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Eliot woke up and immediately wished he hadn’t.
Well, no, that wasn’t quite true. He was thrilled to be back in control of his own body instead of in a mental prison forced to replay his memories over and over again in a purgatorial slideshow of his Greatest Hits, while a psychotic, homicidal ancient baby-god did who knows what with his body. All the while just waiting and hoping that his friends would find a way to free him.
Remembering Margo’s face and the…axe? He knew that they had.
However, coming back into his body meant that for the first time in (god, how long was that thing in me) he could really feel. Physical sensation, actual sensation, not just a muted facsimile produced from memory alone, swept through him.
Pain. So. Much. Goddamn. Pain.
It felt like his stomach was on literal fire. His eyes, still closed, squeezed shut even tighter and he heard the sound of the low groan before he realized it was coming from his own lips. He felt a cool hand on his face followed by a voice saying “Fuck! He’s waking up. Can’t you…” before falling into blissful unconsciousness once more.
The second time Eliot woke up, the pain in his stomach had faded to a dull throb. He blinked his eyes open a few times and, after a few seconds of taking in the view, realized he was in the Brakebills infirmary. A few more seconds confirmed that he was hooked up to several pieces of lowly beating equipment to his left and, to his right, a familiar head was resting near his thigh.
Quentin.
He’d recognize him anywhere.
He also noted, with fondness, that Quentin’s chair was pushed up against the side of the hospital bed, as if he’d wanted to be as close as possible. Quentin had angled the back of the chair towards the foot of the bed and was currently slumped over, arm folded and resting on top of the white sheets with his head buried in his arm. Eliot could feel the warmth of him through the sheets and felt the urge to reach out and card his fingers through his hair.
“Q,” he started, then paused, surprised by how hoarse he sounded. He didn’t have to say anything else, though, because Quentin’s head immediately shot up. For a few seconds, he stared at Eliot with wide, tired eyes, still as a statue before coming to life.
“Eliot!” he breathed, sitting up quickly. He flexed his fingers, looking momentarily unsure before reaching and grabbing Eliot’s nearest hand in his, his grip firm. “How, uh, how are you feeling? Do you need anything?” He looked so concerned, so earnest, and although Eliot wanted to answer with a throwaway remark about how could he possibly need anything when there was a cute boy tending to his bedside…well. Needs must.
“Some water would be nice, actually.”
Quentin jumped to action, turned to a nearby table, and within seconds returned with a small cup. Eliot took his time, sipping slowly, surprised by and slightly frustrated by how weak he felt. “How long was I out?” he asked.
Instead of returning to his chair, Quentin settled on the edge of the bed. He was eying the cup in Eliot’s hand; clearly, he was preparing to intervene in case holding the cup proved too much.
“Going on three days now. You were in a lot of pain, so Lipson’s been keeping you pretty heavily sedated while you healed. She’s been using a combination of muggle and magical methods so, like, your recovery is on a pretty weird trajectory but the fact that you’re awake so soon is a really great sign.” He hesitated. “Do you…you do remember what happened, right?”
“Mmmmhmmm. Margo hit me with an axe which, I’ve got to admit, I didn’t see coming when I envisioned my dramatic rescue. I’m assuming that the monster has been taken care of? Or did it find a different host?”
A pained look passed over Quentin’s face and Eliot noticed the dark bags underneath his eyes. His face was pale and his hair (still on the longer side, but shorter than he’d ever seen him wear it) looked a little greasy to the touch. He looked worn-out and Eliot disliked it, and its implications, immensely. “Yeah,” Quentin said, voice heavy. “Yeah, we took care of him, and his sister too. They won’t be bothering anyone ever again. You’re safe. We’re all safe.”
Eliot closed his eyes, relief sweeping over him, and after setting the cup to the side he reached out to grab hold of Quentin’s hand. Quentin squeezed back, tighter than before but the steady pressure helped Eliot ground himself in the moment. This was real. It was over. He was free and Quentin was here with him. Brave, stubborn, wonderful, lovely Quentin who had gone through who knows what while Eliot had been trapped in his Happy Place.
Quentin continued “Margo’s here too. She’s going to be so mad you woke up while she was out. I could go get her? It was her turn to grab some of the good coffee from the Physical Kids Cottage. Do you want me to…” He trailed off. Eliot opened his eyes again. Quentin was studying him, body tense and clearly ready to spring into action if given the cue. Eliot quickly shook his head and some of the tension left the other man’s shoulders.
“No! No, don’t leave.” He couldn’t bear the thought of Quentin leaving his sight, not even for a moment, not even for Bambi, not when he was really with him. All of a sudden he felt overwhelmed and tears pooled in his eyes and he didn’t even bother trying to hide them or pretend they weren’t there. Q’s eyes widened a bit and his grip loosened slightly, shifting positions to run a soothing thumb back and forth across his knuckles.
“I have so much to tell you but first - I really missed you.” He was proud of how steady his voice sounded considering the emotional wreck he was inside. That wasn’t what he planned on saying but it was all he could think right now. He had missed him. If he was honest with himself, which he admittedly was not in the habit of doing, he’d been missing Quentin long before things went so wrong at Castle Blackspire. He may have had his friend Quentin during the last leg of the key quest, but he missed Quentin his partner, Quentin the love of his goddamn life.
Q let out a shaky laugh, eyes also wet but crinkling with the smile on his face. That was better. Quentin didn’t laugh, or smile, nearly enough and he vowed in that moment to change that. To give him more reasons to do both.
“I missed you too. You have no idea.”
“That’s debatable.” Eliot opened his arms up in an obvious invitation. Hand holding was a nice start but he wanted nothing more than to wrap this man up in his arms and never let him go again. To hold him close and keep him warm and safe and his. “Come here, Q.”
Quentin inhaled sharply, fingers tightening but he looked conflicted. “I don’t want to hurt you. Your stomach is still-”
“It’ll be fine. Just - let me hold you.” Could Quentin hear the longing in his voice? He squeezed back and just like that, Quentin’s resolve broke. The shorter man leaned forward and, staying mindful of bandaged area, wrapped his arms around his shoulders and tucked his face in the crook of his neck. Eliot reached around, cupped the back of his head in his palm, and pulled him closer, the other arm wrapping around his back. For a moment, the only sound in the room, aside from the beeping monitors, was the sound of their breathing. Eliot wasn’t the only one who was emotional; he could feel a wetness on his neck and his heart clinched painfully in his chest. Without thinking, he pressed his lips to the head leaning against him and heard Quentin’s breath catch.
“I thought he was going to kill you, El. I thought you were going to die and I was going to be left with that thing walking around with your face and your voice, forever. I thought…” Quentin’s voice broke and he shuddered. Sensing a breakdown, Eliot tried to think of something comforting to say, but Quentin took a deep breath and continued, “I’m so glad you’re okay. Gut wound aside.” A pause. “I’ve lived in a world without you before. For a while, before you broke through and spoke to me in the park, I thought I was doing that again. Eliot, that’s not a very pleasant world to live in.”
Eyes burning, Eliot pressed a second quick kiss on the head in front of him and said “Look at me, Q.” Quentin leaned back, his face just a few inches from Eliot’s own. “I have no intention of leaving you. Not again.”
Quentin gazed at Eliot in disbelief. This was not how he thought his first conversation with Eliot would go, post-Monster. The two of them had always had a very tactile relationship, dating all the way back to his first few weeks at Brakebills, but this felt different than the casual touches that had colored their friendship. This felt more like the touches he remembered from a life erased, a life where he’d loved fully and completely and thought he’d been loved in return – a life Eliot made clear he had no interest in repeating.
Don’t think about that.
It made sense for Eliot to be touch-starved and emotional. He’d spent months without any human contact, trapped in his own mind while the Monster used his body to commit terrible acts against humans (himself included) and gods alike. Of course he’d want the comfort of physical contact. If Margo had been here when he woke up, she’d be the one wrapped in his arms. Okay, that wasn’t far-fetched. Had Fen, Josh, Julia, or even Todd been at his bedside when he work up, he probably would have been hugging them. Well, maybe not Todd. The kisses? Quentin remembered a conversation about a boat quest and a gentle suggestion to “Go be life partners with someone else” coupled with a kiss to the temple.
They didn’t mean anything, either.
Sure, after Eliot broke free in the park long enough to tell Quentin he was alive, he’d allowed himself to entertain the hope that Eliot had changed his mind. Why else would he choose to echo those specific words back to him? "Fifty years. Who gets proof of concept like that?"
But that didn’t make sense and hope was in short supply these days.
“I love you, but you have to know that’s not me, and that’s definitely not you, not when we have a choice.”
He was in love with Eliot but he’d spent a lot of time and energy learning how to be okay with the fact that Eliot wasn’t, and possibly had never been, in love with him. Eliot had been very clear when he told Quentin he wouldn’t choose him, not if he had a choice. He’d been given over fifty years of memories of a beautifully imperfect life with Quentin and decided that once was enough.
When Eliot told him that he wouldn’t choose him, Quentin was forced to rethink his memories of that lifetime. He knew his own heart and mind and that his feelings had been and still were real. Hell, he could trace the roots of those feelings all the way back to a time before they’d been crowned kings of another world. But if Eliot was only with him because he was the only option? Then that meant he had mistaken resignation for happiness and that their beautiful life was a beautiful lie.
That thought made him feel sick.
It was also possible that Eliot had fallen out of love with him somewhere along the way and that he’d stayed with him either out of obligation or because he felt like he had no other choice. That…that was also hard to stomach, but somehow it was preferable and even more believable to the idea that Eliot had been silently unhappy throughout their entire lifetime together. Quentin could almost understand. He’d been in love with Julia, and then Alice, and as all-consuming as those feelings were at the time, they faded and he couldn’t imagine ever feeling them again. If that’s how Eliot felt about him? Then, yeah, the idea of Eliot changing his mind and falling back in love with him seemed impossible.
With all of this in mind, the brief flicker of hope he felt in the park had faded almost as soon as it appeared. Eliot had only regained control for a few seconds, and in that time he had to say something that would convince Quentin it was actually him speaking, not the Monster playing a cruel trick. Repeating his words from the throne room was a painful but effective choice; Quentin hadn’t told anyone, aside from his dad, about the Mosaic and he knew Eliot had buried those memories away, not speaking to anyone, not even Margo, about them.
Regardless, Eliot still loved him as a friend and that would be enough. That had to be enough.
But.
But the look in Eliot’s eyes (finally filled with warmth and light instead of the cold emptiness that had stared back at him for months) and the emotion behind his voice made him wonder whether he’d been wrong, self-preserving logic be damned. Maybe there was more hope left in the world than he had thought.
With Quentin’s face so close to his own, it would be the easiest thing in the world for Eliot to lean in and kiss him.
He wanted to. Desperately. He’d imagined it time and time again. But that wasn’t his place, not anymore.
“I have something I need to tell you.”
Quentin’s brow wrinkled and Eliot felt another wave of fondness rush through him.
“You mentioned that before. What is it?”
Eliot breathed in and chose to be brave.
He started off by taking a moment to explain how his consciousness had been sheltered away in his Happy Place while the Monster had the reigns. Quentin, sitting back on the edge of the bed now but still within arm’s reach, listened raptly. Eliot saw the relief on his face when he confirmed that he’d been unaware of what the Monster said or did while he’d been trapped in his head. Eliot had dozens of questions connected to that topic (How many people did he hurt? How many did he kill? What did he do to you while wearing my face?) but that was a conversation for another time.
“Did you ever wonder how I broke out to talk to you? To let you know that I was alive?”
Quentin nodded. “Yeah, of course. I – do you even realize how close you came to being trapped there forever? He told me you were dead and I believed him. In the park that day we were literally seconds away from banishing him, and you with him, back to Blackspire. Then, you gave me your message and that plan was, uh, scrapped.”
He grimaced. He hadn’t realized how close of call it had been and felt immensely grateful that he’d solved that particular mental minefield when he did. A little more trial and error and he would have been fully fucked with no hope or chance of rescue. The idea of spending eternity in the Happy Place battling his demons was…unsettling to say the least. His own personalized hell.
“In order to break free I had to confront my worst memory. One so awful I’d buried it away at the back of my mind and just ignored it and pretended like it never happened. I had to wade through and relive all of the traumatic shit that I’ve been through in my life to find it. And you know me – there was a lot of shit to sort.”
“Jesus, Eliot.” Quentin looked distressed at the thought but Eliot shook his head, waving away his concern. They could revisit that later but he had to get through this now.
When I’m braver, know that I learned it from you.
"Quentin, that memory – the absolute worst thing I’ve ever done in my long life of shitty and selfish things– was lying to you. I lied to you, Q, and I broke your heart in the process. I knew I was as I was doing it but I did it anyway because I’m a fucking coward.” Quentin recoiled, looking struck.
“When I’m scared, I run. And you, with your open fucking heart that day after the mosaic, scared the hell out of me because you were right. It was real, and it was beautiful. When you asked for another chance I thought ‘No, this can’t be right. I don’t deserve this – once was one thing but twice? No one is that lucky, least of all me’. In the past, in Fillory, I’d somehow managed not to fuck it up for an entire lifetime but here? In the real world where it’s just one disaster after another? I thought there was no way I wouldn’t ruin us and lose you in the process. And Quentin, that wasn’t an option. So, I lied. I told you that wasn’t us, but it was and it is! And I told myself that you would find someone better, but I hurt you.” He licked his lips. Quentin’s eyes were locked on him and his face was unreadable. Courage.
“I’m sorry. I ran from us and in the process I dismissed your feelings and denied my own. It’s my biggest regret. I…” He chose his words carefully. “I’m not asking for anything more than what you’re willing to give. I don’t expect you to still feel the same way you did back then. I know I fucked up. If you want me to just…disappear, I will. If you want me to be your friend then I will be the best friend you have ever had in your life. If you want more than that…Q, I’m yours. You need only ask.”
He meant it. Despite his earlier promise, if Quentin wanted nothing to do with him after this then he’d quietly slip away. If all Quentin wanted now was his friendship, then yes, he’d be the most steadfast and true friend anyone could ever ask for. He’d be there helping Quentin when he was inevitably whisked away on another adventure. He’d be there offering support when Quentin fell in love and settled down. He’d be a doting uncle to his babies, because Quentin had been an amazing father and it would be a crime for him not to get that chance again…and he’d be so goddamn grateful that he got to be in his life. If Quentin still loved him, and just as importantly and improbably, trusted him enough to want another shot? The idea filled him with a bright warmth that spread from his chest to his fingertips and toes.
Quentin was still staring at him. Eliot rubbed his hands over his face, feeling raw and exposed.
“You don’t have to say anything and you definitely don’t have to decide anything right now. I’m really not expecting you to still… I am hopeful, of course, but that’s beside the point. You just deserved to know how important you are. I know that’s something you’ve doubted – something I made you doubt. But you deserve to know how much you’re loved. Because you are, sweetheart. I am so in love with you.”
Quentin remained silent.
Eliot drank a few more sips of water, closed his eyes, and took a few deep, calming breaths. A moment passed. Then another.
The monitors continued to beat rhythmically.
“Am I hallucinating?” The question startled him. Eliot opened his eyes and looked at Quentin, who looked back with wide eyes and wonder. His answer was instantaneous.
“If you were, how would asking me help?”
Quentin gave out a wet laugh. A smile spread across his face, pretty brown eyes alive with some emotion, and he reached up with one hand to wipe away a few escaping tears. He took a second to study Eliot before nodding to himself, clearly coming to a decision.
Eliot stopped breathing.
And he remained absolutely still as Quentin leaned over to bring their foreheads together, hands reaching up to frame his face. Thumbs lightly traced his cheekbones before stilling.
“You said I only needed to ask you?”
“Whatever you want. It’s yours.”
“Can I have you? I just want you.”
“Q…” Was he crying?
“Eliot, I love you, too. I never stopped. There’s a lot that we need to talk about but none of it changes the fact that I want you. I want to be with you. So what do you say?”
“Yes. Yes, yes, yes.” Quentin sighed happily, hands sliding down to rest on his chest. Eliot covered one with his own and the other slid into place along the side of Quentin’s neck.
The first press of Quentin’s lips against his own sent an electrical current down his spine and he couldn’t remember having ever felt anything as good and right as this. It was familiar, an action his mind remembered doing a thousand times over, but it was also new at the same time, this body not having the same memory. But Quentin’s lips were soft and yielding against his own. They moved together, slow, slick, sweet, before he tilted Quentin’s head, just so, and oh. There it was.
Perfect.
Time stopped and Quentin filled his senses: his taste, his smell, the little sounds he made, the feel of his hands through his hospital gown. But too soon they slowed down and Eliot started to lean more heavily against the bed, drowsiness overcoming his desire. He muttered a faint protest when they parted but instead of pulling completely away, Quentin slid the hand from his neck and placed a tender kiss on the knuckles. Like he was holding something precious.
How had he ever lived without this?
“It’s okay. Just rest for now. There’s no rush – we’ve got time.” Eliot didn’t want to rest but Quentin was right.
They had all the time in the world – an entire lifetime ahead of them.