Disclaimer - I do not own Homeland. That pleasure belongs to Showtime. No copyright infringement or money making scheme intended. This is purely for reading enjoyment.

LilMisfit, Lipamo - thank you, as ever, for the reviews. Thought it was about time the Brodys were give a mention in this one. Unlikely to be at the forefront in this story, but does no harm to remember that more than Carrie will suffer because of this re-introduction.

A/N I'm back. A mixture of life and not being well have been getting in the way of my story telling. Just looking at how long since I udated TLG. Hopefully sort that soon. Anyway hope everyone enjoys this one. Thanks for reading/reviewing.

She opens her eyes, immediately wishes she hadn't and shuts them again. Her head felt as though someone was playing the drums inside it. She suddenly sits up, opening her eyes again, taking in the fact that she wasn't in her own bed, her own house and this was not her dad's house either.

Carrie looks around, trying to remember, but everything is a blur. She pulls herself out of the bed and stands up, her stomach protesting. She is in a hotel room, but has no idea how she got there. She sees a note lying on a table for her. She recognises the handwriting. Judging by her sensativity to light, the drum beat in her head and her protesting stomach, Carrie can only assume she got very very drunk the night before and Stephen's note seems to confirm this.

Don't worry, Max was even worse than you.

Carrie wondered how that could be possible given how she was feeling.

Phoned your dad to let him know you were staying here...he sounded delighted by the way.

She groaned. She could see her dad's smirk in her mind. Putting two and two together and coming up with five.

No runing away, Mathison.

This had her curious. Why would she run away?

See you later.

Stephen

Congressman Jack Smith took comfort from the glass of whiskey he was curently indulging in. He pretended not to notice that he was holding it tighter than one should hold a glass. Fear could do that to you.

His old nanny, the only person in his life whilst he had been growing up, that had showed the slightest bit of interest in his welfare, had not been pleased at his career choice. She'd warned him of what politics would do to a man.

"Look at your father", she had said.

Indeed, his father, absent for the most part, cold, single minded and yet he could not shake the need to make that man proud. It had never come. His father had been even angrier than Sally. Years of anger came bursting out of him in a heated argument that tore his family apart. He left the family home and never looked back. He convinced himself that his father was threatened by him. He ignored the first warning sign and many since.

6 days ago he was all over TV, he was in the newspapers. His name flashing across America. He had known people in certain circles would not appreciate it, but he hadn't cared a jot for them. The ordinary man on the street would see someone who wanted to do something about a wrong that had been committed against America.

He had expected some visits and threats. When he received a visit 3 days ago, he had been convinced this was such a threat, though his vistor tried to convince him otherwise. He considered himself a smart man and would not be fooled or put offby threats. He had pretended his visitor's parting words had not worried him. They had though, because they were similar to something that Sally had said to him many years ago:

"You can be as good as you like, but the nearer to the top you get, the murkier the world you live in. They have secrets and they will do anything to keep them. You can be something one day and nobody the next...or worse, dead."

He had pushed his ill feeling away and ignored the latest warning sign.

But now, knowing that the visit he had just received was absolutely, undeniably a threat, he questioned his judgement. The message was loud and clear, "Nicholas Brody is a subject which does not need to be in the public eye, so forget bout him or else."

It made no sense to him. The man was out there, walking around somewhere, having blown up Langley. That was an injustice. He had said as much to his first visitor, whose response was that there certainly had been injustice, but he was looking in the wrong place and handed him a card with a number on it. He had scoffed at this and thrown the card in the bin.

He poured himself another whiskey, opening his top drawer and pulling out the card. Perhaps subconsciously he doubted his own decisions. Why else would he have fished the card out of the bin?

Stephen opens the door to the hotel room to find Carrie apparently in a hurry to leave.

She looks round at him like a fly caught in a spider's web. He raises his eyebrows at her, whilst kicking the door shut behind him.

"So, running away then?"

"No."

"Looks like it to me."

"Fuck you."

"Well, to your credit, you did try very hard last night," Stephen responds.

Carrie stops what she is doing, looks at him and questions, "tried? You mean we didn't?", she trails off leaving the rest of the question unanswered.

"No, Mathison. We did not."

Carrie is pacing now, uncertain. She turns back to face him, "but we kissed. I definitely remember that."

"Ah, so because we kissed, we must have had sex? And what you remember is you kissing me and then..."

"I don't remember you pulling away", Carrie replies indignantly.

"That's because I didn't...well, not at first."

Seeing that Carrie doesn't seem to have response to that, Stephen walks towards her, takes her bag from her and motions for her to sit down.

"You know I should take a picture...Carrie Mathison, speachless."

"Shut up", she responds hitting him on the arm as she does so.

"Ok. Give it to me straight. How badly did I embarrass myself", she asks.

"You didn't."

Carrie looks at him skeptically.

"Well, not to me", Stephen responds diplomatically.

"Why did you pull away then?"

"Because you were crying", Stephen responds sadly.

Carrie stares at her feet for a few moments, unmoving, "I'm sorry", she eventually chokes out.

Stephen lifts her head and meets her eyes, "never, ever say sorry for missing him. Not ever. You hear?"

Carrie nods, blinking back the tears forming in her eyes at that moment. Brushing them away she says, "you said that I tried to get you into bed".

"Well, if you forget the bed bit, you did try quite hard in the lift", Stephen replies smirking.

"Oh, no", Carrie replies embarrassed.

"I thought you were persuasive as it was when you were sober, but blimey, the Tequila clearly cranks it up a notch. Brody didn't stand a chance."

Carrie couldn't hold back the sobs.

"Hey, hey. I didn't mean anything by it. Just trying to lighten the mood", Stephen says, pulling Carrie to a hug.

"I know."

They sat in silence as Carrie cried.

"Why did you stop kissing me?", Carrie asks. "I mean I know you said I had started crying, but..."

"Why were you so upset when you thought we'd slept together?", Stephen answers Carrie's question with a question.

"Because I'm not ready", she answers understanding Stephen's point. She sighs sadly.

"You will be someday...and I know that scares you", Stephen says before Carrie can interrupt. "But someday, there will be room in your heart for someone else and someday it won't feel like you're betraying him."

"But that day is not today", Carrie answers. Adding to herself, "and not likely to be soon", thinking of it all being dragged back up again.

"So, lets get you home to your daughter, eh? I'm sure your dad is going to have questions", Stephen says grinning.

"Oh shut up", Carrie answers, throwing a pillow at him.