This is the first chapter in a series of Malcolm and Cynthia stories. They operate under the assumption that Malcolm and Cynthia stayed friends, and depicts events that took place in between or during the regular episodes. It stays faithful to cannon, and will hopefully satisfy those who wanted to see a Cynthia/Malcolm story line.

Malcolm's Email

Malcolm once heard a teacher say that the Krelboyne class gets access to resources which would be wasted on the "normal" kids. That kind of elitism does nothing but make school more unfair, he thought. But hey, he couldn't complain, especially when the class got laptops. They could even bring them home. He'd finally gotten to set up his email. It wasn't long, though, before he realized he had no one to talk to—no one except the one person who never left him alone, the one person he should never have given his address to.

Cynthia.

Malcolm could only open up his email for a few seconds whenever Reese or Dewey were in the room. If they saw the screen filled with emails from Cynthia, he'd never escape the ridicule. But when Reese was at a cooking workshop or being forced to do some menial task for another stunt he'd pulled, or Dewey was being made to face the wall or getting his stomach pumped after eating another box of crayons, Malcolm would read them. Email after email sat on top of each other, none of them in bold because he read each one. He hated to admit he'd smiled at a few of the subject lines.

Down and Out in the Open Air Urinals of Paris

Pronto Esperanto

Catalan-Mandu!

He never responded to them. For some reason, when he'd hit reply and see that blinking cursor, it was like being unable to speak in real life. A lump would form in his throat and that haywire, genius brain of his would overheat from too much activity. Eventually, he had to shake it off and walk away, never getting back to her.

"Why does she have to bombard my inbox with this stuff? Shouldn't she be, you know, visiting a Roman colosseum or exploring the catacombs of Paris instead of wasting all this time writing me emails? I don't even read them half the time."

"... You savor …

… every …

… word …

… loverboy,"

said Stevie.

"Shut up, Stevie," he said.

XXXXX

A week later, Malcolm opened up his laptop and saw a bold subject line.

Goodbye to Berlin

Hi, Malcolm!

Or should I say, Guten Tag!

No, what I should really say is Auf Wiedersein! This is my last week in Germany and, alas, the great continent of Europe.

I went to the Pergamonmuseum today and saw the Altar built during the reign of King Eumenes the Second. It was beautiful! Strangely enough, it made me think of you. "If Malcolm were a king," I thought, "he'd like his architecture full of violence and nudity, too!"

Just kidding! I just made myself laugh, there. Too bad you weren't here. I know how much the sound of my melodious laughter is like music to your refined ears!

I know I've been inundating you with my various travelogues, but I do hope to hear from you soon! I don't know about you, but I've missed our back and forth. Although it's been a lot of forth and no back lately. Haha! Just kidding.

See you soon!

Cynthia

There it was. The guilt. Malcolm, once again, hit the reply button, and a blank field with the blinking cursor opened beneath Cynthia's email.

"Hello Cynthia,

I'm sorry"

...He backspaced.

"That sounds really cool!"

Nope, backspace.

"Hey Cynthia,

I missed us"

Definitely not that.

God. I can't even talk to girls on the internet.

Malcolm got up and shoved the chair into the desk, hoping whatever was on TV would be sufficiently mind-numbing enough to get his mind off of things.

Three hours of Demolition Derby with Mom screaming at Francis over the phone in the background, and Malcolm was missing the solitude of his room again.

XXXXX

In the hallway, he passed Reese, a devious smile on his face.

"What are you smiling about?" asked Malcolm.

"Am I smiling? Well, I guess I can't help but smile when love is in the air," Reese said, sneering. He punched Malcolm in the arm and scampered outside.

Malcolm looked back at him, puzzled. His confusion didn't last long, though. He turned into his room. His laptop was open. The emails were up.

Malcolm saw lights for a second, but quickly re-centered.

Alright. Don't panic. Maybe he just read them.

Malcolm fell into his seat and read Reese's reply.

"hi sinthia

I love you mroe then anythng I wunt to see yuo nakid babby

wen you get bak from yourup, we gona hav lots o secks.

love

dirty malcolm"

*SLAM*

XXXXX

"What the hell did you do, Reese!?"

Malcolm stormed into the kitchen to see Lois and Hal going over a mountain of bills on the table.

"Malcolm, I don't want to see any fighting today! Your father and I have too much to worry about without taking one of you to the hospital!" said Lois.

"But Reese got into my email! He sent Cynthia this—"

"I don't want to hear it! Now you leave your brother alone and behave! I'll take that laptop away in one second, mister!"

Malcolm had been humiliated by Reese countless times throughout his life, but this went way too far. This wasn't just some girl. He'd had conflicting feelings about Cynthia ever since she showed up in his Krelbyone class. She annoyed the hell out of him, but he loved it. No one else seemed to cut him down to size like Cynthia. No one else had her brain, her kindness, her sincerity. He'd had crushes on other girls, and he'd be pretty pissed if Reese had pulled this with one of them. But with Cynthia, Malcolm wasn't only pissed. Something about this made him feel panicked and sad.

He couldn't just hit Reese and have it be done. He'd have to come up with something smarter to get back at him and to evade punishment. But he didn't know how he would smooth things over with Cynthia, if that would even be possible.

XXXXX

Cynthia was nearly late to class, which struck Malcolm as odd since she normally arrived before everyone else. Upon seeing her walk through the door, his stomach dropped. She looked miserable. Big baggy sweater, corkscrewing dark hair even more a mess than usual. She had no color, wouldn't make eye contact with anyone, and took a seat without saying, "hi".

Oh god. She's traumatized.

Malcolm sighed and swallowed both his fear and his pride. He approached her.

"Uhh...hey, Cynthia," he murmured.

She looked up at him, eyes narrowed in contempt.

"Look, I don't know if you read that email—"

She interrupted, "the one where you accosted me with your immature, prurient adolescent desires like a pheromone intoxicated monkey?"

"No! I mean, yes, that one. I mean, not the—"

"You know, Malcolm, most people, when they like a girl, simply ask her out on a date instead of spewing filth at them through the internet," she said, her brows knitting further and further down, that crack in her voice leveling into a measured tone.

"You don't understand! I had nothing to do—"

Again, Cynthia interrupted him, but not with words. She raised her hand in that cobra-like gesture, fingers pointed, a signature move from her Krav Maga training. Malcolm figured he'd avoid a crushed larynx and ran back to his desk.

XXXXX

Later, at lunch, Malcolm saw Cynthia eating at a table alone, an apple stick halfway in her mouth and her nose buried in a textbook. Against his better judgment, he approached her again.

"Listen, Cynthia, please just let me talk to you."

"You're in my light."

"I didn't write that email, okay, I swear! It was Reese."

"I know."

"Cynthia, I'm telling you!" He stopped, processing what she had just said. "Wait, you know?"

She looked up at him, still angry, but something else too.

"You think I can't tell the difference between a moron and moron who can't spell?"

"But if you know it was Reese then why are you still mad at me?"

She maintained eye contact. Now Malcolm could see what that something else in her eyes was: sadness.

"You could have written back," she said.

That sinking feeling again. He tried to come up with an excuse.

"Look, I'm sorry. I just...I was busy, okay?"

"Just leave me alone."

Malcolm sighed and dropped his shoulders, turning around to join Stevie, Lloyd, and Dabney at their table.

"God what's her problem? Just because I didn't respond to her emails, she gets all bent out of shape. What, she didn't email enough with you guys? Why is my response so important?"

"I didn't get any emails," said Dabney. "I sent her a few of my papers for feedback, but she never responded."

"I knew it! You DO have email! Here I thought we were friends. I was even willing to set up an address for you and you said you weren't interested! Now I know that was all just a lie, a cowardly lie!" cried Lloyd.

"You call me on the phone twice a day! My mom's been talking about sending me to a camp!" Dabney shot back.

"Another …

… lover's …

… quarrel …" said Stevie.

"Wait, you guys didn't get emails from Cynthia?" Malcolm asked.

"No, she hasn't said hi to me since she's been back," said Lloyd.

"Me either," said Dabney.

" … Zip …

… zilch …

… nada …

… not a—"

"Okay, I get it Stevie."

" … one."

"You're telling us she emailed you all semester and you didn't even respond?" asked Dabney.

"I was busy!" said Malcolm.

"You heartless fool!" cried Lloyd.

" … He's …

… determined …

… to be …

… miserable …" said Stevie.

Malcolm rolled his eyes, and then looked back at Cynthia's table. She was gone.

XXXXX

That evening at dinner, Malcolm decided that his stomach hurt.

He opted for a Sprite and some crackers and sat back in his chair, watching the family gather around the table for one of Reese's famous dinners. He'd gotten a D- in algebra, so he cooked up something special for the occasion. A slow-roasted beef bourguignon with sauteed, bacon wrapped green beans and a coffee infused crème brûlée for dessert.

Reese leaned down to Malcolm.

"I know you're embarrassed about me helping you with Cynthia, but that doesn't give you the right to hurt my feelings. You know how it makes me feel when you won't eat my food."

Hal piped in, "He's right, son. I wouldn't pass up this cooking. It's not every day Reese doesn't fail a class and God knows your mom can't—"

Lois shot Hal a sharp glare.

"—make us dinner all the time," he finished, nervously. Lois looked back down and took a bite of her dinner. She immediately spit it out.

"Oh my god!" she screamed.

Hal was right in the middle of chewing his "Good God, Reese!" He spit it out. "Did you even cook this? How much wine did you use!?"

"I don't mind it. Tastes like—" Dewey couldn't finish his sentence, because he started projectile vomiting.

"Oh my god, REESE!" shouted Lois.

"I only used half the bottle, I swear!" cried Reese.

Malcolm sat up and, without being noticed in the chaos, went into the cabinet beneath the sink and got the empty bottle of rubbing alcohol, the contents of which he'd poured into Reese's cooking, along with some other ingredients. Vinegar, anchovies, coffee grounds, he couldn't remember them all, really. He placed the bottle on the counter next to the half empty bottle of wine, which he sneaked back to his hiding spot under the counter. Malcolm sat back down and watched Lois get up to where he'd been at the counter.

"Rubbing alcohol!?" she asked, incredulously. "Where on Earth did you get—How could you—WHY IN GOD'S NAME WOULD YOU PUT RUBBING ALCOHOL IN THE FOOD!?"

Hal joined in on the hollering. "He didn't even have the oven on. Look, it's not even warm! Damnit, Reese you can't be trusted for anything!"

"I turned it on three hours ago! And I just used some wine I swear! I don't know where that came from!"

"I can feel it moving in my stomach," said Dewey.

Malcolm opened the refrigerator, where he'd swapped out Reese's crème brûlée with some already-molding gas station moon pies.

"Is this your idea of dessert, Reese?" asked Malcolm with a satisfied smile.

"This wasn't me, okay? I've been sabotaged! Do you think I would have gone through the trouble of faking my grade just to feed you crap!? You should be grateful!" yelled Reese.

Reese only realized what he'd said after he said it. Lois' mouth opened to an impossibly large size and her eyes went all crazy, which is what her face did when she was about to unleash the climax of her fury into one ear splitting rebuke. Malcolm ducked out before the worst of it. Vengeance was his.

Reese loves cooking. The punishment fits the crime, since I love— Wait, no it doesn't. I don't love—I just meant that—I love cyber security. Shut up!

*SLAM*

XXXXX

The day after, Malcolm was paired up with Cynthia during chemistry. Again, she kept her gaze downward, her chin buried in the turtleneck of her enormous, mauve knit sweater. For some reason he couldn't fathom, she'd been dressing like a homeless lady. And it wasn't just her clothes, but the constant scowl, the frown, the withering stares; plus she constantly slouched.

The only words she spoke were monosyllabic commands such as "flask" and "beaker" and "move".

Eventually, the tension was too great. In his usual self-destructive manner, he went for another confrontation.

"Are you gonna be like this all year?"

She responded only with "pour".

As he poured the ammonia solution out of the decanter, he continued.

"I'm sorry, okay? But you don't have to sulk all day just because I didn't respond to your emails."

"Not everything is about you, Malcolm," she finally responded.

"Then what is it?"

"It's personal, okay? And you know what? I am still upset about the emails. I guess I just thought we were better friends than that, but, oh, I should have guessed, Malcolm doesn't like it when people try to be friends with him. Well you've made your point. I give up."

He felt horrible. He knew he didn't treat her right. Something about her just made him nervous.

When he felt nervous, he would retreat. She seemed to like him so much. Maybe he had trouble liking someone who liked him back, since it seemed like a bad judge of character.

"Cynthia...I really am sorry. I've been a jerk, okay? I was mean to you, I almost ruined your party, I didn't write back… I feel awful. I just didn't know what to say! I tried writing you back but I couldn't. You were off living this great life in Europe, and I was here in the Krelboyne class learning Nordic dance rituals and trying not to get my ass kicked. I guess I was jealous…

… And it helped me not miss you to just ignore it."

After a pause, she looked at him in the eyes. Hers were reflective, almost teary.

"Did it work?" she asked.

His heart was pounding.

" …No, not really."

She tried to hide the faint hint of a smile.

"I missed you too. I wouldn't have written to you if I didn't," she said.

"I know...I guess it just didn't feel the same without you here. I sound like an idiot through a computer, anyway."

"Don't you mean all the time?"

Malcolm laughed. "Shut up."

She laughed her snorting, neighing laugh.

"You're a good chemistry partner, Malcolm," said Cynthia.

"You too," said Malcolm.

Cynthia's good mood didn't last long. The next day, she'd be back to her sullen, angry self. He realized it must really be more than just him. Something else was bothering her, but who knows what. She mostly reserved her wrath for Dabney, thankfully.

But on that day, for the remainder of their chemistry lesson, she wasn't looking down in anger. She was looking down because she couldn't stop smiling.