Sort of a sequel to "Locked" but not necessary to read beforehand. Still set around season 2 for some reason.
Quinn is used to waking up two minutes before his alarm, almost on the dot. But today it's not the alarm, nor his inner clock that wakes him. It's a headache.
He knocks the blankets off him and tries to take a look around, tries to piece together what happened the previous night. His head is swimming and there's a familiar haze in front of his eyes, which makes him realize something. He's hungover.
Which makes little sense. There's a clear memory before all the confusion, one which reminds him that he's in a hotel because he had an assignment to do with Carrie the night before. The papers on his night stand detail that much. He's written down the report for Estes in a lot of detail. But what Quinn wishes the report would say is why he can't remember much of anything regarding the previous night.
The hangover is a clue, but it makes little sense because he never drinks during a job. Well, not this much. There's also pack of cigarettes sitting on top of the papers, which is a big question mark.
He leafs through the rest of the report and then puts it back on the night stand. And that's when something catches his eye. What looks to be a napkin lies on the floor next to his bed. Quinn picks it up and when he unfolds it, sees that there's a message hastily written in ink. But it's unreadable now. Because it's covered in blood.
Determined to get to the bottom of it, he throws on a pair of pants and heads towards the door. Surely Carrie has to know more about what happened. He grabs his keys, but stops dead in front of the door. Because the mirror next to it shows an interesting detail. It looks like he was punched square in the face.
Quinn touches his face lightly and sure enough, his nose hurts something fierce. And that's enough to turn his confusion into anger. He goes outside and walks down the corridor towards Carrie's room.
It takes quite a lot of knocks to get her out of bed, but she finally answers. Carrie also looks like she's had a rough night.
"Jesus!" she yells, looking at his bruised face.
"I know. How did I even get this? Feels like my nose is broken."
Carrie tries to think back, but it's clear by the look on her face that she's also having problems piecing together the facts.
"Shit" Quinn says, sighing, "you don't remember anything either."
He walks past her inside her room.
"I feel hungover" Carrie says, confused. "I don't get it, I never drink on the job."
"Me neither. Not enough to cause me to blackout, at least. And there's also a pack of cigarettes in my room that's not mine."
The more time Quinn spends in her room the more he starts feeling odd. As if he's been here before but in different circumstances. He suddenly frowns deeply, trying to catch a few fragments of memory that scatter away from him.
"What's wrong?" Carrie asks.
"I'm just getting these flashes. Like..." He pauses. "Was... was I in your room last night?"
Carrie waves it off for a second, but in the next instant a grave expression of horror appears on her face.
"Well shit" Quinn says.
She's pacing the room now, desperately trying to remember and make sense of it all. "No, no, no, hold on a second. Is the assignment report in your room?"
Quinn nods.
"Then that must be it" she says, "you came here last night and I must've given you the papers. That's why you feel like you've been here before"
"Except that there's only one type of handwriting on the papers, and it's mine."
The more he explains that she couldn't had even had the files in her possession, the more Carrie looks like she's about to freak out.
"Okay, you know what we're going to do?" she says, waving her hands around. "Just block it out. The whole thing. Nothing happened last night."
"Are you sure we should just ignore everything? Because when I woke up I found a blood-stained napkin with writing on it. And I don't know what you've heard, but this sort of shit isn't normal, Carrie."
She nervously draws her hair back. "Jesus, how is it possible for us to fuck up an assignment this bad?"
"We didn't fuck it up. The report's written, our suspect isn't really a suspect anymore. So we technically did a good job."
"Except that you got beat up and then woke up with a bloody piece of paper next to you." She stops to look at him. "What do we do now?"
Quinn thinks for a moment. "We make our flight back home. We did the assignment right and that's all Estes has to know."
"We just have cover up that bruise first."
He nods. "I hate to ask, but do you have a make-up kit on you?"
"Yeah, it's in the bathroom." She pauses. "Can we just settle one thing right now? That if either of us ever starts remembering, we will keep it to ourselves and never bring it up."
He agrees that it's best if they just never mention it again. And yet there's a part of Quinn that still can't help but try to remember what the hell happened that night.
-#-
9 hours earlier...
He knows there's no possible way the stake-out will go smoothly. Still, he tries to be optimistic because that's how he's trained himself to be. All they have to do is drive around the city for a while and keep tabs on a suspect. But Quinn's hopes of a quiet night evaporate before his very eyes only seven minutes after parking the car.
"This is bullshit" Carrie says, fidgeting in the seat next to him. "Absolute bullshit."
"I know. Calm down."
He can tell she's eyeing him. "Telling someone to calm down only makes them angrier."
"Then be angry, but just shut up."
She sighs and draws her hands through her hair as if messing it up will calm her down. Quinn never understood why she does it but doesn't bring it up either. He doesn't feel like listening to an angry rant.
"So you're okay with this" Carrie goes on "We're sent on this fucking newbie assignment as punishment, and you're okay with it."
"I'm just trying to make the best of a bad situation. And you're really not helping."
"Well sorry if I feel everyone just gave us the middle finger by sending us here."
"Carrie, it was either this or the team-building retreat. And I know you and you'd rather sit in this car with Brody's wife than spend a week making things out of popsicle sticks. So please just let it go and do your job."
Carrie nods, though no less pissed than before. But the stake-out is uneventful and will continue to be so, even Quinn knows that. They're just sitting in a car in the rain and keeping tabs on a man suspected of working with a terrorist who is now behind bars. And by the man's tremendously boring schedule, anyone could tell that the suspicion is unfounded.
They both know that. That this was just Estes' way of punishing them for their recent unprofessional behavior. And they deserve it, so Quinn wants to stay put and do his job diligently, no matter how mind-numbingly boring it is.
"He's obviously just an accountant" Carrie says. "I can't believe we're wasting our time by writing down what this asshole is doing."
"I'm not telling you again, Carrie" Quinn says, observing the building across the street with a pair of binoculars. "Just let it go."
A few more minutes pass and he can tell she's really struggling to play nice and say nothing. But Carrie just isn't herself if she doesn't speak her mind.
"I'm going to kill Saul for agreeing to this. The second we get back I'm going straight to his place and-"
"Okay, that's it" Quinn says, putting the binoculars away. "You're going in the corner."
She frowns. "The hell does that mean?"
"You don't remember." He sighs. "Why am I surprised... On the flight here we agreed to do this assignment properly so that we can prove to Estes we're professionals. Which means no whining or complaining or annoying each other, or else the person who started the whole thing will be exiled to the back seat." Quinn reaches over into the glove compartment and pulls out a napkin with writing on it. "Says so right here in detail. And we both signed it."
Carrie takes the napkin from his hand and looks it over, her mouth half open in surprise and confusion. "This... this is my signature."
"It is."
"I really signed it."
"You did."
"But you can't hold me to this. I had a lot to drink on that flight, I would've signed anything."
"That's good to know. But you broke our agreement so you have to go sit in the corner. Now get in the back seat."
She frowns at him. "No."
"You want to be manhandled into the back seat instead?"
"You don't have the balls to do that."
He doesn't hesitate as he moves towards her, ready to put an end to all the nonsense. And Carrie instinctively throws a punch in his face. Quinn goes backwards and hits his head on the side window while clutching his nose.
"Shit" Carrie says, cringing. "Shit, are you okay?"
He uses their 'agreement napkin' as a tissue and holds it to his bleeding nose. "I'm really starting to regret telling you that violence is a good way to blow off steam."
"I'm really sorry, it was just a reflex." She draws a bit close and sighs. "Damnit, that's going to leave a bad bruise."
"I'd be really touched you care about the state of my face if I didn't know the real reason you're worried."
"We can't tell Estes that we argued again. And he won't believe you got beat up in this stupidly easy assignment."
"I know. I'll think of something."
"Maybe you can say you hit on some girl and she was offended. Are the girls in this city easily offended?"
"No, Carrie" he says, glaring, "I'm not saying anything that puts me in a bad light. You're the one who fucked up here, I'm putting this blame on you somehow."
"Okay, fine" she says, decidedly not fine with it.
"Until then" he says and points at the back seat.
"Really? Still?"
"You promised you'd keep quiet and civil but you didn't, and now I have a bloody nose. So get in the fucking back seat."
He expects her to argue some more, but it looks like he finally gets through.
"Fine" Carrie says, and exits the car. Seconds later she climbs in the back seat and slams the door shut behind her. "Just so you know, I feel like a fucking toddler sitting back here."
"That's what you get for acting like one."
She shuts her eyes and mumbles something under her breath.
"Counting to ten?"
"Oh yeah."
He pauses. "Is it working?"
"Not unless I can permanently tape your mouth shut."
Quinn stifles the laugh that's coming on because his nose is too sore for that any kind of movement, even a minimal one. He isn't sure why he's annoying Carrie - it isn't like him at all - but he finds it hard to resist. He's not used to working with someone who's so easy to piss off and he loves the fact that he can muster all kinds of reactions out of her.
And it quickly dawns on Quinn that he also deserves to be exiled in the back seat. He's just as bad as her.
"I can barely see anything from back here" Carrie says, settling her chin and arms on the seat in front of her.
Quinn reaches over and hands her the binoculars. "Knock yourself out. I think our accountant is about to have a midnight snack."
"At least we don't have to write down what kind of sandwich it is."
"Yes, it's safe to say that it can't get more exciting than this."
"Not unless he hires a prostitute or something. At this point that's the only thing that could keep me from falling asleep.
Quinn lets out a short laugh and then immediately grabs his nose. "Ow. Damnit."
"What?"
"You mean why does the face that you punched hurt right now?"
"No, what's so funny?"
"I just remembered that time Saul and I were tracking Brody. And then you came on and put on quite the show for us to hear."
"Oh" she says, her face twitching slightly as if she was trying to hide her embarrassment.
"All the while we had to listen to that, Saul kept vouching for you and that you were only doing your job."
Carrie says nothing and keeps looking through the binoculars.
"Sorry" Quinn says, "I didn't mean to make you feel bad."
"And I didn't mean to punch you in the face, so let's just call it even."
They go back to keeping tabs on their suspect, but there's still a bit of awkwardness in the air.
"What the hell?" Carrie whispers.
"Is he calling someone?"
"No." She sighs deeply. "He's watching SpongeBob."
A pause.
"Is it a good episode?"
"Really, Quinn? That's relevant?"
"I'm just saying that I wouldn't mind manning the binoculars for a while."
She hands them over. Quinn suddenly freezes with the binoculars in his hand.
"What?" Carrie asks.
"I think this is the first time you've done something I asked without arguing about it."
She shakes her head and looks annoyed at his remark. But Quinn catches the smile on her face the moment he turns his head and looks in the rearview mirror.
-#-
"What time is it?"
Quinn doesn't even bother looking at his wrist. "Same as it was thirty seconds ago when you asked me that."
"So he's still up watching cartoons. At 3AM." Carrie sighs. "Our suspected terrorist, ladies and gentlemen."
"I think it's time to call it quits. We've filled up our report with enough useless bullshit about this guy. I think that's more than a sufficient punishment."
"Let's hope Estes thinks so too."
Quinn nods and starts up the car. They drive in silence, something that surprises him, but he doesn't want to jinx it by inquiring why she's being so quiet.
When they reach the hotel, Carrie gestures for the stairs that takes them up to their respective rooms.
Quinn shakes his head. "You go ahead, I'll hang around here for a while."
She frowns, instantly suspicious. "Why?"
"Can't sleep."
Carrie just glares, obviously not believing him.
"Do you have to know everything?" he asks.
"Now that Estes seems to have made us partners, yeah, I kind of do."
"Well this isn't about the job. I just want to be by myself for a while."
"You can also be alone in your room" she points out.
"Maybe that's just a lie and what I want is to call for a hooker."
She narrows her eyes. "Yeah, I'm not buying it."
"Then you're just going to have to drop it because I'm not playing the interrogation game with you."
She throws her hands up. "Fine, do whatever you want. I'll see you tomorrow."
He waits until Carrie disappears up the steps before making his way down the corridor. At the end of it there is a vending machine that sits in a corner, old and dusty. Barely used. He buys a pack of cigarettes, picks it up, and then retrieves a book of matches from his pocket.
"You don't smoke" he hears a voice from behind.
Quinn turns around and eyes Carrie. "You followed me."
"Well we've been stuck on a shitty job all night. I'm kind of bored."
"Then go drink at the bar or something."
"So what's really going on?" she asks, pointing at the pack he's now holding.
He sighs. "Every year for my birthday I buy and smoke a pack of cigarettes."
"Right."
"Carrie?" He shakes his head. "Not kidding."
Her face falls. "It's your birthday."
Quinn just raises an eyebrow and waits for her to continue.
"Why didn't you say anything?" she goes on.
"Because no one needed to know."
"What are you talking about?"
"Carrie, it's just another day for me. It's not a big deal and it's never been a big deal." When she opens her mouth to protest, he cuts her off with, "And yes, I'm okay with it."
"But it's your birthday."
He frowns slightly. "I'm not sure what point you're trying to make."
"You need a cake and-"
"No, what I need is for people to back off and not follow me when I specifically said I wanted to be alone tonight."
Carrie freezes in her spot, moving her mouth ever so slightly as if she wants to say something, but isn't sure what.
"I'm going to celebrate my birthday the same way I do every year. I'm going to my room to smoke and get blackout drunk while I watch TV. And no one's going to be there or talk during this whole process. Or punch me in the face." He tucks the matches and pack in his pocket. "I'll see you in the morning."
Quinn fights the spark of guilt he's feeling as he walks up the stairs. It's not his fault that she can be nosy or that he has to shut her out. It's just the way things are and he would prefer they don't change.
When he reaches his room, he takes care to place a 'do not disturb' sign and then locks the door behind him. He hopes that, despite the shitty assignment they were sent on, he can at least have the rest of the night to himself.
He barely takes one step towards his bed when there's a knock at the door. Of course.
"Go away, Carrie" he says, sitting on the bed.
The knocking persists.
"I'm serious, I'm not letting you in."
The sound of receding steps echo beyond the door, and Quinn relishes in this small victory. He successfully got her to listen to him without any arguments or yells or punches. He smiles contently and picks up the remote from the night stand.
A few minutes later, something slips under the door. .
Quinn sighs and walks up to the door. It's a white envelope. He picks it up, turns it over, but it's blank. He tears it and sees that there's a small card inside. One with flowers and a printed writing that he doesn't care enough to read, so he opens it without much thought. The message inside is written in a surprisingly girly script.
Sorry I hit you in the face on your birthday. This card entitles you to one free punch with no retaliation anytime in the next week.
Carrie
Quinn frowns at just how curly and very unlike her the script is before slipping the card in the pocket of his jacket. He goes back to watching TV. The cigarette pack is still there beside him, but for whatever reason, he's not feeling the need to smoke. Which makes no sense to him. But he rolls with it and decides that maybe it's a good thing.
Half an hour passes before Quinn realizes that drinking from the whiskey bottle he has and watching meaningless late-night soap operas just isn't enjoyable anymore. So he turns off the TV, and then heads out. When he locks the door behind him, he wonders exactly why he's abandoning his yearly tradition. He doesn't intend to cash in on the freebie offered by the card nor does he want to waste time in the hotel lounge. And yet his legs are still moving as if they have a mind of their own.
He finds her at the bar, in front of several empty glasses and looking both bored and aggravated. A bad combination and a clear sign that she doesn't want company. But Quinn has never been good at reading signs. He settles next to her.
"What happened with your birthday plan?" Carrie asks.
"Nothing good on TV" he says, shrugging.
"Ah."
He glances at her sluggish demeanor. "But I see you've adopted my plan of getting blackout drunk tonight."
"It's a good plan."
Once he flags the bartender, Quinn orders himself several shots.
"So you do this every year" she says "Just... sit and drink by yourself."
"I think it's wonderfully uncomplicated."
"And lonely."
He shrugs. "It's fine."
"Not a big fan of family, I take it."
"No family to be a fan of."
"Friends?"
"They're back in Philly."
"And I assume that, since you're here instead of your room, your nurse must've dumped you."
"I dumped her, actually."
Carrie's looks at him, slightly confused. "Hang on, what?"
"I told you I wasn't that into her."
"And I thought you were just having fun and that it didn't matter."
"Can we please put the interrogation off until after my birthday?"
"It's not an interrogation" she says, "just talking. We're still 'girlfriends', you know."
"Then I'm afraid we're going to have to break up."
"Doesn't work that way. Girlfriends are for life. Or until one of us sleeps with a guy the other one called dibs on first."
Quinn puts his glass down. "I have to sleep with a guy to end this relationship? Those are some hardcore rules, Carrie."
"Either that or you agree to drop the free punch I gave you with the card."
He digs into his pocket where the card resides. "This right here? You'll only able to take it away from me when you pry it from my cold, dead hands."
Carrie sighs and goes back to her drink. "So what're we going to do about your beat-up face?"
"Short of avoiding Estes for a few days, I have no idea."
"Well I've got a suggestion. But you're not going to like it."
"Tell me anyway."
"Make-up."
He chuckles into his shot glass. "Sure."
"I mean it. The swelling's down, so all we have to do is cover up the bruising with a little foundation. It's easy."
"I don't think so."
"Are you that insecure in your masculinity?"
"I just don't think I trust you with a make-up kit when you're this drunk."
"I've done it plenty of time while hungover."
He shakes his head at her. "Not the same thing."
"It's similar enough. Now are you going to let me do this or do I have to force you?"
"If you try to do that in the state you're in, then it won't end well."
"For who?"
"Either of us. Plus the hotel staff who has to break up our fight."
She mumbles under her breath and he's pretty sure it sounds something like 'fuckin wuss'.
"So what happened with this nurse?" Carrie asks after ordering another glass.
He looks at her sidelong "Why do I have a feeling you only care enough to ask because you're drunk?"
"Drunk-caring is still caring."
"I guess I'll take what I can get."
"Like you're so warm and fuzzy" she says, rolling her eyes. Or, at least, tries to.
"I am when it's necessary."
"Quinn, I'm pretty gone right now and even I know that sounded wrong."
"It doesn't matter, you won't even remember this conversation in the morning." He takes another drink. "I probably won't either."
Carrie narrowed her eyes. "So right now I can tell you anything that's on my mind and neither of us will remember it tomorrow."
"If you want to start laying out confessions, then I have to tell you that I make a horrible priest."
"Doesn't matter, you just have to shut up and listen."
"I'm serious Carrie, I don't think this is a good-"
"When I was eleven my dad gave my sister a dog for her birthday" she starts, and keeps talking like her life depends on it. "I was jealous and resented that she got such a nice present, and those feelings amplified three days later. That's when I had a manic episode and I wanted to strangle that dog. I wanted to do it so, so bad. But I didn't. So I took his collar off, and... and I let him run off into traffic."
There's too much information hitting him at the same time, and Quinn tries to take a moment to separate and sort through it all. For a second he even considers that she made the whole story up, but she would have no reason to do it. It's too specific and serious and Carrie's expression is sad and confused and at the same time genuinely relieved to have the story out in the open.
"You said you had a manic episode" Quinn begins.
"Yeah."
"So you're... bipolar." He isn't sure if he's asking or just saying it.
She lets out a nervous laugh. "Big surprise, I know."
Quinn isn't used to talking about feelings or comforting people, least of all when his head is swimming after too many drinks. So he settles on being honest. "I'm really sorry."
"For who?" she asks, bitter. "The dog or just me in general?"
"Both." He pauses. "Should you be drinking at all? I mean-"
"I'm not taking any meds. I have a routine to compensate for them."
He leans in and lowers his voice. "Does Estes know?
"My condition's mostly under wraps."
There's still a chance that Quinn won't forget everything she's told him in the morning, and he knows that they're both aware of this. Which means Carrie trusts him enough not to rat her out. And the thought is oddly comforting and alarming at the same time.
When Carrie's next drink is slid in front of her, Quinn placed his hand on top of it. "I think maybe it's time you stop before anymore confessions escape you."
She glares. "You're not my bartender."
"No, but if I feel mature and responsible in this state then it's safe to say you're really worrying me." He gets off the bar stool and tries to lead her away without using too much force. "Come on, let's get you to your room."
She follows him without much opposition, though he suspects because she's just glad to have something to hold onto. Not that he feels all that stable or sober either.
When they reach her room, he patiently waits for her to open the door - a feat which takes Carrie quite a few tries - and then helps her inside until she slumps into a chair.
"All right, have a good night" he says and heads for the door.
"Wait, what about your bruise?"
Quinn isn't sure what to say. "I guess we'll figure it out in the morning."
"It's already morning, it's fucking 4AM."
"Okay, then we'll talk when you'll be able to stand up without help."
"You're not ditching this idea" she says, shaking her head frantically, "I'm not letting you walk into Estes' office tomorrow looking like that."
"Look, we both need some sleep right now" he says, opening the door, "why don't we talk about this-"
She gets off the chair with surprisingly agility and then slams the door shut. "I won't get verbally scolded by Estes again, all right? I won't. All other aspects of my life are wrecked, but I won't let my job go to shit. Not again."
He can tell that she's frustrated and probably still hurting from her previous sudden confession. But Quinn's not sure how to react or what to say in this situation. So he relents. "Fine" he says, "we'll cover the bruise up. He won't have to know anything."
"Thank you" Carrie says, looking relieved. She takes her hand off the door, and then searches his face for a moment, causing him to frown. "I'm really sorry about that, you know" Carrie says, gesturing at his face.
"I think the card makes up for it."
"I mean I didn't even wish you a happy birthday" she goes on. "So... happy birthday."
"Thanks, Carrie."
He moves to head out the door but before he can, Quinn finds himself freezing in his spot because Carrie leans in and wraps her arms around him.
He stays unmoving, confused by what's happening. "Carrie?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you actually giving me a hug or are you just trying to stay upright?"
"Whichever makes you less uncomfortable."
He thinks for a while. "I think I need a third option."
She bursts into a laugh that surprises him because it doesn't sound fake or forced in the least. Which means that Carrie must actually feel content for once. Quinn is still in disbelief as he disentangles himself from her.
"Are you going to be okay?" he asks her.
"You know, when Saul introduced you to us" she says, "I hated you. I mean, actual, burning hate. Serious hate."
"And?"
She shrugs "Just thought you should know."
"Okay, that's it for tonight" he says, grabbing her shoulders and directing her towards the bed. "you really need to get some sleep."
"Yeah, I got it" she says, annoyed. "And you're gonna get hit again if you don't take your hands off me."
Quinn feels the need to pull his hair out. "You just gave me a hug two seconds ago."
"It was for your birthday. So don't get used to it."
"Jesus Christ..." he says, rubbing his head. "Just have a good night. I'll see you in the morning."
And Quinn's out the door, determined to get out before she can infuriate him even more.
Back in his room, he locks the door and then falls on the bed. He finds it a bit odd how alright he is with all the madness that took place at the bar. Carrie just confessed to being bipolar and having manic episodes, which should definitely be reported to their superiors.
But he won't because he trusts her, trusts her judgment and her ability to function just as well - if not even better - than most case officers. And all of this doesn't make sense in Quinn's head. Because he's used to doing everything by the book, always keeping cold and calculated. And this sudden trust he has in her feels alien and misplaced.
He tries to get some sleep, but that question of why he's keeping Carrie's secret keeps coming up in his head. In the end, Quinn decides to rationalize that he's okay with it because his mind is currently floating in quite a lot of alcohol. And because there's a pretty good chance he'll forget all about it in the morning.
And just like that it dawns on him that it's better if he wrote everything down. Just in case.
Quinn gets off the bed and goes searching for a pad of paper and a pen. He goes through the night stand and finds a few sheets of paper, but his hand stops dead. There's a voice at the back of his head yelling all manner of things at him, because writing things down would make him an asshole. He doesn't want to breach the trust Carrie placed in him. But at the same time he doesn't want to take the chance of waking up the next day with foggy memories and no idea why he got to this point. He's too used to control.
In the end, Quinn sighs and lets the paper where it is. For once, he decides to leave everything to chance.