xp_logs | Sam & Quentin: A Death in the Family

TW: mentioned suicide attempt, mentioned minor character death

Sam calls Quentin to try to get things settled at work for his return.

He didn’t even wait for Lucinda to answer as he stormed out of the house. Out in the yard among the chickens milling about he screamed, “FUCK.”

Sam ran a hand down his face and walked to the barn, leaning against the rough old wood and almost praying he’d get a splinter- it would be the icing on the cake. He pulled out his phone and dialed Q’s number. Hoping his boss wasn’t too busy on New Year’s Eve to answer.

If by busy he meant taking the last few puffs of a joint while telekinetically flinging around every article of clothing from his closet to assemble a decent outfit for tonight, then yes, Quentin was in fact very busy. But he managed to find time to pick up the phone anyway when its buzzing interrupted Kylie crooning about how her one-night stand made her heart beat faster.

"Samuel! Happy New Year almost. Why the fuck are you calling me?"

“Hey, I uh needed to talk to you about work after I come back up North tomorrow…. If you’ve got the time, I can call back. Just it’s uh- kinda pressing.” Sam fought the urge to sigh, it wasn’t Quentin’s fault that Sam was calling on one of the biggest party nights of the year. He just hoped the other man would be understanding.

"No, no, it's fine." The psychic levitated the phone up by his face while he picked up a pair of gaudy harem pants from the floor. Where the hell were these from? "I hope this isn't, like, your one phonecall from jail, 'cuz I can't help with that."

“No, not in jail.” Sam said, but if he was staying in town any longer….that was a very real possibility. “Uhm….. so my brother’s fiancé got murdered a few days ago and then my brother tried to - and we- uhm we almost lost him… and he’s got wings now so Mama’s makin’ him move in with me at the mansion.” Sam sighed, trying to center himself. “Cause she don’t wanna be a fucking parent when it ain’t easy apparently and he ain’t…. He ain’t in a good place Q, and I’m happy to work, I ain’t askin for time off, but if…. If somethin’ happens….. I need to be there for him and might need to run back to the mansion. And I wanted to make sure that was alright.”

It all came out in a rush and Sam could feel himself on the verge of tears. This shouldn’t be Quentin’s problem. “We’re headin’ back up tomorrow. Uhm….. would it be possible for me to work remote the first few days back? I don’t wanna leave Jay alone in a new place when he’s havin’ one of his bouts.”

"Jesus fucking Christ, man." Quentin plucked the phone out of midair and held it up to his ear, like he could stick his head in and pop out Sam's phone on the other end so he could yell face to face. "The fuck are you coming back here for? Stay with your family. Or like whatever, if you do come back to New York, don't fucking come to work. Are you insane? You can't possibly think you're of any use to me right now!"

Sam took a shaky breath. “I need this job Q…… if I ain’t makin’ money and sending it back the rest of my siblings ain’t eatin’. I can’t get a job in the mine again and there’s nothin’ else here ‘cept maybe the dollar general whose manager hates me…….” Sam paced and punched the side of the barn. “Can’t stay here cause if I do I will end up in jail for going after the bastards that killt Julia and hurt my brother. I can’t not go back to work….my one sister’s moving in too, she got into Columbia and just told me she manifested her powers years ago so I won’t be the only one fussin’ over Jay. I just- if I ain’t doin’ it all none of it’s gettin’ done Q…… I need to work so I can get paid so I can feed my family back home and take care of my brother here……Please.”

Quentin blinked once. Twice. Half a dozen times, as if that action could help him parse Sam's protests. "The fuck are you talking about? I'm not . . . you're not losing your job, numbnuts. Ha, numbnuts. Why did that term of endearment fall out of fashion? Whatever. Anyway, I'm telling you, you have more important shit to worry about than running another background check. Figure your shit out, then come back to me. Got it?" He paused. "Oh, but if you do kill a flatscan, then make sure I am the first person you call. I'll fix it. No one would have a problem with that. Well, maybe one person, but who gives a shit?"

Relief hit him all at once, and his body went limp as the tears came silently. He slid down the side of the barn until he was sitting in the dirt. “Thank you. Thank you.” He said shakily. “We’re driving back tomorrow. I- thank you. Sorry ‘bout all of this.”

"It's fine. Don't worry about it. Just . . . take care of yourself. Sorry about the murder. Hey, should I wear the skinny jeans with the artful tears around the knees or leggings tonight?"

Sam laughed a bit with the nature of Quentin’s follow up question but it was a welcome distraction despite the ridiculousness. “Jeans. Definitely the jeans.”