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It was suffice to say that things escalated startlingly fast. At one moment, Gil had been loading their killer, Devin O'Hale, into the back of the cruiser. The next, he was eating dirt face-down on the ground. Cold mud soaked through the knees of his pants, gluing to his palms. His back burned from where he was elbowed square in the spine.
Gil flipped around.
"Don't fucking move! Or I'll shoot!" O'Hale had Malcolm in a hold, his arm locked around Malcolm's throat, forcing his chin up and back flat against him. Malcolm had his hands up in surrender. A gun - Gil's gun - was dug into his temple. When he had snatched it, Gil wasn't sure. But he wasn't sure of much of what was happening because it was all unraveling so fast.
Malcolm rolled his eyes, swallowing back a groan of discomfort.
"Nobody move!" The man ground the barrel of the pistol into Malcolm's skin. "Stay still. "
Gil's heart kicked hard against his ribs. He held his breath, scared that even an inhale would set O'Hale off. Behind them, Gil could see Dani and JT had their weapons trained on the situation, but they all knew it was useless. Nobody here was stupid: there were no clean shots to take O'Hale out, and he was already on edge. Anything could cost Malcolm his life…
"Okay," O'Hale's eyes snapped to Gil as he spoke. He said, "You're in control, here, alright?"
Malcolm rolled his eyes again, though this time, Gil suspected he was the cause. O'Hale choked out a laugh, his expression twisting with a rage that left him shaking. "I know I am. You think I'm an idiot? I've got you all under my goddamn thumb! " He faced Malcolm, snarling out, "All because of this guy."
De-escalation usually rode on their suspect being desperate for an escape, Gil knew. But that wasn't the case with O'Hale, he remembered. Malcolm had told them that their man was an egomaniac with nothing to lose; whatever tactics they would use on those who were obsessed with control were thrown out the window. O'Hale didn't care about his life. He didn't care about the consequences laid before him.
A little something in the back of Gil's mind reminded him that Malcolm was similar. That he didn't care about--
Gil shoved it down.
"What do you want?" He tried. Desperation crept into his voice.
O'Hale shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing, honestly. Maybe just a--"
A gunshot shattered the tension. Gil ducked. Malcolm threw his head back, cracking his skull against O'Hale's nose, leaving them both reeling. Malcolm was already bleeding, stumbling forward as O'Hale dropped backwards onto his ass. Dani and JT flung to either side of him.
"Don't move." JT warned. He held him at gunpoint as Dani made to cuff him. O'Hale chuckled, hanging his head.
Gil trusted his team to handle O'Hale. His main concern was Malcolm - it was always Malcolm - and he snapped to his feet, rushing over and crouching where Malcolm was knelt. His hands were in the way, but there was already so much blood dribbling down the curve of his jaw, off his chin, making a mess of his clothes and the grass beneath him. "Let me see, Bright." Gil ushered. "Move--Come on, move your hands, kid."
Malcolm lowered his hands. He squinted up at Gil through one eye, not even trying to blink through the thick blood tracked down half his face. "It's not that bad," Blood got into his mouth. He spit it out with a grimace. "Really. It doesn't even hurt."
Gil rarely trusted Malcolm's word on his health, but this time, he believed him. The adrenaline rush of narrowly escaping being shot in the head must have clouded the pain, because there was no way Malcolm wasn't feeling by free will. The cut was deep and gushing, pulsing dark blood at a steady rate. Luckily, the bullet looked to have missed its mark wide, because the cut itself wasn't horribly deep, nor did it hold the telltale burns of a close graze. It would need stitches, but because it was close to Malcolm's hairline, Gil doubted it would be visible once healed.
Gil exhaled shakily.
That had been too close. Too close to all the other times Malcolm had almost died. It seemed as if every other case they bagged had left Malcolm teetering on the edge of death. The prospect made Gil's stomach turn. But the knowledge that Malcolm did nothing to prevent such catastrophe was what made him want to vomit.
He twisted around, finding the eyes of the closest officer. "ETA on an ambulance?"
"Two minutes." the woman said.
Gil nodded, turning back to Malcolm. He held him steady with a hand to his shoulder as he teetered leftwards.
Malcolm wagged his hand loosely. "Gil, I'm fine. " He opened his mouth as if he were trying to pop his ear. "Just...need a second…" His movements were flimsy as he swiped at his blood-glued eye. As if he hadn't felt himself bleeding, Malcolm reeled at the sight of his red-stained hand. "Jesus, that's a lot..." He swiped again. When he made for a third round, Gil grabbed his wrist.
"Okay, that's enough." Gil mumbled. He could hear the cries of the ambulance coming closer. Another wave of relief worked through him. He could feel his heart slowing to a steadier rate. "Sit still, Bright."
Thankfully, Malcolm listened. He let his hands rest in his lap, one wrist still held by Gil.
Gil nudged his fingers down, past the cuff of Malcolm's shirt and jacket, and found the pulse there. Either Malcolm was in shock, a liar, both, or something else, because his heartbeat was slamming quickly in the vein. Gil frowned. "You good, kid?"
Malcolm breathed out a laugh. "I almost died..." He tilted his head with a scoff. "That...was close."
Gil nodded.
Too close. He didn't ever want a repeat.