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[welladjustedwhitly]

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@ malcolmbright

[welladjustedwhitly]

The room is filled with the kind of tension that threatens to choke the air straight out of her lungs. Ainsley is frozen where she stands as her brother pulls out the gun. Endicott is saying... something, she can't focus on his words, Malcolm's shouting is louder, and he has a gun. He has a gun, but he won't shoot it. And Nicholas is moving toward him.

Everything fades away, there is no thought, no awareness, just motion she is no longer in control of as her body seems to instinctively know what it needs to do. Knife in hand. Grab his head and throw off his balance. Knife at throat and, god, it's as easy as slicing butter, isn't it? But he needed to be dead. The knife just keeps driving into him over and over and over again.

And just as quickly as it started, it stops as Endicott's body drops like a weight to the floor.

Ainsley has no clue what just happened, no memory of the last few minutes at all. But the evidence is all over her, the knife is in her hand, she's covered in blood head-to-toe, and there's a man, dead in the floor.

But her brain refuses to process it, won't put the pieces together at all. She looks up at her brother and barely manages to breathe out, "What just happened?"

This isn't happening.
This isn't real.
This isn't happening.
This isn't real.

[malcolmbright]

He knows that he can't pull the trigger. As much as he wants to, deep down, Malcolm knows that he isn't a killer. He isn't his father's son in that moment and his hand shakes against the gun. He's fired a service weapon before and he knows that at range like this, he wouldn't have even had to be a good shot to end the nightmare of Endicott in their lives but he just can't.

Then there's an arterial spray of blood and the knife going in and out of Endicott. The look in his eyes is filled with shock; as certain as he was that Malcolm wouldn't kill him, he believed that he was invincible right up until the moment that he wasn't. And then there's Ainsley. Covered in blood and staring at him now with impossibly wide eyes.

What just happened.

He has no idea.

Then there's his father on the goddamn phone. She took his advice. His girl.

He ends the call. He can only deal with his sister right now.

"It's going to be okay."

He's always told her that, hasn't he? And sure, it's sometimes a lie but it can't be now. He considers what the hell he's supposed to do next and as much as he wants to reach out to touch her, he can't. Because his baby sister is covered in blood.

[welladjustedwhitly]

"Malcolm?" her voice shakes, uncertain and terrified, and feeling like the little girl scared of monsters in her closet, begging her big brother to tell her it'll all be okay.

And he does.
He always does.

But this time? She just can't bring herself to believe him.

"No... No, it's not. How can it be? Malcolm, I--" Her voice gives way to a body-wracking sob that chokes all of the feeling out of her body.

[malcolmbright]

He takes in a breath. How can it be?

Focus. Focus. He knows that he should call Dani. That with Gil in the hospital, she would be the one to understand, to be gentle, but he knows how it ends. With his baby sister in a cell, just like his father.

That's not going to happen.

He's a Whitly. His father disposed of bodies before. He has ten years in law enforcement and a lifetime of the Surgeon in his head. He knows what to do.

"I'll take care of it, Ains," he says after a moment. "No one has to know. I'll take care of it. I'll fix it."

He has to fix it for her. For their mother who he knows would shatter after Martin Whitly already broke her once. He's done letting people hurt his family.

[welladjustedwhitly]

"Fix it? How? Malcolm, this isn't a broken vase we can sweep under the rug and replace!" The shock has stopped numbing her, and switched instead to something a little closer to hysterics. "I'll turn myself in." She says it with the steel-faced determination only Ainsley Whitly can muster, even in a moment she's trying desperately not to unravel. "They- they'll find out, if I admit it, it's better. He-eee...was attacking you. I blacked out. We can fight for an insanity defense. I mean-" She spreads her arms out wide. There's a laugh that escapes her, but it's a half-choked thing that bursts through her throat like a baseball through a window, and there's not an ounce of humor to be found in the sound. "look at our family, who wouldn't believe it, right?"

[malcolmbright]

That's the thing exactly. It's their family. Sure, his team has put together the evidence of exactly what Nicholas Endicott was and maybe the DA would believe that it was self defense. But Malcolm isn't one hundred percent sure that she wouldn't be jailed for it. Self defense can be a tricky thing. Especially when Malcolm was the one holding a gun. What he is sure of is the fact that he can clean this up. He can dispose of a body. He has Martin Whitly's lessons, his experience and his knowledge from the cases he's worked. He knows what to do.

"I'll...I'll get rid of the body. I'll clean up the house. Get rid of the evidence. The police are looking for him. He'll just...disappear. No one has to know anything, Ains. Just you and me." And Dad. He let it slip in his shock. But one thing he is certain of in life is that Martin is devoted to his children and he'd keep their secrets. "I need your help though. I need...we need Luisa's cleaning supplies. That's a start."

[welladjustedwhitly]

"This is insane," she whispers harshly, staring at the mess ahead of them now. "This is insane. I'm insane. I--" She cuts herself short and shakes her head. No. No, no, no. She is not going to do this. She is not going unravel like worn out yarn. She is Ainsley Whitly and she can keep herself together.

She takes a couple of slow, deep breaths, trying to listen to her brother's instructions. She nods. "Right. Got it." She spins sharply on her heel and goes to get the needed supplies.

She still can't believe this is happening.

[malcolmbright]

It's not insane, what Ainsley did. He could tell her that, even with the moment where she seemed to not realize what she had done. He's seen people kill for far less than what Ainsley did but he doesn't think any of that will be reassurance. He catches killers and to draw a line of comparison between her and them will only make her more upset. Instead, he takes a few breaths himself once Ainsley goes to retrieve the supplies.

Bleach. He'll need to get rid of the carpet. The body itself will need to disappear. Dragging it through the house will just cause more of a mess.

Plans start to formulate. He can do this. He knows what cops and medical examiners look for and he can clean it all away. Like this never happened.

[welladjustedwhitly]

It's hard to think through the mess in her head, but Ainsley manages to get the supplies like Malcolm told her to. It's fine. They'll get rid of it. Malcolm will make it all go away. She pauses as she fills a cleaning bucket with various cleaners and takes a slow, deep breath in, and out. If she just keeps telling herself that Malcolm will make it all okay, somehow, the way he's always made things okay since she was little, maybe she will believe it. Finally, she walks back to the living room with the supplies. "Okay... what do you need me to do?"

[malcolmbright]

He looks at her when she comes back with the supplies and then back at the body on the floor. His sister's handiwork. The profiling part of his brain, never turned off, recognizes a crime of passion, of desperation, and how different it is from their father's murders. He shouldn't be thinking about that. His little sister isn't like the Surgeon.

Malcolm draws in a breath and looks to her. "I'll do it. I'll take care of it. You shouldn't have to."

He couldn't pull the trigger. She shouldn't have to get her hands dirtier than they already are. And he doesn't know if dealing with a corpse will trigger something in her. That state that she was in for the moments when she plunged the knife into Endicott. Will making her come face to face with that splinter her more?

[welladjustedwhitly]

She's not sure what she expected, really, but somehow that wasn't it. A frown crosses her face and she hesitates for a moment before she finally settles on asking, "Are you sure?" She didn't expect him to take over completely-- this was her mess, shouldn't she be the one cleaning it up?

[malcolmbright]

He barks a soft, incredulous laugh at, well, the whole situation. "I'm not sure of anything right now, Ains," he answers. "I know what I've got to do in the abstract sense but..." But he has no idea how he's actually going to bring himself to move a body, dispose of it, clean a crime scene and cover up a murder. That's settling in on him. He doesn't do this; covering up crimes is what his father did. What people like Watkins did. But what other choice does he have?

[welladjustedwhitly]

"I'm sorry," she breathes out, a broken sort of sound that just gushes out of her lungs, the hint of a sob that doesn't quite catch.

She doesn't know what else to say, how the hell she's supposed to process any of this. And here Malcolm was, cleaning up her mess. He always did, didn't he? Maybe that's just what big brothers do, but this is so far outside that line that Ainsley can't help but feel guilty about it.

[malcolmbright]

"Don't be sorry," he says gently, stopping what he is doing to look over at her. "I wanted to do it." And he can't, but that's another story. "It'll be okay. Mom will be upset when I destroy this rug but..." he says, trying to bring a levity that feels unearned to the situation. That's something they'll have to deal with--replacing the rug. That seems like a task he can give her later. For now, he needs...

The list starts to come together. More than just cleaning supplies. "Are you sure that you're up to helping?" he asks carefully.

[welladjustedwhitly]

The attempt at levity works, to an extent. At least it earns him a half-hearted huff of breath passed between her lips. Not quite a laugh, but close enough, all things considered, right? "She is gonna be pissed... it's her favorite one."

His question seems to steal all the air from her lungs. She doesn't know how to answer that, which is the answer all on its own, isn't it? "...No...? But you shouldn't have to do it by yourself."

[malcolmbright]

"We might have to find a replacement. See if there's one like it out there that we can buy?" Maybe if they can find the exact same one, she won't notice. He isn't sure about how possible that is but his mind is going a million miles a minute and the rug is one detail they'll have to deal with eventually.

He looks back to Endicott's body. "I'm going to have to dismember him. Moving a whole body is...he weighs more than me so moving pieces will be easier. Are you going to be able to handle that?"

[vivicidal]

A few days had passed since Peter laid his eyes on the pretty little blonde, quite possibly even a full week - time seemed to move much differently in the lab. Really, it wasn't his intention to leave her hanging after accepting the piece of paper with her phone number. But his days in the lab were far busier than usual, where he would focus on forensics and forensics alone, another department overflowed and required extra pathologists to speed things along.

Quite honestly, it left him physically and mentally drained and all he could really do was go home and relax while hoping and praying that he would return to his usual duties. The process kept his hunger in check but there were only so many cold bodies he could handle before it would eventually consume him.

Peter hadn't forgotten about Ainsley's offer, in fact, he looked forward to it. But, in his mind, it had to be perfect... he had to make sure that this was something she wanted to go through with days after their initial encounter. Although, there was definitely something far different about Ainsley, something magnetic. What he sensed in her was nothing like what he had sensed in Dr. Stravinsky. In the moment, he was calm, cool, and collected... almost a natural, and perhaps that's what really scared him the most. The days following their little event, Stravinsky avoided Peter in the halls, in the lab, he kept himself busy with other tasks and pathologists.

Peter knew exactly what he was thinking, it was the very same thought that Peter had when he took his first life. He thought he felt guilty, but it wasn't that... as Dr. Gallo put it, there was no such thing as guilty, there was only the fear of getting caught. Fear so fresh, his brain was all sick and twisted up, paranoid that everyone somehow knew what he had done.

That feeling eventually faded with time and transformed into something else; his hunger for more.

With things at the morgue finally returning to normal, Peter slips his hand into his pocket for the crumpled piece of paper, a slight smile crossing his lips as he finally sends the first text:

Guess who...

[welladjustedwhitly]

Honestly? Ainsley hasn't thought about the fact that Peter hasn't called. Not because she didn't want him to, but she's not the 'sit and wait by the phone' kind of girl. She's got her own life and job to tend to, and Malcolm's been chasing down the The Scrapyard Slayer. She's been maybe-kinda-sorta competing with him to solve it again. Sibling rivalries, right?

If Peter's caught a news highlight reel over these last handful of days, he might have seen her. Perhaps that is what fuels him to text her? The world may never know.

She's perched in her father's old hobby room, looking at some of his journals when her phone goes off. She blinks, and glances up. Her whole body has gone stiff from not moving. How long has she been down here anyway?

She picks up her phone and squints at the message. It takes her a moment to place with the idea of who might be texting her, that's not already in her contacts.

The thought of him brings a smile to her face.

Peter?

God, she hopes she's right.

[vivicidal]

Oh, Peter most certainly caught a few snippets of Ainsley's work on the news. It was a habit by now to leave the television on in the evenings, a little background noise to fill the empty silence of his home. That familiar voice has caught his attention more than once in the days prior, the person on screen was a stark contrast from the person he met but Peter expected nothing less. Still, that drive and passion remained ever vigilant.

It's a good few seconds, maybe even a minute or two before his phone goes off again. In that time, he takes the opportunity to add her name and number to his contacts. When he's met with his own name in a question, his smile widens. It's good to know that he wasn't easily forgotten.

Good memory

Although, he highly doubts that someone like Ainsley would be so forgetful, especially in her line of work. While he doesn't know the details involved, it's safe to assume that she needs to commit many facts to memory to relay the information.

Look, I know it's been a few days...
Are you still interested?

[welladjustedwhitly]

It pays to have one in my line of work.

This part is easy-as-breathing. Snappy commentary is sort of her thing. But there’s a shift in the weight of the air in the room when he asks that. He doesn’t have to explain further. She remembers what they were talking about before. The suggestion made. Now being turned into an offer.

Her heart speeds up, her stomach in somersaults suddenly and she can’t stop the half-laugh as she reads the text again. Is this actually happening? God, what would Malcolm think? Their mother?

Their father.

She rolls her lips together and taps out a response.

I’m still interested.

Even if someone came across her phone, this exchange looks innocent. A date being followed up on. Nothing more.

[vivicidal]

Peter can practically hear that tone in her text, and he can't help but think back to their initial encounter and the kind of energy she exuded; energy he hopes will provide an edge. Almost immediately, the message pulls a chuckle from him as he collapses to the couch in his living room.

Good money, I hope. You're rather good at what you do.

And honestly, 'good' is an understatement. But it also lets her know that she hadn't strayed too far from his mind, nor the suggestion that was made. Honestly, he never thought he would find himself in that sort of situation where secrets were laid bare, but after meeting Ainsley, he was rather thankful for the experience.

Three simple words... but these three words carry a lot of weight and promise. A wave of relief floods through him, akin to what he felt after his first murder when the paranoia melted away.

When are you free?
I can pick you up and take you to this nice little place that I know of...
Or if you'd prefer to choose

He's smart enough to know that he can't be too blatant about their real plans, it's far too sloppy and could potentially be used as evidence if anything were ever to go awry. Something he's not exactly worried about, but still, phones can get lost or hacked.

[welladjustedwhitly]

You watched me my reports?

That makes her beam. Even her own family doesn't, at least half the time, so it's a point of pride in knowing she caught his attention that much.

Lucky for you, I'm free tomorrow night.
I don't mind surprises.

[vivicidal]

What I could, yes. But mainly highlights.

Catching Ainsley's reports during the day wasn't as easy, especially with his busier-than-normal work schedule, so he relied heavily on the evening highlights.

Perfect, how does 7PM sound?
Don't forget to text me your address.

Once they settle on an agreed time, Peter is sure to show up a few minutes early. It's another one of his habits, ingrained from his upbringing but also greatly influenced by his enthusiasm. A craving to witness this other side of her. Peter only caught a glimpse when she spoke about it, but it was more than enough to pique his curiosity.

[welladjustedwhitly]

Nothing wrong with just catching highlights. She's pretty sure it's more than her own mother manages half the time.

Perfect.

She tacts the address in the next text and ends the conversation with:

I'll see you tomorrow night.

The entirety of the next day is going to feel like it will never end, because she's on pins and needles for this date.

[vivicidal]

And as anticipated, he's there, outside the address she provided, several minutes earlier than what was agreed upon. There's a buzzing sensation running through his limbs as he sits in the driver's seat, one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding his phone in preparation. There's a lingering thought... if they should start off with a bang, or if he should ease her in. Time will tell... as will her body language.

Peter only lets a few minutes pass before he opens up their text messages:

Hey, I'm here early. Take your time.

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth when he hits send.

Easing her in is the safest bet. Show her around his secluded building, his tools, walking her through his process and how not to get caught. He's been at this a while, he knows all the angles, the locations.