+18 - eps 6-11 - A unique city. A unique police team led by a unique woman. And an uptight fed set on a collision course.
On the second installment of the Blackbird Series, new cases push Brock and Gillian to work closer together, even in order t...
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The day was breaking, so it was past seven. Gillian sneaked upstairs. She knew Connor was there, sleeping, ten years older than her dream, but she just had to. She lingered at the slightly open door, just watching him sleep, as her heart went slowly back to a more normal, healthy rate. She tiptoed back downstairs and spent a good while washing her face with cold water, until there was no trace of tears left.
No use in trying to sleep again, so she went to the kitchen and turned the coffeemaker on. She sat at the breakfast bar in the quiet house, scowling down at her phone.
She was used to finding Connor in her dreams after a hard case, especially if it involved children. But dreaming of Brock dying right before her eyes had completely shaken her. The horror and the angst she'd felt in her dream, the desperation... It had been worse than the time Banks had been shot. She could still feel Brock's blood, warm in her hand, and see his eyes gazing up blankly.
She wished she could just call him. At least for him to snarl at her that he was fine, like he'd already told her a hundred times. Don't you know what fine means, Lieutenant? Hearing his voice would be enough, just like sticking her head into Connor's room a while ago to watch him sleep.
But she just couldn't.
Sipping her coffee, she no longer wondered why, because all of a sudden things just made sense: deep inside, whether she accepted it or not, she knew he didn't like her. Just as simple as that. Not actually that hard to figure out, considering how different they were. That was why he always ended up literally walking away on her. And why she felt so reluctant to even try to reach him.
Not that she loved who he had become, stupid bitter man with his eternal scowl. But she still couldn't separate her few memories of him from who he was nowadays. Just like she couldn't help respecting and admiring his wits so much, or sympathizing with what little she knew about what had happened to him. So she always ended up turning to him, even if she didn't mean to.
Gillian flashed a bitter smirk at her mug. She should get real and just let the stupid bitter man be. After all, she hadn't needed him in the flesh over the last sixteen or seventeen years, and she still had his manuals on her bookshelf, right?
A noise from the stairs caught her attention, and soon Andrea showed up at the kitchen, eyes hardly open, scratching her hair with a cute version of Brock's scowl on her pretty face.
"Morning, Lieutenant," the girl muttered.
Gillian smiled. "Morning, Miss Brockner. Coffee, tea?"
"No, thanks. Please, call me Andrea..."
"Only if you call me Reg."
Andrea smiled back at Gillian and showed her phone in her hand.
"Do you have a number to call a taxi?" she asked.
"A what?"
"A taxi. I wanna be back before my dad leaves for work."
"Why don't you call'im first? Maybe he's still sleeping."
"My dad, sleeping after seven-thirty?"
"It was past three a.m. when I took'im home last night."
"Oh..."
Andrea dialed, waited, frowned when her call went to voice mail. "Hi, Dad, it's me. Call me when it's okay for me to go over. Love you." She faced Gillian, still frowning. "Odd. Was he alright when you left him?"
Never better. Just shot in the chest. "Sure, but we were all drained, you know. Tea, coffee?"
"Tea, thanks. And thanks for having me last night, and the clothes I borrowed from your closet. You've all been so kind to me, even so busy as you were..."
"What? Forget it. You're always welcome here, Andrea, and I mean it." Gillian put the kettle on the burner. "First time in Boston, right?" she asked. "How about we go for a ride around town until your dad calls?"
The girl nodded, a grin lighting up her face.
Brock woke up with a jolt, then remembered he didn't have to go to the field office. He checked his phone and saw in horror he'd missed a call from Andrea. Almost an hour ago! How come he hadn't heard his phone buzzing?
He sat up as he dialed and grimaced, a hand to his sore chest. Andrea and Gillian were strolling about the Public Garden, and Brock was relieved to hear her so cheerful. She said she'd be there in fifteen minutes, so Brock hurried to stash all the painkillers and balms and bandages deep in his closet. Only then did he think about getting dressed and making breakfast for them.
Gillian waited for Andrea to walk into the building and smiled when the girl waved at her with her nice grin. It was nine a.m., she was still in time to drop by Betty's for some pie, both for her and for the hungry beasts back home. She could also grab a well-earned cappuccino at Orlando's and stop by her office, to remind Cook he shouldn't expect them around until Monday. And maybe even fetch some paperwork to do at home later, in the afternoon
A perfect plan, that went completely south when she bumped onto Taylor on her way out of Betty's bakery. They ended up having a coffee together at Orlando's, talking about the procedure the night before. And Gillian found out he wasn't only a pretty face: there was a brain on top of it, and a sharp sense of humor too. So her second coffee of the day turned out to be way funnier and interesting than the gloomy first. Until Banks called, of course, asking Taylor if he would be as kind as to show up at work any time before noon. So they parted, agreeing to have breakfast again someday the next week.
When Taylor left, Gillian just had to text Banks. "Congratulations on winning the Wet Blanket of the Year Award."
