I cannot lose anyone else.

She thinks it was the wrong thing to say. Right thing in her head, the truth, but
not what Max needed to hear.
This isn't about you, it's about what's right! Quinn's not some innocent civilian
you dragged into this.
No, he's not, she concedes, but he is out there on his own and there's no
way he's gonna come back from this.
He's an assassin.
Carrie just wishes people would stop flinging that and all its shitty implications
around. Wishes she could stop hearing Quinn, voice in her head over and over,
I was a bad guy. The warning signs came thick and fast but she hadn't listened
to any of them, thinking they were aimed at her and they were, but it was more
than that; Quinn trying to passive-aggressively confess his sins, trying to
prepare her in some way for the possibility he might turn rabid.
It was always in him; she shouldn't have dismissed it so easily.
He wanted out, Max. And I did, I dragged him back in, and now he's off the
reservation, he's not stable. She chokes there; it's guilt, thick and raw like
something uncooked in her throat. I was responsible for Fara and she died.
Don't let the same thing happen to Quinn because you wanna use him to fight
a battle that can't be won.
Max's face falls, all his weight slumping against his hands on the tabletop. All
the years I've known you, you've never conceded a battle.
Well that should tell you how fucked this is.
I don't care, Max says, stuttered out of him like shame. I still want you to
help him, not stop him.
She thinks fast; Quinn's too good to get caught and Max is literally her only
window here. What if I promised to listen to what he had to say? He looks
open to it, so she quickly fires on, If I could talk to him, if I could be sure he's
in his right Goddamn mind, then maybe we could actually figure something
out.
And if he's not.
Then we don't lose shit because he'd be dead or in custody before he got
anywhere near Haqqani anyway. Carrie can see Max edging towards the drop,
she just needs one push to get him over. You know what that means, right?
Intelligence has a hit on him, if he gets caught he either gets immediately
executed or he spends the rest of his life rotting in a Pakistani prison.
Max doesn't like Quinn, is the thing. It's not a matter of appealing to a
friendship, it's a matter of laying Quinn on Max's conscience right alongside
Fara.

And it works. It feels like shit, but all that matters is that it works. Even after
everything, Carrie can't deny the part of herself that knows the simple beauty
of that.

She turns her back for half a second and Quinn's dropped both the men and
she should've known
He seals a hand around her throat and she honestly think he's gonna kill her;
so much for deciding if he's fucking crazy or not.
Except he pulls her close, tells her to listen if she wants to live, and with a
numb hysteria that apparently comes with Quinn's very real hand around her
trachea, Carrie wants to ask him if he thinks he's the fucking Terminator or
something.
Then he aims his gun over her shoulder and she falls instinctively forward,
gripping Quinn's t-shirt and pressing her face into his chest to muffle the shots,
the hand he'd used to choke her curved around the back of her head.
What the fuck
He snaps, They followed you, get in the Goddamn car, and before she gets to
check who fucking followed her and whether or not they're full of holes, Quinn's
shoving her towards his car.
Probably ISI. Quinn's a dead man, Carrie too now. If they survive this, she's
gonna step right off the plane home and straight into the supermax and
Quinn's gonna be in the cell right next door.
Her ears are ringing, she could fucking skin him alive right now, anger too hot
to articulate. She slams her hands against the passenger door Quinn's trying to
herd her into, attempting to put the brakes on this horrorshow.
I didn't shoot them, will you unclench, Quinn tells her quickly, too calm for
someone who's acting like . I shot at them, there's a difference, now will you
get in before they come back with a fucking army and return the favor. Carrie
stares at him, utterly lost for words. I'm not crazy, and I'm not suicidal. I didn't
want you anywhere near this, Carrie.
This
Did Max give you the bag?

She doesn't mean to, it's a purely reflexive action, but Carrie glances to the
trunk of the car she'd come to drag Quinn's sorry ass home in and he's
efficiently frisking the knocked-out driver's pockets and retrieving it and what's
she supposed to do to stop him? Clearly talking him down off the ledge isn't an
option, she'd have as much luck talking to herself in the mirror. She could shoot
him but he's a little too big for her to move unconscious.
Carrie, are you getting in the car or not?
Mostly I'm thinking about shooting you right now.
Well until you make up your mind He gestures, all familiar sarcasm, and
she opens the door and climbs in, for so many unjustifiable fucking reasons but
mostly because if Carrie's with him she knows Quinn's far less likely to put
himself in immediate danger.
He tears out of the garage, cooling it on the roads, and Carrie's hands are
shaking, she hadn't even realized. Her job is assessing people, finding the
cracks and cementing them with whatever necessary filler it takes to bring
them in line. Quinn's a well-read map torn up, she can't read him without time
to put the pieces back together, without relearning some things.
I know where Haqqani is, he says eventually like a peace offering.
Out of the country, considering your new passport, she fires back, still angry,
no point in trying to hide that from Quinn of all people.
His jaw tics; it gives her a pretty, momentary satisfaction. I'm not saying come
with me.
I'm in the car, aren't I?
I'll drop you off somewhere safe, you can tell the agency I kidnapped you or
whatever.
What thehave you reverted back to factory settings or something? Is this
some latent conditioning shit? She turns, looks out of the window. You really
are fucking crazy.
Quinn has nothing to say to that apparently, so she's getting the silent
treatment now. It takes a pretty sizeable amount of self-control to
compartmentalize the sheer mountainous frustration she's holding onto; it's
not all directed at Quinn, not even most of it in fact, but she'd felt enduring of
defeat an hour ago and now Quinn's making her burn for something
impossible; the kind of justice she'd passionately believed in years ago that
gets more and more distant with every screw-over.
I'm not saying you haven't done a good job Carrie starts, and there's so
many things she should've known better than and that was one of them; she
realizes that even as the words are coming out of her mouth.
Don't fucking feed me a line, Carrie. I'm not one of your assets.
Yeah, I don't even know why I tried that.

She does, actually. Because she's fucking tired and running on default, brain
auto-filing through appropriate responses and actions because there's so little
left in her anymore. She's drained to the last pint and Quinn's baying for the
rest like a bloodhound.
What do you want from me, Quinn?
Carrie's hardly asked before he's on her like he's just been waiting for that
question. I want you to give a shit.
As opposed to all the other times when I haven't given a shit, is that what you
mean?
No, the exact fucking opposite.
You want me to go on a suicide mission then, is that it?
You can dress it up in all the rhetoric you want, but you've given up, he
accuses, all self-righteous fucking pats on the back and it splits her down the
middle, fogs her better senses because how dare he
No, Quinn, you gave up. I made you give a shit again because you had one
foot out the door, if it wasn't for me you wouldn't even care what that fucker
did to us!
And Carrie realizes her mistake, Quinn's eyes bright on the road but brighter on
her when he glances over.
He's a dirty bastard, flipping all her own methods on her like this. It'd sure be
nice if that fucker paid, huh.
She feels like she's being recruited, it's ridiculous; it's galling.
It's also kind of thrilling, like giving herself over to the best parts of the job
again. Less political bullshit and more action. Quinn's a tense line of heat and
fury beside her, the most dangerous version of him Carrie's ever know, and she
likes it. If they'd wound him up nice and tight and pointed him in this direction
from the start, he might've slaughtered a visible line through the enemy
already; Carrie's very own human missile.
It's one of the sickest thoughts she's ever had, and more so because of its
appeal.
Lockhart's whole shtick has been getting people off the ground and remote
control kill-machines in the air and she's never thought him so nave than right
now, looking at Quinn.
But that's all redundant. Quinn wanted out for good fucking reason and Carrie's
created a problem, not a solution. She won't send another traumatized person
into a warzone, no matter what the potential benefits.
Stop the car.
He looks at her, wary. Why?

You said you'd let me out, so stop.

It's a safe spot, far enough out of the crowded sectors that there's nobody
around and she can be positive they're not being tailed, a good visible half-mile
of road stretching off in both directions.
Quinn lets the car drift a little before he brakes, looking actually nervous for the
first time since Carrie found him. His reason for that's hard to pin down but
she's got a powerful hunch it's because he's scared she's gonna leave him; an
emotional reaction instead of a logistical one and she'd exploit it if she wasn't
so aware of the damage it might do.
Carrie gets out, pacing to the front and perching on the hood. It's a clear
invitation and she waits, head tipped back against the sun, until Quinn accepts
it.
He perches next to her, head down, hands curled around the metal curved
edge. She can feel his pinky finger pressed against her thigh. It's like an electric
jolt; this is Quinn and he's ticking down like a bomb, this one live-or-die
moment and then he's in the wind and Carrie might never see him againshe
might never see him again.
This is revenge, Quinn.
Or justice.
You're not that idealistic, come on.
Okay, and so what? He deserves it.
What falls out of her mouth isn't the cool logic she was hoping for; like seeing
Quinn like this in the bright light of day is corrupting. But you don't!
No, Carrie, you're wrong, this is exactly what I deserve.
Tell me why.
I already told you
She's stepping over his stretched out leg, planting herself firmly in front of him
so he has to look up at her, before he can pull that shit. Bunch of vague, halfassed, self-hating bullshit. I want you to look me in the eye and tell me why you
sacrifice yourself to this. Or better yet Shit, now she's veering into
dangerous territory, except she can't seem to fucking stop. Why don't you tell
me why you thought you could run off and I wouldn't be right behind you.
His eyes go wide, blinking like she's thrown something in his face. Because
that's apparently the foundation of it, the stinging truth; Quinn had seriously
thought she'd just leave him and it's one of the shittiest things he's ever done.
Is that what you think of me? she asks, bleeding honesty now but it fucking
hurts.
He drags a hand through his hair. No.

I was gonna drop a bomb on Saul, you figured I'd throw you to the wolves too,
right?
I didn't even think about that.
Fuck you, don't insult me. You must've considered what'd happen when I
realized you were AWOL. You thought I'd cut and run.
His face is stubborn, mouth pursed, that jaw tic again. So why didn't you?
Because I couldn't fucking leave you here, she rages, tempted to actually
grab him and shove him, hurt him in some way.
Look, I get it, you don't wanna lose anyone else
No, I don't wanna lose you!
He closes down, an immediate shutter, and Carrie knows, then, exactly what
he's thinking. It's like a timeline played backwards, a near-death reliving of a
hundred little moments; every touch, every pissed-off shouting match, every
worried frown thrown her wayQuinn's Goddamn finger on the trigger of a
fucking sniper rifle, even.
Quinn stands, pushing past her and walking off down the incline at the side of
the road with his fists clenched and Carrie stares after him, frozen to the
ground like she's sprung roots.
I wasn't Quinn can't hear her, her voice is squeezed too small.
I wasn't trying to manipulate you, not like that, never like that.
It's true, it's so Goddamn true; losing Quinn feels like a lance through her
ribcage, impossible to breathe around, and it's like every single time he said no
to her multiplied by a thousand, the thought of surviving this messed up life
without him. It's too tangled up with the terror of being alone forever, of finding
Quinn and his kindred spirit, and Carrie can't grip the snipped edges of her
thoughts and piece them back together quickly enough.
Jesus, Quinn, she yells, the words splitting at that volume. She can't sustain
it, doesn't have the energy anymore, so she follows him, keeping a safe
distance. I know I fucking exploit people for a living, but can you just give me
a break, please? Maybe think a little higher of me for once, y'know, like I do
you.
Quinn looks suddenly dry, a compromise on the anger he's too proud to drop
even though he knows she's right. You think I'm nuts.
Carrie throws out her arms, trying to summarize with one grand gesture. Not
exactly proving me wrong here.
I can't turn around, Carrie.
You can, you just won't, she points out sharply. And then what? You blow up
Haqqani, by some miracle you get yourself back to America in one piece, and
everybody shrugs their shoulders and lets you off the hook for the shit you've

pulled?
I'm not an idiot, I know what happens if I get back home.
Yeah, the agency takes credit for an operation they didn't even run and say
this was the plan all along, meanwhile you get quietly disappeared under the
guise of being a psychologically unstable liability.
It's gonna happen either way, whether I finish this or come back with you right
now. Dar Adal already hit me with the threat. I disobeyed one of the highest
presidential orders, the ISI have got my face plastered on every anti-US hit list.
I'm blown in every way there is and now everyone back home knows I can't
keep my shit together. He's steady, laying it all out with a brutal efficiency
that's hacking tiny bits of her apart. I'm already dead, Carrie.
Fuck.
No butfuck.
She's shaking her head, mouth moving, grasping for words.
It's okay, I'm over it, he shrugs and then he's reeling back, Carrie's palm
connecting with his face. The fuck?
When she can finally speak it's low and shaky. You and me have been through
some messed-up shit, but I have never hated you more than I do right now.
Quinn swallows, mouth going tight. Well, that just makes it easier.
He slips past her with a shocking finality and Carrie doesn't turn around to
watch, just raises her cracking voice, So you do have feelings for me then?
His footsteps scuff to a stop in the dirt and it's agony, the wait, nothing but the
breeze to appease her.
I shouldn't have let it get in the way, I'm sorry.
It's nothe's supposed to get pissed, not
It's like a hand inside her, a vice-grip around her pounding heart, and after
everything she finally buckles, arms crossing up over her chest and tears
stinging and Quinn's soft, panicked voice, Carrie? when he has no Goddamn
right at all.
She thinks she's gonna hit the ground but he's there just like he's always
fucking there, like she can't get rid of his constant watchful presence and when
she does she can't stand it. Quinn's chest pressed against her back, his arms
tight around her and crossing over her own. He's the only thing keeping her
upright but she still struggles, too fucking furious to not fight with him but
there's only so much Carrie can rail against a thing she wants, and she does
hopeless, eviscerating fact; she craves Quinn's proximity like an addict right
now.
She's hunched forward, hair falling over her face, and Quinn wraps himself
around her, his mouth against her ear, Shit, rough and whispered. His fingers

dig hard in her shoulders and he feels so fucking good.

Carrie drags him down to their knees in the dirt, Quinn bracketing her between
his legs. He doesn't let her go, not for one second, and it's a surprise and then
it's not; she's torn between the best and the worst of him.
Doesn't stop the tears coming or the muscles in her stomach seizing.
Goddamn it, Carrie, Quinn grinds out, hitching with his in-and-out breath
against her back.
She asks, Why are you fucking doing this? Not even sure what she means,
Quinn's suicide mission or this display by the side of the Goddamn road.
He shifts, fingertips brushing against the back of her neck, pulling his arm over
her head to sweep the hair off the back of her neck and he presses the words
there with his mouth, Because it's right. You know it's right. They killed Fara
and John and Hensley and they will never pay for that. Carrie shivers. A few
months ago you would've never let that stand.
She turns her head against her shoulder and he instantly cups her jaw to hold
her there, fingers threading into her hair. All the reticence in him vanished, foot
entirely off the brake now; this is Quinn is his most raw form and he's like a
hurricane trapped in a jar, tightly wound destruction.
Carrie honestly thinks he's gonna kiss her and she's ready to let it happen, pour
some of this grief and resentment into him, this absolute hopelessness that's
only ever painted the very worst parts of her life because he's right, the ones
lying back on the Embassy floor covered in plastic fucking sheets will never get
the resolution they deserve.
But he doesn't. Quinn rests his chin on her shoulder, nudging his nose against
her cheek, but that's it, just that single gentle action. She presses her own
shaking hand over his, touching her fingers to the brand new scars on his
knuckles.
And then she kisses him instead. Just the brush of her mouth over his and he
breaks it straight away, noise ripped out of him like a broken curse. He tucks
his face down against her shoulder and breathes, ragged, Don't fucking do
that.
I want to.
Also the truth, and she doesn't question where it comes from like she doesn't
question where most of her needs come from. They just are and Carrie's whole
life is a testament to her impulses. It's a fact she's becoming increasingly more
aware of.
Quinn?
She's struck with the vague mechanical notion that she should've called him
Peter, and then it's gone in a frantic heartbeat, nauseatingly wrong and foggy
relief because his name came from a far more honest place than that. Maybe
he thinks so too, or maybe he's just sick of holding back this one last thing

when all the rest of him is storm-chasing, because he finally kisses her.
It's an awkward angle but Quinn's mouth is sweet and hot, as good as she
thought it'd be and she has thought about, but it's not enough, feels like she's
making a half-assed point here.
Carrie twists in the bracket of his body, curled up close and small against him
to get at his mouth, get her hands in his hair. Quinn's tongue slicking into her
mouth, his teeth careful in her bottom lip; a long, long minute of just that,
shaky and unbelievable.
He mouths at the corner of her lips, down over her jaw, making a fist in her hair
and pulling to get at her throat, and he mutters into her skin, This your idea of
a goodbye?
She lets him go at her for a while, it feels pretty fucking amazing, but
eventually Carrie pulls back to catch his eyes, right and surprisingly sharp as
they are against the soft damp vulnerability of his mouth.
If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it right.
Quinn blows out a breath, Fuck.
We're gonna need some kind of backup, something to make this legit. And I'm
not going anywhere with you unless you agree that when we get back to
Washington, I take the responsibility.
Carrie There it is, Quinn's contrary defiance; she can kiss him at the side of
the Goddamn road, lay unsure little pieces of herself at his feet, but apparently
he's still gonna fight her at every turn regardless.
No, not Carrie. Having this conversation pressed against him like this is
pretty distracting, so she untangles herself, standing and offering him a hand.
I do all the talking and you shut the fuck up and nod your head, that's the
deal.
Quinn glares, eyes narrow, but he takes her hand anyway, hauling up to his
feet and brushing off the dust. Now, or later?
Preferably both but that's asking a lot from you so later. When we get home.
Safely. Preferably still sane.
He purses his mouth, a little petulant but considering.
We tell them this was my operation, and that as your superior I involved you
and used your absence as a reason to stay in Pakistan to finish it. Nobody
needs to know you went AWOL.
What about Lockhart?
He wants these motherfuckers' heads on a platter as much as we do, I can
convince him.
Jesus, Carrie, Quinn rasps. How much shit are you gonna take for this?

Well, they won't drive me to a hole in the ground and put a bullet in my head
so probably less than you. She shakes her head, calmer than she's been a
long damn time. Focusit's focus. A resolve, the fuzzy lines and streaking
colors of her thoughts settling into something visible, something crazy but
actually doable. You're right, this is the right thing to do, and I've risked my life
for less worthy causes than this.
Sounds pretty bleak when you put it like that, Quinn huffs.
Yeah, well, she says dryly. Saul told me to be very careful, so I'm gonna tell
you the same. I need you to remember that losing you is not an option, Quinn.
Not for me. Tell me you understand that.
He nods, finally accepting but wide-eyed, looking so young it kind of hurts.
Okay. Carrie tries out a smile, mainly for him but it helps steel the final bit of
her resolve. I have a someone about an hour and a half north of here in
Mardan, a police captain. It's a good place to reach out, get our shit together.
She cocks her head back in the direction of the car and Quinn follows. A police
captain, is that smart?
He won't be any trouble, trust me.
Haqqani has the list of assets, he might not even be breathing.
She can't help it, the smirk she slants him, and he rounds the car to the driver
door looking puzzled.
He's not an asset, I'm blackmailing him.
Quinn snorts a laugh, wholly undignified. He folds his arms over the car roof,
lopsided smile aimed her way, shaking his head like he can't believe she's real.
S'good to have you on my side, Carrie.
She grins, biting her lip. Sun on the back of her neck, a purpose for the road,
and a hefty dose of laser-focused anxiety. And Quinn grinning back at her
across the car roof.