+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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The fifth floor was deserted and it had started to rain. Everything was quiet inside, only the soft murmur of the drops on the window. And that was exactly what Gillian needed.
Her hands still shook a little as she picked up pictures and reports in no hurry, to box up all the material of the case. She'd needed to change her shirt as soon as she got to the field office, because it was drenched in sweat. And she could be grateful her eyes weren't too reddened, after crying her heart out for half an hour like she'd just done.
This couldn't go on. It just couldn't. She needed to find a way to overcome herself and stay away from Brock for good. She still felt cold chills at the flashbacks of the blind, mad fury she'd given in to hardly an hour ago. She couldn't believe she craved to kill Ledger because he might have hurt Brock. How come she'd lost it like that?
She rested both hands on Hank's desk and let out a suffocated moan. She'd let things get just too far. That blazing urge to kill a man, to take a life, was the most horrifying thing she'd ever experienced. So it just had to stop. Somehow.
She knew she couldn't change how she felt about Brock—she wasn't that naïve. But she really needed to find a way to keep those feelings in check. Mostly from threatening lives. And from pushing her ever again through the hell the last three days had been.
At least she knew the stupid bitter man wouldn't come around. So she wouldn't have to even hear from him for a while. Staying away was her only hope to learn to live with this thing stirring inside of her, out of any attempt of control.
She needed to be honest with herself. No matter what. But it hurt so much. This deep longing for him she'd been refusing to face all this time. And this realistic need to let him stay away. This feeling so hopeless and stupid beyond any logic. This will to expose herself to any kind of shit just for his sake.
She knew she just couldn't ban him off her mind and her heart. But it'd just gotten too up the hill. She couldn't go on like this, pretending she didn't care about his silent, steady rejection. Cheating herself into believing they could share at least some common ground at work. There was no possible common ground between them. There had never been. There would never be. No matter how hard she tried. No matter what she felt. No matter the terrifying but delicious chill that ran down her back at something as silly as smelling his cologne. No matter how many mornings she woke up to realize she'd dreamed of him. Again.
Tonight everything inside of her squirmed and rioted against it—against him. It'd been enough. And she needed to hold on to this feeling of being sick and tired. Because in time, it would help her put herself back together and move on.
So she breathed deep, set her jaw and kept boxing the case away.
