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Quentin had wanted to go to the Seam to see things through to the end. He hadn’t been sure he would truly believe the Monsters were gone unless he witnessed it with his own eyes. But Julia put her foot down on the matter. She made it clear that he would under no circumstances be going anywhere as dangerous as the Mirror Realm anytime soon, or maybe ever again. She said she hadn’t realized what a bad place he’d been in, but she knew now, and she wouldn’t let him take a risk that big in his state. Quentin was pissed, understandably so, he thought, but he knew this wasn’t a fight that he would win. Because Julia was right. And now that she’d said it, everyone else took a long, examining look at him, and came to the same conclusion. Kady offered to go in his stead — even without magic, Julia could lead the Hedges through the spell.
It was a good thing Kady had gone instead of him. Everett had snuck in behind them, presumably to stop them and steal the Monsters, but Kady was always quick on her feet, and with her hands — and her gun, apparently. He’d barely gotten two words out before she dropped him.
The second that Quentin saw Eliot’s unconscious body on the forest floor, he knew there was no way he could be apart from him. He and Margo clutched each others’ hands like their lives depended on it as they followed Professor Lipson through the infirmary, begging for any possible confirmation that Eliot would be okay. They were banished to the waiting room, and the time that Eliot was in surgery was a blur.
Finally, after what felt like forever, Lipson came out to tell them that Eliot would be alright. He’d have a long road of recovery ahead of him, but he would survive. As they sat next to Eliot’s unconscious body, everything poured out of Quentin. His feelings for Eliot, the mosaic, the rejection, what Eliot said to let Quentin know he was still alive — all of it. He felt like he talked for hours, and Margo was there for him through it all.
Alice eventually came to tell them about the Mirror Realm and get an update on Eliot. Things were still a little weird between her and Quentin, especially after his proposition that they give their relationship another shot a few days prior. Luckily Alice had always been the more levelheaded of the two — in hindsight he could see that she was right when she said that getting back together wasn’t what either of them really wanted, and he was grateful that she put a stop to it. She patted him awkwardly on the shoulder and gave a meaningful glance between him and Eliot on her way out.
Now Quentin sat vigil alone while Margo got some well earned rest at the Cottage. He was under strict instructions to send for her if Eliot so much as twitched in his sleep. He let his mind wander, unable to stop himself from thinking of all the times he’d lost Eliot. Seeing someone you care about die repeatedly wasn’t something a person could get used to, even if they miraculously never stayed dead.
The first of the many times Quentin witnessed Eliot Waugh’s death was at the Wellspring. When they made what they thought at the time was the final stand against Martin (they’d all been so naive) — and half of them had died. Martin threw Margo and Eliot across the room like they were ragdolls, and they’d died with their heads leaning on each other like the soulmates that they are.
Quentin barely had time to process his feelings for each individual death of his friends. At the time it was the most horrific thing he’d ever been through, and he could barely think at all through all of his panic.
His friends had died, but they were miraculously brought back to life by Alice and her godpowers before Quentin had even made it back from the Candy Witch’s cottage.
The second time Eliot died (and hadn’t stayed dead) was when he jumped in front of a lethal spell meant for Quentin. Thankfully, it was actually the golem and not Eliot himself. It died instantly, and Quentin watched in horror as its blood seeped into the shitty carpet. Even after Penny reminded him that the real Eliot was fine, all he could think about was that Eliot’s body, or a version of it at least, deserved better than to be abandoned by his friends. He deserved a proper burial, not to be left in a cold morgue, unclaimed, for god knows how long.
The real Eliot, back in Fillory, spent the next few days in a coma. Quentin was so completely out of his depth with everything else going on, with Julia being shadeless and Alice’s Niffin trapped in his tattoo, that he couldn’t even be there to make sure Eliot woke up in person, or to provide the moral support that Margo deserved.
The third time, Quentin didn’t actually see Eliot die. He was too focused on the stupid pattern he was working on, as if it were ever worth even a moment of his time compared to Eliot. He turned from the tiles, and there it was. The evidence that Quentin’s husband had died, and he hadn’t even noticed. How long had Eliot’s body been sitting there, devoid of life? Eyes open and staring at nothing?
That time was different. Eliot had stayed dead. He died, and he stayed dead for years. Quentin still talked to Eliot sometimes, after. Teddy always said that if he didn’t know better, he’d think Quentin thought his husband was still around. Quentin had to force himself to stop after one of the grandkids moved in with him to be his caretaker. It had been a comfort to him, because it really did feel like he still had Eliot sometimes, but he knew he was just breaking their family’s hearts more and more as time went on.
But then Margo stopped that timeline from happening, with a little help from Jane Chatwin, and he and Eliot were young and without magic again. When they regained their memories of the mosaic Quentin was almost knocked over with grief — for his lost family, his late wife, their son and grandchildren that would now never exist, and most of all, for the man sitting next to him — the husband that he’d loved for over fifty years, whose loss nearly killed him.
And then Eliot rejected him, and life went on, and yeah, Quentin’s heart was worse for wear, but he’d lived with heartbreak before, and he could do it again. Until he fucked up by trying to play the hero, and he and Eliot’s drama inadvertently led to the Monster escaping Castle Blackspire and possessing Eliot.
Quentin didn’t see Eliot’s death the fourth time, either. The Monster told him that Eliot was dead, and then put Eliot’s hand on his shoulder as if that could comfort him. Later, at the diner, he heard about it in short yet gruesome detail.
“I felt the moment his soul died. It only hurt for a second. He didn’t suffer.”
Did the Monster honestly believe that telling him that was merciful? Did they think that, after taking away every part of Eliot that really mattered, he would still help them? Did they think they were clever, or god forbid polite, by telling Quentin that Eliot was dead immediately after their conversation about how grieving for a lost loved one can help you feel better?
But then — somehow — Eliot wasn’t dead anymore. He’d never actually been dead at all. Quentin was looking in Eliot’s eyes and Eliot was actually behind them and he was alive and he was pushing Quentin by the shoulder, saying “peaches and plums, motherfucker” so earnestly, looking at Quentin like he hadn’t since the mosaic — like he was something precious, like he loved him. Eliot loved him. God, he was such an idiot. He had to get Eliot back and make things right between them.
Mercifully, Quentin hadn’t seen Eliot die a fifth time — at least not yet — but, god, it was touch and go there for a while. Seeing Margo drive her axes into Eliot’s abdomen was horrible, but seeing him bleeding out on the forest floor? Hearing his voice so, so weak before he lost consciousness? Seeing him unresponsive after they got him onto the gurney? Quentin felt nauseous thinking about it.
Eliot’s eyelids began to twitch, and his breath came quicker. He was finally waking up. Quentin let go of his hand to grab the paper Margo left on the table next to Eliot’s hospital bed, sending a quick magical airplane to alert her of his impending return to wakefulness. Quentin turned back towards Eliot’s bed when he finished the spell, and he was absolutely certain that he couldn’t lose him again.
“You’re full of shit,” were not the words Quentin expected or planned to say to Eliot the second that Eliot’s eyes were fully open and vaguely clear, but they were the ones that left his mouth without permission regardless.
Eliot opened his mouth to respond, but a slightly choked sound came out instead of words. Quentin reached for the glass of water that had been left for Eliot, and leaned over to help him take a sip.
“Excuse me?” Eliot croaked after a moment. He blinked blearily at Quentin, no doubt blinded by the infirmary’s lights after being out for so long.
“I said you’re full of shit,” Quentin repeated himself, pursing his lips and crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s not us? Not when we have a choice?” he asked, incredulously.
“Q —” Eliot cut off with a groan as he tried and failed to sit up. He let himself fall the inch he had moved back to the bed with a wince. “Here? Really? Now?” he asked, exasperated. “Can I at least wake up a little more first? Or, better yet, can we table this conversation until I’m presentable? Just let me —”
“No, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you run away from this again.” Quentin said. “This conversation is happening, and I don’t really give a shit if you don’t like it. You’re going to actually listen to me for once.”
Eliot blinked at him in surprise. “Excuse me?” he asked again. “I promise, Q, we’ll talk about it, I have a plan and everything —”
“Peaches and plums, motherfucker.” Quentin practically spat, not backing down. “I should’ve known exactly what you were doing when we got our memories back. That you were running. I’ve known you longer than I’ve been alive. We were married longer than that. I know you better than I know anyone, Eliot, so I should’ve realized that you were afraid. I know your instincts were telling you to cut and run to protect yourself, but god, El, did you have to be so harsh about it?” Quentin asked, deflating a bit.
Eliot tipped his head back and sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. He stayed that way for a moment before answering. “I’m really sorry, Q. Hurting you was the last thing I wanted to do. I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”
“You’re damn right you shouldn’t have.” Quentin said. He tilted his head, pursing his lips. “I’ve lost you too many times, I’m not doing it again. I know you’re in love with me, you dick.”
That shocked a laugh out of Eliot. “God, I almost forgot how bitchy you can be.”
“Yeah, well, you’d better get used to it again. I’m not going anywhere.” Quentin said.
“And neither am I,” Eliot said, taking Quentin’s hand with his own and squeezing. “I see you’ve got me all figured out now,” he laughed a little, before sobering his expression and looking Quentin in the eye. “I wish I had been honest with you, but I’ve never been as brave as you are. But I promise that I’m gonna try, starting now.” Eliot took a deep breath, visibly preparing himself for the next thing he had to say.
Quentin felt his lip start to wobble a little. God, could he not keep it together for even, like, a minute?
“I love you, Quentin,” Eliot said, letting all of his walls down and all of his emotions show on his face for maybe the first time in this timeline. After a certain point in their other lives, this was the Eliot that Quentin got to see every day, and, yep, that was a tear falling down his face now. “You were right, Q, we do work. And I wanna do it all again, if you’ll still have me. Well, maybe not the whole ‘stuck living in a secluded, medieval Fillorian cottage’ part.”
Quentin laughed wetly and grinned. It was unfair how effortlessly charming Eliot was, but he couldn’t even be that mad about it. He helped Eliot sit up properly, then said, “Yeah? Another fifty years?”
“I’m hoping for even longer this time,” Eliot whispered, putting his hand on the back of Quentin’s neck where it belonged.
“I love you, too,” Quentin replied, beaming, as he leaned the rest of the way in to kiss Eliot. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still pissed at you, and I probably will be for a while, but god, I want this more than anything.”
“That’s probably fair,” Eliot sighed, rubbing his thumb across Quentin’s cheek. “I promise I’ll do everything I can to make it up to you.”
Quentin bit his lip. “I’m so fucking glad you’re okay,” he said, voice breaking, suddenly feeling like his knees would give out if he didn’t sit down right that second. He perched on the edge of Eliot’s bed, and Eliot immediately enveloped him in his arms. “Promise you’ll never die on me again,” Quentin said, voice muffled from hiding his face in Eliot’s neck.
Eliot chuckled softly, running his hand through Quentin’s hair. “I will if you will. Don’t think I won’t pry every little detail about my time away from the others. I know you, too, Q. I know how self-sacrificial you can be, and I can tell you haven’t been sleeping or taking care of yourself properly.”
“Yeah, well, that’s your job now,” Quentin tried to joke, pressing a kiss to Eliot’s neck.
“Mmm, yeah, and I’ll gladly do it for the rest of my life. But maybe we shouldn’t be putting any weight on my gaping wound right now,” Eliot said, voice strained from the pain.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” Quentin said, pulling back immediately, his hands fluttering anxiously over Eliot’s torso. “I didn’t even think —”
“Hey, it’s okay, no spiralling,” Eliot grabbed Quentin’s hands, trying to calm him down. “I’m fine, no damage done. Well, except the damage Bambi did when she tried to chop me in half.”
“And I’d do it again, you dick,” Margo said tearfully from the doorway before rushing to Eliot’s side.
Quentin took his seat again, smiling as he watched Eliot and Margo’s desperate embrace. He and Eliot had a lot to work through, individually and as a couple, but Quentin knew they could eventually have what they had at the mosaic — or something even better. They were both still alive, and despite everything they’d been through, they still had each other and all of their friends, and that was all that mattered for now.