Later that morning, Corsica

They've been here for two weeks and he can already see the change in Harry. The long solitary walks along the beach or up into the hills have restored his flagging spirits somewhat, as has the quiet companionship they've shared. It's been interesting, though a little difficult at times as one would expect when two confirmed bachelors share a living space. But overall it's been good for them both, he thinks with a smile.

When he'd picked up Harry at his house on the way to the airport, he'd hardly recognised him he'd looked so awful. He'd lost too much weight, there were huge, dark bags under his eyes, his skin had lost all its colour, but worst of all had been the lifeless look in his eyes. Erin had been right; they were probably just in time to save him from self-destruction. "Hello, Harry," he'd said. "You look like hell." That comment had got a reaction out of him and he'd smiled briefly, the twinkle in his eye returning if only for a split second as he replied drily, "Lately, I've been living in it." It had relieved Malcolm no end to see it as he'd feared that it might already be too late for his friend.

He glances over at his companion now, who's lying down with his hat over his face, enjoying the gentle swaying of the boat and the sunshine on his bare chest, legs, and arms. He looks much better now. The colour has returned to his skin, he looks like he's getting more sleep, and he's filled out a little now that he's eating regularly and drinking much less alcohol. All the walking and swimming he's been doing have also improved his muscle tone, and he looks in pretty good shape considering he'll turn sixty this year.

The first time he'd taken his shirt off to bathe, Malcolm had almost gasped at the sheer number of scars Harry carried on his body. Most of them were very faint and had healed well, but there were a couple that looked like angry, red marks. Noticing his expression, Harry had said with a wry smile, "Twenty three. Just in case you were wondering." To which he had replied, "I don't know how you do it to yourself, Harry." Harry of course had laughed and said, "I don't, Malcolm. This is what other's have done to me." Then he'd turned serious and added, "It's a small price to pay for the safety of millions. Others have not been so lucky." His words had brought to mind Colin and young Zaf, and he'd felt the pain of their loss and suffering anew. He was pulled out of his melancholy thoughts quickly, however, by Harry who, perhaps noticing his sudden shift in mood, had added lightly as he turned towards the sea, "It is advisable, however, to keep the lights off when rolling in the hay."

"Penny for them," Harry murmurs as he stretches and sits up, cutting into his reverie.

"I haven't been entirely honest with you, Harry," he replies as he turns his attention back to recasting his line.

"You surprise me, Malcolm," Harry says and gets up, moving to reel in his own fishing line.

"This place," Malcolm continues quietly, "and this boat don't belong to a friend. They belong to me."

"Mmmm," Harry hums. "And you didn't tell me this because?"

"I don't like to advertise it," Malcolm answers after a moment's hesitation.

"Why?" Harry smiles. "What did you do? Rob a bank? Sell you brilliant mind and stunning computer skills to terrorists?"

"No!" Malcolm exclaims before he belatedly realises that Harry's teasing. "I write books. Mysteries," he admits with a blush.

"You must be good, Malcolm, to be able to afford all this," Harry says after taking a moment to cast his line into the calm sea. "Have I read any of your books? What's your pen name? I assume you use one."

"I don't know," he admits, pleased that Harry has taken it so well and isn't making fun of him, "if you've ready any of my books, that is. I have a couple of pseudonyms: Mallory Fortuna and Alexander Jones."

"No," Harry sighs, "I can't say that I have, but as I've had little time or inclination to read lately, it's hardly surprising. I've been meaning to ask you if you have any books lying around that I could borrow, so perhaps it could be one of yours?"

"Of course," he murmurs a little hesitantly and isn't surprised when Harry turns his head sharply to look at him. The apprehension in his voice has been all too obvious.

"If you'd rather I didn't, just say the word, Malcolm," he murmurs.

"It's not that," he replies quickly. "I'd be honoured if you read my books, Harry. It's just that..." He tails off, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks and trying desperately to control it and find a way to explain.

Harry looks at him shrewdly for a moment and then smiles. "You've based one of the characters on me, haven't you?"

"Yes," he sighs in relief.

"I'm flattered, Malcolm," Harry chuckles. "And don't worry, I promise not to be offended. I do understand that it's a work of fiction. Don't tell me who it is though. I'd like to work it out for myself."