Chapter 35

Carrie Mathison strides into Quinn's office with her usual intensity, a grin spreading across her face. "Well, I'm not one to brag," she begins, raising an eyebrow, "but I'm a genius."

Quinn looks up from the file he's reviewing, a smirk at the corner of his mouth. "Oh really? Enlighten me."

"We gave the negotiators the evidence they needed. Hezbollah's tunnels on the north are being refortified. It could swing the talks in favor of the Israelis for a post-war buffer zone."

Quinn raises an eyebrow, his gaze sharp. "Really?"

"Really," Carrie affirms, her eyes bright with pride. "We've got pictures. From someone on the inside," she adds, breaking into a smile. "I'm pulling together a report now."

"Nice," Quinn nods, a note of approval in his voice.

"I know your guys are getting all the spotlight—what with Attah," she says playfully, referring to the elimination of Mohammed Attah, who's been on the CIA's most wanted list since the World Trade Center attack—"but this feels like a pretty huge win."

"It is," Quinn agrees, laughing. "That's good. Great," he adds.

Carrie pauses, setting her bag down at the corner of his desk. She hesitates for a moment before speaking again, her usual confidence flickering just a little. "So, uh... are you coming back with us next week? There's a big NSA/Mossad powwow, and they're going to want you there... if you're available, of course."

Quinn doesn't hesitate. "I'll be there. I don't want to miss getting credit for Attah," he grins at her.

"Good." Carrie smiles and takes a breath, clearly reluctant to bring up something else. After a beat, she speaks again, a little more cautiously. "I, um... I talked to Lily, and—"

Quinn immediately stiffens, his expression hardening. "I heard."

Carrie flinches and furrows her brow. "What's with the hostility?"

"Just—I find this new... friendship of yours kind of odd."

Carrie looks at him, confused. "It's not a—I mean, we're not friends. Can't I maintain a civil acquaintance-ship with your fiancee?"

Quinn stares at her, eyes narrowing. "Is that even a word?"

Carrie rolls her eyes, but presses on. "Look, I'm not inviting her to yoga. We just got to talking at Saul's brunch and she's... well, you're marrying her, so I thought... I don't know, maybe we could connect."

Quinn sighs, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "I'm fine with you being friendly with Lily, Carrie—it's just..." he trails off, unsure how to finish the thought.

"What?" Carrie prompts, her patience wearing thin.

"I wish you weren't ... involving yourself in our personal... issues," Quinn says quietly.

Carrie's eyes widen, and her tone sharpens. "Involving myself in your personal issues?"

"You pushed her to see a therapist," Quinn says, his voice steady but with an edge of accusation.

Carrie stiffens. "Excuse me? I pushed her?"

"Well," Quinn mutters, "pushed her to push me."

"Quinn, that is not what happened," Carrie snaps, standing her ground. "Lily asked me for advice. We talked. I told her... about Brody. About how hard things were. About how Dr. Kelly helped me." She takes a breath, her expression softening slightly. "I never told her what to do. And I sure as hell didn't tell her what you should do."

Quinn looks down at the papers on his desk, processing Carrie's words, but doesn't respond immediately.

Carrie stands there for a long moment, her frustration simmering just beneath the surface. Finally, she speaks again, her voice quieter now. "You're welcome, by the way, for trying to be a sympathetic shoulder to someone I'm not exactly inclined to... Whatever." Carrie throws him a pointed look as she starts to gather her things.

Quinn looks at her, his brow furrowing. "What? What are you trying to say?"

"Nothing," Carrie mutters, rolling her eyes. "Look—I'll get you the report. And Saul wants to see us in his office in three hours—with a gameplan. Okay?"

Quinn pauses, thinking about whether he should just let this go. Finally, he nods. "Okay. Thanks."

He watches as Carrie leave, the door shutting behind her. The tension in the room lingers after she's gone. Quinn leans back in his chair, rubbing his temples.

He wishes, for the millionth time, that he could go back—replay the choices he made and make different ones; better ones. But he knows that it's too late for that. And in the quiet after the confrontation with Carrie, he's left alone with those decisions, and the fact that he has no one to blame for them but himself.