Work Text:
Malcolm wouldn’t admit that he was getting worse.
Even with the soft restraints, his wrists ached because of how intensely he jerked against them in his sleep, and his throat was raw from waking up screaming multiple times in a row. He felt awful. For once he was happy he was given leave, the police department decided it would be best to have a bit of time between the first case and his possible next since he, among other things, chopped off a man’s hand and nearly caused his own slow and painful death. He hoped he’d get a next case despite all that. In the end, it all worked. Maybe the NYPD would understand that more than the FBI did. He hoped so. But now, for once, he was fine with getting some rest. This time he was able to admit he needed it. He’s been laying on the couch since he got up at 4:36 and decided that trying for more sleep wasn’t going to work. Now it was...9:20? No, 9:32. His limbs were too weighted down with drowsiness to get up, but his brain would prefer anything but closing his eyes again. So it seemed he was at an impasse. Eventually, the sound of rustling got his attention as he slowly turned his head. Ah, right. Sunshine’s awake. She was happily fluttering about in her cage, no doubt excited for some breakfast.
Okay, he couldn’t lay here all day if it meant Sunshine wouldn’t be fed. That would just be cruel.
“One second, Sunny,” Malcolm mumbled. He slowly swung himself around. One foot, other foot, then two arms plant themselves beside his body on the couch so he could push himself up to stand. Perfect, one step down. Now to get the birdseed. It took him a little bit, he didn’t feel like moving too fast, and his limbs felt like they were moving through molasses anyway. “I’m coming…” Malcolm finally made it to the cupboard where he kept the birdseed and got everything set for Sunshine’s breakfast. Another slow amble to the birdcage and his bird was successfully fed.
As Sunshine pecked away at her food, Malcolm hung around to watch and then let her hop on to his finger and then his shoulder when she was finished. Now with his bird acquired, he returned to his couch to lay back down, feeling well and truly drained after all that. As he laid down, he had the bird jump back onto his finger and then onto his stomach where he let her explore around. He hadn’t had the chance yet to let her explore the new loft since he got here.
Malcolm couldn’t help but smile as he watched Sunshine hop around and survey the new environment from his belly, letting out little tweets every once in a while. The little yellow bird always seemed to make Malcolm’s mood pick up a little, he couldn’t help it. He still felt terrible, and he was probably going to stay on this couch all day, but Sunshine always made him smile. She was a gift from Ainsley when Malcolm moved back to New York. He wasn’t really a dog person (Nearly got attacked by one in Central Park when he was 12) or a cat person (Very very allergic) so his sister opted for the little yellow bird to be a companion for his brother. At first, Malcolm was not too convinced. He didn’t even know how to take care of a bird, but Ainsley insisted on giving the bird a few days before he decided it wasn’t for him. In about 30 minutes, Sunshine had a name, and Malcolm was well and truly attached. Apparently, he was a bird person, go figure.
Sunshine hopped up to Malcolm’s chest, and he reached out to stroke her head with his thumb. “You like it?” He asked softly. “I think it’s a bit big, but I like it. It’s nicer than my place at Quantico.” The yellow bird tweeted in response, and Malcolm chuckled a little. “Mom definitely approves. Pretty sure if she saw my last place she’d tear it down.”
Talking to Sunshine was calming. It felt better than talking to any therapist, he felt like there was no judgment there. Everyone labeled him as the son of Martin Whitly outside in the real world. The son of a serial killer. No matter how hard he tried to be something else, a good FBI agent, a profiler for the NYPD...he couldn’t escape the label. The FBI sits him down to say that they didn’t trust the son of a serial killer. Gil, as much as Malcolm loves him, used him for the copycat case because he was Martin Whitly’s son and not because he was a good profiler. Everything he did lead back to the twenty-three lives his father ended. But not with Sunshine. To Sunshine, he was just the guy who fed her and played with her. She didn’t know about any of the things his father did. Well, she was a bird but still.
Bird or not, she made Malcolm feel comfortable and comfortable wasn’t something he felt often. Being able to talk was most of the time all he needed. He was still going to feel awful, he still wasn’t going to get up today, but he got to speak. Speak without being judged, without being seen as the son of a monster.
Truly, that was all he needed