The Centre of Me
She needs to find him, needs to know if he's alive or even okay. Her eyes scour the room filled with confusion and noise but then she hears him trying to fix the chaos surrounding them. Her heart misses its beat as she places a hand out to him, dropping her head onto the centre of his chest as he turns to her. She knows that everyone is watching and she really doesn't give a shit, half of them think they're fucking anyway. He's physically safe and that's the only thing that matters to her. Her hands grip into his shirt tightly and she knows him enough that he'll be puzzled by this sudden display of feeling but slowly she feels him reciprocate. His arms circle her and she knows he's her centre in all of this, through all of the shit during the last year, and that she could easily have lost him today. The idea rattles her and she wants to pull him even closer, wants to unzip him and climb inside so that she'll know he'll always be with her. But she can't. She's the fucking Station Chief for Christ sake. She breathes deeply, entangles herself from this weird clinging thing they've got going on, and walks away. She's Carrie fucking Mathison and she's got a job to do.
The Centre of You
They lost 36 people today, his people, the people he should have been able to protect. He feels nothing but despair as the events of the day turn in his mind again and again. The control room is buzzing with activity and no-one is taking charge. His eyes meet those of the fucking Director who just shrugs and looks at him expectantly, and with an inward sigh he begins.
His head is pounding like shit and it's been nearly a fucking hour of order after order when he feels a brush against his arm. He's still jumpy and quickly turns before he sees a wave of blonde hair drop to his chest, feels her hands twisting into his shirt. She's the most confusing individual he's ever met and today is no different. He's quite aware that everything, and everyone, around them has come to a standstill but he can't help himself even if he wanted to. His arms slip around her back and everything feels different. He thinks back to the last time he placed his arms around her, the awkwardness of it all, nothing like now. He wants time to stand still so he can savour the feel of her body, place the memory in the drawer that he opens alone at night, but he can feel her pulling away from him already. His hands go loose from around her and he can't watch her walk away. He thinks he's given too much away already. He's Peter fucking Quinn and he's got some distance to keep.