AN: The title comes from the song I'll Be Good by Jaymes Young. I hope you enjoy, and please leave a review!

WARNING: There is mild discussions/thoughts of self harm, but it doesn't occur in the slightest.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Malcolm repeated, steadying himself on the kitchen island. Eve was still on the floor, her eyes wide and filled with fear, fear of him. She was afraid of him, and not in the sexy way they were talking about earlier. She was scared of him hurting her. This is why Malcolm never had company over for the night, this was why on the rare occasion that he slept with someone, they didn't do it at his apartment and they didn't stay together afterwards. The inability to stay the night with someone left his romantic relationships short-lived and unfulfilling, but it kept his partners safer, and that was what mattered. Why did he think he could manage it with Eve, especially after experiencing an increasing amount of hallucinations? This was all his fault. He could've killed her.

"I'm sorry, I can't do this, I have to go," Eve rushed out. She got up and quickly pulled her clothes on. She was shaking just as much as Malcolm was.

"No, wait, please, I'm so sorry," Malcolm begged, but kept his distance. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her more. She continued gathering her things. Her clothes hung off her awkwardly, but she didn't stop to fix them. She just choked back her tears and shook her head.

"I can't," she repeated. Malcolm took one step towards her, but she flinched back, shoving a dagger right through his heart. "Stay back," she said, her voice breaking as tears began to fall. "I'm sorry." Her bare feet barely made any noise as she almost jogged to the door, her heels held in her hand.

"Eve, no," Malcolm pleaded, but Eve didn't look back. She closed the door behind her, and Malcolm wasn't sure he had ever felt so alone. "Eve," he repeated in a broken whisper, even though the woman had already walked out the door, and likely out of his life.

Malcolm grabbed on to the island once more as his knees buckled beneath him. He let himself fall to the ground next to the bar stool, landing heavy, but not heavy enough to hurt. He wished it had. Physical pain would be easier to deal with than the hole in his heart because of what he just did. How could he be so screwed up that he couldn't even tell the difference between this amazing woman who actually seemed to like him and his hallucination of a woman who had been dead for twenty years? He could've killed Eve. His gaze fell to the knife still embedded in the floor. It would've been just out of his reach if he tried to grab it.

He let his head fall into his hands, his knees rising up to his chest, and began to sob. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have let Eve put herself in harms way? How could he have thought that anyone was safe when they were with him? He was a danger to others, and, glancing back at the knife, Malcolm knew he was close to becoming a danger to himself. He wrapped his arms around his knees and held himself tight as he sobbed. He couldn't do anything right.

Malcolm didn't know how long he sat there, but on the third time he caught himself staring at the knife, he knew he needed to call Gil. He'd promised the man that he wouldn't start again, and he couldn't break that promise. On shaking legs, Malcolm stood up and walked around to grab his phone off the side table next to the couch, picking it up in his shaking hand.

It was 3am. Maybe he shouldn't call Gil. The man was probably fast asleep, he didn't need to deal with Malcolm and all of his problems. Malcolm could handle this on his own.

That was a lie. Malcolm couldn't seem to handle anything successfully on his own. If he didn't call Gil, he was going to break his promise, and then Gil would be even more disappointed with him than he probably already was on a daily basis. Taking in a shaky breath, Malcolm tapped on Gil's name and moved back to the bar stool. He didn't want to look at the couch and be reminded of Eve. The bar stool was just fine.

A moment later, Gil picked up, his voice groggy from sleep.

"Hey, Bright, what's goin' on?" he asked. "It's three o'clock in the morning."

"I messed up," Malcolm said. He bit his knuckle to keep himself from crying out. "I messed up bad."

"What happened?" Gil asked, all traces of fatigue gone from his voice. "Are you okay?"

"Gil, I- I think you should come over. I want to do something stupid," he said, his voice breaking as he began to cry again.

"Oh, kid, I'm on my way. You look at Sunshine. You look right at her until I get there, okay?" Gil told him. It was a good psychological trick, but Malcolm wasn't far gone enough to need that quite yet. Still, he appreciated the sentiment of reminding him that Sunshine loved him and needed him. His girl was asleep right now, a quick glance behind him proved, but even just seeing her did make him feel just the smallest bit better.

"Thank you," he replied, wiping away a few of his tears.

"You stay on the line too, okay?" Gil confirmed. He sounded more concerned than Malcolm had heard him in a long time, almost panicked.

"I will. I'm not gonna do it, because I promised I wouldn't, but I want to," he admitted, taking another look at the knife block. Malcolm clenched his shaking hand into a fist and held it close to him, as if that would stop him from reaching out and grabbing it.

"Yeah, you did promise me that, didn't you?" A car horn sounded. Gil was on his way over. "Remember when you were eleven years old and you promised me that you were going to be the first person to live on Mars?" Malcolm couldn't help but chuckle. He did remember that. "You had just watched some science program about scientists finding something on Mars and how people could live there one day, and you were convinced that you would be the first person to do it. You even said you'd bring me and Jackie along to live with you, but only if we bought you a dog."

"Yeah, yeah I remember that," Malcolm muttered. "Didn't quite keep that promise, did I?" He didn't keep the first promise of dating either. It was just common sense that when you went out with someone, you protected them. Malcolm had done the opposite of that. He could've killed her. Malcolm's sharp intake of breath turned into another sob. He was so messed up.

"Malcolm, it's okay. Whatever it is, it's okay."

"It's not," Malcolm muttered. "I messed up."

"I'll fix it," Gil immediately responded. "I'll make it okay, I promise," he assured him. Malcolm wasn't so sure that was even possible. "I promise, kid, I'm gonna make it okay. I don't know how, but I will."

One of the first things that Malcolm remembered Gil telling him about police work, about real police work, was that making promises was never a good idea. You couldn't promise that you could bring someone to justice, that you could find someone's family member, or save someone's life. Making promises you didn't know you could keep was just setting everyone up for disappointment. And yet here Gil was, promising to make it all better. As much as his mind told him it was a bad idea, Malcolm's heart wanted nothing more than to believe him.

"You still there, kid? Don't you dare hang up," Gil insisted. "I'm almost there."

Either Malcolm had spaced out for a lot longer than he thought, or Gil was breaking every traffic law in the book in order to get to him.

"I'm still here," he muttered, forcing himself to look right at the counter. He couldn't turn and look at couch, or the knife in the floor, or the knives in the block. But the countertop was perfectly fine.

"Okay, kiddo, I'm pulling up to your building."

Malcolm let his phone fall to the counter, away from his ear. Gil was almost there.

"Malcolm!" Gil called out from the bottom of the stairs.

He didn't answer. Gil would see him there in only a few seconds.

"Oh, kid," Gil breathed out, his voice now coming from behind Malcolm, roughly at his door. He could hear the man's foot steps coming closer, and the knowledge that Gil was finally there, that somehow Gil was going to make this all okay, brought all Malcolm's emotions back to the surface. He let his head fall onto his forearms, resting on the counter. He squeezed his eyes shut against the oncoming tears that he just couldn't control anymore.

A sudden weight on his back had Malcolm glancing up. It was warm, and soft. Gil had laid a blanket over him and tucked it around him. And it wasn't just any blanket, it was Malcolm's most favorite blanket, his softest one. The Sherpa fabric felt amazing over Malcolm's bare back and legs. It was only then that he realized he was still only in his boxers.

Malcolm glanced to the side and saw that the knife was gone from the floor, and Gil was setting something in the kitchen sink. The man came back around the island and came to stand right next to Malcolm, resting an arm across the back of his shoulders.

"Hey, kid," he said. Malcolm finally turned up to look at him, seeing Gil's concerned countenance through eyes blurry with tears.

"I messed up," Malcolm said for the millionth time that night.

"How about you tell me what's going on, does that sound okay?" Gil gently asked, rubbing over the blanket lightly. It felt amazing.

Malcolm took a deep breath. He needed to get through this.

"I had a date tonight, and even though I messed up and profiled her and hurt her, she forgave me, and she came back here," he started. The part about him profiling her wasn't great, but at least she had given him a second chance. He wasn't sure he deserved a third one. "It was...nice, but then I got up for a glass of water, and I saw the girl again, and she attacked me, and I didn't know what to do, so I grabbed a knife and I started swinging, but then it wasn't the girl anymore, it was Eve, and she was yelling at me to stop, and I didn't even know it was her, and I almost killed her, Gil." His eyes filled up with tears once more. He'd screwed up before, but this was quite something. Malcolm closed his eyes and looked away from Gil, but the hand on his back started rubbing again. "She was scared of me. She left, and she was afraid of me." The tears started falling again, but Malcolm didn't make any move to stop them.

For a while, Gil didn't say anything. He just stood there, and gently pulled Malcolm close to him. He was still standing next to the bar stool, and directed Malcolm's head towards his chest. As he always did, Malcolm clutched onto Gil's tee shirt, gripping it so hard it could rip, and let Gil hold him, because when he was in Gil's arms, everything was okay, if only for a moment.

Gil gently shushed him, and started whispering calming things. "It's gonna be okay," he said over and over again. "I'm right here," was also popular. Both of them made Malcolm feel safer than he liked to admit. Gil just kept holding him close, and began to run his fingers through Malcolm's hair. Malcolm was still resting his head on Gil's chest, right on top of the man's heartbeat. That was probably the intent, and it was working. Gil's steady heartbeat was another calming force, reminding Malcolm that he wasn't alone.

"I'm so proud of you," Gil finally said at a normal volume. Malcolm froze in confusion.

"What?" he asked. He had almost killed someone while hallucinating. Why on earth was Gil proud of him?

"You kept your promise." Malcolm pulled away in order to look at Gil, who was still only in pajamas himself. "You promised me that you weren't going to start again, and you kept your promise. And I'm proud of you."

"But I could've killed Eve," Malcolm protested. He didn't deserve to have Gil's praise after something like that, and definitely not after simply not doing something stupid. Why should Gil be proud of him?

"It was an accident," Gil said as if nothing else mattered. "You didn't mean for that to happen, and yes, Eve was understandably scared and needs some space to figure things out, but it was an accident. It wasn't your fault."

"How is it not-"

"Did you choose to hallucinate?" The non sequitur stopped Malcolm in his tracks. "Did you choose to feel like you were being attacked? Did you choose to have to deal with all of this stuff on a daily basis?" He was quiet for a moment, clearly expecting Malcolm to answer.

"No," he finally muttered.

"If you didn't choose this, then what happened isn't your fault," Gil continued. "If Eve is smart, which she has to be since you wouldn't go out with anyone who wasn't smart, then after she has some time to realize that she is okay, she'll also realize that it isn't your fault. It was an accident."

"But it wouldn't have happened if-"

"No," Gil interjected. "This isn't your fault, and that's the end of it."

Malcolm just stared at him. How could Gil not see that this was his fault? If he hadn't let his guard down, none of this would've happened.

"Don't go there, kid," Gil said, even though Malcolm hadn't said anything. He kept lightly massaging Malcolm's back over the blanket, that steady feeling of safety never leaving. "You have to live your life. You can't let your father take your whole life away from you. You have to keep on living, no matter what."

"But it was only because I did that that I could've hurt her," Malcolm claimed. "I let down my guard and didn't put myself in the restraints and-"

"And you had a very normal evening with a beautiful woman," Gil interrupted. "It only ended badly because you thought you saw danger and you got scared, and she got scared too." Technically, Gil was right. It could be looked at that way. Malcolm knew that Gil was just trying to make him feel better. The man wasn't necessarily giving him an accurate assessment of the events. But Malcolm was okay with that. He was just glad that Gil was there.

"And when things got really bad," Gil continued. "You called me. You didn't break your promise, you called me instead. Why shouldn't I be proud of you?" Gil was looking down at him like he'd just scored the winning touchdown. There was genuine pride and love in his eyes and Malcolm didn't know what he had done to deserve it. Before Malcolm could answer, Gil gathered him in his arms once again, this time resting his head on top of Malcolm's. "And I am so, so proud of you."

Malcolm relaxed into Gil's arms once more, feeling for the first time since Eve had left that maybe everything really was going to be okay. He was wrapped in Gil's arms, safe and sound. If he were being honest with himself, it was one of his favorite places to be. Gil held him close, massaging the back of Malcolm's neck with one hand, and gently rubbing his back over the Sherpa blanket with the other. Everything Malcolm knew was soft, safe, and secure. He strengthened his grip on Gil's tee shirt, feeling a little bad that he'd woken the man up and forced him to drive over in his pajamas and, as a quick glance proved, bare feet. Gil hadn't even put on socks or shoes. Malcolm couldn't help but giggle a little bit, despite everything.

"What?" Gil asked, but Malcolm could practically hear the man smiling too.

"You're barefoot," Malcolm said around his own smile.

"Says the one in only his boxers," Gil mocked. He gave Malcolm one more squeeze before releasing him and taking the smallest step back.

Malcolm gave an overexaggerated shrug, a smile still on his face. He didn't have a good response to that. Gil just smiled wider.

"What do you say I make us some pancakes and coffee? I doubt you're plannin' on goin' back to sleep," Gil said, moving towards the pantry before Malcolm had even answered him.

"Who says I even have anything in the pantry?" Malcolm pointed out. He wrapped the blanket further around himself, relishing in it's warmth. Gil had given him that blanket for Christmas his first year at Harvard. It was still as soft as the day he got it, thanks to his mother's access to the most amazing detergents and fabric softeners. Being rich did have its perks.

"Your mom isn't the only one who stocks it every now and then," Gil replied. He pulled out a box of pancake mix with a smile. "I know you don't look in your own pantry enough to notice, but I stocked this for you a few days ago, thank you very much." Malcolm blushed and looked away. Gil was always doing little things like that to look out for him. He took the best care of him. Even now, instead of going back to his own home to get a few more hours of sleep before he had to get up for work, he was staying with Malcolm, and making him pancakes.

"Thanks, Gil, and not just for the pancakes," he said, his head still low but eyes looking up to Gil. "Thanks for...well, for everything," he finished with a shrug underneath his blanket, which he was basically wearing as a cape. The blanket was significantly larger than he was, making it perfect to snuggle up in and turn himself into a human burrito. Along with the night terrors, PTSD, and anxiety, that was another habit he carried over into adulthood, albeit a much more inconsequential one.

"Any time, kid," Gil said, his eyes nothing but sincere. "Any time."

The pancakes were the same ones that Gil and Jackie had made for him as a child, complete with extra chocolate chips for his insatiable sweet tooth. They were just as delicious as an adult.