AN: For a change of pace, I decided to write a short Francis/Malcolm oneshot, since the earlier seasons of the show contained some rather promising slashy opportunities.

It was stupid, really. Just a misplaced case of hero worship. A silly 12-year-old's crush at the very most.

Malcolm knew he was being ridiculous and that nothing could ever come of his feelings. But that didn't stop it from hurting like hell.

He couldn't pinpoint exactly when it had started, if indeed there had been a definitive where adoration had given way to full blown lust, but he knew that every smile Francis spared him was a treasure. Every ruffling of his hair, every pat on the back sent electricity running through his body. And those precious few moments where he was able to have a private conversation with his oldest brother, just the two of them, produced a sensation of giddiness that lasted the rest of the day.

But the knife always came back to stab him in the heart. Beneath the pleasure that accompanied every hug, there was a sharp pain in his chest, viciously reminding him that nothing could ever happen; that he was doomed to wallow in his own private, unrequited love until eventually, hopefully, it petered out. Although at this point, Malcolm was doubtful his feelings would ever fade; if anything, they seemed to grow stronger by the day.

It would have be better, he suspected, if Francis was a shitty brother. Malcolm had even tried to convince himself that was the case on multiple occasions, ruminating over the times Francis had tricked him and Reese into doing stupid things for him, or acted selfishly, or been all-around cruel. But while those moments were indeed noteworthy, they were actually rather few and far in between. Francis was a great brother, and he loved Malcolm very deeply. And he genuinely respected him as a person; rather uncommonly so, considering their age gap.

And that made the whole thing so much more unbearable.

So Malcolm felt that he couldn't really be blamed for finally snapping.

It wasn't even that bad. Not really. That is to say, it could have been far, far worse: he could have launched himself at Francis and thrust his tongue into his mouth, or he could have broken down sobbing and confessed all of his fucked up feelings like a schoolgirl.

So in comparison, it wasn't too awful. If anything, it was rather underwhelming.

They were at the park, and it was one of those beautiful moments in time where the world stood still, and it was just the two of them together. Francis said something snarky and Malcolm laughed and punched him in the shoulder, and then they were wrestling playfully, rolling around on the grass. And then Malcolm was on top and Francis was laughing. But Malcolm wasn't, and his face was just inches from his brother's, and all the longing and desperation and love and repressed lust rose up inside of him, and he knew it was showing because Francis's smile faded, giving way to unmistakable surprise. And Malcolm got off of him, looking away in embarrassment, mumbling something about being sorry while wandering off aimlessly.

And Francis was so disgustingly nice about the whole thing, neither screaming and name-calling nor politely explaining why they could never be together. He just ran over to Malcolm and put his hands on his shoulders with a worried, empathetic expression and asked if he wanted to get ice cream. And Malcolm didn't, but he said yes anyway, and when they were licking the excess off their dripping chocolate cones twenty minutes later on the walk home, Francis didn't even have the heart to put Malcolm out of his misery and face the situation head on.

He just glanced over at his little brother with a cautious expression and said, "Things are tough at your age. I know it's not easy, I remember it really well. But it passes." He smiled sadly, looking like he wanted to give Malcolm a hug, but also like he knew that was probably a bad idea. "I know it feels like it never will, but trust me, everything you think you know when you're a little kid changes fast. Once you get to high school, you'll start seeing things differently."

Malcolm kept his head down, kicking pebbles in the street. Voice shaking, he piped up, "Please don't pretend like you know that my feelings are a phase. You don't know that."

It's intentionally provocative, an unveiled attempt to get a rise out of Francis, and they both know it. Francis doesn't fall for it, and that sad, understanding smile doesn't falter for an instant. "I'm not, buddy. I promise." He tossed the remains of his cone into a storm drain and shoved his hands in his pockets. "You're smarter than I am, and I trust you to know your own mind. But even a little genius like you isn't going to understand things about life that only age and experience can provide." His tone is playful and teasing, but sincere. "I'm not saying you don't really want this, or that you don't understand why it's a really, really bad idea. But I am saying that you won't feel bad about it forever."

Malcolm felt himself start to tear up. He held back as long as he could, but Francis heard him sniffle and pulled him into a tight hug, rubbing his back soothingly. "It's not fair," Malcolm mumbled against his brother's chest. "It sucks."

"I know," Francis said softly, squeezing him sympathetically. "But it will get better. I mean it."

And that was all there was to it. Francis wiped Malcolm's tears away and ruffled his hair, and they walked home in companionable silence.

Francis was eventually right, of course. It took several years for the longing to dissipate entirely, but in the end, he was right. But that day, on the rest of the walk home, all Malcolm wanted in the world was something in between the disgust he'd expected and the sympathy he'd received. He wanted a stern "No." He wanted the callousness he knew Francis was capable of. He wanted to be told off and have his dreams crushed to dust all at once. Because the empathy and understanding were far too easily morphed by his young mind into potential for reciprocation in the future. And that new wellspring of hope, foolish as he immediately knew it was, made the pain in his chest ache all the more.

It eventually died away, as love tends to do. But for the longest time, it hurt like hell.

AN: And there you go.

I'm really loving writing these oneshot stories. I love being able to look at different characters relationships from every possible angle and through various scenarios. That's why I love fanfiction. The possibilities are innumerable.