It is 10:00p in the evening when Quinn returns to his place in the agency quarters. Exhausted from the long day and his latest blow up with Carrie, he dumps his messenger bag on the floor and empties the contents of his pant pockets on to the kitchen counter, then walks directly into his bathroom and starts the shower. If he could wash away everything - he would, but the hot water streaming over his body only brings him physical relief. The mental and emotional stress from working with Carrie was constant and it was not getting any easier. Today's conflict was over Aayan and her choice to use her body to gain his trust.
It made Quinn's blood boil. He hated it when the asset was Brody and he hated it now. Why Carrie willingly chose to let these men touch her, be intimate with her, was something he could not understand nor wanted to. It was the part of Carrie he hated. Her body, Christ…her mind, was too precious…too good to let just anyone in. Why she didn't treat it this way infuriated him. I would never… he starts to think, but quickly buries the thought.
As he exits the shower, he hears a knocking coming from the other room and quickly throws a towel around his waist. Quinn grabs another towel from the hook on the wall and dries his face as he walks towards the kitchen.
"Hold on…I'm coming," he shouts, annoyed to be bothered so soon after coming home.
Quinn looks through the peephole in the door and sees it is Carrie waiting on the other side. Taking a deep breath, he opens the door. She seems shocked to see him half naked and unknowingly gives him the up and down before averting her eyes.
"What's up," he asks coolly, still annoyed with her.
Carrie, flustered, stumbles over her words, trying to remember how angry she is with him but finding herself humiliated to be standing there trying to make nice knowing only a cotton towel stands between them. She raises the bottle.
"Uh…a peace offering?" she offers with very little sincerity in her voice.
Quinn doesn't crack a smile. He doesn't even want to look at her in that moment. He is so tired of her manipulation games. He just wants to be left alone. With a clenched jaw and flared nostrils, Quinn just stares back at her.
"Come on, Quinn," she says.
More silence.
"You know it's not easy for me to come over here and try to make nice. I'm still pissed as hell at you."
Now this sounded more like Carrie.
He opens the door wide, stands to the side and allows her in. Carrie enters his apartment, then turns to face him. Quinn breezes past her.
"Opener's in the top drawer to the left of the refrigerator," and then returns to his bedroom to change.
While Carrie uncorks the wine ands searches for glasses, Quinn dresses. She can't help but notice his apartment is as sterile and cold as hers. There are no personal items to be seen. No proof that anyone lives here other than the discarded laptop and keys on the kitchen counter.
Moments later, Quinn exits the bedroom in a faded pair of jeans, pulling a tattered gray t-shirt over his head. He approaches Carrie, who hands him his glass of merlot. His hair is still damp and he smells clean and piney, something she had never noticed before. Together they walk to the open living space. Carrie sits on the large sectional while Quinn settles into an armchair opposite of her. They both take a large sip from their glasses. There is an awkward silence, neither one of them really willing to speak first, until Quinn finally gives.
"What the fuck, Carrie…"
But before he can finish his sentence, Carrie's walls are back up. She huffs and rolls her eyes. She knew he would still have words for her but thought she would have at least a few minutes to smooth things over before he started in with her.
"Jesus, Quinn. I didn't come her for a verbal lashing again. What is it with you?"
"What is it with me?! What is it with you? Why is it that every time you need to recruit a new asset you have to get in bed with him?!"
Scowling at him she asks, "Who the fuck are you to be judging me?! You murder people for a living, for fuck sake…"
He knew she would throw that in his face one day. It was a fair argument and it hits him hard and causes him to pause. Silence returns to the room.
"You're right," Quinn says more quietly, "but you're a better person than I am, Carrie. Or at least I think you are."
This takes Carrie by surprise. It was a painful claim for Quinn to make. A backwards sort of compliment, actually, though she knew in her heart that Quinn had always been on her side since day one.
They stare at one another. She could see the pain in his eyes.
"I just don't understand why you let these men…" He stops himself. What was the point.
"Why I let these men what? They're assets, Quinn. And you know as well as I do, men are putty in a woman's bed."
He closes his eyes in disgust. Again, the thought makes him feel sick.
Carrie watches him, and for the first time realizes that his disgust, this disdain he expresses, maybe there was more to it. Maybe he genuinely cared. Maybe he…
"You're right. It's not my business how you gain their trust."
Quinn's eyes pierce her again and silence fills the room. Carrie gently smiles at him.
"Sometimes I just don't get you," she argues.
What am I doing here, he wonders.
"I can't do this anymore, Carrie."
"Do what?" she asks with a bitterness to her tone.
"This. This job." He turns his gaze away from her to look around the room.
"I can't keep watching you compromise your self, your self worth. I mean…for what?" He pauses with the pain of it all. "I don't know who you are anymore…and I don't know how to help you."
"I didn't ask you to come here to help me, Quinn. I asked you to do a job for your country!"
"And I'm telling you I can't do it anymore."
Carrie is finally speechless. How could he be done? How could he leave her now?
"Quinn…please. I need you. You're the only one who…"
"I'm not, Carrie. I'm not the only one who can help you. John is perfectly capable of helping you. Max…Fara…they're fully capable. You don't need me and I can't stand by and just watch you continue to hurt yourself. I'm sorry."
Carrie's face contorts. A mix of fear, sadness, and panic rush through her. She had played all her card with Quinn, and in past he always folded. But this time she knew there was nothing she could do. Carrie swallows hard and straightens herself.
"Okay…so that it, huh? I'm not going to change your mind I guess."
Quinn continues to gaze at her, wishing with all his heart that things were different. That Carrie would soften…that she would realize how cold and hard she had become…that she would let him in. Quinn finally rises from the couch and pauses briefly.
"Good night, Carrie."
Carrie remains seated on the couch and watches Quinn carefully as he crosses the room. She turns towards his bedroom door just as he disappears behind it.
He was right, of course. John, Max and Fara were all helping her immensely. But they were not Quinn. She needed HIM. Sitting there alone on his couch she realizes that maybe she didn't ask him to come to Istanbul so much for his professional help as she did for his emotional help. For his companionship. Maybe, for his love. The thought pierces her. That was it. She needed Quinn. She wanted Quinn. She loved Quinn.
Carrie eases herself back into the cushions of the couch with the weight of this realization upon her. She gazes out the window at the lights in Istanbul before laying her head back and closing her eyes.
What have I done?