+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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Gillian found the raisins right where Viv said they would be, then looked for the chocolate syrup before Brock could join her back. She needed a moment to overcome the weird mix of gloat and panic at what she just did. What had gotten to her, to behave like that? Yeah, Viv's face was priceless. But Brock's could only mean trouble. Good Lord! Why did she do it? She could try some poor excuses—she hadn't really said or done anything out of place; she'd only made a couple of innocent questions; she'd introduced herself to his friend as she usually did to everybody outside her job. Yeah. Good luck selling that to Brock. The plain truth was that she'd stated loud and clear that she was about to have dinner with Brock and her daughter, not for the first time, and that she got along with Andrea well enough to have the girl's number and know how she liked her ice cream. Unlike Viv. Plus, she'd behaved as if she didn't mind finding Brock with Viv, implying she considered Viv was no match for her.
Embarrassment swelled over her. She felt scorched like Sarah Connor on Doomsday in anticipation of Brock's upcoming questions. What could she say? Sorry, I didn't mean to suggest to your lover that I'm the one in your bed now. Sorry, but Andrea's right and she's just such a wrong fit for you—not like me, you see. Sorry, but I couldn't handle my jealousy.
She stopped before the chocolate syrups with a sigh. That was the worst part of it. Feeling jealous. Over a man that could hardly manage to be strictly civil with her and suffered rejection chills at even her most accidental touch.
"Way to go, Reg," she muttered.
"Oh, you found it."
She could but wish the heat from her face wouldn't melt the jar and boil the chocolate inside. Here we go. "Yeah, both things," she said, forcing a smile.
Brock noticed she looked embarrassed and discarded the thousand questions he'd listed over the minute it'd taken him to find her. And he wasn't about to ask the one that remained—could it be that only now she realized what she'd just done?
"Anything else we need?"
His casual tone puzzled her. No questions? She shook her head and started with him to the cash registers. She was plain lost when he showed her the bottle of wine.
"Hope this is fine for you." It's the one for special occasions, you see. Looks like you're one.
Gillian didn't know much about wines, but a single look at the label was enough to know it wasn't just any wine. Surely not one to buy for a regular dinner at home. "I'm gonna have to trust you on this, s... I'm a complete ignorant when it comes to good wines, s..." She repressed a grimace, hoping he didn't notice she'd been about to call him 'sir' twice in a row. Dream on.
"It's Brock, Gillian," he said softly. You just introduced yourself as my lover, so you can very well drop the 'sir' for a while, don't you think?
"Yeah, sorry..."
No line at the cash register, so they were back to Brock's car too soon for Gillian's guts. Sure as hell he'd question her behavior now that they were alone.
But he didn't. He turned on the radio to a news station and they didn't trade a word on their way back to his apartment. Once more, his attitude worked as he expected, and his silence allowed her to relax a little. And as he drove, it felt nice, having her there by his side. Especially after watching her show such unexpected claws because a woman invited him out. He knew it meant nothing, because she didn't even do it on purpose. But it felt... yes, nice.
