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The wind picked up so much so that Gil could feel it tugging at the wheels of the SUV as they drove further and further from the city. The baby-blue sky was slowly becoming shrouded by tall grey clouds, rolling over themselves, aggressive and ready to unleash a downpour. Gil only hoped that they made it to the suspect's house, got a quick confession, and were heading for the local law enforcement's precinct before the worst of the storm came through.
In the passenger's seat, Malcolm leaned against the seat belt strap, his eyes closed and breaths even but Gil knew he was awake. The kid couldn't sleep peacefully, even if he had wanted to. Glancing in the rearview, he could see Dani and JT talking and gesturing heavily on their car. And while Gil didn't mind the silence, he almost ached for a conversation. Rarely did he and Malcolm have time alone. Rarely did they get to talk less like boss and subordinate, and more like father and son.
He looked back to Malcolm, who was clenching his fists rhythmically as his breaths sharpened. Whether he was willing himself to stay awake, or fighting a flashback or bad thought, Gil wasn't sure. All he knew was that he wanted to talk to the kid, and it seemed as if Malcolm could use the distraction.
"Hey, Bright," Gil tapped at the steering wheel. Malcolm hummed in acknowledgement but kept his eyes shut. Gil continued, awkwardly, "Uh, how's your mom doing?"
The question caught the kid's attention, though Gil wasn't sure it was in the best light. Malcolm's eyes fluttered open. He stared ahead, unblinking, a blankness to his gaze that chilled Gil's blood.
"She's fine." Malcolm said.
And that was that. He closed his eyes once more, a muscle in his cheek twitching as he leaned back into the seat belt strap. The silence flooded the SUV once again, but this time, it smothered Gil. It made him feel a claustrophobic tightness at the base of his skull, spreading down throughout his body and he couldn't help but tighten his grip on the steering wheel. He said, "Look, kid--"
"She slapped me." Malcolm interrupted. He took a deep breath and pulled himself upright. Jaw clenched and hands fisted until his knuckles were white, Malcolm folded his arms across his chest and said, "Last night. She was drunk…"
Gil's heart dropped to his gut. "Jesus, Bright. I-I'm sorry, kid. I had no idea…"
"No, it's fine, it's fine." He cleared his throat with a stiff laugh. "I, uh...I deserved this one."
Gil shook his head before he even began speaking. "Kid, nobody deserves to get hit." He chanced a check to Malcolm. Malcolm smiled forcefully. Gil cursed internally because of course the kid thought he deserved his mother's drunken antics. And the fact that she was... abusive to her children; that was something that Gil couldn't unsee, he couldn't retract that idea.
He had always had feelings for Jessica. Even after she had rejected him decades ago, and even as she took Martin Whitly over him, he had still adored her. But this…? This made something in his stomach twist. She was a good woman, and a loving mother, Gil knew. She would do anything for her children, and would die for her son.
Gil tiptoed the conversation as carefully as he could in his mind. The first thing was to get answers, and the next was to disarm that thought in Malcolm's head. That thought that told him, "you deserve it".
"Bright," Gil kept his voice level. Outside, a raindrop tapped against the windshield. "What happened, kid?" Malcolm bit at his lips, enough that Gil could see the deeper reds beside the normal, healthy pink. He was going to bleed at that rate. "Bright." Gil snapped, still cautious. "Quit biting and talk to me, kid."
Malcolm's chin dropped to his chest. "I don't want to…"
Lightly, Gil asked, "Don't want to talk, or don't want to stop biting?" He caught Malcolm's eyes, but while he tried to deflate the tension a bit, Malcolm seemed to have no intention of doing so. Instead, he turned back to the window. His forehead smacked the glass enough for a solid thunk to hit Gil's ears, and Gil cringed a bit. "Look, I-- You don't have to talk. Okay? I just...I want to help, Bright. However I can."
"You don't need to." Malcolm sighed slowly. "I told her she was like dad. And I shouldn't've…" Something in his voice wavered. Another raindrop splatter against the windshield, rolling up and away with the wind. A third and fourth followed. Gil growled, flicking on the wipers as a light shower began.
Gil said, "Malcolm--"
"Boss." JT's voice came through the walkie talkie plugged into the dash. "You know it's the next turn-off, right? Might want to hop over here." Gil looked into the rearview to find Dani and JT's SUV gone and, instead, two lanes over and ready to turn right with the curve.
"We'll talk in a bit, okay?" Gil felt like he was talking to air. Malcolm didn't respond. He sank further into his seat. Gil brought the car rightwards and turned with Dani and JT, taking a street off of another street until they were flying through the forest backroads, the trees whipping by as blurs of grey and brown and green. Rain obscured most of the view ahead, so Gil took the drive slower than he'd like. Getting to the suspect and getting home was his top priority now. Getting Malcolm home was his goal.
The kid had already overworked himself to near burnout for the past three days, staying late at the precinct and leaving in the early hours, only to return later that morning. The kid averaged little to no sleep every night, but judging by his lackluster responses and snippy attitude, Gil figured he was pulling all-nighters for this case. Or perhaps the all-nighters were from his mother, not their case.
The GPS brought them down a dirt path. Wind kicked the tops of the trees sideways, pelting the side of the SUV in a sideways whiplash of rain. Thunder grumbled overhead as lightning illuminated the black sky to a somber bluegrey. Gil pulled up to the large, quaint house nestled by the tall trees around and yanked the car into park. He plucked the walkie free and said, "Powell, Tarmel, you two head in. If you need us, we'll be waiting out here."
Malcolm glared at Gil as if he had just cursed him out. He undid his belt buckle nonetheless and collapsed into the seat with a scowl.
"Got it." Dani said. Through the haze of rain, Gil could make out Dani and JT rushing for the house. They were at the door and knocking within a few seconds. As soon as the door opened and they were welcomed inside did Gil twist around to face Malcolm.
"Your mom…" Gil paused. He wasn't quite sure how to approach the subject. He loved Jess, but her drinking was getting out of hand. But he loved Malcolm, too, though he was equally as problematic at points. Gil shrugged, "Well, she has a bit of a drinking issue, I think it's safe to say that."
Malcolm laughed, something akin to genuine. "Yeah. A bit." He kept his gaze diverted ahead. "And I don't hate her or anything. Dad... the Surgeon ruined her. Ruined us. She's dealing with just as much as I am, so…" He wrestled his phone free just to show it off with a shake. "And judging by the twenty-seven apology texts I got this morning, I'm pretty sure she regrets it."
"She does." Gil said. "She adores you two. She'd do anything for you two."
A subtle realization settled over Malcolm, then, something so distinctly Malcolm, yet so discreet, that Gil was sure nobody else would have even seen it. Seen the kid's acceptance of the statement, as if it weren't obvious before. Or perhaps it wasn't obvious to him.
Malcolm nodded and turned back to the window. "Yeah...I know…"
"Good." Gil clapped his hand to Malcolm's shoulder, thumb at the base of his throat, hidden under thick layers of his suit. "I'll talk to her--" Malcolm whipped around, wide-eyed and ready to retort, but Gil continued, " Discreetly , just in a casual conversation. Try to get her to…see someone about her drinking." With a deep breath, Malcolm relaxed back into his seat.
Thunder clapped, ripping through the brief silence in the car. Gil frowned.
The storm was getting bad enough that Gil wondered if there was a severe storm warning. While upstate New York rarely had tornadoes or anything intense, it was still possible. And judging by the way the trees around them groaned and teetered to the side with the gusts of howling wind, Gil was sure that they weren't in any regular thunderstorm.
He turned on the radio, flipping through the static-riddled channels. Malcolm pulled out his phone, typing quickly before mumbling, "No signal."
Gil peered through the darkness, barely making out the house, now. It had been visible before, but with the aggressive downpour, he couldn't see anything save for the dull glow of the porch light a couple dozen feet away. Through a scowl, Gil ripped the walkie free from where it was plugged in and said, "Powell, Tarmel, how's it--?"
Muffled pops of gunfire had Gil and Malcolm bolting upright in their seats. One look to one another was all it took before they were scrambling out of the car and into the rain. Even with the heat of the summer, the shock of icy cold water left Gil shivering in seconds. His fingers fumbled for his firearm as he nudged the car door shut with his hip.
The house's front door slammed open and their suspect came running, splashing through the puddles of mud and fallen leaves as he went. Gil pulled his gun free. Malcolm turned in time to get shouldered by the man moving at full-speed. His back hit the car hard. Malcolm doubled over as Gil rushed around the front of the SUV. Illuminated by the headlights, he caught Dani and JT in his periphery, running forward with their weapons out, completely soaked.
Gil cursed.
Their suspect was gone.
Dani, over the rain, called out, "Where is he?"
"Dude just pulled a gun," JTshouted. "As soon as we asked him about Molly Rapp, he whipped out this big-ass saw-off--!"
"There!" Malcolm screamed over them. He pointed into the darkness. All three of their heads turned to look where the kid was pointing and, for a second, Gil couldn't see shit. He squinted, seeing nothing but black and grey and the haze of trees against the shadowy blue forest backdrop.
A shadow figure flung from behind a thick tree trunk, darting into the darkness. Malcolm scurried after him. Gil tried to grab him, tried to snag his shoulder before he could get anywhere but the kid was gone in seconds. He shouted out, "Bright! Bright! " Lightning and thunder cracked overhead, devouring his voice. Gil turned to JT and Dani. "Car! Cut him off!" he ordered, jabbing a finger to the SUVs. Gil barely caught sight of Dani's nod before he rushed into the forest after Malcolm.
The trees whoosh as he ran past them, slip-sliding in the mud as it splashed up his pants. With his gun at his side, Gil surged deeper and deeper into the dense trees, struggling to see anything at lightning flickered every few seconds. It was like a light show on a dance floor, confusing him, disorienting him to his surroundings. All Gil could do was run. He could run, and hope to God that he ran into Malcolm before their suspect did. He could run, and pray that he catch the bastard before anyone else got hurt or killed.
Gil ran until his legs ached. A burn worked up his thighs and down his calves, sharp but only surface level. He slowed his pace to a jog, listening to the hollow shush of the rain as he flipped around, the back, then around again. " Bright! "
A crash of thunder responded to him.
"Bright!" His voice cracked. " Malco--! "
"Gil!"
Gil jerked sideways to the sound of Malcolm's muffled voice.
In a clearing thirty-or-so feet away was Malcolm, completely covered in mud but in-tact, practically lying on top of their suspect as he elbowed the man's cheek into the ground. Malcolm had his arms pinned behind his back but he was struggling, wrestling to stay straddled and keep a firm grip. "I got him!" he called, grinning. Gil pulled his handcuffs out.
A crack of thunder deafened him. Light blinded him. For a split second, Gil felt nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing.
He was nothing.
But then he flew backwards, off his feet, smacking flat on his back with his ears ringing and rain spattering his face and Gil crashed back into reality. As fast as the lightning strike had come, it was gone, leaving him to writhe in the mud. Gil choked on nothing, on water, on his own breaths as he struggled to haul himself upright. E verything from the base of his skull down his spine throbbed deep with pain, numbing him to the roar of the rain and the raging fire devouring a tree only a few feet away. He pulled himself to his hands and knees, then further, staggering to stand upright and find Malcolm.
Malcolm, who was nowhere to be seen. Where he had been standing was alight with flame, a tree split straight down the center and burning hot. It sizzles and crackled around the charred black stump, the flames illuminating the otherwise dark forest.
Surprisingly, to Gil, the rain had yet to put it out. With such a heavy pour, he had expected to watch it die in the first few seconds of getting upright. But it continued to burn even as Gil stumbled towards it in search for Malcolm, who was just there but had vanished. It continued to burn even as he tripped over their suspect's body, his eyes wide open with a half-charred face, blackened down to the bone. It looked as if he had been caught on fire. It looked as if he had been struck by lightning.
The same lightning that would have struck Malcolm, too.
"Malcolm…?" Gil's voice came out cracked."M- Malcolm? " He spun in a tight circle, looking for anything in the blackness. For a split second, he had hoped the kid's jacket were on fire so that he could see him, but then he wanted to smack himself because that was the last thing he wanted.
If Gil had been thrown standing a good distance from the tree, then there was no doubt Malcolm - his scrawny little profiler - went absolutely flying. Gil prepared his stomach for lost limbs or broken bones. He prepared his mind and heart for a dead body much like their suspect.
" Kid! " He needed Dani, and JT. He needed backup of some form because he had just been tossed by lightning and while adrenaline was keeping him upright, Gil wasn't sure how much longer he would be standing. His whole body was in agony, but he pushed it aside. His legs were bordering on giving out, but he ignored it. But if he dropped, then who would help Malcolm?
Gil stumbled over a root, half-expecting it to be Malcolm's arm or toothpick-thick leg. He nearly face-planted thanks to a rock, but his heart kicked into his throat nonetheless when he thought it was the kid's skull or severed head.
"Fuckin-- Bright! Come on, kid! Talk to me!" Gil screamed high-pitched, bordering on hysterics, he knew, but if Malcolm was out there alive, Gil would find him or go down trying. "Kid! Please! Please God just…" Another root brought him to his knees. His palms caught him, scraped by the hard landing. "Fuck, fuck…"
The likelihood of Malcolm being alive became less and less likely the more and more Gil's faculties returned to him. His ears had stopped ringing, and his body's pains had finally caught back up to him, threatening to immobilize him. Gil curled over himself, forehead in the mud.
What if he was walking in the complete wrong direction? What if he had passed Malcolm? What if the kid had been cooked by the heat? Was that even possible?
...Was Malcolm even alive?
If he was, what condition would he be in? No doubt, he wouldn't be the same Malcolm he knew. If he had suffered brain damage, or--
"Gh…"
Gil craned his neck to the choked sound that almost was his name, that was almost Malcolm saying his name, but not quite. It was wrong, too guttural, not light enough. When Malcolm had said his name, it was always so weightless and smooth. There had never once been a struggle in calling Gil's name, whether it be at Harvard asking for a ride home, or in the FBI just wanting to hear a familiar voice. There had never been a hesitation.
Until now.
Now, with Malcolm a couple feet away and chest-down into the dirt, breathing hard and smeared with mud and rain. He stared at Gil with glassy eyes, blinking slow, in a daze.
Gil hauled himself upright.
The rain was slowing enough for him to see clearer, but only barely, enough to drop at Malcolm’s side and peel him off the ground. Gil flipped him carefully, one hand secure around his neck in case of a fatal neck injury, while the other guided him so that Malcolm rested half-on his thighs, the kid’s legs sprawled and folded over one another in the mud. Grime caked his face and hair. His blue suit was soaked black. The kid's eyes had slipped shut but thankfully so, but Gil still folded over Malcolm to shield him from the rain. There was blood on his suit, the water-washed white shirt dyed pink from it, though Gil was too scared to touch and find out where it stemmed from.
"Bright? Kid, you with me?" Gil leaned closer to Malcolm's head. He tilted his ear towards Malcolm's mouth, hoping for words but instead earning small puffs of air: it was welcomed, but not nearly as reassuring as Gil had thought it would be. Instead, it froze something inside of him.
His kid was so still, and so quiet, unconscious and cold from the rain and never before had Malcolm been so pliant in his arms, so heavy yet so lightweight and maneuverable. He reminded Gil of a doll.
He reminded Gil of a corpse.
Despite feeling his breaths, Gil needed proof. He needed something, but he wasn't sure what. All he knew was that he needed Malcolm to be okay. So swallowing his hammering heart, Gil pushed two fingers under Malcolm's jaw, closing his eyes and feeling the thready pulse below. The beat of the rain on his back and the pound of his heart were tuned out as Gil focused and listened, and listened, and listened until he was absolutely positive Malcolm was still breathing.
He was still alive. He was alive.
Gil glanced up and around the forest. Thunder grumbled overhead, rolling with the tide of the clouds, but it seemed the worst of the storm had passed, leaving Gil and Malcolm crumpled on the ground with a half-flaming tree and a dead suspect.
He would have to carry Malcolm out of there, he knew. JT and Dani were who knew how far away, blocking off the road so their deceased suspect couldn't escape by car. He had ran for a few minutes at best, but with his whole body aching in time with his rabbit-fast heart, Gil wasn't sure how long he could carry Malcolm, even if he were light in weight.
It would hurt, and it would be tiring. And Gil wasn't ready for that quite yet. So, slowly, he moved his hand from under Malcolm's jaw to over his chest, finding his heartbeat there and settling, his fingers halfway under his suit jacket and warmed by the kid's body heat. "You know," Gil swallowed, his throat scratching every syllable. "When you were a kid… Do you remember? You were afraid of thunderstorms…"
Gil didn't wait for a response. He took a deep breath and continued, "You would...hide. Jackie and I would search for...for a long time. But we couldn't find you. And you would be in...in the strangest spots. Cabinets. Closets. Bathtub…"
He chuckled at the memory of Malcolm scurrying up their staircase, diving between the toilet at the tub at a loud crack from outside. It had been their neighbor trimming his tree branches, sounding all too much like thunder for the skittish twelve-year-old. At the time, Gil had been heartwrenched and terrified as Malcolm squished his face up against the porcelain back of the toilet. But in hindsight, it had made Gil warm with fondness. Because at least he had gotten to experience that with Malcolm. He had gotten to experience both the good and the bad and everything in between and sure, Malcolm was incredibly difficult to tame and even more difficult to soothe - whether as an adult or as a child - but Gil treasured it regardless.
He and Jackie never got to have children of their own. They had tried, once, decades ago, before Malcolm had even been born, but the baby had miscarried within a few months. And while it had hurt Gil, it had devastated Jackie. They had never tried for a baby ever since. They had never discussed nor wanted a child ever again.
That was, until Malcolm had rolled into his life.
At first, Gil had thought the kid was mature for his age, with his quiet energy and curt sentences. But that had been the trauma talking. That had been Martin Whitly's poison. As soon as Malcolm had been freed of that house, he had turned into an anxious nightmare, riddled with fears beyond Gil's comprehension. That was when the night terrors had come. When the pills had started. When the bed-wetting and poor appetite and nauseous spells had begun. And when the fear of thunderstorms had reared its ugly head.
Malcolm had outgrown most of that.
Gil wondered if he had outgrown his fear of storms, too.
" Hey. Come on, look at me, Gil."
The rain had slowed to a drizzle. Whatever heat came from the flaming tree was gone, likely smothered. Gil blinked up at JT. "JT?" Gil couldn't speak louder than a mumble. He felt sapped, drained of everything, too heavy and too weightless all at the same time. "Where's Malcolm?"
"You're holding him, boss." The frown lines on JT's face deepened as his eyes flicked down, then up to Gil, then down again. Gil followed his line of sight.
Malcolm was still in his lap, cradled with Gil's hand under his head and arm draped over the kid's chest, his fingers fisted in the material of Malcolm's jacket sleeve. His face was still muddy and bloody, face shielded from the rainwater that had cleaned his suit as Gil sat hunched over him for...an indiscriminate amount of time.
Gil could have been sitting there for hours. Maybe minutes. He hoped it wasn't for long, because Malcolm couldn't survive that long…
His eyes flicked back up to JT. "H-How long…?"
"I don't know, man. Maybe...ten minutes? Since we split up? We saw the lightning strike in the trees and got a bad feeling… Suspect's dead." JT's gaze dropped to Malcolm. "Is he--?"
"Fine. He's…" He wasn't fine. Gil knew just as much as JT knew. "He's hurt."
JT nodded slowly. "I know."
"He needs help, JT." Gil's breaths picked up. His chest tightened. "He needs an ambulance. A doctor. He needs--"
"Gil." JT set his hands gently on either side of Gil's head, stilling him. He hadn't even realized he was shaking his head, let alone trembling. "Dani's getting an ambulance. They're on their way."
It was odd to feel himself slowly succumb to the shock of the situation. He had always prided himself on being levelheaded and strong, even in the darkest of situations. There had only been a handful of times where Gil felt himself slipping into fear. But this, he supposed, was as good a moment as ever, because his kid could have died. He was nearly struck by lightning, for fuck's sake.
He nodded, though, and JT's hands dropped to Gil's shoulders. "Let me look at him, boss…" And that was all the warning Gil got before JT slipped his arms under Malcolm and pulled him into his own lap.
Gil sagged and watched with a heavy lidded stare as JT checked Malcolm over with expert hands. His fingers smoothed over Malcolm's limbs, prodding for broken bones or bleeds, moving down over his chest, to his hips, up to his arms and over his neck. He carded his hands through Malcolm's mud-soaked hair, feeling for anything bad and coming back satisfied. "Nothing's broken that I can feel…" JT said. "But he's got a few cuts and scrapes, I think." He glanced back up at Gil. "You good, man?"
"Tired…" Gil couldn't summon enough strength to nod. "Just...tired." He didn't even feel himself tipping sideways until he smacked into the dirt.
Gil came to with the sound of Jessica's shrieking. Or, rather, it sounded like a scream that were being whispered, as if the lowest dial of volume she had were still a semblance of yelling. She was talking quick, quicker than Gil could comprehend with his sluggish thoughts forming at half the speed of her words, and while he tried to ask her to quiet down a bit, instead, he had grumbled out, "J'ss pl's b'...qu'et…"
The voices stopped, and Gil sighed with relief. Heels clacked on tile floors as the sweet smell of Jessica's perfume wafted over to where he laid. "Gil? You're awake?"
"No…" Gil grumbled. He wanted to move, to shift around and get comfortable, but his whole body felt detached from his brain. Instead, he sat, unmoving, eyes closed tighter and tighter as something on his hand grew itchier and itchier by the second. "Why d'you ask?"
Jess sighed. "Malcolm's awake, and I--"
" What? " Gil bolted upright.
The hospital room was washed in an insanely bright light, the walls white and surroundings sterile, smelling of antiseptic. The IV in Gil's hand itched from where the old tape curled against his skin. He glanced to Jess, whose eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from tears. "Gil…"
"Where's Malcolm?" Gil was already halfway out of the bed, pulling at the sheets and scrambling to get to his feet. The slit in the side of the hospital gown had a shiver rolling over his scraped-up skin, but he ignored it, tied the tie tighter, and got to his wobbling legs. He turned to Jessica and asked, "Is he okay?"
"He's awake." Jessica pinched the bridge of her nose. "But...I haven't gone to see him. I can't."
Gil frowned. He reached for his IV stand, dragging it close to his side, before making for the door to the room. "What do you mean you can't?"
"I--" She waved the question off, then again, and once more as she blinked up at the ceiling as more tears formed. "I did something terrible , Gil…" Jess' lip quivered. "Two nights ago. I did something terrible and I haven't forgiven myself. I just…" Her hand moved to her eyes as she brushed the rolling tears away with her thumb. "I hit him. And I remember it but I shouldn't have and--"
"Let's go see him." Gil interrupted. He pulled the door open, ignoring the slight ache in his shoulders. "Please?"
Jessica scowled. "Gil, he may hate me , I can't just walk in and--"
"He nearly died from getting hit by lightning and you're just going to sit here? " Gil's eyebrow quirked up. Jessica cursed under her breath, slamming her fists into her purse but standing up regardless. She stomped towards Gil. Gil said, "He doesn't hate you. But that's for you two to discuss…"
He held the door for her before slipping out into the hallway himself. As they shuffled at Gil's pace towards Malcolm's room, the anxiety began to build. Because while Malcolm was awake, that didn't say the extent of his injuries. And while Malcolm may be awake, he may not be Malcolm . Gil had heard horror stories of electrocution and brain injuries that would short-circuit the body, causing irreparable damage to the nerves, to the mind.
What if Malcolm couldn't walk? What if he couldn't move? What if he were paralyzed from the neck down? What if he changed personality-wise?
Regardless, Gil would love him. He would love Malcolm however he came to him, whether an anxious mess in need of sleep, or in a depressive swing looking for a father or a friend rather than a boss. Gil loved that kid, loved his kid, and would love him even if he weren't the same.
Still, as Gil stopped before Malcolm's door, he found himself hesitating just as much as Jessica was. They glanced towards one another, neither of their hands outstretched for the knob, yet both waiting to see if the other would.
Gil steadied his breaths. He could do this. Malcolm was alive, and that was all that mattered. His kid was alive, and that would be enough to silence his churning thoughts, his quickening pulse. It felt as if Gil were waiting for a jump scare in a horror movie. He wasn't ready. He knew he wasn't.
Because he loved Malcolm, and wanted him unharmed, alive, the same . Something in him found a sick, twisted pleasure in taking Martin Whitly's son for his own but goddamnit Malcolm deserved a real father. And Gil wanted nothing more than to be that for him. He wanted nothing more than to be there for Malcolm, his Malcolm, the one he raised since the kid was twelve, through all the medications, through all the bullies, through all the night terrors and doctors and anxiety attacks and more…
That was his son.
And if he were lost, gone forever because of a stupid suspect on a stupid case , Gil would never forgive himself.
He reached for the knob.
The door flew open.
Malcolm and Jess jumped back as Malcolm jerked away, equally as startled with his wild, wide blue eyes.
Jessica stammered. Gil didn't even bother, instead snapping his mouth shut to observe. The kid looked okay, save for the lightning bolt-shaped scars inching up from underneath his hospital gown, ending just below his jaw. They further stretched down his arm as a span of reddish-brown zigzags. The scars reminded Gil of snowflakes, but also of the very lightning that could have killed him.
"They're, uh," Malcolm cleared his throat. He gestured to the marks. "They're called lichtenberg figures. Caused from burst blood vessels. And they're temporary, so, there's no need to ask about that..."
"Does it hurt?" Jessica asked, tentatively reaching out.
Malcolm hesitated to nod. "A little. But I'm fine, really. Just giving them my discharge papers." He held up the stack of loose-leaf in his hand, rattling it a bit for good measure.
" Kid. " Gil folded his arms across his chest. He figured he must have looked ridiculous, dressed down in a hospital gown and with undoubted bedhead, but he held his chin high as he said, "Not going to happen."
"Gil, I'm fine . The doctors even said it was surprisingly minimalistic damage." Malcolm laughed under his breath. "I promise."
Regardless, Gil shooed him back into his room. The kid's IV was gone, and he had been brought a fresh change of clothes, no doubt from Ainsley, since Jess was too scared to even go in the room until now. He had pulled out the pair of jeans and loose sweater, but Gil figured the materials may scrape uncomfortably against his newfound temporary tattoos.
"Sit." Gil pointed to the bed.
Malcolm groaned, rolled his eyes, putting on a whole show of annoyance but complying nonetheless. He plopped down on the edge of the bed, wincing a bit as he went. Gil nudged his head to one of the chairs for Jessica, and she stomped over, equally as dramatic as her son. They both stared up at Gil with pouts that were formed more by being given orders, and less by being actually mad .
"So," Gil folded his arms across his chest. "Let's talk."
Malcolm was alive, and was still him , from what Gil could tell. His anxieties were squashed the moment he had looked into Malcolm's eyes. They were the same eyes that were alight at the sight of a new case, the same eyes that were bright with excitement of the mind-games in store for the day. But what had burned between Jessica and Malcolm was almost as anxiety-inducing as not knowing whether or not Malcolm would still be Malcolm. Because the last thing Gil needed was a family feud. The last thing he needed was to choose between mother and son. And the last thing that family needed was to be split apart.
"Mother," Malcolm began. "I want to...apologize. For what I said. You aren't manipulative like Dr. Whitly. I was wrong."
Gil took a deep breath. Accusing Jessica of being as manipulative as a serial killer was intense .
Jessica practically sobbed, "I didn't mean to hit you. It was wrong, and stupid, and there are things I wish I could take back and that is one of them, Malcolm." She jumped to her feet but froze up on her hug, instead hovering with her arms up and out but not quite touching him. They lowered a bit as she whispered, "I'm so sorry, Malcolm. Truly. A-And I'm...going to talk to a therapist about this...about me . My...drinking. It got out of hand tonight, and I never want to see that happen again…"
Malcolm slipped forward. She was careful not to squeeze too tightly as she pulled Malcolm close. Her eyes were closed and her fingers were slipping through his hair. She giggled, "You smell like mud."
" Ha. " Malcolm had his face buried in her shoulder, her heels bringing her taller than him by a few inches. "Well, the showers here aren't all that great…"
Gil sighed.
That would do for him.
He made for the door.
"Gil…?" Jessica had one arm free and outstretched to him, silently enticing him forward. Malcolm glanced up to Gil, quirking a brow. Sighing again, Gil shuffled forward. He let Jessica's arm guide him into the hug, and Gil sank into it, feeling more at home than he had in too long.