Lipamo: thank you! and I'm glad you've seen the parallels with the show. The writers didn't care about the Carrie/Brody love story, they couldn't wait to get rid of it in S3…

Betweentheraindrops: awww, thank you for being so concerned for Carrie. Oh yes, I know, it's not fair – but life is not always fair, particularly in Homeland, is it? I warned for controversial choices, that's what this fic is about. Don't worry about Carrie's health, she will find the necessary medicines, that was one of the criteria when they picked a country; it will also be the opportunity for her to grow up and assume responsibility of herself as an adult.

Anyway, I believe Carrie and Brody belong to the category of "mad people" Kerouac is talking about in his quotation on your profile…

That's how I'll keep them in my memory, not one dead and the other one tame like in the finale.


Choices – Epilogue

2 years and a half later

Louise likes her job a lot; she has worked as a hotel receptionist for 8 years, and today, she is in charge of supervising breakfast. She thinks it's fun to watch people in the morning. Their customers come from all over the world, mainly on business, but also to visit one of the most beautiful cities in the world. They are located in the center, near the Champs-Elysées; this is not a palace but a cozy and elegant hotel in a quiet street.

Her favorite couple has just arrived in the dining room. She glances at the wall-clock and smiles; as usual, they are only 10 minutes before the buffet closes. She doesn't understand why they don't ask to be served in the room, but suspects it might be a private a joke between them: he is always the one who gets the croissants from the buffet and serves her.

Whatever their reasons, it gives her the opportunity to watch them.

They are Russians but they speak fluent English. She knows the woman, Lena, is an English teacher, but she doesn't really know what the man's job is. He has never talked about it. Ivan is tall and athletic, a little intimidating at first with his shaved head, thin red beard and little ring in his left ear, but his smile is warm and his voice gentle.

She knows they've come here in Paris for a five-day honeymoon; they were unable to travel at the time of their wedding and it was a dream they always entertained. They left their baby boy at home with friends of theirs. He seems worried to be far away from little Sasha. He is always very quick to answer the phone when it rings, and immediately rushes downstairs if there is a problem with the internet or Skype connection in the room. He showed her a picture of Sasha once, beaming with pride at having fathered such a little wonder. The baby boy had a solemn look on his face in the picture. His strawberry blond hair was curly like an angel's, and his big blue eyes had some sort of distant depth in them that Lousie found a bit unsettling for a baby that age. Ivan explained that he is a bit reserved but has already a very strong personality, his favorite word being "no", Ivan laughed, adding "like his mother".

Lena seems slightly more detached about the baby. Louise is ready to bet that the decision to travel without him comes from her. Obviously, she wanted her husband all for herself; the way she looks at him is just… ouh la la! She literally devours him with her eyes.

These two are incredibly in love with each other. Louise has received several complaints from clients in neighboring rooms who said they made too much noise at night… Apparently their love making can be a bit rough at times.

Louise sighs, she hopes she and her boyfriend will still feel as much passion when they get close to their forties…

What she also likes about them is that they go out every night in clubs to listen to jazz or rock. They like French wine but also hard liquor; on their first night, they asked her about addresses of bars specializing in Whisky and also Tequila. Not Vodka; oh well, they probably have enough Vodka home. She saw them coming back since when she was on the nightshift, they were clearly drunk and chuckled all the way to their room.

They are flying back home tonight. She will miss them.


"Ivan, what do you want to do for our last hours here in Paris?" she whispers in Brody's ear, mildly biting at it and playing with his earing.

"What about… staying in the room?" he answers, turning his head to plant a kiss on Carrie's mouth. He likes her Lena hairstyle, bobbed golden brown hair; the dark-rimmed glasses she often wears also make her look fucking damn hot. And of course, the fact that they are alone together here in Paris means they can make up for all the stressful days and sleepless nights that have accumulated since their reunion in Iran. Strolling around Paris in the summer sun, enjoying the nightlife, and making love. That is some honeymoon. Sex… damn, they seem to never have enough of it.

It was her idea to leave Sasha with their friends in Samara; he was not too sure about that, but she convinced him. The Antonoves are her school colleagues, they have three kids, two dogs and one grandma home. They seem trustworthy enough and never ask questions - but he thought it was too early. They've known them for a little over a year only, and he was terrified at the idea of being separated from the only one of his children he could still hold in his arms - but… when Carrie wants something, one can't fight, right?

"I've got the postcard to mail," she says.

"All right then, we can go for a walk, and you'll mail it right now if you want."

She nods solemnly. The postcard is the main reason for their short trip in Paris. She has chosen a nice view of the Seine meandering under gorgeous bridges with Notre-Dame in the background. She knows her dad could well take the first flight to Paris so she's had to make clear that she doesn't live in France. But she can't tell them anything else. Not even about the baby. But at least, they'll know she's alive.

There is a yellow mailbox at the corner of the hotel street and the Champs-Elysées. Hand in hand, they walk slowly down the street. The air is warm and humid; thunder growls in the distance and clouds start invading the morning sky. The plain white envelope holding the postcard is in her right hand.

When they reach the mailbox, she checks her sister's address on the envelope one last time. Now her hand starts shaking. She looks at Brody, she feels the tears welling up and asks him: "Will you do it for me please?" "Sure, love".

He gently takes the envelope from her trembling hand and before dropping it into the box, looks at her questioningly. She nods.

The letter is gone.

Just as he takes her in his arms, big fat raindrops start falling on their heads. "Hey, I told you!" he laughs, "We've got to spend our last hours here in the bedroom." The rain hides the tears on her cheeks. "I think you're right. Let's run! The last one will have to do a dare," she challenges.

Louise is back at the front desk; she sees them running from the pouring rain into the lobby and upstairs, glancing at her with a smile. She smiles back and shakes her head.

She will definitely miss them.

She loves crazy people.


In their little house in Samara, Carrie wakes up well before Brody. It happens all the time. She still needs very little sleep, although she strictly observes her psychiatrist's prescription.

She has accepted to see a psychiatrist on a regular basis; she's had to see four of them before finding the one she could put up with. She's smart enough to know the time has come for her to face her illness and deal with it like the adult she has had to become. Sounds fucking boring. It is. A bit. But everything comes with a price.

She silently gets up and goes check on Sasha. His breathing is regular. That's her biggest fear. That he would stop breathing, just like that. She tends to check on him all the time when he is sleeping. It makes Brody smile but he understands. He has his own obsessions.

Being a mother is much much harder than being a CIA agent - beginning with the delivery. Damn, she'll never do it again, that's for sure. The hospital in Samara is very modern and the staff efficient, but it was too late for the epidural. She thought she was going to die. But she focused on Brody, who held her hand all along at the risk of getting his bones crushed. He also never stopped whispering words of encouragement in her ear, and when he cut the umbilical cord, he was radiating with such pride that she allowed herself to feel a little proud too. A few minutes later, she watched in awe as Brody's ecstatic eyes filled up with tears when handed the tiny crying bundle. He kissed the little head with infinite tenderness and then put the baby delicately in her arms. He wrapped them both in his and only then, in the safety of his embrace, she knew she could learn to love this little alien creature that had forced its way out of her stomach.

Overall, they have since been doing okay. Better than she expected. Even though living an "ordinary" life is not easy for her. Brody is much better at it so he is the balancing element of their small family. She misses her father and sister and nieces but she is confident they'll be able to go back sooner or later, at least to the American continent. When things have settled down. She considered sending a postcard from Paris to Lockhart with a big "Fuck you, signed Carrie Mathison and Nicholas Brody" but she knew it was childish and would be a useless reminder of their existence. Anger still swells in her when she thinks of the Tehran episode that was about to end up in Brody's execution. For nothing, mind you Saul. Because Brody was right: Iran did sign that fucking agreement.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath: calm down, Carrie, it's all behind you now.

She goes back to bed and lies down beside Brody. She watches him, her head resting on her hand. His nightmares seem to have abated lately. It reminds her of the time when she was spying on him, spending so many nights with him from behind a screen. She has never told him about it; some things are better left unsaid.

She glances at the clock. The alarm will set off soon. She presses the stop button. She relishes that moment; it is part of her daily routine when she's awake before him. She will slide down under the sheets because she thinks her mouth is a sweeter alarm than a clock radio.

He definitely agrees with that.


A/N

All right, so here we are: that was the final update for this fic, at least for the time being. I might add other chapters later on or start a sequel, I've got a few ideas but I need them to develop further in my mind.

Anyway, this fic was my own "fuck you" (lengthy) postcard to the series writers, and I'm glad some of you enjoyed it too.

At least, in this parallel universe, Carrie and Brody are together, alive and in love - and everything will be okay…