"Are you still looking for an apartment?"

Sorcha looked up from the book — A Christmas Carol because why not? he thought with some amusement — she had been reading to him.

"Yes?" A frown puckered her brow. "Why?"

"I..." His confidence swallowed by a flood of nerves, Malcolm sighed and mumbled, "I was just wondering if you found one."

"You were just wondering?" Doubt and amusement coated her tone. She angled her head to look at him. "Any particular reason why you were wondering?"

Sunshine chirped and fluttered her wings, providing Malcolm with a needed reprieve. Why he couldn't simply say that he'd like her to stay with him alluded him. It wasn't like they hadn't lived together before. It's not like we aren't essentially living together now, he reasoned as he gently stroked Sunshine's chest. However, the words to say that evaded him.

"I just didn't know if you found one you liked."

"Not yet, no." She opened the book to the page she had been reading before his question. "Want me to continue?"

"How about watching a movie instead?"

Anything to distract him from his inability to tell her his feelings.

"There's a lovely Hitler documentary on Amazon Prime that I have been meaning to check out some quiet evening."

He sent her an amused look. "I thought we agreed no serial killers for Christmas?"

"Hitler's not a serial killer." She closed the book and leaned forward to set it on the coffee table. "He's a genocidal maniac."

"Just a higher class of serial killer."

"Okay, fine." She reached over to stroke Sunshine's chest with the tip of her finger. "How about It's A Wonderful Life or Lady and the Tramp?"

"You cry when you watch Lady and the Tramp."

"Uh huh." She sent him a wicked grin. "So you'll hold my hand."

He blinked at her. "You watch it for that purpose?"

"I watch sappy old movies with you for that purpose."

How had he missed these things? That's what Malcolm couldn't understand. He was a profiler. Experienced in reading human behavior. He should have picked up on all of Sorcha's subtle clues. He hadn't, though. And look where that's gotten us.

"How about we watch your favorite Christmas movie?"

One brow arched. "Mickey's Christmas Carol?"

"Yes."

"But you hate it."

"You hate going to the ballet," he pointed out as Sunshine puffed out her chest and ruffled her wings, "but have gone every time I've been ordered to attend a performance."

"You in a tuxedo was enough of a reason to set aside my dislike."

"I'll keep that in mind next month."

"Oh, no." Her nose wrinkled. "There's not a performance coming up…"

"Yes, and my mother has already informed me I am attending under pain of death."

"Can't you make Ainsley go?"

"Ainsley is going."

"Oh, well." She stroked his cheek with her thumb. "Long as we Musketeers can share the misery…"

Sunshine chirped and walked up his chest.

"You ready to go back in your cage?" She fluttered her wings. A clear sign for yes. Malcolm cradled her against his chest as he sat up. "Okay, I'll put you back."

"I'll load Disney Plus while you're putting her away."

"Okay." He got to his feet and slowly walked over to Sunshine's cage. "There you go," he said as he gently placed her back in her cage. "Safe and sound."

Happy chirping indicated her appreciation. Malcolm smiled as he checked her food cup to make sure it was full.

"Your mom is wrong, yanno."

"My mother wrong about something." He sent a smile at her from over his left shoulder. "Imagine that."

A pillow hit him in the middle of his back.

"Your sarcasm is unnecessary."

"Sorry." Malcolm bent to pick the pillow up before returning to the couch. "What is my mother wrong about?" A small smile tugged at his lips. "This time?"

"You barely being able to care for Sunshine." She set her iPad next to her and held a hand out for the pillow. "You take good care of her. And she," she said as he handed the pillow to her, "takes care of you."

"I care more for her well-being than my own."

"I know." She set the pillow in her lap and indicated for him to lay back down. "That's the one thing that annoys me the most."

"There's only one thing about me that annoys you?" He figured the list of things that annoyed her about him would be as long as his arm. "I'm shocked."

"Oh, there are other things," she assured him as he laid back down. "They're just not as worrisome as your refusal to worry about you is."

"It's not a refusal..."

"You live on Earl Grey and Dum-Dum's or licorice when I'm not here."

"I also drink sparkling water."

"Beside the point." She playfully flicked his nose with her finger. "You place yourself in dangerous positions because you don't value your life as much as those of us who love you do."

"When I place myself in dangerous situations, I'm not thinking about me." Her harrumph made him smile. It was her usual response to statements like that. "I'm thinking about how to stop a killer at that moment. I'm thinking about them. The victims. Their families."

"You're repaying your father's victims by risking yourself to help others." Sorcha cupped his cheek in her palm. "You've taken on his debt because you feel that if you had told sooner that others might not have become victims."

Malcolm considered her words as she smoothed her thumb across his cheekbone.

"The rational part of me knows you're right."

"But the irrational part rejects what I'm saying."

"Yes." Malcolm reached up to cover her hand with his. "I know it doesn't make sense but..."

"You're empathy and compassion are what separate you from your father." Her fingers slid into the hair at his temple. "They're what make you a good man and excellent profiler."

"Not according to my former bosses." His lingering bitterness over his firing from the FBI hung in the air between them. "They felt my narcissistic tendency and my father's psychopathy were sufficient reason to fire me."

"They dismissed you to avoid any negative press or attention."

"It wasn't just one incident as Colette said." He sighed as her fingers sifted through his hair. "I had a history of them."

"And still had one of the highest success rates in the bureau." Warmth spread through him at the pride in her voice. On her face. "Dad would be so proud of you."

Thinking about Ian Corbin filled Malcolm with sadness. He wished he was there now. He could certainly use his help in figuring out who the girl in the box was and what role he played in what happened to her.

"I miss him."

"Me too." Her eyes strayed off into the distance. "I didn't realize how much until I started seeing Ed."

Malcolm's heart stopped beating for half a second. Nervous ticks shot through his fingers. Was everyone wrong? Had Sorcha decided to move on instead of wait for him to figure out what he wanted?

"Ed?"

"Edward Greene." She resumed combing her fingers through his hair. "My therapist."

"Your... therapist?" Relief poured through him only to be replaced by curiosity. "You're seeing a therapist?"

"Did you honestly think my mother, brother and sister-in-law would not order me to see one after finding out I was living with a serial killer?"

"They forced you?"

"No." She breathed out a sound that was a mixture of amusement and the sort of baffling frustration that came from dealing with family. Something Malcolm understood all too well. "They just heavily encouraged it."

"You agreed to go, though."

"I did." She stopped sifting her fingers through his hair and looked down at him. "Does it surprise you I'm seeing someone?"

"No," he quickly assured her. "Not at all."

Especially since he had his own reliance on Gabrielle.

"But?" Her lips twitched. "I smell a but here."

"No, no but." He frowned at her snort. "What?"

"You're wondering if you're why I'm in therapy but are to afraid to ask because you fear the answer is yes."

"You should have joined the bureau."

"I didn't need to profile you to know what you're thinking."

"I don't always know what I'm thinking."

"That's because you're not okay."

Hearing those words spoken aloud rocked Malcolm to the core. He wanted to deny them, refute them, shrug them off with one of his patented flippant remarks.

This was Sorcha, though.

She wouldn't buy his denials or listen to any of the carefully worded phrases he used to cover up how not fine he was. She'd wave away his self-deprecating humor with a snort and a roll of her eyes.

Why?

Because she heard it all before.

Still, he struggled with admitting he wasn't okay. Three simple words. They shouldn't be so hard to say. Yet they were even more difficult than I love you or call for backup.

"I'm a mess," he finally settled on.

"And that's okay." Her eyes met his. "That's the biggest thing I've learned in therapy. It's okay to not be okay. To be a mess. To have a bad day."

"I'm a functional mess, at least."

She leaned down and instantly he was enveloped by that heady, intoxicating scent that was hers and hers alone. It settled and soothes him. As it always did.

"Yes, you are." She rest her forehead against his. "It's okay to reach out for help, though. To need comfort. Support. Companionship."

Now, he realized as she started to hum softly. Now would be the time to tell her that he wanted her to stay with him.

Before he could work up the courage, though, his phone buzzed.

"I'd place a bet on who it is," Sorcha joked as she passed his phone to him, "but we already know it's Gil."

Malcolm breathed out a soft sound as he answered.

"Gil." Why did you have to call now? "A murder?" He sat up as Sorcha snorted a laugh. "Where?" He took the pad of paper and pen she handed him and wrote the address down. "I'll be there in thirty minutes."

A/N: Hello, all! Hope this finds you well!

I just want to send a special thank you to Rookblonkorules for their reviews