Quinn sets up the camera, wonders to himself yet again how the fuck he got into this situation, knows it's his own fucking fault.
From the moment he got her name, he knew this was the endgame, that she would have to disappear. And as far as he was from understanding many basic human norms, he can't deny that she deserves at least a chance to say her piece, that Frannie should get some explanation of what happened.
"Ready?" he asks, flicks it to record.
Quinn sits down across the room, out of her view. Thinks he'd like to invisible right about now. But the best he can do is pretend he's not there.
Carrie starts to talk to the camera, talk to her daughter. And Quinn does his best to ignore what she's saying while listening at the same time. Grounds himself, remembers to be stone.
It's harder than he thinks, listening to her. She has barely started, is just getting the preliminaries down. But still there is something to seeing her exposed in this way, a grieving mother, losing her kid through no real fault of her own. Especially after all the shit she went through to get back to Frannie, when she was broken in Islamabad.
Which of course makes him think of his own kid, another episode in his life he'd like to erase. Somehow still a source of regret, no matter how much he tries to forget.
And it all comes together in an undercurrent of emotion, starts to erodes his walls. Which is why he has to get rid of her quickly, before something foundational collapses.
So Quinn sits there awkwardly, reminds himself that this is the only way, does his best not to feel for her. It's the life she chose to lead, he thinks to himself. The kind of shit she always gets into. And you can't carry something precious around in combat, it's just too obvious a weakness.
But as Carrie films the video Quinn can see that she tried hard, has to give her that. Made a decent go of it, certainly more than he ever managed. Seems to have changed, has softer edges.
And then she says that she's doing everything that she can to get back and it knocks him out of his thoughts, reminds him of his job. Quinn stands up, stops the camera.
"What are you doing?" she asks, annoyed.
"If you're doing everything that you can to get back to her then you're still alive," he explains, thinks she will get the point.
"So?" she replies, clearly not seeing it at all.
And it's not the time to mince words, worry about feelings. He can see that she's still stuck in mental shock, hasn't completely thought the situation through. Otherwise she would see it too. And right now, he needs her to get what's going down, the hard facts of the matter.
"So, if this falls into the wrong hands, you're fucked," he explains, hopes that will be enough.
"I'm not going away forever, just until this situation is resolved," Carrie argues, just as she would, always does.
"How is it getting resolved?" he counters, wants her to come to the realization herself.
"I'm going to figure out who targeted me..." she replies stubbornly. As if she really thinks she can do it, on her own, on the run. A powerful enemy possibly looking for her at every turn. An professional killer at her back and no allies to turn to.
"And they're going to keep come looking for you," Quinn argues, about at the end of his patience with her. He knows this has all happened really fast for her, that for all her operations knowledge, she doesn't understand how an assassin thinks. But there's no time for them to argue about it anymore, for her to get it.
"And I will fix it," she says, as determined as ever.
"And if they think you're still alive they will get to you through Frannie," he says, as directly as he can. Names the clear and awful truth, what she should have realized by now.
And finally he sees that she's starting to get it, rationally understands. But emotionally Carrie's still fighting it, wants to believe there's some around the problem. Is in shock still,a state of denial.
So he just has to do it, get it through the fog of emotion. Tell her what's obvious to him, what she doesn't want to see. And thankfully there's no time to sugarcoat it, because every minute he spends here with her threatens the wall he's built up, an effort of two years. It's as hard a thing as he's ever had to say to her, something she has to understand.
"Carrie," Quinn says, as firmly as he can, looking hard into her eyes. "If you want Frannie to be safe, you have to be dead."
#
She's staring at Quinn blankly and he's telling her that Frannie will never be safe unless she plays dead. And her first reaction is to swear at him, argue and rail.
But Carrie freezes, suddenly sees that he's right, on an operations level. That disappearing means leaving no trace. Even though she still doesn't agree that there's no other way, thinks she will get back to Frannie soon. The video can't show any evidence of life, not if they're going to be safe.
Of course the hardest part is believing it could possibly be true. The facts Quinn has been trying so hard to coldly impart on her. That she could be leaving Frannie forever, that just being alive makes things dangerous for her daughter.
The thought is so devastating Carrie feels a numb shock wash over her, everything he's said finally coming together and freezing her in horrible realization. She looks away, tries to get a hold of her emotions, understand the magnitude of loss she's feeling.
"Jesus," she mutters, shakes her head in sadness, disbelief. Can't believe it's true.
"How'd you feel when you had to leave your kid?" she asks sharply, wonders if there's anything left under this cold wall he's built up.
But if she was looking for understanding, she should have known better. Quinn is all business, like he wants to get her out of his hideout, out of his life.
"Not everyone is fit to be a parent," he replies roughly, looks at her hard.
Carrie's wondering if he's only talking about himself, remembers him telling her how sad it would be to watch her fuck things up with her kid. Then remembers Kabul, Islamabad. How fucked up she had been, how scared she had been of being a mother.
Two years of parenting does not a perfect mother make, Carrie thinks. Especially if it ends up with you abandoning your kid, living an indefinite life on the run.
But then that's why she has to do this. This could be her only chance at letting Frannie know what happened, that she didn't leave of her own choice, that she will love her forever. Even though she knows it won't mean much in the long run, doesn't make up for anything. At least her daughter will know how much she loved her, that she never meant for this to happen.
"Let's do this," Quinn says crisply, presses record. Then sits back down in his seat, looks at his hands.
Carrie takes a moment, tries to collect herself. Then faces the camera, takes a deep breath, tells herself that she is ready for this. Talks to her daughter, tries to be as honest and real as she can be.
Cracks for a moment at the same line, stops herself, has to fight the waves of emotion that suddenly crash through. Takes another breath, tries her best to steady herself, tell herself that saying the words will not necessarily make it true.
And then tells Frannie that she didn't make it back, that things got too dangerous.
Which brings her to the end, to the life they had for two years, real time together. A better life.
"I didn't abandon you," she tells her daughter, knows from experience it's the only thing a child can think when a parent disappears. "I know what that feels like and I would never do that to you. You are the most important, the best thing that I have ever done. You make up for every mistake that I've ever made. And although you probably don't believe it, I love you very very much."
She's crying readily by the end, knows it was impossible to avoid. Turns the camera off and sits there staring, trying to comprehend what just happened.
She tries to tell herself that Frannie will never have to see the video, that she will figure her way out of this. But it's not enough to stem the tide, stop the flow of regretful tears, push away the fear of never seeing her again.
So Carrie sits and stares at the table, weeping silently for her lost life, her abandoned child. Hears Quinn approach and take the camera but doesn't look up, is still caught in the moment.
"We have to get going," Quinn says, sounds all business, like none of this has just happened.
Carrie looks up, bites hard on her lip to regain a little control.
"Jesus, Quinn," she says angrily. "Give me a fucking minute."
His eyes are still stark, cold. But a little surprise registers, and she thinks she even sees a sliver of sympathy slip through. More telling is that he doesn't argue with her, just shoots her a slightly frustrated look before walking away, giving her some space.
She knows it's Quinn's way of apologizing, not much but enough for now. So Carrie tells herself to breathe, that just because she made the video doesn't mean she's never going to see Frannie again. Regardless of what Quinn says, she's still convinced there's another way.
Because there's always another way. And now she's not on her own anymore, has Quinn on her side. Even this colder, harder Quinn is ever useful - technically just saved her life. Which gives her a chance at figuring it all out, getting back to her daughter.
Carrie stifles the last of her tears, wipes her face and tells herself she's ready. Does her best to push the rest of her emotions away, reminds herself what it's like to be on a job. Stands and turns to go, unexpectedly catches Quinn staring at her, a concerned expression on his face.
He recovers quickly, covers it with stoniness. But Carrie knows what she saw, is sure it's still him. And as bad as things seem to be, as cold as Quinn tries to be, it's still somehow reassuring that he's here with her now, that he's still got her back.