Alright so here's the latest. I had some fun writing this update, hope it makes for some fun reading. Thanks so much to indigo and CSI Encyclopedia for keeping me going with your reviews. Anyone else reading, firstly thanks for reading, and secondly if you could please drop me a line, let me know what you think, I'd appreciate it so so much! Anyway, take this as you will. More to come soon.
"So the living room is just through...what am I saying? You've been here before.", Carrie said, giving Quinn a sheepish look as he stepped into the foyer.
"Just upstairs though. Farrah didn't give me the grand tour."
"Well, just walk through there and you'll find it. Go ahead and take a seat. I think I have some wine coolers?"
"Guess we really are girlfriends.", Quinn scoffed, taking a seat on the sofa.
Rolling her eyes, Carrie grabbed the vodka from the back of the freezer and two shot glasses. Then entered the living room gently waving the bottle.
"Better?"
Getting a nod she uncapped it, then sat on the couch and poured them each a shot. After though she lifted her glass to his, getting a frown.
"What the fuck are we toasting to?"
"Just clink. We'll decide later."
Nodding in agreement, Quinn did as asked then downed the shot, as did Carrie before she poured them another round...and another...
"You have got to be shitting me. You actually went ahead and.."
"You want to see it?"
"Your tramp stamp?! Absolutely.", Carrie grinned eagerly, watching as Quinn lifted the back of his shirt to reveal the small patterned band striped across his lower back.
"Okay, please tell me you were drunk off your ass when you-"
"Hey, these cartels? You can wind up doing some serious shit if your cover is deep enough."
"And you were.."
"Stoned in between tequila shots. To get close to the gang leader I told him I had a thing for his sister. He said she'd go for a man with a tat above his ass."
"Wait then..", Carrie frowned, puzzled.
"That day I saw you, at the hospital after you were shot...?"
"I told you I'd been fucking that ER nurse. She hated the goddamn thing. Made me cover it up.", Quinn shrugged as Carrie burst out laughing, arched a brow.
"So...not only were you tattooed with a fucking tramp stamp, you were forced to put makeup on it? Christ! You're more of a pushover than I thought."
"I'm trained to take orders, remember."
"Fine then, take my drink order. Another please?", Carrie requested, holding out her glass as he poured some more vodka into it.
"After this we're taking a break. Acknowledge.", Quinn slurred as she laughed, appreciating the spy lingo.
"You're good at giving orders too."
Leaning in Carrie grinned.
"You've got a voice commanding. No, wait. Switch that."
"I do?"
"Yeah. I almost, almost, listened to you that night in the van with Virgil."
"You did not."
"No but I almost thought about listening and that's fucking progress right there."
"Yeah but you...didn't.", Quinn reminded.
"You didn't listen to my voice commanding, you took off running and they probably saw your goddamn hair glowing from the helicopter."
"You think so?", Carrie frowned, clumsily twining a lock of hair around her finger, examining it before turning to Quinn with a teasing grin.
"Would you have noticed my glowing hair from up in a helicopter?", she smirked, taking hold of a fistful of her hair and waving it in Quinn's face. Rolling his eyes he took hold of her wrist, lowered it.
"I've noticed a lot of things about you."
"Like what?", she asked with a smile.
"That despite your ever recurring fuck-ups you're still one of the best intelligence officers I've seen to date-"
"You've seen to date? You saying I'm dateable?", she grinned as Quinn snorted, shook his head.
"You? Fuck no."
"Ouch! Hey mister, I'll have you know that I'm-"
"A good drinking buddy? Yeah, I know it. That's what I was going to say before you started with all that dateable shit.", Quinn chuckled, only to see her eyes cloud over as she backed up.
"Hey, what's.."
"Nothing."
"C'mon. What's the-"
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not.", he said knowingly.
The alcohol freeing her tongue before she could stop it, Carrie rolled her eyes, spoke.
"Brody said that I'm a good drinking buddy. Brody said a lot of things."
"Care to fill me in?", Quinn asked as she sighed, slumped back against the couch cushions.
"Carrie...", he frowned.
"What did he do?"
"He didn't do anything. He...wrote something.", Carrie muttered.
"Wrote what? The great American novel?"
"N..No!", she slurred, sitting up slightly as he smirked.
"No wait, I got it. I got it. Lemme guess. The Fugitive's Field Guide To The Forest. A Memoir by Grizzly Ginger, no, wait...Grizzly Brody."
Suppressing a laugh she rolled her eyes, hit at Quinn's shoulder.
"Shut up, you're not...no. No! That's, not what he wrote. Not even close."
"Well fill me in or I'll just keep guessing."
Her smile fading fast she wiped her eyes, then reached into the chest pocket of her flannel shirt for the note. Not managing to retrieve it on it on the first try.
"Shit, what did I do with..."
"You need some assistance there or..."
Rolling her eyes she snorted, shook her head.
"Fuck you, Quinn."
Finally retrieving the note she handed it over, then downed the rest of her shot. Mulled pouring herself another.
"Wow..", Quinn muttered, squinting at the crumpled sheet of paper.
"Whats it. Ugh, what is it?", Carrie groaned, correcting her slur.
"I can't read his handwriting for shit."
"See!", she exclaimed, slapping his shoulder. "I knew I wasn't the only one."
"What the fuck do you mean by that?", Quinn frowned, rubbing the spot she hit.
"His handwriting on the postcards he sent me? It's different than this. It's fucking legible. The handwriting here? Complete chicken scratchings."
"Scratch."
"Huh?"
"It's chicken scratch. Not scratchings."
"Ugh, who gives a shit. The point is...the same hand didn't write this note and those cards. I'm positive."
"Carrie..I read those postcards, remember? Brody wrote in like, eight different styles."
"Yeah and none of them were this messy!"
"Maybe he adopted a ninth style of penmanship. Mountain man scrawl.", Quinn snorted as she sighed, rolled her eyes.
"Carrie, seriously. You're grasping at goddamn straws. Are you trying to tell me you honestly think someone else wrote this note?"
"It's possible!"
"And highly improbable. Why would anyone in their right mind write a note and sign a fugitive's name to it?"
"I don't know. Why would anyone sleep with a suspected terrorist and fucking fall in love with them? Maybe because they're crazy!", Carrie spat.
"Carrie. You're not.."
Trailing off it was Quinn's turn to sigh.
"No? Then what the fuck am I?"
"I told you. You're straw grasping. Really, you're sitting around comparing handwriting samples. Save that shit for the lab geeks who work three floors below us at Langley."
"Quinn. It's not just the handwriting. The way the note reads, it doesn't sound like...Brody wouldn't have..."
"You wish he wouldn't have.", he said knowingly.
Seeing her eyeing the booze Quinn reached for, refilled her glass before she spoke up, softly.
"Can I help it if I'm more worried for him than angry at him?"
"It's easier being worried. To convince yourself he's hurt or in another hole or was eaten by a mountain lion, abducted by a goddamn Yeti. It's easier to believe that than to believe he'd actually be out there betraying and hurting you again."
Wishing she could mock him or smirk at the Yeti comment, all Carrie managed to do was curl up smaller against the couch cushions.
"But Quinn..."
"Don't. No buts.", he said firmly.
"Do you remember that night I found you in your room and you wouldn't let me so much as pity you or see you cry?"
"Yeah?"
"You said I'm the son of a bitch foil who gets you to do what you need to do. And what I'm saying you should do, in my voice commanding, is forget about Nicholas Brody. He's a pathological liar, Carrie.
He's turned on you to save himself before, and this time around he wasn't even as calculating.
He was so uncalculating he voluntarily gave up his last chance of ever having his name cleared. You should just accept he's past saving! He certainly fucking has."
Quinn sighed, leaning back against the arm of the couch. But bit his lip, went remorseful seeing the expression on Carrie's face. Her eyes clouded over with a combination of liquor and tears.
Realizing then what he was still holding he apologized, handed her glass back.
"I refilled it but, if you don't want to drink it you don't-"
Grabbing it from him Carrie shook her head, drained the glass in one gulp.
"Shit.", Quinn muttered as she stared him down.
"Look, I...know, what Brody's done. I know that putting complete trust in him is beyond stupid. It's pure idiocy. But I get to decide when to write him off. I do. And I can't now. Not when I don't have all the, the facts. Findings. The explanations that I need."
About to protest, figuring all the explanation she ought to need was in the note she was holding, Quinn decided against it. Sure there was no use arguing with her over this.
"Once I get them, than I'll be the one to decide if I was right to be this worried or if I was wrong about everything, and if I am wrong I'll gladly rip his fucking pasty white skin off."
"Hey, that was my suggestion.", Quinn chuckled as Carrie laughed, shook her head to keep from crying.
"Seriously though, Quinn. You just said it's easier to be worried? It's not. I wish I could be angry. At least I'm familiar with that. Right now I'm just scared. panicked. I can tell that something is off. That letter...the Brody who was up at the cabin with me, he never would've written it."
"And you would know wouldn't you.", Quinn sighed.
"Look, don't even say it. You think I'm too attached, too close. Who gives a shit. I've heard it before. I doubt you have though."
"What do you mean by that?", he frowned.
"I mean you've never encountered this with anyone, I assume."
"Hey you know what they say when you assume things, don't you?", he snapped.
"What? I'm wrong?!", she snapped back.
"Actually yes. The all knowing Carrie Mathison's actually called it wrong about someone. Alert the media."
"Whoa! Don't fucking bark at me, I didn't-"
"You think you're the only person who's had reservations about cutting someone completely out of their life?!"
"Quinn..", Carrie frowned.
"No. Forget it."
"No, I'd rather not, thanks.", she mocked.
"C'mon Peter. Talk to me."
Looking up sadly hearing his full name, albeit a full pseudonym, Quinn sighed, sipped some more liquor before speaking.
"I had to give up on someone who I loved unconditionally too."
About to argue the unconditional comment, but then realizing it was actually, unfortunately, true when it came to Brody, Carrie bit her lip.
"Who?", she asked curiously, realizing right then how little she actually knew about him. How she'd never really asked, just left Virgil and Max to investigate him and not come back with much.
"What was her name?"
"His name. And it was John. John Jr."
"Wait. You don't mean...your son?!"
"No Carrie, fucking John F. Kennedy's son."
Quinn spat as Carrie fought the urge to roll her eyes, spoke after a beat.
"How did you even do that? Give him up? I mean, Farrah's not..even technically mine, but you saw what the thought of losing her did to me."
Nodding, Quinn sipped more on his shot. Crossing his legs under him as he sat forward on the couch.
"I only...managed, by picturing the life I'd have without him."
Scoffing Carrie looked at him in disbelief.
"What the fuck does that even mean?"
"It means I pictured myself being able to make the world safer by ridding it of a few bad guys. If doing that cost me my life, it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference to John since he didn't know me. He wouldn't suffer. But he'd be safer."
Confused scowl leaving her face, Carrie sighed, looked on sympathetically.
"Shit.", she murmured.
"He is safer.", Quinn said honestly, adamantly.
"I realize that. I do. But the situations..mine and yours..."
"What, what about them?"
"They're different, Quinn. They're different. We're different. You're shielding your son from danger by staying away. But out there, without my help, there's no telling what could happen to Brody. What he's chosen for himself is not safer than the protection he'd have had if he stuck with my plan. Fuck, I'm running the goddamn Agency right now.", Carrie snapped, wiping her eyes.
"Nothing he's doing for himself now is safer than what I could be doing for him.", she insisted.
"Did you ever think though that you're safer without him? That maybe right now Brody's out there doing for you what I'm doing for John? Maybe somehow in the back of his warped head, by staying away he's working to shield you. Keep you safe."
"I don't need shielding! And I don't need anyone to keep me safe! I just need..."
Trailing off Carrie sighed, looked mournfully at the near empty vodka bottle.
"I need another drink."
Grabbing the bottle she poured the remaining liquor into her glass, but barely filled a third of it.
Prompting Quinn to reach into his jacket pocket, uncap his flask.
"Hey! I forgot about that! You know you could've brought that out before we killed my entire bottle."
"You do know it's my on-hand emergency flask. Only ever been brought out for a friend who was half frozen on the Langley back lawn."
"You mean a girl friend?", Carrie asked slyly.
"No. I meant Galvez.", Quinn snorted.
"Really? Even with his Snoopy print boxer shorts?"
"Okay...way TMI."
"TMI?" Carrie mocked.
"Jesus, you really are a dork."
"Hey at least I'm not a drunk!"
"Hold on now, you're just as drunk as I...me...shit. Maybe not.", she grumbled.
"Well that's a problem we can solve."
Filling her shot glass Quinn grinned, lifted his flask to meet it. Shaking her head, Carrie laughed out loud.
"What the fuck are we toasting to now?", she slurred.
"Just fucking clink. We'll decide later."