+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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
She gulped up the coffee, her knuckles white around the phone. As if holding it she could grasp the sound of Brock's voice and make it last in her ears. She got another coffee and headed back to Russell's room.
She knew she should text Tanya to let the girl know it was her last night on earth, and while at it, share with her the name Brock had just given them. But there was time for it. Next morning. Right now, she wanted to linger on the merry, sparkling warmth in her chest. Because Russell was awake and getting better. Because Brock was better, too. And because he'd called her.
She knew it meant nothing. Yes, he could've texted or called Tanya to give her the name of that bastard. Yet, he'd called her. But only to express his gratitude as he should. It wouldn't have been proper to thank Tanya. Gillian was the team leader and the one who'd found him, so he thanked her. Because he felt he had to. She would've liked to ask him if he expected her to do any different than what she'd done. If he thought she could've stayed away and just let him to die.
Stupid bitter man. He should know better, just like she did. Just like she knew he didn't want her to have any feelings for him, he was bound to know she wished she could do something about it. Now she could just hope he wouldn't hate her even more for being the one who had saved him for one damn time. Well, like it would make any difference.
As soon as she walked into Russell's room, he turned his face to her.
"Can't sleep?" she asked, approaching his bed.
"No... Got something to watch?"
"Yeah. Daredevil, new Marvel show. Wanna try it? I think you'll like it."
She fetched her tablet and earphones. Russell moved to a side, making room for her. She finished her coffee and lay back by his side on the hospital bed. When he lifted his head a little, she slid her arm under it, so he could rest on her shoulder. She couldn't help kissing his forehead again.
"Love you, silly."
"Me too."
They shared earphones to watch the first episode. By the end, Russell was sound asleep. So Gillian retrieved his earphone for herself and played the next episode. Her arm was about to go numb soon, but she didn't want to startle him.
Holding him like this in his sleep was so soothing. His slow, deep breathing seemed to tell her she could relax, too. She didn't need to be ready to run away in case he woke up, because he did want her there, by his side. And she could keep holding him, and tell him whatever she wanted, and it'd be alright. She didn't need to play distant. With Russell, she could let her feelings show just like they were.
That was one of the thousand reasons why she loved him so much. He'd always been a relentless carefree player until he started out with Aldana, but he'd never tried any pose with her. And he liked it when she was able to get affectionate. She still remembered the one time she'd hugged Banks: he'd almost punched her lights out. Russell? He hugged her back every time.
He'd always been her room to let her emotions out. And after what happened to him, something as simple as the light weight of his head on her shoulder was a moment to cherish.
She was able to watch the third episode, and she would've started the fourth, but she could hardly keep her eyes open. So she removed the earphones and set them with the tablet on the nightstand. A minute later she was asleep too, her other arm across Russell's chest.
It was the way he quivered that woke her up. Then she heard his muffled groans. She held him again and tried to sooth him, but he was deep into a bad dream. When he started mumbling things like, "No, please stop," and, "Please, hurts," she decided it was enough.
"Russ," she whispered in his ear. "Wake up, Russ. It's okay. It's over."
He opened his eyes with a jolt, panting.
"Hush, Russ, it's alright," she kept whispering.
"Reg...?" he mumbled in a shaky thread of voice.
"Yes, Russ. It's me. I'm right here and you're okay."
Still caught in the nightmare, he looked down at his hands, wrapped in soft casts, steel sticks taped to his fingers. He let out a stuttering sigh and swallowed.
"I... I can't..." he muttered. "I close my eyes and it all..."
"It comes back, I know," she said, her lips against his temple.
His suffocated groan made her hold him tighter. Russell hid his face against her neck. She felt his silent tears and clenched her teeth. She knew he needed it, and he would never allow himself to do it in front of Aldana or his mother. Anger and impotence hit her hard. Why did he had to live such a horror?
So she whispered in his ear, warm and soothing. "It's okay, love. Cry all you want. Let it all out."
He brought one of his broken, bandaged hands to her arm across his chest, as if to keep it there. Gillian bit her lip. Maybe the simple fact of her holding him up and tight, and a chance to vent, felt huge for Russell. But it was so not enough for her.
He was still so weak that he fell asleep just out of exhaustion. She wiped away his last tears and rested her cheek against his head. She wasn't able to close her eyes again for the rest of the night.
