+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.
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Brock hurried to the bathroom, his ears focused on the door, and came back in a heartbeat with a towel. She accepted it with a weary smile and he crossed the room in two quick strides to his bag.
He wasn't sure why he hadn't packed the notebook away with the rest of his stuff. He was vaguely planning to leave it for her at the field office, or maybe to Russell, so he'd give it to her. But he had it there, at hand, and it was just what he needed right now.
Gillian frowned, curious, when he approached her with the notebook, turning pages, looking for something. He left it on the bar before her and went on to the kitchen. Good thing he'd left two tea bags out.
Her eyes were instantly caught by Brock's neat, elegant handwriting, and she didn't even bother to see what he was doing in the kitchen. She guessed those were Brock's personal notes, so he could be loading his Glock to shoot her, for all she cared.
She dried her hands with the towel before grabbing the notebook carefully, wondering what was it that he wanted to show her.
Then she read: "March, 1998. Boston, MA."
She held her breath. Could this be...?
Profilers assigned with me: SSA Jackson, SSA Grubber.
Profile: sexual sadist, six victims, strangulation during rape.
She couldn't read any further, her eyes blurred in tears. She looked up with a deep breath to keep them from breaching.
Brock noticed and said, "I'm afraid I don't have any milk for your tea."
Bravo, Brockner, sure that's just the right thing to say at this moment. Tell me about the epitome of climax.
She didn't answer and he brought the mugs to the bar.
"You remembered," she managed to mutter.
"Yes, and I'd like to hear your recollections about it," he said, softening his tone.
This time she was able to smile. He was making conversation to keep her there until she calmed down. Just like he'd done in the blasted building. She turned to him and found his serious, frontal look.
"No, you don't."
His chin pointed at her mug. "At least while you drink your tea."
I never said I wanted a tea, stupid caring man. And I really need you to stop looking after me. Because you'll be gone tomorrow, and then... "Okay," she said, because speaking was a good way to escape her train of thoughts.
Brock stepped back and rested against the fridge, to give her physical room to feel more comfortable. She turned to look down at the notebook in her hands.
"You smiled a lot back then," she recalled. "You acted like the world was yours, and you really knew how to instill that confidence in those around you..."
That's Gillian, he thought. Straight to the point as usual. He was going to miss her sharp eyes as much as Russell as his partner. She went on in a thoughtful, gentle tone, very different from anything he'd heard from her before. But she wasn't digging to pull up her memories as she spoke. She didn't need to.
"You were convinced that your profile was right. You believed in it, and therefore, so did I. And for the first time ever since I joined the force, I went out to the street knowing what I was looking for, and what's more important: why. My colleagues brought in a dozen suspects that matched parts of your profile. I bugged Banks until we narrowed it to only one. And he was the guy..." She trailed off and scoffed at the memory, then looked up at him again, almost smiling. "And then you sent me those manuals. You'd written them with such a clear accuracy, that allowed me to actually understand what you were writing about. And I found exactly what I was lacking, what the Academy hadn't taught me... I know you hate it when I say how important you've been to my career, Agent Brockner. But you changed my whole view of the police work, and helped me to find my own way to do it. You made me the professional I am."
And now say something, stupid man, or I'm gonna hold you, and cry again, and then I'll have to run away. But please don't stare at me so surprised.
Brock looked down at his notebook, wishing he could find something to say. But once again, Gillian's bulletproof faith in him left him speechless. What could he answer to something like that? How would he even try to come up with something like the right words? There she was, down to the very last moment, pushing him above her so she could look up to him yet once more, giving him the credit for all she was. He felt the oddest need to put his mug down and hold her. Hold her tight and tell her she was wrong, that she didn't need, didn't have to look up to anybody like this, because she was so... so...
She looked away from him to leave the notebook on the breakfast bar. Her move startled him and he faced her, not even aware of his scowl. She stepped down from the stool, letting the towel slip from her lap and to the floor unnoticed.
"Thanks for the tea, sir," she muttered. "But I need to go."
Because I have nothing more to tell you, and if I stay I'm so gonna screw up, 'cause right now I would really need you to hold me, stupid man, so I gotta run away as of ten minutes ago.
