Quentin & Gabriel, Monday evening

[xp-erverse.livejournal.com]

Quentin and Gabriel get dinner and drinks after work. It's totally not a date. Even though Gabriel voices some personal concerns he's never told anyone else and Quentin suggests a vacation for just the two of them. Nope, not a date.


This vegetarian restaurant had seen better days. That much was clear from the chipped paint and one or two small cracks in the mirrored panels lining the back wall. There was a photo of a vegetable farm to Gabriel's left that had faded, and his eyes wandered around, he tried to imagine the place in its glory days back in the 80s.

The decor didn't matter. The food was cheap, and they didn't shy on free bread, which crucial given that Gabriel and Quentin had ended up here after a quick drink turned into seconds and thirds. And it was somewhere that wouldn't make it too difficult for Quentin to eat, which Gabriel figured was also pretty important.

"I know the point of this was, like, food would soak up the booze," Gabriel peered up from the bread basket to look at his dining companion. "But I regret not ordering a bottle of wine."

Quentin shrugged, messily stuffing another slice of buttered bread into his mouth. "We can get one," he offered, raising a hand to hail a passing waiter before Gabriel could say anything else. The telepath didn't know much about wine — it was probably pretentious white people bullshit — so a quick glance into the waiter's head identified the bottle that tasted good and wasn't overpriced. Quentin stuffed yet another slice down his gullet when the waiter retreated. "Let's be real," he said, chewing, "If I don't come into the office hungover tomorrow, everyone will think something's wrong."

"Mmm," Gabriel said in a kind of half-assent. "Can't have that." He reached for his glass of ice water, knocking a fork on the floor. In a split-second, it was back in its place on his napkin. "Surprised that lot really notices. They all seem kinda..." He waved a hand. "I dunno."

"No, continue, please." Quentin leaned forward, holding his chin in his hand while he waited for Gabriel to find the right words. "Worthington can't see what's in front of his nose unless it's a pair of tit implants or a line of coke, but, you know, we're supposed to be detectives. We notice things."

"Yeah no, I know, but it's kind of — I mean, they all seem kind of self-involved." He shrugged and took a sip from the glass. "I dunno. I want to punch Warren in the face, and that Jessica chick is just—" he gave Quentin a look, tilting his head as he rolled his eyes. "Not like the spies are much better."

No argument came from Quentin. If anything, he had to restrain himself before his various annoyances and frustrations with his co-workers spewed out. "Who even are the spies?" he asked, accepting Gabriel's change in topic. "The Chinese chick who won't shut up, the French girl, and I guess one of the two guys she's fucking? Both of them? Either way, good for her."

"Both of them," Gabriel nodded in response. "I think. I don't dig too much into it. People's lives are their business or whatever."

Quentin raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Aren't spies supposed to be all up in each other's business? And, you know, the whole friendly sexy bartender thing? So much tea you're just leaving in the kettle."

"Yeah, but I don't live with the barflies. It's different when, like, you know everyone's secrets and then you see them in the kitchen or whatever." The wine came, two glasses of white plopped rather unceremoniously on the table. Gabriel reached for his almost immediately. "Besides, maybe they're not that interesting. I mean, they're all, like... old."

"Then you should fit right in, as far as they know, and can learn their boring old ways," Quentin teased. He took his glass, absent-mindedly swirling it while he pondered. "We had a pre-divorce case the other week. Like the twentieth this year already. True love, right? Anyway, this lady thought her husband was cheating and wanted proof for divorce court." He took a sip from his glass and shrugged. It was fine to his untrained palate. It would do the job.

"He was. With literally every woman in her family. Her mom, her sisters, a cousin or two, even a niece who thank fuck was 18. Wild, right? I probably shouldn't be telling you this because it's classified or whatever but it's fucking hilarious. Anyway, the point of that gross story is that even though I figured out most of it because this douche couldn't stop thinking about it, it's the others who actually got the real evidence. So they don't completely suck."

Gabriel laughed and took another healthy sip from his glass. "See," he teased back, "other people have uses." He slumped a little in his chair as he thought about Quentin's story. "That's fucked up, though. I mean, I know it's not incest, but, like, that's as close as you can get. I know families are fucked up, but Jesus."

The telepath nodded, smirking. "At least the Quires' infidelities don't cross streams like that. They're just screwing secretaries or repairmen, like good WASPs do." His expression faltered a bit at that, and he tried to hide it behind his glass. "Should've ordered a whole fucking bottle. Yo." He held up a hand to flag the passing waiter so he could indulge.

Gabriel made a noise in agreement. "I don't think there were any—" The waiter approached, and Gabriel ordered the rest of the bottle. He watched the man walk away, then stared at his glass. "Sometimes I worry I'm an alcoholic. I mean, I know I'm not, but like, you sometimes just..." he shrugged and looked up at Quentin. "Lots of bartenders are. I dunno."

"You're not shooting heroin up your dick hole, so whatever addictive habits you have, they're not all that bad. Life sucks and then you die, anyway," Quentin said sagely with all the wisdom of an 18-year-old who has figured it all out. "Might as well get whatever fun you can out of it before you wind up a rotting sack of meat no one will remember in three months."

"Yeah, well," Gabriel shrugged. "Might happen sooner than you think." He downed the rest of his glass.

Quentin raised his glass in a mock toast and then finished every drop. "Fingers crossed." It wasn't until the waiter returned a moment later with their bottle and meals that Gabriel's meaning actually pierced the drunken fog of Quentin's brain. The telepath looked up from his portobello burger at the speedster, wearing a look of confused concern. "Wait. Are you . . . what do you mean? Is something wrong?"

"No, no, I'm not—" He shrugged, looking down at the tofu wrap he'd rather randomly ordered. It looked more appealing than it sounded. Then Gabriel lifted his eyes and let out a small sigh. "I'm, like," he waved a hand, using his other to reach for his water glass.

"Well, okay." He shifted his chair around the table so they were closer together, then leaned over his food toward Quentin. "You know, like, my age. But I look older, right?"

"You're defrauding everyone you've ever met, right," Quentin replied, nodding. "What of it?"

Gabriel, mid-sip, rolled his eyes in response. He was silent, fiddling with the straw for a bit. "I'm — I mean, I'm not sure, it's just a theory, whatever, but like, I'm pretty sure I'm..." He waved a hand. "I don't know. Speeding myself older, faster."

Tried though he might to look sympathetic, Quentin's expression was more disoriented than anything as he tried to process the implications of Gabriel's personal hypothesis. "What, like, mutant progeria? Why would you even think that?"

"It's not—" Gabriel shook his head and made an exasperated sound. "I can't explain it, it's just, like, the way things work. And physics. I don't know, I just don't think it's, like genetics. Just a thing I think."

Now Quentin frowned, as the realization that he was being the opposite of helpful dawned on him. Which would be fine for most people, but not Gabriel. He deserved more from Quentin. Deserved better. The words echoed in the Astral Plane, and several other patrons looked up from their plates, wondering where the sound came from. Quentin ignored them.

"Sooooo you're worried your clock's running fast and you . . . how fast, do you think?"

"Not worried, exactly." Gabriel switched glasses, reaching for the wine again. "'S just, you know, a theory. I've gotten better at the whole—" He made a whooshing sound as his hand sliced through the air. "That whole thing, since I got to Xavier's." He swirled the wine the glass, watching it fall down the sides before suddenly looking back up. "I'm sorry," he winced, "I drank past fun and now I'm at existential."

"You obviously are worried," Quentin retorted, "Or you wouldn't've brought it up like that. But you don't know for sure, okay. Isn't that the kind of shit Chuckles or one of the other assholes downstairs in the white coats can figure out for you?"

"Ugh." Gabriel wrinkled his nose. "Would you want to be studied by those people? No." In the span of a blink, Gabriel's wine was gone. "I — this is, like, I don't want people knowing about it. Then it becomes a thing, and I don't want it to be a thing thing yet."

Quentin inelegantly stuffed a small handful of fries into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "'Yet,'" he repeated after he swallowed. "So you know it's gonna come out eventually. For anyone else I'd say fuck it and let them ignore it 'til they can't no more. But you . . . You know. I figured if you were ever gonna die early it'd be because you and I drove a car of a cliff all Thelma and Louise-like."

"You do bear a passing resemblance to Susan Sarandon from a mile away."

Quentin flicked some fry detritus at Gabriel. "Rude."

Gabriel laughed. "Sorry, sorry." He reached over and snagged a fry from Quentin's plate. "I wouldn't count that possibility out, though, honestly. I just, you know." He chewed. "Something I've been thinking about, I guess."

"Why, though? Something must've triggered you. Is this, like, leftover from a bad high? Yo, I've started using this new strain that's like 33% less paranoia . . ."

"No, I dunno." Gabriel raised and lowered a shoulder. "My birthday's, like, soon. Soon-ish. And I'm turning 21, which isn't really a big deal since I've looked 21 and had the IDs to match, for however many years now. But, like, I was thinking about it and I thought I saw a gray hair — just lint, whatever — but it got in my head." He grabbed the wine bottle and topped off their glasses. "I feel stupid mentioning it, but I guess I needed to just... say it."

"My birthday's the day after. Or day before? I don't remember. Whatever. Anyway, maybe me and you should go away somewhere to celebrate away from the freaks, just ignore everything for a week." Quentin shrugged, maintaining a disinterested air about him. "Fire Island or Key West or P-Town, I dunno. Whatever."

"Vacation together?" Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "How... heterosexual life partners."

Gabriel had shifted closed enough that Quentin could reach over and smack his arm. "Shut the fuck up," he sputtered, sneering. "Never mind."

"Awww, hey." Gabriel laughed. "You're cute when you're flustered. And when you look like you want to stab me." He wiggled his eyebrows. "It's so rare, I kind of forgot."

"Welcome to the 99%," Quentin said with disdain. His face was still flushed with embarrassment at Gabriel's amused dig. "I didn't mean it like that. Just, you know, friends. Fuckbuddies. Whatever."

"I know, I know." As he reassured Quentin, Gabriel gently pushed the other guy's wine glass toward him. "Just a joke. And anyway, I'm the one who got all true confessions, so..."

"Maybe you're the one getting too comfortable with all this." Quentin turned it around, but he was smiling now. Or smirking. Some vaguely positive facial expression. "Post-work drinks and dinner? I dunno, boo."

"Maybe." Gabriel tried to keep cool, but he was grateful his skin hid light blushing. "I did say I was getting older. This is what happens to olds."

Satisfied that the danger of intimacy was past, Quentin returned his attention to his rapidly cooling burger. "And that's why we need to end it before we get too old."

"Yeah, okay." Gabriel pulled his own plate toward him, poking at the wrap as if checking for signs of life. "Sounds like a good plan."