Misdirection (Malcom)

[Malcom Black]

“You’re modest, too,” Malcom observed, perhaps only a little sarcastically, as he sipped at his whiskey again. He straightened up to stare indignantly at him at the refusal to tell, then slumped back down. When Malcom wanted to, he could retain his perfect military posture. It was actually pretty impressive to see. But that was done on exceedingly rare occasions, like he wanted to impress someone or was specifically trying to look military. Past that, his natural slouchy-ness (born from being a middle child, a general underachiever harangued by everyone who thought he could do better, and just from being Malcom) took over, and he didn’t often bother on sitting upright. Especially when drunk, when even ten years of military training couldn’t combat eighteen years of trying to be invisible. “Aw, c’mon, Sam,” he complained at the refusal to tell, scowling at him. “Now that’s just cold. Fine. You know what? I’m just going to assign all the unsolved pranks from your years to you and Mason. Congrats. You’re even more infamous than you—really?” He was distracted by the jello mold story, and he blinked, trying to process just how much work that would take. Eventually, he grinned. “We got a lieutenant good once in bootcamp,” he said, reflectively. “It wasn’tas good as your pranks, but hey. I wish I’d known you when I was there, or I could’ve gotten him better. He was an ass. One time he—anyways. I knew a little ‘bout wiring, so I put together a small speaker that made a dripping noise and put it in his bedframe. Drove him nuts. He had three different people in looking for leaking pipes when there were no pipes in his room. Kept falling asleep while on duty…eventually, he got transferred. Priceless. But had I had you.” He pointed at him again. “It wouldn’t have taken twice as long. Thank God you don’t go to Hammel now, or I’d never get any peace.”

He rolled his eyes at the idea of Sam being a “knight.” At the time, he’d thought of him more as the devil with a contract for his soul. Mind, that hadn’t been fair. Their bargain had been ultimately profitable (mind, so was a deal with a devil), and Sam had been clear with the guidelines. It hadn’t been Sam’s fault that he was easy to take advantage of, had a problem with gambling that was just in its fledging stages, and tended to be a little jumpy at the time. Not much had changed, except he thought he might be a little wiser now. Not smarter, just…more careful. “Fine, fine,” he said. “Thanks for that, I guess. But I wasn’t stupid that much of the time. Except, you know…” He cleared his throat. “Half. Whatever.”

But this was the problem with this man. Malcom could never tell if he was joking or serious. He stared at him, drink partway up to his mouth, trying to gauge just what was going through Sam’s head. Did he mean the offer? It didn’t seem so. But if it was serious, there was no doubt in Malcom’s mind that Sam could talk him into it. It wouldn’t be hard. Just a few laughing jokes, promises of “just one more time” and he’d be hooked in. Sam might’ve doubted his ability to manipulate Malcom, but Malcom himself had no doubts. All Sam had to do was turn on the charm, and he’d follow. The idea that one person had that much power over his life was almost more terrifying than being shot at, because at least that you could explain.

“Please don’t,” he said in a low voice, setting the glass down. “I’m not a begging man, Sam, but don’t even ask or hint, please. I don’t think I could handle…I don’t think I could get out of that again.” Admitting that made him vulnerable, he knew. But he was vulnerable, whether he admitted to that or not, and Sam seemed…different. Perhaps he’d accept it and let it be.

His lips did stretch into a thin smile at the statement. “See?” he said. “Not that much younger. I was probably at school when you were there. Or my siblings were. Actually, that’s not a probably. That’s a definitely. I have nine.” Had he told Sam that? He didn’t know. He did tend to rant about them when he was drunk, though.

Sam had always also been good at making Malcom feel uncomfortable, and he squirmed slightly in his seat. “Oh, shut up,” he said, in a not-witty-at-all retort. “You know what I meant.” Like Sam, Malcom was aware of the fact that he did like men. Unlike Sam, however, Malcom was exceptionally bad at expressing it. Guilt and cultural norms drilled into his head had made it difficult. Malcom was convinced that Sam somehow knew these facts and did it on purpose just to watch him dance. It wasn’t fair. He never could get past the other man’s poker face.

“Probably best,” he commented, then shrugged. “Lessee..oh, they got pictures of students doing, uh, things. Got the technopath to do it. Some students were pretty upset. Can’t say I blame them. And I’ve heard they’ve done other things, but I was on vacation. All times.” He had a knack for the timing there. The Talk was one of the worst times to be on campus, so Malcom had done everything in his power not to be there.

Malcom had finished his drink too, so he waved for another round, then laughed. “I did mean illegal, and I don’t know if you not replacing me is flattering or scary. I think both. Look, why don’t you stick on the legal side for a while. It’s a lot safer. Sounds like you’ll be hanging around, then. Good. I think this town needs a little more excitement.”

[Sam Caraway]

Initially, it was the sudden tone change which caught Sam’s attention, more than Malcom’s actual words. Sam had meant the offer, but he hadn’t ever been serious about the business they conducted – he’d made the suggestion in the spirit of having more fun, and the change in his old friend’s demeanour was enough to make him look at Malcom far more closely. He’s really serious about this, Sam realised. And he knows I can get him to do whatever I want him to do. The thought was enough to make him dizzy for a moment. He’d assumed that Malcom would be beyond his influence by now, but this meant that he still had the same effect on the other man. If Sam had one major flaw, it was that he judged everyone else by his own standards – it was the main reason he found it so hard to understand why people were so upset when he treated them badly: if someone had done that to him, he’d have bounced back in no time.

For a second, he was tempted (he was always tempted, whatever it was by) to keep pushing. That was what Sam enjoyed most, after all, pushing people until they snapped – but no. If he kept pushing, then Malcom looked like he really would snap. If they were still in Vegas, Sam would have kept going (Chance would have kept going), but everything seemed different in Pilot Ridge, these days. If he kept going with Malcom, Sam would get what he wanted, but at the expense of what Malcom needed – the second of temptation passed, and Sam looked over at his friend.

There was a moment’s pause – Sam fixed Malcom with his blue gaze, the way he always had done whenever he wanted to really work out what was going on in his head. It was an expression Malcom would probably be used to: giving nothing away, but with a slight edge to it: Sam looked shrewdly and appraisingly at Malcom, before giving a wordless nod.

Sam wasn’t the kind of guy to do reassurance, like Sloane, or hugs like Mason. ‘Seen and noted’, his expression said, and that was all he felt that he needed to get across.

‘No, I didn’t know what you meant,’ Sam’s eyes were guileless now, and he looked over at Malcom with that infuriatingly innocent expression he always adopted when he wanted someone to rise to his bait. ‘Should I take that to mean that you think I’m charming? Malcom, I didn’t know you thought so well of me…’ he smirked at the other man, a teasing smile. A lot of the time they had known each other had been spent trying to work out if Malcom swung more than one way, and Sam had never been fully able to decide if that was the case – all he did know was that when Sam flirted with him, Malcom reacted in a very satisfying way. He suspected that Malcom did find men attractive, but was too reserved to ever act on it – which was what made winding him up so much fun. ‘All you ever have to do is ask, Malcom...’ he added, with a wide, smug smile which could have been either joking or serious – Sam prided himself on the fact that nobody could ever really know which one he was being.

His eyes widened incredulously when Malcom told him about the Hammel prank, and he spluttered with laughter. ‘Seriously?’ he asked, clearly impressed by the guts of whoever had been involved with that particular little stunt. ‘Whoa. Even I would have thought twice about doing that kind of thing.’ Sam shook his head in amazement, and picked up the now-full glass which had been deposited on the table by the barman. Sam knew him a little, and gave him a smile before tapping his watch and gesturing to their table and then the door – the universal sign that they could be kicked out whenever the barman wanted to go home and get some sleep.

Sam chuckled. ‘Oh, you should be flattered,’ he told Malcom with a grin. ‘I don’t engage in illegal activity with just anyone, you know.’ Which was the truth – one thing Sam had decided about Malcom almost as soon as he’d met him was that here was a guy who could keep his mouth shut if he needed to. That wasn’t something you could say about a lot of other people. The other man’s comment about ‘excitement’ made him smile, and he raised an eyebrow at him. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he promised. ‘Brighten up Vermont a little bit. I wore one of my blue suits to the Christmas bash, and from the looks everyone gave me, you’d have thought I was from another planet.’ It had all been worth it for Josef’s appreciative glances, though, and the smile on Sam’s face wasn’t entirely due to the looks that anyone else had directed his way.

There was a slight pause, one of those momentary lulls in conversation – Sam looked over at Malcom, and this time his smile was much more genuine. ‘It’s good to see you again, Sergeant,’ he said. This was probably the most relaxed he’d ever been around the other man. ‘ I guess I’d forgotten how small the world is when you’re a meta. I’m glad you’re doing well for yourself.’

[Malcom Black]

Had Sam kept pushing, Malcom wasn’t sure what he would’ve done. Would he have snapped? He just wasn’t sure. But he would’ve gone along with it. That he already knew. It didn’t take much forethought. He was an addict, for pity’s sake. It didn’t matter if he was trying to clean himself up, it didn’t matter if he was trying to fix things, it didn’t matter if he was trying to quit and stop being one. It was always going to be a part of his personality and it was always going to cause a problem. Giving Sam that key—giving Sam the knowledge of that fact—was probably one of the worst mistakes that he could make, because Sam was the kind of guy who could take advantage of that and who would because that was his personality. Chance had always enjoyed seeing who he could push and seeing how far they would go. He enjoyed testing the limits of every situation, which was part of the reason he’d done so well in Vegas. You needed that kind of personality in Vegas. It was just how it was. So Malcom watched, swishing the contents of his glass around, but his gaze never leaving Sam’s, until the nod. Had it been any other guy, he would’ve gotten a slap on a shoulder, or a “no,” or something like that to show that it wasn’t going to be an issue. With Sam, it was just a nod. Strangely, he was okay with that. It showed nothing needed to be said—that Sam understood and, what’s more, he accepted it. And that was okay in his books. He was okay with nothing more needing to be said.

Or something needed to be said, apparently, because the next thing he knew, Sam was flirting with him again, and he was coughing on the sip of whiskey he’d just had. “Damn you, Sam,” he managed to get out. “I swear, you always want to make me feel uncomfortable. Yes, all right, I find you charming. You happy? Doesn’t mean I think well of you—just that I think you can talk a cobra out of a box.” He always suspected Sam was trying to figure him out, and he would’ve thought that he’d already done it. But he did perversely enjoy the whole thing somehow. Sam was nothing if not entertaining. His second comment he completely ignored by grabbing for the glass again to knock it back.

His lips twitched up. “That’s because you have morals and weren’t being paid a lot of money by some rich pretty-boy.” Malcom didn’t have a high opinion of either Mia or Zach, but to be fair, he didn’t have a bad opinion either. He just thought that the stunt was very stupid and had upset a lot of others, as well as being hellishly hard to fix and punish. His eyes flickered upward to the door at his gesture, then he nodded slightly and finished his last drink, then motioned to the door—they could leave at any time Sam felt comfortable. Mind, Malcom would have wanted some warning so he wouldn’t fall over when he had to get up.

“Should I be flattered, then?” his lips twitched into a faint grin. “Most people don’t deal with illegal things at all. Maybe I was just ‘round at the right place and the right time. I’m sure that was it.” He blinked at his second statement, then tilted his head to the side. “You were at the Christmas Bash? In a blue suit? And I didn’t see it? I was even there!” Mind, his main focus had been to get absolutely smashingly drunk and run…then again, perhaps it made sense that he hadn’t seen him. But he did manage to avoid saying that.

He’d never heard the other man get so sentimental, and he paused as he spoke, studying him with his brows climbing. But then he smiled back, because he was inclined to feel good about the world in general today. “I’m glad to hear that you’re doing well, too. And it’s good to see you. Uh. But I think we’re going to be kicked out in a minute, so maybe we should head—oooh.” He’d just stood up and swayed slightly, clinging to the table until the world stopped spinning. He laughed unsteadily. “Sam, I think I just remembered why I stopped drinking with you. What do you have, iron in that skull? I want to see you stand up straight.”

[Sam Caraway]

‘Morals?’ Sam chuckled at Malcom’s statement, and shook his head. ‘I never had morals – I just had friends who were willing to talk me out of doing something which would have landed us in more shit than even I could have talked my way out of.’ He raised his eyebrows at the second part of Malcom’s comment, curious now: ‘They were paid to do it?’ Sam frowned in puzzlement for a moment, and then smiled. ‘See, now that is where my morals would come in – I’d never pay someone else to do my dirty work. If you want a prank pulled, you do it yourself.’ Help had always been offered and accepted, but Sam had never sat back to allow anyone else to do the really important stuff. At school he had been the one to do the crucial things – and all the things which would get someone really in trouble. If someone was going to get it in the neck for something organised by him, it should be him. Was that moral? Maybe.

Sam grinned at the other man’s disbelief. ‘I don’t know how you missed it,’ he told Malcom. He did know, of course – it could only have been his good luck at work. If he’d run into Malcom that night, it would probably have ended very differently than it had done – and after an hour, the whole of Pilot Ridge would probably have known a lot more about Sam than he wanted them to. As it was, they had luckily managed to avoid each other, and Sam had never been more grateful for his meta ability. It came in useful even when he didn’t ask it to, and it had covered his ass one more time.

If he’d known that Malcom thought he was being sentimental, Sam would have rolled his eyes. The way he saw it, sentimentality wasn’t in the picture – he was just being honest. It was nice to be around someone he didn’t have to try with. Even Mason could be hard work sometimes, and while he loved spending time with Josef, he had to have his brain fully switched on. With Malcom he could just fall into his old ways, and it was like putting on a comfortable pair of shoes.

Unable to keep from chuckling at Malcom’s ungainly stumble, Sam grinned up at him teasingly as he leaned against the table. ‘Never try and keep up with me, Mal – it’s a rookie mistake,’ he slapped the other man genially on the shoulder and stood up (a little slowly and carefully, it has to be said). ‘It’s all about keeping a careful balance of alcohol in the bloodstream at all times,’ did he drink too much? Sam was never sure. After a moment he was standing unaided, and he looked at Malcom with a distinct air of smugness at the fact that he could carry his liquor better than anyone else they knew. ‘Come on,’ he said with an easy smile, reaching out to put an arm around his friend’s shoulders so that he would be supported. ‘Someone’s got to be the responsible adult, here.’ Which was a laughable idea, but he was clearly the one most capable of staying on his feet. Sam glanced at the clock and did a quick mental calculation. ‘Wait a sec,’ he said, and pulled out his cellphone to dial the number for a taxi firm. ‘A cab’ll be here in about ten minutes,’ he told Malcom. ‘He can drop you at yours first – I live further out. And don’t even think about arguing, okay? Neither of us is walking home in this state.’

It was a raining when they stepped out of the door, a fine mist – Sam made a face up at the sky. The street was dark apart from a few lights in shop windows – one had been left on in Josef’s business, he noticed, and he found a slight smile on his lips. He’ll be furious with himself when he finds out that he left it on. Releasing Malcom, Sam leaned against the wall behind him and touch a hand to his forehead. ‘I haven’t been this drunk in months,’ he said with a grin, looking over at Malcom with one of his conspiratorial smiles. And maybe he wasn’t as steady as he thought he was, because he slipped slightly to the side and had to grip the lapel of Malcom’s jacket to stop himself from falling. ‘Shit – sorry.’ They were nose-to-nose for a moment and Sam grinned, patting Malcom’s chest and pulling away just as the cab turned the corner at the end of the road, yellow bars of light running across the wall and down to the floor to ignite the puddles.

They both got into the back of the cab, and when the driver looked askance Sam solemnly assured him that neither of them would be spoiling his soft furnishings by throwing up on them. He gave their respective addresses (a lucky guess could go a long way when it came to giving Malcom’s), and sat back with a smile.

‘Thanks for a good game,’ he said contently, blue eyes sly for a moment. ‘Let me know if you ever want to come off the wagon again, okay?’

[Malcom Black]

“That’s utter bull, Caraway.” Malcom leaned forward unsteadily out of the seat to wave a finger in Sam’s face. “You and I both know that isn’t how it works. Everyone’s got morals because everyone knows that there’s a line they won’t cross.” Malcom knew a lot of people who’d found that line. He’d been one of them, once upon a time. Mind, Malcom had also had to cross that particular line because he hadn’t had a choice. He’d needed to cross it and had, and as a result he’d had a long and fairly successful military career. He didn’t know what that said about him. “But fine. If that’s what you say, then I’ll go with it.” He shrugged his shoulders and chuckled, then tilted his head to the side. “Well, whatever reasons you had for that kind of thing, it’s really good you didn’t do it. They got into a lot of trouble and it didn’t turn out well. Besides, it took more effort to make sure that they didn’t get away with anything afterwards. Think of how much time and effort you saved the security officer.”

Malcom paused to think for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I think that’s true. There were much nicer looking people than you hanging around anyways.” He was probably grateful for that. He’d been in an even worse place than he was now, and if he’d met Sam at that point, he didn’t think he could’ve handled it. “I’ll keep an eye out for you next time, then.” He was also tempted to ask if he’d been there with anyone in particular, but decided not to. They’d never gotten into the personal details, and he doubted they would now.

Malcom made a face as Sam got to his feet without any problems, and continued to grip the table in order to keep himself upright. “I think that’d make you more of an alcoholic than I am,” he pointed out logically. “And I was clean for a couple months. I thought that was a step, right? So ‘scuse me for being a little tispy after…who knows how much whiskey. But you always could drink me under the table anyways.” And it didn’t particularly bother him, to be honest. But he let his arm loop around the other man’s back to help with the support and to stop himself from completely walking into something or falling over, and headed out the door. “And I wasn’t thinking of arguing. Cabs are good. So long as the engine keeps working I’m happy. And you can pay, ‘cause I’m sure you’re still rich. I’ll buy rounds next time.” Malcom was a champion at mooching off of other people and was not at all ashamed of it.

He was startled when Sam suddenly leaned into him and caught his shoulders, wincing as they bumped their heads together. Then, of course, he realized that he was giggling.

“And you thought you were sober!” he lightly pushed Sam away from him and leaned back against the wall. “Ah, Sam, I missed this sometimes.” He made a dramatic motion for Sam to get into the cab first, and then slipped in after him, and leaned back in the seat before looking over at him at his statement.

“It was a good game, wasn’t it?” He flashed him a smile, then chuckled. “If I ever want off the wagon, Sam, you’re the last one I’ll ever tell. But thanks for the night anyways.” And once they arrived, he gave a little wave. “See ya ‘round.” He slipped out of the seat of the cab and into the apartment.

(Wrap!)