Special Agent | ✓

Thirty-Eight

However, as Quinn rounded the bend of the building, she found she couldn't. A figure had headed for the alleyway right as she exited, but it sure as bloody hell wasn't there to toss any trash. Right as they passed each other, their hand clamped around her arm, forcing it behind her back as she was wrenched back into the alley. Another hand clamped onto her mouth.

As she couldn't properly elbow the assailant, Quinn settled with a swift kick. Before her leg could move much more than an inch, though, she was sufficiently pressed into the wall of Kat's building, a leg wedging between hers to render any kicks futile. Still, Quinn fought to gain some space, though the force of the grip only increased until she sighed frustratedly, though it was largely inaudible behind the large hand pressing on her mouth.

Looking up, Quinn prepared to curse out whoever it was intent on killing her now.

But the face that met her, barely visible in the splotchy shadows in the alley, was familiar. Sure, the light dusting over the sharp jaw was new, and so were the slightly longer dark curls. Otherwise, Quinn recognized exactly who had ambushed her in this trash alley in Prague.

Locke.

Some of the tension unconsciously drained out of her body, eyes softening as her eyes ran across his face. Despite the worn, tired look on his face, he exuded danger. What didn't exude danger, though, were the first words out of his mouth:

"Quinn," he breathed, softly. His shoulders lost some of their stiffness, hand dropping from the arm he'd pushed behind her back. Quinn shrugged her shoulder, then moved her now free arm to touch the hand he had pressed against her mouth.

Her hand closed around his wrist, softly moving his arm back. Whatever logical doubts were swirling in her head had been pointedly shoved aside. Quinn's hand remained closed around his wrist, and Locke didn't move his arm away either.

"Locke," Quinn said back, just as softly. She watched as his eyes darted over her face, then her torso, as if looking for any obvious injuries.

"You're alright. You're alright, " said Locke, though it sounded more like he was speaking to himself.

Quinn felt her heart thrumming. For a second, the anxiety and slight panic she had felt at all times for the past weeks melted away. For some reason, Special Agent Locke had a way of bringing with him a sense of relative calm.

As if noticing how close they were, Locke straightened up, backing away slightly. Quinn found it gave her some breathing room, allowing rational thoughts to rush back in.

For all you know, he's working with Kent.

Quinn dropped her grip on his arm swiftly, choosing to cross her arms defensively instead. They remained standing just a step inside of the alley, Quinn pressed against the side of the building while Gavin stood half a step away.

"Gavin —" Quinn swallowed, hard, scrambling to find the words, " — why are you here?"

What she really wanted to ask, though, was not that at all.

Are you here to kill me, or help me?

*

It was a shaky question, no doubt. Quinn's tone was careful, and Gavin saw clearly how she'd forcibly gathered her expression, attempting to school it into some type of flat face. But Gavin could read her face as it was now, clear as day.

There was an obvious shock in her eyes. But that wasn't what he'd fixated on — rather, it was the hurt playing out across her face, in her eyes. He could see the shadows in her face, too, just as he knew she could see them in his face as well. He'd never seen the analyst look so uncomposed — her face was drawn, tired. Sure, she'd gone into fight mode as efficiently as ever, but she looked worn down in ways that pricked him like needles.