+18 eps. 17-21 - After a hard case that takes the team to DC in order to catch a blackhat and prevent a bombing, all hell breaks loose on their return to Boston , when the ghost of the Libra killer comes back to torture Brock seven years after the m...
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Brock scowled down at Gillian's empty hands when she came out of the bakery.
"They're sending everything to the office in a while," she said. "Shall we?" The autopilot still in control, she led Brock to the next corner. "So, motivation," she said, like nothing happened. "Profit or recognition..."
Brock nodded, absentminded. Something was still bugging him about meeting Taylor. But he'd rather chop off his right hand than acknowledge it.
"His first targets were banks and corporations, that could mean profit," he heard her say. "But then he turned to more ambitious targets. I mean, he crashed about two dozen different servers, simultaneously, in order to shut down the whole state power grid."
Back to the game, Brockner. "Also dangerous targets, if he attacked the Pentagon. That could send him away for life."
"He couldn't expect any profit from that."
"Maybe he started off seeking profit and then changed it for recognition."
Gillian narrowed her eyes. "What if it was always about recognition? Being picked to work on cyber security for certain companies is something any geek would boast about."
They traded a suspicious look, their guts telling them they were onto something.
"There's gotta be a reason why he targeted them and not other companies," he said. "You said he's prone to retribution."
Gillian looked up at him, realization widening her eyes. "Before attacking them, he must've applied for a job and was rejected!"
They turned around the corner as Brock said, "So he hacked them to prove he's the best for the job, and..."
He trailed off when Gillian halted sharply, a shocked scowl in her face, suddenly pale. He looked up, trying to understand what was going on, and saw they were only fifty yards away from Orlando's.
Years of habit had taken her to do what she'd done every morning for the last decade: from Betty's to Orlando's. But this was the first time she'd ever come so close to the coffee shop since the hostage crisis. After what happened back then, she'd carefully avoided the place, no matter how much she missed those delicious cappuccinos.
Brock saw her chill. "Gillian...?" he tried, concerned.
His voice startled her back to reality and away from those aching memories. Just like that horrible morning, six months ago and only a few steps away. She could always trust his voice. She only needed to hold on to it and follow. And she'd be fine. Safe. Even the overdrive knew that.
Brock fought back his impulse to rest his hands on her shoulders, whishing there was something he could say or do to help her.
Gillian took a deep breath and growled, "We should go back to the office."
"Sure," he muttered.
She spun on her heels and so did he, still observing her. But they'd taken only a step toward the corner when a rough voice called behind them, "Reg?"
Gillian stopped, clenching her teeth, and turned only enough to glance back from over her shoulder. Her death glare alerted Brock, who turned fully around to see who called her.
King Gillian stood a few steps away with a mild scowl on, an Orlando's paper cup in hand, his dark blue eyes looking straight into hers.
Of course he didn't mind being at the very spot where he almost caused a butchery, and had Phil Palmer shot down like dog—and her too, had Brock not saved her.
"We need to talk," he said, authority overflowing his hardened voice.
Brock noticed the way Gillian stiffened, and that his fists were tight against his sides. He was ready to stop King Gillian if he tried to come any closer.
She seemed about to answer, but didn't. Instead, she looked the man up and down, turned her back on him and walked away.
Brock waited for King Gillian to meet his eyes and read the warning in them. Only then he followed her.
Gillian waited for him around the corner, one hand on her hip, her fist tight against her lips. She breathed deep and slow, welling eyes. She tried to speak when Brock got to her side, but could only raise a finger, asking him for a minute to calm down.
Brock didn't need to look back to know King Gillian would turn around the corner behind them any moment now. Brock wouldn't let him see her like this because of him. So he met her eyes, for her to know he was aware and there for her. Then his hand rested gently on the small of her back. He didn't need to say a word. She just resumed walking. And Brock walked with her. For some reason, he felt reluctant to remove his hand from her back. He wanted King Gillian to see them walking away together like this. So he would be sure there was somebody willing to keep him from hurting her again.
He completely refused to register that ironic little voice inside his head, inviting Taylor to come across them now and don't even flinch—grow up, Brockner!
However, he had the odd feeling that his light, casual touch somehow helped Gillian to keep it together.
And he was right.
Through exhaustion and stress, trying to find her way on those streets full of ghosts and painful recollections, Brock's touch was the only thing that felt real.
