Carrie's thumb traces a path on his burning skin, the proximity of her presence completely doing him in. Quinn grunts in pain, shudders in the fetal position.
Her other hand drifts to his brow, rests against his skin for a long moment.
"God, you are on fire," she says, worry clear in his voice. "You should drink some water."
Quinn pulls together all his energy, shakes his head.
"I'm okay," he replies weakly.
But Carrie's already gone to get him water he's not sure he can handle. Comes back with a cup, the same concerned look.
She sits on the bed, puts her hand on his back to steady him as Quinn tries to grasp the glass, bring it to his mouth.
He manages a couple of sips, but the effort just exacerbates the pain and Carrie has to catch the glass as he lets it slip, shudders with full body despair.
She puts the water aside, then her hand moves to the nape of his neck again, sends current down his spine. And once again Quinn wonders how it's possible for him to feel so shitty yet soothed. It is alarming how touchy she's being with him, almost worth the extreme suffering, the searing through his entire body.
Even now he still wonders at the impossibility of it all. Carrie here, acting as if she actually cares; which really just means things are really bad. Yet she definitely shouldn't be there at all, especially shouldn't be worrying about him.
"If things get worse you have to go," he says with a gasp, looking at her as sincerely as he can.
But Carrie just raises her eyebrows, gives him a 'yeah sure' expression.
"I'll go if you go to the hospital," she replies predictably.
Fuck, Quinn thinks. She still knows how to end an argument before it's even started, shut down any discussion.
"Carrie," he groans, tries to express his frustration as best he can.
Yet Quinn knows there was never any hope, that he rarely wins with her. And with the way she's holding him, he's going to lose every time.
So he's not upset when Carrie just shakes her head at him, gives him a small smile. And both of them are quiet for awhile after that, words unnecessary to express everything he's feeling. The contrary experiences of pleasure and pain, the soothing rhythm of Carrie rubbing his back.
He's almost drifted into unconsciousness when he hears Carrie sigh, pat his back anxiously.
"I'm glad you're back," she says quietly, almost as if she doesn't mean for him to hear it.
"A lot of good it's done you," Quinn mutters, just managing to open his eyes as he responds. His whole plan of ensuring her safety, getting her out of town had completely been compromised in a single day. And now she's stuck caring for him, dealing with a bullet wound that's his own fucking fault.
But Carrie shakes her head, keeps looking at him so fondly he can barely stand it.
"I'd be dead if not for you," she replies.
"Or there'd just be a dead guy in the woods," Quinn says with a pained laugh.
Carrie smiles wryly at that, raises her eyebrows at him.
"Yeah, sorry about that," she says with a little apologetic tilt of her head.
It's another one of those mannerisms that he's spent two years trying to forget, one of the many things he fucking loves about her.
"It was a good shot," he replies, really means it too. She probably would have killed anyone else coming to look for her, just another one of those thing he can't help but love.
Carrie smiles again at that, takes the compliment with a shrug. Then lifts the back of his shirt, moves her thumb gently over the bruise that she gave him. Doesn't say anything, expresses everything through the compassion in her touch.
It's almost sensory overload, too much of something he'd never expected. But there's nothing he can do to fight it, especially with the rising darkness, the weakness throughout.
Quinn feels himself slipping off, closes his eyes and savours her closeness. Is almost gone when he hears her mutter again, as if only to herself.
"I missed you," she whispers, an almost silent confession.
Fuck Carrie, you're not supposed to say shit like that, Quinn thinks as he drifts into the dark. You don't even know how I've missed you, no matter how much I've tried to forget.
"Please don't disappear again," she adds, the sadness in her tone making his heart freeze.
And it's a good thing he's way past consciousness, couldn't reply if he wanted to. Because it's the one thing he can't promise, what he always resorts to in desperate times.
But as he finally slips under, Quinn tells himself that he can still promise to do right by her, will do whatever he can to make sure she remains safe. Then falls into the darkness, Carrie in his every cell.
#
Quinn's sleeping again, looks so peaceful she can almost convince herself not to worry. But not really. Because Carrie knows he's not doing well at all, continues to burn under her touch.
She gets up to check her phone, wonder when Jonas is going to get there. Stares at the phone for a long minute, then tells herself to calm down, that there's nothing she can do to accelerate the process.
Goes back to sit with Quinn, thinks it's been a long while since she's seen him stir.
Carrie sits down next to him, her hand on his shoulder.
"Quinn?" she says, giving him a little shake.
He doesn't respond and she tries again, gives him another shake.
"Quinn?" she repeats, gets no reaction at all.
Carrie looks for any sign of consciousness, gives him a little slap on his cheek but even that gets nothing from him. Which is not a good sign, amps up her anxiety considerably. And the best she can do is press her fingers nervously into him, try to tell him she's there, that she's really fucking worried about him.
Finally there's a knock at the door and Carrie hurries to open it, meet her immediate fate.
"Come in, quickly," she says to Jonas as he picks up the bag of supplies.
But he stalls in the doorway, looks her over, realizes he was lied to.
"You don't look hurt," Jonas says, accusingly. "You said you were hurt."
Yeah, there's that, Carrie thinks. But for now she needs to get some antibiotics into Quinn. Fast. So she preps herself to take his anger, just let him have it out. As long as it gets her what she needs.
"Please, it's not safe out there," she says, closing the door as he finally comes inside.
Jonas turns, looks as pissed off as he ever gets.
"You said this was for you," he says.
"Well, it's not," Carrie replies, reaching for the supplies.
Jonas pulls them away, something she hadn't quite anticipated, not what she needs right now.
"Hey!" she says, startled by his reaction.
"Last time I saw you, you were running into the woods with a rifle, screaming about assassins and avenging angels and then, nothing. Three days nothing. And then you call and tell me you're injured, seriously injured. What the fuck, Carrie?" Jonas says, as she figured he would. It's fair and she knows it. But she can deal with it all after she sticks an IV into Quinn.
"You're right," Carrie replies, has nothing better to say.
"On top of everything else I'm putting my sister's medical license at risk here," Jonas continues, obviously trying to make an impact on her.
But right now she doesn't really give a shit about medical licenses, lies she had to tell. She needs Jonas to get the severity of the situation and adapt to it now.
"Okay, there is a guy in the next room, he's been shot," she says, figures that will get his attention. "If we don't get an IV into him now he's not going to make it."
"Who is he?" Jonas asks.
Good question, Carrie thinks, stutters in her thoughts before answering.
"He's a friend," she finally says, gets a skeptical look from Jonas.
"A colleague, okay," she adds, trying to think of ways to describe Quinn. "I'll explain later, I promise."
"Why should I do anything for you?" Jonas says, obviously still pissed off.
And Carrie doesn't have an answer for that, can't think of anything Jonas owes her. Especially after everything she's just done to him. But she also knows he won't stop her from taking the supplies, that he doesn't have that kind of combative will. And right now, that's all that she cares about.
"I don't know," she finally says, looks at him in a way that says she's sorry, but she's got another priority at the moment.
"You got the antibiotics?" she asks, dares him to say no.
But of course Jonas caves, nods and follows her into the other room. Is staring at Quinn, out cold on the bed with an appraising look when she tells him to wash his hands, that she's going to need his help.
Thankfully Jonas is back to being pliable, nods and washes his hands while she looks through the supplies then washes her own hands, puts on gloves.
Carrie takes a deep breath, reminds herself she knows how to do this. Hangs the bags of antibiotics, saline on some industrial piping.
She gives Quinn another little shake, just to make sure he's still out. Thinks that's a good thing considering her skill level at inserting IVs, the slight shake she's got going on just thinking about it. Carrie pauses for a second, nervously runs her thumb nervously against the back of Quinn's hand. Then remembers that Jonas is watching, that the IV needs to get in right away.
Focus, she tells herself. Stop just worrying about him and get the job done.
Then, with Jonas' skeptical eyes all over her, Carrie picks up the needle, sticks it into Quinn's hand.