LOG - July Catch-All/TDM Prompts (OPEN)

[conning]

Who: Neal and VARIOUS PEOPLE, POSSIBLY INCLUDING YOU?
When: Throughout July
Where: All around Gloucester
Summary: TDM prompts, as well as some other stuff, will get more specific as I write them.
Warnings: Nothing big at the moment tho lord knows that's bound to change. Scopophobia, paranoia, the issues mentioned in the TDM prompts.

Comments

[conning]

He hasn't studied this script. He doesn't know what to say here. He doesn't know what Malcolm wants him to say, and the anger and anxiety around that fact are starting to show. Well, starting to show more. "I don't have to be perfect. I'm not perfect. I know I'm not."

God, does he know it.

[abrightboy]

"You know you're not, but you think that's a moral failing. You still think you should be," Malcolm tells him. "That's why the question offends you so much."

[conning]

Neal takes a step back, as though to prove to himself he's not literally cornered. He has no idea what to say to that. What does Malcolm want him to say?

[abrightboy]

“What’s a mess supposed to think about themselves when you don’t want to get assessed for a disorder because it will make you like them?” Malcolm asks. “No matter how much you say ‘not that there’s anything wrong with that’. For other people.”

[conning]

That hurts. He's not sure why it hurts. But the feeling takes his breath away.

"I'm not trying to hurt you," he says, stumbling over the words a little. There's a flash of anger he can't pin to its source, either. "I didn't lie to you about liking who you are."

[abrightboy]

“I know you didn’t,” Malcolm tells him matter of factly. “As long as you don’t have to wear the mess, it can be quirky and cute.”

[conning]

"That's got nothing to--this isn't about you!" He raises his voice to say it, as much as he ever raises his voice, but the temper and intensity of it remind him all at once of Ade and the island and he backs down fast. Neal turns away, walking a few steps and dragging his hands through his hair.

[abrightboy]

“No, it’s not. It’s about you and whether you want to know yourself better or just run away from it to keep pretending,” Malcolm tells him. “My point remains that if you can accept me, you can accept you, if you want to. If you choose to. If you even have ADHD. They haven’t even done the assessment yet.”

[conning]

"I don't!" He turns back sharply, angrily, then catches himself again and looks away. "I don't want someone else deciding who I am. Deciding they know something about me because I tick some boxes. All right?"

Ah. So that's it. Or that's part of it, anyway.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looks up skeptically.

"So... you've spent so much time crafting this identity that you can't accept any outside help in understanding yourself because more than you want to do that, you want to maintain the flawless facade you've built."

[conning]

Neal takes another step back, confused and angry and hurt and completely unsure of where half of those feelings are coming from.

"What do you want from me?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm shakes his head. "No. The question is 'what do you want from you?'"

[conning]

For one helpless moment Neal wants to hit Malcolm, and that thought is so repulsive that it unravels everything else. He squeezes his eyes shut, stomach pitching with disgust.

"I don't know," he finally manages. "I don't know. I just want to not feel like this. I went there because I wanted someone to fix this, not tell me something else was wrong."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm's expression softens.

"You're not a car, Neal. You can't just go to a specialist, have them throw up the hood and repair you. That's not how trauma works. You came here with layers of it already and everything that's happened ramps it up. If you have ADHD, that's another thing adding to the mix, and if you have it, it will inform how they treat your trauma, because a neurotypical brain will need a different sort of treatment than a neurodivergent one."

[conning]

A pause. Then, "Oh."

Because... "That makes sense."

He looks down.

[abrightboy]

"In your interview, they saw things that suggested this disorder to them, but until they do a proper assessment, they don't know. But the answer to that question will suggest the direction of your treatment. You have to be willing to take an honest look inside your head if you want to process your trauma. Facades and masks... they crack, eventually, if there's no release of the pressure. There's no place for them inside your therapist's office," Malcolm explains carefully.

[conning]

"I don't know if I'm ready for that," Neal admits, very quietly.

He comes back to the couch and sits down next to Malcolm, slowly. "I don't know if I trust these people enough for that. Anything they offer comes with a file that's probably accessible to everyone who thinks they need to know what's in it."

[abrightboy]

“Like who? What are you afraid They’ll learn about you?” Malcolm asks. “Nobody you’ve ever known is here. At this point, you’re only hiding out of habit. I used to do that. Know what’s the hardest thing to do that ends up being just… just the hugest relief? Not hiding. And it gets easier and easier once you take the first terrifying leap off that cliff.”

[conning]

Neal stares at his hands. "What if Keller shows up? Or someone else from my past?"

He rubs his face. "I..."

Neal looks at Malcolm, and for a second his expression is unreadable. "I'm not in Paris because I want to be in Paris. I do love the city, but... I'm in Paris because I can't go back to New York. Not just because I ran out on the FBI. I faked my death in the middle of an investigation, right after the arrest, so the people we took down wouldn't have any reason to go after the people I cared about. They thought I was dead, so there was no point."

He looks down again. "I can't tell the truth. I can't stop hiding."

A pause. "I don't know how."

[abrightboy]

“Then why tell me that? Isn’t it dangerous if anyone knows?” Malcolm points out. “Why would you trust me? You haven’t even known me for a year. We’ve only been dating for six months.”

[conning]

"Because," Neal says, the word almost defensive. "I do trust you. I..."

God, he's tired. "I don't know. I don't know."

He leans forward, dragging his hands into his hair and sitting like that, half-folded on the couch. "I don't know."

He hates those three words so much.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm watches him for a moment, not sure if touch would be welcome.

“Do you like it? Coming home and… “ Not lying. But he’s not sure how to put it. “Coming home and… trusting it?”

[conning]

He wishes, on a level deep enough that he doesn’t know how to vocalize it, that Malcolm would touch him. He doesn’t wish that from many people. He reaches for Malcolm’s hand with one of his own, lacing their fingers together.

“I think so.” A long pause. “Yes.”

[abrightboy]

When he takes Malcolm’s hand, Malcolm grips his back tightly. For dear life, one might say.

“Would you like it if you felt that way more? More often, more places?”

[conning]

“Yes,” Neal says tiredly. “I’ve always wanted that. Even thought I could have it, for a while.”