+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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Banks sent a uniform into the questioning room as Gillian and Hank walked out. Brock observed Carson. He hardly glanced up from the page, too busy doing his best to capture on paper what a mastermind of crime he was. Judging by his face, he already pictured his face on newspapers, magazines and TV shows all over the country for years.
Banks threw his arm around Gillian's shoulders and kissed her hair. "You never let me down," he said.
A low murmur made Brock glance around. Banks herded his staff back to their posts, as they still commented on the interview; Fred, Hank and Aldana followed. And he found Gillian before the mirror, only a couple of steps away from him.
Before he could even think about it, he folded his arms tighter and turned to look again at Carson. He had a glimpse of her loosening her bun, her hair cascading over her shoulders and down her back. And he could only keep his eyes on their subject.
He was too aware of her for his own good, and how they'd been left alone in the small hall. It was the perfect moment to say something. And what could he say to her? Look, I know what you've been doing for me over the last couple of days. I'm so sorry I'm such a blind selfish asshole. Now I just want you to know that I—But he couldn't even think of saying any of it. Because at that very moment, he didn't want to talk to her. He was too busy, fighting back the awkward urge to take her in his arms and hold her tight. And apologize to her. Keep her to his chest, his fingers entwined in her silky dark hair, his lips whispering in her ear. And kiss her. Not necessarily in that order.
None of it showed on the blank scowl he kept on Carson.
When Gillian glanced up at him, she saw him lost in thought.
She felt her throat squeezed at the way he didn't seem to notice she was there. She hadn't expect him to pat her shoulder and congratulate her on getting confirmation on the submissive partner's identity and a full confession on all three murders. But she did expect a glare and clenched teeth. Maybe a scolding, for interviewing his subject without his authorization. Anything. Last night at least he still hated her. But now, not even that was left. He'd shut her completely out. And she knew it was for good. There was no coming back.
For the first time, she tasted a teaser of how it would be from then on. This cold, unbridgeable wall she'd forced him to build between them. She felt tears sting her eyes. She couldn't linger there a minute longer. Because it was just too hard for her. She needed to get the hell away from him, until she learned how to deal with his utter indifference. Her lips parted on their own accord to drew in a shaky breath.
Brock heard her but didn't even blink. If he faced her now, all his feelings would show, and he would actually try to hold her. Before he could come up with anything to say or do without sinking himself up to the neck, she lowered her head and walked away toward the squad room without a word.
