Disclaimer - I do not own Homeland. That pleasure belongs to Showtime. No copyright infringement or money making scheme intended. This is purely for reading enjoyment.
A/N This is taking place in 2020
"Do you need help, Quinn?"
"Do you need a bullet between your eyes, Max? My leg may be broken, but my trigger finger still works." Quinn snaps back at him.
"I'm sure it does, but it isn't helping you clear the paperwork on your desk, is it?"
"Definitely more hardened." Quinn mutters darkly to himself.
"What was that?"
"Nothing, Max." Quinn looks up as Max goes back to furiously typing on his computer. There's a rigidness that Max carries with him now that he hadn't had before. There is no need for Quinn to ask for a psychologist to work out what did that. He liked Fara, but hadn't been as attached to her as Max clearly had been.
He surveys the desk and Max is right. Well, right about the paperwork not being cleared, but he refuses to call it his desk. He is no desk worker. He is temporarily and inconveniently assigned to this desk as punishment for taking his eye off the ball and ending up with a broken leg. His latest attack of conscience coming into full force at the worst possible time. He now finds himself lumbered with Dar's files for black ops recruitment. Files full of details on young men who could be the next him. Lucky them. He is supposed to read them and hand back 10 for recruitment.
Dar liked to be as difficult as possible so each profile did not come with a name or a picture, just a number. If he hands the file to Max, as 1 of the 10, Max will then be able to find the name and personal details using the number, but only after he has read the profile and not before. Dar was insistent upon this so unnecessary time is not wasted.
"Here" he throws number 78029720 across the desk to Max. "That makes 2."
They continue like that for the next couple of hours. The only sound being Max typing on his computer, or his own restless movement trying to find a comfortable position.
"Max, I might make a second pile."
"Quinn, we were told 10."
"Oh, this isn't for recruitment purposes. This is for 'I'm sitting on my ass reading about this asshole who I want to shoot' purposes."
"Some of them, yes. Others, I feel like I could be reading a profile of a younger me."
Quinn picks up the solitary file left in what had been the main bundle. "How many more do we need?"
"Another 3", Max replies.
"Right. I'll read this last one and then have a look at some of the others in the undecided pile." He eyes his 'shoot later' pile, he'd much rather deal with that.
Quinn opens the file noting the number reads 75130020
Age: 20 years old
Ethnic Origin: White American
Family: estranged from his siblings and mother. Father, deceased. Maternal Grandfather, deceased. No contact with Maternal Grandmother. Paternal Grandparents both deceased.
Problem areas: isolation of his life, unresolved feelings and the resentment arising therefrom. Education incomplete, but clearly well-read and very smart. Ability to act and think on his own. Likely to be very unwilling to work for us and be a problem once we invade his life. Not known if he speaks another language. Political stance.
Strengths: well versed in self-defence and street smart. Ability to act and think on his own. Awareness of himself and his surroundings could rival that of an already trained agent. Possible he may have spotted me on one surveillance run.
"Fuck me." Quinn almost chokes on his coffee.
"You're…eh…handsome and all that. At least, that's what the women on this floor, well every floor say, but I think I'll pass, Quinn."
Quinn stares at Max incredulously before composing himself. "What the hell are you talking about, Max? This kid" Quinn waves the file in mid-air. "made Adal."
"So", Max shrugs his shoulders.
"Go back to call of duty, Max." Quinn shakes his head at Max's inability to grasp how impressive this is. Unless, Adal is losing his touch, imagining which admittedly gives Quinn some pleasure but is highly unlikely. He continues reading on.
Self-sufficient. Trusts no one. Very disciplined for one so young. Capable of controlled aggression. Broke the jaw of a Police Officer who attacked him, using only his elbow. Simply walked away from the scene after incapacitating his aggressor. Did no more damage than was needed even though it would have been justifiable in the circumstances.
Quinn couldn't help but wonder why the kid was being attacked by a cop and why Adal felt the kid would have been justified in beating ten shades of shit out the cop. However, in the grand scheme of everything, it doesn't really matter. What matters is the kid impressed Adal and he has to admit he's impressed reading Dar's account of it.
He re-reads the problem areas again and weighs it up. This is an issue with almost everyone considered for black kid's apparent strengths made it worth the risk.
"Add this one, Max", Quinn throws it over the desk.
Quinn opens all four files on his undecided bundle. He has two left to pick. He begins to re-read the four and compare them.
"Fuck me." Max's voice breaks the silence.
"No thanks, Max. I'm too handsome for that." Quinn sniggers to himself and waits on Max's reply. He gets none. He looks up to find Max looking shocked.
"What's up, Max?"
Max seems unable to form a coherent sentence. He just points at his screen.
"Going to have to bring it to me, Max."
Max lifts his laptop and moves over to Quinn, sitting it down in front of him.
"Fuck me", Quinn says shocked himself.
"Yeah." Max replies.
When Max types in the number, a new file is automatically created and Quinn could not take his eyes off the first bit.
Father: Brody, Nicholas
Year of Birth: 1975
Year of Death: 2013
Subject: Brody, Christopher Joseph
Year of Birth: 2000
Year of Recruitment: 2020