+18 eps. 12-16 - Gillian and Brock face huge changes in their lives after she leaves the PD and he moves back to DC. But no matter what, looks like they just can't help coming across each other.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Brock stopped himself before touching her arm, foreseeing she would reject the touch. He could see how upset she was. She even looked at the brink of tears. But what could have upset her so much? Had it been something urgent, some emergency, she would've said so right away. And it couldn't be his leaving. Then he smelled it and scowled deeper.
"Have you been drinking?" he asked.
She nodded, turning her face away from him.
"Whiskey?" he insisted. "Whiskey makes you sick."
Stupid caring man! How the hell did he even remember that?
"Well, it works for you, right?" she growled, and nodded to the knob for him to let go or open the door.
He lowered his voice, softening his tone to ask, "Why would you need whiskey, Gillian?"
She finally faced him, and Brock felt a lump in his throat when he met her reddened eyes. How long had she been crying before coming to see him?
"To dare knocking on your door and say goodbye to you?" she replied, and there was such a helpless bitterness in her voice that made him hold his breath.
"Dare?" he repeated, almost whispering. "Gillian, please tell me what's going on. Why are you so upset?"
"Because you're leaving!" she blurted. Because I need you, stupid bitter man! I need you and you're leaving! "'Cause I know you don't like me at all and I just can't help it! I know it's stupid, but I just got used to having you around! And I love working with you, and learning from you, and even arguing with you! It was great, even if you never agree with me, and always get mad at me, and totally hate my ways, and me... It was just great... you here..."
Brock needed to fight really hard to keep from holding her in his arms and try to soothe her, completely shaken by her tears. But mostly by her helpless conviction, and the way she was actually apologizing, as if she had just insulted him.
He couldn't help resting a hand on her arm and pressing it softly. "Gillian, I... I didn't know..." He trailed off. What didn't he know? That she cared? She hadn't said anything new. Maybe surprising, because he would've never expected her to be so straightforward about it, but not new.
She stepped aside to get away from his soft grasp and nodded at the door again. Now she sounded annoyed, but just out of embarrassment. "I'm really sorry, Agent Brockner, just... just forget it, please," she grunted, wiping up her tears, her eyes down. "I should've called. I just wanted to say goodbye and good luck, and once again that it's been an honor for me."
She so wanted to leave. She just wanted to walk out that door and leave, and cry her stupid heart out to sleep, and drink a gallon of coffee in the morning, and start to actually take in that he was gone, and try to figure out a way to not miss him as much as she missed him already, so much it hurt.
And he could see an edge of that in her stubborn, embarrassed scowl, and her eyes still full of tears that she'd fight back to death, and her fists clenched against her thighs.
But he didn't want her to leave. Not so soon, not like that. Because working with Cassidy was going to be so dull, knowing no case would come up to work with her and her merry punks, for him to enjoy that brilliant mind of hers, and get annoyed at her crazy ideas, and admire her instincts and her sensitivity.
So he'd better find something to say, and he'd better do it fast. Okay, maybe some lame but honest excuse? "I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was transferred back to DC, Gillian. I thought you knew. And to be honest, never thought you would care. Rather the other way around, especially now that you're joining the Bureau."
Well, not one-hundred percent honest, but at least a nice try. And she surprised him once more when she glared up at him, as if he had just slapped her.
"That I wouldn't care?"
Brock raised his eyebrows, taken aback again.
She seemed to think it over and let out an exasperated sigh. "Yeah, guess that's what you would think," she grumbled.
Okay, this is it, Brockner. You don't want her to leave like this and it's your one chance to do something about it.
"Come, have a seat, there's something I'd like to show you," he said, and his gentleness made her wonder if she looked like about to jump out the window or something like that. She surely looked like a mental patient just escaped from her padded room. At least.
"Please, sir," she grunted. "I really gotta go."
"You're not driving if you've been drinking, Gillian."
She allowed herself to scoff at the authority flooding his voice. He just couldn't help it. Caring. And bossing her around. Gosh, this man. She just couldn't refuse. Because it was him. And because it was the last time. So she looked up at him and arched her eyebrows.
Brock pointed at the stools by the breakfast bar. She sat on one obediently. He met her eyes as to make sure she wouldn't flee the moment he turned his back on her. She tilted her head—well?
