#peterquinn

[self-dependent]

[only-half-a-moron]

Happy Birthday Rupert Friend!

<Peter Quinn: the guy that kills bad guys>

<Prince Albert>

<Mr Wickham>

<Kevin Lewis ‘The Kid>

~One of the best actors of all time~

[aimeemullinsfan]

Peter Quinn #rupertfriend #PeterQuinn #Homeland https://www.instagram.com/p/B5epD1pgT5c/?igshid=1aqkureemkft7

[notourhomeland]

Letter to Mr. Gansa

Dear Mr. Gansa, I didn't want to write: my avoidance was vicious and unrelenting so I held onto it in desolation. I didn't want to tap into the incandescent fury and void of pain which always sits beneath the surface of the emotional kaleidoscope that is my life. Broken, shattered at the edges, spilling out in triggers to a skewed perception of where I am and who that person is. I had to quell the screaming taint of a disenchanted terror at the destruction and hollow, pointless discarding of a most beloved character by Homeland. I realized after I began I had been writing this letter in pieces with each tweet and observation on Quinn, on Homeland: how it had failed him, us, diminished an opportunity to recognize an unending ability in Rupert Friend or influence a societal preconception and view. I found Homeland in Season 1, searching for a gritty escape in entertainment that would provoke me intellectually and emotionally. Homeland was such a show, a view into the world of intelligence: a modern representation of an agency in action. I became an avid fan. I grew to anticipate impatiently every week when Carrie would appear and hurtle into her flawed, strong, onslaught into the world of the CIA. It became an integral part of my life and escape from the difficulties that hamper my days. I was intrigued when Quinn came into full view, his humble beginnings almost an aside to Carrie's bursting, frantic, headlong rush into a veiled intricate terrorist landscape. I didn't invest in Carrie, I admired her, was fascinated and mesmerized by the many layered facets to her character but I found her profoundly difficult to like. There was something missing, a part that was necessary to embrace her emotionally and I could only appreciate her in a reflective view. Quinn however sparked an intrigue, a difference, established himself as the centre of Homeland intrinsically with such composure and control. His emerging self reflection, morality and code showing his humanity which was rich and rewarding, in stark relief to those surrounding him, making their contribution seem devoid of any colour. Quinn became an essential investment and part of me so effortlessly where I felt every disappointment, every frustration, every conflict at his position. He reached out, emanating a security and substance that was reassuring and cohesive. I looked to him to lead the show, to hold the others together with quiet authority. I lived him as I have no other. It became a realization that Quinn would be the one to take me on his journey in Homeland, it would be his that I would stay with the show for. During Season 5 I didn't think it was possible to share so much torment or searing agony with Quinn, subtly nuanced in many ways, impactative to us all. Outrage overtook the pain at his unexpected demise. Rupert stunningly soliloquized a summation of Quinn's worth laid bare in a love letter to Carrie, writing in exception from his internal scope of an actor understated in his representation of a Quinn shackled to a world of personal conflict, torment and regret. I was overjoyed Quinn returned in season 6 and he was a revelation. Rupert's gift of a soldier in such beautiful humanity, such depth and such compassion connected on so many visceral levels, it left me breathless, projecting an emotional warmth which was all consuming: his internal reach in his ability was astounding leaving me choking in an unexpected resonance. Having suffered similarly to the character due to different experiences, it was almost frightening to see him take a collective anguish and furious shame and hold it up to the light of social acceptance and scrutiny, to display this brokenness in an unapologetic exceptional manner, confront a discomfort and avoidance so prevalent for those who suffer, through a character so many had come to love wholeheartedly, hold close to them in almost abhorrent comfort at his continued torture and destruction. I found myself shouting at the screen, moved beyond tears where he invoked a myriad of shared emotions and experiences. It was disorientating, affirming, an exquisite recognition of a splintered soul. As Quinn continued to be targeted, broken down, and suffer without necessity or aim and glimpses of his torturous past arose with unrepentant venom, Homeland left me gasping, struggling to find a sensibility in it or any proper address to the abuse. These revelations and ongoing torment alienated me from the rest of the show, bar Quinn, where the almost gleeful shades of competitive harm to him became derisive, farcical, undermining those abuses into frivolity. During the season Quinn's range grew and I didn't know where he ended and I began. I have PTSD and head trauma and it destroyed me, devoured who I was, spewing out an unrecognizable enemy I couldn't befriend. Belief in kindness or those qualities that shine a light in the world as individuals or as a collective as intrinsically good was gone replaced by suffering, crippling fear and threats everywhere. Any state of grace or semblance of peace was elusive. I was considerably more invisible than any VET, because my damage wasn't borne of a higher purpose, there was no sense to my fracture, no overriding objective to my pain and altered awareness. Quinn inspired my damage to hope, lifted me to where worth had a place, voiced my horror in eloquence, provoked overwhelming love in a character entrenched in mine and the audience's reality, lives & beings. Quinn's thoughtless end was a martyr rhetoric, almost as if you didn't know how to discard him, an afterthought. How Quinn died was glorified in a cheap and hollow accolade of the shows desperation to sell their idea of relevance: to sell the agony of grief to the highest bidder. Rupert Friend gave all of himself to create something of merit, worthwhile, entrancing: a gift to the audience and fans in tribute to those he portrayed in his generosity of talent. His senseless destruction defiled that, insulting everyone who had a connection to Quinn or who saw him and found inflections of themselves within a platform and character they loved. The audience's invested humanity to Quinn was ridiculed because how he died was immortalized as a tribute, with no recognition or celebration for how he lived. He was dismissed, forgotten, consigned to rubbish: his sum worth the self involved lamenting of Carrie Mathison. Quinn was a representation of profound and copious parts of the human condition: so many of those forgotten, overlooked and damaged: his treatment and demise dishonoured that demographic irrevocably. He did not die a hero, he died a victim of an agency and show who slaughtered him for political strategy, for an in house fight for supremacy, for their own individual agenda's and ego's. Not in war, not for a populace's safety and fundamental freedoms: a tortured statistic who had outlived his usefulness, a number, a completed sentence on a page. Unforgivable. Intolerable. Sacrilegious. Homeland had an opportunity 'to effect real change' without any intention to utilize it despite their reach and ability to make political comment or offer significant influence. A platform to transform the narrative, perspective and conversations. Quinn's treatment was repugnant. He died in emptiness, in darkness, in torment by his own comrades, murdered without any chance at redemption, hope or having any belief he was valued or loved. He was disposed of in contempt, a social commentary Homeland appear almost proud of. This short sighted indifference has contributed to the wreckage a demographic, already devastated by the reality of their existence, experiences. The show felt they had permission to treat Quinn with a disrespectful inevitability, a mocking testament to how Quinn's representation was held in so little regard. Rupert Friend evoked a connection and love for a character that grew with each season until he became inexorably entwined, grew within my emotional self and inspired an acceptance, an abundance, which I will never let go of. His ability to provoke such a yearning empathy and identified humanity is a testament to his emotional range and brilliance. I will be forever grateful I joined him on his journey of revealing Quinn for who he became, which has become an esoteric part of me, because everything I cherished about Quinn ,Homeland took and smeared with empty indifference, ignorance, sullied it with disillusionment and scorn. Whilst you, colleagues and some media have derided, demeaned and belittled fans for their reaction to Quinn's demise and appalled rejection of your vacuous ever shifting explanations and too late platitudes, the fans recognize Quinn was far more than a character, had considerable impact above the show's story lines, was larger and more important by his delivery than the dismissive responses you gave and therefore care enough to protest that disservice to him, to those already fallen in war and left to fall once home, to the far reaching consequences of your inconsiderate squandering of Quinn. Goodbye Homeland. I have your trash bag waiting. - @badfluff on Twitter

[purpcanary]

Rupert Friend at #SHOEmmyFYC.  (x)

[painterx92]

[katvkarrenithe]

[only-half-a-moron]

Black Duty ~ Chapter 1

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33637171/chapters/83634106#workskin

Chapter 1: The Debrief

(December 29, 1999)

Peter Quinn walked into a room he'd been in many times before. His boss and director of the CIA, George Nette had summoned him - along with a small handful of other agents - to an urgent meeting.

Quinn noticed almost immediately upon entering the room that he was the only officer from his sector present. The black operations sector. Quinn had worked for Dar Adal for 7 years now. Classed as a special forces officer, Quinn was often assigned to dangerous missions with high level targets. He was the best at what he did. That didn't go unnoticed - especially by the director. Quinn either operated alone, or with 'The Group' - which was just a nickname for the few selected top SAD officers in the Agency, and Dar's favourite door to knock on come a tough mission.

Quinn took his seat on a wooden chair, just like everyone else in the room. He sat up straight when Nette walked in and switched on the projector at the front of the room. "I hope you've all enjoyed your Christmas. Now you'll enjoy coming back to work after a nice break." Said Nette. Quinn hadn't taken a break. Most of the officers had spend time with their kids or travelled to their parents' houses for Christmas. Quinn didn't have any family, he'd worked all through Christmas, as per usual. "I've gathered you all here to discuss an urgent matter." Nette opened a laptop and a picture showed up on the projector. It was a man, clearly middle eastern, captured on what looked like a security camera. "This," Nette pointed to the man's face, "Is Osama Bin Laden." He said. 'Most of you will recognise him from your case studies as the leader and founder of the terrorist organisation, Al-Qaeda." Quinn frowned, as he curiously looked closer at the face on the projection. He had seen him before, but he couldn't pinpoint where. Nette continued, "Th-" He was interrupted by the door opening. All heads, including Quinn's, turned to the back of the room where a young woman - slightly flustered - came into the room. Her dark hair bouncing along halfway down her back behind her, she grimaced, "I'm so sorry I'm late." She said, slipping into a seat near the back of the room next to a lanky looking guy with glasses. Quinn took a moment to gather his thoughts, finding his brain momentarily fogged over. His frown lifted slightly, and he folded his arms against his chest. "Don't let it happen again." Nette gave the girl a stern but reasonable look. She nodded grimly, and put her bag down in front of her, the blazer on her shoulders looking uncomfortably tight as she tried to catch her breath. When she raised her head, her gaze met Quinn's for a split second. There was an entrancing quality about her eyes, mirroring the shade of a hazelnut's skin, pupils wide and full of curiosity. Quinn quickly drew his own eyes away and turned back around, shaking the thought from his mind as the debrief continued.

"We have reason to believe Bin Laden is planning to attack American Interest. Possibly even our land." Said Nette, with no trace of the usual smile beneath the black stubble on the chin he rarely had time to shave. Quinn let his thoughts wander. What could be the possible target? Al-Qaeda was infamous for mass murders of innocent civilians. There was always terrorism and conflict somewhere in the world. This particular threat had to be significant for Nette to give a full debriefing on it. "The operation will be led by Bill Griffiths, and will commence immediately following this meeting's conclusion. We are following these two targets who have been identified by Saudi intelligence during a meeting in Riyadh," Nette flicked to another slide, and two faces appeared. Nette pointed to the first face, "This is Nabeel al-Hashim. He is a close friend and known associate of Bin Laden. 23 years old, born in Saudi Arabia." Nette stepped to the other side of the projected picture and pointed to the other face, "This is his younger brother, Salim, also born in Saudi Arabia." He turned the projector off and stepped forward, "The NSA has just informed us that there is to be a meeting in Malaysia about possible attack plans. Nabeel and Salim are both expected to be present," Nette told his officers. "We need to find out when this meeting is happening, and locate its whereabouts so we have eyes and ears on the whole thing."

Nette had assigned the operation to one of the rooms on the ground floor. Quinn quickly got to arranging the two suspects on one of the pin boards, writing their names on their respective photographs. Underneath that, was all the information the CIA currently had on the two men, which wasn't much. Quinn put his hands on his hips and took a step back to scan the board. "Peter Quinn?" He heard a low, husky voice come from behind. Quinn turned his head, to see a man he recognised as Bill Griffiths. Mousy brown hair, flopping over his head with streaks of grey running through it indicating his age of at least fifty, Bill smiled, wrinkling the skin beneath his warm brown eyes. Quinn matched Bill's friendly smile, and stuck out his hand, "Mr Griffiths, sir." Quinn said with a nod as they shook hands. Bill shook his head, "Please, call me Bill." He said politely.

Bill stepped closer to the board and pinned up a third suspect beside the al-Hashim brothers. This name read 'Kadar al-Marwan'. Bill glanced at Quinn's narrowed gaze knowingly, "The request to surveil Marwan has been denied. They refused to put him on the watch-list. I know he's an essential part of the attack plan." "Refused?" Quinn was puzzled, "If he's a known associate..." Bill shook his head like he'd asked that question one too many times himself, "Fuck if I know," Bill put his hands on his hips, "Shit like this keeps us two steps behind, and we can't afford to be behind. Not with this kinda threat." Quinn nodded, "So Nette doesn't know?" Bill shook his head again, "No. I'd like to keep it that way. Word on Marwan doesn't leave this room, understood?" Quinn answered with a silent, single nod.

A tall man appeared at Bill's side, "Sir, when will we be needing surveillance?" The man asked in a casual way. "Peter, this is Lenny Harmon," Said Bill. Lenny was lanky, pale and his shirt was wrinkled and half untucked. He struck Quinn as the kinda guy whose work came before anything else. Similar to Quinn.

Lenny gave Quinn a polite nod and stretched out his hand. Quinn quickly shook Lenny's hand before he returned his gaze to Bill. "Immediately," Bill said, before walking off towards a younger looking guy sitting at a computer, with a troubled look on his face. "What is it, Scott?" Bill asked, as he walked away. Lenny followed soon after Bill.

Quinn turned back around to the board. All of a sudden, a second pair of hands reached towards the board and pinned a list of addresses underneath Marwan's name. Quinn turned to look at the person, it appeared to be the young woman who was late to the debriefing. She was slightly more put together now, her hair pulled back into a high ponytail and her sleeves rolled up over her wrists. Quinn had noticed her bitten fingernails as she had reached up to the pin board, another thing that made him curious about her.

"Peter Quinn," Quinn stuck out his hand for the young woman to shake. She smiled warmly and took it in hers, "Jia Page. Nice to meet you, Peter." She turned back and frowned at the board. "Why don't we have any more info than this?" She said, as if thinking aloud, "I thought we at least had a date of birth for Nabeel." Quinn peered closer at the board and noticed that they had no birth dates up there. "That photo had to have come from a passport, maybe you oughta check the file again." Quinn said, shrugging. Jia turned to him, "Are you one of the analysts?" She asked. "Apparently." Quinn replied. "Apparently?" She repeated, with an unconvinced look on her face. Quinn gave her a slightly condescending smile, harmlessly teasing, and then went back over to the files on the other side of the room.

After 2 minutes of searching through the papers, Quinn found a copy of the photo that had of Nabeel and noticed a faded date of birth was printed in the corner, and had clearly been cut off. He walked back over to the board and wrote, '8/9/76'. "Now we just need one for the other two," Quinn said to Jia, who looked at him with folded arms. She nodded in agreement.

"Surveillance is up and running, we have eyes on Marwan right now. He's in his home in Yemen." Said the guy Bill had called Scott. "Do we have audio?" Quinn asked. "Not yet," Lenny added, before turning to Scott on his right, "Scott, we got audio?"

"Coming, just give me a sec." Scott replied. Quinn glued his eyes to the screen. Kadar al-Marwan appeared to be sitting down to dinner with his wife and three children. The audio came on, and Marwan was speaking in Arabic to his children. "We got a translator in here?" Quinn asked Lenny. "We got two, though one's currently in the field," Lenny wheeled back his chair, "Karima, over here." Lenny waved one of the other agents over. Karima had long, wavy dark hair, that fell over the shoulder of her blazer in a braid. She picked up an earpiece and squinted for concentration. Lenny and Quinn turned their attention to her. "Marwan says, 'Son, how was your day at school?'" Karima translated, "The son replies, 'It was good, father, we learned the alphabet just like you said we would.'" "Alright, it's just dinner conversation. Just listen for now, try and pick up on anything other than small talk." Quinn said, with a nod. He turned around to see Jia giving him a strange look, "I thought you said you were an analyst." She said. "No, you said that." He said, facetiously, before walking past her back towards the board. "Lenny?" Quinn called out from the board, "Do we have a name for the wife yet?" "Negative. None for the kids yet either." Lenny replied. "Could we put her through facial recognition, please?" Bill added, walking through the room. "On it." Another agent said. As Bill walked past the board, he tapped Quinn on the shoulder, "Good work, Peter." Then Bill went over to Jia, and they started talking in hushed voices.

Later that afternoon, Bill gathered everyone to dismiss them. "Good work today. We're on the track to something big here, I know it." He said, "Peter, Lenny, you'll take first night shift. The rest of you, I'll see you in the morning." "Apologies, Sir, wife needs me home tonight," Lenny said, packing his stuff up. Jia put down the bag she had recently slung over her shoulder, "I'll stay," she volunteered. "Done," Bill said, "I'll see you both in the morning," His eyes darted between Jia and Quinn, who briefly exchanged a glance.

Quinn settled in front of the monitors, digging into a box of takeout he'd had leftover from lunch. Scott had cleverly programmed English subtitles onto the screen so neither Karima or Samir, the other translator needed to constantly be present. Marwan seemed to know no English whatsoever, or at least had no current use for it. Jia, sat down on the desk chair beside Quinn and sighed, pulling half a sandwich out of her bag. Quinn turned back towards the monitor, and they both sat eating in silence for a moment. The whole Marwan family was sleeping.

Quinn found his sudden occupational change of pace intriguing. It had been quite some time since he'd kicked back in a desk chair for a night shift. He was used to having his knees in the dirt, rifle on his shoulder, ready to pop the first thing that moved out in the desert.

"So," Jia piped up, eating just as hungrily as Quinn. "If you're not an analyst, what are you doing here?" She asked, pressing him. Quinn raised his eyebrows, "All hands on deck, I guess. They told me they needed someone from the SAD sector, so here I am," He said, plainly. Jia frowned, "You're one of Dar Adal's guys?" Quinn, evading the question, gave Jia only a smile in response. He figured this would tick her off. She rolled her eyes, "You're really something, you know that?" She looked down, balling up her now empty sandwich bag, attempting to stifle a smile. "Anyway, I'm gonna go over these files again, you have fun watching Marwan lie horizontally," Jia got up, moving to a nearby desk, covered in piles of paperwork. Quinn shoved more food into his mouth, and sat back in his chair, content.

—————

The following morning, Quinn and Jia were relieved around 6am. Lenny strolled in whistling, much to Quinn and Jia's annoyance.

"Lenny, I don't even tolerate show tunes when I've slept," Jia had said, promptly cutting off the whistling. "Each to his own," Lenny shrugged, "I wonder if Marwan is a fan," He sat down, with a facetious smile as he fixed his headset on. Jia shook her head, "I'm not waiting to find out," She said, gathering up papers into her bag. Quinn picked up his jacket off the back of a chair, and threw it on, picking up his own shoulder bag.

"Don't forget about the meeting at noon," Lenny said to Jia as she and Quinn exited. "Shit. Thanks for the reminder," Jia called out behind her as she passed through the doorway.

"We have a meeting at noon?" Jia said to Quinn when the door had shut. Quinn shrugged, "News to me." "Brilliant." Jia said, sarcastically. Quinn nodded as they headed for the glass doors, "See you at noon." Jia shot him a smile as they parted ways, heading for their cars.

—————

The meeting was about a new surveillance, on Hiram, Marwan's father in law, who was possibly giving them a meet place for an attack plan.

"Party just got one bigger, get to work," Bill had announced, once he'd gathered everyone together.

Afterward, Quinn walked over to Jia, who was standing back, taking in the entire pin board. He stood with folded arms, watching as she ruminated over something. "Seems like this thing is a family get together," She remarked after a moment. "Bit more elaborate than a picnic," Quinn added. Jia breathed a laugh, before shaking her head, "We should check over the dialogue. See if there's any travel plans." Quinn nodded, and crossed the room to print the translated script from the surveillance.

Together, they went through the dialogue, sharing half the pile of pages each. Yemen was commonly mentioned, whether in context of interest or not, and Jia and Quinn proceeded to highlight any times Yemen had been mentioned by Marwan in past instances as well.

As they were finishing up that evening, Quinn's second phone rang. Only group members called him on this phone, so he stepped outside to take the call.

"Peter," Dar Adal's familiar voice rasped on the other end, "I'm glad I caught you. The flight's a man short, I need you tonight. We've located some known associates of Fazul Mohammed, involved in last year's embassy attack in Nairobi." Quinn frowned, he was needed at Langley too, but he couldn't say no to Dar. "Nette's got me involved in an operation at Langley." Quinn informed Dar. "I remember. Since when does that come before the group?" Dar asked, sharply. "It doesn't, but it's all hands on deck," Quinn said, scratching the back of his head. "Must be important," Dar said, struggling to take the inclined 'no'. "We're onto something, I might be needed in the field here," Quinn said with hesitation. The only person he ever hesitated responding to was Dar. However tough and immovable Quinn's demeanour was, Dar's was more so, and had been ever since Quinn had known him. Sometimes, Quinn still felt like a reckless street kid talking to him. "If this hadn't have come straight from the top, you'd be on that plane tonight. Let this be the last time," Dar said sternly over the line. "Will do," Quinn said, before hanging up.

The truth is, Quinn wasn't sure how long it would be until the operation moved out into the field. He had found himself enjoying being behind a desk for once, not being shot at. While he loved the covert operations, it had been wearing him down lately and it was nice to get a break. He hadn't realised it until now. Not until Dar's demanding tone came through the phone speaker.

—————

Quinn got home shortly after 9. An early finish, something he wasn't used to. He walked inside his empty apartment, throwing his keys onto the small, bare table in the dining area.

Pulling out a frozen meal, he grunted as he tossed it in the microwave, envying the days when he had the time and resources to cook an actual meal. Having not slept since the morning before wasn't new for Quinn. His endurance on lack of sleep was remarkable. As long as he kept up the momentum, he could go for days at a time, a week even. He'd been forced to on missions before, and his relationship with sleep was a strained one to begin with.

Since Somalia, Quinn hadn't quite settled into a deep sleep. He was always one layer from consciousness, alertness, ready to stand up and run with a second's notice. It didn't bother him too much, he kept busy and pushed the thought from his mind. The nightmares weren't so frequent now, if ever he slept long enough to actually dream.

He choked down the unevenly heated casserole, sitting in front of his computer screen, scrolling through as much content as he could find on Marwan and the eldest Hashim brother - which wasn't very much.