Only an ambulance and Jules' Rescue Team remained at the site. Fred and Taylor worked shoulder to shoulder with them. They had chosen the department nearest to the building entrance, and they were removing debris with their hands to make a way from the window to the front door, which opened to the main hallway.
The access to the lot was guarded by uniforms, keeping away a few curious neighbors and a couple of TV crews.
Inside the building, below the second floor level, Brock secured his feet on the pile of rubble and reached out to Gillian, standing on her good leg two steps higher than him. He grabbed her waist as she rested both hands on his shoulders, and helped her to his side. His ear didn't bleed anymore, and the pain had receded enough for him to handle it. After that first leap down from the landing, which had taken them a good while to work out, it turned out to be easier than both of them expected.
Gillian rested against a piece of column while Brock looked for the next safe step down. He found it and took it, then turned to her, and noticed she staggered when she leaned forward to reach his hand. Once again, he grabbed her waist and helped her to his side.
"You need a break," he said.
She shook her head, ignoring his face an inch away from hers and his hands still on her waist. "I'm fine."
Brock raised his eyebrows—that was his line. "No, you're not," he said, making her sit down. "We're taking a minute to catch our breath." She tried to stand up and Brock stopped her, annoyed. "You don't need to prove you can take it, Gillian: I already know."
"Please, Agent Brockner..."
Just like he had mastered the art of the blank scowl, she was an expert on depriving the word 'please' of its nice natural meaning, to turn it into something close to a threat.
Brock sighed. Maybe if they moved past ranks? "It's Brock," he said, softening his voice.
Epic backfire.
She reached for something to grab and stand up. "No, thanks," she replied. "Any more personal and this would be a frigging date."
Brock faced her stubborn scowl, taken aback. Every time he thought he'd figured her out, he realized he hadn't. Personal? What was she talking about? Could it be...? "You didn't resent my aggressive profile, but you do resent the CPR?"
She snorted. Stupid man! I don't mind you saving my life a thousand times! But I'm sick and tired of you getting hurt in the process and then pushing me away, not giving me the slightest chance to even thank you!
"No. And you're making conversation to keep me sitting here."
She stood up and glared at him, as if daring him to deny it. Brock wisely turned to look for their next step down, pondering his suspicions.