Quinn V

Quinn wakes up to the sound of smashing glass and Carrie swearing, then remembers why she's up so early breaking dishes. He knows she's nervous, has felt her anxiety build since the CIA first called her into a meeting. But true to form she hasn't said anything to him about it, tried to make it seem completely casual that she might be going back to work for the people that betrayed her.

Quinn hauls himself out of bed gingerly, wary of the pain that most movements still bring. He is frustrated by his own perceived lack of progress, has always considered himself a quick healer, able to tough anything out. But now it's been two weeks and he's still having trouble with his ribs, his fucked up lung. He's fucking sick of being injured, sitting around practicing breathing at the park. The only consolation is his park companion but lately she's been a conflicted headcase.

She thinks she needs the job. And maybe she's right, she really is fucking good at it. But to go back now, to the people that screwed her over after she beat all odds. It was a mind fuck for sure and obviously she isn't interested in talking about it. At least not to him.

So instead she's been anxiously pacing, thinking, self-debating. Now that his invalid ass wasn't quite as pathetic he had taken over the acquisition of food, especially since she started forgoing eating in order to stress out more.

Quinn makes his way to the kitchen as quickly and calmly as his ribs allow, tries not to look out of breath as he walks in to see Carrie wearing most of a cup of coffee, walking around in bare feet with broken glass everywhere.

"Jesus, Carrie," he says. "Sit down, you're going to cut yourself."

Carrie frowns at him as if only just now noticing his presence. "I'm fine," she answers, looking more tense and anxious than fine.

He gives her a stern look and she scowls at him which actually probably does mean she's alright. At least it's what he expects from her.

"Carrie, sit down or stand still," he demands.

She doesn't respond but stops walking around as Quinn sweeps the broken glass into the recycling bin.

"I'll make you a coffee to go while you get changed," he says when he's done, thinking how strange it is for him to be playing house with Carrie. But it's been mostly working, even a few moments when he thinks she might actually be enjoying his company.

Carrie sighs. "I don't have enough fat clothes to deal with this shit," she says as she stomps out of the kitchen.

Quinn silently laughs to himself as he watches her leave, thinks she isn't showing much for how far along she is. She still doesn't eat enough, always looks anemic. But he knows better than to get on her about eating well, just keeps ordering food he hopes will appeal to her.

She comes back ten minutes later looking harried and annoyed and Quinn almost smiles at the familiarity of it. This is on-the-job Carrie, he almost forgot about her, it's been awhile since they actually worked together, since before Tehran.

Quinn passes her the coffee and she frowns as she's thanking him, then stops just before she gets to the front door.

Carrie looks to be thinking, very focused and he doesn't want to step in on the moment so he just watches to see what happens.

"What the fuck am I doing, Quinn?" she finally asks with a deep sigh.

Good question, he's been wondering the same thing himself. How going back to the CIA is selling your soul, but somehow it ends up being the best choice. He knows they could leave, Saul seems to be doing fine in the private world but he also knows Carrie's stubbornness, her ability. She is out there to do good, to solve the world's problems, a fucking idealist at heart. And if they need her, she will have a hard time saying no.

"You're doing what you have to do," he answers. "You're going to see why they need you, then you'll decide if you want to do it."

Carrie huffs. "Maybe I don't want to do it anymore," she replies.

Quinn shrugs. "Maybe not," he agrees. "But we both know you're going to go to the meeting."

She scowls at him because he's right. "You think you know me so fucking well," she says, only half-sarcastically.

Quinn holds back a smile but he knows a hint of it shows through. There is something about her abruptness that he truly appreciates.

"They need you," he reminds her. "You're in the driver's seat."

Carrie nods, breathes out slowly and reaches for the doorknob.

"This is bullshit," she says as she leaves, slamming the door.

Quinn finally lets himself smile. He rather likes it when Carrie's pissed off, just not when she's pissed at him. And he agrees. It definitely is bullshit.

He thinks how right now it's just her, seven months pregnant, out there on her own. No Saul to watch out for her. Not that Saul didn't fuck her over in his own way. And even when Quinn gets back to the job there's no guarantees he will be around to make sure she's okay. Actually, likely the opposite.

He's been thinking a lot about what will happen when he gets his own call from the CIA, what Adal has in store for him. Quinn knows he's not in the good books, that he is likely to be reassigned to some shit operation or something high-risk. And most likely something as far away from Carrie as possible. It's no secret Adal thinks Carrie's gotten in the way of Quinn's abilities, his loyalties. But it's not just Carrie, Quinn thinks. It's the whole fucking game, the cycle of death after death. Playing god in the name of a government that doesn't know what it's doing.

And he almost died doing it, playing this fucked up game. Now Carrie's probably going back to it. And what does that mean for him?

He keeps wondering how the hell his life got so complicated. Ever since he was given this Brody operation, ever since he met Carrie Mathison. Before that it was just mission after mission, kill after kill. No personal life, no friends, some acquaintances with benefits when parked in one place for some time. Not a single complication since Julia kicked him out of her life. And now there isn't a part of his existence that isn't complicated.

Quinn swallows some coffee, puts on some toast. Thinks how living with Carrie hasn't helped either one of them in terms of culinary skills, thinks how living with Carrie is a complication he could never have even seen coming.

It has to end sometime, he thinks. Sometime sooner than later really. He is back on his feet, able to fend for himself and Carrie seems to be holding her own as well. She's stressed about the baby and going back to work but still doing the shit that needs to be done.

Quinn knows the CIA will come looking for him soon, that he needs to be ready for whatever comes his way. And the truth is he's not ready at all - doesn't want the job, doesn't believe in any of it. But quitting comes with its own problems, because then what would he do with his life? Hire himself out as Carrie's personal bodyguard/man-nurse?

It's not a bad fucking idea really. She obviously needs it and he doesn't give a shit that the job doesn't pay. Well, it's not a bad idea until the part where she tears him a new asshole for suggesting it.

Quinn shakes his head and finishes his coffee, wonders again how the fuck things got to be so difficult. He gets up, washes the dishes and sets out solo for their daily walk to the park.

As he walks Quinn thinks how he's feeling less shitty in general but that it's still a challenge just to breathe deep and walk to the park. Fucking pathetic really, not in any shape for the job, not in any shape to do anyone any good.

He figures Carrie will be back to work very soon, Adal wouldn't have called this meeting unless their need for her was immediate. Quinn's sure Adal's pissed they need Carrie for anything, he has no patience for her fucking head-strong ways.

Fuck, he thinks. Why do all his fucking thoughts always end up at Carrie? He knows he is getting way too emotionally attached to her situation. He thinks he's managed to hide some of it behind his well-practiced stony expression but it's pretty fucking difficult when they've been living together.

Which brings him back to the real point. That he has to move himself out, give her some space and start to un-complicate their situation.

Quinn sees the park but decides to keep going, push his limits a bit. He doesn't feel the ache yet in his chest or any of the usual fatigue but he can still hear Carrie in his mind, telling him he should sit down before he passes out.

Thankfully ghost Carrie is easier to ignore than the real one and he keeps going, thinks he can make it pretty far with the way he's feeling today. Ghost Carrie admonishes him but he just smiles and keeps walking, thinking how fucked up it is he's still walking with her when she's miles away at Langley, getting on with her life.

So now it's just up to him. To get on with his life. And he knows what step one is but isn't sure he wants to face it.

Rationally he knows he should try and pull away from this attachment that has complicated his life. With their lifestyles and their jobs it was nearly impossible that he could find a way to stick around and look out for her. He knows she will eventually be on the move, could be back in the Middle East soon, depending on what ends up happening with the baby. And with Adal choosing assignments, Quinn will probably be as far away as possible.

So he knows he should just back away emotionally, get her out of his head. He's done it before, it's an essential skill with his lifestyle. The problem this time is he doesn't want to back away, he wants to stay right where he is.

But his self-dignity tells him he has to leave. Carrie took pity on his pathetic ass but now he's fine, just sore and weak. And while she's stopped telling him to leave her alone, she still makes it abundantly clear she doesn't need him around, that he's there for his sake only.

Not that there aren't moments he thinks she enjoys his company. They've even had some real conversations, those times when Carrie opens up and lets it all out. In those moments he sees it all and it is soul-destroying to see her grief. He doesn't understand how she copes with the strength of her emotions, it's just another unfathomable aspect of Carrie's existence. But he feels honoured, part of an exclusive club given a glimpse into her thoughts.

Which brings him back to the problem. Quinn knows he is in way too deep, far past the emotional point of no return. He's already too entangled in her life, the subject of questions from her sister and father. He imagines she just says oh he's just an asshole from work recovering from multiple gun shot wounds. He's a dick but I felt guilty about letting him die.

Which is basically the truth. And which gives him his answer.

Quinn stops walking, looks around and finds himself in unfamiliar territory. The neighbourhood looks rougher than Carrie's, no yoga wives and nannies with strollers. He wonders how far he's gone, notices that he's sweating and his heart rate is up.

Fuck, he thinks, suddenly realizing how low in energy he feels. Trying to work out his problems had fueled him to this point but now he finds that he's overexerted himself and has no idea where he is.

Quinn finds a shabby park nearby and just manages to get himself to a bench just before he loses most of his physical ability. This is something he hasn't felt in ages, hitting the wall, being unable to muster up any energy to get his body to perform simple tasks. Even in his half-conscious state he knows how emasculating and pathetic it is to be useless on a park bench, literally too exhausted from walking to get up and find his way back.

He closes his eyes for a moment, thinking he will just rest for a minute before figuring his way out of the situation.

Quinn blinks his eyes open, wonders for a second why he feels so stiff before realizing he was sleeping on a hard wooden bench. He checks for his wallet and phone, then remembers he left Carrie's without either. He wonders what time it is, how long he was out for. Looking around for clues he sees a few people around, a mix of blue collar workers and college students. But quickly Quinn realizes they are all heading away from the park due to darkening clouds and the drops starting to emerge from the grey sky.

Quinn gets up, feels mildly refreshed from his impromptu nap, starts walking vaguely towards the direction he came from. He asks a student for directions and gets a nominal idea of how far he walked. More than a few miles by the sounds of things. It will take a while to get back, he thinks just as the rain really begins to fall.

Instantly the jeans and t-shirt he's wearing are soaked through and every step becomes heavier with the added weight of wet cotton. Quinn curses at the sky but it doesn't let up, just consistently releases drop after drop as he plods on uncertainly in the direction of Carrie's place.

He thinks he's been walking for over an hour when the sky begins to darken significantly and he realizes he must have slept for longer than he thought. Quinn wonders if Carrie is flipping her shit wondering where he disappeared to or if she's glad to have her space to herself to consider things after her meeting. He hopes its the latter as he still seems to be nowhere near her place though the neighbourhoods are starting to look more gentrified and familiar.

Another hour later Quinn is cursing his idiot self for taking himself on a fucking expedition without considering he would have to make it back. He figures he's walked over four hours total already when a half an hour was the longest he'd been moving since he got shot. And he's really starting to feel the consequences of prolonged activity on his current condition.

It's something he hasn't felt in a long time, not since the extreme physical training sessions he's been put through in the distant past. When your body is worked to the point of pure exhaustion, when every calorie that can be put to work has been burned long ago and your muscle fibres are seizing due to lack of nutrients.

At some point Quinn realizes he's shivering and probably has been for a long time. His steps have slowed to a pathetic shuffle and even so he can barely stay on his feet, his balance affected by pure lack of energy to both his muscles and his brain. He starts to think he should flag down a car, try and get a ride but is with it enough to realize he's soaking and unlikely to convince anyone to stop. And regardless, he is still determined to make it, thinks he can do it as long as he just keeps putting one foot in front of the other. Even if it takes him all night, even if he ends up crawling the last few feet. What choice does he have anyways other than sleeping soaking wet in the hypothermic rain?

Quinn is so absorbed in the endless task of putting one foot in front of the other he doesn't hear the car honking at him, his mind completely given over to maintaining forward movement. It's not until the car pulls over and Carrie jumps out yelling at him that he manages to notice what's happening.

"What the fuck, Quinn?" she hollers as she approaches. "Where the hell have you been?"

Thankfully he is too cold to talk, just hunkers down into a deep shiver, waits for her to take pity on his hypothermic ass. He must have gotten his point across because she immediately looks more concerned than angry and grabs one of his hands, feeling it for warmth.

"Shit, you're freezing," she says. "Get in the car."

Quinn tries his best to ambulate towards the car but even though it's only about six feet away, right now the journey seems near impossible. He tries to walk but his joints are weak with shivers, numb from the cold. Finally he feels Carrie's hand on his back, pushing him forward and he is able to fall into the passenger seat, soaking and shaking, incredibly thankful to be sitting down.

Carrie closes his door, gets in the driver's side. She examines him with a critical eye. "You should take your shirt off," she finally says.

Quinn grimaces, closes his eyes and shakes his head.

Carrie must see the hopelessness of getting him to do anything at the moment and instead of arguing she starts driving.

He thinks the drive is short but knows he wasn't quite conscious for all of it. Even when they stop he is not really awake, his eyes are open but he's too busy shivering to do anything else.

Carrie leaves him for the moment, comes back with towels and a bathrobe. She tugs his shirt off, raising his arms manually for him when he can't get them to function. He groans at the ache in his chest but she gets it done fast, like ripping off a bandaid, and then covers his bare torso with the gloriously dry robe.

"Drop your pants," she demands with a scowl, putting her hand against his cheek to ensure he's still with it.

Quinn tries to smile but it comes out as a grimace again. He manages to stay sitting but struggle his way out of his wet jeans, covering up with the robe as Carrie pretends not to watch.

"Better?" she asks when he's done.

Quinn nods, thinks he might not be shivering as violently as before but is still fucking useless, doesn't think his legs will work yet.

"Can you get up?" Carrie asks.

He wants to say yes, wants to just get to his feet. But just thinking of getting out of the car and climbing the stairs from the carpark to Carrie's place is exhausting. Actually doing it seems near impossible.

So he shakes his head, leans back and closes his eyes. He hears her sigh and walk away, wonders if she is just going to let him sit there until he can get his own ass up. Really that would be the least embarrassing, he thinks.

Carrie's gone for a little while and Quinn takes the time to lie there useless, consolidate his thoughts. Mainly he feels like a pathetic idiot that needed to be rescued from a little rain. He really needs to man up and get back on his feet, fend for himself.

She finally returns with two cups of coffee, sits down in the drivers seat and offers him a mug. Quinn tries to smile as he takes it, thinks she has figured him out to a certain extent. Coffee is exactly what he needs at this moment, enough to fuel him out of the car and into the house.

Carrie is quiet, drinks her own coffee until he's mostly done his and the warmth of the liquid has spread itself through some of his body.

"What the fuck were you doing?" she finally asks, looking at him with an irritated expression.

Quinn blinks slowly. "Walking," he replies.

Carrie makes an annoyed sound, keeps her eyes on him. "Looks like you walked pretty fucking far," she answers.

Quinn nods, isn't going to lie about it. He can walk however the fuck far he wants, he thinks.

"For fucks sake Quinn, you're not made out of steel," she admonishes him. "What if I hadn't found you? You'd be a fucking hypothermic heap on the street."

"Not your fucking problem," he manages to grunt.

He sees the fury spark in her eyes and she glowers at him, her expression tense with irritation.

"I thought you were done with the lone wolf act," she snaps.

Quinn looks at her, soaks in her wrath. It's exactly what he wants, what he's used to. He's pissed off at himself for letting the situation happen, for being a pussy, for not having the strength to walk away. So he welcomes her anger, steeps himself in it to augment his own.

He doesn't answer, feels fucking ridiculous sitting in a bathrobe in her car, wonders for the millionth time how a seemingly simple one-off assignment ended up in this situation. He can feel Carrie steaming beside him and he has equal urges to stay and to flee. Unfortunately he doesn't feel well enough to take off again but also hasn't quite figured out how to keep a few shreds of self-dignity if he's going to stay.

They sit in a stalemated silence for awhile and Quinn can feel her eyes on him, wonders what she is thinking. Eventually she gets out of the car and he thinks she's going finally leave him for the night, let him deal with his own shit.

But Carrie comes around to his side and looks at him, still clearly annoyed.

"You can be a real idiot," she states.

Quinn doesn't answer but thinks she has certainly got that part right. He has been a real fucking idiot in every way lately.

"Let's go inside," she continues, tugging lightly on his hand.

He looks at her in surprise, thinks it's unlike her to give in, play nice. He had fully expected to sleep in the car because he wasn't ready to apologize for his idiocy. But now she's given him the out, put out the first peace flag.

Quinn nods, thinks that fighting her now would be a real dick move. He lets her pull him out of the car and is silently grateful for her arm against his back, steadying him up the stairs.

He thinks it must look absurd - him leaning against Carrie, so slender even now when the baby's really starting to show. It is exactly who Carrie is though - an impossible, unpredictable mix of vulnerability and strength.

So right now it's Carrie who is guiding him up the stairs, keeping him on his still shaky legs. They have to stop twice for him to stay on his feet but eventually she manages to drop him into his bed where he sinks in, relishes the feeling of lying down.

"I'm sorry I'm such a dick," he mumbles into the pillow.

He hears Carrie stop and manages to turn his head just in time to see her tame a small smile and give him her typical frown.

"No you're not," she says with a little smirk. "But it's alright. You're a good guy, Quinn. Annoying as shit sometimes, but you mean well."

Quinn smiles, thinks she really does have accurate insight into character, is pleased she recognizes he is trying to do some good. He wants to tell her she's right, that he is trying to be a better man, that he is fast falling for her and just doesn't know what to do. But obviously he can't say any of those things and in the end he finds nothing else to say either.

When he doesn't reply Carrie turns to walk out of the room and he realizes he has to say something.

"You're too good to me, Carrie," he mutters, loud enough for her to hear.

Carrie stops, turns around, gives him a wry look. "I'm not good to anyone, Quinn," she answers.

Quinn shrugs, thinks she is mostly right about that. She was only ever good to Brodie, everyone else just fell by the wayside, didn't factor in. But taking him in, dealing with his shit, that's something he never expected from her.

"Anyways, thanks," he says. "It's more than I deserve."

Carrie gives him a studious gaze, seems to consider his statement for a long second.

"Well you didn't deserve to die alone in a shithole," she finally declares. "And you deserve to have someone give a fuck about you."

Quinn gives her a doubtful look, wonders where the hell this came from. "Why's that?" he asks, genuinely unsure.

Carrie looks at him like he's stupid, forms a half-smile.

"I already told you. You're a good man, Quinn," she replies as she walks out of the room. "And you're the kind of idiot who walks ten miles in the pouring rain two weeks after he almost died."

He knows the second part is true, wonders still about the first. But either way he's surprised to hear her say it, is more surprised to find that her opinion means so much to him.

I might fucking love you, Carrie Mathison, he thinks to himself. And now isn't that an unlikely and fucking disastrous situation.