**picture: Irish Famine Memorial, Boston
Brock turned his back on Cook, leaving him to stomach the insight, and strode back to the ambulance.
At the same time, Gillian shook off the paramedic's hands and tried to stand up. She had to pause to keep from staggering and the paramedic tried to stop her.
"Wait, Lieutenant! You need to go to the hospital!"
She shot a legit death glare at him and the paramedic stepped aside.
Brock got to her side and grabbed her good arm gently to help her keep her balance. "The medic's right," he whispered. "You should go with the ambulance."
Regarding he meant well, Gillian just ignored him and tried to brush his hand off and walk away.
"Where are you going?" Brock asked, not letting go of her arm.
"My car is around the corner," she grunted.
Brock breathed in. No matter what common sense dictated, he understood how she felt: four of her agents were in the hospital, and she hadn't joined them only out of stubbornness. Because she knew somebody had to stay and fight the solitary battle against politics to keep saving lives, and she wasn't about to fall back. So he helped her without a word, through debris and first responders, and then around the corner, aware of the way she ground her teeth to control the pain of her dozen bruises and superficial cuts.
When they finally reached her car, unlocked and with the keys still in the ignition, Brock opened the passenger door for her and faced her glare with his blankest scowl.
"You're not driving like this, Lieutenant," he ruled.
Maybe she would've done better going to the hospital, because she didn't know if she was in shape to bear Brock's sullen way of looking after her. But for the moment she couldn't pick up a fight with him about who was going to drive her car. She needed to muster whatever energy she had left to keep functioning.
Brock ignored her glare as she got in the passenger seat, and circled the car to sit behind the wheel.
Something squirmed inside of Gillian when he pushed back the seat for his longer legs to fit, as if he were defiling both her and her car. She bit her tongue and turned to look ahead.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, starting the engine. "Do we need to stop by a drugstore, get you anything?"
Gillian didn't answer, taken over again by flashes from the explosion. Hank hit in his chest by a big chunk of concrete. Aldana staggering as she tried to help Fred to get up, his arms wounded and the back of his T-shirt showing a growing stain of blood.
"I... I didn't see it coming," she mumbled, her voice full of remorse. Brock glanced at her and scowled in surprise at the tears in her eyes. "We were so busy with the bomb we did find that I never thought..."
She trailed off, shutting her eyes tight, and Brock couldn't but admire how hard she struggled to keep from breaking down.
"There was no way you could've known," he said, his voice softening but still firm. "None of you."
She breathed deep, trying to put herself together. Brock saw she was in desperate need of anything to hold on to in order to overcome the shock. So he tried to give her something to keep her busy.
"I've been thinking," he said in his calm, controlled way, looking for a way in the obvious chaos jamming the streets all around the explosion site. "The subject wouldn't seek revenge if he had social recognition. We should look for experts without any commendations or public endorsements of their professional achievements."
Gillian felt the sting of tears in her eyes and a lump in her throat, realizing what he was doing. "That would certainly feed a grudge," she muttered, forcing herself to open her eyes and nod. "And it'd explain why the Mayor's commendation was the stressor."
Brock nodded as well. Good, there you go, keep it up. "And about his first message, by picking Malory he also compared the SCU with the Knights of the Round Table."
She would've hugged him and kissed him, just out of gratitude. Having Brock by her side, so understanding, doing exactly what she needed, was so good, so soothing and reassuring.
"The bravest knights of the realm, devoted to right all wrongs and defend the kingdom," she said, her voice still weary.
"That's where he feels he belongs."
"Because he didn't see our old office."
Brock glanced at her again. "Or deal with your boss."
She turned to him with a mild, yet warm smile. Enough, stupid caring man, or I'm gonna hug you for real. She paid attention to where they were and pointed at the next corner.
"We should turn right, Agent Brockner," she said softly.