Quinn II

Quinn drives through the empty late night streets at an illegal pace. Well, technically it is early morning and he is wired on coffee and need.

He's been tasked with watching Alain Bernard, the Mossad agent Lockhart hired to get rid of Saul. Apparently Lockhart now no longer trusts the man and thinks he's doubling up again, using information about Lockhart and Saul to attract new employers.

But so far it's been a lot of sitting around late nights watching as Bernard picks women up from fancy bars and brings them home. He thinks this is just fucking busywork, something Adal threw his way so he is occupied and out of the way, unable to ask the questions that need to be asked.

As in why is Carrie still on administrative leave when she's been cleared of any wrongdoing? Quinn's been surreptitiously following her situation, spying on the spies and he knows she should technically be back on the job. Not that she's in any way ready to be there but she should at least know that she's been cleared, that her job is there waiting for her when she's better.

Carrie. All his thoughts flow downstream towards her lately. Ever since he broke in to her place to check on her after the debrief he's been there almost daily. And she hasn't broken her promise to him yet even though she is as lifeless as he's ever seen her - mostly hiding in her dark bedroom as far as he can tell.

But now it's been a few days of chasing fucking Bernard around the Eastern Seaboard for nothing and Carrie hasn't been answering her phone. So he made the executive decision to fuck off on his assignment. He will tell Adal tomorrow that he lost Bernard somehow or some other inane story that Adal won't believe. It doesn't matter anyway, what are they going to do, fire him? It would probably be a favour at this point.

Quinn parks in front of her house, makes an effort not to run for the door. He pulls out a key and snicks the door open silently. He has to say it's nice to not have to break in - he had found a key taped to the door a few days into his late night visits, the only indication that Carrie wasn't completely opposed to his constant appearances.

Quinn tells himself to breathe deep. She's probably fine, has certainly been known not to answer her phone for long stretches at a time.

But when he nears her bedroom and still hasn't heard her he starts to sweat a little. She always wakes up before he shows up in her room, a mark of being a spy. No matter how exhausted she seemed, no matter the time he showed up, Carrie would tell him through the door that she was going to shoot him. Since his first visit she hasn't bothered with the gun though and now it's just an inside joke.

He opens her bedroom door, hears not a peep. It's dark in the room but the bathroom light is on and he can easily see that she's not in bed.

"Carrie?" he asks, just in case she's just on the can. She'd really fucking yell at him if he burst in on her shitting.

He doesn't hear a response and his nerves are starting to fray. Quinn's heartbeat quickens and he is having a hard time controlling his breathing as he looks into the bathroom.

What he sees doesn't exactly help. Carrie is lying on the bathroom floor, unmoving and pale. Quinn looks around quickly and assesses the situation as well as his frazzled mind can at the moment. There's no blood but it looks like Carrie hit her head hard on something as she went down. He kneels down next to her and nearly has a panic attack when at first he thinks she's not breathing. But getting closer Quinn realizes she is breathing shallowly and has a steady pulse. He lets out a breath, feels his innards de-constrict.

"Carrie," he says, shaking her lightly on the shoulder. "Carrie, wake up."

It takes an extra second but her eyes open slowly before closing again quickly. She tries to sit up but only gets halfway before giving up and lying back down.

"Carrie, can you hear me?" he asks.

Carrie grimaces, keeps her eyes closed. "Yeah I can fucking hear you, Quinn," she replies irritably.

Quinn breathes, closes his eyes in thanks for a moment. "Shit Carrie," he finally says. "Are you okay?"

Carrie tries to sit up again and this time he helps her up until she's leaning against the bathtub. She looks dazed and he can see a nasty looking bump on her head. Quinn reaches up to touch the welt but Carrie slaps his hand away and raises her own hand to finger it lightly.

"I'm fine," she answers sharply while probing the lump on her head. She winces as she presses down on it but doesn't seem to show any other ill effects.

Quinn frowns, wants to touch it himself to prove it's just a bruise but knows she will resist. "You don't look fucking fine," he retorts. "What the hell happened?"

Carrie shrugs, doesn't even bother to look apologetic - just scowls at him instead. "I don't know. I guess I passed out," she says.

Quinn stops to take a good look at her now that his heart and brain are almost back to normal operational status. He knows sometimes pregnant women can get lightheaded and faint but judging from Carrie's ashen gauntness he thinks it's more likely to be from low blood sugar.

"Fuck, Carrie," he says roughly. "When's the last time you ate something?"

Carrie looks away from him, her face curled up in what looks like annoyance. She doesn't answer his question, just avoids his questioning look until he snaps.

"What it's been that long Carrie?" he asks with some fire. "Or you gave yourself such a good smack to the head you can't remember?"

Again she doesn't answer and he's on a roll.

"Jesus, Carrie. You said you'd fucking take care of yourself and I find you passed out on the floor," he rants. "You're pale as death and it looks like you haven't eaten in days."

Quinn stops to look at her again and she turns, her eyes livid.

"Are you done your lecture Quinn?" she snarls. "I haven't broken your fucking promise have I?"

God she is infuriating sometimes. Most of the time, actually.

"Don't be so fucking literal, Carrie," he retorts. "You may be alive but you're not doing much to try and stay that way."

"Screw that. I didn't agree to follow all your fucking rules, Quinn. I made one promise and that's it. Nothing about eating, trying, giving a shit about life. I wouldn't be that fucking dumb," she argues.

For a moment he just wants to shake her until she snaps out of it but Quinn's seen depression before and he knows that's not how it works. She's not even trying to get out of it and he knows there's not much he can do to make her try. Rationally he knows all he can do is keep on checking on her, making sure she keeps her fucking promise and hoping she gets herself out of it. But his newly rampant emotions are taking his usual stoic rationalism for a ride.

"No, Carrie. Of course not. You'd never be so dumb as to give a shit about your life, about the Agency, about the things you've worked for," he fires back. He wants to stop, to play nice. But he is fucking upset with her at the moment and it's hard to reign the anger in. "By the way, they need you already, they're just not telling you. You'll be back before the kid's born, that's for sure."

"Fuck, Quinn. Who even said I'm having this kid? I can't even deal with my own shit at the moment if you haven't fucking noticed," she yells at him. "I can't get out of bed and I'm so fucking sad all the fucking time. So no, I don't have any food and I don't eat anything because I just can't fucking deal with any of this okay? So now can you just leave me the fuck alone?!"

Quinn takes the hit in his sternum and instantly feels like an asshole. Sometimes Carrie just flips open and lets everything out for a moment and this time she has a valid point. Immediately his anger at her turns evaporates and he remembers how it hasn't been very long since she's been back from Tehran and how much shit she's been through. He wanted her to just bounce back, come back firing but it was unrealistic, even for someone without a mood disorder. She watched the love of her life publicly hanged after she had thought they were safe. Under the most unlikely circumstances. While fucking pregnant with his kid.

If anyone had the right to be fucking depressed it was Carrie. It is just hard to watch her suffer - and Quinn isn't accustomed to feeling so useless.

"Shit, Carrie," he says quietly. "I'm sorry. It's just hard seeing you wasting away - sometimes I forget everything that's happened. Everything you've lost."

He tries to sit up next to her but she shifts away, avoids his eyes.

"I don't want your fucking pity, Quinn," she says spitefully. "I don't want you to be here at all."

Quinn looks at her and sighs. He wants to do a lot of things. Pick her up from the floor, put her in bed with some ice for her head, feed her a fucking sandwich, take her out somewhere, put some life back in her. None of these things are possible though, not with the way Carrie is looking at him right now..

"Why are you still here, Quinn? I'm going to clean up, go to bed like a good little girl alright. So you can leave now," she says spitefully.

Quinn blinks, wonders if he should try and fight her, knows he will lose. She probably has a concussion, should be woken every so often but the chance she will let him stay is nonexistent. And if she really doesn't want him there then what can he do? As much as he would like to, he can't just squat there and force feed her.

So Quinn just stands up slowly, chest tight with frustration and something else. "If that's what you want," he says, backing out of the bathroom. "But I'll be back tomorrow. Please try to take care of yourself Carrie."

Carrie responds with an anger-loaded expression but no words. She glares at him until he turns and even then Quinn can feel her eyes on his back.

He walks out of her house, mentally exhausted and completely frustrated. He can't just leave her floundering on her own but she won't let him give her anything.

But Quinn is nothing if not a resourceful guy and he knows he will find something he can do for her even if she doesn't want him around. He can only hope he doesn't get banished forever for whatever he does.