+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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How long had she slept? Damn hospital. Her room had no windows, so there was no telling what time it was. Brock snoozed in his chair by her bed, his chin to his chest and his hand covering hers. She could trace a hint of his cologne in the mix of smells filling her room. She could also smell the wildflowers he'd brought the night before, still on the nightstand and apart from the rest of the presents her friends had sent. She looked up at the bouquet and her eyes fell on the card and those two words in Brock's elegant handwriting.
'Get well.'
Because I need you to.
For a moment, she had a dreadfully lucid glimpse of what those words actually meant. She was able to picture how he might have felt at learning what had happened to her. The hideous déjà vu. The black well of impotence and fear he thought he'd never feel again.
And she hated herself for doing something like that to him. But how would she ever change it? She was what she was. Just like him. They'd made their choice a lifetime ago, hearing a calling that implied an inevitable share of risk and violence for their lives. She couldn't spare him without changing her true nature.
She thought of her team, and Banks, and even Taylor, all of them out there, trying to find those boys who killed cops for the kicks. And she thought of the procedures gone wrong in Cincinnati. His place was anywhere but at her bedside, getting a shut-eye on a hard hospital chair. Instead of resting in his bed, to be fresh and sharp in the morning to catch some bad guys. What he did best. What he loved to do.
It was so unfair. She had no right to put him through all this shit. To make him feel even for a single moment that he might be about to bury another woman he cared about, or loved, or whatever.
Gillian felt the tears rolling down her face, but she knew he'd wake up if she moved.
Yet the tears didn't hide the ugly truth behind all her fears. What she'd refused to face all that time.
She was no good for him.
She had no right to have him go to sleep every night not knowing whether she'd be alive in the morning. She couldn't ask him to sink himself in an endless loop of the worst time of his life. Not if she really loved him. And she did.
Yet she knew that if she ever let him say another word, she wouldn't be able to fight back her feelings. She'd give in for the ride of making all her stupid dreams come true.
Dinning at home with him, Connor and Andrea. Profiling over doing the dishes. Cuddling in his arms every night. Leaving a note with three letters on his desk. Watching the morning news together.
Sharing her life with him.
Being happy in all the most stupid and simple ways.
She had no right to any of it.
Not when the price he'd pay would be trapping himself in the Libra's nightmare.
A soft, muffled groan escaped her lips.
It hurt so much.
Like pouring a handful of dirt into an open grave.
Throwing her badge at her father's feet had been a joke compared to this.
Her hand trembled slightly under Brock's. And he woke up, of course. She hated it so much, seeing how vigilant he was over her.
Brock sat up before she could even try to dry her eyes, or at least pretend to be asleep.
"You okay?" he asked, leaning in with a worried scowl.
She nodded, closing her eyes.
"No, you're not," he said, keeping his voice a whisper to stay off the chief nurse's radar. "Talk to me. What is it?"
That I never wanted you to love me. But you do anyway. And I'd be the happiest woman on earth to give in to you. But I can't. Because I'm a coward. And because it's not right for you. I'm not right for you.
"Gillian...?"
She tried to smile and failed. "I hate to see you here around the clock..." She trailed off just before calling him 'sir'.
"I'm afraid you don't have a saying on that, Gillian."
Gosh! He was so frigging sweet! With his hardhead and his scowl and his bossing, he was the sweetest thing she'd come across in ages. Sweet. Declan Brockner. Well, blame it on the morphine.
She turned her hand palm up to press his. "There's people I want to see. People who won't come around if you're here like a watchdog."
She opened her eyes when he sounded offended. "You mean your father. He took a year to come around. He can wait a little longer."
Oh, God! How was she supposed to resist him? She'd always loved it when he got protective over her.
"I wasn't talking about the King," she said softly.
Brock scowled deeper. "You mean the detective. Your lover." Now we was really offended. "He can wait, too."
Something in his voice added 'forever', and Gillian was finally able to smile. She would've so hugged him and kissed him. She did her best to assume a reasonable tone.
"Things went south in Cincinnati. They want you back, right?"
"I'm not the last agent standing in the Bureau. They can do the job."
She set her jaw to keep from giggling. It would hurt—funny, cry didn't hurt, and she knew how to appreciate a good irony. She needed to stay firm.
"When this case is closed, you should take the lads with you. It's been a quiet month and they're going ballistic. Cooper will be alright with it."
She was about to add something when he raised his hand to stop her.
"Why do you keep trying to push me away?" he asked, dead serious.
Gillian pressed her lips together, but tears flooded her eyes again anyway. And all of a sudden, her feelings breached her feeble barriers.
"I can't see you like this!" she blurted. "Wondering whether I'm gonna make it! Wondering how long till some scumbag takes me down for real and you have to leave me six feet under! I don't want that for you! It's just so unfair! I can't do this to you!"
