+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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The coffeemaker was empty. Gillian showed it to Fred, with a thread of very graphic signs about doomsday falling down on him for such a crime, but she took good advantage of that while alone to push her heart back to a more healthy rate.
As she watched the fresh coffee dive into the carafe drop by drop, she thought there were some things about the case that had her guts twitching. And it'd be so great if she could share them with Brock.
Yeah, why not? She scoffed at herself. Like it was so easy, just walking over to the solitary seat Brock had gone back to with the folder, sit down and just talk. Yeah. Anytime.
Wait. Really, why not? They were about to spend at least a couple of days together around the clock, working on this. She should man up and get over it.
So a few minutes later she fixed an earl grey for him, filled a mug with coffee and walked the death row to the other end of the jet. Lucky her, the panic tremors died away before she reached his side.
"Sir...?"
Brock looked up and couldn't help a quick smile at the tea she offered him. He sat up and pointed at the vacant seat in front of him.
"Thanks," she muttered, sitting down.
He studied Gillian as she sipped her coffee, her eyes out the window, lost in thought. Whatever it was across her mind, he was willing to hear it. Whether it was about her feelings, or about what happened that stormy night in Boston—the first stormy night or the second stormy night, Brockner?—or about the case.
He gave her a whole minute, then he asked, "What is it, Gillian?"
She sighed. She should start talking before she grinned like an idiot. "It's this case, sir. I've seen some bad crap, but this..."
Brock knew her enough to guess there was something twitching her guts, and she needed to voice it as a way to see it clearly. So he opened the game. "What do you mean?"
She grimaced. "According to what Hank explained to me, this virus causes bipolar disease, schizophrenia and depression—among other nice things. So the infected patients? These people ain't getting better. Ever. If they make it, they're gonna spend the rest of their lives on meds. Many of them won't be able to keep a steady job again, or a relationship. Always in need of external care, or simply locked up in a mental institution."
Brock arched his eyebrows at the information.
"Terrorists are pretty much like serial killers in a certain way," she said. "Sometimes you wonder how the hell they get so creative to kill others. But we're still talking death and numbers. In terrorism, a sniper, a bomb, a bio attack, it's always the same in the end: let's kill a bunch and make the headlines, make'em panic. But this? This is not about fear."
Brock's sarcasm was very tempted to call 'butterflies in his stomach' what he felt at meeting again her open, plain, yet deep reasoning. It was something he'd never get tired of whenever they worked together. He narrowed his eyes, fixed on her.
"Then what are we talking about?" he asked.
Gillian could tell he was engaged in the conversation. It was such a relief, being able to talk to him like this. "Constant torture," she replied. "For the victims and their families. For years and years. These families won't get to bury their loved ones soon and have any kind of closure. They're stuck with this man or this woman who used to be a loving parent, a good sibling, a nice spouse, who will be staring out the window, trying to remember their own names."
"Terrorists have their share of sadism," Brock said. "Else, they couldn't do what they do."
"But terrorism is always about the shock and the numbers. Look what I can do to you in the blink of an eye, and you never saw it coming. While this... Don't you think this is sort of... too personal?"
Brock took a moment before nodding. Yes, she definitely had a point. "That's why you suspect a single subject on a revenge mission is behind this. Why a woman?"
"Because this is not straight-forward killing, but all the way around. This is slow, painful. And clean. Never underestimate the levels of subtle cruelty a woman can reach."
Brock scoffed and her lips curled up in response. Looked like he'd left the stupid bitter man back in DC to board the jet, bringing instead a hint of his charming self. Might be the thrill of being back to the field for the first time in months. Whatever the reason, she could never have enough of it.
