+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 counted to ten. He couldn't care less what Andrea said about Viv. But he was getting really angry at the way she said things, only to keep fueling her own anger and extend the aggression. He sank his hands in his pockets and said, in a calm, cold way designed to stop a bullet train.
"And who are you to have a saying—and such a disrespectful one—about my private life?"
Andrea couldn't believe her ears. Plain to see she wasn't a bullet train. "Because I know you, Dad! And trust me, this is not you!"
Fine. Let's try bringing it down to her level, so she can vent out once and for all and we can get this over with. "Really."
"Of course really! She's the last woman on earth you would ever feel attracted to!"
So that was what the tantrum was actually about. Jealousy. Andrea had grown too used to him being alone and now she couldn't digest that he could be even slightly interested in somebody.
Andrea turned to one side, then to the other, as if looking for something. She scowled and stalked across the room to the kitchen cupboards. She yanked the little doors open until she found what she was looking for.
"You...!" she snarled.
Brock's surprise was about to give a whole new meaning to the word when she turned to him with the Blue Label bottle in her hand.
"You hid it!" Another outraged, lashing accusation. "Connor's mom gave this to you! And you hide it like you're ashamed of it!?"
His astonishment was enough to make him scowl and purse his nose and part his lips in a silent, "What!?" All together.
Andrea went on, moving the bottle like showing exhibit A to the jury.
"You could be with an intelligent, brave, beautiful woman! Someone everybody respects and admires! Someone devoted to saving lives, like you! A real woman! Instead, you fall for that selfish old hag, unable to care about anybody but herself, not even her own children! A woman whose major trouble is which shoes to buy or scheduling her next ass surgery! Really! Way to go, Dad!"
A little tsunami swelled inside the Blue Label when Andrea left the bottle on the table. Before Brock was able to even try to find his voice, let alone come up with an answer, she strode out of the room. He heard her move in her bedroom, while he still tried to understand where had Andrea gotten those ideas. And how on God's green earth it had ended up being about Gillian.
Andrea was back in a heartbeat, like a swirl of thunder and lightning, with her backpack to her shoulder and her jacket on.
"What are you doing?" he managed to ask.
She didn't answer and brushed past him to the front door.
Brock reacted enough to grab her arm gently and stop her. "Andrea, wait! Where are you going?"
The girl faced him, pale and upset. "Back home. I know it's your life, Dad, and I don't get to choose who you like. But don't expect me to stay where that bitch comes to get laid."
Way past any measurable shock, Brock hardly registered her last words. He could only be aware of the tears in Andrea's eyes, and his heart hammering his chest at the thought of his daughter walking out on him. So he took her in his arms and held her tight, kissing her hair. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let her.
"Andrea, please," he muttered. "Calm down. We've always been able to talk about things. So let's talk about this."
She shook her head again and stepped back, forcing him to loosen his arms around her.
"Sorry, Dad, but I can't," she said, Brockner stubborn.
He kept his hands on her shoulders and waited for her to face him. "Why?"
Andrea wiped her nose. When she spoke, she still breathed heavily and avoided eye contact, but she tried to calm down a little, to give him a serious answer.
"'Cause she makes you lie to me. But you just can't see it. I get it, she knows her way with guys and she always gets what she wants. You can't help it, not now at least." She shrugged, annoyed and resigned at the same time. "I wish you could just trust me, and believe me when I tell you she's not right for you."
Brock hesitated, but decided to take the risk in order to keep clearing the air. "Because she's not Gillian?" he asked, as serious as her.
Andrea's sad smile was the last thing he expected.
She finally met his eyes. "A little. Maybe," she admitted. "But tell me, Dad, why would you keep it from me for a whole month, if I can only be happy if you're happy? Why wouldn't you tell me her name? What is it about her that made you lie and hide things from me, when you've always been so honest and straight with me? What can be good about something, or someone, that comes between us like this?"
Her words fell like icy water on him. He could only stare at her, moved and puzzled at the same time.
She sighed. "Let me go before it gets dark, Dad. I'll text you when I get home."
And he did. He stepped back and let her leave, a lump in his throat and tears stinging his eyes, impotence making him sick. The door clicking back into the frame was like a whip lashing ruthlessly across his chest.
For the first time in his life he had no answers for his daughter. And for the first time in his life, he wasn't sure he wanted to find them, not even for her sake.
He took a deep, shaky breath, and tried another step back. He turned from the door, rubbing his face, wondering what the hell was next, how would he make it up to Andrea for betraying her trust. His eyes fell on the solitary, silent bottle of whiskey on the table, the liquid inside perfectly still now. He really needed a drink. But he'd be damned if he ever touched that bottle again.
