+18 eps. 12-16 - Gillian and Brock face huge changes in their lives after she leaves the PD and he moves back to DC. But no matter what, looks like they just can't help coming across each other.
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She didn't need to wonder for long. That evening, when she called Connor for dinner, the boy rattled down the stairs with a glowing smile.
"Somebody got good news?" she commented, sitting at the table.
"Oh, yes."
Gillian waited for him to elaborate, but his teen hunger didn't care about her curiosity, and put him to wolf down the food in his plate.
So she said, "Speaking of good news, don't make plans for Saturday. Russ is coming back to town and we're having a welcome barbeque."
"Great," Connor managed to mumble between mouthfuls.
Gillian chattered about casual things, knowing her son wouldn't speak until he was done at least with his first portion. So she waited to fill his plate again, and only then asked, "So? Your good news?"
Connor was already back to eating. He signaled her to give him a minute, swallowed, gulped up his glass of juice and breathed as to push some air down the gutter. "Andrea," he said, already sinking his fork in his food again.
"Andrea Brockner? What about her?"
Gillian was aware that her son and Brock's daughter were in touch and had actually become good friends. Online friends, of course. She wasn't so sure Connor could keep the part if they ever met in person again. However, she'd learned to draw a line. Andrea was an adorable girl her son had befriended, so she would come up in their conversations sometimes, like then. Well, and like that other time, when Gillian had been the unwilling mediator between Andrea and her father about the woman he was dating. Yay, way to go. Anyway. Andrea was her son's friend. And the stupid bitter man was... well, the stupid bitter man. Two different things entirely.
"Maybe she'll be able to go to Harvard after all," explained Connor.
Oh, so the adorable girl would be coming to town next year? Now she understood the boy's happy grin.
"She got her mom's permission to come to live in Boston? You should tell her she can stay here, if her mom doesn't want her living in the dorms. I mean, after you move to the MIT's dorms, of course." 'Cause I ain't having you both under the same roof and get an instant promotion to the granny zone—and be awarded with a chance to stare down the barrel of the stupid bitter man's Glock. Not in a zillion years.
Connor's mouth was already full again, so he just shook his head. "No need," he sort of said.
Gillian arched her eyebrows. "Connor, keep your mouth empty for ten seconds and answer me, would ya."
The boy nodded and left the fork by his plate. "Agent Brockner's been assigned here again, permanently this time. So when the time comes, she can move in with him."
He waited the ten requested seconds, and since his mother seemed to have turned to stone, he resumed his meal.
Gillian kept staring at him, struggling to control the shock, the heat lashing her face and blazing up her chest. She remembered to breathe again and glared around, then stood sharply up to fetch her phone. She went back to the table already texting Russell, 'Mulder new supervisor?' She left the phone on the table, by her plate, and scowled down at it as to make Russell answer faster.
Connor noticed she wasn't eating and frowned. "Something wrong?"
Gillian shook her head, avoiding eye contact. "Work," she grunted.
"Thought you didn't have any new case yet."
"I don't."
"Okay."
Connor knew insisting wasn't a good idea. And he could do his math alright. Didn't take a genius to notice it'd been his comment about Brock what had swept away all of his mother's good mood. So he finished in silence, then pointed at her plate. She hadn't touched it again after fetching her phone.
"Not hungry?" he asked, in his most casual way.
Gillian shook his head with a mild scowl. Connor stood up to clear the table.
"I'll do it," she grunted.
"Okay," the boy muttered. "Then I'm back to my room."
She managed a quick smile as she nodded.
As soon as Connor got out of sight, she rested both elbows on the table and hid her face in her hands. Russell had already replied. A smiling face. How the hell? How on earth had it happened? How come that Brock had left Boston just back in the field after years of exile, and he was coming back only four months later as the Violent Crime supervisor for the whole area? Well, like it mattered at all. Only four words actually mattered: he was coming back.
