a/n: this is what you came for.
Forty-Nine
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Quinn climbed out of the mess of pillows with an aching body. She'd slept fitfully, and had only managed to tumble into sleep due to a bone-deep fatigue that'd gripped her since she'd scraped herself off the sandy deck of Gavin's aunt's cottage.
After that, she'd merely fallen headlong onto the covers and felt the dark grab her, shoving her into sleep. Quinn's eyes ticked around the room until they settled on a wall-mounted clock, proudly displaying the time.
Nine in the morning. She'd slept for six solid hours, at least, since her breakdown. It had been a breakdown, the first of its kind in regards to its intensity. She had felt the walls closing in, her throat closing up, body locking entirely. Thinking of it jolted her heart into a quicker rhythm, so Quinn forced herself to do a series of deep inhales, expelling some of the tension and pain clinging to her chest. It eased some of the sharp pain in her stomach, too, emanating from her wound whenever she moved.
Eyes darting to the wide stretch of beach outside the glass doors, Quinn felt the staccato beat of her heart slow, slightly. Getting out of bed this time wasn't accompanied by any panic, and there was no cold sweat dotting the back of her head, her hands. Planting her feet solidly on the wooden floors, Quinn took a couple of steady steps toward the glass doors.
She opened them, this time slowly. Quinn reminder herself that she was in control now, and the sunlight helped, as did the roll of the waves, the cry of a gull. Her eyes swept the beach, stopped when they noted a scattering of vacationers lounging on foldable chairs, or playing in the surf.
Wrapping her arms around herself, Quinn remained standing, eyes stuck on the happy beachgoers. The logical piece of her mind noted the civilians' attire, the make of their car, attempted to distinguish the license plate and nationality.
Quinn ignored that part, something she hadn't done for a long, long time. That data-driven part of her had kept her alive for so long, kept her from worrying about the what-ifs and could-bes. That part had shut down, rebooted, last night when the anxiety attack hit her like a freight train. It was, in Quinn's mind, still rebooting. She'd let it remain in that mode, at least for a day, until she found a firm footing. At least, more footing than she'd found last night, all thanks to Gavin.
The thought of him made Quinn turn, stride back toward the cottage and through her bedroom. She hadn't seen the interior, and so the push past the door revealed an entirely new room.
It was clean, modern.
Safe, thought Quinn, as her eyes surveyed the room.
High ceilings, bright white walls. Open-plan decor, the surprisingly modern separated from the living room by a kitchen island. It was wide, topped with polished stone, as well as a plate stacked with an omelette.
The living room boasted a TV topping an antique-looking bench, crowded with a number of colorful novels and assorted trinkets. A grouping of comfortable-looking beige couches surrounded a larger wooden table, bearing a vase overflowing with colorful flowers.
Quinn's eyes shot back to the omelette, resting innocently on the kitchen island.
"It's yours."
The voice came from behind her. Quinn turned, swiftly, heart kicking before it relaxed again, seeing Gavin's face. He'd appeared from the room next to hers, muscled arms crossed, leaning against the jamb in the open doorway.
When Quinn's eyes shot back to the breakfast, he let his own analyze her figure, noted no anxious shakes, no shivers. The knowledge that she was in one piece eased the tension which had resided in his shoulders since the previous night.
"Thank you," Quinn said, moving across the room with careful steps, then pulled the plate toward her.
Gavin followed, two steps behind, and rounded the island with familiar ease. He tugged out a drawer, dug up a fork and a knife, then slid them across the island. Quinn picked them up, waited a beat, then dug in.
Some more tension eased off Gavin's shoulders. At least she's got an appetite — good sign. Won't have to call back Dr. Quentin.
Quinn forked another piece of the omelette — cheese and ham, and just as good as it'd been in Paris — eating it before she asked the questions she could no longer suppress. When she'd first woken up, she hadn't realized just how hungry she was. Despite the ache for food gnawing in her stomach, she focused on the conversation they needed to have. Logical side rebooting or not, she disliked being in the dark, even more so when it wasn't by choice.
"I can see what you want to ask me," Gavin started, before Quinn could get the words out.
He'd read the tension in her back, saw it turn her shoulders stiff moments before she put the fork down.
"And before you ask, I need a cup of coffee."
A smile tugged, brief, at Quinn's lips. She watched him prepare it, remembered he usually liked it sweet. He'd already made coffee, she realized, watching as he poured the steaming beverage from a can into a cup. When he dropped two sugar cubes into it, she smiled, again.
Safe, her mind thought, again, the image of him leisurely drinking coffee, unusually relaxed, imprinting itself in her mind.
There was still scruff edging his jaw, a few tired shadows dragging in his eyes. The top buttons on his henley were unmade, the sleeves shoved up to his elbow. As he gripped his coffee, veins corded his lower arms. Quinn felt her heart kick, again, and it had nothing to do with the previous night.
"How did we get here, Gavin?"
His eyes shuttered, briefly, the past days catching up to him. What was it, again, that he'd told her yesterday? He'd said something along the lines of: People, favours.
Gavin mulled, briefly, if he should at all censor what'd happened. Eyes flicking to Quinn's face, his thoughts swirled. He thought of last night, and then he thought of all the other times she'd stood up, again and again. It would be an insult to Quinn, to her accomplishments, if he sugarcoated this now.
"After you passed out in the car, I had to get you to the hospital."
His mind sorted through memories, impressions, like a picture book. Quinn's pale face, resting unnaturally still against the headrest of the car.
"Some of Grace's guys followed, and, uh, I had to shake them off."
Quinn's brow arched. Special Agent Gavin Locke might be a man of few words and many scowls, but what he was not was someone who stuttered or flailed when it came to speaking.
Seeing her questioning look, Gavin's shoulders hunched, before he sipped at his coffee again.
"Firefight."
At his tone, the careful delivery of the word, Quinn's lips thinned. He avoided her look, eyes on his coffee.
"I can tell that that's not all, Gavin. Be honest with me."
Suppressing a sigh, a brief scowl flitting across his face, Gavin looked up. He was still contemplating the abridged version of events, rather than the sugarcoated one, but found Quinn's stare locked him in place.
"Honesty, Gavin." He remained still, conflicted. Then: "Please."
It unwound his resistance, and the scowl on his face grew. To keep himself sane, to stop himself from the spill of emotion he was so unused to, he slipped right back into Special Agent-mode, giving her the version of events as he might his primary after a mission.
"They had a convoy of cars following us after a few blocks. Not a lot of room for maneuvering, and you were — you were getting short on time."
He reached for his coffee again, cleared his throat. He hoped it'd disguised the way his tone hitched.
"I'd say they brought down two or three corner-stores in the chase, rigged with heavier weaponry. I got away on the smaller streets, where they couldn't follow. Not all of them."
Quinn swept the last part of the omelette shoved it into her mouth. When she adjusted on the stool by the island, her wound ached, so she bit her lip to keep the wince from derailing Gavin from his story. Noting the move, his scowl grew, directed her way. Quinn held up a palm, a silent apology, and an urge to continue speaking.
"I couldn't get away safe enough, so I was lucky enough to have called in some help."
Quinn's mind, despite rebooting, was quick to the punch.
"Hotel guy? Wallace?" Gavin nodded at her theory.
"I notified him before I went into the courtyard. Their perimeter security was far too well executed for any average guy. I didn't trust it, so I called Kenny. He's got private security guys, good enough. They helped me shake off the tail, escorted me to the hospital."
Quinn nodded, felt gratitude swell.
"The doctors helped, quick enough. Wallace might've had something to do with that, too, got hold of the best of the best. You were operated on. Got the bullet out."
His tone usually never wavered, giving mission specifics. Not when describing intense firefights, or action-packed getaways. Not when detailing bloody, gruesome scenarios, or the dark secrets of the scum of humanity. Now, though, describing just how close Quinn had come to death — his tone bloody wavered.
Gavin cleared his throat.
"Grace's guys caught on quick enough. We had to move you. Your friend, Doctor Ryonne, helped. She sent a helicopter."
"A what?" Quinn's eyes widened.
"They had one in Prague, prepped for Kat. You got it, instead, and it shipped you right to Paris."
Quinn held her breath.
"And Kat?"
Gavin dropped the scowl, "Safe. She went with us in the heli. Held your hand the entire time. Wanted me to remind you of some ballet premiere when you woke up."
Lips curving slightly, Quinn felt her heart warm. Gavin stared at it, the smile, before he made himself focus once more.
"When we got to Paris, Hypatia sent you a million doctors. It was safe enough, for a day or two, but then we had to move."
Quinn knew what he meant: I didn't trust the location.
"Dr. Ryonne got us transport, and we ended up here." Gavin sipped at his coffee again, "The end."
Quinn suppressed another smile, rose to put away the dishes. Gavin frowned at her.
"Sit down, would you?" Annoyance tinged his tone, his voice.
"I want to help."
"I know how to do dishes, Quinn." His tone brooked no argument.
Quinn sank back into the stool, watched as he grabbed at her empty plate. His movements were annoyed, now, stiff again. The story he'd given her sounded straightforward enough, so she couldn't for the life of her figure out why his shoulders remained so stiff, his attitude cranky. He behaved more like the Special Agent Gavin she'd once resented than the one she'd gotten to know during this, well, mission.
Silence descended, for brief moments. Quinn's mind sorted through all he'd told her, found it simple enough. She couldn't, for the life of her (which, thankfully, she still had), figure out why he remained scowly and irritable, in the way Special Agents could sulk after a mission failed, or went wrong.
After a mission failed, or went wrong. Quinn's mind latched onto that, that logical part of her once again growing slightly stronger, whirring with the implications.
"Gavin — " Quinn started, eyes fastened on the fabric stretched over his broad back, " — I wouldn't be here without you."
The shift of his muscles stopped, as he froze for a mere heartbeat, before resuming the movements again. If Quinn hadn't been staring at him as intently as she had, she would never have noticed it. Bolstered by the knowledge that she'd hit the right spot, Quinn mulled over her course of action for another couple of minutes before she realized she knew exactly what to do.
"When you're finished," Quinn started, easing off the stool with a wince, " — meet me on the deck."
Gavin showed no signs of having heart, but Quinn knew he would follow. She crossed the living room with small steps, felt the movement tug at her stitches, the bandage. She'd have to ask him more about her injury, but hadn't wanted to prod. There would be time for prodding after she forced his scowly attitude out of him.
After all, I was generous enough to give him a few more minutes to compose himself.
Pushing the sliding, glass doors on the other end of the open-plan living room open, Quinn stepped out onto the deck. It wrapped around the cottage, offering the views to anyone who wished to venture out. The wind had slowed, now, merely stirring a few wayward strands of hair. Quinn breathed, deeply, mind stirring as the final pieces of her course of action fell into place.
She almost heard a veritable click, right before she heard steps on the wooden deck beside her. Gavin, hands shoved into his trousers, a scowl on his place, appeared beside her. Despite his rigid demeanour, Quinn beat back a smile. He'd come, because he listened, despite wanting to give off the impression of never doing so.
"It's so pretty here." Quinn started. Gavin's eyes darted to hers, a flicker of movement in the corner of her vision.
Let the casual conversation steer him off path, confuse.
"It was the first thing I thought, waking up. Just — the sea, the sand." Quinn gestured, mildly, to their surroundings. She'd prod him of a more specific location, later.
After this.
"It helped, with everything going in on my head." Quinn angled a look his way, "So did you, you know."
Gavin stilled, jaw ticking. It was the only sign he was listening, as was the strain visible on his arms as he clenched his fists in his pockets. Quinn decided to get to the point, hoping she was as right regarding the origin of his scowliness as she thought she was.
"I wouldn't be here, saying this, if it wasn't for you. I would've bled out in that courtyard, and Kent would have won. And no one would have known the truth, no one would have bothered to find out. Thanks to you, we still have a shot at it." Quinn turned, now, fixing her eyes on Gavin's face.
Time for the finish.
"You had my back, Locke, just as you promised you would."
A second passed. Two, three. Then:
"I didn't," Gavin forced out, tone dark, " — or you wouldn't have gotten bloody shot, Quinn."
I was right, Quinn thought, the thought a mere flicker in her head before she shoved it aside.
"You've had my back, Gavin, since the moment you turned against Kent."
"I didn't have shit, Quinn." His eyes darted to her waist, focused on where she knew she'd been shot, "You were shot."
"And if I hadn't been shot, that bullet would have been in you, because that's where Kent aimed. I took a decision, and had your back. Literally."
Gavin's jaw ticked, again, eyes closing as if steeling himself.
"You shouldn't have to, Quinn."
"I wanted to."
He turned, now, angling his head down to face her. The wind tugged at a few of his dark curls, tousling them further, framing the deep, deep green eyes which were staring at her intently.
"If I'd kept my word, you never would've gotten shot. I wasn't doing my job."
"You're a lot of things, Gavin, but you aren't stupid," His head shot up at Quinn's words, eyes narrowing, " — and you're sure as hell not stupid enough to think you're bad at your job."
"You don't know that — you weren't even conscious to see it." His tone wavered, again, breaking that thin film of control at the though of her pale face in the car back in Prague, her life slipping away. The thought of it made his heart clench, painfully.
Quinn kept her eyes firmly on his, anchoring him to the sincerity in her gaze. The beach, the wind, the cottage — it dropped away, his focus zeroing in on her face.
"You forget -" Quinn continued, " - that I was the analyst you nagged whenever we attended a meeting together. I know — better than most, I'd say — just how annoyingly good you are at your job, because sometimes you were even right."
Gavin felt the scowl drop, slightly, though his steely resolve remained.
"I broke my word. I failed you." His words had a bitter edge as he swallowed, throat bobbing, an almost pained expression on his face.
Quinn heard the unspoken words. I failed you, just as the Agency did, just as Kent did. It made sadness spear through her. Reaching out, Quinn placed one palm flat against his chest, felt his heart beat steadily beneath it. For a moment, Gavin stared at her with an incomprehensible expression on his face, arms turning stiff as if he wished to keep them from moving.
"You had my back, Gavin. I just decided to have yours, in turn." Quinn said, again, tone soft.
Her fingers splayed out across the soft fabric of his shirt, stirred occasionally by a gust of wind. Gavin swallowed, again, and Quinn felt his heart pick up ever-so-slightly beneath the touch of her palm.
"I did it, because I wanted to." Quinn continued, shuffled closer, head tipping back as she directed a look that surpassed his steely resolve and rooted him in place. Gavin tilted his head down, further, met that look evenly.
"Why?" The words were a low, grating timbre that sent a shiver down Quinn's spine.
Her hand moved up, up, slipping past the soft, exposed skin of Gavin's neck until it rested, firmly, against the stubble on his cheek. His throat bobbed again, eyes dipping briefly.
"Gavin, I told you — " Quinn started, let her other hand climb, slowly, until it cupped his other cheek. Quinn met his gaze squarely, not a hint of doubt in sight, " — I wanted to."
Gavin inhaled, sharply, as her thumb swept the plane of his cheekbone. Quinn moved closer, heart racing, before pressing her body close enough for the wind to have a hard time fitting through the gap between them. Dark eyes swirled, watching her as she moved closer. Gavin's eyes closed for a second, and when he opened them they gazed at Quinn with dark intensity.
A shiver raced across her arms as finally, finally, the stiffness dropped from his arms and they moved. His palms gripped her wrists, gently, and softly directed them to rest on his shoulders. Then his hands moved, with all of the care in the world, until those calloused hands cupped her cheeks, again. Quinn's heart stuttered, though she didn't close her eyes, keeping them firmly fixed on Gavin's face.
"Next time — " Gavin whispered, voice a low timbre, " — let me take the bullet, won't you?"
The smile on Quinn's face bloomed, softly, seconds before he tipped his head down and pressed his lips to hers.
It wasn't a light kiss, though Quinn hadn't expected that from Special Agent Locke. No, as her hands reached around his neck, pressing herself closer to him, he took his time. His fingers had moved from her cheeks, and while one cupped the back of her neck, the other gently threaded through her hair, tugging with a soft pressure that made static go through Quinn's head, extinguishing every thought which lingered.
He slanted his lips, and Quinn shivered once more as she sensed a hint of sweeping her lips as he gripped her harder, pressing her firmly to his firm body. Her stomach tightened, the static in her head increasing further as one of his hands slipped down her back, anchoring her even closer to him. She felt every ridge and bump in his abdomen, his belt buckle digging into her stomach. A shiver ran through him, accompanied by a low groan at the back of his throat, as Quinn playfully caught one lip between her teeth as her hands slipped from his neck to his chest, firmly feeling the dips and curves of his muscles.
His hands moved, too, tracing her body as he gripped the sides of her waist, thumb sweeping the edges of her ribcage. As Quinn matched his energy, his intensity, she felt his thumb grab at her waist, pressing into her skin —
Pain flared. A wince escaped her, as did a low sound of pain.
"Fuck!" Gavin swore, hands lifting off her in an instant, worry sweeping aside the dark, predatory look his eyes had held seconds before. "Are you alright? You're not hurt? I didn't —"
Quinn caught one of his hands in hers, weaved their fingers together, kept her eyes calm and firmly fixed on the worry in his eyes.
"I'm fine." More than fine, Quinn thought, but decided not to add. "It just hurt, that's all."
Gavin squeezed her hand, once, then let go. His eyes swept her face, a sudden smugness sweeping through him at the flush in her face, her dazed eyes, the mess of her hair.
The buzz of his phone in his pocket ripped him out of his trance. Gavin ripped his eyes from Quinn, reaching for his phone.
The previous good mood dripped away as soon as he read the text.
Don't know what the hell you and O'Reilly are doing, but you better get your asses back to London. Chief Tibble was just arrested.
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a/n: hi ......... hope y'all are doing swell. i would usually say sorry for the cliffhanger, but i decided not to know since i quite liked it, being evil and all huehue. i really wanted to get this chapter out too cause' we're approaching the endgame now (of this book, anyway). anywho — here are the qotc!
qotc:
1. how are we feeling abt the quinn x gavin moment?
2. what the hell happened to adina?
that's all for now. much love to all of you.
xo, cleo