who: Quentin Coldwater & Eliot Waugh (the second) when: The day Eliot arrived where: Fort Neill and then the Cottage What: Quentin goes to pick Eliot up warnings: mentions of death, drug use, lots of super feels status: COMPLETE.
Quentin was a mixture of feelings he couldn’t properly differentiate at the moment. He was actively stopping his mind from going down certain avenues of thought because they weren’t beneficial and he wasn’t sure that it was something that he wanted to do. Every time someone asked him how he was feeling, there was a sense of being overwhelmed by the question. There was too much he hadn’t had time to sort through and too much he wasn’t letting himself sort through that the concept of even understanding where he was emotionally felt like the hardest thing he had to accomplish. He’d considered shooting Sam a message to ask if there was extra time for a session, but even that alone felt daunting.
All the same, there were things that he couldn’t do and leaving Eliot - any version of him - alone was one of those things. He didn’t know when this Eliot remembered to, but he had no assurances he remembered everything his Eliot knew. It felt strange to differentiate the two of them like that. As if any version of Eliot was his, as if he had any ownership or claim to either of them. He felt more certain of their claim over him than he did of his over them. But it was dangerous to allow himself to go down that line of thought and so he carefully side-stepped, forcing himself to focus on the simple things he knew. One of those things being that he was carrying far more alcohol than he had any right to be in his shoulder bag.
Past that, he was casually aware of the fact that he’d dressed nicer than usual, but he was also carefully crafting excuses for that so that even he would believe them when he was done. He could at least tell himself that the t-shirt instead of a button up wouldn’t make him look too dressed up, but he was wearing fitted khakis. Maybe Eliot would secretly hate them and judge his clothing choices and he could shrug his shoulders and mumble something about how they were comfortable. His hair was pulled back and out of his face, leaving him nowhere to hide, but there was an easy fix.
Upon seeing Eliot, everything he was feeling resurfaced again and he took a moment, slowed his breathing and his pace before affecting what he hoped would read as his normal, everyday Quentin Coldwater lopsided smile. “You sure don’t look like you’ve been through Hell, Waugh.” His smile grew a little and he moved forward before his mind could stop him, pulling the other man into a hug. His brow creased as he stood there. He wasn’t sure what he’d been through, but if he was asking for the fun drugs, it didn’t mean good things for him. So Quentin didn’t mind standing there until Eliot decided the hug was over. “Dramatic enough? I’m not really sure. I’m still a little caught off guard.”
Eliot was dressed like he’d cobbled together a wardrobe from a number of times and places. Together they made him look like the leading man in a 1930s pulp action serial-- the jodhpurs, tall fillorian riding boots, the white button up shirt and black vest. It was all Eliot, but not an Eliot that had been living on Earth or Fillory. Just an Eliot trying to survive.
Only Eliot would take comfort from an Old Hollywood aesthetic while trying to navigate the last two years of his life, including tasteful application of eyeliner. “Quentin,” he said, leaning in to get the most of the hug. He tried not to think that somewhere there was another Quentin left behind by combing his fingers through the man’s hair. “I do my best. Are those clinking glass bottles I hear in your bag? Hand them over. Daddy’s had a hard day. Apparently a new place came with me when I appeared? Honestly, I don’t care where we go. I have drinking and sleeping and waking up to a few mimosas and repeating until I’m sure this isn’t a dream.”
Although Eliot had ordered Q to hand over the alcohol, he hadn’t let go yet to allow him do. “You’re dressed nice. Am I supposed to be paranoid about shapeshifters, too? Can we skip that part and just do the hugging thing? I prefer the hugging thing.”
Quentin rolled his eyes at the demand even as Eliot continued to hold on. He didn’t move to get them. They’d still be there whenever Eliot was ready to let go and he was okay to stand here until he was. There was some comfort to be taken from the action. Eliot, it seemed, no matter the Eliot could still give comfort with hugs even when it was meant to be the other way around. “It isn’t a dream, but then I thought it was something sort of similar when I first arrived, so I understand the feeling.” Only he’d thought he was trapped in his own mind for a while, finding excuses for the people he didn’t know existing in his subconscious until he finally believed it was real and Eliot had been the one there for him then as he tried to drag himself out of the dark corners of his mind.
“I think you can skip it.” There was a soft laugh. “Eliot and Margo got hold of my clothes and I mean, I guess I invited them in because I wanted to impress someone I was going on a date with. It’s a long and complicated and messy story.” He shrugged. “So now things fit me. Strangely enough. They allowed me to have a couple oversized sleep clothes. I tried to be as casual as I could be without raising too much suspicion.” He shrugged slightly. “So we can do the hugging thing for however long you need.”
“Okay,” Eliot said. His voice sounded small, as he held onto Q for a few more moments before finally releasing him and clearing. Eliot did not do awkward or overstay his welcome. He prided himself on that much.
Eliot nodded and tried to look very casual at the mention of the other Eliot and Margo. They were already a matched set, weren’t they? He never thought he’d see his Bambi again, but their reintroduction on the net wasn’t exactly the Hallmark/Skinamax moment he’d fantasized about if he ever got to see her again.
He was Eliot 2 after all.
“Where will we be drinking way too heavily tonight?” he asked Quentin. At least Q didn’t make him feel like a 2. He sighed, releasing the pressure from the confused ache in his chest for a few moments.
“Well, that very much depends on whether you want to be alone or not.” He’d intended - or assumed it would happen - Margo to take over when they got back and he’d be able to go think for a little while, but he realized that didn’t give Margo time to think either. He could just tell Kurt that he had to stay and it would be fine. If Eliot needed him, he’d make time. Which was the difficult thing about Eliots. When Eliot needed him, he would always make room for him. Even if he woke him up in the middle of the night for cuddles with no actual explanation. It was worse now. “Eliot made a room up for you at the Cottage if you want to go there. You can also hide out in my room if you’d rather. Or we can find wherever your new place is.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, not at all concealing the underlying anxious feelings he was feeling. “I probably won’t be drinking. Medication and alcohol do not really mix well. But I can be there anyway.”
Eliot frowned at that. It was a two-fold frown. Quentin was taking medication again? Then there was the fact that Eliot drank a lot these days. It usually wasn’t a big deal as long as he got whoever was with him to also drink. The only one who had ever really given him grief for his drug and alcohol choices had been the angel Castiel.
“You’re here now,” Eliot said lightly. “Let’s go to the cottage, see how awkward it gets, and I’ll hide appropriately. I know you want to bask right now, but I’m not in the fun drinking mood so much as I’m in the want to pass out drinking mood.”
Eliot bowed his head and pressed a friendly kiss to Quentin’s temple.
“Now, tell me everything important. No one seems to be in a good mood here or happy. I need to know what kind of fuckery is afoot, any new awkward social developments, basically everything important that’ll probably ask you again about tomorrow anyway.”
“All right.” He didn’t like the idea of leaving him alone, but he would. He would see Kurt, think some or not think. He wasn’t sure where that would end. He would have given a lot for the casual, friendly Netflix night that he’d had with Napoleon the night he found out about everything that was happening back home. But he didn’t want to bother him if he was busy, so he hadn’t said anything.
“If you’re sure. You know where I sleep anyway, so you know where to find me if you need me.” The kiss to his temple drew the smallest of smiles, and he looked him over for a moment. Trying to make sure he would be okay, but none of them were really okay.
“There’s a lot to tell. Both back home knowledge and here. We’ve gotten a lot of bad news. I have to get a telepath to go through all my memories so I don’t forget who I am. Shapeshifter problems, memory loss problems. But so as not to be depressing entirely, I’m also sort of dating someone. We’ve only had one date, though. It was theater. He likes musicals and stuff. I don’t mind them. We’ve apparently done a lot of singing. I’m trying to decide what else is important. At least what I can tell you on my own. Lots of complicated future information.”
“What else is new?” Eliot asked. As if finding out fairies had conquered Fillory wasn’t bad enough. “But I like the sound of you dating. I hope he gives you many, many orgasms.” Eliot smiled happily for Quentin. He’d learned after the last two years to latch onto whatever happiness he could find. Most of it had come from intoxicants. But not always.
“I was sort of seeing someone,” Eliot offered. His voice sounded small, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it or not. “His name was-- is--” Eliot corrected himself, “Jesus. He looks pretty much exactly like Jesus as a homeless man. Which, I realize doesn’t sound like much, but he was from some sort of zombie apocalypse world and that was just the aesthetic, I guess.”
He tried to sigh wistfully, but his eyes were sad. Sort of was an understatement, or overstatement, depending on how bad the survivor’s guilt was that had appeared in Eliot’s gut.
“So, maybe the others will show up after I have time to check things out.” Eliot shrugged the thought off as if he hadn’t scored a lottery ticket out of purgatory and felt guilty about it. “Champagne me, Q.”
Quentin ducked his head slightly. “We haven’t even kissed yet, so I don’t know when that’s a likelihood. Don’t worry, though. I got to have a threesome on a bed that had a million dollars under it, so I think I’m doing okay.” He conveniently left out the fact that Margo was there. There was a chance he’d find out anyway.
His brows furrowed slightly at the way Eliot’s voice sounded. It was very unlike Eliot. It wasn’t really the first time he’d heard it, but he didn’t like it anyway. “I’m sorry you lost him or that he didn’t come with you. If you ever want to tell me about whatever, you can.” He wouldn’t push it. He just wanted Eliot to know that the option was there and that he was there.
Carefully, despite the conflicted feeling in his mind, Quentin pulled out one bottle. “I’ll give you the second one once we get back to the Cottage.” He reached out, hesitating only for the briefest of moments before hooking his arm around Eliot’s waist. It was more an offer of comfort and closeness than anything else. “If we were walking, I’d say take your time to ask me every question you want, but Texas is hot.” So he’d left the portal open, but hidden, leading Eliot out of the building and toward the spot he’d left it. “But if you have any specific questions, you’re free to ask anyway.”
At the mention of making out on a pile of money, Eliot’s brows raised, pleasantly impressed: “Hashtag: life goals. I think you can do better than someone who doesn’t try to kiss you on the first date. That shit is only acceptable before you get your driver’s license.”
Eliot knew a spell to pop the cork of the champagne bottle, and did so with a quick gesture. One arm went around Quentin’s shoulders while his free hand held the champagne bottle by the neck and he drank from it directly.
He might have been disappointed Q was only allowing him one bottle until the cottage, until he saw the portal and his face lit up with a smile. “Let’s not do the sad stories tonight. I may need the sympathy card later.”
“I’d say it was a failing on my part, but he did stare at me an awfully long time at the end of the night, so I think it’s just...something else.” He shrugged slightly. “I’m pretty sure I am the first man he’s been on a date with, so I guess it’s a bit daunting.” He wouldn’t have complained about a kiss, but he wouldn’t rush one either. He wanted Kurt to be comfortable. “It could be worse. It has been worse, but we’re not going there. At least not now.”
Quentin felt himself smiling a little at the shift in Eliot’s expressions. He seemed a little more himself now. “I’m pretty sure you’ll be okay, but I will wait for any sad stories and decide the appropriate feelings then. Until such a time, I will make sure you get safely to your room.”
Just a step through the portal and they showed up in the Cottage. “So let’s find your room and then you can get some sleep. If you need anything, well, like I said, you know where my room is.” Once they found his room, he’d pass over the second bottle and then he was going to text Kurt.
“I guess my room would be too much to ask for,” Eliot observed. It was likely already occupied. If he needed any reminder that he was the extra Eliot, it was knowing he wouldn’t be getting his first choice or even second choice of room.
If they put him in Todd’s old room, he was burning the place down. But before he could be too down, Eliot took another swig of champagne and smiled dangerously at Quentin. “I’m sure it will be fine.”
Quentin’s gaze shifted for a moment because he felt bad that Eliot couldn’t have his own room even if it was sort of a different thing. “Sorry. We can make the new one just as Eliot as the other one. I’ve been saving money.” Of course, it was supposed to be for things like food and medication and therapy, but...he’d figure it out.
“I’m sure you’ll make the best of it. There were more people here before, so I guess it’s good there are more rooms available now.” Petunia having moved out and all. It freed some space up. He looked over at Eliot for a moment, smiling slightly. It was only a half smile and probably more awkward than anything else, but he tried. He walked until he found a room that seemed like it had been fixed up recently. It wasn’t Todd’s room, so at least there was that. “And here you are.” He looked down for a moment. “I...guess I’ll see you tomorrow if you want to be seen. I hope you get some rest.” He pulled out the second bottle, not entirely certain he’d be getting any rest tonight. “Second bottle as promised.” A pause. “Goodnight, Eliot,” he said quietly, moving to give him a hug. He’d very much considered a kiss to the cheek, but tonight wasn’t a good night for action on that part, so he let the moment pass. “I’m glad you’re here.” And then he stepped back to let Eliot slip into his room should he want to.
Eliot looked back at his alien room, both familiar and completely unknown. For some reason sleeping in a new bed for the first time in years, outside the hotel, made him nervous. He didn’t want to be alone.
But Q was dating someone and it seemed unfair, even by Eliot’s thin standards, to use him like that. So he nodded and put on the bravest face that he could, even smiling a little. “Mhm. Perfect. Great.”
He hugged his friend, and even behaved before slowly backing into the room and closing the door, releasing his friend from any further babysitting obligations.