+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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She was doing it again! She wielded her feelings like a red flag, for an imaginary bull to charge on and give her the chance to turn it all into a confrontation of sorts. She didn't care the price she might have to pay. She only wanted to shift his attention away from her emotions. This time he knew what she was up to. The next step would be shutting him out completely. So his only option was trying to catch her off guard and mess up her strategy.
So he scoffed. "Take offense?" he repeated, as if appreciating a good joke. That was it! The way she looked at him, as if he'd spoken in tongues. Now he had to dive head-on before she found her way around it. "Why would I take offense? Gillian, you know I have feelings for you too."
He squirmed inside, because it was all so unlike him. He only wished he'd sounded casual enough to make her wonder.
Gillian blinked in a shocked silence. The ground moved under her feet and everything took a dizzy spin around her. Her phone buzzed before she could catch her breath, her chest burning in contrast with the sudden cold crawling up her limbs, her belly contracted and hard like a rock.
Moving her hand to pick up triggered a mayhem of clamors. The one word she was able to comprehend gave her the exit she was desperately seeking. Misheard. Yes. That was it. Sleep deprivation combined with stress could play nasty tricks on anybody's mind. She'd misheard him. He'd meant he cared for her.
The cold contact of the phone to her ear enabled her language skills back online. "Al..." she grunted.
"Hey, Reg, we'll be there in twenty. So you and Brockner better hurry to clean up the table."
"Go to hell."
Brock waited for her to disconnect. He was at the brink of a seizure, but he couldn't give her any break. He had to get the message through all her fears in heavy armor disguise.
"Thought you knew that I... That I wanna be with you."
A part of his mind bordered a dangerous cave-in at hearing himself say that to a woman-any woman-other than Georgia. But Gillian wasn't just any woman. So Brock commanded his rusty oaths to shut the hell up. They were overdue anyway.
He held his breath, his eyes fixed on her face. All his inner turmoil died away at her reaction.
Her face darkened as she scowled down at the water and sat up. Her heart hammered so hard it caused a numbing echo in her ears. She tried to understand why on earth Brock would say something like that. She knew him. He would never make a joke about somebody else's feelings. And he would never hurt her on purpose. So what the hell had gotten to him? What was he up to? She couldn't find one damn reason to justify his last words.
Save pity.
The very idea made her harden inside. Her heart still beat like a war drum, but a cold clarity washed over her. It didn't matter what stupid logic pushed Brock to try such a ludicrous lie-ludicrous to a painful extent. Nobody was to play her like that. Not even him. He could shove his pity up his uptight bitter ass and-
"Gillian...?"
She avoided eye contact as she grabbed her things and stood up. If she could only hate his guts!
"Save your pity, sir. I don't need it."
Brock stood up too, not believing his ears. What? Pity!? How come she-? Later Brockner! Out of instinct, he gave his voice the right amount of authority. "Gillian, stop."
And she stopped, already halfway to the 101. She didn't look back, though. Mostly because of the burning tears flooding her eyes. She wouldn't be able to hold them back if she faced him. She heard his firm footsteps come closer and she squirmed inside.
His voice remained gentle but controlled. "I know this may come as a surprise for you," he said to her back, keeping his distance. "And I can understand you may need some time to wrap your mind around it. I just want you to know I'm here, and I'll be waiting. For as long as it takes."
She set her jaw, loathing the tear that rolled down her cold cheek. Somehow she managed to reply, "You shouldn't, sir."
Brock let out a shaky sigh as he watched her stride into the 101 and out of his sight. Frustration squeezed his throat. He'd expected some disbelief from her, but not this all-out incredulity. It wasn't only that she didn't believe him. She couldn't even conceive the idea of him having any kind of feeling for her. He knew that was all on him. Where had he gone so terribly wrong to lead her to believe that? And how was he supposed to show her otherwise now? How was he to overcome her denial and prove her that pity had nothing to do with this?
Well, surely not standing there like the helpless idiot he was. Every step he let her take away from him was a reason against him. He knew it wouldn't be easy, but he couldn't give up at the first setback. Not if his feelings were any kind of real.
All of a sudden a sensation took him over.
From the night before in the SUV. When he'd wanted to take her in his arms.
Put the words to rest.
He let out a suffocated sound and hurried into the inn.
