+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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The therapist kept a patient silence and the hint of a smile, hoping that would loosen Brock's tongue. While Brock held the man's eyes as if asking what the hell did this stranger expect from him.
The therapist got the memo and decided to change strategies. He flicked through his small notebook and said, "So, Agent Brockner, you and Agent Coleman were held captive for how long...?"
Three endless minutes ticktocked away in a thickening silence. When the therapist considered special sessions with his own therapist to get rid of the weight of that hard scowl fixed on him, Brock looked away.
"I couldn't tell. Several hours."
The therapist fought his impulse to let out a triumphant shout. He'd made his new patient talk! He couldn't let it slip away. "And you were tortured all the time?"
This time, it took Brock only a minute to reply, "I couldn't tell. I wasn't conscious all the time."
"Tell me about what you do remember, please."
Brock bestowed one of his worst scowls on him.
The therapist resisted almost a minute under that piercing glare. Then he thought of trying the honesty gambit and tilted his head. "Look, Agent Brockner, I'm not asking out of morbid curiosity. I'm as interested in hearing about torture as you are in talking about it. But counseling is mandatory after what happened to you in the line of duty. And if I can't asses your mental health after this experience, I can't clear you to be back to the field when your physicians do."
Brock looked away again, out the window on the side wall, his lips pressed together in a tight line.
The therapist sighed. "Okay, let's try this. Do you have nightmares about that night?"
Brock blinked, his eyes still on the building across the street. He was so tempted to scoff at the man. Nightmares? Yeah, the therapist would call them that. Not him, after seven years dealing with the ghost of the Libra in his dreams. Those were real nightmares. Because there was no hope in them. Only pain and horror, and the certainty of waking up to confirm it was all true. But whenever he dreamed of that night at the compound, even in dreams he knew he only needed to resist, to stay alive until she came to save him. So it didn't matter reliving the physical pain, because it was all already over. It'd come to an end. In her arms.
The therapist thought he'd just seen Brock's lips tremble. About to talk, about to smile, he couldn't tell. But Brock's face had somehow softened. The man narrowed his eyes. He was about to speak when a firm knock on his door cut him off. He checked the time. Thirty minutes to his next patient—thirty minutes! How was he supposed to endure thirty more minutes? Another knock on the door pushed him on his feet.
"Excuse me," he muttered. He opened the door only enough to look out.
Behind him, Brock seemed to come to life when a strong voice said, "I'm looking for Agent Brockner."
"I'm sorry, we're in the middle of—"
"Bullshit."
The door was pushed wide open and Cassidy brushed past the surprised therapist to stride in. "There you are! C'mon, Brockner, we've got work to do."
"Excuse me, sir. I don't know who you are, but you can't—"
"National Security stuff."
Brock rolled his wheelchair before the therapist and out of the office, fast enough to scorch the carpet best DeLorean way.
"But Agent Brockner hasn't been cleared to go back to work!"
Cassidy saw Ben hurry down the hall with an alarmed frown and flashed a confident smile, giving the man his personal card. "Send me your report clearing him. First thing tomorrow."
"What!? I cannot—!"
"Of course you can. And you will. Goodbye, Doctor."
Cassidy turned his back on the baffled therapist and followed Ben to the elevators. He gifted Brock with one of his little smirks. "Saved by the bell, huh?"
Brock ignored the tease. "What's going on, sir?"
"Nothing important. A thousand bomb threats all over the country, Harvard included. I just heard you've been summoned here and thought you'd be glad to skip all this counseling crap."
Brock shrugged with a quick grimace. "It's mandatory."
"Wanna resume the session?"
The elevator jingled open and Brock hurried to roll into it.
