Reliable
Peter Quinn looked down the scope across the lake. He watched as the couple enjoyed the fresh air- the way that they looked at each other told a picture of love and happiness. He sighed as he folded the scope up and placed it back in his pocket. He turned and made his way back to his hideout. He sat down on his sleeping bag and carefully popped open the tin of tuna- his trusty fork set in his other hand. He rested his head back against the wall and chewed thoughtfully.
He was a killer. There were no two ways about it- he killed people for a living. Sometimes to directly protect himself or somebody else and sometimes simply because he had been told to. This assignment fell into the last category. He had rarely questioned an assignment, he knew his place and he knew what he had to do. National security was more important than he was and if that was the sacrifice he had to make he was happy to live with that.
Something about this felt wrong. He rarely knew the full story behind one of his hits- he worked on the kill list- confident in the knowledge that the target had made that list for good reason. He was an assassin, a soldier, an operative- he was whatever word you chose to use, but he still killed people for a living. He closed his eyes and sighed, this was not as easy as he thought it would be.
He tried to tell himself that seeing Carrie so full of life and happy had nothing to do with his feelings on this. Her dedication to the case and loyalty to what was right just made him look at her differently. She was dedicated and diligent and although she had her flaws, too many to count, she acted for the right reasons. He sighed again, he wasn't used to working in this kind of a team, sure he worked on group, but it was such a different dynamic. He had to admit it to himself, as hard as it was, Carrie Mathison had officially made it to the very elite list of people that he considered his friends.
He had accepted this assignment directly from Dar Adal- the man he had served his entire adult life- yet he wasn't fully sure that even the head of black ops knew the reason behind this hit. He was clearly only here to serve the needs of David Estes of that he was certain- it was just whether there was some underlying risk to security that he didn't know about. He sighed again- he usually trusted his instinct and every fibre of his being was screaming to it that Brody was done, he was genuinely just at the lake with the woman that he loved. He had left his wife for Christ sake.
Quinn got to his feet and stowed his rifle beside him, his side arm loaded and within easy reach of his fingers he settled down for a sleep. The next day was make or break- he knew this couldn't be dragged out forever and one way or another he needed to end this.
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He flexed his fingers, trigger finger rest just out of the cage his grip tight enough to control the rifle and loose enough to not cause tension to stray his shot. He looked down the scope- the man was praying. He blinked, he could make this shot in his sleep, hell he could make this shot from a mile away- but something inside him was stopping him. Finger loose on the trigger he took a breath in and a breath out and then nothing.
It felt wrong, because it was wrong. He was certain of that. He knew what he needed to do- and it wasn't this.
Silently he moved back through the words and packed up- all trace of him ever being there erased effortlessly and he hiked up the highway. Half a mile further up the road and he ducked back into the woods. He looped around and ten minutes later he was back at his car- chilly and tired, but determined to do what had to be done. He looked in his mirror to make sure no one was watching him, and within seconds his journey back to Langley was on.
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David Estes sighed as he stepped through the door into his darkened hallway, it had been a long day and he had still not received an update from the operative Peter Quinn. Estes had heard nothing but good things about the work of Quinn- Dar Adal had promised his best and had appeared to deliver. The young man was quiet and focussed- his mind clearly processing information quickly and accurately- hell he had easily matched Carrie, maybe he had tamed some of the madness who knew. But yet the black ops agent had failed to deliver to the main reason for his presence and that was making him twitchy.
He knew the man wasn't gunshy, and he certainly wasn't a coward- anyone that survived more than ten years in black ops was clearly more than capable. He had to admit the younger man moved with an confidence and grace that spoke of the skill his crumpled shirt and slacks covered. He had an intense gaze that held a hint of danger to it, so Estes had no doubt the man was capable of completing his mission- he just wished he would hurry up and do it.
He stepped into his bedroom, the lamp on his bedside switched on and began unbuttoning his shirt when he just caught something amiss out of the corner of his eyes- the very object of his thoughts sat in the chair in the corner of his bedroom. Silent and hidden in the shadows, he observed the silenced gun resting on his thigh and the black gloves that covered his hands. He couldn't help the deep swallow that escaped him as he processed this latest event.
"Is it done?" he asked, almost sure that must be why the man was currently at his house
"No"
"No?" he queried, surprised at the response and the almost menacing manner that the young man sat in front of him. Quinn shook his head at him, his posture relaxed but his hand still gripped on the gun. Estes turned slightly to look at the assassin, further confused when the man began detailing recent events. He had a bad feeling where this was heading, and this was only confirmed when Quinn uttered that there was no threat to the nation.
"Are you suddenly an Analyst Quinn?" Estes asked, attempting to keep the frustration and worry out of his voice.
"No" Quinn stated over dramatically. "I am a guy that kills bad guys" he stated. Estes took the opening, telling him he had made a mess of his assignment- surprised when the Black Ops operative calmly and rationally stated all of the reasons that Brody was no threat, and finishing on exactly who he was a threat to.
He had been right when he had realised the intelligence of the operative in front of him, and grateful for the solid work that the man had put into the operation- proving that he was a good agent and not just a hired gun- yet now that appeared to be biting him on the ass. Not to mention him apparently falling for the charm of god dammed Carrie Mathison.
He sighed to himself, knowing when he was beaten and already deciding to reassign the job to another agent. But yet again it appeared the other man had out manoeuvred him. The man got to his feet and moved two steps forward, gun still in hand but not raised. Something about the movements of the man, the steely glint in his eye and the steady gaze made Estes take two apparently involuntary steps back and his breath to momentarily catch in his throat. He had no doubt in his mind that Quinn was capable of killing him if he thought it was necessary.
"Nothing happens to Brody" he stated his voice low and calm.
"Or?"
"You will find me back in this bedroom one night. Right back in that chair. Because I am a guy that kills bad guys" he looked straight in the eyes of the larger man, never wavering and never flinching. He meant every word that he had said, and he was pretty sure the senior man knew that.
Estes looked at him as he walked away. The older man could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and he knew that Quinn would be true to his word. He waited for the other man to be gone silently into the night before he let out the breath he had been holding. He ran his hand over his face and took a moment to settle his nerves.
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Quinn walked out of the house and down the road to his car without looking back. Within minutes he was gone, on the road to his new hotel room, awaiting his next assignment. He knew his last apartment had been penetrated, someone had been in and gone through his stuff- and he was pretty sure it was at Saul's request, they had to have found Julia somehow.
He didn't really mind- it wasn't exactly his homely home, and he had kind of expected to find they had been in as soon as he had got the call from Julia.
He was comfortable with what he had done- it was the right thing. He was a killer- he wasn't a murderer- and killing Brody would have been just that- murder, and he wasn't doing that.