She's been up all night, her mind full of questions, her chest full of worry. Compulsively checking on Quinn to make sure he's still breathing, not bleeding too much. All the while trying to figure out who the voice on the other side of the phone had been, if the thought in her head was at all possible.

Carrie walks over to the bed again, sits next to Quinn, waits to see if he stirs. But he seems to be sleeping comfortably for the moment, looks so peaceful in rest she smiles to herself a little. So deadly, yet so innocent, she thinks. And always so conflicted, with that tenderness he tries to bury, the steel facade he hides behind.

She wonders if it's just the morphine that's put him out, makes him look at ease. Wants to know how concerned she should be about him, knows Quinn won't tell her the truth on the matter. And that he will refuse to go to the hospital even if it's bad, because he doesn't want to blow her cover.

The real problem is Quinn's right, that taking him to the hospital would quickly nullify everything he's just done for her, the time he's bought her.

Not ideal, Carrie thinks tiredly. But if it comes down to it, she will make him go. Use her considerable power of persuasion over him to ensure that he gets the care he needs. Even if she has to shoot him again, or knock him out and call the ambulance.

An unexpected tear escapes as Carrie looks at Quinn and lets her worries flow. She thinks he will be fine, mostly because he has to be. But it's a little too much, to have just found him again, in such a fucked up circumstance. After two years of wondering what happened to him, not even knowing if he was still alive.

Carrie shakes her head at the thought, looks down again at him, is still a bit surprised at how much he suddenly means to her. But she supposes years of wondering, unconsciously looking for him almost ended in losing him again in the flash of an eye. That she can't help but worry about him right now, injured and alone in his lair.

Yet she also remembers back to that day in Islamabad, their standoff on the street, how desperate she was to get him out alive. And for a moment it's so vivid, talking to him on the phone, standing on top of his bomb. She had been willing to do whatever it took that day, anything to bring him home.

And then he came home for her and ran off just as quickly. Just when everything around her shattered and she needed him the most.

So now Carrie thinks maybe he's always meant this much to her, that she just never let herself care about him until things got desperate. Absently runs her hand through his fever-soaked hair a few times, then catches herself in the act and makes herself stop, relieved that he wasn't awake for the gesture.

It's all so crazy, Carrie thinks to herself. Less than a day ago she woke up tied to this same bed, worried that Quinn was going to harm her. He had tried his best to play it cold, she thinks, even had her going for a moment. But of course really he'd saved her life yet again, bought her as much time as he could. Then tried to convince her to leave on a train while he bled to death alone.

And now he looks so vulnerable, all that hardness fallen away. It hadn't exactly taken long either, just a single day, more than enough to wear through his defenses. She gets to see it all with him, Carrie thinks to herself. Knows she might be the only one, thinks she likes it that way.

Then, as if on cue, Quinn makes a low moaning sound as he shifts in his sleep and she sees his eyes flutter open dazedly a few times, before finally settling on her.

And it's so rare to see him so raw, exposed, makes her heart break a little thinking of what he's been through in the last two years, the pain he's suffering now. Makes her realize again that she almost lost him again the day she found him, how fucking sad she would be if that had happened.

#

Quinn comes to making a pathetic groaning noise, but the fire lacing throughout his body makes it impossible to contain the sound, his every nerve tense with pain. Then he hears himself moan again, as if from a far distance, his eyelids fluttering as he tries to gain purchase on consciousness.

Finally his eyes slowly focus on Carrie, see that she's giving him such a tender look Quinn's sure something must be seriously wrong - other than the fact that he feels like shit, thinks he's still bleeding a lot.

But she just gives him a little smile as she sees he's awake, makes him wonder what the hell has gotten into her.

"I'll go get you another shot," she says, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

It sounds like a great idea to him; exactly what he needs to get through the night while trying to convince himself that he'll feel better by morning, that the weakness he's experiencing won't last. Because right now Quinn feels nothing but the burn of every nerve ending, a cold sweat covering his entire body.

Carrie comes back with the needle, leans over and gently jabs it into his hip. Then sits down next to him, idly worrying a pattern into his bicep as he waits for the relief to arrive. Gritting his teeth to resist making pitiful noises, though a few gasps still slip through, make her look at him, all concern.

Quinn thinks about all the ways this situation is wrong, fucked up. She shouldn't even be here listening to him moan, giving a shit about his sorry ass. Is in danger every minute she's in Berlin, should be anywhere but here, dealing with a bullet hole in his side.

And then just the way she's been, softer, kinder. Yet still Carrie, all fire and determination, fucking unstoppable. It's pretty much his worst nightmare and best dream rolled into one, everything he tried to not hope for back then, on their first almost go around.

Right then Carrie looks at him with so much genuine concern, Quinn thinks he can't take it anymore. Knows he doesn't deserve it, that he's failed the same test yet again. How many times can you fuck this up? he asks himself. He had only one job, and still somehow she convinced him to let her stay, all against his best judgement.

And now here she is, still in Berlin, worrying about him when she should be running for her life. Somehow doesn't see that the hole in him is really what he deserves, what comes of living a life in the dark. That he doesn't deserve any compassion, especially not hers.

Finally the morphine settles in and Quinn stops writhing in pain, now only feels the soothing movement of Carries thumb on his skin, thinks he's never felt so cared for. It feels so foreign to give himself up to any vulnerability, to let anyone in this close. So when Carrie reaches to lift up his shirt he still automatically tries to slap her hand away, tries to hide any evidence. But Carrie just shakes her head at him, then firmly takes his hand in hers, pulls his shirt aside with her other hand.

"I need to change the bandages," she says, worry clear in her voice. "You should really be in a hospital, Quinn."

He shakes his head at the hospital comment, thinks she can't possibly mean it. She knows the chance she would be taking, that it's not something he would ever allow.

"No hospital, Carrie," he says, as seriously as he can. "Promise me."

Carrie gives him that look that says nice try, but you've lost already. Eyebrows up, a yeah right shake of her head.

"If you need to go to the hospital, you'll go," Carrie says in a tone that invites no arguing. "I'll take my chances."

"Carrie," he argues, now weak with fear. "You can't do that."

"Quinn, relax," she says, her thumb now on his bare chest. "I won't do it unless I have to, but I'm not going to lose you to this."

It makes him feel shitty yet soothed that she would say this to him, really mean it too. Reminds him again that this new Carrie has dulled her edges, is a little warmer. And of course his well-practiced coldness was no match for her at all, to the point where he doesn't even argue about letting her change the dressings, is willing to accept that much. Partly because he knows he won't win that fight against her, mostly because he thinks he doesn't want to.

Carrie helps him into a sitting position, her arm wrapped firmly around his leans him into her shoulder where he docilely rests his head against her, remembers exactly how comfortable, safe it had felt earlier.

He wouldn't want anyone else to do this for him but it's Carrie, and he can't deny how good it feels to surrender to her touch, let her unwind the soaked bandages, wash the blood off him gently with some antiseptic soap, warm water. And again he's surprised at the softness of her actions, her ability to hold him together and wrap him up all at once.

When she's done Quinn tells himself he can't doze on her shoulder forever - that he can't believe he's doing it at all. Again. But he's also starting to feel worse than ever, even through the morphine. So he lets himself sink into it for another moment longer, wonders how something that feels so good can be such a bad idea.

Carrie indulges him for awhile, rubs his back as he savours her closeness. Then eventually tells him that he should sleep, helps him lie back down slowly.

"You're still bleeding a lot," she says with a sigh. "I'm really worried about you, Quinn."

Quinn tries to pull himself together, remember that he's supposed to be the one taking care of her, not the other way around. That his goal is to get her out of Berlin as quickly as possible, whether he's dying or not.

So he takes a few shallow breaths, gathers his strength, gives it all to the lie he's about to tell. Looks at Carrie with feverish eyes, tries to focus on what's important here.

"I'm okay," he says, as convincingly as he can. "I'll be fine."

Carrie obviously doesn't believe him but also doesn't argue. Just gives him a doubtful look, a soft smile.

"You'd better be," she says with just the slightest waver in her voice. Then puts her hand on his bare chest, holds his heart until he finally sleeps.