+18 - eps 28-32 - On the sixth installment of the Blackbird series, Cassidy sends Gillian and her team with Brock and Russel to Tampa, Florida, to look into the death of a girl while winter storm Jonas beats the East Coast. But this seemingly ordina...
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Brock drove half a mile locked in a thick silence, clenched teeth, scowl fixed ahead, as he tried to keep his anger in check. He failed. Miserably.
"What the hell were you thinking, Gillian?" he snarled.
Gillian had invested that half a mile in a silent mantra for patience, so she was able to keep calm to reply, "We needed the answer."
For some reason, it sounded as an invitation for him to argue.
Invitation accepted. "You cannot beat a prisoner for information!"
He hated the way she arched her eyebrows—can't I. He glanced at her and recognized the cold contempt in her face. Just like when he found out about the Libra copycats. That hard side she always kept from him. A side to her he didn't want to revisit. Especially this patronizing calm.
"Well, that's you, sir. Me? I'd beat the shit outta that scumbag again anytime, if it means saving the baby's life."
Just like I beat the crap outta the man who tortured you to make him say where the rest of the militia was. Just like I shot Balken between the eyes for what he'd done to you. Just like I almost shot Ledger in the head for scratching your shirt. Why would I act any different because it's not you but a baby at the stake?
He sensed how she hardened inside, but didn't care. "We don't bend the rules to fit our needs, Gillian." His voice was a chain saw fueled by fed righteousness. "Doing so makes you no better than the criminals we pursue."
Her smile caused him a chill. Still cold and patronizing. But also so bitter.
"We ain't no better, sir. We're only smarter. Enough to find a job that lets us get away with murder." What could make her say that? "But if you think a legal permit to kill puts you above them, I ain't gonna burst your bubble. Sir."
What!? Had he not sensed her deep bitterness, he'd be already wishing he could punch her lights out. But he wasn't falling for her dismissive façade this time. So he pulled over and stopped by the curb, halfway to the house. He turned on his seat to face her, but she kept staring ahead with a stubborn mild frown. The rattling of the rain on the SUV filled an endless moment of silence.
"What's gotten into you, Gillian? You're not like this," he said.
He spotted the wet spark in her eyes as she breathed deep. But there was no trace of emotion when she finally turned to him.
"That's what you wanna think. And you're free to believe whatever bullshit you like."
So bitter! He didn't answer. He studied her hardened mask, his mind working at full steam, trying to understand, or at least imagine, what would make her feel so angry at herself. But he had no clue.
He softened his tone, trying to bridge over her anger. "Talk to me, Gillian. Why would you ever think so low of yourself? It makes no sense."
She set her jaw and turned to look ahead again.
"Please, help me understand."
He saw her chill. But she fought herself back and didn't give in. Instead, she held on to her dismissive act.
"I really need to take the computer to T. Do I have to call a cab?"
