Philly

The terrified look on Carrie's face, mirror of his own horror, freaks him out.

"Carrie, please!" He is pleading. "You know, I won't do this."

His hand is twitching as he reaches out for her.

Maybe it's a reflex, but she backs off. He stares at her with desperation.

Her hand is tearing at her hair. Her eyes are wandering around, avoiding his gaze. She turns around to the door, moves two steps to it. She hesitates, turns back to him, facing him.

Then she closes their distance, reaches out for him, puts her arms around him.

'Clever girl.' He returns her embrace, pulls her close enough. Answering her fake play. His head lowers to hers.

"You got any weapons?" He feels her warm breath at his ear.

"A Glock 17, a rifle." He whispers back, holding her tight.

"A rifle? Long distance?"

"Yeah."

"Get everything, enough munitions, maybe some clothes." She touches his cheek.

While he is packing, she takes her burner phone, removes the SIM card. She repeats the same with his burner phone.

Time to go on the run again.

Carrie drives them to her secret storage place, where she picks up fake papers, money, some clothes and a prepaid phone.

"Let's drive to Philly." She tells him. "Maybe we find a trace."

It's only a small chance. Quinn doubts that they will find a thing. But he doesn't have a better idea. And they can't stay in the area. It's too risky to be tracked down.

Quinn directs Carrie through a suburban area of Philadelphia, until they arrive at a big yellow house. She wonders how he knows where to go, but keeps her mouth shut.

It's still dark outside. Julia's house looks abandoned. They're checking the streets for unwanted look-outs, but the neighborhood is sleeping.

Quinn uses a picklock to force their way into the house. Silent and with their guns pulled they move through the house. In the master bedroom they find a body. Carrie uses a torch to light the scene.

"That must be Julia's husband." Quinn is checking if there are any vital signs. But there're none. The guy is already dead since hours. "Clean shot in the head."

The bedroom shows evidence of a fight. There are few blood spots on the floor in front of the bed, some at the dresser.

"I think, she first shot the husband. After that she went after Julia. Maybe she tried to escape or reached for her weapon. Alina knocked her down. Here are more blood spots." Carrie points to the door.

They follow the trace of random blood spots which suddenly ends at the opened garage door. There's no car inside.

"That's the way how she escaped with them." Carrie points to the empty garage.

"Alina took the car. That might give us a slight chance to track her down."

Carrie's attention is drawn to something on the garage shelf. She takes a short look at Quinn, but he hasn't recognized it. While he returns inside, she picks up a little black box and quickly hides it in her jacket.

There's no blood in the kids room. It gives him hope that his son hasn't been injured.

They investigate the house thoroughly for a second time, but there're no additional hints. It's frustrating.

Back in the car they decide to take a room for the rest of the night. To get some sleep. They both are exhausted.

The Motel room is shabby. But they don't care. It meets their need.

"You think they're still alive?" He sits beside her on the bed, wearing nothing but his shorts.

"They are her dead pledge. To make sure that you do what she demands." She avoids looking at him, ignores his bare chest and shapely legs.

"I ain't doing it. She must be aware of it."

"Maybe she is. I doubt she would hesitate to play her cards."

"That's not good." He sighs.

"As long as she thinks you're playing her game, they're safe."

He lets her words sink in. Thinking of his little son and Julia who are the hand of this evil.

"You know what's weird?"

"Hmm?" She peeks at him. 'Take a deep breath and relax.'

"To return to Philly to such fucking mess."

"It has been a long time, right?" She takes another glimpse at him. 'Fuck, Carrie. Take your eyes of him.'

He stares at his hands.

"Four years. Since John's birth."

"What happened?"

"I fucked it up. Thought that I couldn't take responsibility. Thought that I would be a burden for them. That they would be a burden for me, for my fucking job. Thought that they would be better off without me. I left after a huge dispute, telling myself that she didn't want me there. Sending them monthly pay checks instead."

"It's difficult for people like us to commit to a normal private life. It's first the job, the CIA, the Nation. The higher bit. We're obsessed with it. It thrills our life. Family comes last." She looks him in the eyes.

"I thought the same. I loved that thrill too. Each successful mission, each fucking terrorist I killed, each wall I climbed, gave me that kick. It filled my life, satisfied me. At least I thought it would. But it has changed." He stares back with such an intense that she gets a little bit nervous. Alarm bells start ringing.

"You killed that kid down in Caracas." Back to the facts. Relieve the tension.

"That's not the reason. Maybe it has an influence. But at one point I've realized how empty I feel. That killing bad guys, doesn't give me happiness. That being close to someone, caring for someone, being loved by someone, is the only asset that counts."

Another intense gaze from his glossy blue eyes. A gaze that wanders from her eyes to her mouth. And back. A slight move closer. An increased breathing. Or maybe it is her breathing.

Time to cool down. For both of them. To get some rest. To bury all bad thoughts.

Her voice is trembling as she promises him. "We will find them. I bring your family back to you."

It's a gushy, emotional statement, but it does its bit.

To cool them down. To get some rest. To bury all bad thoughts. For both of them.