Amy was having a silent panic attack in the back seat of the car.
She dug her nails into her lap, trying to ground herself, but it wasn't working.
Her chest felt too tight, as if the air had thickened around her, pressing inward. Her vision blurred at the edges, narrowing until the world became distant and unreal.
Malcolm was still trying to regulate his own emotions when he opened his eyes and saw her.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, at himself.
He unbuckled his seatbelt and moved to her in a rush, pulling her into his arms before the thought even finished forming.
Only then did it occur to him to roll the windows down, letting the cool air flood the car.
"Breathe, Amy… breathe," he said softly, steady despite the storm still churning inside him. "It's alright now. I'm here. Squeeze my hand."
She couldn't.
She wanted to, God, she really did, but her arms wouldn't listen. They remained buried in her own flesh, rigid and unresponsive.
Malcolm didn't stop talking. He kept his voice low and even, anchoring her with words until he felt her body go slack against his chest.
She was asleep.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and let out a small, humorless chuckle.
"How can this ever work?" he asked no one in particular. "You're already fucked up, and I'm no better."
He carefully laid her down across the backseat, then returned to the driver's seat and started the car.
When he parked in the second basement, he didn't move.
Didn't wake her.
Didn't carry her inside.
He just sat there.
He needed a moment.
After five years- five whole years- today had been the first time Madam Boy remembered his name.
Their relationship.
Even if it lasted only for a moment, he had felt her again. Her presence. Her clarity.
Malcolm lowered his head onto the steering wheel and broke down.
He cried longer than he meant to, longer than he allowed himself to, until his chest ached and his throat burned.
Gentle hands slipped into his hair, stroking slowly, soothingly.
Amy.
She had forced herself into the front seat and onto his lap, wrapping herself around him as he clutched her like something precious and fragile, like a life-sized doll he was afraid to drop.
They stayed that way until the tears dried and sleep threatened to pull him under.
"Thank you, Amy," he murmured hoarsely. "For everything you did today. I know it wasn't easy."
She didn't answer and just kissed the top of his head and settled back into his arms.
He looked down at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"I guess this goes without saying," he said quietly. "My mom loves you."
Amy scoffed, reaching for her phone, only for the car horn to blare suddenly, startling them both.
They laughed, the sound breaking something heavy between them.
She's a delight. What's not to love?
Amy texted him, and Malcolm barely processed it before leaning in and kissing her.
Later, Amy sat in the passenger seat, their fingers intertwined between them.
Malcolm was ready.
"I was fourteen when the fire broke out," he began. "My father was a pastor at that church. My mother ran the shelter for the homeless."
Amy squeezed his hand.
"A little after three in the afternoon, the fire started. I was in my room doing homework when my mother burst in and told me to escape through the window."
His throat tightened.
"There was smoke everywhere. I kept asking what was happening, but all she said was that she was sorry and that Evans was waiting outside."
Amy closed her eyes.
There was something unbearable about seeing Malcolm like this, open, unguarded.
"I was afraid of heights," he continued. "Jumping wasn't an option. I hesitated… and that's when she pushed me. Right as the fire reached my room."
He stared out the window.
"I could still see her," he said quietly. "Standing there as the flames swallowed everything."
A pause.
"She was afraid of heights too." Malcolm's voice broke.
Amy climbed into his lap and held him tightly, as if she could anchor him to the present.
She knew it wasn't enough but it was all she had.
"I found out later that it was a hate crime?" Malcolm said bitterly. "Three well-intentioned 'angels' who decided God hated diversity, and helped Him burn down a place that gave people a second chance."
He scoffed softly.
"Madam Boy was always there. My dad didn't know how to function after Mom died. And I… I was so angry at myself, at everyone. At everything."
A tear slipped free.
"It was Evans who reached out to the people here. Reminded me not all of them were bad. Most of them loved the church."
His voice cracked.
"I thought she'd be my rock forever. Until the hallucinations started. Until she couldn't tell the past from the present- what really happened from what she wished had."
Amy kissed his tear-streaked face, holding him as if he were something small and breakable.
And for the first time in a long while, he let himself be.