Work Text:
Virgil was nearing the end of a boring night shift. He drowsily opened a bag of peanuts, allowing his eyes to stray from the screen. This was the sixth night in a row that he had been watching a hotel clerk at a swanky Capitol Hill hotel.
Even his subject of interest, seated at the reception desk, had leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Virgil couldn’t blame him for napping on the job: this was an exceptionally quiet night in the hotel lobby.
He was envious of the man and wished he could give his eyes a break too. There was still no sign of an upcoming rendezvous his client thought would happen this week.
Virgil yawned just as his phone lit up. He glanced at the caller ID in surprise.
“Carrie?”
“Virgil, hi.” Carrie’s tone was warm and friendly -- bizarre considering the time. “How are you?”
“Dead tired,” he grumbled. “I’m in the middle of a job.” He shelled a peanut and popped it onto his mouth.
“Sorry, am I disturbing you?”
“If you were, I wouldn’t pick up, would I?” he scoffed, chewing. “It’s OK. Why are you calling me at 4 a.m.? I hope you aren’t taking up your old hobby of stalking red-headed menaces 24/7.”
He didn’t hear Carrie’s usual whip-fast response. Only a gulping noise. Virgil swallowed the remnants of the peanut in his mouth.
“Shit, I’m sorry, Carrie. I’m being insensitive. Not sleeping for two days will do that to you. How’s Franny?”
“She’s great, she’s great,” Carrie replied distractedly. “Listen, I’m not calling you in the middle of the night for no reason.”
“I suspected that. Let me guess, you have a job for me.”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve just come up with it, in the middle of the night.”
“Er, pretty much, yeah. It’s Pakistan. I just got Lockhart to give me the station job there,” she said rapidly, pleased with herself.
Even with his fatigue, Virgil felt himself perk up with surprise. He sat up a little straighter in his chair. Carrie Mathison was never going to stop surprising him. “Pakistan? What happened to Afghanistan?”
“Haven’t you heard about the air strike screw-up in Pakistan? I fucking blew up a wedding because Sandy Bachman’s source gave us false intel. We have no clue who that was, now that Sandy’s dead. I need to get to the bottom of this. You in on this?”
Virgil paused as he noticed a figure walk into the frame of his screen. The feed was coming from the camera behind the reception desk. There was a tall man, wearing all black, coming into view. Virgil turned the volume of his computer higher, in anticipation of a conversation.
“Virgil? You still there?”
“Yeah,” he replied, eyes focused on the image in front of him. “Yeah, it’s just that… there might be a development over here.”
Carrie let out an exasperated sigh. “You want me to call you back?”
“Just hang on a moment.”
Virgil watched as the tall dark stranger reached into his pocket and offered the hotel employee… a room key. He zoomed in to confirm his suspicions. Yep, it was a room key -- nothing suspicious about that. Virgil sat back in his seat in frustration, watching the man walk away from the hotel desk.
“Sorry, didn’t pan out. What were you saying?”
“Pakistan!” Carrie said instantly. She breathed out, excited. “Can you come?”
“Pakistan? Not exactly paradise, is it?”
“C’mon, I know it’s a war zone, but it’s where the action is.”
Virgil paused again, on the cusp of picking up another peanut.
“Now or never, Virgil. I’m leaving tomorrow. I need you.”
“I know,” he said softly. “But no. I’ll have to bail out this time.”
He could hear Carrie starting to pace. “Wait, why?” she asked with concern.
“Because,” he said. “Because I agreed to go to Hawaii with Lauren next week. We’re going WWOOFing.”
“Woofing?” she repeated derisively. “Is that a euphemism for something?”
“No,” he said patiently, used to Carrie’s bouts of impatience. “It’s spelled W-W-O-O-F-I-N-G. Stands for World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms. Lauren’s interested in volunteering at an organic coconut farm in Hawaii.”
“Fuck, Virgil, you’re picking coconuts? When there’s a serious crisis in Islamabad?”
“That’s not my job, Carrie. Not right now, anyway,” he said as gently as he could, willing himself not to rise to her anger. “I need a break. This job has become hellish.”
“Damn right, it’s not your job. It always falls to me, doesn’t it? My god, just listen to you,” raged Carrie. “Are you having a mid-life crisis? And who the fuck is Lauren?”
“My new girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?” she said incredulously. “Aren’t you married?”
“I got divorced last year. Jesus, Carrie, weren’t you paying attention?” Virgil rolled his eyes. It was just like Carrie, usually so observant, to miss the fact that he was spending way too much time consulting a divorce attorney.
“Sorry. I didn’t notice. Just thought you were… well, wrapped up in something personal,” she concluded lamely. She had stopped pacing. “Well, uh -- when are you coming back?”
“Not for a couple months, at least. I’m spent with this surveillance work. It’s taking over my life. I’m sure you could relate.”
“Damn it, Virgil! I really need you in the Middle East. I need you to be my eyes and ears. You’re the best at that. There’s no one out there that I can trust!”
“You’ll have Quinn, won’t you?” he said wearily. “I need… I need to do what I need to do. Look, Max will do whatever you want. Just ask him. He believes in you.”
“And you don’t?”
The question wavered for a moment, before he heard a click. Carrie had hung up.
He sighed.
The answer was self-evident, but he didn’t want to answer yet.
His eyes blearily repositioned themselves on the screen. The hotel clerk had finally picked up the phone, while alertly scanning the room.
What the hell? That earlier encounter must have been the hand-off, Virgil realized. Why would anyone check out of a hotel at four in the morning, without a word?
Virgil cursed as he hurriedly messaged his client. Damn, this work was getting to him. How could he miss such an obvious clue?
He really did need a break. Hawaii couldn’t come sooner.
Max emailed him vague updates on Carrie in Islamabad, but almost all of them made Virgil question his decision. His access to internet connection on the coconut farm was irregular at best and cell phone coverage was practically non-existent, so he couldn’t advise his brother in real-time. Virgil felt guilty of being stuck in paradise while Max and Carrie were going through hell.
Upon touching down at Dulles International Airport, he called Max. The latest news forced him to hang up on his brother immediately. He dialed her DC number.
“Carrie? It’s Virgil. Is this a good time?”
“Virgil. Uh, hi! Sure, go ahead,” Carrie replied breathlessly. She sounded as if she was in the middle of something, but Virgil couldn’t tell since he was standing next to a chatty crowd of tourists in an airport security line. He swiftly stepped away from the bustle.
“Sorry, just got off the plane. Listen, I heard from Max that your father passed away. I am so sorry.”
“Yeah, he had a stroke. There was nothing we could have done.”
“A stroke? Shit.” Virgil stopped walking and dropped his bag onto the floor with a loud thud. He sighed. “I’m sorry to hear that. I would’ve gone to the funeral, but Max just told me right now. He couldn’t reach me in Hawaii.”
“That’s OK. It was Dad's time, I guess,” she said, almost matter-of-factly, but Virgil could hear the words disguising her pain. “Anyway, how are you? How’s Laurie?”
“You mean Lauren?” he replied, amused. Carrie almost never asked about his personal life.
“Lauren! Shit, sorry.”
“She’s fine. And I’m feeling refreshed. Hawaii was relaxing.”
“Yeah? Did you actually pick coconuts, Virgil? That sounded like such a hippie dippie mid-life crisis.” She laughed. It was a startling noise -- when was the last time he heard her laugh?
“Yeah, Lauren was really into it. She’s a research biologist.”
“Well, I’m getting the impression you were less into it,” said Carrie playfully.
“You could say that. Lauren had to come back a few weeks ago, to go back to teaching at GWU. We had a little bit of an argument at the end.”
“Oh. It’s not working out?” she asked, with a touch of concern.
“I’m not sure.” He was eager to change the subject. “Hey, I wanted to say I’m sorry about your dad, but also… I need to ask you about Pakistan.”
“What about?” Her tone had hardened instantly.
“It’s Max. He’s changed. I haven’t seen him yet, but I can hear it in his voice.” Virgil took a deep breath. “What happened out there?”
He heard Carrie take a deep breath too, before replying.
“Fucking hell, Virgil. Pakistan was hell.”
Virgil placed his rolling luggage bag by a wall and sat awkwardly on it. “From everything Max has told me, I wish I had been there to help out. It sounded horrible -- “
“It was horrible.” Carrie’s voice cracked. He could hear sniffling on her end.
“Max mentioned Fara and the Embassy takeover. How are you holding up?”
“Better. I’m better now,” she said, more firmly.
“And how’s Quinn?”
“Quinn?” Carrie seemed to be searching for a word to describe him, before giving up and telling Virgil the simple answer. “He’s… gone. Quinn’s gone.”
“Wait, what happened?”
“Disappeared. Off to Syria, according to Dar Adal.”
“That fast after Pakistan? Max sounds like he’s got PTSD -- how could Quinn run into another war zone that fast?”
“I-I don’t know.”
They fell silent. Virgil waited until Carrie had summoned enough strength to speak again.
“Well, I have a clue why he left,” she said finally. “But… I’m not sure.”
“Carrie, Max and I know how much you care about him. We can all see that,” Virgil said quietly. “Max told me how hard you searched for him when he went AWOL.”
“Yeah, well.” Carrie was wary of sounding overly emotional. “I… I guess I’m worried that he’ll get himself killed. Again. I mean, it’s not that different from finding Haqquani on his own, stalking and killing Syrian terrorists is another suicide mission. There’s no extraction plan! Dar Adal wouldn’t tell me anything else!”
She was frantic. He rubbed his forehead.
“You’ve been taking your meds?”
“Jesus Christ! I know you’re not here to check on my medicine cabinet, but yes, I have.”
“Carrie. Take a deep breath.”
Virgil heard her shaky exhalations. He closed his eyes and said:
“Let me guess. You need my help. We need to track Dar Adal and see who his contacts are -- find out what Quinn’s mission is.”
Carrie didn’t say anything. Then: “Um. Shit, I have to think first. We need a plan.”
“We’ll come up with one together. I’m at Dulles. You wanna pick me up?”
“Uh, sure,” she said reluctantly. It was very unlike her to sound uncertain. “Damn it, Virgil, I haven’t really thought this through yet.”
“You’re not wasting my time, Carrie,” said Virgil calmly. “I’ve got your back this time. I believe in you.”
“I know,” she said, still with a trace of hesitation. “I know that. And I’m sorry about everything I said last time. It was uncalled for.”
Virgil smiled. He had been in Washington for twenty minutes and already he was back to work. Strangely enough, he was looking forward to getting back to the grind of surveillance work and the hell of working for Carrie Mathison.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “We’ll find Quinn.”