xp_logs | Quentin & Gabriel

Quentin and Gabriel finally reunite after Quentin's death and resurrection and Gabriel's meltdown. There are feels.

Quentin lay half-asleep on the couch in his suite's common room. Fuckwad was curled up on his chest, slumbering peacefully, sometimes making sounds of displeasure when Quentin stopped petting him. He had tried not being a lump and actually doing things earlier, but a sudden bout of agoraphobia had him turn heel just a few feet past the door and go back inside his suite. Anything important happening would have to text him.

"So. You're alive." Gabriel didn't bother knocking before he entered Quentin's suite. The door was open, so it would have been a courtesy more than anything, and life felt too short for courtesies right now, given that Quentin had died or "died" or whatever. He'd been avoiding any version of this conversation until he sorted out his feelings on what had happened, but as time passed, it became clear how unlikely it was that Gabriel would get any clear resolution on anything related to the mysterious proceedings that left yet another lover of his dead and reincarnated.

"That sounded callous," he added as he brushed a piece of stray fiber off his shorts, "but I'm not sure where else to start."

"It's a goddamn miracle." Quentin slowly half-sat up, trying not to disturb his pet. "Sorry to disappoint. If it makes you feel better, you can still pretend I'm dead. It's fine."

"That's not a good joke." Gabriel crossed his arms. "And I'm not really sure why you'd think it would be."

Quentin frowned and looked away. Was that shame he felt? Maybe he had changed more than he thought. "Sorry, guess possession and suicide by a psychic parasite didn't help me with a sense of humor. Maybe next time."

This conversation wasn't going how Gabriel wanted it to go. "I'm glad you're not fucking dead, jackass." he said quietly. That was as close to earnest as he was capable of being right now. "I don't even understand what happened, and that's not for lack of trying, and I know the last thing you want is some One Tree Hill bullshit, and that's not what this is anyway, but I will say that I enjoy your company, even after we're done fucking and I know you're lying there and silently judging me for my nicotine addiction."

Quentin did not respond right away. He looked up at Gabriel for a moment, his expression unreadable, before carefully getting up so he could put his pet back in his cage. Then he went straight to the kitchenette to wash his hands and retrieve a couple of glasses. "Thirsty?" he asked, already pouring himself a couple fingers of bourbon.

Gabriel let out what was almost a curt one-syllable laugh, because everything was absurd. "Always." He sat on the nearest chair, because he wasn't sure entirely what else to do. "You look the same," he said after a second, even though he knew it was the tritest comment imaginable.

That comment earned a nearly identical reaction. Quentin handed Gabriel the drink and before taking a seat opposite him, he lifted his shirt to expose his torso. "This body comes custom-designed by Marie-Ange Colbert. She tried to give me a full six-pack but it didn't quite work out. But one ab is better than none."

"It's a good look. Like you care enough to do crunches, but you're not letting it stop you from having fun." Gabriel's eyes naturally found their way to Quentin's rose-tinted treasure trail. It seemed like nobody came back from the dead without some improvements, which figured. It was the universe's balance for making him a little more broken.

"Cheers." He took a small sip.

"I'm going to save a fortune on bleach and hair dye," Quentin said, noticing Gabriel's roaming eyes. He sat and crossed his legs before his body could react. At least he knew some things were still working. "Telepathy is gone. They say it's only temporary but who knows? It's really hard to get used to all this quiet."

"I bet." Gabriel lifted his gaze to meet Quentin's. "How do you feel?" He tried to look apologetic for what was a bullshit question, but he really wasn't sure what to ask. What did you say to a man who had been possessed by some kind of shady psychic entity and tried to end things with a noble sacrifice, only to have his well-meaning friends drag him back from the afterlife?

Though he had not been dishonest to anyone who'd asked him so far, Quentin had also not been entirely forthright. He looked at Gabriel eye to eye, the first person he'd offered that sort of intimacy to since his return, and held his gaze. "I feel like shit. I can't concentrate on anything. I'm running hot or cold all the time. I could've had a panic attack when you came by. And even without my teep, I remember everything that happened, and I can't get it out of my head. Not just what happened to me, but everyone the Shadow King — that's what that fucker called itself — everyone it hurt. Do you know how many murders I can remember committing even though it wasn't me? Spoiler alert: the number is nine."

Gabriel wasn't entirely sure what to say. He wasn't sure what he was allowed to say. Because he hadn't shared Quentin's experiences, but certain things about the younger man's trauma — the false memories, the constant replay, the distortion of one's perception of reality — felt so familiar. But he couldn't express any solidarity in a way that would feel genuine or helpful, because he'd tear a hole in the fabric of the universe.

So instead, he tried to channel his sympathy into two words that he'd hope would sound more complex than they were. "That's awful." He broke eye contact with Quentin and stared at his glass. "I mean, god, that's fucking horrible, Q. I'm so sorry. I honestly can't imagine. I can't believe you're even functioning right now." He looked back up. It was hard to put the depth of his thoughts into sentences, and in one of life's most twisted ironies, he actually found himself wishing that Quentin could just be in his head for a minute. "But you're not that person. You know that, right? I mean, I know you know that, but I want to make sure you really know that."

Haller's warning came to mind, that Shadow King could only exploit fear and rage, and could not comprehend the love or passion that went with those feelings. Its interpretations of you were shallow. Base. But that was not all. "'It could only see what it saw in itself.' That's what whatshisname said. Da . . . Haller. But the thing is, I am all that. I mean, that's not all, but there was something in me that attracted it, that it could use to manipulate me. You know what else we did? Walked into a prison and mind controlled everyone to release one inmate. From a case we worked on a few months ago. Stood up for his mutant son's safety and got arrested for it. Ever since he got locked up, I've fantasized about freeing him, and then we did it."

He set down his glass before the small cracks he'd inadvertently telekined could get any bigger and shower him in a million shards. "I know I'm not a goddamn saint. I know I'm corruptible. But that I could be made to do things like that and want to . . . I mean, just think if the Shadow King decided to accept your birthday invitation after all. What would've I done to you?"

That gave Gabriel pause. His thoughts hadn't led him down that road. He put his glass down as well. "I dunno," he finally said after a few seconds. "Probably something unspeakably twisted. My head's not a fun place, which you know better than anyone." He could tell that wasn't helping. "But that's not worth worrying about. Nothing happened, and those kinds of 'what if' questions aren't — they don't matter It's just this endless wormhole that makes you more and more miserable. A mental trap."

Gabriel wished he were smarter, or more eloquent. Maybe if he had a more educated way to say this, it wouldn't sound like he was repeating armchair psychology from The Huffington Post. "Everyone's got a darkness. An edge, whatever. But most days, we choose when to really lean into that. You didn't make any of these choices. If anything, it shows how strong you've been to keep yourself in check all this time."

"That's not nearly as comforting as you think it is. Maybe stick to playing backup guitar, you're a lot better at that." Quentin's lips imperceptibly quirked as he fondly remembered that night almost a year and a half ago — fuck, where had the time gone? What had he been doing all this time? — when he'd walked in on Gabriel's brief stint playing in a punk band.

"Really, the worst is, nothing feels right. Like I put myself in this body wrong. Twisted a few degrees to the side. I can't explain it. Just this existential feeling that something's Wrong."

"I get it," Gabriel said, and he hoped he conveyed how seriously he meant it, even though those three words generally indicated the opposite. "I mean, you were... I mean, I don't really understand it, but let's say you were displaced. Majorly displaced. In the biggest way. And now you're back, but everything has... shifted." He wasn't sure what his point was. "I don't know what my point is. It'll go away. You just went through something huge. It's not going to suddenly clear overnight." He picked his drink back up. "I don't know, I'm fucking this conversation up. I'm not Charles."

Which might have been the only reason Quentin even tolerated this conversation. "Let's just not with the advice and solutions, then. I'm not in the mood to learn about how this is all just me and all the things I have to do myself to fix it. When I need advice to ignore, I'll go to Chuckles directly. Trite platitudes are his forte."

"Fair enough." Gabriel swirled the whiskey in his glass. "So you just feel totally fucked, then? That fucking sucks."

"If just the thought of going outside didn't make me hyperventilate, I'd get the hell out of here. Take a cruise or something. Just away from this shithole. This bitch needs a tan." Quentin held up a pale arm to prove his point. "Anything fun happen while I was gone?"

"Oh, you know" Gabriel waved a hand dismissively. He downed the rest of his drink. "I went on what can only be described as a bender. But I'm apparently maturing, because then I followed it with a short cleanse that mostly involved lying on the couch in the dark eating whatever other people brought me. And then lather, rinse, repeat, I guess?" He stood to get more bourbon. "Fuck if I know what happened here while you were gone."

Quentin's gaze followed Gabriel, though he did not say anything at first. The cavalier attitude Gabriel displayed could be interpreted in many ways, but for the life of him, Quentin could not decide which one he wanted to be true. He finished his drink, too, but stayed on the couch, out of Gabriel's line of sight. "Well, I'm glad you didn't go full Romeo and Juliet, because that would've been embarrassing."

"No, instead, I went full Bojack Horseman. Much more dignified." It hadn't been. Gabriel opened the bottle of bourbon and just stared at it. "God, I should have lied to you and made up fake gossip." He put the bottle back down and fiddled with the cap instead of filling his glass. "I regret that now."

It was not a reference Quentin got, but he ignored it. Gabriel's regret caught his attention instead. "Why?"

"Because, this is all, so... ugh." Gabriel wrinkled his nose and picked the bottle up again. "God, am I actually acknowledging the tailspin this shit sent me in? That's just so..." He filled his glass. "Like, who am I?"

"I'm not sure if I should be offended by that," Quentin replied, furrowing his brow. He rubbed his stomach to try to soothe a sudden pain he felt. Maybe he shouldn't have been drinking on an empty stomach. Or maybe he needed more, he thought as he stood and followed Gabriel into the kitchenette, still taking care not to make eye contact. "You're upset that you got upset because you thought I was gone? Is that so twisted?"

"What? No." Gabriel frowned. he made a half-hearted effort to catch Quentin's eye as he placed the bottle back on the counter. "The twisted part is that I'm telling you about it. Like, that's shitty."

"Oh." The bottle slid to Quentin's hand so he could pour himself another double. Better make it a triple. "It's fine. I mean, I asked. Trust me, you can't make me feel any more like a freak than I already do. This is a safe space. Talk freely."

"How freely?"

Quentin smirked. "When have I ever not said exactly what's on my mind or encouraged someone to not do the same?"

"Fair enough." Gabriel crossed his arms. "When you died, I was a goddamn mess, and the tiniest, smallest, worst part of me was mad at you for coming back, since it made what was a very intense emotional roller-coaster with a bit of soul-searching feel like a total waste."

He reached for his glass. "And don't do that thing where you fake-apologize for being alive, because you know that's not what I mean, I'm obviously elated."

"I am sorry," Quentin confessed, finally looking up again. He could feel his face reddening, which he attributed to the bourbon and East Asian genetics that had not mutated between death and rebirth. "That it fucked you up so much. Not totally my fault, I know. But still. Sorry. Did your soul searching uncover anything?" he dared to ask.

"Yes," Gabriel said after taking a healthy sip and considering the question. "But I can't really explain it." He looked down at his hands for a second. "It's all very complicated, and honestly, I wouldn't even know where to start, but just..." he sighed. "I'm still sorting things out. But it's clear that this whole thing"—he gestured between he and Quentin—"moved beyond purely sex a while ago."

Hearing those words, even as noncommittal as they were, made Quentin's stomach lurch. And not, he quickly realized, because Gabriel was saying something so foreign and off base that it sickened him. Quite the opposite. And after the twisted tour of his life's highlights, he was grateful that Gabriel was the first to acknowledge it. A proper response required great eloquence.

"Yeah." Nailed it. "The sex is pretty damn good, though. Heh, you know what my last words were? I asked Jean to tell you exactly that."

"Not exactly Shakespeare, is it? Can't imagine why she didn't convey the message." He wasn't being judgmental. It wasn't like Gabriel expected anything heartfelt anyway. And it wasn't like he was sure what he'd say to his closer-than-a-friend-with-more-frequent-benefits if given the chance.

"She was justifiably preoccupied." Quentin leaned against the counter, his posture not so stiff anymore. "So, what now? Even if my brain wasn't scrambled, I wouldn't know."

Gabriel shrugged. "Hell if I know. Doesn't seem right to pretend nothing happened, doesn't seem right not to."

The pain in Quentin's stomach migrated up to his chest. There really was only one option. "I can't do this right now."

"I need a break."

Quentin blinked. Had he said that or had Gabriel?

Gabriel blinked back. It was almost unbelievable. Both of them, reaching the same place, saying it at the same time. Wonders never ceased.

It was quiet for a second or two before Gabriel sighed out of a mix of exasperation and resignation. "Well," he said after downing the rest of his drink, "we agree, clearly. Even without you inside my brain." It was meant as a light joke, but it came off more weary than anything.

How apt, since Gabriel felt exhausted. "It's just what makes sense, right?" He crossed his arms. "I mean, you just went through this, like, thing. Big, huge, literally life-changing thing. And I don't — like, I'm happy you're back, I am, honestly, I know I keep saying it, but I... am." He shrugged, because he wasn't sure what else to do. "But I can't — you need to figure things out, I think, at least from what I can tell, and I'm not sure you can do that if I'm..." He searched for the words. "I dunno. It just... makes sense."

"Yeah. And I don't want to to feel like you have to be my support or whatever when you need your own anchor," Quentin continued on Gabriel's behalf. "I threw your world for a loop, so you can't rely on me to right it. This is the right, sane, mature decision." Three adjectives Quentin had spent years avoiding to describe any of his decisions.

"Right," Gabriel affirmed. It was right, wasn't it? Well, he figured it had to be. The best decisions didn't tend to be the ones that would make you the most happy. "So I should go?" He searched Quentin's face for a hint.

Lest Quentin feel more like the climax of some breeder romcom, he nodded, forcing his expression to remain neutral when he met Gabriel's eyes. "It's probably a good idea."

"Okay." Gabriel, in his attempt to be respectful, tried not to react too much. "Well," he pushed the glass toward Quentin. "I'm here. You know where to find me." He looked as if he was about to say something, but instead, he gave Quentin a small smile and started for the door.

He made it about halfway before changing his mind. "You shouldn't try to get past this alone. Doesn't have to be me - shouldn't be me, probably, for a bunch of reasons, but you need to talk to someone." He shrugged. And then, with his powers fired up, he darted to Quentin, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and was gone.

Quentin raised a hand to his cheek as Gabriel vanished. He fought the urge to follow, to take back what they'd said and pretend it never happened. But as he'd just told Gabriel, he demanded the truth and would not let himself live in denial. This was his new reality.

It almost made him wish he were still dead.