It would make sense if one of them killed the other.
It would make sense if one of them died for the other.
These two are the loves of each other lives and each other’s worst, worst enemies. They’re like Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton with guns and terrorism.
They are the kinds of enemies who will rip each other’s souls out before they are done. But the understanding that they have is also soul-deep, like they know each other like no one else possibly could. There is true connection, sympathy, acceptance, camaraderie, even desire, beneath the distrust, but beneath that connection, there is suspicion that cuts like the edge of a sword. Suspicion that the other is plotting to undermine what is most dear to them (family…country…cause…sanity…identity).
The story of Homeland is a grand tragic passion. It’s not really about whether we “fall in love” with the characters, it’s about watching these two people twist around and around each other, with knives and kisses. Aiming for the heart of the other every time, wounding themselves in the process. It’s like their little wars, which are crucial for the Big War playing out across the globe and all around them and all around us, only draw them closer together. When they pull apart for the last time, it’ll be death. Either literally, metaphorically, or both. For both.