4.2.4

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Quinn walks in late, nearly an hour after the funeral is done. He approaches slowly, is probably surprised to see her still there, most likely expected to have the place to himself by then.

But Carrie hadn't been able to leave either, stuck somewhere between what happened in Islamabad and her determination to figure it out, make it right. Because she knows she has some culpability in Sandy being in that box, was the one that didn't follow up on the job in the first place, the one who didn't figure it out before innocent people started dying.

She wonders what Quinn's thinking, has not been able to figure him out since the incident. He looks tense as usual but at least he's sober, with only a whiff of a hangover.

"Could have been us," he says.

Carrie's a bit surprised he initiated the conversation, didn't realize they were back on normal speaking terms. Thinks maybe he's evened out, gotten back on track.

"I'm glad it wasn't," she replies. Though really she feels numb about the whole thing still, knows dimly that she hasn't quite processed everything that's happened. Yet putting it all aside has made it easier to carry on, figure her way back.

"Yeah, me too," Quinn responds, slow and terse. He stands rigidly, stares at the coffin.

"I didn't see you here," she says, trying to draw him out. Wonders what the hell is going on with him.

"I thought..."

"What, another call from the lock-up?" he mutters as he crosses himself, sits down behind her.

"At this point nothing surprises me," she replies, looking back at him. Thinks about the other night, pouring his liquid body into bed. Thankfully he looks all business now, serious and sober.

And really it's perfect timing for Quinn to show up, seemingly better, ready for life. It's why she looked for him so carefully, why she knew he definitely wasn't there. Because he's exactly what she needs, someone to go back there with, someone to watch her back.

So Carrie tells him the good news - how his tip panned out, what she's found out about Sandy's secret-trading situation, that they need to find out what's going on, the extent of the damage. And she expects some sort of response, at least a little spark of interest but Quinn is stone-faced, doesn't react except to look away, back at the coffin.

"Did you hear me?" Carrie asks, looking for something, anything from him.

But he just keeps at it with the thousand yard stare. Says yeah, but sounds a world away.

So Carrie tells him the other news, that Lockhart just gave her Islamabad. To reinforce that they need to get back at soon as possible. That she's in charge now, and is going to find out what the hell went wrong.

And then Quinn tells her no, that he's not going back.

Which hits her completely out of left field - she hadn't seen it coming even with how fucked he's been. Because she knew Quinn was having a rough time but he's never been anything but reliable, always ready when she needs him. Well, except for Kabul. Yet this is different - he has a personal stake in it, should be jumping at the chance to take down whoever killed Sandy, fucked them all over.

"What do you mean? Of course you are," Carrie replies, thinks there can't be any other answer but yes.

"No I'm not, not for awhile at least," he says calmly, like he isn't fucking her over entirely, as if he's not the only person she can really trust.

"But I need you now," she retorts, looks at him like he's crazy, thinks he doesn't get what's at stake.

"I can't, I'm sorry," he mutters, sounds sure. Defeated.

Carrie sighs internally, bites her lip and looks at him, really looks. Sees he's still taut as wire, ready to explode, maybe implode. And she doesn't want to go there, talk about it. But it no longer seems avoidable, not if she wants to get anywhere with him. Because it's clear now that there's actually something wrong with Quinn. And that doesn't fit her plans at all.

"Look, I know you were upset by what happened out on the street," she says, trying her best to sound understanding. "If it wasn't obvious, so was I. Maybe it didn't seem like it at the time..."

"Carrie," he interrupts. "I was," she retorts emphatically. Thinks he doesn't know how it is to be her, to have no fucking setting other than empty, numb.

But Quinn just gives her that knowing flick of a smile, like he is bemused by her trying to talk to him, like he doesn't believe her at all. Which of course irritates her, rubs right at her sore spot.

"You don't know what I went through with Lockhart to sort this out," she says, starting to be pissed off. Because her plan had been going perfectly until right this moment. And she never thought that this thing with Quinn would go so far, that he would refuse to help out when she really needs him to back up against.

"How can you do this to me?" she asks, her fury clear in her voice.

But Quinn still just sits there calmly, looks at her with those dull eyes.

"Carrie, here's the thing," he finally says, slowly, explicitly.

"It's not about you."

And she has nothing to say to that, just looks at him, trying to decipher what the hell is going on. Because he can't possibly be rejecting her so completely, thinks he will change his mind if she can just get through to him.

But there isn't any doubt in Quinn's eyes as he gives her a long look, then gets up, walks away. Leaving her alone, telling herself she isn't crushed by his refusal, that it doesn't hurt even worse than when he jumped ship before Kabul.

Because she really thought there was something between them, some sort of unexplained connectivity. That Quinn would always be there for her when she needed him. And that premise had already been tested, stretched. Yet she hadn't considered it a failure until now, sitting in an empty church, Quinn's last words still ringing in her ears.

She thinks it's not fair of him to put it all on her, that she needs him for the mission, to find out what happened to both of them. And distantly she sees that it's her mission, that it's her need to get back to Islamabad, away from her life here, all the shit she can't quite deal with.

But Carrie still can't believe he doesn't care enough to go back with her, doesn't get how he can't shake it. Because, no matter what she tried to tell him, she really hadn't been very upset about it - not considering what happened, how traumatic it should have been. And Quinn is a soldier, has been in war zones, has killed and been attacked in every way.

Yet clearly he's lost his shit now, is no longer the man, the friend, the operative she thought he was. And if he's not on her side, unable to get over it then there's nothing she can do about it. Not like he's going to straighten out his head and put away the booze just because she tells him to. Clearly she has no influence on his decisions anymore.

So that's that, Carrie thinks. The end of yet another relationship. Ditched by her only friend yet again. She feels the predictable mix of anger and sadness, then lets the indignation push the hurt away. Tells herself she doesn't need him anyway, that she's better off without him if he's going to be a wreck.

But underneath it all there's a niggling feeling she can't place, a drop of something amongst the anger. She tries to push it aside, cover it up, yet it won't leave, sticks with her even as she finally gets up to go.

And as she sits in her car, trying to think about getting back to Islamabad but still only thinking about Quinn, Carrie finally figures it out. That there's something beneath the part of her that is just pissed off at him, at his inability to shake things off and do what she needs. And she can't quite see it, can only just feel it. Tells herself it isn't what it seems like - worry for a friend, one that has always done his best for her.

Because she has no time to be concerned about Quinn. Yet she can't seem to shake him from her mind.

######

Quinn leaves the church, his last words still ringing in his ears.

It's not about you, Carrie.

Considering how long he's wanted to tell her that, he thinks he should be more proud of his efforts. But really all he feels is the same acute sense of guilt he's felt since he was out on the street with Sandy and Carrie, the one that has infused his life.

Yet now it's not just the guilt of having let Sandy die, of making a decision that resulted in the death of a colleague. Now she's added on a new weight, made it seem like he's doing this to her vindictively, that he's losing his shit just to piss her off, let her down. That his mental breakdown is nothing but one big inconvenience to her.

Not that Quinn wanted to go with her, not even if he could, if he wasn't a fucking disaster of flashbacks and guilt. But it still punched a hole through him to hear her say she needs him, then to tell her no. No matter how he rationally knows it's the right choice, that he can't do anything for her in the state he's in, that he doesn't want to go back there, be a part of all that shit. It still guts him to say no to her, this person he both loves and hates.

Quinn gets in his car, drives home, only stopping to pick up a new bottle, something to get him through the night. He tries not to think about how this is now his routine, that he's spiraling at a quicker rate than he thought possible.

Because really it just signifies to him the reality of his situation. That he can't do this shit anymore, that he needs out of the game, that he's let it all get to his head.

And of course it's not the first time, but right now Quinn hopes it's the last. That this is what actually pushes him over the edge, gives him the opportunity to fall out of the CIA. Because he's already come to the fitful understanding that losing his mind is pretty much the only way he is ever going to get himself out.

Which isn't exactly a great trade off. But right now it's not looking like he's got much choice in the matter. His head is nearly fried with the constant running of the mental tape, reliving his fucking choice over and over throughout the day.

And the really fucked up part is he never regrets his fucking decision, that he feels guilty as shit but always makes the same choice. Even in his fucking dreams.

Which then just leads to more guilt, a little more pressure in his head, his chest. And it just increases in increments throughout the day, a little with every run through. A lot when Carrie fucking accuses him of ditching her, of leaving her when she needs him the most.

Because as if Carrie fucking needs him for anything other than to argue with, blow up at. He knows exactly how it is with her, that it's all Carrie all the time. And right now he can't even deal with himself, much less have her on his hands.

Still he feels like shit about saying no to her, then berates himself for feeling anything at all for her. Tells himself she's a fucking heartless monster, ready to kill anyone in her way. Then remembers he still chose her, even under those conditions. And doesn't regret it.

Which of course just spirals back to the ultimate guilt, setting the whole cycle off again just as he pulls into his complex, more than ready to start the bottle.

Quinn walks to his place, already relishing the thought of a tall, stiff drink, brainwaves dulled by booze. Picks up an envelope stuck to the door, wonders who would be leaving him a note.

He enters and picks up some random debris from his last bout of brain-numbing. Sits down, dumps the remnants of a stale drink into a take out container, hastily pours himself a fresh one.

Opens up the note before he takes a slug and it turns out to be from his new friend, the redhead, even has a lipstick kiss planted on it for good measure.

No one ever fought for me before.

Quinn stares at the piece of paper, tries to block the incoming thoughts out of his mind. But he can't help but see the words for what they really are. Not a note of thanks but a cosmic reminder of his unending failure. To be the man he wants to be. To stop with all the death, find a source of life. To do what's right for once.

He takes a drink, can't stop looking at the accusing piece of paper. Thinks it must be all the shit karma he's accumulated, everything he's been trying to put away in the past. And the truth is Quinn thinks he deserves it all, that he's done enough damage to incur the worst.

Yet it doesn't lessen the pain of self-hatred, of desire. He knows she'll be alone out there, will piss everyone off immediately. And part of him thinks it serves her right, that she's used him for the last time. But he also knows there's something fucking wrong with her, that she needs help as much as he does. Also that nothing good can come of Carrie in Islamabad, running the show on her own. That it would be the end of the Carrie he once knew, could easily end up with her dead.

So the reality is she does need him, just not in the way she thinks. And the worst part is he wants to be there for her. Yet the reality is Quinn can barely fend for himself right now, that he cannot possibly withstand being back in Islamabad, back where it all happened.

So where the fuck does he go with that? Nowhere obviously. Except down the fucking black hole in front of him.

Quinn picks up his drink, puts down the note. Thinks this is his penance, his chance at redemption. For them both.

Then shakes his head, tells himself he's making shit up, giving himself a reason to fuck it up yet again. Slams down the rest of the drink. Pours himself another.

Closes his eyes, lets the alcohol wash it all away.