Birthday party

Some days are needless. Not worth to think about. Birthdays could be such days, at least if you don't have someone to share them.

Langley isn't a busy place that day. Which doesn't suit Quinn's plans. Because it gives him time to think about his fucking life, the fucking CIA, about Carrie.

Damn Carrie, she is the only reason that he is still stuck at Langley. He had an offer from Saul to work for him. A chance to get away. But he turned it down. Because he enjoys working with Carrie. He has never seen a better intelligence officer than her. He's fascinated by the contrariness of her character, this appealing mixture of passionate obsession, ruthlessness and vulnerability. Maybe it's part of her illness. He doesn't know. He doesn't care. He still would feel the need to protect her, to be close to her. Her pregnancy has increased this wish. And there's also a slight hope inside him that one day he could be more than her most reliable co-worker.

But there are those damn days where everything pisses him off. He's even angry at Carrie. Because she has been businesslike the fucking whole day, occupied by her future life in Istanbul. A future that doesn't involve him. At least she hasn't asked him yet to join the team which already contains Galvez and Fara.

'Fuck you, Carrie.' He decides to bury the day at his favorite bar. Having some drinks alone until his head is blunt enough. Because that's what he's usually doing at his birthday.

"You like to join me? Pizza at my house?"

A question out of the blue.

They haven't talked the whole day.

"You're asking me for a date?" He teases her.

"Bah. I am just starving and need someone to pay for." She smiles back at him. "But if you have other plans."

"Pizza sounds great." He replies quickly and with a meaningful look at her huge belly he jokes. "I've got enough cash to pay you the family size."

She's rolling her eyes at him, but ignores to comment.

An hour later they are both sitting on the floor with their backs leaning against Carrie's couch, both fed up with pizza.

"That was great." Carrie sighs satisfied, pressing a cushion against her pregnant belly.

"That's useless. You can't hide it." He points at her belly that's barely covered.

The cushion hits his face.

"Fuck you, Quinn. That isn't funny." She barks at him, but there are little sparkles of joy in her eyes.

She grabs the cushion from his hand and puts it back on her belly.

A challenging gaze as if she's waiting for another teasing.

But he's just Mister Nice Guy and grabs another cushion. "Take that behind your back to support you."

"That's suspicious." She states at his sudden care, squinting her eyes. "Are you planning something?"

"I'm just nice, Carrie." He smiles about the distrust in her face.

"Yeah, reliable, responsible, restrained. Oh, come on Quinn. This is fucking boring." She gives him a short punch in his side.

"You think I am boring?" He is a little bit annoyed now.

"You are a masterpiece of self-control. Is there a modicum of hope for …" she pauses, her head lies on the couch. Her eyes are piercing him.

He stares back at her. "A hope for…?"

"I don't know. Maybe something breathtaking, something zany, wild, senseless."

"You want me wild?" He moves a little closer and looks at her mouth in expectance. 'This is getting interesting.'

'That's dangerous territory.' She grabs his spiky hair and pulls him playfully away.

'Keep him on distance before you do something stupid.'

"I'm out of game, cowboy." She points at her belly, trying to restore the teasing mood.

"So, no pity sex for me?" He jokes back. "Not even at my birthday?"

"It's your birthday? You're kidding." She looks surprised.

"No, I am not. It's my birthday."

"Why didn't you say a thing? You even paid the pizza. And I don't have a present for you."

"Carrie, it's ok. I don't expect a present. I enjoyed our evening. It's just fine." He hugs her arm.

She is serious now. Calm and thoughtful. Then she kisses him. It's just a soft peck on his lips. But enough to shift his world a little.