4.1.3

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Quinn gets to the airport early, stands outside the door trying not to think about seeing her again after all this time. He's tense, jittery - and it's not due to the current political situation. Tries to dampen a rebellious spark of excitement, does not want to even admit it to himself. Instead he does his best to prepare himself for what he might see, reminds himself it's probably not going to be pretty.

Finally Carrie walks out the door and Quinn takes a deep breath in, is all of a sudden unsure how to greet her. Just seeing her floods his mind with images, memories, emotions. All the shit he's been trying to put away hits him with explosive intensity, a fucking emotional IED. And it doesn't help that she doesn't look particularly pleased to see him, appears a bit distracted as she approaches and says 'hey'.

So Quinn tries to put his feelings away, says 'hey' back. Then lets instinct take over as he pulls her into a brief hug, thinks he needs this at least.

Carrie feels stiff in his arms, taut and thin. She's obviously uncomfortable but he holds her for a moment, tries to tell himself he hasn't missed her. That he hasn't been looking forward to this instant, the chance to see her for himself, to feel her existence bounce up against him.

But the truth is Quinn feels relief the moment he puts his arms around her, feels her energy against his chest. He's been resisting her magnetic pull for too long, knew it couldn't last. It makes his heart tighten to breathe her in, to remember the intensity of just being in her presence.

Yet he remembers all too well what Carrie is like, skittish and reticent - like a trapped animal, Quinn thinks as he lets her escape his embrace quickly. But then she looks at him a bit flustered, asks him to sit, give her the lay of the land and he wonders if maybe she's nervous too.

But if she is, she doesn't show it. They sit and she asks the questions that need to be asked, wants to know what he thinks happened with Sandy's intel. Quinn tells her the truth, that no one knows what Sandy's up to, that he leaves the embassy at odd hours, never informing anyone of where he's going. And he's not entirely surprised that even Carrie doesn't know who Sandy's secret asset is, thinks there's a lot that his station chief's been hiding.

So he tells her she'll have to ask Sandy herself and Carrie says she will, that she's the one dropping fire on the targets, the one ultimately responsible for the bombings.

And Quinn sees an opportunity to peer a little deeper, see what he's up against.

"Yeah, well I know what that's like," he mutters.

Of course Carrie looks at him blankly, doesn't seem to connect with what he's said. And he remembers again that Carrie only ever thinks about Carrie, is oblivious to other people's problems.

"Why?" she asks.

"Checking names off a kill list for a living," he replies, gives it to her direct.

Because after all this time he still can't believe she went in for it, left her kid to live in a bunker and fire off drones. As much as he knows she told them all along that she couldn't do it, that having the baby was a mistake. Quinn just always thought she would snap out of it, come to see reality, accept her responsibility. But he had forgotten he was dealing with Carrie, that her reactions to life are unpredictable at best.

So she had chosen death instead of life and he had watched her do it, felt his heart flake away as she made all the wrong decisions. And now he sees it all again, relives it all - Carrie, frozen in fear and sadness, switching off, making choices based on avoidance, basic survival.

And despite the time and distance, it still hurts just the same. No matter how he tries to steel himself against it, convince himself he doesn't care.

"It''s a job," she responds.

Quinn wonders if she can hear how pathetic that sounds, how cold. And he thinks she can't really believe it, then thinks that anything is possible when it comes to Carrie.

"It doesn't bother you?" he presses on. "What about when it goes wrong?"

And she makes another lame excuse, says that it doesn't happen that often. Which just makes him more angry and sad, determined to push through.

"But it did this time," he says, forcing the issue again.

Carrie looks uncomfortable but gives him the same bullshit line he heard from Sandy about Haqqani's family knowing the risks of being around him. And he thinks about the women and children in the video, the bride and groom. Knows they shouldn't have to expect being blown apart by American missiles, that guilt by association should only go so far.

Quinn looks at her, at this person that she's become. And he sees a reflection of himself, of his past. Determined to do the job, with no time to ask the hard questions. He always wondered what would have happened if someone close had called him out, made him face facts. If he could have gotten out, escaped its grasp. But there hadn't been anyone there for him - it was the nature of his life. So he had fought it alone, one step forward, two steps back.

But then he'd been thrown into the whole Brody fiasco. And despite his secret mission, despite being the outsider, he had quickly realized he wasn't on his own anymore, that she had somehow snuck into his life.

Then of course it had all gone to shit, the next year a fucking disaster of its own. Killing the kid then coming home to find Carrie in a mental ward, put there by their employer. And then to find out it was all a ruse, that she had put herself through all that abuse just to keep the game going. Watching her go through it all, seeing her fall to pieces after Iran - it was almost worse than staying in it himself. But then to lose her to the beast, watch her leave her child to be a part of the fucking killing machine. It had been too much.

So now he's faced with the stark reality that nothing's changed, that Carrie's still stuck in the same frozen state. And Quinn sees exactly the road she's on, knows it will drag her to self-destruction, also knows it will take a miracle to make her change course.

And of course he's already emotionally exhausted just seeing her, just thinking about all this. But, regardless, Quinn knows he has to try, that no one else can do this for her.

"I guess Istanbul was too tame," he says, pokes the beast.

Carrie actually has the audacity to say something about it being more money and he wonders where the hell she comes up with this bullshit. So he calls her on that too, is not going to just let her off the hook. And then she tries a half-truth, says it's more action. But then he says out loud what they both know is the truth.

"But you can't bring dependents."

Quinn watches her squirm, look away. He knows she won't talk about it but pushes anyways, needs to try and find her under all the defensive layers.

But of course she just changes the subject, asks why he didn't come to Kabul and that's his cue to cut things short, get up and go.

Because he's already seen enough to know that's a conversation he's not ready to have with her, that it would be pointless given the state of denial she's in.

And then he has the thought that he's not ready for this, to be face to face with his own overwhelming concern. Because seeing her like this is horrifying, painful. And part of him wants to just disown her, let go of whatever's still there.

But the realistic part of him acknowledges that he just can't let go, that he fucking wants to save her, to make her see. That there's something in him that is, despite everything, irrationally pleased to see her, wants her in his life. Even though he knows all the shit that's coming, the shit that follows Carrie around.

And that's what he's thinking when she looks at him in alarm, says his name. And Quinn thinks this is it, this is how it all begins.

######

"But you can't bring dependents," Quinn says, his accusation clear.

Carrie looks away, fake smile still lingering on her face. Count on Quinn to call her on everything, right away. She hasn't been off the plane for half an hour and he's drilling her on ethics - direct and unforgiving. He uses his best blank monotone, pushes her on every question. And she feels defensive right away, thinks she should have expected this. But stupidly she'd been somewhat excited to see him, hopeful that he'd be an ally, probably her only one here.

For just a moment it had felt good to see him there waiting for her - like old times, before he stepped out of her life. Carrie had even admitted to herself that she'd missed him, that she was looking forward to having him around again.

But then he'd put his arms around her and immediately she'd felt nervous, remembered that this was Quinn, that there's no hiding from him. That he knows her shit, everything she's been avoiding. It had been fairly easy right up until then, eking out an existence in Kabul, licking her wounds after he refused to come. Pretending to herself that she needed to be there, that she was doing some good.

But now here's Quinn, of all people, calling her a bad person, a bad mother. This from a guy who assassinated people for a living, a guy with no family, no attachments. What does he care what she's doing anyhow, she wonders. Then thinks to herself that was always the problem with Quinn - that he cared about her more than she was ever comfortable with. Until he didn't, until she pushed him too far. Like she does to everyone in the end.

And now he's in her face, pushing right up against all of her sensitivities. Which is way too much at the moment, especially with everything else going on.

So Carrie changes the topic, asks what she really wants to know even though she's fairly certain she won't get an answer. Because at least it will turn the tables for a moment, put him on the defensive a bit.

"I wanted to bring you," she says. "Why didn't you come?"

Of course Quinn just smiles in that expressionless way he does, stands up and says they should get to the embassy. And Carrie thinks she's sidestepped that particular bullet for now but will have to find a way to get Quinn off her back. Because he's asking her things that she doesn't want to think about, challenging her in that unrelenting way of his. And she knows she couldn't survive if he were to crack her walls so all she can do is fortify them, deflect his incursions.

Her mind already full with intrusive thoughts, Carrie stands up and looks across the room, sees Sandy's picture on a television screen. For a moment her brain can't even process what's happening fast enough, can't believe what she's seeing.

"Quinn," she says sharply, the tone of her voice making him turn abruptly.

And now she's immediately glad to have Quinn there with her, thinks he is exactly the person she would want around in this situation. They stare at the tv screen with matching expressions of dismay, hear the announcer specifically say something about American Sandy Bachman, CIA station chief.

"Fucking hell," Quinn mutters. "C'mon."

They run for the vehicle, Quinn already on his phone trying Sandy, then calling embassy security when he predictably can't reach the station chief. Then they're in the car, halfway back into the city when Quinn finally reaches Sandy, tells him he's blown, that they need to know exactly where he is.

And all Carrie can do is guess about what the hell is going on, about who would have the means and motive to leak Sandy's picture, particularly with all the protests going on. Someone who wants him gone, possibly dead. Someone high up, with the authority and access to release this type of information. ISI clearly.

Then she also wonders if it's a coincidence that this happened less than a half an hour after she landed, if this is Pakistan's little welcoming gift to her. And of course Carrie knows she courts it, that this is what she asks for.

Thankfully Quinn is dealing with locating Sandy, contacting the embassy. But everything is happening so quickly, each moment a new fire blazing, that she feels unsettled, overwhelmed. Too little info and too many things happening at once. Yet Carrie senses it's all connected, that none of it is a coincidence.

Then they're finally there, see a mob starting to converge on Sandy who's standing in the middle of the street, his weapon drawn. The energy in the air is tense, angry. And Quinn flies into the middle of the it, slamming on the horn but not slowing for anything until they pull up next to Sandy, an armed crowd forming around them.

Carrie jumps into the back and Sandy gets in as they squeal away, create a little distance from the mob.

But they don't even manage a block, are cut off by a truck in the intersection and it's not until then that Carrie fully realizes the severity of the situation. Instantly they're fully surrounded in volatile anger, the crowd everywhere, wooden batons bashing at the windows. And all she can think is they need to get out of there fast, before something really fucking bad happens.

"Quinn, go!" she yells at him, knows if anyone can get them out of there, he can.

But the crowd has lifted the back end by then, and even Quinn can't get the vehicle moving. He tells her there's another weapon in the back and she looks but can't find anything. And he keeps insisting it should be there but she's already fucking looked and there's obviously no gun there

Just then someone shatters Sandy's window, and the crowd is instantly in the fucking car with them, bodies, arms everywhere. Now it's as real as it gets, the heat of the crowd inside the vehicle, the physical force of mob violence up next to their skin. Carrie really feels her adrenaline kick in, knows she's in fight or flight mode. And with Carrie, it's always fight first. Regardless of the situation, the size of the crowd, their murderous intentions.

So she thinks it's just a matter of trying, of pulling Sandy back in firmly, fucking shooting their way out of the situation if necessary.

And then her window breaks into a million pieces, Quinn shoots a guy dead in the middle of the forehead, and Carrie thinks fuck, well, she did say she wanted to be where the action is.