Chapter 7

When Quinn finally makes it into the office, he's wearing the same clothes from last night's date—mental note: bring a change of clothes to Lily's hotel tonight. Before he can even drop off his coat, Carrie is on him, holding a stack of papers the size of a small mountain.

"Where have you been?"

"Out," Quinn answers, not bothering to hide his frustration. It's too early for an interrogation, but Carrie isn't exactly known for waiting around.

"Johnson put this together," she says, dropping the hefty pile of files into his hands. "Maybe you can take a look?"

He scans the papers. "What is this?"

"Everything we know about the cell you infiltrated. Their histories, known affiliates, locations. Do you think it's connected?"

"Could be." Quinn flips through a few of the papers absently. He's still not fully present. He's got other things on his mind—like the woman he was in bed with an hour ago, and what he's supposed to do about that.

"We're running tests on the bomb residue," Carrie continues. "Trying to see if anything comes up."

"We?"

Carrie shifts a little, eyes dropping to the floor. "Saul's letting me help out, given the circumstances."

Quinn raises an eyebrow. "Are you working for us, or for During?"

Carrie looks at him like he's being deliberately obtuse. "Oh, fuck off," she snaps. "I don't need this from you — of all people."

He sighs and flips a few more pages. "Anything from the tests?"

"Nothing yet."

"Who's leading this?"

"Banoff. He's in the lab."

Quinn nods. "Alright, I'll go find him." He starts walking toward the lab, but Carrie keeps pace, her heels clicking on the floor.

"Where were you last night?" she asks. "I left a voicemail. Or three."

"I was busy." Quinn tries to keep his tone neutral.

"With what?"

"Stuff."

"What kind of stuff?" She's pushing now, but he's not giving her anything.

Quinn stops in front of the lab door and turns to face her. "None of your business kind of stuff."

Carrie glares at him, her lips pressed tight. "Fine. Whatever. It's not like I should be concerned about you after someone shot you right in front of me not four weeks ago, right?"

"I'm fine."

"I didn't know that last night," she retorts.

"Well, thanks for your concern," Quinn says dryly.

Carrie takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, her voice softening. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm just… on edge. You and I both know that we're not exactly safe until this whole thing is sorted out."

"Yeah, I got it." He cuts her off before she can say more.

"I can't see my daughter until we finish this, Quinn." Her voice cracks a little, and for a brief moment, Quinn feels something in him twist. She's not the same person anymore—he's not either—but some things don't go away. "I need you." She looks at him with that familiar desperation in her eyes, the one that used to make him want to drop everything for her. To save her. He doesn't want to feel that anymore.

He shakes his head and exhales slowly, giving her a rueful smirk. "Which problem would you like me to solve first, Carrie? The bomb, or the Russians who want us dead?"

Carrie holds his gaze, unflinching. "Either would be nice," she says sweetly, though the words are laced with something sharp. "But that would require you actually showing up and being present."

He smirks at that. "I know it's a shock when I'm not available to you 24/7."

"24/7?" Her voice rises now, sharper than before. "You were gone for two fucking years, Quinn. You just — poof — vanished into thin fucking air. Is that your version of being available?"

"Carrie," he says, cutting her off. "Let's not do this again."

She looks hurt, but he's getting used to it by now. He can see it in the way she swallows, her throat working as she blinks away the moisture in her eyes. She clears her throat, trying to regain control.

"Fine," she says, her voice colder now, like a switch has been flipped. "Sorry, didn't realize I was being such a pain in the ass." She exhales. "You might want to know that Dar put a tail on our target."

Quinn raises his eyebrows. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she says, wiping her eyes quickly and then looking back up at him. "Nothing yet, but I'm sure something will turn up."

"Alright," he says, nodding. "I'll check in with Banoff."

He opens the lab door but pauses before stepping in.

"Quinn," Carrie calls after him.

He stops, turning back. "What?"

She hesitates, and then it's like she can't help herself. "I really do want to talk to you," she says, the words coming out haltingly, like she's fighting herself. "A lot's happened since you … since you disappeared. After work? I think, if we could just—"

"I'm sorry," Quinn interrupts, the words coming out more harshly than he intends. "I can't tonight."

Carrie blinks, her face falling just for a moment before she quickly recovers. "Really?" she asks, trying to mask the hurt behind a forced casual tone. "Not even for a few minutes?"

He shakes his head, already regretting the conversation. "I've got to talk to Banoff." He pauses. "How about lunch — tomorrow?"

Her face softens. "Fine. Lunch tomorrow. What are you doing tonight?" she asks, her voice light, but there's something hollow behind it.

He looks at her and for a brief moment, the old pull between them surfaces. But he keeps his composure. "I've got work to do, Carrie. We'll talk later."

He nods to the files in her hands and steps into the lab, letting the door close behind him before she can say anything else.