+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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Beg your pardon?"
Andrea flashed a beatific grin at her father. "Con and Reg are coming over for dinner in a couple of hours," she repeated. "He's teaching me some rare recipe for meatloaf that Russell taught him. You like meatloaf, right?"
Brock moved his lips, but no sound came out. Gillian and her son were coming? To his apartment? For dinner? Tonight?
Andrea patted his arm. "Don't worry. I already shopped for everything we need. Save the wine, of course. That'll be on you. And we're cooking, Con and I. So you just relax and enjoy, okay, Dad?"
Relax and enjoy. Yeah. Sure. Of course.
"I'm gonna..." he mumbled, and pointed ahead.
"Of course, Dad, you go change."
Brock headed to his bedroom, trying to digest the situation.
"The black polo, Dad!" Andrea said from the kitchen. "Looks good on you!"
He didn't answer, didn't even look back at her. He just walked into his room and closed the door.
Great! Just what he needed! Sharing another evening with her. At his home, no less! And he'd felt lucky, making it through the day without coming across her! He pulled from his tie to take it out. Again, it wasn't a matter of not wanting to see her, but the other way around. And that needed some major adjusting from him.
Everything he'd thought about her over the last couple of days didn't change anything between them. It couldn't change anything. So he needed time off, away from her, to put some order inside of him and be ready to face her again as if nothing happened. Because nothing had happened.
His fingers moved fast over the buttons of his shirt, undoing them in a few seconds. Yeah, he'd acknowledged some things about her. Some things about him concerning her. But that was all. It didn't mean anything. At all.
Really. That's why you need some adjusting. Who are you trying to fool, Brockner? He took his time to hang his suit and his tie. It wasn't about fooling himself, but exactly the other way around. It didn't mean anything. Nothing would change between him and Gillian. And that was the notion he needed to wrap his mind around, and keep fresh at all times.
He pulled a drawer open and scowled down at his T-shirts. Then snorted. Why would he wear his black polo? Because Andrea said it looked good on him? He didn't need to make an impression, or look good. It was just dinner at home, with his daughter, a friend of hers and a colleague. He entertained the thought of calling Russell and invite him over. Why not? Because that would grant you the Chicken of the Decade Award, Brockner. You need to learn to deal with this. And you better do it fast. So man up and forget about calling for backup.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand. He scowled deeper when he checked the call. Great! Just what he needed! He picked up with clenched teeth.
"Gillian..." Aren't you a charmer, Brockner.
"Sir, sorry to bother you, but I didn't have a chance to check this with you earlier. I'm so sorry, but looks like Andrea and Connor fixed it to have dinner at your place tonight, and I wanted to be sure you agreed. Because you don't have to. I can take them both out, if you want. Like T did last night. The last thing I want is to bother you with these kids' ideas, sir. And at your home of all places. So I can pick up Andrea in an hour or two, and then take her back to your place early, so she doesn't go to bed late, and..."
Brock let her speak until she trailed off, out of breath and apologies. Why was she apologizing? "It's okay, Gillian. Andrea told me about it and there's no problem with you two coming over for dinner. So no need to take them out. We'll be waiting for you."
"Oh... Okay, then. See you later, sir."
He frowned when she disconnected like that, almost stuttering. What was wrong?
Everything was wrong for Gillian. She felt like killing her son slow and bloody for this. How was she to sit at the table with him after meeting Somerville? And after digging into his wife's murder like she did! Not to mention that she was so awfully aware that he'd accepted this dinner only for Andrea's sake. His voice on the phone just now, drier and colder than ever, was enough to sweep away any hopeful doubt she might harbor about it. Yeah, he worried over her when they worked together, and grumbled about teamwork and all that. But it was strictly business. He didn't want her anywhere around. Especially in his own home. How was she supposed to act like everything was just fine?
"Your turn to shower, Mom," Connor said, coming out of the bathroom with a cloud of warm, humid steam smelling of soap and shampoo.
She threw her phone on her bed and stood up with a sigh.
Connor frowned at the way she dragged her feet across the room. "You're not too tired, right, Mom?" he asked.
A lifetime of habit curled up her lips as she shook her head. "I'm fine, son. It's the last time you and Andrea can spend a while together, maybe until next year, so let's have a good time."
Yay. It's gonna be such a good time, she thought, snatching her bathrobe.
