Malcolm took the stairs two a time, uncaring about the lecture he'd get from his mother. He couldn't care less about things like rules or decorum. Not when his body vibrated with the force of the emotions pent-up inside him.

He felt... to much.

Any second he anticipated exploding from the pressure.

Wouldn't his mother really be upset if he became a huge stain on her pristine walls and carpet?

Malcolm cleared the final stair and raced down the hall to his old bedroom. He burst into the room, startling Sorcha, who jumped up from his bed with a tiny gasp.

Seeing her sent a fresh fireball of shame, guilt, and longing through him. He hadn't realized how much he missed her until she stood less than a foot away from him.

"Mal—" was all she got out before he lurched forward to grab her in a hard, desperate embrace. She let out a surprised squeak but it was less about him latching onto her like an octopus and more how hard he squeezed her.

He didn't let go of his hold, though.

He couldn't.

"You're here." He released a shuddering breath as he buried his face into her neck. Curled his fingers into the soft folds of the sweater she wore. Anchoring himself in the present to avoid falling into the hands of the past. "You're here."

"Of course, I'm here." Sorcha shifted, settled herself more firmly against him before she started rubbing his back in slow, soothing circles. The touch he craved giving the comfort he needed. "Did you think I wouldn't come if you asked?"

"After everything that happened between us..." Malcolm took a moment and allowed himself to breathe deep of that uniquely haunting scent that was hers and hers alone. Felt it slide down to where all his hurts gathered into one gigantic ball. His fingers quaked so he dug them deeper into the folds of her sweater. "I wasn't sure if you'd come or not."

"Mal, you should have reached out to me the second you found out your girlfriend had been murdered." Her arms tightened around him. "You shouldn't have gone through that alone."

"I didn't want to burden you."

"Your girlfriend was murdered." Mild exasperation coated her tone. "You weren't burdening me."

"Ex."

"Semantics." Those quick, clever fingers of hers drifted to the back of his neck. Lightly kneaded at his taut muscles. "Your girlfriend is dead." The fingers on his back stilled. "And you were arrested on suspicion of having murdered her murderer."

Malcolm's world tipped. If not for her arms around him he might have collapsed at her feet.

Much as he had that night at Gil's.

She couldn't believe he killed Eddie, could she?

No, that was impossible. Next to Gil, Sorcha was the one person who knew him best. She's the one who says I'm not my father. That I'm not broken.

"I didn't..."

"I know you didn't kill him." Softly, firmly. "I know you. I know you're not a killer."

"Gil—"

"Doesn't think you're a killer, either." Her fingers resumed their gentle ministrations. "He's got to play this hand as it was dealt to him, though. His orders came from the top. He couldn't disobey."

"Endicott..."

"Is framing you." She released a shuddering breath. "We know that. The problem is proving it."

He waved to the bracelet fixed to his ankle. "This thing doesn't help."

"As if you don't know how to get out of that ankle monitor," she scoffed. "Please, Mal."

"I studied fugitive trade craft with the Marshals Service in Glynco," he admitted with a small smile. "But I don't exactly have the tools here I need to disable the alarm sensor."

"Well, I guess it's a good thing I stopped at your loft before coming here then, huh?"

"You stopped at my loft?"

"I did." Sorcha waved a hand at the bed. "Grabbed your clothes, meds, and that FBI bag of yours at the bottom of the trunk in front of your bed..."

A smile, his first real one in weeks, curved his lips.

"You broke into my loft?'

"Not exactly."

Malcolm's brow furrowed. "What do you mean not exactly?"

"Technically, my police escort broke into your loft." Sorcha's eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. "And he let me in for the sole purpose of getting your clothes and medication."

"Police escort?" His head tilted slightly to the side. "Who was there with you?"

"Gil."

"Gil?" Malcolm's eyes blinked wide. "That's why he wasn't there when I was released."

"He had a feeling I'd head to your place before coming here so he sat on your loft."

"He knows you grabbed my bag then."

Sorcha harrumphed as she stepped back.

"I'm a little sneakier than that, thank you."

That had him curious.

"How did you sneak it out?"

"Stuffed it into my purse."

Malcolm turned to look at the white bag fixed to the handle of his travel case. "It's in there? Seriously?"

"Told you I had a good reason for why I always carry large tote bags."

"I just thought it was your addiction to Hello Kitty."

"Sanrio," she corrected as she moved to the bag and unzipped it. "They make the best purses."

"I'll keep that in mind when I'm looking to buy a purse."

She glanced at him in amusement.

"There is one I have had my eye on for the last few months..."

Malcolm hummed a small laugh.

"Is that a hint as to what you want for your birthday?"

"You free is what I want for my birthday." She pulled out his blue backpack. "But the purse can be a bonus for helping you figure out this mess you've gotten yourself into."

"You deserve more than a purse for helping me with this."

'She deserves someone to love her unconditionally and without any of the reservations you have,' a loquacious voice whispered in his ear. 'Someone who won't push her aside when someone comes along and tempts you to walk a dark, dangerous path.'

Malcolm shut the voices out as he took the bag from her and stashed it under his bed.

He didn't need them reminding him about his many failures.

He remembered them all on his own.

Nor did he need them telling him he didn't deserve Sorcha.

He knew he didn't.

Not after the way he hurt her. And this isn't the first time I did this to her, he thought as he straightened.

"If we don't figure out how your DNA got on that body it won't matter what I deserve." Sorcha's eyes met his. "You'll be going to prison." She made a face. "Or Claremont."

Neither a place he wanted to end up. Before Malcolm could tell her that a knock sounded at the door.

"Gil's downstairs," Ainsley called out. "He says he wants to talk to you and Sorcha."

Much as he wanted to talk to Gil, to try and explain he had nothing to do with Eddie's death, he wasn't ready to face him.

Not after what happened in his loft.

Not after Gil told him he was under arrest.

"Tell him I don't want to talk right now."

Petulant, sure.

He didn't care.

"And do I tell him Sorcha is up here sulking with you?"

"You can," Sorcha said as she moved to set a hand on his shoulder. "He'd believe it."

"And then come up here and talk to you through the door."

"She has a point," Sorcha said. "He's done it before."

"I know." Malcolm made a face. "And I need to talk to him. I'm just..."

"Not ready, I know." She squeezed his shoulder before stepping back. "I'll go and talk to him."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." She smoothed her hands down the front of her sweater. "Ains, tell Gil I'll be down in a minute."

"Okay." Ainsley's heels made only a whisper of sound as she walked away. "I'll also tell him Malcolm's busy sulking and won't be coming down."

Malcolm rolled his eyes as he took a seat on his bed. "I wonder what he wants?"

"Probably realized he didn't confiscate all my electronic devices."

Malcolm looked at her inquisitively.

"He took your phone?"

"And my laptop." She waved to the bed. "You still had my iPad at your loft so he didn't take that."

She left many things at his loft when she walked out on him.

Not walked out on me, he corrected as she walked over to retrieve the iPad she dropped when he burst into the room. Realized I was about to walk out on her and left to spare herself the added pain and humiliation.

"I'll take this with me in case it's what he's here for."

"You don't have to give it to him."

"Yes, I do." Sorcha stroked a hand over his head. "He said if Endicott could have Eve Blanchard's place bugged that he could do the same to any of us. And installing software on our electronic devices nowadays that allows him to monitor our calls, texts, emails is amazingly easy to do."

He hadn't considered that.

Course, there hadn't been much time between getting home and watching Eve float around his loft and being arrested for him to process what little information he had managed to gather.

"Does Gil think my loft has been bugged?"

She nodded. "He's having it swept tomorrow to see."

Malcolm pondered that as he stared at the woman floating in the corner of the room.

Murdered because of her desire to find out what happened to her sister.

Murdered because his father kidnapped Sophie and planned to kill her until suddenly deciding to let her go.

Murdered because of her association with him.

"You see her, don't you?" No bitterness tinged Sorcha's tone. No hurt or resentment. Just a quiet sadness and sympathy. "Your girlfriend?"

"Ex." He heaved a sigh. "And yes."

"Semantics." She moved to the door. "She was your girlfriend and she was murdered. You need to grieve for her. For the relationship." She glanced back at him. "You also need to get her justice, Malcolm. That's the only way you and her will find peace."

"Sorch—" he broke off, not sure what he wanted to say. Not able to say what he wanted. Knowing she wouldn't believe him if he told her all the things he desperately wanted to tell her. He finally settled on, "Tell Gil I'm sorry."

"I will." She opened the door. "Oh, and Mal?"

"What?"

"Take a shower." Her dimples winked. "You smell like the jail."

His lips kicked up at the corner. "Least I don't smell like the subway this time."

"One step above, actually."

"Won't have to burn my clothes."

"You burned a ten-thousand dollar suit?" Sorcha leaned back against the door, one hand to her heart while she fanned herself with the other. All theatrics. All for the purpose of making him smile. "And your mother didn't skin you for it?"

"I didn't tell her."

"Ah." She nodded. "Wise move, grasshopper."

She surprised a laugh out of him. Like she always did.

Because Sorcha understood his moods, his needs.

She just understood him.

And he pushed her away for a woman who walked away once she got what she wanted.

"Sorch—" he began again. "I..."

"Don't." She softened her brusque tone with a smile. "This isn't about us. It's about getting justice for your girlfriend and putting a stop to a terrible man."

"We have to talk about this," he said quietly. "About us."

"That's just it, Mal." Sorcha opened the door but didn't exit. "There is no us. There's never been an us. There can never be an us."

She left him alone then with the floating figure staring at him with her sad eyes.

An angel in white.

While the devil attended some charity function or dinner in a twenty-thousand dollar suit.

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

I want to send a special thank you to Rookblonkorules and chelsnichole12 for their lovely reviews!