Chapter Text
b o r d e r l i n e - tame impala
How was I to notice?
It doesn’t matter what crowd it is. It could be a small conference or a national summit. The whole world could be watching him. But Quentin always finds you in the audience. You don’t know how he does it, but you’ll see him scanning the faces, and in no time at all he sees you. When you lock eyes with him, he smiles at you.
Once, it’d made you feel loved; special. When Quentin grins at you, everybody else disappears. Back then, it used to feel so good. That’s my boyfriend. It was such a great surge of pride and maybe even a bit of smug satisfaction. His blue eyes seemed so bright when they were only on yours.
But now, the message is very clear when he grins at you. It’s no longer just him proudly showing off, even though that’s exactly what he’s doing. It brings a chill right down your spine like icicles growing in place of your nerves.
“See, [Name]? You’re mine.”
And yet, it’s not like you don’t go. You go. You follow him wherever he fucking goes. You don’t know where you would go if you were to leave, even when you realized you should. But it’s kind of too late for that now.
He cheers the crowd and you hear the applause erupt, but you can’t bring yourself to raise your glass. Quentin’s always been vague about his plans whenever he talks to you, but you aren’t stupid. Far from it. You know full well what your talents are going towards. He hates Tony Stark, hero of the universe, for disregarding his work. And what about you, whose work isn’t going towards helping people anymore, but rather...
You feel his eyes on you, hard, but you don’t look up to meet them.
Gone a little far this time for somethin'
You catch him sliding off the silver wedding ring he wears nowadays when you walk into your shared room. He drops it into a tray with four others just like it—contingencies—and walks away, not having noticed you in the doorway. You can’t help the sharp pain in your jaw. You’ve been with him for the better half of a decade, but you suppose that time has just affirmed that Quentin isn’t the type that can settle down. Not even with you. But honestly, would you actually say “yes” if he ever dropped down to one knee? You hesitate just thinking about it, and that’s enough for you to understand the dynamics of this relationship. Yet you reach your hand up and rap on the door with your knuckles, bringing his attention anyways.
“[Name],” he sighs, his expression softening with visible relief. It still makes your heart melt in the middle of your chest. It’s not like he’s ever been anything but good to you. In fact, ever since he’s been setting his plan into motion, he’s become different. Less angry, less… less of the Quentin you only put up with because you’re supposed to when you’re in love. Now he’s the one you fell in love with so long ago. Ambitious. Smart. Bright. Warm. It makes you feel horrible for doubting him, it really does. But even though he’s like this to you, what about the people who lived in that village? It pulls on the back of your mind even when you try to live in the moment and just be happy. He went too far. He’s not going to stop. Why do you get to be happy right now? What about them?
Quentin walks up and pulls you tightly into a hug, his body uncomfortably hot against yours. It breaks you out of your thoughts. Your arms settle mindlessly so that your hands cling onto his shoulders with practiced intimacy. He’s always been so much taller than you, even in your high heels. You feel the muscles of his broad back under his sweater. Just having him hold you settles the churning in your stomach and gives you some peace.
“How about it? A successful phase one, eh?”
And the moment is ruined.
He leans back after squeezing you a last time, his grin so broad it practically stretches from ear to ear. He’s so unfairly handsome when he’s like this, but you know you’re not looking nearly as enthusiastic enough in return.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asks immediately, his smile faltering when he notices your expression. He uses these pet names easily and you, the hopeless romantic, still feel the same flutters you did when he first called you “baby”. Lovely, darling, beautiful, honey… he gets away with so much because you can’t fucking help yourself. His hand reaches forwards to cup your chin, but you flinch when the rough fingers touch you.
“It’s just—!” you stutter, even though you’ve been thinking about how you’d try to say this for so long. “I mean… that village, Quentin. Did you really have to destroy everything? Where are they going to go now that they’ve lost their homes…? A-and the collateral damage; I mean, what if a building falls on somebody? And you want to do this in Europe, hugely populated… there’s no way somebody won’t get hurt.”
You haven’t noticed that you begun pacing in circles until Quentin touches you on your shoulder, stopping you mid-stride. His other hand comes down on your wrist and gently tugs, forcing you to stop biting your nails, which you’re suddenly aware of. They sting rawly. His face is gentle as he looks down at you, but there’s a shadow of a grimace.
“[Name]. Sacrifices have to be made. Everybody knew this going in. But the ends justify the means. Think about it; this world has no future right now. When we blipped back, it was just… chaos. We got used to superheroes saving us from aliens, and now there’s no superheros. No Avengers. The people need something—no, somebody to believe in. If they don’t have belief, we’re all screwed.”
But to what end? you want to plead. When is he, the man you love, going to stop? What happens if real aliens storm the planet? Or if one person figures him out? What then? What now? But you don’t think you can say it. For one, it’d break his heart. For two…
You aren’t exactly sure what he’d do to you.
“Okay,” you mumble instead, shoving everything aside like you have ever since this had begun. “I guess…”
He had gotten so close to you while he spoke, his breath tickling the baby hairs on your neck. He moves his head and the tip of his nose brushes your cheek as he looks into your eyes. It’s the same haunting look he gives you when you’re sitting in a crowd full of people, and he only sees you.
Maybe you could’ve mustered the courage to ask him what he hopes to accomplish in the endgame. Challenge him. Maybe you could have even told him that you didn’t like what he was implying about the means that needed to be justified. But his hand’s sliding down your back to your ass and you suddenly can’t think straight—fuck, you can’t think at all when he kisses you, hot and heavy, pulling you into him so that he crushes you with himself. Everything becomes occupied with him—Quentin Beck. He’s your world. His tongue is sweet as it laps you up, and you can only regain some semblance of yourself when he bites so hard on your lip that tears spring to your eyes.
“I’m gonna be a superhero, babe,” he breathes, the words wet and intoxicating. “Your hero.”
“Mm,” is all you return, the moan ripped out of your throat. It’s kind of pathetic of you. But Quentin talks, and you listen. And when he doesn’t talk, you’re still his. Even though you feel horrible about it sometimes… sometimes it feels good to just belong to him. Sometimes, it feels so good to be…
Bad.
And I couldn’t get away.