+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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Gillian let Greta hug her goodbye and headed to the parking lot. Hank and Kurt snoozed on the backseat of one of the SUVs, while Ron, Fred and Russell loaded the last cases of equipment to its back. Aldana and Tanya waited in another SUV, the seat behind the wheel still vacant. And Brock was alone in the third vehicle.
She didn't want to.
She really didn't.
She wished oh so bad she could just climb in with Aldana and Tanya.
But it wasn't right. Just that simple. She didn't want to face Brock for the next couple of centuries—let alone talk to him. But she knew she had to. Even if she didn't have the slightest clue what she'd say.
Sorry, I happened to panic when you said you love me. Duh. He had eyes in his face, right?
I do love you. It's just that I... I don't want...
...?
...don't want you to love me back?
Her guts twitched, that unmistakable sign when she touched a nerve of things. Was it true? She didn't want him to love her? Why? Who on earth would love somebody with the sole condition of not being loved back? How many levels of wrong and sick was that?
The soft click of the backseat door startled her out of her musing. Lost in thought, she'd crossed the whole parking lot straight to Brock's SUV and even opened the door to drop her duffel. For a heartbeat, she considered a last-minute retreat. Then her heart hammered out of control and she couldn't think anymore. She just climbed in and sat by him. Brock turned his face to her and she was grateful for his sunglasses, sparing her from his piercing eyes.
While she buckled up her seatbelt, the others got in the SUVs and drove out of the parking lot. Brock geared in and followed without a word. He was surprised she'd come with him, instead of hiding away with her team. But he wasn't about to miss the opportunity. He could see that calling porcupine mode her current state was a major understatement, so he decided not to push her by acting friendly. She'd always kept her distance as one of her main defensive gambits. Maybe it'd help her to take it all easier. He kept his eyes on the street and his voice calm, controlled as usual.
"Gillian, about what happened..."
He trailed off when she raised her hand between them. She didn't know what she'd say. But she was more afraid of anything he might say.
"Please, sir..."
Despite of all his planned strategy, he couldn't help himself. "Sir...?"
Once more, she wished she could hate his guts. Three letters. A whole speech in three damn letters. And he was right, for a change. Of course it didn't make sense. They'd just kissed, for crying out loud! 'Sir' was the last thing to call him! Yet it was the only way she had to address him and keep a little grip on herself. So she nodded, looking ahead like him.
"Yes. Sir. I'm really sorry. I wouldn't want you to think I'm some kind of mental case, but I—"
"I know."
She had to turn to him, allowing irony to hue her voice. "Do you?"
"I'm the one who should apologize, Gillian. The last thing I wanted was to push you away."
With an icy chill of dread, she understood that their conversation by the pool—and what came right after—might turn out to be a piece of cake compared to this one. Especially when he glanced at her with a quick, tight smile.
Formal and distant didn't seem to work, so he tried a more conversational tone.
"However, I think I made my point. So there's no need to keep going over it."
She frowned, suddenly suspicious. He kept behaving out of anything she knew or expected, and she hated being at such a loss. Now he was dismissing what he'd said and done? Or he was just embarrassed about exposing himself so much for such a negative outcome? Or maybe now he thought what she'd said about loving him was not true? Well, she did rush away at the first sing of reciprocity. Actually, she'd given him everything he needed to conclude she'd lied. Or exaggerated, calling 'love' whatever she felt for him. And for some reason, that felt worse than anything else. She didn't want him to think she just fancied him, but had a bad taste for big words to small things.
"Sir, I need to ask you..." she mumbled, and hesitated. "D'you believe anything I've said to you?"
He frowned, but his lips were still pursed. Gillian thanked the seatbelt for keeping her stuck in her seat, because she was so tempted to lean to him and kiss him. Which made her relive in a flash what his kiss felt like. Which made her belly tingle. Which—
"Of course I believe you, Gillian. Else I wouldn't have—"
"Of course."
Plain to see nothing he could say, no matter his tone, would help her not to be so on edge. So he kept quiet.
"I'm so sorry," she muttered, once more. "I really am, sir. I wish I could... But I... I... can't..."
Brock tightened his grip on the steering wheel, not to crash the SUV in order to take her in his arms. She was painfully aware of her own contradictions—she was too intelligent to ignore them. Still, fear took the best of her.
"Because changes and control. I know," he said.
She fought back the sudden tears stinging her eyes at his gentle voice. She loathed herself to no end. Because he was right yet again. How could she be such a jerk? Why couldn't she do what anybody with a normal brain would do? Why couldn't she just give in to her feelings and be happy because he felt the same? What was so wrong and terrifying about it to freeze her, Daredevil Gillian? Oh, but she knew what. And he knew too. He'd just said it: changes, control.
