They start walking away from her storage unit, abandoning the rest of her stuff, the rest of her life. And Carrie still thinks that this can't possibly be it, that she hasn't just initiated her fallback plan, committed herself to starting a life on the run.

Because she's never been one to run away from a problem, would always rather meet it head on, figure her way out. And if taking off means being safe but never seeing Frannie again then she's willing to stay and take the risk. Would rather die trying to figure this out than give up her daughter, never know if she's safe.

Of course Quinn has a point, she should get out of town if she's supposedly dead now. But he's not looking at it the way she is, obviously just wants to get rid of her, move on with his life.

Which is fair enough, she thinks. But she's the one that has to give up her whole life, never see Frannie again. Just thinking about it now makes her nauseous, unsteady, and she suddenly has an impulse to break down, completely give up.

It's really happening, she tells herself. And it's no time to fucking fall apart. She needs to figure something out right now, or live the rest of her life as a different person, always looking out for assassins.

So Carrie tells herself to breathe, to think. And all those questions from before come back, the ones about Saul, about Quinn. It doesn't make any sense, she thinks yet again. Has to talk this through with Quinn, make sure before she actually gets on the train.

"Did you ever see Saul use the drop?" she asks, thinking through other ways her name could have gotten in there.

"Carrie, come on," Quinn says, obviously anxious just to get going, get her out of town.

But they both know she isn't going to stop asking until she's satisfied, that he will eventually give in.

"I need to know," she says firmly, stops walking.

"Yeah, I saw him the first time we set it up," Quinn replies impatiently as he turns to face her.

There it is, she thinks. The possibility. That someone else could know about their operation, switched names.

"Not since?" she asks, just to be sure.

"I'm deniable. No contact authorized. Let's move," Quinn says, starts walking again.

"So you don't know for certain it was Saul who put my name in the box?" she asks as she follows, thinks things through in her head.

"Christ," he mutters, gives her a look.

"Do you or don't you?" she demands. It's fucking important, she thinks. A lot more than getting on a train right now. And Quinn is being obstinate but she knows she just has to work at him, that she can always get him to come around.

"It's Saul's operation, it's all I need to know," he says, clearly trying to end the conversation yet again.

But Carrie's not going to give on this, especially with the stakes at hand. And if there's any chance she can figure it out here, she is not going anywhere.

So she pulls out the most obvious fact of all, the one that Quinn seems to be willfully ignoring. Of all the assets that Saul has in his position, why wouldn't he have sent someone else? To send Quinn to kill her was just cruel on every front, doesn't seem at all like something Saul would do.

"It doesn't make sense," Carrie says emphatically. "I mean maybe Saul changed, maybe I pissed him off. But Saul's smart. Sending you to kill me is not smart. It's fucking stupid, the fact that I'm still alive proves it."

#

Well, Quinn thinks. He has to give her that one. It was clearly fucking stupid to send him to kill her. Obviously he had been more than mildly surprised at finding her name there. But he had said any name in the box would do. And in a way he thought maybe it was a test of his coldness, his dedication.

One he is failing, badly.

Part of him wanted to believe that he had really given his last fuck somewhere in Syria. That caring about shit was something of the past. And then he got her fucking name in that box, as if to teach him some sort of abstruse life lesson, or just to fuck with his head.

Which all lead to this moment, outside her storage locker, trying futilely to end this argument with Carrie so he can put her on a fucking train, know that she's safe.

But the thing is he doesn't ever seem to have a choice in the matter - there was just no stopping her when she got like this. And it doesn't help that he has no immunity to it at all, that he always gives in. Though Quinn figures no one else would do any better, that Carrie somehow always fucking wins.

But obviously he's not going to give her the point, needs her to understand that her fucking life is in danger every minute she stays in Berlin. It doesn't matter who put her name in the box, Quinn thinks. She just needs to get clear before someone figures out he didn't do his job, did quite the opposite in fact.

"You're still a target, either way you look at it," he replies, knows he's losing even as he argues with her.

"Quinn, if Saul didn't put my name in the box then someone's inside your operation," Carrie says. "Any name you get after this, it's not legitimate. Let's test it. Take me to your drop."

Fuck, Quinn thinks. She's right and they both know it. But he can deal with this later, doesn't need her participation. Once she's gone, he'll be able to think clearer, get back to form.

"No, I'll handle it," he says, already knowing it's pointless.

"I'll go with you," Carrie replies, just as he knew she would.

"Get in the car, we're taking you to the train," he says as he turns and starts walking; frustration and anxiety crawling in his gut.

"No," Carrie says, matching strides with him, hollering in his ear.

"Carrie..." he groans, remembering exactly how this goes. Every fucking time.

Carrie keeps at it and he has to admit she's in fine form, hasn't lost a beat.

"You are telling me that someone I trust more than I've ever trusted anyone is trying to kill me and I'm just supposed to accept that, no questions asked? Spend my life on the run, give up my daughter?" she asks fiercely, facing him with that look of determination she gets.

"Quinn, I have to know," she adds, demands it of him with her eyes.

Quinn stands and looks at her, feels something breaking in him. Cracks in the foundation, spreading fast.

Yes he wants her just to accept it, get on a train, be alive and somewhere else. Right now he doesn't give a shit about the security of the operation, who put her name in the box. He will figure that out later, does not need her around to do so. Just needs her to get the fuck out of town and he will feel so much better about everything.

But he knows his goals are different than hers, that he just wants her to be safe while she wants to get her life back, be able to see her kid. And it shouldn't fucking matter to him, but it does. The ferocity of her determination, everything she's giving up.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Quinn thinks. This is what he is like when he's around her. Even two years spent trying to bury himself under death and violence wasn't enough.

Because he looks at her and he just can't not care. And now it's clear that it's a physical defect that can't be fixed, not even after two years of strict discipline, resistance training.

Yet the hardest thing to accept is that he doesn't really want to fix it, that he likes her as his weakness. That she makes him hate himself and have hope in himself at the same time, reaffirms that there is some humanity left in him.

So really he lost the game before it even started, never really had a chance at all. Just stands there looking at Carrie for another long moment, concern etched in his grey eyes.

Then finally nods his acquiescence, hopes she understands exactly how much he dislikes this, that he really does care.