It only hit Brock days later. He was visiting Georgia's grave, hands in his pockets, eyes down on the carved headstone in the snow. His mind was an odd blank of silence, like it had been the last few times he'd gone to the cemetery.
Ever since he was back in the field and living away from DC, these visits had grown into more of a habit than a necessity, as they'd been for six long years. He'd never felt it stronger, the certainty that this wasn't Georgia. And standing there, gazing down at an engraved piece of marble, didn't bring him any closer to her, her memory, the love they'd shared. All of that was inside of him, not beneath that cold stone, six feet under the frosty winter ground.
His guilt about being back in the field had receded over the last months. Because it wasn't only doing what he loved, it was also being able to help others again. Like he hadn't been able to help Georgia. Actually, because he hadn't been able to help her. This was the best way to embrace that always-hurting scar, that unforgivable mistake he would never atone for. Not coming to terms with it. That might never come.
He'd come to see things that way after the Baileys case, when that poor tortured girl had used what little strength she had left to thank him. Georgia was gone, and it was on him. But at least that girl was not. She wasn't taken away from those who loved her, like Georgia was. So saving others, since he could never save the one he loved.
Under a light snowfall on that cold January noon, he recalled that night once more, and realized Gillian had thanked him too, about a minute or two before the girl. And all of a sudden, Burton's ironic smile came back to his mind. And out of some weird spark of synapses, he also recalled that conversation with Andrea, after the Amber Alert and the gala. The gala when Gillian had publically dedicated her medal to him. The gala Burton had also attended.
Keep bonding with the locals.
A chill ran down Brock's spine and he scowled at Georgia's grave, as if expecting her to show up and tell him he was taking it all so wrong it was hilarious. Which it wasn't. At all. Was that the true reason why Burton wanted him in Boston? Did he think Brock and Gillian...? Brock couldn't bring himself to even think the words.
Burton thought that would help them restore the difficult liaison with the Boston PD? And maybe not only Burton. Surely he had talked about it with his buddy Mattock, and maybe even Cooper. No, not with Cooper. She wanted to get the work done on her own steam. She'd taken on a poorly-managed field office and it was her personal challenge to put it back on its feet. She was too proud to gamble her reputation on something like... Another chill made him scowl deeper. Something like an agent's personal life.
He was outraged, and the feeling went back home with him, and to the airport, and boarded his plane to sit right beside him. No matter how many times he told himself he had to be wrong, his mind kindly replayed Burton's last smile like an armload of firewood to his anger.
That night, his phone buzzed while he had a late dinner at his apartment in South Boston. He muted the TV, grabbing his phone, and frowned when he saw it was Russell. What could be the emergency to call him so late? Russell didn't give him a chance to even say hi.
"Brock, you gotta come down to Reg's office right now. She just received a threat to the unit and we think it could be about a bomb."
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Keep reading on the next episode: BLACKBIRD 8 - the quote