Alright here's the latest. Because of the upcoming plot I'm a little apprehensive about this chapter and the one I have set to follow it. Took me a lot of tries to get things sounding right, so any feedback at all here would be much much appreciated. :/ Thanks muchly though to Bookworm, lipamo and also CSI Encyclopedia for the kind hearted reviewage. :) Here goes nothin.
Looking as shellshocked as Quinn had in the living room upon hearing those words, Brody sat down on the step beside him. Ran the possibility of this over in his mind before speaking up.
"Listen, Quinn. I get that there's a chance J.J's-"
"It's more than a goddamn chance!", Quinn snapped, running a hand through his hair as he stood up. Pacing a bit before speaking again.
"Tell me everything you know about him."
"I already told you, I don't know much."
"Then tell me what you do know again!", he snarled, slamming his hand on the railing as Brody jumped, then glared at him.
"Look around Quinn. I'm not in your fucking bunker right now!", he hissed as Quinn backed off, bowed his head.
"Look, I get you're worked up about this. But before you go stabbing my other hand for answers that I don't have, just take a breath and think about this. How sure are you that J.J's your son?"
"How sure were you that Chris was yours?"
"That's not the same thing, Quinn."
"You loaded out when he was what? Less than a year old? When you got off that plane and laid eyes on him, even if Jessica and Dana hadn't been there, you'd have known your own kid."
Looking pained Brody nodded.
"Even so. With something like this you can't go off just a feeling. Jesus, I felt a connection with Issa the day that we met. He wasn't mine but I needed someone so damn much. If it hadn't been for my bond with him I'd have lost what was left of my fucking mind."
"So you're saying I'm convincing myself J.J's my son because I'm depressed? Because I need a goddamn reason to get up in the morning? For Christ's sake, you make it sound like this is something I wanted!"
"You saying you don't?", Brody asked as Quinn looked at him, exasperated.
"I stayed out of his life for a reason, Brody. Not so I could find him in Carrie Mathison's goddamn living room almost eight years later!"
"Hang on.", Brody said, eyeing him nervously. "How many years later?"
"Eight. Oh Christ, don't tell me..."
"He said he's seven and three quarters."
"Jesus fucking...", Quinn groaned.
"Hey. Hey. We don't know anything for sure yet.", Brody reminded as Quinn eyed him, arched a brow.
"You know more than you're telling me. That's goddamn obvious."
"Hey if you're looking to me for answers one way or the other you're looking at the wrong guy. I told you already I just met the kid."
"What about his family? Did you happen to stumble on them?", Quinn asked, clearly agitated.
"Hey! Don't take that tone with me. I'm trying to help you!"
"Well then answer me! Who fucking brought him here? For God's sake, there's no way an eight year old gets from Philadelphia to D.C all on his own."
"Quinn, just because he had on a Phillies tee shirt doesn't mean-"
"You don't pull for the Philllies unless you're from Philly. They aren't the goddamn Red Sox."
"Well I'm a Yankees fan so..." Smirking, Brody let out a laugh as Quinn scowled, rolled his eyes.
"I can't believe of all the fucking people I'm having this conversation with you.", he spat. Getting to his feet he walked to the coat closet, retrieved a larger flask from his coat pocket.
"Jesus. You brought that to a pizza night with a six year old?!"
"A pizza night where I may have met my eight year old.", Quinn reminded, uncapping the flask before taking a healthy swig from it.
"May have...", Brody reminded, sitting forward on the step.
"You never answered me, damn it. Who brought J.J here if it wasn't his mother?"
"His grandmother."
"And what did she look like?"
"I dunno. Short, brunette, glasses. She looked like a grandmother!"
"What was her name?"
"She said it was Ann. No..wait. Anita.", Brody answered, then watched Quinn make an effort not to spit out the vodka. When he staggered, braced himself on the railing. Brody didn't know if it was from the booze, the news he'd just gotten or a combination thereof.
"Shit.", Brody muttered.
"Don't tell me..."
"Julia's mother's name is Anita Diaz."
"Jesus, Quinn."
"And she did not like me one bit.", Quinn bitterly laughed. Sitting back on the step he offered Brody the flask.
"No thanks."
Shrugging, he took another sip before sprawling back on the stairs. The vodka starting to kick in.
"You...you noticed the resemblance too, right?"
"I dunno, Quinn.", Brody sighed, not wanting to encourage things anymore than he had. At least not until they had more facts.
"I mean dark hair, blue eyes. It's not that unique a combination."
Sitting up Quinn took another sip of vodka before capping the flask.
"I need some fucking proof. Hard evidence either way. Otherwise I'm guaranteed a shitty nights sleep tonight."
"I understand. I'd want answers too.", Brody said truthfully. "Look, I won't say anything outright, raise her suspicions any but I'll talk to Farrah if you want. See if she knows anything more about him."
"Thanks.", Quinn said. "Really. I mean if anyone's got a shot at uncovering the truth, getting someone talking."
"It's a child raised by Carrie Mathison.", Brody laughed.
Nodding, Quinn slowly stood, slipped the flask back in his coat pocket right when someone knocked on the door.
"I got it.", Brody said, reaching for his wallet and opening the door for the pizza guy. Once paying, sending him on his way he brought the boxes over to the kitchen. Noticed Quinn observing J.J from a distance.
"He's a good kid though. He seems to be anyway."
"Yeah and it's none of it's my goddamn doing.", Quinn said softly before excusing himself, reaching for his phone in his back pocket as he returned to the stairwell.
Meanwhile Brody opened up the boxes and seeing all the food, hoped the kids would be hungrier than he was.
"Hey guys. Ready for round two?"
"Cheese bread!", Farrah cheered. Setting her book down she bolted into the kitchen. "You get it, yes?"
"Of course I did.", Brody laughed as she tore off a slice, set it on a paper plate.
"Carrie no let me get cheese bread."
"Then consider it a treat then, okay?"
"Okay.", Farrah said between bites as Brody walked over, stuck his head in the living room.
"Hey J.J if you want seconds I suggest you get in here quick."
"I just gotta get past this level.", the boy said, biting his lip and rapidly switching between the rifle scope and birds eye view of the game. The twitchy, tensed up way he was acting and the look in his eyes was all but identical to what Brody had seen from Quinn in that godforsaken bunker. Enough for him to keep his distance, shove his scarred hand in his pocket.
Going back in the kitchen he saw Farrah had devoured her strip of cheesy bread and was reaching for another one.
Clicking his tongue Brody arched a brow.
"Okay what if I wanted to have some of that?"
"There still some left! See!"
Opening the box Farrah smiled shyly at him before looking around curiously.
"Where is Pete?"
"I think he had to go upstairs, make a phone call. Listen though, so long as it's just us in here, can I ask you a question?"
"Yes."
"What do you know about J.J? Like what did you two talk about after you ran away and scared everyone.", Brody asked, tearing off some bread for himself, but breaking off a chunk of it for her. Grinning Farrah popped it in her mouth, swallowed before answering.
"We talk about running, spies, who take care of us."
"Who'd he say takes care of him?"
"His grandma. You meet her!"
"Yeah, you're right. Did he mention anyone else though?"
"His mother. But she die.", Farrah said softly as Brody sipped some water, wishing he didn't have to bring up this subject since it had set her off so much at the community center. But he knew she was the best shot at him and Quinn getting answers.
"Farrah, when you and I were talking earlier at the community center you said you were scared Carrie was gonna die or get hurt protecting people, like her. Was that her J.J's mom?"
Nodding sadly Farrah took a sip from her water bottle.
"Yes. He say she work for, cop?"
"You mean cops?", Brody asked.
"Yes. Cops."
"Okay so she was a police officer then."
"Yes. Police. Nick, why we talk about this?", she asked warily.
"I just was curious, Farrah. I didn't ask to try and upset or scare you I just, I wanted to know more about your friend. About his...mom."
Trailing off, looking over her shoulder when Quinn came in the kitchen, Brody froze at the expression on his face. He recognized it, had worn it too often himself.
In spite of the antagonistic relationship between him and the sniper, it pained Brody seeing him so distraught. Especially knowing it was either the phone call or his and Farrah's conversation that'd tipped him off, caused the grief stricken look in his eyes.
"Pete?", Farrah grinned, looking over her shoulder. Once seeing him though her smile faded.
"Hey Farrah.", Quinn said softly as Farrah climbed off the kitchen chair, walked over to him.
"Are you okay?"
When he didn't answer, barely managed a smile, not sure what else to do Farrah hugged him. Surprised when he not only hugged back after a moment but held onto her tightly.
Remembering when Carrie had held her like this, before she'd left the courthouse, in Saul's hospital room, Farrah knew something was wrong but wasn't sure what. But she didn't let her confusion get in the way of helping her friend feel better. Reaching around she gently tapped him on the back.
"It okay. It..it okay."