Special Agent | ✓

Thirty-Nine

a/n: enjoy guys ;)

Thirty-Nine

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Because Quinn had not wanted to risk the two of them being spotted outside of Kat's apartment complex, she'd shepherded Gavin into the building, up the stairs and through the doorway of Kat's apartment. The space felt much, much smaller with Locke suddenly around, a fact Quinn acknowledged by placing herself on the other side of the dinner table from him.

"You could rest, if you want. I'm sure we've some food left over." Quinn's eyes flicked up, met Gavin's.

"I'm fine," replied Gavin. There'd really only been one thing actually distressing him for the past days, and that had now been resolved.

Quinn nodded at his response, then looked at her phone again, a frown spreading across her lips.

"What's wrong?" Locke spoke up, drawing the chair by the kitchen table back so he could sit down, facing Quinn. He saw distress flicker across her face as she pressed her phone again, then placed it by her ear.

Locke leaned back, let his eyes slide around the apartment. It was a neat, cozy place.

Almost too bloody neat, thought Locke, before his eyes rounded back to watch Quinn. She tugged at the fabric of her shirt with one hand, the other holding the phone pressed to her ear.

"Kat's not responding," said Quinn, voice shaky, " — she should be home by now."

Gavin did not know much about Quinn's relationship with Kat, other than the fact that they were good friends. Additionally, Kat had been the ally she'd so desperately needed during her exile, someone who'd kept her safe. For that, Locke knew he was probably only half the person Kat was.

Guilt churned.

"She's still not picking up. What if something's happened? Could they have found us — "

Locke, sensing the spiral, chose his words carefully.

"O'Reilly, you know what to do in these situations." His voice was calm, " — where was she last? How did she get there?"

He was delighted, partly, to see the familiar calm of logic settle briefly over Quinn as she went back over the current events, her mind sorting through impressions with skill and finesse.

I don't know how I ever chose to stand against her.

Locke knew he'd have to brief her on what he knew, as well. That there was a very real, very tangible bounty on her head of five million — one that made tracking her and her allies down a very lucrative opportunity. Outside of the Agency's official protection, it pretty much made Quinn the target of most criminal scumbags chasing a profit.

"It's my fault, if she's in trouble." Quinn said it quiet enough that Locke almost didn't catch it.

"It's not," came his immediate reply, " — and I'm betting Kat would tell you the same, if she were here."

Their eyes met. Locke's was calm, still, while a million thoughts swirled in Quinn's head. They were silenced, however, when the sound of a key turning in a lock reached their ears. Head snapping around to face the door, Locke had his gun drawn from his shoulder holster, aimed at the door, within seconds. Quinn had backed, arm half-reaching for the wooden block of knives in Kat's kitchen.

But the person stepping through the door was no enemy, but a tired looking ballet dancer.

"Gav-no!," cried Kat, noting the drawn weapons, face turning white. Her arms shot up, palms facing Quinn and Locke, the keys clattering to the ground in turn. The Russian curse was repeated, again, as Kat's eyes swept the apartment.