A/N: I wrote this to fulfill the Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt, "Running out of Air." Read the end note for more info about how this story was written!


"It's just a fire alarm. Another senior prank. Let's go," Louisa said.

If she hadn't commented on it, Gil might've ignored it. His eyes narrowed. "Dani, you got this?"

Dani nodded and began reading the teenager her Miranda rights.

Gil shook his head. It looked like Malcolm had been right all along about teen brain and about the kids and their psychological tells. He wouldn't have guessed it was Louisa, he honestly wouldn't. And she might've gotten away with it, at least long enough to go underground. That was, if not for Bright.

Speaking of… Gil picked up the pace a little bit. Where was Malcolm? He hadn't heard from him in a little while. He knew this case hit close to home, and he knew he'd come here to talk to Delaney. And Malcolm did have a propensity to end up in the clutches of killers.

Fear began to rise in his chest as he threw open the door to the building. The alarm was loud in here, too loud. "Bright?" he called, then whispered to himself, "Come on, kid, where are you?"

He was more than likely fine. At least, his version of fine.

He threw open the first door in the hallway. Empty. Then the second. Empty.

He had to be fine. He just had to. If he wasn't, how would he explain it to Jessica? How would he deal with it himself?

The third door's handle was sticking. "Bright?" He tried to hear what was going on in the room, but the noise was just too loud. He pushed harder. With Malcolm, he never knew what could be going on. It was just as likely that the kid had found a good book to read in one of these stuffy rooms as it was that he was bleeding out on the floor. Or worse.

Gil jiggled the handle and threw his shoulder into the door. He was getting too old for this. He did it again, harder. It budged a little. After one more time, it finally gave way, and Gil rushed through.

Oh. Oh. Oh god, this is so much worse. The kid was stuck in a small glass vault, sheathed in a layer of cinematic fog. Gil could barely see an outline of a body behind him. Delaney. He rushed forward, noting the keypad by the door. Magnetic lock. Of course. Nothing but the best at Remington Academy. The kid was banging on the glass. He knew how much Malcolm hated tight spaces. After what that little asshole Nicky did, who could blame him? His hand was trembling against the glass. "Hold on, Bright!" he yelled as he bent to examine the lock.

Gil glanced back up into Malcolm's terrified eyes, and for the first time, noticed he was mouthing something. He focused on the kid's lips. Just two syllables, repeated over and over again. No way? Noah? No air?

No air. Gil's heart came to an abrupt halt in his chest, and his face drained of all color. How long had it taken him to find this room? Thirty seconds? A minute? How long could a human being survive without air? Two minutes? Three?

His hands flew to his gun, and he yelled, "Malcolm, duck!" He wasn't sure if the kid heard him, but he bent down anyway. Gil fired his whole clip into the door, but the goddamn glass didn't break.

Bulletproof. You've gotta be fucking kidding me. He rushed towards the door again, pressing his palm against the glass. They locked eyes, and Gil saw the exact moment his kid realized the severity of the situation. His blue eyes widened as his face became a more frightening shade of red by the second.

"Bright!" Gil yelled, and his voice broke. "Malcolm, do you know the code?"

He didn't understand. Gil could see him closing himself off into his own mind, blocking himself from the situation. Desperately, he banged on the glass. The kid's panicked gaze flew back to him. "The code, Malcolm! The code!"

Please, God, let him know. Some divine influence must've touched them then, because Bright looked up like he was trying to remember something, then gave him a desperate nod. Gil could've cried.

He watched as the kid's lips formed the words.

Four. Gil pushed the button. The machine beeped its approval. Malcolm's face turned a frightening shade of purple.

Seven. Another happy beep. Malcolm's lips were turning blue. He took a fruitless gasp for air. His hand started to slip off the glass.

Eight. Another beep. Malcolm's hand lost purchase completely, and he fell to his knees. His eyes fluttered shut.

"No, no no no! Just one more, kid, just one more, please!" Gil dropped down, and he banged helplessly on the glass. "Come on! Malcolm!"

Bright couldn't hear him anymore. Gil could do nothing but watch as he slumped to the ground in the fog. He could've been sleeping. But his chest didn't rise.

"No, no no no no no, fuck!" Gil yelled. He stared at the keypad, begging it to tell him what the hell to press.

Nothing, of course, nothing. He was just going to have to guess. He looked at the frighteningly still form of the man who was his son in all but blood. He pressed the number 1.

A new, lower tone sounded.

"No, no, come on!" Gil said in frustration as his eyes filled with tears. Malcolm was dying two feet away from him!

He pressed the first three numbers again, took a shuddery breath, and pressed the number 4.

A happy beep.

Gil cried out in joy. He let his hands come off the glass. But there was no sound of the mechanism unlocking.

"What now?" he yelled, his voice fractured. His kid wasn't breathing! On a whim, as his last idea, he pressed the pound sign, like phone companies always made him do.

Click!

Almost not believing his luck, Gil threw open the door and coughed as the fog filled his lungs. He grabbed Malcolm by his nicely tailored suit jacket and pulled him out of the vault that so nearly became a tomb. He glanced over at Delaney's motionless body. The guy was going to have to wait.

Where he'd once had so much color, Malcolm now had none. He was pale as a ghost, except for his lips, still tinged blue. Gil waved a hand under the kid's nose, hoping by some miracle that he'd take a breath.

Of course, he didn't. Gil frantically felt for a pulse.

It was there, but it was thready and fading fast.

Without a second thought, he grabbed the still, too still, face of his kid and started performing rescue breaths.

One. He paused. Nothing.

Two. Nothing. Gil was losing hope.

Three. Nothing. "Please, Malcolm, don't you do this to me."

Four. Malcolm's eyes flew open, and he took a desperate gasp for air as he shot into a seated position. He felt around wildly until his hand touched Gil's jacket, which he gripped like a vice.

"Oh my god," Gil said. Fresh tears fell down his face. He pulled Malcolm in close as he got his bearings.

Finally, the kid spoke. "Louisa."

"What?" he asked in disbelief.

"Did we get her?"

Of course that's what he'd ask. "Yeah, kid, we got her." Malcolm took a deep breath, a sound Gil cherished. "I… I thought I lost you, kid. Are you okay?"

Mercifully, he felt Malcolm nod against his chest.

Suddenly, Bright sat upright and looked at Gil. "Delaney," he managed, his throat raw. "Poisoned."

Gil forced his eyes to leave his kid and look at the very still private school teacher.

Behind them, at that moment, Dani threw open the door and ran in, drawing the men's attention even over the alarm. Gil watched her take in the scene, his teary eyes, Malcolm's still pale hand wrapped in his jacket, the disheveled look about the usually put together profiler, the still dissipating fog revealing the unconscious Delaney. Stunned and with fear in her eyes, she yelled over the noise, "What the hell happened?"


After a quick checkup by a paramedic, a tense ride back to the station, an explanation to Dani, the miraculous good news about Delaney, the beginning of a talk with Bright, and a baby being born, Gil was left wandering the streets, trying to process everything that had happened. He'd almost lost Malcolm today. It was the closest it had been in a long time, probably since Bright's kidnapping. And this time, Gil was two feet away, and he couldn't stop it from happening. Not until it was almost too late.

He'd be seeing the image of Malcolm falling to the ground for years, he was sure of it. He'd been so still. And the kid was almost always moving. It left him saddled with a deep, deep sense of wrong.

And he didn't even seem to get how bad it had been. He'd let Gil's half-talk roll off of him like water in the shower. Didn't pay it any mind.

Gil stopped himself short, noticing whose apartment he'd wandered to. The quality door that just screamed rich, the window that was far too close to the inhabitant's bed for his liking, considering his propensity for night terrors. Malcolm's place.

He barely hesitated before hitting the buzzer, knowing why he'd subconsciously walked himself here. A confused face popped up in the window, far too quickly for his liking considering the time. It took only a few seconds for the door to unlatch.

When Gil made it up to the second floor landing, he was greeted by a still dressed Malcolm, who asked, "Gil, do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Does it matter when I'm visiting you?" he asked, failing miserably at his usual sarcastic tone.

Malcolm didn't mention it, but Gil watched his shoulders tense. He knew why he was here. "You never know, I could've been sleeping."

Malcolm let Gil by. "I take it you know why I came?" Gil asked, dropping into one of Bright's stylish but uncomfortable chairs. Malcolm nodded. "Sit," Gil ordered. Malcolm obliged.

"Do you have any idea how close it was today?"

Malcolm averted his gaze. "Yeah. Yeah, I know." He was being honest, Gil could tell.

"Then why don't you care?"

"What?" Malcolm looked at him in surprise.

"You heard me. Why don't you care?" Gil let his anguish come through in his tone. "What is it, do you have a death wish?" Bright chuckled a bit. "No, it's not funny, I'm seriously asking."

Malcolm's blue eyes blinked in surprise. "No, I don't."

He wasn't sure that was the truth. "Then why the hell would you do something like that?"

"I was protecting you, I was-"

"Bullshit," Gil responded forcefully. "You weren't protecting us, you were making sure Louisa didn't get away."

Malcolm furrowed his eyebrows as if confused about Gil's anger. "Yes. I was stalling her, making sure she didn't escape. I had to make sure you knew where she was."

"We were right there, Bright! You didn't have to do that!"

"But I didn't know that!"

"So?"

Malcolm looked at him in disbelief. "You're not always going to be right there, Gil!"

Gil clenched his jaw. "Maybe not," he acquiesced. "But you could've let her escape. People don't stay on the run for long, you know."

"Some do," he replied darkly.

"Malcolm, I'd rather have you alive chasing our bad guy than have you kill yourself making sure we catch him." Gil paused and watched that sink in. "Nobody is gonna stay missing for long with you on their case, y'know."

Malcolm grinned a little, but his face fell again soon after.

"Do you get what I'm saying, kid?" A nod. "I'm serious. I'd rather have a criminal get away for a couple more hours than have you sacrifice yourself to get them in the moment."

"What if someone dies?" It came out as a whisper.

"Bright, I'm not even a psychologist, and I can answer that one. No killer is going to stop and commit more murders with the cops right on their ass. Besides, you're someone. What if you die?"

Malcolm didn't seem to have an answer for that.

"Do you really think your life is worth less than a couple extra hours spent chasing someone?"

Malcolm's hand trembled. "Yes."

"Why?"

Malcolm nailed him with a particularly hard stare. "You know why."

A deep sadness surfaced in Gil. "Listen to me. I know what Martin Whitly-" he spat the name like venom- "put you through and made you believe. But it is your job to catch killers, not to die in the process. Do you hear me?" A nod. "If you can't listen to that as family, listen to it as an employee getting told off by his boss. No more moves like that. Deal?" He even went so far as to put his hand out for the kid to shake.

The corner of Malcolm's mouth pulled up. He shook Gil's hand and went to pull away, but the cop didn't let him. Instead, he brought him in close, briefly wondering how likely that agreement was to stick. "You scared the shit out of me, kiddo. I really thought that was it this time."

"I'm sorry, Gil," Malcolm murmured into his shoulder. "Really."

He let him go. "I know. Now get ready for bed, kid. You look exhausted."

"Are you staying?" Malcolm asked.

"You bet your ass I'm staying."

"I'd be fine on my own, you know."

"I know." Gil let out a small smile. In a tone full of the weight of the day, he finished, "I just want to make sure you stay breathing."


A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it :) Leave a review if you wish!

In addition to being part of Bad Things Happen Bingo, I also wrote this to fill a challenge I'd been wanting to give my perfectionist self: set a timer, write, and when the timer goes off, stop working and post, no matter what. For this, I set a 2 hour timer, which allowed me to write the whole thing and do a quick revision pass over the first half. So, if any parts seem a little unfinished, especially in the latter part of the story, that's probably why! (I also did no checking of the formatting after copy-pasting it onto this site, whoops lol. In my defense, it's quite late here and I have to get to bed.) In spite of all that, I hope I got the sense of urgency and the love between these two across, and I hope you had a good time reading.