Regular

lizzyervs:

A Comfort & Warmth

The morning Roya and her crew were busted, Quinn went on a coffee run. 

Christ he was tired. What a fucking night. After a phone call Quinn hadn’t expected, he now knew he was completely made by Saul and then to top it all off, the pressure from Dar Adal made him feel sick.

That morning Peter Quinn woke up with his sleeping bag on the floor. He must have kicked it off during the night and not realized. He woke up at 5:30am, almost 2 hrs. before his alarm was supposed to go off. “Fuck it” he thought and clambered out of bed. Quinn slept shirtless the night before with a pair of fairly worn grey jogger pants, he now regretted that choice as he was already sweating, but it easily could have been a cold sweat from a shit night’s sleep. Even sweaty, he still smelled good. Peter Quinn’s smell was consistent. It was pure; clean clothes, clean sweat, an understated scent of his deodorant, and sometimes he might smell a little smoky, but not this morning.

After a quick shower he mindlessly dressed in his uniform as of late – navy pants, a dull, fatigue linen button down and his worn pair of loafers where the back almost didn’t exist.

It wasn’t even 7am and he was out the door. In much need of his 1st(of many) caffeine fixes of the day, Quinn was headed towards the Tim Horton’s off Massachusetts Ave. He didn’t have a “go to” coffee place, but there was something special about this Tim Horton’s that brought him in more frequently than other coffee chains. And she was standing behind the counter.

“What’ll it be gorgeous?”… Donna, thank God for her. Donna, who Quinn was fairly certain was older than Tim Horton himself, greeted him the usual way. Donna had to be at least 70. Her over processed blond hair was always up, her blood red nails curled around the buttons on the register and the way she peered over her glasses at Quinn always made him smile. “Morning” he said flashing his dimples at her. “Oh my God this face”, Donna exclaimed talking with her hands, “I could look at that mug all day”. Quinn laughed and ordered four coffees, three with milk, one black for himself. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint it but there was something about this older woman, who obviously had lived a life well before his existence, well… there was something about her that brought him comfort, a comfort and a warmth he couldn’t quite figure out.

Quinn waited for his coffee.

His eyes still felt heavy as he stood at the counter. Deep in thought, a squeal shook him out of the sleepy trance he was in. To his left a young boy, 4 years old – if that- just dropped what looked like a hot chocolate all over the floor of the Tim Horton’s entrance. The young boy became hysterical, as any child would dropping the liquid gold that is a hot chocolate. From the corner of his eye, Quinn watched his mother dip down to him. She comforted this little creature as if his dropped hot chocolate was understandably the worst thing that has ever happened to a human. Quinn’s heart felt tight and he was brought back to his phone conversation the night before. Taking another quick glimpse at this crying boy, Quinn realized that he would be around his son’s age. Did his boy do things like this? Did he cry over a spilled drink? Or was he tougher than that? Did he suck it up, knowing he’d get another one?

Will I get to see you again this week handsome boy?” Donna asked in a sing song voice, interrupting Quinn’s thought. “Of course you will” Quinn smiled at her and walked out with his tray of coffee.

As he arrived at headquarters he handed off the coffee. One was for Saul, who was unappreciative as usual when Quinn placed it in front of him.

Quinn was in work mode now. He let any thought he had from the night before, or even from this morning dissipate quickly, as he often did. He pushed through that tight feeling and realized his loafers felt soggy and shapeless. As he watched the footage from Roya Hammad’s condo entrance, Quinn thought to himself “Maybe it’s about time… I invest in a pair of boots.”

That pulled so many heart strings. Love Donna. What’s wrong with me that I enjoy watching Quinn waiting for coffee?