After J.T. left, Malcolm spent the rest of the evening at Dani's bedside, falling in and out of uncomfortable sleep in the chair. In addition to the fading bruises on his face and the healing rib, his entire body was just exhausted. Though Malcolm was used to going long periods of time with little to no sleep, the physical and mental torment he'd endured in the last 48 hours had completely depleted him.

He looked at his watch- 6:43am- and rubbed his eyes. His phone vibrated in his pocket. Gil.

Finally got in touch with Dani's mother, Michelle.

She was visiting her sister in Syracuse.

Driving home as we speak. Should be there in about 4.5 hrs.

Malcolm's brain suddenly went into overdrive. In a few hours he was going to meet Dani's mother… for the first time… after her daughter almost died… and he was awaiting trial for murdering the man who nearly killed her.

It's safe to say the possibility of making a good impression is out the window, he thought.

Then he realized something: he and Dani had been official for all of two days. Given everything that transpired in that time, there was no way Michelle knew about the two of them yet. Honestly, that did make things slightly less daunting. However, bouncing back from the murder-one allegation was going to be practically impossible. And there was still the matter of explaining his unyielding presence at her bedside. As he pondered the best way to approach that topic, his phone buzzed in his hand. Jacob Stiver, his lawyer, was on the other end, requesting an early morning meeting.

"Can you come here? The hospital I mean. I'm not leaving Dani."

"Absolutely. I'll be there within the hour."

Malcolm ended the call. Anxious to hear his attorney's strategy.


When Jacob arrived, he was all business; a lot of information had come to light since last they had spoken. He pulled another chair into Dani's room, and began, "Our entire defense is hinged on the statement you gave at the marina, that you were there to retrieve the ammunition and save officers' lives. We will focus on Bennet, Luca, and Damian's criminal history, specifically Bennet's and the cops he'd been executing. If we continually remind the court that Bennet intended to use those armor-piercing bullets to murder more NYPD officers, then that paints you as the hero. A bit of a vigilante, but still on the side of good."

Malcolm nodded. So far, beating the allegations actually seemed somewhat possible.

"That being said," Jacob began.

And the bad news...

He took a moment's pause before continuing, "The D.A. informed me this morning that they've obtained security camera footage from the marina."

Malcolm's mouth fell open with an audible pop. His pulse skyrocketed and for a moment, he forgot to take a breath.

That's it. The final nail in the coffin. Once again the onset symptoms of an anxiety attack reared their ugly head. I'm going to prison.

"I should have a copy of the footage by the end of today. Obviously once I see it, we can adjust our strategy as needed."

Jacob noticed the change in Malcolm's demeanor and attempted to alleviate some of the pressure, "Listen, Malcolm. I am VERY good at my job. There's a reason your family is paying me what they are: I get results. You're a former agent in the FBI. You've helped the NYPD catch murders, rapists, and serial killers. The people you injured intended to use illegal armor-piercing ammunition to murder cops in cold blood. Look me in the eyes, Mr. Bright. Do I look worried?"

Malcolm glanced over at him and shook his head, "No."

"Then you shouldn't be either. You're not going to prison." He picked up his briefcase and shook Malcolm's hand, readying himself to leave.
Admittedly, the anxiety attack had seemed to subside after Jacob's little halftime speech. But Malcolm suddenly thought of something else, "What about my job?" he asked. The attorney, who was halfway to the door, turned and tilted his head quizzically. "Consulting with Major Crimes, with the team. Is there any scenario now where I get to go back to that?"

"That, I can't guarantee. But I will certainly try."

He nodded, a cloud of dread slowly closing in around him.


Malcolm sat, his chin perched on the guardrail of Dani's bed, absent-mindedly tracing circles over her knuckles as he held her hand in his. Without even thinking about it, he started talking to her. "Your mother should be here in a little while. I wish I knew more about her. I've been working on my pitch 'Hello. I'm Malcolm Bright. I'm in love with your daughter.'" He brought his left hand up and used his thumb and index finger to massage his forehead. "'There's also a significant chance I'm headed to prison for the rest of my life. Lovely to meet you.'" A morbid laugh escaped him. "What do you think?" he asked, a genuine smile creeping across his face as he looked at her.

Without warning, Malcolm felt Dani's fingers tighten around his. He practically leapt from the chair, careful not to jerk her hand. "Dani?!" He gently squeezed her hand twice and waited, with bated breath. Again her fingers tightened, this time with more force. The back of Malcolm's throat started to sting, his eyes welling with tears. His face was the embodiment of pure joy, as he turned his focus from her hand to her face. Dani's eyes were shifting like crazy beneath their lids. "It's okay, Dani. Everything's okay."

Malcolm found the call button on the guard rail. A cheery nurse answered, "Can I help you?"

"Yes. I think she's waking up!"

"Wonderful! I'll send someone right away."

"Thank you."

Dani's eyes fluttered for a few moments, before completely opening, bouncing all over the place trying to take in her surroundings. Malcolm knew she had to be frightened. Waking up to intubation had to be shocking, terrifying even. He smiled at her, "Stay calm. There's a tube in your throat that's been helping you breathe. Everything's fine. I called the doctors. No sudden movements okay." Dani's eyes found his and every worry, every pain, every care he had in the world instantly melted away. "Hi, beautiful."

The doctor and nurses entered and Malcolm stepped back, watching as they checked Dani's vitals, and coached her through the extubation process. Everyone in the room stared apprehensively as she took her first few breaths without the ventilator. After a couple of minutes, the doctor sat her up and listened to her lungs as she breathed.

"Everything sounds good!" He said enthusiastically. "Looks like we're on the road to recovery. You're a very lucky woman, Detective Powell." He picked up a whiteboard that a nurse had brought into the room and handed it and the marker to Dani. "You're probably going to have one hell of a sore throat for a couple of days. Try to minimize the amount of talking you do in the next 48 hours."

The minute the doctor and nurses left, Malcolm was at her side. His hand immediately caressed her cheek and she brought hers up to hold it there. "Hey" she whispered.

"Hey." He couldn't contain himself and leaned over the railing to kiss her. She happily returned it, holding him there when they'd finished, their foreheads touching. Several minutes passed before either was willing to pull away. Malcolm offered Dani a cup of water to sip. She held up a finger and started writing on the board.

MY MOM WILL BE HERE SOON?

"You heard that?" Malcolm asked, surprised. Instantly his mind went to the rest of the words he'd spoken out loud to her. He checked his watch, "She should be here in a little over an hour."

Dani erased the phrase with her hand and went back to scribbling.

BENNET?

Malcolm's heart sank. He knew she was going to ask, but that didn't make it any easier to discuss. Best to just rip off the bandage. "Bennet's dead," he replied. Dani stared at her blanket for a moment, slowly nodding her head. Then she looked up at him.

YOU?

He nodded, keeping eye contact with her the entire time, refusing to allow her to think he regretted the actions he'd taken in her name. Dani had an impressive poker face; Malcolm had trouble reading her emotions.

HOW BAD IS IT?

He knew what she was referring to. As much as he didn't want to worry her in her current condition, Malcolm told himself he would never lie to her. "Right now… Murder One. Attempted Murder One, and Assault with a deadly weapon."

Her eyes widened, worry behind them.

LUCA AND DAMIAN THE OTHER TWO?

"Yeah," he replied.

ARE YOU HURT?

He shook his head, "Just the injuries you already knew about." Malcolm took the opportunity to inform her of her own injuries, and the procedures that had been performed to save her. Afterward, Dani was quiet for a while. Malcolm stood next to her, but didn't force any conversation. He knew it was a lot of information to process. Once again she lifted the whiteboard to write.

THANK YOU.

Malcolm smiled and again held her cheek, "I'm just glad you're back."

Dani smiled up at him and cleared her throat, "I love you too. You know that right?"

The warmth that spread throughout Malcolm was absolutely euphoric. He was certain his smile would rip his cheeks. "I was hoping you did."

"Sorry it took so long to reply," Dani coughed a bit and he made sure she sipped more water, kissing her forehead in the process.


Malcolm stepped out into the waiting room to get a cup of vending-machine coffee and call Gil to tell him Dani had woken up. When he returned he handed Dani back the whiteboard, "Does your mother still go by Powell?"

Dani nodded, raising her eyebrows curiously.

"So, what exactly does she know, in terms of us?"

She grinned and wrote.

MORE THAN YOU THINK.

He almost spit his lukewarm coffee across the room, "What?"

Dani silently laughed.

SHE KNOWS ABOUT BENNET'S OFFICE.

"Are you serious?!" Malcolm choked and started coughing, mortified.

Again Dani was cracking up, without a single sound leaving her mouth.

SHE KNOWS WE KISSED AND 'THINGS GOT HEATED'. NOT ALL THE DETAILS.

Malcolm exhaled a sigh of relief, "That wasn't funny."

IT WAS A LITTLE FUNNY.

He rolled his eyes.

SHE KNOWS THAT I THOUGHT I WAS FALLING FOR YOU. THAT'S THE LAST TIME WE SPOKE.

Malcolm grinned, his heart warming at the thought of Dani telling her mother she had feelings for him. While he pictured that moment, Dani's mother tapped on the door and entered quietly.

Malcolm stood, moving out of the way for her.

"Oh, she's awake!" Michelle rushed to her daughter and hugged her. She brushed the frenzied curls out of Dani's face and looked her over, as a worried mother would. "My sweet baby girl."

"Hi, momma," Dani whispered.

"Shh. Shh. Don't you worry about talking," Michelle turned and saw Malcolm. Her eyes inspected him up and down, but he got the feeling it was more about his suit than her judgement. His suspicions were confirmed when she turned to Dani and whispered, all too loudly, "Tom Ford AND Valentino, I love this man already."

He blushed and smiled, extending his hand to her, "Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Powell. I'm Malcolm Bright."

"Michelle. And the pleasure is all mine. Dani, you did not tell me his eyes were so heavenly." Again Malcolm blushed. Dani was clearly reveling in the moment.

The next few hours went by pleasantly. Michelle told cute and embarrassing stories about Dani, while she was silently defenseless to stop her. Occasionally Dani would whisper a few funny comments here and there, or furiously scribble her justification for a childhood daredevil action. It was easy. It was, dare Malcolm think it, fun. After a while Dani started to drift off, her body exhausted after all the trauma it had endured. Michelle and Malcolm continued talking in hushed whispers on the opposite side of the room.

"She's told me a lot about you, you know," Michelle said, taking a sip of her coffee.

Malcolm smirked, "Is that so?"

"She's clearly smitten with you."

"The feeling is definitely mutual," he replied.

"Yes, well that's obvious also," Michelle smiled, then glanced over at her daughter, checking that she truly was asleep. "I spoke to Gil earlier today. I know the situation you're in right now. That's… arduous."

Malcolm looked away from her in contrition.

"Before this Bennet shot her. Those men, they hurt her?"

He looked back up at Michelle, "yes."

"You were there when she was shot? When everyone thought she…" Michelle choked up, unable to say the word.

Malcolm nodded.

Her eyes hardened, "And then you went after them, risking life in prison, for my daughter?"

He cleared his throat, "I know it was a stupid thing to-"

Michelle held up her hand to stop his apology, "Thank you." She reached out and took Malcolm's hand, patting the top of it. "Ever since my husband passed, I've been waiting for my Danielle to find a man that would protect her, defend her, love her, as unconditionally as her father did. I'm so glad she finally found you."

The two smiled at each other and Michelle continued, "Now sweetie don't take this the wrong way, but you look like hell."

Malcolm couldn't suppress his laugh.

"I know there's no way you've slept more than a few minutes at a time in these past two days. Go home, honey. Get some sleep. Come back rested. I'll keep watch over my baby girl tonight."

As much as he wanted to fight it, Malcolm's body was begging him to agree. It was already late afternoon. By the time he got home, showered, and slept, it would be time to come back in the morning. As he stood to go Michelle hugged him, a pleasant surprise, and he promised to return bright and early tomorrow, breakfast in hand. He kissed Dani's forehead, before heading home for some much-needed sleep.


Malcolm exited his bathroom, clean and as refreshed as he was going to be until he got some legitimate sleep. His phone buzzed, a missed call from Jacob. Not bothering to check the voicemail, he immediately called him back.

"Malcolm, hey. So, I have copies of the security footage the prosecution intends to use. The good news is that both of the confrontations on the boat are obscured by the awning on the deck. You can see feet occasionally, but there's no sound. For either of those charges, the footage is useless."

"That is good news. That makes the murder one charge harder to prove."

"Exactly. Unfortunately, the footage of the first shooting is very clear. I contacted Damian Mitchell and his representation and put out some feelers to see if he would be willing to offer us some favorable testimony in exchange for a softer sentence."

"That seems unlikely," Malcolm predicted.

Jacob huffed, "Yeah. His exact words 'I ain't doing shit to help him.'"

"Not shocked."

"Anyway. Some very good news for the murder one and attempted murder charges. Not that the lack of video completely negates them, but it helps us not to have that documented on video. Now we just need to focus on a strategy for the assault charge, which is much more manageable. I'll be in touch very soon."

"Thank you."

Malcolm laid his phone down on the side table, and stared at his bed. The covers were still a mess from the festivities he and Dani had enjoyed that morning, before she was kidnapped. He smirked at the memory of Dani's playful giggles and the way they quickly shifted into sounds that could completely undo him in seconds. After a moment's nostalgia, he fell into the bed and a well-deserved dreamless sleep.


By 5:30 the next morning, Malcolm was dressed and bounding down the stairs of his building to the exit door. The world outside his apartment was still dark, but the sunrise teased a lighter blue to the east. He knew the perfect place to pick up some amazing coffee and baked goods for Dani and Michelle's breakfast. The full night's sleep had completely rejuvenated him. He absolutely couldn't wait to see Dani.

Malcolm was less than a block from his building when two men jumped out from a tiny alleyway and attacked him. One of them grabbed at his arms, but Malcolm jerked them out of his grasp. The second man was consistently throwing punches in his direction. A few connected with his torso, thankfully on the opposite side of his broken rib. One connected with his face, whipping his head to the side. Again the man behind him was pulling at his arms, at his jacket. Malcolm landed a punch of his own, knocking the man in front of him back a step and giving him a second to breathe.

Sirens wailed close by. While Malcolm was incredibly grateful, he was astonished how swiftly someone had called. They couldn't have been attacking him for more than sixty seconds, how were there already officers coming?

The man who had been trying to hold his arms fled back down the alley. The one who'd been hitting him turned to look over his shoulder, as though he was gaging how much time he had. Then he rushed Malcolm, shoving him up against the brick building. He threw a few more haphazard punches in his direction and continually shoved him into the wall any time Malcolm tried to get away.

He's trying to keep me here, Malcolm thought. Before he could extrapolate any further, the police arrived at the scene. His attacker smiled at him and landed one final punch, connecting only a few inches below Malcolm's broken rib. He immediately doubled over in pain, struggling to breathe.

"On the ground, now!" The officers yelled. One of them had his weapon drawn. "Hands behind your head."

Malcolm gingerly complied, pain radiating throughout the left side of his torso. The cops split their responsibilities, one of them coming over to him. "Sir, stand up slowly please."

"Don't worry," Malcolm responded, gradually getting to his feet.

"Please lean against the wall, arms and legs apart. Do you have any drugs or weapons on you at this time sir?"

"No," he replied, as the officer started frisking him.

"You sure about that?" he reiterated, as he checked Malcolm's jacket pockets, pulling something out, "because this looks a lot like a switchblade to me."

"What?" Malcolm looked down at the cop's hand in shock. Sure enough, there had been a knife in his pocket. It all made sense now: the seemingly random attack, the unheard of response time to the attack.

They called before they attacked me. They planted the knife. It was all a set up.

Malcolm glared over at his attacker, who was clearly very proud of himself.

"That's not my knife." As soon as Malcolm said it he realized he sounded exactly like one of the suspects busted on an episode of COPS.

"Sure it isn't," the officer replied. Malcolm attempted to explain that he thought it had been planted. But it was no use. As soon as the cops ran their names, Malcolm knew what was coming.

"Turns out you're under a court order NOT to possess any deadly weapons, Mr. Bright. What with your impending trial for first degree murder and all."

Goddamn it.

"And your friend here has multiple warrants as well."

Both of them were placed under arrest. Once the additional car arrived, Malcolm was guided into the back seat, and again found himself headed to jail.

This can't be happening, he thought, picturing Dani and her mother wondering where he was. Picturing himself, in prison for the remainder of his trial and possibly beyond.

"May I ask which jail we're headed to?" Malcolm asked.

After glancing at his partner for approval, the cop in the passenger seat looked back at him. "You're headed to The Tombs, Mr. Bright."

Malcolm sighed and slowly blinked, "Manhattan Detention Complex."

Of. Fucking. Course.

"Been there before, huh?" the driver chuckled.

"Something like that," Malcolm replied, staring out the window.

He knew the complex well. Of the two buildings that comprised the facility, the south tower was dubbed "The Tombs", a nickname that followed from the original building over a hundred years ago. Together both towers of the complex housed almost 900 male inmates awaiting trial. Malcolm could tell the officers the layout of the lobby, what color the interior of the elevators were, exactly what the visitation room smelled like. At least twenty years ago he could.

He was headed to the same jail that housed Dr. Martin Whitly while he awaited his trial.


After going through the entire booking process for the second time in twenty-six hours, and making his one phone call to Gil, Malcolm stood staring at the bed in his cell. Then he looked down at himself: canvas shoes, tan shirt, tan pants. He'd expected orange, not that it helped any or made much difference. The cells were singles at least. That would probably be a major asset to him once word got out that he was an ex fed who worked with the NYPD.

A guard who had identified himself as Jones stood waiting outside the door, "Chow. Let's go."

Malcolm followed Jones, mentally preparing himself for what was to come.

Confidence. You can't show fear. Profile everyone. Figure out who the major players are. Information is power, listen to everyone.

As soon as the door to the cafeteria opened, every eye in the room turned to him. Jones led Malcolm to the back of the chow line and told him to follow the masses once breakfast was over. Malcolm was sure to make eye contact with anyone he passed, but was grateful that there was an unoccupied table in the back of the hall.

Before he could even open his milk carton, two men walked over and sat themselves down in front of him. Both had dark bronze colored skin. One was tall, at least 6'2", and heavy, but clearly strong beneath the excess weight. The other was smaller. Bigger than he was, 5'11" maybe, and lean but muscular.

Malcolm silently stared back and forth at both of them, then opened his milk, and started eating his oatmeal.

After a few more minutes of silence, in which both men were clearly attempting to size Malcolm up, the leaner of the two finally spoke, "How you doing… cop?"

That didn't take long.

"I'm not a cop," Malcolm replied, continuing to eat his food, seemingly unfazed.

The man laughed, "Believe me, we know exactly what and who you are, Malcolm Bright. We know what you did too. You have any idea how many boys in this room, in this whole damn building, worked for Mr. Bennet?"

Malcolm had assumed his association with the police and federal government would be what came back to bite him. He stupidly hadn't considered members of the Niners ready to avenge the loss of their leader. Despite his inner panic, Malcolm kept his expression placid, and took a drink of his milk.

The man smirked, "Much like that milk you're drinking, you have an expiration date, little man." The two of them got up and walked back to their original table.

Malcolm made it through the rest of chow without incident. Even getting back to his cell was uneventful. An hour or so later they went out for yard time. Malcolm walked the perimeter of the fence, simultaneously trying to hear as much as he could, but interact with as few people as possible. He needed more information before he chose who to get into bed with, socially speaking. He didn't learn much, but at this point the biggest thing was putting faces to names he'd overheard. The one thing that unnerved him the most was the fact that almost everyone he passed, turned to someone else to discuss how he was the one who killed Ezra Bennet. That kind of notoriety wasn't helpful.

While in line, heading back to their cells from yard, Malcolm heard his name whispered multiple times behind him. The hairs on the back of his neck raised, biology alerting him of danger. As they reentered the building a man bumped into him and stepped in front of him in line. Malcolm ignored it and didn't speak.

A moment later the man turned and closed the distance between them quickly, "Damian says hi."

Malcolm inhaled and hunched slightly forward, as the man left the line and disappeared in all the commotion. His hand immediately clutched his abdomen. The pain that surged through it was blinding, and familiar. He stumbled backward three steps until he hit the wall and slid down it. Malcolm deliberately smacked his head back against the cinder block in both anger and agony. Then he looked down at the left side of his torso, as crimson spilled out through his fingers.