Authors note:

I'm going to post some Homeland one-shots here, unlikely to be inter-connected... mostly short fics that I write in response to any prompts, or just my own random ideas. Please feel free to send me any prompts. If I think it is something that I can attempt for you, then I will.

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I wrote this short Homeland fic in response to the hilarious prompt from badgirls16 on Tumblr...

Carrie & Quinn forced to go to the Langley Halloween party in costume…

(Warning: Contains some spoilers for Season 3 Ep 8.).

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BETTER THE DEVIL YOU KNOW

"Can I get you a drink?" The male voice was semi-muffled by the loose, white cotton shroud covering his entire body. "A soft drink of course."

"Who's actually under this old sheet?" Carrie frowned and hid the beer bottle behind her back. She peered closely through the two small jagged holes, that seemed to have been roughly cut out with a knife. She could just about see the cool blue eyes underneath. "Peter Quinn? You reckon this counts as a Halloween costume?!"

"All I had in my apartment," Quinn sounded hurt. "I'm a ghost which is at least appropriate for this type of party. Unlike some of the other costumes I can see…"

"What's wrong with my costume?" Carrie's hand darted to the small red horns perched on top of her blonde locks.

"A red plastic hairband hardly counts as a Halloween costume," snorted Quinn.

"I'm wearing Prada though." Carrie smoothed fingers down her red leather skirt. "The Devil wears Prada…"

"Trust you to be clever and obscure," Quinn's eyes never left Carrie's black glossy fingernails trailing down to her knee.

"Oh pardon me for not coming predictably dressed as a witch," sniped Carrie, gesturing to their cackling colleagues. "Or as one of the other eight ghosts in this room."

"I actually thought you might come as a Mummy," Quinn's accusing eyebrow arched underneath the white sheet.

"Shhh…" Carrie's eyes darted nervously, checking if anyone else had heard.

"You need to tell Saul," Quinn leant close to Carrie's ear. She could feel his warm breath through the cotton fabric. "Soon."

"It's none of your business Quinn." Carrie took a defiant swig from her beer bottle.

"It could be my business," Quinn's grip was gentle on Carrie's wrist as he manoeuvred the bottle of alcohol away from her lips. "If you'd let me help you…"

"Help?!" Carrie was incredulous and mocking. "From you!" She shook her head. "The guy who actually shot me!"

"I had to. You know that." Quinn sounded strained. "I didn't trust anyone else to take the shot… but if I'd known about your baby, of course I'd have never…"

"Brody's baby!" Carrie reached for a nearby chair to sink into.

"Carrie, you can't keep putting yourself in danger." Quinn pulled the white cotton sheet up and over his head and plonked himself down next to her.

"What am I going to do?" Carrie stared at Quinn's unusually flattened hair. She fought against the urge to spike it up with her fingertips.

"Well, I'm here for you," Quinn swallowed tightly. "Always have been and always will be. I've got your back."

"Thanks," Carrie looked down and tugged at her waistband. "Hell, this skirt is so uncomfortable. It's getting too tight."

"Maybe the Devil should be thinking about maternity clothing instead of Prada?" Quinn eyed her slightly rounded tummy affectionately.

"You know any good stores?" sniffed Carrie.

"Well, Julia got all hers from…" Quinn stopped as if deciding that he was revealing too much.

"You know for somebody who says he's got my back… I know nothing about you." Carrie hissed. "You're still a mystery."

"I don't have to be," Quinn tentatively reached for Carrie's hand. "You already know more about me than most." He eyed their dancing colleagues. Saul was wobbling around dressed as a menacing pumpkin. "You could know everything. You only need to ask me."

"Maybe it's best I don't," Carrie withdrew her hand carefully. "Maybe I'll stick with what I know. With who I know."

"Brody?!" Quinn shook his head. "You just can't let him go, can you? Even after everything he's done!"

"Better the Devil you know," Carrie's eyes had brightened and she was staring distractedly beyond Quinn.

"More like speak of the Devil and he's bound to appear," Quinn sighed as he turned and spotted the tall, bald figure entering through the doorway.