quinn_pro_quo | (no subject)

(no subject)

Quinn had spent some time at Francis' place already now, so she easily made herself at home again when she was brought back over. She knew at some point he was going to ask for her help. She knew that whatever was going on in his head, it wasn't stable enough and it wasn't that easy to work with. She hoped that she could help him out and make everything settle more firmly into place. She couldn't promise that it would work though. They could only work on it and see how it went.

She had, of course, immediately flopped herself down on his couch, arm across the back of the couch like she owned the place. She loved this apartment. It was chic and gorgeous and airy and had an amazing view. Darcy's place was boring and boring and really fucking boring. Maybe Quinn was simply bored, but it was easier to blame it on her sister.

"How do you want to do this, sunshine?" she asked from where she was sitting, head back.

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No, a hug was not appropriate right now. Instead he moved to her side and sat down on the floor, legs crossed. Silent for a moment. "Do you want to talk about it?" He eventually asked. He would ask once, wouldn't try to drag whatever it was out of her.

He sat down beside her but on the floor and when he asked, she smiled, even if it looked more painful than appreciative. Glancing down at him, she took a breath and shook her head, "There's not really much to say about it."

That was the understatement of the year. There was plenty to say about it. She was lost and she felt hopeless and she didn't know where she fit in anymore and she wished she could have simply disappeared instead.

There was obviously things to say. Her whole posture, the look in her eyes screamed that there was. But maybe she wasn't ready to talk, and he could respect that. "Whenever you want to, I'll listen," he simply said. "Do you want to be alone?"

She did appreciate that he would offer and that he wanted to listen, because she believed that he actually did. Before they managed to help Francis, she'd be on her own, the only one who knew what it was like to be trapped. She couldn't talk to Darcy or Ford or Casper because none of them actually understood it and now that she had someone to talk to, she couldn't make sense of it.

"No," she said, answering faster than she meant to, "No, I... no. I don't like being alone much."

"Then you don't have to be," he said, calmly. But it was a situation of give and take, he felt. He couldn't help her unless she let him in. If she didn't talk, then he couldn't understand.

She wasn't ready. She didn't know when she'd be ready or if she'd be ready, but she wasn't ready and she didn't have to be. At least she felt that she didn't have to be. She could take her time and she did need that.

Quinn wiped her eyes as discretely as she could, the tears pooling there and threatening to fall. She didn't want that. She wasn't the weak girl that had a crappy life and bad things happen. She didn't let herself.

"Thanks," she murmured.

He would push eventually, but not today. Today he let the silence fall, and just stayed with her. And it gave him more time to rest his own head, and the fresh air was doing him good.

If he pushed, she'd break and she was pretty sure that he was the only person that she would break in front of. That scared her more than anything. She couldn't open up to anyone else because no one would understand it and there was that small place in her that believed that he wouldn't understand either.

The world was made of noise, though up there they were fainter. Traffic from down below, people. The wind. Birds. And nothing from either of them. Nothing ore than breathing.

He didn't know how to help her, though he felt like he should. Following an impulse, he leaned to the side a bit and rested his head lightly against her thigh. "Thank you," he said quietly. No hug, but at least a show of gratitude. She deserved that at the very least.

The gesture of him leaning against her thigh was so strongly related to the memory of him hen he'd come to her in the midst of doing a puzzle that she had to bite her lip to keep from letting out a shuddering breath.

Quinn waited a second before reaching out and again, brushing her hand gently over his hair, "you're welcome." God, she did not get sentimental! She didn't. She couldn't. She didn't want to. It was weird and hard and it made her feel and she didn't like feeling.

He didn't even think about that similarity. But then he didn't have any recollection about that time when he had put his head in his lap. He had just been told about it.

Again the silence fell as he waited and hoped that she would start talking. She seemed to need it.

She could talk. She probably should. It might help her out if she did, but if she talked then things would get complicated and real and what if he didn't really want to hear it, but oh God she was going to start crying.

Quinn rolled her head back as if that would stop the tears from falling, trying to find some way to combat gravity, but it wasn't easy and she hated herself for feeling this way.

"You know that when you get back to being yourself that you want to continue working?" she asked. Maybe she could ease into it.

He listened to the tone of her voice as much as to the words themselves, but so far he couldn't read between the lines. "To some extent, yes, I want to work. Probably not as I used to, but I want to do something," he answered her.

"And you know you'll be able to? I mean, you'll fit in and just do it..." she said, her voice trailing off after a moment. She wasn't sure what she was getting at. This wasn't easy and she hated that she couldn't simply make the best of it. Why couldn't she make sense of what she was trying to do?

"You don't think you'll be lost trying to fit back in?"

He spent a moment giving that some thought before answering. "I don't even know what I might be able to do yet," he started. "But... Yes, I think I will be. At first." And he had a feeling that he would be stuck with a new reputation from now on. There's Francis Miller, once a really strong guy who was turned into a nutter and is now basically crippled. Unless he did make a full recovery.

"The world didn't stop to wait for me." Or her. But he didn't say that. "It changed. And I guess I changed too, but not along with my corner of the world. So in that sense, yes, I am lost."

That was not as comforting as she hoped it would be. She thought that maybe if he had made it through this and he could find a place back in the world without worrying about it then maybe they could both make it. But they were lost and she was alone and she hated this feeling. She couldn't make sense of it and she was stuck.

Quinn lifted her hands to her face and covered it, taking a deep breath and unable to hold back the tears that broke free. She didn't sob. She barely made any noise, but she was crying and she didn't want him to see it. It was too late for that.

She started crying, and he nearly breathed a sigh of relief. It was better to cry, he knew, to let it out.

Slowly, not rushing, giving her a moment, he moved from her side to stand on his knees in front of her. "Quinn, look at me." His voice was kind, soft, and he reached up to gently pull her hands away from her face. "It's okay to be lost. It's okay."

He was in front of her a moment later, pulling her hands from her face so she would look at him. Eyes red and wet, cheeks flushed from the rush of emotion. She felt horrible.

She continued to cry, trying to look at him and having to glance away, trying to hold back the sobs that wanted to break free, but it hurt either way.

"I just don't feel anything," she managed through gasping breaths, "I'm bitter and nothing else. There's no motivation, I don't want to do anything and I don't fit anywhere."

All those practical things, where to go, what to do, what kind of job that would suit her, that wasn't for him to say. But one thing there stuck with him, that he felt he did need to address to at least give another point of view.

"The bitterness won't help you," he said. He still held he hands in his, and let them drop down on her lap. "You need to face that, why you are bitter. And find a way to let it go."

She shook her head, squeezing his hands in her in a death grip as if that would make it better. She hated feeling so bitter about everything and that was where the problem lied.

"I c-can't..." she gasped again, trying to speak through sobs, "I can't... I can't do anything about what's been done. I lost years of my life and for what? It all ended up at a dead end anyway. I was stupid and used and... no one hardly knows I exist."

"Your sister knows. Your brother knows. Ford knows. I know. That's a start, isn't it?" Regret? Was that was it was? Having given so much basically for nothing?

"No, you can't change anything about what's been done. That you also have to accept. What you can do something about is what you will do from now on."

She felt like someone should know. Like maybe if those that broke her knew she was no longer to be used by anyone. Maybe she wanted revenge. Maybe, but she couldn't convince herself that was the only problem. She was worried that she wasted her life trying to be some kind of spy or some kind of undercover worker, like she was worth anything, when in reality she had no training and no place doing that.

"I don't know what to do..." she murmured, the tears slowing, but still feeling the ache. "I don't feel any desire to do anything. I'm lonely and can't do anything about it and... God I sound like such a little girl."

Had she made mistakes that led her to to a point where she could get hurt? Yes, Francis believed that she had. But that didn't make it all her fault. She had been young and impulsive and rash, yes. But that's what mentors were for, to help and guide, and to rein in and even stop you when needed. But hers had enabled her to run ahead into places she hadn't been ready for.

"There's nothing wrong with that." Everyone needed to be allowed to be weak at times. And she was lonely. he'd already understood that. And, at that moment, he was really all she had. How could that not make her lonely?

"I can't do this. I can't make this worse and I can't go to Darcy with it because she's already gone through hell. She'd relapse and be a fucking mess," Quinn replied. Now she had given up on any filter and simply started to rant.

"I spent all that time in that place and even if I can't remember every moment, I do remember just sitting and waiting for it all to end. I'd lost all purpose and now I'm still feeling that way and I can't... I can't do it. I can't make sense of it and I can't make it work and I don't have any answers and I hate feeling powerless."

"I think your sister is stronger than that," he said, and he believed it. There were strength in her, he'd sensed it. "But if you still feel you can't, then don't. I'm here too." And she was talking, which must mean that he had some of her trust at least.

"Listen to me." He leaned forward a little bit. "What happened to you was a terrible thing." They had endured similar but different, the two of them, and he couldn't even imagine just waiting like that, waiting for it to end. "You were powerless, that's true. But you are not now. You need for find a way to see that."