chancellor-dervilia:
Back When It was Just Us || QUINN + ANNIE
Despite her panic, she did exactly what he asked, which wasn’t a surprising reaction. The body was in a state of not knowing which way to go, in clenching instead of relaxing, because the brain send down fits of panic. While Quinn had never experienced a panic attack himself, he could understand how it worked at least to a certain point. Anyone could have one, however so people were prone to have them more often because they weren’t as stable emotionally. He found that if someone had one once before, they would fall back into it easier the second time, and a third. Like muscle memory. Not that he thought that this girl was prone to it as well, but she seemed like the type.
But despite his orders, she seemed not to come down from it completely, which had him surprised at first, because he did everything correctly. And she followed suit. It should at least have her breathing more easily. But she was still shaking, and he was eyeing her suspiciously. He was aware that he might be part of the problem, this place never allowed him to forget it. He could feel the stares from the other people in the room, the whispers, asking each other if he knew what he was doing. None of them came forward to help her however, so he ignored them.
He let go of her arms and turned around her, she seemed relaxed enough that he figured he could count on her not to fall back into a clenched position. But he did place one hand on her shoulder almost automatically, in order to push her back if she did. “Nothing to be sorry about,” he said, his voice more concerned than annoyed, an annoyance that was mostly directed to his surroundings than to the girl. “Keep breathing. Try to lean back, I’ll get you some water.”
Quinn stood up quickly, covered the distance between the couch and the sink within a few quick paces, ignoring the stares, and poured some water. He was back within a minute, hoping it wasn’t enough time for her to panic again. Since he figured she wouldn’t be too thrilled to be helped by the Chancellor himself, he stayed to her side, taking her shaking hand, and holding the glass there until she was strong enough to hold it herself. “Don’t drink it until you feel like you can hold the glass by yourself. And take small sips, understood?”
While his mind was still on sharp, and he was watching her for any subtle changes that could suggest she would fall back into it, he really didn’t want to be in this situation. Not because helping someone wasn’t in his job description, but because he was fairly sure nobody was going to let him have this. He was the villain after all, and he figured they would use what they could to hold even this against him. But from the lack of reaction of the Delma common room, he figured nobody else was skilled enough to deal with the situation. Nobody came to offer help, they all just stared when they thought he wasn’t watching. And he was certain that if this girl noticed, it wouldn’t do her mental state much good.
Anxiety was a very cyclical thing for Annie. Sometimes it just started out of the blue, anxiety attacks creeping up on her with no cause at all, and when she started to panic, she got more panicked because she couldn’t breathe, and she got embarrassed because people were staring which panicked her further still, and it was always difficult to claw her way out of.
Sitting in the Delma common room trying desperately to breathe, she felt almost like she was back in high school again. Eventually the teachers had given her special dispensation to leave class without asking if her anxiety started playing up, but even when she didn’t have to draw attention to herself by raising her hand and asking to go, she knew everyone was staring and whispering as she left. It was the same feeling here, but she couldn’t leave. Quinn’s presence trapped her. Even if she did trust her shaking legs to get her out of Delma, she knew it would make him angry, so she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
Instead she watched, chest hitching like a frightened mouse hiding from a cat, as Quinn went to get a glass of water, leaving her with the instruction to keep breathing. She tried her best, taking in great gasps of air and staring staunchly at her quivering hands. She didn’t want to look around and see whether people were looking or not.
Something told her she should watch Quinn. What if he didn’t bring her a glass of water? What if he put something in it when she wasn’t looking? He could poison her. Annie had always been prone to paranoia, and being trapped in a nightmare only made it worse. She couldn’t easily trust anyone, least of all the Chancellor. Though the NWRF never explicitly said it, Annie felt pretty certain that they wouldn’t mind if all the Infected died. He’d probably identified Annie as weak.
But it was that creeping feeling of dread that you get when you know something is right behind you, but you’re too afraid to turn around and confirm it. She’d rather not know. So when Quinn returned, she eyed the glass with great suspicion - it looked like water, but a lot of things looked like water. He put it in her hand, holding it there to make sure she wasn’t going to drop it. Annie wasn’t even sure if she wouldn’t; her fingers felt weak. She felt faint.
At length, she did try. The glass was held tightly between both of her hands, and the water’s surface betrayed just how much she was shaking. It was difficult to say how much of the anxiety was from the panic attack, and how much of it was from Quinn being there. He was as confusing as he was frightening. When she felt confident enough that she wouldn’t drop the glass, Annie took one hand from it and rubbed at her sternum with her knuckles. It hurt. Her chest hurt. It frightened her, because she knew her heart wasn’t healthy. Panic attacks were often said to feel similar to heart attacks, so how was she supposed to know how scared to be? Her doctor had banned her from drinking coffee so her heart could recover, but she’d just been getting coffee from other sources.
Maybe she’d really fucked up.
Except that couldn’t be true, because this was a nightmare, so it probably wasn’t her real heart. She looked at Quinn, wondering why he felt so aggressively real. He was broad, his face serious and intense, his voice heavy. When she blinked, she could still hear his breath. “Thank you,” she said at length. Her voice was fragile and cracked, like thin ice over a wintery lake. “Have you… d-done this before?”
He’d responded with such startling speed and confidence, as if it had been muscle memory that led him to help her. She wasn’t sure why she asked; she didn’t think she wanted to know anything about Quinn. She didn’t want him to seem any more real than he already did.
