WHERE Eliot's apartment •
WHEN The day of Q's arrival •
WHAT Eliot finally gets his chance to make up for that "peaches and plums" moment and gets too scared to take it •
STATUS Complete •
WARNINGS Angst and Queliot ahead
Quentin stared down at the Metro card in his hands, taking a deep breath before stepping forward. He was, if not entirely, at least mostly at peace with what had happened. It wasn't that he wanted to be dead. For maybe the first time in his life, he really didn't. But he could acknowledge that what he'd done had been necessary. Everett couldn't be allowed that much power and Quentin was the only one who could stop him. Sacrificing his life was something he could - pardon the poor word choice - live with. At least Penny had helped him see that it hadn't been his depression getting the best of him - pushing him into a suicide that could be seen as noble. If he'd had a choice, if there had been any other way, he never would have left his friends like that. He would have done anything in his power to stay with them. And that made it easier to accept that he hadn't been able to. Because, at the end of the day, the world had been more important than what he wanted.
He regretted that the others were hurting. That they were hurting because of him just made it that much worse. Honestly he regretted Julia's pain most of all. She was his oldest friend and his best friend and he never wanted to cause her pain. She'd had more than enough of that over the years. But Jules always got through things. She'd get through this too. And Alice was strong. She'd survive this. She'd maybe even be better for it. She could grieve and move on without another messy dissolution of their relationship. He could see with a little distance that they had been clinging to each other because they didn’t have anything else and that it hadn’t been good or healthy for either of them. If he’d survived they would have fallen apart again, the way they always did. A relationship between them wasn’t tenable. Eliot hurt the most. Of course he did. Because no matter how much he'd tried, after the mosaic and his stupid decision to put himself out there only to be rejected, he hadn't been able to stop loving him. Even when he'd made yet another attempt with Alice, he hadn't been able to stop. He'd wanted so badly to save him, and he had, but he'd never gotten him back. Not really. Eliot had been unconscious and then Quentin had died and they never managed a moment together - just one after everything. He wished they had. Even if Eliot hadn't felt the same way, he still wished they'd gotten that closure. If nothing else, he wished he could have given Eliot that.
He didn't know what was waiting for him on the other side, but he hoped it was peaceful. Maybe that wasn't what he deserved, but he could hope. Maybe he'd see his dad, or Teddy - if that was even possible, if people from timelines that never happened got an afterlife - or just find some peace. He thought of a cottage half remembered and a woman with red hair whose face wasn't clear and maybe Eliot showing up one day, and thought that might be the perfect afterlife.
He wasn't expecting Vallo.
To be fair, he wasn't sure anyone could reasonably expect Vallo. It was an odd and interesting place, he was finding, with people who seemed to know him but from other worlds. He wasn't exactly sure what to think about it. In fairness, he was the fortieth Quentin Coldwater just in his own world. Maybe there were others in other places. A multitude of selves. But he could think about that another time. For now, Jules and Eliot were here.
Maybe he should have gone to Jules first. He owed her that. But the second Eliot had spoken to him, hesitant and confused and hopeful, there had never been another choice. He'd headed straight for the address Eliot had given him, knowing Jules would understand. Of course she would. She'd seen him tear himself apart trying to get Eliot back.
He stood outside the door for a moment, struck with a sudden hesitation. There was so much between him and Eliot, so much unsaid.
Fifty years. Who gets proof of concept like that?
Peaches and plums, motherfucker.
He shook his head, steeling himself and knocking on the door.
In a word, Eliot was terrified.
None of this was fair. Not the hotel that had thrown new horrors at him every week. Not Tumbleweed where there was already an Eliot, and a Quentin that seemed to prefer that more put together, more Time Key version of himself that wasn’t a complete trainwreck and a fuckup.
He had wanted to see Quentin the second his friend arrived. And now that Q was behind the door, Eliot was on the other side of it and hesitating before he could bring himself to open it.
When he did, it flew open. Like ripping off a bandaid. Best to get it over with. But then Eliot was frozen because Q was right fucking there and Eliot found he didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t considered what he looked like, with stubble just short of a beard on his face and long hair he hadn’t bothered to cut since being possessed by a monster.
He was by far better dressed than the monster. But that didn’t make him in better shape.
Because it wasn’t fucking fair.
Q was here. And fucking Vallo could take him away again at anytime, and that would just make this moment so much more worse.
Eliot managed to swallow in his terror.
It was Q.
“Hi,” he said. He even smiled despite looking like he might also-- no-- he was starting to cry. There was no might about it. “I don’t suppose you remember a hotel that tried to kill us every week, or a small town in Texas called Tumbleweed?”
There was Eliot.
He was right there, looking real and beautiful - okay, he looked like kind of a mess but somehow he made even that look good. And it was him. It was Eliot. Eliot, who Quentin had missed like an ache between his ribs. Eliot who he had fought so hard for and still somehow lost. Part of him, the quiet, insidious whisper inside of him that insisted this couldn't be real, was sure this was some trick of the afterlife. Giving him a shadow of something he had wanted so badly.
But he knew this wasn't that. He had known every moment that he was with the monster that it wasn't Eliot. Had known in some soul deep way that it was a travesty wearing his skin. It looked like Eliot, and spoke with his voice, but it wasn't him and could never be him. The movements were wrong. The words were wrong. It even smelled different. There were parodies of intimacy that were nothing like the casual affection he had always shared with the other magician. He would know Eliot anywhere, and he had known the absence of him just as plainly. And he knew with a certainty he rarely felt that this was the same. If this was an illusion, he would have known. He would have looked at Eliot's face and known it wasn't really him. Heard his voice and felt the lie in it. No fake could ever capture Eliot for him.
But there was no lie in the devastation on that face. In the crack in his voice. Quentin didn't know how, couldn't put it into words, but he knew it was Eliot. And Eliot was looking at him like that and there were tears in his eyes and Quentin felt like his heart was splintering in the face of that look. He'd never been able to cope with Eliot's grief. With his pain. It tugged at that part of him that sought to mend things and made him want to do anything in the world that might fix it. Because Eliot was spectacular and amazing and grief didn't suit him.
"Hi." It was just one word and it wasn't enough but Quentin was still reeling from the gut punch of having Eliot right in front of him when he thought he would never get to see him again. Then the question registered and he cocked his head slightly. "People keep asking me things like that. Hotels. Texas. Atlantis. I've never been to any of those...though Atlantis would be pretty cool. And the hotel thing definitely sounds like something that would happen to us. Last thing I remember is-"
The mirror splintering.
Knowing he was the only one who could stop Everett.
Mending the mirror knowing the consequences.
Alice screaming as Penny dragged her away.
Pain.
Nothing.
"Penny gave me a metro card," he said. "Told me I'd earned some peace. And then I went to use it...and I was here."
He took a deep breath. "Are you...god, Eliot..." His voice cracked slightly and he had to take a moment to compose himself.
"It's really you," he said finally, tone heavy with relief and awe. "I...I thought that I...that we lost you." He was moving forward almost before he could think about it, wrapping his arms around Eliot and hugging him tightly. It was nothing like the monster's parodies of affection. It was real and reassuring and something settled in Quentin's chest with the contact. "I missed you...just...so much."
It was too much. Eliot couldn’t stand the distance between them any longer. If he’d been just a little more himself, he would have pulled Quentin into his apartment, said a lot of words, sounded impressive, been the perfect host, offered his guest a cocktail, answered all his questions.
But he didn’t.
Instead Q was hugging him right there in his doorway and nothing had ever felt more right. Eliot’s arms wrapped around Q reflexively and he held onto him tightly. This wasn’t Quentin who had been at the hotel briefly with him, who clearly had feelings for him that Eliot had brushed aside. This wasn’t the Quentin in Texas, who had feelings for a different Eliot, and Eliot got to feel what it was like to not be quite… it.
It was a whole new Quentin to let down and disappoint in some new way.
“Okay, there’s probably a few things I should tell you…” The side of Eliot’s face found a perch on the crown of Quentin’s head and rested there. “But after. ...Maybe in an hour. ….I’m not moving.” Eliot squeezed Quentin a little tighter.
He hadn't quite realized how much he missed Eliot. He'd known, of course, that he missed him. It was impossible not to when he'd been faced with his absence every day. When he'd been right there but not. The monster had wanted so badly to replace him in Quentin's affections, but it had never managed it. Because Eliot was a singular individual. Because no imitation could ever live up.
Because, in spite of the fact he knew it was hopeless, Quentin loved him.
But he hadn't known how deep that feeling was until right now. With Eliot here, he could see just how pale an imitation the monster had been. Because even his memory of Eliot couldn't live up to the reality of him. It had been so long and he was right here, alive and whole and real, and Quentin couldn't bring himself to regret anything because he had Eliot back now.
He laughed, the sound choked and a little wet, burying his face against Eliot's neck as he hugged him tighter.
"That's fine," he said, relaxing completely against the taller man. "I don't want to go anywhere. We can stay like this as long as you want." It was probably ridiculous, two grown men standing in a doorway, clinging to one another like it would physically hurt them to separate, but Quentin didn't care. He had Eliot back and that was all that mattered.
Eliot felt a little better to hear the sound of Quentin almost sobbing. Maybe it was inappropriate to smile but what were feelings anyway? Someone had missed him, as much as he missed them. It was a strange comfort.
So they lingered there a while. Eliot wasn’t interested in keeping time. It wasn’t until he was ready, did he slip out of the embrace, find Q’s hand, and pull him into his apartment. It looked like a lover’s move but instead of leading Quentin to the bedroom, he set him on the couch instead and proceeded to play host, finding bottles of alcohol to make a comforting and familiar cocktail.
“Okay, so things I should tell you…” Eliot started. He had poured out exact levels of pretension in a shaker and busied his hands so Quentin couldn’t see him fidget. “This isn’t like Fillory, or any of the other worlds the Neitherlands leads to. This is something else. I call them Kidnapping Pocket Dimensions. They’re semi conscious, they pick their favorites, and they bring them over to play with them.”
Eliot paused. That sounded a lot like The Monster. In case of The Hotel, that wasn’t far off, but perhaps his word choice was not terribly reassuring. Eliot cleared his throat.
“They get away with this because they all typically use some kind of bi-location. I’m here, but I’m also back home. You’re here, but you’re also in the Underworld so no pissing off Hades or whoever that might be upset with the whole upsetting the entire natural order sort of thing.”
Eliot poured his creation into two glasses, and holding them in his hands, brought one over to Q. He took a drink from his and tried to pretend he felt marginally better for doing so.
“Q, I’ve been in one of these KPDs since being crowned High King in Fillory and you, Margo, Alice, and Penny all left to get your tramp stamps.” He let that information settle onto Quentin. “Then occasionally, I got memories from home. Memories of what I was doing, while still being in a KPD. This is the third one I’ve been in so far.”
Quentin's heart skipped a beat or several as Eliot took him by the hand and pulled him into the apartment. It was a very charged move, heavy with something they both made a point not to speak of. Something they had avoided speaking of ever since the one time that Quentin had attempted to speak of it and had wrecked everything. He didn't speak now, wary of breaking whatever fragile something existed between them, just allowed Eliot to lead him over to the couch.
He watched as Eliot made drinks. He'd always found it fascinating, the way Eliot's hands moved with such certainty as he put together his concoctions. It put him at ease, made everything just that little bit easier. Which was good, because the things that Eliot was saying were a lot to take in.
"Oh." He said. "That's...that's not great." Being kidnapped to a pocket dimension was pretty much the opposite of great. "I mean...being alive isn't exactly bad, but it's definitely a lot to take in." Picking favorites. Playing with them. It made him think of the Monster and the things it had done and he had to remind himself that they had gotten rid of it. This wasn't that.
The idea of being here but also dead in the Underworld was...well, honestly it was a lot. That was a whole lot to process. Was he actually Quentin? Was he some recreation that wasn't actually real? He could feel his mind start to spiral the way it so often did, familiar anxieties rising up to overwhelm him. He forcibly shoved that down, marking it as too complicated to think about in the moment.
He took the drink from Eliot and was glad for it when his friend continued. What did that mean? What did it mean for their friendship? Did Eliot remember what had happened between them? Did he remember the time loop? Did he remember how Quentin felt? He hesitated for a moment, then downed the drink in one go to drown out the sudden dizziness that came with the idea that he might not mean nearly as much to Eliot as the other man did to him. Not if Eliot had spent so long in other worlds with other people who were undoubtedly better than him.
"What..." he took a shaky breath. "What do you remember then? About home?"
Okay, sure Eliot had just made sheer perfection in a glass, but rather than be insulted by the way Quentin hurried it down, Eliot followed his lead. Okay, maybe perfection in a glass was over stating things. It was decent.
He swallowed. “I…” He didn’t really want to rehash his mistakes, his regrets, Quentin’s death. “Julia tried to save the world, I sort of fucked it up and the moon exploded. Then the day kept repeating itself because of whales. To be fair, I thought the monster was trying to come back-- with the moon exploding, not the whales. I had to convince them to release a kraken? ...I don’t know. Does any of this matter?”
Did Q watch them? From wherever he was? Or did he simply move on? Would he forget them? Maybe he would memory update from some sort of heavenly realm and become some sort of enlightened Jesus? Eliot didn’t know how it fucking worked.
“Oh, also Charlton lives in my head. The person I shot in the castle. Not the monster, that was just his body. He isn’t here right now though, he usually likes to stay in my memories of the beach or tv binge watching.” Eliot’s expression softened. He really did sound mad, and saying the words out loud made him question himself a little.
He wanted to tell Quentin everything.
It was just… hard. To tell him the things that actually mattered so Eliot scrambled to tell him everything else instead.
“We’re here now,” Eliot said. He was almost working his way to saying something important. He knew he had a moment to make up for, to atone for. His cowardice after the time loop. “But the way KPDs work, either one of us could disappear at any time for no reason at all. That goes for Julia or anyone else that shows up here that you will get to know and give two fucks about. So just…” Eliot pressed his lips together in a sort of hopeless frown. Make the most of it? Love them the way you always wanted to? “...keep that in mind and be careful, okay?”
Eliot was so tired of losing people. He hadn’t decided if it was cruel that Quentin was here, when he feared it wouldn’t last more than a few months. “I’m making another drink. Feel free to ask me more questions.”
Did it matter?
Quentin supposed that was the real question. Did it matter if, in some ways, this wasn't his Eliot. There had been forty different timelines after all, and different variations. If he had showed up and there was an Eliot from timeline thirteen or twenty-nine or six and a half, would it stop him from caring about him? Sure, some things would be different. A lot of things would be different. Things had changed and altered every time, Jane's attempts to defeat the Beast through variations on a theme creating far reaching ripples.
But it would still be Eliot. Just like this was still Eliot. Nothing Jane could have done, and nothing time in other worlds could have done, would have altered him to such a degree that Quentin wouldn't care about him. He would still love him, because Quentin was done hiding from that fact. He loved Eliot. And it didn't matter that Eliot didn't feel the same way - or probably didn't feel the same, that moment where he had broken through the Monster's hold so briefly had given Quentin a painful sort of hope - because Quentin could live with it. So long as Eliot was in his life and whole and safe, then that was all that mattered.
But from the sound of things, even being in another world, Eliot had memories of things even beyond Quentin's death. Or at least Quentin assumed that was what it was. That, or Eliot was from a wildly different timeline where they had...blown up the moon? Okay, he wasn't sure any of them had ever had that on their weird shit bingo cards but that was pretty impressive.
So no. It didn't matter, not really. But he'd had his reasons for asking. "I just..." he shrugged. "I wanted to be sure you...remembered me. I mean...obviously you do. But I wanted to be sure-" That he mattered. That he was important to Eliot. That he meant something to him. "It doesn't matter. I'm just...really glad you're here. I really did miss you."
All that time with the Monster had worn him thin and he'd never been able to appreciate having Eliot back. But he was here now and they had another chance. Part of him wanted to just tell Eliot exactly how he felt and damn the consequences. But the other part of him, the part that angsted and overthought everything, didn't want to ruin things. And it could ruin things. So he would just appreciate Eliot's presence and friendship and not ask for too much.
He didn't like the idea that any of them could just vanish, but he simply nodded. "For what it's worth," he said gently, knowing the others had to be worried that would happen to him, "I don't plan on going anywhere. Not if I can help it. And you know I can be stubborn when I want to be."
He hesitated a moment, thinking of so many questions he could ask. In the end though, there was only one. Because he'd seen something in Eliot's eyes and he worried. "How are you, El?" he asked. "Really?"
I just… wanted to be sure you…
Eliot’s face broke a little. His brows went up, his lips smiled-- but his eyes looked like they were pleading. Quentin wasn’t going to make this easy. Why would it be?
So he closed the distance between them, pulled Quentin in close, and -- it didn’t matter if they were close -- Eliot was still scared, still running. Metaphorically. Which was why the taller man embraced Q instead of telling him the truth.
“Like I could ever forget you,” El said. El perched the side of his face on the crown of Q’s head. It was the second question that caused El to swallow down his nerves. Or try to.
“My boyfriend disappeared. For the second time. But at least he’s probably still alive. He vanished the same day Margo did. My boyfriend before that? Jesus, he’s-- he doesn’t make it back on his world. I found out after. I am tired, Q. I’m really fucking tired.”
But at least there was some honesty there. Charlton would be so proud.
This was nice. It was good. Eliot keeping him close. Being there and being able to touch him. He'd missed Eliot so much. Had spent so long tearing himself apart and running himself into the ground to try to get him back. And now Eliot was here and okay and it settled something inside of Quentin to have him there. God he'd missed him.
He'd tried to stop loving Eliot after the rejection. Honestly he had. He'd tried to move on. Focused on the quests and saving magic to the exclusion of all else. And maybe if Eliot hadn't been stolen from him, he might have found a way to move on if only to respect what Eliot wanted. But then he'd lost Eliot and it was like losing a part of himself and he'd realized that this feeling was never going to go away.
But he wasn't the kind of asshole who forced his feelings onto someone else. So he held onto them and kept them safe, but didn't push them Eliot's way. They were his and they were important, but he could keep them to himself. This was enough for him, having Eliot in his life.
But that didn't mean his heart didn't skip a beat when Eliot said that he could never forget him.
And it didn't mean that it didn't hurt when he followed that up by talking about his boyfriend. Eliot had someone. Eliot had found someone else and loved them and it felt not unlike a knife between his ribs. But Eliot had also lost someone, and any disappointment Quentin felt was outweighed by concern for his friend.
"I'm...really sorry," he said, unsure of how to comfort him. He brought a hand up, running his fingers through Eliot's hair. "Maybe...maybe he'll come back? There's got to be a chance...right?"
He hesitated a moment. "What was he like?"
Eliot shook his head. Of course there was a chance, that was the terrifying part. Just like Q coming back. Eliot was so fucking tired of losing people.
But losing Q again?
Eliot wrapped his arms a little more tightly around Quentin, the way he hadn’t been able to once he was back, once the monster was gone.
“I don’t want to talk about that right now.”
He just wanted to hold Quentin.
Quentin gave a sigh as Eliot held him that much tighter, relaxing just that little bit more.
"Okay," he said, tone gentle, "We don't have to talk about anything."
They could just stay like this for as long as they wanted.