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It wasn't every day that they were able to convince Malcolm to come to their apartment for dinner, but whenever they did manage to, Malcolm always showed up on time.
So, when Malcolm didn't show up to their place at five that evening like he had said he would, and with no call or text with an explanation as to why, they couldn't help but immediately be concerned. If Gil had called him in for a case, Malcolm would have called or texted to let them know he wouldn't be able to make it. It would be the same if something had come up with either his mom or sister.
When the clock was ten minutes away from six, and they still hadn't heard a thing from the man, they put dinner away and ordered a Lyft to Malcolm's apartment.
"Malcolm?"
They softly called out for him after they unlocked the door and stepped inside.
"M-mama...?"
The responding whimper they received instantly had their concern skyrocketing.
"Malcolm, honey? Where are you?"
"Couch," he groaned.
They hurried over to the couch, heart breaking at the sight that met them. Malcolm was curled up on his side underneath a navy-blue throw, the corner of his teddy blankie sticking out from under his chin. His hair stuck out in certain places, while a few strands in the front were plastered to his shiny, pale face. He looked like hell warmed over.
They immediately knelt down beside the couch and placed a hand on Malcolm's forehead. Their lips twitched into a grimace, resisting the urge to recoil when blazing hot skin met the palm of their hand.
"Oh, mi luz. You're burning up."
"Mm-mm" He shook his head. "M'really cold, mama."
"That's because you have a fever, mi vida. How long have you been feeling sick?"
Malcolm adverted his gaze and sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth.
"Ah-ah, no biting." They gently tugged his lip out with a thumb and gave him a firm but not unkind look. "Answer me, please."
Malcolm exhaled a slow, resigned sigh through his nose. "T-two days..."
Their eyes widened. "Two days? Malcolm, why didn't you tell anyone?"
"Thought... thought it'd go 'way, a-an'... didn't wanna bother nobody," he replied, staring down at his fidgeting fingers.
They held back a sigh. "Malcolm, la luz de mis ojos, you know you can always call me, your daddy, your mom or your sister whenever you're not feeling well–or especially when you're feeling little. Tell me, what else feels bad?"
"Um, tummy an' back kinda hurt. Felt like throwin' up earlier too but didn't. A-an', um... it kinda sorta burns when I go potty," he said, voice turning into a whisper at the end.
This time they weren't able to stop themselves from sighing out loud. "Ay, mi corazón..."
"M'sorry, mama. I-I didn't feel so bad u-until t'day, I swear! P-please don't be mad!"
Malcolm sniffled hard, breath hitching as his fever glazed eyes filled with tears.
"Oh, osito, no." They slipped one of their hands into Malcolm's sweat damp hair, the other going to cradle the side of his face. "I'm not mad, I'm just worried. It sounds like you might have a bladder infection. Can you show mama exactly where at your tummy hurts?"
Malcolm sniffed again but nodded his head, reluctantly pulling the throw blanket down to reveal his torso. His shirt had since ridden up, revealing the edge of a pull-up. The regressed man's pale cheeks flushed red when he saw that they noticed the protection. They just gave him a reassuring smile, though.
"It's okay, sweetheart. I'm proud of you for listening to your body's needs."
"I couldn't tell if I really hadda go potty, or if it just felt like it. Didn't wanna have a accident," he quietly responded, still looking a little embarrassed.
"See? You listened and did the right thing. Good job, chiquito." The corner of Malcolm's mouth curled into a tiny smile at the praise. "Now, show mama exactly where your tummy's hurting, please."
Malcolm raised the hand that wasn't clutching onto the blue and beige blankie and hovered it over the middle of his lower belly.
"Okay, yup. It definitely sounds like a bladder infection, but we won't know for sure until a doctor takes a look at you."
They stood up from the floor and pulled out their phone, opening up their messages and clicking on the most recent thread with Gil.
"Wait, mama–" Malcolm struggled to a sitting position with a pained grimace on his face the whole time–"mama, what're you doin'?"
"Texting your daddy to see if he can give us a ride to the ER," they replied as they typed out their message to Gil.
"N-no, mama, please! I don't wanna go to the hospital!"
They sent the text and looked up just in time to see Malcolm hide his face in his blankie. They slipped their phone back into their pocket and took a seat on the couch in front of him, grabbing his wrists and gently pulling them down until they could see his face again. Tears were swimming in his eyes once more; his mouth pressed into a pout. Their heart ached in sympathy at the sad image he made, but this was something they couldn't budge on.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but you need to see a doctor before this infection can get any worse. I won't risk you getting even sicker than you already are.
"But s-scary, mama," he said, voice wobbling dangerously.
They gave his wrists a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "I know the hospital can be a scary place sometimes, but sometimes we have to do things that are scary in order to help ourselves. That's what the doctors are there to do: help. And I will be right there with you the whole time, honey. I promise."
A high-pitched jingle suddenly came from their pocket. They gave Malcolm's wrists one more squeeze before letting go and pulling their phone back out, clicking on the message notification at the top of the screen.
[Gil]: I'll be there in 10.
"And so will your daddy," they said with a warm smile. "He'll be here soon to pick us up, okay?"
Malcolm's gaze flickered back and forth between them and his lap, fingers anxiously fiddling with his blankie.
"Do I gotta be big...?"
"No, mi chiquito. You can be as little as you feel."
"But what if... what if they think m'weird, mama? Or–or say somethin' mean 'bout me wearin' a pull-up?"
They reached up and gently gripped Malcolm's chin between their thumb and index fingers, tilting his head up until he met their eyes again.
"You don't need to worry about that at all, bright eyes. Me and daddy won't let anyone say anything mean about you. Because if they do? Well, they'll have to answer to mama bear and papa bear. Because no one messes with our sweet osito and gets away with it."
That got Malcolm to crack another small smile.
"Um, c-can I bring blankie, then?"
"Of course, you can, mi chiquito."
They leaned in and pressed a kiss to Malcolm's nose.
"Do you want to cuddle with mama while we wait for daddy to get here?"
The question had Malcolm's smile widening.
"Yes please, mama."