WHO: Eliot Waugh and Steve Rogers WHEN: Friday morning, the 23rd. WHERE: Two different places~ WHAT: Eliot calls Steve to apologize. WARNINGS: language, maybe? STATUS: complete!
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It was far too early for El's tastes. He and Kylo, ultimately, hadn't returned to the boat. Sleep wasn't something he could luxuriate in like normal. Not when the bed was not quite long or wide enough for two full grown men. Or when the bed wasn't completely soft the way Eliot preferred. Noises crept into the space far easier and he'd tossed and turned more than usual. When he'd wake, his mind would be plagued by the same concerns he'd had before he laid down by Kylo.
The sun was up and he had gone outside. His hair was getting close to wild in appearance. He pondered the notion of a bath later that morning, if the Inn even could provide a thing. He pushed fingertips through sweat dried hair and brought up a hand rolled cigarette to his lips as he looked to his phone.
He had told Kylo he thought it best to not intervene any longer. To stay away. Only, the trouble was, his mind had wandered back to the Fall; when there had been the initial tension formed between Kylo and Margo. It was by no means the same. Margo's intentions had been born out of love but they'd caused Eliot months of frustration, which was nothing to say of how it had affected Kylo.
And all he could think was how maybe just one begrudging apology might have made all the difference.
With a heavy sigh, he hit the dial feature on the tablet, opting for calling through the network instead of writing a correspondence. Tone was important. This couldn't be done in writing. And, hopefully, he wouldn't be ignored. But he had to try.
He took another drag from the cigarette as he waited.
Steve had been up for a while, actually. He got up and had a run with Sasha through Rohan. It was breathtaking. He would be sad to go, but at least there were other things to look forward to. He was coming back into the suite he shared with James when he heard his phone go off.
Looking at the caller ID, he saw that it was Eliot. Goddamn, kid, take a hint.
Steve hit the button to answer and held it awkwardly as he tried to usher Sasha into the room. The dog started to bark the moment the line went open. Steve took a second and let her bark loudly for a moment or two. Then he said as flatly as he could, “Yes?”
"Hey," Eliot said, in a voice that didn't hold his usual gravitas and bravado. It sounded more natural, not as though he were trying to put on a performance; and it was completely exhausted sounding.
He brought his hand that was holding the cigarette up and pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes, wiping at them for a moment.
"You got a minute?"
Steve turned to shut the door and shushed Sasha by throwing a toy that was near his feet. There was the very audible sound of Steve sighing and switching hands with the phone. “I have a minute.” He noticed Eliot’s voice sounding a little softer, but still expected the worst.
He walked over to the couch and sat down as gently as possible, back painfully straight.
"Alright," there was an audible pause on Eliot's end, which could have been deceiving in making one believe he had gone all together. But after a few moments there was an intake of breath.
"Yesterday was bad," he began as he shifted to lean against the tree. He didn't think it wise to give excuses and it would have been a breach of trust between him and Kylo if he went into detail. "And I'm not saying I didn't mean what I said, because I think we'd both know that is a lie, but what I am saying is... I'm sorry."
Steve tilted his head when the line seemed to go dead. That had to be a mistake, Eliot wouldn’t crank call him.
Then the apology came, and Steve was the one who was quiet. A beat later and he spoke, “I accept your apology, Eliot. I’m sorry that I hurt Quentin.” Not if, but owning up to the fact that Quentin was hurt and it was Steve’s fault.
In the silence that followed, Eliot took a drag from the cigarette. His hand lowered with Steve's words. "Yeah," he responded, ineloquently, before he brought in a breath. "You were right. It wasn't my place." A beat.
"Look, I --- Q is my best friend. I love him, you know?" He moved to rub at the back of his neck. "And just because I think what I said was right doesn't mean I should have said it. He was trying to talk to you and --- I don't want to be what messed up a chance for something good for him."
Steve listened carefully, as if he could see through the phone if he did it hard enough. “I know that, Eliot. I know what it’s like to be angry on behalf of your best friend.” Did he ever. He wanted to add ‘and wrong,’ but did not.
“I told him I’d leave him alone, it’s not a problem anymore.” He pinched the bridge of his nose after saying it, feeling horrible for implying Quentin was a problem.
"If he wanted you to leave him alone, he wouldn't have been trying to talk to you," Eliot pointed out as he snuffed out the remainder of the cigarette between his fingers. It got pocketed and he wrapped his free arm around his torso.
He tilted his head to the side again, much like a confused dog. “That’s … yeah, okay, you have a point there. Eliot, I’m not sure what I’m doing and I don’t want Quentin to get caught up in that. He feels more than other people do, he has more empathy and he’s sensitive… I don’t want to hurt that.”
"Too late," Eliot commented. It wasn't meant to be callous. It was simply truthful. "You already got him caught up in it. I'm not saying start stuff up with him again," he paused, because he really was against that at the present moment but he withheld that commentary, "I'm just saying let him be part of the conversation. Having you as a friend was doing wonders for him. And you were talking to him. He was talking to you. Don't let my words severe an attempt to at least keep your friendship."
Another beat. "Or don't. Really that's up to you but...I hope you'll take that into consideration."
“I did kind of … shut him down. I’ll talk to him, Eliot. I didn’t … I just got angry because of how you reacted to me. I didn’t want to be the bad guy.” He took in Eliot’s words, really feeling a little horrible for telling Quentin they weren’t friends anymore.
“We have a lot in common, Q and I. I do n- want him in my life.” Need is a strong word.
"I do not react well to an upset Quentin," Eliot freely admitted, "And I had an upset --- I had others upset, too." He took in a deep breath and brought his finger and thumb up to the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. "Yeah, well, I'm the bad guy."
"Pretty sure that feeling is mutual, Steve."
“You’re not a bad guy, or The bad guy, even. I went through a whole lot worse to protect Bucky. I know what it’s like. I’m sorry for reacting poorly to you. I should have just ignored it and chalked it up to elevated feelings.” Steve sighed, glad that he could somehow apologize for something. Steve always wanted to be the one to apologize.
"Mmm," Eliot mused as he pulled his hand away from his face and let it fall back by his side. He was the bad guy, at the moment, in Quentin's eyes. Q hadn't blown up but the final comment that had been spoken to him, and the subsequent radio silence, made him certain of it. He shrugged it off. "Well, like I said, I'm sorry regardless."
He half wanted to ask if Steve was going to reach out but he wasn't going to push it. "Look, I need to get back in. I'm going to let you go."
“I’m sorry, too, Eliot. I’m glad we got that out of the way.” Steve thought about it-- he’d give Quentin a few days before saying anything.
“Thanks for calling. I’ll see you around. Bye, Eliot.” He kept using his name, to make sure the other man knew that he was sincere. It was just something Steve did.