Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Smoke and steam. The taste of copper in his mouth, and a sharp pain in both shoulders. He coughed, and a bit more blood came up. His neck throbbed. He slumped to one side, his breathing light and uneven.

"He saved us," said a low female voice, sounding calmer than seemed reasonable.

"Yeah," Carrie gasped.

"What was his name?" asked the breathless voice behind the driver's seat.

Don't touch me. Don't touch me, Carrie. Please don't.

"Peter Quinn," Carrie stated. Shock was settling upon her, he could tell. His brain was scrambled from the stroke, but that much he still knew. He still knew her shit. Tight as a drumhead, this one, and cold as steel, at least at the moment. Country and duty – let that hold her for a moment. Let that be her watchword while he deliberately slowed his breathing.

Don't. Please don't touch me. Just go.

Then, chaos. The light changed, then changed again. There were shouting voices, and flashes of light. Someone hauled the door open, and the woman – the President – was hoisted from the vehicle, Carrie close behind her. He laid as still as possible. He waited. The Kevlar vest had held, God help him, it had held somehow, and he thought it might have something to do with the fact that the assassins hadn't been particularly good shots, or using the best ammo.

A head shot would have been the end. I'm lucky, lucky again. A cat with nine lives.

Around the SUV, a deafening babble. Reporter's voice. Police. Passers-by, and someone was screaming. It wasn't Carrie, though. Sad to say, after all these years he knew her scream of anger, and her scream of terror, but not her scream of pleasure. Probably never, now. But never mind. He hoped they'd get to him soon, or the NYPD would.

Then, the driver's side door burst open, and Quinn felt a hand touch his. He kept his eyes closed. He felt a warm face lean close, and in a thick Berlin accent, a voice intoned something in his ear.

"Quinn. Quinn, it's Gerhardt. We've got you."

He allowed himself the most subtle of smiles, and then, he was out.


Of course not. Of course he wouldn't have gone into a potential firefight like this, not without some protection. He'd been wearing it since the Flag House blew. While Carrie had strode around the yard, looking for signs of life, Quinn remembered that this team kept a bunch of extra gear. Stowed in a closet, he remembered, on a shelf. He checked for a pulse with the last EMT who'd gotten hit by shrapnel, and when another team arrived to take care of her, he'd gone inside. Carrie was on the other side of the yard, squatting on one knee and facing away, trying to reach someone on her cell.

He'd dug around in the closet, and with his improving one-armed post-stroke method, removed his hoodie and shirt. He pulled the Kevlar on with some difficulty, and held it close to him while tightening the side belts with his teeth and good hand. He'd pulled his shirt on again, and struggled into his hoodie. Then, he dug in the drawers of the two side tables in the back bedroom he was in, until he found a burner phone.

With a curved finger, Quinn touched the screen and dialed a number. It was an International number, Country code +49. He'd had it memorized so long, it was easy to recall, even in his befuddled state. Quinn waited through a series of clicks and the hiss of an open line, until the call connected. Finally, a voice answered.

"Allo?"

"It's Quinn. Astrid's Quinn. I'm in trouble. I need you to….t-track me. And get me the… fuck out of New York City. Today," he finished. After a pause, he added, "Please."

The man on the other end of the line was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then the low male voice said, "Ja. You've never asked for anything. We come and help you. Leave the GPS on." There was no click, but a deeper silence as the call terminated.

Quinn took the phone and slid the GPS position to "on." He buried it in the inside front pocket of his loose pants, then filled his pockets with other useful items from a lockbox he found unhinged on the top shelf of the bedroom closet. A fake passport, some cash. He ferreted it all inside the Kevlar vest, and then went out to rejoin Carrie in the sunshine.

He was ready.