Quinn took a right out of the parking garage and turned right again on Khayaban-e-Iqbal, and instantly, Carrie was lost. Unfortunately for her, she had not done most of her driving since she came to Islamabad. Being Station Chief afforded both privileges and security risks, both of which meant she was escorted almost everywhere.

Quinn stared straight ahead, his lips pressed together in a tight line. He had put on a jacket and cap which looked vaguely military, and quite ratty, but with the cap down low on his head, it changed his appearance enough that he wouldn't be made immediately unless being tailed by a skilled agent with a clear search image in mind. He reached into the back seat, pulled out long purple headscarf, and shoved it into her hands. "Wrap up in this," he said, clearly expecting immediate obedience. She covered her head, sneaking glimpses of Peter as she wrapped the scarf around her neck. "Now call them," he said tersely.

Carrie looked over at him. "Call who?" she said innocently.

"Cut the shit and call them. Tweedledee and Tweedledum will wake up soon. I don't want them tracing you to my location, thinking that I'm kidnapping you."

"Are you kidnapping me?" Carrie said.

Quinn said nothing, then looked sideways at Carrie, his eyes moving over her breasts, over her thighs. "Maybe I should," he said. "It would be a lot easier than losing you every time I need to move over the next few days." Carrie swallowed.

She speed-dialed the security line she had called previously, before turning her face towards the window. She kept her voice low and calm, and Peter overheard her speak, "… disabled both men. No, not badly injured…. No, he moved out immediately. I'm shadowing him, but I think he might have lost me….. yeah, he's fast. In the Blue Area, near Saidpur, I think…. No. I don't think so, I'll see you tonight." She broke off the call.

"Now give me your phone," he said. Quinn's voice was quiet and smooth, emotionless. She had seen him like this many times, and when he was in operations mode, every word out of his mouth was a command. She considered some arguments briefly, then realized the futility of remonstrating with him, and handed it over. "Good," he said. He opened the window, and with a quick flick of his wrist, tossed her iPhone into the back of a parked pickup truck. Then he whipped a U-turn, squealing the tires of the VW, and left the truck and phone far behind them, speeding off in the other direction.

"Quinn!" Carrie squawked, outraged. "What the fuck!"

"You don't need me to explain. I can't have you traced to my safe location, I need it and the others I've secured, and there's no time to find more."

"Goddamn it," Carrie huffed.

"You wanted to come along," he pointed out.

"You said, 'get in the fucking car.' I thought you might wring my neck if I didn't," she said. Instead of acting guilty, Quinn snorted, "I feel like I might like to."

They rode on in silence for a few more miles, going westward away from the Diplomatic Enclave and through consecutively poorer neighborhoods until he turned off Ibn-e-Sina Road and took another sharp turn into a narrow dark alley, into which the car barely fit. Pulling to the end of the alley under a rust-ridden carport, Quinn parked the vehicle next to a battered metal loading dock door, and turned off the ignition.

"Come," he said, giving a clipped order. Carrie released her seat belt, got out, and followed him to a dark metal door reinforced with a new deadbolt. Quinn's key turned in the lock, and pushing the door open with mock chivalry, he bowed slightly and indicated that she should enter first. She moved into the dark, and only dared to take a step or two before she couldn't see well enough to move safely. She stopped, and Quinn came in and shut the door behind them with a thud, plunging them both into pitch darkness. She heard him turn the lock, but he didn't turn the light on.

"Quinn?" she said. Her voice quavered. "Where are we?"

He had moved, without making a sound, and was standing immediately behind her. He was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, even though he wasn't touching her. "One of my places," he said darkly, close enough for her to feel his breath. She shuddered, and they both stood motionless in the dark for a moment.

Gently, he pulled the headscarf off her head, the silky fabric swiping over her cheeks and face, making her shiver. His fingers grazed the back of her neck raising goosebumps. He was silent. She could feel him drop the jacket and hat he'd been wearing onto the floor, along with the scarf. After another charged moment in the dark, Quinn flipped a light switch.

A single bulb came on, which hung about 12 feet above the old wooden floor in the room. As she studied the room silently, his hands came down gently on both her shoulders and held her there. To her left, Carrie spied a table, a few desk chairs, a set of file cabinets that apparently weren't in use, tipped over on their side. To her right, a couch, a chair, a desk with a power strip and UPS, and a docking station for his laptop, as well as a ViaSat unit for secure internet access. In front of her, though, was a much more disturbing sight, though it was not entirely surprising to her. A heavy wooden chair with arms, a pair of handcuffs attached to each of them. A low table with needlenose pliers, duct tape, vice grips, a hammer, a screwdriver, a hacksaw…

"Jesus Christ, Quinn! I guess I don't need to ask what you use this place for."

"I needed to ask a guy a few questions. He and I had a little chat this morning."

She shook his hands off her shoulders, irritated. "If I'm going to help you at all, you're going to have to be a little more direct." She walked across the room, putting the interrogation chair between him and herself, and turned to face him.

"OK, Carrie. This morning, after I left you, I convinced Parvez to take me on a little drive."

"Fucking Parvez," Carrie muttered.

"As usual, that cocksucker Fahrad Ghazi was right behind us, tailing us in his SUV. I got Parvez to let me off in a market, where I started a little, um, diversion."

"Oh, really. Would that be the conflagration in the market square off Saddar Road that came across the Com at about 7 AM?"

"Maybe. Probably. Yes. Anyway, I doubled back, got the jump on Ghazi, after which he was more than happy to drive over and visit with me here, with the barrel of my gun behind his ear."

"Quinn. Jesus. I can only fucking imagine. Where is he now?" she asked worriedly. She looked more closely at the tools, for signs of blood.

"I didn't kill him, if that's what you're worried about. In the end, I don't want to get in any worse with your buddy, Khan, than I already am."

Carrie bridled at the mention of Asaar Khan's name. "He isn't my buddy." Quinn just looked at her. "And what did you gain from all this?"

"This," Quinn said. He walked over to the desk and produced a piece of paper, handing it to her. Inspecting it, Carrie identified the OS details and identity codes from a couple of HTC Smart phones. "These are two phones from the series being used by Haqqani's organization. One, I got off a dead Talib in the Embassy lobby. The other, off our friend Ghazi. They switch them out like clockwork. I made a record of the phone numbers, but I gave the actual phones to a guy at Astrid's organization. Gerhardt is screening right now, as fast as he can, using those two to find the next burner phones in the series. When he does, Astrid will relay the information to me." At the mention of Astrid's name, Carrie's eyes narrowed. But she didn't want to go there yet.

"Then you'll have Haqqani's location?"

"Almost certainly. At least for a short period of time."

Carrie walked over to the couch, and sat down, her eyebrows furrowed as she looked over at the table of Quinn's tools. His techniques left something to be desired, in terms of crimes against humanity, but he certainly got information quickly.

"Where is Ghazi now?"

"Waking up in a dumpster outside Asaar Khan's office, wearing Iraqi handcuffs. He still has all his fingernails."

"And, what was her name, Astrid?" Carrie said acidly. "What exactly does she owe you, that she takes these kinds of risks?"

Quinn looked down, looked away, and wouldn't meet Carrie's eyes. "We go way back," he said.

Carrie observed Quinn for a moment, saying nothing. Quinn wouldn't meet her eyes. He went to the back of the room, into the darkness and emerged with a toolbox. He knelt on the floor next to the table and began carefully laying away tools into the box. Back to his taciturn self, she thought, never an extra word or a smile.

"Quinn, look at me," she said. He set down the needlenose pliers and looked up at her. His hangdog expression and tired eyes fractured her heart. But she still felt emotionally bruised up from the night before, and spoke to him harshly.

"You fucking lied to me," Carrie said. "You said you were going to stay with me, leave Pakistan. We were going home."

"Technically, I didn't lie," he said, looking down again. "You asked me how long I was going to stay. Right before you fell asleep. And I said, as long as it takes."

Carrie threw up her hands in exasperation. "What? That's insane. You know that's not what I was asking! And then you went directly to your girlfriend. God, I'm a fucking idiot." She got up and paced the floor, fuming.

Quinn frowned. "She's not my girlfriend. I don't think she ever was. Much to her dismay."

"Oh, now here comes the speech. 'She never meant anything to me." Next you'll be telling me you never fucked her," Carrie uttered.

Quinn slammed the lid of the toolbox shut. "Yes, we fucked. In fact, we fucked twice since I came here to the station. I've known Astrid for almost seven years. But in that time, not once have I told her I cared for her. Or anything like it," he said angrily.

Carrie stopped and folded her arms, glaring at Quinn. "You really had me going. I really believed you last night. But I can see that…" she trailed off, her face crumpling. She was back to the place she was that morning in the shower, howling. His lovemaking had felt so incredible that she thought he loved her. She could feel it. The disappointment was too much to bear. She crouched over, as if gutshot, and buried her face in her hands.

"I don't love Astrid. I never did. She thinks if she waits long enough, that I'm going to come around. But that's never going to happen. After this morning, I think she knows why."

He walked over to Carrie, tried to help her stand, and take her hands from her face, but she smacked at him and pushed him away. He grabbed at her wrists, trying to restrain her, but she continued to try to fight and shove at him. "Don't fucking touch me," she sobbed.

Peter tried to hold her wrists securely, but she worked a hand loose and slapped at his face, grazing the corner of his jaw with her fingernail, drawing a thin line of blood. At that, Quinn had had enough, and grappled both her wrists behind her back, clenched in a firm grip, while wrapping his other arm completely around Carrie's torso, he wrangled her towards the beat-up couch, as she screeched and fought to free herself. "That's enough, Carrie," he said through clenched teeth.

He pulled her weight forward as she spluttered and scuffled with him. Both of them fell together onto the couch, his arms wrapped tightly around her so that she could not hurt him, or herself. Almost tight enough to bruise her ribs. They wrestled for another moment until she realized she was overpowered, and a frustrated shriek worked loose from her throat, her eyes closed, and tears streaming.

"Why, why? Why now? What am I supposed to do," she cried. She couldn't even articulate her pain, she only knew it was the worst feeling she'd had since she watched Brody die. She gave up on trying to get loose from his strong grasp, put her head down on his chest, and sobbed.

Quinn groaned. "Carrie, Carrie, no. No. Shhh. Please," he said, his voice hoarse. He loosened his grip and stroked her back, her hair. "It's my fault. We never talked. I never… told you… what I felt," he grated in her ear. "But for the last two years…" he trailed off, organizing his thoughts.

She raised her head and looked into his eyes, their faces inches apart, waiting. Even in this dim light, his eyes were so blue; rimmed with red and moist with emotion. Steam pipes clanged a faraway chime into the silence around them. Carrie waited. And finally, he spoke.

"I didn't even think I knew how to love someone. I had girlfriends. I had booty calls. I had women literally all over the world. I even got someone pregnant, for Christ's sake, and left her with a son I never see." At the mention of his child, Carrie pulled her hand from Peter's tight hold and placed it softly on his cheek.

"But you… you make me feel something. Carrie, I tried to snuff it out. I tried to drink enough to make it stop. I went on missions, I fucked other women. But… I never stop thinking about you," he said intensely.

A tear trickled down his cheek. Slowly, her heart aching, she leaned up to his face and kissed it away. "Why didn't you tell me?" she said.

"You couldn't see me," he said quietly, brokenly. His hand came up to stroke her cheek as well, and she put her head on his shoulder. They both relaxed back into the couch, his arms around her, his hand over her head and ear, his lips in her hair. They breathed more slowly, in and out, and Carrie's eyes closed. She really had been blind, numb, she had had no idea.

After some time, her breath came more slowly. Quinn reached under her chin, cupped it with his palm, and turned her face towards his. "This is real," he said. And then he kissed her. She didn't even think of fighting it. She relaxed her body, and let his tongue enter her. The way his cock had the night before. His kiss was fathomless, opening her, and as she pressed close to him, she felt his body stiffen. The crack in her soul yawned wide and deepened, mysteriously, as the black depths of his evasive, terrifying love poured out of him, and into her, through this profound union. He clutched her tighter and moaned into her mouth. There could be no doubt, he had been telling the truth last night. He was still kissing her, his breath coming quicker through his nose, his hands open on her back, trying to cover as much of her body as possible. Her ever-present Quinn, her human shield. How could she not have seen this inside him? His feelings were so deep and painful to him, abyssal, soul-destroying. He had been such an iceman around her. How much that must have cost him! There was nothing for her to do but respond to his bare need, and give everything she was back to him, at last.

Finally, they broke away from each other. She lay her head down again on his shoulder. A good feeling, even in this ugly place, in these hideous circumstances. She wanted to enjoy the feeling of love and safety for a few moments, but knew they must breach the topic. "Peter," she said, enjoying his hand stroking her neck, sliding down to rest lightly on one of her breasts. "We still haven't discussed when you're coming home."

He sighed. "I guess you don't understand yet. I don't want to die. I'm not going to die. I'm going to remain very much alive. You were the one who brought me here, remember?" he said. She looked at her lap, suddenly ashamed. "You told me this was important. Well, now it is."

"Why did you go to Astrid? Why not come to me?" she said, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice, and failing.

"Because, Carrie, I knew you'd try to stop me. I was right. And I wanted you out of harm's way."

She sat up and away from him, and looked at his eyes. He continued, "I'm sure Astrid thinks she cares, but she really sees me as a conquest. I think she hopes that someday, I'll act like I love her. Right now, she has access to... things I need. And is willing to provide them. But the bottom line is, she doesn't care enough about me to prevent me from doing something really dangerous."

"And I do," Carrie said, glowering.

"Obviously," said Quinn, tweaking her nipple.

"Stop it," she snapped, and stood up. "You're right about that. I think this is crazy. What kind of plan could you have, that you could possibly escape from Pakistan after executing? ISI will have you followed, they'll figure out the German connection soon enough, and Quinn, I don't know how you plan to do this, but you'll never get close to him without being in mortal danger yourself. No wonder you said, 'We don't have much time,' last night. The risk is too great," she finished, walking towards the door.

Peter stood up and followed her to the door. "Carrie, you have two choices, help me or hinder me, and I can see you going in a direction I can't permit."

She turned around, eyes blazing, "I can't lose you, Quinn. Not now. I refuse. I'm not going to let you get yourself killed. Whatever you do next, you know I can find you. You can expect a pickup from Embassy security and the MPs within the next 12 hours. And this time it won't be two low-key internal agents. This time it will be 12 guys in riot gear. I'll summon a tranquilizer gun if I have to," Carrie said, and started towards the door again.

Quinn grabbed her arm and whirled her around, held her in place. Her hair flew, and she faced him with wide eyes.

"No. You won't." he pronounced. "If that's the choice you make, I'll have to… alter the circumstances."

She stood still, her arm still held in his, not daring to move, eyes widening further and her anxiety growing.

"Seriously, Quinn, what are you going to do, keep me here?"

"You forget who you're dealing with, Carrie. Nobody knows where you are. And I only need a few days." His eyes glittered dangerously. He grabbed both her upper arms closely, and briskly pulled her in, close to his body, rock hard and nimble. He held her close, hips insistently pressed into hers.

"Quinn?" she said, trembling, her voice rising, his name the only question in her mind, which was going blank.

"Sit down. If I can't keep you completely out of harm's way, then... I'm just going to keep you."