king_quentin (king_quentin) wrote in thedisplaced, @ 2018-03-01 02:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, eliot waugh, quentin coldwater |
Who: Quentin Coldwater & Eliot Waugh
What: Quentin and Eliot discuss the family they now remember having.
Where: Outside and Inside Kylo & Eliot's Suite
When: Early Morning, March 1st.
Warnings: Passing references to arranged marriages, kidnapping, cannibalism, and character deaths. None of these are elaborated on but mentioned here just to be safe.
Rating: S for spoilers for S3 of The Magicians; through 3x05. Otherwise, PG because it's the Magicians and they curse.
Waking up that morning had come with a surge of new memories, new emotions, and things he had to sort through all at once, but one thing had stood out to him above all of those things. Everything that bubbled up was silenced by one thing. He and Eliot had spent a lifetime together, had had a family together. He had outlived Eliot. He felt the emotions of the knowledge wash over him and every time he thought he’d pulled himself out of it, they pulled him under again until he knew there was only one way to deal with them. He had to find Eliot. Searching for Eliot had felt like an arduous task because he had no idea where to start. There were too many options, too many possibilities, and he couldn’t really pinpoint an exact spot where he’d find him. But Quentin had to try. He had to find Eliot and see if he knew, see if he was in the same place as him. Did both of them know? Did only he know? He could handle being the only one that knew. It would be a lot, he knew that, but at least he’d still know. They’d had a son. Rupert. He’d had a son. He’d been happy. The most tenuous of all things, the most unattainable for him, for all of them. Somehow, sometime, somewhere they’d been happy and they’d been together. So despite the overwhelming feeling of loss and confusion, Quentin felt a sort of peace, but he knew it wouldn’t feel complete until he saw his best friend. He needed Eliot in that moment, needed to be close to him in any small way. Everything felt different and he needed his best friend no matter what he knew or didn’t know. Eliot had never woken with new memories before. There'd been a moment, when he was coming out of the lull of slumber, where he'd turned and nuzzled his face up against Kylo's shoulder, just barely conscious. And a moment later, his mind was beginning to wander, the way it sometimes would in the quietest of spaces. Any other morning when this would occur, when he'd find himself feeling nostalgic for the past, it'd be memories long past. Things such as a time when he felt safe and cared for by his family, which was so far back that he couldn't even say how old he had been, but that he'd get a flash of memory of his Father holding him in his lap as they rode a tractor trailer through the fields. Or of how his Mother would hoist him up onto one of the kitchen chairs, so he could be able to reach the kitchen counter, and laddle out krisped rice covered in marshmallows into a baking pan. More common, however, was memories that didn't lead him to immediate disappointment the way his family did. These memories were almost exclusively his adult life. New York. A boy reinventing himself and his persona in a Post-Bush era. He'd remember stepping through the portal and onto the Brakebills campus for his entrance exam. He'd remember meeting Margo and how his life changed almost instantly. He'd remember a boy coming through, much as he had a year prior, and how he'd looked that boy up and down with skeptical eyes. More recent memories would be something as simple as the game of Strip Poker with Kylo, as they all tried to cope with the anxiety that had been building as they approached the singularity, or how Kylo's lips had felt against his own the first time Eliot had kissed the man. This morning, so close to his lover, his mind wandered but it wandered into as of yet unfamiliar territory. Eliot had far more to catch up on than anyone else who'd come to this reality from their home one. He'd long been established as the one with the least information. He was constantly getting verbal updates but never memories of his own. His last memory had been conflicting feelings as he lay next to Fen, completely exposed, and uncertain as to how to act in her presence; one of the few times in his life where he didn't know how to properly treat a lover. He'd not held her close in the aftermath. He'd barely spoke to her. And sleep hadn't come easily to him, with the threat of the Beast hanging over his head, and the clutch of sobriety making the night even harder. He hadn't known what came next. And now he did, as waves and waves washed over him. The updates he'd been given by his friends were now no longer facts. They were memories and now he had context. He knew precisely where his mind had been at during all of it. Time moved faster in Fillory than it did on Earth so there was over a years worth of time suddenly thrust upon him. Memories of getting to know his wife, of being made to feel guilty for wanting any type of visual aid to help him during their coupling, and then the measures of making a Golem for him to use just so he could prance off to Earth to be included in the action; both in the happenings with everything at Brakebills and his own sexual identity. He remembered the anxiety that washed over him as Fen announced her pregnancy. He remembered his declaration of what type of Father he wanted to be. He remembered the heist and leaping in front of Quentin. And then the declaration of War. Now he had memories of Idri. God, he was fucking gorgeous, wasn't he? And then Margo. Margo and the Fairies. Sending Margo to the dungeon. His decision to bring forth democracy to Fillory and promptly being kicked out. Everything came quicker and quicker to his subconscious now. Eliot wasn't even fully aware of the fact that during all of this he was still in the room with Kylo, though he'd pulled from his lover, rolling for the edge of the bed and moving from it quickly and without grace. His robe was thrown on and he was out the door. He hadn't been mindful of his level of noise because, really, he wasn't in that room in that moment. He was in his head. The attempts to get back to Fillory. Declaring to Umber himself that Fillory was his home. The plan to stop Ember. Quentin killing Ember. Magic disappearing. Months with being stuck in Fillory with no contact at all to those he loved in Brakebills. Fen finally returning. The Fairy occupation. The quest. Their daughter, make that possible daughter, being planted among them as a spy. The muntjac. The Neitherlands. Oh, fuck. An instant gag came forth at the memory of the Neitherlands, which found Eliot rushing for the nearest surface of which he could retch in, as though doing so would empty his stomach of the substance he'd ate in the Neitherlands. And as soon as he'd retched whatever had been left in his stomach from the night before, he was gasping for air, as full on panic was sweeping over him; his Father's face front and center. His chest rose up and down. The panic would have remained if it weren't for the next memory that forced its way front and center. Quentin. Quentin. Quentin. It was like an anchor, forcing Eliot to calm, forcing him to think past what had frozen him in the Neitherlands and to move forward from that narrative. It was the promise that there was something more. His Father was dealt with and the next memory was of the Cottage, of gasping for breath after running for so long, only to find Quentin's arms around him seconds later. And then... Oh. His breathing slowed and Eliot pushed back a mess of curls that had been dangling in his eyes. He'd been crouching by the -- trash can? -- and now he slumped back, falling to rest back against his elbows as calm began to wash over him. There was the initial moments of frustration that the mosiac had brought and the frustration that came from being around one person none stop for such a length of time. But there was more. There was Quentin's company, of which Eliot had always savored, and then there was Quentin's uncertain but brash forward lean to catch Eliot's lips in his own. Then it came like flashbulbs. Quentin. Peaches. Plums. Arielle. Rupert. Everything. And on the floor, leaning back on his elbows, a noise that was unfamiliar to Eliot escaped from the back of his throat; something akin to a whimper of sorrow and adoration for a time that had been, but never was, but also always would be. He'd had a life. He'd died. He'd given his whole life to the Quest and he'd spent his every waking moment after stepping through the clock in the company of Quentin Coldwater. They'd had a life. And they'd had a family. He'd scrambled to stand. There was only a beat of thought about his actions. He needed to find Quentin. Did Quentin know this? Quentin hadn't told him of any memory updates. He'd barely managed to find himself more appropriate clothes to wear than his robe and he'd brushed his teeth, before being out the door, looking for Q, only to find him not long after in the hall. He came to a stop and looked to Quentin. "H -- hey," he stammered out, in a tone that was only ever used when he was feeling overwhelmed. And he stood there, for a moment, uncertain of what to do, just staring at Quentin. Quentin felt Eliot’s voice before he registered Eliot as being there. He couldn’t help but stare back. There were so many things to say and so many things he wanted to express that he just couldn’t find the words. So he just stared for a long time before slowly starting to move forward. “Eliot,” was all he could say as he wrapped his arms around him. Everything felt like it shifted in that moment and there was something painful and bittersweet in the knowledge of a life they hadn’t really lived but had at the same time. He just stood there, soaking in the feeling of closeness with Eliot. His chest felt tight and he could feel the start of emotions he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with. All of it felt like so much, but Eliot was here and he felt like he needed to be there, too. “Do you…” He tried to get the rest of the words out, but he couldn’t. “Did you???” Because it was still difficult to say the words, but he knew Eliot would know what he meant if he knew about everything. He hoped he did because why else would he be there? But there was always the possibility he didn’t. Quentin didn’t want to know if he didn’t remember because the very idea hurt just to think about. The motion of wrapping his arms around Quentin came as easy to Eliot as breathing. His arms were around him, pulling him in, as he leaned down just enough that he could press his cheek against the side of Quentin's head. His eyes shut and he didn't really register until that moment that he was still trembling from it all. It felt like too much. If he thought of any of it for too long, it really was too much. And the feelings that Julia had expressed upon arriving, of wishing so badly to return back to the quest, suddenly felt more than reasonable to Eliot. At least, for the briefest of moments. Eliot swallowed down, hard, not wanting to be overwhelmed by the emotions. It was hard. And he didn't pull from Quentin's arms with the question. He didn't want to. Not yet. "Rupert," was the word that Eliot spoke forth before he swallowed again and finally managed to pull himself out of Quentin's embrace, looking at his best friend straight on. And then he reached down, taking hold of Quentin's hand, and moving for the door. This felt far too open and exposed for this conversation. Thankfully, they didn't need to go far, and once out of the hallway, Eliot's hand dropped Quentin's as he looked back to him. "You --- you remember Rupert? Our Rupert?" Not Chatwin. The Chatwin's would forever be Quentin's but Rupert Coldwater? No. Rupert Coldwater was theirs. Quentin felt relief as Eliot said their son’s name and he closed his eyes to just feel it. Eliot knew. The simplest of understandings and yet it felt like the biggest understanding ever. Eliot knew. His heart ached as he remembered. Grandchildren. He had a son and he had grandchildren. “I remember.” The words were soft, like he was afraid to say it too loud. As if saying it too loud would somehow change everything. But nothing changed and he still remembered. He felt the loss of Eliot’s embrace, but he didn’t try to go back. He felt an entirely different sort of loss after that. The loss of his son and grandchildren. Did they exist in the future of Fillory? He felt a sadness lingering there. “We had a family,” he said quietly. “You…” He looked up at Eliot then. “We…” Words were difficult. “Do you think the others know?” Did it matter? No. He just needed something to say. Eliot, too, felt a wave of relief. He hadn't wanted to assume. Quentin could have been rushing to find him for another reason. After all, they'd been separated for months with the loss of magic. And Quentin had practically thrown himself into Eliot's arms when he'd escaped from the Neitherlands. It was possible. But knowing that Quentin remembered everything alleviated any possible worry about what El would have to do if Q didn't know. He would have kept the information to himself, because telling Quentin something so intimate without him actually having lived it had the potential to hurt him. And he never wanted to hurt Quentin. He gave out a shaky sigh as he flopped down and back onto a cushion without so much as a look at where he was going. His hand slipped up into the mess of his own curls. And, for a moment, he appeared lost in his own thoughts as he focused on a memory of Rupert's tiny little hand reaching out to hold onto his as they walked through the forest near the mosaic. "We had a family," Eliot repeated, as he pulled back from the memory, looking to Quentin now. They'd lived an entire life. Quentin had been Eliot's. Eliot had been Quentin's. And, later, Arielle had been Quentin's too; and it had all been okay. They'd all been happy. He swallowed as he thought on the question. "No, I don't think they do." His last memory was of hurriedly trying to hide Quentin. They didn't need the Fairy Queen to know about their other monarch returned from Earth. He didn't think they had time to talk about it back home. That didn't mean they wouldn't find out later. "Not unless they've got memories from further out. If we told them at all," he logiced, trying to pull himself back. Quentin lowered himself onto the seat next to Eliot, trying to figure out what to do or say. The look on Eliot’s face felt big. Like a feeling he couldn’t explain even though he was sure he was feeling it at the same time. He drifted off a moment, remembering so many little moments. The first time he’d held his son in his arms after he was born. The first time that he’d walked, talked. So many firsts. How could he even emotionally figure out how to handle it? He refocused on Eliot, his throat feeling tight and he ran his fingers through his hair, slouching forward with his elbows propped on his knees. “Shit.” The only person that would know outside of them was Margo. Margo knew. He wondered idly if she knew, but she wouldn’t know the feelings coursing through their veins right now or the general confusion over all the new memories and everything that came with them. At least not in this specific circumstance. Maybe her own memories. Quentin sat like that for a moment before he looked at Eliot again, through his hair more than directly. He could feel all of it sitting there, pooling in his chest. It was possible, he decided, to love more than one person in a life, more than one at one time even. Happiness was possible and he’d had it and he’d had it with Eliot. Even with all the shit that happened, the years of trying to build the mosaic, the pain of losing Arielle. All of that taken into account, Quentin knew he’d been happy and loved more than he could even have imagined before. After a moment he sat up again, pushing his hair out of his face so he could look at Eliot properly. “It’s weird how it feels like it happened now and a long time ago at the same time.” He hoped he wasn’t the only one that felt that. Eliot wondered if he would ever confided in Margo what he and Quentin had come to realize in the Throne room, with the wedding arch set up behind them. A fresh peach pressed to his lips as the memory had overtaken him. A life that had been full and had been lived, even though Margo had come and stopped them from entering the clock. She had saved them from 'their shitty life,' as she'd described it, but had it really been saving? Or was it possible that they were always meant to live that, to relish in what happiness in just living could be, so that they could grasp what was truly important. Happiness and a life fully lived. "We've got three timelines in our heads," he said, with the slightest hint of dry amusement. There were multiple others that they could possibly stumble on at a later date. Who were they to know whether or not they could receive memories from the time loops? Or future time loops that were brought on by the quest. Thinking about it too much was enough to make his head hurt, but Quentin was right. It felt as though the Quest itself was something they'd been working on for decades but also something they'd just begun. The life they'd shared together felt like it was just experienced moments before waking but also a lifetime ago. And the memories of here, of the family they'd been surrounding themselves with in Tumbleweed and everywhere in between, was both present and distant. He let out a heavy sigh and shifted, his hand pressing against his forehead as he leaned in towards Quentin. His shoulder leaned against the other Man's and he was silent for a long while as it just washed over him. Quentin didn’t move away from Eliot when he moved closer. He couldn’t really feel Eliot’s shoulder pressed against him, but he could see it. Wooden shoulder was not really made for feeling things. He felt a lot of things in that moment. He wanted to reach out for Eliot’s hand, but he didn’t. He just sat there, letting the memories sink in. There was a hint of relaxation in that moment, a knowledge that he was safe and that things he’d worried about probably weren’t things he’d needed to worry about. There was a possibility for happiness here, but he knew that this time it wouldn’t be with Eliot and that was okay. He didn’t know if it was going to happen or who it might be with and that was okay. It didn’t mean that he was going to give up. He wasn’t. He knew what he’d said, but he wouldn’t. Maybe he could even be around Steve again without it feeling the hint of sadness that came. He felt a sort of release, like that was a pain that happened a while ago as well. “I’m glad it was with you,” he said quietly. “All of it.” Eliot dipped his head down with Quentin's words as the smallest of smiles graced his features. Eliot had been aware of his feelings for Quentin back home for longer than Quentin might have suspected. It had been there, lingering, a small desire for a different sort of companionship from Quentin. Those feelings had grown into something else and far more important to Eliot. Quentin had become Eliot's best friend, the man he relied on and trusted to be the King Fillory deserved to have standing by his side. He'd put to bed the small desire for something else and had pressed on with his life. There'd been so much else to concern himself with. He had a kingdom to run, a wife to try and get to know, and later political crisis after political crisis. However, with them away from all of it in the past, the desire had reminded itself to Eliot. And the way Quentin had been the one to press forward, to take the first step, had made Eliot's heart full. Yes, he was glad. He had been more than glad. "Who wouldn't be?" He asked, as he turned his gaze sideways to look up at Quentin, giving him view of the small smile now. Eliot was always going to care and love Quentin. But those memories didn't negate the others. Eliot was one who loved deeply and it wasn't reserved to just one individual. He now had memories, in addition to Quentin and the mosaic, of actual tenderness for Fen. He had memories of worry about her in those initial months at the mosaic. And then, as the years passed on and he committed to living his life in his present at the mosaic, he had comfort in knowing that others would make sure Fen and Fray were still loved and protected. Bambi wouldn't push them away. They would have taken care of each other; even if in the end that wasn't what came to pass. In the end, though this all had happened for him and Quentin, it also hadn't. But now he knew he could be a supportive partner and a caring Father. His family, with Q and Arielle and Rupert, affirmed that. Eliot would never be what he feared. He would never be his like his Father. He was going to be there for Fray and Fen back home. But here? He'd been chasing after them so long that it was important to really take a step back and look at what that experience had taught him. 'If you want to live your life, live it here.' Eliot had been trying to do that, in many ways, but there was still the frantic pursuit he'd been on for months in this world. He would need to put his own words into practice. After all, there was someone else now that Eliot loved, too. He shifted, looking to Quentin now. "Q…" he began. He didn't know what Quentin would want from him now. In Eliot's eyes, it was comforting to know what he and Quentin had in another life, but that was not what they had now. Quentin would always be Eliot's best friend, and he was going to love him regardless, but his heart was elsewhere. And it wasn't as though Quentin hadn't known that fact yesterday before all this was thrust on them. What was Q going to expect of him now? His eyes searched Quentin's now, as the syllable of his name hung in the air, and a question was left unspoken. The smile made him feel happy. There was a hint of sadness with it, but it was mostly happiness. He and Eliot had enjoyed a full life and loved fully and deeply and when they’d died, it had been with the knowledge that they had made a life together, they were not alone. Quentin knew that what they were there couldn’t be what they were here. The situation was different and it wasn’t their time, their place. He knew. Maybe if Kylo wasn’t there, things might have been different, but he was and Quentin truly did want Eliot to be happy. He wanted Kylo to be happy. It was a loss, but he would survive it as long as Eliot was part of his life. If he was lucky, he would find someone to be happy with. If not, then he would live with that. It was hard to look back at Eliot despite this knowledge, but he did. There was a small smile. “I know, Eliot. I know.” But there was a version of him that was Eliot’s and version of Eliot that was his. Just like there was a version if him that belonged to a girl named Arielle. Peaches and plums. And belonging to her didn’t keep him from belonging to Eliot, too. And he’d been happy. At least somewhere there was a happy life. He wasn’t as sure of the impossibility of finding it here. “It’s okay.” There was a hint of sadness, but he didn’t let it show too much. His fingers ran through his hair again and he shifted so he could lean against Eliot again. “I want you to be happy no matter where that finds you. Just so long as you understand that you’re stuck with me until we’re old and decrepit and need canes or something else.” A beat. “But for the record, I’m not doing the whole outliving you thing again, so we’re going to have to coordinate this so we die on the same day and at the same time.” He felt a sense of relief with Quentin's words though it was small and accompanied with a dull ache one might feel when discussing a previous relationship with someone you'd loved. That was, after all, exactly what they were doing now. There was no ill will and they weren't going to turn away from the friendship that had always been between them. He was thankful for that and thankful for Quentin. "Okay," he repeated. Eliot shifted, his arm wrapping around Quentin's shoulders, as he leaned his head back against Quentin's. His hand, gently, moved up and down against his shoulder in a comforting motion as they sat together. Eliot noted the sadness, even if it was small, but he'd become even more attuned to Quentin's way of displaying his emotions or withholding them. He knew Quentin was being genuine. It wasn't a lie. Quentin didn't hold bitterness or resentment. He gave a tight squeeze to the man's shoulder. "As if you were ever going to be able to get rid of me, Coldwater," he said, affection very evident in his tone. "And, I am glad, Q. I am really glad it was you." He turned his head and pressed his lips to the side of Quentin's hair, before he dipped his forehead down to press it against the spot he'd just kissed. "We need to coordinate that. Death date. October 12th, 2090. Or some shit," he said with a smile and a light tone. Then he brought in a breath. "Promise me you won't stand in your own way of being happy, Q. Promise me." Quentin had been so prone to that before the mosaic. He was prone to it here. He always beat himself up. He didn't want that to continue. Arielle wouldn't want that to continue. He needed Q to know he could be happy and could be loved. That had been the whole lesson of the Quest, hadn't it? Exhaling, Quentin smiled. “Good. Because I’m pretty sure I’d have to cry if you said anything different.” The next part made his heart ache a little, but hadn’t he just said the same? A part of him would miss what they had, but he couldn’t be too upset. He’d had a whole life with Eliot. That was more than probably anyone else had had this far. It was time to let someone else try. “I don’t know if we’ll make it to 2090, but we can try.” Quentin laughed a little at the joke. He wanted to believe they’d be alive for that long, but it wasn’t likely. Either way, he didn’t want to be alone after Eliot’s death even if he knew that he could probably manage it. He just didn’t want to. Not when he could avoid that heartache a second time. He felt the impact of the last statement and he nodded slowly. “I promise.” He wasn’t sure it wouldn’t entirely happen, but he’d try. He would. |