Homeland fic: Missing Scene - Destruction (Carrie/Quinn)
Set during episode 4.04 Iron in the Fire. This was prompted by this quote about Quinn:
Whenever [Quinn]’s on screen all I see is terrible loneliness. Sure everyone needs him because he’s great at what he does, but nobody cares that they’re destroying a human being who is apparently not a horrible person but a relatively sincere man. It’s tough to watch IMO, so the show must be doing a good job. He’s been keeping Carrie alive for a while now, but she doesn’t “see” it. She doesn’t “see” much; she’s a disturbingly single focus character, which is why she can be so fascinating and irritating at the same time.
- Mia Nina, previously.tv discussion forum on Homeland
He'd almost managed to get out this time. If he'd just been able to pass that last damned psych eval with Byatt instead of walking out in disgust, he might have finally been done with all of this ... shit.
Instead, here he is, back in Islamabad bouncing a ball against the wall of his office over and over and over again. The action was proving more irritating than soothing. It felt like an immature thing to do - the sort of thing he did back when he was still in college - before he dropped out because God and country seemed to matter more at the time than finishing his education. That was a lifetime ago and he was no longer that idealistic and impetuous boy who thought that he could save the world.
He didn't enjoy being introspective but the analytical part of him compelled him to identify the particular feeling that was presently thrumming through the tenseness of his body.
Jealousy. Frustration. Irritation. Anger. All emotions that were par for the course when dealing with the likes of Carrie Mathison.
What I need, Quinn, is your help. Not your goddamn foot on the break.
He's not a fool. Carrie, like everyone else needs him because he's great at what he does. He's a weapon - just point and shoot.
Nobody cares that they're witnessing the self-destruction of a man who balancing on a precipice and at risk of losing his humanity. The shrinks tell him that the self-loathing is natural, a normal part of the job that he does and that he needs to learn how to compartmentalise. The thing is, he knows how to compartmentalise. He just doesn't know how long he can keep those barriers in place, how to stop his nightmares from spilling into his every waking moment.
For a while, Carrie's conviction and selflessness had mesmerised him - made him admire and almost worship her sense of honour. The Drone Queen is another matter entirely and when he looks into her eyes, he can see the blackness in his soul starting to look back at him out of her eyes. This makes him feel despair in a way that his own diminishment never did.
"Peter," Fara had told him haltingly. "I don't think that Carrie has any intention of honouring her commitment to take Aayan to London."
Quinn had slanted a glance at Fara. To a certain extent, his line of work had always had much more simplicity to it. He'd never been in a position of having to fuck any of his targets - just kill them. Admittedly, the process often involved getting to learn a great deal about them, observing them from a distance and right up close... Monitoring them to find just that right point of vulnerability to strike. There was never any of this distasteful seduction of a naïve youth who was being led like a lamb to the slaughter.
"She wants me to bring him to the safe house when he returns." Fara's voice had quavered slightly. "Is it always like this ... does being in the field always involve decisions like this?"
"Recruiting an asset is always a complicated matter," he told her. "How far you go to do it depends on who you are. Carrie's always been an all in kind of person ..."
It didn't have to be that way, though. He knew that desperation as well as devotion to her job led her to make these insanely rash decisions. She had a belief that she had to do this on her own. She didn't realise that she wasn't on her own, that others cared and that the choices she made about herself mattered to other people. To her it was sex that she gave away freely and without inhibition, not realising that it always took a toll and that there was always a price.
He toyed with the idea of hopping on a plane and just getting the fuck out of Pakistan - for good this time and cutting all ties with everything. With Carrie. No more pleas, no more twisting at his heart and gut with her desperate requests.
You have to let yourself off the hook for that one, Quinn.
Despite everything, sometimes Carrie was the only person in the world who saw past the killer ... who still believed that he wasn't a bad guy ...
His face tightened. Who was he kidding? He knew that he would stay. Even though saving the world was no longer an option, even if it was too late for him ... he'd never give up on trying to save Carrie from herself.
*
In my mind, this fic segues into my earlier fic The Existence of a Line ... because in my lala land, Carrie never sleeps with Aayan :P
Whenever [Quinn]’s on screen all I see is terrible loneliness. Sure everyone needs him because he’s great at what he does, but nobody cares that they’re destroying a human being who is apparently not a horrible person but a relatively sincere man. It’s tough to watch IMO, so the show must be doing a good job. He’s been keeping Carrie alive for a while now, but she doesn’t “see” it. She doesn’t “see” much; she’s a disturbingly single focus character, which is why she can be so fascinating and irritating at the same time.
- Mia Nina, previously.tv discussion forum on Homeland
He'd almost managed to get out this time. If he'd just been able to pass that last damned psych eval with Byatt instead of walking out in disgust, he might have finally been done with all of this ... shit.
Instead, here he is, back in Islamabad bouncing a ball against the wall of his office over and over and over again. The action was proving more irritating than soothing. It felt like an immature thing to do - the sort of thing he did back when he was still in college - before he dropped out because God and country seemed to matter more at the time than finishing his education. That was a lifetime ago and he was no longer that idealistic and impetuous boy who thought that he could save the world.
He didn't enjoy being introspective but the analytical part of him compelled him to identify the particular feeling that was presently thrumming through the tenseness of his body.
Jealousy. Frustration. Irritation. Anger. All emotions that were par for the course when dealing with the likes of Carrie Mathison.
What I need, Quinn, is your help. Not your goddamn foot on the break.
He's not a fool. Carrie, like everyone else needs him because he's great at what he does. He's a weapon - just point and shoot.
Nobody cares that they're witnessing the self-destruction of a man who balancing on a precipice and at risk of losing his humanity. The shrinks tell him that the self-loathing is natural, a normal part of the job that he does and that he needs to learn how to compartmentalise. The thing is, he knows how to compartmentalise. He just doesn't know how long he can keep those barriers in place, how to stop his nightmares from spilling into his every waking moment.
For a while, Carrie's conviction and selflessness had mesmerised him - made him admire and almost worship her sense of honour. The Drone Queen is another matter entirely and when he looks into her eyes, he can see the blackness in his soul starting to look back at him out of her eyes. This makes him feel despair in a way that his own diminishment never did.
"Peter," Fara had told him haltingly. "I don't think that Carrie has any intention of honouring her commitment to take Aayan to London."
Quinn had slanted a glance at Fara. To a certain extent, his line of work had always had much more simplicity to it. He'd never been in a position of having to fuck any of his targets - just kill them. Admittedly, the process often involved getting to learn a great deal about them, observing them from a distance and right up close... Monitoring them to find just that right point of vulnerability to strike. There was never any of this distasteful seduction of a naïve youth who was being led like a lamb to the slaughter.
"She wants me to bring him to the safe house when he returns." Fara's voice had quavered slightly. "Is it always like this ... does being in the field always involve decisions like this?"
"Recruiting an asset is always a complicated matter," he told her. "How far you go to do it depends on who you are. Carrie's always been an all in kind of person ..."
It didn't have to be that way, though. He knew that desperation as well as devotion to her job led her to make these insanely rash decisions. She had a belief that she had to do this on her own. She didn't realise that she wasn't on her own, that others cared and that the choices she made about herself mattered to other people. To her it was sex that she gave away freely and without inhibition, not realising that it always took a toll and that there was always a price.
He toyed with the idea of hopping on a plane and just getting the fuck out of Pakistan - for good this time and cutting all ties with everything. With Carrie. No more pleas, no more twisting at his heart and gut with her desperate requests.
You have to let yourself off the hook for that one, Quinn.
Despite everything, sometimes Carrie was the only person in the world who saw past the killer ... who still believed that he wasn't a bad guy ...
His face tightened. Who was he kidding? He knew that he would stay. Even though saving the world was no longer an option, even if it was too late for him ... he'd never give up on trying to save Carrie from herself.
*
In my mind, this fic segues into my earlier fic The Existence of a Line ... because in my lala land, Carrie never sleeps with Aayan :P