Author's Note: Wow, so it has been years seen I last wrote and man, did I miss it. Life is way busier now so I guess that's my main excuse, but either way, Prodigal Son came along and is basically everything a whump-lover could want so here we are. That being said, Alone Time was PERFECT except we didn't get any of the comfort part. So my head is been coming up with all kinds of little scenes I wish we could have seen play out and here is one of them.

So obviously, spoilers for 1x10 and 1x11.

I know this fandom isn't huge [yet] but I hope some of you enjoy this all the same. I figured something from such a disliked character would be fun and different.

It wasn't a popular opinion, but Special Agent Collette Swanson didn't really mind hospitals. She didn't like them, per se, but given her particular interest in the human psyche, a hospital was the perfect location to observe the full spectrum of the human condition. New beginnings, final goodbyes. Love, hate, fear, confusion and triumph. It was all contained within these walls.

Of course, she preferred the idea of being there for a reason completely impersonal. Sure, cases sometimes became borderline personal, but Collette knew how important compartmentalization was in this line of work. And she was proud to say that personalizing cases was not a common activity for her whatsoever. That was due mostly to strict adherence to the rules and guidelines set forth during her training. She held steadfast to those regulations because they kept her safe, both physically and mentally.

And that was the primary reason that Malcolm Bright was fired and the number one reason for her to dismiss the concept of him being a legitimate profiler for all of these years. Admittedly, she also knew enough about genetics to know that apples didn't often fall far from the tree and Martin Whitly was one truly rotten apple.

So yeah, like many others, she held that against him. Couple his lineage with his disregard for the rules and laundry list of oddities, and you had an unpredictable, albeit admittedly brilliant, man.

Truth be told, Collette hadn't always felt that way towards him. In fact, she would never admit it to anyone but she had been captivated by him for a time. Yes, a crush. But it didn't take long for the whispers and the very non-FBI like behavior to turn her opinion on him into something that resembled everyone else's.

So when she had been attached to the Junkyard Killer case and informed that he was involved, the annoyance of knowing that he had weaseled his way back into this life slammed her and maybe, just maybe, had blinded her to his value in all of this. It had made her forget his uncanny ability to almost always catch the unsub and the fact that she never recalled him actually killing a suspect unless he had no other choice. In fact, he would be the first to try to talk the weapon-wielding person down, to hell with his own wellbeing. It didn't take an FBI profiler to know that a track record such as that did not line up with psychopathy.

If she was honest, that was a part of her learned dislike of him as well. Some jealously of his advanced profiling skills, yes, but more importantly, it was easier to dislike someone you figured would get himself killed sooner or later. Why become close to someone who doesn't seem to care if he lives or dies? She saw that pain represented in the young Detectives Powell and Tarmel.

And yet, that firm façade of disgust began to melt away the moment they discovered Bright's blood smeared on the floor of that shed at the Watkins home. It wasn't instantaneous; at first she had been enraged that, yet again, Malcolm Bright was in trouble because he couldn't just follow the rules.

But as the hours ticked by, her feelings softened and grew more and more concerned. That steadfast wall of compartmentalization began to chip away because she knew how unfairly she had treated him. She remembered the laughs she had shared for him a long time ago and, more importantly, she remembered how she had once admired his mind and passion.

So now, after a whirlwind of intense emotions over the past handful of days since arriving in New York, she found herself in the hospital, trying to gather evidence for the case against Watkins merely two hours since Bright and his family were pulled from the Whitly mansion.

She had arrived at the crime scene just as the injured parties were being loaded in the ambulances. She had only caught a quick glimpse at her former partner and noted how young and gaunt he appeared. Collette only stayed long enough to ensure that Watkins and the scene were being properly processed.

And she wouldn't want to admit it to anyone, but for the first time in a long time, the sight of the crime scene, specifically the bloodied basement in which Bright was held, actually had her stomach twisting in knots.

Thankfully, her position gave her the power to delegate and delegate, she did. Just prior to walking into the hospital, one of her agents called to inform her that the crime scene, along with the statements from the Whitly's gathered thus far, suggested that Bright freed himself somehow, after bleeding quite a bit in the basement, and then managed to subdue a grown, uninjured killer.

Needless to say, there were a lot of questions that would likely only be answered if and when Bright woke up. But until then, she could collect his belongings and talk with his doctors to see if the injuries filled in some blanks. And, you know, make sure he was going to live.

"Here you are, Agent," a young nurse pulled her from her thoughts as she brought up a bag of bloody, torn clothing. The kind that undoubtedly cost an ungodly amount brand new (or even used) and would normally be in pristine condition.

"Thank you," Collette stated, putting the clothes by her side. "And can you update me on his condition?"

The nurse nodded, "I can find his doctor but he just got out of his first surgery so you can follow me."

Collette immediately began to follow her but frowned as her words sunk in, "First surgery?"

"Yes ma'am," she replied, looking over her shoulder as she walked through the winding hallways. "He presented with two very different injuries that require different skillsets in the surgical suite. They focused first on the injury to his hand after stabilization the abdominal wound."

Collette nodded as they came to the end of a hallway that led into a dimly lit room filled with medical machinery and a bed. That's when she realized that she had likely been led to Bright's room. Truthfully, she had not intended to actually see the man. Not like this.

"Here we are," the nurse said with a kind smile. "We wouldn't normally let visitors in at this time but I know it has to be difficult to see one of your own like this so, just don't touch anything of course. He likely won't regain consciousness anytime soon but you can still talk to him, if you'd like. Dr. Stillman should be in soon."

Collette took a deep breath and steadied her thoughts. She wasn't the bedside manner type but how hard could it be? It's not like he was awake and talking.

But that question was answered right away. Malcolm Bright, the erratic, bouncing off the wall nonstop man was completely still. Well, no movement outside of the air that was being pushed into his lungs from the oxygen mask covering his face. His left hand looked like it could belong to a snowman, which supported the theory that he crushed his own hand in order to get out of the restraints.

There was also a large white bandage covering half of his head and his exposed chest was covered in bruises and older scars. The blanket, thankfully, covered everything below the waistline but it didn't cover the red-stained dressing that was covering the stab wound. Clearly they had not placed him in a position that would commonly be seen by family and friends; the exposed torso and odd angle of his arms out and separated from his body was idea for the follow-up surgery that was likely just around the corner.

Collette grabbed the bridge of her nose. Regardless of their history, no decent person deserved to be in this sort of condition, especially following 24 hours of hell.

She was beginning to get frustrated at how long it was taking for the doctor to arrive. Not only did she suddenly feel the urge to run out of this particular hospital, she also thought someone should be working to fix Bright's wound already and get him covered up properly and surrounded by his family and friends.

She turned to face the hallway impatiently before turning back to man lying on the bed, only to have her heart skip a beat as piercing blue eyes met hers. His eyelids were heavy and the gaze slightly unfocused, but she could still tell he was conscious and at least somewhat lucid.

She turned quickly again to see if anyone was coming, and when they weren't, she turned to face him again. None of this was supposed to happen. Where were the damn doctors? She searched for a call button but she didn't see one.

"Um," she stammered. "I… I'll go get somebody."

But he frowned, maybe in pain, maybe something else. Whatever it was, it made her stop. She heard a breathy, raspy sound coming from under the mask. It sounded like he said, "Wait."

So she did. Why, she didn't know but she stopped and watched him as his eyes closed slowly for just a moment.

"My… fam'ly?"

Collette sighed and closed her eyes. Of course he probably didn't remember seeing them before he collapsed, or else wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't.

"They're fine," she answered quickly, looking behind her as though she was afraid she would be getting in trouble. "Your sister has a mild concussion but they are otherwise fine."

The relief was clear and Collette was happy to have given that to him. She shifted uncomfortably as her eyes glanced down at his abdominal wound, further unsettling her. She watched as he, too, glanced down before his eyes showed a slight grin.

"That one… hurt."

Collette couldn't even imagine the look she had on her face at that moment. Yet, she couldn't hold back the exasperated chuckle that resulted.

"Yeah, I would think so," she half laughed, her eyes looking down before holding up the bag of his clothing. "I, uh, I was just here to collect evidence and try to figure out what happened tonight. You know, get this case over with…"

He observed her for a moment, looked at the bag and then back at her with a slight nod.

"Wanna… ask me sm'thin?"

Once again, she was temporarily floored by everything that was happening.

"No… Bright, you just went through surgery and you're about to get another," she responded quickly. "You can't exactly give your statement."

He nodded slowly and an awkward silence fell over them.

"Well," Collette started, knowing that she probably shouldn't continue with the thought pressing on her mind, but she had to know. "The evidence is suggesting that you got out of your restraints somehow…"

"Hammer," he breathed, again with a tired smile. "That one… hurt more."

Collette nodded slowly, the nausea in the pit of her stomach beginning to increase again.

"So, you knew he was going after your family?"

He nodded slowly, a flash of panic pulsed through his exhausted eyes.

"How long was this after you were stabbed?"

Bright frowned as though he was thinking hard. "Fuzzy," he answered quietly. "Four hours? How long… how long did he have me?"

She shifted again from one foot to the other, "Twenty-four hours."

His eyebrows lifted at that. "Felt… felt like days."

Collette nodded, completely understanding how time would have played tricks on him.

"How did you get him in that trunk?" she continued. None of it made sense; not with his injuries and Watkins' skillset as a killer.

"I saw where he grew up," Bright spoke, his face displaying more pain as the remnants of whatever they had him on began to dwindle even further. But with that also came a better sense of lucidity. She really should call someone, but he kept talking. "They… locked him in the closet. Claw marks. His flashbacks gave me… a chance to knock him out."

Collette hung her head slightly. "Serial killers are not born, they're made."

She had berated him for that and used it against him earlier, and yet, in a moment of dire need, he used knowledge of what had broken John Watkins while growing up to subdue him.

"Is… is he awake?" someone behind her stammered as a light purple blur ran past her to rest at Bright's side as she quickly began to check the machines. "I don't understand."

"'Lo," Bright greeted, wincing as she repositioned his IV while checking him over quickly. "Sedation doesn't work well with me. Would… would localized aesthesia… be a possibility?"

The nurse's eyes widened further. Collette inwardly chuckled as yet another person was met with pure bewilderment at the hands of Malcolm Bright.

"He also suffers from severe night terrors," Collette interjected. She remembered that about him and had heard it mentioned again during the commission of this case. "Sedatives only make that worse."

She looked down at Bright and, once again, saw him staring at her but this time his gaze held both slight surprise and gratitude.

"Let me get your doctor," the nurse nodded, still looking amazed to be having this conversation. "I'll be right back."

As she jogged off, Collette knew her time with Bright was coming to a close. She took a deep breath and moved slightly close to the bed.

"Well, that answers the major questions for now so..."

"Thank you," he said softly, his pain-filled eyes still searching her as if confused by her sudden change of tone towards him.

"Yeah," she said quietly, looking down again. "Look, I shouldn't have…"

"S'okay," he interrupted. "I understand. I'm… hard to handle sm'times."

This time she let a full chuckle erupt. "Sometimes?! But… seriously. You aren't your father. You could have killed Watkins tonight and honestly, no one would have blamed you. But you didn't. You're not a killer, Bright. And… the FBI should never have let you go."

His eyes widened the most she had seen since he woke up. He was definitely surprised by her words and she didn't blame him. She hadn't been exactly nice to him since coming back so this was a major change of heart.

She could hear an entire team of people now heading their way so it was time to wrap things up.

"Take care of yourself, Bright," she said with a smile. "Seriously."

With that, Collette turned and left the room just as his team turned the corner towards her. Within the next hour, Bright would be back under the knife in an attempt to correct more of the damage inflicted on him by the Junkyard Killer. She would, of course, follow up with his team but she could honestly say that she was leaving the hospital with more than just answers; she was leaving feeling relief over the fact that she had made things right with her former partner who, very clearly, was not what she had come to know him as.

He was right, in essence. Sometimes killers really were made from horrendous conditions growing up; but sometimes heroes were made from those very same conditions. With a smile, she finally admitted to herself something she had denied for years: Malcolm Bright was a hero, just in his very own unique way.

End Note: So there you go. I would like to write a few more reaction pieces for this episode and different characters, but we will see if that happens. If so, this will have some chapters added on. Otherwise, it's a nice little one-shot. Thank you SO much to everyone who reads.