Chapter 3: Not a bad man

After a week, Carrie's knock has gotten awfully familiar.

They are settling into a rhythm that makes Quinn extremely uncomfortable. A routine has crept into everything they do. Also, there are things in his apartment that weren't there before. A table cloth, dishwashing supplies, light bulbs that he hasn't bought himself. Stuff that isn't his.

Every time she brings something else to his apartment, she prefaces it with a comment.

'So we don't have to eat like savages anymore.'

Plates.

'To brighten up the place.'

The table cloth.

At one point, he seriously considered shopping for another mattress or even a second bed, before he realised that this would definitely send the wrong message. Not that Carrie is an idiot. She knows that theirs isn't a long term arrangement and that she'll have to go home eventually. They can't keep alternating between sleeping in the bed and on the floor forever.

They're standing close together, doing the dishes. He washes. She dries. Carrie always starts, doing that calculated hair flip, barely hiding her smile as her fingers occasionally brush against his. He never backs down, because he enjoys it as much as she does. She's having fun: who is he to get in the way of that? There's nothing to it. It's harmless.

When they're done, she hands him the towel. Drying his hands, he watches her as she puts the plates and cutlery back where they belong. He is about to roll down his sleeves when Carrie, with her back to him, asks him not to.

'Don't. I've been meaning to tell you, you look good. Tanned. It suits you.'

His heart doesn't skip a beat. Quinn is sure that his face shows no outward sign of emotion. Still, it takes him a second to recover. Argentina. That's where he got that tan. He steels himself before cocking his head to the side.

'Are you flirting with me?' he asks. She smiles and pushes her hair behind her ear.

'Maybe.'

Then she touches his wrist with her fingertips. This is new. Unsure of how to react, Quinn doesn't. Tentatively, she encircles the joint with her fingers and turns his palm upward. They stand like that for a while, both looking at their hands, until she suddenly snaps out of it. She lets go and laughs.

'I could see his pulse beat in his temple. He was so lean and so brown and that wonderful jaw, hard and square,' she says, almost as if she is reciting something. The expression on his face seems to tickle Carrie, because she laughs again.

'So, who's the lucky one tonight? Who gets the bed?' she asks.

(***)

The office is different. Not trying to be intimidating or impressive. The result is almost homey. Saul waves for Quinn to pick a chair. He does and Saul sits down opposite from him. Estes would have sat on the other side of the desk or on the edge of the desk, to tower over him. Anything to gain the upper hand. Saul sits as if he's ready for a nice little chat.

'Talk to me.'

Quinn hands him the manila envelope containing the letter of resignation. After fishing his glasses out of his suit pocket, Saul starts to read. When he's done, he places the letter on the desk.

'I see,' Saul says, frowning. 'Why did you initially accept Carrie's offer to join the team on a permanent basis?'

'I suspected that Brody hadn't died in the attack.'

Saul seems to expect something more, so Quinn clarifies his statement.

'I stayed on to finish the job and I have.'

Saul sighs. When he leans forward, his glasses slip to the tip of his nose. He tips them back.

'And now?' he inquires.

'Now I move on.'

'Back to Dar Adal?' Saul guesses. Quinn doesn't answer, which is an answer in itself.

'You are a good analyst,' Saul says. Genuine emotion tinges the compliment.

'Thank you. I enjoyed the work.'

'Come and see me at the end of your two weeks, please.'

The conversation is at an end; nonetheless, Quinn neglects to leave. Saul waits patiently with his hands folded in his lap. With distaste, Quinn recognises that he's lingering. Lingering and stalling.

'How much does Carrie know?'

'About the operation? Nothing about your involvement. Other than that... everything.'

Quinn nods. That is what he expected. He has a brief vision of a future where Carrie is living in his apartment. Where they'll drive to work together. Where she is important to him.

'She is getting attached to me,' Quinn admits. The admission visibly startles Saul. He appears to mull it over.

'This is a bad thing?' he finally asks.

'Yes.'

Neither of them says anything for a while.

'Eliminating Brody was necessary,' Saul stresses. 'I know that and I still feel guilty for giving the order. It wouldn't be strange at all if you felt the same.'

'I don't,' Quinn answers, curtly. He would have killed Brody even without the authorisation and they both know it. He gets up. They shake hands. Saul scrutinises him with those sharp, curious eyes and finds nothing.