+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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Gillian opened her eyes at the noise of the collapsing wall and turned her head to the door. Despite the pain, guilt crept up her throat. Stupid bold caring man, he had to come for her. And stay. It was on her that now he was stuck there. And where was he, anyway? Why couldn't she hear him anymore? Was he hurt? She tried to call out, but only uttered a deadened whisper.
"Agent Brockner...?" Speak, stupid caring man. Scold me, bark at me, anything, but please be in one piece.
He showed at the door and she closed her eyes, relieved.
Brock went back to kneel by her side, puzzled at her concern. She was trapped there, God knew how badly injured, yet she worried about him being alright.
Aware of it, he said, "I'm fine, what about you? It may take them a while to get here."
Brock's soft tone gave her a bad feeling. Did he have a concussion? Was she dying and she hadn't noticed? Would it take days to rescue them? Whatever. She couldn't just stay like she was. Pain was killing her, it was getting harder to breathe and there was something awfully wrong with her left leg.
"I think a lever..." she muttered.
"Trying to move can hurt you more," he said.
She wished she had the strength to tell him at least one of the thousand things that came to her mind at his words. Or just punch him. That would make her point. But everything hurt like hell, and it was getting really hard just staying conscious. So she had to settle for muttering, "Humor me... I won't tell..."
Brock nodded, appreciating her effort to keep her spirit up. His tight smile made Gillian wonder if he had just agreed to her dying wish.
At the SCU office, Connor, Tanya and Kurt sat together around a police scanner on Gillian's desk. When Aldana and Hank hurried in, the boy greeted them saying, "Mom and Brockner are alive!"
They paused to breathe deep, grateful for the news.
"Why didn't you guys answer the phone?" asked Kurt. "We were dying here!"
"Phones can activate more bombs," replied Aldana, heading to the storage room. "Lads, we need prints of the building."
"I'm getting radios," said Hank, walking back out.
Brock found a thick iron bar and slipped it between the column crushing Gillian and some debris. He pushed it down as hard as he could, but he was only able to lift the column about an inch. Anyway, it made a difference. Gillian squirmed and got her arm free from under it.
"Can you hold it?" she asked.
Brock only nodded, clenched teeth. Gillian rested both hands on the side of the column and started to push herself out, one slow millimeter at a time, biting her tongue to keep the excruciating pain at bay.
He saw she wouldn't make it alone, so he secured the bar the best he could and grabbed Gillian from under her arms.
She suffocated a cry when he pulled, so he paused. She shook her head. "Do it..."
Brock pulled harder, knowing this was a nasty the-quicker-the-better. Gillian couldn't help crying out as he dragged her fully out from under the column. Right then, the bar gave in and the column fell on the floor, cracking it.
He dragged Gillian some steps further, away from the crack, and lay her down carefully. Cold burned his chest again when he saw she was hardly conscious, overwhelmed by the pain, eyes closed, hollow breathing.
"Hang on, Gillian," he muttered, brushing the hair gently off her bruised face.
Then he retrieved his flashlight and took a moment to examine her, finding the open fracture below her left knee. And there was no telling how many broken or smashed ribs she had. Or concussions. He shook his head, annoyed to keep from acknowledging his fear. Breathing alone should hurt like hell, yet she'd tried to send him away, and worried about the bombs. Well, her son was out there, so the concern about the bombs made some sense, but still. However, now that she wasn't trapped anymore, they would make it out of there. He looked up to tell her so, not caring if she thought it was pity, and scowled. She was oddly still.
"Gillian?" he tried.
He felt a chill down his back when she didn't even blink, and checked the pulse on her throat. Nothing? No way. He bent over to put his good ear to her chest and straightened up again, his heart racing and his throat squeezed shut.
