| DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THESE CHARACTERS |

The facade's wearing thin, has been for a while now. Initially there was a hope, a prayer of sorts, that creating distance from the very source of the demons would help. For a while it did. Minus the occasional nightmare or two via PTSD. Unfortunately, given the field of occupation Malcolm resided in, meant a constant exposure to things that could only work against his efforts. Yet, the profiler couldn't help but be fascinated by murder. Fascination to a point of obsession that existed since he was a boy. Which really wasn't helped by the disturbing similarities between himself and his father, whose lessons helped him grow into the man he was. Whether that was a good or bad thing, however, he was unclear on.

Then there was the nightmares. Nightmares that recently started to occur more frequently. Even the narcotics couldn't prevent the night terrors. Definitely wouldn't prevent errants thoughts, memories.

"We're the same Malcolm. Never forget."

Despite his better judgement, and the warnings of his family, he found himself sitting across from the devil himself on opposite rooms of the cell. There was no form of communication for a while now. Just silence.

"What's wrong, Malcolm? You seem more quiet today, distracted. In fact, you haven't said a single word since you got here. Tell me, have you been getting enough sleep?"

For a second Malcolm believed he could see genuine concern as eyes scanned head to toe. Then again, maybe he did give a damn, somewhere in that screwed up mind that was Martin Whitly. Absent was the twisted and crazed smile that could usually be seen.

"You don't have to hide things from me, you know that don't you? I've seen these symptoms countless times. Malcolm, Let me help you." Of course the good Doctor could see that there was more going on than obvious lack of rest. Just simply couldn't put together all the pieces. Yet.

Blue irises were concealed as eyelids closed, followed by a simple head shake. Bad enough he was here in the first place, while not even ona case no less, spilling the beans on his problems (that totally wasn't connected to the doctor whatsoever)? Terrible idea.

"Look it's great to see that you care, it really is, but I'm fine. Not that its any of your concern." Sarcasm practically dripping from each word. Malcolm didn't even have to look to know that what he said garnered a reaction, given how snappy he also came off as. "I shouldn't have even come here. Mother warned me that coming here was a bad idea. So did Ainsley."

A rustling of chains followed, which was then followed by scrambled footsteps. Once halted they couldn't quite reach their target, evident by the sound of jerk from the chain the holder on the wall.

"Malcolm, don't listen to you mother and sister. They don't understand like I do. You know that too, otherwise you wouldn't be here. No one can help you like I can." the statement was said a-matter-of-factly, laced with desperation to keep the younger close. "Don't shut me out, not again, not after ten years. Malcolm, I care about you deeply and only want to help."

At that Malcom got to his feet and blue directly pierced blue, yet his expression was more soft than he was aware of. Something that cooled down the doctor's nerves if only slightly.

"It was nice talking to you, Doctor Whitly, but I really must get going now." Malcom stated, straightening his collar as he did so. No other words were spoken, only the sound of footsteps heading towards the door.

From behind the door, blue met blue. Wordlessly the younger Whitly noted the return of the crazed smile. Knew why it was there. They both knew this wouldn't be their last visit. Far from it. Malcolm wasn't aware of it then, but he'd fallen down a rabbit hole he would never be able to escape, not this time. Not ever.

"We're the same."