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“I’ll go this way, I have to see this penis sign, Technoblade.”
“Tommy, that is a horrible idea. You’re going to get caught-”
His response is too late. Tommy is already sprinting down the pathway of L’manubrg, and Technoblade feels his third migraine coming on.
The exiled pair had journeyed to L’manburg to retrieve much needed items and build a base underground. However, in high Tommy fashion, once he caught wind of the “I love penis” sign floating in the air, it became his primary goal to stake out the sign.
Bearing responsibility on Tommy to not get himself killed with the 0% trust he had in him, Technoblade searched for some sort of leads his stolen items whereabouts. Looking in houses, he decides, is his best bet, and he makes a beeline to the closest house he sees.
When he arrives at the house and is about to step onto the stairs leading up to the entrance, he’s taken by surprise when he realizes someone is already in the home.
Recoiling, Technoblade briskly side steps and ducks behind a conveniently placed tree right beside the stairs and hastily sheds of his armor. Despite him taking an invisibility potion, his armor would be a dead giveaway, and he would not allow himself to be caught because of such an idiotic mistake.
While he’s undoing the straps holding together his breastplate, he cranes his neck at the nearest window to see who was occupying the house he was currently trying to pillage. From the catch of blonde hair he sees and shorter stature, Technoblade confirms it’s Tubbo.
The door swings open and Technoblade reflexively ducks behind the tree and glances from behind the trunk. Tubbo steps out onto the porch, checking something on his communicator, and brings it to his ear.
“Hello?” Tubbo asks to the person on the other end. “Oh, hey! How you doing, man?” There're inaudible noises from Tubbo’s communicator, presumably whoever he was talking to. “Good, good. So, what’s up?”
As Tubbo talks, Technoblade works down on removing his pants and boots, which he always found the most difficult of the armor to remove. He doesn’t pay much heed to Tubbo’s phonecall only catching tail ends of what seems to be a conversation regarding politics. Complicated and unnecessary topics, Technoblade can’t help but think with a derisive snort, governments always require trivial things.
“Uh-huh. Yea, no. I understand that.” Tubbo saunters onto the other side of the porch, dangerously close to where Technoblade was hiding. “Actually yea, yea. Let’s talk about this in person. I’m on the porch of my house right now. I’ll see you then, yea? Alright.” The president makes a noise of farewell and then ends the call, leaning onto the railings of his porch comfortably.
Technoblade inwardly groans, cursing whoever was on the other side of the call that decided to meet at Tubbo’s house, exactly where he needed to search-his invis was going to run out soon. He just had to hope this conversation-whatever it would be-wouldn’t take too long.
“Hey, Big Q! Over here!”
Technoblade briskly stands up and turns to see, lo-and-behold, Quackity coming down the wooden pathway. His black hair is tucked underneath his beanie, and he’s donning a suit, a rare sight. The suit is a standard black and white, but seems to suit him quite well despite the beanie. Bright brown eyes, a smile of mirth.
Technoblade hadn’t seen Quackity since their last confrontation shortly after the l’manburg war. Contrary to the blood spattered teen he spoke with, laced with cuts and fury, he looked..better.
Some part of that knowledge makes Technoblade relieved, despite knowing he shouldn’t.
“Jesus fuck, man! I came all the way here from a meeting with George!” Quackity complains as he draws closer to the porch. Tubbo laughs, patting his vice president on the back as Quackity steps onto the porch. Technoblade slips farther behind the tree as he does, knowing the bubbles of his potion would still be evident.
“I haven’t seen you in a suit in a while. It looks good on you, Big Q.” Tubbo praises, and Quackity flicks his eyebrows up at him with a smile.
“Yea? It looks super sexy on me, right?”
Tubbo responds how only he could to such a comment, with restrained confused laugh and prolonged hesitation. “I..wouldn’t go that far, but yes. Yes, it looks good on you.” As soon as their laughter dies away, he returns to diplomacy. “So, I wanted to resume our phonecall here because I think it would be better to flesh out more details in person, yea?”
Quackity nods, folding his arms and leaning on the rails. “Yea, so about expanding trade, I was actually talking to George and Dream about just now, and..” He slid the sheaf of papers tucked underneath his arm. “They’d be willing to trade their ores for gardening supplies and livestock. Here, look at this.” Tubbo picks up the paper and scans it.
“They’d be willing to give up netherite in this trade? How much livestock and supplies are they asking for?” Tubbo inquires in disbelief. Quackity leans closer and taps something on the paper.
“That much. That would be about half of our cattle supply if you put it into perspective. But since winter is coming up, it’ll be more difficult to make up for our lack of cattle.” When Quackity sees Tubbo’s nod of understanding, he continues efficiently, “So what I’m thinking is that we split the trade in half. We’ll accept the trade and give off half of our cattle and take the ores, and then after winter ends we’ll confirm the other half of the trade, just to be safe and make sure we’re not biting ourselves in the ass.”
“Can we do that?” Tubbo asks doubtedly, but Quackity responds with confident assurance.
“Of course we can! Look, they asked me on this offer first. If they’re doing this and willing to give up this much ores, my best bet is that they’re exhausting themselves of the little food they had there. What with winter coming soon, they’re probably trying to replenish their stocks. They’ll be stupid to decline this offer.”
Tubbo hums thoughtfully. “That is true..Alright, let’s give this one a go, Big Q. I’ll contact George about it.” At that, Quackity smiles lightly.
“Sounds good, Mr. President. We have the meeting later today, right?”
“Yea, might be earlier, in fact.” Tubbo checks his watch, and hastily sheafs the papers together. “I’ll see you then, Big Q. I have to run.” He sends one last smile of farewell over his shoulder before dashing down the stairs and briskly heading down the pathway.
However, Quackity stays on the porch, looking over the papers and typing through his communicator. With an resigned sigh, Technoblade sits himself down on the root of the tree, figuring Quackity wasn’t probably going to move from his spot right away.
Quackity was in rare form, Technoblade reflects. The man of loud laughter, shit-eating grins and perverted jokes were gone at the moment, replaced with a diplomatic young man with calculations of ease and a nimble mind. He didn’t reveal this side of him often, but Technoblade knows that Quackity owns a stark business mindset. He knew how to get what he wanted and to weave the deals to his advantage so he would be the one leaving with the best outcome. Coupled with his tenacity and persuasiveness, Technoblade knew his former friend was truly a force to reckon with.
When Quackity showed these sides of him, it only went to show how much he really cared for his country to put that much effort into such trivial matters. Technoblade would never comprehend it. How could someone be so utterly devoted and invested in something so blatantly prone to failure?
Uncomfortably, it reminds Technoblade of his and Quackity’s friendship.
Their friendship had been formed from unlikely situations and unfortunate run-ins. Quackity would often spend time with Technoblade in Pogtopia after he left Schlatt. The two would talk about topics of minor importance, exchanging insults and jokes as they toiled about their daily tasks.
Technoblade would teach Quackity how to fight, which more often than not resulted in Quackity getting severe injuries unintentionally. He couldn’t count the amount of days he spent nights tending to Quackity’s injuries, and repressed entirely all the memories of Quackity getting pissed at him for not ‘taking it easy on him’ He always found Quackity annoying, a nuisance, and just a lot.
But being with him made living in itself easier. When he had forgotten his limits due to his hyperfocus, when everything would just be closing in on him and be too much, Quackity would be there.
That was how Technoblade had learnt that Quackity was just more than what he let in on. Despite being clutter minded and hyper, he was passionate and cared deeply for what he bestowed his affection on. Technoblade had been on the receiving end of that, at one point.
However, it was no secret that Quackity and Technoblade had differing opinions on government. While they tried their best to tiptoe around the subject when they were together, it did nothing to ease the thin lines of tension always there, pulsing underneath each conversation and joke exchanged.
Foolishly, Technoblade had forgotten that tension only grows until it explodes.
The explosion-both physical and emotionally took place on the festival.
He remembers Quackity’s face when he yelled at the soldiers of l’manburg about their betrayal in his ideals, and when he turned to his friend, he saw the flutter of realization dawn on his face, only shuttering down as he looked away from Technoblade’s gaze.
However, those memories of Quackity’s reactions paled in comparison to when Technoblade spawned the withers.
Through the spiral of fireworks and screaming and the withers themselves obscuring his focus, the image of Quackity’s face, staring at Technoblade, face filled with confusion, pain, fear, and more noticeable than anything else, anger-is seared in his memory.
Technoblade didn’t know how to feel when he saw that expression. Anxiety? Dread? Satisfaction? Regret? He couldn’t dwell on those emotions, nor did he intend to.
He hadn't seen Quackity since then.
“What the fuck?”
The voice is like a jarring knife cutting into his mind, white hot shock twisting through his chest.
Technoblade whips around, panic flaring through his body. Oh god, his invis-he had completely forgotten about it due to his mind wandering. Every thought in his mind is hoping feverishly whoever just called him wasn’t who he thought it was.
His stomach plummets.
The absolute last person he wants to see is standing before him, eyes wide, brows angled in confusion and resentment, stance completely rigid. Quackity.
Technoblade wants to curse violently at every omnipotent deity that he didn’t believe in for allowing this to happen. Bad luck had really taken one look at Technoblade and said, ‘ This one. LET’S GET THIS ONE.’
There is a heavy silence, strained with shock and confusion between the two. Technoblade had never wanted to try to run away from a situation as he did now as he stares back at Quackity, unmoving. Did he have one more invis-? No, of course he didn’t.
A drop of sweat slides down the side of Technoblade’s face as he slowly materializes his sword. The uprooted stance of Quackity seems void of any emotion or action-but Technoblade could take an educated guess of what his next instinct would be once he recovered from the shock.
“Quackityy.” Technoblade says, voice with un-deceptive friendless. “My old-er-former friend.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Quackity finally speaks in a low tone, and the dark, calculating coldness proves Technoblade’s suspicions. His restrained, ominous demeanor was more threatening than any shouting Quackity could have reacted with.
Technoblade shifts. “Uh, just-wanderin’ around, y’know, like a total legal citizen of L’manburg.”
Quackity’s face darkens, obviously not humoring Technoblade’s jokes. A sword appears in his right hand and is pointed at the skin of Technoblade’s neck. “What. In the fucking name of hell. Are you doing here?” He growls.
“Just-uh-running a couple errands around here.” Technoblade responds nonchalantly. “A few required items here and there." Wrong answer Technoblade instantly thinks as the anger in Quackity's eyes in turned up a few hundred notches.
Quackity’s eyes blazes, and the sword is shoved farther down into the skin of his neck, causing blood to trickle down. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t slit your goddamned throat right now.”
“Aren’t you getting a little hasty, here? Have you forgotten who has the upperhand?” Perhaps it was because of the stark fearlessness in Technoblade’s eyes, but he finds that the sword isn’t pushed farther into his neck. Quickly, Technoblade dials down his thirst for blood, despite the chanting voices in his head urging him to do otherwise. “Okay, let’s-uh, let’s put down the weapons and we can talk.”
He half expects Quackity to lunge at him in cold blood. If there anything he knew about Quackity, was that this man ran rampant on emotions and relies on his actions on them. To Technoblade’s surprise, Quackity takes a step back, sword going along with it. His face is set stone as he does, no flinch or flutter of emotion giving anything about himself away.
“Listen to me.” Quackity spoke. “The only goddamned reason I’m not killing you is because I want answers. Your stupid goddamned face is posted on every fucking wanted poster here, so if you make one wrong move, I’m sending you to jail.”
Technoblade nods, recalling the wanted posters and crude artwork of him plastered around the country. “I did see those posters-you might as well have plugged my channel while you plastered my face up everywhere.”
Quackity’s nonplussed expression at Technoblade’s remark quickly grew darkened with fury. “You think you have the goddamned nerve to step in here so goddamned casually after all the shit you did to this country?”
“If I recall, that huge crater was mostly made by Wilbur being a little too trigger-happy.”
Tension wires Quackity’s set jaw. “I’m not fucking talking about Wilbur, I’m talking about you. You released two withers on this place, Technoblade.” His face twists into a scowl as he steps closer. “You fucking betrayed us, you piece of shit, and you think you have any right to be here?”
Technoblade halts the monotone remark on his tongue and narrows his eyes at Quackity’s words. He curls his fingers into a fist on the splintered bark of the tree. “Actually, if I recall correctly, Quackity, I was the one who was betrayed.”
Quackity’s hollow expression of anger morphs into a huge, maniac esque smile, as if Technoblade had just something wildly amusing. “Are you fucking kidding me ?” He asks in utter disbelief, short barks of laughter coming out in punctuated staccatos. He rubs his face, his smiles taut with anger fading out when he finally lifts his head.
There is pure fury in his face, etched with raw emotions hidden underneath the surface.
“Technoblade, don’t you fucking dare try to make yourself the victim.” He says through grinding teeth. “You betrayed us when you we needed you most and left us to deal with the aftermath of all this shit.”
Technoblade raises his eyebrows up slightly through narrowed eyes. “I’m just telling you how it went. You made a government, and I had to tear it down. All of you knew I made my motives clear from the very start. I am an anarchist, and I will never stand for government,” His voice hardens.
“You knew that. All of you. And yet, despite my warnings, despite what I told you, you went ahead and formed another government right before my very eyes. And now, for doing what any anarchist would do in the face of government, you’re still dead set on hating me only, Alex.”
The same flicker of emotions ripple across Quackity's face, as it did the day of the Festival. For a moment, the man’s face twitches, giving way to a new set of emotions, but it’s gone the second his face hardens, replaced with a scowl. “Don’t-Don’t you fucking dare call me Alex, I’ll fucking kill you.” He runs a hand through his hair, short bursts of laughter escaping his mouth as he does.
“I’m just in fucking shock, man. I still can’t believe you released -what- two fucking withers on this place. We could’ve had a slight chance of winning if you didn’t-if you didn’t betray us!” Quackity stops, pressing the heel of his palms to his eyes before raising them back up to Technoblade.
“And you know the worst fucking part? You knew, Technoblade. You knew how fucking hard I worked to build this place, to contriubte to making L’manburg a better place. It was my home, Technoblade, and you just betrayed us-”
“L’manberg was a place derived from the chasms of government and tyranny.” Technoblade cut in shortly, dead set on not allowing Quackity to glorify L’manburg on its pedestal that it was never on.
Quackity blinks, staring at Technoblade, and something in his expression cracks. Full brown eyes, no longer shadowed and darkened, open but unreadable. Shattered.
He then tilts his mouth into a smile-one that is strained and full of faults and turns his head away. “So in the end, it’s really just all about government? Fucking unbelievable.” Anger surges through his voice. There is no bloodlust or darkness staining it, only anger that is cracked and broken beyond relief.
“I should’ve fucking known, I’m just another useless fucking..” His breath catches-or maybe it hitches-and he laughs, turning to Technoblade with those same eyes, expression almost melting painfully like it’s burning in roaring flames. “You’re just like fucking Schlatt, you know that?” His voice is sharp, but in no way seems to contrast his expression.
Schlatt? Why Schlatt? Technoblade would find nothing about the late President similar to him. A small contemplating frown adornes his face.
‘Is this really just about the betrayal of his government?’
The sudden change in Quackity’s demeanor when he mentioned him must have some correlation. And even though he shouldn’t, the tension in Technoblade unintentionally bleeds out of him. Seeing Quackity like this makes the urge to fix whatever he broke to grow stronger.
“Uh-I don’t exactly know why you mentioned Schlatt, but..” Technoblade looks back at Quackity. “..when I blew up L’manburg, when I did all of that, spawning the withers, whatever, none of it was done because I wanted to hurt you. That was my last intention.”
For a moment, Technoblade almost thinks he sees another crack in Quackity’s sharp expression, full of naïve and blatant belief fluttering across his face like a ray of light. But it is closed off once more when he shakes his head with another laugh. But there is less sharpness, less defensiveness, less maliciousness to it.
“Yea fucking right. Don’t you dare try to fucking woo me with your words and don’t you fucking dare try to manipulate me; not when I’m-”
He pauses there.
“..Anyway, just-fucking don’t man. After all this shit-” He waves his hand around L’manburg encompassingly. “-there’s no way you actually mean that shit you just said.”
Quackity’s was only met with wordlessness, and he shifts uneasily before finally lifting his head to look at Technoblade. The rose haired man is only staring at him, silent, and Quackity finds himself rendered speechless of any sharp words or accusations he’d like to say.
“I don’t think you realize I fight my own battles too, Quackity.” He finally speaks, his tone careful and understanding. The words seems like such an intruder in the comforting intimacy of the silence, but what follows is yet another silence. It is less jarring than the other silences in this conversation, though. Less tense. More softer. More comforting. More familiar of the silences the two shared back in Pogtopia.
The tree, rustling with the gusts of wind, cast leave-shaped shadows across Quackity’s face as he stares wordlessly at Technoblade. His eyes are pooled with realization and recognition as he regards him, which makes Technoblade blink. They both fought their own thoughts, he realizes.
Finally, he speaks, voice lowered, most of the spite in his voice gone “Do you regret anything?” There is no condescending tone in his question, rather more inquiring, the thin underlines of anxious disparity for the right answer.
Technoblade tilts his head as he regards Quackity. His expression, now almost fully cracked, pensive with ripples of anxiety and carefulness, rattles him. Just a few minutes prior, this was the same man who was at his neck, eyes blazed with bloodlust and hatred. The fact he could be shaken, so broken so easily, tugs at something in Technoblade unknowingly.
“As much of a radical anarchist I am,” Technoblade’s voice is careful, because he knows he is voicing his own doubts and fears, “..there are times when I wonder if that is the only thing I’ll be waking up to, and it makes me question the worth of it.” He huffs, frustrated with how his thoughts were coming out. “It is my main belief-don’t get me wrong, but I-” An small frown of conflictedness passes by his expression as he scratches his cheek. “Sometimes I wonder if the losses are worth what I bargained for.”
Quackity's staring again, expression glazed with open vulnerability in his eyes that Quackity himself probably doesn’t even realize. Hurt, confusion, relief, different elements pooled together in his eyes, passing in and out like waves.
Then something in his face seems to crumble, and he cards a hand through his hair, gripping at the clumps in his hand. “Goddammit, Techno,” He mutters, his voice was jagged, but only from the sharp ends of the shatterdness of it all, “Why do you always make it so fucking hard to-” He doesn’t finish his sentence, the cut off his sentence dying off into white noise.
“..hard to what, exactly?” Technoblade pries, and Quackity jolts, almost as if realizing what he was doing. For a moment, he hesitates.
However, whatever Quackity was going to say was left unsaid when the communicator hooked on the side of his belt chimes, spectacularly shattering the atmosphere. Quackity fumbles for the device, checking what notification he got, then swears.
“Tubbo wants me. I’ve been gone for way too fucking long.” He mumbles. The vulnerability and emotion fades from eyes, voice now sounding more distant, underlined with threads of embarrassment. It’s still sharp, but the venom that was there before is a distant memory.
There’s a heartbeat of uncomfortable hesitation. It seems that the conversation was coming to a close while being unfinished, and the lack of finality to it only makes the silence more awkward.
Technoblade wants to say or do something before Quacktiy would leave-it was the closest he had ever felt with him, yet he struggles to find the right words or actions to solidify his words.
Before he can do anything, an object is thrown into Technoblade’s general direction, which he caught. A corked glass bottle filled with a liquid of iridescent violet shades is in his hands. Technoblade blinks, instantly recognizing what he was given, and looks up at Quackity questioningly.
“Invis potion.” Quackity avoids Technoblade’s gaze. “You got caught from me because yours ran out, so don’t be a fucking dumbass and get caught again.”
Technoblade stares between the potion and Quackity for a few moments before relaxing. “Old habits die hard, huh?” He can't help but ask lightly, an smiling twitching on the corner of his mouth.
Quackity’s whips his head to face Technoblade, his face lit with embarrassment and light touches of amusement and softness that instantly flickers away as he flinches. He looks away, shifting uneasily. “I wish you would fucking die.” he mutters, words empty of malice
Neither of the two mention the implication hidden underneath those words.
Technoblade finally stretches lightly. He doesn't know if he should thank him, or apologize, or try to fix what he broke, try to find more underneath the surface. He wants to pursue what he started. With startling realization, Technoblade feels the strong desire to go back to how they were before.
But whatever he’d like to say dies before it reaches the surface.
“Well, I’ll, uh..I’ll see you around, Alex.” He finally says. The remnants of their intimacy fade away, the last notes of comfort played out, forever unfinished.
Quackity pauses for a moment and then nods lightly. “..Goodbye, Technoblade.”
“Technoblade, I’m telling you, you should have seen the sign. It was hilarious! I was actually quite tempted to build a huge cobblestone penis-I actually did that once, you know that?-but I decided not to, because, well, you’d probably be pissed at me and...Technoblade?”
The sudden shift in Tommy’s tone breaks into Technoblade’s thoughts.
After his conversation with Quackity, Technoblade had rounded up Tommy to head back to his cabin, who was overflowing with yells and excitement. They were now heading through the forest, and Tommy was now looking up at Technoblade with mild concern.
“I know you’re always like-typically brooding and shit but uh-you look quite depressed, my friend.”
Technoblade exhales heavily, boots crunching into the snow underneath his feet. He paid no heed to Tommy in the first place, but this time it was his encounter with Quackity that was filling up his headspace. “I had a run with Quackity in L’manburg, that’s all.”
“Did you?” Tommy’s voice sounds faraway, and Technoblade could take a guess of what popped into his mind when he mentioned Quackity.
“I saw Tubbo too,” Technoblade adds, ducking his head to avoid the branch of an pine tree. “He was talking with Quackity.” He sees Tommy’s expression freeze, feet stopping on the snow pathway.
“O-oh.” he responds carefully, pain pulsing in his eyes. “Well-was he-is he okay?” He finally stumbles out, fidgeting.
“From what I could tell, he seemed fine.” Technoblade responds, gauging Tommy’s reaction. The blonde hair’s face is filled with an storm of emotions, sadness and loss etched in the sides of his eyes.
The boy finally gives himself a shake, resuming to walking by Technoblade. “That’s..yea, that’s good.” Tommy exhales, shaking out his hair with one hand, closing his eyes briefly.
Technoblade slid a glance over to the boy walking by side. That was quite admirable of him. He was always like this, ever since he joined Technoblade. Despite being exiled by him, being betrayed by him, Tommy still was adamant on holding onto the remnants of affection he harbored for his best friend. He would make his loyalty to his best friend known to Technoblade.
Except this time, Technoblade does not inwardly scorn Tommy for that.
“Technoblade.” Tommy speaks up again. “We’re working to get the discs back, right?”
“Yes.” Technoblade responds, wondering where Tommy was going with this.
“..And..you’re going to try to commit minor terrorism on L’manburg, I reckon.”
An moment of hesitation. “...That’s the plan.”
“Technoblade?”
“Yes?”
“..Is it..this is worth it, right?”
Technoblade almost freezes for a moment. The weight of Tommy’s words tugs harder on him than ever before. He wants to affirm Tommy that he’s correct. He would have. And he can tell from the desperate inquiring tone in Tommy’s voice that he’s hoping for affirmation from the radical anarchist.
Yet, Technoblade knows the losses are still losses. While what he gained might bring him satisfaction and fulfillment, what he lost will still be there.
Technoblade shifts the invisible potion in his pocket. Shuttering emotions pooled in brown eyes flicker through his mind.
“..I don’t know, Tommy.”