+18 - eps 22-27 - A case takes Russell and Brock to the brink of death. It'll be up to Gillian and the team to rescue them before they're killed by a white supremacist militia. And in the aftermath of the Paris attacks, the threat of a bio attack fo...
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**picture: Maine Medical Center, Portland ME
Gillian walked the few streets from the hotel to Maine Medical Center in Portland at four o'clock, like she'd done for the last three days, after a few-hour sleep.
The nurses at the second floor smiled hi at her when she headed to Russell's room, where Aldana paused the news stream she watched and motioned for her to come in. Gillian did so with her eyes on Russell.
It didn't matter the doctor's explanations, nor that since they'd transferred them from Caribou to Portland, she spent twelve to fourteen hours a day at the hospital and was able to keep a sharp eye on her friend. She just couldn't stomach seeing him like that. Let alone the bruises and bandages and casts, the tubes and needles and electrodes and beeping devices. They kept him so sedated, it looked like he was in a comma.
"This way, his nervous system is spared from the constant stress of pain, and his body can work better and faster on his recovery," Doctor Hernandez had said.
Yeah, whatever. She couldn't begin to express how much she hated it, seeing such an energetic man like Russell turned into something as dynamic as a damn lettuce.
He'd been to the OR again on Thursday, just like Brock, to have their broken teeth removed and replaced by permanent implants. The aftermath of that kind of surgery was annoying and painful, so Hernandez decided to put them through it while they were still deep in morphine and on IV feeding.
"Everything okay?" she asked.
"Define okay," Aldana replied. Yeah, she hated it just as much as Gillian. Aldana sighed. "Same old. His wounds are healing and there are no more internal bleedings. He's stable, that's always good news, blah, blah, blah."
"We're taking him home in two days, Al. That's good news."
Aldana shrugged. "Anything from the lads? Are they still upstate with Cassidy?"
"Not exactly. Looks like the cowboys came across another shed the militia had in the woods, north of the compound. And they found traces of at least three different trucks starting there."
"Balken escaped on Tuesday morning, right? And today's... Friday? They had enough time to cross the border and raise a Canadian family."
"That's exactly what I think. But looks like the trucks took different directions. So Fred and Ron joined the cowboys to follow the different traces."
"In this freezing rain? Poor lads."
Gillian took her turn to shrug. "Maybe it's better than having Cassidy and Hank around another day."
"Are you going back to the agency now?"
"In a while. I wanna check on Brockner first. Y'know, in case he woke up again and the nurses didn't notice."
"Don't know how he does it. These meds are meant to knock down an elephant."
"Yeah, well, I don't think elephants are nearly as stubborn as him."
Aldana tried her best to smile, not quite succeeding.
Gillian leaned to kiss Russell. It was hard to find a spot to do it, with the bandages around his head, the soft cast on his nose, the air tube, his eyes and cheeks like ripe plums. She brushed his temple with her lips and murmured, like every time she checked on him, "Keep fighting, Russ. Love you."
She left Aldana to her stream and walked back to the nurse station toward Brock's room, two doors past it.
Of course he was awake, the stupid pertinacious man, gazing out the window with half-opened eyes, and he didn't move at the sound of incoming footsteps.
Gillian swallowed a sigh, like every time she laid eyes on him like this—about a hundred times a day. There was something about his quiet resistance that got to her every time. His face wasn't as swollen as Russell's, and his bruises looked better every day. He would need the elastic bandage around his broken ribs for a couple of weeks, just like his feet needed to stay wrapped in soft dressing soaked in healing cream.
She didn't want him to know she'd spent every night at the hospital, sitting by his bed to watch over him. Brock was a proud man, and she was sure he wouldn't want anyone around as much as she'd actually been. Surely not her, of all people. She'd been lucky to notice every time he was about to wake up—lucky or focused on him to an insane level, that is—and was able to sneak out and warn the nurses before he could see her.
So now she had to make this look like a visit due only to work.
