+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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
**picture: Falcon 20 jet
Alright, Cooper would never keep the team from helping CT, especially when it was the kind of work they liked most. But she wasn't about to hand them over so easily either. So from the very beginning, she stated that if CT wanted the team as a rapid deployment unit, they would have to pay for the transportation out of their own budget. The field office had budget for only one private plane—the Pilatus—and she needed it available and ready to move Dillon's squad around.
Medley's response was sending a luxurious Falcon 20 to pick up the team at Logan whenever they had to go out of town. Which Gillian and Cooper took as a very cheap trick to lure them closer to joining CT. Both women rolled their eyes at Medley's clumsy courting, but the twelve-seat jet was great for moving around.
Gillian had no idea if there was a whole fleet of Falcon jets, but they always used the same one. Soon the pilots didn't find it weird anymore, having the team sticking their heads into the cockpit to say hi, bring them coffee or hand them a flash drive with music for the flight. There was a screen above the last seats, and Kurt suffered a sudden change of heart about field work and morning flights when he found out he could plug a game console to it. The team got used to work at different places and developed their own way around it. Medley didn't complain, because he found out that their non-conventional ways to work turned out to be as efficient as cheap.
That morning, the Falcon landed at Reagan National Airport and rolled out of the runway. It was Tanya's turn to pick the music, so Two Steps From Hell's orchestra sounded at a comfortable volume, while the girl butchered Kurt on the screen with a vicious lack of mercy. Fred and Ron played poker while Hank sat alone, reading about the case on his tablet.
Gillian received Cassidy's text a few minutes before landing, "help on the way." The door opened and the steps came down as Aldana's phone buzzed with Russell's text to confirm it, "Coming!"
She showed it to Gillian with a radiant smile. "I owe you, Reg!"
Gillian winked at her. "We had to rescue poor Russ from that hideous desk."
"Hope they'll let'im come back home with us."
Gillian nodded to the window. "And there he is."
She stood up and went to the door to welcome her friend. But Aldana stayed at her seat, looking out. And smirked to herself when she saw two men instead of one get out of Russell's car and hurry to the jet.
So Gillian showed up on top of the steps right in time to throw her arms around Russell's neck. And found Brock waiting patiently two steps below. A chill ran down her spine and her ears caught fire, as she gasped for air in Russell's arms.
Her friend patted her back. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a lady to greet," he said, stepping back.
He and Aldana hadn't seen each other since he was summoned to DC, so the team had a good laugh at the way he ignored them to kiss her.
Gillian heard their laughter, but her eyes stayed on Brock as he climbed to stand before her. She hoped her hair wouldn't get scorched in touch with her burning cheeks. What on earth was he doing there? Yeah, one of Cassidy's practical jokes, of course! She'd asked for a profiler to get Russell, not the dynamic duo! Shit! She was so not ready to see him again!
She gave him way into the plane and managed a quick smile. Which faltered miserably when he ducked to walk through the door and his cologne reached her.
On one hand it moved her. Because there he was, alive and well, back on his feet, wearing his navy blue suit with a gray tie beneath his winter jacket, briefcase and duffel in one hand and suit cover in the other, every thread of dark hair in place. And it was so great, seeing him like this, as if nothing had happened and she'd never found him at the brink of death in the Northern Woods, covered in his own blood and vomit.
But at the same time, it brought back her dream and that made her feel awkwardly exposed, as if she wore a T-shirt reading, 'I just had a heated dream about you.'
And to make things more interesting, the fangirl realized she was about to work with him again and wanted to throw a parade right there and then.
The outcome of such a mix was a very inconvenient urge to hug him, kiss him and jump off the jet—after taking off, without a parachute.
She blinked.
That was the only visible sign of the turmoil inside of her.
But it was enough for Brock to know she felt more awkward than he expected. He met her eyes and nodded.
"Cassidy didn't tell you I was coming." Statement, not question.
The way he said it suggested he might spin around and leave. And she didn't want him to leave. To hell with all her embarrassment and pathetic bullshit. It was Brock. There. To work the case with her. She wasn't about to miss it.
She smiled and stretched out her hand. "No, sir. But counting you in is always good news."
He shook her hand and her warm touch summoned memories from his convalescence. Get a grip on yourself, Brockner! Focus on the case! There's plenty of time to go personal—and suicidal. His voice was calm and distant as usual.
"Thanks, Gillian. I'm looking forward to working with you and your team again."
She held his eyes and smiled wider. Jeez! No matter her racing heart and how stupid she felt, it was still great having him there. For all the right reasons, the wrong reasons, the naughty reasons and the dumb reasons.
"It's good to see you back on your feet, sir." She pointed at the seats. "Please, make yourself at home. I'll be right back."
She really hoped Brock didn't notice the psycho-stalker way she breathed in as he walked by her, to take in the fresh, sober smell of his cologne. How long since she'd last smelled it? Then she spun around and fled into the cockpit.
Once she closed the curtain, Brock disappeared of her line of sight and she felt relieved. She heard Tanya's happy welcome to him and felt so tempted to spend the rest of the flight there, with the pilots. Two hours to Savannah should do to get a little cool back. That'd be enough. Restoring any resemblance of intelligence would require a flight to Japan. And back.
The hum of the door coming up made her regret the chance she'd just missed to run. She stayed there as they rolled back to the runway, to give her heart time to stop hammering her chest ruthlessly. Shit. How was she supposed to face him, with the threads of her dream lingering like a cloud around her mind? When they asked her to go to her seat for the takeoff, she took in another deep breath and felt almost able to face Brock.
