"My whole life," he snorted, "has been an identity crisis."
Malcolm eyed her, sighing. He was willing to let the question of his odor slide by for the moment. "I--I've... this whole thing," he finally managed, "that just happened. I didn't do--I feel as if you all suffered for a bloody week because I spent so long being inactive. Don't act as if you don't--or at least didn't--perceive it that way, either."
He rubbed at one of his temples. "I'm not making any sense, I realize," he murmured. "I suppose I came here was because your trust lent me some sort of validation that I needed confirmed." He smirked slightly. "And I feel as if I owe it to you to make sure you know that I don't plan to break it."