+18 - eps 22-27 - A case takes Russell and Brock to the brink of death. It'll be up to Gillian and the team to rescue them before they're killed by a white supremacist militia. And in the aftermath of the Paris attacks, the threat of a bio attack fo...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
She managed to pick up before the call skipped to voice mail. Cooper. Shit. She closed her eyes and focused on breathing deep while she listened to the Iron Lady.
"We got it, ma'am," she muttered, noticing how agitated she still was.
She took a few more deep breaths and called Aldana, hating the sweat drop that rolled from her forehead to her temple and into her messed hair spread over the pillow.
"Al, call the team. Logan in an hour. We're going to Georgia."
No wonder Cooper wasn't happy about CT requesting the team like that. Again. The last six weeks since the Paris attacks had been a constant high-alert all-hands-on-deck state, following up the tiniest leads to prevent any kind of attack. Especially when the Colorado Spring shooting, and the San Bernardino shooting only days later, proved Brock's concerns were dead-on right as usual, and local lone wolves were a real, tangible threat.
CT Executive Assistant Director Medley had decided that Dillon's squad was on top of the list to pick on any warning for the Massachusetts area, and Gillian's team came second. Which meant Gillian got always called to work at other states along the East Coast. No matter how much Cooper hated to send her away every week, sometimes even twice a week, mostly over false alarms. But Cassidy still managed to keep the team in Violent Crimes and officially stationed in Boston, so Cooper snorted and rolled her eyes, but played along. It wouldn't last forever, and it would never cross her mind to deprive the Bureau of such a competent team.
So Gillian got out of bed straight into the shower and lingered there, letting out one shaky sigh after the other.
She'd had no other choice but getting used to dream of Brock now and then. Ever since the Ghost case, the stress started taking its toll on her and she started dreaming of him more and more often. To the extent of replacing her usual cop dreams. Not that she was about to complain about it. She'd rather dream of Brock a thousand times than reliving cases with the personal twist her subconscious liked to add to them. The problem was that 'now and then' had soon become every other night.
She lowered her head under the rain, so the water gushed through her hair and down her face. No, the real problem was that at some point her dreams turned physical.
However, the worst thing about them was that they were like pieces of a larger picture.
It wasn't only wild sex on the desk or whatever her stupid subconscious picked to torture her. Those dreams were all connected. And in her dreams, the other dreams were like a thread of real memories.
She'd had dinner with Brock, Connor and Andrea a hundred times. To go to sleep with Brock, both of them too tired for anything else than cuddling with a quick kiss goodnight before falling sound asleep together. They'd been out for a drink and had sex in his car. And on the couch of his living room in DC. And in her shower. And in his kitchen in South Boston.
He'd dropped by her little office by Cooper's with wildflowers and a kiss. She'd left him a stupid sticky note with two letters and a heart in between on his desk at the fourth floor when he was coming back to town. They'd discussed profiles over doing the dishes, while Connor and Andrea watched Supernatural a few steps away. She'd taken Andrea shopping for Christmas, and spent with her some lovely hours picking presents for Brock and Connor. She and Brock had taken advantage of a little while alone in the morning—when Connor took Andrea to Harvard on his way to MIT—to lay back on the couch and watch the morning news together.
In her dreams, they'd been living together for ages. So happy. So perfect.
