Chapter Text
"Got a package, man." JT sets the box in front of Malcolm before rounding the table to sit across from him, absently reaching for one of the folders stacked in the center. "Doesn't look like it's bleeding this time, so that's nice."
Malcolm grins at the comment and slides the box even closer, eying the shipping label curiously. He's not expecting anything and there's no information about what the package contains or who sent it on the sticker. It's not as if he's anticipating another human hand — honestly, the chances of that happening twice have to be practically zero — but he's justifiably hesitant about opening unmarked packages now.
"Let me guess," Dani smirks, watching him examine the label. "Throwing stars? Daggers? It's not big enough to be a longbow or spear."
He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, having long since come to appreciate the teasing from Dani and JT about his unusual collection. Both of them have actually expressed an interest in some of the items, so the ribbing is impossible to take seriously at this point.
"Funny," he says, slipping a finger beneath the tape on the side of the package and soon enough he's pulling off the brown paper wrap to find a rather elegant gift box beneath. Black with a delicate gold inlay and a black satin ribbon hugging the box closely, it's definitely not the kind that gets picked up at a Target.
JT lets out a low whistle as the paper comes off, recognizing the expense of the box itself. "Did we miss your birthday? I would've bought you a pack of licorice or something."
Malcolm chuckles, but as he reaches to pull the ribbon off, the hairs on his neck stand on end, suddenly knowing exactly what he's about to find. His hands pause just above the edge of the ribbon, hovering midair, before he pushes back from the table and hurries across the room, grabbing a pair of nitrile gloves from one of the cabinets in the corner.
The action has JT and Dani on full alert immediately, their gazes flickering from Malcolm back to the box, a dawning realization spreading over each of the faces.
"You don't think…" JT says, letting the words hang in the air between them as Malcolm tugs on the ribbon, freeing the lid from its hold.
His movements are cautious, calculated, as he removes the lid and sets it aside to hold down the corner of the brown paper that's still sitting under the box. There's a bed of tissue paper inside, with one thin layer covering the contents of the box. He doesn't need to pull it back to know what's hidden beneath.
Blowing out a slow breath, Malcolm gently peels back the tissue paper, unsurprised but still shocked at what's been so lovingly created just for him.
He can't tear his eyes away.
"Gil!" Dani's shout shakes him from his reverie and he reaches out to touch the stunning marionette that's staring up at him with crystalline blue eyes the exact shade of his own.
Gil walks into the room just as Malcolm is delicately picking up the damn near perfect replica of himself. The resemblance is so uncanny it's almost like looking in a mirror, just at a much, much smaller reflection. It's surreal enough that the meaning behind the gift hasn't even sunk in yet.
"So we're just shouting across the—" Gil's words cut off with a sharp breath that sounds like the air has been punched from his lungs when he sees what Malcolm is holding.
All four of their victims had been sent perfectly crafted marionettes of themselves exactly one week before they went missing. The last victim — Ali Sandberg — had even called the police as soon as hers arrived, having heard the news reports of the Marionette Murders. Despite staying away from home, despite having an officer posted outside of her mother's house as she hid herself away, Ali still went missing a week after the gift arrived.
She was found dead three days later.
And now Malcolm stands in the middle of the incident room with an exact replica of himself staring back at him.
The craftsmanship is phenomenal. Every detail — from the small scars that marr his eyebrow and upper lip to the patchy spots of his facial hair that never grow in just right — has been precisely captured. Even the clothing is a perfect match to a suit he owns, down to the fabric and the cut.
It would be impressive if it wasn't so damn creepy.
"Call CSU. I want the doll, the box, the paper all dusted for prints and tested for any residuals. Get the delivery person back here and call the depot. I want the package tracked now." Gil's orders come out just as commanding as they always do, but it doesn't disguise the clear note of worry that's woven in just beneath the surface.
Malcolm looks up to find three sets of anxious eyes locked on him, and he knows he should be just as concerned, but he's honestly too preoccupied to feel much of anything. Right now, his mind is racing a thousand miles a minute, trying to fit this newest development into his profile, and that doesn't leave any room for considering how he feels about the situation.
Had Malcolm always been the killer's next target, or did the investigation somehow shine a spotlight in Malcolm's direction? If it's the latter, that means they encountered their killer at some point in the last two weeks. Did the killer form some sort of attachment to Malcolm alone, or does he intend to go after the entire team and Malcolm is merely lucky enough to be first? All of the victims have been in their late twenties, early thirties, so he and Dani both fit the bill.
"Bright?" Dani says quietly, drawing Malcolm's thoughts to a sudden and screeching halt. "You good?"
Malcolm blinks hard, shaking the thoughts from his mind before he can get completely lost in them. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."
He lays the marionette back in the box, careful to pile the loose strings on top before closing the lid once again. All of the marionettes were sent with the strings cut loose from the wooden control bar. All of the victims, however, were discovered completely strung up.
And apparently, Malcolm is next.
"I need to go through the files again, now that we know who the next intended victim is. I might be able to—"
"We are not referring to you as 'the next intended victim', Bright," Gil interrupts, anger sharpening the words until they're razor-edged and cutting, but Malcolm knows that the anger isn't directed at him or even at his choice of wording.
Gil is worried.
"I'm sorry," Malcolm says quietly, tipping his head in acknowledgement.
Gil huffs out a breath and brings up a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose, taking a moment to regain his composure. Dani and JT remain a quiet presence on the other side of the table, allowing Gil the space he needs to gather his thoughts before they all jump into the case with both feet.
"Okay," Gil sighs, calmer already. "I want all hands on deck. Keep me updated on absolutely everything. And Bright?" Gil turns to look at him with an expression that screams that he'll be accepting no arguments in regards to the next words that pass his lips. "I don't want you alone for a single minute of the next week. At least, not until we've caught this guy."
"Gil." Malcolm flushes under the intensity of the three gazes that are locked on him. The absolute last thing he wants is to be a burden to the team, and he has a sneaking suspicion he knows exactly what Gil is suggesting. "That's really not necessary. I can take care of myself."
Gil looks like he's about to blow, but surprisingly it's JT's voice that breaks the tension that's swelling in the room, taking up all the air.
"We can start a rotation. Take turns at night. He should be safe here during the day since we all know he isn't gonna stay away like any sane person would."
"Uh, he is standing right here," Malcolm huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, unconsciously mirroring JT's posture. When he notices, he drops his arms to his sides, purposefully aiming to keep his body language open. "And he doesn't need a babysitter."
"It's not that, Bright, and you know it," Dani chides, eyebrows furrowing as she looks him over. "If that puppet came to one of us, would you expect any different? Would you let me go home alone knowing a serial killer was targeting me?"
The last of the defensiveness that was tugging at him, pulling his muscles taut and building warm inside of him, falls away at the words. Of course he wouldn't leave any of them alone if the situation were reversed. He'd be by their side 24/7, if they let him. He knows that's all this is.
His shoulders slump and he gives a small nod, earning a soft smile from Dani and a warm hand on the back of his neck from Gil. He won't bother denying that there's a sense of security blooming warm in his chest at the knowledge that he won't be alone. As sure as he is about his self-defense capabilities, he also knows that it's not always enough. A little luck or a lot of planning can be enough to overtake even the most vigilant individual. He'd seen the aftermath of that far too many times during his tenure with the FBI to pretend any different.
"Alright," Gil says, looking to each of them in turn. "Let's get to work and catch this guy."
The day passes in much the same way it would've if Malcolm hadn't received a delicately carved death threat, just with the added bonus of a low buzz of tension that hums through the air and slips beneath Malcolm's skin, leaving him even twitchier than usual. The shake in his hand becomes more prominent as the day progresses, as Malcolm stares at various crime scene photos of each of their victims to date.
All of them were found in abandoned warehouses, strung up like the marionettes that had been sent to them only a week before. Each victim was attached to a control bar overhead, metal rods inserted at various points of their bodies for the rope to attach to. Just above each knee, both hands, the chest and abdomen — each point was driven through with a sturdy cylindrical rod. Two smaller rods were driven through the ear concha in order to keep the head upright.
The effect was…sickening. A human marionette, hanging midair, all in the same pose with the right arm raised in a parody of a wave and the legs arranged to look midwalk. Displaying the bodies as such would have been difficult and time consuming, and judging by the amount of blood splatter at the scenes, the victims would have been struggling for at least a portion of the time.
All of the scenes were professionally lit with theater grade spotlights and rigging, making the initial crime scene photos look like some sort of performance art piece.
The sheer physicality involved in the staging helped to narrow down their likely suspect pool to men in their late twenties to early thirties, men who are physically imposing and capable of hauling an adult into such a complicated position.
Unfortunately, it also gives him a gruesome reminder of what's waiting for him if he doesn't find their killer. Soon.
The pain the victims would have experienced as the killer drove the metal rods through their bodies would have been unbearable. Edrisa determined that two of them died almost immediately when the rods pierced their hearts. The other two, though, weren't so lucky. Cause of death for them was exsanguination. Those were the two that lived long enough to feel their bodies being strung up and hung from the ceiling. Those were the two that likely screamed and writhed in agony until they eventually passed out and bled to death.
And he's next.
JT's hand on Malcolm's arm startles him so badly that he jerks away from the table, the folder he'd been staring into fluttering to the ground, sending pictures scattering across the floor.
"Sorry, man," JT says, taking a step back and raising his hands in front of him, making himself as unthreatening as someone of his stature can possibly be. "You weren't answering,"
"Right. Sorry. I'm fine." The words tumble out of Malcolm's mouth spilling to the floor just like the pictures. It only takes a second to gather the photos up and slip the folder back onto the table, but it's enough time to gather his wits about him once again.
Though the disbelief is evident on his face, JT merely arches an eyebrow, keeping his thoughts to himself.
Malcolm appreciates that more than he can say.
"Look, we're wrapping up for the day and I drew the short straw. Which means you're lucky enough to get me as your personal bodyguard tonight." The teasing tone is still there, the same way he always interacts with Malcolm, but there's a hint of concern hidden in the space between the words and Malcolm isn't quite sure how to treat that.
"Look, JT," Malcolm says, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles from his suit as he speaks, just to have something to do with his hands. "I appreciate the offer, but this guy isn't going to come after me for a week. He has a very specific pattern of behaviour and he isn't going to break it now. There's no need for you to miss out on a night with Tally and the baby because of me."
JT actually smirks at that, which only confuses Malcolm further.
"Oh, I'm not. You're sleeping at mine tonight, bro. Hope you like meatloaf and can sleep through a 2am feeding." JT claps a hand on Malcolm's shoulder and leads him from the conference room. They're halfway through the precinct before Malcolm even thinks to object, to tell JT what a horrible idea this is.
His misgivings are dismissed or ignored entirely.
After a quick stop to Malcolm's apartment to pack a bag (during which JT hardly lets Malcolm out of his sight, though he does at least assure Malcolm that Gil will be coming for Sunshine in the morning), they're on their way to JT and Tally's, and Malcolm finds himself pulled into a quick but genuine hug the moment they walk through the door.
"Malcolm, it's lovely to see you!" Tally says, keeping her arms on his biceps as she pulls back and runs her eyes over him from top to bottom. "You're far too skinny. Let's go feed you, hmm?" As she turns to walk back towards the kitchen, she stops next to JT, laying a hand on his stomach as she leans up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his lips. "Hon, offer the poor man a drink. He's had a day."
And then she's gone, lost to the sounds of sizzling and tinkling that float down the hall from the kitchen.
JT gives his head a shake, but the corners of his lips are quirking up in a smile that he doesn't even bother trying to fight. At least, until he feels Malcolm's gaze on him. Even then, he barely manages to tamp down on the grin as he offers, "Beer?"
"Uh. Sure," Malcolm says. He's still really, really unsure about this whole thing. He feels like he's endangering their family just by being there, but JT was adamant. On the way over, JT did give in and say that they could spend the next of JT's night-watch shifts at Malcolm's if he still wanted to, but he suspects Tally might have something to say about that.
The evening passes easily enough. Malcolm finds himself enjoying the company of all three Tarmels quite a lot. He's not used to having people around him once he leaves work, with the exception of the occasional dinner with Jessica and Ainsley or the even more infrequent visits to Claremont.
It feels simple, somehow, fitting in with JT and Tally. Conversation flows easily. By the end of dinner, Malcolm and JT have both removed the armour they unconsciously don when they're at work, and suddenly the house is filled with embarrassing stories and genuine laughter from all three of them.
It's nice.
It turns out, much to Malcolm and JT's surprise (though Tally smirks knowingly, and Malcolm suspects she somehow knew all along), that the baby takes to Malcolm immediately, snuggling into his arms and sighing contentedly any time Malcolm holds him.
Which, of course, means that the baby is passed to him quite often throughout the evening, accompanied by a smile from Tally or an arched eyebrow from JT.
"Hopefully he'll develop better taste as he grows up," JT grouses as he hands his son to Malcolm for the third time that night, only to watch with a mixture of awe and jealousy as the boy stops fussing immediately. Once the baby is settled in Malcolm's arms, JT leans in and whispers theatrically to his son, as if Malcolm won't hear him, "Really, buddy? Bright's the one that makes you calm down? He riles everyone else up."
Malcolm ducks his head to hide his smile, but he still catches a glimpse of JT snapping a few pictures of the two of them on his phone, letting him know that there are no hard feelings.
It turns out to be one of the nicest nights Malcolm's had in months.
He doesn't ruin it by attempting to sleep.
The nursery also functions as a guest room, so Tally and JT keep the baby in their bedroom for the night, leaving the newly powder-blue room for Malcolm to sleep in, but he merely uses the time to search through the case notes on his laptop. He's certainly not going to risk startling the Tarmels with a night terror when sleep with a new baby is hard enough to come by.
The night goes by quickly enough and Malcolm finds himself hugging Tally goodbye before he knows it, ready to head back to the precinct to (hopefully) gather more information to help track down their killer.
"Take care of yourself, Malcolm," Tally says quietly as she releases Malcolm from an embrace that somehow already feels like home. "And let JT help keep you safe? The last thing I need is him grumbling about you taking off on his watch." Her tone is teasing — much like JT's often is, and he can't help but wonder who picked it up from whom — but the gravity of her plea is clear in her eyes. She's worried for them both.
"I will. I promise," Malcolm says earnestly.
"Good," she smiles, and that, apparently, is that. "I'll see you in a few days." She opens the front door, ready to usher them out, and before Malcolm can even protest, she adds, "If there's something special you want for dinner let me know tomorrow. I'll be getting groceries in the afternoon."
"Tally, I appreciate the offer, but that's really not—"
"And I expect you to actually sleep next time, too." Her smile is genuine but so is the demand. Malcolm shoots a look to JT, but the detective merely shrugs and turns his attention back to his family. A quick kiss to the baby's forehead, a more lingering kiss to Tally's lips, and then JT is handing off the baby and heading out the door, leaving Malcolm to fend for himself.
"Have a good day, hon. Love you," JT calls as he walks away. Malcolm can just pick up the barely repressed laughter and isn't quite sure what to do about any of this.
Tally just gives his cheek a light tap and steers him out the door, her ringing laughter following him as he goes.