+18 - eps.33-35 - The shadow of an old foe leaves Gillian fighting for her life. And as the team hunts down the attacker, Brock and Gillian run out of time to come to terms with their feelings for each other. BONUS TRACK: episode 36 - the breakfast
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As soon as the other two walked out, Brock brought the flowers to her nightstand. Gillian saw them under the warm glow of the lamp and her eyes got full of tears. Wildflowers! How did he know?
"You mentioned it back in Savannah," he said softly, pulling up the chair Aldana had just left.
Gillian met his eyes, frowning. Had she just asked it aloud? Frigging morphine! She needed to be extra careful. But how was she supposed to do that?
His cologne seemed to wash over her when he leaned closer and caressed her hair. She couldn't look away from him, his face so close now, his lips still curled in that mild smile.
"Try to sleep," he whispered, warm and gentle as she'd never heard him before.
The nightstand lamp glimmered in one of his eyes, leaving half his face in the dark. Just like she loved him. With all his lights and shadows. Him as a whole. Exactly the man he was.
The feeling became massive in morphineland. Something so strong, so compelling, that moved her numb hand up to rest on his darkened cheek. A shaky breath escaped her lips when his hand covered hers and brought it an inch down, for him to kiss it. She sensed her lips trembled, her clouded mind fixed on that overwhelming emotion she didn't know how to handle. How was anybody supposed to go around with something like that inside? How could anybody even breathe with such a blazing need in their chest? How would she be able to ever be away from him and stay alive?
Brock pressed her fingers to his lips when he saw the tears flooding her eyes, and held his breath at hearing her weak murmur. He kept her hand in his to lean further. He kissed her forehead, his throat squeezed as he muttered, "And I love you."
"Sir!"
The sudden bark from the door startled them both. Brock straightened up as the chief nurse stalked to the bed, glaring at him.
"Can't you people understand this patient needs to rest?" she scolded him, managing a very convincing angry tone even when she kept her voice low. "So if you can't let her, I'll have to ask you to leave."
"That won't be necessary," Brock replied, grave and repentant.
The woman turned to Gillian, ignoring her murderous glare. "You have five minutes to go back to sleep, Miss, or I'll make you." She turned to Brock. "Five minutes," she repeated, spun around and left.
Brock allowed himself to scoff as he sat as close to the bed as he could. "She's right, you know?" he said.
Gillian turned her face to look at him but never met his eyes, her roaming attention caught by the small card pending from the ribbon around the bouquet.
Brock figured what she looked at, took the card and put it in her hand.
"It reads, 'Get well'," he said. And those few words felt so not enough. So he added, "Because I need you to."
His arms ached when he forbade them to hold her. Because she pressed her lips together and nodded, a wet spark in her eyes as she patted softly the card on her chest. Her other hand moved an inch, enough for him to hold it over the bed. And she closed her eyes.
When the chief nurse showed up again, ready to give Gillian enough sedatives to sleep past Doomsday, and determined to call security to have Brock dragged out of the room, she didn't need to go past the doorway. Gillian was sound asleep, one hand keeping the card and the other in Brock's, while he checked his phone single-handed without a noise. When the woman checked on them a while later, they were both asleep, their hands still together.
