Archive of Our Own

Malcolm isn’t actually sure how exactly a police consultant’s schedule works. He comes when Gil calls or comes gets him when a murder happens, so when a murder doesn’t happen, he’s left pretty dry on ideas of what exactly he does and when he does it. 

Deciding to come in unannounced, Malcolm is nearly run over by a woman and child as they rush past him out the door. The receptionist calls out a goodbye to the woman, although it sounds forced and annoyed, and he then gives up from what Malcolm assumes was an attempt halting. He greets Malcolm when he comes up to him and as Malcolm displays his ID from his billfold, the receptionist just shakes his head at him. He doesn’t get a chance to question when the man shrugs and sits up in his chair to lean over and brushes some stray snow from Malcolm’s coat. Malcolm stiffens at the breach of space, yet doesn’t make a move to stop him. White flurries sprinkle into little piles around his shoes. They melt in seconds. 

“Mr.Bright,” the receptionist says and he signs him in, “Lieutenant Arroyo needs to provide a badge to you one of these days. I already have your address memorized entering it so much.”

“He can’t afford to give me too much power.”

“You’d move in.”

“I keep a spare pillow in his office.”

“Do you now? No blanket?”

“He keeps his own.”

“He does, does he? That man. One in a million. Shame for the ladies here. No one can compete with Mrs. Whitly. That woman . Since you both started coming here, Arroyo can’t catch a break.” The receptionist prints out the sticker with his name, date of visit, and a black and white photo of his picture. Malcolm puts it on the billfold, people know who he is here.

“He doesn’t mind. If he had a problem with my mother, he’d make more of an effort to keep her out.”

“His own fault.” The receptionist tips his hat to him as Malcolm pockets his wallet. 

Not really. It isn’t. He wants to add more though, but the desk phone is ringing again, and it’s picked up on the first ring. An angry woman’s voice is coming through the line. It’s loud enough that Malcolm can hear her. He thinks it’s the one that just left here, the one with the child. Explanations are being given, but they’re ignored, and the screeching from the landline drowns out the desk clerk’s apologies. Without a word more, Malcolm silently excuses himself, passes the desk and heads into the precinct.

“Happy Holidays then, Mr.Bright. Good day.” The receptionist chimes, looking away from the phone for a second. Just as fast, he goes back to trying to calm the caller- as if he never said goodbye.

❅❅❅

Some questions later he finds out that Gil is stuck in a morning meeting, which explains why the lieutenant missed his earlier calls. When Dani approaches him as he waits pathetically outside the door, his mouth drops at what she is wearing. 

“How many sang to you on sight?” Malcolm takes in the fuzzy green jacket Dani is wearing. It had tufts of green in a lighter shade. The collar is purple. A knockoff. She got this cheap, last minute, it hurts her to wear it, so unlike her favorite jackets, but she chooses to wear it, and wears it with purpose. Why?

Dani is carrying a pile of paperwork that reaches the top of her breasts. “Seven. You watch it with your family growing up too whenever there isn't all drama?”

“I actually have not seen it myself yet. Gil enjoys the flick. And from what I’ve gathered, it is Edrisa’s favorite.”

“Yep, still creepy, but you just lace every word with charm, it’s fucking baffling.” Dani tucks a stray curl behind her ear  She’s done herself up today. Malcolm can see she’s wearing earrings, little studs with gold plating on the metal. 

He rolls back and forth on the balls of his feet as he explains to her more of how his mother after his father’s arrest sent him to Gil’s about every holiday season. Gil talked of seeing the famed film himself from time to time, but Jackie won over Gil when it came to decision making, and always was the one to pick the movie, and it was always, always one of the Rankin/Bass stop motions.

They stopped watching them after some years. 

“Those things are terrifying to me,” she tells Malcolm and he laughs, “They are! They just were so uncanny. And the mouths .” 

Dani morphs her mouth into a straight line and, mockingly like the film, opens it wide and shuts it, her teeth clacking together. Which only allowed laughs to escape him again. He keeps them quiet. Gil doesn’t exactly know he’s here. Not unless Gil checks the login system and to quote Dani, the receptionist isn’t a snitch.

His friend readjusts the stack of files and folders filled with papers so as to not let them topple as she steps away from him. With how she looks around subtly with her eyes, Malcolm is sure she is busy and looking for a chance to excuse herself without coming off as too mean to him. That, or she is looking for someone. Not Gil, because she either would either wait with him, or more in-character barge in and not even bother to knock. He wonders about the stack of papers she’s holding. They’re old case files maybe. No, they didn’t have those useless yellow tabs, so maybe just some other kind of paper work, something not murder related. Which means he can’t help her with them unless he outright offers as part of his job as a police consultant. 

And Malcolm is confident that out of everyone in the list he’s compiled in his head, he himself is not who Dani is looking for. Pity. He’ll give them both an out.

He clasps his hands, rubbing his palms together. “Well, looks like we’re both not going to be able to catch Gil. That ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign is quite imposing.”

“Not worth the hot water, no. Welp, I can show these to him later,” Dani talks quickly and walks at a pace to match it some ways down the hallway leading into the bullpen when she turns on her heel to face him fully.

“JT dropped you off a thing by the way. Yellow bow. It’s in the staff break room.”

“And you’re telling me because...?”

“Because I’m such a nice person!” Dani winks at him. “Merry Christmas, Bright.”

She pats her collection of folders and after she does so two times she sends him a thumbs up. Malcolm returns it halfheartedly and waves her off. 

❅❅❅

The break room is decorated. There is a plastic tablecloth that is super shiny and reflective. It is the color of puke green. Scattered across it, there are abandoned winter-themed paper plates with food and cake, or the remaining crumbs of either, and red cups filled with soda. Papier-mâché trees looking to have been created at the last minute are unevenly lined up down the middle of the table, an extra three or four have been positioned on top of the fridge. On only one wall, the one to his left, opposite of the fridges, there is an array of string lights in tangles, held up by tape and hope. They weren’t even lit. The plug is visible. A pack of tinsel still sealed is on the counter with the staff toaster and microwave. 

He corrects his original observation. 

No attempt or effort has been put into this decorating. Malcolm can’t complain because Mother had staff do most of the work and maybe being paid to do so invokes drive. 

He remembers the Arroyos would take forever until the last minute where they then go all out, and it’s beautiful for a day before they take it all down, and tell themselves, next year. 

The potluck has not been cleaned up yet. There are pastry boxes with leftover, unfrosted baked goods that were ignored because they didn’t look appetizing, they look dry and hardened after being left out overnight. There is a tray that Malcolm is sure was used to hold the ‘Christmas turkey’, with nothing more than a carcass of bones with very little meat still sticking to it now. He sees a stray fly buzzing around it. Tablescapes were everywhere. Napkins were left discarded and used, on the table or the floor, or even the chairs. Malcolm sees that there are two trash bins filled to the brim with paper plates, red cups, and other garbage.

Cleaning staff of the precinct must be putting off dealing with this mess and not clearing it for the incoming day shift. Malcolm shoves down the bubbling disgust that is building in his gut and growing on his face.

It’s a drastic difference from his clean and clear countertops, and he is tempted to go at it all himself if the room had not been occupied when he came in.

Two officers are sitting at the end of the table, across from each other on the other side of the room, conversing with one another privately. There is one with a black beard with a ruby nose from the cold and a young, dark-skinned man with curly brown hair. Both are in uniform, the younger of the two wearing a black coat that looked too big on him. He is in training, Malcolm observes, the older officer is his teacher. 

It is clear they were hitting it off, it might have only been a day since they started working together. It could be their ‘day one’. The boy looked so young, just out of the academy. The way his eyes seemed so bright compared to the wise but tired eyes of Malcolm’s own mentor. 

Vaguely, it reminds Malcolm of when he would sit with Gil in his office, huddled in one of the chairs in there, curled in Gil’s coat, and listening in on Gil’s consults, callbacks, and interviews. He would ask questions and prod Gil for information on his job, feeding Malcolm’s own inspiration to throw himself into the world of crime and join with Gil. Later on, when he learned just who and what the FBI and and then the BAU, and just what the heck agents really were when he started to change his goals. When he applied, Gil did nothing to pull him back. And Jackie? Stuff happens. 

He still found his way back here. In the end. Really, he was thrown back here, but that’s a matter of perspective. 

The two both burst into laughter, the trainee slapping his hands on the table. He is howling, outright in tears at a joke that Malcolm guesses he missed the beginning of when he arrived. The mentor of the young cop-in-training is looking proud of himself, at making this apprentice of his laugh. 

Malcolm passes them, acting like he isn’t paying at all any attention to their exchange. They don’t give him any either and he is fine with that. He scans the table, Dani said look for the bow. Maybe JT took them before placing it? He swats away a fly when it flies too close to him. 

There, in the center of the table is a glass jar and the yellow bow that was described to him is neatly placed on top of the jar’s gold lid. He thought it to be a decoration at first! It overall looks rather cheap. He picks it up, weighing the thing in his hands and feeling the texture of it in his hand, he can tell that it’s actually made of plastic. Oh, it is cheap. 

He can’t see the inside because of wrapping paper covering the whole thing. A pretty baby blue with white snowflakes. 

He twists off the lid, or tries to. It’s a struggle because it's apparently been screwed on really tight. The gold paint starts to chip already, burrowing under his fingernails. It’s a struggle: a really embarrassing one. The cops are starting to stare. One even begins to even begin to try and to lend him some assistance. Malcolm cuts him off, he interrupted the cop, younger than him for sure, before they even finished, and they put down their offering hand. Malcolm bites his lip as his ears start burning. The cop steps away to sit down again, and starts talking to his partner in a low whisper.

They were whispering about him now, they had to be. They were! Goddammit, did his team glue this?! 

Loosening his scarf, he unbuttons his pea coat, then his vest, and he tucks the jar under his dress shirt. Then wrapping his clothing around the lid, he twists from the outside of his shirt and it pops off immediately to the floor. He gasps, kicking out his foot to try and stop it from spinning away. He fails, because of course. Fuck.

The jar is put down and goes to his knees to grab it, crawling under the table. He sees it, there, in the middle, probably directly under from where the jar was originally centered. The door to the break room opens just as his fingers finally hook into the rim, and he gasps again, louder, when something-foot, it’s a foot- kicks him in the leg. He shoots up, his head hitting the underside on the table, and then hits it again as he backs out, going to his knees to see white slip ons with little pink flower patches scattered on top. The feet back up in surprise, and he hears Edrisa let out a squeal. She puts down whatever she is holding onto the table.

“Malcolm!” She sounds as startled as she looks, her christmassy red lip open in a perfect circle, clearly shocked at his current position. Then it morphs in a gleeful looking smirk, the mirth growing quickly on her face making Malcolm’s ears ignite again, with embarrassment and something else, he wasn’t sure- he wasn’t sure with what. He didn’t like it, he knew that. He ducks his head away before he could stop it. Her shoes’ flowers even had their own little green leaves and vines. Is that a honeybee? It’s so tiny.

“Bright,” She says. “Why, hello down there. She giggles. She not-so-subtly fixes her hair, it looks like it is also done up. It is. The hair tips are flipped some, she had been letting it grow out since the middle of November, and now she is making use of that length and making an effort to wear and dress to match the season. She’s wearing hunter green scrubs instead of her everyday teal. Her nails don’t seem to be painted- because she didn’t for her to comply with the restrictions of her work, but there is a ring there. Red. She’s attempting to make up for it. And it’s easy to remove any emergency.

Edrisa repeats her flirtatious greeting, sounding more nervous and like her usual flustered self. “I’m fine. More than so,” he says, shaking the jar at her, though little sound can be heard coming from it. “Lookie. Christmas gift.” 

“No! You can’t open that yet!” Edrisa snatches the jar and plucks the lid out of his loose grip before he answers her, twisting the lid back on so fast he hears it click close. Malcolm feels like he was kicked again, this time in his stomach; in his heart; and maybe even in his pride. “Why?” he asks loudly. He winces upon remembering there are other people in here. 

“Because we’re at work,’ she answers cheerfully.

The Edrisa back in November would never do this to him. They do all the things at work that they weren't supposed to do. They’re friends .

He takes back the jar, Edrisa letting him, and it’s back to the same state as it was when he first saw it, with the damn lid. The present almost falls as a whole, It’s so light. He shakes it, it sounds hollow, mostly. Something is in there. Is it filled with confetti? He brings it close to his face and peers into the space of see-through left exposed between the patterned paper and label. White paper. The jar was filled with paper?

“What is this?”

“Now that I can’t tell you,” She chirps. “We can’t say anything.”

“So, it’s not just you,” he concludes. Her involvement, JT, and possibly Dani. Gil too? Too bad, meeting said no.

“Oh, I wish this was just me,” Edrisa sighs, her eyes wide behind her glasses and suddenly interlocking her fingers, her index fiddling with the red ring. “I liked doing this a lot. I mean, I only got the jar. They needed it though and I wanted to help. But the planning was fun.”

“It’s terrible. The jar, I mean.”

“Well, it was meant to keep you out, you know. Prolong you enough so that you can’t open it until a convenient time. Or you’ll risk embarrassing yourself.” Malcolm adds a silent ‘further’ at the end of her statement. She huffs, “I think at that time I didn’t consider who I had been buying it for.”

“You picked good.”

“I told the cashier to give me the oldest one they had.” She grinned. “He gave me the tip jar. Sanitized it first, of course.”

“Of course.” The jar feels a lot heavier hearing that extra information.

“I hope the wrapping job is okay because-” She starts off as she picks up something from the table, something shaped like a block and wrapped with the same patterned wrapping paper. The same size as the jar. She passed it from one hand to the other, it sounds solid, whole. It had quite some weight to it. It might be a book. She tosses the present into the air, making a show for him by making sure it spun some before catching it. He brings himself to smile warmly at her shenanigans. 

“Ta-da!” She cheers and then proceeds to tear the pretty paper off herself. Malcolm wants to go with the conclusion that it is because to her his hands seem full, but it is in actuality the excitement taking hold of her. He didn’t exactly mind. Some. A little. 

His smile drops only slighting as she lets the paper fall to the floor. Opening the present is one of the best parts of any occasion that involves presents. Edrisa holds out to reveal- oh, it was a book.

Grey’s Anatomy by Henry Gray. A Barnes and Noble edition with inky black binding and a realistic heart etched into the cover. It was the full size of Edrisa’s head. The price tag was still on it, it seems to be impossible to have taken it off without ripping the sealing. It’s been crossed out with a permanent marker in a ruby red like Edrisa’s lipstick. The famous textbook is supposed to come off as gross to other people- most people. But to her, and to her he guesses, hopefully him, it’s meant to be seen as fascinating and complex. Which, it is. His father had a copy he kept on his work desk and when Malcolm had been younger they would line up the pictures of Carter’s and his father’s, trying to see who put the pencil to paper more accurately.

“Who did it better? Me or our second Henry?” Martin chuckled, and smiled down at his boy, who laughed at his father’s mocking dramatics, Martin holding open a page splayed from the top to bottom with a detailed drawing of an inner viewing of a leg. His son was looking through Martin’s sketchbook, one of many, trying to flip to a picture that can be compared to the published piece. 

Clad in winter pajamas, his favorite worn blue robe, and a cooled cup of cocoa resting on his knee, Malcolm scoured through Martin’s second sketchbook because he was so sure his dear old dad had documented them specifically before. Martin made sure to appear patient in front of his son, who wore such excited determination on his face. The way his lip curled into a wide, happy grin, pleased his boy would pause and stop to look at some of the sketches, his face in awe. He was patient with his boy, he even offered to show him some others, ones drawn with… creative license. Ones that he hid from mother dearest- dearest boy, can you keep a secret? 

Malcolm shoves the memory away, far away into the back of his head filled with boxes and cars. 

“You... show an interest in the bodies. And you’re so… sophisticated .” She giggles, “I asked Gil what you like to do and he listed a few things. But I thought- y’know…”

She trails off, but she’s beaming at him, looking so pleased and clever with herself. 

“You thought of this?” He presses her on, tries to allow her to continue. He tries to sound warm. He (does feel warm. He tries to be happy- he is, he’s grateful- that she did this for him. She’s paying attention. She dresses for the part. She likes the influence. 

“Yeah, when I found out we were doing this, I wanted to get in my gift at the same time.” Her saying this makes it click for Malcolm. 

She wants the attention, she seeks it from others, specifically from the team, especially from him. “A medical textbook though?” 

Edrisa frowns slightly. “You don’t like it?”

“No, I do, I-”

Knocking interrupts Malcolm from causing any offense and JT is leaning in through the doorway, hanging on the wall and the door’s frame. 

“Jaladega Thompson,” Malcolm greets him. 

“Nada.” JT shakes his head. He nods his head at Edrisa. “Doc, Gil’s wonderin’ where you at with those charts for the Bellird case.”

“Oh- ohmygosh , I’m sorry,” She looks back and forth between Malcolm and JT, “I-I lost track of time.” 

“Sorry,” She repeats, and she gives Malcolm a frown that isn’t meant to fill him with such guilt, but it does. Embarrassed shame is starting to grace her features and he sees her eyes shift downwards, to the jar, and then they squint, just the smallest bit. Oh. He takes the book from her, tucking it under the arm not currently holding the jar.

“I love it. I do. Thank you,” he tells her. “It means a lot to me.” He believes he saved them both when Edrisa beams.

“Go on, girl- he won’t know I’ve seen you out of your cave.” JT gestures to her a come hither, telling her she has to go.

“Right, OK, um-” She clasps Malcolm’s arms, giving them a light squeeze. “M-merry Christmas, Bright.” And she turns to leave before she even finishes the goodbye, before Malcolm even can say his own. The door clicks softly when it closes, and JT rolls his eyes.

“Girl is tryin’ so hard. Didn’t tell us anything.” 

“No, it’s fine.” Malcolm shakes his head, looks down between the now two gifts he has in his possession. One that confuses him and one that… well, it doesn’t upset him. But a medical textbook-

“Sorry, didn’t mean to say-”

“It’s fine,” Malcolm assures. “I’m just, not…” he trails off, trying to pull the right words to string his words together, and not tangle them too together like the hung lights, to make sense and make himself look at least somewhat put together in front of JT. 

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?” JT answers Malcolm’s question with a question. 

“I thought you had the day off? Vacation time?”

JT arches a brow at him. “Yeah. When you don’t see me here, could mean that I’m off that day, yeah.” He crosses his arms, those brows knitting together in thought. “Do you…" They go up, “...keep track of our days, man?”

“Did you know Dani has Tuesdays off because her favorite show has new episodes at noon?”

“C'mon man.”

“She watches cartoons. And that is so fascinating. What do you watch, Jeff?”

JT walks away, slowly, and Malcolm darts after him. The detective isn’t “running” away from him. He didn’t say anything, so while they didn’t give him an answer to his question, they also were not annoyed with him. 

“You planned in advance, saved up vacation time, Gil’s one of the best people to have as your superior, so you’re able to get approval as long as there is no unfortunate foul play.”

“Shame for you.” The corners of JT’s mouth tip upward. Good.

“Shame for me,” Malcolm says back.

He wants to keep the conversation going. JT is entertained. His growing reactions are entertaining. Also his name isn’t Jeff, so it’s something else. Many something else’s.

“So, was I right the first time? Christmas?” 

“Run that by me again.”

“Was I right before about it? When we did the case?”

“You mean when you got freakin’ kidnapped?”

“Yeah!”

“Refresh my memory. It’s lost to me.”

“You celebrate Christmas.”

“I just…” JT closes the door behind them, leaving the two cops to eat in peace, “I just celebrate, man. That’s what I do. Eat good kringle and watch crappy Christmas movies. Joy to the world, so joy to me.”

“Ah, I see.” 

“Do you?”

“I see all.”

“Dani calls you creepy, you know that?” JT pulls out his phone from his jeans to type something into his phone, it lasts a minute so Malcolm will call it a message. “What about you? You go caroling?”

“Do I…? What is the question?” 

“Do you celebrate? You know, the holidays. Christmas. Hanuka.” JT holds for a moment before continuing, “Kwanzza?”

JT makes jokes when he’s in a good mood so that’s good enough for Malcolm even if he doesn’t like the question. “No. I guess I don’t.”

“Just like me? Enjoy the merriment of it all instead of the celebration?”

“Just not anything, really. Not now. Did visit Gil when he and his wife would celebrate. But lately-“ Malcolm shakes his head, “-Nada.” He didn’t want to talk about that.

“FBI host any good potlucks?”

“I’m pretty sure Swanson would have given me coal given the chance.”

JT shakes his head too, but in agreement. “What about when you were a kid. How big was your tree?”

“I can’t remember. Didn’t stay long enough to see the decorations at the time. If they are the same as how mother has the butler sets them up now, then they were quite beautiful.”

“Vacation home?”

It’s not good what JT is asking him to bring up. Malcolm can stop it, however, it’s JT, and JT has this effect on him. It’s not the discomfort like Edrisa, it’s something like how Dani tries to pull clear answers for him. He wants to share and see JT’s reaction. Because that helps him learn about JT and how he feels. 

“It was my father and I spending the holiday in the forest at a cabin. He would always bring back a deer, and we would play ‘surgery’ cutting it up. Practice and all, he said.” 

Malcolm avoids looking at the detective. He keeps his hands clasped together behind his back. He’s rolling on the balls of his feet again. “We started when I was...5 and it kept going on until he was arrested. We had just gotten back from the last trip at the time. A couple weeks after.” The one with John Watkins. Malcolm’s nails dig into his palms enough that they’re pinching. 

“Shit. That all there your father did?” JT keeps his cool. “Shit.” Malcolm hears him repeat under his breath. 

“It wasn’t all bad. The lake there froze over enough to ice every year.” The sport of it all is what got him into trying ballet classes. The gracefulness of it all. It’s peace. It had been peaceful there in his memory until recent. It may have been better talk than talking about this. He didn’t know why he talked about this instead.

JT is looking the same as Dani did, wanting to leave. Maybe JT has to go find someone too. And so Malcolm will try to do that for both of them. No more talk. What else was there to say?

“I told Gil I’d met him in his office,” he blurts out, already pulling his own phone out. 

He leaves before JT stops him. The regret for wanting more rivaling the disgust of the decorations in his stomach.

❅❅❅

JT has a job as a detective, he’s meant to look for clues, to think, he highlights the open book exposed to him. Bright tries to read the whole book, take in every word he does and doesn’t need. He digs for information until he reaches the core, someone’s center, and then lets whatever he tore apart drag him to whatever answer he needs to hear. He wants to be a scholar of people, to know every little thing about how they work and feel. 

No matter the length, no matter the genre, Bright wants to read you like a damn novel, no matter how it affects him as the reader in the end. 

JT didn’t know why Bright can be so pestering. He can be so determined to learn the answer by asking millions of questions. Millions of times, too. 

“You planned in advance, saved up vacation time, Gil’s one of the best people to have as your superior, so you’re able to get approval as long as there is no unfortunate foul play.”

“Shame for you,” JT quips.

“Shame for me,” Bright echos. 

He does make it pretty fun when he’s not being a little creep and being more of a cocky brat. Seeing Bright get caught up in his own little game is entertaining.

“So, was I right the first time? Christmas?” 

Seeing him get lost in it all suddenly-

❅❅❅

Dani closes the file and adds it to the pile between them. She’s chewing on the pen’s top enough to leave marks and seems too engrossed in her work that it bugs JT. Dani works every day JT works and then some apparently. Was she taking the holidays too? Did his partner ever take a day for herself? He knew she was on the longest leave after… the incident. Which they did not talk about.

He found her after Bright, following the man into the bullpen and avoiding crowed. He saw her at her desk and sat down at his own. She didn’t look up from her paperwork, she nodded at him though after giving her a chance to find a stopping point. That’s enough of a greeting and that’s fine. He has questions. So, he starts with the most important one.

“You like cartoons, girl?”

“The character's stupidity makes me laugh. Also Raven is a mood,” she answers him. “Malcolm tell you?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t tell Gil. He thinks I’m doing something responsible like grocery shopping or something.”

“Once a week?”

“He doesn’t know how girls work sometimes.”

“Mysterious creatures.”

“We are.” He sees her smirk forming as she removes the pen from her mouth as well as the cap and signs a random document and passes it to somewhere else on her desk. 

The door to Gil’s office is closed. Bright went in there around 15 mins ago and pulled the blinds. The whole blinds ordeal wasn't a thing with Gil until Bright put in their team. It can mean nothing but bad news.

He moves on to his next question, taking his focus on it to let his head breath, “Are you working this week though?”

“All five days.” 

“Overtime?”

“Something like that. Money be good though.”

“It’s good pay.”

“Yeah. Good pay.”

“Edrisa’s also working all of it. She had some call-ins.”

Dani takes what feels like minutes to answer him. “Is she?”

“Yeah.” He nods to her. She left herself opened and she’s exposed. Her own hesitation sings the answer like carols. “Ah, fuck. I see what’s happening here.”

“No. No, JT, you fuck. No!” She points the pen’s tip at him, she presses it into shoulder. “Not a word. You don’t say a word.”

“Hey, hey! We cool! We cool!” JT holds up both arms playful, flashing Dani a curled smile. “You’re telling me all I didn’t even need to know.” He lowered them back down as he went on. “I just wanted to know if you were strapped for cash. The shopping rush and all.”

“It’s dreadful, isn’t it? Half of what I’m looking at is shoplifting. Come the hell on.” She sighs and rests her forehead on the top of her hand, letting the other holding the pen fall to the table. “I miss murder.”

JT mock-gasps, “ No, really ?”

“Shut up. It’s just nice. I find it nice when we all sorta’ just come up with ideas on the case and figuring things out. Solving crime and all. Watching Malcolm attempt to explain to us why the murderer preferred using spoons in their attacks.”

“Where our boy is not being like an idiot and more so acting like one?”

“You know I like cartoons.” She smirks. “And he is quite animated.” 

Dani sways slightly and  looks over his shoulder, and JT turns around and  follows her gaze to see Gil charging through the bullpen at a breakneck pace. He moves strongly in stride with heavy steps loud and prominent enough that people move out of his way to pass through instead of the lieutenant having to find his way through. If Gil sees JT at work on a day off, he doesn’t say. His boss opens the door to his office, Bright’s name leaving his lips cut off as the door shuts, sealing whatever was happening in that room off from the rest of the bullpen’s residents.

Ignore it. Boss is the best with Bright. If anything set him off, Gil can calm it down. When Bright isn’t in any reach of electrics that is. Damn, that man-

“So, any holiday plans after the shifts?” JT tries.

“I think it’s when she started paying attention to Malcolm. After the first case?”

“Did I ask?” 

She acts like she can’t hear him, “I mean. It’s not like he’s going for it. Or until she figures out how he really ticks and finds out she really just-“ She leans in close and her eyes are gleaming “ -tocks .”

“ Girl .”

“She has a little flag pin on her ‘Super-Murder’ lab coat, I have a chance,” she pinches her fingers together so close they are touching, “a small chance, but a chance.”

“Well, I’ll hope that there’s a Christmas miracle for you.”

“We’re a lucky team. We can get lucky. I believe in us.”

“Be saving Malcolm. He is not a fan of that kind of approach.”

“Mmhm,” she hums. 

“You know, I sent Tanaka down to her lab before she could have a complete moment with her guy. She may be needing a shoulder to cry on with how mean I was to her.” 

She shuts the folder she’s working on, placing the pen in between to mark her spot. “You’re not mean, JT. You’re blunt. That’s what Malcolm likes, when people are straight with him- which is hilarious considering…”

Dani whistles a tune he didn’t recognize, that may have been from one of her little “cartoons”. As the song sings between her teeth, she throws the paperwork into the trash barrel under her desk. All of it: the binders, folders, papers. She even decides throws a little cup of gel pens. She picks up the basket with one hand as she stands.

”You sent my girl to the morgue? Dead body?”

”Just paperwork. Ain’t no one chilling down there right now. Just her.”

JT shakes his head watching Dani walk fast, a blur of green and brown curls. She’s not quite running, but she’s going quick enough that the waste basket bounces against the side of her leg as she goes.

It’s about another 5 minutes until Gil’s door opens and Bright steps out. Gil does not. He’s missing his scarf, wearing only his vest and open coat.

He looks twice as tired from when he saw him. The rims under his eyes are red from JT’s distance. The gel on his hair is starting to lose its hold, disheveling his hair. It grows fast, considering the length it was when they first met in the elevator. 

The conversation with Bright from before resurfaces in his head. ‘It was my father and I spending the holiday in the forest at a cabin. He would always bring back a deer, and we would play ‘surgery’ cutting it up. Practice and all, he said.’ 

JT grimaces, practice, yeah, but for something else entirely that Bright didn't, could not possibly understand, to be coming until it had been too late. 

His chest hurts.

“Hey Jalapeño Terrence.” Malcolm’s tongue stutters and fails him, and the attempt sounds like babble, he doesn’t seem to care. “ What’s this?” The profiler holds out the jar, the idea that gave him shit and giggles for a week before he caved into making it reality. 

“Not even close. What’s it look like?”

“It looks like a jar of trash.”

“Did you open it?”

“No.”

“Good, then it’ll continue to look at it like it’s a jar of trash until you open it come Christmas morning.”

“It’s a gift.”

“That it appears to be, I'll give you that 

“For me? From you?”

“From me, to you, yes. Had some help from the girls. Edrisa’s freaky choice in jars and Dani’s never ending pestering.”

“Was it also Dani’s idea?”

Bright questions him. For one moment, he looks at her abandoned desk. JT sees the man’s profile as he turns, he can see the bottom of his lip quiver. The way the whole man shakes when a thought is coursing through him, it’s weird.

“She came up with some of the things in there, yes.”

“Like what?”

“Christmas morning.”

“That’s going to be... forever to me.”

“It’s tomorrow, man. The hell it won’t.” Dramatic ass . 

Malcolm licks his lips, he blinks. JT can see the gears turning in the man’s head. The lightbulb begins to flicker to life. The hamsters spin round and round their wheels. It’s like he’s going through the five stages and trying to find a loophole.  Now this- this feels like forever until Bright speaks. 

“Tradition has taught me that you’re allowed to open one present the day before.” As he explains, he’s removing the bow and opening the jar without even looking, eyes still locked on JT. 

“It’s the night before.”

“It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

“I mean, if you wait till it’s late, then it counts.” 

“Great.” Malcolm licks his lips and JT can hear the man’s fists. The way his shoes tap one, two times on the floor. “Hey I left my scarf in Gil’s office. Drop it off at my apartment after work?”

“Man, you know I’m not working. Get it yourself.”

“Oh, no way am I stepping in there again. Not seeing him till tomorrow.” He buttons his coat, smoothing any bunches and making it look top dollar again. JT wants to ask why, opens his mouth to ask why. Bright makes his exit and he is left hanging. Again. 

JT may as well go in and get the garment, Gil’s not gonna mind. His boss’s blinds are still down though, and that is a clue for JT that maybe Gil would mind a bit at interruption. He wonders what went down between them. 

Seeing the spring in the profiler’s step as he left JT, instead of watching Bright flee in a hurried retreat was a much more calming sight, and is enough reassurance that things were okay. 

❅❅❅

The first thing JT notices is the lights coming from the giant window. 

They were multicolored: a mix of reds, greens, and golds. JT can hear the faint melodies of Michael Bublé from up the stairs. 

He has the spare key Bright gave him the day after they first met. He didn’t understand it then. When he found out the rest of their team got one of their own, he understood a little better. He’s given a new one whenever the locks are changed, and that then does he understand completely.

After his mother, and after John, Bright has every reason for establishing his own safety.

He has a right to what he wears too. Even if it’s leaving JT gobsmacked. Bright greets him at the top of the stair wearing a matching pajama set with snowflakes the color of lemon, with a bathrobe to match that goes down to his knees. He even has matching slippers. He’s showered, his hair not made up in his go to style, but definitely neater than before. Did he shave? The man has shaved. He’s holding a martini glass with a strawberry flavored something within it. 

This is the richest he’s ever seen the guy and he wears hundred-thousand dollar suits. 

JT ascends the stairs and he asks if the two of them were okay now. He hands over the scarf. He didn’t bother to fold it because stupidly enough, it is shaped like a triangle. He isn’t touching that. He has an allergy to extravagance. Bright didn’t seem to mind. 

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Bright questions as he folds the scarf in some complicated way that JT loses track of easy. 

“I brought up some bad memories, one bad enough that my boss had to step in? That’s not cool of me.”

Bright sips from his glass before speaking, “Gil was cool. He was actually really good. I camped in his office till he texted back and then he came to me. We talked. He was happy we could. I’ve been...always keeping things from him. I still do but, I think he just wants to have something.”

“So, you talked.” 

“We did. You got his wish granted. It was really sappy, Would’ve gotten a kick out of watching us. And I learned fuck all about your little jar by the way. Gil? He knew nothing.”

JT cackles, laughter spills out from him and he doesn't stop it. It’s another thing for Bright to use. It’s excellent reading material and they both know it. He sees the way Bright’s eyes lock on to him. It’s like a lens finding focus and snapping a clearer picture, and Bright joins him then, sniggering, and tucking away the picture for further study. Weirdo. 

“I waited all day. I stopped at the nearest store that had the color red in the windows. I even bought a tree!” Bright points behind him and there is a tree, about 10 feet. It’s silver colored with multi-colored lights thrown onto it. Not bad for his first time buy. There’s presents under it, makes sense. There is the ripped-open packaging for the simple ornaments that are currently hung on said tree. 

“I even picked up milk. There is so much milk now, JT.”

“You got pajamas.” JT stands on the edge of Malcolm’s established personal space. “Are they women’s?”

“It’s what fit me well. I like them loose, but it’s about the aesthetic, yes?”

“Looks good. Trying to match?” JT nods his head in the direction of the kitchen counter, where he sees the jar that’s been doing it’s job just fine . There is an array of glasses also. 

“I’m glad you’re catching my drift fast. Can I?”

“No.”

“It’s six,” Bright whines, he looks pitiful, makes himself look pitiful as he glances down at his phone, “6:30. I waited an extra hour. And a half.”

“Did I say at all the time it needs to be for it to qualify as a freebie.”

“Please?” It comes out a whisper, a breathy plea so unlike him unless the man’s in one of his “moods”. 

His blue eyes are boring into him again and JT softens at the insistence, lets his own shoulders sag and removes his coat, tossing it on Bright’s couch. It slides off and falls over the side, out of sight. Whatever, he is told he is getting a new coat this year.  “Whatever,” JT says, “not like I can stop this.”

Cheer spreads up to Bright’s ears and all his teeth flashes at JT. His dimples are on full display, cheeks colored rosy by being granted permission at last, or  maybe it’s the alcohol. How much did he drink? JT does not have a damn clue, but he did spy three shot glasses coming in, and Bright is dancing around in circles in front of him holding a martini glass. Funny, JT didn’t take him for a cocktail kind of guy. Bright whoops in joy. Combining the robe, the slippers, the snow-flake pajamas, the image of a kid on christmas morning being told it came early. In a way, it does look like it.

Minus the martini glass. Even with that rich boy life, JT is sure that with how overbearing Mrs. Whitly and the lack of the murderous father to turn a helpful blind eye, Bright didn’t grow up that way. Gil had been there though, JT pauses, is Gil cool with that kind of thing? The boss has no offspring himself, Jackie didn’t have any children before she passed. Guy keeps brandy in his office despite higher up’s major no-no. Gil didn’t give no fucks. Can he spare lack-there-any for adolescent drinking?

All fucks were toward making sure his kid was mentally sound, screw his liver. 

“Excellent!” Then Bright without warning hooks his arm into JT’s, interlocking them. “Come! Let's drink and be merry!” JT is dragged along with him, Bright and then himself laughing as they tripped over each other's feet. “Have I ever told you guys I can dance?”

“I assume you rich folk get lessons as soon as you leave the womb.”

“Wanna?”

Rolling his eyes and removing himself from Bright, JT leans cooley against the countertop. He coughs into his hand, also cooley. “What?”

“Wanna dance?”

“Want to ask me later when you’re not drunk?”

Bright rests his chin on the lid, his wild grin that was stretched wide and happy went into a thin line. He’s still smiling at him though. His lips pink and wet, presumably from his drink. He is gazing calmly at JT. “That wasn’t a no…?”

“I can actually swing pretty good, man.” JT scratches the back of his head at an itch that isn’t there. “There’s a bar on the right in Times Square that's a secret spot for the men who…” JT stops because Bright maybe hasn’t blinked since he gave the profiler his answer. “Dude?”

“Hm?”

“You okay?”

“You want to take me dancing…” Bright’s teeth bite at his bottom lip. He drums his fingers against the jar and sighs. 

JT shrugs. “I mean, you want me to take you dancing. That’s what I’m taking from this. Can be a gift from me to you.”

“And this?” Bright taps the top of the lid, and tucks his finger into the ribbon and pulls. It comes off with no effort. JT plucks the bow from Bright’s hand.

“Second gift. No rule on just one.” JT sticks the bow to his head, he felt silly but Bright let out a delighted laugh. “If it makes you happy, man.” Bright twists off the lid and sticks his hand inside, digging through it. JT sees some of his and Dani’s hard work spill from the jar.  He frowns. “I feel the appreciation. You're gonna pay for it. The gift is me. Not dinner.”

“That’s fine.” Bright sounds concentrated, he pulls a fistful of paper, thankfully not crushing it-although the more he messes with the thing, the funnier it’s gonna be to JT and he makes a small pile. He does so until JT can see the pads of Bright’s fingers press against the bottom of the jar, which Bright has brought close to his face now. He’s squinting. “There’s nothing in here.”

JT gasps, “ No, really ?”

Bright tips the jar over and shakes it, patting the bottom of it so that the scraps of paper can all escape. Some even go to the wood-tile floor. That was it, that’s all that’s in the jar, Bright sees that now. It’s amazing, seeing him baffled and stumped over this when he is just fine over a dead body. 

If Bright has anything to say, he’s holding it back, his knitted brows and tight jar telling all. He experimentally lifts one of the paper, seeing the fold in it now, there it is. He unfold it and reads,

“Joseph,” Bright looks at JT, “Joseph?”

“Joseph.”

Malcolm, still keeping his eyes on JT, haphazardly picks up another and only reads it when it’s opened.

“John.” Not the best name for Bright to pull from the pot. But it doesn’t seem to even faze him. Bright beams at JT, asking him one of his many, many questions again, but this one is silent, and this one JT has prepared the perfect answer for. He’s rehearsed it. 

He and Dani for two days came up with pages of names. She put off some paperwork that’s expected tomorrow to type up what they both could gather. To which JT snipped them into individual pieces. Edrisa wrapped it at the same time. He dropped it off in time before to make Bright’s freaky check-in schedule. 

Bright’s about to put words in the air when JT says the next planned line. 

“One of them. Just one. No hints. Dani came up with about half the names in there.”

“Are you gonna say if I’m right or not?”

“No. That’s up to you to tell if I’m lying. Use those skills of yours that you won’t stop flaunting.”

Bright pulls away his hands from the mess he made, as if the little papers were burning steel. His hands were shaking and his mouth was wide open in shock. It opened and closed once or twice, deciding what to say. It reminds JT of some series of movies, with creepy mouths on the characters faces or even chins. 

Bright pulls at his own hair, his wild eyes sparking and glowing in the room’s many lights. “I love you, JT. Oh my god.” 

He has a whole script. “I know. So how long is it gonna take you- do I have until next year? That’s in a couple of days so it’s enough to pack my things-

JT stumbles when Bright crashes into him. Bright’s starting to sob, his cries muffled by JT’s hoodie. His hands are gripping the fabric of it hard, pulling at it, giving the shaky things something to do. 

“I- you put so much thought into this.” There’s a hiccup, or two that comes out of him. A gasp when air didn’t enter him right, and Bright coughs out more praise, more thank-yous.

“It’s just, I stopped when my family stopped, you know?” JT knows he doesn’t mean Martin, there was never any holiday. It was them taking a holiday. The way he said it, family, that is the highlight. 

He said Gil came for him. Gil came for him . That’s what Bright said. Gil came back . Gil left because someone else did too. Someone who made the decisions. 

What was talked about in Gil’s office didn’t seem all that private now to JT, the reaction to tell-tale jar told it all. Bright talked about the jar instead. Bright didn’t talk about the talk.

Fuck all.

“And you decided to- to do this .”

“I did, yeah.”

“Why?”

“I mean, you just said, yeah? We, all of us, we’re some kind of family, aren't we?” Bright’s wet cheek is pressed against JT’s, and it turns out Bright has some muscle on him despite his stature and JT is crushed in a hug. JT chooses to be a man and swallow the pride to save his own tongue. 

“C’mon, you’re okay. We’re- we’re okay, Bright.” JT tries to soothe him, takes a hold of his shoulders gently, trying to reposition them. The robe is soft under his touch. JT stands there for three minutes, counting the seconds in his head. When he feels Bright’s shoulders stop shaking, he slides the robe off him. He balls it up, stuffs it in Bright’s face and now it’s muffled laughter coming from Bright’s mouth. “You ruining my good clothes. Use these ones instead.”

“I’ll buy you a new coat,” Bright moans, barely audible with the robe half in his mouth. “What color?”

❅❅❅

Malcolm uses the robe to dry his face, and then the sink water to wash it. It’s a good cry for once. That’s what he says, and JT believes himself. They decided on cocoa, at Malcolm’s request for hospitality as JT’s second gift. 

‘If you are getting a new coat, then that’s only one. Let me make us both a cup, and enjoy the rest of the evening.’ 

“Do they have the Grinch on Netflix?” Bright asks as he fills the pot he’s put in the sink. 

“Don’t know. We have to scroll to see. If we don’t find it, then we pick from like the hundreds of films about finding the Christmas spirit.”

“Ainsley has been telling me about these films that star this...actress she liked when we were teens.” Bright flicks the burner on to start the water. “Valery Hungeons?”

“Vanessa Hudgens. And no, we can’t watch those. Too corny.” JT’s attempt to sway Bright is going to be ignored clearly as Bright just hums while pouring some milk into the heating water. 

“We should watch them. Ains told me she watched both in a night- oh yeah, one of them has a knight.” Chocolate powder is added in early, per JT’s pressing advice and Bright has his back turned to him as he focuses on the milk to watch for simmers. “That sounds fun.”

“Good on paper, but execution.” “It’s laughable.”

“She said something similar.” Bright’s head tips forward in a nod. “So you’ve seen it?” 

“I’m a curious guy, Bright.”

“Good, you can warn me when the scary parts are going to happen.”

JT doesn’t complain when he tastes that the milk is skim, and Bright doesn’t mention when JT is taking spaced out sips despite them both dropping an equal amount of ice cubes to cool. Bright choosing to do that makes sense because JT is sure this is the first time in years the guy drank dairy. And he’s super sure Bright has checked JT’s discard paper cups to sniff and lick them to find out he likes the chocolate drink. Because he’s a fucking weirdo. 

❅❅❅

Brooke just decked Sir Cole with her car and Bright’s already nodding off. JT tries to recall the last update Bright gave the team on his distatours sleep schedule. The only thing he’s pulling up is two days ago when said it’s been 48 hours with a two hour nap in between it all. So, maybe nothing since then. 

He can’t exactly leave, not after what he’s heard from Gil and Dani, what he’s seen on day with Bright. The guy has night terrors or some shit. He knows about them, used to have them himself, but not at the impossible level Bright is stuck with. The way Dani described it to him at lunch one day, how she had to hit him right in the jaw to snap him out of it. It’s not just some shit, JT corrects himself, it’s unreal, and unfair shit. 

‘’It was my father and I spending the holiday in the forest at a cabin. He would always bring back a deer, and we would play ‘surgery’ cutting it up. Practice and all, he said.’ 

JT scoffs. 

He thinks it is going to be a task of itself to get Bright off him, but the profiler when finally asleep is dead to the world. JT positions him so Bright is laying flat on his back. His body free of restraints for once, curls inward, Bright’s knees going up to his chest, and now he’s fallen deep asleep on his side. JT drapes the bathrobe over him for good measure. He turns off the TV.

He goes to turn off all the lights actually, starting with the tree, and then the stove light. He picks up his coat from earlier and fishes through his pockets to pull out a flashlight. This isn’t an ordinary one though, nah, that’s what his phone is for now. JT turns off the bedroom’s lamp and the whole room is engulfed in darkness. The only source of light coming from the flashlight, it’s source a mute blue color that differs from a normal bulb’s bright glow. It barely gives JT anything to see, but it is easy enough to find the counter. He runs the violet light over the pile of little papers a few times before kneeling some to scan the floor. There, a piece smaller than the rest lights up in a sky blue, like algae. Scribbles of invisible ink have been drawn all over the outside and inside over the paper all over a name. He picks up the paper and stuffs it into his jeans back pocket. 

Swapping the UV flashlight for his phone, JT makes his way over to the bed kept at the corner of the room, just past the entryway door. It’s been made, not exactly recently, definitely been fixed up since before two days ago. The sheets smell fresh, like they’ve been changed out recently. Within these two days? He didn’t know. He wants to ask what softener Bright used though because it is divine crawling in. He’ll have to bring it up in casual conversation when Bright wakes up. That could be in a few hours, or until Bright starts screaming. If JT strained his ears, he can hear light snores coming from the couch, so it’s luckily looking like a Christmas miracle, and they can both get some sleep. 

❅❅❅

At some point, the lights in the living room go on, followed by the kitchen’s. There’s quiet shuffling of feet. And then a small squeak of a bar stool. JT cracks an eye open to Bright finishing texting a message on his phone, the bathrobe back on him and sitting in a pretzel on the seat. The screen then goes off. He puts it aside and makes to start with the first stripe of many. The phone dings and there is a hiss, then a buzz, some light taps of darting fingers, and the phone is put aside once more.

JT smiles to himself as he wills himself back to sleep, lets his body fully dip into the soft comforter, hearing snickers from Bright, and the testing whispers of names coming from his lips, not one of them his own.