Homeland fic: Achilles heel: Swedish style (Carrie Mathison & Peter Quinn)
Title: Achilles heel: Swedish style
Fandom: Homeland
Characters: Peter Quinn, Carrie Mathison, Virgil, Fara Sherazi (mentioned)
Rating: G (but there is swearing)
Word count: 937
Summary: Post-canon. Written after the end of season 3 and set at some time in season 4 when Carrie and the team are in Istanbul. Complete fluff and absolutely not grounded in any sort of canon-reality :)
Notes: Inspired after writing Catharsis which was chapter 8 of my fic Fragments.
This fluffy fic is a gift for its-something who said: "Also, oh god, why did it have to be IKEA? I can already see a future chapter where poor Quinn is going out of his mind trying to assemble a bookcase but there's missing/extra pieces."
Written in accordance with 15-minute-fic, Word #281 and it is bolded below. I added the hyperlinks after the 15 minutes had finished and am still polishing it/removing typos :P
Rules: You have a prompt word and you have fifteen minutes. It's up to you to complete an entire fic from those two items.
*
Istanbul - United States diplomatic compound
Carrie walks into the room without knocking and is confronted by a scene of complete devastation and total chaos.
"Jesus, Quinn - the fuck?" she demands in disbelief as she stares around her.
"Thought you were giving up swearing," Quinn comments disapprovingly.
"The baby's with Fara right now," Carrie replies. Although only a few months old, the baby's immersion Farsi classes have begun and Carrie has heard Quinn, Virgil, Max and others walking around humming table bozorgam under their breath.
"Can I help you with something, Chief?" he asks without looking up at her as he continues his muttering, a steady stream of profanities escaping his lips. Despite the undertaking the team has given to stop swearing now that the baby is born, the station Swear Box is constantly full of coins from offenders - Quinn and Carrie being the worst offenders. The standing joke is that their entire salary is ending up in the Swear Box.
"I needed your eyes on a briefing paper I'm drafting … but you appear to be busy," Carrie comments.
"Just a bit," Quinn says through gritted teeth. "Can it wait?"
"How long have you been …?" she waves her hand in the general direction of the disaster while pulling an exaggerated face and Quinn gives her a look, his light eyes snapping with frustration.
"Since this morning," he replies.
"Waste of a perfectly good Saturday," she says sympathetically.
"You're not going to say, I told you so?" he asks tersely.
"Not going to argue with the man with a big gun."
"Never stopped you before," he points out, raising an eyebrow at her provocatively.
"I've learned my lesson," she counters.
"You? Never."
In petty revenge, she tilts her head and stares at something in the corner. "So - is it supposed to be on an angle like that - ?"
"Shut up, Carrie," he tells her mildly. "Give me a break."
"I did tell you so," she points out. "I said that it might be better to - "
He holds up a hand. "OK - no more, we've been through this."
Carrie pulls out her cell phone. "Virgil - the spare room. We need you. Now. It's urgent."
"Oh for fuck's sake, Carrie. We do not need Virgil's help," Quinn protests.
"He's an expert."
"Says who?"
Virgil comes jogging into the room, slightly out of breath from having run from the other side of the compound. "You called? What seems to be the prob - holy mother of Jesus," he breathes as he stares around the room in disbelief. Every available bit of floor space has been strewn with the wreckage of the morning's endeavours.
He picks up a piece of paper and stares at it. "Quinn - didn't anyone warn you …?"
"I warned him," Carrie tells Virgil, shaking her head in disapproval at Quinn. "But do you think he'd listen? I even said he should consider getting it assembled while we were still in the States, but no, Bruce Wayne over there …"
"It's easier to ship a flat-pack, Carrie," Quinn retorted. "The great Carrie Mathison isn't always right."
"Didn't he at least Google it before he bought it," Virgil demanded of Carrie. "The PAX wardrobe with the Uggdale glass sliding doors always tops the "most difficult to assemble" lists."
"Guys - I'm right here," Quinn mutters loudly, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself.
"I Googled, I told him but no but James Bond over there thinks that all he needs is the instructions and his Alan Key and he can take over the world."
"Pride goes before a fall," Virgil says sympathetically. "He'll be more willing to listen next time."
"Still here," Quinn points out, tossing a spare Alan Key at Virgil who catches it lightly. "Are you here to help or make wisecracks?" Quinn asks sardonically.
"Oh …" Virgil holds up a hand to his ear. "Could it be that Captain America is actually asking for my help on this?" he asks Carrie.
"Well I personally think that you should make him grovel," Carrie tells Virgil. "You should have heard how smug he was when I couldn't get my cell phone to work properly."
"That's because you refuse to read the manual, Carrie" Quinn tells her. "I'm following the instructions - they just don't make sense."
"Hey Tony Stark - are you following the English instructions or the ones in Swedish?" Virgil asks with unholy amusement. It's rare that the unflappable Quinn ever shows signs of being ruffled or put out so when it happens, the rest of the team latch upon those moments with an almost unholy glee - even the usually polite and serene Fara.
"OK, I'll help," Virgil concedes. "The Man of Steel has met his kryptonite in Swedish furniture."
"Oh for fuck's sake, Virgil," Quinn mutters, throwing a rolled up ball of plastic at him.
Virgil tilts his head and stares fixedly at something in the corner. "Is it supposed to be on an angle like that?" He moves out of the way as another ball of plastic flies past his head.
"With a throw like that I can't believe that you're supposed to be a sharp-shooting, crack shot of a sniper."
"Want me to prove it, Virgil? Keep talking," Quinn challenges him, a wolfish smile on his face. A smile which fades as soon as Carrie pulls out her cell phone again. "Carrie what you doing?" he demands.
"Taking a photo first," she replies. "Have to show Fara and the rest of the team proof that Jack Bauer isn't perfect."
It's humiliating and frustrating to be surrounded by the wreckage of a PAX wardrobe, but as Quinn stares at Carrie's laughing face, it occurs to him that it's worth it.
end
Fandom: Homeland
Characters: Peter Quinn, Carrie Mathison, Virgil, Fara Sherazi (mentioned)
Rating: G (but there is swearing)
Word count: 937
Summary: Post-canon. Written after the end of season 3 and set at some time in season 4 when Carrie and the team are in Istanbul. Complete fluff and absolutely not grounded in any sort of canon-reality :)
Notes: Inspired after writing Catharsis which was chapter 8 of my fic Fragments.
This fluffy fic is a gift for its-something who said: "Also, oh god, why did it have to be IKEA? I can already see a future chapter where poor Quinn is going out of his mind trying to assemble a bookcase but there's missing/extra pieces."
Written in accordance with 15-minute-fic, Word #281 and it is bolded below. I added the hyperlinks after the 15 minutes had finished and am still polishing it/removing typos :P
Rules: You have a prompt word and you have fifteen minutes. It's up to you to complete an entire fic from those two items.
*
Istanbul - United States diplomatic compound
Carrie walks into the room without knocking and is confronted by a scene of complete devastation and total chaos.
"Jesus, Quinn - the fuck?" she demands in disbelief as she stares around her.
"Thought you were giving up swearing," Quinn comments disapprovingly.
"The baby's with Fara right now," Carrie replies. Although only a few months old, the baby's immersion Farsi classes have begun and Carrie has heard Quinn, Virgil, Max and others walking around humming table bozorgam under their breath.
"Can I help you with something, Chief?" he asks without looking up at her as he continues his muttering, a steady stream of profanities escaping his lips. Despite the undertaking the team has given to stop swearing now that the baby is born, the station Swear Box is constantly full of coins from offenders - Quinn and Carrie being the worst offenders. The standing joke is that their entire salary is ending up in the Swear Box.
"I needed your eyes on a briefing paper I'm drafting … but you appear to be busy," Carrie comments.
"Just a bit," Quinn says through gritted teeth. "Can it wait?"
"How long have you been …?" she waves her hand in the general direction of the disaster while pulling an exaggerated face and Quinn gives her a look, his light eyes snapping with frustration.
"Since this morning," he replies.
"Waste of a perfectly good Saturday," she says sympathetically.
"You're not going to say, I told you so?" he asks tersely.
"Not going to argue with the man with a big gun."
"Never stopped you before," he points out, raising an eyebrow at her provocatively.
"I've learned my lesson," she counters.
"You? Never."
In petty revenge, she tilts her head and stares at something in the corner. "So - is it supposed to be on an angle like that - ?"
"Shut up, Carrie," he tells her mildly. "Give me a break."
"I did tell you so," she points out. "I said that it might be better to - "
He holds up a hand. "OK - no more, we've been through this."
Carrie pulls out her cell phone. "Virgil - the spare room. We need you. Now. It's urgent."
"Oh for fuck's sake, Carrie. We do not need Virgil's help," Quinn protests.
"He's an expert."
"Says who?"
Virgil comes jogging into the room, slightly out of breath from having run from the other side of the compound. "You called? What seems to be the prob - holy mother of Jesus," he breathes as he stares around the room in disbelief. Every available bit of floor space has been strewn with the wreckage of the morning's endeavours.
He picks up a piece of paper and stares at it. "Quinn - didn't anyone warn you …?"
"I warned him," Carrie tells Virgil, shaking her head in disapproval at Quinn. "But do you think he'd listen? I even said he should consider getting it assembled while we were still in the States, but no, Bruce Wayne over there …"
"It's easier to ship a flat-pack, Carrie," Quinn retorted. "The great Carrie Mathison isn't always right."
"Didn't he at least Google it before he bought it," Virgil demanded of Carrie. "The PAX wardrobe with the Uggdale glass sliding doors always tops the "most difficult to assemble" lists."
"Guys - I'm right here," Quinn mutters loudly, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself.
"I Googled, I told him but no but James Bond over there thinks that all he needs is the instructions and his Alan Key and he can take over the world."
"Pride goes before a fall," Virgil says sympathetically. "He'll be more willing to listen next time."
"Still here," Quinn points out, tossing a spare Alan Key at Virgil who catches it lightly. "Are you here to help or make wisecracks?" Quinn asks sardonically.
"Oh …" Virgil holds up a hand to his ear. "Could it be that Captain America is actually asking for my help on this?" he asks Carrie.
"Well I personally think that you should make him grovel," Carrie tells Virgil. "You should have heard how smug he was when I couldn't get my cell phone to work properly."
"That's because you refuse to read the manual, Carrie" Quinn tells her. "I'm following the instructions - they just don't make sense."
"Hey Tony Stark - are you following the English instructions or the ones in Swedish?" Virgil asks with unholy amusement. It's rare that the unflappable Quinn ever shows signs of being ruffled or put out so when it happens, the rest of the team latch upon those moments with an almost unholy glee - even the usually polite and serene Fara.
"OK, I'll help," Virgil concedes. "The Man of Steel has met his kryptonite in Swedish furniture."
"Oh for fuck's sake, Virgil," Quinn mutters, throwing a rolled up ball of plastic at him.
Virgil tilts his head and stares fixedly at something in the corner. "Is it supposed to be on an angle like that?" He moves out of the way as another ball of plastic flies past his head.
"With a throw like that I can't believe that you're supposed to be a sharp-shooting, crack shot of a sniper."
"Want me to prove it, Virgil? Keep talking," Quinn challenges him, a wolfish smile on his face. A smile which fades as soon as Carrie pulls out her cell phone again. "Carrie what you doing?" he demands.
"Taking a photo first," she replies. "Have to show Fara and the rest of the team proof that Jack Bauer isn't perfect."
It's humiliating and frustrating to be surrounded by the wreckage of a PAX wardrobe, but as Quinn stares at Carrie's laughing face, it occurs to him that it's worth it.
end