Again.
Her hands are shaking on the steering wheel and she can barely keep the sobs from bubbling up her throat.
Again, she has done it, this thing she does, she has talked to someone and now they are dead. And she is not. It happens again and again, and it will never stop. It's her curse.
I am. I am the problem. I bring down everyone around me.
She told Otto, and she meant it. She knows he thought she was being irrational, dramatic, but it was true. Then it was Quinn, now it's Samir. And before them, there was Fara, and Aayan, and... she has to stop herself. The endless list of lives she has tainted stands like an abyss before her, waiting to suck her up if she leans too far over the edge.
You have so much blood on your hands.
Jonas saw, he saw it all, right through her, what she does to others. Does that even register? She shivers as she recalls the utter look of disgust on his face. But he doesn't understand, he thinks she doesn't care, that all these deaths mean nothing to her.
Of course she cares. Yes, she is focused on the mission, on what needs to be done, and she does not pause to reflect on the collateral damage. You pause, you fucking die! But it doesn't mean she doesn't care, it doesn't mean she doesn't carry each name as another weight in her heart. It doesn't mean that in quiet times, when she's caught off-guard, she doesn't suddenly feel the loss of those lives so keenly that it takes every ounce of control she possesses to not fall to her knees and weep. It doesn't mean she doesn't lie awake at night, afraid to close her eyes because she knows she'll then see all the reproachful faces of the dead.
It doesn't mean it didn't take every fucking acting skill she ever picked up during her career to convince everyone the last two years, including herself, that she'd put it all behind her, that she was happy.
Quinn knows. Knew. He knew her better than everyone, although she never let him too close. It's scary, being with someone who knows you. You can't escape from the big dark within your soul, the bits you hide even from yourself. You can't pretend you're normal. You can't pretend you're good. But he knew her, and he trusted her in spite of it all, and now he's dead, because of her, because she didn't take care of him, like she should have. It kills her that he knew she wouldn't and still, he let her.
She speeds on the highway, streetlights whooshing past her window, as she races back to Berlin. How many more will die, because of her, before this is over? She wants it to end, it is more than she can bear, and yet, even after all this, she does not want to die. It shames her, that after all this, she would still rather live.
She has to get to Allison, she must convince her to help her, she must, Allison has to understand this is life or death. If only she can find out what happened in Baghdad, she may yet put an end to this, she may yet see Frannie again, and maybe, this time, she can put it all behind her. She almost believes it. Almost.
It's a long drive to Berlin.