Malcolm helps Jackie carve a turkey that's far too big for three people to eat. Of course, Jackie does it on purpose so Gil can take the leftovers to the homeless people who congregate a couple of streets over from their building.

Jackie wields her ancient electric knife while Malcolm holds the platter steady. His mind flashes back to a few hours earlier, to sitting across the table from Ainsley and his mother.

"Thank you for having me, Miss Jackie," he says. "This is a lot better than being at home." He's always honest with Jackie.

Smiling, Jackie places the now-carved turkey onto the table. "I'm glad you could come, sweetheart. I know senior year is always busy, and you have your family."

Malcolm shrugs. "It's not like Christmas at home. Mom has the decorators put everything up in the house, and we have a perfect brunch where nobody talks. There's nothing fun about it."

Jackie turns around from taking a green bean casserole out of the oven and faces Malcolm, her hands on her hips. "Malcolm, did it ever occur to you that holidays must be insanely hard for your mother?"

He blinks. "Of-of course, they're hard for our whole family."

"No, no, no, don't do that." Jackie advances on him, stopping right in front of him and putting her hand under his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. If it was almost anyone else, he would pull away, but it doesn't even cross his mind to pull away from Jackie.

"You and Ainsley have to keep it together for yourselves, but your mom has to keep it together for all of you. Did you ever think about how much she probably doesn't even want to celebrate, but she does it anyway because of you and your sister?

Malcolm shakes his head no. For all that he prides himself on his perceptiveness about everyone else, he hasn't considered Jessica's feelings. Jackie pats his hand as soon as she sees his self-disappointed expression. "It's all right, sweetheart. Mothers understand. Just maybe try to cut her some slack from now on?"

"I will. I promise."

Later in the evening, Malcolm helps Gil bake his famous pumpkin pie while Jackie rests in the living room. Malcolm is calmer than he's been in weeks, the usual effect of being at the Arroyo apartment.

"Jackie wanted to get you a saber for Christmas," Gil says. "I convinced her some Harvard gear is more our speed."

Malcolm laughs. "You mean your speed. Jackie is way less boring than you are." He's obviously joking, and Gil grins, taking a light swipe at his shoulder as he passes by.

"Hey, kid?"

"Yeah?" Gil pauses for a second, and Malcolm waits.

"I don't know how things are at home for you right now, but—make sure things are okay with your mom before you go to Harvard. I know it's close to here, and I know you'll be home a lot, but it won't ever be exactly the same. You'll regret it if you go to college and leave things weird."

Malcolm keeps mixing spices and thinks before he answers. "I'm not even a good son to her, Gil. Jackie showed me that earlier."

"That doesn't sound much like Jackie," Gil pushes back.

"No, I mean, she made me realize that I haven't even thought about my mom so many times when I should have."

Gil leaves his pie crust and comes over, standing next to Malcolm and putting a hand on his shoulder with a comforting squeeze. "Teenagers are legendarily self-centered. You should see some of the entitled brats I arrest. They make you look like Saint Peter. Just—work on it. Nothing is set in stone yet. If you need to fix something, you can do it."

Malcolm turns to Gil for a quick hug, flour and all. "Thanks."

"If you need to fix something, you can do it." Those words echo in Malcolm's mind. They will echo for years, superseding psychiatrists and supervisors, girlfriends and coworkers. He will cling to those words, because he believes Gil, and that belief will help him to believe in himself when his hope is almost gone.

—

Malcolm goes home from the Arroyos' earlier than he'd planned. His preference would be to stay as long as possible at their comforting safe haven, but he has work to do.

His mother is already upstairs when he gets to the Whitly house, and normally this would dissuade him, but this time he goes to her suite and knocks lightly on the door. "Mom? I'm home."

Jessica opens the door. She's dressed in pajamas and robe and has a martini in one hand, but he can tell she isn't drunk, and she hasn't taken her sleeping pills yet. "Do you—want to come in?" She ushers him into the large sitting room adjacent to her bedroom.

Malcom follows her and takes a seat on one end of her ornate sofa, feeling a little awkward. He hardly ever comes into this room. It's his mother's domain.

"You're home early." He's surprised to find that she's paid enough attention to know it's out of the ordinary.

"Yeah, I, um, wanted to spend some time with you—since it's Christmas." Malcolm fidgets nervously.

His mother sits next to him. "That's—sweet." She clearly feels awkward too, and he tries to profile her, to read her, but his emotions cloud his ability.

"Mom, we haven't missed a holiday since—Martin got arrested."

"I know," she answers. "You, me, and Ainsley have always made it work."

"Yet you're drinking, and earlier you took a benzo," he counters. "Are you sure we're keeping it together?" Malcolm wants to smack himself as soon as he says it, realizing how it sounds.

"You came home early to judge me," Jessica says, her voice brittle. "I should have known. Malcolm, I know I'm not a perfect mother, but—"

"Stop," Malcolm answers softly. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry, Mom. I just meant—I see how hard it has to be for you to put on Christmas every year for Ainsley and me. I'm—I just wanted to say thank you, honest."

Malcolm feels Jessica's eyes on him for a few moments, studying him. "You really mean that," she says after a while.

Malcolm and his mother are rarely physically affectionate to each other. He has a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that they share too much in common—that too much expression of emotion or affection is liable to cause both of them to drown in their shared pain.

It certainly feels a little like drowning when Jessica turns and wraps him in a fierce, tight hug, but as he relaxes into her hold, it's also like reaching the surface and breathing again.

The scent of his mother's perfume sends Malcolm's mind into countless memories all at once, and he closes his eyes and lets them wash over him. "Merry Christmas, Malcolm." Jessica keeps him close, and he hugs her back, not saying anything.

After a long time, Malcolm is gently released from his mother's embrace. "Malcolm, I want you to promise me something."

"Sure, Mom." He's in an emotional state to promise her the world.

"If anything was to ever happen to me, I want you to take care of your sister."

"Of course," he answers.

"She has no reason to ever see your father."

"No," Malcolm agrees, envying his sister in the moment.

"You're both growing up," she finally says.

"I'm sorry I'm not making you proud," Malcolm answers softly.

Jessica sits back and looks over at him. "I'm not going to pretend it's simple or that I'm thrilled with every choice you're making. But I'm always proud of you. Never forget that I—I know, Malcolm. I was there eight years ago. I'm proud of you for just being."

Malcolm feels his equilibrium returning. "I'm proud of you for the same thing, Mom."

Jessica smiles. "How did you get so mature suddenly?"

Malcolm shrugs and grins. "Probably Gil."

He notices but fails to understand the wistful look that crosses Jessica's face as she agrees.

—

By the time Malcolm leaves his mother's room, it's late evening. He kisses her cheek good night, and she ruffles his hair like he's eight all over again. "Good night, sweet son."

The awkwardness is not all gone, and nobody would call the conversation they've had easy, but Malcolm feels relief. What he's been reminded of, in his mother's hug and on the end of her words, is that their bond goes far beyond a few months of distance or teenaged phases. She is still a safe harbor.

As he heads into his room, Malcolm peeks across the hall, seeing a light on under Ainsley's closed door. Unexpected. She'd gone to a party that was supposed to last very late.

A split second after he notices the light, he hears the crying.

"Ains? Ains, are you okay? Can I come in?"

"Yeah." He hears the faint answer and pushes the door open. Ainsley is a heap on her bed, still wearing her party dress, sobbing.

This is so out of character that it takes Malcolm a few seconds to take it in. "Are you hurt? What happened?" His adrenaline starts to pump as he realizes what he's seeing.

Ainsley lifts up her head, eyes puffy from crying. "Malcolm, I need a hug, not a doctor."

This, on the other hand, is definitely in character. Where Malcolm and his mother are reserved, Ainsley is open, willing to say what she wants and needs. He sometimes wishes he could be that way.

He hugs her, of course, sitting on the edge of her bed and trying to evoke Gil, the most comforting person he knows. She soaks his shoulder with her tears while her thin body shakes in his arms. He is no giant, but Ainsley feels tiny, fragile in his grasp.

"They only invited me so they could make fun of me in front of Nathan. They said all this crap about Dad, and he didn't know about it before because he's not from here."

Nathan. Ainsley's latest crush. She's barely talked about anything else for weeks.

Malcolm pats her back in what he hopes is a soothing way. "Ains, you've put up with this stuff for years, and you said you didn't even care. I don't know how you've been so strong. What's different this time?"

He goes for an even, calming tone. Dr. Le Deux on a good day, the way she sounds when she questions him about something new and unexpected.

"I don't care about those stupid girls," Ainsley says softly once her sobs have died down. I just care about Nathan."

"If he's a good guy, he won't care, and if he's not a good guy, you don't want him anyway." Malcolm parrots what he figures adults would say, still hugging his sister, who feels slightly less limp in his arms.

"Lame," Ainsley finally answers, pulling back and rubbing her red eyes. Malcolm is relieved to see her snark returning.

"I know," he shrugs, "but I don't know what to say."

Ainsley smiles. "But you tried. Because you're a good brother."

"Don't you want Mom?" he asks.

Ainsley shakes her head. "You know how much she wants us to be socially acceptable. She was so happy I got invited to this stupid party. I just can't disappoint her like that."

Malcolm nods. That's something he certainly understands. "Ains, I'm changing my name for college. You could do the same thing for high school—go to a new school, new last name, never hang out with those girls ever again."

Ainsley looks him in the eye, and the steel is back. "No way. I'm going back after break, and I'm going to show those witches that none of it bothered me at all, and in four years I'm going to make 'Ainsley Whitly' the name of the Valedictorian.

Malcolm smiles. "Good girl. Stick it to them the way I can't. Make Mom proud."

Ainsley hugs him then, very tightly. "We're different, Malcolm. It's okay."

He's tried to be there for her, but in the end, she's the one who comforts him the most. "Merry Christmas, Ains." He finally goes across the hall to his room, and he finds a text from Gil:

"You made it through another Christmas, Kid. I'm proud of you."Malcolm reads the simple words a few times, hearing Gil's voice saying them, feeling their warmth.

Author's Note: Tom Payne has commented on the emotional reserve between Jessica and Malcolm, the fact that these two people obviously care for each other in an extremely deep way to the point that everyone knows, but they normally show it to each other incredibly subtly. His example of this is that when Malcolm comes to let Jessica know that he no longer suspects her of knowing what Martin was up to, their emotional moment results in Jessica patting Malcolm's shoulder. Tom, who reiterated that Malcolm "needs a hug" was wanting to see them have that moment of closeness and rawness, but they couldn't quite get there.

This chapter is to fulfill my own desire to see rare but important points in time when these two might have expressed their love a little more directly. I honestly find Jessica very difficult to write. Other than Malcolm himself, I think she might be the most complicated character on the show. Bellamy plays her with a certain brittle veneer, but with so much underneath it that I feel like there are aspects of Jessica I'm still getting a handle on.

All that said, I definitely share Tom's wish to see Malcolm and Jessica reach greater emotional openness with each other on screen. My personal theory, as alluded to in this chapter, is that their usual reserve relates to an underlying feeling they both have that if they open their emotional Pandora's box, they won't be able to handle the intensity of their shared pain. One of my favorite moments in Season 1 is when Malcolm reacts to Jessica's police interview. The contrast of his emotion there with the reserve they both display later is really fascinating.