4.2.2
######
Quinn is half listening to the landlady tell him about dip ems, trying to ignore the invasion of any other thoughts. He wonders if she told him her name, thinks she must have but it's slipped his mind. And mostly he questions what the fuck he's doing there. Has blurry memories of the previous night, flashes really. A headache to match, just adding to the cacophony in his mind.
But now she asks if he's okay, says something about him moaning in his sleep. And all the images come flooding back - glass shattering, arms grabbing from every direction. He wonders what the hell he said in his sleep, then thinks he has a good fucking guess. He can't evade Carrie, even in his sleep.
So Quinn just tells his new friend the truth, as tersely as he can - that he's had a rough week. And she seems genuinely concerned about him, this person that doesn't know him at all. Asks him if he wants to talk about it. He thinks that's a fucking change, that it almost feels good.
But of course he can't talk about any of it, wouldn't know where to start. Says he would but he can't, which is true on many levels. Still it's nice of her to offer, such a normal gesture of kindness. It's something he's never really had.
So when he hears the assholes laughing it pushes something in him, and Quinn thinks at least this is something he can still do. Scare the shit out of a couple of scumbags, teach them a fucking lesson.
It even starts innocently enough, just a little confrontation about a rude joke. But Quinn doesn't want to drop it, even when she tells him to, says please of all things. Because this he can do, make these two fuckers show some respect.
And then the idiot goes for it, tells his stupid joke anyways. Looks ballsy for all of ten seconds.
Quinn looks away for a moment, taut as wire. And when he looks back the joker's head is eating his plate, blood already starting to leak through.
Then, running on instinct, Quinn dislocates the other guy's shoulder, head butts him for good measure. And it's not until he's got the napkin dispenser in his hand, ready to ram it through the first guy's face that he realizes what's going on, snaps back into the present. None of it had seemed particularly real as it played out, it had been automatic, reflexive.
Quinn looks around, still not quite believing what had just happened. He's breathing hard, feels his heart rate shooting through the roof. And his brain is still trying to interpret what the hell just occurred, just starting to get back up to speed.
He sees the shock in everyone's faces, rubs his hand through his hair. Swears to himself, knows he's really fucked up again this time, knows where this is going to end up. WIth him in the lock up, a bunch of fucking cops on his ass.
And, of course, with only one person who he can call.
By the time the cops and paramedics show up Quinn's slumped on a chair, decompressing, avoiding the concerned eye of his new friend. She's tried to talk to him but he doesn't have any answers, just shakes his head like he doesn't know. He does manage to apologize though - tells her that he's sorry, that he didn't mean to flip out.
Quinn says nothing to the cops, just nods yes when they ask him if he assaulted the two injured men. They arrest him, lead him out to the squad car. And he sits there, thinks that he's really fucking lost it this time, that this has never happened before.
His life has always been about tight personal control. It had to be with his set of skills, it came with the job. Lose it just once and there's no telling the damage he could do. Yet now he's obviously losing it a lot, fucking snapping in a nothing situation, reacting to a common asshole as if it were life or death.
Then to top it all off he's going to have to call Carrie, ask her to bail him out. This after days of avoiding her, trying his best not to think about her. Because every thought of her still fucking pisses him off, brings him back to the car, makes him relive the whole fucking thing.
On top of everything that's happened, it's just getting to be way too much. His blown out brain, his fucking frail emotions. This insatiable desire to drink. The inability to think clearly.
So this is it, Quinn thinks as the cops drive him to the lock up. This is how I lose my fucking mind.
#
They let him stew in the cage for a while before they let him use the phone and Quinn knows it's because he appears uncooperative, won't say anything of use to them. But it's better than opening his mouth and just fucking things up more.
So Quinn sits there with his head in his hands, too many emotions pulsating through his body. He still can't believe he lost it so completely, even went blank for a moment as he shoved the guy's face through the plate.
And of course it just keeps bringing him back to the car, to the crowd. The incident in Islamabad touches every thought, coats everything with anger and frustration.
Finally they let him make the call and Quinn sits there with the phone in his hand, feels both irritable and reluctant. Carrie is absolutely the last person he wants to be calling right now, the exact person he wants to avoid. But he knows he has no other choice and that he did it to himself. So Quinn sucks it up and dials her number, wonders how she will respond.
"Yeah," she answers, sounds annoyed.
And he wonders how exactly to put this, thinks he just has to put it all out there. As hard as it is to admit he snapped, Quinn needs her help, has to be sure she knows it's bad. With things as they are between them he's not even entirely sure she will come get him. Though he holds onto a naive belief that she will always come through for him when the situation is serious, no matter how pissed off they might be at each other.
So Quinn just comes right out and gives it to her straight up. No preamble or excuses, just enough bare facts to get her moving.
"It's me. Look, I beat the crap out of a couple of idiots and now I'm in the fucking police lock up downtown," he says. "You think you can spring me?"
"Are you alright?" she asks right away, sounds surprised but not angry.
At least Carrie asks the right question, doesn't lecture or accuse him. And obviously he's not alright, she should already fucking know that, but it's almost nice that she asked. It's more than he expects from her at the moment.
"Yeah, well. No. I guess not if I'm here," he replies grimly. "So can you come to get me?"
"Yeah, I'm on my way," she replies without any hesitation.
It's a bit of relief to know he can still count on her for something. No questions asked, instant action. It's not much but it does make Quinn feel a little less agitated to know she's coming, that she's at least on his side on this.
And now he just hopes she can work a little of her manipulative Carrie magic in his favour, help him get the fuck out of jail.
######
Carrie's watching the nanny change the baby with the same feeling of trepidation she used to get from watching horror movies, thinking about this being her life now, stuck at home with her kid. It is too much to consider, simply not an option.
So she's tense when the phone rings, answers it abruptly.
It's Quinn, telling her he's in the police lock up, that he beat the crap out of some guy. And it's pretty much the last thing she expected even though she knows he's having a hard time. Because Quinn is a soldier, does not lose control.
She asks if he's alright, is a little concerned when he says maybe not. Obviously things aren't good if he's in a cell but she didn't expect him to admit it. So she tells him she's on her way, runs out on the nanny.
Carrie gets in her car and drives away from the house, immediately feels less anxious. Thinks to herself she shouldn't feel so fucking relieved that something came up, that she should be pissed off at Quinn for getting himself into a mess that she now has to sort out.
But she can't bring herself to be angry at him for this, knows things have to be pretty bad if he's losing his temper, injuring people in public. And she knows she's been fairly harsh with him lately, thinks she can at least do this.
#
Carrie breezes into the cop shop, broadly flaunts her credentials and demands to talk to the arresting officer in Quinn's case.
The cop she's directed to looks to be a veteran, appears to have been around the block a few times. Does not seem impressed with her government ID, just looks at it grimly and shakes his head.
"So what's the charge?" she asks, tries to assess the severity of the situation. Thinks it can't be as bad as the Javadi thing, when the cops found that picture of Quinn and thought he was the killer. But then again it wasn't like she could say beating the shit out of these two guys was a matter national security.
"Felony assault," the cop replies seriously. "Two counts."
Carrie sighs to herself, thinks they are being dicks for no reason. To try and charge him with a felony for what amounted to a bar fight was ridiculous, could ruin someone's life.
"Come on," she says with a look of disbelief. "A felony offense? You know that's stretching it. He has no record, he's one of ours. You'll never get any of this to stick."
The cop scowls, gives her an ice cold glare. "Whoever the hell he is, he fucked up. Put one guy in the hospital, basically tore the other guy's arm right out of the socket. So don't tell me it's not first degree assault. From where I stand it's an open and shut case, witnesses everywhere. And your guy hasn't said a word, so it's not like he's helping himself any."
Carrie takes a deep breath, tells herself to take a step back. Pushing this guy isn't getting her anywhere, he only seems to be getting more pissed off. So she pulls back, tries to figure out a back door play.
Thinks about Quinn, about everything he's been through in the past few days. And though he's been a dick through the whole situation, uncommunicative and angry, she is only just starting to understand that he's really not okay.
Now she gets it that the cops think he's just an asshole who lost his temper and beat the shit out of a couple guys for his daily jollies. Which is even true to an extent, just not the part where he meant to hurt anyone. Because as deadly as he is, these days he's more likely to save a life than take one.
"The thing is, he's been through a lot lately," she starts, tries to build some understanding.
But the cop just scoffs, acts like he's heard that line far too many times.
"Yeah, well so has the guy who's face is in shreds," he retorts. "Over a hundred stitches. Because of a dumb joke. That guy is dangerous, he shouldn't be out on the streets. I don't care if he's the fucking director of the CIA."
Carrie huffs angrily, thinks this isn't getting anywhere. That the cop just has to understand the situation, get that Quinn isn't the bad guy here. And she knows it's up to her, that he's going to get a lot of flak for this if she doesn't manage to get him out.
So she takes a step closer, calms down and looks at the cop, enforces eye contact.
"Look, I know you think this is all bullshit, that he shouldn't get away with something like this just because he's ours. And if I thought he was out of control, that this wasn't an isolated incident then I'd agree that he should be locked up," she starts.
The cop is still glaring at her but she continues talking before he has a chance to respond.
"But I will personally guarantee that this won't happen again. And I will get the fucking director to back the guarantee right to the top if that's what it takes. He needs help. And we will get him the help he needs but first we need to get the charges dropped. So we can do this the easy way or the hard way. But either way, I am going to walk out of here with him," she finishes.
Of course the cop doesn't back down, just looks more pissed off.
"You think I haven't heard all this shit before?" he asks irritably. "All you fucking spooks and feds, think the law is beneath you. So unless you can come up with something real fucking good, I'm locking your guy up and the goddamned director himself can come deal with it."
Carrie groans to herself. thinks the last place on earth she can imagine Lockhart is at the police lock up, trying to stand up for Quinn. And this cop is being particularly stubborn, seems determined to follow procedure.
So she pulls out the only thing she has left - the truth. Takes a deep breath and looks directly at the cop.
"Okay, look. I'm sorry. I know he fucked up. And I know it looks bad. But he watched his boss get beaten to death by a mob three days ago. He almost died. Hell, I almost died. And he's been really fucked up ever since. PTSD, acute stress reaction - all of that shit. He's not himself right now, none of this would have ever happened if he was okay. And now I just need to get him out of here, get him some help," Carrie explains, starting to sound desperate.
Thankfully the cop seems to make the connection to the videos of Sandy's death, furrows his brow and looks more contemplative, less pissed off.
"Records show he just came in from Pakistan," the cop says, showing her an open door for the first time.
Carrie nods, confirms his inference.
"Yeah," she replies. "Things really went to shit there. And he blames it on himself. But he saved my life out there. So you see I can't just leave him here. He's not well. But putting him in jail is just going to make things worse. Please. Let me take him off your hands, get him what he needs. I personally guarantee he won't reoffend, that this will never happen again."
The cop stares at her grimly for a long time and Carrie stands her ground, gives it right back. Finally the cop grunts and scowls.
"Misdemeanor battery, maximum fine. And restitution to the victim," the cop grumbles, does not sound happy about it. "And you make sure he doesn't fucking lose it again unless he wants to spend the next ten to twenty in the pen."
Carrie breathes a sigh of relief, feels a wave of it pass through her body. Smiles genuinely at the cop, thanks him as politely as she can.
The cop leads her out of his office, shows her to the cells in the back. And as she goes to finally spring Quinn from jail Carrie suddenly realizes that everything she said to the cop was in some ways true, that Quinn really might be losing his mind.
Which is definitely problematic because she doesn't exactly have the capacity to deal with any of his shit at the moment, has a full plate of her own. But at least she managed to get him out, hopes it takes some of the sting out of their relationship for the moment.
######
Quinn feels like he's been sitting in the cell forever, head throbbing, taut with anger. Finally he hears footsteps, sees the flash of blonde he's been begrudgingly waiting for.
"They're letting you go," she says.
A layer of stress slides off immediately and he stands up, surprised. Thinks it's unlikely she's managed to get them to drop the charge considering the damage he'd done.
"No charges?" he asks.
"A fine, and you'll have to deal with that guy you put in the hospital, I guess he's all cut up," she replies.
He nods, thinks he's getting a good deal. At least he can still count on the old Carrie CIA magic dust.
"They're pretty pissed, the cops were," Carrie continues. "I had to play the PTSD card."
Quinn takes a breath, doesn't know what to say. Wants to avoid the issue completely but owes her at least this for getting him out. The hard part is knowing she's not far off the truth, that he can't fucking escape the car, no matter how far he goes.
"So what happened?" she asks.
"Nothing, it was stupid," he replies truthfully. Does not want to talk about it, especially not with Carrie.
"Are you okay?" she asks.
And Quinn thinks the answer to that one is obvious, that he wouldn't be in a fucking jail cell if he was.
"I thought I was until I found myself beating the shit out of some idiot for no reason... almost no reason," he answers impatiently. "And now I just want to get out of here!"
Thankfully Carrie is her typical self, doesn't push him on how not okay he might be. Goes right into telling him he missed the meeting with Lockhart, tell him she's being forced to stay.
"He called it accountability," she says, obviously pissed.
"Meaning for someone besides him," Quinn replies, gears starting to turn. He knows how Lockhart operates, typical politician, looks for scapegoats. And then there was the guy he told Carrie about.
"This thing was fucked from the start," Carrie fumes. "And the one person who can actually say why is being buried tomorrow. I should be in Islamabad figuring out how this happened not holding Lockhart's hand at some Senate hearing."
"I don't know, maybe it's good to get out of there for awhile," he suggests. Thinks he could not imagine being back in that situation again so quickly, that he needs some time to get his fucking head back on straight.
"Yeah, it's working wonders for you," she snaps back. And Quinn wonders what else he expected - that she would suddenly turn around and see how fucked up it all is? Or see how he's struggling and actually give a shit?
And then she's off and running again, asking him about Harris. Which he knows is the right way to look if they want to find some answers. But right now he could care less, can barely handle his own existence.
Then finally they tell him he's released, and Quinn stalks out the door, desperate to get the hell away from there.
"Well, what do you say, want to come along, pay Harris a visit?" Carrie asks.
"Not really," he replies, thinks he needs a drink or ten instead. Does not want to go anywhere near the situation, does not want to think about Islamabad.
"Why, you got more brawling to do?" Carrie asks, sensitive as always.
"Maybe. Who knows," he gives back. Feels irritable, vulnerable. Does not want to let her know exactly how much he can't deal with any of this right now.
"Well if you do, feel free to call me again," she replies in a tone dripping with sarcasm. And he has no reply to that, thinks it's true he needed her help and she came for him. Still, that just makes it sting more to know he owes her, and that she can see him having a hard time, just doesn't seem to care.
"Honestly, this kinda brightened my day," Carrie finishes.
Which is, at least, not what he expected. He wonders what she means, then remembers he doesn't care. Let Carrie's shit be Carrie's shit, he tells himself as they walk out towards her car. He's unable to deal with himself at the moment, needs to get back poolside quickly, knock his brain out for awhile.
######
Quinn's sullen and silent on the drive to his place, obviously does not want to talk about what happened. Which is fine by Carrie. She has enough to deal with at the moment without fighting with him, has to figure out this situation with Jordan Harris, then somehow turn it into a ticket back to Islamabad.
But she does notice how tense he is, can smell the hangover on him. Thinks she's never really thought of Quinn as much of a drinker until now. But he seems to have gone hard at it the previous night.
Which really she can't blame him for, thinks she would have liked to have done the same. But somehow it's different with him, makes Quinn vulnerable in a way she isn't used to.
So when they get to his latest spartan apartment she parks, doesn't just drop him off. Then gives him a pointed look when he glances over, confused. Quinn gets out of the car and glares at her as she does the same.
"Do you need something?" he asks with a frown.
Carrie looks at him, raises her eyebrows. "I'd like to know what's going on with you," she says.
Quinn grunts, looks away.
"Well I'll let you know when I know," he mutters.
"Are you sure you don't want to come with me? Talk to Harris, find out what the hell is going on?" she asks, thinks Quinn could use the distraction.
"Fuck no," he responds, shaking his head.
"So you're just going to what, drink yourself into a hole?" she asks, a little more acid in her tone than she meant.
Quinn gives her an iron look, the one he uses when she's struck a nerve.
"Maybe," he replies, equally acidic. "Why the fuck would you care?"
Carrie frowns, does not like this Quinn she's seeing. Touchy yet hard, trying to push everything off. And she thinks she wasn't far off the mark, that he really is having some sort of stress reaction to what happened. But she doesn't know what to do with him, has a lot on her mind already without the added burden of a mentally distressed assassin. And really she thinks he just needs to snap out of it, wake himself up and get his shit together.
"Well I fucking cared enough to come get you off the hook," she retorts, sees him glower as he realizes she's got a point.
Of course he doesn't reply, is playing his silent brooding game. And she doesn't have the time for this, needs to figure this thing out, somehow get herself on a plane back to Islamabad. But she also can't just abandon him, not when he's clearly fucked up. At least has to make an attempt.
"Fuck, Quinn. Just tell me you're going to be alright so I don't have to worry about you being armed and alone," Carrie says with a sigh.
And it just makes him look more tense, agitated.
"You think I'm going to eat my gun," he mutters.
"No I think you're going to see the bottom of a bottle. And then anything could happen," she replies, knows its true.
"Well, like I said. No need for you to worry," he snaps, stalks off.
"Good because I personally guaranteed the cops that nothing else is going to happen," she throws right back, pissed at having all her attempts to give a crap about him deflected.
Quinn pauses briefly, turns and gives her a look she can't read. She knows he's defensive because he fucked up. But she doesn't think he's a danger to himself yet, thinks he just needs some time to let things percolate.
So Carrie lets him walk off silently, tries to ignore the sense of foreboding in her chest. Tells herself she has other things to take care of, that Quinn can deal with himself. Yet as she drives away, she uncharacteristically finds herself still thinking of him, telling herself to check up on him later.