Homeland fic prompt fill: Comfort (Carrie/Quinn)
Written during my lunch-time today because of this prompt by bwg: "Rewatching your lovely video that ends with Quinn looking at Max and Fara, both with those heartbreaking looks on their faces... And I thought of a new what if. What if Quinn visits Max??
Thanks for the prompt. I hope you like it ...Will proof read and tidy when i get home :)
Set during 4.12 A Long Time Coming.
*
The house is dark but the car is in the drive, so he knocks once. Firmly. There's still no answer.
The man standing outside has been watching the house for a while and he knows that someone's home despite the lack of a response.
*
He's sitting alone in the darkness, still processing, replaying those moments over and over again. He doesn't bother trying to sleep because his nightmares simply replay the same scenes.
"You're building up quite the collection of mail out there, Max," a voice speaks from the darkness and Max almost jumps out of his skin. If he was the swearing type, he'd be muttering all number of curse words.
As it is, he just looks around frantically like a hunted animal, peering into the shadows in panic. "Did you just break into my house, Quinn?" Max demands angrily.
"You didn't answer the door or your cell."
"How did you know I was home?"
"I knew," Quinn replies, stepping out of the shadows. He's in black jeans and wearing a dark top, his light grey eyes very steady and filled with unspoken sympathy. He throws down a pile of unopened letters and junk mail onto the coffee table tht is littered with empty bottles and glasses.
"Why are you here?" Max asks.
"You know," Quinn tells him. "Sit," he orders and despite himself, Max obeys automatically.
Quinn sits down in the recliner opposite Max. Coming in the house, he's seen the unwashed dishes in the sink, the empty bottles of alcohol, the thick layer of dust everywhere ... He's never seen Max unkempt and unshaven before. The younger younger man's eyes are red and swollen, dark circles of sleeplessness around his eyes and his clothes are crumpled and stained.
There are no well-meaning lasagnes and expressions of sympathy for Max. As far as Quinn knew, Max and Fara weren't even officially an item but he knows that look of silent suffering and care.
"Did she know you were into her?" Quinn asks directly.
"None of your business," Max mutters, straightening his glasses.
"It wasn't your fault. Haqqani was always going to kill her - target her ... you couldn't have done anything for her."
"I watched him do it ... I held her in my arms as she died," Max whispers.
"I know ... and you're never going to forget and it's never going to stop hurting - but you will have to learn to stop blaming yourself."
Max buries his face in his hands. Unlike Fara's family and friends, he has no official right to grieve. She was a coworker, a trusted colleague. No one knows that she's all he thinks about, that she's the only reason he went to Islamabad and that she's the only reason he stayed as long as he did ... Max - who didn't even have a passport because he was too terrified to travel ...
No one in the world had ever understood and accepted his quiet awkwardness the way Fara had and now, no one ever will.
He's oddly grateful to Quinn for not giving him the customary platitudes - asking how he is, asking if he's ok. Of course he's not all right, of course he's not ok - nothing will ever be ok again as far as Max is concerned. When Fara Sherazi died in Islamabad, so did all the joy in Max's life. It's not exaggeration. It's not easy for Max to feel such strong emotions, but when he does - it's forever.
"Where's Virgil?" Quinn asks him.
"On assignment ... "
"Does he know?"
"Yeah."
"Did he know about you two?"
"No," Max said in a low voice, miserable and soft. "I never knew if anything would ... could come of it - so I never said anything to him. Didn't want to jinx it ... he thought I went to Islamabad because ... Carrie asked me, but it was Fara ... just wanted to be there for her... just wanted to be near her ... "
"I get that," Quinn told him in a low voice. "She was a good person. Brave. She didn't deserve what happened to her ..."
"No," Max said in a small voice, remembering Fara's dark eyes as the life had slipped away from her with a breathless whisper before his heartbroken gaze. "And the man who killed her is still out there."
"Not for long," Quinn tells him grimly.
"What?" Max asks in confusion.
"I'm about to ship out," Quinn tells him evenly. "There are three IS targets in Aleppo - two of them are Haqqani's commanders who were released as part of the prisoner exchange. I am going to have a conversation with them." His voice is low and husky, terrifying in its calmness. "And if they can't tell me what I need to know, I'll find the others. I'll keep ... talking ... until I get to Haqqani himself." Max feels a chill slide across his skin at the menace in Quinn's voice despite his quiet delivery.
"And then?"
"We'll talk." Quinn looks up and meets Max's fierce gaze. He nods slightly and the tension suddenly leaves Max's body and he exhales in heartfelt relief.
"I want to help."
"I'm going to need your help."
"Anything," Max promises him and Quinn reaches out and puts a hand on the other man's shoulder.
"First of all - you need to pull yourself up out of ... this ..." he says gesturing around him. "Clean up and for God's sake, shave and clean yourself up. The booze doesn't keep the nightmares away - makes them worse."
"That's true," Max agrees dolefully. "Does Carrie know you're leaving?"
"No," Quinn says briefly. "She's dealing with a lot of her own stuff right now ..."
Max stares at him sharply. "Quinn - I never told Fara ... how I felt about her. I'm going to regret that forever. Don't make the same mistake."
Quinn looks startled at the urgency in Max's voice. He gets to his feet and holds out his hand. "You take care of yourself, that's an order." "Shit, Max," he mutters when Max stands up, buries his face in his chest and almost breaks all of his ribs in a monumental bear hug. Max is clearly stronger than he looks. "F*ck," he mutters as he pats Max's back awkwardly and inadequately, feigning convenient deafness as Max sobs for a moment.
When Max pulls away, Quinn asks him,"You good?"
"I'm good," Max tells him firmly, taking off his glasses which were knocked askew during the hug and wiping at his eyes. "Good luck for the mission, Quinn," he tells him.
"I'll be in touch," he promises and then he disappears into the darkness with an ease which Max finds remarkably impressive despite his grief.
*
Quinn stares down at the blank piece of paper in front of him. He's been staring blankly at the same piece of paper for the last hour. Where was he to start in terms of writing all he needed to say? What exactly did he feel?
He closes his eyes for a moment. His lips twitch as his thoughts recall Carrie swearing at him with colourful ease and irritation ... Carrie scowling ... frowning ... shouting ....
His memories transition to the uncertain, elusive smile that she slanted across at him across the table at her father's wake ... at the relief in her face when she saw him again ... at the look of disbelieving hope as she contemplated the possibility of a future together ....
He opens his eyes and begins to write.
*
This gifset is how I imagine this fic ends ....
Thanks for the prompt. I hope you like it ...Will proof read and tidy when i get home :)
Set during 4.12 A Long Time Coming.
*
The house is dark but the car is in the drive, so he knocks once. Firmly. There's still no answer.
The man standing outside has been watching the house for a while and he knows that someone's home despite the lack of a response.
*
He's sitting alone in the darkness, still processing, replaying those moments over and over again. He doesn't bother trying to sleep because his nightmares simply replay the same scenes.
"You're building up quite the collection of mail out there, Max," a voice speaks from the darkness and Max almost jumps out of his skin. If he was the swearing type, he'd be muttering all number of curse words.
As it is, he just looks around frantically like a hunted animal, peering into the shadows in panic. "Did you just break into my house, Quinn?" Max demands angrily.
"You didn't answer the door or your cell."
"How did you know I was home?"
"I knew," Quinn replies, stepping out of the shadows. He's in black jeans and wearing a dark top, his light grey eyes very steady and filled with unspoken sympathy. He throws down a pile of unopened letters and junk mail onto the coffee table tht is littered with empty bottles and glasses.
"Why are you here?" Max asks.
"You know," Quinn tells him. "Sit," he orders and despite himself, Max obeys automatically.
Quinn sits down in the recliner opposite Max. Coming in the house, he's seen the unwashed dishes in the sink, the empty bottles of alcohol, the thick layer of dust everywhere ... He's never seen Max unkempt and unshaven before. The younger younger man's eyes are red and swollen, dark circles of sleeplessness around his eyes and his clothes are crumpled and stained.
There are no well-meaning lasagnes and expressions of sympathy for Max. As far as Quinn knew, Max and Fara weren't even officially an item but he knows that look of silent suffering and care.
"Did she know you were into her?" Quinn asks directly.
"None of your business," Max mutters, straightening his glasses.
"It wasn't your fault. Haqqani was always going to kill her - target her ... you couldn't have done anything for her."
"I watched him do it ... I held her in my arms as she died," Max whispers.
"I know ... and you're never going to forget and it's never going to stop hurting - but you will have to learn to stop blaming yourself."
Max buries his face in his hands. Unlike Fara's family and friends, he has no official right to grieve. She was a coworker, a trusted colleague. No one knows that she's all he thinks about, that she's the only reason he went to Islamabad and that she's the only reason he stayed as long as he did ... Max - who didn't even have a passport because he was too terrified to travel ...
No one in the world had ever understood and accepted his quiet awkwardness the way Fara had and now, no one ever will.
He's oddly grateful to Quinn for not giving him the customary platitudes - asking how he is, asking if he's ok. Of course he's not all right, of course he's not ok - nothing will ever be ok again as far as Max is concerned. When Fara Sherazi died in Islamabad, so did all the joy in Max's life. It's not exaggeration. It's not easy for Max to feel such strong emotions, but when he does - it's forever.
"Where's Virgil?" Quinn asks him.
"On assignment ... "
"Does he know?"
"Yeah."
"Did he know about you two?"
"No," Max said in a low voice, miserable and soft. "I never knew if anything would ... could come of it - so I never said anything to him. Didn't want to jinx it ... he thought I went to Islamabad because ... Carrie asked me, but it was Fara ... just wanted to be there for her... just wanted to be near her ... "
"I get that," Quinn told him in a low voice. "She was a good person. Brave. She didn't deserve what happened to her ..."
"No," Max said in a small voice, remembering Fara's dark eyes as the life had slipped away from her with a breathless whisper before his heartbroken gaze. "And the man who killed her is still out there."
"Not for long," Quinn tells him grimly.
"What?" Max asks in confusion.
"I'm about to ship out," Quinn tells him evenly. "There are three IS targets in Aleppo - two of them are Haqqani's commanders who were released as part of the prisoner exchange. I am going to have a conversation with them." His voice is low and husky, terrifying in its calmness. "And if they can't tell me what I need to know, I'll find the others. I'll keep ... talking ... until I get to Haqqani himself." Max feels a chill slide across his skin at the menace in Quinn's voice despite his quiet delivery.
"And then?"
"We'll talk." Quinn looks up and meets Max's fierce gaze. He nods slightly and the tension suddenly leaves Max's body and he exhales in heartfelt relief.
"I want to help."
"I'm going to need your help."
"Anything," Max promises him and Quinn reaches out and puts a hand on the other man's shoulder.
"First of all - you need to pull yourself up out of ... this ..." he says gesturing around him. "Clean up and for God's sake, shave and clean yourself up. The booze doesn't keep the nightmares away - makes them worse."
"That's true," Max agrees dolefully. "Does Carrie know you're leaving?"
"No," Quinn says briefly. "She's dealing with a lot of her own stuff right now ..."
Max stares at him sharply. "Quinn - I never told Fara ... how I felt about her. I'm going to regret that forever. Don't make the same mistake."
Quinn looks startled at the urgency in Max's voice. He gets to his feet and holds out his hand. "You take care of yourself, that's an order." "Shit, Max," he mutters when Max stands up, buries his face in his chest and almost breaks all of his ribs in a monumental bear hug. Max is clearly stronger than he looks. "F*ck," he mutters as he pats Max's back awkwardly and inadequately, feigning convenient deafness as Max sobs for a moment.
When Max pulls away, Quinn asks him,"You good?"
"I'm good," Max tells him firmly, taking off his glasses which were knocked askew during the hug and wiping at his eyes. "Good luck for the mission, Quinn," he tells him.
"I'll be in touch," he promises and then he disappears into the darkness with an ease which Max finds remarkably impressive despite his grief.
*
Quinn stares down at the blank piece of paper in front of him. He's been staring blankly at the same piece of paper for the last hour. Where was he to start in terms of writing all he needed to say? What exactly did he feel?
He closes his eyes for a moment. His lips twitch as his thoughts recall Carrie swearing at him with colourful ease and irritation ... Carrie scowling ... frowning ... shouting ....
His memories transition to the uncertain, elusive smile that she slanted across at him across the table at her father's wake ... at the relief in her face when she saw him again ... at the look of disbelieving hope as she contemplated the possibility of a future together ....
He opens his eyes and begins to write.
*
This gifset is how I imagine this fic ends ....