To Be Free (12 page)

Except maybe my quickly beating
heart. And my somersaulting stomach.

Those are just details,
though.

"I'm always here for you," he
vows, and I find myself believing him. I nod, biting my lower lip.
"I swear it on my own grave; I'm yours."

At that my lips part, a silent
exclamation of confusion, realization and surprise. He smiles a
small smile at me, and I reach with a hand to wipe away the drying
tears on his cheeks.

"Quinn, I..."

"It doesn't have to mean
anything," he continues, his left hand lowering to rest on my hip
instead of my cheek. He squeezes the protruding bone gently. "I'm
just telling you the reason why I don't ever want to hurt you like
that."

"I just..."

"I'm sorry," he sighs, breaking
the gaze that was slowly forcing a creeping blush on my face. I
frown, echoing his sigh and forcing his head back up.

"Can I finish
my sentence, or do I have to make you shut up - because God help me
I will do it, Quinn Terry, and don't fucking think I won't," I
warn, and he blinks owlishly. "Thank you, motor mouth. Now, as I
was
about to say
,
I understand."

His expression does something
funny; it shifts from curiosity to confusion in a fashion that
almost makes me laugh - if it wasn't for the tense atmosphere.

"I understand what you're
saying," I whisper, looking down to my fingers pressed gently
against his skin. They, of their own accord, travel to the hair
behind his ears and play in the strands - it's in need of a wash,
yes, but still so soft. "It's strange, but... I know you're not
like her or anybody else. Somehow, I just know you're different.
You're..." I sigh in defeat, unable to finish the phrase.

His hand still cupping my cheek
roams along my skin, trailing to my neck where the neckline of my
suit - unzipped to my collarbones during the night so I can breathe
a bit - meets my skin, at those very protruding bones. This time my
sigh is of a whole different nature.

Quinn's hazel eyes, always
stunning me with their shifting hues, never leave mine as he leans
in and plants a kiss to my Adam's apple, making me swallow thickly.
My fingers tighten a bit in his hair.

I whisper to him three little
words.

"So am I."

He smiles against my skin,
lingering.

"Completely, Quinn. I don't
know how you did it and how you managed to do it so quickly, but
you've completely broken me and my defenses," I admit breathlessly,
his mouth trailing upwards in a searing fire that is both too much
and not enough - too hot and too cold. When he reaches my face,
scant inches shy of my lips and so tantalizingly slow that my
breathing is completely scattered and my mind blank, I can still
feel that smile as we lock eyes.

"I like to think I'm fixing
them instead," he admits softly, his voice deeper and hoarser than
usual. My hands are scrambling for purchase on his shoulder blades,
the left hand on my hip caressing smooth circles along my bone and
the right on my neck tipping my head slightly. Making me meet him
halfway, and I find I don't mind.

"F-fixing how?" I stutter, and
his eyes lower briefly, rising again to meet mine.

No, Sarah
definitely
never
looked at me like
that
. That look is intimate as fuck,
and it makes my heart stop completely and my breath catch. When
both organs start up again, it's erratic and completely uneven.
Almost painful, really. In a good way.

"In many different ways," he
comments idly, still smiling. Neither of us seem to be willing to
take that last step, dive that last inch, our lips hovering inches
apart. As if waiting for permission, for the other to take the
plunge and say it's okay to do this. To want this. "Emotionally is
a goal of mine; psychologically, too, with time? And, if you'll
ever let me... physically, too."

"You... you've got a lot of
work to do, then. How will you do that, pray tell?" I inquire, a
smile forcing its way to my lips. How the hell did his ex-wife
manage this on a daily basis - actually, I have my answer already.
He's told me already he never loved her, so she never saw this side
of him.

This expression is mine,
then... mine, and mine alone.

"Seduce me, maybe?" I tease,
and he arches an eyebrow. "Psychoanalyze me?"

"Not even close," he chuckles,
closing his eyes briefly as he smiles. When he opens them again, a
moment later, they're full of honesty and devotion and
honest-to-God admiration. So many more emotions, some embarrassing
as shit, others embarrassing in different ways. Nowhere in those
eyes is the look Sarah gave me. "With your permission, I'll love
you every day of forever; I'll slowly undo the damage she's done to
your mind, help you overcome that anxiety and bring out that happy,
carefree man I fell for; and let you call all the shots, let you
decide what we do, when, where and how. At your own pace,
always."

I take the plunge.

I have to. Quinn, he just... he
knew exactly what to say and how to say it. He knows of the pains
and agony I've suffered, hasn't called me out on it as bullshit,
and...

Oh fuck, he's kissing me
back.

How did
Meredith deal with
this
? How the hell does someone not go crazy with the amount of
honest sincerity he pours into his kisses? All his passion, his
trust, his understanding... I sob into it, unable to stop myself
from shedding another bout of tears. Damn this man for making me a
cry baby.

Damn him for being everything I
wanted when I was thirteen. Everything I'd wanted in Sarah.

When I allow him to deepen the
kiss, I almost regret it - almost, but not quite. He leans forward,
the movement pushing me back slightly, but I don't mind; his left
hand cradles my lower back, pushing me against him as I let him
manipulate me, surrendering to him completely. I'm not afraid,
somehow, of letting him control this. I'm not afraid of him.

Carefully, testing the waters,
he lies me on my back, breaking the kiss only once to breathe, and
continues to do just that. Only that, but with the passion he's
pouring into it and the way our mouths dance together, it feels
like so much more. It feels like a piece of heaven, and he's
passionate but slow about it. He takes his time, mapping every
crevice out and exploring them anew once he's done and the need to
breathe triumphs only in the way that we resort to open-mouths, my
fingernails digging into his scalp as I grip his hair and his right
tilting my head, his left trailing absently along my side, down my
arm and repeating the process. He's leaning over me but... also
not. Sort of off to the side, to give me the room.

The room to back out.

"You're going to drive me
crazy," I huff breathlessly, breaking the kiss. He laughs just as
short-winded as I, lips never leaving my skin and moving to my ear,
nibbling gently. I turn my head to give him access to the area,
submitting.

"If you keep
doing that,
I'll
go crazy," he groans. "No offense, but the way you're just
letting me do this... it's kind of like what any virgin would
do."

"Fuck you," I spit, no venom in
the swear. He chuckles, carding a hand through my hair.

"Seriously, love," he starts
lowly, and I bite my lower lip to hide my smile, though it escapes
anyways, "if only you could see what I see."

This
time
I
laugh,
turning my head back and catching his eyes.

"I'd like you to see what I
see, too," I say, and he arches an eyebrow. "I see someone whose
eyes are so honest, so open, and whose kiss leaves me satisfied and
wanting more."

"I see the man I fell for," he
replies, both hands now on my cheeks and refusing to let me escape
his gaze. Then he uses them to hold his weight, still giving me the
room to escape through my right side - that action alone makes me
realize how seriously he's taking this, and how he's considerate
even in the midst of desire. That he knows how big a step this is
for me. "The sarcastic, hard-headed, happy, carefree man I've only
glimpsed but adored nonetheless."

"What about the other one?" I
question. He smiles, lips an inch from mine again.

"He can stay too," Quinn winks
at me, but then kisses my lips in a gentler fashion. It's simply
for the sake of the touch, not to invoke burning desire or
pleasure, but simply for the sake of doing it. It's just a touch,
with barely any pressure, but just as good as the first - if not
better.

Throughout it all, I can sense
the compassion. He's not lying to me when he says all he wants to
do is to help me heal, by whichever means I allow.

I couldn't have fought all this
even if I'd tried.

• Don’t
  Forget, You’ll Never be Forgiven
  

QUINN

There's not much light to see
by as we continue down our chosen road through the tunnels,
sometimes accidentally hitting a dead end filled with rotting
barrels and broken wooden carts. Following the tracks turns out to
be a horrible idea soon enough, so we just stick to the general
northern direction and keep on walking through the darkness, right
under their noses.

Oftentimes we come across the
sound of rats running through the tunnels, bats being disturbed by
the lights and the noises we make - or lack thereof, I should say.
Neither of us are speaking much, but we share glances every once in
a while and a sheepish smile is exchanged.

The smell of dirt is thick in
the air, smelling of the earthy tones of the world we walk on and
making me smile - as I've always liked the smell of dirt,
especially after a rainfall; and the smell of time's lack of
passing here as well, of undisturbed air and rotting wood, the
occasional smell of rat pee and other such things. Sometimes a
beady eye in the darkness ahead of us shines briefly, disappearing
in fright, but even with our cloaks off to allow as much light as
possible, we can only see about a meter or two ahead of us.

After giving Seb the bundled-up
cloaks to carry so that I can lug around the pack for a while and
exchange burdens, the man grasps my wrist carefully, glancing
around with his eyebrows creasing.

"Lead me on for a while," he
suggests, a strange hue to his eyes - kind of like an almost
translucent membrane that's covered them, giving his eyes different
shades of red - as they see things I can't. "Yesterday's starting
to bite me in the ass."

I nod my assent, continuing our
trajectory as he follows my lead without another word. Sometimes he
inputs a direction, telling me to turn a specific way as he watches
the ghosts of the past walk among us, their ethereal imprints on
this world. He describes it to me when I ask.

Seb describes what he see's as
a large tunnel lit up by gas lamps hanging from the ceiling,
supported by the very beams we brush by, some having fallen over
the decades. There are men and women alike smuggling alcohol
through the complex system, using the rails at our feet to push the
carts full of the illegal substance. The lull of conversation is
amicable, friendly, and a little on the drunk side.

Eventually, his hand slips from
my wrist to my hand as he talks, his fingers threading through mine
carefully, and biting back my smile I return the pressure he
applies. He falters momentarily in his monologue, but continues
soon afterwards as if nothing happened.

The path starts running up on a
slight incline, and when we reach the top we come out through a
narrow path between two boulders, hidden by a thick willow tree
spilling over the rocks in question. I help him through, and he
offers me a smile, his eyes no longer shining with that strange
hue.

It's late afternoon, and the
wind's on the mild side so it's a bit warm. The leaves here are
changing colour at a quicker pace than those back south, though not
by much. There are birds singing and cicadas warning about the
heat, and in the distance I can hear the telltale sound of cars
passing and the city life.

"Where are we?" I question, and
my companion shrugs as we linger in the seclusion of the ancient
willow. There's a thin curtain of leaves shielding us from the rest
of the world, and we hesitate in here, knowing that beyond that
curtain lies danger.

I drop the pack to the grass,
deciding that we can afford the respite after endless hours in the
darkness of the tunnels, wandering without pause, and he follows my
example by leaving the cloaks on the bag. It's a strange sort of
sanctuary here, the sunlight barely filtering in through the
foliage and offering us its heat, giving this area a dreamlike
state.

Once I sit with my back to the
trunk, leaning my head back against the bark of the tree, he
settles with his back against my chest and looks up, towards the
sky. Without needing a prompt, I pull him against me and wrap my
arms loosely around his waist. Seb doesn't complain; he merely
closes his eyes, head resting against my collarbones and sighs.

"Thank you," he breathes,
looking at me and offering me a satisfied smile. Lowering my head
so I can kiss the side of his neck, I mutter a quiet inquiry as to
the nature of his gratitude. "I'm still scared - petrified, I'll
admit - and very, very hesitant about all this. But... I'm not
scared.

"I'm not scared of you, so I'm
not afraid of the things you do. You've been treating me so kindly,
so gently..." the man closes his eyes again and turning his head
slightly, silently submitting once more and allowing me free access
to his neck.

I don't take advantage of it. I
simply tuck my chin against his shoulder.

"You might just be able to heal
me after all," he admits, and the thought of that makes me smile
and has me hold him a little more tightly, although I make sure I
remain loose enough for him to wiggle out if ever he decides he's
had enough. I can feel his heartbeat, strong and sure, against my
own. "Although, I do admit, your eyes are so honest they're almost
intimidating."