Carrie and Brody have been haunting me since S3 finale. I can't accept that Carrie has let go of him so easily. So this is how I imagine her in season 4 at some point.
This is my first attempt at writing, and English is not my first language, so please be kind; hope you'll enjoy reading it!
The air was cool this morning in Istanbul.
Cool… She smiled at the adjective that had popped up in her head… This was not Virginia anymore and "cool" in spring in Istanbul was not the same "cool". She knew how hot it would get later on in the year, when her morning jogs might become too much of a torture for her to stick to her good resolutions.
Yep, after baby Nicky's birth, she had decided to (try) to live a healthier life. Early morning jogs in the sunrise, no more fucking ridiculous attempts at smoking, and no more Tequila in the evenings. Well, not as much.
It was a start. She had only been in Istanbul a week, and she hoped the change of setting would help.
Baby Nicky had come with her. After the horrible delivery – damn! it hurt so bad, but luckily it went fast - seeing the tiny little creature wriggling on her breast with small, soft cries, had melted her heart; she knew right away she would not hand the baby over to Frank or her sister or anyone.
Yeh yeh, so cliché. She couldn't believe it herself. But, hey! Nature knew her job. And… well, those little strands of red hair plastered on the baby's head…
She blocked the face of Brody from taking over her thoughts. It hurt too much.
Tried to focus on her day ahead. After a short morning run, back to her place for a quick shower and maybe some breakfast. She hoped Nicky would be awake so that she could cover her in kisses and bury her face in the tiny neck and keep that wonderful baby smell in her nose on her way to the office.
The Agency had hired a live-in nanny for her. She was a soft-voiced, discreet middle-aged woman who didn't speak a lot or try to make conversation when Carrie was home. Thankfully. What was her name again? Fuck. She couldn't remember. A long Turkish name that didn't stick to her memory. Ayvansarai or something. She really had to write it down somewhere. Or find her a nickname. Yes, she'll do that. Later.
She liked the park where she went running every morning. It followed the Bosphorus Strait on the west bank so the rising sun was right in front of her. The colors were changing fast, from dark to lighter blue with pink and red and purple and yellow and…
Her gaze stopped on a shadow about 200 yards ahead. A man. Well, a man among a small group of men. She couldn't see very well in the dawning light. They had stopped running to do some push-ups and stretching exercises.
Her heart started beating faster; cold sweat instantly covered her body. But her forefront was burning.
What the hell? She could swear it was Brody.
It WAS Brody. The golden rays of the emerging sun played on his shaved hair, and she wouldn't have mistaken his tall, lean yet muscular silhouette. And his slightly tilted head.
It couldn't be. Of course. She saw him… Well. She lost him. In Tehran. "Lost" was the only word her sanity could accept.
Whatever. She had to see. She had to know.
The men had started running again. And they ran fast. She had to catch up with them. She tried to speed up. Ordered her legs to go, go! GO! Quick! Aloud. Two women running toward her cast her a puzzled glance.
She didn't care. Brody was all that counted. "Brody", she uttered in a strangled voice.
She tried to yell, to call him, to catch his attention. But she couldn't. She was out of breath. Her mouth tasted of blood. Her legs were failing her. She had to stop running. She had to let go. Let Brody go. Once more.
She was walking now. The group of men had run away, vanishing in the pale yellow sun and the blur of her tears.
She forced herself to breathe deeply, slowly; inhale, exhale. One breath at a time. Her heart was also slowing down. Not her mind. Thoughts were racing in her brain like frantic ghosts intent on tormenting her until the end of times.
She knew hallucinations could be part of her condition in some severe episodes. But now? There? It was fucking scary. Terrifying actually. Nicky couldn't have a hallucinating mother, damn it.
But as she walked back home, somewhere in a corner of her head, a little voice was nagging her. What if? What if it was not a hallucination?
The sun was completely out now. Istanbul was coming to life.
Carrie too.
For the first time since Tehran, she felt alive again. And it felt good. Fucking good.