I want to thank you all (patigerr, Bookworm1986, LilMisfit5290, red lighting, Deep Forest Green, kreen, Diana, indigovioletstargazer, lipamo) for your encouragement after Dawn in Istanbul. It was a nice surprise for a first try to receive so many good reviews.

For the time being, I haven't been inspired by a sequel to that one, but here is something else I hope you will also enjoy, although it is very different.

Choices – 1: Reflections

Where is he? What did he do? What happened? Where is he? Where is he? What I am doing here? Where did I go wrong? What was all that shit for? Where is he? Where is he? WHERE IS HE?

Carrie screamed in her head. She was terrified. She felt that panic was trying to bore its way into her chest, tearing at her clothes, her skin, reaching for her heart to crush it.

Where is he? What happened? Where is he? Where…

STOP. Will you fucking STOP NOW Carrie? Quinn yelled in her ears.

Quinn, get lost. What are doing here anyway? And who do you think you are? My fucking conscience or something?

She didn't like the sound of her laugh, but the panic receded a bit.

She tried to focus her gaze on the full-length mirror on the wall in front of her.

There she was.

Concentrate on what you're seeing, Madame Bezieux.

I am in a hotel room in Tehran where I've spent the last 6 days waiting to hear about about Brody. I am sitting on the floor with my back against the luggage rack at the foot of the bed. On the bed behind me, I can see my black shoulder bag. In the bag, there is a sat phone. Inside the phone there're Brody's last words. Brody's words are inside the phone in the bag. They won't escape, won't reach my ears, won't swirl in my brain like they've done for the last two hours

I told'em already, I don't wanna leave… Regroup for what?... Leave leave leave where? I have nowhere to go Carrie… I can't go back to the States… to do what? Hide out? So they're hunting us both?... I've been through that already Carrie, I won't do it again, and I won't do it to you… and I won't do it to you… and I

STOP, Quinn said.

Fuck you Quinn.

Focus Carrie. Focus.

Sure. Happy to oblige.

I'm sitting on the floor in a hotel room and on my left, I can see the French windows opening onto a balcony overlooking the mountains. This is where I saw my reflection in the window pane on my first night here. I was on the phone with fucking Saul and I saw a pregnant woman in the glass door. It was me.

I wanted to get pregnant.

No! Of course you didn't!

Well, not really. I just forgot my pill when we were at the cabin the second time.

Well, I didn't really "forget" to take it.

Damn it Brody, when we fuck you know what?

It's not fucking. It's like "making love". You know, that stuff they talk about in magazines and romantic films. First time I've felt that. Yessir. Delightfully corny, isn't it? Add the croissants for breakfast and we're ready for the best romantic couple of the year award.

By the way, next time, you're the one who'll go get the croissants.

Next time?

Shhhhhhhh…. Focus on now, here.

I'm sitting on the floor, looking at myself, and what do I see? A stupid little nutcase who has wasted her life on a job she thought was the most important job in the world because she could protect her beloved country from the bad guys and who cared how many people died in the process, expendables, collateral damage, you name it, they were agents or soldiers anyway, they had chosen their sacrifice so it was okay.

Except it was not.

Okay.

Anymore.

The agony that had wrenched her as she watched Brody's truck explode on a mine at the Iran/Iraq border. The hate that had overwhelmed her when Mike Higgins suggested to launch a drone attack on the truck to cover his fuckin' ass.

And today. Today. Saul had told her to come back. Because it was over. Because they were letting Brody down.

No. They were not letting him down. They wanted him dead.

The good guys working with her beloved country were about to kill him.

Yes sweetie. That is how it is supposed to end. Just say bye bye Brody and get your ass back to the CIA and smile and work, business as usual, so what, nothing lasts forever anyway.

It was too much for her to handle. Something snapped in her brain.

Silently, little by little, numbness wrapped her in its comforting arms.

She welcomed it. It felt good.

Some sort of reddish darkness descended upon her mind like a curtain signaling the end of the play, shutting off the light of life.

She welcomed it. She wanted it all to stop. She could not go on like this.

It was too hard.

It was useless.

So she gave up. She could not think anymore. Could not hear, could not see, and finally, could not feel anymore.

She surrendered to nothingness.

"Madame Bezieux !"

Just shut the fuck up and TURN OFF THE DAMN LIGHT.

"Madame Bezieux, s'il-vous-plaît !"

"Qu'est-ce que vous voulez ? Laissez-moi tranquille", she mumbled. The carpet on the floor was soft, a little wet under her cheek; she wanted to stay there forever.

"Votre chauffeur est là, vous devez partir tout de suite".

What the hell were these guys talking about? She was not going anywhere. Everything was over. That's all she knew.

"Voulez-vous de l'aide pour faire vos bagages ?"

Sensing they were nowhere near letting her be, she managed to open an eye, the light burning like a laser. She saw she was in a hotel room that looked familiar, just like the two men who were leaning over her.

They reached out to help her when she started to stand up.

"Qu'est-ce qui se passe ?" she asked.

They explained that it was close to midnight, that two men were waiting for her in the lobby and that they had paid her bill. The desk clerks had tried to call her for 10 minutes, then decided to come knock on the door, and got inside the room with their master key when nobody answered.

So be it.

Like a robot, she packed her stuff and followed them, not even wondering who was there.

She didn't give a damn.