Prologue
"Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere." - Love Actually
Chapter 1
He pushes her to the ground, covering her body with his. Dar's voice echoes in his head: "You're not supposed to risk your life for this petty shit." But Quinn's never been one to care much about staying alive. And in this moment, saving a woman from an explosion at a crowded S-Bahn station in Berlin feels exactly like the right thing to do.
The chaos settles as the explosion's shockwave fades. People scream, scattering, some on the ground, some fleeing. Quinn sits up and checks on the woman, pulling her into a seated position next to him. She's in one piece—he doesn't know why he checks so thoroughly. It's not like he's thinking about her like that—but damn, she's attractive. Beautiful, even, despite the dust caking her black suit and tangled hair. Not that it matters.
She stares at him, wide-eyed. His throat tightens as he asks, "Are you okay?"
She doesn't answer at first, still dazed. He stands, offering a hand. She takes it, letting him pull her to her feet.
Her head shakes slowly. He wonders if she doesn't understand him—maybe she doesn't speak English—or if she's just too stunned to respond.
"Do you speak English?" he asks again, softer this time.
She blinks at him, then nods. "Yeah. Yes. Sorry."
American.
"You okay?" Quinn asks again.
"You—" She shakes her head, incredulous. "You saved my life."
He shrugs, offering a quick smile. "No big deal."
Her eyes widen, and she repeats, "No big deal." She says it more to herself than to him, like she's trying to process the absurdity of it all.
He rubs the back of his neck, glancing around at the wreckage. "Listen, you—just stay here, okay? I need to check on…." He trails off, his eyes drifting to the bodies scattered across the pavement.
"Fuck," she whispers, following his gaze.
"I'll be back," he mutters, not wanting to linger. "You need a medic. When someone gets here, just… stay here." His words are swallowed by the mounting sirens and distant cries.
He works his way through the crowd, checking pulses, shouting for medics to attend to the living. "Here!" he calls as he spots someone still breathing. He moves quickly, prioritizing life over all else, until he hears his name.
"Quinn! Quinn!"
He turns, and Carrie's arms are around him before he can fully register the sound of her voice.
"Thank god you're okay," she mutters, squeezing him tight.
"You too," Quinn says quietly, briefly returning the hug before pulling away.
"Jesus, Quinn," she says, shaking her head, eyes darting across the chaos. "The sarin gas… I thought… why would they need—?"
"I don't know," he interrupts, looking away, scanning the scene. He spots the woman again—right where he left her. She's standing still, eyes wide, still lost in shock. "I need to—take care of something."
"Quinn, you need to see a medic—"
"I will," he mutters; his mind's already elsewhere. "I just need—I need to do something." He looks back at Carrie, her hurt expression barely registering before he turns away.
He weaves through the crowd, forcing himself to calm down. The woman. What's her name? The chaos around him feels distant, like he's moving through a different world. When he spots her again, standing where he left her, he breathes a sigh of relief. So, either she knows how to follow orders, or she's too dazed to move.
"Hey," he says softly, his hand finding her arm gently. She's beautiful, he thinks again, trying not to be distracted by it. "Let's find a medic, okay?"
She nods silently, letting him guide her to an ambulance. He stays with her while the medics check her out. He grudgingly allows them to check him over as well, taking some oxygen as he watches her from the corner of his eye. He catches her smiling faintly, her eyes still on him.
"What?" he asks, his voice low.
She shakes her head. "I'm just—It's not every day you almost die in a foreign country . . . But a random stranger saves you."
Quinn chuckles but says nothing.
"Who are you?" She asks, suddenly serious. The intensity in her gaze makes him uncomfortable in ways he doesn't want to explore. Totally inappropriate ways, he tells himself.
He looks away, shifting his weight. "No one. Just a random stranger. Like you said."
Her lips quirk into a smile. "A random American. Feels weirdly coincidental."
He looks at her, but doesn't answer. He doesn't have an answer.
After the medics clear them, they start to walk toward the police barriers. The streets are already being cleared, a tense rhythm of officers directing the crowd. Quinn leads her toward the perimeter.
A voice calls out from behind him. "Quinn!"
He turns around, and Campbell is pushing through the thinning crowd, looking relieved but grim.
"You coming back to the station?" Campbell asks, scanning the aftermath.
"Later. Soon," Quinn corrects himself, his tone clipped. "You okay?"
"I've seen worse," Campbell shrugs. "You think it was your guys?"
Quinn glances at the woman, still close by. He's aware of Campbell's gaze following his. Moron. What the hell is he doing, talking about this out loud in the middle of a disaster zone?
"I'll see you later," Quinn says. Take the hint, buddy.
Campbell doesn't seem to take the hint. "Look, BND is all over this. Langley's gonna want—"
"I have to go," Quinn cuts him off sharply. He starts walking away without looking back. He doesn't have time for Campbell's nonsense. But why the fuck not? That's the only thing he should care about—have time for now. He can't afford to be distracted—not by some random person whose life he saved . . . even if he is incredibly attracted to her. Jesus. He's pathetic.
He reaches her; touches her back lightly, guiding her farther from the chaos, further into the quieter streets.
When they're finally on the other side, Quinn looks around at the wreckage, a distant ache growing in his chest. He turns to her. "You okay?" he asks, but it sounds more like a question for himself.
She nods. "Yeah. But I think the CIA needs you back at the station, huh?"
He offers a tight smile, not responding.
"What's your name?" she asks after a beat.
"Peter. Peter Quinn."
She offers her hand. "Lily. Lily Taylor."
He takes it, a warmer smile tugging at his lips. "Nice to meet you, Lily Taylor."
"Right back at you, Peter Quinn," she grins. "Can I offer some unsolicited advice?"
"Do I want to hear it?"
She laughs. "Probably not. But—look—neither of us are fit to go back to work, even though I'm pretty sure your job's more important than mine." She pauses, looking at the street ahead. "Plus, I think my laptop was vaporized in that explosion. I should report it to my security team, but…" She trails off, shaking her head. "Whatever."
Quinn laughs softly. "Yeah. Whatever."
"You saved my life," she says quietly, meeting his eyes. "Let me buy you a drink. Fuck Langley."
He laughs, shaking his head. "Are you always this direct?"
"Subtlety feels overrated right now."
"Yeah," he agrees, his voice a little quieter. "Let's get a drink."