#the poignance that shines through in this scene because we now know she had been snatched away from him that very night

[castlescrumblingdvwn]

so. typically. i wouldn't like the whole 'turns out isoo's mom didn't kill herself but was murdered' twist because it's so overdone in these kind of settings but. with the way they revealed it, i can't help but like it despite the trope-y nature of it all. good execution is key, friends

[sarahalders]

stay wild at heart / know the end is near

A/N: After watching the finale, I felt that Sarah hesitated when Tally offered herself as as Biddy because she didn't want Tally to have to make that sacrifice. This drabble sort of explores that, and explores this new connection that the two of them share as they both navigate their mutual grief after they return to Fort Salem. So much is still unknown about Sarah and the Biddies and the nature of their linking, so a lot of this is just my interpretation of it! I can't claim credit for the idea of a whiskey cellar on base: that goes completely to the incomparable Lyne Renee, who mentioned it as a personal headcanon in a Q&A on Tumblr! I loved the idea so much that it was partly what inspired me to write this fic. Title is from the song "WLCM" by Lydia Ainsworth.

When you arrive back at base, tired and tattered and full up of nothingness, you and the others follow Tally to her old room and watch her collect her things.

It feels eerily like a funeral; and in a way, it is.

This is the death of Tally Craven.

It’s one you’ve witnessed hundreds of times, in hundreds of haunted faces just like hers. Some were called happily, like Devon. Some were called in the desperation of battle, like Tally. But they were all the same to you -- all daughters whose lives were cut unforgivably short for the sole purpose of extending yours. The life that you were only living, now, to serve this great nation that was equal parts eager and unwilling to let you go. You’ve borrowed more lifetimes than you can remember and it never gets any easier, adding to your own personal death count in the service of this country that only allows you and your kind to exist within the confines of the military. This country that still, after all these centuries, seeks to control you, to use you, to mold and shape and brand you into the face of all its victories and all its failures (anyone who looks at you and sees a choice made willingly three hundred years ago isn’t paying close enough attention). You’ve forgotten how it must feel to have a life with any sort of meaning -- a life that means anything at all beyond what it can provide for America, for the world at large. Whether as a hero or as someone to blame.

But this kind of thinking leads to despair, and despair is not a thing that you are allowed to feel. It comes to you, always, when you accept a new Biddy into the fold: and, always, you swallow it whole before it can swallow you.

“I want to be alone right now,” Tally tells you, and the broken desperation in the sound of her voice (as familiar to you as it is forbidden) is enough to remind you of where you are, what is expected of you, and what duty Tally will soon learn she now must share with you and with the others for the rest of her life.

“There is no ‘alone’ anymore, Craven,” you respond quietly. You feel the heaviness in the truth of those words now more than ever as the faces of the Camarilla appear in your mind, the profane storms they sang into being, the nightmarish weapons they unleashed to announce their unthinkable return.

You should have seen it coming. They’d been the only constant in your life since you were a child and you were arrogant to assume you’d ever be rid of them (you wonder if one could ever exist without the other -- the hunter and the hunted, the power and the powerless). That arrogance had cost you more than just your own pride, but regret was too powerful an emotion to allow yourself to feel now. You siphon it away along with the despair, the emptiness, the nothingness, the numbness coming off Tally in waves, refusing to allow it to take root in the bottom of your gut. Refusing to feel, always. Always.

Tally is silent and sedate, weighted and slowed by the sudden and unexpected burden of your years, which makes it easier to catch her gaze fixed on the quilt draped over Private Collar’s bed. A flash of something like anger, something like pity, whistles through you, and for a moment you’re unsure if it’s hers or yours.

“What will happen to their things?” Tally asks you, and it’s the first time she’s looked you in the eye for hours. “I would take this, but I don’t imagine it will pass inspection where I’m going,” she adds, ruefully.

“It shouldn’t have passed inspection here,” you tell her, matter-of-factly. It’s presence in this room is a side-effect of Anacostia’s blind eye, undoubtedly. “Any possessions left behind by Private Bellweather or Private Collar will be returned to their families. If,” you begin after a pause, a little softer, “there is something particular that you would like to take with you, I will not object. Especially something that should have been disposed of during inspection.” Before Tally can thank you, you add, “But there is a place for such things, and it will not be in your new suite. Come.”  

She follows you wordlessly out of the room and you can feel her confusion as if it were your own. You ignore it. You’re uncertain why you even offered this in the first place. Perhaps it’s because it’s the right thing to do, as Anacostia might say -- perhaps Tally’s sacrifice to you warrants a sacrifice of your own in kind. Or perhaps it is an unwelcome side-effect of the weakness you always feel when your lives are passed between daughters, made even more acute by the particular poignancy of Tally’s unique sacrifice (one made with more honor than you would have ever dreamt a cadet capable of).

The walk to the edge of Fort Salem is a slow and silent one, but one you’ve been making for hundreds of years to this very particular spot, tucked away behind a hill. You lead Tally and the others round to the other side of the incline where a pair of worn, wooden doors sits almost hidden in the overgrowth of grass and ivy. When you turn to your daughters they understand that all but you and Tally must remain outside (a distant mirroring of a similar scene some fifteen years ago when you brought Anacostia here for the first time -- another consequence of unwanted sentimentality).

“What is this?” Tally asks, disbelief etched into her face as the doors shut behind the two of you and you are alone in the dimness of the cellar. “This has been here the whole time?”

“A hobby of mine,” you confess, nodding at the rows and rows of kegs revealed in the muted lighting, stacked carefully against cobblestone walls that you laid yourself -- stone by stone -- over two hundred years ago. “I’ve been known to espouse the belief that whiskey is the one thing civilians got right.” You watch Tally as she takes in the scene unfolding around her, connecting dots that she never even knew were there. “Of course, I made it better,” you cannot stop yourself from adding, the barest suggestion of humor touching your tone. “Some might say.”

“You come here to drink?” Tally asks and accuses at the same time, clutching Collar’s blanket like a Cession churchgoer might clutch a string of pearls.

“To drink,” you concede, glancing purposefully at the blanket, “and to feel.”

Tally begins to crumble as she understands what exactly it is you are giving her -- sharing with her -- and the moisture shining in her eyes has as much to do with grief as it does gratitude. The link between you vibrates with the force of it and you find that moisture gathering at the corners of your own eyes as a result. You would normally blink it away but here, in this place, you allow yourself the privilege of feeling its presence.

“My daughters exercise control over their emotions. Master them, just as I have. Just as you will,” you tell her, not ungently. “But this place is sacred. This place does not have the watchful eyes of our sisters, nor the expectations of our country. Here,” you begin, reaching for two glasses from a cabinet carved into the wall, “we are who we are, without the pressure of who we have to be.”

Tally is soundless as she watches you fill the glasses with the sparkling amber liquid. When you offer her a glass she takes it slowly, reluctant to let go of Collar’s blanket even with just one hand.

“To honor,” you say, proposing a toast. “To duty. To sacrifice.”

“To wasted potential,” Tally adds, bitterly, and you feel that fire igniting within her again because it ignites within you, now, too.

“To wasted potential,” you echo, darkly, and drink.

When both your glasses are drained, you lead Tally through the maze of kegs to an aged door at the farthest corner of the cellar. “The others have seen this place in the shared space of our minds, but none have entered.” You tell her this because you want her to understand your sacrifice. You want her to understand this piece of privacy that none -- not even Anacostia -- have been invited to share. Tally Craven has placed an incredible amount of trust in you in an act of ultimate selflessness and bravery and it is your heart (ancient and broken and held together by obligation as it is) that tells you that she is the only witch worthy of an offering in return.

(You owe her nothing, you remind yourself: even as you feel the untruth in it, even as you open the door.)

It is a small and dusty room with a wooden table and chair positioned at its center. There are boxes and weapons and articles of clothing neatly lining the room’s perimeter, but Tally’s attention is immediately called to the table. On the table is a box, and in the box is, “All that is left of my sister,” you supply for Tally, her power of Knowing all but erased when her identity was partially absorbed into you (wasted potential, the memory of her toast echoes unbidden through your mind). “The only thing they couldn’t burn.”

Tally enters the room with a silent reverence, the tears carving paths down her pallid cheeks a mixture of hers and your own. “I see it,” she tells you, delicately. “Somehow, I see it.” A pentagram necklace, one that, thanks to the link between your minds, Tally can see -- can feel. You stand motionlessly as she draws nearer to you, as the memories continue to unfold one after another and she’s saying, “There are other things here. Other tokens. This is -- ” she falters, looks up at you, “ -- this is how you keep them alive. Everyone. Everyone that you’ve lost over the centuries. It’s a graveyard. No, no,” she stops, correcting herself, “it’s a memorial.”

“It is both,” you confirm. “It is also the safest place for the token that you carry. I cannot promise that you will be given access to this room again, but you can rest assured that here, not only will it be safe,” you promise her, solemnly, “it will also be in the most hallowed company.”

“You’ve lost everyone,” Tally whispers. “I can see them all, feel them all. How do you do it? How do you -- how do you make it go away? How do you -- stop feeling it?”

“You don’t,” you tell her, without hesitation. “You feel it and you turn those feelings into actions, and you turn those actions into honor. And you make damn sure,” you say, with a sudden, fierce intensity, “that you are worthy of carrying that honor in their name. Always.”

Tally’s eyes shine with a renewal of purpose at the mention of honor (just as you knew they would) and she hands you the quilt, nodding her consent for you to find a place for it within the room. “Thank you,” she murmurs, “for showing me how to keep her memory safe.”

“Thank you,” you answer, “for your sacrifice.”

“It is my honor.”

“No,” you correct, “it is mine.”

It will be a new challenge, you realize, and perhaps your greatest yet. One that you will face for the rest of your life.

To be worthy of that honor.

To be worthy of Tally Craven’s sacrifice.

[docholligay]

Et Tout Se Remplace

I KNOW YOU’RE SICK OF MY PUBLISHING BUT NO FEAR I’LL BE GONE IN LIKE A WEEK FOR A WHOLE MONTH. Commission for @rhiorhino 2k words. Prompt: based on an idea I had once about there always having to be a Sailor whatever, but not necessarily reincarnation as the method. 

You must always have the senshi, Princess Serenity. The princess always has to be protected.

She had taken that to heart, and it had emboldened her, to know that she would never know loneliness, that the girls she loved would be ever at her side. The Silver Crystal had been her hope--it had never failed to raise them, and to keep them at her side. Just as Luna had promised.

Until, of course, the one day when it did not.

She had howled a cry at Luna, sharp and long as a winter’s night. You promised. You said they always had to be with me. I have to be protected, she screamed hurling her energy into the Silver Crystal, calling out their names once more. Ami. Minako. Hotaru. Setsuna. Haruka. You said they would stay with me.

The answer had only come as the soft hush of snow falling on the cedar roof of Rei’s shrine.

And a sorrowful whisper from Luna.

No. I said there would always be senshi.

___

“World Shaking!” The ball of sheer force flung forward toward the wall, and the girl’s dark hair blew back in the wave of air behind it.

The wall shuddered, but did not fall, and Michiru leaned against a tree, examining her nails. That she could not see them through her gloves was rather irrelevant. It was the

symbolism of the whole thing she wished to put forth.

Rei huffed, frustrated, and turned to the girl beside her. “Well?” She gestured wildly at the scene in front of her.

The girl tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and tucked it beneath the red ribbon she wore as a headband. “Uranus,” she spoke tentatively, “you should probably do it..harder. And Neptune, um,” Michiru looked at her with a silent steely gaze, “uh, yeah.”

“Argh!” Rei howled, pushing her to the side. “Tomoko, what the hell was that?? MICHIRU YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE BACKING HER UP.”

Michiru arched her eyebrow and made a careless move of her hand.  “Deep submerge,” she said flatly, and a thin stream of water blew against the small crack in the wall, barely wetting it.

Usagi bit her lip. Yumi and Tomoko were trying, it was obvious. Sumiko tried too, though Mercury’s powers had always been difficult for Ami to work with, to say nothing of a girl like Sumiko, with so much less study in the sciences, who didn’t think about the uses of ice and of water.

“Say what you would of Haruka,” Michiru rose to standing, her chin held high, “but no one could rightly accuse her of lacking the passion and strength,” she punctuated these words carefully, pronouncing every syllable, “to affect an outcome.” She removed her transformation in a graceful wave of her hand. “Anyhow, I have an appointment that needs be kept.”

Tomoko toyed with her glove “I’m s--”

“Ta, then.” She did not wait for Usagi’s approval or denial of her absence, simply walked away, careful not make eye contact or acknowledge Tomoko in any way.

Usagi walked over to Tomoko and touched her shoulder. “She was in love with Haruka. They were supposed to get married. She doesn’t mean to be mean.”

Rei looked over at Yumi. It was true that Michiru would never forgive Tomoko for the sin of not being Haruka--but Rei had to admit it was strange and frustrating, even for her, how different all of these girls were. How could a person be Venus when her voice shook? Since when was Sailor Uranus not a battering ram?

Usagi wanted things to be the same, Rei knew. She kept inviting Yumi and Sumiko to study night, as if, by magic, they would suddenly transfigure into Mina and Ami, and the easy camaraderie they had developed over the years would snap back into place.

She had, in a particularly ill-timed moment, given Tomoko and Michiru tickets to a show, unable to see Michiru’s simmering hatred of Tomoko just below the surface.

To say nothing of the fact that Saturn hadn’t been replaced at all. She was a creature never meant to be, never meant to exist with the rest of them, but Usagi had called her forth anyhow. The mistake had been corrected, with her and with Pluto, who kept her place at the time gate faithfully now.

Rei turned back to Usagi, and touched her arm, wanting to bring forth some piece of comfort but finding nothing but the quiet emptiness when Mina used to be, and pushing it away, deep inside herself for safekeeping.

She snorted angrily. “Michiru needs to do her job.”

“She’s trying.” Usagi kept looking at the path Michiru had left by, as if she might turn around and return, though that was as unlikely as any of her other senshi returning.

Rei shook her head, but did not argue.

Tomoko twisted the lock of hair in her fingers nervously, avoiding Rei’s gaze.

“Well, you’re going to work on this,” Rei put her hands on her hips, “Uranus, you’re going to keep practicing trying to knock that thing over. Mercury, “ she shot a glance to where Sumiko was sitting on the grass, and she began to scramble to her feet under Rei’s watchful gaze, “You, are going to keep trying to build that wall. And you,” she whirled around and pointed at Yumi, “Are going to yell at them every time they mess up, and tell Mercury to get it together, and ask Uranus if she wants to die on the battlefield like a dramatic lesbian, because that sure seems like what she’s working up to.”

“I’m not a lesbian.” She offered cautiously.

“Don’t remind me of your flaws, Tomoko.” Rei did not want the leadership to pass to her--it was wrong, wasn’t it? Against destiny? And yet she could feel it, creeping and seeping into her bones, even Mako beginning to snap to attention under her voice.

The three girls nodded obediently, and Rei turned to Usagi, as Mako strolled up behind her.

“Usagi, “ Her voice softened in sight of Usagi’s crestfallen face, “Let’s go to that cafe you like, the one with the cream puffs?”

Usagi nodded, but looked back at the three girls, who were her senshi but not HER GIRLS, and Rei could see that fact eating at her and paining her, how badly she wanted the easy carefree brightness MIna brought to a room, or Ami’s grounding influence, or Haruka’s dramatic flair. They had all been something special, to everyone, but to no one more than Usagi.

Mako crossed her arms and leaned in towards Rei’s ear. “I never thought I would miss Haruka.”

Rei nodded.

___

The cafe was small affair, more casual than the ones they’d frequented when they’d met with the old group--Michiru had certain standards that she was more than happy to impress upon everyone, whether they appreciated it or not.

The old group. The thought rolled around in Rei’s head, impossible to avoid. She had never imagined, with the senshi, that there would be a then and now, a before and an after. Mina had always said they were expendable, when push came to shove, whispering that quietly to Rei in the dark, like a secret. And maybe it had been.

Rei had accepted it, that they might die, and had harbored ideas of the missing gap where a senshi used to be, but she had never imagined anything so ghoulish as the truth, that their deaths were hardly marked in any sense by the crystals that bore them, nothing more than the pain of a new tooth growing in where the old had loosened and fell.  

Rei stirred her tea thoughtfully, looking out the window as Usagi nibbled at her cream puff. Mako crossed arms, looking down at the plate in front of her. Us three, she thought, and Michiru. That’s what we have left.

Mina was better at this sort of thing, constantly working and reworking pairings and groups, trying to figure out how every combination could result in a win for the team. A win for Usagi.

She hadn’t been afraid, that day, when she unsheathed her sword and winked at Rei. There was no defending anymore. Too much had already been lost. There was only one small, impossible chance, and Mina had decided to take it.

Fuck a girl for me, for once in your life. Not precisely the emotion-filled words many would long for, as the last memory of someone, but the fact that they had been all Mina lent them an air of poignancy that might otherwise be missing.

She should have kissed her. She should have done a lot of things.

Usagi touched Rei’s hand. “Is Michiru not coming?”

Rei looked over at her, trying to think of what to say.

Luckily, Mako could always be counted on to have more honesty than tact.

“She said,” she put on a snooty face, “I have given my Queen quite enough of myself, and I believe my teatimes are my own.” Mako snorted and rolled her eyes, but Usagi’s eyes were downcast.

“Usagi--” Rei leaned forward to put her arm around her.

“I didn’t mean for Haruka to die.” Her shoulders heaved in a sob. “I didn’t mean for any of them to die. And Michiru hates me.”

“Michiru hates everyone.” Mako scowled

“Mako.”

“Sorry.” She leaned back in her chair, the small cake on her plate still untouched.

Usagi pulled something out of her jacket. “I wanted to give her this.”

Mina used to say that Usagi’s fondness for photography was solely because she couldn't remember anything, but she grinned good-naturedly when she said it. It was a hobby, snapshots cluttering up books upon books in her bedroom, frames everywhere, shining with the faces of the people she loved.

And, every once in a great while, a picture bordered on art.

This was one of those photos, Haruka’s head resting on Michiru’s shoulder, the gold of her hair bright against Michiru’s dark teal, her eyes closed and a smile on her face, Michiru’s hand stroking her cheek, her mouth slightly open as if she had been purring a word of love. It captured them both in an honest and vulnerable moment, and Rei felt a pang of sympathy for Michiru.

Mako touched the edge of the picture, the anger gone from her face. “When did you take this?”

“At the cherry blossom picnic last year. I took a lot of them,” she wiped her nose,” of all of us.When we were…” she sniffled. “When we were together. I was gonna make books for you and Mako too. I just wanted her to have this”

Mako leaned forward and put her hand on Usagi’s. “She’ll love it, Usagi.”

Usagi looked down at the photograph, and laid it on the table. “I’ll be more powerful when I’m Queen. I’ll use it right. I’ll bring them all back. Sumiko and Yumi and Tomoko will be our friends, too! But I’ll get them back.”

Rei and Mako looked at each other, and said nothing to the girl who would be ruler of everything but her own naive heart.

Crystal Tokyo sat on the horizon, coming ever closer, and it was coming with or without them, destiny pounding against their backs like a heartbeat.

[tracey1302]

Episode 602 - The Man in the Basement (aka #becauseIloveyou)

Woke up this morning and opened Tumblr.

First reaction.

Then...

Now I’m just at...

I know what you’re all thinking. Bloody sadist. How can you be so happy when the last scene of last night’s episode was possibly the most heartbreaking in Homeland’s history?

Answer: Because she loves him.

And we can see it. Now more than ever before. There’s no Jonas sex in between where she’s chatting some bs about going to a cabin. There’s no Saul on the sidelines, waiting for his answers. This is just the two of them.

We’ve even got the NYT on our side with this one...

“If there ever was a time for an “I love you” on “Homeland,” it was tonight.“You saved me.”“Yes.”“Why?”“Why? … Why?”

Thanks Judith Warner. I love you too. Obvs, more on this later.

So let’s begin...

I’d like to talk about this...thanks to wthomeland for the gif.

Not only do we have this gorgeous scene to come... they’re just spoiling us now.... but it’s the last shot in the credits. Homeland underlining their relationship/closeness/intimacy is absolutely 100% central to this season and to Carrie’s development. The running narrative through the credits is always about Carrie. ‘I missed something once...’ ‘Who’s after me?’ etc etc. Now it’s Quinn, saying ‘You saved me. Why?’ Can I get an OTP?

That’s not to mention that the whole shot looks like a darker version of the Titanic poster with Quinn/Carrie posed as Jack and Rose.

Just me? Okay, moving on...

Quinn is listening to some random anti-Communist rant on the radio that seemed like it was preaching the end of times. I can only assume that was what was behind Quinn’s random quest for canned food....

Little Frannie Mathison (bless her, what a sweetheart) is listening in, stating, ‘There’s a man in the basement.’ I actually thought it was kind of sweet that Carrie told Frannie that they had Quinn staying with them. And a lovely reminder from Carrie to all the audience that the two of them had met before, and that she liked him...ahhh 412. Those were the days.

‘Frannie took a shine to you.’ Oh that episode. THAT scene. Sigh.

Anyway, Carrie drops off Frannie with some friend and then goes to try and give Quinn his meds. I thought it was quite interesting to see that the door was locked. Presumably it can be locked from both sides? Quinn couldn’t get through last time because she didn’t want him up there (for obvious reasons from his antics the previous day) and now she can’t get back down? They will create these obstacles to their relationship moving forward.

She tries to get in to help.

And Quinn throws the mug.

Thanks Quinn. Real helpful. So Carrie asks Max to keep watch, or as Quinn later states, to ‘babysit’ him.

Freaking love Max, by the way. So glad to see him back.

I thought it was interesting that Max was brought into this episode because for me, it highlighted a couple of things.

1) How lonely Carrie really is. There aren’t that many people she can call on in case of emergency anymore. Saul, let’s not go there. Maggie... god knows where she is, probs still in Washington. Quinn... that completes our circle of friends.

2) How insightful Max is. Max knew Quinn before, which you sort of forget because their little tag team was so long ago. And I thought this scene was really touching.

Max says ‘He’s got this strange thing about you which isn’t helping.’

Carrie gets upset and says desperately, ‘I’m trying!’

It was a really weird but touching scene. It’s hard to read. I couldn’t tell whether he was just telling her the depth of Quinn’s depression, in case she didn’t already know. Or whether he was perhaps saying that she needed to do more to try and help him.

What is this thing that Quinn’s got with Carrie? 

The orderlies at the hospital mentioned that he gets agitated when she’s around. At the beginning of this episode, he just rejects her help and throws a mug at her.

I still obviously stand by the fact that he’s so proud that he doesn’t want her to see him like this but I also think he just genuinely doesn’t understand why she cares so much about him and why she’s helping him. He genuinely thinks he’s worthless. Now more so than ever before. Even before trashcan land in 505 - or was it 506? I forget because I try to block out Season Five wherever possible.

I also wonder, but I hope I’m wrong, it’s just a thought so don’t pounce on it. Perhaps Quinn, even in his current state, senses some guilt within Carrie and wonders why. Given the last scene and it’s poignancy, this isn’t a big thing, but it could come up. Who knows?

So her care frustrates him, even angers him. But then Max, bless him, asks him outright as to why he’s being such a dick to her? And he can’t really answer. He’s just angry at the world.

I also thought it was really sweet that every time the phone rang at work and it was Max, Carrie is asking after Quinn. So beautiful.

Yes, you’re getting Jeremy again.

Another thing I thought was quite interesting in this episode, which does play into my analysis of the final scene between Carrie and Quinn, is the conversation between Carrie and Saul.

Saul outright asks Carrie if she’s been working with Pres-Elect Keane. Which she has, so he was on the money there. But it was his... threat, that kind of disgusted me. When he says that it wouldn’t ‘play right’ if it was uncovered that she had been working with Keane. I thought this was way out of line and sort of...inhuman... even for Saul. But Carrie’s repulsed reaction to it shows show much she’s changed from this.

You see, Saul is such a company man now that the sanctity of human life seems to mean nothing to him. Just the fact that he came all the way down to Carrie’s place of work to effectively say, ‘I’ve sniffed you out. Don’t do it again,’ in a semi-threatening sort of way, just shows how flippant he is about everything, including people’s lives and livelihood. This is what the CIA appears to do to people, including Saul, including Quinn. And Carrie wants out. Or at least a changed paradigm...

Furthermore, is anyone else pissed that Saul hasn’t asked how Quinn is? He must know that Carrie is taking care of him, he’s in the CIA, for god’s sake.

Anyway, let’s come to the crux of it.... the scene. So Max is gone, and Carrie tentatively goes down to see Quinn. I thought the fact that he asked how her day was, was really sweet. He really carefully says the words, so as not to get them wrong.

She answers as Carrie would to old Quinn. That made me smile.

And then he asks what happened to him? This bit of the scene made me think that memory loss has been a thing. She goes back to two separate points in time before landing on the story that Quinn wants her to tell.

‘What happened to me...before this?’

I thought it was really heartbreaking how he gestures towards his body.

Carrie is incredulous that he doesn’t know what’s happened to him.

We are also quite surprised. We’ve watched that video as many times as Carrie has. If not more. Sara @hellyeahomeland said it best when she highlighted that there’s so much about this situation that we know, and Quinn doesn’t. We feel like we shouldn’t know if Quinn doesn’t. It feels intrusive and wrong.

Quinn tells us that he hadn’t wanted to watch it, until now.

This is heartbreaking and a huge step forward for Quinn. And very telling that he’s ready to take this step, but only if Carrie is with him. He doesn’t say this, but I would wager this is what he means. He’s finally got to a place where he is more settled (he looks more settled) and this is because of her. It took Max to call him on it but hey, he got there. He is now realising that he can rely on her, he can lean on her a little and it’s okay for him to do that. He doesn’t need to be so proud.

So we get ready to watch it again. I also loved Carrie’s moment of hesitancy and then he touches her, gently, to tell her it’s okay to play it. To tell her that he’s okay. That he’s ready.

This moment in itself is huge. Quinn finally confronts what has happened to him. He watches it and sees what everyone else has seen. His very public capture and torture at the hands of terrorists. The whole world has seen him throw up, wet himself and convulse as a result of the sarin.

Carrie tells him she ‘must have watched it a hundred times trying to find you.’ 

Carrie’s words here are so gentle, but she’s trying to tell him how much she deeply deeply cares about him. She also makes this whole thing about them and their relationship. I don’t mean romantic relationship (as obviously they weren’t involved at the time) but it’s all about her, trying to get to him. 

‘Those tiles. They are what led me to you.’

Her phrasing here. Me to you. Underlying sentiment, ‘Please believe I was doing everything that I possibly could to get to you.’

Furthermore, Carrie shares something that we actually didn’t know. Quinn flatlined in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. He was dead for three whole minutes. She chokes as though these were the longest minutes of her life. Which they obviously were.

‘You saved me. Why?’

Cue Tracey choking a sob over her brew.

‘Why?’

As I mentioned before, there are a few layers to this question from Quinn’s side... let’s unpack them.

1) Quinn doesn’t think his life is worth saving. He hasn’t cared much about his life since he got back from Syria. It all ended.... partly because he thought Carrie was rejecting him and partly because he had far too many intimacy issues to confront a possible relationship with her. So he ran away.

But especially now. He is brain damaged, paralysed down one side and heavily medicated. A shadow of his former self.

2) Quinn doesn’t understand why Carrie cares so much about him. What I would really like to know is how much Quinn remembers. 

Does he remember 412?

This may seem like a daft question, but given, as I say, Carrie recalls two explanations from the recent past before landing on what he wants to talk about, I think it needs asking.

Given the way he looks at her here...

I’m going for yes, he does remember. But a girl’s gotta ask.

In which case, how can he not know the answer before her response? Yes, two, three years have passed, but is he so far gone that he doesn’t understand why Carrie could possibly think to save his life?

Carrie is so mortified that he even asks, she says ‘Why’ twice!

I am sobbing at this point, FYI.

I feel like part of this answer, but not the juicy bit, which I’ll come onto.. is that she’s so horrified about his lack of care for his own life. This plays into what I brought up in the scene with Saul. She’s mortified that this is what the CIA does to people. Saving someone’s life is a no brainer. Especially someone you care about. Why is he even asking the question?

And then there’s the crux of it.

Why?

Because I love you.

How can you not know that?

Because you saved my life so many times and I never thanked you.

Because you call me on my bullshit, even when I don’t want you to

Because you came to see me in the hospital.

Because you protected my identity in Berlin, risking your own life to do so.

Because you told me how important my child was when I didn’t even know.

Because you made me believe that a life outside the CIA was possible.

Because you were my friend when I had none.

Because you believed me when no-one else did.

Because you said I was your light.

Because you loved me.

The letter hangs so heavy over this scene, I feel like it should be engraved on the wallpaper. But she can’t tell him that she knows that. And I don’t think he’s ready to hear ‘Because I love you.’ But she does do this.

She touches his heart. And that tells us everything we need to know.

Including Quinn, who appears to be fighting back the tears... it’s dawning on him that things have definitely changed in his relationship with Carrie. He doesn’t know the extent of it yet. But things have changed... they are deeper... and I think he might just be understanding how Carrie feels about him.

He’s starting to love again.. to feel feelings again.. meaning is coming back into his life. It’s so damn beautiful I could start crying all over again. This is a big deal for the Quinn of S5 and of S6.

And here’s the thing. I know I said in my review last week that I thought Carrie was confused about how she felt about Quinn. I don’t think she is now. The relationship is still very, very complicated, as I’ll discuss in a minute. But I think the fact that Quinn asked her the question, directly, carefully, honestly, made her confront a lot of feelings outright. I feel like everything crystallises for her in this scene, which is why she cries so deeply. Not that she suddenly realises how she feels about him right NOW, but nobody has asked her that before. No-one has asked her why she saved him, why she’s taking care of him.

And she can’t even answer it because it’s like she’s being stabbed in the heart by someone she loves. How can you even ask me that? How can you not know?

And to all those who say this scene is about guilt...I think we’d be silly to think she doesn’t feel guilty/complicit for what’s happened to Quinn. That is one reason she’s so upset, but it’s very small in the scope of the scene.

Because the scene isn’t about waking him up. What Carrie actually discusses is finding him, him flatlining in the ambulance and being gone for three whole minutes. What she is bringing up is this....

How she felt when she thought she’d lost him. How she doesn’t want to be without him. This is what she’s talking about. Saul doesn’t even come into it. The terrorists’ target has nothing to do with this. Waking him up has nothing to do with this.

But here’s the thing, folks. The further down this road they go, the more questions Quinn may ask. The more questions he asks, the more Carrie tells him. The more she tells him, the more he finds out. And pretty much Carrie’s worst nightmare right now (or later in the Season) is Quinn finding out that she and Saul woke him up and were pretty much responsible for his hemorrhage. 

Because that means keeping Quinn alive was about the mission. It wasn’t about what he means to her. And Quinn consequently might think that the relationship they’ve built from 602 onwards was about guilt, and not about love. 

When I think we can say, for definite now, that it is about love.

And the only thing that could rescue this situation, should it present itself? 

The letter. Carrie tells Quinn she read the letter.

I’m not sure that this is where it will go, we’re only at 602... but it’s possible.

But right now, I think we should lay back and look at this...

And look forward to some seriously cute Quinn and Frannie bonding. It’s gonna be a good season for us folks.

Over and out.