who: Eliot Waugh (the first) & Quentin Coldwater when: Morning of August 2nd, the day after this and immediately after this where: Eliot & Kylo's Room What: Quentin feels shut out and has things to say about it. warnings: It's like five different arguments all at once? References to in game character death. status: Complete.
Quentin could have let it go, he could have let Eliot go, but he wasn’t going to. Not when Eliot was being a little shit about things and then refused to talk about it. Yes, he could have waited for his temper to go down, but he didn’t. Instead he marched up to Eliot’s room and opened the door without asking or checking to make sure he wasn’t otherwise busy, but if Kylo had been there, he wouldn’t have been talking to him.
“You can’t avoid me forever.” There was no point in sugar-coating or even the casual greeting. “And I don’t appreciate you trying to be a dick to me for no reason when I was just trying to talk to you about how you’re fucking handling things. I know things have been a lot recently, but avoiding me is not going to work.”
In all actuality, Eliot hadn't expected to hear from Quentin anymore that morning. True to his word, Eliot had turned off his phone and flung it across the bed, where he was still lying after a morning of combating a hangover from the evening before. No one had questioned him for his decision to lay about that day. The lights were off and he was stretched out on the comforter of the bed, with an arm rested over his forehead and partially covering his eyes now that the phone had been tossed away.
And the truth was that he didn't want to shut Quentin out, but he did want to shut the conversation out. The question of was he okay felt absurd. By every account, he should be okay. There were plenty of others who had it far worse and he had plenty of joy that he could focus on.
Only, should and actuality were two very different beasts, and Eliot wasn't feeling okay. Not when his friends were disappearing in multiple number over the course of the week. Not when he felt the ever present twitch of pain at remisicinenting about Rupert. Not when he felt like he had to keep his feelings to himself away from his two best friends, the great loves of his life across the universes. He wasn't okay.
His arm lifted just enough to look at the doorway when the door opened. Not Kylo. Not Fen. Quentin. That was a surprise.
He shifted, pushing his long body up from a stretched out position, so he could sit up and raise an eyebrow at Quentin. "I think it was clear I didn't want to talk," he said, without giving himself a moment to think about his words. "Walking away from you pushing isn't being a dick, Q."
“And I think I was clear that you need to stop shutting me out.” Quentin frowned at him. He didn’t like to feel like he was outside of something especially when it involved his best friend. Even if things were a little awkward recently. “You get quiet and weird and distant and I just…” He felt himself lose steam a little and he ran his fingers through his hair. “I just...we’re us.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “And I’m sorry if I haven’t checked in sooner, but you’re not really talking to me about things either, so I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do.”
There was a flash of an indignant look cast in Quentin's direction. For a moment, Eliot considered standing, so that Quentin wasn't the dominant presence in the argument that Eliot hadn't expected to be having this afternoon. He didn't like feeling submissive in moments like this. Only, his head was still giving a dull ache, and he had stayed in here for a reason. And then Quentin did the thing. Eliot's eyes shut and he bowed his head, sighing heavily.
He hated when Quentin would lose his steam and act wounded.
He opened his eyes and looked at Quentin. "How fucking far back are you talking?" Because Eliot knew things had been hard for awhile now. A long while. But this could be about the network or this could be about the past few days or it could even be about months. He wasn't sure but he knew it applied to it all. And he fucking hated it.
"You aren't required to check in," he said, as an intended affirmation, but it mostly came across as a reinforcement that something was wrong because he largely sounded sad.
Quentin didn’t know what he was supposed to say. He didn’t mean as far back as things had started. It was just that things had shifted again since Eliot showed up and since he’d found out about the engagement and Eliot had lost people, which was more people than Quentin had lost here. He’d lost Steve, but that had been more of a relief than a pain. “Recently,” he said after a moment.
“This is what I’m talking about, Eliot.” He sighed. “You say things like this and I know you’re upset, but I know you won’t talk to me about it. I want to check in on you because you’re important to me. I don’t care what is going on with us, I want to be part of whatever’s going on with you because I lo-” Quentin frowned. “Because I love you and I want us to be able to talk. Even if it hurts, I wants us to talk. I don’t want to have to argue.”
Eliot hadn't ever lost this many people in this small of a turn around. Penny had been a sense of something occuring they'd all suspected might. Emmeline had been the last before that and Eliot had openly grieved for her in the hospital wing of the Cruise ship, where he was too drugged up on pain medications to care if people had noticed. And prior to Emmeline? The only departures had been Margo on rotation. Those hadn't gone well, either, where Eliot had become even more obsessed with a determination to reach their reality and to grab Margo by the wrest along with Fen and yank them into this new one. Where Eliot had considered embracing his old comforts and asked Quentin to ensure he didn't.
Eliot wasn't at a point where he was considering chasing down blues and greens and reds, because while he loved Annie and the kids they weren't on the same level as Margo (that was a platform that only Quentin occupied), but he was still hurting. He was able to handle one and that one was supposed to be Damon. He was supposed to be acting as a pillar of strength in wake of Han's absence and Luke's arrival. He was still trying to.
He wanted to rebuke with 'how recently' because he hadn't meant going all the way back to when their entire dynamic had changed. He'd largely felt like Quentin was genuine back on that day when they'd done everything in their power to find one another to see who remembered what. But ever since Alice had decided to finally included them in a matter that affected their lives, there was a building pressure and there was things that were going unspoken.
"What do you want me to say? You know I am," he retorted, using Quentin's words right back against him as he shifted, standing from the bed. His legs protested and he stumbled for a moment, hand reaching out for the wall to steady himself. Mental note, get something to eat. He didn't focus on the mental note and instead focused on Quentin Coldwater, his best friend and his former life partner and by all accounts one of his soulmates. "That my friends are all disappearing? That they die or they get sent home and I'm not going to see them again? What's the point of saying that?" He asked, as he let go of the wall, standing easier now.
And then he exhaled. "I'm not talking about it because of something going on between us. I'm not talking about it at all, Q." That didn't mean that there wasn't something going on between them. There was. And that was Eliot holding back from acting truly happy about the one good thing that had happened this past week around Quentin or Margo. Which was hurting him but he could handle being hurt if it meant easing their pain.
Quentin resisted the urge to roll his eyes by squeezing them shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. The sound of Eliot’s stumbling made his eyes open and he started toward him, stopping part way once Eliot had righted himself. “I just want you to say something.” He frowned at Eliot’s words. He knew it didn’t fix anything or make it better, but at least it was talking about it. “Sometimes terrible things happen and it’s awful and not talking about it doesn’t help. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like talking is going to help. But even if you didn’t. Even if you’d just...I just…”
He gestured vaguely. “I just want to help and I hate this feeling like we’re...not…” A sigh. “Like we’re drifting. I know I can’t help with everything, but I can be there for some things. For this.” Because he knew that even if it wasn’t about them, there was still things that had gone unsaid and would likely keep going that way until he pushed enough.
"Why?" What was the purpose of saying anything on the subject? Wasn't it clear how he managed the idea of losing those he cared about? Hadn't Alice made that crystal clear the month prior, with the news of how Eliot's actions had aided the current crisis? At least to a point? He could try to prevent that loss back home but this was a blink. A blink and suddenly, they were gone.
Eliot could do nothing.
"Oh, spare me, Quentin," he scoffed in response to the 'sometimes bad things happen' lecture. But the tone wasn't necessarily because he was upset with Quentin. He was upset with the Portal and he was upset with the absence. And he was upset with himself.
Damon was better off at home. The same was probably true for Annie and her family.
But, regardless, the drifting comment was far more important. His face fell, heat gone from his expression, and he gave him the same sullen look that used to always be summoned in arguments. "I'm not going to let you drift," he spoke, quietly.
He couldn't ever lose Quentin.
“Because communication is better than not communicating at all. We’ve seen what that get us and it doesn’t get us much good.” He paused. “Well, we’ve heard anyway, he amended. He didn’t want that. “And I can actually be here if you tell me what you need even if it’s a distraction, but just pretending doesn’t help in my experience.”
Quentin felt himself bristling a little and he crossed his arms over his chest, resisting the urge to walk over and shake him. He knew it wouldn’t help. So he tried to keep himself from a retort until he could figure out the words.
After a moment, he sighed and moved closer, pulling Eliot to him and wrapping his arms around him. “Sometimes you can be so fucking annoying. You know that, right?” But that didn’t stop him from wanting to be there. “You’re stuck with me, Waugh, so stop pushing me away already.”
Eliot's gaze flickered to Quentin with that statement and his jaw set. His brows narrowed and he raised a hand, finger pointed as he spoke, "You want to have that conversation?" They'd had fragments of it but it hadn't been fully brought out. "Because, I am fairly sure you don't get to complain about a lack of communication when you decide to become a prison guard for eternity without consulting your partner."
Regardless of what they were here, because Eliot knew he'd always love Q even if they weren't together, they were life partners back home. Or, they had been for so long and not gotten to redefine once thrust back into the quest, but he still thought of him as such in that context.
But that wasn't what this argument was supposed to be about.
With Quentin approaching him, he lowered his hand down to his side. He went stiff in Quentin's arms for a few moments. "You’re fucking annoying," he retorted, but with more levity than prior moments. He was conceding. Arms shifted and wrapped around the shorter man's frame.
“We’ll have to have it eventually and I doubt I just decided out of the blue. I’m sure we talked about it.” Because they had to have. If not, he could see Eliot being angry, but who else was going to stay? That was his main point. How were they going to be able to safely get out if no one else was willing to stay? Alice was going back to forget herself (as far as he knew at that time), Margo and Eliot had Fillory, Penny was dead, Julia was a god (at that time), Josh was Josh. If Todd had been there, sure they would have had another option. Todd would have stayed, but he wasn’t there, so he couldn’t. But this wasn’t what he wanted to argue about right now. “But I don’t want to fight about this right now.”
Quentin did roll his eyes this time at Eliot’s response. “Don’t make me come up there, Waugh.” Which was a slight joke about how tall Eliot was in comparison. “I will find something to hit you with. Probably a pillow.” Because he didn’t want to hurt Eliot, he was just frustrated by him sometimes. Like now. But it was hard to stay mad when he felt Eliot’s arms around him. “I’m sorry about Annie and Finnick and the kids and Damon and everyone. I’m sorry I’ve been sort of in my own head recently. I’m sorry there’s no magic to make you feel better about everything that’s going on. But you’re not alone. I’m here. For whatever that’s worth. I’m here.”
Eliot wasn't sure they talked about it but he couldn't say for certain. Neither of them had lived it. But clearly Eliot hadn't agreed with the decision back home. If he had, why would he have altered the plan once they were inside the Castle? It felt like something Eliot would have never agreed to and if Quentin did it without him agreeing, even after they discussed it, that was even worse. "I don't either," he agreed, because he didn't want to fight at all.
And that fight, whenever it was fully given the attention it would need, was going to be exhausting.
"You'd have to get a ladder," he quipped, with the corner of his lips turning slightly up into a smirk. Then he gave a huff. There was a mental retort about a sexy pillow party that crossed through his mind but like so many things these days with Quentin, he left it unspoken and in his mind instead. He drew in a breath. "You don't need to be sorry. I wasn't mad at you," he reminded him. He just didn't want to talk about it, by clear evidence that he skipped right over the apology that involved their names specifically.
There was nothing to be done about that.
"Don't go anywhere, Q," he whispered.
“Shut up.” But he didn’t mean it. Not really. Which was why he hadn’t sounded serious at all. He also didn’t say the first thing that popped into his head - something along the lines of knowing how to climb trees - but that was more about self preservation than making Eliot more comfortable. He doubted Eliot would have minded. “I’ll just climb on a chair.” He missed the times when things felt less there and he thought he’d been doing better, but he guessed things had gotten complicated along the way.
“I’m not,” he replied. “I mean not permanently. Just this weekend I’m not going to be here.” He knew he’d said it on Kurt’s post, but he wasn’t sure if Eliot saw it or not.
There was a smile that Eliot hid partially behind Quentin's hair because of the angle he was holding the man at before he shook his head. He said nothing else, as he was about to put up the guards again that he held in place to keep from harming Quentin, but then Quentin replied. Eliot had meant that he didn't want Quentin to leave this universe and not necessarily not to leave Tumbleweed. He didn't care about Quentin going away and actively encouraged it.
But he hadn't actually seen Quentin say he was going away. It was news to him. And had Eliot not been holding Quentin when he realized, it wouldn't have been obvious, but he was and he couldn't stop himself before his body went rigid. He pulled back from Quentin now and took a step backwards, looking at him. "Oh."
His brain caught up and he began nodding, "Yeah, okay. Cool. Where to?"
The shift in Eliot’s body language and the way he pulled back left Quentin with the very distinct feeling that he’d done something wrong. He carefully wrapped his arms over his stomach as if hugging himself. He didn’t look up right away when Eliot spoke. In fact, it took him a moment to even register that he hadn’t looked up or responded. He’d said it in his head, but his mouth hadn’t opened to say the words.
“I - Um. New Orleans. Napoleon asked if I wanted to go somewhere for the weekend since we haven’t seen much of each other.” It wasn’t a full lie, just a partial lie and Quentin hated himself for it. “Also he thought maybe I could use a couple days of tourist things to focus on. Margo’s coming, too.” He wasn’t sure if she would be okay or angry with him for telling Eliot, but it was better to tell him than to not tell him. She’d have to tell him first. “There’s a lot of bookstores and museums to wander around in. Some night life stuff. It’s only the weekend.”
Eliot's own mind was rushing. It was confirmation, wasn't it? Quentin was going away days after Eliot had told him the news. It was either confirmation or a massive coincidence. And though it felt like a knife being twisted in a wound that was already there, for Eliot had been fairly downtrodden already about not being able to feel happy around Quentin or Margo, he wasn't going to make Quentin feel guilty for doing what he needed to handle this. He wasn't going to be mad at Quentin for his emotions and watching the man wrap his arms around his middle, he wanted to apologize and make that clear.
"Napoleon," Eliot replied. Eliot had noticed a definitive lack of Napoleon as of late but he hadn't pressed. He tried not to press when it came to what Quentin was doing. He kept his questions to being spoken when Quentin came to him with information but he noticed all the same. Of course, Eliot had spent decades with Quentin and even if it was a truth, Eliot knew there was more to it. He accepted there was more to it and he was ready to begin the facade he'd perfected early on his life but rarely used with Quentin, largely because Quentin was prone to calling out that defense mechanism.
But then he said Margo, too.
He said nothing for far too long of an expanse of time. If it wasn't confirmation before, it was confirmation now. Everything else Quentin had said felt like white noise in Eliot's ears. He eventually cobbled together words, and the smile, and then the facade was on display. "You'll need more than a weekend for New Orleans proper. And you must go to the French Quarter. I insist. And don't fight Bambi about any of the night scene, you know she has an eye for finding the best spots."
It hadn’t been about that as much as it was that Eliot was here. Another Eliot that seemed so different and similar at the same time and he had a lot of emotions surrounding that that had been difficult to sort through up close as he was to the situation right now. He was sad in a way about Eliot’s engagement, but he hadn’t been lying when he said he was happy for him. He was. He just needed the information to settle. He still hadn’t talked to Margo about everything. He knew the new Eliot had been a lot for her, though.
Eliot’s change again was false and Quentin could spot it. His brow furrowed then and he frowned. “Don’t you start that with me.” He didn’t want the Eliot that the other man put on as an act. “I can accept just about anything else, but don’t…” His voice needed a moment to get back to itself because he felt the dull ache in his chest that came with the knowledge of what that facade meant. “Don’t do that.” His voice was soft because he didn’t trust it to be any louder than that. “Please.” His gaze dropped after a moment. “I just need some time to sort through my head or get some perspective and it’s more about Eliot than anything else. I’ve been trying to figure out how I feel about that and I can’t do that when I’m this close."
With anyone else, he could have just plowed through the words and continued on with the act. He'd pretend as though he didn't know what they were talking about. It wasn't possible with Quentin. Not anymore. He exhaled and his head bowed with his arms crossing over his chest. He shut his eyes and felt them sting. Fucking, great. He pulled in another breath and kept his head down with his eyes closed.
He gave a nod of his head. He supposed that made sense. He didn't want to ask exactly needed to be figured out in that arena. "You should do whatever you need, Q. If that means getting away to comb through it, I support that."
After all, he hadn't really asked Quentin how he was managing the new Eliot.
Quentin’s throat felt tight, but there was a feeling of relief that the act had been dropped. He hated that they were trying to be different with each other when this was the problem with things in their group. He’d even talked to Alice about it.
“Thank you.” His voice was still soft and he felt the urge to move closer again, but he hesitated because he wasn’t sure it would be welcomed. He took a step closer after a moment, gaze lifting just enough to see how Eliot would react. If he tensed up, then Quentin would let it go, but if not, maybe he could move closer. “I love you, Eliot.”
Eliot opened his eyes and lifted his gaze to look at Q. He did not acknowledge the way his eyes were glistening and instead offered up the smile in response to the gratitude. He watched as the man took a step closer, sensing the hesitation, and opted to give encouragement instead. He took a step forward and this time it was Eliot who initiated the hug, bowing his head down as he did.