Quinn wakes with a startle, stifles a groan. Remembers taking the bullet to the vest the previous night, didn't sleep much on the concrete floor, with an unknown entity in his bed. He's not exactly used to visitors in his dungeon, certainly none that spent the night.
He sits up, reminds himself that this is all really happening. Rises silently, takes the few steps over to check on his captive, but she's still out, which gives him a little time.
Quinn wipes his hand over his face, takes a deep breath. Tells himself it was a long time ago, that it means nothing now. And yet he knows it does. To get her name, at this time.
Two years in Syria. Maybe the darkest he's gone. The effects are everywhere on him, in him. Day after day of beheadings, rapes, murder. Doing the only thing he knows how to do well. Kill after kill. One dead enemy at a time.
And then this deal with Saul, he had been in the perfect frame of mind. Even more cold and calculated than usual, nothing getting underneath the stony exterior. The truth was, Quinn just didn't give a fuck anymore, only saw the futility of it all. He could kill hundreds more and still nothing would be resolved, just more dead, more bereaved, more at war.
So it didn't matter. He didn't want to make the decisions anymore. It was easier to just do his job, put the evidence in the box, hide away in the hole. Almost as bad as Syria, but at least the devastation of war wasn't endlessly in his face, and he still had some purpose. Bringer of death. As always.
Until now.
He looks at her, still sleeping off the sedative. Grinds his teeth a little, remembers sitting in his car, looking at her name.
Now there was a fucking turn of events, Quinn thinks. Just the kind of shit that steps out and threatens the nice dark hole you've dug for yourself.
A test. One that he's determined to pass this time.
He's thought this through a million times in the past two days. Locate, abduct, fake evidence, disappear. And now the first two are done, he should be pleased with his progress.
But she almost killed him the previous night, he has to give her credit for that. And the rest of the plan involves her being awake, actual interaction. Which is the part that's dangerous.
Quinn knows he has to make this all happen before it inevitable occurs. No matter how far down he's gone, how dark he's managed to make things. He knows himself all too well, can only hold it back for so long. Carrie will wake up, do something completely frustrating and, then, suddenly after months of nothingness, a complete lack of emotion in itself, he will find himself caring. Giving a shit.
The fact that she's here, out cold in his shitty bed. That he's watching her sleep as he makes a sandwich. That he has an escape all planned out. It's all evidence of what happens when she's around, his fucking fatal flaw.
It is a very short list, the people in this world he would not kill if ordered to. Especially lately. But the little jolt he felt looking at her name was undeniable.
Carrie told him once offhandedly that he couldn't kill her, no matter the situation. Said it in that 'yeah whatever' way she has. And he remembers being upset that she was right, that he could have such an obvious weakness.
Quinn shakes his head, reminds himself that he's not allowed to remember. Walks away with his sandwich as if not looking at her will help. But the thing is he already knows he's fucked, that the best he can hope for is a little more time alive for the both of them. And if that's to happen, he needs to be rid of her, get back to himself.
So he stands there for a moment, goes through the plan, tells himself she can be on a train by midday, that this problem is transient, can be dealt with. He just has to play it as planned, absolutely cannot let Carrie get to him, get under the armour he's built up.
Of course he hears her stir just then, a little movement from the other 'room'. Puts on his best poker face, goes to meet his fate.
#
Carrie wakes in an unfamiliar place, an uncomfortable position. Her hands are zip-tied to a metal cot and she can't move much. Blinks a few times, suddenly remembers being grabbed from behind, after she thought she had hit her target.
The fear of being held prisoner rises in her as she looks around the dingy industrial building she seems to be in. The manic edge from the day before is mostly gone but Carrie still feels it thrum in her as she looks around for any clues, indications of where she might be. But all she sees is bleak light, the evidence of slightly squalid living.
She hears movement behind her, tries to turn her head to look but only manages to see a blur. Panic starts to rise in her gut as she struggles to get a look at her captor, finally find out who is after her. She searches her memory for any clues from the previous night, wonders if just being here, tied up, means she may as well be dead already.
She keeps looking though, needs to find out what the fuck is going on. Sees someone approach, finally close enough to get a look at. Then has to look twice, convince herself she's not seeing things.
He is absolutely the last person she expects to see, yet relief floods through her as he approaches and Carrie sees it's really him.
"Quinn," she mutters to herself. "Oh thank god."
As unbelievable as it is, it's also somehow true. It really is Quinn, wearing his usual serious look. She sits up, expects him to come and cut her loose her. But instead he just leans up against the counter, grabs a knife, looks at her in a slightly menacing manner.
"Quinn?" she asks, wondering what game he is playing. He doesn't say a word, starts sterilizing the knife with a lighter.
And now she's starting to worry again, doesn't like that he hasn't said anything, hasn't even looked at her. That she's still tied up and has no idea what's going on.
"Quinn, untie me," she demands, knows she's giving him a wild look.
But Quinn still doesn't reply, has an expression on that makes her stomach nervous.
"Quinn, what the fuck is going on?" she tries again, a panicked edge to her voice now.
It's like he's angry with her, cold as he can be. But she hasn't seen him in years, has no reason to be looking at her this way. Suspicious, hard.
"Your name is on a kill list," he finally says, still the same expression on his face.
"I know, I can't figure it out," she replies, not understanding how he's involved in any of this at all.
"Well, you must have done something, pissed off somebody," he says coldly. "Crossed the line somewhere."
And now Carrie realizes something is wrong, thinks this is not the Quinn she remembers. There's something very icy in the way he's looking at her as he preps the knife and she's reminded of the vicious streak in him. Not that he was ever that way with her; but things change, people change.
Carrie tries to get the creeping disturbing thoughts out of her head but it's pretty much impossible with the look on Quinn's face, his slightly aggressive demeanour.
So she finds herself genuinely afraid as he unexpectedly runs the knife against his own palm, leans in with a determined look in his eyes.
"Quinn, Quinn, Quinn" she stutters, still not quite believing she's actually scared of him right now, that she's no longer sure what he's capable of.
"Don't move Carrie," he says, reaches out to grab her face.
"No please," she begs. "No, please, please, please."
"Stop moving, Carrie," he repeats, one hand behind her head, the one he cut up against the side of her face.
Quinn holds onto her tight as he smears his blood all over her cheek, further confuses the hell out of her. Carrie's still completely stunned, unsure of what to make of anything that's happened. But at least it finally gets her attention, makes her think she may not be completely fucked after all.
He looks at her intently as he does it, makes the whole thing even weirder, more fucked up. Then, finally done, he turns around, grabs the knife again. And still she has no idea what this all means, what Quinn has planned. But at least he cuts her loose with the knife,
"I didn't do anything, I have no idea where this is coming from," she says, wants him to understand. Tries to come up with possible scenarios that lead to him having to kill her. Can only think of one thing, yet can't believe Quinn would do it, go through with it.
"I swear, no matter what Dar Adal said," she continues, sure he has to be the one behind the order.
Quinn grabs her by the shoulders, guides her over to the other wall. Looks at her with that same emotionless expression he's been using this whole time.
"Not him," he tells her. "Saul. Saul put your name of the list."
And now he's saying something that makes no fucking sense at all, does not fit into the world as she understands it.
"Saul?" she asks, stunned, unbelieving.
"Close your eyes," Quinn says, pushing her to the floor.
"I don't believe it," Carrie states, cannot see how it could be true. There is bad blood there of course. But this isn't something he would do, she can't accept it. Not Saul. Not after everything they've been through together. And to send Quinn to do it, that was just ridiculous.
"Believe it," Quinn answers sharply, as if it's that easy for people to change, become complete unknowns.
She's starting to wonder if it's true about Quinn, this cold hard edge he's honing. He only vaguely resembles the Quinn she remembers, seems to be missing some key components.
None of it makes any fucking sense, she thinks. Saul trying to kill her, sending Quinn after her. Just being here, in this Berlin dungeon with Quinn, his blood all over her. It's everything she's been trying to get away from, all the fucked up shit from her past.
"Now play fucking dead," Quinn says a bit harshly, a shitty phone in his hands.
In any other circumstance Carrie would say something snarky, drop a nasty remark. But she's so stunned by everything that's happened, is only just catching up to Quinn's plan. So she doesn't fight him, gets that he's doing what he can with the situation he's been presented with. Slumps down and plays dead, hears him snap the shot, tries not to remember he's taking photo evidence of her death.
Once the photo has been taken Carrie opens her eyes, sits up but doesn't stand right away. Sits there and watches as Quinn looks at the photo, wearing his usual scowl.
Finally he glances back at her, gives her that hard look again. But now Carrie's started to get her bearings, has shed a layer of shock.
And she's still scared, doesn't know how any of this will turn out. Away from Frannie, Jonas, suddenly transported back into the middle of her old life where her unfriendly neighbourhood assassin just told her that someone she once loved and trusted is trying to kill her.
Yet, as she looks up at Quinn, Carrie oddly gets a feeling of comfort, a sense that things are not quite as bad as they appear. So she's scared, but not really. She remembers this life keenly, the kind of life where sitting in a derelict church in Berlin wearing Quinn's blood all over her is not necessarily out of the ordinary. She knows how to do this, will be able to figure it out.
And then there's him. Maybe this Quinn isn't exactly the old one, but she's alive and he's risked his own situation for her - so the fundamentals haven't changed. And for a moment Carrie really remembers him, the shit they've been through. Knows that this new steely exterior he's wearing is his only defense; that he puts it on because he thinks he has to, because he thinks he's vulnerable.
She glances up again, can tell Quinn's getting impatient. So Carrie pushes herself to standing, gives him a direct look. Tries to tell him she appreciates what he did, that she knows he's still in there somewhere.