Malcolm and Reese stagger up their sidewalk. Dewey, sticky-faced and a little crazy-eyed, is doing a perp walk in front of them. His sweater, acting as makeshift handcuffs, is tied tightly around his wrists. Malcolm opens the door when they come to it. Reese, having long ago happily accepted that he's the bad cop, pushes Dewey roughly inside.
"You boys are three hours late!" Lois shouts the instant the door is shut. Her voice is directed to a sink full of sudsy dishes. "You know I need you here to--" She wipes her hands on a towel and turns to her sons. She stops. "You gave Dewey sugar, didn't you?"
It really isn't even worth denying.
"He went so nuts," Reese says with a mixture of pride and horror.
"He went ballistic on that kid," Malcolm agrees, addressing Reese instead of his mother.
"So? He looked better bald."
"His parents didn't think so."
"Dewey cut off a boy's hair?" Lois interjects.
Malcolm hesitates before answering diplomatically, "Not exactly." He hopes his mother won't push.
"Man, I don't even wanna know what he would've done if he'd had scissors," Reese laughs, not catching Malcolm's attempt at tact. At his mother's glare, Reese says, "Don't worry, I smoothed things over."
A little upset at his brother's carelessness, Malcolm grinds out, "What he means is that while I talked to the mom, he tried to glue the kid's hair back on."
"It worked," Reese counters defensively.
Malcolm starts to argue as he unties Dewey, who makes a vaguely threatening guttural sound before scurrying off to find a dark corner to hide in. Lois takes a step as though to go after him before abandoning one son in favor of two. The look on her face makes whatever Malcolm had planned to say stall in the bottom of his throat.
:--:--:
So, I thought about it last night and I figured this thing with Reese would be pretty much a fair trade:
Reese and I have to hold hands on the way to school, so our mornings would pretty much screwed. But we never did anything together during the school day, and we get home almost 20 minutes before Mom, which meant we'd have the rest of the day to ourselves and we wouldn't have to worry about being touchy-feely on the way back. Yeah, we have to sleep together, but it's not like I ever had my own bed, so Reese is the only one who might care about that, and I didn't bother taking his feelings into the equation of whether it's fair or not.
Even if he cared, we could definitely keep that up for a few days until the heat died down enough that there'd be no way Mom could find out what we did--or at least until the city stopped looking for the statue's head-- and then everything would go back to normal.
Turns out Mom thought about that last night, too. She called the school and asked them to make sure Reese had lunch with me every day. I would've thought the school would have something better to do, but apparently they're all for anything that makes keeping an eye on Reese even marginally easier.
"In spite of your relationship being one that nature itself tends to take preventative measures against, I must say you're an aesthetically pleasing pair."
Although he hadn't been the one to say it, Malcolm casts a glare at Stevie first. Krelboynes are no different than normal kids in one regard: they enjoy hierarchy when it works in their favor. Without Malcolm having the chance to explain the situation, Stevie had blabbed, albeit slowly, and Lloyd and Dabney had latched onto the information like starved piranhas offered a slab of meat.
They had been mocking Reese and Malcolm since the break had started. Reese hadn't understood any of it. Malcolm had been at first equally clueless, though for an entirely different reason; he'd been whining with such gusto about getting grounded for (to hear him say it, 'just') taking his little brother out for ice cream that he had missed their barbs. After he wore down enough to catch what they were going on about, he tried to ignore them, finding consolation in the fact they had never been particularly competent at insults.
This tactic had lasted for all of five minutes.
His patience naturally thin and growing thinner, this time he responds with a tight, "Shut up, Lloyd." . Reese looks curiously to his brother. Malcolm, having first talked over and then ignored Reese's questioning glances just as much as he had his friends' comments, sighs and translates, "He's trying to make fun of us by saying we're a cute couple."
"Oh." Reese nods comprehendingly and turns from Malcolm to Lloyd. "Hey, Lloyd, just curious: d'you like your wedgies atomic or regular?"
"Regular," Lloyd says with a bit of a squeak, his hands unconsciously making a shield over the back of his pants.
Reese smiles winningly. "Good to know."
After this, all of the Krelboynes stop commenting on their unfortunate situation.
Malcolm, for once pleased that brute force won out over intelligence, grins at Reese.
:--:--:--:
The surprising trend of actually liking each other seems to continue through the school week.
Wednesday:
Malcolm had never been in the vicinity when Reese became protective of him. When he was younger, he had certainly heard about it from his friends as well as his enemies, and if he actually thought of it he'd always appreciated it with a smile on his face. But he didn't often truly think of it, so if someone who had bullied him one day happened to wander into school with a fat lip the next it seemed more an act of karmic justice than the act of one human being seeking revenge against another.
Not thinking of Reese as his body guard this year, however, was a bit more than mere thoughtlessness. A dramatic outburst during the summer had ended with Malcolm declaring his independence from his older brother's protection; he had to stick up for himself, not go whining to Reese all the time; it just made him look like more of a sissy when he did that. High school, he announced, would be a great place to get a fresh start when it came to sticking up for himself. Reese had answered with an indifferent shrug. Malcolm, as the days of summer waned, began to regret this decision more and more, but didn't ask for the protection back.
He'd taken the fact that he hadn't gotten beaten up yet as an unusual stroke of good luck.
So when Reese grabs a handful of a sophomore's shirt when he addresses the table with an insult to the amusement of his friends, Malcolm is surprised.
Reese asks the sophomore who he was talking about. When the sophomore hesitates, Reese asks again, accentuating the question with a shake. The sophomore points with a quavering finger at Stevie, Dabney, Malcolm. Reese punches him before his finger can waveringly point to Lloyd.
Reese catches Malcolm's eye when he sits back down. He answers his brother's wordless question with, "Dude, if I let you handle it you'd be road kill."
After a little objection, Malcolm suspects Reese is right, so he silently expresses the kind of unabashed, loving approval that is only acceptable for them to profess out loud over one of Reese's more impressive feasts or Malcolm's more ceremonious science award bestowments. Even the silent manifestation would be deserving of a Wet Willy, at least, if the Krelboynes weren't so purposefully looking down at their laps to avoid angering Reese and thus unable to see Malcolm's gaze.
Thursday:
After some deliberation, Malcolm opts out of some experiment that Stevie describes as '…Wild!' and Dabney says potentially compromises the molecular stability of insects and possibly rodentia. With a shrug, Malcolm says he's going to help Reese with his homework instead.
Dabney and Lloyd make a synchronized sound of disappointment, Stevie makes a similar one a few seconds behind them, and all three turn around to start the experiment themselves.
"If you…change your…mind…." Stevie calls out over his shoulder.
Watching after him, Malcolm waits for the end of the sentence. It takes a while before he realizes Stevie had simply trailed off. Conscious that he's probably looking like an idiot staring after Stevie, Malcolm hauls Reese's backpack onto the lunch table. He reflects on how he offered to help Reese the night before as he pulls out a clean sheet of paper, a freshly sharpened pencil, and Reese's horribly battered math book. After some consideration Malcolm prides himself on having not been at all condescending.
Reese, in an effort to delay Trigonometry as long as humanly possible, asks what Dabney and Lloyd were going on about.
Malcolm summarizes the situation as, "They're going to wind up making some bugs and rats explode, then they're probably going to cry about misusing their God-like power."
He and Reese share a look.
It sounds so much cooler when it's put that way.
They wind up tripping over each other and themselves to catch up with the retreating Krelboynes.
Nothing of real interest happens, at least in the regard to messy explosions: Laughing and swearing, Reese and Malcolm both get rat-bitten from their fingertips to their elbows; the experiment results only in a stinkbug quivering violently and a rat throwing up; and when they return, smelling like rat vomit, to their lunch table, Reese's beaten-up math book is gone.
It was, they agree without having to think about it, entirely worth it.
:--:--:
Their nights are decidedly more uniform. On Thursday evening they fall easily into routine.
It starts with them getting home. Reese immediately goes to the cupboard or the fridge, taking advantage of their 20-minute leeway to get started on his own dinner. Malcolm figures he could talk Reese into making something for him, too, and he considers asking. Ultimately he goes to his staple food of cereal with cold milk instead of the possibility of taking a hit to his pride that would come if Reese decided to make giving him food conditional.
By the time their mom gets home they're both finished eating and are sitting up in their room, both of them on their bed, jabbering excitedly about nothing in particular. Reese says something kind of stupid but really funny, and Malcolm's stomach flip-flops in a way that he chalks up to it being milk-logged. They keep on talking about plans, who they hate, who hates them but really shouldn't, how they're going to get to Burning Man, until they hear a fervent knocking on the front door and an annoyed yell--
"For the last time, Hal, I don't know Morse code!" from their mother.
They only heard their dad's responding inquiry, "Are they gone?" once, because he asked too loudly on Tuesday and his voice drifted down the hall, but heard it so clearly then that they can fill in his now-whispered question. Their hearts ache sharply each time their minds fill in the blank, but they can't make themselves leave it as silence. They laugh it off-
Malcolm: "God, Dad's a dork."
Reese: "Seriously."
But conversation is stained after this, leaving them to instead listen to their parents and Dewey have dinner, waiting for their dad to say something positive about them.
He doesn't.
Were it their mom's attention they were vying for, they'd act masochistically, misbehaving until she couldn't ignore them. But they've rarely fallen out of favor with their dad, and even more rarely did a day or two of separation not patch the rift. So Reese and Malcolm cast 'What should we do?' glances at each other. They come up as empty as they have for the rest of the week. They sit on their bed quietly, waiting awkwardly until the family puts itself to bed so they can all get up in the morning and start all over again.
Going to sleep is usually where the night ends.
Thursday night, however, offers a variation to the routine.
Malcolm wakes up.
He leans over Reese to peer at the clock.
11:58.
His gut says to get up, so he does. He rolls over Reese and creeps from their room. He sneaks down the hall until he's standing outside of their parents' bedroom. It's a strange intuition that gives him only enough information to make his intestines knot up with anticipatory fear. He presses his ear against the bedroom door--
"Hey."
Malcolm spins around. His heart pounds in his temples. His breath catches in his throat. He can feel the logic dispel the fear; Calm down, his frontal lobes tell his amygdala, calm down, it's just Reese. He relaxes.
Reese nods towards the bedroom door. "What you doing?"
"Listening to Mom and Dad," Malcolm whispers.
"Perv."
Malcolm elbows Reese in the ribs. "Shhh."
Malcolm's ear is back to the door. He grips Reese's wrist, ready to drag them both back to their room if he hears footsteps.
Their dad, "It's just they're both such good boys, Lois. Malcolm's so smart and Reese is…such a good cook. They have their whole lives ahead of them!"
Their mom, "Yes, they are. And yes, they do." a 'So?' is left unspoken.
"Do you know what will happen to them if something like this gets out?" Malcolm hears his dad blow a raspberry. "Zip! Nada! Zilch-o! They'll have nothing! Do you really want them living with us 'til they're forty, Lois? Do you?" There's a stretch of silence before, sounding a little broken, "Do you know what people might do to them?" Another stretch of silence, a sniffle, then his voice strengthens, "They aren't exactly winning any popularity contests, now."
"Hal…" A sigh. "What has any of this got to do with you hiding in our backyard?"
No response.
"Wouldn't you rather be spending time inside, in a nice warm house, with your family?"
"I can't look at them…I feel like, like I've failed--"
Not noticing Reese had leaned over him to press his own ear to the door, Malcolm bumps into his brother when he tries to back away.
"I think they might start…y'know, soon," Malcolm says as an excuse; he really can't stand to hear any more. Reese bolts from the door and is in their room in an instant. Malcolm follows as quickly as he can.
If he stood at the door just a moment longer, he would have heard his mother promise to take care of everything tomorrow.
:--:--:
The next day, Malcolm and Reese again separate themselves from the Krelboynes.
"I think we should do something nice for Dad," Malcolm says when they're seated.
Being nice to the family is one thing. Talking about being nice to the family is another; Reese turns in his seat and slugs Malcolm in the shoulder. He nods. "Me, too."
Malcolm quickly punches him back. "Okay, then, what do we do?"
Reese shrugs.
"Maybe we should just give this up?" Malcolm asks, scooting a little closer to Reese. When there's no response other than Reese looking away, he pushes on, "We can't just tell the truth, that would make everything worse. Okay, got it: I'll tell Mom we were working on a Psychology project. That you were helping me explore the taboos of our current social construct and their affects on us as a people. No, wait," Malcolm rushes an addendum, "She'd probably just ask Mr. Herkabe about it at the next parent-teacher conference, and then he'd probably blast it all over school on that stupid PA." Since it won't come to fruition, Malcolm doesn't bother worrying about how he'd explain it containing Psychology, a class he isn't slated to take until next year.
"Yeah. Plus, me helping you with homework? Come on, I thought you were smart."
In spite of his monologue being about both of them, Malcolm looks at Reese like he'd entirely forgotten there was someone besides himself at the table. His head tilts and he waves his hands dismissively. "Oh, yeah, rag on me. I don't see you coming up with any bright ideas."
"This was my idea."
"Exactly."
They both look away from each other again.
Emotional intuition he usually lacks makes Malcolm regret having said it.
The action having been ingrained in him for the past few days, he instinctively grabs Reese's hand to connect them.
" 'Mo," Reese mutters. He doesn't break the grip.
"We'll think of something," Malcolm says confidently. They look at each other out of the corners of their eyes. The moment is awkwardly lingering, held between their palms. Malcolm takes his hand back.
Not used to tending to emotions, they think of nothing nice they can do for their dad.
:--:--:
These friendly alterations last from their first lunch together, starting 12:15 on Tuesday afternoon, and end at 4:03 P.M. on Friday, at which point their mother walks through the door and says pleasantly upon spotting them, "You both did so well this week. I'm so proud of you both-- you know, I thought this was going to be a bad idea, but it turns out you're perfect for each other."
Malcolm and Reese, settled together on the couch as they think some more about what to do about their dad, look at her, realizing two things: They're sitting in front of a turned-on television even though they're grounded and their mother just complimented them.
In a moment of sick dawning, they realize they have been set up; that their mother had effectively orchestrated every movement of their week. They're first glad for the distraction from their dad, then hate their mom for trapping them, and finally hate each other for not identifying it as a trap. Malcolm loudly bemoans it as a plot to make them be nice to each other.
This makes complete sense to Reese.
They decide to make up for lost time, instantly kicking; hitting; biting; clawing any piece of the other's flesh they can.
Lois looks down on them with a smile.
:--:--:--:
His mother's plan, which had made complete sense to him in the living room, is seeming incomplete by the time Malcolm reaches his own room. He tries drumming up support from Dewey and Reese by saying it out loud. They agree with him the first time on all of it-- how they had tried to manipulate their mother by pretending to be a couple, and how she wound up manipulating their manipulation, going along with them in an attempt to get them to be nice to each other. How she had then spoiled her success on purpose because, although she did like natural peace, she liked being able to control chaos even more; she needed them to be unruly just as much as they wanted to be.
Really, they say, it makes sense.
It nags on Malcolm as being wrong, somehow, wrongwrongwrong, so he repeats it out loud as he paces the room. He's talking to himself but wanting the input of his audience, looking for the piece that's missing. Dewey gets annoyed the second time he starts going over it and attempts to block Malcolm out by reading. Reese, having been as much a part of the trap as Malcolm, continues to assure him up through the fifth repetition, getting up and punching him on the sixth. More perceptive than usual, Malcolm takes the hint and shuts up.
"I don't see how it matters if Mom did make you," Dewey says sagely over the top of his book, "you spend all your free time together, anyway." It's asking for trouble, or at least asking for Malcolm to start going over it again, but Dewey can't help himself.
Malcolm, one eye swelled from his fight with Reese, squints at Dewey. "We do not."
Dewey stares back at his brother for a long moment. He closes his book deliberately and puts it aside. Standing up, he says, "All right, let's try a little exercise, shall we?" He folds his arms behind his back. He begins to pace in front of his brothers. "Reese, who were you with last weekend?"
"Malcolm."
Dewey looks to Malcolm. "Who were you with the weekend before that?"
"Reese."
Dewey steps closer to Malcolm. More forcefully he asks, "The weekend before that?"
"Reese."
Dewey is right in front of Malcolm, standing on tip-toe to stare him in the eye. Dewey roars, "The weekend before that?"
"Stevie!" Malcolm responds triumphantly. Dewey stares so contemptuously at him that Malcolm feels his face go hot. "…and Reese."
Dewey drops back to being flat-footed on the floor, turning away in disgust. His mouth drawn, his eyes stony, he scans the room as though looking at a jury. He enunciates each word distinctly: "I rest my case."
Not willing to let it go, Malcolm presses, "Come on, Dewey, that doesn't even count. We've been grounded like, what, half of our lives? For Christ sakes, we're grounded right now. This should tell you something about how very often we see the outside world. Of course we're going to hang out together! We're stuck here. No one in, no one out. It's not like have a choice or anything, it's not like I can just get up and walk to Stevie's house; it's not like he could just get up and walk to --I didn't mean it like that, but you get my point."
"You're being very sarcastic," Dewey says levelly.
Malcolm gives Dewey the most devastating stare he can manage. "Good catch. So what?"
"So you're only this sarcastic when there's something you don't want to face." Between this having an inkling of truth and Dewey being a naturally good liar, there is nothing in Dewey's eyes to give him away. "Something like how you really do like Reese."
"I do not," Malcolm answers with a scoff. "That's just dumb, Dewey. And gross."
"Gross? Why would it be gross? Oh." He pauses as though a sudden realization hit him. "I never said like like. You made that up by yourself. Boy, you're even more repressed than I thought."
Malcolm splutters hopelessly, then sits on his and Reese's bed in silence. Dewey watches gleefully as Malcolm's paranoia gnaws at him.
Having zoned out of Malcolm and Dewey's conversation and back in once everything went abruptly silent, Reese asks, "So, we broken up or what?"
"Huh?" Malcolm yelps, horrified.
For being so close to giggling, Dewey keeps a remarkably blank face.
Malcolm stumbles, "Oh, um, y-yeah, we might as well; we pretty much told Mom we're--"
This is the last piece of the puzzle; Malcolm's proposition of his mother's idea goes from mildly cunning to conniving. Excitedly, Malcolm puts it into place for his brothers: "She knew I would think that! She wanted us to break up!" He's lost them, so he backtracks and explains again, both put off by and enjoying having to do so.
Reese declares war.
Malcolm, smiling, says he already has the first strike.