Chapter 15

It's several days later, and Quinn steps into his apartment, exhausted; his keys make a soft clink as he tosses them onto the table by the door. They've finally settled on a replacement for Allison Carr, the "hero" who will soon receive her very own star on the CIA's memorial wall at Langley, commemorating her for her bravery in bringing down a dangerous SRV operative who stole classified intel from the CIA's Berlin station and—no big deal—tried to kill both him and Carrie Mathison just a couple months ago. Of course, that the dangerous SRV operative was actually Allison doesn't much matter when the story is whatever Saul and Dar—and the President—want it to be. At least the new guy—an import from the CIA's British station—can't make things any worse, Quinn figures.

He sighs, trying to push the entire day out of his head, focusing instead on the bag of Indian takeout in his hand, its familiar smell already making his stomach rumble, and the hope that he'll gets to spend the evening curled up on the couch with Lily.

"Hey Lil," he calls. He's halfway to the kitchen when he hears voices. Lily's, soft and controlled. And then—Carrie's unmistakable voice, sharp and clipped, cutting through the quiet of the apartment.

Quinn's pulse quickens, and an icy knot twisting in his stomach. What the hell is Carrie doing here?

Lily emerges from the kitchen, wine glass in hand, but her expression is… odd. Neutral, yes, but with something behind it. Something that makes his chest tighten. Carrie is right on her heels, a too-bright smile plastered on her face.

"Hi," Lily says, her voice steady, though there is something restrained in the way she says it. She's not angry, but she's not… comfortable, either.

Quinn drops the bag of food on the dining table and looks from Lily to Carrie, his eyes narrowing. He tries to keep his voice neutral. "Carrie... What are you doing here?"

Carrie doesn't flinch. "I came by to talk to you. Since you've been impossible to reach at the office. Didn't realize you had… company." Her eyes flick briefly to Lily, before returning to him.

Quinn doesn't look back at Lily, but he can feel her tension in the air. He swallows hard, nods, then steps toward Lily and touches her arm gently. "Give me a minute," he said, his voice low enough only for her to hear.

Lily hesitates, then nods, giving him a meaningful glance. It's clear she's shaken by Carrie's unexpected appearance, but doesn't want to be in the middle of whatever this is. She turns and walks back into the kitchen, wordlessly, leaving Quinn and Carrie alone.

Quinn lets out a slow breath before turning back toward Carrie. "I'll walk you out."

Carrie's smile falters slightly, but she nods. "Sure."

As he closes the front door behind them, Quinn turns to her, his voice low, his patience thin. "So now you're just showing up at my place uninvited?"

Carrie blinks at him, like she hasn't even noticed how far she'd crossed the line. "Wow. I didn't realize this would be such a big deal. It wouldn't have been before… whoever that was upstairs. Who is she?"

"She's none of your business," Quinn snaps, his anger simmering just below the surface.

"The same none of my business you've been spending so much time with you that don't have five fucking minutes for an old friend?"

"Are we still friends, Carrie? It's hard to tell these days."

"Are we still...?" Carrie blinks a few times in surprise and trails off. Her shoulders sag, and she sits down heavily on the front stoop of the building, burying her face in her hands. Quinn stands there for a long moment, fighting the urge to just turn and walk back inside. But he doesn't. He sits down next to her, a few feet away, but not out of reach.

Finally, Carrie looks back up at him, tears brimming in her eyes. She quickly wipes them away, like she doesn't want him to see. "What happened? What happened to us?"

Quinn runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. He can't look at her. "I don't know, Carrie. Does it really matter?"

"It does to me," Carrie says softly, her eyes wide with hurt. "So that whole speech—about us getting out together, us kissing the night my father died—that was all... what? Bullshit?"

"No," Quinn said quietly, his voice rough. "It wasn't. But it was a long time ago."

Carrie stares at him for a long time, her breath shaking, and then she looks away, fresh tears welling in her eyes. "I never stopped thinking about you," she mutters, so quietly he almost doesn't hear.

He's silent for a moment, unsure what to say. "You have a boyfriend, Carrie," he finally replies, quietly. "I met him, remember?"

"Not anymore," Carrie whispers.

"Oh," Quinn says, taken aback. He doesn't know what to say. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry that I don't have a boyfriend or sorry that you've been treating me like garbage?"

"I saved your life, Carrie," Quinn says, his voice tense. "That hardly qualifies as treating you like garbage."

"And I saved yours. So I guess we're even."

"I guess we are."

Carrie swallows and rubs her face with her hands, before looking back at Quinn. "So that's it then?"

Quinn sighs. "What do you want from me, Carrie?"

"Do I need to fucking say it?"

Quinn narrows his eyes and shakes his head. He doesn't respond.

"Is this about punishing me?" she asks quietly. "Because I didn't stay celibate for the two years you were off playing hero in Syria?"

Quinn looks at her incredulously. "No, that's not what this is about," he says finally. "Everything's not always about you, Carrie. I know that's hard to—"

Carrie cuts him off. "You walked out on me. I looked for you—everywhere. I begged Dar. Dar. I begged him to help me find you."

He flinches at the mention of Dar, but she keeps talking, her words spilling out in a rush. "I cried for two weeks straight when you left. You think I wasn't wrecked by it? Maggie thought about checking me back into a damn psych ward." Carrie wipes at her eyes, the tears now falling freely.

Quinn's chest tightens. He doesn't want to hear this. Doesn't want to be reminded of how much he's hurt her, even though he knows it was inevitable. This is what he and Carrie are—a mess of broken pieces.

"You made me feel like I wasn't worth a damn to you. Like it was that easy for you to walk away from me," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Quinn's jaw tightens, his eyes darkening. "It wasn't easy," he mutters.

Carrie gives a small, bitter laugh. "Right. And yet, when you got the chance to walk out again, you did."

"No, that's not—"

"My answer was yes, Quinn. You asked me, and my answer was yes," she said, her voice trembling.

Quinn swallows hard, his mind spinning. "I'm sorry," he says softly, finally.

Carrie wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. "Yeah, well," she starts, her voice colder now, "I guess that's all I'll ever get."

She stands up, and Quinn follows suit, not knowing what else to do or say. "Carrie, I—"

She shakes her head, cutting him off. "I think it's pretty obvious we're done here."

Without another word, she turns and walks down the steps, her footsteps quick and decisive. She doesn't look back.

When Quinn walks back into the apartment, Lily is sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for him. The food is cold, the wine glass she'd been holding now empty. She doesn't speak, but her eyes are focused on him, waiting for him to explain. He doesn't know what to say. Of course he doesn't.

He opens a cabinet, grabs a second wine glass, and pours himself a generous amount. He drinks it all in one go, then fills it again, his hands shaking slightly.

Sitting down across from Lily, he places the glass on the table and sighs. She doesn't say a word, just watches him, her expression calm but not indifferent.

"Carrie—" He stops, unsure where to begin. "She… I didn't know she was coming here."

Lily looks at him for a long moment before speaking. "She's your ex?"

"No," he answered quietly. "She's not."

Lily nods and rises, taking her own glass over to the counter to refill it. "She loves you," she says, facing away from him as she pours. "That much was obvious. Whatever you had.. or didn't… she loves you."

Quinn doesn't reply immediately. His chest feels heavy, the words swirling in his head like smoke. But then he stands up and walks over to her. He wraps his arms around her from behind, his voice a low murmur in her ear. "Yes," he whispers. "That seems to be the case."

Lily stands still for a moment before leaning back against him, her head resting on his chest. "Can you tell me?" she asks softly.

He hesitates. For a long time, he hesitates. But then, finally, he nods. "Yes."

Lily turns around in his arms and disentangles herself from him. She walks back to the table, taking a seat again. He follows her, sitting across from her once more.

"I don't know where to start," he admits.

"How about the beginning?" she suggests.

"I'm really bad at this," he mutters, his eyes flicking to hers, then away.

Lily smiles at him, but it's soft, understanding. "At talking?"

Quinn chuckles, shaking his head. "At everything, apparently."

"Not at everything," she says gently, taking another sip of her wine. "And we've got time. So start from the beginning."

He looks at her for a long moment before starting to speak. "Carrie… she works with me. Or, she did. We met at Langley, years ago. She was a case officer. I'm... what I am. We were assigned to track a former Marine who'd been turned by ISIL."

Lily's eyebrows arched. "A Marine? Jesus."

"Yeah," Quinn said with a bitter smile. "Nicholas Brody. You probably remember the name."

Lily's expression darkens, but she doesn't interrupt.

"Anyway. We worked together. A lot. Friends, mostly. For a while, I thought maybe there could be more. But she was never available. Not to me, anyway."

He pauses, taking a long sip of his wine. "She has a kid. Not mine," he adds quickly. "I mean, we never... anyway. There were... issues. For both of us. And then there was Islamabad—a terror attack on the embassy."

"A few years ago," Lily murmurs thoughtfully. "I remember. It was pretty big news."

Quinn nods. "I was there. We were there together. A lot of our—a lot of our colleagues didn't make it." His voice tightens, but he pushes on. "There was a moment, back in Virginia. Her father had just died, and I had just come home... and I wanted to get out of this deep dark hole..." he trails off.

Lily watches him quietly, her face softening with concern.

"And for a minute there, it felt like I could breathe again. You know? In Virginia. It was—" he laughs, but it's hollow—"so normal. So fucking normal. I wanted normal. I wanted to be away from... death. From the agency. From everything."

He looks at Lily, studying her. "It's hard to understand, I know."

Lily swallows and nods; he sees a hint of tears in her eyes. She quickly wipes them away.

Quinn looks down. "Anyway. I asked her—Carrie—if she wanted to get out... with me," he murmurs. "But…" He lets out a breath. "The next day, she was gone."

Lily doesn't speak. She just reaches across the table and takes his hand. Quinn swallows and continues.

"So I left. I went to Syria. There was a mission; and they needed me. And another one after that. And another... And I... I just forced myself to move on. I just stopped thinking about her. The first time I saw her again—talked to her again—it was here. In Berlin. And she was living with someone."

"And now?" Lily asked quietly, her voice almost a whisper.

"And now she's not," Quinn replied, his voice raw.

"Because of you?" Lily asks, her eyes steady.

Quinn doesn't answer. He lets go of her hand and looks down at his wine glass, swirling the dark liquid inside. He doesn't know how to explain this to her.

Finally, Lily speaks again—hesitantly—as if she's not sure she really wants to know the answer. "So, nothing happened between the two of you? Here?"

Quinn meets her eyes again, pauses, and then replies softly, "Lots of things happened—someone tried to kill us, I got shot—" he sees a flash of concern in her eyes—"I was held by a terrorist cell, and I completely failed to prevent their bombing of a train station in Berlin..." he trails off.

Lily stares at him, silently processing. He can feel the gears turning in her head, the timeline she's pulling together of recent events.

"But no," Quinn finally adds. "Nothing happened between the two of us. And then... then I met you."

"Jesus," she whispers.

He smiles weakly. "Yeah."

She slides her wine glass back and forth along the table nervously. Finally, she looks up, as if gathering the courage to ask something she's been holding back.

"What is it?" he asks gently.

She shakes her head, resting her elbows on the table and clasping her hands together, bringing them to her lips. Her knuckles are white.

"Lily."

She swallows and looks back at him. "Do you—" she hesitates—"do you love her?"

He meets her eyes, studying her for a long moment. "No," his voice is barely above a whisper. "Unfortunately for me, I'm pretty sure I love you."

Lily's eyes widen and her expression softens. A small smile tugs at her lips. "Unfortunately?"

Quinn raises an eyebrow. "I just gave you a million reasons to walk away from me—from this," he gestures around him, his voice heavy. "My life is a shitshow. I'm a walking target. You see that, don't you? And, of course, there's the fact that the last time I had feelings for someone I up and left her for two years and didn't exactly leave a forwarding address."

Lily nods slowly. "Well then, that is unfortunate, because I'm pretty sure I love you, too."

Quinn stares at her, shocked. Then he grins and shakes his head. "I'm so fucking bad at this."

"Well, maybe we can try to be less fucking bad at it together," she shrugs.

She stands up and walks around the table to sit in his lap. He wraps his arms around her without thinking, pulling her close. She kisses him, softly, deeply, full of unspoken promises. And for the first time in a long time, Quinn feels like maybe—just maybe—he is getting this right.