+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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Of course it was a lovely evening with the Brockners. Gillian let the fangirl take control and spent most of the time enjoying like crazy Brock's homely charming self. She spent the rest of the time appreciating his good looks in winter street clothes—as if there were a season when he didn't look good. After dinner, the teens occupied the master bedroom of Mrs. Olson's apartment to watch Gamers and left their parents to clean and talk about work.
They called Russell and Aldana over Skype and learned together the news about Tymek Bilik Junior's arrest.
"Ten servers, Reg," said Russell, outraged. "Ten! All of them filled with the worst shit you can imagine."
"And what about his customers?" asked Gillian.
"It's gonna take a while," Aldana replied. "But Kurt swears they can retrieve all the IP's and get a name for each one, or at least a physical address."
"How many?" asked Brock. "Do you have at least an estimated?"
"Only the regulars are in the thousands. Add a zero for eventual customers."
"Worldwide..."
Brock breathed deep when they didn't answer.
"Jesus!" grunted Gillian. "Okay, lads, you're gonna hate me, but I do need to know what kind of porn Dawson consumes. Does he take whatever's available? Is there a pattern to his purchases?"
Russell snorted, but Aldana nodded.
"Don't worry, Reg. I'll have Kurt help me look into it. When are you seeing the shrink?"
"T booked me for tomorrow morning. At nine."
Her face made Russell scoff, despite of how upset he was.
"Agent Brockner," Aldana said, very serious. "If the shrink plays tough, keep in mind that you can maximize Reg's morning mood by denying her the morning coffee."
Brock shook his head with a quick grimace and Gillian thought he disapproved the joke.
"I can't, Miles, we need Dawson alive to testify," he said in his best proper-fed way.
The other three laughed out loud.
After they disconnected, Gillian went to the kitchen to make tea for them. Brock stayed sitting at the table. He'd learned that she acted more relaxed when she had physical room. And from his seat he had a good view of the small open kitchen. There was something so special about Gillian making his late tea that he gasped at the feeling, out of breath for a moment. Everything flowed so fine and natural around her—well, now that you got tired of being a jerk.
He looked down, his lips pursed to welcome back his sarcasm after an unexpected vacation. It'd been a while.
"We're gonna spend the next couple of years arresting people over this."
Brock looked up. She poured the hot water into the mugs as she spoke, eyes down on them. Her tone, her words, came to add to that surreal everyday feeling. They could spend the rest of their lives discussing work stuff over a late tea while their children watched TV. It'd be exactly like this. He felt as if he'd missed a step down the stairs—the hole in his belly when his foot didn't find the expected support, that dreadful heartbeat of absolute uncertainty before reflexes kicked in.
Wednesday breakfast.
And just like reflexes acting to guide the stray foot to safe ground, he realized this was what Gillian was terrified of.
They weren't born for each other or any cheesy motto along that line. But at this particular moment of their lives, they were the perfect fit for each other. Not the only one, but still the best.
Wednesday breakfast.
She'd seen it clear long before him. She'd felt the vertigo and the fright of realization he was experiencing now. He recalled that rainy night back in Boston, right after the Libra copycats case. His sarcasm paused its unpacking, not willing to let that go without a comment—back then, you'd just discovered that maybe you had feelings for her. Always so sharp, Brockner.
"It's not gonna be that easy," he said, and nothing about him gave away what he'd just felt. "As soon as they find out the site is down without explanation, they'll get rid of any picture or video they have in their computers."
Gillian brought the mugs to the table and sat opposite him. "But we have their dealer, their IP's and the charges on their credit cards. If that's not enough, a psych eval can do the trick. And those with previous records are doomed."
Brock stirred his tea with a sigh. "Tenths of thousands..." he murmured.
"It's gonna be interesting, though," she said. "I mean, watching the DD's face when one of the offenders turns out to be in Graff's payroll."
Brock sat back, observing her. "Did you plan it this way, so the Deputy Director cannot tell you off after such a great hit?"
"No. But one thing I've learned after all these years is how to use their politics on my behalf."
He nodded. "Bet that's been the only way for you to stay in the job."
She faked a frown. "Be man enough to say it aloud, sir. I think I've earned it."
His frown wasn't faked. Say it aloud? "Say what?" No, Brockner, I don't think she means 'I love you'.
"The whole sentence. You dropped the last part."
"Beg your pardon?"
"The only way for you to stay in the job being the smartass punk you are. That's the complete sentence."
Brock kept frowning, puzzled. "But you're not a smartass punk."
"Am I not?"
"That's the façade you use to keep everybody at a safe distance, so they wouldn't see what a caring person you are. You have the strange idea that people would think you're weak if they find out about it."
Brock waited for her reply that didn't come. She just stared at him, almost in shock, like a child caught on mischief. He just had to scoff.
"Do you know what's one of the most important basis of profiling, Gillian?"
She would've snarled, but not at him. So she grunted, "What."
"Nothing is written on stone. Especially when it comes to human nature."
She was able to scowl at him. "Meaning..."
"Profiling is dynamic. Profiles must change and adapt as we learn more about our subject."
"Subject? So I'm a subject for you?"
Brock held her eyes and his lips curled up in a mild ironic smile—do you really want me to answer that? And he had to bite his tongue not to laugh at the adorable way Gillian blushed. He would've held her and kissed her hair as he still laughed.
