"I thought you weren't coming here again before you go back to school?" Gil's tone is neutral, but Malcolm bristles.
He gets into Gil's car and slams the door, sitting down hard, squeezing his hands together to stop the tremor. "I can see Martin if I want to. That has nothing to do with you." He tries to sound cold, but when he hears himself, he just sounds tremulous.
Gil gives him a look. "Nothing to do with me, yet I'm the one picking you up from your visit. You can't use me to keep your mom from knowing what you're doing and then expect me not to care. It doesn't work like that."
"I'm getting my license soon, so it won't matter," Malcolm shoots back, trying to hurt Gil because for some reason that seems like a better option than feeling his current feelings.
Gil drives away, but pretty soon he pulls over into a parking lot. "Traffic is bad," he says shortly, "and you're so agitated it's distracting me from driving. So, we're going to sit here until you either calm yourself down or talk through it with me, whichever you want."
Malcolm breathes hard, his teenage anger threatening to explode like a popping balloon. "I can get a —- ing cab," he says.
"No, you won't," Gil replies in his calmest voice. "What happened in there, kid? Did your father say something to you? You can tell me anything. You know that."
"I didn't want to go back," Malcolm finally explodes, clenching his fists.
"So why did you? Did he do something to make you think you had to?"
Malcolm shifts in the passenger's seat, breathing hard. "It wasn't his fault, Gil. I just—I thought about going back to school and not seeing him again until spring, and I—I needed to go back there." Malcolm grinds his right fist into his left palm, trying to use physical pressure to relieve emotional tension.
"You miss him when you're gone," Gil says.
That's when the dam bursts, and Malcolm buries his face in his hands because he can't hold back the tears. "He doesn't deserve it. Gil, I must be a bad person. What kind of person wants to go see a monster? What does it say about me that I still miss when he used to tuck me in at night? All I could think of today was that I—wanted to hug him." The last part is so soft it's barely audible, laced with shame.
Gil doesn't say anything, and he doesn't give his usual understated support. Instead, Malcolm immediately finds himself pulled close and held, as Gil reaches over and envelopes him in his arms. He's too tired and distraught to resist.
Gil doesn't say anything for a long time. Malcolm, who felt a few minutes ago like he might never calm down again, finds that he can't help but respond to the comfort of Gil's hand rubbing his back and the sense of safety that automatically comes with being in the cop's embrace and sobbing on the older man's shoulder. It may have been a long time, but the feeling is the same as it's always been, when he was ten and now that he's nearly eighteen.
"Gil, I wish you were my dad."
He's never said it out loud before, but he knows it's always been there between them.
"Me, too, kid." Gil pulls back just far enough to cradle Malcolm's face in his huge hand and make eye contact. "You're the kind of son anybody would be lucky to have."
Malcolm feels more tears spill over at this, and he dives back into Gil's embrace, burying his face in the cop's shoulder again.
"You know I'm not going anywhere, and neither is Jackie," says Gil, who welcomes him back readily. "Even when you're gone for college, we'll still be like family. You'll always have us to come home to, along with your mom and Ainsley."
"I know," Malcolm answers, voice muffled by the fabric of Gil's shirt. "Please don't be mad that I'm still seeing Martin."
He hears Gil sigh. "You know I wish you weren't for your own sake, but it doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you that you want to see your dad or that you miss him." They've had the same basic conversation a myriad of times over the years; it still feels good to hear Gil say it, and Malcolm still forgets—doubts it—each time in between.
"Malcolm," Gil finally adds gently, still holding onto him, "you deserved a dad you could hug."
It's Malcolm's turn to pull back. He lifts his head off Gil's shoulder so he can look him in the eye. "But nobody said you had to be the substitute."
"Nope," Gil agrees, "nobody did. Ten-year-old you was a choice I made all on my own that I've never regretted."
Malcolm knows better than to argue that he's not worth it. For once, he doesn't answer. He just relaxes and lets acceptance overtake fear.
Author's Note: This chapter is inspired by the fact that in more than one interview, Tom Payne has said that Malcolm's driving emotional conflict in his scenes with Martin is that he desperately wants "a hug from a monster," who happens to be his dad, even though he feels like he shouldn't still love someone who has done the things Martin has done. The child inside Malcolm constantly fights with the adult layer of professionalism. Of course, we see Michael Sheen as Martin brilliantly manipulating his son's vulnerability and remaining attachment to him.
One of the things I like about Prodigal Son is the realism of the fact that while Gil is clearly a very positive replacement father figure, his presence in Malcolm's life doesn't automatically fix everything else.
