AN: I know I promised to write the next chapter of Best Served Cold, and I promise it's coming, but I just couldn't write anything good for it until I got out some of my energy to write for Prodigal Son. So here it is, my first ever fic for Prodigal Son. Obviously I'm new at writing these characters, but I'd love to hear what you guys think. I hope you enjoy, and please leave a review!

Malcolm would never be normal. Gil had known that from the moment the little boy had warned him that his own father was planning on killing the cop, and that knowledge was only affirmed throughout the following years. The kid had a mother who barely seemed to care, and a sister who, despite it all, was popular and well liked and perfectly adjusted - the exact opposite of Malcolm himself. Ainsley's perfection seemed only to highlight how different the Whitly siblings were. It's not that they didn't love each other, because they loved each other very much, but Malcolm struggled in ways that Ainsley never did and - hopefully - never would. Malcolm couldn't talk to his mother about it, he couldn't talk to Ainsley about it, and try as he might, he couldn't talk to his father about it either - every time he tried, the bastard would just manipulate him more, throwing it all back in his face with a truly impressive amount of gaslighting. Gil hated that Malcolm was even in contact with his father at all. Logically, Gil knew that, no matter what, Malcolm was always going to love his father, no matter how much of a monster the man was. The part of Malcolm that actually truly loved his father was pretty small, born of instinct and a happy childhood, but the much larger part of it wasn't love at all. It was something that Malcolm thought was love, but it was born of abuse and manipulation, a monster wearing the name 'love' but nothing else of love's purity. Gil knew it wasn't love, and deep down, so did Malcolm. But addressing the problem would mean recognizing Martin's abuse of his own son, and that wasn't something that Malcolm was willing to do. Not yet. Gil hoped and prayed that day would come, and he knew that when it did, he would be right there by the kid's side, just like he had been since the day Martin Whitly was arrested, and promised he always would be.

It was that promise that made it instinct to answer the phone whenever the kid called, even when it was 3am and he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into the warmth of his bed with his beautiful wife. But for Malcolm, he could give that up for the night.

"Hey, kid, what's up? Is everything okay?" he asked, trying to remain quiet enough that Jackie wouldn't wake up, but his paternal instincts overriding that desire. He stood up and made his way to the door, but as he turned to close it behind him, he could see that Jackie was already awake.

"Malcolm?" she asked, her face clearly showing her concern. Gil nodded, but made his way into the living room. He didn't bother to close the door behind him.

"Gil, I'm sorry," came Malcolm's voice over the phone. It sounded like the teen had been crying.

"Hey, whatever it is, it's okay," Gil insisted. "Can you tell me what's going on?"

He could hear Malcolm's shuddering breath. "I'll be there in a few minutes, I'm so sorry, I just- I couldn't- I didn't know what else to do."

"You're coming here?" Gil confirmed. Malcolm was supposed to be at boarding school for another month, until school let out for the summer. Gil didn't agree with Jessica's decision to send her children to boarding school, but he wasn't Malcolm's real father, and thus, didn't have any say in the matter.

"I couldn't stay there anymore, I'm sorry," Malcolm replied. Gil heard another sharp intake of breath. "I shouldn't've come, I should'nt've done this to you, I'm sorry," he said, then the line went dead.

"Malcolm? Malcolm?" Gil called out, then softly cursed. The kid still hadn't said what was going on.

"Gil? What's going on?"

He turned to see Jackie standing in the hallway, tying the strings of her robe together.

"I don't know," he replied. "Malcolm left school, he said he was coming here, just a few minutes away, but then he hung up."

Jackie walked up to him and rested a hand on her husband's cheek. "He'll show up here, he always does, even when he doesn't want to," she said, her voice soft, soft enough to calm him, like it always could. The sound of the front door being unlocked was all Gil needed to know that Jackie had been right once again. He quickly turned as the front door opened, and even in the low light, Gil could see that it was Malcolm. He would recognize his kid anywhere.

"Malcolm," he breathed out, along with a sigh of relief. No matter the circumstances, Gil was always happy to have his kid home.

"I'm sorry," Malcolm said for at least the third time in almost as many minutes. Gil immediately went to him, taking in his disheveled appearance, a far cry from how he usually looked so put together. He pulled the kid close to him, but stopped the moment Malcolm flinched with a whimper.

"Hey, hey, what's going on?" he asked again. The light flicked on - Jackie's doing - and Gil barely contained a gasp of surprise. The kid was beat to hell. He had a fresh black eye, a gash next to his eyebrow that didn't seem to be bleeding any longer, and he was cradling his left wrist in his hand. Gil's blood ran cold. "Who did this?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"Does it matter?" Malcolm asked, his eyes welling with tears once again.

Not for the first time, Gil's heart broke. He gently wrapped an arm around the kid's shoulders and carefully led him to the couch. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jackie getting a bag of frozen peas from the freezer.

"Of course it matters," Gil said, not taking his eyes away from Malcolm as he took the bag of peas from Jackie's outstretched hand and gently held it up to Malcolm's eye. The kid reached up and held it there, still cradling his left hand to his chest. Without the other hand covering it, Gil could tell that his wrist was bruised and swollen. Based on the fact that Jackie soundlessly went back to the freezer for another bag of frozen peas, she noticed it too.

"Come on, sweetie," Jackie said, gently guiding Malcolm's wrist to the arm of the couch, and slowly laying the bag of peas across it. Malcolm whimpered in pain once again, squeezing his eyes shut, but didn't move the bag. "I know it hurts, honey, but that's what we've gotta do until we get you to the hospital," Jackie continued, leaning over and caressing the side of Malcolm's face like she always did when the kid was hurting. The bitter part of Gil's mind whispered that Jessica had probably never done anything like that.

"I don't wanna go to the hospital," Malcolm replied in a broken whisper. He hung his head a little lower and leaned closer to Gil, who scooted himself closer to Malcolm in response. Gil didn't want Malcolm to have to stretch himself so far across the couch.

"Kiddo, you gotta tell us what's going on, what happened," Gil pleaded. Malcolm glanced up at Jackie, then over to Gil, then back to the floor, his longer hair obscuring his face. Jessica would've been appalled if she saw how long it had gotten on the top.

"I'll go fetch you and Gil a change of clothes, okay, sweetie?" Jackie asked, gently smiling down at Malcolm once again. The kid gave a small nod, still looking at the floor. Jackie looked back at Gil, and gave him a sad smile before turning around and walking back down the hall. Gil knew that she would leave the two of them alone until Malcolm was ready to go to the hospital, which was non-negotiable. The kid's wrist looked broken, and head wounds always needed to be checked out. Petulant sixteen year old or not, he was going to the hospital.

For the next few minutes, the two of them sat there in silence, with Gil gently rubbing his hand up and down Malcolm's back, in soothing circles and relaxing ministrations.

"Vijay doesn't care anymore," Malcolm finally muttered. He looked up at Gil, not bothering to hide the tears. "He doesn't care."

Gil sighed. He'd expected as much. Malcolm had explained over the phone that things with Vijay had been differently lately. The other teen had been distant, and seemed to be ignoring Malcolm. Kids were cruel, and for a kid like Malcolm, that was just par for the course of his life. He could never catch a break.

"He's not the one who did this, is he?" Gil asked. He was pretty sure it was Malcolm's usual bullies, but he couldn't be too careful.

"No," Malcolm muttered in reply. "But he was there, and he- he didn't do anything. He didn't do anything to stop it, he just stood there while they held me down and hit me again and again and he didn't do anything," he explained. Malcolm closed his eyes against the tears that wouldn't stop coming, and turned away again. "And it's always the same thing, calling me a freak and a psycho and a killer because of my dad. It's not fair, it's not my fault who my dad is."

"You're damn right, kid," Gil quickly replied. "None of this is your fault, not what your father did, and not what these boys do. None of it. You're none of those things that they call you, either."

"Why can't you be my real dad?" Malcolm suddenly asked, turning back to Gil, his eyes big and staring up at him with such trust and love.

All of the breath left Gil's lungs. He would've been lying if he said that he didn't consider himself to be the kid's dad, but it was rare that Malcolm would talk so candidly about it.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that, I'm sorry," Malcolm quickly said, shaking his head and turning away.

"No, kid, no, you don't have anything to be sorry for," Gil assured him, resuming his actions of rubbing Malcolm's back in the way that always relaxed him. "Hey, look at me," he gently requested. Slowly, Malcolm turned his head back to face him. "We may not share DNA, but kid, in all the ways that matter, I am your real dad, and I couldn't be happier to have a kid as kind and brave as you. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb, that's the full saying, and it's true. DNA doesn't matter. Love is what matters, and kid, I love you so damn much, and I am so proud to be your dad."

Malcolm closed his eyes again as he cried a little harder, and leaned over to rest his head on Gil's shoulder. Gil pulled him as close as he could, and just held him. He would hold his kid, his sweet, funny, smart, brave kid, as long as he needed. The world was always so cruel to him, and Gil just couldn't understand it. Why did his father's actions have to turn everyone against a kid? He was only sixteen years old, none of it was fair. Malcolm should have been going to parties and going on dates and hanging out with friends, and instead, he was always on the lookout for bullies who sought to hurt him because of his father, and because he was an easy target due to his size. The kid was so damn small, only a few inches over five feet, the shortest boy in his class, and that only served to make him more of a target, especially since there were several boys who'd hit a growth spurt early on and were above six feet, a full foot taller than Malcolm. The kid was only sixteen, so Gil had hope that he'd grow more, but he had a feeling that Malcolm was just always going to be small.

Finally, Malcolm pulled away enough to look up at Gil. "Why do they hate me?" he asked, looking up at Gil as if he held the answer. "Why doesn't Vijay care anymore? He was the one who called us the 'corner table boys', why doesn't he care anymore?"

Despite what Malcolm seemed to think - if the look in his eyes was anything to go by - Gil didn't know why he couldn't make friends. Malcolm was a great kid. It didn't make any sense to Gil why he didn't have friends. He didn't have any answers that could console the kid. Now, with Vijay, Gil did have a good idea why, but it wasn't one that he was eager to share with Malcolm. Ever since the kid had first told him about Vijay, Gil hadn't like him. Their commonality of having criminal fathers seemed to be the only thing they really had in common, but Malcolm finally seemed to have a friend, so Gil let it go. But now, he wished he would've shared his concerns with the boy, if only to save him some of the shock of his friend's betrayal.

Vijay was a friend of convenience, that's all there was to it. When people started treating him differently because his father was in prison, he went to Malcolm, because everyone knew he was The Surgeon's son. But once his own father got out of prison, Malcolm didn't matter anymore. Vijay could get his popularity back, or he could stay friends with Malcolm. He couldn't do both, and clearly, the teen had picked the option that left Malcolm alone, once again.

But how was Gil supposed to explain that to Malcolm? Realistically, Malcolm probably already knew, on some level at least. Malcolm was ridiculously intelligent, and was exceptionally talented at reading people and situations. His problem was that when he cared about someone, and believed that they cared about him in return, he would give them the benefit of the doubt, again, and again, and again, and again. That was part of why he still kept going back to see his father at Claremont, and that was why he couldn't understand how Vijay could just stand by and let the bullies beat him.

Gil sighed, and pulled his kid closer to him once again. There was nothing he could say that could make Malcolm feel better, so for now, he would just hold him, and keep his kid safe in his arms.

"What did I do wrong? What's wrong with me?" Malcolm quietly asked, his voice barely a whisper. It was at that that Gil immediately straightened up and forced Malcolm to meet his gaze.

"Nothing, you hear me?" Gil asked. He cupped the back of Malcolm's neck and ducked his head, catching his kid's eyes. "You didn't do anything wrong, and there is not a single thing wrong with you, not a single thing."

"But-"

"No, Malcolm, listen to me. You are the best damn kid I know, and I'm so sorry they don't seem to see that, but it's the truth." Gil took a breath before he continued. "What's wrong is them, not you. They are the ones who need to hurt you in order to feel better about themselves. If anyone in that whole boarding school is a psycho, it's one of them, not you."

After a moment, Malcolm replied softly, "but I always seem push people away."

"You haven't pushed me away," Gil immediately responded. "I'm still here, and I'm always gonna be here, no matter what." He paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully. "Because that's what dad's do."

Wordlessly, Malcolm let the frozen peas fall from his black eye and threw his right arm around Gil's chest, bringing the man as close to him as he could while still keeping his left arm immobile. Gil just held him even tighter while he cried, running one hand through the kid's hair in calming motions, and rubbing the kid's back with the other. They would get up and change - since the kid's clothes were torn and Gil was still in his pajamas - into the clothes that Jackie had grabbed, and they would still go to the hospital and get Malcolm's injuries looked at, but that could wait a few minutes. In that moment, all that mattered was holding his kid, his son, close. He couldn't protect him from the bullies at boarding school, but he would always protect him from his own thoughts. Malcolm's mind could be a dangerous place, but Gil wasn't about to let him get dragged under its tumultuous waves. Not now, and not ever. Because that's what real dads did.