+18 - eps.33-35 - The shadow of an old foe leaves Gillian fighting for her life. And as the team hunts down the attacker, Brock and Gillian run out of time to come to terms with their feelings for each other. BONUS TRACK: episode 36 - the breakfast
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**picture: Massachusetts General Hospital, Boston
Gillian waited for him to meet her eyes, a legit Death Glare ready at his stubborn whim to regulate her 'exposure to unnecessary stress'. But when he looked at her, his warm smile melted away even her clumsy attempt to frown.
"Try to get a shut-eye now," he said with his deep voice, that always had the effect of a Panzer in the glass market of her determination. "I spoke to Doctor Cole after he checked on you. If you behave and rest as you should, we may get you a soup for dinner.
"Are you trying to buy me off with a soup?"
"And tea with crackers for breakfast."
"Gosh, that's just so low."
He arched his eyebrows instead of shrugging. "Your call, Gillian. You can stay committed and on the IV for the rest of your life, if that's what you want. As for myself, Mrs. Coleman invited me to lasagna this evening."
"You...! How can you, sir!"
"Sir?" Brock raised only one eyebrow as he searched his phone. "Here. Something like this." He showed her his phone. "Want me to print it and hang it from the IV bag?"
Gillian wished she could laugh out loud as she wanted to, when she saw the photograph of a lasagna dish on his phone. This side of Brock wasn't new, but it was rare. And she loved it when he felt comfortable enough to let it show.
Even if she didn't laugh, her smile and the spark in her eyes gave away how she felt.
"You're despicable, sir."
He tilted his head, sincerely curious. "Why can't you use my name?"
His question set off all the alarms, and Gillian's inner defenses escalated to defcon 4 in a heartbeat. She couldn't argue that he didn't use her name either. She'd already tried that back in Savannah and only got an epic backfire—"I'm saving it for Wednesday breakfast." And she couldn't give him an honest answer either, because the only one available was that she kept calling him 'sir' to keep at least the illusion of a safe distance between them.
So all she could do was muttering, "I don't know..." She saw more questions marching on and anticipated him. "Soup, you said? And something like a breakfast tomorrow?" She closed her eyes. "I'm in."
Brock sighed, no trace of his smile on his thin lips, pressed tight together. How was he to overcome such a deep-rooted fear in order to get closer to her? Not even wounded and into morphine would she drop her defensive armor to let him in. The worst part of it was that Brock knew it wasn't deliberated: she just couldn't fight her urge to keep him at what she thought a safe distance.
He leaned to caress her hair as his other hand rested on hers. She wasn't asleep, but pretended to be. He sighed again. What was she so afraid of? Her feelings? His? Something else he wasn't aware of? How was he to fight what he didn't know?
Connor tiptoed in then and nodded hi at Brock as he approached the bed.
"How is she?" the boy whispered.
"Better. She just fell asleep."
"I'm staying, if you want to take a break."
Connor was civil enough to make it sound like a polite offer, but it was plain to see he wanted to be left alone with his mother. Which was only natural. And not such a bad idea after all. Both of them could use a break, Gillian and Brock.
So he stood up and grabbed his jacket. Connor stepped back, waiting to take his place by the bed.
"I'll be back in a couple of hours," Brock said, heading out. "Please..."
"I'll call you if there's any change," Connor said.
Brock glanced one last time at Gillian, suffocated yet another sigh and left.
