+18 - eps 28-32 - On the sixth installment of the Blackbird series, Cassidy sends Gillian and her team with Brock and Russel to Tampa, Florida, to look into the death of a girl while winter storm Jonas beats the East Coast. But this seemingly ordina...
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Gillian was about to make a coward retreat to the toilet, or any place where she didn't feel so exposed to Brock's knowing eyes, when he stood up and faced her.
"I'd like to take another look at the file, if you don't mind," he said in his controlled, distant way.
"Of course, sir," she replied, wondering why he was telling her that.
Brock spun around and headed to the last seat. She sighed when he sat there alone, as far as possible from the team's chatter—about two priceless yards. Then she stood up and headed to the cockpit.
While Fred made more coffee, she lingered there with the pilots, who explained to her that the flight might take a little longer than the usual three hours and a half, because they'd fly along the East Coast shoreline to stay out of the storm coming from the southwest.
Back to the cabin, she saw the men had taken over the first rows and the side table to lose even their honor to Fred—they still called it poker. At the third row, Aldana was on the phone with the Tampa field office about their accommodation, and Tanya snorted and huffed under her breath about the unsteady connection.
Only one seat left. Oh, yes. Last row on the left. By Brock.
So she filled her coffee mug, fixed a tea for him, and headed there. Good thing it was a Pilatus and not a Jumbo. Else, fear would've taken her over halfway and she would've locked herself up in the toilet for the rest of the flight.
She knew Brock wouldn't even mention what had happened in Savannah, waiting for her to show how things would be between them from then on. Which was a weight Gillian didn't want, but appreciated anyway. Because she was not ready at all to talk about anything but work with him, and she wouldn't be any time soon.
Lucky her, before her heart hammered strong enough to crack her chest open, she found herself before him.
"Sir...?"
Brock looked up from the file. "Oh, thanks."
He took the tea and tried it while she sat across the aisle.
Brock decided to not let silence pool between them. That would only make her feel more awkward and start avoiding him. She'd already made a promising first move by coming to talk to him, so it was his turn. He should stay on safe ground to break the ice.
"Did Lawrence say the victim was family with a Senator?" he asked, all business.
That was her stupid caring man, bridging over her stupid issues. Always looking after her, this time to try to make it easier for her to have him around. For some reason, such a simple gesture from him restored her confidence. In a heartbeat, she was able to let her professional self kick in. A part of her mind tried to remark that this kind of thing was what she should be afraid of: the way he only needed a few words to set her mood. For once, she was happy to ignore that kind of warning.
"Yes, she was. And something's off here, sir, but I still can't put my finger on it."
Brock turned his seat what little it spun, to face her. Her eyes widened at seeing the thing move and he scowled at her surprise.
"They spin...?" she murmured. "The seats?"
Brock scowled deeper. Was she kidding? He nodded, just in case.
"Oh... That's totally wicked..."
She spun her seat carefully, until its side touched the cabin wall, and sipped her coffee too hide a silly smile. Then she glanced at the team. No, she could tell them later. She needed this moment with Brock, both to break the ice and to talk about what was not in the case file Cassidy had sent.
He felt a secretsatisfaction at seeing she chose to stay with him, instead of hurrying to tellthe punks about the wicked seats.
