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The white suit is ridiculous. He knows it, Gil knows it, and judging from JT and Dani's reactions when they showed up at the crime scene, they know it, too. But Jessica seemed so pleased that he honestly couldn't find it within himself to say no to wearing it.
His plan had been to change at the airport after he and Gil were checked in and through security, but frankly, he's more than happy to take the good-natured ribbing in order to get a good look at the crime scene. Even Edrisa's slightly over-the-top teasing can't make him regret talking Gil into letting them pop by, once she shows him the carved letters on their victim's arm.
VILLEFORT
All thoughts of their upcoming beach vacation slip from Malcolm's mind as he examines the jagged cuts of the wound. It's not that he's not looking forward to a trip with Gil — especially after everything that happened with John Watkins, the long healing process that followed, and the unexpected but delightful surprise of finding out he's pregnant — but the puzzle catches his attention and he's immediately absorbed.
"Villefort is a central character in The Count of Monte Cristo. One of my favorite books growing up." Uninvited memories of Martin reading the book to him as a child, acting out the scene with abandon, flood his mind. It's...conflicting. Though he'd never admit it to the man himself, Martin was an amazing father, up until the end. The memory would likely be one of the happiest of his childhood if it wasn't tainted by the obscene body count that colours every aspect of his upbringing.
He silently promises the tiny life inside of him that he'll do better.
And then he pushes on.
"In the story, the Count's life is destroyed by three men: Villefort, Danglars, and Fernand." Malcolm says as he makes his way around the desk in the room, shaking the vestiges of the memories and focusing his full attention on the case. "And he enacts his vengeance on them all. We may be looking for a revenge killer with a penchant for poetic justice."
He looks up, his gaze automatically homing in on Gil, finding his husband across the room, looking back at him with an intensity that makes Malcolm blush.
Perhaps the suit isn't quite as ridiculous as he'd thought.
"And if your profile's right," Dani says, drawing Malcolm's attention from Gil, "then two more bodies are gonna drop."
"We're not gonna let that happen," Gil says with a conviction that reminds Malcolm just why he loves the man so damn much.
A smile tugs at the corners of Malcolm's lips, knowing that Gil is already just as invested in the outcome of this case as Malcolm is. He may not have wanted to stop by the crime scene in the first place, but now that they're there, Gil is going to have a hard time walking away, too.
Not that it will stop him from dragging Malcolm bodily to the airport, if necessary. Gil was pushing Malcolm to take a vacation before John Watkins ever even got a hold of him, trying to get Malcolm to take a step back from the Junkyard Killer case. After everything that happened, Gil went from suggesting to insisting.
The stab wound had, thankfully, missed everything vital, but the blood loss still took a toll on his body. He hadn't been overly concerned — truthfully, his own health and safety ranked abysmally low on his list of priorities — until the doctors ran a series of tests before the surgeries that would repair the damage to his side and hand. When those tests came back with a positive pregnancy result, his world came to a screeching halt.
The blood loss, the trauma to his body from breaking his hand — it didn't matter to him, but the fear that ripped through him thinking that it may have hurt their baby was like a wildfire that nearly consumed him, sucking all of the oxygen from the room, leaving him burning and suffocating and terrified.
Until Gil took his hand and assured him that they were going to be okay. Until the doctors ran more tests and discovered the baby was, miraculously, in perfect health.
Suddenly Gil's idea to get away, to relax and recuperate, to spend some time together, away from the work and the past and his father's influence, seemed like a truly wonderful idea.
But when that call came in over the scanner on the way to the airport, Malcolm couldn't help the excitement that crept into his bones. He truly believed that a quick drive-by, in and out, would be the perfect send off for their holidays. Perhaps it would even give him enough material to work through that the flight would be moderately less terrible, letting him focus on forming a profile to send to the team.
His husband seemed to be on board, too, albeit reluctantly. Gil may have said he only agreed to swing by so everyone could see Malcolm in the suit, but he knows that Gil understands how ansty he gets on flights — his manic energy doesn't take kindly to being trapped in a seat for hours on end unless he has something to fully occupy his mind — and it's likely Gil had the same idea as him: pop into the crime scene and gather enough information that Bright can start assembling a profile, keeping him distracted for the flight.
Unfortunately, Malcolm is so distracted thinking about their vacation plans that it takes a moment for him to notice exactly what Edrisa is doing when she crouches down next to the body, shifting the man somewhat to expose a small contraption beneath him.
"What's this?" Edrisa asks, curiosity bleeding through her words and cutting into Malcolm's reverie.
"Edrisa!" It's a combination of the metallic click and catching sight of the explosive device — a piece of hardware that he recognises immediately from his training with the FBI — that spurs Malcolm into action. He launches himself over the ornate desk and throws himself on the landmine before the spring is fully released, both hands pressing down hard enough that he's sure he'll have bruises come morning. "Land mine! It's a black widow."
"We got a bomb. Get me ESU, the bomb squad and the level-one mobilization." JT says, taking immediate command of a situation that he has, by far, the most experience with. Malcolm is thankful to have someone else in the room who knows exactly what they're dealing with.
"All non-essentials clear the area," Gil orders, falling into his role as Lieutenant and working to get everyone clear, though Malcolm can hear the hint of panic in his voice as he looks down at Malcolm with a literal bomb in his hands. "Everyone, evacuate now. Edrisa, get your people out of here."
Malcolm watches the pandemonium play out around him, feeling an odd sort of disconnect from his surroundings, like he's merely a witness amongst the chaos. He looks from the landmine to his husband, from JT to Edrisa, but it barely even registers. The only thing that feels real is his hand on the bomb, keeping his team and his child from being vaporized.
"Get the body, let's move. Let's move!" Edrisa claps her hands, rousing her team to action. "Let's go. Come on."
It takes surprisingly little time for her team to grab hold of the body and clear the room, integrity of the crime scene be damned, leaving Malcolm on the floor with the landmine, and his team staring down at him with fear written in every line on each of their faces.
Gil and Malcolm only told the team about the pregnancy a little over a week ago, waiting until they hit the two month mark before saying anything, not wanting to tempt fate by celebrating the happy news in the earliest — and most perilous — stage of the pregnancy. But now that they know, he can tell that the terror he sees in their eyes is more for him and his baby than it is for themselves.
"What the hell is a black widow?" Dani asks when she finds her words, her hands tangling in her hair the way they always do when she's worried for her team.
"A Russian anti-personnel mine," JT answers, saving Malcolm from having to find a way to explain to Gil — to the father of the child that he's carrying, protecting, inside of him — that he's inadvertently just put their baby in life-threatening danger. "Been around since the '50s. Taliban love these things."
It's only as an officer makes his way into the room with a flak vest that the gravity of the situation truly comes crashing down on Malcolm. The officer and JT work together to slowly and oh-so-carefully lower the vest over his head and strap it under his arms. It's silly, considering the damage that Malcolm knows will be inflicted if the explosive detonates, but he's incredibly thankful for the extra layer of protection over his stomach.
"Keep that thing steady, bro. The only thing keeping this place from blowing is a weak creep spring on the pressure plate," JT says, securing the vest and dropping a comforting hand to Malcolm's shoulder, letting him know that he's not alone.
It means more to Malcolm than he can say.
"Oh, good thing I don't have a hand tremor," Malcolm mutters, not even thinking as the words come out of his month. He knows he often turns to gallows humour in tense situations — the FBI did not appreciate it and made that very clear to him; repeatedly — but lately he's been making an effort to tone it down.
It's a surprisingly difficult habit to break.
"You're making jokes?" The supremely unimpressed tone of Gil's words sends a sharp twinge through Malcolm's heart, hating that he's worrying the man. Hating that Gil is in danger in the first place.
With a blinding clarity, Malcolm realizes that he needs to get Gil, Dani, and JT out of the room. Now. It's bad enough that he and the baby are going to be trapped with the bomb until the bomb-squad shows up, the last thing he needs is the team hanging around in the blast radius. He can't focus on saving his baby if he's worried about protecting them, too. "There's no reason for you to stay here. I can handle this until the bomb squad gets here."
"We're not leaving you," Dani says while Gil just looks at him like he's finally lost his mind.
"It's fine. I—" his half-hearted explanation is cut off as the mine beneath his hands clicks and then sets off a metallic whirring that he can feel vibrating through the hard casing of the mine. Four sets of eyes fly to the device at the sound, an instinctive understanding of dangerdangerdanger slamming into them all.
"That's the spring," JT says, "It's activated."
Fuck.
"Okay, turn of events. This mine is definitely not stable. Uh, which means I need to speak quickly," Malcolm swallows hard around the bile that wends a burning trail up the back of his throat and floods into his mouth. The reality of the situation is hitting him hard, making it difficult to focus on the task at hand. He knows he needs to calm himself down and think clearly for the best chance of getting his baby out uninjured. The little life inside of him has already survived one trauma, he's not sure that there's enough luck in the world to survive another, especially one like this. "Uh, JT, auction houses will have records of the gun's sale. Gil, the killer identifies as the Count, which means that the victim would have deemed him inferior or unworthy in some way. And Dani?"
She pauses, her fear getting the better of her for half a second before she says, "Yeah?"
"Your choice in men is abysmal," the words fall from his lips before he can stop them. If he survives this, she'll kill him herself. But if he doesn't...well, then at least he'll have said it. "You choose creeps and losers because you don't think you deserve better, but you do. You're strong and intelligent and beautiful and you deserve someone who recognizes that."
Gil's eyes slip closed and he gives his head a tiny shake, exasperation rolling off of him in waves, while JT just stares at Malcolm like he's grown a second head.
Dani seems caught halfway between crying and pulling out her gun and using Malcolm for target practice. He decides to press on before her leanings towards the latter becomes too strong to ignore.
"I have a plan. Go!" Malcolm says, kicking them into action.
JT offers him a curt nod, his expression peculiarly open for a change, telling Malcolm everything he needs to say without offering a single word. Malcolm returns the nod and JT leaves the room, the two of them knowing exactly where they stand with one another, their unlikely friendship strong as ever.
Gil, meanwhile, is tugging on Dani's arm, pulling her towards the entrance to the room, and giving her a light shove at the doorway to keep her moving when she plants her feet and turns back to Bright "Go," he says firmly, leaving no doubt that it's an order, not a request. With one last worried glance at Malcolm, she follows JT from the room.
Malcolm expects a stern warning from Gil before he leaves — to stay safe, to avoid doing anything especially stupid — but instead, Gil quietly makes his way back to Malcolm and slowly lowers himself to his knees, keeping a couple feet away so as to not disturb Malcolm's grip on the mine.
"What the hell are you doing?" Malcolm asks, his stomach twisting in knots because he understands exactly what Gil is doing. "You need to get out of here."
"Kid, if you think I'm leaving the two of you alone…" Gil lets the words trail off as a sad smile creases his face.
Malcolm gets it. He does. If the situation were reversed, Malcolm would refuse to leave Gil, but that doesn't make him feel any better about Gil choosing to stay in a room with an active land mine.
"Gil, please," Malcolm pleads, the idea of Gil getting hurt — or worse — leaving him more nauseous than the morning sickness that's been plaguing him for weeks. "You need to go."
"Not happening, Bright," Gil says simply. Malcolm can tell by the pull of muscles beneath his sweater that his husband is aching to reach out, to hold Malcolm, to protect him. He holds himself back, though, unwilling to risk anything that might cause Malcolm to lose his grip on the mine.
"Look," Malcolm says, mentally apologizing for the lie he's about to tell, "I have a plan. I just need you to—"
He's cut off by the buzz of his phone, startling him as it vibrates in his pocket. Gil must be able to see that he's planning on answering it, because he practically growls and reaches forward, pulling the phone from Malcolm's pocket so Malcolm is able to keep both hands on the explosive device. When he holds the phone up between them, the words Claremont Psychiatric flashing up like a neon sign, Gil's grip tightens so hard that Malcolm actually hears the casing of the phone cracking in his hand.
Martin is a source of contention between Malcolm and Gil at the best of times and this is certainly not the best of times. But there is a possibility that they're not going to make it out of this alive, and Malcolm can't pass up the opportunity to say...something...in case this is the end.
The puppy dog eyes he levels at Gil are mostly unintentional, but it does the trick regardless and Gil jams his thumb down on the answer button with far more force than necessary, because he never can seem to say no to Malcolm.
"I only have a second," Malcolm says in lieu of a greeting, shooting Gil an apologetic look for subjecting him to Martin in what could be their final moments.
"My boy, it's your father," Martin beams, excitement ringing clear in his voice. "I'm back."
"No shit," Gil mutters under his breath, turning his head from the phone and rolling his eyes.
"Great," Malcolm says. "I'm, uh—"
"A little busy? I bet," Martin offers, like he has any clue what Malcolm is up to these days. With Martin locked up in solitary for convincing Tevan to attack during Ainsley's interview, Malcolm hasn't been to see him in months.
It's for the best, really. The one thing Gil and Malcolm agree on when it comes to his father is that keeping the pregnancy hidden from Martin is by far the best choice. Unfortunately — though Gil would argue that it's actually a blessing — that's going to entail severely limiting his contact with the man.
Malcolm is distressed to find he already misses him and is pathetically pleased to hear his father's voice again.
"Yeah, just stabilizing a triggered land mine that a Count of Monte Cristo-inspired killer planted in his victim's office," Malcolm blurts out before he can accidentally let something personal slip. The last thing he needs is for Martin to pick up on any of the conflicting emotions currently clouding his mind.
Gil — wonderful, kind, and understanding Gil — can tell Malcolm is slightly overwhelmed and struggling with the conversation, and gives up on trying to keep his hands to himself. With the phone held steady between them, he cautiously reaches his right hand forward to wrap around the nape of Malcolm's neck, grounding him and providing the support that Malcolm so desperately needs.
"Wow. Was the first victim Villefort? Or uh, wait, you're—" Martin stammers as he catches up with Malcolm's words "you're holding a live mine?"
Gil's touch centers Malcolm enough that he's able to start thinking. Planning. He blows out a steadying breath and looks around the room as Martin speaks, taking in the double-barrel flintlock pistol on the floor and looking to the window just beyond.
"Yeah, everyone cleared out," Malcolm says somewhat distractedly as a plan begins to form in his mind, "It's just me and Gil, now." He ignores the muttered response that Gil's name provokes from his father (Perhaps the good Lieutenant can make himself useful for a change and take over holding the landmine), long since used to the hatred the two men bear for one another. "I'm, uh, thinking of a really bad plan and, um saw you called."
Gil arches an eyebrow at him, clearly focusing on the 'bad plan' part of the conversation rather than Martin's distaste for Gil in general, and for his relationship with Malcolm in particular.
"And you picked up?" Martin's voice comes floating through the line, a note of sincere delight underlying the question that Malcolm almost believes to be true. "Why?"
That's a damn fine question, and one he doesn't have the answer to. Even after everything Martin has done, for some reason, Malcolm keeps crawling back, prepared to be kicked yet again but always hoping for a pat on the head.
He hates himself for it, which is precisely why Gil despises Malcolm's visits with Martin so much.
"Honestly," Malcolm huffs a breath and shakes his head, "I have no idea."
"That's it," Gil says, tapping the disconnect button on the phone and slipping Malcolm's phone into his own jacket pocket. "I think that's enough phone time for Doctor Whitly today."
Malcolm drops his head to hide the smile that sneaks onto his face. While he and Gil may disagree about Malcolm's calls and visits with Martin, he's always appreciated Gil looking out for his well-being and he knows that's what Gil is doing now.
"So. Feel like sharing this really bad plan you have in mind?" Gil asks, shifting his grip from Malcolm's neck to tilt his face back up with a finger beneath his chin. "How much am I going to hate it?"
"Well, I'm ninety-nine percent sure that this land mine isn't going to hold until the bomb squad gets here," Malcolm says, ensuring Gil understands that he's not taking an unnecessary risk just for the hell of it. The land mine is unstable and now that it's been activated, he'd be surprised if it lasts another few minutes. "We need to get out of here. Now."
"Okay," Gil says, looking over to the door at the side of the room. "So we make a run for it?"
"Uh, not exactly," Malcolm says apologetically, his eyes darting over to the window behind Gil, drawing his attention to the same spot.
"No," Gil states firmly, "No way. We are not jumping from a third story window, Bright. There's a perfectly good door right there."
It's funny, Malcolm thinks. Gil says no like he means it, and perhaps he even does, but Malcolm can tell that Gil will defer to his judgement on this one. Even still, he wants to make sure that Gil understands why he's agreeing to what he's about to agree to.
"When I let go of this pressure switch, we're going to have enough time to run maybe ten feet, if we're lucky," Malcolm says quickly. "If we use the door, the explosion will blow out the wall behind us as we run. We won't survive the impact from the debris. If I go out the window, though, gravity will pull me down while the blast spreads out."
He doesn't like the idea any better than Gil, but he honestly believes it's their best chance of survival. Gil parked the car directly below them, which means that, with a little aim and a lot of luck, he'll land on something other than the unforgiving concrete.
"What's this 'I' business you're spouting?" Gil narrows his eyes at Malcolm, picking up on the change from a scenario involving both of them to one involving Malcolm alone.
"Gil, be realistic, you can walk out that door right now," Malcolm urges. It's risky enough to do this on his own. He can't stomach risking Gil's life too. "You take the stairs, I'll take the window. We can have a race to street level."
"Really?" Gil says, "More jokes?"
"Sorry," Malcolm apologizes quietly, knowing now is really not the time to make light of the situation.
"What if I take over holding the switch down until you get clear of the room?" Gil offers without a trace of hesitation and Malcolm's heart hammers in his chest, touched that Gil would offer to take his place. "Then once you're out, I can try your window plan."
"I love you," Malcolm whispers, "so damn much. But attempting to switch who's holding this will most certainly set it off. Gil we don't have time to argue. This has to happen now. Please. I need you to trust me."
A deep crease forms between Gil's eyebrows as he leans in and places a gentle kiss to Malcolm's lips. "You know I trust you, kid. Always. But we're doing this together or not at all."
Malcolm doesn't love the idea, but he wasn't kidding; they don't have time to argue. There's a disturbing clicking coming from the land mine and his instincts are screaming that it's about to blow. He's learned to trust that gut feeling over the years.
"Grab the pistol and shoot out the window," Malcolm directs, subtly shifting his body so he's ready to run as soon as the glass is cleared from their path.
Gil grits his teeth and follows Malcolm's instructions. He shoves himself to his feet and scoops up the gun from the floor, aiming at the window and looking down to Malcolm for final confirmation. At Malcolm's nod, Gil pulls the trigger.
Malcolm reacts to the sound like a starter pistol, pushing to his feet and sprinting to the window, wrapping an arm around Gil's waist as he runs. The two men move as one as they suck in a breath and throw themselves out the window to the street below.
The mine detonates as they sail through the window frame, a wall of blazing heat that slams into them hot and hard. The force of the blast wave nudges them out even further into the street, adding to their already considerable momentum.
Malcolm realizes his miscalculation as he feels their bodies being thrust away from the building. He'd banked on being out of the blast radius entirely by the time the mine exploded.
They're going to overshoot the car.
Malcolm offers a silent prayer to whomever might be listening to spare Gil and the baby, but before he can even finish his plea, his body slams into the edge of the roof of the Le Mans, just above the driver's side door. The flak vest absorbs a substantial amount of the impact, but it still hurts like a mother fucker and punches the air from his lungs. Gil lands almost on top of him, his weight and momentum rolling them from the car to the ground, flipping them as they fall so Malcolm lands squarely on Gil's chest as they hit the pavement.
Malcolm's head immediately shoots up, terrified of what he might find, but, while Gil's face is creased with pain — eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched tight — he's still breathing and the road beneath him isn't a mess of blood and brain matter.
"Gil," Malcolm groans, his lungs aching from the impact with the car. "Are you okay?"
Gil grunts something resembling a response and gives his head a shake, clearly trying to brush off the fall. It only takes a second before his eyes shoot open, though, startling Malcolm as he shouts, "Bright!"
An aching relief washes over Gil's features when he finds Malcolm on top of him, conscious and whole, although his hands immediately move over Malcolm's body and up to card through his hair, checking for damage, ignoring his own pain entirely.
Malcolm is about to assure him that he's (mostly) okay (he thinks), but Dani and JT are running over and dropping down next to them, their panicked voices just barely cutting through the ringing in his ears.
"Oh my God, are you okay?"
"What the fuck, man?"
Malcolm attempts to push himself up, but Gil's arms wrap around him while JT's hand lands lightly on his shoulder, three voices calling out, "Don't move!"
For once, Malcolm decides to listen.
He drops his head gently to Gil's chest and tries to focus on the heartbeat beneath him rather than the utter chaos surrounding him. He allows the paramedics that rush over to maneuver him however they see fit, easing him off of Gil and very carefully removing the vest so they can better examine him for injuries. Gil's urgent warning to the medics about Malcolm's pregnancy saves him from having to fill them in himself, though it does prompt dozens of additional questions.
Malcolm calmly answers each of them, keeping his gaze locked on Gil the entire time, with the exception of when asked to follow a pen light with his eyes. Gil has first degree burns along his back from the explosion — his body sheltered Malcolm from the heat of the blaze — and a minor concussion from hitting the ground, but their brief impact with the car helped to break their fall, saving them from far more serious injuries. Malcolm has never been more thankful for protective gear than he is now, realizing just how bad things could have been without it.
As it stands, he hurts. A lot. And obviously the baby needs to be checked out, but he doesn't think he's suffered any severe injuries. He has no abdominal pain, which is his major concern; so long as his baby is safe, Malcolm can deal with anything else.
And so he lies back and submits to the paramedic's assessment and only puts up a fight when they try to roll him away from Gil, their stretchers headed for separate ambulances.
"Bright, I'll meet you at the hospital," Gil attempts to keep Malcolm from climbing off the stretcher in a clear attempt to ride with Gil. "Sweetheart, do it for the baby," he adds when Malcolm still refuses to be pulled away.
"That's a low blow and you know it," Malcolm mutters, but settles himself as comfortably as he can while feeling like one giant bruise.
Gil offers a small smile that says he doesn't feel at all bad for the cheap shot, then lowers his head and shuts his eyes, letting the painkillers that are being pumped into his veins ease some of the discomfort that he's obviously feeling.
Before they load Malcolm into the ambulance, before the other team of paramedics can wheel Gil away, Malcolm calls out, "Hey, Gil?"
"Yeah, kid?" Gil murmurs, clearly being pulled under by the medication.
"I think we're gonna miss our flight."
Eyes still closed, Gil smirks, some of the pain fading from his face. "I'll rebook. It's fine. Go get checked out, Bright. Make sure our baby is still comfy in there."
Gil is clearly trying to keep it light, but his concern bleeds into the words. Malcolm understands. He needs to know that their baby is safe and healthy inside of him, too. So he lets them wheel him away, lets the doctors at the hospital run dozens of tests and poke and prod at him, lets his body rest while he waits in a bed next to Gil's for the results of all the tests.
And when the doctor gives the all clear and tells them that they obviously have a guardian angel watching over them because they didn't break a single bone between them, and their baby appears to be perfectly healthy, he pushes himself from his bed and crawls in next to Gil, allowing the relieved tears to flow freely.
Nearly nine hours after arriving at the hospital, they're both cleared to leave, with strict instructions as to what symptoms to watch for in one another. Not long after, they're curled up in bed together at home, giving and taking comfort in equal measure.
Malcolm knows they'll stay to work the case now; the killer made it personal when they threatened the team, threatened their child. But once it's over, once their killer is in custody, Malcolm is going to ensure that they head directly to the airport and off to somewhere tropical.
And this time, there will be no detours on the way.