Disclaimer - I do not own Homeland. That pleasure belongs to Showtime. No copyright infringement or money making scheme intended. This is purely for reading enjoyment.

A/N inspired by a conversation I had with LilMisift about S4/promos. So many thanks to LilMisfit for that conversation which put this idea in my head.

Caution for lots of Carrie swearing.

She could feel their eyes on her, their concern and it only increased her ire and her anger. A tidal wave of emotions were building inside of her and she was the unexploded bomb in this room. She was the one with the fucking switch now. She needs a phone call from the man she loves to pull her back from the brink, but a phone would be of no use. She needs a fucking ouija board. The tears prickle at her eyes. She needs to not cry in front of them. They wouldn't mind, but she would. If Quinn looks at her with gooey eyes one more fucking time, she'll find that fucking screwdriver he's so fond of and gouge his fucking eyes out…or her own. It doesn't really matter.

Carrie continues to watch the screen determined, ignoring them as best as she can. She vaguely hears a soft voice calling her name as though from far away, until she realises the voice is in the room.

"Carrie?"

Carrie turns her head towards the source of the voice to find Saul looking at her with deep concern.

"You don't have to watch."

Once upon a time his advice and support meant everything to her. Once upon a time she would have been the one to request his presence here.

"It's ok", he continues in a soft, gentle voice meant to convey his understanding, but he didn't understand and every word out of his mouth these days only made her feel worse. That tone is like nails on a chalkboard to her now. She'd gladly rip her ears off if it meant she didn't have to hear it again. There are so many thoughts racing through her mind, on a collision course with the words circling the same space. Each fighting for control and swirling together in a bout of fury, like a Tornado, furiously crashing its way around inside her head. Picking up everything in its way, angrily forcing everything together, destroying as it goes and making it impossible for her to verbalise her feelings.

"No. It's not!", she manages harshly, turning away from him. Now she feels the eyes of everyone in the room on her. Those who know her and those still getting to know her. Those who know what is wrong and those who haven't quite figured it out yet.

Still, she stares at the screen until everyone turns away from her and back to the screen themselves…or almost everyone. She still feels those two pairs of eyes trained on her.

"There he is", Tony points out their young informant, even younger on the footage they were watching.

Carrie resists the urge to snort as everyone leans forward simultaneously. She had spotted him ages ago.

He wouldn't tell Carrie his name and she didn't blame him for that. She had taken to calling him "A" in conversation. She felt the need to give him an identity. He was very reluctant to help her and she didn't blame him for that either. She hoped she could help him. She really did, but she was conscious that nothing ever works out the way you want it to. She meant it when she told him she wanted to help, but the truth of those words would not matter to him if she couldn't help, if she failed…if he was still alive to feel as though she had betrayed him.

"People deserve to know the truth," his distraught words echo in her head as his younger self searches for the bodies of his younger brothers amongst the rubble. How many years ago now? And he stills speaks as though it were yesterday. But, then why wouldn't he? The world didn't care and they were his brothers.

She sees the horrible reality crash down upon his young shoulders as he finds them, crushing any hope he may have had that they would survive or that they were not there at all. He is on his knees, frozen in time for a while before it hits him. Then, he is clawing at rocks and dust, trying to free them, but he cannot. Though physically he should be strong enough, the grief is already weighing him down and he collapses in a heap next to where they are. The wail of grief reverberates round the room.

"How do we know we can trust him? How has he even ended up in Pakistan for a start?"

Carrie clenches her fists. She doesn't know what the fuck is wrong with Quinn these days, but she doesn't fucking like it. She refuses to answer.

The room is silent and waiting for an answer. She feels the eyes on her again. She hates them all in this moment for not being able to look at the damage caused.

"Carrie, how do we know we can trust him?", Quinn repeats.

She's not answering that fucking question. There's no reason why he should want to help them not when you look at what was done to his family, but she won't condemn him with her words.

"Carrie, we need to know", Saul tries prodding gently, as he and Quinn, quickly glance at each other, eyes shining with concern before looking back at her.

Carrie sees even Quinn's slight blanch at the look she is giving them. God, she wants to tear her hair out. Wishes they'd fuck off some place she wasn't.

"Or maybe, he needs to know he can trust us", she snaps back, wondering as she did so, how the fuck that could even be possible.

"Carrie…", Quinn begins.

"The next fucking person to say my name is getting a fucking bullet in them", Carrie threatens, looking around the room. "And it won't be in the fucking shoulder", she growls, looking at Quinn.

Although the air is now thick with tension, Carrie welcomes the silence, save for the words and sounds from the footage.

She looks for A and sees he is now laying down next to where his brothers are, so still he might be dead as well. Except she knows he's not and wishes someone would help him.