"Serving orange jello should be made a crime punishable by a minimum of one year in jail."

"It's just jello, Mal."

"It doesn't count as jello." Mal glared at the offensive cup of orange colored gelatin. "It's orange-colored gelatin. Flavorless, orange-colored gelatin."

Sorcha shook her head and reached over to take the offensive cup of gelatin away from him.

"Good thing my mom stopped at the store to get you the right flavored jello before coming in this morning."

"Your mom stopped to get me jello?" Excitement shined in the eyes Malcolm turned on her. "What flavor?"

Sorcha sent him a slow, easy smile.

"Peach."

He glowered at her. "Not funny."

Sorcha chuckled softly and reached over to pat his knee.

"She would only get your favorite, Mal, you know that."

His face brightened at that. "When is she going to bring it?"

"On her break." She placed the cup of offensive jello on his bed tray before pushing it away. "Which is in ten minutes."

"I can wait that long." The ends of his lips curved into the first real smile she'd seen in over a week. "For real jello."

Sorcha again shook her head, amused despite the exhaustion hanging heavy on her.

"Just when I think I have all your ticks figured out," she joked, "you come up with another one."

"I'm an acquired taste, remember?"

"No shit, Sherlock." She stifled a yawn with her hand. "Sorry."

"You look exhausted."

Sorcha aimed a look at him. "Gee," she drawled. "Can't imagine why that might be."

"You didn't have to stay awake." Mal's tone was as dry as hers had been. "Your mom, Jackie, and my mother have all taken turns watching over me."

"Sleep issues." She perched on the edge of his bed. "Got them from my pain in the ass best friend."

"You definitely don't need to pick up my bad habits."

"Well, I haven't acquired a taste for Twizzlers," she lightly teased. "So, I think we're good."

"Gil wouldn't bring me any when I asked." Malcolm pouted playfully. "Neither would Jackie."

"Because you need to eat soft foods since you just couldn't have appendicitis, oh, no." Sorcha huffed dramatically. "No, you had to go and develop tonsillitis and then an infection on top of it."

Malcolm hummed a soft laugh that turned into a soft groan.

"Don't you know you come to the hospital to get sick?"

"Well, try and stop getting sick, please. I don't think my nerves can handle you developing anything else."

Instantly contrite, Malcolm said, "I'm sorry." He slid his fingers towards her. Almoat touching hers, but not quite. Mostly because he was still unsure if it was okay despite her repeated assurances it was. "I don't know how you put up with me."

"I don't put up with you." She leaned over to place a kiss to his forehead. "I love you."

Wonder and awe filled Malcolm's face at her quiet confession. As if the concept of her loving him had never once occurred to him. Likely hadn't, she groused as he continued to stare at her, mouth hanging slightly agape.

It was another reminder of how little of life Malcolm experienced after his father's arrest. His inexperience with relationships, his inability to read social cues and respond to them, his awkwardness in social situations all could be blamed on Martin Whitly.

As could the fact that Malcolm didn't know who Malcolm was because Martin Whitly fractured his identity at a young age. Turned Malcolm into a near perfect mirror image of himself.

With one difference.

Malcolm was not a killer.

He couldn't hurt anyone intentionally. It wasn't in him to cause others pain. The times he did sent him spiraling down a dark path of self-loathing and self-harm.

Even that could be blamed on Martin Whitly. His actions created a schism in Malcolm's psychosocial development. A chasm full of isolation, inferiority complexes, trust and identity issues mixed with the guilt of what his father had done to his victims.

Malcolm craved intimacy. He desperately wanted to love and be loved in return. He just didn't know how to reach out and ask for those things. Largely because he struggles with accepting he deserves those things.

"You love me?" A tentative smile played about his mouth. "Really?"

"Yes, I do." She tucked the blanket around him. "Even though you drive me batshit crazy."

"You were batshit crazy before you met me,

Sorch."

"Touché." Sorcha pillowed her head on his chest. "Let's find something on the tv to pass the time until my mom brings you the right flavored jello."

"Alright."

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

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