(A lengthy undercover operation leaves Carrie and Quinn with too much time to antagonize each other. As well as insomnia.

This is probably one of the most ridiculous things I've ever written. I'm not even sorry.)


She looks at her fake credentials with disdain and maybe a bit of curiosity. Carrie never expected to see the word 'married' on an ID with her picture on it. But she can rest easy because it's not really her who has a husband, it's Holly Callaghan, a fictitious person she will have to emulate for a few weeks.

Their assignment is an odd one, but she accepted it all the same because if it's one thing that piques her interest, it's strange operations. And this time she has to pretend to be a much talked about woman who trades intel along with her husband.

A sound of annoyance rips Carrie out of her mind space and she looks over at Quinn, who can't seem to stop adjusting the ring on his finger. She laughs inwardly and then turns to look out the window of the train. She's used to wearing her fake engagement ring whenever she leaves to find a one night stand, and a wedding band feels just the same to her.

There's not a lot of legwork to do on the assignment, it's all about maintaining appearances and making the other suspects feel as comfortable as they can, until their leader decides to step out of the shadows and show face. Which means it's only a matter of time before Carrie becomes accustomed to the tension, and everything turns into monotony. And maybe that's not such a bad thing. Staying in a hotel room for a few weeks with someone who barely talks sounds like a real holiday. And god knows she could use one.

Their hotel room looks much more cramped than she imagined, but it's the only one in proximity to the people they're about to meet. Besides, the view out the window looks rather nice. Until Quinn draws the blinds over it. She lets out a little sigh, knowing that the idea of relaxing doesn't really mesh with her job.

A few hours later they meet up with a group interested in their (fake) intel, inside a dingy warehouse. And Carrie's surprised by how pedestrian the whole exchange takes place. If she didn't know any better, she could be convinced that they're merely meeting with old friends to chit chat and share pleasantries. They talk and make jokes, all the while wondering when and if they leader will show up. But when he fails to show face, they're forced to depart with the promise of another meet-up in the near future.

Back at the hotel room, they set up for their surveillance, and the room quickly becomes a mess of wires and equipment.

-.-.-

Carrie spends the first night on the floor because she's adamant about keeping things equal and that she doesn't want him doing her any favors. But despite the two blankets under her, the floor still feels cold and uncomfortable. It's frustrating and that means sleep won't come easy. But she's not about to cave and admit to being wrong.

"Carrie?" a voice whispers.

"Holly."

"What?"

She sits up on her elbows. "Holly. We need to get used to these names. We can't let our real ones slip out."

Quinn thinks on this for a moment. "You know, 'Holly' really isn't a good name for you."

"Why?"

"It's too sweet."

If she wasn't on the floor, she'd punch his shoulder. "Thanks."

"You can't be offended by that, you already know you're not sweet. And it's a good thing."

"Like Rob is such a good fake name for you."

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's too plain."

"You need to work on your insults, Carrie. You're slipping."

"Just tell Saul I'm picking the cover names next time."

"Fine."

A pause.

"What did you want to ask me?"

"Nothing" he says, "never mind."

She sighs and goes back to the cold floor, wondering who had the nerve to say that women are a great and complicated mystery. Because sometimes men are just as impossible to read.

-.-.-

A week passes with nothing from the interested group. Quinn reassures her that it's what usually happens and that they just have to sit tight for a few more days. But all the waiting around is getting to her, and soon enough Carrie finds that she's too upset to even sleep.

She wakes up angry one night because all of her joints are aching. It seems weird to think, but after all the days of sleeping on the hard floor, she's somehow developed a personal vendetta against it. Carrie pushes the blankets aside and then throws her shoes at the floor with anger. It doesn't solve anything, but at least it makes her feel a little better. She climbs into the empty space on the bed.

"Not taking the floor again" a sleepy voice says from under the covers.

"Me neither."

"Fine."

"Okay."

And that's the end of it.

The next few days it's the same story. She insists that it's all right and she's used to it, but the floor ends up hurting her back all the same. And after the second night she tries to sneak into the bed, she hears him mumble "we can just share the space."

Carrie relishes this small victory because she wasn't the one to cave and say it. And she drifts off to sleep.

-.-.-

The surveillance of their suspects often remains uneventful and stretches for hours, much like the silence between them. It's strange how quickly they've become accustomed to each other. They work together as if they've done it for years, settling into a comfortable routine. And the thought doesn't sit well with Carrie because bad things always happen whenever she gets comfortable.

"So I've got a question" she says, just to put an end to the companionable silence.

"What is it?"

"How many people have you killed?"

But she doesn't succeed in fazing him. "When?" Quinn asks, not even looking away from the laptop screen. "This year? This month?"

Carrie lets the questions hang in the air. Sometimes she forgets how terrifying he can sound.

-.-.-

She's never been a morning person. At 6 AM Carrie's entire universe is comprised by what she sees through her limited tunnel vision, which usually restricts her to a few foggy, disjointed thoughts.

So when the irritating light peering through the blinds hits her face, she finds herself stumbling into the bathroom, annoyed and tired, but pushed on by her internal autopilot. She starts digging through the medicine cabinet and grabs some toothpaste along the way.

"You know I'm in here, right?"

Carrie has to turn her head all the way before realizing that the shower curtain is closed and there's someone behind it. She shrugs once before returning to her task at hand. "Relax, I'm just looking for my toothbrush."

The shelves are littered with all kinds of little bottles and useless things. She picks them up one by one and looks at them with curiosity, wondering why some of the labels are in Russian.

"Carrie, this is weird."

"You have a shower curtain, how is it weird?" she says, absentmindedly rifling through the medicine cabinet.

"It just is."

"You know, last I checked you were the one who had no problem getting naked in front of me at that hospital."

"Yeah, but that was before we were friends."

"So getting naked in front of acquaintances is no big deal, but doing it in front of a friend crosses a line?"

"Something like that."

Carrie stops to think if she's too tired to understand him or he's just being ridiculous. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Next time you take a shower, I'll walk in on you and see how you feel about it."

She shrugs. "I wouldn't care."

"Right."

"I'm serious."

"So our close relationship wouldn't make you feel weird at all."

"I have a close relationship with my toothbrush but that doesn't mean I care if it's in the bathroom while I'm taking a shower."

"Then you wouldn't care if I tried to prove you wrong."

"If you're done rambling, can you tell me where my damn toothbrush is?" she asks, carelessly throwing things she doesn't need into the sink.

"Middle shelf, behind the mouthwash."

Carrie stops her digging for a moment, an eyebrow raised. He has to be joking. But when she slides the bottle out of the way, the toothbrush jumps right into her view.

"Found it?" Quinn asks.

She hates that he's always right. "Nope, it's not there."

-.-.-

She feels like a sleepwalker sitting under the spray of the water, waiting for the coffee to kick in and wake her up already. The sound of the bathroom door opening and closing gives her a little jolt, but still not enough to snap her out of it.

"Trying to prove your point already?" Carrie asks with a half-yawn.

"You're lucky I didn't make this a bet. I would've cleaned your wallet."

She wants to point out that it's never good to be smug, but she's distracted by a familiar rustling sound.

"Hold on, are you reading the paper?"

"Thought I'd multitask. Since you're so okay with this."

"All right" she says, but it somehow comes out sounding way too meek.

"If you want me out, you can admit you're wrong any time now."

"No, you go for it. Enjoy the paper. Pull up a seat and relax for all I care."

Somewhere along this ridiculous game, she's forgotten what point she's trying to prove exactly. But Carrie has to keep sticking to her guns because it's too late to back out now.

"So how's the weather today?" she asks matter-of-factly.

"I don't know, the paper only covers sports."

"Oh. Anything good in there?"

"If you're making small talk because you're feeling weird, then-"

"I'm just trying to stay awake. I'm getting bored over here." She freezes for a second, realizing what she just said. "That wasn't an invitation."

"I'm aware."

She's all over the place and losing her cool just a minute into this. So maybe Quinn has a point that things are weird. Carrie shakes away the thought the moment it comes in her mind because of course he can't be right. She would rather spend an entire day in here than admit to that.

She resolves to keep her mouth shut. And few minutes later she turns off the water and starts getting dressed. But halfway through she realizes she's left her pants on the hook by the door.

"Quinn, you still out there?"

"Yeah."

"Can you hand me my pants?"

"Sorry, I'm busy with the paper."

If this is how he wants to play it, then she can go along.

Carrie throws a towel around her frame and steps out. And the second her feet touch the floor, she slips backwards, smacking the back of her head on the edge of the tub.

It takes a few moments, but she eventually stops seeing two of everything.

"Are you okay?" Quinn asks, looming over her.

"Yeah." When she checks her head, her fingers comes back stained with blood. "Maybe not."

She clutches a hand to her head, trying to keep the blood from trickling on the floor while he helps her up. They stumble together out of the bathroom like two wasted people out of a bar.

"See, I told you this wouldn't be weird" she says.

He just gives her a perplexed stare.

-.-.-

The end of another monotonous day of surveillance finds her lying on the bed, barely asleep. And a few hours into the night, the streetlamp lights start peering through the closed blinds, and they wake her up completely. She doesn't understand why she's been having such a hard time sleeping lately. Maybe it's all the anxiety of the assignment.

The clock on the bedside blinks every few moments, a constant reminder that it's almost tomorrow and she still has a few more hours of rest left. After a while she decides that the lights are too distracting so she turns on her other side. And through her half open eyes she can see Quinn just staring at the ceiling, wide awake.

"Jesus!" She jolts backwards.

He doesn't seem fazed by her little yell. "Bad dream?"

"No" she says, trying to calm down, "You."

"So, nightmare."

"No."

He looks at her, puzzled. "Good dream?"

"I saw you just sitting there like a corpse and it startled me."

"Oh. Well sorry, but I can't sleep."

"So you have to sit there like that? You look like a robot that has to recharge or something."

It's clear that her words sting a bit because his expression shifts. And he drops all pretenses to be courteous. "I'd be able to get some sleep if you wouldn't snore like a 747 jet."

Carrie draws back, a frown on her face. "I don't snore."

"No, that's just what guys tell you so you don't kick them out of bed."

"Just because you can't sleep doesn't mean you have to act like a dick."

"Do you still smoke whenever you're really nervous?"

The question catches her somewhat off-guard. "Yeah. But that's not enough to cause me to snore."

"The Nile isn't just a river in Egypt, Carrie."

And with just a few words he's managed to rile her up. "Fine, then I'm going to go sleep in the fucking bathtub."

She grabs her pillow and swings one foot out of bed when Quinn says, "No, you're not. I'm going."

Carrie can't help but feel slightly touched by his actions. But it all goes out the window the second he says: "The bathroom has good acoustics and I don't want the whole hotel to start shaking."

She throws her pillow at his head as he walks inside the bathroom.

The next night she expects to have the whole bed to herself, but Quinn's back there by her side, determined to get a good night's sleep "even if it kills me".

But this time it's her who can't seem to get some rest. Carrie's not used to hanging around so closely to someone. She's never really had a lot of friends, not close ones anyway, if she thinks about it. She's always been a human island. And that's why the current situation is uncharted territory for her.

She twists and turns on the bed for a few hours before realizing that no, she won't be able to get any sleep. Carrie reaches over in one of her bags next to the bed. After fishing out a brightly pink iPod, she settles back into bed.

"You all right?" a voice asks her.

"Yeah. Just can't sleep."

"I don't think noisy music will help you with that."

"It's Bill Withers."

Quinn turns to look at her with a frown. "I thought you only liked modern jazz."

"I'm trying to branch out."

Judging by his expression, he's not buying it.

Carrie glances away. "It's my sister's iPod. I couldn't find my own so I sort of borrowed hers."

"Sort of."

"Okay, I stole it with premeditation."

"Now that sounds more believable."

She tries to think up of a retort, but her head's empty at this hour. Might as well drop the sarcastic demeanor for once. "Sorry I woke you up."

"It's okay. I wasn't having such a good night anyway."

"Here" she says, holding up one of the earpieces.

"I'm not a big soul fan."

Carrie frowns. "Everyone likes 'Ain't No Sunshine'." But when Quinn keeps shaking his head, she adds "Come on, it's going to lull you right to sleep. Trust me."

He decides to do things her way and settles next to her. And their proximity brings a faded image in her head. A foggy, drunken memory from a few weeks ago tries to make its way to her point of focus. But Carrie can't hang onto it and it drifts right back into obscurity. She has no idea what that was about, but makes a mental note to go easier on the alcohol in the future.

-.-.-

Two days later they finally get a call, one that confirms that the leader is interested to see them. And despite the fact that it takes them quite a lot of time and persuasion, they manage to convince him to meet outside of the warehouse. It's not public, and it's out in the air, a perfect place to take him out.

Carrie feels vaguely conflicted with this, but Saul reassures her over the phone that the leader would never let himself be captured, and that it's their only option.

And yet, that night leaves Carrie wide awake. When she glances to her left, a sense of envy overcomes her, because Quinn's peaceful and still form just reminds her that she can't sleep. Nothing ever seems to faze him and sometimes his behavior downright puzzles her. And since she can't get any rest, Carrie decides that it's not fair that he can.

She nudges his shoulder. "Quinn."

He doesn't even turn around. "Yeah."

Might as well ask him about one of those puzzling behaviors of his. "You always place your toothbrush at a forty-five degree angle every time you put it back. Same with your phone, wallet, keys."

"And?"

"Why?"

"I don't know. I guess it's just a quirk of mine."

"You don't have any quirks. You always act like you were genetically engineered to be professional."

"Thanks."

Carrie shakes her head. "It wasn't a compliment."

"Then good night."

A few more seconds tick by.

"You never really answered my question" she points out.

Quinn sighs heavily and turns around to face her. "You're right, it's not a quirk. It's a habit. They guy who trained me years ago made me do it every night until it became engrained in my mind."

"What's the point?"

"It's an easy way to tell if someone went through your things."

She has to admit she's a bit impressed. "That's actually pretty smart."

"It is. Can I go back to sleep now?"

She raises her hands in surrender. "Go right ahead."

After he turns back around, Carrie riffles through her head for more things to ask, just to keep him awake.

But before she can find one, Quinn speaks first. "And yes, I know you used my toothbrush two days ago."

"No, I didn't."

"You placed it at the right angle, but you forgot that I keep it with the bristles down, not up."

She lets out an aggravated sigh. "Then why didn't you say anything two days ago?"

"Because now you owe me."

Now she's really confused. "For using your toothbrush?"

"Goodnight, Carrie."

-.-.-

The next night she manages to drift off to sleep rather quickly. She expects to have a violent dream or at any rate, a restless one, but Carrie ends up with her feet in the sand, overlooking the water. The sound of the ocean is the only noise pleasantly buzzing in her head.

Until she's ripped out of it.

She wakes with a start, and instinctively goes for the gun on the nightstand.

"Easy, it's just me."

It takes a moment for her to realize that she's awake. And, for some reason, Quinn is busy throwing various weapons inside a duffel bag.

She puts the gun down. "What's going on?"

"Change of plan."

"What kind of change?"

"We were supposed to take the leader out from a distance. But it turns out he never meets people outside unless one of his best guys is also present."

"That doesn't change things all that much."

"It does, actually. Now get dressed."

"Why? Where are we headed?"

"Target practice."

Things suddenly slip into place. "Hold on. You want me to play sniper while you meet with the leader."

"Yeah."

"That's not gonna happen."

A little frown appears on his face. "Funny, that's what Saul said too."

"I'm no good with shooting from a distance, but you are. You're a great shot."

"So are you, but you just need a little bit more practice."

"Look, I appreciate the concern, but I'm all right with playing bait. I've done it before."

"Not like this, you haven't. We're taking high profile criminal who's an arms expert, and he'll be accompanied by another guy who's just as good as him. We can't afford any mistakes."

"And that's why you're much better suited for this than me. There's a much bigger chance for me to fuck this up."

"It's fine" he says, detached, "I've been shot plenty of times before."

"So, what, you've developed superpowers after the last time?"

He stops the frantic packing to look at her. "You have a family to get back to after this."

She glares right back. "That is such bullshit. Someone's life doesn't mean more than someone else's just because there are other people attached to it.

"It does. And you know it."

"Okay, listen to me" she says, getting off the bed, "I trust you to take the two of them down. Do you trust me not to fuck up the rest?"

"Carrie, this isn't about-"

"It's a simple 'yes' or 'no' answer."

He stops to consider her words, not sure what to say if she can even be swayed. "I trust you, but-"

"That's all I need to know."

As they walk towards the warehouse, Carrie can feel his stare burning right through the back of her head. Quinn's pissed by her decision to stick to the plan, and it shouldn't bother her too much because she's upset him plenty of times before. But this time it feels different somehow.

When they reach the point where they separate, he asks her one more time to switch roles, but she just shakes her head and sends him on his way. And for a second his doubtful stare almost makes her change her mind.

It's going to be fine, Carrie tells herself as soon as the two men come into sight. All she has to do is trust that Quinn will make both of the shots.

She shakes hands with the leader and his obvious bodyguard. And when they inquire about her husband not being present she makes up an excuse about him being late. She just has to keep them talking until Quinn aligns the shot. As they make small talk, Carrie hands them a large file filled with fake intelligence.

The leader takes it from her grasp and starts leafing through the papers. And the more he looks over them, the more Carrie starts being filled by dread. Because the intel is obviously just bullshit, and Quinn should've taken the shot by now. Something's wrong. The two men share a quizzical look when they reach one of the pages, and the look quickly turns into a frown.

Carrie resolves to stay calm. And when she tries to take a deep breath, blood splatters her face. And one second later her shirt is sprayed by more blood as the bodyguard falls down. She blinks a few times and wipes the blood from her eyes before looking in front of her to confirm that they're both dead.

She allows herself one breath of relief before she moves to picks up the fake files and starts walking away.

Quinn joins her a few moments later. "Are you all right?"

"You hesitated. What happened?"

"I don't know" he says, trying to hide his shaking hands. "I'm sorry."

She looks at him in completely disbelief. He's never hesitant to take a shot, not even in highly risky situations.

"You all right?" he repeats.

Carrie is tempted to ask him the same thing.

-.-.-

There's a particular foreign feeling that hits her the second she walks through her front door. She lets the few bags that she has been carrying fall onto the floor before heading into the kitchen. Carrie scours the fridge for a moment before realizing that of course there's nothing in there when she hasn't gone grocery shopping in weeks.

She takes her fake wedding ring off and lets it fall into the bowl where she keeps her keys. And instantly gets the feeling that something's missing. But Carrie shakes it off. After over a month of being stuck in a small hotel room with someone else, it's going to take a while to get back to her old routine.

Carrie decides to abandon the task of unpacking or having dinner and just falls onto her bed and shuts her eyes. The clock ticks constantly and she feels like it's weighing on her brain. Because she knows there's no way she can go to sleep. She listens to the sound of the neighborhood and dogs barking every so often. And every few moments she turns her head to ask something, but realizes that the other side of the bed is empty.

The next morning Carrie ends up on Quinn's doorstep, more or less unsure of why she decided to stop by so early in the day. The door opens to reveal a frown.

"Something happened?"

Carrie shakes her head. "I was just in the neighborhood."

After he lets her inside, she holds up the small plastic container with a toothbrush. "Because I owe you."

The ghost of a smile appears on his lips. "Thanks."

For the first time since walking inside his home she notices that there's a bag perched on the table behind him. "So I heard right. They're sending you on some operation without me."

"Yeah, New Delhi. For about three weeks."

"Well congrats" she says, trying to mask the surprise. "I hear it's nice over there."

"It won't matter, I'll spend most of my time underground anyway."

Carrie nods along as silence falls over them. She's not sure what she's supposed to say.

"Since you're here" Quinn says, as if remembering, "I thought you could do me a favor." He walks over to the bag and fishes out an IMI Deagle. "Maybe you could keep an eye on it until I get back."

It's such a strange thing to receive as a token, but at the same time it's perfectly fitting.

"You're not going to bill me for any missing bullets, are you?" she asks, an eyebrow arched.

"Depends who you use them on" he says, shouldering the bag.

"Then I guess I'll see you when you get back." For a moment she almost says 'if you get back'.

They sit still for a few moments. They've always kept each other at arms' length, but Carrie suddenly decides that it's a dumb thing for friends to do. She leans in and gives him a tight hug.

"Take care of yourself, all right?"

"I'll try" he says, surprised by the gesture. "But that's going to be hard to do without my favorite gun."

She frowns. "Your favorite weapon is a Desert Eagle?"

"Is that too vanilla for you?"

"No, it's just that the Deagle's very noisy."

Quinn shrugs. "So are you."

She lets out a small laugh, despite herself. "Stay safe."

"And you make sure not to drive Saul insane while I'm gone."

-.-.-

The next few days go by one by one in a monotonous haze. Carrie shows up at work, attends meetings and briefings. Gets the paperwork done. But it quickly becomes tedious and boring, and she realizes that what annoys her the most is that she can't make use of her usual outlet to de-stress. Because there's no one to throw sarcastic remarks at without any consequences.

Over lunch, she tries to make a few shots at Saul. But all she gets in return is his typical, stern 'what is the matter with you?' look. So she drops it.

Things aren't less boring back at home. Carrie spends a few minutes looking blankly inside her fridge, despite the fact that it's so empty she expects to see tumbleweed rolling by. She shuts the door a moment later. It's just as well. She's not used to eating dinner anyway.

Carrie brushes her teeth while wondering what the weather is like in New Delhi. And a second later a realization hits her like a bag of bricks.

She can't believe it. She actually misses him.

For the moment Carrie isn't sure if she should laugh or be surprised because for the first time in what feels like forever she's actually let her guard down enough for a friend to slip in next to her. And the idea feels slightly foreign and comfortable at the same time.

She's tempted to give him a call just to yell. Because bad things always happen when she starts to care for someone.

When she finishes up in the bathroom Carrie throws her toothbrush in the holder with a heavy sigh, and heads for bed. But something doesn't feel right, so she turns around. She then moves the toothbrush in its holder until it's at a forty-five degree angle. Bristles down.