Chapter Text
“Can you just stop, Bright? Seriously.”
Malcolm’s mouth snapped shut with a click of his teeth, mouth flattening to a straight line as he bowed his head submissively. He settled back in his seat, hands intertwining and settling in his lap like a scolded child.
Dani hadn’t looked up from where she was hunched over their newest string of murders. Gil, nor JT seemed to even catch Dani’s irritated snap at the newest member of their team, both with their noses buried in the same case.
They were probably just thankful it was Dani he was pestering instead of either of them. To be fair, he’d been making his rounds checking on his teammates. Dani just happened to be the one to snap. A bit surprising, since Malcolm would’ve placed his money on JT being the first to tell him off.
He knew he shouldn’t take it to heart-- she was stressed. They all were.
It was… tense in the major crimes department.
Their newest killer, the MW Slasher as they’d dubbed him (whom they still refused to admit was a serial killer, hoping they could get it handled before having to worry the public), had been dropping bodies left and right daily.
So far, there was several victims; all young women in their early twenties.
Their killer had a type-- blonde hair, blue eyes. Pretty. Thin. Not much lined up with their victims besides physical features. Their killer was going off looks, picking supposedly random girls up off the streets who fit his taste.
There wasn’t a lot for Malcolm to build his profile with-- the victims were found in different places, came from different parts of the city, had different occupations, backgrounds and family heritage. They’d found no links between the girls whatsoever.
The only thing tying the victims to the MW Slasher was their similar cause of death-- one swift slit across the throat-- and the branding left on the inner part of their right wrist.
A sloppy MW burned into their flesh with a heated iron stamp, not much different than a horse branding.
The branding was cocky-- some hidden message. It meant something-- Malcolm just didn’t know what.
MW could mean a lot of things, so it didn’t dwindle their suspect pool down much.
There weren’t many stables or farms in the vicinity of New York, and none were owned by anyone with the initials MW. They still didn’t know what the MW stood for-- what it could mean, and that drove Malcolm insane.
He couldn’t know all the answers, he knew, but the killer was just taunting them now. Throwing them bones that they hadn’t the slightest idea what to do with.
It was a game.
The killer was clean. Thoughtful. Left no finger prints. Nothing they could use to identify him, besides the MW scorched on the victim’s wrists, and that got the team nowhere.
The MW Slasher had been the first active serial killer since Malcolm had joined Gil’s team as their profiler. Well, besides the Junkyard Killer, but he’d been killing for over twenty years-- this was the first active, active killer.
The Junkyard Killer was a threat, of course, but this killer was an active threat. Leaving bodies to be found. Taunting. He was challenging the authorities; playing games with them. He wanted attention-- was after something, where the Junkyard Killer had kept his work hidden for years.
There was a scale of how much of a threat a killer was, as awful at that sounded-- and the MW Slasher had jumped to the top of that list with the body count quickly building up. They had to catch the killers doing the most damage first.
The team was onto their third night of no sleep. Or, rather, their third night of refusing to leave the office. They crashed, falling asleep at the table, or leaned back against the wall. A few hours of sleep before they were back to it.
It was usual for Malcolm, the insomniac that he was. The sleepless nights were more normal for him than actually sleeping was. He was accustomed to them. He rarely slept more than a couple hours on a good night, and on a bad night, well, he distracted himself instead.
His team, he knew, were more normal than he was when it came to eating, and sleeping. Taking care of their basic human needs and all that.
Twenty-four hours had been the quota as far as Malcolm had seen in the months he’d been working with them.
Twenty-four hours and then Gil would be sending everyone away for the night. Telling them to take care of themselves, and that he needed them rested, bright-eyed and rearing to go the following morning.
Gil was usually a stickler for making sure his team-- Dani and JT, at least-- took care of themselves. And he was usually pretty good at staying on top of keeping himself in order too.
But he’d let it slide this time, knowing he couldn’t say anything if he was in the same boat as them. Malcolm wasn’t sure he’d ever seen the older man go longer that twenty-seven hours without sleep.
But here he was, stretching to fifty-three. Malcolm had never seen a case break the man like this one was. The MW Slasher was getting to them-- he was getting to them all. They were playing into his games, just like every killer wanted, the police at their mercy.
The strain of not sleeping was starting to get to his team, Malcolm had noticed.
It was the little things he picked up on.
Malcolm knew he wasn’t supposed to profile them, but he couldn’t help it. They all tended to close themselves off when he tried, but in this state none really gave him the time of day, so his profiling went unnoticed by the team.
But Malcolm knew caffeine could only keep them going for so long, and the short, couple hour naps they managed to slip in whilst sat uncomfortably in their chairs would soon cease to help.
He knew they were desperate to bring in the threat of the MW Slasher, but he couldn’t help but worry about them. He’d never had a team he cared about like he did this team. And he didn’t quite like them acting… well, so much like him.
The circles under their eyes were growing darker by the second, and tremors that rivaled his own shook their hands-- a mixture of overdoing the caffeine, and their body’s desperate attempts to worry them into a good night’s sleep.
They’d barely left the conference room they used for their cases, unless they happened to be reporting to new crime scenes when a new body happened to show up.
Frankly the conference room was starting to smell.
Malcolm had disappeared periodically over the fifty-three hours they’d been deadlocked on solving the case. Busying himself with more than just the crime scenes they were called too, unlike the rest of the team.
He was still bathing, and would go on coffee runs for the team since the instant stuff in the break room was just awful. At this point, Malcolm wasn’t even sure they knew where the coffees that magically appeared in their hands, or in front of them were coming from.
He’d furrow his eyebrows, watching as they worked themselves ragged.
Some people just couldn’t handle lack of sleep as well as others. Their bodies were shutting down by the second, and Malcolm was worried they’d just drop to the floor in exhaustion like a bad game of The Sims.
It was odd to be the voice of reason, especially since he was usually the one who needed the voice of reason. His team had all taken turns telling him to go home, or to eat at some point of another. And he appreciated it passed the in the moment annoyance he always felt.
He’d only been trying to help when Dani had snapped at him. Sat forwards in his chair, head angled towards her as he all but begged her to finally call it a night.
He’d done the same to Gil, who’d brushed him off gruffly, and to JT, who’d blatantly ignored him. It didn’t deter him, just forced him to continue on to the next teammate in the clockwise circle he was making.
They’d give in at some point, they were only human after all. At some point the exhaustion would win over, but he knew he couldn’t pester too much at one time. They did all have guns strapped to their hips.
They were getting frustrated, working so hard but getting no results. They were annoyed, and over-caffeinated-- more sleep deprived than Malcolm was sure any of them had ever been.
And she’d snapped.
Malcolm couldn’t help the sinking feel in his chest. The dread that weighed over him at her sharp words. They weren’t particularly mean, per se, but the bite in Dani’s tone definitely was.
Dani had never snapped at him before. Not like this at least.
He’d always thought she’d been far too kind to him-- all the way back to when he’d come clean about who he really was and all but begged The Surgeon Copycat to use him to finish The Quartet.
She’d always been the closest to him, and if he thought anyone at the precinct was his friend (besides Gil, of course) it was Dani. He knew, in reality, they weren’t really friends. Teammates, there was a difference between the two. But he could hope that sometime they’d become friends.
He liked Dani. He liked them all, and they didn’t hate him off the bat, which was more than he could ask for considering who he was.
Logically, he knew it was all the sleep deprivation that had kicked in-- their irritation, the annoyance. They’d all been sending him annoyed looks through the last sixteen hours as he tried to talk them into heading home for the evening.
He understood that--
But that didn’t stop the sinking feeling in his chest.
Malcolm had spent the majority of his life being the disposable friend-- and that’s if he even managed to keep a friend longer than a couple weeks.
People left him.
It’s what happened. It’s what he’d grown to know. The usual.
As soon as they found out who he was, and where he came from. The Surgeon’s prodigal son. People didn’t tend to stay long. The Whitly’s were like a plague- just the mention of them could clear a room.
His mother and sister both shared the pain of being the Whitly’s, and if anyone was going to be staying in Malcolm’s life, it was the people who understood what he was going through the best, because they too were trapped in the same nightmare.
Gil, he could understand sticking around too. He’d known Gil since he was ten years old. He clung to the fact he’d saved Gil’s life-- that he wasn’t a monster like his father, because he’d saved Gil. His father would never-- in fact, he’d had a cup of ketamine laced tea with Gil’s name on it.
Gil had stuck around then, and had for years-- being a safe spot for Malcolm through his childhood and supporting his decisions even if his father and his mother didn’t. Malcolm wasn’t sure there was anything that could break the connection he had to the police lieutenant.
He was honestly surprised Dani, and JT and Edrisa stuck around. Or, at least treated him with kindness instead of the usual distaste when he joined their team. It was an odd, pleasant change of pace. He didn’t dread going to work anymore-- like he had every morning on his way to the FBI.
They hadn’t been sure of him at first, but he thought they’d grown closer over the months of solving cases together. Even JT, who no longer gave him unsure once-overs when he entered a room.
“Of course,” Malcolm swallowed, dropping his eyes away from the annoyed glance Dani shot at him. She looked tired-- done with everything, including him at this point. “Sorry.”
He tried to remind himself it was the sleep-deprivation talking. The sleep-deprivation fueling the distasteful annoyance in her eyes.
“Just… hush,” Dani eyed him a second longer before letting her eyes drop down to the file she was looking through, their first victim if Malcolm remembered correctly. The bite in her voice was gone, but the annoyance was still there. “We’re grownups, Bright, we can take care of ourselves.”
JT snorted a laugh at Malcolm getting lectured after hours of him helicoptering around them. The youngest man coiled in on himself slightly, almost in embarrassment.
Malcolm bit his lip to keep from saying something stupid, perhaps, and, just as an example, another mention of the genuine concern that had gotten him into this situation in the first place. Or, maybe, to remind them that his job was to profile, and that what he’d been getting from them over the span of the last few hours was definitely not adults taking care of themselves.
“We’re working the case, Bright,” Gil continued on without looking up from his own readings. His tone was chiding, the same tone he’d used when Malcolm had gotten rowdy during their stakeouts when he was a child. “Let us work.”
Malcolm didn’t bother reminding the group that he’d been an actual FBI profiler who’d graduated with honors from Quantico-- that he knew what he was talking about and had worked higher risk cases. He was more than just the consultant they’d reluctantly allowed to work with them.
This case was nothing compared to some of the things he’d seen in his ten years with the FBI. Sure, it was challenging, and infuriating-- the MW Slasher really was just jerking them around at this point, but it by far wasn’t the worst Malcolm had seen.
He felt small in this room.
Suddenly clouded by the fact he was just a consultant here. These three had been teammates for years-- Malcolm was like them. He was new, an outsider; not to be trusted. They were still wary about him, even if they’d all been working together perfectly well.
He wasn’t really a part of the team, was he?
They’re not your friends.
He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to ignore the traitorous nagging voice, the one that sounded an awful lot like Doctor Martin Whitley, in the back of his mind. Malcolm’s knee jerked anxiously, hand quaking at the thought that his father was back.
Even just the subconscious voice of the man in the back of Malcolm’s head was toxic. He’d never truly escape his father’s grasp. It was becoming clear to him.
Well, that’s because we’re the same, my boy.
Malcolm scrunched his nose up, trying to brush away the thought. They weren’t. He’d never be the same as his father; as The Surgeon.
You’re not their friend either, Malcolm.
A pause. His father’s words sinking in slowly.
You don’t need friends anyways, my boy. You have me.
“Maybe take a walk, kid,” Gil sighed. His tired eyes were glossed with concern making him look older than he was. Malcolm tore his attention away from his own shaking limbs to glance around-- his team’s attention on him, varying levels of concern and annoyance.
It was then, that Malcolm realized with a shock that the tables were turned onto him. Gil was telling him to take a break, when the man himself hadn’t taken more than a two-hour nap break in the last fifty-three hours.
Dismissal, the voice tutted in the back of his mind, and Malcolm could almost picture his father’s indifferent frown, arms crossing across his chest. They don’t want you here, my boy. Best to leave while you’re ahead, right?
“Right,” Malcolm swallowed, standing up. The dismissal from Gil felt like a dagger stabbing into his chest, and the voice in the back of his head wasn’t helping the situation, “I’ll… I’ll just go make another coffee run then.”
He grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his chair, pretending the silence he received from his team didn’t twist that metaphorical dagger in his chest. He winced anyways, not that anyone caught it.
The night was chilly when Malcolm stepped down the precinct steps. His breath blew a foggy cloud of condensation before him, as he halfheartedly tugged his suit jacket against his body, tucking his already frozen hands under his armpits.
It was late, far later than they usually stayed in the evening, but then again, technically the team had stayed around forty hours late now.
Malcolm shook his head at the thought.
He wasn’t quite sure any cafes would be open at this hour, since generally coffee was a morning beverage.
Against all odds, Malcolm stumbled across an open cafe. Well, a cafe with the lights still on, at least. There was a barista behind the counter, cleaning-- but the doors were locked. It was only ten minutes after closing, and Malcolm cursed his luck on that sense.
Still, he rapped his knuckles against the glass of the door, halfheartedly praying for a miracle all the while he managed to send the barista a light smile when the young man’s spooked eyes fell onto him. The young man frowned, watching Malcolm for a second before deeming him not a threat and walking to the door.
They spoke briefly through the glass door, a good safety precaution on the kid’s side, before the man was unlocking the door, and letting Malcolm in.
It was easier than Malcolm thought it would’ve been to talk the man into making another pot of coffee, despite the late hour and the fact the cafe was closed.
Maybe it was the hefty tip Malcolm handed him that would’ve covered the coffees easily, at least multiple times. A fifty in tip added onto the bill was a small price to pay to keep his teammates at bay.
Malcolm smiled his thanks, stepping out with three large coffees made perfectly to his teammate’s likings in a to-go carrier. The door clicked locked behind him, the young man waving through the glass before returning to cleaning up.
You’re treating them well, my boy, considering they told you to leave.
“There’s a difference between telling someone to take a walk and telling someone to leave,” Malcolm mumbled under his breath in reply. He was quick to defend, but there was still a sinking feeling in his chest that his father might be right.
Touchy, touchy.
Malcolm forced himself to ignore that, stepping off the curb and into the street. The city had died down, or at least this part of the city had. There were few cars, and not a soul to be seen besides himself.
It was eerie. Too quiet.
Until it wasn’t.
Tires screeched on the pavement, skidding to a stop behind him. Malcolm turned to look, but before he could get that far something slammed against the back of his head.
It all happened to fast, plotted to the smallest detail.
The pressure on the back of his head felt like fire, and he could only manage to hold onto his consciousness for seconds-- long enough to feel the three large, hot coffees soak into his shirt and suit jacket as he fell forwards, and to catch a glance of a hooded figure hauling him up by the arm before the world faded to black before him.
Gil rubbed tiredly at his eyes. It was getting harder to keep them open. The words on the case file before him were starting to blend together, and a dull headache thrummed at the base of his skull.
He let the paper in his hands flutter down to the table where he shut the file with a sigh.
His team looked worse for the wear, eyelids drooping and bodies slouched desperately into their chairs. He wrinkled his nose thoughtfully.
Dani’s head was being held up by her arm, elbow settled on the table, and palm and knuckles supporting her cheek-- no doubt digging into her cheek and leaving a bright red mark.
JT didn’t look much better, slumping in his chair as he struggled to keep his eyes open, occasionally going cross-eyed as he read over his file.
Gil hadn’t meant to let it get this bad-- he wasn’t sure how that ‘just one more hour’ had turned into this. They were desperate to get this new killer off the streets, but he wasn’t sure he liked how worn down everyone was.
They’d definitely over done it.
“Okay,” Gil cleared his throat, tired eyes sweeping over his team, “that’s it. We’re done.”
“We’re not done,” Dani frowned, looking a bit more awake now that she’d been spoke too, JT yawned from across the table, proving Gil’s point. Dani’s eyes darted to JT momentarily before flying back to Gil.
“We’re not,” Gil mended slowly, “but we’re taking a much-needed rest for now. The two of you are no use to me if you can’t keep your eyes open.”
“What about you?” Dani narrowed her eyes. Gil could see her rebuttal to Gil sending them home, but staying in the office sitting on the tip of her tongue.
“I’m done too,” Gil promised, a tiny smile curling onto his lips. “We let this get too far. I know we need to get the MW Slasher off the streets, but we’re no help to anyone like this. We need sleep. And we need to eat.”
“We’ve been eating,” JT furrowed his eyebrows, “and sleeping.”
“Yeah,” Gil snorted, standing from his chair and stretching the kinks out of his back, “bagels Bright supplied us with don’t count. And I mean real sleep-- dinky few hours naps in your chair don’t count, JT.”
JT opened his mouth to respond, but it shut just as fast as he reached up to rub at his eyes, “alright, fine. Maybe you’re right, Boss.”
“Of course I am,” Gil shook his head, patting JT on the shoulder as he walked around the table to grab his coat.
“Speaking of Bright,” Dani angled her head towards Gil, “where is he? He said he was getting coffee, but that was like an hour ago. He doesn’t seem the type to just leave?”
Gil blinked, faintly remembering his kid telling them he was going to get coffee. His attention had been on the case, of course, but he remembered noticing Malcolm’s tremor return with a vengeance. He’d sent the kid out to take a walk, like he’d been doing the entire time he’d known the boy.
Malcolm got over whelmed, and sometimes all he needed was a moment of silence, and some fresh air to bring him back. Coffee had been his excuse to leave the room.
“Dude probably went home,” JT shrugged, “I would’ve too if Dani went off on me like she did to him.”
“I didn’t go off on him,” Dani narrowed her eyes at JT, offended, “I simply mentioned we’re all adults. He was being annoying-- even more than usual.”
“You almost bit his head off,” JT didn’t relent, eyebrow arching almost fearfully. “You’re scary when you’re tired.”
“Like you’re much better,” Dani frowned. “At least I didn’t ignore him.”
“You really think snapping’s better than ignoring?” JT’s face scrunched up in annoyance. Dani returned a just as annoyed glance.
“Alright, alright,” Gil called their attention, “settle down. You’re both irritated, and I’m guessing it’s cause we’re all tired. I don’t think any of us were particularly nice to Bright today. We can apologize tomorrow after we’ve all had some sleep.”
“Sleep sounds good,” Dani mumbled after a second of silence.
“Yeah,” Gil agreed, “none of us are fit to be driving, so call yourself a cab. I don’t need any of my guys falling asleep behind the wheel.”
“Sure,” Dani agreed, slipping her cellphone out. Dani lifted her phone to her ear, talking quietly to the cab company.
“I’ll just text Tally to see if she’s up,” JT ducked his head, eyes staring down at his own phone. “Cheaper than a cab, and she can bring me in tomorrow too.”
“Good call,” Gil gave him a tired smile, “you two try and sleep in, alright? I don’t wanna see either of you until ten AM, at least, got it?”
“Fine,” Dani frowned, phone still held to her ear, probably on hold. “I don’t like us just putting this case on hold--”
“And I don’t like my team falling asleep on the case,” Gil cut her off. “Tomorrow, after we’ve all gotten some sleep and we’re thinking clearly, we’ll keep going. We can’t figure anything out when we can barely stay awake.”
“Yeah, alright.” JT agreed, letting his phone settled screen down on his thigh as he slumped back in his chair. “Tally’s on her way.”
“Cab too,” Dani set her phone on the table. She closed the victim file she’d been working on, flattening her hand on the front of it as she sighed.
Gil sent a quick text off to Malcolm, checking in on him, before lifting his attention back to Dani. The kid didn’t write back, but it wasn’t that unusual. It wouldn’t be the first time Malcolm ignored his texts.
“Anything from Bright?” Dani’s voice was soft, and if Gil hadn’t known any better, he’d almost think she was guilty about snapping at their profiler.
“No,” Gil perched himself on the edge of the table, reigning in the inkling of worry that he always got when Malcolm didn’t answer, “but with any luck he’s gone home to sleep for a bit too. He’s been up just as long as all of us.”
“I didn’t think Bright slept,” JT commented absently, frowning at Gil.
“Not often,” Gil shrugged, “he occasionally passes out the like rest of us, though.”
JT opened his mouth to reply, but his phone buzzing cut him off. He looked down at it before lifting his tired eyes back up, now looking a bit relieved, “that’s Tally. She’s outside.”
“Good,” Gil repeated, “go home now. I expect to see the two of you showered, fed and fresh-faced tomorrow morning. And I don’t wanna see you before--”
“Ten AM,” JT rolled his eyes fondly, “I got it, Boss.”
JT stepped out of the room, giving a halfhearted salute as he stepped away. Gil turned his attention onto Dani. She was looking down at her phone, and Gil caught sight of Malcolm’s name at the top of the texting screen.
The look on her face told him Malcolm hadn’t responded to her either.
“Cab’s outside,” Dani cleared her throat, attention lifting to Gil. “Did you wanna share the cab? You haven’t called for one yet, and I know you’re not stupid enough to even think about driving home when you told us we couldn’t.”
“I wasn’t,” Gil promised. He’d been planning on calling his own cab after he was sure his team was out of the building and on their way home. “I wouldn't mind sharing. The sooner I get home, the better. Thanks, Dani.”
“Sure,” Dani gave a shrug, finally pulling herself from her chair.
Gil followed Dani out, locking the door to the conference room so no one could look through their files. Not that anyone would-- people tended to ignore the major crimes room.
He let out a sigh, checking his phone for any text notifications one last time before finally following Dani outside.