Carrie walks into her office, sits down tiredly and breathes a lungful of exhausted satisfaction. She hasn't slept in a day, spent the extra hours vetting Sandy's latest source so that they could authorize the drone that just finished taking out the second in command of the Haqqani network.
She should get some sleep now that the mission is compete but she's on edge, the adrenaline of her latest successful drone attack still coursing through her veins. She had been skeptical of Sandy's new source to start but everything has checked out so far. Though there's something in the back of her mind that thinks there's something she's missing.
Carrie frowns, tries to see the nebulous idea forming in her mind but is impeded by exhaustion and lack of calories. Frustrated, she shakes her head and picks up the latest CIA briefing and interoffice memo from her inbox, trying to distract herself from the niggling feeling she keeps on feeling.
She scans the memo, sees nothing of real interest - just the new postings in the region, who's been assigned where. She's about to put the paper down when she does a mental double-take and looks at it again.
Carrie reads the memo three more times to confirm she's not seeing things and then tells herself to calm the fuck down.
Rationally there's no reason she should be upset about this, she tells herself. That chapter of her life is over, it's why she is in Kabul in the first place. So why does just seeing his name on a fucking piece of paper still affect her?
Islamabad. What the fuck. He tells her he's ready to quit, halfway out the door and now he's in fucking Pakistan? She thinks the message is pretty fucking clear. It wasn't Kabul, it wasn't the mission. He quit on her in the end for the same reason everyone quits on her - they just get tired of her shit and can't take it anymore.
She doesn't know why she's still surprised when this has been happening since college, since her propensity for highs and lows got rid of most opportunities to form long term friendships. But for a while there she had thought it was going to be different with him, right up to the point he gave up on her like everyone else.
Carrie squeezes her eyes shut and leans back in her chair, tries to push the thoughts out of her mind. She tries to think about something else, anything else. But nothing stops the intrusive thoughts, the idea that he had not only fucking ditched her but he hadn't even had the balls to leave the CIA afterwards. That she had believed he was sincere in his need to quit - now she thinks it was just a way to get away from her.
Carrie breathes out a dragon's breath of irritation, picks up her phone and dials.
"Hey Sandy, it's me," she says, trying to be calm, act normal. "Drop went off without a hitch. Your new intel looks dead on."
"You sound like you expected it to be otherwise, Mathison," Sandy Bachman replies a bit smugly. "I told you my source was good."
"Yeah, well you never know right," Carrie answers. "Sometimes things can be too good to be true."
"Yeah well this one isn't," Bachman says. "Good as gold."
"You're still not going to tell me anything about the asset?" she asks even though the asset is the last thing on her mind. She needs a way to bring the conversation over to another topic, doesn't want to show her hand by asking too abruptly.
"No can do," he replies, as expected. "But don't worry, I've got it all under control."
The conversation is going nowhere and she either needs to speed things up or just hang up and go to sleep. But she knows sleep will never come with her mind so wired so that leaves her little choice.
"Yeah, you run a tight ship over there," she says. "I saw on the interoffice you got a new guy on the roster?"
"Yeah, I think you know him right?" Bachman replies.
Carrie wonders how he knows already, is sure Quinn is not the name-dropping type. Especially not with her name. And his work on the Brody op wasn't exactly general knowledge for obvious reasons.
"Yeah, we worked together on an op," she answers. "How'd you know that?"
"Well don't tell him I said this because he doesn't think I notice. But he fucking perks up anytime I drop your name, just extra... attentive, you know," Sandy says. "He's never said anything though. What's up with that?"
Carrie frowns, thinks right, of course. So he's still pissed at her, thinks that's what Sandy's been seeing. So why the hell is he so close then? Because she's pretty fucking sure he could have gone somewhere far away.
"It's... complicated," she replies. "And it's all in the past anyhow."
"Yeah well he's not exactly pleased to be here, if that makes you feel any better," Sandy says.
"What do you mean?" she asks.
"I heard he got forced to make a choice but that's not official, just grapevine rumour," Sandy says. "I don't know why he chose to come here though, I thought I had a dud agent when he first showed up. But turns out he's been useful to have around, very up on what's happening in your neck of the woods actually."
"On Afghanistan?" Carrie asks. "That's weird, it's definitely not his field of specialty."
"Yeah, like I said, he tries to be low-key about it but he's obviously interested in what's happening with you and your station," Bachman says.
"Well, I don't know what that's all about," she replies truthfully. She has no idea what the hell Quinn could be thinking, wonders why the fuck he went there, of all places. And especially now, when she's been doing a fairly good job of keeping everything from her past out of her head. Brody, Frannie, Saul, Quinn - if she doesn't think about any of them then she can focus on doing the job, vetting the intel and sending the drones. It's what she's been doing ever since she got there, the best coping mechanism she's found - total denial.
So she does not want to think about Quinn, because it brings her to the past. And she knows just thinking about him will force her into it, there's too much history between them now. He's from her old life, the one left behind. When she asked him to come and he wouldn't she thought that was it, the cord had finally been cut. She hasn't heard from him since the phone call when she got to Kabul months ago and had almost managed to stop thinking about him, wondering where he was at, if he was alright.
"Hey, speak of the devil, here he is," Sandy says, breaking her out of her reverie. "Do you want to talk to him?"
Instant panic. Mental alarm bells are ringing in her head, telling her to hang up, telling her to say yes, of course I want to talk to the fucker. And then suddenly she can tell the phone on the other side has changed hands, that Sandy's no longer on the line.
She doesn't say anything for what feels like a long time, waits to see if he will speak first. And clearly Quinn's waiting for the same thing because there is a long period of silence, dead air.
Finally, minutes later, he gives in.
"Carrie?" he asks.
"Quinn," she replies.
The conversation pauses again. Very loquacious so far, she thinks wryly.
"Long time," he says.
"Yeah," she answers. "You're in Pakistan?"
He pauses again and she tries to stay calm. But she forgot how he pushes her buttons, the way he makes her feel sometimes.
"It's a long story," he replies.
"I bet," she says, losing her battle with agitation. The old emotions rise to the surface and she finds them as strong as ever, especially the sting of abandonment, betrayal. And Carrie even knows it's not really his fault, that it's just the past creeping up on her. She had already felt betrayed by Brody, by Saul, by the CIA before Quinn also cut her out of his life. But her emotions are in control now and she already knows it's not going to turn out well.
"I'm sure there's some reason you could go to Islamabad and not Kabul when I fucking needed you here," she adds.
She tries to remember all the shit he did for her, everything he's been through for her. But all she can feel is the carefully hidden hurt of being ditched yet again, of being hung out to fend for herself one more time.
"You don't need anyone, Carrie," Quinn replies darkly. "You seem to be running a very efficient operation over there."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she snaps back. "You know what, fuck you Quinn. You're right, I'm fucking better off on my own, I can't rely on anyone anyways."
With that Carrie hangs up, knowing she isn't being fair to him but still reeling from the strong feeling of betrayal. And he'd been the only available victim, target.
Fucking Quinn. She can't afford to open up old wounds - just yelling at him on the phone has already gotten her thinking about the past. And she doesn't want to open that door yet, maybe ever. It's firmly closed for a reason.
It's hard though, she's been feeling it fighting through - the hurt, the guilt, the sadness. It's all been lying low, waiting for its opportunity to strike while she's gotten by on pure determination and tunnel vision. Not letting her think outside of the job, keeping all her thoughts contained with her current mission by working nineteen hours a day and avoiding the dreams that come with sleep. This is her life now, her little sliver of sanity, delicately perched in an underground bunker in Afghanistan.
Fucking Quinn, somehow lately everything comes back around to him. Sometimes it feels like a repeat of how her life got so entangled in Brody's, so twisted together neither of them could break free. And likely to be equally disastrous, she thinks. Just thinking about him makes her feel all the things she's been trying to avoid.
Her phone rings, breaking her out of her reverie. It's Sandy and she considers not taking it but she knows he will keep calling if she blows him off. So she picks up the phone wearily, braces herself for the conversation.
"What the hell was that about?" Sandy asks right off the bat.
"Oh nothing," she replies nonchalantly. "Guess he didn't want to talk."
"Actually he looks like you just stabbed him in the heart," Sandy replies. "I didn't think the guy had emotions til about thirty seconds ago."
Carrie breathes an angry huff, wonders what the hell is going on. If Quinn chose to go to Islamabad over Kabul he should have known she'd be pissed. So what right does he have to be hurt by the truth?
"Well I don't know what that's about," she says. "How'd he end up in Islamabad anyway? I thought he was on his way out."
"You know, the strange thing is I don't really know either. Langley sent him to me with a heavily redacted bio," Sandy answers. "I asked around and heard he tried to leave and the brass decided to extend his tour for another year, involuntarily. The weird thing is he chose Islamabad out of all the posts but he obviously doesn't want to be here. He does the job fine but the guy is like a fucking robot. Unless we're talking about Afghanistan - like I said before, that seems to spark his interest."
Carrie thinks, actually listens this time. She feels the pieces start to fall into place now that her anger is dying down, her rational side gaining ground on the emotional.
"I feel like I'm missing some key info about him," Sandy continues when she doesn't reply. "And without it I can't read the situation."
Carrie quickly pieces together what Sandy's told her. That Quinn tried to leave but was forced to choose another position. That he chose Islamabad over other locations he would have had more experience with, places easier to live than Pakistan. And that he is strangely interested in her theatre of operation.
And then she realizes she knows exactly what Sandy's missing, feels a queasiness in her gut accompanied by a flutter in her solar plexus.
It's the closest he could be without being in her bunker, she thinks. Close enough to always know what's happening in Kabul.
Carrie sighs internally. She shouldn't have flipped out at him earlier but it's too late to retract her actions. And she could call him but knows she won't; she can't yet confront her feelings about him, about all the hurt she has gone through.
"Don't sweat it, Sandy. Quinn's a good guy. You're lucky to have him," she says, hanging up before Sandy can reply.
Well at least it makes sense now, she thinks. And she has to admit to a tingle at the base of her spine, a reminder of something other than hatred and hurt.
Carrie tries to shake him from her head but can't. Thinks how pissed he must have been to find out he wasn't allowed to leave. She's a bit surprised he didn't just do a runner, take off into the shadows. Or find a more permanent solution.
It's not like him to just give in, she thinks. But she is immensely relieved he did, even smiles a bit when she thinks of him playing possum in Pakistan, doing his best to check on her from afar.
She suddenly has the premonition that his appearance in Islamabad is a sign of sorts, that this is not the last of him in her life.
There's more to be played out, she thinks. But at least she still has an ally - she's not entirely on her own.