+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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"So you met with the Director today," Brock said, as he drove.
"Yes, I did." And I was almost late, waiting for you to leave his office, not to come across you. "He's tall," she added, recalling the moment when the FBI Director came himself to his door to invite her and Cassidy into his office. The man was nearly seven-foot tall.
Brock didn't ask further and she hated to know he expected her to go on.
"He wants us to join Counter Terrorism."
Brock frowned at her words. He understood why the Director would make such an offer, knowing the value of the punks. But he didn't see it coming so soon.
"Guess you must be interested," he said. "That was your team's main area when you were still with the Boston PD."
"We like working under Cooper and Cassidy, and we wouldn't wanna change it."
Of course they liked working under the punk-in-disguise. "And what did you say to him?"
"Exactly that. That we like counterterrorism alright, but we like Cassidy and Cooper better."
He arched his eyebrows and glanced at her. "You said that to the Director."
Gillian shrugged with a quick shrug. "Yes, I did. He seems a reasonable man." And you could stop oozing your uptight disapproval for five damn minutes.
"He is," Brock said. "When things go his way."
"Guess I'm lucky that keeping us under Cassidy means going his way."
"He agreed?"
"Yes. Sort of. He made a Solomon's baby of us: we can stay in Violent Crimes, but from now we're considered a CT rapid deployment task force for the East Coast."
"You can call it a good deal."
"Guess so. Especially after meeting CT EAD, Medley. But I guess the Director's decision had more to do with EAD Wright than with Medley being a dick or himself playing the nice boss."
It made sense. Wright wouldn't wanna hand the punks over to CT after such a good job catching the Ghost. Of course, Gillian knew enough about law enforcement politics to be fooled by a lenient smile. Yet, there was something more underlying her words that made him curious.
"You like him," he said, statement, not question.
She raised her eyebrows. "He's pulled some nice stunts at the DOJ back in the day. And he sure knows his PR. No wonder so many agents talk about him as if he were a rockstar." A quick smile pursed her lips. Brock glanced at her, using his turn to raise his eyebrows—what? "I like that he says 'yup' instead of 'yes'."
Brock only nodded. Yeah, Gillian would notice something like that. And make it the equivalent of Morris' rebel T-shirts in such a high-level environment.
He drove into the supermarket parking lot. That brief conversation had worked as he expected, to help them both relax a little. Because for some reason, Gillian seemed unusually stressed and awkward about him.
"Andrea told me you're leaving tomorrow," he said as they walked together into the supermarket.
"Yes. I still didn't have a chance to book a flight, but Russell says we'll find seats for tomorrow morning."
And if they didn't find seats, Brock was willing to request one of the Bureau's jets for them, even on his own salary, to make sure they left DC. So he could have his time off.
"I would've liked to stay," she said, shrugging. "You know, with Pope Francis coming and all. Chief Cassidy invited us to join their logistic nightmare, and my Irish blood would've totally loved it. But Connor can't skip two weeks of classes." And I have to be home on Sunday, in case the Libra copycat shows up again.
They didn't bother with a cart, and Brock took her where the condiments were. He pointed at the next aisle. "I'll go get the wine," he said. "You want anyone in particular?"
She managed a smile. "You pick it, sir."
Brock arched his eyebrows—sir? She nodded, still smiling—okay, no sir. He nodded too and went around the end of the shelf.
Gillian turned to the condiments, shaking her head. Yeah, like she was about to call him any different. Okay, dry red chili and raisins.
At the next aisle, Brock went straight to his usual brand of red wine. He took a bottle and his eyes fell on the next brand, a Californian Malbec he knew was much better. It'd been a while since he last had it. It used to be the brand for special occasions, and there hadn't been any in a long time. So he was trying to make up his mind between his regular brand and that fine Malbec when somebody called, "Declan?"
