He catalogs his steps now, modifying to what's necessary, adapting. His breath becomes visible while reaching the streets off the steps of the busy subway. The sense of being alive now as the cold breeze hits his skin, it's a rarity. Here for duty, all on pause for now until dawn hits. The moments that were torture.
He's only carrying what's needed; his gun tightly packed in it's case, a few pairs of clothing, his tooth brush. It's all disposable, easily replaceable. He spent his whole summer travelling through Europe, and got paid to do it, the American dream.
With the night still young, families crowd the street on this Friday night. He's not sure the last time he'd seen so many children at once. He tries to pay no attention to things like that, but every once in awhile he does . The curiosity takes a bite and he peeks into the world of innocence.
There are some screaming, others are giggling, all of them oblivious. One is on her father's shoulders, bundled appropriately for the frigid climate, clinging to him as if her life depends on it. He's not sure why, but he's drawn to her. His focus is diminishing as he studies her face from what he can see under her hat. A face he's sure he's seen before. It's when she smiles, he then knows exactly who she is.
OooO
Carrie hurries down the sidewalk after she'd left her phone at the restaurant. They were suppose to wait outside for her, but this is typical. For days Franny had bugged her about the toy store a few blocks away after passing it everyday and she knows they had to be there. He was much weaker when it came down to it, giving into the demands of a three year old. She weaves through everyone when she finally catches a glimpse. The sight of one happy little girl with a new toy, high in the air in plain view. She jogs right past him in the dusk.
OooO
The familiar form in front of him stuns his composure. It's her and she was just right beside him not a moment ago. Her shorter blonde hair peeking through her hat, the smile that he barely ever saw. He watches them embrace, not stopping and he doesn't know why he doesn't. Every fiver in his body is shaken, then steady somehow, he breathes. He looks right at her over his shoulder unable to dilute his steely eyes, failing to engage. The only thing he would accomplish would be disruption if he stopped now. He has absolutely no idea of what to say.
OooO
She tilts her head quickly, noticing that he noticed her. Their eyes had met for a second, a flash really, but he was already turning around still walking. The want that was wasted, gone again. She denies the divided concentration when he's far enough away again, it's probably for the best.
OooO
He's slower than usual now. The floodgates are weakened, beginning to trickle, ready to gush at any moment. Something's happening, but It'd always haunted him and this wasn't just a reminder. She's here in the flesh. All the possibilities he'd ever had are a thousand yards behind him and all he'll let himself do is walk into this liquor store to find a way to make it go away.
Quinn pours the vodka in a glass, throwing in a few ice cubes. He's still thinking of her and how happy she must be, how he should be happy for her. Only jealousy clouds his tainted mind. She committed, he didn't.
When the ice fuses into the drink, he tosses it back without taking a breath. It's useless at this point. Snapping back was going to take a long time and accept that she has beat the addiction that is relentless, bottomless for him. A fresh dose of her climbing back into his forsaken conscience, not as if it was ever gone, just ignored.
OooO
It spirals though her mind all night pulling her apart. The issue that shouldn't be one. She finally makes up her mind. He'd looked at her for a reason, a reason that she wants to know. What was it? She wants to - has to know. The unfinished business hangs heavy and there's nothing wrong with talking. Luckily she knows exactly where he is - where they all went when they came here.
OooO
A sudden view of relief stands below the door frame, the kind he didn't know still existed. They study each other, the guilt manifests them both, measured by the power of their stare. He steps aside unable to do it much longer and she crosses the line that separates them.
His kingdom, his life on a platter in room 409 at the Holiday inn Berlin. Not much of anything at all. The grave that he's refused to leave, he's buried in more than ever. She knows what he's been up to.
She turns on a second light in the room and his eyes flare, all the light he was allowing to be shunned. His head's shaved, bare for his work. He can't even say hi to her.
He can sense her disapproval from now and before. The idea of letting her talk first makes sense. He wants to know where she's at.
"Did you know I was here?" She finally asks, alleging almost.
"No... How's Franny?" He'd wondered, asking the only question he can think of.
"You saw her," she wonders why he cares. "She's good. She loves it here."
"Good... is he good to you?" He throws at her.
"Yes, very," she's kind of pissed that he asked, the nerve, starts to believe he might be jealous.
He takes a seat for a refill, the least hostile company he has at the moment.
"Do you?" He offers a glass.
"No. Thank you." She turns her back to him while he washes it down.
And then it happens. She knew it would. All the things she wanted to say to him disarrayed and scattered. The animosity instantly fills her thoughts.
"You left," she says. "Why!?"
"What?" He denies her interpretation . "I did what I had to do," he's cold, still nursing what's left of his serum.
"Had to? Come on that's bullshit and you know it," she accuses him.
"You did too!" He barks. She's come onto his territory, condemning all he has and won't let it happen. He can't.
"It's not the same thing Quinn!" She's angry, offended that he could even compare the two.
"What do you want Carrie?" He's snappy.
"I want to leave. That's what I want to do," she proclaims.
He panics. It's not what he wants in this second, even if all she's here for is the scolding and the blame, he'll take it. It's something, anything, both better than nothing at all. Her mix he craves that's been voided from his world until now is like water, he has to have it. He has to find a way to keep her here. Now at his feet cornering her, he stops her in her tracks.
"Go home," he tells her, but needing to touch her. He instinctively puts his hands loosely around her arms. "Go home."
The anguish in his voice is overwhelming. Leaving could only make everything worse. "Fuck," she brushes her hand through her hair. She forces herself to sit and focuses on getting the answers that she intended to get in the first place. Because knowing the answers - even if they're unwanted and even if they hurt - are better than none at all. The table that now separates them will have to do.
"What are you doing here Quinn?" She wants to confirm his career first and foremost.
"My specialty," he's truthful.
He's still there, she probably shouldn't have asked, but a least it's sure. Still a puppet for them, a slave to the company. She's not interested in talking to that Quinn right now though.
It's tepid now, easier to look at her in the silence now that she's calm. The longer he does, the more he can remember their last night. His last bit of hope. Her anger that fueled her arrival on this night tempts him into believing that the fault is all his, but he can't say it. That choice he made is all he has left.
"Is it what you wanted Quinn?"
It's rhetorical and he knows it. He refuses to answer.
"Quinn?" She asks again.
She grabs his bottle, taking a sip to ease it all for the both of them, but mostly for her.
"I guess I'll never know, will I?" He's leaves it all up to her, leaving the gaping wound ready for a remedy.
She knows he's still there under the mounds of despair. It was the exact predisposition she held onto for so long. The ignorant poison that she drank, a conviction she deemed terminal. All the shields the company provided for this to be sustained. There's shame in the defeat no matter how often it happens. Every ounce of it was superficial.
"What are you thinking right now Quinn?" She probes.
"What do you want me to say Carrie?"
"I don't know."
"That it all would have worked out? I don't... I'm fine okay?"
'Fine'. It's what he wants, for her to be everything that he's not. To run like hell as far away as she can. Also to tell her that he's going to keep doing what he does, but wants her too. Both wasn't happening. But each moment she stays blesses his space. Not an interrogation, but fucking conversation. Normalcy.
He's been watching her lips as she speaks. The taste of them still lingering on his lips, like it had just happened moments go. They're brighter now, just like the rest of her. Then he remembers that she came here and not the other way around, this was it. Maybe if he shuts up, she'll stay longer. It's working for now.
His lean frame had gotten her attention from the moment she entered, he's likely on a liquid diet. Surprisingly, his appearance is decent with the exception of his bloodshot eyes. She looks at his hands and can recall his strong touch, and the way he made her feel. It courses through her, taking shape. She's not sure what she actually feels now.
There is so much being said, but they're not talking at all. Just a statue of loneliness in front of her, once a monument to her future. It doesn't actually matter what she saying just as long as she's there. She didn't intend on starting an argument. All the questions she's sending his way she can't answer either. Maybe they were never intended to be.
For a full two minutes, he doesn't look away. She wishes he would just say what he wants to so she can be on her way, just come out and tell her that there's nothing there at all, even if it was a lie. But deep down she knows he can't just forget about her, because she knows she hasn't forgotten about him.
"I should get going," she tells him, when the silence becomes exhausted.
"You should." He gets up to walk her to the door.
He opens the door without a word, waiting for what she's about to say. The goodbye does come, just a parting smile from her. He doesn't even realize that he's smiling back.
Somehow in the mesh of stares, all is lost, and the forces pull. Her lips clings to his, limbs touching everywhere, her thighs are in his hands lifting her off the ground, and he's using her back to shut the door. He's waited too long. There's only a blind savage compulsion to feed.
The pain from the impact as she hit the door should hurt, but doesn't exist. Only the ache the between her legs exists. Her heals, his scrapes, there is sure to be evidence of this insanity.
She wedge and pinned, but mobile, now against the wall. Their clothes fly, somehow disappear. When he melts her panties away he immediately settles her on his shaft. Instantly, her arms wrap around his neck and her legs around his waist.
His first thrust is deep, as deep as can. He pulls out far enough so only his head is inside her and plunges again. Over and over he does it again, each stroke filling her completely.
Their breathy words they try to form come out as moans, heavy breaths at best. They're not even sure how long it lasts, only evident when she realizes that she's no longer panting, still feeling the the spasms of his cock inside her, the euphoria stating to subside - as if that were possible. His knees are wobbling, feeling the thick stream dripping down his thighs. He closes his eyes, catches his breath, and falls from her completely content.
Quinn looks to her for approval, she's still grinning, but starts to collect her clothes right away and heads straight to the bathroom. It's crazy what they'd done, but he won't let himself feel bad about something he's never felt so good about.
At first she freaks; fixes her hair, cleans herself up, checks for marks. She wonders what to say when she gets home. Did she have to? He was so good to her, to her daughter. What was she thinking!?
She exits the bathroom almost looking the same as how she entered, completely polished. He asks what's impossible.
"Will I see you again?"
"Probably not. You'll be gone by Monday."
He smirks, he knows she's probably right. "What if I'm not?"
"I don't know."
The confusion orbits now that she's out here, she's unsure for the first time in a long time.
He sighs. There's nothing left for him to offer. She has so much already.
"What are you doing tomorrow?"
"Busy," she says, grabbing the door for herself this time. "Bye."
"Tuesday then!?" He pleads, holding the door.
She smacks her lips almost through the door, and something in her just won't allow a no. It was already a yes.
"Nine o'clock."
She shuts the door and everything's back the way it was. She'll go home to what she has and he'll still do what he does. But on Tuesday at nine they can have both. He does know that his wait will be much longer, suffering each hour until it comes.
