4.3.2
He's been watching them all day, the videos the whole fucking Agency has seen. Bottle in hand of course, from the moment Adal left the place.
Reiterations on a theme, the view from every angle. Not that he needs the fucking reminders of how it was - still sees it in his dreams every night, during flashbacks in the day - each time just as vivid, real. But now he's trying to see how it looks from the outside, what Adal and everyone else sees when they watch the videos.
It's like a horror movie on repeat, Sandy getting dragged out of the vehicle, pulled away by the swarming arms. On the ground, surrounded by the crushing mob, getting stomped on, beaten.
The now-familiar feeling of helplessness assails his heart, empties his chest of any warmth. Leaves him frozen, ice cold, as the pictures on the screen become scenes in his head.
He's yelling at Carrie and the fucking window smashes, arms everywhere, a dead man at the door, Sandy begging for help. Carrie trying to run out into the crowd, screaming at him that they can't just leave, Sandy still hollering as he's left to die.
His heart is going double-time, his breath short and aspirated. It's all so fucking real, every time it happens. The moment of choice, fucking terrified the crowd is going to take her too.
Panic sets into his chest, he shoots but it doesn't matter, the mob's too big. They're hauling Sandy off and he's frozen, can't make the move. Carrie's screaming at him and he knows he's failed yet again, watches Sandy die in the rear view mirror.
Then is suddenly thrown back into his kitchen, the fucking laptop in front of him, the glass by his side.
Quinn remembers what Adal said, that everyone's seen the video, that everyone's watched him run. And he thinks how no one knows how fucking hard it was, what it was like to have to make that decision. And now to watch it a thousand times, relive it every day.
He thinks about Carrie, already back in Pakistan, risking her life for what amounts to nothing, an endless game of death and subterfuge. He wonders how long until the ISI have their targets set on her, what he will do if she comes home in a box.
It's fucked but Quinn still feels guilty for staying, no matter how much he knows he can't possibly be there right now, back in Islamabad where everything will trigger the fucking flashback. No matter how much he just wants to get out of the game for good, get the hell away from this life he can't shake. No matter how irritating it was that Carrie had just assumed he would shape up and jump aboard her mission, ignored every obvious sign that he is seriously fucked up over this shit.
He just can't shake the feeling that he's giving up on her, that he's letting her lose her soul to the same demon that's destroying him. And yet there's nothing he can do, would be a liability even if he could stop drinking long enough to get on a plane.
Which just brings him back to the moment, mid-afternoon, still in a robe, with his two new companions - YouTube and a bottle.
Quinn groans internally, feels the despair grind away in his gut. Then fills his glass, drains every drop.
#
Quinn wakes to an unfamiliar sound, finds himself face down hanging off the bed with a familiar pounding in his head, the taste of death on his tongue.
Pushes himself up to his feet, throws on a robe, walks the length of the hallway and realizes what has to be done. He had let his guard down, he let another human into his space. An innocent. A nice person. Someone who never should be touched by any of this shit.
"What are you doing?" he asks, brusquely. Even though it's clear what she's doing. He just doesn't like it, can't have it. Too invasive, close.
"You okay?" she asks in return. "You went out pretty hard last night. I was worried. "
And that makes him startle, think fuck, how did she get close enough to worry?
Not that he shouldn't be worried about. Just not by her.
"What are you doing?" Quinn asks again, looks at her irritably.
"Just policing the area, a little bit," she replies.
"Yeah I see that," he interjects, knows that he's overreacting but also knows he can't have this, that he's violated his own rules.
"You know dust becomes dirt and then before you know it you owe me your entire security deposit," she states reasonably.
"Can you just stop?" he asks angrily. Just wants her to leave, get the hint and take off before he totally loses his shit.
"What? Cleaning?" she asks, still clearly not getting it.
"Talking!" Quinn says, loudly.
It's finally silent for a moment and he takes a breath, leans against the pillar. At least he's still with it enough to do this, and all he has to do is unleash the asshole within.
She walks up to him, looks him straight in the eye.
"Did I do something wrong here?" she asks.
Which is perfectly reasonable, because of course she hasn't. As always it's his fuck up. And this time she's the one that's going to suffer.
"No, I just think you should leave now," Quinn says coldly.
She looks confused for a moment, then upset.
"Ok, I'll go," she finally says.
Quinn doesn't look at her, just says 'okay' back in a dismissive tone.
"I'll get my stuff," she replies, pushing past him.
Quinn breathes an internal sigh of relief, thinks at least it's fucking done. And what does it matter that another person thinks he's a total asshole? It's basically the truth, as he sees it. Because he doesn't exactly feel like he has any redeeming qualities right now.
"Can I say something before I go?" she asks.
He turns and looks at her, wants to say no but can't bring himself to. She deserves a chance to have her say, he thinks.
"All this, it has to do with that CIA guy on the news right?" she asks. "Couldn't help but overhear."
And of course she says the worst thing possible, exactly why she has to leave now.
"You don't know what you heard or didn't hear," Quinn states emphatically. "Do you understand?"
"Jesus!" she replies. "Peter, you're scaring me."
"You should be scared," he snaps back. "These people do not fuck around."
Please take this fucking seriously he thinks. Just leave and go back to your normal life managing an apartment complex. Forget this all ever happened, remember me as the jerk that flipped out at you for no reason.
"What I wanted to say to you," she finally replies, with a little edge in her voice. "Is that nobody should have to go through what you went through. Nobody. And if that guy shows up here again I'd say it to his face."
Quinn looks at her, fights the urge to like her, smile.
"I'd like to see that," he replies. Wonders what the hell Adal would make of his new girlfriend.
"I really would."
She walks towards the door and he thinks the deed's finally done when she stops.
"I went to the store, you know there's um a roast chicken in the fridge and some eggs and cereal. You know, to go along with your liquid diet," she says.
Quinn grinds his teeth, just wants her to go, stop doing things for him, pretend he never existed to her.
"And um. Whoever Carrie is..." she continues.
Quinn looks up sharply at that, wonders what the fuck it is that these moments in his life always come back to this.
"She's a lucky girl," she finishes.
With that it's finally over and she walks out the door, leaves Quinn staring after her, lost in his own head.
He wonders if he will ever be able to shake this accusation that dogs him, that he's lost it because of Carrie. And if he's honest with himself he knows there is some truth to it all, that he can't fucking get her out of his head. Not that he would call it love, nothing even close to that. But definitely an attachment, an attraction.
And as much as Quinn tells himself he's finally let go, said no, he knows it's a lie, that he's obviously well and truly fucked up over it all. He's pissed off at her, disgusted by her. And yet when he thinks of her alone in Islamabad, no one she trusts to watch her back, he can't help but think he should be there, that he can't lose her to this.
######
Carrie's huddled in the corner groaning as loud as she can when he bursts in, tells her he's a doctor.
She stands up, tells him he's in trouble. That she's a journalist, the London Bureau Chief. And the boy is clearly scared, tries to leave but she holds him back, presses up against the door.
Carrie suddenly tells him to be quiet, pretends to be listening to movement outside the door. An old ploy but effective as usual. By the time she assures him that there's no one outside the boy has calmed down, isn't trying to run anymore.
Now is the moment to reel him in, put her skills into action.
She puts her hand on his arm, uses their closeness to her advantage. Tells him he's part of an important story that needs to be told. Swallows the irony, the hypocrisy as she pleads with him to tell her what happened to his family, how the CIA was involved.
And of course the boy is still scared, tells Carrie he can't say anything. It's what she expected but she needs a clue as to what he's scared of, what she needs to offer. It's all part of the game, she thinks. And it's a game she's good at.
"What are you scared of? Who's threatening you?" she asks.
Aayan doesn't reply and Carrie knows she's already found her answer.
"Because I can protect you. I can even get you out of Pakistan if that's what you want," she says. Offering hope to a desperate man, it's that easy, she thinks.
Aayan pauses, is clearly thinking about what she's just said. And Carrie knows she's close now, that she's nearly bagged an essential asset.
"In exchange for what?" he asks warily.
"I told you," she replies. "Your story."
He resists again, tells her he can't. Makes a motion to leave so Carrie pulls out her next weapon.
"Do you want to continue your studies in England or the United States? I can do that too. How does the Royal College of Physicians sound?" she asks. "It's not a problem."
The boy doesn't reply but he doesn't try to leave again either. And she knows she has him then, that she's found the right incentive for this particular asset.
"I'm putting my card in your pocket okay," she says softly, slips her hand into his pocket, slides it against his thigh. Moves even closer, until there's barely any space between them. Lets the closeness exist for a few beats.
"You won't ever see me again if you don't want to," she reassures him. "But you should want to. Especially if you're in any kind of danger."
Aayan looks uncertain, tries to tell her no again. But Carrie knows she has him, that he will contact her again. So she tells him to leave, to say that she had women's problems.
And as he's leaving she realizes that this may be her only chance to say one more thing to him, something she's been trying not to think about this whole time. But it's something that has to be said, she tells herself. Because it has to be true. "Whatever you decide," she says. "I'm truly sorry for what happened to you. And I wish you luck. "
The boy leaves and Carrie takes a deep breath, runs her hands through her hair, lets herself smile for just an instant.
She's almost certain she has him. The boy is afraid and has no where to turn except to her - all she has to do is wait for him to show up at her door. And he is the perfect asset, a relative of Haqqani and obviously already somehow involved in whatever the fuck is going on.
Carrie smiles again, is relieved to know that she's still got the touch, that she was able to recruit the boy even after he was frightened off by Fara's initial approach, by his new status as a wanted man. And it's right then that she also realizes she hasn't felt this kind of satisfaction with her job in a long time now, since before Afghanistan, before Iran.
This is what she's meant to be doing, Carrie tells herself. Not hiding in a bunker, ordering drone attacks. This is her game.
And it suddenly occurs to her that maybe this was what Quinn was trying to tell her in his usual obscure manner. That she'd lost her focus, lost who she was.
Part of her acknowledges the truth in that, that something has been missing in her for a long time now. That she's been running on autopilot, devoid of emotion, enveloped in a hazy cloud that distances herself from her own life.
And it's hard to admit, even to herself, that Quinn knew it before she did, that he did everything he could to try and help. That she had fought against it, refused to listen, burnt all her bridges the way she always does.
She's still pissed off at him for not coming, for falling to pieces. And now there's the added guilt of knowing it's because of her, that he's fucked up now because he saved her life and got nothing but grief for it. She hears the interviewer's voice flash through her head, saying 'You just said you had a choice to make in that car. You chose her.'
And look where that got him, drowning in doubt and booze, unable to live with his choice.
Fucking Quinn, how did he end up invading nearly all of her thoughts?
Her moment of triumph lost, Carrie leaves the bathroom and hurries out of the restaurant, heads back towards the embassy. Thinks how there's no one there she can even share her news with, not a single person she trusts.
Realizes she may have gained an asset but she's still lost everything else.