Quinn VII
Quinn's walking down the hall in Langley swearing silently at the fucking florescent lighting for making his head explode while knowing full well it's not the lights making his head throb at the moment.
There's a buzz in the office and it has nothing to do with the overhead lighting. The rumour mill is going full steam, whispers flying about a new opening for chief of station, right in the centre of the action. And a certain name keeps coming up, constantly dropped within his earshot, obvious invitations for his input.
Of course he doesn't bite, maintains a stoic poker face even amongst the muttered mentions of child abandonment, the overheard 'well what do you expect from someone who's certifiably insane'.
Quinn grits his teeth, thinks to himself that it's all still just a rumour, that he doesn't need to get all worked up about something that may not be true. But he feels it in his gut, just needs confirmation before he lets the ticking IED inside him explode.
So he strides down the hall, each step propelled with imminent anger even before he hears the wailing of a baby as he approaches her office. And when he gets there it only takes one look to realize he's too late.
Carrie is brimming with energy, he can almost see little sparks shooting off of her as she stands leaning on her desk, flipping through files and ignoring the crying baby on the chair. He hasn't seen her like this in a long time and it's easy to guess the source of her newfound electric current.
Quinn frowns, enters without knocking, looks first at Carrie and then at the baby. Even so she still doesn't bother to notice the kid crying and Quinn ends up standing by the baby seat, rocking it rhythmically until the baby quiets down.
"She's probably hungry," Carrie says, not looking up from her files. "There's a bottle in the bag."
It's right then that he snaps, lets the IED blow, feels the surge of anger flow from his gut to his head. He slams the door shut and sees Carrie finally look up at him with her 'what the fuck' look.
"Jesus Christ, Carrie! What the hell is wrong with you? If she's hungry you fucking need to feed her," he asks through clenched teeth. The anger is flowing and he speaks in short clipped words, trying to keep his voice down. He may be supremely pissed at Carrie but their argument doesn't need to be broadcast to the rest of the office.
Carrie glares at him, her energy instantly shifting into barbed anger. "Well thanks for the advice, Quinn. There goes my chance at mom of the year," she fires at him, still not bothering to look for the bottle even though the kid is back to crying up a storm.
Quinn can feel his brain about to burst. He's been doing his best to be understanding but it's been over a month now and it's fucking painful to watch, to experience.
It's pretty fucking obvious she's afraid of her own kid, he'd have to be blind not to read her body language, the tenseness in her every time she's forced to pick baby Frannie up. And he knows it's fucking PTSD, that she fucking loses Brody every time she looks at her kid.
So he's been oscillating between being infuriated and then feeling guilty for getting so angry with Carrie when it's clear she was right all along, that she really can't deal with her baby. Of course she figured that out way too late and now he's stuck looking at the utter detachment in her expression whenever she's interacting with the kid.
And if Quinn lets himself think about her for too long the tendrils of sadness creep in - so he fights them off by getting pissed off at her for not dealing with her emotions, for not resolving her conflicted feelings about the past so that she can deal with the present.
But it's not until this moment, watching Carrie willfully ignore her screaming baby as she plans out how to completely abandon her altogether, that he feels something snap.
"Well, fuck Carrie. If abandoning your kid in order to risk your own life blowing people up isn't getting you nominated for mother of the year then I don't know what it takes," he retorts. "I can't even fucking believe it. It's true isn't it?"
Carrie looks at him sharply and he knows he's struck a nerve, braces himself for the repercussion.
And then it doesn't matter that the door is closed because she's yelling in his face, her expression somewhere between infuriated and hysterical.
"What can't you believe Quinn? That I'd give up the opportunity to be a fucking single working mother to actually go and do my fucking job?" she hollers, causing the pounding in his head to intensify. "To go and kill terrorists and save lives instead of being a fucking nursery rhyme singing, spit-wiping slave to a kid I can't fucking deal with?"
Fuck, Quinn thinks, realizing he's lost the ability to control what he's about to say. He has never met anyone else that can get such a rise out of him, knows that whatever exists between them is made of an extremely volatile substance, always primed to blow.
"Maybe you should have fucking thought about that before falling in love with a fucking terrorist and creating a life, Carrie!" he yells right back. "And while you're at it, please tell me how bombing schools and markets, killing hundreds of civilians to get one fucking terrorist is saving any fucking lives!"
For a moment he is sure she is about to hit him and he wonders if he'll stop her.
Part of him feels like he deserves to be smacked but mostly Quinn is relieved he's actually manned up and let it out. Enough fucking tiptoeing around, she's clearly nowhere close to facing the real problems here and someone has to try and talk some sense into her. Why he has volunteered himself for that position is just part of his endless frustration with her - Quinn knows he's doing it to himself, making the choice to actually give a shit about her. And after all these years of not having to attach any emotions to anyone somehow he chooses to care about most infuriating person he's ever met.
Carrie surprises both of them by not hitting him but the fury in her expression gives her a manic look, one that scares him.
"Well fuck, Quinn. Just because you've become a fucking pansy doesn't mean we've all put our guns away," she growls in his face. "Someone has to man up, manage the kill list, make sure there aren't a million other fucking Nazir's out there brainwashing more American prisoners into fucking ticking time bombs. Torturing them, screwing with their heads until they don't know who they are anymore. So who's going to fucking stop them, Quinn? Because it's not going to fucking stop until we kill them all!"
Right then he knows he's lost the game. Carrie is hovering on the edge of losing it and he's suddenly not angry enough to push her over, stops and considers the consequences. He's seen her truly lose it and knows she's dangerously close, he can sense it in her expression, in her pulsating energy.
So he takes a breath and then another. Forces himself to remember the shit she's been through, fucking PTSD times ten. Tells himself she's not herself, she's shut down and dealing with shit the only way she knows how. Not that it's alright with him that she's doing this, abandoning her kid, running away to Afghanistan. But sometimes he forgets he doesn't really get a say in what Carrie does with her life. That it shouldn't make him so fucking upset to watch her make bad choices.
Carrie's still waiting for his response, probably hoping that he will continue the argument. But he knows he's done fighting, never had a chance.
"I don't know who's going to stop them all, Carrie," he replies calmly, quietly. "But it's not going to be me."
Carrie glares at him, still obviously furious.
"So you're not coming with me then," she says accusingly.
Quinn wonders how she can possibly think he will still come with her, then remembers Carrie is sometimes fucking delusional. But to ask him to sit in a room killing people by remote control in an endless cycle of death and revenge - it was beyond insane. It had been hard enough to commit to Istanbul but the thought of leaving her there alone, with the baby... He always had a protective streak in him.
But now she's made it easy. He couldn't do this even if he wanted to, knows it would be the assignment that pushes him over the edge. He is barely holding on as it is, unsure of everything, of who he is now.
So he shakes his head, blinks hard and looks her in the eye.
"You know I can't do it, Carrie," he says. "You know where I'm at, I just can't take it anymore. I'm getting out of the game - I'm halfway there already."
Carrie glares at him, looks like she's about to spill angry tears. He can almost hear her grinding her teeth as her slightly manic eyes scream at him silently.
"Please don't make me beg," she fumes. "I'm sorry I fucking yelled at you. Just please say you'll come."
Quinn shakes his head again, steels himself for the backlash.
"I can't Carrie. I really fucking can't," he says tiredly.
Carrie glares daggers at him, pierces him with darts of anger.
"Well fuck Quinn. Thanks for bailing when I need you the most," she fires back sharply.
He often wonders if Carrie's fundamentally unable to consider the needs of others and how the fuck she's gotten this far in life without that ability. Then he recalls spending year after year not considering the needs of anyone other than himself, avoiding people, relationships because it was easier not to give a shit about anyone. Coldly killing his way through life, pretending the nightmares, the permanent agitation, it was all normal.
He sighs, looks at her pointedly.
"I know you don't believe me but if I could do it I would," he says tersely. "And I wouldn't do it for anyone else - fuck, I was going to Istanbul and you know how much I want out. But I can't do it, Carrie. Pansy or not, I know I can't take it."
His admission doesn't seem to do anything to dull the fire in Carrie's eyes, she is still giving him a scathing glare as he turns and lets himself out.
Quinn walks down the hall through a gauntlet of questioning eyes, whispered words. Somehow he's gone from being a shadow to a topic of office conversation. Fucking Carrie Mathison, he thinks for the millionth time that day. Everything has gone to shit since she appeared in his life and yet he keeps going back for more. He's convinced there is something in her magnetic field that simultaneously attracts and repels him - it's the only explanation for how she makes him feel.
He pushes past the curious looks, lets the buzz of the lights cover the wisps of gossip. It's barely noon but Quinn heads out of the building - he's done for the day, feels a monster headache coming on.
Two weeks later the headache has yet to go away, plaguing Quinn day and night as his mind whirls through a myriad of shitty options, a fucking horde of worries. He hasn't seen or heard from Carrie since he left her office the night of their argument, knows she's both busy in briefings and too stubborn to call him.
He's considered calling her, going to see her at least a million times but he knows it will end badly, in an argument, possibly in words that can't be unsaid.
It's hard not to think of her badly for abandoning her kid but Quinn does his best not to be a hypocrite. It's just so fucking difficult to see how disconnected, broken she is and it's most evident when she's with the baby. So he hasn't gone to see her, make any futile attempts at amends because he can't bear to watch her suffer. Nor can he stand how fucking hostile she is these days, thinks they haven't had a conversation that ended in an argument in ages. Not that he doesn't play his own part in the arguing - Quinn knows he gives as good as he gets, keeps beating his head against the brick wall just for kicks, he thinks.
So he hasn't fought it, has let her avoid him, has tried pretending that it's over, that his time in crazy Carrie Mathison purgatory has finally ended. He can't believe he's known her for less than two years - he thinks it's been the longest year and a half of his life.
A shitty year and half in many ways but also an awakening of sorts. No one, nothing has made him feel quite so strongly as he has this past little while. Since getting pushed into abandoning his own kid he's kept the lid on his emotions shut tight, lost in the work, pretending to be a machine.
And that's why he's here, Quinn thinks grimly. Because he's over it, knows he's never going to rein in his recently freed emotions. At least not when it comes to Carrie. He's done his best to put her out of his mind the past weeks but still nearly every thought ends up back to her.
He sees a cab pull up in front of him and soon after lights start to go out in Carrie's place. Quinn gets out of his car, approaches the taxi, knocks on the cabbie's window.
The man looks wary so Quinn takes a hundred bill out of his pocket and puts it up to the window. That grants him instant attention and the cabbie rolls down the window eagerly.
"This is yours if you take off now," Quinn says quickly.
The cabbie looks at him suspiciously, glances back towards Carrie's house.
"Is this a set up?" the cabbie asks. "Cause I don't want any trouble."
Quinn shakes his head. "No trouble, just take it and go. I'll drive her to the airport, I just need to talk to her, you know."
He lays it on a bit thick, gives the old 'us guys know how it is with women' vibe and the cabbie shrugs, grabs the hundred and drives off just as Carrie's door is opening.
She's just got one small bag, looks like she's going on a weekend trip, not off to Afghanistan for who knows how long. Carrie locks up then turns and looks surprised, most likely wondering where the fuck her cab had run off to.
It doesn't take her long to notice him in the car behind, he can see her scowl in reaction as she realizes the situation and walks up to his window.
She opens the passenger door, does not look happy to see him.
"What the fuck, Quinn," she starts. "Can't you just leave me alone?"
Quinn tells himself to breathe, that he knows what's coming, her ability to turn everything into a confrontation. But that's exactly what he doesn't want, what he's trying to avoid. It's also what's been causing most of his headache for the past two weeks - trying to devise a plan to fucking talk to Carrie without blowing his top.
"No, I obviously can't," he replies matter-of-factly, refusing to take the bait. "I'm just here to drive you to the airport, Carrie. Then you'll be in Kabul and possibly never see me again. And..."
He doesn't know if he wants to say the last part, knows it gives her the ammunition to torpedo his emotions, exposes himself in a way he isn't accustomed to.
Carrie is giving him an impatient look and he can see she's about to blow him off, call another cab, fight with him until it comes and then leave him standing there sad and angry.
"And?" she asks, offering him the smallest of chances.
Quinn still doesn't want to say it, thinks it sounds pathetic, hopes she doesn't just laugh in his face. But he doesn't have much choice now, has window of opportunity fast closing.
"And I don't want to leave things so shitty between us," he finally admits. "I'm fucking worried about you, Carrie. Please just let me drive you to the airport?"
He can see her consider refusing, the stubborn expression set on her face but she holds off and glares at him for a silent minute before putting her luggage in the car and getting in the passenger seat.
Quinn breathes a sigh of relief, thinks he hadn't even expected to get this far.
They drive in silence for awhile, Carrie looking out the window, Quinn observing her mood, her energy. She seems tense as usual, nerves taut, brain working overtime. He thinks that in all this time he has only seen her relaxed one time, and that was through a fucking telescope.
Quinn wonders if they would have been happy, living somewhere off the grid with their daughter, lazing away the days pretending to be other people. He doesn't think so, imagines Carrie would have gone off the wall without anything to occupy her time. Either way it was obviously an unlikely dream but he thinks she may have really believed it was possible. He's starting to think she did, that she'd found hope in Brody, love and the possibility of a different life. Because he knows she's crushed, she's even said it a few times - though mostly she overrides her sadness with anger and denial.
No wonder the fucking headache won't leave, he's been thinking about all the shit she went through because of Brody, the ECT, the self-doubt so strong she almost fucking killed herself. And then all the shit she did to keep Brody alive even after he had so royally fucked her over. Which gets him questioning whether he should have just done it in the first place, put a bullet in Brody's brain when he had the chance. Quinn knew this line of thinking was both pointless and harmful to his sanity but sometimes he couldn't help it.
The whole thing was just too fucked up to think about really. And considering it left him feeling conflicted and angry, he couldn't begin to imagine what it had done to Carrie. But he can see the results now, see how all of her suffering has caused her to shut down. So of course she's going to Afghanistan, it's the furthest she can run.
He gets it. He fucking hates it but there's nothing he can do about it. It's not often he feels so impotent in the face of a problem. A few threats, a good glower and he gets what he wants. Usually. But rarely when it came to Carrie.
Quinn glances over at Carrie and she's still staring blankly out the window. He wonders what he can possibly say that won't piss her off.
"You alright?" he finally asks, because really it's all he really wants to know.
Carrie keeps looking out the window for a few beats then finally turns to glance at him.
"I'm not sure," she replies with a quick shake of her head.
Quinn glances at her again and thinks she looks pale, skinnier than a new mother should be.
"I'm fucking worried about you," he mutters without really meaning to. He knows she will be pissed off but it's like he just can't help himself.
And instantly she rises to the occasion, turns and looks at him sharply.
"If you're so fucking worried why'd you bail on me?" she asks with a glare.
Quinn takes a deep breath, reminds himself of his mission. Peace, or at least a ceasefire.
"Look, Carrie. I didn't come here to fight," he says calmly. "I just wanted to see you, talk to you before you left."
Carrie gives him a look of exasperation, wears her usual air of irritation. But she doesn't say anything, just gives him a look that clearly says 'then talk, idiot'.
Quinn wonders what he's going to say, has never been much of one to think before he speaks. All he knows is he is going to try and be honest in a way that doesn't make her angry. Which could be impossible, probably is. But this could be his last chance and he's sick of adding to his list of regrets.
"I've been where you are," he finally says, slowly. "I had to choose and I chose the job. Because it's easier not to give a shit - we both know that."
He pauses to glance over at her and so far it seems like he's doing alright, she's annoyed but not angry. So he goes for broke.
"But I can't not give a shit about this. I've fucking tried, said to myself let her do what she wants, what's it to you," he continues with a shrug. "I just can't fucking do it, I can't stop caring about this, about what happens to you. And you seem to fucking hate it so that doesn't help."
Carrie's scowling at him but still doesn't interject and he's surprised she's been this patient, hasn't tried to start something yet.
"If going with you would protect you from everything's that's coming I would do it. You have to know that was the only reason I was going to Istanbul," Quinn says, feeling like he's on a roll. It's strange to vocalize things he's only thought about up to now, things he would usually never tell anyone. But he pushes through the impulse to shut up, to stop exposing himself to her. She deserves to at least know part of the truth.
"But now, with Kabul... I can see what's coming, Carrie," he continues. "And I can't protect you from it. I can barely fucking function myself. I mean I've pretty much fucked up every op I've been on in the last two years. It's time to get out of the game, or at least get my head straight before I fuck anything else up."
Carrie's still scowling at him when he finishes but she doesn't look pissed off so he counts that as a victory. He wonders if she's going to say anything or if they're destined to ride in awkward silence for the rest of the drive.
"Adal said it's because of me," she finally says after a long while.
Quinn raises his eyebrows, but isn't really surprised. In a way it's true after all. Working with Carrie inexplicably helped him find his own humanity, question his path. And since then he hasn't been the same.
"Is it?" she asks when he doesn't reply.
Quinn thinks, can't figure out what to say.
"Well, in a way, I guess," he finally answers.
Carrie huffs, shakes her head a bit.
"Well fuck. I'm sorry I fucked everything up," she says quietly. "I'm like fucking King Midas except everything I touch turns to shit."
Quinn frowns, looks over. Carrie is back to looking out the window and he knows the conversation is over. But it's more than he expected so he counts it as a win, drives the last few miles out to the airport thinking how hard it is to let her go.
At the airport he parks without discussing it with her, follows her in. She doesn't have anything to check, just a small carry-on with the bare essentials of her life. And of course he knows exactly how that is, lived like that for twelve years. But he hates watching her do it, fall slave to the killing machine.
Quinn walks her towards the security zone, tries to evaluate how awkward it would be to wrap her up in a goodbye hug. If this is the last he ever sees of her he wants the moment to count. But too risky, he thinks. Doesn't want to upset the delicate balance of her mood just as she's leaving.
They stop before she crosses into the passenger-only area, stand facing each other with an air of anticipation between them.
And just as Quinn is about to say goodbye Carrie surprises him by extending her arms and pulling him towards her. She rests her head against his chest and he can feel her breath through his shirt as he puts his arms around her, notices she's shaking a bit.
She lets go after a few intense breaths and gives him a sharp sideways look.
"Take care of yourself, Quinn," she finally says.
Quinn nods, feels a half a smile escape. "You too, Carrie," he says. "Remember who you are. Don't lose yourself to the mission."
Carrie gives him one last look of mock-irritation and turns to stand in the security zone line-up. He continues standing there for a moment, still feels the ghost of her on his sternum. Then finally Quinn turns to leave, uncomfortable watching her go.
But he's only gone a few steps when he hears hurried footsteps behind him, feels a familiar hand on his shoulder.
Quinn turns and Carrie has an enigmatic expression on her face, one he's not sure he's seen before. Before he has time to register what's happening she reaches up and pulls him into a kiss - short but sweet, chaste yet intense. It's over as suddenly as it starts and then Carrie gives him an unreadable shrug.
"Thanks, Quinn," she says. "For trying."
And with that she turns and walks off, passes out of his sight - but definitely not out of his mind.