+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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"Get'er!" Russell shouted, struggling to push Trent off him.
Gillian and Fred ran to the corner. There was no door, no visible way to remove the boards. Fred slid his hands between two boards and pulled, while Gillian frantically searched around for an axe, a pipe, anything they could use. She saw Russell was putting up a hell of a fight. Trent was at least 6'5, stuffed in anabolics and completely out of his mind.
Gillian found an iron bar and threw it to Fred, who used it as a lever to crack a board. She ran back to his side and, together, they were able to break the wood and open a hole. Sylvia Jones was half-naked on the floor, beaten and weak, her face and hands covered in dried blood. She dragged herself to the hole while Fred struggled to make it bigger, and Gillian kneeled to reach out to her. She managed to grab Sylvia's wrists.
At the exact moment when they pulled Sylvia out of her improvised cage, they heard Russell's suffocated groan. And Sylvia collapsed unconscious in Fred's arms.
"Take'er out!" cried Gillian, patting Fred's shoulder. "Get the lads!"
He lifted the woman in his arms and hurried to the stairs. Gillian spun around, Glock in her hands again, in time to see Trent smash Russell against a shelf. It fell to the side, as Russell landed on it on his back, feet up in the air, hitting his head. Gillian shot Trent in his leg. She knew a bullet wouldn't stop him, but she had to distract him before he attacked Russell again.
The mad giant turned around with another of his hoarse roars and charged against her like an angry bull. Gillian shot him in his shoulder before he reached her, then she ducked his fist and grabbed the iron bar Fred had dropped. She swung with all her strength, hitting his belly, but it only moved him an inch to the side. Trent was already on her. She tried to kick his groin, and stopped her foot in the air just before hitting Brock instead.
He'd materialized out of the blue between her and Trent, his fist already coming down to punch the man's face as he shielded her with his own body. Gillian froze, watching with widening eyes how Brock fought Trent. Because there was no trace of the calm, controlled man she knew. He rained blows on the much younger, taller, fitter subject, not stepping back, not bending at Trent's brutal punches, letting adrenaline take over to stay on his feet and push Trent away from her.
The noise of the team rushing down the stairs startled Gillian out of her surprise.
Trent managed to get a grip on Brock's tie—why the hell did he have to wear it even on procedures!? If he didn't get a break, he was going to end worse than Russell any moment now. She didn't stop to think, she just did it. Her voice thundered across the basement.
"STEPHEN! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, YOU PATHETIC JOKE OF A MAN!"
Trent's fist stopped halfway to smash Brock's face to a pulp. He gawked up at her as if he expected to see a ghost. That split second was enough for Brock to sink his fist in the man's kidney and shook him off. Ron and Hank were already there, and the three of them were able to subdue Trent and even cuff him.
As they forced him to the stairs, she hurried across the basement to where Aldana already kneeled by Russell. Her friend was still shaken and stunned, but he was able to stand up with their help. Aldana put his arm around her shoulders, rounded his waist, and led him slowly up the stairs.
Gillian stayed behind, alone in the basement. She still breathed heavily, and her heart drummed as to crack her chest. She looked around, struggling to calm down, and spotted the drops of blood on the floor, only two steps away. She knew some of them were Brock's. Fear squeezed her throat again only by looking at them, recalling a couple of nasty blows she'd just seen Brock take.
Frigging mental monster. She wished she'd had a chance to throw that kick. That would've worked like her bullets hadn't. But Brock had to cover her. And next thing it was him Trent was beating ruthlessly, and she—
"You okay, Gillian?"
She looked up, startled. Brock came to her from the stairs.
"Yeah. You?"
Brock nodded. "I'm fine."
Gillian would've punched him. She saw the bruise spreading up from his jaw and the trace of blood at the tip of his lips. But he'd come to check on her instead of letting a paramedic take care of him.
"Good idea, playing Trent's mother," he added, pulling his tie in place.
She fought back her urge to clean the blood off his lips and scold him. Always the same with you, stupid caring man. Quit shielding me. You know damn well I can take it. Now you got hurt because of me. Again.
Brock frowned when she held his eyes in an annoyed silence. "You sure you okay?"
She didn't answer. She just holstered her gun and brushed past him to the stairs. Stupid, stupid, stupid man! Will you ever learn that I care?
He watched her leave, puzzled. Why was she so upset? He knew it wasn't fear. She hadn't felt fear at any moment. Then what the hell...? He, on the other hand... It'd been a while since he'd last felt that cold burning his chest. Not a sensation he'd missed. He wished his heart didn't feel like stopping whenever she was in any kind of danger. Not healthy. At all. And he should've known Trent would be wherever Gillian went. No dragon could fight her attraction.
