So in this giant extravaganza of one slash pairing for every day of ship week, it's about time that I write some slash.Probably one of my favourite ships though they have no cannon interaction is Malcolm and Mitchell. Love and wisdom is a funny mix, kind of live love and war. So of course I wrote a story about these two losers. Enjoy!
PS: In the reviews, I'd really appreciate it if you guys could suggest some future pairings for Ship Week because I've got all the rest of the stories written and conceptualised, except for one. Fair warning: I don't do Percy+Nico. Everything else I'm game to try, but not them.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters portrayed below and the universe that they frolic around.
Dedication: Maddi
Ship Week: Slash week. Next week: Friendship Week.
Seven Prototypes
Malcolm's father was an environmental engineer, an inventor. He'd invented water purifying systems that cost less than five dollars to produce, had designed fully functional homes the size of a shed. One of Malcolm's favourite places to be was perched on a lab counter and watching his father make things out of nothing, and looking at his hero in wonder. But he always told Malcolm not to mistake the awards for easy genius.
"Nothing's easy, Malcolm," he said. "Socrates was forced to drink hemloch. The Wright brothers and their associates made around 100 planes and crashed most of them. Edison had more than 10,000 prototypes for the light bulb."
The huge gaps in the numbers made Malcolm's head spin.
"So how many times does it usually take to get an invention right?"
Dad scratched the back of his head.
"Usually the university cuts my funding after seven prototypes that don't work," he said. "It means that there's a flaw in the basic research or that not enough planning went in…"
He shrugged.
"You could get it right on the first time, or you could get 10, 000 prototypes. But I like seven. Seven prototypes and then it's time to move on for a while and come back to it later."
Malcolm nodded.
It was only five short years later that Dad announced that Malcolm was going to go to camp for the summer.
"Like in a forest?"
"They have a beautiful property."
"I don't want to," Malcolm protested. "I want to take that internship at the university."
"That'll be for another time," Dad had said. "This camp's important."
Dr MacCallum was smart. Malcolm was twelve; if the monsters hadn't started now, they'd start soon. They lived in Boston, which wasn't far from camp compared to some demigods that Malcolm later met, but it wouldn't be a fun trek if an emergency happened. He'd rather prevent, and so Malcolm had had an easy introduction to the demigod world.
Well, nearly.
On their way to camp, Dr MacCallum pulled over and jumped out of the car. He had his hand over his eyes, as if he was looking at something far away. Malcolm peeked out the window and spotted a guy running for his life, wearing ripped clothes and clutching the straps of his backpack.
"We're going to camp!" Dad called out to the kid. The kid looked up and his face brightened.
Dad ducked back into the car and slammed the door. They drove slowly.
"Malcolm, when that boy catches up I want you to open the door and move over so that he can jump in," he said.
"What?"
"Pardon."
"Pardon?" Malcolm corrected.
"You're smarter than that," Dad said. "Do as I say."
And so Malcolm did. As soon as the boy jumped in, Dad slammed his foot on the pedal and the car shrieked down the country road they were taking.
The boy was panting.
"Thank you sir," he said. "I'm grateful. So grateful actually, that if you're another one I'm just going to let you eat me."
Which made zero sense to Malcolm.
"Malcolm, give that boy your water bottle and check if anything's coming," Dad said. Malcolm did as he was told and peeked out of the back window. A bunch of defeated looking women were banging their… spears?- against the ground. By paying attention to the spears, Malcolm suddenly saw something horribly wrong with their legs.
"Are those..?"
"Dragon ladies," the boy said after chugging half the water bottle. "Ugly suckers…"
Malcolm frowned.
"He's not lying, Malcolm," Dad said gravely.
"I'm a lot of things, but I ain't no liar, sir," the boy nodded. He held his hand out to Malcolm. "My name's Mitchell. Mitchell Oach."
"Malcolm MacCallum," he said.
Mitchell had a farmer's tan, an abundance of strawberry blond hair, and a failing Southern drawl. Malcolm couldn't decide what colour his eyes were strangely enough. He had cuts and bruises all over his arms and his limbs looked like spaghetti right now, absolutely collapsed.
"You're going to Camp Half-Blood?" Mitchell asked.
"I thought it was a science camp," Malcolm asked, looking at the car mirror where he got a glimpse of dad's serious blue eyes.
"I may have fabricated some of the details about this camp," Dad said after a second.
Malcolm's jaw dropped and he was about to protest, but Mitchell put a hand on his.
"Don't sweat it," Mitchell said. "At least you got a ride and a map."
Malcolm and Mitchell were claimed as sons of Athena and Aphrodite on the same day, a month and a half after getting to camp.
They found out that though Malcolm was form Massachusetts and Mitchell was from South Dakota, their elementary schools had been pen pal buddies, and that freaked them out a bit. They found out that they both hated sword fighting (though Malcolm liked choreographing extensive routines in his mind and analyzing the footwork, and Mitchell didn't mind checking out the shirtless guys in the arena), but liked archery and could stand their grounds rather well with spears. They found out that they sucked at canoeing and only did it with each other, because they wouldn't get angry at each other when they ended up flipping the boat or going around in circles. They got really good at sneaking in the strawberry fields to "graze" (as Miranda, a daughter of Demeter who was usually pissed off at them, said).
They found out that they made pretty good best friends for each other.
That last about three years until Malcolm started looking at Mitchell and losing his breath. It was weird. It was like he'd felt when he'd dated Ivy Deschenes, daughter of Demeter, a few years ago. But with Mitchell.
Malcolm was logical enough to put the puzzle pieces together. He had a massive, tearing crush on his best friend.
It wasn't just about looks, although Mitchell was definitely a lanky, charming brand of handsome. It was also the honesty that he had. The old-fashioned Southern manners that had been drilled into Mitchell's mind from a young age and sometimes shone through his thick veil of dirty jokes and atheism and merciless teasing and easygoing nature. It was the way they picked on each other and how Malcolm never once got scared thinking that the teasing was mean or about something he had to change. It was the way that conversations could go from 1000 miles an hour about the meaning of life, to 1000 miles an hour about analyzing the latest superhero movie, and then to nothing at all- exactly the ambiverted rhythm that Malcolm had never found with anybody that he wasn't related to. It was just… Mitchell.
He was also observant enough to register that Mitchell wasn't totally opposed to the idea of flirting.
He'd heard about best friends dating before. He'd seen what it had done to Will Solace and Silena Beauregard, and he knew that he didn't want to suddenly get bitter and angry and then lose his best friend if something were to happen.
So he made a deal with himself.
If he and Mitchell were meant to date and whatnot, it would happen naturally. Like natural selection. So he couldn't push it, let it develop on his own. He had to let things develop as they did, and give himself a limit so that he didn't give the wrong push and accidentally make whales land animals.
He would try to ask Mitchell out seven times- Dad had always said that seven prototypes was his limit before he had to start fresh, or start another project. These attempts at romance and asking out his best friend would be Malcolm's prototypes.
Seven times, and that was it.
Prototype 1
Of course, all of this would have been easier if Malcolm weren't a coward.
But he was. He could face monsters whose behavioural patterns he knew well and construct elaborate theories and could talk for hours about poems that he'd analyzed and annotated. But romance? That was uncharted. Malcolm wasn't very good at improvising.
He decided that the best thing to do was to mix familiar with unfamiliar. Like monkeys who started standing up on two legs but didn't lose the tail for a few more centuries of evolutionary development.
What did he know well?
He knew poetry and literature well, and that was something that he and Mitchell had always had in common.
So he decided to write a note.
Well, actually, he wrote a note inside a poem which he figured was even more cowardly, but could possibly be mistaken for something cute and romantic.
He found a poem that Mitchell had once described as 'his favourite poem ever' and had highlighted words in the different verses to form 'WILL YOU GO OUT WITH ME'. He was fully ready to slip this into the paperback that Mitchell was currently reading next time that they escaped a camp fire to read on the docks. (They both disliked campfires; Malcolm because the smoke got into his asthmatic lungs and made them flip out, and Mitchell because his sisters were such gossips that he couldn't really sing without being told to shut up so what was the point, really?)
It was actually hidden under his hoody with his own book as the Athena Cabin filed in towards the amphitheater. He caught Mitchell's eye as they went and he winked before hopping from Cabin 10's line, to Cabin 5's and then disappearing.
Malcolm had to be more careful during his escapes –Annabeth was starting to get suspicious- but he managed to slip away like he always did. But on his way to the docks he lost his confidence.
He and Mitchell could read each other like open books. But was asking him out one thing that had to be said clearly and out loud? As much as he could cackle at his sisters and tease them before their dates, Mitchell was a son of Aphrodite. He required romance, and a cowardly little note wasn't it.
So when Malcolm got to the docks he didn't do anything other than sit down and read and occasionally inquire what Mitchell was laughing about in his particular book.
Prototype 2
They were talking as they watched their siblings scrambled up the climbing wall, waiting for their turn to go up.
Malcolm loved when Annabeth and Silena did this; coordinated their activities together. Right now it was just an elaborate ploy because Annabeth needed one of Cabin 10's kids to be on her side for her latest extravagant Capture-the-Flag stratagem, but whatever.
"I was talking to Nyssa," Mitchell said. "The fireworks are really going to be something this year."
"Yeah?" Malcolm asked.
"Yeah," Mitchell nodded. "They're pulling out absolutely all the tricks and there's going to be colours we've never seen before."
"Like what?"
"I don't know. It's all I could get out of her. She told me she'd break my nose if I kept bothering her."
"Still sounds pretty good," Malcolm said. Then it hit him. He hadn't wanted to plan and make the note dramatic, so here was his chance to be subtle and casual. "Are you going to the fireworks with somebody?"
"Yes," Mitchell asked. "Will Solace asked me out last night after dinner."
Malcolm's stomach sank.
"Nice," Malcolm said.
Mitchell shrugged. "Yeah. Who are you going with?"
"I'll probably go with Annabeth and Alexandria," he said.
Then he found out that Annabeth, Percy and the other kids their ages were going to some kind of secret spot in the woods that Katie and Miranda had found a while back that had the best view ever, so it turned out that he wasn't going to the fireworks with anyone at all.
Prototype 3
Mitchell was making whale sounds.
"I'm huuungry," he moaned.
"Dinner's in five minutes," Malcolm said as he continued to study a map of Camp Half-Blood. The Athena cabin was under the impression that this summer, the last one before Percy Jackson the Probably Prophecy Child turned sixteen, Camp was going to be attacked. It wasn't just a strategic gut feeling, it was also by examining patterns from the last Titan War and tallying all the weird occurrences that had been happening in the demigod world. They were trying to see what they had on their sides if there was an attack on camp, how the best way to defend camp and spread their force would be, where the vulnerability in their borders lay…
"But I'm hungry now," Mitchell said.
Malcolm ignored him and tried to calculate how many archers camp disposed of.
"I've been waiting forever."
"Five more minutes won't hurt you, then."
"Five minutes is so long I'm going to turn to dust," Mitchell said, whiny. "I couldn't eat at lunch, Silena had snuck Beckendorf to our table and they were being disgusting. They were defiling my happy place."
Malcolm kept ignoring him.
"Take my mind off of things," Mitchell said. "And by things I mean my mutinising stomach."
Malcolm looked up.
Would you go out with me, would be a pretty good one…
He opened his mouth to talk but then a nymph blew the conch horn. Malcolm must have badly estimated the time- he did that a lot.
Mitchell shouted in glee? Victory? Whatever it was, Mitchell shouted and scared a few nymphs out of their minds and trees, before sprinting off towards the dining hall in the lovable, ridiculous kind of childish excitement that he excelled at.
Malcolm pouted.
And being hungry would have been such a good Segway to asking him out to dinner next time they managed to get out of camp…
Stupid brain.
Prototype 4
Malcolm was packing a bag and Mitchell was sitting on his bunk, supervising.
"Do you have your dad's Christmas present?"
"Yes."
"Do you have warm clothes? I asked the Demeter kids and they said they're having a cold winter in Boston."
"Yes Mitchell, I have those too."
"Ambrosia?"
"Yes."
"Nectar?"
"Yes."
"Did you bring your asthma inhaler?"
"I haven't had an asthma attack in years," Malcolm said.
"Bring it," Mitchell said.
"Okay. It's in the back pocket of my backpack. Happy?"
"Ecstatic."
Quiet for a bit.
"Do you have spare drachmas?"
"I have five."
"Five? That's not enough, I can lend you some."
"Mitchell, I'll be alright," Malcolm said. "Promise. I'm going to Boston for Christmas, not a lifetime."
Mitchell exhaled. "I know. It's just… It's harsh out there, with the monsters everywhere since Kronos... you know. You hear all kinds of stories and even Percy Jackson is spending weekends at camp, and that guy's a daredevil about scents and whatever."
"I'll be okay," Malcolm said. The concern was touching, and also… well… maybe Malcolm was reading into it too much.
"I hope so," Mitchell said getting up and hugging Malcolm.
Whoa.
They didn't do this often. This hug thing.
"Hey," he said. "If you're so worried, after I get back…"
The we could do something together was drowned because behind Mitchell, someone cleared their throat.
He turned around and faced Annabeth.
"Um, sorry," she said. "Ancient Greek class is starting, Mitchell. Chiron said to come find you."
Mitchell stepped away from Malcolm, as the latter turned red.
And then he started realising that Annabeth was quoting… She was quoting him... From earlier in the summer... From just before her quest into the Labyrinth...
Oh no she wasn't...
"We were just looking at these… These maps on your ceiling..." Mitchell said looking up at the battle maps hanging above the bunks.
Annabeth starred at him. She wasn't even nice about it. Since he was teeny tiny, Malcolm's dad had told him to watch his eyes. If he didn't pay attention, his grey eyes would get hard and menacing and deep and they became this window into Malcolm's soul. All Children of Athena did that, it was a trait that they all inherited from their war goddess mother, and Annabeth knew. Annabeth helped the twelve year olds learn how to control their gazes. But right now as she starred at Mitchell, she gave him a stare that made him more uncomfortable than anything else.
Anyways, Annabeth starred and said: "Okay."
"Well, I probably have somewhere to be too," Mitchell said. "I'll go ahead, Malcolm. You better get ready for archery."
He eclipsed himself from the cabin and Annabeth broke out into a smug grin- like when she won a fight so widely that Clarisse stomped away angrily or when she got revenge on a Stoll brother by planting illicit cigarettes in their cabin.
"Are you serious?" Malcolm asked.
Annabeth's smile didn't get any smaller.
"I told you I'd get back at you," she said before turning away.
Malcolm rushed to the door and practically yelled out: "I DIDN'T EVEN COCKBLOCK YOU AND PERCY ON PURPOSE LAST SUMMER IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!"
Prototype 5
Malcolm crashed in the Plaza. He didn't make it past the lobby; he just collapsed on one of the wheeled carts for luggage and struggled to remain his breath.
This probably had something to do with his mother being a war goddess of sorts, but Malcolm never actually had problems breathing while on the battlefield or in the middle of a debate or math bowl or anything. It was always after.
Someone tapped his shoulder and there was Mitchell. They'd been stationed at two completely different places in Manhattan, so Malcolm had had no way to know if his best friend was alive and well (or just alive, period). It was good to see him there, with a cut on his forehead and sawdust and plaster in his hair and tiny pieces of gravel sunk into his elbows.
He handed Malcolm his asthma inhaler.
"I knew you wouldn't bring it," Mitchell said, "and figured that it was just your luck for your lungs to suck at being lungs now."
As he breathed into the pump and made a grateful 'okay' sign at Mitchell, Malcolm suddenly realised how sweet that was. That Mitchell took better care of Malcolm than he did. That Mitchell remembered how Malcolm was asthmatic even though nobody else at camp, except maybe Annabeth, knew- and this because when they were twelve, Dr MacCallum had said "don't forget your inhaler in the car" when dropping them off.
Malcolm was more than ready to pull the inhaler from his lips and say "after this war, you and I need to hook up". Or maybe the more docile, "you're the sweetest person".
But something stopped him.
They were at war. People were making rash decisions like jumping in front of hydras for each other and collapsing bridges and chugging a lot of nectar. It was all part of the adrenaline overdose that was overcoming demigods right now.
He'd known Mitchell for years. He'd been head over heels for him for over a year now. His decision to ask Mitchell out –be it to dinner, to the fireworks, or on a monster hunting party- were far from rash and last minute. He didn't want Mitchell to think that.
And so when he'd finished taking his pump he just said "thank you."
Prototype 6
The Christmas party was even more exciting since not only were there more than two children of Dionysus to plan, but there were children of Hecate who were more than willing to lend their magic to awesome Christmas lights and magically fitting a twelve-foot tall Christmas tree into Cabin 12, which would expand and accommodate it to whatever size they needed for the party.
It was going to be awesome. Despite the bad news about Gaia that kept coming in, there was a generalised good mood about the party. Mitchell was getting all his gossip straight from cabins 10 and 12 and he was ridiculously excited.
"They say that they're going to have actual elves there," Mitchell said.
Malcolm was a bit more sceptical. "How?"
"No idea," Mitchell said. "But it'll be a Christmas like never before!"
Mitchell went on about every other rumour he'd heard. His excitement was tangible, and Malcolm figured that if he had a date to the party… well, he'd probably be even more excited.
Malcolm could make that happen, and he nearly did- but then he thought of things the other way around. Of people without dates who would be having a horrible time at the Christmas party.
Notably Annabeth, who'd just had her first complete day at camp with no searching involved yesterday, and Alexandria, who'd just found out that Sherman son of Ares had been cheating on her (which Malcolm had, for the record, seen coming from a mile away).
It would be rude to get a date for the Christmas party three days before when one of his sister's boyfriends was in California, probably comatose and possibly with no idea about who she was, and another was a lying, cheating pig-swine.
Malcolm got frustrated with himself, but he couldn't unimagine Alexandria's sad face as she sulked in a corner during the party instead of dancing like she loved to, or Annabeth making phenomenal efforts to avoid all the mistletoe that the nymphs would hang everywhere like they did every year.
He'd wait before asking.
Prototype 7
It was nice. It was Valentine's Day. The snow was crunching under their feet, but there was only enough of it to spawn an occasional snowball from a child of Hermes. There was a bright sun shining. The harpies had cooked up a storm and Mitchell and Malcolm were currently sitting by the hearth and recovering from the biggest meal since Christmas.
"I like Valentine's Day," Mitchell said. "I've never been in a relationship for one, but I like it."
"Okay," Malcolm said. "Not the most common sentiment."
"Yeah, I know," Mitchell said. "But, like… okay, look at Drew."
"She's with Christopher right now."
"Yeah, and look at her eyes. Look at her posture. She looks happy. I mean, sure, she's not stressed out about being counsellor anymore, but she looks genuinely kind right now. And then you've got Katie and Travis doing who knows what in the strawberry fields, and the satyrs and nature spirits at peace for the day, and Jason teaching Piper how to throw a basketball right… People are just happy. It's nice. They're spreading the love or whatever."
"You know, if you like spreading the love…" Malcolm said. It would have been totally smooth but then he looked Mitchell in the eyes and he realised that Mitchell knew exactly where Malcolm was going with this. Knew exactly what Malcolm was going to say. Knew exactly what Malcolm wanted.
And though that should have made asking him out easier, it suddenly gave Malcolm the chills.
And so the reason that prototype seven failed?
Malcolm was a chicken.
Successful Patent
When Gaia's army retreated under the white flag that one of their undead generals produced, Malcolm felt like lying down on the battlefield and taking a nap.
But he kept moving, finding all the Athena campers he could and taking a toll and accounting for everybody- which included two deaths, John and Anastasia.
He kept moving. He had to get back to the tent where the other cabin counselors and centurions would be planning while their second-in-commands took care of the rest. The first battle had been rough. Gaia may have been the one to retreat, but that was only because of the lethal canons that Leo Valdez had managed to supply them with. The losses had been more heavy on their sides, and if a white flag hadn't been produced that moment…
Malcolm kept walking. He'd lost a grieve sometime during the combat, probably after the lines had folded and it'd become a free-for-all. His thoughts were spinning- okay, the canons had come out. How much Greek fire had been used? How were the seven progressing, fighting the bigger giants in Greece? Had the Romans exhausted their supply of ballista ammunition? Were their losses too great for their formations to be as effective?
He was mostly centered on his own thoughts, but as he kept walking he registered some things. A tiny eleven year old's body being picked off the battlefield- Tessa, she wasn't even claimed. She'd showed up at camp yesterday and hadn't even been supposed to be here. She must have sneaked into one of the vans or climbed a Pegasus... A tiny holographic icon of Aegis, the shield, appeared over Tessa's cracked skull. A lesser known symbol of Athena- but not of Athena, goddess of wisdom. Athena, goddess of heroism.
Malcolm pretended he hadn't seen that and kept walking.
The injured everywhere, some dragging themselves to the first aid tents when they couldn't walk and others laying there, incapable of anything until the medics got down to them, in order of priority. Katie Gardner, whose wrist was broken, was going to them with a water bottle. Broken weapons littered the fields. Demigods were flocking to the first aid and cafeteria tents, some of them supporting injured friends or bringing bodies with them.
Mitchell was walking back towards the battlefield, probably to pick up more people. Malcolm offered a weak smile and Mitchell returned it. He spotted the brightness of that smile from twenty feet away.
Then out of nowhere a heavy, whistling sound broke through the air and everyone looked up.
"COVER YOURSELVES!" Malcolm yelled as some other counselors and half-bloods also yelled to get down.
Soaring across the sky and breaking the white flag's most sacred meaning as demigods wandered around exhausted and injured and unarmed, came something that looked like a rocket blaster. But when it landed, Malcolm's legs collapsed under him and he didn't have time to make sure that the ones around him were covered.
There was a blast like a bomb and a plume of smoke rose from where the bomb landed.
Right next to Mitchell.
"No!" Malcolm said leaping up to his feet. He didn't worry about chemical exposure or an aftershock, he just ran blindly towards Mitchell. Luckily the aim of the bomb had been off so there wasn't anybody else laying on the ground with their limbs at awkward angles and their eyes closed but Mitchell was.
"No, no, no," Malcolm said falling to his knees and sticking his fingers on Mitchell's neck for a pulse. He carefully moved Mitchell so that his head would be on his knees.
"No, no, no," he said. "Mitchell. Mitchell, open your eyes. Mitchell, wake up."
Then he got angry.
"Listen to me you idiot," Malcolm said. "Your skinny little ass can't die on me now. You have to hug Piper senseless when she gets back from Europe, and you have to stay alive until the second Avengers movie comes out because they say that Scarlett Johansson is pregnant in it and you love looking for stupid continuity errors or signs like that. And you have to finish that stupid book with the asinine sounding plot that you were reading and you have to get that degree in literature that you wanted and you have to stay alive until the next Christmas party to prove to me that you don't get drunk every time and for the love of all things good I haven't even had the courage to ask you out yet so wake up you idiot!"
He calmed himself down.
Mitchell most likely couldn't hear him.
He sounded like an idiot.
He had to calm down.
He had to get a medic or a shroud and figure out which one he needed.
He had to calm down.
He couldn't calm down.
He had to start CPR or something…
Then out of nowhere Mitchell groaned.
"There better be flowers on this date you're suggesting, here."
Once Malcolm had stopped hugging Mitchell with potentially rib-snapping strength and gotten him to a medic who then assured him that Mitchell would be fine as long as Gaia didn't take over the world and he let the children of Apollo do their things, Malcolm realised the absurdity of the situation.
The one time he actually asked a guy out, it was by accident.
He figured that that was okay. Penicillin was an accident too, and look how well that turned out.
August
10 - 16 - Free slash week (author's pick of a same-sex story)
17 - 23 - Free friendship week
24 - 30 - Chris and Clarisse
31 - 06 - Jason and Reyna
September
07- 13 - Jason and Piper
14 -20 - Frank and Hazel
21 - 27 - Calypso and Leo
28 - October 4 - Percy and Annabeth