+18 - eps 6-11 - A unique city. A unique police team led by a unique woman. And an uptight fed set on a collision course.
On the second installment of the Blackbird Series, new cases push Brock and Gillian to work closer together, even in order t...
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**picture: snow night in Boston
On their way to South Boston, Brock leaned back in his seat, as he still worked on breathing carefully to bear the steady pain in his chest. He didn't know what caliber the bullet was, but it felt like a miracle it hadn't pierced the vest, because it hurt almost as if it had.
Gillian called Tanya to check on them but didn't put the phone on speaker, to give him some silence. When she disconnected, she said, "Andrea's already gone to bed. Hope you don't mind if she stays over and I bring her to your place tomorrow morning."
"Sure, thanks," he muttered, sore scowl fixed ahead. He still wore his Kevlar beneath his jacket. Removing it would certainly hurt, and he wanted to be home and alone to do it.
"D'you at least have painkillers in your apartment?" Gillian asked out of the blue.
Brock hesitated, realizing he didn't, but nodded anyway.
Gillian breathed in and turned around the first corner. Jeez! What was wrong with him? Two weeks ago, she had to have him nursing her and scolding her like a frigging child, and even picking her breakfast! And he couldn't even admit he didn't have a damned pill!
"Where are we going?" he murmured.
"To a drugstore," she replied, ready to punch him if he argued.
But he wisely didn't. A while later, when she pulled over before Brock's building, he unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door.
"Thanks, Lieutenant. Good night," he muttered. Then he tried to step out of the car and the throbbing pain made him pause and draw in a sharp breath.
Gillian materialized before him on the sidewalk, grabbing his arm to help him out of the car. He had no choice but to let her do it, but ignored her concerned look as he headed stiffly to the door.
Gillian bit her lip at seeing him like that. Then she noticed he hadn't grabbed the drugstore bag, so she fetched it and hurried after him.
Brock had already opened the building door when he heard her call, "Agent Brockner, wait!"
Gillian brought him the paper bag, meeting his eyes without hiding how worried she was about him. He took the bag with a quick nod, and before she could even try to say anything else, he repeated, "Thanks, Lieutenant. Good night," and walked in.
Gillian lingered there as the door closed between them, worried and pissed and feeling more stupid than usual when it came to Brock. Before he reached the elevators and saw her still standing out there like an idiot, she spun around and hurried back to her car.
Brock heard her drive away and rested against the wall before the elevators with a sore shaky sigh, his arm tight to his side again, closing his eyes.
When he made it to his apartment, and his room, taking off the jacket gave him an accurate sneak peek at what removing the vest would be. Then he remembered the drugstore bag he'd dropped with the keys on the breakfast bar. He didn't feel at all like going back to the kitchen, but he did it anyway.
Inside the paper bag he found a black, sober soft bag containing a complete first-aid kit. He swallowed two painkillers and waited for them to work while he took a look at the bag's contents. Anti-inflammatory balm; rolls of wide elastic bandages, perfect to wrap around his chest; about a ton of painkillers, two small bags of cooling gel. Brock frowned. Now he had all he might need to take care of his bruised chest for a couple of days without needing to go to the doctor.
She'd thought of everything. Well, considering her aversion to hospitals, it was obvious she'd know what he needed.
The painkillers worked fast, and a few minutes later he was able to remove his Kevlar and his clothes. And he didn't see more than three different colors of stars sparkling behind his eyelids.
He would've really liked to crash on his bed just like he was, but he took a hot shower anyway, made good use of the balm, and managed to wrap the bandage tightly around his chest before getting into his black pajamas.
When he finally lay down on his bed, in the dark quiet apartment, he was drained to the bone, and the pain had receded enough to let him sleep. Such a good thing Andrea wasn't there to see him like that. It was already four a.m. He needed to get some rest before she came back in the morning. He just hoped Gillian wouldn't bring her too early.
He slid into slumber, recalling how beautiful Andrea looked in her white dress at the gala. Good Lord, had it been that very same night? Just a few hours earlier?
