Special Agent | ✓

Forty-Seven

a/n:  was planning on updating yesterday, but wanted to put the final details on this chapter. enjoy (if you can, hehehehehe)

Forty-Seven

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The shock of it slammed into Quinn a second later.

Special Agent Kent, the person she'd once considered her sister, had a gun trained at her head. The person who had framed her, thrown her to the wolves, put a kill order on her head.

Quinn felt that shock, bone-deep, warring with tears of frustration, of sadness and anger and hope. Inside, deep inside, she hated herself — because a part of her soul still ached for this all to be a fever dream, for Kent to put down the gun and declare that it was alright. For them both to wake out of this nightmare.

That one part of her was most often squashed, violently, by the logic that often ruled her. This time, though, with Kent right beside her ... Quinn didn't want to admit it was a weakness, that jagged emotional wound that hadn't quite healed yet. She hated knowing that when push came to shove, she could still feel herself hesitating, though she had all the facts laid out, clear as day.

Yet despite that, that disgusting part of her remained. Swallowing hard fought against the tide of emotion. She wasn't ruled by emotion, didn't work with it — and so she ignored it, shoved it aside for now, tried to keep her reactions in check.

"You mean the trouble you put me in," Quinn retorted, felt the words bunch up and mix in her throat, tone wavering. Her gun remained in her hands, though she felt tremors echo through her limbs.

That cold sneer remained in place, the gun not moving one inch.

"Did I, now?" Kent asked, cocking her head to the side, "Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't. I'm not the one with a kill order on me, either way."

"The kill order you orchestrated," Quinn bit back, felt that long-suppressed anger tear against the bands of logic she'd used to quash the emotion threatening to overwhelm her.

The suited man on the other side of the courtyard watched with glee at the drama playing out in front of him, as if it were nothing more than a play to which he bore witness, despite the gun currently directed his way. Quinn felt her eye tick, jaw tense up, as she contemplated the situation in her head, logic whirring. Whoever this guy was, it seemed he had a deal to bring Quinn to Kent. It wasn't a leap to assume it had something to do with the bounty placed on her head, either, as most likely Kent was the one orchestrating that, too. As of right now, she had no evidence. No way of proving to anyone that she was, in fact, innocent.

"I mean, honestly, you were the one foolish enough to be framed for it," Kent continued, more than content to remain in the spotlight of the shitty situation, " — by that logic, it's not just my fault."

Quinn kept a hard grip on her gun, saw her knuckles whiten as her fingers grasped it even harder, clinging to that sense of security. Her eyes shifted to the wooden doors leading to the courtyard, hoping that Gavin had remained nearby. Another part of her, though, hoped he'd stay out of it — let Kent and O'Reilly battle it out, until nothing but dust remained, the business settled.

You promised to fight.

"I'm going to need you to drop the gun, Quinn," Kent's voice was hard, unyielding, " - you see, Mr. Grace and I have a deal that won't work if you kill him."

"And why should I care about your deal?" Quinn shot back, voice cold.

At the response, at the ice in the words, Kent cocked her head again, regarded her ex-friend in a new light. That new light included Kent's discovery that Quinn had seemed to grow a backbone, something she'd never bothered to notice previously, and not something she'd ever thought would prove an obstacle to any of her plans.