@prodigalsonmalcolm starter
John stared up at the ceiling, fingers tapping away at his knee in a familiar rhythm, a comforting tune whilst he patiently waited for Malcolm to regain consciousness. When he’d taken Malcolm, he’d expected some difficulties and defiance from the profiler who’d already been making trouble for him, but he’d at least hoped Malcolm would stay awake. He had been following Malcolm, so he knew about the profiler’s penchant for avoiding sleep. Yet now, when John needed him awake, the profiler was out cold.
He wasn’t sure if Malcolm was actively trying to piss him off, or if he wasn’t as strong as John had hoped he was.
Malcolm had been out for a few hours now ever since John had stabbed him, which was a bit melodramatic in John’s opinion. When Malcolm had stabbed him, he’d stayed conscious, escaped the cabin and managed to stitch up the wound with a dirty fishing hook and wire he’d found lying around. He’d battled an infection, and still stood up tall like his grandparents had taught him to do. Malcolm was Martin’s son, he was supposed to be stronger than this, he would need to toughen up if they were going to become partners.
With a groan, John stood up and stretched out his limbs. As good a hiding place as the basement was, it wasn’t designed for comfort. John had managed to get a blanket for himself to sit on, but it did little to change how hard the floor was. The room hadn’t been used for his or Martin’s comfort, it was purely there to get a job done. It’s what made it so perfect for John’s plan for Malcolm. Life had been ended here, and now, a new life would begin.
