Jessica's phone went straight to voicemail for the tenth time that day.
Malcolm stared at the screen blankly. All of the fear and guilt and horror he kept pushing back swirled in his stomach, and the smell of the pizza in the passenger seat only aggravated his nausea.
He startled when a knock came to his window, but it was an utterly unthreatening teenage boy - pale and pimpled, in clothes slightly too big, hovering uncertainly outside the car. Malcolm steadied himself before rolling down the window.
"Is-" the kid started, and then cleared his throat as his voice broke. He pointed inside the car, to the pizzas in the seat. "Is one of those for me? Uh, an order for Jameson."
Malcolm bit back a curse. "Yeah. I'm sorry, man, I got distracted." He checked the time, and had to struggle to keep his language clean again as he calculated that he'd been sitting there for close to ten minutes. He took a breath and moved on, checking the receipts on each of the boxes beside him. "Jameson...two large pepperonis?"
"Yeah."
The kid, fortunately, had no objections to taking his delivery through the car window. He was too thrilled to finally be getting his food to protest. "Thanks," he said. Despite his wait, he shoved a five into Malcolm's hands.
The second the kid had vanished into his building, Malcolm let his head fall back and hit the headrest. He breathed, and struggled to keep the breaths even.
He hadn't heard from Jessica for more than 24 hours. And in the past few hours he'd lost contact with both Luke and Trish as well. The last thing he'd known was that they had finished investigating the kidnappers. Jessica had told him that they would talk about what they'd all found later. After she'd vanished, when Malcolm had talked to Trish, all Trish had said was that Jessica had left with a man named Jack, and that she would call Malcolm back in a few hours to check in. She'd never called.
So, naturally, Malcolm had been obsessing over it, to the point that he couldn't think about anything else. He'd had to go into work, but he'd spent his whole shift so far distracted and painfully worried, and that didn't seem likely to change.
By the time he got off work, and had made his way back to his apartment building, he was even more miserable. He didn't know who else to go to in his search. He was still half-hoping Jessica would call him back, somehow, though it was seeming more and more likely to his panicked mind that she was dead in a ditch somewhere.
He wondered where the hell Kilgrave was, and where he fit into all this. The very thought made his blood run icy and painful through his veins.
He unlocked his door, and trudged inside his dark apartment, throwing his hat onto the couch and collapsing immediately beside it.
What the hell was he supposed to do?
Fortunately for him, the universe gave him an answer. Unfortunately, it did so by presenting an entirely new, entirely unexpected problem.
Something boxy and blue began to loudly materialize in his cramped living room.
Although Malcolm's very core ached with the strength of his physical and mental exhaustion, that mattered very little the moment he realized what was happening. He sprung up from the couch, unable to breathe for fear, and picked up the baseball bat he kept by the couch in case of robbery emergencies. He'd never really had to use it before. It felt awkward in his hands, and the splinters in the wood dug sharply into his palms.
The blue box solidified. POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX, it read in glowing white letters. The combined illumination of the words and the small light at the top of the box washed the room out in yellow-white.
Malcolm swallowed hard. His breath, which he had only just regained, hitched as one of the small doors cracked open, ever so slightly, spilling yellow-orange light onto the floor.
"You're not going to shoot me, are you?" an English voice asked, from inside the box.
Malcolm opened his mouth, and then closed it. And then opened it again, and then closed it. Finally, he managed to say, "Uh...no?" Then, quickly, he amended, "but I have a weapon, so don't...I'm not afraid to use it…"
The door opened just a little bit wider. "A weapon?" the voice asked, perplexed. "But not a gun. What is it?"
It was probably a terrible idea to tell his intruders what he was planning on attacking them with, but Malcolm, numb with confusion and fright, replied without thinking. "Um. It's a bat?"
"A bat? You're trying to use a bat as a weapon? I suppose if you threw it, that'd definitely be a distraction, but I wouldn't call it a weapon, personally." White fingers grasped at the closed door. And then, a head popped out, slightly sideways. A floppy-haired, large-chinned head, with a crimson bow-tie around the neck. "Oh!" the head exclaimed, eyes lighting up. "A baseball bat! Not a bat-bat. See, I was thinking-"
"Move, Doctor," a heart-stoppingly familiar voice ordered. Malcolm let the bat fall from his hands entirely as the man's head disappeared, and Jessica Jones opened the box's doors. "Hey," she said, casually. Behind her, Malcolm saw an impossibly large orange room. A room full of people. Including none other than Trish Walker, and Luke Cage.
Still, all he could say was "you're not dead."
Jessica frowned. "No, definitely not dead." She glanced behind her, to where the man was standing, hands clasped in front of him. "When the hell are we?"
The man frowned back, and crossed his arms. "We only just left. Right, Malcolm?"
Malcolm realized his mouth was hanging open, and quickly shut it. "It's...you've been gone for almost two days." He looked back to Trish and Luke again. Trish wore an apologetic smile as she waved at him. Luke shrugged. The four other people all standing together in the room - three men and one woman - exchanged glances.
Jessica turned and smacked the bowtied man, eliciting an offended "hey!" and a cringe back. "I tried," he continued, loudly, taking a few large steps away from his attacker. He pointed at her. "You watched me put the date in, you saw-"
"Can someone please explain?" Malcolm interrupted. His head was spinning so much he thought he might fall over.
"Sorry, sorry," the man said. He approached the doorway again, eyeing Jessica as he did so, preparing for another assault. He stuck a hand out, and smiled. Malcolm stared, and realized that the glint in the man's eyes looked weirdly familiar. "Proper introduction, eh? Nice to meet you Malcolm, I'm the Doctor."
Malcolm glanced at Jessica. She had a half smile on her face, happier than he'd probably ever seen her. Hesitantly, he took the offered hand and shook it. "Uh, nice to meet you, too."
The man's smile widened. He shook Malcolm's hand so enthusiastically it almost hurt when they were done. "Frankly, I never thought I'd hear you say that," the man said. "But I love a good fresh start."
Malcolm tried to think this through. "Have we...met?"
"Are you still not a fan of tea, or could I interest you in a cup?" the man asked, as if he hadn't heard the question at all. He made a beckoning motion as he turned and bounded up a small flight of glass stairs, up to a weird mechanical console in the middle of the room. After another glance at Jessica, who was still smiling encouragingly (or as encouragingly as she could), Malcolm took a step inside.
"Um," he said, eloquently.
"I'm Jack," one of the men spoke up, stepping forward to shake Malcolm's hand. "This is Ianto."
"Hi," Malcolm said, weakly.
"Amy," the redheaded woman said with a wave. "My husband, Rory." She pulled the large-nosed man at her side just a little closer.
"Hi," Rory said, smiling a sympathetic smile.
Malcolm attempted to give one back.
The bowtied man ignored them, fiddling with controls on the console. "We do have more than just lemon and ginger, this time, though," he continued. "Earl Grey and green and orange and mint and-"
Lemon and ginger. Malcolm immediately thought back to hyperventilating on Jessica's floor, Kilgrave and his cups of tea and dark eyes and uncertainty. The familiarity of the eyes clicked, and Malcolm's entire body went cold.
"Kilgrave?" he whispered. That was impossible, but...he turned to Jessica, whose smile had transformed into a grimace. "What-what the hell-"
"Not Kilgrave!" the man said. "Never was. Thought I was going to be for a bit there, but it never happened."
Malcolm fought for breath. "I...I just…"
"Let's have a cup of tea," the Doctor said. He stopped what he was doing, and cast a kind smile down at Malcolm. "And we can talk it over."
Malcolm quickly found that he liked lemon tea well enough after all, as long as he wasn't staring into the face of the man who had destroyed his life while it was offered to him.
He also found that the man he'd thought was the same one responsible for his current situation was, in fact, not the same at all.
The only reason Malcolm was really able to reconcile that the man across the table from him was the same as the memory-lossed Kilgrave was because of the fidgeting, and the tinkering.
Even as they talked, the Doctor fiddled with some mangled, ugly-looking gadget, apparently to keep his hands busy more than anything else. It reminded Malcolm of waking up on Jessica's couch to the sounds of not-Kilgrave working on her camera.
"So, in conclusion, I'm very sorry about the misunderstanding, and we've all been hoping that you'd be open to coming on a bit of an adventure with us." The Doctor finished this statement with a bright smile.
Malcolm took a gulp of his rapidly-cooling tea. "You're calling it a...misunderstanding?"
The Doctor's brow furrowed, as if Malcolm had asked a particularly puzzling question. "...Yes?"
"Isn't that kind of...an underreaction?"
The Doctor quirked a smaller, more brittle smile. "Worse things have happened. And anyway, as I've already covered, it was at least half my fault, if not more. But that's not important! What is is that you have a decision to make." Pointedly, he stopped his tinkering and set the gadget firmly on the table. "You can return calmly to your life, as if none of this ever happened, or you can come on a trip."
Maybe it was all better left in the past. Malcolm took a breath. He could walk outside now, head into work tomorrow...knowing that Jessica and Trish and Luke were safe would be a weight off his shoulders. He could relax. The kidnappings were over, and Kilgrave was still very much dead after all. The future looked bright.
He exhaled. "A trip?"
"Anywhen, anywhere," the Doctor promised, beaming. "Another planet in the past, or Earth in the future. Anything you'd like."
Malcolm had no hopes of containing his smile. It spread across his face, easy and hopeful. "Surprise me," he said.
"Finish your tea!" the Doctor commanded. "Then we'll be off!" Truly, the second Malcolm had downed the last of his drink, the Doctor was up out of his seat and headed out the door. Malcolm followed him through the impossible alien hallways of the ship, back to the console room where the others waited for their return.
Expectant eyes turned on them the moment they entered the room. The Doctor announced, "Everyone, please welcome Malcolm on board!" and surprised happiness spread like a bad cold throughout the room. Even Jessica smiled, wider than Malcolm had ever seen on her face before.
"Go easy on him," Trish grinned. "No running."
The Doctor nearly pouted. "A little running?"
"A little probably won't hurt," Luke put in, smirking. Amy grinned at him. Rory again had that sympathetic smile.
Malcolm wondered what the hell he'd gotten himself into.
The Doctor started typing on a typewriter that he'd somehow attached to the console. "I'll just set some parameters," he said. "So we don't accidentally end up involved in the collapse of a violent monarchy." He paused, fingers stuttering to a halt. "Again." Before Malcolm could open his mouth to question this, the Doctor had moved on, pressing buttons and talking like if he didn't speak fast enough he might run out of time. And then, he pulled a giant lever, and the entire ship rattled.
Malcolm laughed.
On their walk back to the TARDIS, through the beautiful wild forests of the planet, Malcolm fell into step beside Jessica.
"You seem happy," he said, too relieved and relaxed to bother with preamble or small talk.
She gave him a suspicious look. Then she turned her eyes back down to the forest floor and kicked at a stray blue branch. "I guess I am," she allowed. A few yards up ahead, the Doctor's voice carried as he enthusiastically explained something about the wildlife to Luke, Trish, and Amy and Rory, who everyone called "the Ponds" more frequently than anything else. Jack and Ianto had stayed behind in the ship, to do what the Doctor described as "couply things" with a mock-disgusted turn of the mouth
"Seriously," Malcolm pressed. "Like. Actually happy. I couldn't believe it."
She elbowed him. The only way Malcolm was able to tell that she wasn't angry was by the fact that she put no real strength behind the jab. "Shut up. You know I'm always a fucking delight."
Malcolm ducked his head, grinning. "Oh, right. How could I forget?"
They fell into a friendly silence again. The Doctor tripped, and Luke's responding laugh echoed through the trees. A smile flickered at Jessica's lips.
"I know you don't want to talk about it," Malcolm continued, hesitantly, "but are you getting some kind of help, Jessica?" At her glare, he added, "I'm asking as a friend. The only way you'll ever be truly happy is if you deal with what happened."
She sighed. Her eyes dropped from his. "Jesus, Malcolm, I know. I'm an adult with common sense. And a bunch of people getting on my ass about my mental health." Although she sounded bitter, her mouth quirked up a little once more.
Malcolm was still caught up with the fact that she'd agreed with him. Just a few weeks ago, if he had proposed her trying to go to the Kilgrave group one more time she probably would have thrown him out of her window. Before he could tack on a follow-up question, Jessica was already talking, to his shock.
"I might consider looking into something, or whatever. When I go home." It sounded like a confession. She kicked at the ground again. "Maybe. I'm not making any promises. And I'm talking about considering looking into. Doesn't mean I'm actually going to do it. "
Malcolm could be satisfied with 'maybe.' "What's with the sudden change of heart?" he had to ask.
Jessica cast a significant glance ahead of them, and nodded in the Doctor's direction specifically. He was up again, gesturing as he explained something to his audience of two. "The Doctor was kind of fucked up," she said. At Malcolm's questioning look, she elaborated, "He let us keep him locked in a tiny apartment for a month because he honestly thought he was damaged enough to turn into Kilgrave at some point in his future."
Yeah, that was pretty damning, if nothing else. Malcolm nodded, with an empathetic wince. "I kind of thought the same thing," he admitted.
"But it's not just that," Jessica went on, quieter. "You weren't there, toward the end of the whole...not-Kilgrave thing. He got drugged by the kidnappers, and Claire came to make sure he wasn't dying, and immediately after she laid eyes on him she told us he was starving himself to death, basically."
Malcolm almost stopped walking. As it was, his steps lost their rhythm, and he very nearly stumbled as he tried to regain speed. "What?" He looked ahead, where Trish was responding to something the Doctor had said, half-laughing as she did so. Even from behind it was clear that Luke was grinning. The Doctor jumped in place as he walked, nothing but excited and energetic and healthy. Malcolm thought back to Jessica's apartment, to Kilgrave's thin figure and pale face, and frowned.
"So, not only did he let himself be locked in a tiny apartment," Jessica said, "but he also wouldn't eat, and wouldn't sleep, and, you know, smashed a bunch of glass in my kitchen." She grimaced.
"He looks happy enough now," Malcolm pointed out.
"Yeah," Jessica agreed. "It's not about now, he's basically a different person. It's about then. He started lecturing me about 'help' or whatever, too, and I figured if the guy who had so many issues that he imprisoned himself and denied himself basic life necessities for a month is giving me shit about not taking care of myself I should consider thinking about it." She kicked another stick.
Malcolm nodded. "Yeah, I'd say so."
Jessica swallowed. "Uh. You seem okay, too."
"I was worried about you," Malcolm confessed. "But now that I know you guys are all okay, I can relax."
Jessica sighed. "You're a good person, Malcolm. I don't think people tell you that."
A sudden tightness took over Malcolm's chest, and he struggled to get the right words out. "They don't really anymore. Not since…"
It only took a shake of the head from Jessica for Malcolm to gratefully cut himself off. "I get it," she said. "Everyone looks down on addicts, no matter what the situation is. I've seen it enough times."
"I could be clean 80 years, and all people would care about is that at one point, I wasn't," Malcolm told her. He was surprised by the anger in his own voice. "No one even seems to respect how difficult it is, day by day."
"I'm sorry, Malcolm," Jessica said, as rough as she'd said it the very first time.
Malcolm almost laughed. "You can't change people, Jessica. And it's not your fault in the first place. We have this discussion every time we see each other."
"It doesn't make me less sorry," Jessica insisted, not quite angry. "Just accept the damn apology."
"Fine," Malcolm sighed. "Thank you."
Someone cleared their throat up ahead. Malcolm raised his head to see the Doctor, a few feet in front of them, waiting expectantly. The TARDIS sat nearby, half-hidden by trees and foliage. Trish, Luke, and the Ponds were gone. "This doesn't sound like a vacation-appropriate conversation," the Doctor announced.
"Amy was right," Jessica said back. Immediately, the Doctor frowned at her. "You are allergic to feelings," Jessica finished, smugly.
The Doctor huffed. His eyebrows drew together suspiciously. "You two. Colluding. I knew you'd be trouble. I can't believe she's been repeating that. She thinks she's being clever." He pointed at her. "You're one to talk, anyway, Jessica Jones. I've never met anyone as stubborn as you."
"Glass houses and stones, or something like that," Jessica said.
"Ignoring you," the Doctor sing-songed. He turned to Malcolm, expression changing entirely. To happiness, hope. "Have you had a good trip, Ducasse?"
Malcolm smiled. Around them, the forest sung with alien life. The air was cool and almost sweet. It was nothing like he could have imagined. "Yeah," he said. "I have. Thank you."
The Doctor's face softened - toeing the edge of sadness, but not quite reaching it. "Ready to go home?"
Malcolm imagined saying no. Jessica had told him how the Doctor had originally planned to take them all on one trip, and had instead spirited them off for several weeks. If Malcolm said no, the Doctor would probably welcome him on board happily, despite the past that lingered between them all. It was in his eyes, something like a warm and hopeful glint.
"Yeah," he admitted. His smile twisted into wryness and apology. "I think I am."
Despite whatever hopes he may have had, the Doctor only nodded, the smile unchanging. "Then I'll take you home."
"The same day," Jessica snarked. "He has a job he has to get to."
The Doctor opened the TARDIS doors. "Tell it to the TARDIS, not me. I put in the correct date." As they entered the ship, the floor beneath them rumbled ominously. "Sorry, dear," the Doctor mumbled. He ran a hand tenderly along the railing as he jumped up the stairs to the console.
Malcolm decided not to ask. Instead, he joined Trish on the jumpseat, while Luke and Jessica exchanged a few quiet words at the bottom of the steps. Amy and Rory hovered around the console, watching.
"Going home?" Amy asked. Malcolm didn't know her well enough to be certain, but he thought she sounded a little disappointed.
"I think I should."
Trish gave him a gentle smile. "We'll see you soon," she promised, nudging his shoulder with her own.
"Assuming the Doctor can get us there on time," Amy said.
"I can hear you," the Doctor informed her, over the clicking of typewriter keys.
"It's a fair criticism," Malcolm pointed out. Rory nodded approvingly at him. Amy grinned. Trish shook her head.
"I will turn this ship around," the Doctor threatened. But he smiled.
Malcolm gave one last, lingering look around the console room as the Doctor took off, and the ship shook under them all. And then, as they landed, he gave Trish a hug. Once the ship had settled, he bid the Ponds goodbye and descended the steps to give Jessica a one-armed hug, one he knew she'd be more comfortable with. He shook Luke's hand, clapped him on the shoulder.
And he stepped back into his dingy apartment, as dark and empty as he'd left it, the only light coming from the open TARDIS doors. He turned to face the Doctor, who hovered in the doorway.
He opened his mouth to say goodbye, but before he could form any kind of sound, the Doctor stepped out, and closed the doors behind him, plunging them into near-darkness but for the TARDIS windows.
"Is everything okay?" Malcolm asked. Ice preemptively wedged itself into his chest.
The Doctor spun back around, only slightly subdued. "Everything is absolutely fine," he promised. "I just want to talk. For a bit. Not long."
That didn't sound like 'fine' to Malcolm, but he acquiesced. The Doctor flopped down on his couch with a sigh. Hesitantly, Malcolm joined him.
"What did you do before Kilgrave got you?" the Doctor asked. He idly cracked his knuckles in his lap as he spoke.
"I was a social worker," Malcolm said. It felt so far away, although he knew it had only been a year or two prior. It had been an entirely different life. A decent apartment. Plenty of food on the table. A rewarding job. His eyes stung just thinking about it.
The Doctor nodded. "Good work. Hard work." Malcolm shrugged. The Doctor sat up, and rearranged himself on the couch in order to properly face Malcolm. Malcolm looked into his eyes, and found a seriousness there he hadn't seen before. "I imagine you were good at it, weren't you?"
"Um." Malcolm blinked. Where was he going with this? "I was pretty average, probably. It's been awhile, I couldn't...say for sure."
The Doctor considered him. "Do you think you could go back to it? Would you feel prepared?"
Malcolm almost laughed. "I can't just start up where I left off, Doctor," he said, hardly caring about the bitterness he could hear in his own voice. "After you go off the rails and start shooting up, they tend not to want you around vulnerable people."
"But it wasn't your fault," the Doctor reasoned. "I wouldn't say so much that you went off the rails as that you were pushed. But listen - the question is not whether you would be allowed to go back. The question is do you think that you could? Emotionally, mentally, what have you."
"I'd like to," Malcolm confessed. It wasn't something he'd allowed himself to think about. He felt like he'd left that life behind pretty much in its entirety, probably never to return to it again. Contemplating what might have been, what should have been was too painful most of the time - even now, he could feel a lump rising in his throat.
The Doctor smiled, soft and genuine. "That's the first step, isn't it? If you want to do it, I believe you can."
Malcolm swallowed. He started to say, again, "It's not that simple," but trailed off of his own accord as the Doctor reached into his jacket pocket and handed over a scrap of paper. In blue pen, there was a phone number, and the word UNIT.
"Call them and tell them you're a social worker, and that I sent you to them," the Doctor instructed. "They might have a job offer for you."
Malcolm froze. "I...you're...serious?"
"Very serious," the Doctor confirmed. He stood, and Malcolm felt that he had little choice but to follow along. "I'm positive you were brilliant, Malcolm. Just go for it, eh? They're looking for some nice, open-minded types, most likely. I think you fit the bill just fine."
Malcolm could only blink and stutter, "Thank you."
The Doctor reached out and squeezed his shoulders. "I hope I'll see you again." His smile grew. "Be amazing."
It was so abrupt. Malcolm almost protested for the shock of it all. "I'll try. I will be."
"That's the spirit. Geronimo, Ducasse." With one last jaunty smile, the Doctor opened the TARDIS doors and slipped inside.
Seconds later, Malcolm stood alone in his apartment again, the paper clutched in his hand like it might somehow bring the ship back if he focused hard enough.
Instead of lingering, however, he forced himself to trudge over to get his phone.
Long time no see, guys!
I'm so incredibly sorry for the long, unexplained hiatus. This story was giving me absolute hell, on top of real life stuff and my unrelenting plot bunnies for other stories. School and trying to keep my head above the water in general kind of ate my life lol.
But! I finally worked out what was wrong in the middle chapters, and although I'm not entirely happy with it, I think it's good enough to post, after I do a little more cutting and editing. I appreciate those of you who have stuck with this story, and although I haven't responded to comments, know that I've seen them and been warmed by them, and it's the main reason I'm updating today.
This chapter was fun to write when I first made it ages ago, and it was fun to read and edit again today. I hope you enjoy it, anyone who's been holding out for an update! Thank you for your absolutely incredible patience.
I intend to update again in a couple of weeks. I'll see you all then! 3