Work Text:
Tevin, do you have a minute to talk to New York Direct News?
Y-Yes.
Great. Now look right into the camera.
---
Malcolm raises the hand that's holding the single shot Taser while Tevin is distracted looking into the bright light of the camera. He takes a steadying breath and then pulls the trigger, the probes shooting out and hitting their target perfectly, electrodes piercing Tevin's skin through the light fabric of his inmate's uniform.
It's supposed to deliver 50,000 volts directly into his muscle fibers, causing his muscles to seize and contract, incapacitating him nearly immediately.
It doesn’t.
The Taser clearly provides some sort of electrical shock and Tevin lets loose a stunted scream, but it’s obviously more from surprise than pain. His muscles visibly contract but only for a second. Not long enough to bring him down. Not even long enough to cause him to drop the knife he is still wielding
There's a moment of absolute stillness. Malcolm and Tevin both freeze, not even breathing as they stare at one another with identical looks of bewilderment. The strobing flash of the emergency lights and the clanging of the alarms give the standoff a surreal, nightmarish feeling. The impasse is short-lived, though, and Malcolm watches in the harsh light of the camera's spotlight as Tevin’s face quickly morphs from confused to enraged, sees how the man’s breathing speeds up, watches his jaw and fists clench so tight that it must hurt.
Malcolm’s terror is instinctual. Biological. The fear response is triggered in his amygdala, flooding his system with stress hormones before he has even processed that his plan has gone completely off the rails. It takes a couple of seconds for his mind to catch up, and by that time is body is thrumming with adrenaline. He can feel it pulsing in every vein, in every cell, in every atom of his body.
“Fuck,” he breathes out.
His body is at war with itself, the fight or flight instincts battling with one another for supremacy. If he had been able to pick one immediately, things probably could have turned out differently. If he had run as soon as the Taser misfired, he could have gotten away and found a place to hide before Tevin had even gotten his bearings. If he had fought as soon as the Taser misfired, he likely could have taken Tevin down; his years of martial arts training would have certainly given him an edge over the stunned man.
Instead, he hesitated.
He who hesitates is lost. The well-known adage flashes mockingly into Malcolm’s mind. And he realizes that in situations like the one he has found himself in, it can be fatally true.
Before Malcolm’s brain has caught up to his body, Tevin is lunging forward while unleashing a terrifying, animalistic howl. Malcolm throws the camera at him with all of his strength, but Tevin just brushes it aside as if it were no more trouble than a pesky mosquito.
Malcolm finally turns to run, but Tevin is already on him. The hand that is holding the knife grasps the back of his jacket while the other fists tightly in his hair, yanking his head back painfully. With an enraged grunt, he pivots them in a half circle, Malcolm’s feet nearly leaving the ground as he swings Malcolm hard into the wall beside them.
The impact of his body smashing into the wall with such force is excruciating, and Malcolm screams as he feels his eyebrow split open where his head makes contact with the wall. Instinctively, he'd also tried to put his arms out in front of him to ward off the incoming collision. His left hand takes the brunt of the impact and he hears the snap of bone before he feels the shooting pain radiating from his wrist and traveling up his arm.
Malcolm crumples down to his knees with a groan, facing the wall in a daze and leaning his forehead against the cool cinder-block as he regains his bearings. Tevin takes the opportunity to raise the knife over his head and bring it down forcefully in the space between Malcolm’s neck and left shoulder.
Malcolm unleashes an anguished scream that echoes through the halls, even carrying over the sound of the alarm.
He doesn’t know it at the time, but that scream carried to where the SWAT team was preparing to breach the door, speeding their progress. It also carried to the secured section where Martin Whitly is imprisoned, and at the sound of his son’s scream, a blistering fury lit the man’s eyes, causing Ainsley and Mr. David to flinch away from the suddenly livid man.
But even through the haze of pain, or maybe because of it, Malcolm’s mind has finally started firing on all cylinders and he throws himself to the ground and rolls away, disarming Tevin by taking the knife, which is firmly embedded in layers of muscle, with him as he rolls.
It hurts like hell. The pressure as his weight lands on the shoulder where the knife is buried causes it to shift and tear through more of his skin and muscle, and to scrape against the back of his collarbone.
He ends up on his back, his now useless left arm draped across his stomach, as he tries to scuttle backwards down the hall using only his right hand and both of his feet, largely ignoring the blood that is streaming down his face.
“Tevin, please. I can help. I can make sure you get on TV and tell your story,” Malcolm knows he sounds desperate, but it’s the best he can manage. “Ainsley Whitly is my sister. If I ask her to, she’ll interview you.”
Tevin pauses slightly in his pursuit of Malcolm down the hall, obviously considering the offer. Malcolm keeps talking as he slowly pushes himself backwards. Towards his father’s wing.
“She can make you famous, Tevin. You can tell the world about what you did. Why your parents deserved to die. You could be on every TV screen in America.”
Tevin smiles slightly at the thought, but then seems to remember that Malcolm had just shot a Taser at him.
“You lie! You – you want to hurt me. Like they did. You’re a liar!” He screams as he lumbers towards Malcolm.
Tevin catches up to Malcolm almost immediately and leans over to grab two fistfuls of his jacket, hauling him back up to his feet. He shoves Malcolm against the nearest wall, Malcolm whimpering as the knife is jostled yet again.
Tevin keeps his left hand bunched in Malcolm’s jacket, holding him firmly against the wall, but he releases his right hand and swings a hard punch to Malcolm’s abdomen.
“You. Are. A. Liar!” Devin punctuates each word with another blow, all landing squarely on Malcolm’s torso. Malcolm coughs out a groan, and is left completely winded as Devin continues to wail on him.
Malcolm’s left arm hangs limply at his side as he struggles against Tevin, using his right arm to try to push the man away. Tevin yanks Malcolm forward and sharply head-butts him, effectively halting his efforts to break free as the world goes fuzzy around the edges for moment and he sags in the other man’s grip. Fortunately, Tevin needs the use of both hands to hold Malcolm tighter in order to keep him upright, which means he’s, temporarily at least, stopped hitting him.
It isn’t much, but it is likely the best distraction that Malcolm is going to get. As soon as Malcolm’s head stops spinning, he launches himself fully to his feet and jerks up his right arm, mustering all of the force he can to hit Tevin directly in the throat.
Tevin immediately lets go of Malcolm to bring both hands to the point of impact, clawing for air that he can’t seem to get as his eyes water relentlessly.
The abrupt loss of Tevin’s hands against him throws Malcolm off balance, and he stumbles forward, barely catching himself before he falls to the ground. He gives his head a shake and takes a moment to steady himself and try to catch his breath, wondering how everything today could have gone so wrong. Tevin is now kneeling on the floor a few feet beside him, making a horrible rasping noise as he tries to inhale around his swollen trachea.
Malcolm himself is breathing heavily as he takes the few steps over to him and plucks the access card off of the front of Tevin’s uniform. As Malcolm draws back, one of Tevin's hands shoots out to wrap around Malcolm’s wrist as he looks up with pleading eyes, but Malcolm is able to easily yank his hand away from Tevin’s panicked grasp.
“An ambulance will be here soon,” Malcolm manages around a weak groan as he staggers away from Tevin to head back to his father’s cell. “You’re getting enough air that you shouldn’t die while you wait. Probably.” He throws the last part over his shoulder as he turns into the next hallway, using his right arm to hold his injured left one immobile.
He makes it back to the secured area where his father is and huffs out a sigh of relief as he approaches the outer door. He never thought he'd be so happy to be there.
He can hear in the distance the sound of a tactical team moving through the halls and calling out to one another as they come across Tevin. Malcolm swipes himself back in, entering the secured area outside his father’s cell and groaning as he pulls the door shut behind him.
Mr. David rushes over with a look of horror on his face at the knife still buried in Malcolm’s trapezius and the blood all over his face, but Malcolm speaks first, leaning back against the door with closed eyes as he exhaustedly fills him in.
---
I took care of Tevin. The guards have him now. All the doors are cleared and the EMTs are coming.