Chapter Text
Gil idly rotates his cell phone in between two fingers as he contemplates for the fifth time whether he should just start the car and pretend he never had this idea in the first place. He can continue to investigate the case without doing this. It just might take a little longer without help.
Thanks to his partner any chance of Jessica Whitly helping him disappeared the second the NYPD put her child in handcuffs, so he needs to tackle this from a different angle. Despite his best efforts, the only idea that he kept coming back to was talking to Malcolm.
When the news of a bomb scare downtown flashed on his police feed Gil knew this was the moment he was waiting for. He’s safe right now, Cardrona and Shannon are basking in the glory of a high-profile arrest at another hastily called press conference so they didn’t notice him slip out in all the madness. The bonus of it being ignored for a juicier story feels even sweeter.
The last TV truck left twenty minutes ago, and the final reporter’s car parked on the street left ten minutes after that. A sense of calm has taken over the newly cleared street which is doing nothing for Gil’s nerves. While he’s in the middle of second guessing himself again he’s shocked when the door to the Whitly home flies open and a burly security man steps out onto the landing. He nods to someone behind him then makes his way down the short flight of stairs to wait on the path. His companion is much slower.
It's Malcolm.
He looks wary, as if the shrubs will start taking his picture at any moment. When there is a decided lack of strobe lighting from the nearby topiary Malcolm descends the stairs and follows his security man down the street. Though Gil can’t see it, he knows the tracking anklet penning him in to a half mile radius is securely firmly to his leg. It was only by the grace of his mother’s lawyers that he ended up with house arrest and not detention.
They make their way down the street and passed Gil’s car. If Malcolm recognises it, he doesn’t acknowledge it from any body language that Gil can see. The thousand-yard stare he is sporting is devoid of any of the spark that captivated Gil just days ago. He would do anything to see a ghost of a smile on Malcolm’s face. With his mind made up Gil’s mind instantly switches gears to figure out how he can get Malcolm alone. The street is too visible, it’s likely that anyone with a smart phone who recognises Malcolm will snap a picture of his companion and his face will be all over social media in no time. The last thing he needs is Shannon finding out.
Once there is sixty feet between them Gil figures it is enough distance that Malcolm’s security won’t consider his exiting his Le Mans as a possible threat. With one last deep breath he removes the battery from his cell phone and leaves his car. There’s no turning back now.
He shouldn’t be here.
Nothing about this is a good idea.
Yet Gil can’t find the strength to force his feet to run in the other direction.
No. He doesn’t have the willpower to turn around. Malcolm is right there, so close they can almost touch. Gil needs this more than anything. He needs to tell Malcolm that someone is on his side.
Malcolm’s minder nudges him further down the path and he follows mechanically, ignoring everything around him. He is guided to the clothing store they entered together just days ago, and after confirming nobody is casing the store Gil slips inside. There’s no difficulty in spotting Malcolm, his slicked back hair is easy to spot in between the short racks. Armed with several sweaters he heads towards the change rooms, and his minder is suitably distracted by an attractive assistant.
Gil grabs a hideous angora sweater as a pretence, makes his way to the back of the store briskly and slides into the free stall beside Malcolm. Locking the door behind him he places his palms on the wall closest to Malcolm and tilts his head up to the ceiling above them.
“Kid?”
The gasp next door is expected but no less startling. “Gil?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
He waits with bated breath and can hear Malcolm’s chest heaving through the cheap MDF partition. Malcolm is frozen with indecision, so Gil nudges him towards a choice. He loudly unlatches the lock on his door doesn’t attempt to stop the loud squeaking of the door as it swings open. A few more seconds pass, then Malcolm’s lock follows suit. He pokes his head out tentatively, nerves evident on his face that crumble the second he locks eyes with Gil. A relieved smile brightens his complexion, wiping years off his haggard appearance.
“Gil.” This time, his name sounds more like a benediction. With growing confidence Malcolm falls into Gil’s sweater and wraps his arms around him, holding onto him like an anchor. The younger man huffs a relieved greeting into the safety of Gil’s broad chest. “You’re the only person I wanted to see.”
“I tried everything I could to stop my partner, but I was up against it. He’s going blind from the fame and forgot how to do the job.”
Malcolm pulls away to look Gil squarely in the eye. “Someone might say the same to you. How many detectives seek out an alleged murderer for secret rendezvous in the changeroom of a store?”
There’s a kernel of truth to Malcolm’s words, but before Gil can go too far down the path of defending his actions he catches the mirth in Malcolm’s eyes and knows he’s only teasing.
“The best detectives follow every lead and talk to everyone, even if they are a wrongfully accused suspect.”
The relaxed air in the stall evaporates giving way to worry. Malcolm locks the stall and crowds Gil’s personal space again. “You have a lead?”
“I think so. Footage from the street identified a figure in a bulky oversized sweater and light hair just above their shoulders power walking away from your address at the time of the murder. They would be around your age, maybe Caucasian but the video quality wasn’t good enough to get a solid ID. Does that description ring any bells?”
Gil waits patiently, never rushing Malcolm as he wracks his brain for any clues. “When you say light hair, do you think it could have been blonde?”
“It could be, but I can’t confirm it. Why?”
“There’s a person in my father’s graduate program at the hospital that could fit that description. I think his name was Lyle. Not sure about his last name. My dad mentioned that he was having to spend a lot of time with him on his rotation, and I saw him at the house once. I don’t think he liked me.”
“This is good, Malcolm. I’ll check out the hospital, see if I can’t shake something out of your father’s students.”
A concerned shout into the change rooms silences Gil from speaking further. Malcolm assures his handler that he’ll be coming out soon and uses the time to collect himself. His gaze turns intense, hungry for something that Gil can’t place until Malcolm’s eyes drift to his lips.
“We shouldn’t…”
“Shouldn’t what, detective?” The question, though posed innocently, has no ambiguity to hide behind. What Malcolm wants is abundantly clear, and Gil’s self-control is slipping away again. When it becomes obvious that Gil isn’t going to stop him Malcolm presses his hips against Gil’s and reaches for the older man’s jaw to guide him to his waiting mouth. As they draw ever closer the last of Gil’s resolve snaps and he almost crashes into Malcolm with an urgency he’s not felt in years. The tiniest moan escapes from his throat, and that’s all the signal Malcolm needs to wipe his tongue along the seam of Gil’s lips, an unspoken desire to deepen their kiss. Gil accepts whole heartedly, and the couple dance together like they’ve been doing it for years. Gil’s hearts races from the adrenaline surging through his veins, and the electricity shooting through his fingertips at the warmth of Malcolm’s skin against his is invigorating. A piece of his life he didn’t know he was missing has slotted into place, and he knows for sure that he can’t let Malcolm slip away.
“Mr Whitly, are you ready?”
With a groan Malcolm breaks the kiss and sighs with disdain that’s so recognisable from witnesses at work Gil would swear that they teach it in high schools these days.
“I have to go. Mother might call the police herself if I don’t get back soon, even though she’s the one who insisted I get out of the house in the first place.”
“We can’t have that, can we?” Gil’s smile is tight and doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Malcolm’s smile is just as false.
“Will I see you again?”
The glimmer of hope in Malcolm’s voice almost breaks Gil’s heart. “Don’t doubt it, kid. I’m gonna do everything in my power to find your father’s killer so the next time I see you we can do it without a chaperone.”
“I’m going to hold you to that promise, Gil. Because the thought of having you all to myself is going to be the only thing that gets me through this.”
Now his cock is definitely interested in proceedings. Gil cups Malcolm’s cheek and lovingly rubs a thumb over his five o’clock shadow, revelling in the way Malcolm leans into his touch. The memory is going to fuel him for the gruelling work ahead. Interviewing for a presumed closed case without the support or permission of his Lieutenant won’t be a walk in the park.
“The things you say, Whitly. Now get back out there before this becomes a threesome.”
“Yes, sir.”
With a mocking two-fingered salute and his lips quirked into a grin Malcolm exits the stall and doesn’t look back. Gil collapses onto the small seat, disbelieving that he managed to talk to Malcolm at all. Even bigger than that, they shared a kiss that lingers on his lips even now. Clearing Malcolm’s name was always going to be important, but the implications of finding Malcolm innocent with regards to his own happiness looms larger than ever. By the time he recovers somewhat Malcolm is nowhere to be seen in the store, and Gil takes one last lap inside to make sure he’s not being followed before he walks back to his car. His hands shake as he jams the key into the ignition, and he knows he should take a beat to collect himself, but the dominant part of his brain is screaming at him to put as much distance between him and Malcolm to keep them both safe.
Paranoia sets in and Gil finds himself compulsively checking his rear-view mirror every ten seconds, and almost hyperventilates that his phone could be used as evidence of his movements if he is discovered. His thoughts are so addled it takes another few minutes for him to remember that he took precautions before step foot out of his car. He’s never been so affected by another person since Jackie, and the notion that Gil is the only person who could prove Malcolm’s innocence makes him sick to his stomach. If this was anyone else Gil would tell them that they’re too close and they need to recuse themselves. But this isn’t just any case. He can’t let it go.
Gil’s nerves are somewhat calmer when he arrives back at his desk. He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone, instead he sets straight to work on uncovering more about Dr Whitly’s mentees at the hospital. This Lyle person might be a long shot but it’s all Gil’s got right now, and he’s going to use every trick in the book to get the information he needs, charm offensive included.
^&^&^&^&^&^&
Malcolm’s tip proved to be right on the money. The hospital records on the doctors training under the current cardiothoracic rotation identified 27 year old Lyle Hough, a young man with a boyish face and a physique that matched the grainy footage Gil found on the recordings. When he visited Dr Whitly’s students under the guise of informally asking about their mentor’s relationship with Malcolm the other four physicians were non-committal on an opinion of Martin’s son. Lyle, however, sought out the nearest wall he could plaster himself to and said nothing. The young doctor couldn’t wipe the derisive sneer off his face when Malcolm’s name was first mentioned, and Gil filed his reaction away and thanked the group for their time.
After checking with the ward clerk to find out when Lyle would be finishing work Gil waited in the car park until he walked out the front door five hours later. He asked Lyle if he could ask the doctor a few follow up questions and steered him to the closest precinct (he scored a favor from a friend at the 9th so he didn’t have to sneak the suspect under Cardrona’s nose). The interview was recorded as per standard protocols and the doctor waived his right to a lawyer, becoming increasingly nervous the longer Gil made him wait. Fifteen minutes into the interview Gil revealed the camera footage and whatever color that was left in Lyle’s face drained away. Before Gil could even ask the suspect outright if it was him Lyle started spitting vitriol about Malcolm, claiming Martin didn’t deserve him as a son. His grievance was aimed at Malcolm throwing away the gift of his father’s genius, and he admitted to deliberately underperforming to spend more time with Martin. When Lyle asked him to spend more time with him he refused, and in an act of fury he searched Malcolm’s room for a weapon that would frame Martin’s son for his death.
The gloves which he used to commit the murder were long gone, but his unprompted confession combined with the video footage placing him near the Whitly home are enough to get the charges against Malcolm dropped. The verbal spray he cops from his partner isn’t unexpected, his ticket to fame evaporating before his eyes while Gil does everything he can to stay out of the spotlight. It ends with Harry storming off in a huff and declaring they are no longer partners, though the consequence of dealing with Harry even less than he does now isn’t exactly something that Gil will mourn.
Lieutenant Shannon knows how to play the game a little better, and Gil had nothing but a wry grin when he heard Owen spouting the virtues of keeping an ‘open mind’ when investigating high profile cases. The apology to the Whitly was dragged out of him almost painfully, but to his credit he managed to say the words in front of a camera.
The Whitly home is a media circus again for an entirely different reason, and the first time Gil drives by on his way home and witnesses the frenzy for himself he doesn’t stop. The thought of what Shannon would do if he were seen anywhere near Malcolm doesn’t bear thinking about, so his only option is to head for home and hope for a gap in the chaos tomorrow. Hr doesn’t sleep well that night, his mind is itching to reach out to Malcolm, but he doesn’t have a contact number for him. Instead, he finds himself tossing and turning as he runs through all the things he might say to Malcolm when they finally meet up. He rolls into work the next morning feeling especially rough around the edges and not in the mood for any of Cardrona’s antics.
Gil buries his head in work, making a point not to engage in any of the snide comments as Cardrona’s buddies jeer around his desk. When his phone rings he glances at the caller ID to know whether to ignore it, a few journos reached his direct line yesterday and he knows he doesn’t have the mental capacity to fob them off politely today. The area code stops him dead in his tracks; it’s the one for the upper east side. Where Malcolm lives. He agonises for another two rings about what to do before he takes the plunge and picks up the receiver.
“Precinct 16.”
“Morning, Detective.” Malcolm’s voice is lighter than anything Gil has ever heard from the younger man.
“And a good morning to you, too.”
“I was calling to let you know that I’ll be celebrating my good fortune with a lunch at I Sodi in case you’re interested.”
Gil’s brain short circuits. Of all the things Malcolm could have said to him, this was not what he was expecting.
“Well I uh, I guess that sounds better than the turkey sandwich I brought with me.”
“Great. I’ll be there from 1.”
The call ends and Gil is left staring into the receiver in shock. His heart is pounding with excitement and disbelief. Malcolm seeking him out was something he never dared to imagine would be possible. Not this early.
For the rest of the morning papers get shuffled, files display on Gil’s screen, but the letters coalesce into an unreadable blur. He tunes out most of the chatter around him, but when one jibe about Gil’s loyalty being up for sale catches his ears he can’t stay at his desk for a moment longer. Spinning on his chair he stands abruptly and interrupts the laughter from the three detectives behind him.
“I did my job. Nothing more, nothing less. Because of that, we have the right person behind bars. I don’t know when that became a bad thing. You should ask yourself why you think I’m the problem here, and what kind of cop you really are.”
Detective Harrison holds Gil’s gaze and doesn’t bat an eyelid. “I’m the kind of cop who watches my partner’s back. You’d do well to remember what that’s like.”
A wave of nausea roils Gil’s stomach as it becomes clear he can’t work in Precinct 16 any longer.
“I need some air.”
Leaving his work unfinished Gil leaves the building without making eye contact with anyone else. He can’t bear to know just how alone he is amongst the people he called friends mere days ago. With shaking hands he pulls out the scrap of paper he wrote Malcolm’s number from his work phone on and dials it on his cell.
“Hello?”
“Hey, kid. It’s Gil. I’m taking my lunch break a little early today, any chance you can meet me now?”
“I’d love to. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
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Gil reaches the restaurant first and grabs a seat towards the back, figuring Malcolm is less likely to be recognised if there are less eyeballs to catch sight of him in the first place. The server places menus on the table and Gil picks it up for something to do but absorbs none of the words on the thick cardstock. He hasn’t felt nerves like this since his first date with Jackie and his knee bounces uncontrollably beneath the table. Food and drinks whizz past his table close to the kitchen, flashes of meat smothered in jus and elegantly arranged vegetables start to make his mouth water. The show that is an active kitchen distracts Gil so completely that Malcolm’s bemused greeting beside his table sends him jumping from his seat.
“If you’re this captivated by the look of the dishes just wait until you taste the scallops.”
“Malcolm! I didn’t see you come in. I was just looking, I mean, I haven’t, you look…”
The sight of Malcolm before him strips Gil of his ability to speak in complete sentences. Dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a slate grey sweater he oozes casual sophistication. It’s not the clothes that stopped Gil in his tracks, rather it is the smile Malcolm is wearing. With the stress of his arrest is gone Malcolm looks more youthful than ever, excitement and happiness radiating from every pore. If Gil thought Malcolm was captivating when they first met, he doesn’t hold a candle to the man standing before him now.
“It’s nice to see you too, Gil. May I?” Malcolm drags the chair out while signalling a server to order a drink for them both. The whole action exudes a confidence that Gil has only seen hints of. “The starters are delicious here, I only ever order them as a lot of food upsets my stomach.”
“It’s all looked amazing so far.”
The pair fill the space with small talk while they wait to order their meals and have the drinks arrive. With their orders taken and bourbons placed on the table an air of anticipation settles between them. Gil has so many questions, yet he can’t muster the words to ask them. Malcolm finds his voice again before Gil does.
“I have to thank you, Gil. Without you I would be staring down the barrel of a murder charge of my own father. It’s been so long since anyone looked past my issues and bothered to get to know me.”
“I would have done it for anyone, it’s all part of the job.” Gil’s attempt at deflection is weak based on Malcolm’s disbelieving snort.
“It should have been everyone’s job at the precinct, but you were the only one to really listen.”
“Your father’s case really turned into an eye opener for me. I’ve never felt so isolated in my own precinct before.”
Before Malcolm can reply they are interrupted with their meals arriving. After a few minutes of Gil marvelling at his perfectly cooked eye filet and Malcolm pushing his scallops around on the plate Malcolm resumes their conversation in earnest.
“I’m sorry that my family has altered your life in such a way. But I won’t be sorry that my family’s tragedy led me to you. And I don’t think you’re entirely disappointed either.”
Suddenly Gil’s lunch is the most interesting thing he wants to look at.
“Kid, you don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Don’t I? How many other murder suspects have you tailed to a clothing store so you can kiss them in the change rooms? You and I both want the same thing, or you wouldn’t have agreed to lunch otherwise. Tell me I’ve got my wires crossed and I’ll walk out of here.”
Gil lifts his gaze from his untouched broccoli and mash to get a read on Malcolm. His shoulders are tense but the tremor in his hands is nowhere to be seen and his eyes have a depth of intensity that Gil’s rarely seen. Every time Gil stares at Malcolm he takes his breath away, and after the last few days he can’t stomach the thought of lying to himself anymore.
“You’re not wrong, Malcolm.”
The force of Malcolm’s exhale reaches Gil across the table, in his relief Malcolm’s blue eyes shine brighter than ever.
“Well then. I’ve had enough lunch, why don’t we find ourselves somewhere a little more private?”
Gil frowns at the uneaten scallops on Malcolm’s plate. “You haven’t touched your food.”
Malcolm leans forward and conspiratorially whispers “There’s something else I’m hungrier for.” His eyes flick down below the table, and a blush creeps up Gil’s neck as he leans back with a youthful swagger Gil lost a long time ago.
“I’m not sure what to think of this more forward version of you.”
“If you play your cards right, it could work out very well for you. What do say, Gil Arroyo. Are you with me?”
In the face of such open flirtation Gil’s mouth gapes of its own accord. “I’m uh…I’m a little out of practise with the whole dating thing.”
Malcolm bats Gil’s concerns away with his right hand. “I’m not exactly Casanova either, we can figure it out together.”
“Okay Kid, I’m in.” Gil raises his tumbler in salute to their new beginning.
“Alright then. My mother is out for the afternoon, want to come back to my place? We never did finish your tour of the house.”
The half sipped drink on Gil’s tongue sprays across the table at Malcolm’s suggestion. The coughing fit borne by bourbon trapped in the wrong place is entirely involuntary, and Malcolm is so concerned he walks over to Gil’s side of the table and places a reassuring hand on his back. Gil gazes up at Malcolm and the fear is back behind his eyes, most likely assuming that he’s asked too much of Gil.
When he regains his ability to speak his voice is rougher than usual, but it evens out towards the end.
“You don’t do things by halves, do you? As much as I appreciate the offer, there’s no chance of me stepping foot in your house right now. It’s too soon. My place is a ten minute walk from here, if you’re interested I can show you around my neighborhood.”
The relief on Malcolm’s face is palpable. “I would love that.”
Staring at a smile so radiant Gil’s hand is moving before he knows what is happening. It cups Malcolm’s cheek and guides him down gently for a soft, tender kiss. Malcolm falls into Gil willingly, and just like before electricity sparks through his body when they touch. When they break apart it’s with a groan and a sigh, but clearly wanting more.
“You really are something, Malcolm Whitly.”
“As are you, Gil Arroyo. Now I believe you have a residence to show me?”
“I wouldn’t be calling it a residence, it’s got nothin’ on your house.”
“I’ll call it whatever I want. Come on, Gil. I want to know everything about you.”
Malcolm slips his hand into Gil’s and drags him to his feet, heading towards the street. Gil’s head twists back and forth between their table and the door.
“Hang on, what about the bill?”
“My family has an account here, I added it to our tab when I arrived.”
“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”
“Not always, but when it comes you, absolutely.”
They leave the restaurant together fingers intertwined and smiles on their faces. Walking down the street with Malcolm beside him is more than Gil could have ever hoped for. The streets aren’t as grim as they were this morning and his heart feels lighter. Today is a fresh start for both of them, and they damn well deserve it.