+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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Maybe it was Gillian's gentle touch on his arm and her soft voice calling his name. Or maybe it was the hunger combined with the smell of a generous breakfast. Or the throbbing pain below his chest, asking for more painkillers. But he found himself awake, his eyes on a tray overflowing food coming his way, his hand pressing his sore ribs. From above the breakfast tray, Gillian smiled at him. She looked pale, as if she... Well, yeah, as if she had stayed up all night like she'd been.
"Morning, sir", she said. "Here's your breakfast."
Brock only needed to sit up about an inch to have the tray on his lap. Gillian filled with water his glass on the nightstand as she said, "I know the doctor advised to keep your meals light, but I thought you'd be starving."
"Thanks," he muttered, trying to decide what he would devour first.
"Anything else you may need?"
He looked up at her with a sleepy frown and shook his head. "No, thanks."
She pointed at the pills by the glass of water. "Please remember to take the antibiotic with breakfast." Gillian noticed his puzzle. "You took it at midnight, so you should take it again at eight."
"Okay," he murmured.
Gillian narrowed her eyes. He didn't remember her waking him up to take the pill? Then he didn't remember his nightmare, either. Well, that was good. He had no recollection of her holding his hand and soothing him, so he couldn't hate her for that.
"Guess you'd wanna take a shower," she said, going to the table to grab her tablet and an empty paper cup. "Want me to call one of the lads to help you out?"
Brock glared up at her back, biting his tongue not to send her to hell. Like he needed one of the punks to assist him in the shower!
Gillian faced him with a quick, tight smile. "Just saying, sir. We're stopping by the hospital on our way home, so you don't need to bandage yourself, if you can go without it for a while." He just nodded. Gillian headed out. "We'll be ready when you are, sir. Meet us at the lobby."
"Gillian," he said, and waited for her to pause and face him. "Thank you."
Her smile was as honest as her words. "Anytime, sir."
Breakfast and painkillers made Brock feel as ready as he would ever be to get out of bed. He knew it would take gazing upon a few funny constellations, but feeling the relaxing embrace of warm water was worth it.
He took his time to come out of the bathroom, get dressed in street clothes, pack. The tight bandages were irritating, but they'd kept him from making painful moves, as he realized when they were gone.
The team had a coffee at the couches of the reception area, and they all stood up as soon as Brock stepped out of the elevator. Fred went to meet him and took his bag and his suit cover before Brock could even try to refuse. Then Fred led him out, following the others.
Brock noticed Gillian wasn't around, and was a little surprised when Fred put his things in the trunk of one of the SUVs and circled it to sit behind the wheel, motioning for him to get in the passenger seat. He glanced around. Maybe she was at the station? That thought got him into the SUV with a scowl. Of course, she'd be saying goodbye to pretty Wilson. He saw Hank was alone in one SUV and Ron drove the other, with Aldana and Russell. Surely Hank would pick her up while Fred took him to the hospital. Good. He could trust Fred would let him be for the couple of hours from Portland to Boston.
As soon as Fred started the SUV, a soft sound from the backseat startled Brock.
"We're leaving?" Gillian's voice was a muffled murmur.
"Yep," replied Fred, following the other SUVs out of the parking lot.
Brock glanced over his shoulder, because his aching ribs didn't allow him to turn around. Gillian was curled up on the backseat, laying on her side, eyes closed, hands between her thighs, a light jacket covering her. "Wake me up at the hospital," she mumbled.
"Any wound to tend?"
"Coffee deprivation."
Fred scoffed. "Go back to sleep, Reg."
Instead of heading straight to Boston, the other SUVs drove with them to the hospital. There, Ron escorted both Russell and Brock in and waited with them for the doctors to see them, as to make sure they wouldn't run out the closest exit. When Brock got out, feeling all stiff with the new dressing but knowing it was better that way, Gillian was there, coffee in hand, questioning the doctor. As soon as they were back in their vehicles, she curled up on her side at the backseat and went back to sleep.
And she was still sleeping when Fred pulled over outside Brock's building, a while before noon. The sniper fetched Brock's things while he got out of the SUV, slow and careful, and gave them to him.
"Hope you get well soon," Fred said with a quick smile, speaking for the first time since they'd left Portland.
"Thanks," replied Brock, a little surprised.
"Oh, almost forgot. We're having a barbeque at Reg's tomorrow night, in case you wanna join us."
Brock was taken aback by such an invitation. He managed a nod. Fred nodded back with another fleeting smile and went back to the SUV, honking as he geared in and drove away.
A barbeque with the punks? Brock thought as he walked into his building. Why would Morris invite him? As if he would ever go.
