless.

[His voice is still lightly raspy, but much improved. CAREFULLY NEUTRAL:]

I see Lark is back on board.

Yeah. He’s back. Are you okay? How are you feeling?

I'm fine. Much better.

How do you feel about it? Him being back.

…I don’t know. He came to see me. First, apparently. Before anyone else.

[Neal makes a noncommital noise at that. Of course he did. In Neal's mind, Lark singled Malcolm out to draw him in, to make him loyal. Vanishing like a massive asshole immediately after overturning Malcolm's natural state of being--of course Lark is going to come to Malcolm first. There would be apologies, maybe some groveling if Lark's ego could take it, some I never meant to leave you like that sorrows to bring it all together and mitigate culpability. Then proposals made to reaffirm connections, reinforce that Malcolm is special, highlight how very much Lark cares.]

How did that go?

Edited 2023-12-01 21:20 (UTC)

It went pretty well, I guess. Apparently I was right that Iris' methods aren't exactly by the werewolf book. But he says the Barge is different than his LA pack. It has to be more flexible by necessity.

[Another long pause. Still carefully neutral:]

Did he apologize to you? I mean apologize. No 'I would have come back if I could,' no 'I wasn't expecting it,' no qualifiers.

…What about ‘I wish I had been here?’

Borderline. [It's quiet but audible.] What did he say?

He wants me to provide counselling to the main pack in LA when Will and I leave here. He thinks I can really help them curb their violent impulses. He said we can live in a beach house when we’re in LA!

[A silence on Neal's end. He's softened substantially on Will, but Lark? No. And he won't. He also can't say he's enthralled with the idea of Malcolm being on his own with Will and tasked with curbing an entire group's violent impulses.]

You want to do that? You and Will?

Well, I think we have to talk about some of the details still. We want to spend time traveling the multiverse and visiting our friends too. Can we come see you, wherever you decide to settle? You could come with us for a trip sometime!

I would love to see you. [It's soft and sincere and warm in spite of the scratchiness in his voice.] But has Lark given any indication of what resources he has to help you with this project? What psychological support you'll have? And 'I'll have Will' is not an acceptable answer, for the record. Have you thought about what it might mean for him to be in the middle of a group that sounds like it treats violence as personal currency?

[Neal is Safe, so when Neal brings up a grave concern about this, Malcolm sobers.]

…You think they’ll hurt Will? But. He’s part of the pack.

Physically, no. [A pause, as he redirects Malcolm to the other grave concerns he has.] Has Lark said anything about what kind of team you'll be working with to help them? How the pack dynamics might influence their willingness to open up to you? What kind of support you'll have when you need to decompress?

Um… [Okay, he doesn’t know the first two… and he can’t say Will for the last one…..]

…We’ll have a beach house? So I guess our own space with privacy and a view for decompressing? I don’t know the other stuff yet; we haven’t really got into depth about it. But it would just be for the pack. Pack members.

Yes. [His voice is gentle, with an undercurrent of concern.] He wants you to be emotionally responsible for his pack. His pack. What's his part in their... counseling process? How is he going to reinforce what you try to help them with?

[He catches himself and takes a deep breath.]

I'm not going to try and manipulate you here, Malcolm, even unintentionally. I don't like Lark. I actually dislike him, a lot, and I don't see that changing, particularly not if he's enticed you to come to LA to bear the brunt of responsibility for changing the culture of the people he leads.

Well, he… chose me. He says their violent impulses are rooted in trauma, so he thinks I can help them.

[But have you ever asked if that's why he chose you?

Neal isn't ready to deal the emotional blow of that question yet. He doesn't want to tarnish the prize Malcolm has made of that choice. But he can't shake the idea that Lark saw Malcolm's specialties, saw his vulnerabilities, and decided to use both.]

But Malcolm, that's my point. He chose you--but what's the plan? Is it "come with me and fix them," because if it is, that's not a plan, that's a reassignment of responsibility.

Well, I don’t know the whole plan yet, but it’s quite a while before Will and I are going anywhere. I’ll try and find out more details.

What happened between you and Lark?

[Neal considers the question.]

I didn't like his attitudes on the network, and the first time I actually remember speaking to him was when he tried to use my... drawing attention to Dorian to further his own apparent grudge. He's insincere, manipulative--

[A pause.] He wooed you, changed you, and then left you, and apparently didn't come back on his hands and knees with a full-stop apology regardless of whether or not leaving was his fault. He's not a leader, he's a control freak.

[His voice gets slightly more militant near the end of that, and he stops to take a moment and gather himself.]

Honestly, Malcolm... he reminds me of Vincent Adler.

[Malcolm considers all of that, then settles on one question to start.]

...The guy that killed Kate?

[It's a strange knife-twist that he still has a hard time believing has been corrected. Even after he went home. Even after he pulled strings and followed rumors until he got to see her from across a crowded piazza in a small Italian down southeast of Rome. He left without talking to her, but he saw her, alive.]

Yes. Among other things.

You saved her. [He’s pleased about it. Proud. He could have had anything for himself.]

We did. [A soft correction. He couldn't have done it without Malcolm's first deal.] That isn't the point, Malcolm. As a hedge fund manager Adler still managed to be a few steps shy of cult leadership. Not because he was a good boss. Because he knew how to use people.

…You think the pack is a cult?

No. I don't know. I don't think so, but I don't know anything about them. I'm worried that he leads them like they are.

But you’re worried he’s going to discard me when he’s done with me and I’m not really chosen?

I don't know that he'd discard you. I worry he'll be possessive and controlling, definitely. I don't think he's necessarily--I think when he looks at people he sees utility first, before personhood.

…Oh. But. Why? Why do you think that, I mean.

[Neal can't put his finger on it.]

Instinct? I'm sorry, Malcolm, I don't know, except that I've known people like him. Or at least like the person he presents, and I've had no reason to change my opinion based on his--well, on anything.

I’ll… try to be careful.

And remember that you don't owe him shit. [His voice is quiet but absolute.] He made you promises, changed you, left you, then strolled back in and...

[A brief silence.]

I learned the hard way that someone being good to you once doesn't mean they always will be. And if they try to make you feel guilty over what they gave you freely? Turn around and walk away.

Okay. Thank you, Neal.

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