[Set after season 3, so all sorts of spoilers. Some profanity.]
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Homeland characters/world. No copyright infringement intended. I'm not making any money out of this.
—
Quinn stood in line at the coffee shop, waiting to place his order. He was feeling rather anxious, if he was truly honest with himself. The holiday party was tomorrow and he had yet to concoct a gift. Of course, he just had to draw the most difficult name from the hat.
What exactly does one get Carrie Mathison for the holidays?
He was nearly at the front of the line when a conversation to his left caught his attention.
"I found out what my husband's getting me for Christmas."
"Oh yeah?"
"Mmhmm. He hid his card in the sock drawer."
"Well? Spill it!"
"A day off from the kids and a gift card for a half day at the Mandarin Oriental spa."
"Lucky you! That's the best spa in D.C. My husband just gets me a box of caramels and calls it a day."
"You need to drop more hints. Tell him you could really use an afternoon off."
Their voices trailed off as they moved to one of the tables at the far side of the coffee shop.
His mind was spinning as he inched forward in line. If he could get Carrie to take an afternoon off, would she do it? She devoted every second to her job and her daughter, but perhaps she would. She did seem a bit out of sorts last week.
He was ashamed to admit to himself that this Secret Santa business was more difficult than some of his CIA missions. The best he had come up with over the past two weeks was to get her a book - but he had been stumped on which book for days. He had also thought about getting something for Hannah, but the three-month old already had everything at her fingertips. He had toyed with getting Carrie something practical for Istanbul, but knowing Carrie, she already thought of everything.
Day off it is...
Quinn pulled out his phone and dialed the number he had memorized for Frank Mathison.
—
The double glass doors parted, and Quinn stepped into the lobby of the Mandarin Oriental spa and wellness center.
He usually could blend into any setting but he must have been off his game today. A trio of women who were sitting in the lobby chatting fell silent as he strolled toward the reception desk. Unfortunately there was no one there when he arrived. He stuck his hands in his pockets and waited.
There was meditation music playing in the background and after a couple of minutes, he began to feel somewhat at ease. However, that didn't last very long.
"Not everyday you see a man like that in here," he overheard one of the women in the lobby whisper.
"Think he's gay?"
"Not with all those wrinkles in his jacket and that ugly messenger bag. But he's certainly hot."
"I think I'm going to go say hello..."
He rolled his eyes. He really wasn't in the mood for this. He was prepared to use deterrence tactics as he heard the woman approach, but fortunately, the receptionist returned to the front desk.
"Sir, may I help you with something?" asked the older woman in the impeccably ironed suit.
"I need to get a gift certificate."
"Sure. How much?"
"Twenty dollars," said Quinn, pulling out his wallet.
"Er...all right. But you should know that twenty dollars isn't going to get very far here."
He probably should have anticipated that. "What amount do you recommend?"
"It depends," she answered. Quinn noticed her surreptitiously glancing at his hands. "What kind of spa treatment does your girlfriend like?"
"Co-worker," he corrected. When the woman's left eyebrow shot up, he felt obliged to clarify. "We're doing furtive friends at work."
When the second eyebrow shot up, he could barely contain his annoyance.
"It's Secret Santa."
"Oh! I see... very politically correct of your workplace," she said with a smile. "You work in government?"
"Something like that."
"Well this will be an interesting gift for a co-worker. Do you have a price range?"
He sighed. "Supposed to be a twenty-dollar limit, but I'm out of ideas and it's tomorrow."
She nodded as she processed this information. "The closest we have to that price range would be a manicure."
Quinn cringed. He didn't know much about manicures, but the notion of Carrie sitting still to have fake nails plastered on her hands didn't sound all that appealing. "Is that relaxing?"
"Yes, very. Most women bring their friends and they use that time to bond."
Friends...
"Uh no, that won't work then." He thought back to the conversation from the coffee shop earlier this morning. "Do you have something like a half spa day?"
"Yes we do honey, but that would be $415."
"Shit," he mumbled. He should have done more research before coming here. It wasn't like he couldn't afford it - because he could, since he spent so little on material possessions of his own. But he didn't want to risk Carrie making a scene. He wouldn't blame her if she did, since spending $400 on a Secret Santa gift was rather ludicrous.
Sensing his hesitation, the woman made another suggestion. "What about a facial? That's on our lower price range, $175."
Quinn shook his head. "Her face is fine."
He received an odd look from the woman behind the desk. He also heard snickering from the waiting area.
Ignoring his growing embarrassment, he pressed on. "What can she come here alone for that's... peaceful? Restful?"
From the look on her face, the older woman seemed to have arrived at a solution. "How about an aroma stone massage? It's an ancient Native American practice that generates a sense of balance and calm. It's two hours long and very soothing."
He only heard "calm" and "soothing" before making the decision. "Ok fine," he said tersely.
"$220."
He handed over his credit card.
"You must really like this co-worker," the woman commented as she swiped the card through the machine.
He was taken back at her forthrightness. "Not really," he mustered. It was a semi-truth.
Trying to fall out of love with her is more like it...
"You just spent $200 more than Santa was supposed to," she said as she handed him back his credit card.
He shrugged and stuffed his wallet back into his pocket. He watched her place the gift card in a sleek brown envelope. There was more hasty whispering from the women in the waiting area and Quinn started looking for alternative exits while the receptionist placed the envelope in a sleek gift bag.
"Your co-worker's going to think you fancy her."
"Doubt it."
How long does it take to tie a damn bow?
She handed over the gift bag and gave him a knowing look.
"Good luck all the same."
Exasperated, Quinn attempted to explain, although he was unsure why he felt so compelled to explain.
"Look ma'am, where I work, furtive friends remain... furtive."
The older woman's eyes continued to twinkle so she probably wasn't convinced. "Well thank you for choosing us. I hope your co-worker enjoys her gift."
"She probably won't even use this," he admitted as he secured the gift bag in his bag.
"Why not?"
"She's going overseas next week."
"You going with her?"
"No."
—
The CIA holiday party was in full swing when the announcement was made for everyone to pick up their gifts. Carrie and Quinn made their way over to the table for last names "M-R."
"Can you believe we had to do this? In between my job and taking care of Hannah, I had to pick up a gift for someone I barely give a crap about," Carrie complained.
"Speak for yourself."
"Who did you get assigned to?"
"Not supposed to say."
She scoffed at him. "Such a stickler to the rules."
"Yep."
While Carrie retrieved a gift bag under her name, Quinn glanced at the box he had just unwrapped. He didn't know what to expect but the small tin of caramels he held in his hands was rather disappointing. He turned to watch Carrie fish out a brown envelope from her gift bag.
He was correct in predicting that Carrie would make a fuss.
"An aroma stone massage? What the hell is that?"
That drew a smirk from Quinn who gestured at his caramels. "At least your furtive friend put some thought into your gift."
Probably way too much thought.
"Yeah. But you know who goes to spas? People with nothing to do who think they need some new age crap to feel good about themselves. My furtive friend is implying that I'm one of those."
Quinn tried to look amused. "I'm sure your furtive friend doesn't think that."
For someone so smart, how can she be so off the mark?
Quinn flipped his tin of caramels over, not seeing the ribbon that slipped to the floor. He was allergic to cinnamon so he scanned the ingredients at the bottom. He didn't notice that Carrie had fished out another envelope from her gift bag.
"Jesus. Is this a joke?" she exclaimed after she perused the contents in the envelope.
"What's a joke?"
"My furtive friend crossed into sexual harassment territory," she voiced angrily. "I can't believe this. I'm a mother now and I'm still on the receiving end of this kind of shit?"
"Wait a minute. A gift certificate to a spa is sexual harassment?" I've been a boy scout with her for over a year now. His eyes widened as he took in the unfamiliar white envelope in Carrie's hand.
"This," Carrie said as she waved about a handful of professionally printed notecards, no larger than the size of playing cards. She separated one of them. "Get this," she said disdainfully. "Redeem for one afternoon of office sexy time."
Confused, Quinn snatched the cards out of her hand. He blushed and spent every ounce of his mental toughness tempering his arousal as he read through the cards. There were some vouchers for the office, some vouchers for the bedroom...
Carrie was livid. "CIA pervert. I'm going to find out who my furtive friend is, and when I do, I'm going to give this fucker a not-so-furtive kick in the crotch."
Speechless, Quinn returned the notecards to Carrie.
"Who you kicking in the crotch?" Saul interrupted.
"My furtive friend."
"What did your furtive friend do?"
"Saul, Lockhart's welcome back gift for you was to task you with organizing this Secret Santa team building crap. So you have the master list. Tell me who -"
Sensing that his furtive friend status was on the brink of being revealed, Quinn not-so-smoothly intervened before Carrie could say more. "Saul, what did you get from your furtive friend?"
"A hand knit pair of socks," he replied. "Very useful gift I'd say," he added before turning his attention back to Carrie.
"Look at this nonsense that I received." Carrie handed the notes over to Saul.
Quinn shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He became even more agitated when Saul raised an eyebrow at him after reading a particularly descriptive card.
"Saul, tell me who it is," she demanded.
The older man gave Carrie a bemused smile. "Carrie, you're the smartest person here, so I'm sure you'll figure it out."
"I know I'll figure it out. But you can tell me now and let me to embarrass this asshole at this party."
To Quinn's relief, Saul shook his head. "Sorry, deputy director's confidential privileges."
"Fine. But when I do find out his name, I'll see that this person finds his way out the CIA." The two men were silent as Carrie made a beeline toward the open bar.
Quinn was the first to break the silence. "Saul, I didn't give her those ridiculous notes."
"Peter, I know you didn't."
His confusion began to wear off and was replaced with a growing sense of concern.
"Ok, then who did? If this isn't some kind of perverted joke and there's a CIA psycho scumbag after her, I need to know."
Saul nodded. But instead of mirroring Quinn's concern, the older man smiled softly. "I hear you're heading to Venezuela."
"Yeah."
Saul hesitated before commenting, "You're giving up on her."
"What are you talking about?" Quinn stammered.
"Don't give up on her just yet. You'll see."
Before Quinn could respond, Saul's wife made her way over to them and handed them both a glass of wine. Mira spotted the ribbon on the floor.
"Looks like you dropped this, Peter," said Mira with a wide smile. She handed him the ribbon and then tugged gently at her husband's arm. "Excuse us Peter, we're going to get some food."
Saul patted the younger man on the shoulder and led his wife toward the buffet tables.
Quinn examined the ribbon in his hand. He didn't pay particular attention to it when it was wrapped around the tin of caramels earlier, but the small, even handwriting on the ribbon was now clear as day.
Happy Holidays Peter, we're rooting for you. Sincerely, your furtive friends. P.S. we hope the cards help, but please keep it discreet in the office.
He wasn't sure which was more appalling. The notecards that Carrie received or that the entire office seemingly knew that he was in love with Carrie Mathison.
—
It was Christmas Eve and the empty office was silent except for the occasional clicks of a keyboard. Quinn found the silence refreshing and was engrossed in his notes when the door buzzed open, revealing Carrie wearing something other than a suit and her long hair loosely tied back in a bun.
"I thought you were taking the day off?"
"Yeah I am. My dad's watching Hannah now. I don't know what's gotten into him. He practically kicked me out of the house saying I need to take some time for myself."
Quinn nodded and turned his attention back to work, although a not so trivial part of his mind lingered on her presence. It happened every time Carrie Mathison was in the room.
He heard her steps become more pronounced as she approached his desk.
"Quinn."
Alarm bells went off. It was only years of covert training and muscle memory that kept his body from betraying how tense he felt now.
Even though it wasn't him who snuck those notes into her gift, he had walked on egg shells around Carrie for the past couple of days. There was no way she would file a sexual harassment charge against him but he still waited for her to kick him where it hurts. But she hadn't yet - which was surprising because Carrie's investigative skills where par none.
"Thanks for the gift certificate."
Fuck.
He tried not to look like a deer in the headlights.
"I was driving everyone in the house crazy this week, so it was nice to get away for a bit."
"You're welcome..." Quinn replied evenly, waiting for the inevitable kick and some scathing words about those notes that he did but did not give to her.
But Carrie didn't say anything more. She stood perfectly still, looking at him with a thoughtful, searching expression.
Quinn tried to swallow the lump in his throat. Whenever Carrie had that look, it became unbearable how much he wished that things were different between them. But over the past several months, he knew he was losing the struggle to suppress what he really wanted to give her - which was more complicated than friendship, less reliable than colleagues, and unpredictably dangerous in their line of work. He was relying on her upcoming physical distance to exorcise the storm brewing within so he could function normally again.
It took a great deal of effort but he managed to turn his attention back to his laptop and the intel he had been tracking in preparation for his next assignment.
"Quinn...I know that you've already made up your mind last month about not coming with me to Istanbul. I get it. You've been offered a promotion with Dar Adal sending you to God knows where."
He got up from his chair, walked to the counter and poured himself another cup of coffee, taking his time before he turned around to meet Carrie in the eyes.
"Venezuela. I'm going back underground with the cartels."
If he was surprised at how apparently her face fell at his disclosure, he didn't show it.
"When?"
"Next week, same as you."
"Fuck."
She ran a hand through her hair and began to pace.
"Look, I don't know what's going to convince you otherwise, but you have to come to Istanbul."
"I can't." The flatness of his voice sounded foreign even to him.
She ran another hand through her hair and gave him that searching, thoughtful look again.
"I feel so over my head lately. At first, I thought it was the idea of uprooting Hannah that was driving me up the wall. But I don't think it's that. I was on maternity leave for three months and we went everywhere, but I didn't ever feel as anxious as I've been feeling this week. I have no doubt that I can be a great station chief. And my dad's coming with me for the first few weeks so Hannah's going to be in good hands..." She took a deep breath and continued. "But we need you in Istanbul. I need you in Istanbul."
He was at a loss for what to say.
"Quinn?"
He took a sip of his coffee to temper the conflict and emotions running through his usually ice-cold veins.
"I don't get it. Months ago, you were ready to quit it all. And now you're going back to killing people for a living?"
"It's what I'm good at," he deadpanned.
"Bullshit."
"Should I be offended?" he asked sarcastically.
"I mean yes, you're good at that stuff. The best, I hear," said Carrie, flustered. "It was Javadi actually who told me that no one is just one thing."
"You're a hell of a case officer, Carrie. Now stop manipulating me."
Carrie stepped back, offended. "What? I'm not manipulating you at all." Her astonishment turned into anger. "But I can't believe you're just going to disappear for who knows how long."
The two fell silent. It was an awkward stalemate and Carrie was the first to test the waters.
"Look, I just," she hesitated, "I'm... impulsive... you're methodical. Sometimes I go off the deep end... you're steady as hell. I get obsessed all the time... you know how to keep your distance. And I'm-"
"-and you've always been on your own," Quinn assured her. "You'll do just fine." He added half-heartedly, "You even convinced Virgil and Max to jump continents, so they'll keep you out of trouble."
"Quinn... Peter, you're the only one I trust with… well, everything. Just give Istanbul another thought would you?" She waited for an answer but didn't get one. "And you're wrong about me always being on my own. It just took lying on a bed for an hour with stupid stones on my back before I realized it too." Her eyes bore into his. "Peter, you and I - we've been through a lot together."
"So?"
"So why are you going to Venezuela?"
He looked away. Those feelings he had repressed for months were resurfacing at the most inopportune time; there was just one week left until they would have gone their separate ways. He would have cleared his slate and there wouldn't be the risk that he would complicate her life with his unwanted feelings. He felt cornered but he couldn't discount the glimmer of hope in his chest that hadn't been there before.
Was it possible...?
The expression in her eyes said that it might just be, someday.
"I'll think about it," he said finally.
"Great," said Carrie with genuine relief. "You should spend Christmas Eve with us. You haven't seen Hannah in days."
"I figured you were busy," he said with a sheepish smile.
She smirked. "Yeah well, my dad's been wondering where you've been... and you should know that he found the gift card sitting on my desk and the envelope with all those-"
Oh fuck.
"Carrie, it wasn't me who gave you those..."
"I'm not stupid Quinn. I know it wasn't you."
"So do you know who...?"
"Yeah, but it doesn't matter, because my dad's still convinced it was you."
Reindeer in the headlights.
—