Chapter 26

Quinn leans back in his chair, running his hand through his hair as he reviews the latest intel coming out of Tel Aviv. The situation on the ground is rapidly deteriorating—Hamas and Hezbollah appear to be coordinating their attacks on Israel in a way that even the CIA's most pessimistic forecasts didn't predict. It's a perilous scenario, and every moment makes Quinn feel like they're a step behind.

He's been back in DC for less than a week, and already, it feels like he's 6,000 miles away from where he needs to be. Ari's pushing for on-the-ground analysts and additional tactical teams, and the request is urgent—ASAP.

Quinn turns back to the red folder marked "HIGHLY CLASSIFIED" in big black font, squinting at the overnight assessments from CIA and Mossad teams in Gaza and Lebanon. But before he can dive back in, there's a knock on his office door.

He looks up to see Carrie Mathison standing in the doorway. Quinn had heard she'd returned from Berlin just a couple of weeks ago—Saul had brought her back in some capacity that wasn't exactly clear to Dar, and even less so to Quinn. But Quinn hasn't had the luxury of time to process it, not until now.

He gestures for her to come in.

"Got a minute?" Carrie enters, her voice cutting through the quiet of the room.

"Welcome home," Quinn meets her eyes and sets his file down. He forces a smile. "Heard you were wandering around here somewhere."

Carrie raises her eyebrows. "Indeed. Don't get too excited."

Quinn shakes his head and smirks. He doesn't respond.

Carrie exhales, and sits in one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Look, I know we didn't exactly part on the best terms in Berlin..." She shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "And, well… maybe that's partly on me."

Quinn raises an eyebrow but stays silent.

Carrie presses on, determined. "But I've been thinking about it. A lot. And I'd like to—well, wipe the slate clean. Go back to what we were. Partners. Maybe even friends?" Her eyes soften for a moment. "Remember those days? When we actually worked well together? Had each other's backs?"

There's something almost vulnerable in her gaze now. Quinn's face remains neutral, unreadable. He takes a beat before replying.

"I don't recall us working particularly well together in Berlin," he says, his voice low.

Carrie nods, as if she expected that. "Fair enough. That was... it was a really hard time for me. For both of us—I know. And I'm not here to... I'm not trying to rehash anything that happened. Not in Berlin. Not... before," she glances at him meaningfully. "It's done, it's over. I get it. Just… you know I've been out of the field for a while, and I want back in. I know I can help."

Quinn folds his arms, leaning back in his chair, his mind working through the implications of what she's offering. He didn't expect this, and—frankly—didn't want it. But that doesn't matter much now.

"Do you know what's happening over there right now?" Quinn's voice drops an octave, his gaze hardening. "It's bad. Worse than bad."

Carrie meets his eyes, unflinching. "I know what I'm walking into," she says firmly. "And I know I can help you and Saul. I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't sure."

Quinn exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. He can't deny it—Carrie does get things done. That she's here, after everything, says something.

"Fine," he says finally. "You want in? You've got it. But I need someone on the ground in Tel Aviv for at least six months—maybe twelve. You up for that?" His tone is skeptical.

Carrie's expression tightens, but she doesn't back down. "If that's what it takes, I'm in."

Quinn narrows his eyes. "And Frannie?"

Carrie's face falters, just for a moment. "She'll stay with my sister. It's better for her."

Quinn's expression softens just slightly. He wants to say something, but quickly decides that it's not his place. The last time he tried to question Carrie's parenting skills, things didn't go very well. Instead, he simply asks, "You're sure?" It's more a statement than a question.

"I'm sure." She responds immediately. She pauses hesitantly, tilting her head. "What about you? Are you... are you going to be there, too?"

"No."

Carrie's nod is a bit too quick, too automatic. "Right. Of course. You're—you have a whole Special Ops division to run. Congratulations, by the way. I never—we never... I'm happy for you."

"Thank you," Quinn replies.

Carrie hesitates for a moment, then forces a brighter tone. "So," she says, trying to shake off the awkwardness, "What do I need to know?"

Quinn leans back again, looking at the file in front of him. "Ari Rosen is running things for Mossad. We have seven tac teams out there right now. He needs senior case officers on the ground." He pauses, meeting her gaze. "This situation isn't going to stabilize any time soon," he adds softly.

Carrie nods, an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Sounds like I'm your man."

Quinn can't help but grin. "Alright. Go talk to Preston. He'll brief you on the details. I'm leaving in three days for a quick visit. You can tag along."

Carrie stands, a small but determined nod. "Absolutely." She pauses for a beat, then adds, almost hesitantly, "By the way, the woman I met in Berlin... Lily... I heard she was here—with you. How's she doing?" Carrie's voice is carefully neutral.

Quinn stiffens slightly, his body language closing off. "She's fine," he says, his tone clipped. There's finality in the way he says it—a clear signal that the conversation is over.

Carrie just nods, her face impassive. "Good. Great." She hesitates again before turning toward the door. "I'll—uh—I'll connect with Preston."

"Great," Quinn replies, his voice low and dismissive. He watches her go, the familiar tension in his chest returning. She's good—he knows it—but having her back in the fold feels like opening a door he's not sure he wants to walk through again.

Quinn walks through the door after another long day, kicking off his shoes by the front door and setting down two bags of takeout on entry table. "Hey, Lil," he calls. He hears the familiar sound of Lily typing away at her laptop in the next room.

"Hey," she gives him a warm smile as he wanders into the main living area with the food he's brought home. She's sitting at the dining table in one of his old T-shirts, her hair in a messy bun, eyes briefly grazing his before flitting back to her laptop screen. It's such a simple, ordinary moment, but it grounds him in a way nothing else can.

"I brought Chinese," he deposits the bags on the kitchen counter. "You hungry?"

"Starving," she replies, grinning as he comes up behind her and kisses her cheek. "I've been buried in a brief that reads as if it was written by a third grader, and I think we just paid our outside counsel $200,000 for this garbage."

"Ouch," Quinn laughs. "Can you collect it on their behalf?"

She rolls her eyes, amused. "Did you get me drunken noodles?" She rises from her seat and stretches her limbs, her (his) tee shirt skimming the tops of her bare thighs.

"Mhmm," he pulls her into his arms.

"And that eggplant?"

"Yup."

"My hero," she kisses his lips sweetly.

He returns the kiss, before separating himself and heading to the kitchen for plates and utensils.

"How was your day?" Lily sits back down in front of her laptop and resumes typing.

"Um, interesting," Quinn busies himself unpacking cartons of food and laying them out on the kitchen table. "Carrie Mathison's back," he adds, keeping his voice neutral.

Lily's eyes snap up to meet his, her fingers pausing mid-air above her laptop. "Carrie?"

"Yeah." He leans against the counter casually, meeting her eyes. "Saul brought her back in. She's going to help with the shitshow in Tel Aviv."

"Tel Aviv," Lily deadpans.

"Yes. In Israel. Remember that place I just came back from?" Quinn grins and turns back to the food. He pulls out a bottle of wine and pours two generous glasses. "Let's eat."

Lily follows him to the kitchen table and sits. "Why Tel Aviv? I mean of all the projects in the CIA—why yours?" She picks up her wine glass and takes a long sip.

Quinn glances at her as he opens a carton of noodles. "Well, she's a Middle East expert, for one." He offers her the carton. She accepts it wordlessly and dumps a giant pile of noodles on her plate. He takes the carton back from her and gives her the container with eggplant. She dumps that on her plate, too, and stares at it wordlessly.

"Lil, come on," Quinn pokes her with a chopstick before helping himself to a giant serving of fried rice. "What's the big deal?"

"Well, for one," Lily mimics him, "the last time you saw her, she basically professed her love for you. And it wasn't even that long ago."

Quinn pops some chicken into his mouth and looks at Lily thoughtfully. "Well, nothing's changed since then."

"That's my point."

Quinn laughs and picks up his wine glass. "I mean—nothing's changed for me. I wasn't fucking her when I was single; why would I start now? Why would you be worried about that?"

"I'm not worried about you fucking her," Lily glares at him, but it's hard for her to maintain an angry expression in the face of Quinn's hangdog look. "I'm worried about her wanting to fuck you."

Quinn grins. "Well, I am pretty irresistible."

Lily smacks his arm. "Stop it, it's not funny." But he can see a smile forming on her lips.

"It's kind of funny," Quinn teases, taking a long sip of wine and putting the glass down. "Come on, babe, I have zero interest in Carrie. You know that. And I'm not even the one who asked her back in the first place; you should blame Saul for that." He pauses. "But—look—we could use her. We really could. Mossad's on my ass about sending them experienced case officers—and no one's more experienced than Carrie. She ran the Kabul station, for Christ sakes. And you know she was with me in Islamabad."

"Yes, I know. Which is exactly why I don't want her around you," Lily pouts, pushing her noodles around with her chopsticks.

Quinn takes her chopsticks out of her hand and puts them next to her plate. "Lil, look at me."

Lily meets his eyes.

"This is crazy. I love you. And—besides—I'm leaving her in Tel Aviv. She'll be there, not here."

Lily's expression softens. "I don't like her."

"You don't have to. But you do like me. So you need to trust me."

"I do trust you. I just don't trust her."

"Then you don't trust me," he looks at her meaningfully. "At some point, you're just going to have to accept the fact that women love me." His serious expression falters and he bursts into laughter again.

Lily can't help herself; she laughs, too. "You're the worst," she mutters, but her tone is light.

"You can brand me if you want," he says, a look of amusement in his eyes. "Property of…."

"Shut up," she laughs. "You are not funny."

"I'm a little funny."

"I'm just saying—it's good I'm not the jealous type."

Quinn almost chokes on a mouthful of rice. "This is what 'not jealous' looks like?"

"The branding is starting to look more attractive," Lily twirls up some noodles into her chopsticks and takes a bite.

Quinn grins. "I'm all yours, babe."

"You are all mine."

"I like it when you're so domineering," he teases.

Lily laughs and punches his arm. "You may be some superhero spy, but don't make me hurt you," she grins at him.

"Oh, I'm totally up for that. I think I have some rope somewhere in the closet."

As they share a moment of easy laughter, Quinn feels that familiar warmth in his chest, the peace that only comes from being with her. No matter how chaotic the world gets outside these walls, here—with her—everything is just right.