Gil wouldn't have let this happen. Plus he'd know what to do now.
Or Dani. Dani seemed to be able to make Bright laugh, even when things were tense. He'd even settle for Adrisa. She was weird as hell, but she could get through to Bright like no one else. JT could barely hold a conversation with the guy, what hope did he have of being a help in this mess?
JT whirled on Fielding. "THE FUCK—"
"this is not MY fault—"
"It was an ACCIDENT!" Mandal stood from the chair, but her good point was lost in the beginning of the shouting.
"He hurt my partner!" Fielding pointed to the kitchen table.
"You hurt mine!" JT fired back. He stepped—not towards Fielding—but so that he physically positioned himself between her and Bright. He wondered if he'd fare any better if this came down to blows.
"stop." This times Mandal's voice was soft, but it had immediate effect. She planted herself between them, back to JT so that she could get eye contact with her partner. "stop that. Come help me get cleaned up." And without room for an argument, she pulled Fielding down the hallway and out of sight.
Thank god. At least someone had the kind of sense it took to keep the scene from escalating.
"Fuck, Bright." JT didn't exactly slam his first on the table, but it wasn't gentle. "You always gotta go and make everything so fucking inconvenient. Seriously." JT huffed, kneeling down, so he could look under the table. "Seriously, my cousin used to do this when he threw tantrums. When he was five."
Bright wouldn't even look at him.
He was smashed up against the wall, pale and shaking and pitiful. Fingers quaking despite how hard he clenched his arm against his chest. There was blood on his hand, and his face and so many parts of his jacket JT wasn't even really sure where it all was coming from.
"Bright?"
JT was familiar with the act that Bright put on; the unflappable pretty boy. Rich and unbothered. Talented and tightly controlled. Always the smartest one in the room. A prodigy, albeit one that jumped at slamming doors.
To see that visage so thoroughly shattered was a shock. It made his head spin, realizing that Bright was simultaneously more fucked up and better at hiding it than JT thought he was.
"You ok?" It was a stupid question. The fact that Bright made no comment on it was a bad sign.
"Can you look at me?"
A grimace passed over Bright's face, but he didn't move.
"You hearing me?"
There was no indication he was.
JT sat back and crossed his legs. He was out of his depth.
He settled onto the floor in a spot that wouldn't crowd, but also put him firmly between Bright and the exit. The last thing they needed was Bright bolting. At most he'd get halfway across the kitchen before crashing face first over a corpse. Or it would be JT's turn to tackle him and they all wanted to avoid that.
Bright followed the movement out of the corner of his eye, but didn't lift his head. JT showed his empty palms; a sign of peace that did nothing to stop Bright from looking like he was preparing to be strangled to death.
Didn't do much to stop JT from wanting to strangle him. Just a little. Really, he wanted to yank Bright out from under there by his ankles. Physically grab him and shake him. Make him swear he wouldn't ever make JT go through this again. It would be easier to physically overpower Bright and drag him out of here in a fireman's carry. It would be faster, certainly more convenient for JT. But as anything other than a last resort it would just do more harm than good. And JT was pissed, but he wasn't about to do anything like that. Which meant he'd have to find a different solution.
Ok, so he was definitely out of his depth.
Dipping one of his hands—slowly—to his pocket, JT pulled out his phone.
Gil picked up on the second ring.
"Talk fast," he warned. The sound of whipping wind came through the speaker.
"It's Bright." JT did as he was told and talked fast, eyes averted so he didn't have to keep looking at the way Bright wasn't looking at him. "He's ok, but something set him off. He freaked out and hid under a table. I don't know what to do, Boss."
"Damnit." There was a pause. A whoosh of air and a hissing cut-off string of curses. "Damnit, JT you gotta help him."
"I know that." JT muttered, stamping down the irritation rising in his chest. Like he'd be doing anything else in this situation other than trying to help? But he kept his mouth shut, this wasn't about his ego. Even if it did hurt to hear Gil talk like JT needed convincing to do the right thing. "Just tell me how."
"Don't touch him unexpectedly."
"Yeah, got that part loud and clear. He uh…" JT coughed. "He sort of punched an officer."
"Well. Shit."
"Ya got that right. We're just lucky no one went for guns. He's fine, but pretty freaked."
There was a burst of noise and a voice seeping in from the other end.
"Ok, ok. Yeah Dani he did say guns but just— wait. Hold on. JT Just get him calm and get him out of there. Somewhere safe. Get ahold of Ainsley, if you can."
"Oh, that all?" JT cast his eyes around the kitchen in search of Malcom's phone. "First I got—"
"JT?" Gil interrupted, "It's an emergency. I gotta go."
"Wait! Gil!" JT spluttered. "Come on, give me something. He won't even talk to me, how am I supposed to calm him down?"
Other voices leaked in from the background of the call, the sound of an engine turning over. "He gets nonverbal, sometimes. You just have to find a way to communicate with him, even if he doesn't talk. Malcom's still in there, don't treat him like he's not. I'll call you when I can."
The line went dead, leaving JT alone.
"Fuck." That earned a pretty impressive flinch from Bright.
Ok. Nonverbal. He could do this. He could definitely handle this.
He looked up to see bright blue eyes watching him. Weary.
JT swallowed. "…Malcom?"
Those eerie blue eyes blinked back at him. They were always striking, maybe a little too uncanny for his own good. But filled with panic and frantically checking exists, they were almost scary. It was the horror movie version of eye contact, like looking at a Halloween mask of Malcom's face.
"Shit you're pale." JT said it out loud without thinking. "You look like a vampire from a silent film."
The lack of reaction was probably an ok sign. At least JT wasn't making things worse. And if Malcom wouldn't talk JT sure would.
"You ever think about getting a tan? Or seeing the sun once in a while? I know we don't get called in for homicides on tropical islands a lot. I can dream, though. Right? Maybe we'll get lucky and have to solve a murder in Fiji. Or, I dunno. In the parking lot of a tanning salon. I'll take anything at this point."
He hadn't lost Malcom's eyes so he just kept going.
"Or hell, fuck a murder. Let's all go to Fiji for fun. Don't think I haven't heard Gil complaining about none of us taking proper vacation time. How about the Bahamas? get us all some sun. And a fucking well deserved break. Just picture it, a whole bunch of fancy drinks with tiny umbrellas."
And it wasn't a laugh, but Bright huffed at that.
"Fiji's my vote, personally. What do you think, week in Fiji? Yes or no."
Malcom opened his mouth, but said nothing. His face screwed up in concentration, but still he said nothing.
"Can you nod your head? For a yes?"
Malcom just stared back at him, mouth pulled into a thin line. Answer enough in itself.
"Alright," JT drummed his fingers on the floor, thinking. "Gil did say words might be… He said we should find a way to talk that isn't talking."
Malcom lit up at that, bringing his hands together in a flurry of motion. JT watched closely, eyes following as Malcom flicked out two fingers before pressing a half circle to his index finger.
"Is that…" JT recognized the motions. He had a snowball's chance in hell of guessing what they meant, but he knew those motions. "Are you doing sign language?"
Malcom made a motion like knocking on a door.
"Great. Just great." JT scrubbed a hand over his face. "That would be really helpful, Malcom, if I fucking understood sign language."
JT didn't yell like he wanted to, but his voice must have risen because Malcom dropped his arms.
"Hey, hey. None of that now. Stay here, with me." JT repeated the knocking motion back at Malcom, but he'd gone back to staring at the floor.
He looked like he was an inch away from tipping back into his own panic, like they might lose what little progress they'd made.
"Hello?" JT leaned forward and knocked his knuckles against the floor. Twice, in the same pattern, soft enough that the sound would get Malcom's attention without scaring him. "Anyone home?"
For a long moment Malcom didn't react. Then—slowly, cautiously—he extended on still trembling hand and rapped his knuckles against the floor. Two knocks, echoing JT.
JT considered the idea briefly, then knocked out the rhythm to shave and a haircut.
Malcom responded. Two bits.
"Ok. Ok this is something."
Malcom didn't move his eyes, but he didn't move his hand either. Waiting.
"This is a way we can communicate. Knock once for yes."
One knock. Yes.
"Yes!" JT pumped his fist, leaning forward again. "so, you're telling me you'd vote for the Bahamas? That it?"
Malcom's face softened. Yes.
"Traitor, but fine. I guess you're allowed an opinion. Why don't we get out of here, first?"
Yes.
"Do you know where we are?"
There was hesitation, quick eyes scanning the room again but Malcom landed on yes.
"Are you hurt?"
Two knocks.
"Cause I was—shit." Two knocks. "What the hell does two knocks mean?"
Malcom just shot him a look. You tell me.
"Right, right. Does that mean I don't know? Or no? double yes?"
Malcom knocked twice again.
"This aint' as easy as it seems, ok?" JT took a deep breath. He felt utterly helpless and he was the one who could still use words. "I'll do yes/no questions. Knocking twice means you don't know."
Two nocks.
"So not yes. Knocking twice means no, is that right?"
Yes.
"Got it, got it." He pointed at finger at Malcom's arm. "I'll ask again. Are you hurt?"
No.
"Malcom, dude. You're bleeding. Don't lie to me, I can see it! I won't make you go to a doctor or anything, but I need to take a look."
Malcom sucked in a breath, looked straight at him, and said "No."
The word was more of a rasp, really. His voice was scratchy, strained like he'd just woken up or was sick. But there was a snarl on his face as he pulled his injured limb farther away from JT. "Nnn…" He tried again, but this time it was just more of a humming sort of N sound before his face twisted and he fell silent again.
"Alright, alright, hat's a later problem. don't pop a blood vessel or something." There was fire in those eyes. Enough to make JT's hair stand on end. Not like he was in any physical danger from Malcom. But he couldn't turn his instincts off, and that look Malcom was giving him scared him. He put his hands in view again and that seemed to make Malcom relax. "Right now we just gotta decide how to get out of here."
Patience paid off, in the end.
He did have to basically drag Malcom out, but at least all parties had agreed to it. And Malcom even kept his promise not to punch JT in the face. Could have been much worse.
Once they were both standing again, JT kept an arm around Malcom so that he didn't go face first onto the kitchen tile. Malcom, to his credit, really did seem to be trying his best. But the best he could do was to stumble along next to JT like they were on their way home from the bar.
JT checked the coast was clear, and made a B-line for the door. Not snow nor rain nor gloom of night could stop them now.
Fielding could. But she had to physically block their path to the exist to get JT to even slow down.
"I think he owes my partner an apology." She demanded, staring JT down like she could kill him with a look.
"I think not. You'll be hearing from my L.T." JT could barely look at her, knew that if he really did, he might lose it.
She leaned in closer. "Oh come on. He was the one that freaked out!"
"Let's go." JT said to Malcom, as if he had much choice in the matter. JT didn't wait for a response before dragging him away.
Fielding let them go, but not without hissing Fucking psycho at Malcom as they passed.
Had it been any other day Malcom would have been able to hide his reaction completely. His poker face wouldn't have been betrayed by his body. He would have been able to hide the tension that shot through him like a lightning bolt. Like the words had physically hurt him, more than he already had been.
JT just kept going. The only solace was that Gil would tear that prick a new asshole for laying a finger on his kid. That would have to be enough.
"Sorry!" He heard Mandal shout after them from somewhere in the house. It sounded genuine, but JT was on a mission and didn't slow down until they were outside.
They made it to the curb before Malcom tried to brush him off.
"Cab." He mumbled, and ducked under JT's arm.
"Malcom! Hey wait wait, don't—"
Malcom got two steps before tripping theatrically over a seam in the pavement.
JT grabbed his elbow and hauled him back up. "Nuh-uh. I'm driving you."
"I'll call…" Malcom swallowed. "I…"
"You know, actually? This isn't a discussion."
JT deposited Malcom into the passenger seat without much ceremony. Christ he weighed next to nothing. No wonder he was shaking like that.
Malcom sat with his forehead pressed against the window, his whole body turned away from JT.
He turned on the radio, and got to enjoy about half of the song before he noticed the way it sent Malcom fidgeting again.
The shaking just got worse.
No matter how many times JT reach to turn up the heat, the shaking got worse.
Malcom watched him adjust the heat at every stoplight, but didn't say anything.
Finally, JT turned the radio off and they drove in silence.