OVERKILL ★ CHAPTER NINE
(Doctor Fuzzy Buddy.)

NEARLY THE ENTIRETY OF AFC Richmond is gathered in The Crown and Anchor. It definitely would've been a shit-ton of money if Mae hadn't been a Richmond superfan, and basically let the team crowd the small area for free (but she did require some to order a drink, of course). Everyone is chatting amongst themselves as they wait for Ted to explain the reasoning behind the gathering. Quinn sits near the front, in between Sam and Roy. She can't help but let her eyes linger to the entrance repeatedly, trying to see if Jamie would show. He's the only member to not arrive yet (aside from Dani, who's currently trying to fight for the recovery of his knee in the hospital).

"He's not gonna fucking show," grumbles Roy, appearing to have caught her search for Jamie every time she looked back.

"He could."

"Yeah, but he won't. I don't know what kind of special moment you had with that dick, but let it go. Any hope you have for him is fucking pointless."

"If I may interject," Sam peaks his head in their direction, "but I'm going to have to agree with Roy—and I'm not even keen on his continual pessimism."

Quinn frowns. What she wants to say is the typical "You don't know him like I do" statement when girls try to defend men. But she can't use that defense for two reasons:

1) She doesn't actually know him well enough to say that. Sam and Roy have spent more than half a season witnessing Jamie's antics.

2) The only thing she could use to possibly justify her claim is the time he helped ground her back to reality on a bench while she spiraled at the thought of her dad. And she isn't about to explain that story to people for fun. Besides, all their criticisms against Jamie are true; he's a selfish prick and there was no excuse.

"Geez," Quinn settles on saying, "you both are harsh."

Sam frowns, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not," says Roy.

"Do you ever feel genuine joy?" asks Quinn, changing the subject. She's gotten more comfortable with poking fun at Roy now that she knows he's a secret softie on the inside. "Like, in anything you care about?"

"I think I'll feel genuine joy when you're fucking quiet."

"Ouch," mutters Sam. Quinn smacks him on the shoulder while he laughs.

Standing with Higgins and Mae, Ted raises his hands to gain the team's attention. "Hey guys? Hey fellas, listen up."

Everyone looks up at Ted, and he smiles gratefully.

"Thank you guys for coming out. Look," he begins, "I don't know a lot about this stuff, you know? I don't know a lot about curses. But, I do know this: they don't last forever."

"I fucking hope not," Quinn mutters to herself.

"Look at the Boston Red Sox curse, that's over. Chicago Cubs, over. Heck, even Mr. Martin Scorsese finally won his Oscar. But I think we can all agree that The Departed is not necessarily his best work." Ted waits for a murmur of agreements. "That belongs to The Color of Money—"

"No, it's Goodfellas," Colin cuts in.

Chatter erupts inside the room.

Isaac shakes his head. "Nah, nah. It's Age of Innocence, bruv."

"Cape Fear!" Beard makes eye contact with Quinn. "You know this."

Quinn frowns. "I fell asleep when you tried to show me that."

"Silence!" Roy shouts, commanding the entire room easily.

Mae fills the silence, "Oi, once the word gets out you lot are in here, this place will turn into a fucking zoo . . . and the answer's Mean Streets."

Everyone who participated in the debate nods in agreement with the older lady.

Mae grins with satisfaction. "You're all here because of this poster behind me."

Everyone adjusts their focus, trying to read the font on the framed poster on the wall.

"Mr. Higgins," she says, motioning him to read the words for emphasis.

Higgins clears his throat. "'Are you a fast, fit, fan of football? We need you.'"

"That's solid alliteration right there," says Ted. "Would've convinced me."

"Hundreds of those posters were put up around Richmond on the 18th November, 1914," begins Mae, and Quinn feels suspenseful music start to play in her head. "It was an invitation for young men to try out to be a professional footballer. It said to come to the stadium that day . . . and it was a lie."

Higgins nods. "In 1914, the war was raging. There was no tryout. Just recruiters, waiting to encourage those boys to fight the fight."

"They enlisted 400 lads that day. Very few of them came home."

"And after they enlisted . . . do you know where they went for their physical?"

Nate gasps. "Oh Christ, it's our treatment room, isn't it?"

Commotion breaks out in the pub. Goosebumps rise on Quinn's arms because—again—she does not fuck with ghosts. She'd rather lose all her limbs before coming face to face with a spirit. She crosses her arms and unconsciously leans closer to Roy. No offense to Sam, she thinks, but he's too soft to take on a ghost. But, a new thought crosses her mind, maybe Sam would be able to make amends with the ghost to save everyone. She raises an eyebrow, and slowly shifts her body more towards Sam.

Roy looks down at her. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Gauging my chances at staying alive. Which, I am staying alive, by the way!" she yells out to the rest of the team.

"Hey, no no no," placates Ted, trying to gain everyone's attention back. "No, fellas. No it was not the treatment room, okay?"

People breathe out a sigh of relief.

Ted averts his eyes shamefully. "Actually, it was. I'm sorry, I'm lying to y'all . . . I don't even know why I'm lying. I'm sorry, I just wanted everyone to take a breath for a second."

Quinn covers her eyes in pure terror. "Sam, please sweet-talk the ghosts away."

Sam frowns. "I'll try my very best, Quinn."

"Wait!" Isaac shouts. "Wait, wait, wait. What, you're telling me that we've got 400 ghosts?"

Colin shakes his head. "That's too many ghosts."

Richard sighs. "We cannot fight them all. I can try in Quinn's honor, but it'll be hopeless."

"Watch it, Richard," says Beard to the football player's suggestive comment towards his goddaughter.

"Can in, Beard," snaps Quinn. "I need all the protection I can get." She sends Richard a smile.

Ted shakes his head. "We're not going to have to fight them, Richard."

"Wait so, Coach, then how do we fix this?" Sam frowns. "We can't change the past."

"No, Sam. No, we cannot." Ted looks around the room. "But we can choose to honor it. Now, those young men, they made the ultimate sacrifice. So I think it's only fair that we sacrifice something of our own. I'm gonna ask each and every one of you to go home tonight, to find something—an item. Something personal, something that you truly value. I want you to bring it tonight to the clubhouse, at midnight."

There's more commotion. But Quinn doesn't pay any mind to it for the first time. Her mind goes to the package under her bed. She wonders if it's time to bring it out; to let go of it for good.

Her thoughts are interrupted when Roy stands quickly from his chair. "We're all gonna fucking do it!"

The crowd silences. The boys in the room begin to understand the gravity of the situation, and they don't fight it.

Ted smiles. "That's your captain talking right there."

Just then, they all hear chanting coming from outside the pub.

A crowd had gathered, all yelling "Richmond!" repeatedly. They have their phones out in hopes of catching a glimpse of their favorite players.

The boys all groan in frustration, but Quinn sees no problem with it since they're not here to see her. She has nothing to worry about.

"Well," she stands up, clapping her hands together. "All those idiots have no idea who I am! So, bye everyone!" She grabs Sam's arm to make him stand up. "Put on your hood, you're gonna be my ride."

Sam stands up, "Goodbye, everyone!" He puts on his hood and follows Quinn out the door, skillfully dodging the crowd.

When they get into Sam's car, Quinn gives him the address to Harvey and Christa's flat. She wants to pick up her item now, while she's energized and feels like she can look at it.

The day is particularly rainy, which makes Quinn a little bit more tired than normal. The two enjoy the comfortable silence as Sam follows the Google Maps directions she had typed in. Sam's radio plays lowly in the background, a Nigerian radio station based in London that he says he listens to often.

Sam pulls his car up to the front of the flat. He turns on his blinkers and before checking the notifications on his phone.

"Ted texted me," he says. "He wants me to go to Nelson Road and tell Rebecca about our plans. Is it okay if we go after this?"

"Yeah, sure," Quinn replies, fishing her pockets for her keys. Unfortunately, she's met with a gum wrapper and a lone M&M at first . . . How did that thing survive so long in there? She thinks an M&M could survive an atomic explosion.

"Would you like me to come inside with you?" asks Sam.

Quinn shakes her head, finally grabbing her keys. "It's alright, thank you though. I'll be very quick. I just need to get my sacrifice thing, or whatever." She opens the car door. "Be right back!"

She enters the flat like a woman on a mission. Thankfully, no one is home at the moment. Quinn can't imagine what the conversation may be like. "Hi, yeah sorry, I'm just here to pick up my childhood stuffed bunny that Dad sent so that I can sacrifice it to hundreds of soldier ghosts in Nelson Road! I think it's time to let go of the burden it's been holding on me. How are you?"

What a fucking nightmare that would be.

She enters the guest room and gets on her knees, reaching out under the bed to pull out the box. She takes a deep breath before taking the stuffed bunny out. Quinn stares at it apprehensively, suddenly second-guessing her motives. Maybe she's thinking irrationally, or maybe she's thinking in a perfectly stable way. Either way, she searches for her tote bag in the room, and stuffs the toy inside.

She meets Sam back in the car in ample time. She mutters a quick thanks, and buckles back her seatbelt.

"So, what's your sacrifice?" he jokingly asks.

Quinn huffs a laugh. She reaches into her tote bag to pull out the stuffed animal, making a show of holding it up regally to the boy beside her.

Sam gasps, all humor leaving his eyes in an instant. "An innocent bunny rabbit! Quinn, you can't get rid of this . . . Go inside and pick something else."

She rolls her eyes. "This is the only meaningful thing I have up there. Unless you want me to sacrifice my favorite tank top—which I'm not doing." She throws him a side glare. "Anyway, Sam, meet Doctor Fuzzy Buddy."

Sam shakes his head, turning his body to the opposite direction. "Don't humanize the toy for me. It'll make me more sad."

Quinn laughs. "Suit yourself," she shrugs, "He's my offering tonight, whether you learn his favorite color or not."

His eyes peek back at the stuffed animal. "Hi, Doctor Fuzzy Buddy. I'm so sorry that your owner wants to sacrifice you to the Richmond ghosts."

Quinn imitates a light, child-like voice, "Don't save me, Sam. It's for the best." She moves the bunny's head like it's speaking.

Sam laughs. "You are evil. Maybe even worse than the ghosts."

Quinn can't hide the smile on her face. If she's going to sacrifice her favorite childhood toy, she thinks, then it's a good thing her final memory with it is a good one.

★

By midnight, Sam and Quinn have long finished their run-around of errands for AFC Richmond's sacrifice. Sam had stopped by Rebecca's office to invite her to the event, while Quinn waited in the car. Then, they went to Sam's home to get his offering. After all the running around, she doesn't think she has it in her to stay up for the duration of this get-together.

Quinn double checks that Sam's picture frame and her stuffed animal are still in her tote bag as everyone gathers around the treatment room. She still feels a little apprehensive entering the supposed-cursed room. If this sacrifice doesn't work, she plans on killing Ted before the ghosts even think about getting to him.

Everyone is grouped in a semi-circle around a tin trashcan. The entire team—besides Jamie, but no one's surprised—stands quietly while they wait for Ted to begin the process.

"Quinnie and Gentlemen," Ted begins, "I am, by nature, a believer. Ghosts, spirit guides, aliens. Still, I can't tell you what lives beyond our physical world and what doesn't. What I can tell you is that, with the exception of the wit and wisdom of Calvin and Hobbes, not much lasts forever."

Everyone nods, but the door opens before Ted can go on.

Rebecca walks into the treatment room, towering over the team and holding a newspaper in her hands. Quinn throws a grin in Sam's way. Clearly whatever he had said to her earlier is what convinced her show.

"Hey, boss," grins Ted. "Glad you could join us."

Once everyone is settled with the new presence, Ted nods in Roy's direction.

"Roy, why don't you get us started?"

Roy sighs, stepping up by the garbage can. "I was nine when I got scouted by Sunderland, and I'd never left London before. My grandad drove me all the way there, and it was freezing . . . and I was terrified."

Some of the boys chuckle.

Any sort of sentimentality in Roy's face disappears. "I was fucking nine, say something!" He waits for the boys to completely shut up before continuing, "When I got there, he gave me this old blanket. He said it was to keep me warm and to remind me of home. And that was the last time I saw him . . . 'Cause he'd passed away by the time I got back for Christmas, so . . . that is why this blankie means so much to me."

Isaac grins. "Did you just say 'blankie'?"

"No, I said 'blanket.'" He angrily tosses the blanket into the bin. "Conversation over. Sam, go."

Quinn looks up at Isaac with a frown. "I'm all for making fun of Roy as much as the next person . . . but I don't think this is the right time."

Isaac frowns. "You're right. I apologize."

Sam coughs. "Quinn?"

"Hm?" She turns to Sam to see him motioning to her tote bag. "Oh! Right." She reaches in and pulls out the picture frame he'd brought from his home. "Sorry."

"No worries." Sam accepts the frame from her hands.

"This is a picture of the 1994 Nigerian World Cup team." He spins the photo around so that everyone can get a look. "I pledged I wouldn't take this down until I made the team myself. And I still intend to do that," he grins. He places it softly into the bin, and everyone smiles back at him.

Richard steps up next. As he emotionally finishes his anecdote, it dawns to Quinn that some of the offerings are going to be much more unserious than others. Like, did Richard really have to shed a fucking tear when throwing his erotic beach sand in? Quinn can't believe the mind of some of the players. Her and Rebecca had to stare at each other in disbelief.

Still, she pats his back comfortingly as he wept. To each their own, she guesses.

Nate steps up. "A girl once said I look like Clive Owen in these sunglasses." He hesitates as his hand hovers over the trash. He shakes his head. "I don't think I can do it."

Everyone begins to encourage Nate.

"Fuck Clive Owen," Quinn calls out. She doesn't even have a clue who that man is. "I like Nate much better." A murmur of a agreement spreads through the room.

A smile breaks out into Nate's face and he quickly lets go of the sunglasses before he can second guess himself again.

"Good boy, Nate," grins Zoreaux.

Rebecca steps up next. She doesn't say anything when she tosses a newspaper in.

Ted peers inside the bin. "Is that today's paper?"

Rebecca nods. "There's something in there about me, as usual, and I'm trying not to care." She waits a few moments before gracefully adding, "Fuck the haters."

Everyone hums in agreement. Quinn claps her hands in a little cheer.

One by one, everyone else on the team tosses in an item with a little anecdote. The items ranged from toys, clothing items, goalkeeper gloves, and even keys to a Lamborghini (Colin made a big fucking mistake tossing that one in).

Quinn listens intently, wanting to learn about some of the players she hasn't been able to interact with a lot. She also listens to distract herself over the fact that her turn is coming closer. She grips the straps of her tote tighter, anticipating Ted calling her out soon.

"Quinn," he finally says once almost everyone went. "Wanna go? Unless you didn't bring anything sentimental during your visit, which is understandable."

She takes a deep breath. "No, no. I'll go. Even if I didn't have anything meaningful with me, I'd probably chop my arm off and toss it in to appease the ghosts."

The nervous joke didn't land as well as she thought it would. Everyone's expression goes sour at the thought.

"Ok—um," Quinn dips her hand into her bag until she feels the soft toy around her fingers. She pulls it out, showing everyone the stuffed bunny in her hands.

Ted lets out the largest gasp she's ever heard. "Doctor Fuzzy Buddy?!"

Beard shakes his head. "Quinn. No."

Everyone other than Quinn looks terribly confused by the reaction.

Quinn grins, looking up at the ceiling to speak to the invisible ghosts. "I hope you spirits saw that fucking reaction and realize that I didn't come to fool around."

"Quinn," says Ted. "You don't have to do this."

She shakes her head at him. "No, I want to." She looks around the room and holds the bunny up. "As everyone probably heard, this is Doctor Fuzzy Buddy."

"Hi, Doctor Fuzzy Buddy," the room says in unison.

Quinn grins at their respect.

"My dad won me Doctor Fuzzy Buddy at a carnival when I was six—even gave him the name. And he'd been my favorite toy ever since. He was my favorite because my dad won him for me, and my dad is—was—my favorite person.

"Two weeks after I came to England, he sent me this in the mail. And, I know without context it sounds all cute, or whatever." Quinn looks down at the bunny with a frown. "But the reason he sent it to me was to remind me that I loved him. And he want me to think that because I love him, I shouldn't tell anyone that I caught him cheating on my mom."

The room falls silent, like everyone's breathing decided to stop at that moment.

"I know he did it to influence my feelings into protecting him, but I still kept it anyway. Because even if he sent it as some sick manipulation tactic, he was always still my favorite."

She doesn't know if that last part was directed at the bunny, or at her dad.

Quinn doesn't overthink it as she tosses the stuffed animal into the bin. "It's time to let him go. I don't like what he represents anymore, even if I used to think that I couldn't live without him."

There's a wave of silence, and Quinn only takes her eyes off the floor to look up at Beard. Tears are gathering in his eyes. She goes up to him to stand by his side, and his arm wraps around her shoulders. Quinn wraps both her arms around his stomach and leans into him for support.

Even Ted looks a little teary-eyed as he looks at the pair. He has to snap himself out of it.

"Alright," Ted clears his throat, cutting through the tension. "Everybody go?"

Everyone nods, looking around the circle to see if they've missed anyone.

"No," a voice says from the door.

Everyone turns to see Jamie leaning against the back wall. Quinn tries to suppress the shock in her face.

"I wanna go," he says, walking up the middle.

He holds up a pair of cleats and looks around the room. His eyes land on Quinn, his eyes holding something meaningful in their short glance.

"These aren't my first boots or anything. My mum gave 'em to me. She was the one who got me into football in the first place. Her and my dad split up when I was just a sexy, little baby."

Quinn's face grows confused as she tries to stifle a laugh at Beard's side.

"She's the reason I work so hard. Just wanted to make her proud. She doesn't even care if I'm any good," Jamie grins fondly. "Just wants me to be happy; be a good lad.

"Once I got good, though, me old man started showing up, didn't he? You know, bragging to all his mates every time I scored a goal. And calling me "soft" if I didn't dominate, you know? And—and I hated that." Jamie looks down in anger. "I actually fucking hated that."

Those words linger in the air, everyone seeing how the weight of Jamie's father's words have affected him.

"So, I made a vow to be so tough that he could never call me "soft" again . . . and I wonder if sometimes . . . I forget about making her proud. I don't think that she would be lately."

Jamie's eyes flash up to Quinn again, and she gives him an encouraging nod. He looks around the room once more and makes a show of tossing his boots into the bin.

He stands back and shares a look with Ted. For the first time, it looks like they understand each other.

Ted pulls out a matchbox from his pocket. "Well, ladies and gentlemen," he swipes the match on the box's side, igniting a fire. "What do you say we burn this crap?"

Beard's arm pulls Quinn back a little, away from the burning match. "Maybe we should do this part outside."

Everybody agrees, Ted's eyes lighting up in realization before he blows the match out. "That's a good call. Hey, would you guys mind grabbing this for me?"

The team makes their way outside speedily. Beard keeps Quinn tucked into his side, almost as if her dad is gonna pop out at any given moment and he wants to be right there with her.

"That was very brave of you, Quinn," he says. "I know sharing that, and putting Doctor Fuzzy Buddy in there wasn't easy. I'm even mourning him."

Quinn laughs. "I would hope you'd mourn him. Fuzzy Buddy loved you! The only time he would balance perfectly on someone's shoulder was on yours. You were the chosen one."

Beard hides a prideful grin. "It's not too late to save him. Let him balance on my shoulder once more."

Quinn looks ahead to the front of the group, where Roy and Isaac carry both sides of the trash can out onto the pitch.

She doesn't want the stuffed animal to take up space under her bed, or in the ruinous parts of her mind. She doesn't want to bear that weight anymore. "No," she says, "I think that was my goodbye."

Beard sighs, leaning his head down to press a kiss to Quinn's forehead. "I love you, bug."

She leans deeper into his touch. "I love you, too."

The team eventually recreates the set-up outside. And soon enough, Ted is throwing a lit match to the bin in a much-safer setting. The fire blazes with life as the team cheers around it. Everyone on the team is wrapped up in their jackets; Quinn even zips up the jacket Beard brought while he looks like he's freezing to death.

She looks up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Are you sure you don't want this back?"

His teeth chatter. "I don't even feel it."

"Hey, fellas!" Ted calls out from his spot away from the group. "I think the only way to know if the curse has been lifted or not, is by asking the spirits for a sign."

Quinn frowns. She reaches out for Beard's hand and squeezes it tightly. Fuck the ghosts. She hopes the soldiers forgive them.

Ted closes his eyes and stretches his palms out. "Oh, Spirits! Speak to us."

"And know that I do not play for this team!" adds Quinn, closing her eyes.

A few seconds go by and the sound of sprinting is heard.

Quinn thinks this'll be her last day on Earth.

Thankfully, the sound is Dani, and his knee looks perfectly okay. Quinn releases a breath she's been holding. Thank fuck.

"Dani Rojas! Rojas! Dani Rojas!"

Everyone cheers at his entrance, letting him join the circle happily.

"I brought a bottle of mezcal to throw into the curse fire!"

Quinn's smile leaves her face. "This is the part where I leave before we all become the ghosts we just tried to make amends with. And we'll be ten times more insufferable because we died by fire." She looks at Beard. "Stay here, I'm just gonna sit by the stands until everyone starts to leave." Beard nods, letting go of her hand.

She settles at the bottom of the stands and watches the scene unfold in front of her. The team is repeating the "Richmond 'Til We Die" chant around the fire as they pass around Dani's bottle of mezcal.

She's seen the team practice and play together more times than she's probably ever witnessed any sport before. She's grown familiar with the different dynamics and groups that make up AFC Richmond. But, for the first time ever, she's looking at them and seeing a genuine team, made up of friends. No one is afraid to talk to each other, or joke around with different people. Even Nate is laughing with Colin and Isaac about something.

Ted is at the very heart of it.

Quinn wonders if he's reveling in the change as much as she is.

★

"Quinn."

The girl looks up from her phone to see Jamie standing in front of her, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets.

"Jamie," she grins, putting away her phone. "Did the crowd get too boring for you?"

The two look back to observe a still-lively AFC Richmond crowd, even after nearly an hour of being inside. Colin had gotten his speaker from the locker room and the spirit-amending-ceremony turned into a party amongst the players in an instant.

Jamie scoffs. "More like too fucking annoying. Dani on mezcal is like a teenager snorting a pound of coke for the first time." He turns back to her. "Mind if I sit?"

Quinn laughs, shaking her head. She pats an empty spot next to her.

"So," she begins once Jamie has settled in his seat, "what made you show up today?"

Jamie shrugs. "I don't fucking know. Those boots were taking up too much space in me closet, anyway."

"Yeah," says Quinn sarcastically. "That's definitely the reason."

"Shut up. It is." He waits a few moments before continuing, "Um, I came in time to see you go . . . and I wanna be the first person to tell you that your dad's a fucking dick."

Quinn scoffs, not bothering to disagree. "Beard actually said that way before you, actually."

"Well, good. I know he's your father, but you need to be reminded of that. 'Cause that night, outside the restaurant, I—I was a little worried about you. And I hope you know that your dad isn't worth a fucking tear . . . even if that thing was cute as hell—"

"That 'thing' is Doctor Fuzzy Buddy," cuts in Quinn. "Say his name."

Jamie's face goes sour. "You fuckin' serious?"

"Yes! I need Ricmond's most hubristic player to say my bunny's name—Roy did."

Jamie's head snaps up with a frown. "Why does it matter if Roy did?"

"Because he's the least likely out of everyone to say it. And if he can greet Doctor Fuzzy Buddy, so can you. C'mon, wish him a good time in the toy-afterlife."

Jamie rolls his eyes, making a show of taking a deep, annoyed breath. He looks up at the sky. "Doctor Fuzzy Buddy, or whatever . . . I wish you the best of time in the toy-afterlife."

Quinn places a hand over her heart, letting them bask in the silence for a few moments.. "He felt that. I know he did."

"He better have because I'm never fucking saying his name again."

Quinn shakes her head, laughing. "But, thank you for what you said before. About my dad. And I hope you know the same goes for yours, too. He isn't worth the time, or the tears."

Jamie scoffs. "Yeah, thanks. Sometimes I wish I can ship him off to a different country, maybe him and your dad can live on a remote island together."

"I feel like you'd have enough money to do that."

"No, Rebecca would have enough money to do that."

"Maybe you can add that to your contract or something," jokes Quinn.

"Yeah, well, you'd gotta be there to negotiate with me."

Quinn doesn't know how Jamie can say subtle things like that, and it cause her heart beat erratically in her chest. The thought of Jamie even mulling over the thought of them spending time together in a fake scenario makes her insides feel weird.

She stares at the team yards away in order to avoid Jamie's intense stare.

"I'm fucking spent," he says. "I think I'm gonna head out soon."

She nods. "Yeah, me too."

Jamie seems to consider his next words carefully. "Do you, uh, do you need a ride home?"

Quinn's breath hitches at the offer. She wants to say yes. She wants to take his arm immediately and have him lead her to his car, so they could have some privacy. Not even in a physically intimate way, but in a way where she wants to be in space of just them two existing together. She wants him to know where she lives, and she wants him to know more about her.

Then again, it's late and she's fucking irrational.

"Don't worry about," she ends up saying despite her thoughts. "Nate's driving me."

Jamie's face falls before he can stop it. "Oh . . . okay. That's alright. Get home safe, okay?" He stands up to walk away.

Before Quinn's mind can convince her no, she reaches out to grab his hand.

"Jamie," she says. "But I'll see you tomorrow? I probably won't have a ride then."

What the fuck is she doing?

Jamie's eyes flash from confused to shocked to, possibly, the most elated he's looked at all night. "Oh. Oh . . . Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night, Quinn."

She smiles, watching him walk away.

★

A/N: mourning over the fact that jamie gets transferred after this episode