Carrie VII
Carrie is three drinks in and somewhere over the Atlantic before she lets herself feel anything. The lead up to leaving, the endless briefings and arguments with her family has been fueled by a familiar manic energy. She has missed the rapid-fire thinking, the piqued emotional set, had been down on the low end of her mood scale for a long time. But also she distantly realizes it's the manic edge, the quick irritation and her hyper focus on escaping her situation that has gotten everyone in her life fucking pissed at her yet again.
And now she's escaping from everything and everyone, getting back into the field, away from all the shit of the past three years. An image of Frannie flashes in her mind and Carrie feels her mental scar - it leaves her with a deep freeze in her gut, instant emotional numbing.
Carrie thinks no one can ever understand the guilt, the helplessness, the despair she went though, not even herself. Mostly because she has avoided thinking about it as much as she can. There's no stopping the dreams though; nor the thoughts that come around whenever she is with Frannie. It's why she has to leave, facing her emotions is far beyond her at the moment, she can barely deal with her day to day existence as it is.
The Kabul thing was pure fucking luck. A hardship position right in the action, something she can easily lose herself in. It was exactly what she was looking for. And at a time when she is the highest ranking officer with extensive experience in Afghanistan. At least she had one thing going for her she thinks.
So she threw all her focus on it, reading briefs deep into the night, imagining being on the ground there, away from her fucking life. And it helped, gave her something to think about other than the mess she has made, the fuck up currently defining her existence.
She hadn't expected to feel so fucking alone though. With everyone's eyes on her, calling her out as a bad mother, a cold-hearted bitch. Her own family, even Quinn, who knows the whole story, fucking judges her for everything. Which is pretty fucking hypocritical considering his past, she thinks.
So she's spent the past two weeks being pissed off at him for abandoning her when she needs him the most. Alone in a new position without anyone around she can trust. Carrie had to admit it had stung, can't believe she pretty much begged him to come and was rejected.
She's actually still surprised he didn't come with her, thought she had him so firmly attached he would have done anything to protect her. Quinn's weakness, she thinks, is that he's fundamentally a good man. And she had done her best to use that against him, her usual tactic when she really needed something. But he was stubborner than she thought, stronger than she realized.
For a second Carrie has a flashback to kissing him, cringes mentally at her impulsive move, berates herself for doing such an fucking idiotic thing on a whim. It's the downside to the energy, well that and the constant state of irritation she's been in. But standing in line, she had felt a moment of revelation, realized she wouldn't be getting on a plane if it wasn't for him. His stubborn asshole self had pushed her to at least escape the house, deal with her life - if only to an extent.
But now she's aghast, thinks of all the complications it could create with Quinn. Not that it wasn't already fucking complicated between them.
But then again he's the one who fucking ditched her in the first place and she doesn't need to surround herself with pansies, quitters. If he didn't have the balls for the fight anymore than good riddance, she thinks. His recent attitude wasn't going to get the job done. And she was over his blatant concern for her, was never really comfortable with it in the first place.
Carrie orders another drink and then a fifth. What the hell, she thinks. It's been awhile since she's had the opportunity to indulge in her coping mechanism of choice.
The effects of the booze were halfway to knocking her out when another drink arrives at her seat, the flight attendant playing bartender, saying her drink had been bought by the man across the aisle from her.
Carrie takes a look and her admirer from across the aisle looks to be a Wall Street type, has asshole written all over his expression. He makes deliberate eye contact with her before obviously giving her the once over, then raising his drink to cheers with her.
Part of her wants to pitch the drink right back into his smarmy face, cause a scene and embarrass the shit out the guy. But the other part is saying something else altogether, is remembering another coping mechanism she's nearly forgotten about. And just the thought of it pushes her internal energy into overdrive, tells her she should sit tight, breath deep and slam some meds.
Yet the familiar buzz, the slight amplification of every thought, every sensation. It's been missing for a long time - she's been sitting in depression for so long now. Thankfully the hypomania has shown up at a useful time, fueling the entire lead up to leaving for Kabul. Right up to idiotically kissing Quinn and then fucking slamming back drinks to forget about her actions.
Jesus. Why the fuck could she not get him out of her head? She's never been one to get too attached to anyone - it's easier than wondering why people desert her as soon as she becomes too much for them. Now Quinn's the second guy she can't shake from her head in the last few years. She attributes it to being mentally weak, probably from having her foundations shaken by Brody that first year. What else could explain forgiving him for his actions, for the shit he did to her?
Latent anger mixes with her constant stream of guilt and cycles through her head rapidly until Carrie can't sit still any longer, drains her drink and lurches out of her seat. The guy across the aisle gives her another once over and this time she reciprocates the look, nods her head and walks towards the lavatory.
Carrie senses the guy get up after she's well down the aisle, knew he would be following her in quick succession. She's offered the mile-high dream to other pretty assholes before and has never been rejected. She knows she can count on it now for a moment of mindless action, something to make her feel alive, make her forget her problems if only for a few cramped minutes.
Carrie lets herself into the lavatory and waits until Mr. Wall Street slides in a few minutes later. He opens his mouth to speak but she shuts it for him with her hand, shakes her head and gives him the shh sign. Thankfully he is agreeable - she doesn't think she could bear hearing this guy speak, doesn't want him to be anything but a release of pent of energy. The exact definition of using a guy, she thinks - but then again he appears happy to be used.
They're both more than a little drunk and he's ready right away, has clearly been envisioning the moment already. Carrie's equally disgusted and elated, wants to get right into it, needs to have that a moment of pure physicality.
But her mind is still going non-stop, searching for ways around the ever-present guilt. Never takes a break, she just can't stop thinking even as the Wall Street guy climaxes, leers at her, and then leaves. And right then Carrie realizes dully that her old go-to friend, anonymous sex, had failed to produce any positive results - no magical moment of mindless fucking. Her stupid brain refused to stop going, oscillating from the relief and nervous excitement of finally being on the way to Kabul to the endless guilt of running away to the feelings of abandonment she knows she has no right to feel.
Carrie quietly exits the lavatory and sits in a vacant seat in the back row, looks out the window. She is taut like live wire, thinks she should go take her meds but doesn't want to go back to her seat. So instead she just sits there, tensely drumming her fingers, tapping her toes, thinking too many thoughts.
It's night when she arrives in Kabul and Carrie hurries off the plane, tries to escape making eye contact with Wall Street. No need to reconsider her decisions, what's done is done, she thinks. Just take the fucking pills and get off the little episode she's been on. It hasn't even given her the euphoria of real mania, more a fucking mixed episode, hypomanic but still carrying the same old depression around.
But she doesn't need any more regrets, leaves the past in the past. Kabul is a new start, a fresh take, a clear way of delineating her post-Brody life. And she's here alone, no Saul, no Quinn, no one to back her up.
Carrie exits straight onto the tarmac, breathes in a thick lungful of Afghani air. She's greeted by a rumpled older male who introduces himself as one of her new case officers and he shows her to a dirty SUV.
The guy seems antsy, as if waiting for a quiz. At first he tries to make small talk, talk shop but Carrie doesn't bother to respond after the first question even though she knows it will instantly give her a reputation. She's done with human interaction at the moment, feels prickly when she's around anyone.
So he keeps glancing at her even though Carrie's busy looking out the window, trying to make out her environment through the darkness. And she knows he is forming an opinion about her, and not a good one. But Carrie's too caught up in her mind, trying her hardest not to think all the things she wants to think - that she is alone in Kabul with no one she trusts, being escorted by a moron that already thinks she's a bitch. That she'd feel a lot fucking safer if it was Quinn driving the car - well, maybe not now that she complicated her fucking situation with Quinn.
Carrie's never really been the type for regrets but lately she's been fucking drowning in them, revisits them all in her overactive mind as they make their way towards the Embassy.
Her quarters are decent but sterile, standard US government issue. Carrie kicks off her shoes and digs through her bag for her pills, slams a couple back and then runs the shower. She needs something to tamp down her over-excited nervous system, thinks a blast of hot water will help her feel more relaxed, cleansed of her poor choices, impulsive behaviour.
The water is nearly scalding but it feels incredible on her tight muscles, beats on her shoulders, forces her to release some tension, relax. But letting her guard down also reminds her why she's so tense in the first place - she's in Afghanistan, is the fucking chief of station, in charge of all this shit. It's what she wanted, exactly what she was looking for and she knows she will be fucking good at this job, will hunt down terrorists with absolute tenacity.
The hot water keeps pounding on her neck and Carrie thinks she could stand there forever, run out the embassy's entire hot water supply. The thought of getting out of the shower, going to sleep and facing her new life is suddenly daunting, anxiety-ridden. She thinks how alone she is, that there's no one in this country she can currently rely on.
She hadn't expected to feel this way, has never had a problem with being alone - it kind of came with the condition, people just often couldn't deal with her. But since she joined the CIA she's always had Saul, there to back her up. And with Saul gone, she's had Quinn to rely on.
But now, now there's no one, not even her family. Physically, mentally, emotionally - she's on her own in every way now. Carrie knows she's made this for herself but that doesn't stop the anxiety. She feels tears running down her face, lets them mix with the hot water, tries to wash them away.
This is what you wanted, she tells herself. This is exactly what you asked for. But it just makes things worse - reminds her of how pissed off her sister is and how she fucked things up with Quinn because it had fucking hurt when he drew the line, refused to come.
You get what you deserve, Carrie thinks to herself. And she can't argue that she doesn't deserve to be alone, after everything that's happened. So now it's time to suck it up, cut the cord with her past. She's the fucking station chief now, has a job to do and it can't be done from the shower, feeling fucking sorry for herself. She's here to kill terrorists, not to run away from all the shit she's made.
Yeah right, Carrie thinks as she turns off the water. She wonders if she will be able to pretend to herself long enough to make it the truth.
Carrie's in bed still thinking too many thoughts, feeling overly anxious and mentally willing her meds to kick in when she hears a phone ring. She turns on the light, sees it's not the house phone and follows the ringing to a cell phone she's never seen before. Must be her new contact, she thinks. Wonders who could be calling it in the middle of the night - there can't be many people that have the number yet. Thinks it's probably Lockhart, hopes it's not something that needs to be dealt with immediately.
"Yes?" she answers tensely.
Whoever's calling doesn't speak right away and she's about to hang up when she figures it out.
"How the hell did you get this number, Quinn?" she asks tiredly. "I don't even know it."
"I can be resourceful when I need to be," Quinn answers.
Carrie would never admit the feeling of relief she gets when she hears his voice, relief that instantly turns to nerves as she remembers her impulsive move at the airport. It was the hypomania acting and she didn't want to think about it, much less talk about it with Quinn.
"So what do you want?" she asks with an edge, thinks it will put him off bringing up any awkward topics. She does not want to discuss Quinn's feelings, wonders for the millionth time how the cold-blooded assassin turned into an overly-concerned friend.
"Just wanted to check you got in okay," he finally replies.
"Goddamn it, Quinn. I don't need checking on," Carrie fires back, mostly because she's annoyed at herself for feeling comforted by his call. She's relied on him for too long, now she has to cut the cord, be a fucking big girl and survive on her own.
He doesn't answer for a long time and she waits for him to hang up, fighting the urge to take back her words.
After what seems like an eternity he sighs.
"Yeah, I know," he says resignedly. "It's for me, not you. But you seem to be just the same. So I guess that's it."
Carrie knows he's about to hang up for good and part of her wants exactly that. Because then it would be over - she'd likely never see nor hear of him ever again. He'd leave the CIA and disappear, she has no doubt about it. And she'd just be left with the vague memory of someone who once gave a shit about her.
She hates herself for wishing he was here in Kabul with her, wants to hurt herself by letting him hang up.
"No, wait," she finally says. "I'm sorry. Don't hang up."
Quinn doesn't hang up but he doesn't say anything either. She can hear him breathing and she closes her eyes, breathes with him for a minute, wonders what the hell to say to him. It's not often she cares what someone thinks of her but somewhere along the way Quinn's opinion started to matter.
So although it is hard, almost excruciating, she tells him the actual truth.
"I know I fucked everything up," she says. "And I know it looks like I'm running away from it all. But I had to, Quinn. I couldn't deal with it, I still can't. It's just too fucking... big. Raw. I just... I just can't. And everyone thinks I'm a fucking horrible person because of it, even you. And you even know the real story, all of it. So maybe it's true. I made all those decisions. I'm fucking heartless and I deserve to be here alone."
Quinn sighs again, doesn't reply right away. Carrie can feel her heart fluttering, can't quite believe she admitted to some of her thoughts, the ones behind her emotional armor.
"Carrie, the shit you've gone through just in the time that I've known you is just fucking unbelievable," he finally says. "And sometimes I forget that. But I'm fucking scared for you. I know what happens if you keep shutting away that part of yourself. And I know I can't do anything about it."
She makes herself listen to his words, fights the impulse to just shut down the conversation now that she's revealed too much of herself. At least he hasn't brought up the kiss, and she feels less alone with him on the line.
"I'm scared too," she admits with an angry huff. "I haven't got anyone here to rely on."
"In a week your staff will be lining up to take a bullet for you," Quinn replies. "You are really fucking good at your job, Carrie. Sometimes too good."
Carrie frowns, knows Quinn isn't the type to give her false platitudes. But lately she hasn't felt good at anything, just constantly fucking everything up until she had to escape from the mess she had made.
"Get some rest, Carrie," he says when she doesn't reply. "Goodnight."
"Wait," she says, not quite ready to let him go. She knows after this conversation her old existence is over, their relationship possibly done.
"Thanks. And sorry. For everything," she adds.
Again he doesn't reply for awhile but stays on the line with her.
"Take care of yourself, Carrie," he finally says. "You know you can always call."
And with that he hangs up before she has a chance to reply, leaves her upset yet strangely content.
Carrie knows she won't call him but can't deny the feeling of reassurance knowing he'd be there if she did. And with her anxiety-level finally reduced, she lays her head down and falls asleep, ready to face her new life.