Title: As We Learn To Enlace

Fandom: Homeland

Pairing: Carrie/Brody, (minor) Brody/Jessica

Rating: T

Word Count: 7,032

Warnings: the usual suspects. (minor) Infidelity, violence, occasional bad language. Title taken from "Tethered" by Sleeping At Last.

Synopsis: It's been three months when they haven't had to get drunk or make excuses to be together, they haven't lied to anyone to get time alone, and neither of them have been held hostage by any terrorists. The last one is the development they're the most pleased by, honestly.

A/N: Set right after 2x09, after Carrie escapes from Nazir and Brody's gone back to the safe house. I wrote this before 2x10 aired, I thought about changing it before I posted it but, this is how I saw it in my head so I thought I'd leave it? I just really wanted Brody and Jessica to have a proper argument so. This happened. :p

Jessica stands in the living room of the big, airy apartment they've spent the last few days calling home, wondering if they're about to split up. Wondering if she has the energy to keep fighting for them anymore. Wondering if she's niave to hope they might still work it out.

She shivers a little as the cold wind blows in from outside where he didn't quite shut the door. She thinks about heading to the bedroom to grab a cardigan from her bag when she catches a snippet of his conversation.

"Honestly, all I care about right now is that you're okay."

Suddenly she finds she's shivering for an entirely different reason. There's no doubt in her mind who he's talking to. It's not like he'd say that to anyone other than that woman. All he cares about? She's all he cares about, right now when they're potentially about to make a decision about their marriage and the future of their family?

He says something else she doesn't pay attention to, then walks back inside and she takes a step away from him, her eyes filling up with tears.

Who are you? She thinks, and she knows he can read it on her face, that she knows who he was talking to, that she could hear what he said to her.

She wants to say something, anything - she wouldn't even mind if he made some excuse, gave her some alibi that she knew full well was a lie but at least showed her he cared enough to try and stay with her.

God, how fucked up is that? I'd rather be lied to than left.

They both stand still in silence after he walks back in, like they're waiting to see who's going to be the one to upset the careful balance. Finally, she can't hold it in any longer.

"So, what, are you fucking her again?" Jessica asks, her arms folded across her chest. She's glad the kids decided to ask a couple of the agents to take them up to the pool for a little while, this isn't an argument she wants them over hearing any part of.

Let's be honest, neither of them are going to come off particularly well.

"Oh, you want to talk about my fidelity…" Brody says, with so much anger and sarcasm it makes her want to slap him.

"Why shouldn't I? This isn't the first time you've just disappeared for days at a time, and it always comes back to HER!" Jessica shouts back, and she expects him to withdraw as usual, to take a step back, but he doesn't. He stands his ground and shakes his head at her.

"So you want me to believe that you didn't sleep with Mike the night I wasn't here?" He replies, his face twisted up maliciously.

"That's not-" She starts to protest, wants to tell him it's not the same, but he cuts her off, his (if you ask her) unfounded rage gathering momentum in a way that would frighten her if she herself wasn't so incensed.

"That's not what, Jess? Relevant? True? Completely fucking obvious since the second I walked through the god damn door yesterday and the two of you jumped apart like guilty teenagers?" He spits, walking forwards out of the living area and into the kitchen with her.

"Do you even care?! And by care, I mean feel bad or jealous or hurt or do you just hate the fact that he seems to actually give a shit about me when you're too busy fucking that crazy bitch to remember that you have a family!" She screams, surprising herself at the bolt of something that feels a lot like loathing race through her, tainting and poisoning every part of her that it touches.

"She is NOT crazy!" Brody roars back, his fist slamming down on the kitchen counter with furious emphasis.

There's a pause of silence before Jessica shakes her head and laughs disbelievingly.

"That is what you took from that statement?" She takes a step back, finding that he suddenly looks like a stranger to her. He's her husband and she doesn't even recognise him.

He doesn't reply, just bites his lips like he's making himself not speak. He doesn't know what he'll say - the truth is, he's not sure he even knows who she is any more. He had an affair - just like she did. Cheating isn't okay, no matter what the circumstances.

The problem is, when he's with Carrie, he doesn't feel like he's cheating on his wife.

When he's with his wife, he feels like he's cheating on Carrie.

She turns away like she can't stand to look at him, before running one hand through her hair as she stares out of the window, like she knows what he's thinking. He wonders if she's thinking it too. Does being with him make her feel like she's betraying Mike?

"Well then I think we answered our own question, didn't we?" She says softly.

It's such an about turn from the screaming anger of a few seconds ago that he feels completely wrong-footed and unbalanced by it.

"What question?" He asks, still maintaining a careful distance.

"What are we doing." She says blandly, no infliction to the words, like she doesn't even notice she's saying them. She's reminding him of their earlier argument, before it was interrupted by yet another call from the CIA, or Walden or whoever the fuck really called him. Does she still care? She should, probably, but she doesn't know how anymore.

"So what now?" He asks, folding his arms, "We get a divorce and split custody of the kids?"

His voice is a little incredulous, like he can't believe that it's finally come to this. That the woman he fell in love with at seventeen could somehow not be the love of his life.

She whirls to face him, "You're as much a stranger to them as you are to me, why the hell would we share custody?"

"Now hang on a minute, I'm not losing them again!" He fires back, and for the first time in this whole argument he's really, really angry with her, rather than feeling like the anger was diluted with exasperation and tiredness.

"News flash, Brody, you're never home! When exactly do you plan to take care of two kids? You couldn't just disappear for days at a time if Chris and Dana were at home waiting for you!" She shouts, throwing her hands in the air in frustration.

"I'll make time!"

"When? And if it's possible for you to 'make time', as you put it, why haven't you done that already?" She asks, her eyes flashing with anger like she's lumping everything he's said to her over the last few months into the 'lie' column.

They're interrupted by the sound of someone knocking on the door.

"Feel free to sleep in the spare room, or the couch or wherever. I don't really give a fuck as long as we aren't sharing a bed." She shoots over her shoulder as she heads for towards the master bedroom.

He flinches when the door slams, because he's not sure he's heard anything so final since he heard the click of the steel handcuffs closing over his wrists that night in the hotel when he was arrested.

He takes a second to get his breathing and expression under control before he goes to answer the door.

When he does, it's Chris and Dana and their bodyguards on the other side.

"Hey, guys. You have fun at the pool?" He asks, opening the door wide enough to let them in.

He nods his thanks to the men before shutting the door behind his children.

"Yeah, it was great." Chris replies with a smile, heading for the bathroom to shower before bed.

Dana just stares at him, until he raises his eyebrows.

"Everything okay?" He asks her and she draws the towel a little tighter around herself.

"Are you and Mom fighting again?" She asks and he doesn't respond immediately. He's not sure what the hell to tell her.

"That bad, huh?" He settles for in the end, and she just shakes her head at him like she's exasperated, bored and pissed off all at once.

"We could hear you from the elevator." She replies, staring at him appraisingly for a little longer before rolling her eyes and heading in the opposite direction to her brother so she too can shower before bed.

"We're trying, Dana." He says, almost desperately to her retreating back, "We've tried our best."

"Have you?" She asks, pausing in the door way of the second bathroom, before she shakes her head again and shuts the door behind herself.

The whole place is silent, save for the sound of running water in both bathrooms.

Well, he thinks as he slowly sits down on the couch, you've really fucked this one up big time.

He can't help but feel like a complete asshole when he realises that the next thing he thinks about is wondering if anyone would notice if he left to go and see Carrie. He hasn't seen her in person for days, and the last time he saw her at all was a grainy image of her running away from Nazir's hideout.

He needs to see for himself, for sure, that she's okay, she's safe, that she's not hurt so much that it's making his skin crawl.

Like an addict looking for a fix, his mind unhelpfully supplies.

The following evening, the whole time he's driving away from Jessica and the kids, the whole drive to Carrie's, he keeps waiting for something to happen. Anything. There's no way it can be this simple - Walden's dead; justice for Issah, Nazir's dead; justice for all the people who he killed, he and Jessica splitting up (at least somewhat) calmly; freedom to be with the people they really love.

It cannot be this fucking simple.

Can it?

Could things finally find some normalcy now? He and Carrie could be together, no hiding, no lying, no more tearing each other apart. They could put each other back together again, piece by piece, stitch by stitch, they could love each other without destroying each other. Jessica could be with Mike if it made her happy, she could have a relationship with someone who could love her the way she deserved to be loved. Their kids won't have to be living in the middle of a passive-aggressive warzone. He could start to come home from Iraq in a way he hasn't been allowed to do - hasn't allowed himself to do - as long as he's known Nazir had been out there hunting him, watching and controlling his every move.

He pulls up to her place, and sits in his car in silence for a few minutes, his head tipped back against the headrest, half expecting a hail of bullets to fly through the windscreen. He's not sure why. He distrusts this idea that they might finally be free.

He wants, so badly for it to be real. He wants to get out of his car and go to her, and he wants to finally let her love him the way she's craved, she wants to let himself love her the way that he's been resisting (admittedly less and less) these last few weeks since they'd gotten back together.

Can you call it 'getting back together' when we were only together in the first place for a little over a weekend? He wonders to himself, and then decides there's no other word for it - unless he admits to the somewhat stronger argument that he's been hers (at least subconsciously) since that night at the bar - before they got drunk and he fucked her in the back seat. He remembers the way it had felt when she'd walked in and sat down next to him, how he'd immediately been hit with this craving to just- touch her, in the most innocent sense of the meaning. He wanted to hold her hand or brush her cheek or anything, he just wanted to know her.

He's always been hers, really. He resolves to ask her when she became his. When she stopped pretending. He knows she won't lie - there's no reason for either of them to keep that up anymore. There aren't any secrets left, why start creating new ones?

She knows everything, doesn't she? You must love her a lot.

He'd been careful not to react when Jessica had said it, honestly he'd been so surprised he hadn't really known what to say. The only thing he'd been able to think was; she's the love of my life.

He drums his fingers against the steering wheel for a second, and his wedding ring glints up at him, catching the light from the illuminated street lamp a little way up the street. He feels a pang when he takes it off - but not in the way he'd feared he might.

He feels a pang of sadness, because he wishes he could somehow miss her. He wishes some part of him was still in love with her, still wanted her, still cared enough for her to fight for her. But he doesn't. All he can think about is climbing from the car and rushing up the path to Carrie.

There's nothing left to stop them now. Nothing at all.

He can be hers, and she can be his, and they don't have to hide or sneak around or act like they aren't in love. He doesn't have to rush away, melt into the night like a bad dream, he can stay the night - every night if she wants (he wants, god, does he want) and they can be at peace.

He opens up the glove box and sets the ring inside, deciding he'll deal with it another time, and finding some kind of teenage excitement in himself that he can tell her I'm all yours and not have it be some kind of wrong for someone.

"What I did…" He hesitates, cupping her cheek in his hand, "It was you or Walden, Carrie. And it wasn't even close."

There are tears in her eyes when she kisses his palm and then pulls him into the house - slowly though, like she's testing the waters.

He shuts the door behind himself and feels guilty and more than a little bit sick when he takes a moment to look her over properly, and he sees the black eye and the deep cut on her temple where it looks like she was pistol whipped.

"He said he'd go after you if I didn't." He replies, and she nods slowly. There's almost a shaky quality to it, like she's just now appreciating that by lying for him to Quinn and Saul and Estes and everyone else who asked her what the hell happened? How did you get away? She's indirectly become a part of Nazir's conspiracy.

He didn't even realise that part until now.

"This is absolutely not what I'm supposed to say in this situation, but-" She shakes her head and cuts herself off. She slowly reaches forward and takes his hand, and out of reflex he twines their fingers together. "But all of this was about justice for Issah, right? Everything you've done since you got back. And now you got the justice you were looking for so it's- it's over. It's finished."

He huffs out something that's a cross between a sigh and a laugh and looks up from their joined hands to her face.

"I can't believe it's really over." He shakes his head, "Walden's dead, Nazir's dead…" It still feels too good to be true.

"When do you have to be back?" She asks as he shrugs off his coat.

"I don't." He replies, taking off his scarf and kicking off his shoes.

She blinks at him, her expression almost confused like she knows she's missing something but she just can't work out what.

He reaches for her hands, and as soon as she takes his, pulls her forwards into his arms. He runs his fingers through her hair, then brushes his thumbs over her cheeks.

"I'm completely yours." He murmurs, "If you still want me, I'm all yours."

She opens her mouth, starts to ask him what about Jessica as her hands cover his on her cheeks. He knows the exact moment she realises the absence of his wedding ring, because she pulls his hand off of her face and holds it in front of her like she's examining evidence.

"Brody…" She mumbles his name under her breath, then looks up at him, almost stunned.

"Is this real?" She asks, like she didn't mean to say it out loud, "Walden and Nazir are gone, we're safe, you're- you're here-"

"I'm here, I'm not going anywhere." He reassures her when she finally looks him in the eye.

After that, it's like the breaking of a dam. His hands go around her waist, and her hands loop around his neck, and they're half-stumbling half -carrying each other up the stairs, losing various items of clothing between the landing and her bedroom, crashing through the door and collapsing onto her bed, pulling each other closerclosercloser like they're trying to erase the space that keeps them apart for good.

Later they're lying in her bed together, neither of them say anything for a minute, just basking in the silence - in the rare moment of peace. But he can't stop looking at the injuries on her face and wondering which ones were from the accident and which ones were dealt at Nazir's hand. Considering the accident was orchestrated by Nazir, he feels justified in blaming them all on him.

He's dead now. He can't hurt us anymore. He thinks, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Then he gently runs his thumb over the skin right beneath the scabbed over cut on her forehead. "I hate that he did this to you because of me."

She smiles at him then, the soft, resigned one he saw in the interrogation room and in the clearing and in their room at that crappy motel on the side of the road, the one that just makes him want to kiss her.

"You didn't do this to me." She says gently, "I signed up for this. I was chasing Nazir long before we even met."

"Yeah, I know that, but-"

"No. I don't think you do. This wasn't your fault, Brody. He may have gone after me because he knows how we- what we've- because he knows about us but that still doesn't change the fact that this is my job. I've been trained for, and preparing for, something like this to happen for a long time. Getting attacked by terrorists is kind of an occupational hazard for an active CIA Agent."

He sighs again, but this time far less despondently, and she strokes her fingertips down the side of his face, still wearing his favourite soft smile.

"I'm fine, I promise." She reassures him, "And thank you for saving my life." She adds as an afterthought. He can't help but smile a little as he leans down just far enough to kiss her, his hands settling on her waist and pulling her closer against his chest.

They're in the car driving back from the congressional offices after he's handed in his official resignation - he'll only have to serve as a Congressman for the last two months of his term, then it's all completely behind them. He's driving, she's sat in the passenger seat. As they pull up at a red light, he looks across at her with a smile on his face, and links their fingers together on the centre console.

"So you're not going to miss it?" She asks, turning in her seat to face him.

"Being in Congress? No. Did I ever tell you how much I fucking hate politics?" He's still smiling when he says it, and she can't help but laugh.

"At last, an honest politician!" She replies, he just rolls his eyes and pulls their joined hands up closer to his lips, to kiss the back of her hand, before resting them back on the centre console.

His phone chirps on the dashboard, letting him know he has a text. He picks it up to check it, but the lights go green before he can read the message. They've come through too much by now to die in a fucking car crash, so he passes her the phone.

"It's from Jessica," Carrie says after a second, "I'm running late, I need you to pick the kids up from school for me. Dana has a key to the house with her, you can just drop them off. Thanks." She reads, her eyes flicking up to watch him.

"Tell her 'no problem'." He replies, "You don't mind do you?"

"No, no," She says, shaking her head, "It's not me I'm worried about."

He gives her a knowing glance as he turns right at the intersection, "Dana will be fine. Honestly, she probably won't say a word to either of us."

"How are they doing with all of this?" She asks, sending the message (and feeling considerably bizarre about doing so).

"Honestly I think they're relieved. Living under the same roof as me and Jess these last few months can't have been easy for them." He sounds guilty when he speaks, but she stops herself from reassuring him it wasn't his fault. There's no blame to be laid here - it's happened, there's nothing to be done about it now but for everyone involved to move on.

They pull up to the school and sit in silence for a second.

"Am I the only one who thinks this is weird?" He asks, breaking the settling tension a few moments later.

She laughs, sounding relieved, "I thought I was the only one. It is pretty bizarre, huh?"

"We're picking up my kids from school. It's so- normal and couple-y." He shakes his head, but he's smiling.

"Couple-y?" She parrots, raising her eyebrows.

He gapes at her, "I said that, didn't I."

"Yeah… I had no idea you were such a dork." She teases and he laughs again.

The sound makes her feel buoyant and free - this is happening. They're really doing this - having a 'normal' relationship. They're picking his kids up from school and teasing each other. No hiding or lying, just being with each other.

"Hey, I'll have you know-" He starts, but he's interrupted by the back doors opening, and Dana and Chris climbing into the back.

"Where's Mom?" Chris asks, then catches sight of Carrie. "Uh, hi. I'm Chris."

She smiles, immediately deciding he's adorable, "Hi Chris, I'm Carrie."

"Carrie? You're- oh. oh. It's… nice to meet you?" He phrases it like a question but she tries not to take it personally. This situation isn't any less weird than it was before they got into the car.

"You too." She replies, her eyes flicking to Dana when she hears the teenager scoff.

"Dana." Brody says, a warning in his voice.

"No, it's just- are we done making nice or can we just go home already?" Dana asks, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at everyone.

Brody sighs and drives off.

"No offense, but what are you doing here?" Dana asks Carrie, who turns in her seat to face the two teenagers.

She meets Brody's eye for a second.

"We were on our way back from the congressional offices when your Mom sent the message." She replies.

Dana just rolls her eyes and stares out the window. "Kissing someone else's ass to be VP then, Dad?" She asks, and Brody can't help but smile.

"No." He replies, "Actually, I resigned."

Dana's eyes snap up to meet his in the mirror. "You- really?" She asks, her anger faltering for a second. "Why?" She asks, both her and Chris watching Brody with rapt attention.

"It just wasn't for me." He replies, and for a second he wonders if she might not react badly to something.

"So what, now everything just goes back to normal?" She asks snarkily, but it lacks her usual bite.

"You really want to go back?" He asks her as he turns onto their street, slowly coasting down the road.

"Maybe not." Dana acquiesces, and Carrie swears she sees some kind of a smile flicker across the teenager's face.

It's not like they make a conscious decision to move in together - or really even discuss it at all. She notices, day-by-day, week-by-week, as his toothbrush and razor appears by the sink in the bathroom, the charger for his phone is permanently plugged in on what has become his side of the bed, and his clothes find their way into her closet - no real order to them; a shirt tucked between two of her dresses here, a pair of pants hung up next to her jeans there or a jacket hanging on the hook on the back of the closet door. She realises they're actually living together, as opposed to him having things there for when he stays the night, when she finds his favourite leftover take out in the fridge the next day whenever they order Chinese food, his formal Marine Corps uniform folded impeccably in one of the drawers in her closet and his Qur'an on the bookshelf in the living room.

He notices when, whilst on a quick break from one of his last few remaining congressional meetings before his resignation is officially accepted next month, he catches sight of the time and calls her to let her know he'll be home late, and to ask did she need anything picking up from the grocery store? He can pop in there on his way home if she wanted. He slips his phone back into his pocket and sits back down, but for the rest of the meeting, all he can think is she's my home. We live together. We're building a life together. He wonders how exactly they ended up in this deep with one another - and then questions if they were ever really casual in the first place.

It's raining later when he pulls up to the house, and he sits still where he is for a second, remembering the first night they met outside the church, the support group meeting, remembering that spark he'd felt shoot through his chest every time she moved to walk away. You're really something. I want to know you. I want to know every side of you, please don't leave, tell me your story and I'll tell you mine. He'd watched her drive away and felt utterly overcome by it. I want to know you.

When he's finally done with Congress, after his resignation has been officially accepted, Carrie takes a few days off work and the two of them head up to the cabin together. It's been almost three months now. Three normal, comparatively easy months, when they haven't had to get drunk or make excuses to be together, they haven't lied to anyone to get time alone, and neither of them have been held hostage by any terrorists. The last one is the development they're the most pleased by, honestly.

He's propped up against the pillows, lying in the couch-turned-bed, watching her get ready for bed and trying not to draw parallels to the last time they were here. It's almost hard to believe that had been almost two years ago now.

"If you could go back," He starts, playing with a loose thread on the blanket thrown over his legs, "would you change any of it?"

She sighs as she pulls on his dark-blue t-shirt before starting to towel dry her hair. "I don't know." She answers honestly, "I've thought about it a couple times but- if we could change the past, would where we're at now still look the same?"

"Took us long enough to get here as it is." He replies, his tone laced with amusement.

She smiles, and sighs a laugh, shaking her head as she pulls a brush through her hair.

"Would you?" She asks, almost coy, then off his look continues, "Change anything."

"So much." He replies, and she wants to smack herself.

He was tortured into becoming an almost-terrorist. He killed one of his best friends and broke his wife's heart.

"Right." She replies, and it's almost awkward before he tips his head to the right, wearing a half smile. Come here.

She sets her hairbrush down and pads across the floor in bare feet, climbing in and curling up against his chest. She likes it because it makes her feel safe, and because she can hear his heartbeat against her ear. He likes it because it makes him feel trusted, and because she makes him feel anchored - like maybe he won't lose himself in flashbacks tonight that will invariably end in nightmares. They stopped for a little over a week, after Nazir was killed, until he was buried at sea and his name and face were plastered over every news outlet around. Then they came back in full force.

He wakes up and she's gone. He's not awake enough to see things clearly, as they really are, just yet so he feels dizzy and off balance.

He calls her name into the half-darkness of their bedroom, but she doesn't reply.

He hauls himself out of bed and stumbles to the door, his head spinning as he forces himself to wake up.

He calls her name again as he walks down the stairs, feeling jittery and almost shivering. Where is she?

She appears through the kitchen doorway, talking on her cell phone. "No, I agree … I'll call you back when I get into the office … Okay, sure … Bye." She hangs up the phone and then looks up and sees him standing at the bottom of the stairs, fingers clutching the banister so tight his knuckles are white and straining against his skin.

"Are you okay?" She asks, stepping closer to him and covering his hand with her own.

"I…" He wants to tell her he woke up and she was gone, he wants to tell her he had the dream about Nazir killing her and making him watch for the third time in as many days, he wants to tell her he was scared, but he doesn't. "I'm okay." He says instead, reaching for her with his free hand and pulling her against his chest. Her arms automatically go around his waist, and he kisses the top of her head.

She's fine, and so is he. Nazir is dead, and he can't hurt them anymore. He can't hurt anyone anymore.

A couple of days later, she's sitting by the lake when she hears the shot ring out, and on some level, she knows. She just knows it's him. They're in the middle of the woods, it could be a hunter shooting at prey in the trees, but it isn't. They're not that lucky; never that lucky.

She's running through the trees towards the sound of the gunshot, giving no thought to her own safety and praying that she's being paranoid. That she's over reacting and any second now she'll see him turn towards her and ask her what she's so worried about.

Instead, she catches sight of him standing several paces ahead, and a tremor of relief rolls through her just in time to see him stumble backwards and slide down the tree behind him, sprawling on the floor and clutching his stomach.

She falls to her knees beside him, feeling woozy at the sight of all the blood for the first time that she can remember. There's just so much of it - all that blood that should be inside him but it isn't it's leaking from the hole in the right side of his gut and coating his shirt and the ground and her it's just everywhere.

She yanks her cardigan off of her shoulders and balls it up, pressing it over his wound and feeling nothing but sheer terror. This isn't happening, it can't be happening. Not now, not when everything was supposed to be over. He covers her hands with his own.

"It was worth it." He mumbles and her eyes snap from their hands to his face, which is too pale to be anything but a bad sign.

"What- what are you saying. You're going to be okay. You are." She says firmly, and he can't help the half-smile that floats across his face - she sounds like she's ordering him not to die.

"You have to try. Please, Brody." She puts more pressure on the wound, and he can feel her tears dripping onto his hands where she's leaning over him.

"S'okay." He slurs, "'Love you."

Your tears falling on my skin feels like the rain that night in the parking lot - that was the first night we really met. When we met as Just-Brody and Just-Carrie, not Sergeant-Nicholas-Brody-The-So-Called-War-Hero and CIA-Agent-Carrie-Mathison-Who-May-Or-May-Not-Be-Playing-Me do you remember? Did you feel it too, even then? Because I did when you walked away and got back into your car I had the most absurd feeling that you were going to be the most important thing in my life but I had no idea why back then. How could I? How could I have known what we would go through, separately and together, at that stage just for it to end here?

If all of that is what led to this moment it was worth it.

It was so completely fucking worth it Carrie just to have what we've had

I want to ask you to kiss me and I want to ask you to tell me you love me one last time but my mouth won't work right but you must really know me because you do it without me asking

I got shot carrie he shot me

He put a bullet in me why did he do that do you know why he did that he stole what we were supposed to have it's not fair

It was him carrie the one who you tried to trust but couldn't it was him don't trust him

Why did he shoot me in the stomach he was trying to kill me it was an assassination he's an assassin why didn't he shoot me in the chest or in the head I don't understand it doesn't make sense

I can't breathe please don't leave me carrie please

It's a few weeks later when she stands alone in a gas station in the middle of nowhere contemplating the life they would have had together. He would have found a job, working at something that made him feel normal again, something that would have allowed him to blend in with those around him, she would have carried on hunting monsters with Saul. Neither of those things are going to happen, not now. It's not like they were planning on having children, so there's nothing like that to miss, but would they have gotten married? Bought a house together and had the neighbours over for a barbeque when there was a big game on TV? Or would they have retreated for a while, moved up to the cabin to escape the scrutiny that was sure to follow him after his tumultuous couple of years, and his already-strained relationship with the media.

Nothing is ever going to be the same, she thinks setting her few purchases on the counter and waiting for the bored looking teenager to deem her worthy of his attention.

Last time she checked, it had just rounded three in the morning, and she's been driving for almost six hours. She wants to pull over and check into a motel, but first she needs to get further away. Much, much further.

She's not sure there's anywhere in the world she can go that will ever take her far enough, but she's damn well going to try.

She jumps as the bell hanging over the door tinkles, announcing someone's entry. She doesn't know the young, dark haired woman who walks in but she does that a lot these days - jumps at noises she's not expecting to hear, distrusts- well, everyone (how could you, how could you, how fucking dare you), and pretty much wishes she was the one who'd taken the bullet.

"That'll be eight-ninety-five." The messy haired boy behind the counter tells her as he stacks her items into a plastic bag.

She pulls a ten dollar bill from her jacket, pockets the change and takes the bag, turning to leave the store.

I have no idea what to do next, she sighs and shakes her head as she heads back towards her car. Her fake passport, drivers licence and social security card are weighing heavily on her mind as she ponders the potential consequences of getting caught.

She climbs back into the car and buckles up. She takes a drink from one of the bottles of water she bought and starts up the engine.

He stirs from his sleep at the noise and forces his eyes open in case it isn't her.

She looks over when she realises she's woken him up.

"Hey." She says softly, "I thought I'd stop for some supplies."

Brody swallows and sits up a little, looking around blearily.

"You okay?" She asks, and he runs his hand over the top of his stomach as if he's checking the scar before he answers.

It had taken a while for him to get better, but once she'd calmed down enough to think straight, her training had kicked in. There was no reason he shouldn't survive this as long as she acted fast. They hadn't been that far from the cabin, so she'd managed to get him on his feet, and the two of them had stumbled up the path until she could get him inside. The next couple of days are a blur - she remembers calling her sister, begging for help. She remembers wanting to call Saul, but feeling like that probably wasn't an option now. She remembers feeling terrified, so terrified, that she was going to do something wrong and he was going to die. She remembers finding the note he left her and feeling so many emotions she'd considered necking the bottle of wine she knows is lurking at the back of the fridge, but she'd been loathed to get drunk in case he needed her.

He just remembers feeling safe in her hands, falling asleep in her arms, and waking up to find her changing the dressing over his wound, being almost religious in her careful examination each time.

He also remembers her damn near taking his head off when he suggested she calm down, it's been almost two weeks, honey. I'm fine. In retrospect, had their situations been reversed and she had given him the same advice, he might have walked out too. She'd come back, of course. He knew she would, just like she knew she would - leaving each other isn't an option, not now, not ever. She'd walked back into their little oasis, losing her clothes as she did, climbing into bed beside him and branding his skin with kisses and apologies and her fingerprints.

"Yeah," he replies, reaching over the centre console to take her hand. They'd always been pretty tactile with each other - between the two of them they were the only real intimate, physical contact either of them received - but since the shooting, since he had almost died again, it was like they needed to touch each other all the time, like they needed that point of contact to stay grounded.

"Nothing's ever going to be the same again." He says into the darkness. He's not asking.

"No. It's not." She agrees, feeling guilty that he might well never see his children again. She crushes that feeling as quickly as she can - guilt is a useless emotion here. She's not the one who tried to assassinate him and forced them to go on the run - that was all down to Estes and Quinn. Fucking Quinn, she thinks, fuck you and your bullshit apologies. Then in the same thought; Thank you for not killing us.

"Where are we supposed to go?" He asks after a minute and she shrugs her shoulders.

"We have to get out of the country, at least for a year or two." She replies, "You're supposed to be dead, and if I stick around and don't kick up a fuss over it, they'll know something's up."

"Wherever we are, I don't want to hide." He says carefully, "If we've got to leave, then let's really leave. Go somewhere where we won't have to be a secret."

She smiles and nods. "Then I guess we'd better get going."

Carrie,

I'm sorry about what I did. I know you hate me, and you have every right to, but I'm leaving you this to explain myself.

They want Brody out of the picture - and you too, if they can have it. They say you know too much, and I was asked to 'take care' of you both. I followed you here intent on doing just that, but when I heard him praying out there in the woods before I did it, he was praying all the fighting was finally over, and he was praying that he could make a life with you.

We're friends, right?

I couldn't do it.

I didn't tell them that though, they think I went through with it, so that should buy you at least a few months, provided you keep your heads down. You have to leave the country, both of you, at least for a while.

Be safe, don't show them your throat and don't let them get their hands on you.

Trust no one.

PQ