+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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Lost in her broody thoughts, Gillian didn't hear the elevator that jingled open, nor the firm steps striding across the empty office. She only heard, out of the blue, the soft knock on the open door to the team's office. And when she turned around, there he was. Brock stood at the doorway, wearing his flawless navy blue suit and his red tie fastened in the Knot of the Year. His eyes met hers from beneath one of his most serious scowls.
Even now, after what happened, despite all her rioting emotions, her heart beat faster. She managed a quick nod and resumed her work.
"Agent Brockner, you didn't need to come by, sir," she said, formal and distant.
His voice wasn't any warmer to reply, "I'd like to have a word with you, if you're not too busy."
She kept her eyes on the papers. Okay, here we go. This was the scolding he'd harbored over the last three days. Of course he'd kept it for last. So like him—first get the job done, now let's strangle Gillian.
"Sure. What is it?"
Brock waited for a moment, but she wasn't about to face him again. So he said the only lines he was able to put up on his way there. Her distant—yet expectable—attitude didn't help his voice to sound any different from his usual controlled tone.
"Gillian, I owe you an apology. I've been unnecessarily rude with you over these last couple of days, and it was not only out of place, but also unfair, since—"
"Sir..."
"—you were right all along about me, being too emotionally involved to handle this case correctly. And that—"
"Agent Brockner, you don't need to apologize, sir."
She meant it. She didn't want him to apologize. She needed him out of there and away. Forever, if possible. Because he was just too much for her to handle. There'd been a time when she'd fancied she could hold it up. But tonight she'd finally realized she couldn't. And the simple fact of him, there, before her, was killing her inside.
Brock scowled deeper. "Yes, I do." Because there are other things I need to tell you. But this is the only way I can get there.
"Trust me, sir, it's okay." Would he ever listen to her, other than to get mad at what she said?
His eyes moved over the piles of papers she was setting on the desk, between them. "Gillian, you're avoiding eye contact, barricaded behind those reports. So no, it's not okay."
Great! Let's profile Gillian for the kicks! She realized she was getting mad at him, and it was good. Another feeling she needed to hold on to. But above all, she needed him to leave her alone. If he wanted to apologize, chances were he wouldn't leave until he was sure his apology was accepted. So she picked up a box and headed to the door, without the slightest hint of a smile. Brock stepped back to give her way.
As she walked out to go to the small office, she tried not to sound dry and cold like Cooper on a good day. "We're having a barbeque at my place on Saturday. You're more than welcome to join us." See? You're even invited to join the gang. That means apology accepted. Now can you just go?
Brock watched her walk into the small office, drop the box near the door and sit behind the desk. He couldn't help a sigh. She was completely armored up, no wonder. What did you expect, Brockner? Hugs and cheers? He needed to bridge over to her. Push her past her justified and understandable anger and hurt. Because he needed her to know.
So he went to the small office and showed at the door. She had her readers on and leaned over a report, trying to fill it. He was careful not to sound too concerned, so she wouldn't think it was pity.
"What is it, Gillian?" Say it, spit it out, I'll take it. But please, don't you shut down on me like this.
She kept writing. "One long day, sir, that's all."
He'd never thought being called 'sir' would bother him this much. But it did. Every time she called him that, it felt like she'd added another line of barbed wired to the trench of her distance.
He came to stand a couple of steps from the desk and tried to soften his tone. "Talk to me, Gillian. I can tell you're upset." I know you, remember? Not as much as I thought, it seems, but anyway enough.
She kept writing, that wonderful, life-saver feeling of annoyance building up inside. "Yes, sir, I am. And Cooper's gonna have my ass if I don't finish these reports by tomorrow morning."
"Gillian..."
She looked up at him with an annoyed grunt. "Agent Brockner?" What the hell did he want from her now? Couldn't he give her a little break?
"What happened back in the alley?" he asked, because he needed to know before speaking any further.
She resumed writing. "Nothing happened, sir. Agent Coleman and I got the subject. That's all."
"What was that last shot?"
Oh, yeah, the scolding. She'd almost forgotten about that. Sure as hell he wanted to know why she'd shot after catching the subject, because that broke the proper-fed protocol for arrests. There was no way she would tell him what really happened. And there was no way she could lie to him and get away with it.
"Please, sir."
Brock knew that word meant a serious warning in Gillian's lips. But he needed to know and he wasn't getting anywhere, so he decided to try the I-outrank-you gambit.
"Tell me what happened, Gillian."
She breathed in and dropped her pen on the report. So the stupid bitter man wanted to know? Fine! Actually, why the hell not? Plain to see he wouldn't drop it until she offered some kind of answer. So why not give him one?
She met his eyes with a very legit death glare—and it didn't feel weird, glaring at him like this, and that was just so great. She didn't bother to repress the anger from her voice.
"What happened!? I almost shot that stupid punk between the eyes because I thought he'd hurt you! That's what happened, sir!"
Brock held her glare, hardly noticing it, with a puzzled scowl. Yes, that was what he'd thought. Only he didn't expect her to get mad at him over it, of all things. He'd given her enough reasons to want to kill him slow and painful for months, every day for a different reason. And she was mad about this?
His puzzled silence only fed this anger she wanted to hold on to. His aim to apologize made him let her raise her voice. But she knew exactly what to say to piss him off. Because he would never accept this from her.
So she went on, feeling stupid and embarrassed, and letting those feelings fuel her attitude. "I lost it! Okay? Because that's what happens to me when you're around! Doesn't matter if you think I'm the worst piece of shit on earth! Whenever you come into the picture, I just can't care about anything else!"
