Author's note: Alternating Quinn and Carrie POVs set during the 4 month gap. Starts right after the end scene in Sketches in Q but not totally necessary to read it.


Quinn I


Quinn wakes, disoriented for a moment before remembering he is sleeping on the couch at Carrie's cabin. Memories of the previous day come rushing back quickly - picking Carrie up from the airport and bringing her there, talking with her on the deck, carrying her to bed. It is a relief just to wake up knowing she is here, safe and in the country. Everything else is in the air - Quinn is sure Adal's guys will be looking for her soon, that she will be thoroughly debriefed and possibly put right back to work, no matter how fucked up she is from the last operation.

He resists the urge to go check on her, doesn't want to disturb her if she's still sleeping. She probably hasn't slept much at all since she went to Tehran; she certainly looked exhausted when he picked her up at the airport.

Quinn makes some coffee, sits out on the deck and looks out over the lake. He thinks about how different things are being there now as opposed to eating cold tuna by himself, struggling with one of the more important decisions of his life. It was the first time he had ever said no to his employer, the first time he saved a life instead of taking one.

He remembers how happy she looked; it was the only time he had ever seen her content, relaxed. That was what ultimately made his decision so easy - he wasn't going to be the one to ruin that, fuck things up for her.

Now Brody's dead anyways and Quinn's here instead, at her and Brody's place. He wonders what that means, if he's reading too much into the situation. He brought her here so she would be safe. He's less sure why he's made it his duty. Now that Carrie's home and safe it should be time for him to go, that's what he's been telling himself all along. But where would he go? He's pretty sure he's done with Adal and possibly with the CIA - it's just not what he believes in any more. So he can't just throw himself back into the job like he usually does.

And then there's Carrie. Quinn knows at some point he lost grip of his tightly controlled emotions - he got attached. Blew basic rule number one in his line of life. But he has never known anyone like her and he has met all sorts. And whatever it is, Quinn's not sure he can let go. WIth Saul gone there's no one at the Agency looking out for her and she needs someone on her side. He's equally not sure he can be that person.

Quinn is startled out of his thoughts when the door opens and Carrie steps outside with a mug of coffee.

"You make shitty coffee, Quinn," she says, sitting down next to him.

"Even shitty coffee is still coffee," he replies. "How are you feeling?"

Carrie shrugs, still looks wan and tired. "I don't know," she answers.

Quinn doesn't respond, can't think of anything helpful to say. Wonders if she still wants to talk or if she's decided he's not the guy for heart to hearts.

They sit in silence for awhile, drinking bad coffee and looking out over the lake. Quinn sneaks a look over at Carrie and she seems to be elsewhere. He wonders if she's thinking about her and Brody's last trip to the cabin, about what happened in Iran, about all the shit she's gone through just to arrive at this moment. Whatever she's thinking, Carrie looks lost and small and Quinn resists the urge to tuck her up against him like he had the night before.

"I'll go make some breakfast," he says, looking for a way to avoid his impulses.

Carrie looks up, gives him a one-eyed squint. "Didn't see you as a stay and make breakfast kind of guy," she mutters.

Quinn raises his eyebrows, gives her a shrug. "Maybe a tiger can change his stripes after all," he answers.

Carrie doesn't respond but looks at him appraisingly until he gets up and goes inside.

Quinn picks up a frying pan, thinks how she is right as usual, that he can't remember the last time he stayed over for breakfast anywhere. He can't even remember the last time he made breakfast for himself, much less for someone else. But he figures he can scramble an egg as well as the next guy and that Carrie probably won't give a shit about what he cooks up.

So he cracks some eggs into a pan, puts some bread in the toaster. While the eggs are cooking he dumps the rest of the coffee and puts some more on, tries to make it less shitty this time.

He tries to avoid thinking about Carrie, focus on the menial process of making food. But it's hard not to continually wonder what he's doing here, where this is all going. Quinn keeps trying to convince himself that he's just here until he's sure Carrie's okay and then he can disappear, uncomplicate things. It doesn't seem to be working though.

Quinn divvies the food up onto plates, thinks to himself that it at least looks edible. But when he opens the door to pass a plate out to Carrie he sees only her empty mug.

Quinn scans the area for her, can't see any wisps of blonde amongst the trees. He sits and tries to eat some eggs but the food is suddenly unappealing due to a nervous gnawing in his stomach.

He tries to talk himself out of his slight anxiety, tells himself that she's just gone for a walk, that she knows the area well, that she can take care of herself. It helps a bit but the eggs remain uneaten. Instead he refills his coffee and tries to convince himself to be patient.


Nine hours later Quinn is completely out of patience. He figures it was gone about an hour in but he didn't start searching for her until she had been gone for nearly seven hours. Up to that point he had taken it as a challenge to his mental strength, holding off on prematurely searching for her. But by the time it was mid-afternoon and getting cooler Quinn became acutely aware that the sun would be setting in a few hours and Carrie had only been wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants when she took off.

Now it's nearly dark and he's almost made it all the way around the lake, calling her name loudly the whole time. There have been few clues, some tracks that could have been Carrie or pretty much anyone else. Quinn tries to not think about possibilities, does his best to ignore mental images of a slight blonde walking into the water until nothing is left. He tells himself she just needed some time to herself, that she got lost, that she doesn't realize the time. Except he's been telling himself this the whole fucking day now and the story's getting old.

By the time dusk has set in Quinn is internally freaking out. He's having a hard time controlling his rampant thoughts, a mash of illogical concerns about injuries, wild animals, hypothermia. Worry is something he hasn't been much subjected to in a long time. There's not a lot to worry about when there's no one in your life.

But he is worried as fuck about Carrie right now, has been fucking worried about her for what seems like forever now. Months at least. God. How the fuck did this happen to him of all people? He had practiced perfect detachment for so long.

"Carrie!" he yells, again and again. But he knows she won't respond even if she can hear him. If she wanted to be found she would have gone back to the cabin. Which is still a possibility, but Quinn hasn't seen the lights go on inside.

He is starting to consider giving up, going back and waiting for her, starting a new search in the morning when he hears something, an odd noise out by the water. He thinks it's likely a bird, maybe a squirrel but it's all he's heard other than leaves and water so he goes to check it out.

The path disappears as he heads towards the water; a branch nearly pokes him in the eye before he pulls out a small but powerful light. Quinn gets to the end of the trees, sees the lake just below him, with a small steep bank separating him from the sandy shore. He shines his light across the shoreline, sees someone sitting by the lake and his heart quickens.

"Carrie?" he calls, slowly approaching.

He doesn't hear any response but he can see that it's her, can hear that she's crying. She doesn't look up even as he walks up close to her and sits, putting his arm around her shaking shoulders.

"Jesus, Carrie. You're freezing," he says. Her t-shirt is a bit damp and her skin is cold and clammy. He takes off his coat and puts it around her shoulders but she doesn't stop shivering.

"Fuck off, Quinn," she finally says between sobs. "Leave me alone."

Quinn frowns, realizes he smells booze on her breath. He turns his light back on and shines it at their feet, sees an empty bottle of vodka and a full bottle of pills. Quinn picks up the pills, reads the prescription. Oxycontin, properly prescribed - probably from when he shot her. The bottle appears to be completely full and he breathes a sigh of relief as he pockets it and turns to face her.

"So you can kill yourself?" he asks. "That's not going to fucking happen."

Carrie finally looks up and he can see a contortion of sadness and fury on her red, tear-swollen face. "It could," she says stubbornly.

Quinn shakes his head again her hair, tries to pull her up against him. "No fucking way, Carrie. Not on my watch," he replies.

"I'm not on your fucking watch, Quinn," she snaps in his face, shoving him out of her space.

He looks at her calmly but she turns her head the other way, refusing to meet his eye. "The hell you're not, it's not up to you," he says. "I decide who's on my watch."

Carrie frowns, turns back to sneer at him. "Why the hell are you here anyways Quinn? Why the fuck are you even bothering?" she yells in his face. "What is it to you if this is it, the story of my life. Crazy CIA agent and her terrorist obsession. They hang him, she kills herself because she realizes that's all she fucking had. That and a fucking mental disorder that makes everything go to shit. So what do you care if the crazy bitch you were forced to work with ODs? It's almost fucking expected. You'll disappear, forget all this shit, never be seen again anyhow."

Quinn stares, wonders if this is what she really thinks or if it's the combination of her current mental state and the booze. Whatever it is, it is surprisingly painful to hear her say it, because it's mostly true. He's seen a lot of casualties, agents that cracked under pressure, ones that fucked up. They all ended up dead and he rarely thought twice about them. They fucked up, they knew the consequences.

But this is different. He knows he will never forget Carrie, will never forgive himself if it happens, if he lets her die. Quinn knows he hasn't been his usual reliable self lately. He fucked up in Caracas and he really fucked up when he let them take Carrie from right under his watch. But whatever happens from here on in, he vows to protect her, whether she wants it or not. Because the world would be a worse place without her in it.

Carrie is fighting back tears as he pulls her up against his side, puts his arm back around her shoulders. She is shaky and breathing angrily in short bursts but she doesn't resist.

Quinn stays silent, tries to come up with a coherent response. He wishes he could just tell her she snuck into his heart and it's going to break if he loses her. But that's not the kind of thing he says, especially not to Carrie.

"I've given up on shit before and I've regretted it," he finally says. "I won't give up on you, Carrie, and I won't let you give up on yourself. Because I can't think of anything I would regret more."

Carrie doesn't respond, keeps crying quietly but he can feel her body loosen up a bit and some of the tension in her dissipates.

"I can't imagine how you feel right now. But you're the strongest person I've ever met," he continues. "Hell, you're the best intelligence officer I've ever met. You're smart, you have ungodly intuition, and you're fucking fearless. You can't give up because of this shit. If you do, we all lose. This Javadi thing will fall to pieces and undo everything you've fought so hard for, the possibility of peace. But more than that, we'd lose you, Carrie. And that would really be a fucking loss."

Carrie looks up at him skeptically, suspicion in her eyes. She studies him for awhile in silence and he wonders for the millionth time what the fuck is going on in her head.

"You're just saying nice things so I won't kill myself," she finally says with a scowl.

Quinn laughs, he can't help himself. She certainly has a way with words. "Maybe. But it's all true," he answers.

Carrie doesn't reply but does mostly stop crying. She's still shaking but he thinks it might just be near hypothermia. It's a cold night and she was out all day in just a light shirt. His jacket barely seems to be making a difference - he has to get her moving.

"You're freezing, Carrie. Let's go back, warm you up," he says, tugging at her gently.

Carrie stands up with him, lets him guide her back to the trail. It's night by this point but the moon is bright enough to lead their way. Quinn puts his light away and they walk back to the cabin in the darkness. She doesn't resist his arm over her shoulders and he pretends to himself that he's just trying to confer body heat.

"I could never forget you, Carrie," he says quietly after they have been walking in silence for awhile. "No fucking way."

She huffs as if in disbelief and tenses for a moment but then relaxes a bit, leaning her head against his shoulder as they walk.

Quinn smiles to himself, thinks how strange it is he's taken on this job, even stranger that it feels good, comfortable. He looks down at Carrie, gives in to impulse and puts a light kiss to her hair. He holds his breath for a second but she doesn't react, doesn't push away and right then he knows his fate is sealed.

No more fuck ups now, he tells himself. He's finally found a mission that matters.