Homeland fan fic: Pocket Dial (Carrie/Quinn)
Kate's fic made me think about this issue more and so this is my take on the weird Carrie comment to Quinn about him pocket-dialling her. Also my attempt to fill in part of the time Quinn was in Islamabad when Carrie was in Kabul.
ETA: These two spend a lot of time on the phone.
*
Come on, Quinn - pick up. I thought you'd be happy for me. I mean - Kabul. It doesn't get bigger than that. I'll try you again later.
He replays the voicemail. Carrie's voice sounds elated - even excited...
He can't think of anything more distasteful than becoming involved in the drone program - attacking targets in the Federally Administered Tribal Areas along the Afghan border in Northwest Pakistan.
He wants out and working in close proximity with Carrie again is the last thing he needs ...
After only a moment's hesitation, he deletes the message.
*
Quinn. Did you get my email? I really want you to come with me - to Kabul. I know that you were still deciding about Istanbul but Kabul's even better. Lockhart's onboard. Just say yes. Call me back, ok?
Quinn lies back on the bed and stares at the ceiling as the answering machine plays the message again.
He listens to it two more times before deleting it.
*
Carrie's been in Kabul as station chief for two months when he finally allows himself to admit a partial defeat and puts in for a posting to Islamabad.
Dar Adal's pissed as hell and tries to block it but Lockhart supports the move. "Keep an eye on things over there - keep an eye on Mathison, too," Lockhart tells him and Quinn nods.
Lockhart's still an idiot, bumbling around in a world that he doesn't understand - but he's not all bad.
*
Sandy Bachman the Islamabad station chief is impressed by Quinn's credentials, his language skills and most of all by his calm, competent manner. "I think we'll get along just fine, Peter," Sandy tells him during the video-interview.
"Thank you, sir," Quinn tells him politely.
"It's just Sandy. We work very, very closely with the Kabul station. I hear from the Director that you've worked with the station chief there before?"
"Yes," Quinn replies but gives nothing away.
The Ambassador is also similarly impressed with his quiet, unshowy air of competence. She has a calm, steely strength and shrewdness about her, explaining why she has managed to not only survive but to thrive in such a difficult environment. In Quinn she recognises a kindred spirit - someone matter-of-fact and business-like about getting the job done with a minimum of fuss.
*
"Only an hour's flight away from Kabul, I note, Peter," Dar Adal comments sardonically when he learns of Quinn's posting. "If you want to be her guardian angel, wouldn't it be more convenient to be in the same city?"
"I like Indian food," Quinn replies blandly.
"I'm only prepared to tolerate this quarter-life crisis of yours for just so long, Peter," Dar Adal tells him, frustrated anger kindling in his dark eyes. "You're one of my best. For the sake of that, I was willing to wait for you to get whatever this is out of your system but you are beginning to try my patience."
Quinn continues packing as Dar Adal's words fall around him like white noise, wondering how many other people have to endure having their bosses show up at their homes unexpectedly all the time.
*
Quinn settles well into life in Islamabad. He keeps a low profile, keeps to himself but enjoys the bustle of the city, the sights, the sounds and the vivid splashes of colour around him. He's used to living abroad, of making do in an alien environment and being self-sufficient and he enjoys nothing more than sitting in the park on a sunny day watching the people go about their everyday lives.
When he first arrives, it doesn't take long before he receives a call from Astrid, letting him know that she's also in town.
"Word travels fast," he remarks when she calls him.
It's in an odd type of serendipity and they fall easily back into their previous no strings, no commitment relationship - enjoyable and uncomplicated.
*
At the station, Sandy trusts him - to the extent that he trusts anyone. He earns the grudging respect of Hensleigh and Redmond when they learn that the quiet newcomer is happy to keep to himself and does not appear to have any political aspirations. They come to trust him and rely on him for his opinions which he will provide if asked.
Quinn smells the alcohol on John Redmond's breath without any condemnation or judgment, never presuming to ask the man why he feels the need to self-medicate. As long as Redmond's drinking does not impair his judgment or get in the way of the job, Quinn doesn't care. The few times when Redmond's sailed a little close to the wind while under the influence, Quinn's been able to re-align him and steer him back in the right direction.
*
The Ambassador Martha Boyd certainly comes to depend upon Quinn as a man she can trust to be discreet.
"Everything all right?" Quinn asks one day when he sees Martha rushing out of her office, face flushed and her blond hair uncharacteristically askew. He's used to seeing the ambassador dressed immaculately, poised and calm.
"It's Dennis ..." she mutters, her face drawn and tired.
Quinn remains silent. Like the rest of the station, he knows all about Dennis and his drinking habits. "I've received a call that he's drunk and passed out ..."
"Would you like me to collect him, ma'am?" he asks her quietly and she shoots him a look filled with gratitude. If the police pick him up, the scandal will be a nightmare.
After that, it becomes almost routine for him to go and haul Dennis' unconscious ass out of various Islamabad dives and secret bars.
"Yes, it's me again," Quinn greets Dennis one day when the man is actually still conscious although far from sober.
"I guess I have my wife to thank," Dennis mutters balefully, staggering to his feet and then falling over again. With a sigh, Quinn stoops down to pick him up. He's learned that the fireman's carry is the easiest way to carry an unconscious Dennis Boyd to the car and the bar tenders have learned to call Quinn directly when they can't reach Martha herself...
Quinn doesn't know whether to pity or despise Dennis Boyd - probably a bit of both. He certainly wonders why Martha keeps the man around when he's clearly a liability to her career.
Each time he brings Dennis home, he sees the pained pinched look on her face - sees the lines deepening as she presses her lips tightly together.
With even the slightest hint of encouragement from him, she would probably have unburdened herself and told him of how all of this had come to pass, how the man she loved had turned into this sense of shame.
Instead, Quinn chooses to merely nod at her and say "Good evening, ma'am," as he puts her husband on the sofa and then leaves.
*
Islamabad has weekly calls with Kabul. Quinn never says anything on the calls. Just leans back in his chair and listens to Sandy and Carrie discussing, sometimes arguing, about what to do next.
He'd like to know where Sandy's getting his intel for the drone strikes. Admittedly, the information has been rock-solid to date, but Quinn can't help wondering where the station chief goes to at all hours of the day. He suspects that if Carrie in Islamabad, she'd ask him to tail Sandy - find out where he goes and see who he sees.
Months go by and he makes himself indispensable to the station - Peter Quinn the go-to guy. He's even learned how to fix the damned shredder that everyone keeps breaking not to mention the printer down the hall. He knows that the likes of Sandy and Redmond suspect his past and have more than an inkling of his SOG ties, but they don't ask and he doesn't volunteer any information.
He's also become master at keeping the peace between Martha Boyd and Sandy Bachman when the two don't see eye to eye. Boyd is all about protocol and respect for the host country. In contrast, Sandy has a deep-rooted mistrust bordering on contempt for 'these Pakistani bastards'. Quinn doesn't have a view and merely keeps discussions on track, guiding them back to civility when they threaten to be derailed by differences in dogma. When Martha jokes that he's missed his calling as a diplomat, Quinn merely smiles.
He reads all of Carrie's emails over the cable system, sees her reports and instructions. Her writing is always terse and to the point, never tempered with any kind of pleasantry or chatter. They're calling her the Drone Queen behind her back - that she's thriving on the success of the latest strikes. He wonders how she's holding up ... if she misses her daughter at all. He suspects that one of her reasons for asking for the Kabul posting was the knowledge that dependents are prohibited.
She's still top of his speed dial as he sits at his desk and debates whether to call her or not.
He never calls. Neither does she.
*
He's at Astrid's one day, the two of them are laughing ... both a little bit drunk. She's pulled off his jacket and is fumbling with his shirt, trying unsuccessfully to pull it off him.
"Hold on," he says with a low laugh, fumbling for his wallet and phone to throw them onto the bedside table. He swipes his thumb on the screen to try to dismiss a flashing message. The phone unlocks and he stares down in momentary horror to find that he's accidentally called Carrie.
"Quinn?" Carrie's voice sounds very startled but pleased. Clearly, she's answered on almost the first ring.
"Shit," he mutters, pulling away from an equally startled Astrid.
"What's wrong?" she demands but he's already walking out of the bedroom and down the hallway into another room.
"Carrie," he answers.
"It's great to hear from you - finally," she tells him with that quintessential Carrie inflection. She doesn't sound offended that he hasn't replied to any of her calls, just pleased to hear from him.
"Uh - about that - sorry ... I ... I uh pocket-dialled you," he tells her and there's a long silence on the phone.
"Oh ..." her voice sounds a bit flatter, a little disappointed.
"How are you?" he asks finally.
"Fine. You?"
"Good." His answer is terse and doesn't welcome further discussion.
"So ... how are you finding Islamabad?"
"It's fine," he tells her briefly, closing his eyes and trying not to exhale the long sigh building up inside of him. From her tone of voice, he can picture her so clearly, standing there, looking awkwardly hopeful - so ridiculously pleased to hear from him.
"It would have been great to have you here on the team ...I mean - why Islamabad?" she asks him, her voice very curious.
He swallows hard before answering. "Love the local cuisine," he lies.
"Right ...." she says sceptically. "You know - you can get plenty of Indian food here in Kabul - olives, too," she says with the air of someone making a joke.
Fuck. Talking to her is almost painful. She's as oblivious as she is delighted to hear from him.
"Quinn ...?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you ok? You're awfully quiet ..."
"Fine." He's not. She knows it, too but doesn't know why.
The silence drags out for a long moment between them. "Well ... it was really nice to hear from you even if it was just a pocket dial - I don't really have anyone here to talk to ... " her voice trails off. "Don't laugh - but I miss you," she tells him.
His smile is tight and his tone a little terse. "Yeah, me, too," he replies.
"OK, well - bye," she says quietly and the phone clicks off and he sits there for a long time in silence, the phone in his hand. Finally, he gets to his feet and walks back to the bedroom.
Astrid's dressed again, her blonde hair pinned up neatly again. She shoots him in an inquiring look. "Everything all right, Peter?" she asks him in her elegant voice with its slight accent.
He nods and reaches for his jacket and wallet, pulling his jacket back on and shoving the wallet in his pocket along with the phone.
"I'll see you," he tells her briefly.
"Is there any point asking you who that was on the phone?" she asks him. He doesn't reply and Astrid stands up and comes over to him, rests her hands on his shoulder and looks him in the eyes. She's tall, her eyes almost level with his and she misses nothing. She leans forward and her mouth brushes against his softly. He stands still, hands by his side, quiet and unresponsive.
She smiles crookedly, her eyes rueful and filled with a great deal of comprehension. "Goodbye, Peter," she tells him and she watches him leave. She knows he won't be coming back.
*
Quinn doesn't speak to Carrie again until they learn that the latest drone strike has landed on a wedding party, killing civilians along with the Taliban target.
Horror and nausea rises up inside of Quinn when he finds out and he can only imagine what Carrie's going through. He imagines that she's probably distraught and overcome with remorse. He calls her.
"Hello?"
"Carrie, it's Quinn."
"Quinn. Long time."
"Yeah."
"What a clusterfuck, huh?" He recognises the false bravado in her voice.
"How you holding up?"
"It was a Taliban spokesperson. I'm trying not to get too worked up about it," she tells him, playing it cool.
"Yeah, we got protesters outside the embassy here."
"They pull this shit all the time. If it wasn't a wedding, they'd say it was a mosque we hit or a orphanage or a mosque for orphans.
"Uh, this one feels different somehow."
"Why?"
"The time frame, the way we went in. The fact we didn't have eyes-on before we ordered the strike."
"Well, way to stay positive..." He fell silent. "You still there?" she asked.
"Yeah, I'm here," he replies.
"Listen to me, Quinn, worst case scenario: it was a wedding. Obviously not ideal. But Dande Darpa Khel's about as deep in the tribal area as you can get."
"I'm-I'm not following you."
"Who's gonna risk going in to verify anything? Nobody, that's who. We're bulletproof on this."
"Bulletproof?" he sounds appalled.
"Completely," she tells him, clearly in denial.
As he hangs up, he stares out the window unseeingly aware that even though she doesn't know it, Carrie Mathison is in desperate need of a friend right now ...