Carrie and Quinn walk out into the kitchen, still stunned from the events of the day and Saul's latest tactic of interrogation - breaking Javadi's nose. This was getting messier by the minute. Saul walks in feeling smug.
"Why don't you two get out of here. I think you've seen enough today."
"I'd like to help with the interrogation," Carrie argues.
"I'm not asking, Carrie. Go home. Clean yourself up and get some rest."
"But Saul, I…"
"Come on," Quinn interrupts. "We'll come back later tonight."
Carrie looks at Quinn with annoyance, then turns back to Saul.
"Fine," she huffs.
Carrie grabs her bag and heads for the door. Quinn follows, but turns to Saul on his way out and nods silently as if to say, 'Don't worry, I got this.' Saul watches them leave, grateful for Quinn. The young man had taken to looking after Carrie, just as Saul had hoped. With Carrie out of his way, Saul returns to the interrogation room to face Javadi.
Outside, Carrie and Quinn walk towards the car, Carrie annoyed to be cock-blocked from the Javadi interrogation.
"Fucking Saul…" she mutters. "He's intentionally leaving me out. He knows I should be in there…"
Quinn watches and lets her rant for a minute before speaking.
"Give me the keys…I'm driving," he tells her.
She sighs angrily and tosses them to him. Five minutes into their drive Carrie realizes they've exited the highway for Tysons Corner. She turns to Quinn.
"Where are you going?" she asks with irritation.
"We need a drink."
Carrie huffs. Quinn's suggestion was the biggest understatement of the year. He pulls the car into parking lot of the Hilton just off the highway. He had frequented the hotel bar here on several occasions and hoped the serene atmosphere would help them unwind from the day's horrific events.
"Swanky," Carrie chides him as she looks around and they head towards the entrance.
"What? Not seedy enough for you?
Carrie smirks. Touché.
The bar is surprisingly empty for 4:00p in the afternoon, except for a small group of businessmen and women gathered around a table. Carrie and Quinn slide onto adjacent bar stools.
"Two tequilas," Quinn tells the bartender.
Placing two glasses in front them, the bartender pours a shot into each.
"I'll start a tab?" he asks.
Quinn nods, then reaches for his glass. Seeing his hand is still covered in blood, he quickly throws back the tequila then excuses himself.
"I'm going to clean up," he tells Carrie.
Carrie looks up and notices Quinn's blood stained hand as he turns to walk away. She closes her eyes and swallows hard as the horrific events of the morning come rushing back to her. In all her years with the CIA, she had never seen such raw brutality on US soil as she had today. She had come to expect it in Iraq and Iran, but not in her own backyard, on innocent civilians nonetheless, and it shook her to the core. Even Quinn, who she had thought was as cold as ice at one time, seemed a little shaken. But at least he was still able to function in the moment. Quinn, indeed he is reliable, she thinks.
Quinn returns and slides back into his bar stool next to Carrie. She pushes another drink in front of him.
"You okay?" she cautiously asks him this time, turning to face him.
"Yeah," he says coolly, staring straight ahead and throwing back his drink.
Carrie joins him, wincing from the burn of the alcohol sliding down her throat, then orders another round.
"You should slow down," he tells her.
"Slow down, yourself," she growls at him.
Quinn raises an eyebrow remembering this is Carrie and she does like to drink. They stay sitting at the bar throwing back tequila for another hour before they're able to speak to one another. Carrie's head is light, her neck loose, her eyes and tongue heavy. Quinn is just as comfortably numb, just the way he likes it.
"You hungry?" he finally asks her.
"Yeah," she replies and grabs a menu.
They order enough appetizers to feed an army. More crap to feed their decaying psyches.
By 8:00p, they've loosened up enough to start exchanging words and after another shot or two, Carrie finds herself sharing with Quinn more than she intended.
"It's bipolar disease with schizophrenic tendencies. It runs in the family. My sister…she's a doctor, she diagnosed and now treats me. That how I've been able to keep it secret."
Quinn looks at her and feels some empathy. He knows suffering. He has his own demons he has to manage. He takes another drink of his tequila.
"I have a kid," he suddenly confesses.
Carrie tries to hide her surprise. Didn't see that one coming. She nods and sips her drink.
"I left him, and his mother."
"Do you miss him?" Carrie asks.
"I don't know him. Or her, really. I thought it was best, given my job."
Quinn finishes off his drink.
"Stupid," he mutters, shaking his head in disgust and pushing his glass away from him.
Carrie reaches out her hand and lightly touches Quinn's arm and smiles at him with some sympathy in her eyes. Quinn looks at her, holding her gaze for several moments. Carrie caresses his arm with her thumb. Her touch and the way she looks at him send an ache through Quinn's chest. Maybe she was softening. Or maybe she was drunk.
Quinn pulls back his arm and reaches for his wallet.
"Come on, we should get going."
His sudden change in behavior surprises Carrie and leaves her feeling a little burned, but she doesn't let the feeling linger long and rises from the bar stool. She wavers on her feet and grabs hold of Quinn's shoulder.
"Whoa…"
Quinn grabs Carrie's arm to help steady her.
"You okay?" he asks, though he can clearly see that she is drunk.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
Carrie laughs and lets go of Quinn. But she continues to sway a bit. Quinn is not much better but given his size he is not quite as far gone.
"Let's call a cab," Quinn suggests. He rises from his bar stool and takes out his cell.
"Nah, not yet," she argues with a slight whine.
"Well let's at least get some fresh air."
Still holding Carrie by the arm, they walk to the outdoor lounge. The night air is cool against their skin and wakes their senses slightly. Carrie takes a few steps away from Quinn and looks up at the starry sky feeling like it could just envelop her and take her away from all this. He stands from a distance and admires her. She looks remarkably peaceful and beautiful, he thinks, although she's clearly drunk.
"Come on, dreamer, let's get you home."
She turns and stares at him a moment.
"I don't want to go home, Quinn," she says softly. "I don't want to be alone tonight."
He knows this. Night time is when the demons come out, when the terror rises back inside him. Nights like this were sleepless nights, lying awake waiting for the sun to rise again. But he could not, he would not, take advantage of Carrie.
He reaches out his hand to her.
"Come on."
Quinn gently holds Carrie's hand and guides her to the hotel lobby. They approach the registration desk.
"Hi there. My partner here and I need two rooms for the night," he tells the clerk. Carrie turns to look at him, wondering if the two rooms are just a cover or if he intends to sleep in one.
"Of course, sir. Just one night?"
"Yes," he answers.
"My pleasure. May I please see some ID and method of payment?"
After signing for their rooms, Quinn and Carrie make their way to the elevators, along with a crowd of Japanese businessmen just arriving. They all squeeze in, Carrie now standing directly in front of Quinn, still swaying and bumping against the other riders as they push into the crowded space. Quinn tries to steady her and pulls Carrie back towards him, his hands on her upper arms.
"Easy now," he whispers.
Carrie feels a sense of comfort with Quinn's hands holding her tight. She relaxes back against his chest and lets her head rest against his shoulder. I could fall asleep right here, she thinks. Quinn feels her start to go a little limp against him and wraps his arms around her waist to hold her up.
"Come on, Carrie," he whispers against her ear.
Carrie straightens herself a bit and Quinn starts to relax his hold again, but she grabs his hands to prevent him from letting go.
"Don't," she tells him, continuing to look straight ahead.
Quinn sighs, hopeful she is sober enough to know what she is doing. He pulls Carrie closer against him, this time in more of a hug, then rests his lips on the side of her head and breathes her in. I won't let you go, he thinks.
The elevator makes several stops on its way up to their floor, each time depositing a rider or two, but Carrie continues to lie back against Quinn, her eyes now closed and arms grasping his arms. A smile creeps across her face. She's teetering on the edge of passing out, but is fully aware of the sense of comfort and safety she feels wrapped in Quinn's embrace. Quinn continues to hold her, his cheek now resting against her head and eyes gazing down at their entwined arms.
The elevator finally reaches their floor and Quinn guides Carrie out from behind, then wraps an arm around her shoulder and walks her down the hallway, searching for their rooms. Upon finding them, Quinn opens one door and guides her in. She turns to face him, eyes half open, head flirtatiously tilted to the side, and hopeful he wants to stay.
"I'll be right next door," he tells her.
"Quinn…"
"Close enough to hear you snore."
She looks at him longingly. He knows that look and it takes every ounce of will power not to take advantage of it.
"Good night, Carrie," and he turns to leave.
Carrie reaches out and grabs his hand.
"Stay," she whispers. "Just…stay here with me. Please?"
If she only knew how much he wanted to. How much he longed to lie with her, hold her, make love to her.
"Carrie…"
She steps towards him and tries to touch his face but he grabs her hand before she can.
"You're drunk, Carrie," he whispers.
She lowers her eyes in embarrassment and shame, stands taller, and starts to pull away, but he doesn't let go of her hand.
"Don't think I haven't thought about it, Carrie. I have. More than you know."
Carrie stands staring at him, mouth agape, somewhat startled.
"But you're never drunk in my fantasies."
They continue to gaze at each other in silence.
"Quinn…I'm not that drunk."
He smiles, "yeah…you are," and he turns and walks towards the door. She watches him start to leave.
"Well…I've thought about it too," she confesses.
This stops him in his tracks. He slowly turns to face her, looking for more from her. Carrie pulls at her hair and contorts her face in frustration.
"Do you think my heart's frozen over from Brody? Or my head is so completely clouded that I don't feel anything anymore?"
She turns away from Quinn and walks further in the room, then faces him again.
"You know what allows me to sleep at night? You," she tells him, staring from across the room.
"You, and knowing that when everything else in the world is swirling in chaos around me and in my head, that I can count on you and how I feel when I am with you…which is good, and grounded. You can't tell me you don't feel it too."
She steps closer to him but he is speechless.
"So yeah, we're both a little drunk. But that doesn't invalidate the feelings I have."
Quinn now takes a step closer to Carrie, and looking into her eyes, takes her cheek in his hand and caresses it with his thumb. He wants to believe her. He wants to lay her on the awful hotel bed and spend the night making love to her until they ache all over. But he knows despite everything she says, Brody and her love for him, still loom large in her. He speaks to her in almost a whisper.
"I can't, Carrie. Not like this. I'm not going to do that to you, or to me."
Carrie bows in her head and tears start to fall. I'm such a fucking mess, she cries to herself. Quinn pulls her in against his chest and holds her, his hand softly rubbing her back.
Quinn finally pulls away and taking Carrie by the elbow, he walks her to the bed, pulls back the covers and helps her climb in. He then walks around to the other side and lays down next to her, but on top of covers. They turn on their sides to face each other.
"Go to sleep, Carrie."
She stares at him until her eyes can no longer stay open. Though she tries to fight it, her lids slowly start to close. Quinn waits until her breathing is heavy and even, then allows his own exhaustion take over and soon sleeps soundly next to her.