AN: What up y'all I'm finally back. Getting married and going on a honeymoon and moving seven hours away and taking three summer classes really takes it all out of ya lol. But anyways. I'm still probably gonna be slow with these tags because I'm still working through my grief over the cancellation. I am working hard with the campaign to save the show, but until I know the show's true fate, idk how often I'm gonna spit out the rest of the tags to season two. I haven't even watched the final two episodes yet. That being said, I finally managed to finish this one, and there's still plenty more pson fic that I want to write, I just have to get to a bit better spot mentally in order to write them. In the meantime, I'm going to be working on my original novel and probably doing some writing for other fandoms. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this tag to 2x05, Bad Manners :)
The moment that Malcolm saw that Ainsley and Rachel were a safe distance away, his attention shifted back to the mansion. He could still save Ms. Windsor, there was still time. There had to be.
He turned, but Ainsley grabbed his arm. "Malcolm, don't," she said, knowing him well enough to know exactly what he was thinking.
"I have to," he replied, pulling out of her grasp with ease. "I can still save her!" He bolted back towards the door, heedless to Ainsley's screams behind him. At least she had the sense to stay where she was. Malcolm knew he was an idiot for doing this, but he had to try. Even if he couldn't save everyone, he had to try. If he didn't try, then he would never make up for what his father did.
"Ms. Windsor!" he shouted, only feet away from the steps. He needed to be a little bit faster.
The only answer was an intense flash of heat and a blast powerful enough to send him to the ground several feet away. His ears were ringing, and his arm felt like it was on fire.
Wait, it was on fire.
Malcolm groaned tugged his arm this way and that across the grass, hoping to put the flame out before it caused serious damage. He didn't have the strength to actually get up and move away. His whole body ached, and sharp pains littered it. That had to be shrapnel. Maybe he was dying.
"Malcolm!" He jolted up with a cry of pain at the sound of his sister's screams. How could he have forgotten about her? How could he have not immediately made sure that she was safe? Why had he focused only on himself and his own pain when Ainsley could've been hurt too?
"A-Ains?" he weakly called out, slowly turning his head to find her. She was running towards him, and looked perfectly fine. Malcolm let out a small sigh of relief. Ainsley was okay.
"Malcolm, oh my gosh, Malcolm," she repeated as she slid to her knees beside him, careless of the designer pants she was probably ruining. Malcolm would buy her a new pair later to make it up to her. "You idiot," she said. Okay, maybe he wouldn't buy her a new pair.
"'M fine," he muttered, despite knowing full well that he was very much not fine, and very much did need a hospital.
"You are so not fine," Ainsley said, the fear thick in her voice. Her hands were hovering over his body, as if she didn't know if she could even touch him. With a groan, Malcolm reached up with his hand that had almost been on fire only a minute earlier. Ainsley took it eagerly. "I'm gonna call Gil. I know you'd rather have him here before Mom."
"Gil knows I'm here," Malcolm replied. "He's on his way already." He heard the faint wail of sirens in the distance, getting closer. "That's probably him now."
It was taking everything in him not to let Ainsley know how hurt he was. He couldn't let her know. She was his baby sister, so he had to be strong for her, no matter how many knives it felt like there were embedded in his body.
"Oh, you actually told him where you were going for once?" Ainsley scoffed, but Malcolm could hear the note of panic in her voice.
They both fell silent as the sound of sirens rang closer and closer. Ainsley kept a comforting grip on Malcolm's hand. It helped more than he was willing to let her know. There was more than one set of sirens. Gil and JT had to have been joined by some unis and an ambulance, and likely a firetruck or two, although FDNY usually took a bit longer to get there than NYPD. Malcolm just focused on the stars he could see through the smoke. In the city, you couldn't really see many of them, but the mansion had less light pollution. They were beautiful, and they were a perfect distraction from the pain.
"Bright!" came a shout from the same directions as the sirens. Malcolm could hear car doors slamming shut and the sound of feet on pavement.
"Over here!" Ainsley shouted back, despite the fact that the footsteps were already getting closer to them.
"Rachel?" Malcolm asked, remembering that he'd actually left two women when he tried to go back for Ms. Windsor, not just his sister. One of those women just mattered a lot more to him than the other.
"She's still over there, still out I think," she replied. Malcolm would have to take her word for it. He didn't feel like moving until he had to, and he was sure that Ainsley could direct the unis to her if they didn't see the woman already.
"Bright," Gil repeated as he came to a stop next to them, paramedics on his heels.
"'M okay," Malcolm insisted.
"Like hell you are," Gil said, but Malcolm could hear the concern in his voice. "Damn, kid, there's shrapnel everywhere."
"Ma'am, I need you to move aside," the paramedic said to Ainsley, who was still kneeling there, holding Malcolm's hand.
"No, he's my brother-"
"Ains, it's okay," Malcolm interrupted. "Gil's here now. You need to take them to Rachel, and let them check you out too."
"I've got him," Gil added. "I promise."
With a sigh and a squeeze of Malcolm's hand, Ainsley let go, and did as they asked. Out of the corner of his eye, Malcolm could see another EMT following her, likely towards Rachel.
"Kid, what happened?" Gil asked him as he took Ainsley's place, much to the chagrin of the paramedic.
"It's a long story, but it ends with an explosion caused by Ms. Windsor. There's no way she survived, and she definitely didn't want to," Malcolm said. He would explain the rest later in his official statement. Besides, he was pretty sure that Gil only cared about how he got injured anyway, not about the process leading up to it and the killer and her motives and what Ainsley almost did and all that. He would probably leave the Ainsley part out of his report. No one else needed to know.
"Good news is, most of the shrapnel wounds look superficial," the paramedic said. "Painful, but superficial. The burns are a bit more concerning. They'll need to be treated at the hospital for sure."
"I'll go with him, JT will secure the scene," Gil said. He stepped aside just enough for the EMTs to be able to get next to him.
"What about Ainsley?" Malcolm knew there was no use in protesting against Gil coming with him to the hospital. They both wanted Gil to be with him, and they both knew that, so any resistance was just token anyway. But Malcolm was concerned about his sister. He wanted someone to be there for her too, and she knew Gil a lot better than JT.
"She'll be okay," Gil assured him. "She's called your mother. JT will take care of her until Jessica gets here."
Malcolm couldn't hold back a cry of pain as he was lifted off the ground and all of the splinters of wood stuck in his body shifted. Gil's hand was back on his in an instant, Gil's face the first he saw when he opened his eyes - when had he squeezed them shut?
"You're gonna be okay too," Gil insisted. "Some minor scarring on your arms from the burns is all they're concerned about." A quick glance at the paramedic, who nodded, assured him that Gil wasn't downplaying anything, not that Malcolm had been concerned about his own health or safety in the first place.
"Then it sounds like I don't even need a hospital," Malcolm said, but even he could tell that it didn't sound the least bit convincing. Still, he had to try.
"That shrapnel is coming out in a hospital, whether you like it or not, kid."
"Calling it shrapnel is a bit extreme," Malcolm muttered. "They're just splinters."
"Splinters that got lodged in your body in an explosion, that makes them shrapnel. What the hell were you even thinking?" His tone was gruff, but Malcolm knew Gil's anger wasn't directed at him. "If you knew the place was gonna blow, why would you go back to try to get her out?"
"I had to try to save her," Malcolm repeated, forcing down the voice in the back of his mind that told him he never managed to save anyone. "I had to try."
Gil sighed. "I know, kid," he said. "But at the cost of your life, it's not worth it."
Malcolm didn't reply as the gurney was wheeled up onto the ambulance. It wasn't as if he and Gil hadn't had this conversation a dozen times already - and they'd probably have it a dozen more.
"One day, I'm gonna make you believe that your life is worth more than that too," Gil continued, his hand resting on Malcolm's shoulder. He gave it a soft squeeze, and Malcolm would've been lying if he said he didn't feel warmth spread through him at the comfort Gil provided. It was just like Gil to be able to just know the one part of his body that wasn't in pain, and provide that bit of physical comfort that he knew Malcolm craved, yet never asked for.
"But I should've been able to save her," Malcolm said instead, as the paramedics worked around Gil and began inserting an IV. "If I'd just smelled the gas faster or gotten Ainsley and Rachel out faster, then I could've gotten back in there quicker and-"
"And nothing," Gil interrupted, giving Malcolm's shoulder another squeeze. Try as Malcolm might to avoid Gil's gaze, the man managed to catch it once again. "Like you said, she didn't want to be saved. Listen to me, kid. If you'd gotten back in there, then you would be dead now too. You would've gotten in there, and the house would've blown, and I'd be accompanying your body back to the morgue, instead of going with you to the hospital. So forgive me if I'm glad that you weren't a little bit faster." Gil's voice had taken on that tone it always did when he felt Malcolm wasn't taking care of himself well enough. It was a tone that made Malcolm feel like that spiraling teenager once again. Gil sighed. "I love you so much, kid," he continued, going right back to that soft and calming voice that had been bringing Malcolm out of panic attacks for twenty years. "And I am so thankful for anything that keeps you alive."
Malcolm was mindless to the paramedics around them. He nodded a few times, and allowed himself to relax as the pain meds flowed through his IV, dulling his senses. Gil was there, and Gil always kept him safe.
"You know the same goes for you," Malcolm finally said, despite the heaviness that accosted his eyes as the meds flowed more and more. They weren't sedatives, Malcolm knew Gil wouldn't have let them give him a sedative, but heavy pain meds did tend to knock him out, although he could normally wake up from them just fine. "I want you around too, 'cause I love you too." Malcolm's eyes were closed by the end of the sentence.
As everything began to slip away, Malcolm felt Gil's hand squeeze his shoulder once more.
"I know, kid," he said. "I know."