It happened all at the same time.
Gillian grasped Phil's arm with both hands and tried to drag him to the restroom.
Russell yanked Aldana back to protect her from the gas flooding the place.
SWAT opened heavy fire, shattering the shop window, and kept shooting all over the shop filled with gas.
Phil shook Gillian's hands off and turned to face the incoming SWAT agents with an hallucinated stare.
And Brock pushed Russell and Aldana out of the way to storm in.
He saw Gillian's figure in the suffocating smoke and jumped to her. And he got to round her waist from behind right when she tried to reach Phil's hand again, crying out his name. Brock dragged her back as she struggled so desperately to get rid of his iron grip, that she even kicked with both her feet in the air.
"Let go! Phil!!"
Brock forced her to duck and stay down, pinning her to the wall as he covered her with his own body, while bullets flew all around, shattering the wallboards inches away from them. But Gillian kept fighting him.
"They're killing him!"
Russell crouched to run to Brock and helped him to drag Gillian into the restroom, where Brock let go of her to lock the door. Aldana couldn't help her tears when she saw the way Gillian pushed Russell away and sprinted to the door. But Brock was standing right before it, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't push him aside.
Behind the door, SWAT was still shooting.
Gillian hit Brock's chest with her fists. "Let me out!!"
He stood the punches and pressed her arms softly.
It was like turning a switch. At his gentle touch, she grasped his sleeves and hid her face against his Kevlar, mumbling, "Please... I promised I wouldn't leave'im..."
Russell and Aldana went out to the backyard in complete silence, giving Gillian room to vent. They knew she needed it, but she wouldn't do it in front of them. And for some reason they weren't about to discuss at that moment, Brock was the one to help her through it.
As soon as they were alone, Brock rounded Gillian with his arms, holding her up without a word while she cried her heart out. And he wished there was anything he could say to her, but there were no wise or comforting words for her situation. So he just held her up and tight to his chest, forcing himself to breathe deep and stay calm, because every of her tears felt like an insidious stab in his side. He felt her hands desperately clinging to his arms and her pain seemed to ache in his own heart. So he held her even tighter and rested his cheek against her dark hair, offering what little, useless, late shelter he could give her.
Gillian was too devastated to process it, let out express it, but she also gave him what little she had left to give. Which right then was breaking down in his arms, without even trying to hide anything of what was tearing her apart inside, counting on him to keep holding her up, and mostly from breaking down in pieces like she felt she was just about to.
And Brock saw it. This daredevil, proud, brilliant woman, who never let anybody see her even hesitate, was gifting him with her open weakness and her utter trust, hoping he wouldn't tarnish them with pity.
Once again he could clearly feel the bond between them, growing disturbing and stronger. The way they read and knew and used and cared for each other beyond any logic, even against their own will. Scary enough to keep them so carefully apart, especially after what they'd been through together during the Wood case. Yet there it was, dormant, just waiting to show.
Like then.
Was this why he had so completely erased her from his memory seventeen years ago, and why anything she'd say or do would automatically annoy him? Was he building up some childish alibi to justify himself every time he couldn't fight his need to protect her? What was so wrong about caring? Was it because it was her, with her trademark smartass recklessness? Or was it because it was that—caring...? Why did he even care about her? Was it that intellectual pleasure he always found in her sharp, brilliant mind? Was it her bulletproof respect for him? Was it the way she gave herself completely in, regardless of any danger, to protect everybody around her, him included? Or maybe the hidden challenge shimmering in her outstanding blue eyes every time they met his?
While Brock was lost in such a maze of unexpected questions, she managed to get a frail grip on herself, and found out she was holding Brock just as tight as he was holding her. So she tried to step back. He quickly allowed her to and waited for her to face him. She dumbly wiped up her eyes and nose in her sleeve and kept her reddened eyes low, her deaden voice contradicting her words.
"I'm fine, Agent Brockner."
Two arm's length. It was a good sign. Gillian was sort of back.
He used his flattest tone. "Okay, then, let's go."
She shook her head when Brock pointed to the window.
He frowned. "You don't wanna go this way."
"I need to."
Her dull, low voice fueled Brock's anger about what she'd been put through. She met his eyes, pale and broken but determined, a jagged edge in her words.
"I need to see what he's capable of."
And Brock understood that rage was the only thing that could get her out of that place by her own feet with her head up. So he only sighed his disagreement and unlocked the door behind him, stepping aside to let her out of the restroom.