+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: Washington DC in November
The morning nurses swarmed on him, but Brock hardly got any chance to notice they were too many. One of them injected something in his IV and he passed out in ten seconds.
When he opened up his eyes, everything was blurry and in the wrong place. The bed, the window, the door. He would've liked to rub his eyes, but his body didn't seem to agree neck down, enjoying the nap big time. So he had to wait. Things came slowly into focus, enough for Brock to realize this was another room. Where was he? Did they have to perform some urgent surgery on him?
Then a figure approached his bed and somebody talked to him. That voice was enough to wipe his numb mind awake. "Dad...?"
Andrea's sweet, beautiful face got clearer for a moment. Then his eyes went blurry again. He didn't even notice the tears rolling down his temples.
He'd thought he would never see her again. That night, lost in the hill, while he crawled in search for a place to hide, it was her memory what pushed him to keep going. If he was able to find where to hide, he might keep the hunters busy and away from Russell. The Tacs would attack soon. And maybe they would find him before the hunters, and before he died. If he managed to survive, he might see Andrea again.
And there she was now, right in front of him. He tried in vain to speak or move. Then he felt her lips on his cheek and her voice by his ear.
"Hush, Dad. It's alright. Now you're home and everything's gonna be alright." Her voice trembled and she kissed his forehead. "Love you, Dad. I'm so happy to see you again!"
Voices from the window. No, the window was somewhere else. He didn't know what was that way now. The door, maybe? The voices came closer and Andrea whispered, "I'll be right back."
She disappeared and Brock's bed was surrounded by a bunch of nurses and doctors he'd never seen before. They took forever to check on him. Brock tried to be as cooperative as he could, so they would leave sooner and let Andrea back to his side. Yes, he could hear them. Yes, he could see them. That's three fingers. Yes, he knew his name. Nope, no idea of the date, but... Wait. DC... Sunday, Monday tops, so Nov... No, he still couldn't move a damn finger. And he was thirsty as hell. Can you bring my daughter back? Yes, yes, he could feel his feet. Ouch! That hurt, you know? Why did they think he had those bandages? And that stethoscope was really cold. Now call Andrea, please.
They finally left and Andrea materialized by his bed. She sat right by it, held his hand and kissed it. "Try to rest, Dad," she said. "I'll be here when you wake up."
He looked at her for a long moment, then closed his eyes.
Andrea was there when he woke up, like she said she would. And his mind felt much clearer now. He saw the bunk under the window. Andrea was sitting on it, earphones on, taking notes from her tablet. When she found him watching her, she went to his side with her bright smile.
"I have to finish my Biology paper," she said. "Mom's condition to let me stay. How're you holding up? True, you don't have to talk. Okay... How about blinking? One for yes, two for no?"
The sun set only a couple of hours later and Brock's first wife came to pick Andrea up. She stayed five whole minutes in the room, while Andrea grabbed her things. Brock was sure it was the longest they'd been together under the same roof since their divorce.
He woke up that night and needed a minute to adjust to the new room. This was smaller than the one he had in Portland, but also nicer. And the familiar city lights outside his window helped him to feel more relaxed. The only thing he missed was the warm, light weight of Gillian's hand on his, and her quiet breath. Then he recalled Andrea would come after school, and he gave in to sleep with a contented sigh.
