Carrie: "Are you sure this wasn't a booty call? You really emphasized your room number down there. Unless of course you were simply saying it to pay for our drinks, like it happens in every hotel bar in the history of our world. Or both."
Nick: "Maybe both. Maybe to get you alone? Is what you're thinking. Maybe I am too."

But his smile is too wide, and his eyes are too bright. She didn't go up there because she's crazy, she went up there because you don't need optimism when you're right. When you have your conviction you don't need options anymore. But paranoia is a way of life for Nick, and Carrie knows for sure that they're under surveillance. More Nicks, and more Carries, then ever. It nearly, it very nearly stopped mattering how full the bar was, for a moment. He knew just how to hurt her. Nicholas reached in past Carrie's army and into her armor and gave it a twist. For a second she could see life without all those Carries and Nicks in the way, without all that hateful love and tender hate and twisted hope and tainted doubt, and it felt like the world ending. It felt like watching it burn.

She loved it.

The end of disappointment. He grins, shining every bit as electrically as she does in her worst moments, and her smile clatters to the floor. For a moment, for this moment, for the time necessary, she can hate him. She always has.

Carrie: "It reeks, you know."
Brody, warily: "What, my confusion?"
Carrie: "Your bullshit."

Saul and Quinn run around like ants, screaming her name, as the Ashford team scrambles. Will he kill her? Is she forcing an arrest? Would she risk her quasi-job for that? What part of this is passion -- scorned lover, spurned patriot -- and what part is genius?

Carrie: "We've only got a few minutes alone now that I've blown the op. Show me yours."
Brody: "You still have those twisted ideas about me, your... I thought we could be friends, Carrie. We always got along so well. And you don't seem to have any, except in that one Latisse commercial..."

"Friends? Oh, yeah. Yeah, do I want to be friends with a demented ex-soldier who hates America? Who decided strapping on a bomb was the answer to what ailed him? Despite his daughter, his son? People who loved him in real life and not the mindfuck world of Abu Nazir? Who in the end, didn't have the stones to go through with it? But had no problem sending me to the nuthouse? Yeah. No, thanks. I don't think I need a friend like that."