A/N: Things are going to move a little more quickly after this.
"Carrie," he pauses and sits back running his hand through his hair. "I can't stop fucking thinking about you," he places his hands on his knees, moving them up and down his thighs, not able to sit still.
She momentarily looks away for a second then back at him. "Then don't," her voice is still somber. "I'm no good for you."
"Yes you are," he immediately objects.
"How?"
"Well... I'm out. That's one thing," the words just come to him.
"And what else have you done besides... well this?" she folds her arms.
He gets up roaming around, wandering to nowhere. She's thinks she's only dangling a carrot in front of a rabbit, but she's actually poking a stick into the cage of a hungry lion.
"I went to the gym everyday this week, you know that? I went to a restaurant and bought a meal for more than just myself," he perches over the chair. "I finally did that tour in D.C. that I used to make fun of people for doing, I took Franny down a slide. And you know what? I liked doing all of those things," he's nearly out of breath after speaking so quickly, but not quite.
"I can't do ANY of those things! Don't you get that Quinn! And even if I-"
"You will. Yes, you will!" He sits now that she is engaged. "I know you will."
"How?" She asks, needing the answer. "How do you know? What if I never get better? And even if I do-"
"Jesus Carrie you've been here three weeks. Stop thinking like that... and maybe you will."
She takes a deep breath.
"I wish I could just see everybody... well... you know after."
"It's not going to happen," he tells her quite frankly.
"Well if you keep coming here..." she pauses not knowing what to say as he begins to unload the food anyways. "Then... then I'm going to get fat."
"Good," he says, as she can almost feel his breath with how deliberate he said it. Then he throws the food in front her and grabs her hand, shoving the fork into her hand.
She opens up the box he hands her with little appetite.
"Eat," he says and she's not sure if he's asking or telling, but she still doesn't want to touch it.
"I said eat Carrie," he demands, slamming his fist on the table making her jump. He doesn't mean to be so harsh, but his worried eyes make up for his tone. He abandons his own meal for a moment, observing her.
"Thank you," she says almost unable to look at him. They don't speak as they eat, but he keeps a watchful eye to be sure that she does.
It seems pointless that he's here and they're not speaking.
"You wanna talk about it? What happened this week?" He asks cracking through his recent outburst.
"Not really."
"Fine we'll talk about something else."
"Like what? I'm assuming that you don't have a job, right?"
"We don't have to talk about either one of us- if you don't want to." He'd avoided talking about this, but he's got nothing left. "Has uh... Saul come here?" He asks as they're finishing up.
"Yeah... a few weeks ago. Why?"
"He's going back... to Islamabad."
"He what? How do you know?"
"He told me," he says.
She knows why he didn't tell her before, but why was he telling her now.
"Lockhart rehired him, as an agent. A lot of people are gone, he needed someone."
"What is he doing there? Doesn't he know what the fuck just happened there?"
"There's still people and things that got left behind."
"He's cleaning up my mess."
"I didn't say that."
"Why are you telling me this now? If you're out... then why did he tell you?"
"He asked me to go... I said no."
She nods not saying anything more. No more questions. It's clear why.
"Thanks for dinner," she says as he collects the empty dishes.
He's surprised at her thanks, that she said it out loud twice, and he notices that she realizes he is.
"Quinn?" She says as he's still cleaning up.
"Yeah?"
"I know you came a long way to see me..."
"Ye- yeah?" He's completely terrified for what's about to come out of her mouth either way to it.
"...so... for next time," his racing heart finally slows, "I don't know if I'll be tomorrow or a week or two months from now. But I just need to figure some shit out okay?"
He finally swallows the lump in his throat, thinking it was going to be worse - or was it? Two months? Two fucking months? There's no way. But, she said NEXT time.
"I'm going to bed okay?" She tells him.
He's still not sure if he should help or not. It was the kind of arbitrary that he was damned if he did or damned if he didn't. This time he does like he had the week before and she doesn't seem to complain.
"Can you grab my toothbrush and a cup?" She asks and he does it.
"Water?" She asks and he fetches some, continuing to just do for her.
He still stands there even when she's done, staying not wanting to go.
"Fuck Carrie. I don't want to leave."
"You can stay a bit longer, if you want," she says having nothing else to offer him at the moment.
"No. No, I'm just gonna leave," he's slightly scattered, grabbing his things.
He looms over her bed, not exactly sure what kind of goodbye this was. Suddenly he can't help it. She's right there in front of him and he cannot stop himself from tasting her lips once more, possibly for the last time. Sitting now on the bed again, leaning into her so much that even if she was, he wouldn't be able to tell if she was trying to resist, absolutely no space between them. There's little that can stop him. He wants her so fucking bad right now and it's all wrong and knows it. He ventures to her pantie line, unsure of what he's even doing. She can't do a thing about, except maybe scream - as if he was taking advantage or something. A force inside makes him stop when he lifts his head up just enough to see her eyes. Relief washes over her, he can see it, knows it.
He's mortified at what he'd done. Whatever was there probably gone now. "I'm sorry," he's panting and rushing out as quickly as he can.
"Today's topic is 'What motivates us to heal'. I've seen a lot of negativity lately and I think that it's important for us to discuss that. So everybody... who wants to start?"
Carrie listens intently, deep in thought now, but ready to listen to the others.
"Carrie."
"Huh? What?" She's caught off guard, in the spotlight now with everyone in the group's eyes on her.
"Carrie you've been here for a month now and haven't said a word. How about you start?"
She panics now, can't believe what they're asking of her.
"Um... no that's okay, thank you," she holds out her hands in front of her as if she's trying to avoid an army.
"You sure?" The group leader asks again and she's silent. They sits there waiting and waiting for her to speak until it's pointless.
"I'll start," another patient says. "I've been-"
"I'm a bad mom," the words begin to flow out of Carrie's mouth. She doesn't even know why she's telling these people, though she doesn't make an eye contact. "I'm a horrible sister... and an even worse friend. Even before this happened," she says with her head down now. They're all listening now.
"I came all the way here, because I didn't think they'd come. And yet... they still come. Still come to see me and I don't know why," her silence is now powerful, gripping actually. They can all tell this is the first time that she's ever said any of this out loud. Tears are now escaping her.
"And I just... just want to find a way you know. To let them know that I do care. And if I get better," she's barely audible through the pain in her voice now, her eyes flooded, "then I'll be able to do the same for them. But... I don't know how."
Another patient who she doesn't even know embraces her, allowing Carrie to literally cry on her shoulder.
"My baby doesn't even know I'm her mother," her last confession is muffled, yet heard.
There's no bashing or judgement flying in her direction. Only solace and praise for her honesty.
"Thank you for sharing Carrie."
She does feel better. Not better better, but relieved. Like she's not thinking about only tomorrow and if that'll be the day, but really thinking about what happens when this is over. Thinking about the company that she wants to keep and who she doesn't. No one else seems to have a story quite like hers, but the struggle is mutual.
She's stopped as she leaves the meeting.
"Carrie?"
"Yeah?"
"I'd like it if you'd come talk to me, in private. Of course if you want to."
"I'd like that," she says.
"Tomorrow?"
"Yeah, tomorrow."