4.2.1
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It's the quietest plane ride she's ever been on, the silence between them dense in the air. Quinn hasn't spoken to her since the attack, has said little to any one, just enough to deal with business, make reports.
And the truth is, Carrie still doesn't know why he's so angry at her, has never seen him this pissed off. She thinks about what happened, what she said and all she knows is she said what she thought - that they could have done more. So she really doesn't know why he's so upset, thinks it must just be displaced anger from his own role in everything.
Carrie looks at him across the aisle, sitting about as far from her as possible on the small plane. She can barely see him but she knows how he looks - exhausted and tense, like he might ignite at any moment. It's how he's looked ever since the incident.
She wonders if he's slept since Sandy died, knows she hasn't really. Carrie thinks how he's been twitchy at every meeting, just not in a way that any one else would notice. But she sees the little flex of his fingers, turn of his neck. She doesn't even have to actively look anymore, it's ingrained in her to see. Yet she hasn't had the time to really consider Quinn, just figured his problem would be temporary.
Carrie's had a hard enough time keeping it all together herself, doesn't have the capacity to deal with Quinn, even if he does look like shit, that empty dullness in his eyes. Between the meetings and reports and the summons back there hasn't been a lot of down time, and certainly no time to think about anything other than the situation, how she can stay in the game, work it all out.
So it's only now that she wonders what Quinn's been doing. Not sleeping by the looks of things. And probably thinking, feeling too much if she knows him at all.
When she walked by him earlier to get to her seat he had given her the same dark glare he's been giving her this whole time. One full of anger, resentment, hurt. His eyes bloodshot, his jaw set.
Carrie had told herself she would talk to Quinn on the flight, try to figure out what the hell is wrong with him. Because she will need him on her side if she's got any hope at all in figuring this all out. But he hadn't exactly looked ready to talk about anything, just stared her down. So she had held off, just walked back and planted herself in a corner seat.
Now there's not a lot of time left - she thinks it's now or never. So Carrie takes a deep breath, steels herself to deal with it. She gets up, walks over. But of course he's sleeping fitfully now, or doing a good job of faking it.
Carrie sits down next to him anyhow, watches him twitch through a dream. And there's something about seeing Quinn sleep, it makes him seem like a normal person. He looks vulnerable, unguarded - the opposite of how he appears in general, how he is.
And she's wondering what the fuck is wrong with him, thinking about how to get across to him when she hears him mumble her name.
Carrie's startled, thinks he's woken up. She prepares to explain why she's sitting with him, watching him when she realizes he's not awake, is just talking in his sleep.
"Carrie, just get the fuck down," he mumbles. "And stay down."
It's weird to think that Quinn's dreaming about her, though she's not surprised he's dreaming of being in the car - it's also all she's dreamt about in her brief moments of rest. In it she can never get to Sandy, is held back by something invisible - just like how it happened.
Now Quinn's muttering loudly again, says "Fuck no, no, no. Get away from her!"
And Carrie thinks that's strange too, that she's the one in danger in Quinn's dream. It's never the case in her own, she has never woken up fearful for herself. Thinking about it now Carrie realizes it's because she knew he would get her out of there, that Quinn would pull it off no matter what. It's why she was so pissed he didn't go after Sandy, was foolishly counting on him to solve every problem.
"NO!" Quinn yells, jolts Carrie from her thoughts. And without thinking about it she puts her hand on his chest, shakes him gently.
He wakes with a start, eyes instantly open, body on guard.
"Fuck me. You're alive," he exclaims, reaches out to touch her face like he can't believe she's real. "Thank god."
And there's immense relief in his expression, his body language. It's what makes Carrie realize he's not quite awake yet - and then she sees him snap out of it a second later. She watches as Quinn registers what just happened - his eyes darken, his expression turns cold. But she isn't going to just let him brush it off with embarrassed silence, thinks she saw something in that moment on the edge of sleep.
"You okay?" she asks.
And of course he doesn't answer for awhile, minutes of silence. But when she doesn't get up to leave, he gives her a sullen look, finally responds.
"No, I'm not fucking okay," he mutters.
Of course there's not a lot to say to that, all she can do is hope it passes, that he gets over it. But she wants to talk to him, at least figure out why he's so upset with her.
"What happened in the car, Quinn?" she asks.
He just gives her that stone cold glare, shakes his head.
"What do you think happened?" he replies angrily, turning his head away.
And there's no answer to that really. She knows Quinn thinks he did all he could. But she still can't bring herself to accept it, that there was nothing to be done.
"I don't know," she finally says. "It happened so fast. And everything was so fucked up."
"Yeah, well," he replies in a low growl. "I guess I should have done more."
Quinn gives her one last glare, pointed and dark. Then turns towards the window, ends the conversation.
Carrie hears the bitterness in his voice, feels the acidity between them. But she still doesn't move, just sits and thinks. Looks at Quinn, wonders about his dream.
He seems so taut he could snap at any moment and she knows she's not helping. But she doesn't expect this shit from Quinn, thinks he's always been able to pull through his little moral crises, his moments of doubt. Because he is reliable, always comes through in the end.
And just then she realizes that's the problem - that she expected him to be super human, able to pull anything off. But Quinn is just a man, trying to do the right thing, making hard choices.
Rationally she gets that he would have saved Sandy if he could have, that telling him he should have done more was harsh. And she knows that Quinn already felt shitty enough, guilty as fuck. That he didn't need her to accuse him of chickening out, running from the fight.
But she hadn't seen that at the time, had been running on total adrenaline, frustration, anger. And now it's too late, the damage done.
Quinn is silent the rest of the flight but she sits next to him anyways, thinks what she can possibly say. Really she knows nothing will help, he's that pissed off. But it bears saying, before they get off the plane.
So she catches his eye when they finally touch down. And he's still wearing the same stony glare but she doesn't let it put her off, make her upset.
"Look Quinn, I'm sorry," she says.
His expression doesn't change and she sees that he's not ready to hear it, that he's still incendiary, a trapped animal.
"Yeah. Well I'm sorry too. Sorry we're flying Sandy back to his wife in a fucking box. Sorry that I didn't fucking do enough," he explodes at her.
Carrie cringes at the sting of his words, knows it's fair, that this is how it is between them. Full on. No holds barred.
"You did what you could with a shit situation," she finally says. "You got us out alive."
And she really does see that now, that Quinn did what he could, made a very difficult choice. But if he hears the apology in her words he doesn't acknowledge it, just stares out the window, doesn't reply.
He stalks off the plane as soon as it stops, then stands there staring at the coffin as it's lowered to the ground. Carrie stops too, stands next to him, thinks for the first time that it could be all three of them coming home in boxes. That she was lucky to get away with her own life, that she's thankful for Quinn's survival.
They meet Sandy's wife, shake hands and say their condolences. Carrie wonders how much she knows about what happened, what she's heard. Watches emotionlessly as she loses control, cries and walks off after Sandy's coffin.
Lockhart tells them about her situation, three kids, one still in elementary school. Then something about videos all over YouTube of Sandy getting stomped to death. And Carrie registers what he's saying but can't experience any feelings about it, is just numb. But Quinn looks like he's about to lose it, has a tightness in his expression she's never seen before.
"Unless anyone needs me I'm going to go get a drink," he says suddenly, the most he's said in ages it seems. Well except when he's flipping out at her.
And Lockhart says it's fine so they watch Quinn walk off, clearly anxious to get away.
"Everything okay there?" he asks, looking at Carrie.
She thinks she'd like to know the same thing, is hoping that Quinn will be alright once he has some time and space to decompress. Because he definitely isn't okay at the moment - but not that Lockhart needs to know that.
"Give him some time," she says. "He was right in the middle of it."
And I wasn't very nice to him afterwards, she thinks. Even though he did technically save her life.
Carrie notices her instant impulse to defend him, regardless of her own opinions of his reaction. Thinks she's allowed to judge Quinn, but won't let any one else call him out. No one else was there, no one else could possibly know what he went through, how bad it was inside the vehicle.
"Yeah, well so were you," Lockhart states. "Tomorrow, my office. Nine o'clock."
With that he walks off, leaves Carrie standing alone in the hanger, thinking about being right in the middle of it. The fucked up part is she only gets a stone coldness in her when she thinks about the attack, can't process any further than that. Or maybe she really can't feel anymore, has lost that ability forever.
Because she hasn't had it since Iran, the capacity to feel anything except fear, anxiety, anger. And up until now Carrie's deliberately avoided thinking about what's next, about showing up at Maggie's, seeing Frannie again.
Just thinking about it is overwhelming, pushes her towards a system shutdown. She wants to just pretend she's not there, stay at a hotel, avoid real life for another night. Which would be unreasonable, the kind of shit she always does.
And part of her thinks maybe she should check on Quinn, give her an excuse to avoid her family. But she knows he'd just give her that same glare, and she knows she deserves it. So that's out, no need for any more personal culpability when she's already got a full load.
Of course, in the end Carrie drives to her sister's, sits in the car for a moment before going in. Thinks she might be more scared now than she ever was in Islamabad, that her fear of her life is a lot stronger than her fear of death.
######
Quinn gets off the plane, watches as they lower the coffin to the ground. Part of him still resists believing everything that's happened in the past two days, that he watched Sandy get pulled out of his grip, that his boss is dead, in that box.
And then all the meetings and briefings and other bullshit. Things he appeared for physically, though mentally he's forever in the moment, stuck in the car, making the choice.
Quinn feels Carrie come up and stand next to him, thinks he's not ready to talk to her, still feels the sting of her cruel accusations right in his chest. He knows she was trying to apologize on the plane but it's not enough, too late. He's never been this angry at her before - and that's saying a lot considering their tendency to piss each other off.
And then there's the dream - the embarrassment of her catching him mid-nightmare. Quinn wonders what she heard before she woke him up, then cringes internally as he remembers reaching for her so needily. He had been so thankful for just half a moment as he emerged from the dream, the terror of her getting torn away still fresh in his mind. But then had he realized what happened, that he was still on the plane, that he was still fucking pissed off at her. And then instantly fell back into the untenable mix of emotions he's been carrying with him since the attack - anger, powerlessness, relief, hurt, guilt.
So he doesn't say anything to Carrie, tries his best to push away the latent images from his dream. But it's hard not to imagine that it's her in the coffin, beaten and bloody. Because he's dreamt of that too, has seen her dead in every way.
Then Lockhart comes up with Sandy's wife, and Quinn still can't find anything to say, just shakes her hand, tries not to look her in the eye. He wonders what she knows, if she thinks he's culpable.
Because he knows he is, that he could have saved him. He came to that conclusion because he is sure he would have saved her had the situation been reversed. Or at least died trying. So it had been within his power, as much as he doesn't want to admit it.
And that's the impossible part of it, that there was no good choice to be made. That he was bound to feel guilty either way, hate himself no matter his decision. And now his choice has made this woman in front of him a widow, left the woman beside him a monster.
Sandy's wife leaves, full of emotion Quinn can't look at. And then of course Lockhart has to tell them about the three kids, about the videos of Sandy getting stomped to death all over the internet.
For a moment Quinn thinks he could be dying, that his throat has abruptly constricted to the point where he can't intake any air. And then he realizes he's having an anxiety attack, feels the tightness in his chest that accelerates his heartbeat, compresses his lungs. And he knows he has to get out of there immediately, needs a fucking drink or ten, anything that might help him release, or at least knock him out.
"Unless anyone needs me I'm going to go get a drink," he manages to say.
And thankfully Lockhart says fine, includes something about a meeting but by then Quinn is gone, his chest still tied tight, his mind a fucking black hole.
He drives straight to the nondescript apartment he rented back before Islamabad, only stopping to get a few bottles of whiskey - enough to make him incapable of thinking. And he doesn't even bother to go in his place before he starts drinking, just sits down by the shitty little pool, sucks it straight from the bottle.
The first few shots finally loosen up his chest, make it so he can breathe. But it's not nearly enough for the rest of it. Quinn still sees it all, the blur of people, limbs in every direction, grasping for flesh. Glass fucking everywhere, Sandy getting pulled away.
It rolls through his head, the same fucking film strip, the same fucking thoughts. He's there again, lives through it again every minute of the day.
Just him and his sidearm. Two passengers. A car with no windows, assailants everywhere, too many to shoot them all. And then Sandy's gone, Carrie's trying to jump out too. He can't fucking let her go out there, it's fucking suicide. And he can't go himself, leave her unarmed.
So he let Sandy die. It's what Carrie thinks, probably what everyone thinks. Because it's true. But it's not the entire story.
And for her to fucking say it to him, to be pissed off at him, accuse him of not doing enough. Not that he needs her fucking gratitude but it's like she doesn't get it at all. That it could easily have been her coming home in a box. That he couldn't fucking let that happen. And now he's going to question himself forever, hate himself for having chosen.
Quinn's relived his choice over a million times in less than two days. Just wants to fucking turn his brain off, stop thinking. So he lays back into the bottle, slams down another few gulps, enough to burn his guts, relieve his mind.
The liquid amber flows through him and it's at least some sort of relief. He hasn't hit the bottle this hard in a long time, maybe not since his first crisis of conscience, a fucking lifetime ago. Before he ever heard of Carrie Mathison, back when he still thought he could be a good person.
But Quinn knows the truth now, understands he can never make the right choice because all his options are embedded with death, pain. It's what he chose when he signed up for the job - he just hadn't realized it at the time. It's just shitty choice after shitty choice after shitty choice right up to the point where you have to sacrifice your boss to save someone you mostly hate yet partly love.
And he thinks he despises himself most for that - for still caring about her after cutting himself off. That no matter how brutal she is, how disgusted he is with her, he will still do anything for her.
If he didn't loathe himself enough already, thinking about Carrie was always a great way to spiral straight to the bottom. Not only has he failed endlessly to get away from all the bullshit, he can't even get away from her, the main source of toxicity in his life. Even the fucking booze isn't quite getting the job done, has just dulled his thoughts so that they don't hurt so much anymore, aren't quite as sharp as they jab his chest.
But it's the best that he can do and it'll at least knock him out eventually. Quinn hopes it's enough to stop the dreams, thinks he just needs some sleep, a break from his brain. Then maybe he won't feel quite so fucked up, won't see the same endless loop in his head.
And he knows it's fucking unlikely, that the guilt isn't going anywhere, that the pictures aren't just going to fade away. Still, Quinn tips back the bottle, sees he's nearing the bottom and hopes that coherent thought leaves him soon.