There was no point trying to sleep.

Not when every time he closed his eyes he ended up across from his father in an orange jumpsuit.

Of course, that particular dream only came when he wasn't flipping through the rolodex that contained his every memory of Eve.

He needed a distraction.

No, what he desperately needed was comfort.

He couldn't go to Gil for it.

Not this time.

Not after what happened.

Sorcha, of course, was in the room across from his but was it fair to turn to her and ask her for comfort?

He didn't think so.

And Eve... well, she was the reason why he needed comfort in the first place.

"I'm still here, Malcolm," her voice whispered in the dark. "I haven't left you."

"You left me as soon as you got what you wanted from me." His bitterness pierced the air. Soured his heart. "You didn't have feelings for me. You were just using me." His voice broke. "I let you use me."

"That's not true." A hand reached out towards his but he jerked it away, terrified of what'd happen if it — because he couldn't rightly call this thing she — touched him. "You know that isn't true. I had very real feelings for you."

"Someone with very real feelings would have come back after they found their sister."

"I was trying to protect you."

He laughed, the sound hollow even to his own ears. "No, you weren't. You had what you wanted and didn't have any further need for me."

Like so many others.

"Malcolm..."

"Go away," he pleaded as he curled into a ball. "Please. Just go away."

"You don't really want me to go away, though."

"Yes, I do." Nausea rolled through his belly and he thought any minute he'd be sick. "I want you to go away. Now. Please."

The bed dipped as if someone crawled into it but that was impossible. There was nobody here save for him.

"Let me comfort you." Sinewy arms curled around him and held him tighter than the restraints he strapped himself into before trying to sleep. "Like I did whenever you had a bad night."

"No," he whimpered, feeling himself waver and hating himself for it. "Go away. Just go away. Please."

A cold hand settled on his roiling stomach, shocking him. Malcolm let out a yelp and went to bolt out of the bed but his restraints kept him firmly in place. Tears slicked his cheeks, pooled in the corner of his mouth so he could taste the saltiness of them every time he opened his mouth to tell her to leave.

"Leave." He begged now. "Please, just leave."

A soft knock sounded at the door before she could again refuse. Malcolm pathetically hoped it'd be Sorch at his door but figured it was his mother.

"Go away," he managed around the thick lump in the middle of his throat. "Just go away."

"I'm not moving from this spot."

It wasn't his mother.

It was Sorcha.

Malcolm heard her, he angled his head, stared at his closed bedroom door, but he hurt so badly he couldn't form the words necessary to answer her.

"Malcolm, I'll sit outside this door until you answer. See if I don't."

He swore she learned the knack of issuing commands from his mother. Her simple words held the same echoes of authority, and the same undertones of compulsion his mother's could.

"Why are you awake?" he asked as a ghostly breath blew across his clammy skin. "You should be sleeping."

"Sleep issues." He could almost see the smirk screwing up the corner of her mouth. "I developed them because of my dope for a best friend."

His stomach twisted into greasy knots. A combination of guilt, grief, and a never ending wave of regret.

"You know you don't have to knock."

"Given how things are at the moment…" Sorcha opened the door and stepped inside. "It seemed like the appropriate thing to do."

He hated that she felt like she had to ask his permission to enter his room.

Hated himself for being the cause of this divide between them.

How to fix it, though?

He had no clue.

"You never worried about knocking before."

"You weren't talking to your dead girlfriend before."

There was no heat in her tone. No bitterness. Just a soft understanding that hurt beyond description.

"I want her to go away." His hand trembled so hard he swore the bones would crack. "I told her to go away."

Sorcha came and sat on the edge of the bed. Another change, Malcolm realized as a shudder rolled through him. Before she'd have crawled into bed with him, curled herself around him, singing softly until he found his balance. His calm.

"She won't ever go away, Mal." Her lips curved into a sad, sweet smile. "Some part of Eve Blanchard will remain with you even after you figure out why she was killed." She heaved a quiet sigh. "It's how grief works. Even if you get over her death she will still be between you and whatever women you date."

She said as much to Gil a few weeks ago. That she couldn't be with him because she'd never trust, never believe he was with her because she was the one he wanted.

"That won't happen."

"Mal, no woman will ever live up to the illusion of her you've created of her. You've turned her into a paragon."

"She's not you."

Sorcha's face went blank as stone. "We really shouldn't discuss this right now."

"Why not?"

"Because I've got enough whiskey sloshing around in my gut at the moment to not be shy about what I say."

"You've been drinking with my mother?"

Sorcha quit drinking after the night they went out with Mandy and he got attacked. For her to indulge now shocked him to the core of his being.

"I needed a drink after finding out your girlfriend was murdered by the same man who tried to kill your father and that you were arrested on suspicion of killing in retaliation." She stared down at the hands she folded neatly in her lap. "Now, I suggest we focus on that subject instead of one that will cause us to hurt each other more than we already are hurting."

"We can't avoid this subject forever."

Not if we hope to ever get back to what we were.

"There's nothing for us to discuss, Mal. I told you, I'll be your friend. I'll be here for you as you grieve your girlfriend. I'll help you with finding out why she was murdered. I'll help you figure out how you were framed for Eddie's murder. I'll even help you with stopping this man, Endicott. But I won't be your replacement for her. We both deserve more than that."

"If I can't fix things with you, how can I solve how I was framed or why Eve was killed?"

"Because solving murders is what you are good at." Her lips curved, warm with affection and amusement. "It's relationships you suck at."

She wasn't wrong.

Murder and murderers he understood.

Relationships? Made about as much sense as current fashion trends.

"I need you, Sorch."

"You needed me so much you choose a woman who lied to you from the moment she met you, ghosted you for months after a disastrous first date, never once checked on you after your ordeal with Watkins, and who continued to lie to you even after your mother got you back together."

Malcolm flinched as every word hit home. Every one was the absolute truth.

And he pushed her into speaking them.

"I'm—"

"Sorry?" Sorcha pushed to her feet so she could pace in small, tight circles in front of the bed. "You keep saying that, Mal. And I believe you mean it," she said with a small nod. "I do believe you mean it. But the reality is you chose superficiality over substance. Fantasy over reality. Lies over truth."

"I don't think I wan—"

"You wanted to pour the contents of this jar out on the table." She spun on one heel and stalked towards his bookcase. "You can't un-tip that jar now that those contents are in front of you and you don't like them."

She was right. He had asked for this. Pushed for it despite her warning he wasn't ready to hear what she had to say.

"You're right." Malcolm pushed himself into a seated position as Eve left him to float by the window. Proof that Sorcha was right and Eve would always be there. Always lurking at the fringes of his mind. Always a ghostly figure between him and the person he desperately wished would fold him in her arms and comfort him. "I did push you into discussing this. I thought I was ready to discuss this."

"But you're not." Again no heat. No bitterness. Just a weariness he knew went deep down into her soul. "Same as you were not ready for a relationship after what Watkins did but you pushed at me until I gave in, believing you, trusting you."

"You're right." His shoulders bowed under the weight of his guilt. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You did, though." Sorcha folded her arms about herself. "You couldn't leave things with Eve alone despite my telling you to do so. At first, I tried to understand. Told myself that making amends was just your way. After a while, though, it started eating away at me. You were calling and texting her even when it was our time together. When you told me she was coming over for dinner I knew you were going back to her."

"Why did you never point out what I was doing?"

That question had been plaguing him for weeks. When he did other things that annoyed or upset her she confronted him about them.

Except when it came to him constantly pushing her away when someone else came along.

"Ed said it was an extreme case of mudita. That I took such delight in your happiness that I overlooked my own."

"You shouldn't forsake your happiness. Not for me. I—"

"— will wallop you with a pillow if you complete that sentence."

He frowned. "Why would you hit me with a pillow?"

"Because you were about to say you don't deserve it."

It was galling sometimes how well she knew him.

Why wouldn't she, though?

Sorcha had fourteen years with him. They'd gone from inexperienced college kids to knowledgeable and capable adults. Well, reasonably capable, Malcolm amended as Eve floated behind Sorcha to linger by his bookcase.

He wasn't capable of navigating the waters he currently found himself. JT and Gil both offered him advice on what to do, but he hadn't listened.

And look where that got me.

"I don't deserve you."

"I'm inclined to agree." He winced, ducked his head to prevent her from seeing how much those words stung. "Yet, I'm still here, Mal. Still fighting for you and with you. Still believing in you. Still supporting you."

"I keep trying to tell you I'm—"

"— gonna get walloped if you finish that sentence, too."

"I'm—"

"—not broken," she bit out each word.

"I know you believe that but..."

"Nope."

"Sorch..." it came out almost a whine.

"We can argue over anything you like but not that," she said, tone firm. "I won't concede my stance now anymore than I would back in school."

Malcolm sucked in a breath as he lifted his head to look at her.

In the dim shadows, her eyes were huge, dark, unreadable.

Her face a porcelain mask formed from fierce determination and ironclad resolve.

His most loyal supporter.

The one person he didn't have to wonder if he could trust.

Rely on.

Reach out to when the world was coming down around him.

That he didn't have any right to ask for comfort from after he hurt her so deeply but which he couldn't stop himself from requesting, anyway.

"Would you hold me?" Raw, naked vulnerability coated every word. He didn't call them back, though. He couldn't. Not when everything inside him hurt. He shut his eyes. Not wanting to see the rejection he was sure to receive. "Please?"

The bed dipped but he couldn't bring himself to look.

Too terrified it'd be his vision of Eve and not Sorcha.

Tears leaked out the corners of his eyes when warm arms folded around him.

Drew him back against a body made of soft curves and pliant flesh.

One small hand curved over his bruised heart while the other rest on his cramping belly.

A soft sigh tickled the hair at his ear as jasmine and orchids enveloped him in a heady, intoxicating cloud.

Then she started to hum and Malcolm knew, he just knew, it'd be alright.

'Sun, sun, sun, here it comes…'

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!