For a moment, Quinn didn't move. Couldn't move. Stood poleaxed, because Besca was hugging her, hugging her tight and pulling her in close, and Quinn closed her eye and just let it wash over her. After the day she'd just had, she let herself go almost limp and burrowed her face into the crook of her neck. When just moments later Besca pulled away at Dahlia's wince, Quinn unconsciously reached out her arms just slightly, trying to stay in that warm embrace instead of letting the cold of the world grip her again.

But then Besca leaned in and cupped her cheeks, leaning in. Quinn leaned back.

"[color=gray]I am so proud of you, hun.[/color]"

It was like hearing that flipped a switch inside of Quinn and she [i]lunged[/i] forward, wrapping Besca in a crushing viselock of a hug and starting to ugly cry. She didn't say anything, [i]couldn't[/i] say anything, as much as she wanted to. 

She had waded through fire, and damnation, and horror, in the span of a few minutes just prior. She'd thought she was going to die. The level of distress that she'd felt, and up until now had still felt to some extent, was something that was difficult to explain to someone that wasn't either a pilot or someone that worked with them. Like a living nightmare.

But in that precise moment, all that she could do was stand there unmoving and let all the stress pour out of her through her eye. 

At some point--she wasn't sure when, she'd started talking, rambling. Simple words, simple ideas: [i]thank you,[/i] and [i]I love you,[/i] and [i]I'm home.[/i] It took some minutes for her to calm down and settle to a sniffling, and even longer for her to let go of her death grip on Besca, but even then she stood right next to her, like she could still hug her through proximity. She coughed the tears out of her voice, but it was still kind of reedy; it always took a bit of time for it to recover.

"[color=ffe63d]So--ahem--I think I was supposed to...to give a statement?[/color]"