a/n i mean i had to drop this .. the one you were all waiting for. enjoy
THIRTY-EIGHT
—————
Quinn knew she was wrong. That sunk in, like a hard stone dropping into her conscience, while she was eating some of the soup Kat had made. It had nothing to do with the soup itself — it was some ridiculously healthy concoction Kat usually had for dinner during dance season — but rather the fact that wallowing on her own opened things up for her.
Her stubborn refusal to see what Kat spoke of was rooted in something that had gone awry for her a long, long time ago. Quinn tried working on it, she really did, but sometimes she needed someone to help her see sense. Usually she could deal better with it if someone shocked her out of it rather than having a frank discussion.
Sort of like Locke did when you locked up seeing Lorber's body.
Quinn shoved that out of her head. For all she knew he'd taken his time off to find a way to let the Agency put a bullet in her forehead quicker. And that thought — that thought hurt.
Kat's practice didn't end until until nine, though Quinn knew the last half hour was just Kat going off on her own to repeat some of the movements. She could probably get to the dance studio and find her on her own, apologizing on her knees to the dear friend she now knew she'd disrespected.
Quinn knew she had to apologize, and she refused to sit around and wait when it was her who was in the wrong from the start. Reaching for her phone, Quinn fired off a text:
You were right. I'm sorry. Can we talk?
Tipping her head back, Quinn reached up to massage the tension building in her skull. It was all stress and anxiety, completely natural reactions to what she was going through, but knowing what they were and why they were there had nothing to do with helping her get through it. She'd always processed such things through work, and now she was forced to see the truth in what Kat was saying.
Surprising Quinn, the phone buzzed seconds later. A message from Kat appeared on the smartphone's screen.
Of course. Recital ended early, I'm home soon :)
The smiley told Quinn that at least some of her apology had dissuaded the tension. Heading for the door, Quinn reached for one of Kat's old coats and shrugged it on. She could at least meet Kat out by the doorway to the building, and use the excuse that she'd stepped outside to toss the trash out.
Quinn re-routed past the kitchen, picking up the bag of trash, then went back to the front door. There was a set of spare keys in the bowl by the door which Quinn was quick to pick up, slipping them into her pocket. Reaching for her phone, she put it in her other pocket. She locked the door behind her quickly, taking the stairs down to the bottom floor.
Stopping for a moment, Quinn stared at the double doors marking the entrance from the street to the building. Steeling herself, Quinn drew a deep breath, then went over and stepped outside. A rush of fresh air filled her lungs, whipping her hair around her face.
A slight smile curved Quinn's lips. She stepped away from the entrance and onto the pavement, head shifting to assess whether or not there were a lot of people on the street. Only a small group lingered around the entrance to a building a good three dozen feet away, and so Quinn turned away from them and started toward the bend of Kat's building, hauling the trash with her.
It took roughly two seconds for her to toss it into the bin, before she turned back to exit the small alleyway beside Kat's building. Quinn started toward the exit to the alley, intending to head right back to the front of Kat's building and meet her. It only took fifteen minutes by car from her studio back to the apartment, so the timing would roughly check out.
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.
More like daggers, but fine.
But that wasn't what had propelled him to take a sudden leave from the Agency, hunting down Sarraf's spineless informant, going on this hunt to find her. It was because he knew some of it was his own bloody fault, and that guilt had weighed him down more than the exhaustion of his ceaseless search.
"I'm not here for the Agency," Locke started, eyes searching Quinn's face. Her eyes welled with emotion she was actively attempting to quell, a fight she was losing.
"Then why? Do you believe me now?" Her question was quiet, and it was one Gavin had been asking himself the past time he'd searched for her.
It wasn't just the guilt. He knew it. Guilt alone would not be enough to compel him to suddenly depart completely from his work as a Special Agent, and from the administrative decisions of the Agency as a whole. But Locke wasn't ready to face the implications of that realization, so he refrained from it.
The silence between them was loaded. Gavin was unsure of how much Quinn knew of the meeting where her kill order had been passed, but if he was correct in assuming Chief Tibble had passed along some of — if not all — the information she had then Quinn would have no reason to let him reason with her.
And he wouldn't force her to, either. Locke knew O'Reilly well enough to trust her logic, her judgment — and he'd made a bad mistake, betraying both her and his own trust in her. He wouldn't step aside that simply, though.
It wouldn't stop me from taking her side against the Agency.
As for her question, whether or not he believed in her —
"I do," Locke said, finally.
Quinn felt a weight in her chest dissolving rapidly, as if rising out of her. A careful, almost invisible smile briefly passed her face. Locke's eyes merely darted across her face again.
Her arms dropped, the defensive cross disappearing. That made some stress run out of Locke's shoulders. Quinn watched him quietly, saw the way his eyes darted to the exit of the alley whenever a car passed the street, or someone briefly walked by the opening. He was very much in Special Agent mode, yet further from the Agency and its business than he'd ever been.
Quinn had seemingly decided not to call him out on the meeting itself, or when, exactly, he'd switched over to believing her. Locke knew exactly when that had happened, though, and his suspicions had steadily stacked higher and higher.
Slamming Sarraf's spineless informant against his own bartop and finding out a bounty had been put on Quinn's head had been the nail in the coffin for him to fully believe that it was not Quinn who'd put the target on her back through actions of her own.
"How'd you find me?"
Locke reached up, rubbing the back of his neck as his mind went over the events that had led him here. Instead of launching into a detailed explanation, he reached into his jacket pocket, withdrawing a worn ticket.
He handed it to Quinn carefully, watching her face shift as she read the date and title on the ticket. It permitted entry for one to the National Theatre Ballet's production of A Midsummer Night's Dream.
"Kat's ticket," Quinn said, smiling softly. Locke committed it to memory.
"I called Dr. Ryonne," Locke continued, keeping his eyes on Quinn, " — asked her about Kat."
The Special Agent turned Analyst. Never thought I'd live to see the day.
"She said you'd been very close friends. I gave it a shot." Locke's eyes turned to the alleyway entrance, watched warily as someone passed it. The tension drained out of his shoulders only when the steps stopped being audible.
"You followed Kat?" Quinn asked.
Locke shook his head.
"Ryonne gave me the address."
"She didn't tell me you were coming." Quinn replied, thinking of the Matriarch she remained friends with.
"I asked her not to."
Quinn blinked at him.
"Why?"
Locke angled his head, a dark look passing in his eyes.
"I was worried you'd leave."
And then I wouldn't be able to find you again.
The simple truth of his words rendered Quinn mute. She remained leaning against the wall, staring at him with wide eyes.
"O'Reilly — Quinn," Locke started, voice low and dark, " — part of this entire fucking mess is my fault. You probably already know that, from Tibble, but I thought you should hear it from me."
Locke's eyes darted to the alleyway entrance, tracked the figure of someone hurrying past, before he continued:
"I didn't trust you." His eyes turned back to Quinn's, " — and I didn't pay attention. Ironically, I should have thought more like a bloody analyst than an agent."
He chuckled darkly. Quinn remained in front of him, rooted to the spot. His hand reached up, rubbing the back of his neck again. Shadows accentuated the dips in his face, the unexpected soft side in his dark eyes. His jaw ticked before he continued:
"I'm sorry. It doesn't cover it, not remotely." He shook his head, " — but I'm here to help."
Locke turned to face Quinn, completely. Her guard was down, and he saw a myriad of emotions flitting past her expression, swirling in her eyes.
Perhaps it was stupid of her to take his words at face value. Perhaps it was not the clear-cut rationalism she was used to — whatever it was, the trust welling within her was a step out of the rigidly logical box Quinn had resided in. She found that having the ever-scowling, ever-surly Special Agent Locke openly apologizing to her, asking for her understanding, had efficiently torn down every since logical defense she'd had in place.
Quinn had no way of responding. Not with words. There was a swell of, well, something in her head that effectively blocked out reasoning. She was mostly eternally grateful to hear that someone believed her, when she had been ruthlessly banished from everything near and dear. Hearing it from Locke, too —
— Quinn's face changed, directing a smile at Locke.
"I believe you," Quinn said, slowly.
A car passed, headlights spewing a smattering of light across Locke's face.
Before she could back out of it, Quinn took half a step forward. And then another. Her arms lifted, then wrapped around Locke's midriff, flattening across his broad back. He stiffened, surprised. Carefully, Quinn tightened her arms, pressing the side of her head against the front of his jacket. She listened to the steady beat of his heart, and decided to speak before she backed out:
"Thank you," Quinn said softly, " — for believing in me."
Locke's arms moved around Quinn, returning the embrace. One hand crept up her back, resting on the back of her neck as if cupping her head.
You're alright, Gavin thought. You're alright.
In the silence, the two of them were content.
—————
a/n: are you guys happy now xd
questions of the chapter:
1. how are we feeling?
2. what are we expecting moving forward?
3. will the others find quinn? and *when*?
xo, cleo
ps. i was listening to 'you give good love' by whitney houston + 'some lovin' by lenno while writing this chapter lmao. very fitting songs tbh.
pps. sorry for the sporadic + frequent updates .. im abt to *graduate* so i've had a lot of time to write. hope that's fine ;)