Special Agent | ✓

Forty-Eight

a/n: ;) a lil' early update. 

Forty-Eight

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The pain had come in a burst, at first.

Gradually, it had turned into a sharp point that pulsed uncomfortably, each pulse growing stronger, burning brighter, as her entire side seemed to be engulfed in flames. Panting hard, Quinn continued stumbling forward, anchored by Gavin's heavy arm currently wrapped around her torso, heaving her a few steps forward at a time. Adrenaline had pumped through her body for a good few minutes since they left the courtyard, but Quinn felt it swiftly wearing off.

There was a sticky layer of sweat welling out of her neck, her hair plastered against it. Her heart was thumping wildly, painfully, as the pain in her side had moved toward the middle of her chest. Breathing was half-impossible, and it felt as if no air got into Quinn's lungs despite the fact that she was gulping down as many shallow breaths as possible. Her body was going into shock.

Quinn pressed harder against the wound in her stomach, felt it made no difference as blood continued welling out of her. Out of the actual gunshot wound in her side.

I should've stayed behind the bloody desk.

As they rounded yet another corner, Quinn felt herself slowing down, despite Gavin's help moving forward. Her heart kicked up into another gear, beating almost impossibly fast. Sweat ran in rivulets down her face, eyes turning glassy as the shock firmly gripped hold of her body.

Gavin slowed beside her, movements reluctant. He was in full-on agent mode, eyes sweeping the street around them, muscles stiff in preparation of an attack.

"I can't — " Quinn started, felt her lungs seizing, snatching the words from her.

Gavin got the point well enough, eyes darkening. Maneuvering Quinn onto the slight staircase leading to the nearest building, he used careful fingers to lift aside the hand she'd had pressed against the wound.

Quinn winced, felt nausea swim in her head. Gavin's jaw ticked, expression shuttering as a cold anger took hold of his face. The wound continued bleeding, and Quinn continued to feel her body taking control of itself, shutting down in response to great shock.

It wasn't very fun to know all of the biological consequences when being shot, because now she knew exactly what she was experiencing. Through the haze of pain, Quinn focused her blurry eyes on Locke.

Before she could speak further, the pain intensified, swallowing her in yet another wave.

You could still run, Quinn wanted to say, the words clogging in her throat before she could push them out. You can still make it.

Locke didn't let her try to say anything, head merely snapping up as the sound of shouting became clearly audible from a block away. His eyes swept the street, caught on the lone car standing by the curb. He crouched lower, placed his lips by her ear as he spoke next:

"I'll be back in two minutes," Gavin said. One calloused hand cupped the back of her head, then Quinn noted a soft, careful pressure against her hair as his head tilted further her way. Then he was gone.

Quinn barely noted that any time had gone by, though she'd seen — through hazy vision — Gavin ram an elbow through the window of the car by the curb. Before long, he'd returned, those worried, dark eyes sweeping across her form.

His hands moved carefully, slowly, before they wound themselves around her back. They were slippery, wet with what Quinn knew was her blood, but firmly grabbed hold.