Hatched

Chapter Seventeen

"I've seen many a female undergarment, and I doubt yours will surprise me in the least."

"Quinn!" Robyn spun, halfway through removing her shorts. She realized her mistake a moment too late: Quinn's eyes, while usually cool and collected, were blazing with heat, an inferno of desire, and they were trained on her panty line.

"You should put on your equipment." He stated coldly, though his gaze held a different tone. She blushed hotly and struggled to push her legs into the fabric, yanking it up over her thin tank top. His darkening eyes watched, unblinking, as the tight fabric hugged her form. She quickly wiggled her arms into it, pausing only when she realized she needed help with the back.

"Can somebody help me with this?" She grumbled, dipping her head.

"I'll do it," Garcia huffed, fumbling with the back of her garment "as long as you two get in the damn water and quit eye fucking each other."

Neither party spoke in reply, they just quietly resumed suiting up for the dive, though both shot resentful glares at the lieutenant's backside. Robyn eased toward the ladder once her mask was on, taking in the inky black of the water below. Quinn brushed up next to her, startling her slightly, and she breathed out deeply.

"You have to focus." He began, but she cut him off, irritated.

"I know how to do this." She snapped, beginning her descent down the ladder.

"Do you?" He scoffed haughtily, yanking her arm to pull her back. "You forgot to do an equipment check. I can't babysit you; you should have this figured out." His tone was waspish.

Anger flared in the pit of her stomach. "I didn't have to be here," she hissed sharply "you were the one who asked. You commanded me to do this, so this is on you."

Her brow furrowed and she spun away, intending to leave him behind.

"Excuse me, you still haven't checked my equipment." Quinn's voice was softer, still authoritative, but not nearly as chastising as before.

She blushed profusely, mentally cursing herself for the lack of focus. "Oops. Come here, I'll do you." She made him turn, trying to ignore how strong his broad shoulders looked in the suit. Glancing over the equipment, she made sure the hoses were secure and the tank was ready to go. He returned the favor, playfully taping her mask when he finished. It was a strange gesture, but Robyn figured that was the closest thing to an apology from him.

"Are you ready?" Dark, metallic eyes peered into her brighter ones: they seemed to flash with a dangerous excitement.

"Always." She grumbled, breaking the contact, continuing her decent down the ladder. Once on the bottom rung, she flipped backward into the sparkling water beneath the rig. Luckily it was well lit, which would make it easier to navigate.

The cold water enveloped her completely as she dove a few feet, slowly acclimating to the feeling. Her ears clogged, but she could hear the muffled drone of the machinery as it hummed, and the echoing of the rushing water. The visibility was low, but still enough to see, as the light from above filtered down, penetrating the first few yards of depth. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to dive too far, and she imagined any valves down here were probably close to the surface. Even so, she turned on her headlamp, just in case they had to go deeper than expected.

She took steady, even breaths, repeating a calming mantra in her head. She'd done this before, and knew it was essential to stay as calm as possible. Something disturbed the water beside her, sending up a burst of bubbles. Quinn motioned to her mask, which she understood to be another equipment check. She sent a thumbs up before turning and swimming toward one of the large pipes near the derrick. The noise of the rig works got louder as she neared, and she hesitated, unsure where she would find a valve.