Gil tapped Malcolm on the shoulder and handed him a steaming Styrofoam cup, "Fair warning, it's about as good as the precinct's. Cream and sugar right?"
He nodded, half-awake. "What time is it?" he mumbled.
"One thirty."
Only out for ten minutes. Good.
"Any news?" Malcolm sat up, sipping his coffee.
Gil shook his head, "I guess at this point no news is good news right? She must be stabilizing, however slowly." Gil was watching his reactions, worrying about him, as well as his detective. "It's Dani. She's stronger than all of us. She'll fight through."
Malcolm stared into the contents of his cup. "She has to," he whispered, "I don't know what I'll do if I lose her."
Gil eyed him, half smiling, "About that..." Malcolm didn't move his head, but glanced up out of the corners of his eyes. Gil raised his eyebrows, a knowing father, waiting for his child's confession.
Malcolm couldn't help but grin in response, clearing his throat nervously. "Yeah, about that," he teased, taking another sip of his coffee and chuckling afterward.
Leaning back in the chair, Gil pressed for more information, but tried to act as casual as possible. "Is it serious?"
"It is for me," Malcolm admitted, looking up at him. "I think it might be for her too. At least I hope so."
The smile that lit up Gil's face was contagious, "That's great, kid. I'm happy for you. Dani could probably do better but," Gil winked and held up his cup in an appreciative "cheers" motion. Malcolm reciprocated laughing at his joke.
The two men sat in comfortable silence for a while, anxiously awaiting news about Dani. After fifteen minutes had passed, Gil got a text message. Malcolm glanced up at him and watched his entire demeanor change while he read it. When he finished, Gil put his phone back in his pocket and leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees.
What do you know? Malcolm started profiling his mentor. He knew Gil had something to tell him. There was tension in his shoulders; he was clenching and unclenching his jaw. There was definitely news, and judging by Gil's mannerisms, it wasn't good.
After a minute of deliberation, Gil finally let out a sigh and spoke, "Bright, I need to know what went down at the Marina."
Malcolm was sure to make full eye contact when he responded, "Gil, I told you."
"No," he leaned in closer, "you fed me a line of bullshit that didn't even answer my question."
"I knew Bennet would try and run with the cartridges. By car would take too much time and risk being spotted by any of the officers on patrol. The quickest and easiest route of escape would be by boat. So, that's where I went."
"Even if I did buy that as your ONLY motivation for going to the marina, which, by the way, I don't, you still haven't explained what happened when you got there."
Malcolm ran both of his hands through his hair in frustration, "The reports right there on your phone is it not? I'm assuming that's what you've been reading the majority of the time we've been waiting. Obviously whatever that text message just said changed something. So, what is it?"
"You're profiling me now?"
"Am I wrong?" Malcolm waited for Gil's objection. None came. "What did it say?"
Gil licked his lips and looked away for a second. When his eyes returned to Malcolm's they were full of worry and fear. "Bennet's dead, Bright."
Malcolm's eyes widened. Even though he'd expected to get that news at some point. It didn't change the force with which it hit him.
"He coded in the ambulance en route to the hospital. They tried to revive him. Pronounced on arrival."
Malcolm slowly turned his gaze from Gil to the carpet of the waiting room.
Bennet's dead. I killed him. An unnerving mixture of relief, guilt, and fear circulated through him, each emotion rotating, hitting him at a different time. It was incredibly strange to feel both guilt and pride about your actions simultaneously. Then the fear; the garnish on the bizarre cocktail of emotion. What consequences awaited him?
"And," Gil continued.
There's always an 'and'.
"Luca's in surgery, but J.T. says it doesn't look good. They had already revived him twice in the bus. Docs aren't optimistic he will survive the procedure."
Two lives.
The gravity of his actions came to rest on his chest like a millstone. Malcolm closed his eyes and assessed his emotions the way Dr. Le Deux had taught him when he was a boy. He was surprised to find that, despite the guilt and the fear, he didn't exactly regret his actions. Malcolm had always been fiercely protective of the ones he loved. When it came to Dani, that instinct was heightened exponentially. Even though she didn't really need it, she was his to protect, to guard. And he had failed. The marina was justice, penance for what they'd done to Dani, the pain they'd caused her, for almost taking her from him forever.
Nevertheless, dread permeated his mind, the kind of dread that follows you like your shadow, lurks around every corner. There was no way he was getting out of this without repercussions. At least one man was dead because of him. There would inevitably be consequences for his actions.
"And Damian?" Malcolm asked quietly.
"No official word on Damian yet, but he was conscious in the ambulance. Other than blood loss, his injury was relatively minor, comparatively speaking."
Malcolm put his head in his hands. Best case scenario, he'd taken one man's life. He'd killed someone, potentially two people.
The Surgeon's voice echoed in his head, the smile practically audible, "My boy."
Malcolm shook his head, banishing the voice of his father from within him.
Gil's eyes were empathetic, concerned, but he continued to press him for information, "What happened at the Marina?"
Malcolm was torn. Part of him wanted nothing more than to bear his soul to his would-be-father. To confide everything: every thought, every emotion, every action. But the other part of him knew he couldn't, that at the end of the day Gil was a good, moral, lieutenant. Nothing Malcolm had done was moral. It may have been karma, justice, what they'd deserved even, but moral it was not. He had been driven purely by emotion, by everything he'd thought he had lost: Dani, his everything, any chance they had at a future together. If he told Gil the truth, his hands would be tied; he'd have to report it. And Malcolm would be the property of the State of New York by sunrise.
"You want me to beg, kid? 'Cause I'll beg. Talk to me, please."
Malcolm looked up at him, lovingly, at the man who had always been there for him and treated him like his own son. He opened his mouth to speak, and was yet again interrupted when Dani's doctor exited the swinging doors. He was smiling. That simple gesture washed all the other emotions away immediately and Malcolm felt as though he could fly.
"Good news!" the doctor said, grinning from ear to ear, "Detective Powell's vitals are holding steady. They still aren't within the normal range, but she's stopped fluctuating so intensely, which is a promising sign. They will move her to a room shortly. We are keeping her in the ICU; she still needs constant monitoring. The next twenty-four hours are crucial. But, we're cautiously optimistic and are shifting her condition from 'critical' to 'serious'. That means she can have one visitor at a time."
Malcolm knew he was smiling like a complete idiot. Quite frankly, he didn't care. He turned to Gil, silently begging to see her first.
"Obviously," Gil responded aloud, shooing him away.
The doctor motioned for the nurse at reception to join them, "Could you please escort him to room 113?"
"Of course. Right this way, sir."
Malcolm followed the nurse as she scanned them into the area. After a couple of turns they came to a small room with a glass exit wall. As soon as he saw her, Malcolm's eyes welled with tears; the nurse hadn't even opened the door yet. She held the door for him to enter and left as it closed.
Dani was connected to several tubes and IVs, each periodically making a different hum or beep. Malcolm slowly walked toward the bed, noting every vital readout he could. She was intubated, the ventilator's cadence keeping perfect time. Tears spilled out onto his cheeks, as he arrived at the side of the bed. Malcolm reached down and gingerly took Dani's hand, careful not to disrupt the IV. He intertwined their fingers, and gently squeezed.
"I'm sorry, Dani," he whispered, barely getting the sentence out before he completely broke down. His breaths were shaky and uneven as the quiet sobs took over. "I'm so sorry." Malcolm repeated the phrase multiple times through his tears, as though it could cleanse his misdeeds, right his wrongs. When the breakdown started to subside, he leaned in and kissed Dani on the forehead. Then he crossed the room and pulled the chair over to the edge of the bed.
Resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his fists, Malcolm observed Dani. He watched her chest rise and fall, assisted by the ventilator. He recalled the moment that she had taken that agonizing last breath in his arms, when he thought he had lost her forever. Here she was, alive. She had fought through. That was a type of strength he had never witnessed before. Dani always managed to find new ways to amaze him.
Malcolm sat there for some time, keeping vigilant watch. He didn't remember leaning back in the chair, or dozing off, but the nurse's return jarred him awake.
"Excuse me. Your friend in the waiting room is asking for you."
Malcolm rubbed his eyes, "Oh. Thank you." He walked over to Dani and kissed her forehead once more before leaving.
Gil was pacing the small space where they had been sitting, his phone to his ear. He raised his head when he heard the doors open. "Yes, sir. I understand," he said, striding toward the profiler with purpose, his expression grim.
The dread that Malcolm had so quickly swept aside due to the good news about Dani, came rushing back with a vengeance.
"Outside," Gil ordered walking past him and to the doors exiting into the parking garage.
Malcolm followed, Whatever this is, it's bad.
Gil walked halfway up the level of the parking garage, stopping at an empty compact spot in the corner. He turned, his hands on his hips, completely infuriated. "A silencer?!"
Shit. Malcolm lowered his gaze.
"No. Look at me," Gil demanded, his voice hard, furious. Slowly Malcolm raised his eyes to meet his mentor's. "You stole a police officer's silencer?! Which you then used at the marina to injure and/or kill three men. Two of those shootings, I'm now partially responsible for since you used," Gil jabbed himself in the chest with his hands, "MY GODDAMN GUN!"
Fuck. After everything that had occurred, the anguish when he'd thought Dani was gone, the blackout rage he'd experienced afterward, Malcolm had completely forgotten that the Glock he used was Gil's.
"Tell me you didn't." Gil stepped toward him, staring into his eyes less than a foot away.
He tried to maintain eye contact, but Gil's glare was unrelenting, "Tell you I didn't what?"
"Tell me you didn't go to the Marina with the intent to kill all three of them for what they did to Dani."
Malcolm swallowed the knot in his throat, opened his mouth multiple times, but never responded. He had absolutely no idea what to say.
Gil turned, threw his hands up in frustration, and yelled, "DAMN IT, BRIGHT!" When he faced Malcolm again his expression sent a chill through Malcolm. Gil was genuinely scared, to the point of desperation. "Do you have any idea what you've gotten yourself into? You used a silencer for Christ's sake, and a stolen one at that." Gil's hands were constantly up, gesturing in exasperation. "A silencer is instant 'intent to conceal my actions' to any Judge or Jury. It shows premeditation. Premeditation equals guilt, Bright!"
Guilt, premeditation, jury. He's already talking trial. Malcolm's head was spinning. He stood, staring unfocused at the wall behind Gil.
"You've got to give me something, kid. Anything that proves you didn't go to the marina as an executioner. Please. Because if you don't..."
Malcolm watched as Gil internally struggled with something dire. His profiler brain was in overdrive. The phone call in the waiting room, his expression, begging for any plausible deniability. Malcolm put the pieces together and exhaled, "You're arresting me, aren't you?"
Gil closed his eyes and turned his head to the side. Malcolm could see the utter turmoil this moment was causing him. When Gil looked back at him, tears were threatening to fall, "Please, tell me anything that can prevent this. I'm begging you, kid."
Malcolm racked his brain for any response that might help him. There were none. He had, in fact, gone there with the intent to make those men pay for what they'd done. He looked up at Gil, apologetically, and shook his head slightly.
Gil nodded, closed the distance between them, and for the first time since Malcolm was a boy, he wrapped his arms around him in a hug.
Malcolm immediately returned the embrace. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Me too, kiddo," Gil replied.
When Gil stepped back, he took a deep breath, "Don't say another word," he advised. Malcolm understood. Gil reached into his coat pocket and fished out the handcuffs. After clearing his throat, he began, "Malcolm Bright, you're under arrest for the murder of Ezra Bennet, the attempted murder of Luca Morales, and the assault with a deadly weapon of Damian Mitchell." Malcolm lowered his head, his pulse racing, as he turned around. The cuffs were cold, rigid, unforgiving. Their clicks seemed to echo forever off of the cement around him.
"You have the right to remain silent," Gil walked Malcolm to his car as he completed the Miranda rights, opened the back passenger door, and guided him inside.
The door shut behind Malcolm with a finality that mirrored his own fate.
