+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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Gillian woke up with a jolt and frowned at the growing daylight. "What time is it?" she mumbled, rubbing her face. Weird. One of her hands felt warmer than the other.
Brock was still looking out, now from behind his sunglasses, and didn't face her to reply, "Early. She's still inside."
Another weird. She'd dreamed of sleeping with Brock. To wake up from sleeping by Brock.
He rested back in his seat, his left arm folded on the rolled-down window, as vigilant as if they'd just gotten there. Sunglasses, she thought. That was a good idea. When she leaned in to reach her bag and her own sunglasses, his suit coat dropped to her lap. Oh, so that was why it smelled as if Brock were much closer than he really was. Still too sleepy to stop and think about it, she held it up before her to smooth it out. She patted the creases and reached behind the driver's seat. Good thing fed SUVs were all the same. She grabbed the hanger and slipped it into the suit coat's sleeves, then hung it from the small hook above the backseat window, on the driver side.
Brock didn't dare to even glance at her, and moved his hand from the window to rest it against his mouth in the most casual way. Right on time to hide how his lips curled up. Because Gillian behaved in such a natural way, as if she hung his suit coat in his car every morning. After Wednesday breakfast. And after telling him to get some rest in the middle of the night. A picture he'd never expected—Gillian wifing for him! And you damn love it, right Brockner?
"Morning, sunshine."
Aldana's sudden irruption forced Brock to look at Gillian. She still fished through her bag, her phone in frail balance on her knee. He checked the dash clock and reminded himself that no matter how punk they were, Gillian and her team hardly took any break while working a case. So he shouldn't be surprised if they were all already up and wide awake.
"Where's the CDC?" Gillian asked, grunting as she searched for her sunglasses.
Kurt tried to say something—surely something like "in Atlanta"—and Hank cut him off. "It's six-thirty, Reg. They'll be here at seven."
"You there?"
"Looks like. All seven cases admitted last night tested positive for BVD. No new cases so far but hospitals remain on alert. I'll have the full autopsy report by nine."
She finally found her sunglasses and nailed them to her face.
"Call the CDC to catch up here. You're up, lads. And I can hear you chewing, Kurt. So you better drop it and get us online asap."
For once, Kurt caught the meaning of the warning looks from all around the table. "Right away," he said, his mouth full.
She disconnected and snorted.
"Jesus! I'd kill for a coffee."
Brock started the engine without a word, amused at her morning mood. He drove away as he pinned an imaginary note to his mind board. Coffee before speaking to her in the morning. Well, unless you're able to provide an effective substitute for caffeine. Can you, Brockner? He set his jaw to stay serious. Yeah, surely he could do that for her.
