They knew it wouldn't be easy, locating what was left of the militia, and it would take time. No matter how many times they interrogated the four men arrested in Portland, nobody was able to get a single word from them that could help the search. At the same time, Allen and a couple more were sent from Portland to Canada, to work with the local authorities and try to confirm if any of the fugitives had crossed the borders. Tanya, Kurt and Brandon worked on traffic cameras to try to locate the trucks that left the Northern Woods along with Balken's.
In the meantime, it became sort of an awful habit. Every day, Aldana left earlier than the rest to go to the hospital and allow Russell's mother to go home and get some rest. She spent the nights there, sleeping in the visitor's bunk, and went home by breakfast time, when Russell's mother came back.
The hospital was included in everybody's way home, and the rest of the team visited Russell at least for a few minutes after leaving the office.
The doctors still kept him heavily sedated. They wanted his concussion to heal a little more before performing more tests and determine if there'd been brain damage, and what kind of damage.
Over the next week, the MRI only showed how the swelling receded, so doctors were optimistic about his chances to recover without any kind of physical consequences. Finally, they decided to let Russell wake up and withdrew the meds keeping him out. His nose was almost back to normal, so they expected him to be able to breathe without assistance. His internal lesions were already healed or just about to. His hands were still in casts, and they should stay like that at least for another month.
Gillian felt her knees falter when she arrived to the hospital and found him awake. Barely awake, lost in morphine. But his eyes were open and they even managed to focus on her for a moment. His mother rubbing her back didn't exactly help her to keep her cool. That night, she fell into a deep, restoring sleep as she hadn't had since what everybody already called "the Battle of the Hill"—weren't men just too over the top to name their deeds of arms.
On the following days, she found Russell more and more lucid. The time he welcomed her with a smile had her swallowing happy tears even after she left the hospital.
Finally, Gillian was able to convince Aldana to take one night off and go home to get some quality sleep.
"I'd kill for a burrito," he muttered with a resigned sigh, a longing gaze upon Gillian's takeout.
Talking with him again was so good, Gillian let out a soft laughter. "I'm afraid you're gonna be on IV and hospital food a while longer. But hey, that'll help you lose the few pounds marital life gave you lately."
Russell arched his eyebrows. "Knew you were jealous."
"Go figure."
"Promise we'll take over Boloco as soon as I'm outta here."
"Only if you stick to our Christmas barbeque this year."
"Of course. Why wouldn't we have it?"
"Because you're married now?"
"See? You're jealous. And I'm not married."
Gillian went up to the bed and rested her hand on his forehead with a warm smile. "Then I'll let you into a little secret: if you keep it up like this, we may get lucky and have Thanksgiving at your place."
He frowned, not quite believing it.
She pretended to misunderstand him. "It was my place last year, so it's yours now. Or do we need Al's permission?"
"You cheater, I know you. You're only thinking about Mom's turkey."
"Of course I am."
He scoffed and she almost hugged him.
But she noticed that little chat had tired him. So she kissed his head and whispered, "Try to sleep now, Russ. Get well and let's get the hell outta here. I'm sick and tired of hospitals."
Russell nodded with a mild smile and closed his eyes.
Gillian tucked him in and pressed his arm. "You sleep. I'll be right back."
"You're going for a coffee," he murmured.
"You bet."
"Make it two."
She walked out, the smile nailed to her face.
The coffee machine near the nurse station was taking its sweet time to fill the paper cup when her phone buzzed. She picked up without checking the caller. Andrea used to text her daily update after dinner. Maybe that night the girl had decided to call instead. A moment later, her heart was up her throat.
"Gillian?"
Hearing his voice sent chills down her back. "Agent Brockner...?"
"Sorry to bother you this late. Do you have a minute?"
"O-of course, sir. How can I help you?" Are you alright, stupid bitter man? You sound fine and Andrea says you're getting better, but I know damn well I can never be sure with you.
"First I wanted to tell you how grateful I am for what you did. You and your team saved my life, and I'll never be able to thank you enough for all you did for me."
He spoke slower than usual and his voice was raspy, a little hoarse, but his trademark controlled way was there. His formal words helped Gillian to keep a grip on herself, and don't laugh and cry at the same time.
She managed an acceptable normal tone as she sat down on one of the chairs lined against the wall. "I was able to do it only because you saved me so many times before, sir. So just forget it, please."
There was a pause. Gillian would've liked to picture him flashing one of his quick smiles. As if.
"I also wanted to give you some information that might help you."
Great, business. Safe ground. That was her good old bitter man. "Sure. What is it, sir?"
"I asked Lawrence to send me pictures of the men arrested in Portland."
She was so going to kill Tanya. Slow and bloody. How come the girl didn't even mention that? Now she knew what the call was about. "Did you identify any of them, sir?"
"Yes."
Gillian noticed she was sitting at the edge of the chair. But she couldn't tell whether it was because of Brock calling her or the perspective of such good news.
"The one called Jonathan Green."
"You saw him at the compound?"
"He..." Gillian frowned when he breathed deep. "He and the one known as Captain Victor Gold. They're the ones who... hurt Coleman and me."
Hurt. That was diplomatic. But maybe the word "torture" was just too strong for him. It couldn't be easy, openly acknowledging they'd been tortured to the brink of death.
"Those two...?" She noticed her voice was strangled by a sudden rush of anger, so she trailed off and kept silent.
Brock replied to the question she wasn't able to ask. "I'm positive."
An awkward pause followed his answer. Gillian fought back the swell of mixed emotions.
"Thank you so much, sir. You must know how much this changes everything."
"I wish I could be of more help."
"This is way more than enough, sir."
She knew the conversation was over, but she didn't want it to end. Just like her little banter with Russell, hearing Brock's voice felt like getting back a piece of herself. The cold welling in her chest since she found him on the hill felt lighter when he talked to her.
So she said the first thing that came to her mind. "How're you holding up, sir?"
"Much better, thanks. I'll be discharged on Saturday."
"Oh, that's great news." Don't you want an extra caregiver? Cassidy would be happy to have me in DC. She needed to change the subject, else it'd get personal and she'd screw up as usual. "Russell's better, too. He's awake, and even talking. The last MRI came out fine. Looks like there's no brain damage. But he's gonna be committed a while longer, anyway."
"Of course."
Brock's murmur told her she needed to change the subject again. What could she say now?
"Thanks again, Gillian. And please, let me know if there's anything more I can do to help with the case."
Okay, no need to find another subject. He didn't want to talk to her anymore. What a surprise.
"Thank you, sir. I will. Hope you get well soon."
"Thanks. Good night."
"Good night, sir." And you better take care, stupid bitter man. I need to know you're fine.