Y’all, I haven’t been able to get into a Homeland fic in a really long time. I feel pangs of inspiration to write myself sometimes, but they quickly fade when I realize… hmm… maybe I really don’t have much to say right now in the fictional fictional realm.
All of which is to say… “Little River Ledge” by our own prolific and talented @frangipaniflower001 is something of a miracle for me. Frangi’s basically the Queen of Homeland Fic but the level to which I’ve become not just invested but deeply, deeply moved by her story–considering my recent months-long apathy–is something I never expected.
In “Little River Ledge,” Peter Quinn is alive (surprise!) and he cajoles all the various powers that be to let him house Carrie in an oceanside cottage on the coast after the events of season seven. Carrie is in, as we all know, very rough shape. She doesn’t talk, barely sleeps (and when she does, on a mattress in a closet rather than on the bed). Quinn watches her–he’s rehabilitating himself, still–giving her space and time and the silent encouragement he knows she needs. He’s been here before. So he knows how this goes. Quinn and a non-speaking Carrie are a fairly quiet pair, so a lot of the story thus far exists in these silent moments between them. And what a look here or glance there means.
When there are words spoken, I find myself hanging on each one. They carry such weighty significance. I won’t spoil you but Carrie has a line at the end of chapter nine that almost caused me to pause in my tracks. The story plays with perceptions and what’s real and isn’t in a really interesting, clever way. After all, Carrie believed Quinn was dead. And then she lost her mind in Moscow. So who’s to say this isn’t all just an extension of that nightmare? (I promise that this isn’t where this story is actually going–though it is totally the greenpen ending!–but it’s the undertone of her complete disorientation.)
I’m gonna wrap this up now because this is getting long, but just one more thing! One of the most important things I need in a fic is what I term generosity. By that I mean, empathy and honesty toward the characters and where they’ve been and how they are. It’s the kicker for me in everything I read.
Frangi’s fic has this generosity in spades–it shines through in every word. But what’s really surprising for me about my investment in it is that it’s told mostly from Quinn’s perspective. As he observes Carrie. As he tries to interpret meaning from the actions of a woman who is still, in a big way, lost in this world. And yet… he finds the beauty and the grace, the resolve and the courage, in each and every one of her actions and how she faces the long, steep uphill climb toward something resembling “square one.”
For personal reasons, I can’t tell yet whether this fic has helped me heal and move on from the sadness and pain of the end of season seven or whether it’s kept me in that space (which might in itself be a form of healing, by virtue of just making me feel comfortable in it). This is no fault of the story’s, of course. But it’s my reaction to it, and how I’ve felt reading each chapter, wondering how this will play out next season.
I used to wonder out loud, “gosh, why does Quinn love Carrie so much?” and was often met with a resounding chorus of “because of all the reasons we love her.” That’s the truth, and this story–after what we saw at the end of the season–pays tribute to that in a way that has been so thoughtful and genuinely, deeply moving. Please read it.