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He isn’t sure how this keeps happening to him.
A mere two minutes ago he was delivering a brilliant profile, effortlessly connecting the victim to her killer. But now, feeling anything but brilliant, Malcolm Bright struggles not to pass out onto the body he’s crouched next to.
The woman lying on the ground swims in and out of focus as Malcolm’s vision distorts. The vertigo comes out of nowhere, and the profiler blinks long and hard against the sensory assault. The ground seems to shift beneath him as a dizzying lightheadedness sets in. Don’t pass out, don’t puke, don’t pass out, don’t puke.
Blood rushes in his ears, and he stills as his vision slowly goes entirely black. He knows what comes next, and if he doesn’t move away from the body he will inevitably pass out onto it. Malcolm stands up far too quickly in a feeble attempt to protect the integrity of the scene, but the shift in his equilibrium almost knocks him on his ass. He shoots an arm out, grasping desperately for something to steady himself on.
“Whoa!” JT jumps a bit in surprise as Malcolm grabs his shoulder. The profiler almost brings them both down to the ground with the sudden momentum, but JT thinks quickly and catches Malcolm before he can hurt himself. The profiler’s eyes are closed and his breath is shaky as JT lowers him gently to the ground.
There’s a ringing in his ears that he can barely hear past, but Malcolm makes out Gil’s worried voice. Malcolm takes too long to process the lieutenant’s words, but he thinks Gil’s asking if he’s alright.
“Feel like I’m going to pass out.”
From there, the moments start to get a little blurry. Malcolm feels himself being lifted from the ground, and he is aware of tripping over his own feet as he’s taken...somewhere. He isn’t really aware of any specifics until he’s sitting in the passenger side front seat of Gil’s car.
Malcolm feels a water bottle being pressed to his lips and gratefully accepts a sip before reaching up to take it in his own hands. His hands are shaking as he tries to drink, but he manages a few mouthfuls before he hands the bottle back. For a few minutes he just sits there, breathing, and slowly the blackness recedes from his vision.
The profiler takes a steadying breath as he opens his eyes. Gil is standing just inside the open passenger door, and the lieutenant passes Malcolm the bottle of water again before the kid can say anything.
“Doing better?” The lieutenant asks softly with a concerned frown, watching as Malcolm chokes down another sip of water.
“I think so,” Malcolm finally breathes out. “I can see again,” he adds with a sheepish smile up at Gil, and the man just huffs out a tense laugh.
“Well, temporary blindness aside, is anything else bothering you? You turned white as a ghost back there and I still don’t like your color.”
Malcolm considers this with a hum. Now that he’s not actively losing consciousness, he’s able to take stock of how poorly he feels. His head is pounding like a jackhammer and his whole body feels tense with a dull ache.
“I don’t know if I’m just shaky, but it kind of feels like I’m running a fever.”
Gil’s face twists in a fresh wave of concern, and he reaches a hand out to rest on the profiler’s too-warm forehead. “You’re not just shaky, kid,” Gil says softly. “Were you feeling bad before we came out here?”
Malcolm moves to shake his head, but the longer he thinks on it the more he realizes that maybe he wasn’t feeling so hot back at the precinct. “Maybe?” he lands on after a long moment, and Gil shakes his head with a sigh. The kid had probably felt like garbage all day without even realizing it. Malcolm is one of the most intelligent people Gil knows, but the kid has the self preservation instincts of a squirrel crossing the interstate.
“Well I guess that’s not important now.” Gil dismisses the question and turns to the profiler with a look of concern. “You should be lying down, kid.”
Malcolm doesn’t fight Gil as he’s manhandled into the backseat of the car. Now that he’s acknowledged how terrible he’s feeling, all he wants to do is go home and lie down. Even the park they’re stopped in feels too bright, too loud, too much, and he’s suddenly very aware of the weight of his fever. He curls up on his side on the bench seat, letting his eyes drift closed and doing his best to block out the sounds outside.
“Will you be okay here for a half hour? We’ve gotta process the rest of the scene, but after that I can take you home.” Malcolm hums his assent, well on his way to sleep. “Okay. Get some rest, kid.”