Faie comes creeping out of the bedroom sometime after ten the next morning. His hair’s a wreck and he’s still wearing last night’s makeup. The way he’s trailing his fingers down the wall as he walks tells Quinlan the comedown’s not being kind to him. “I’m sorry for whatever I said last night.”
Quinlan opens his mouth to answer, then pauses. “‘Whatever’ you said?”
“Hmm?” Faie stumbles over to the kitchenette and pours himself a cup of coffee. The pot clatters against the machine in time with the shake of his hands.
“You said you’re sorry for ‘whatever’ you said. Do you even remember?”
Faie freezes with the sugar bowl in his hand. “You’re angry. I’m sorry.”
Quinlan sits up. “That’s not what I asked.”
Without warning, Faie whips around to face Quinlan. Smeared eyeliner highlights the deep circles under his eyes, and combined with his glare, he looks intimidating enough that Quinlan almost backs off. “I said I’m sorry. What do you want to hear, that I was so strung out last night I don’t remember what I said? That I just woke up with this feeling that I fucked up again? Is that what you want?”
Quinlan blinks. “Faie, I—what?” Faie just keeps sneering at him. “Why are you apologizing for something you don’t even remember?”
Faie throws his hands in the air. “Because obviously I did something wrong, just like I always do. I said something stupid, or, or, I did something stupid, or I was too—I don’t know! Just tell me what it was and I can apologize properly and we can move the fuck on.”
Every day, Faie finds a new way to catch him off guard. “Faie, I…” Last night’s words come back to him.
“You know, sometimes it’s like you don’t even see me!”
Like Quinlan doesn’t even see him.
He takes a deep breath. He stands. When he takes a step towards Faie, Faie flinches, so he puts his hands up and out in front of him and makes his next step slower. “Can I touch you?” he asks once he’s in front of Faie.
Faie spends a long moment looking back and forth between Quinlan’s hands and his face. Then, he nods.
Slowly, Quinlan reaches down and cups the back of Faie’s neck with one hand. His skin is tacky with dry sweat. With the other hand, he cradles Faie’s jaw. “Faie,” he starts, then stops. If he’s going to say this, he’s going to say it right. Words come too easily to Quinlan sometimes. Slowing down would do him some good. “Faie. Sweetheart—”
Faie looks at the floor.
“Sweetheart, I’m not angry at you for what you said. I’m not angry at you at all. I’m tense, sure, and it doesn’t make me happy when you get high, but I’m not angry. I’m worried about you.
“And even if I was angry at you, because Force only knows I’ve been angry at you before,” (Faie snorts) “it would dissipate. We would talk about it, maybe. We would move forward.
“Faie, I’m not going to hate you for being upset with me.”
Faie’s eyes slip closed. Quinlan moves both hands up to hold his face.
“I love you. You’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”
The tear that makes its way down Faie’s face catches on Quinlan’s thumb. Quinlan kisses his wet cheek, and another follows it.
“I’m so sorry,” Faie whispers, and before Quinlan can respond, he kisses him softly and murmurs, “I love you too,” into his open mouth.
Faie rubs his eyes for the third time in five minutes, then runs a hand through his hair and leaves it sticking up at odd angles. Quinlan would never tell him (because he would do his little scrunched-eyebrow pout), but he looks adorable when he’s sleepy. Tired, he just looks miserable, but sleepy? Eyelids drooping, words dragging, leaning into Quinlan’s side before snapping upright again, he’s fucking adorable.
It’s only just after nine at night, but between the reading Faie’s been working on since six and the new antipsychotic he’d taken an hour ago, he’s about to fall asleep sitting up.
He lets Faie yawn a few more times, but when he progresses to nodding off in little jerks, he jostles his shoulder against Faie’s and says, “Hey, I think it’s bedtime.”
Faie jerks upright again and glares at him. “It’s not e’en nine,” he grouses. “‘M not tired.”
Quinlan laughs and cups the back of Faie’s head, pulling him close enough to press a kiss to his hair. “You’re blurring your words together. Time for bed.”
Faie squirms out of his grip and in the process, knocks his ‘pad out of his lap. “Not tired,” he repeats, and then nearly falls on his face trying to get his ‘pad from the floor. Quinlan catches him and pulls him up, setting his ‘pad on the coffee table as he does.
“Yeah, you are, sweetheart. Come on, let’s get to bed.”
His head’s fuzzy, and the way the painkillers are hitting feels like a warm wall bearing him down into the mattress. Post-surgery is rougher than he remembers it being, but it’s been a long time since he’s had a surgery this invasive. His leg is the only part of his body he can really feel, and it feels more broken now than it had lying under the tank. His eyes won’t focus.
Penchant’s hair is freshly bleached. Just the top part of it, though. He left the sides alone this time. “Hey, welcome back,” Penchant says.
“Huh?”
Penchant’s hair bounces when he laughs. It’s getting long on top. “Welcome back. You just woke up from the second surgery, remember?”
Remember? Faie frowns. His mouth feels thick and numb, but he manages to say, “Do I—yeah, I remember the surgery.” He gestures at his leg. How’s he supposed to forget it?
For some reason, this just makes Penchant laugh again. Faie looks away. Someone’s missing, he realizes. Someone…
“Where’s Quinlan?”
Silence.
His leg cramps. He swallows a gasp.
“He’s,” Penchant starts. He’s chewing his lip. “He’s, uh, he’s not here. He didn’t come.”
“Did you—”
“Yeah, I messaged him. He knows.”
For a moment, the words don’t penetrate the fog. Faie’s just there floating in his hospital bed, and the painkillers are too much, but they don’t help when the realization finally penetrates his thick fucking skull.
Quinlan didn’t come. Quinlan doesn’t want to see him.
Of course not. He hadn’t come for the first surgery, or in the week between the two. Why would he—
But Faie had hoped. He had wanted to see Quinlan. He wants to see him so badly.
Why would he want to see you?
You’re a broken soldier, a failure, something says. Failure, weak, worthless piece of shit monster. Why would anyone want you? Pathetic, it spits, and the voice hurts and Faie’s leg hurts but not as much as the way this thing’s ripping him apart and splitting his chest open and he thinks if he could touch his soul his hands would come away bloody. The tears are a relief when they come. They ease a bit of the pressure, make the pain of the thoughts into the tearing of his throat and the burning of his eyes.
“Oh, Faie,” Penchant says. “Oh, man. Okay. Shh, it’s okay. I’m here.”
Penchant’s taller than him. All the CTs are. Well, so are all the CCs, unless there’s another who’s short like him. Broken.
He hugs Faie and the height difference lets Faie tuck his head under Penchant’s chin. Coward.
He’s crying into Penchant’s shirt now. Burden.
“It’s okay,” Penchant says again. Liar. He’s just trying to get you to stop.
“It’s going to be okay, Faie.” How?
“I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
The surgery to reconstruct Faie’s knee and leg takes nearly five hours, and Penchant’s on shift for six hours after it. Faie’s awake by the time Penchant makes it to the medbay. Well, he’s some sort of awake. Awake in the loosest of senses.
“...’chant?”
“Hey, Commander.” Penchant drags a chair over to his bedside. Faie’s still got deep purple bruising under both eyes curtesy of the blow to the face he’d taken when the fucking tank landed on him. “How’re you feeling?”
Faie rolls his head to look at Penchant and gets his hair tangled in his cannula. He frowns at it, then turns the frown to Penchant. “Fuzzy,” he says. “Nauseous.”
“That’s the painkillers,” Zipper notes from across the room. “You’re due for some more in an hour or so.”
Penchant takes a deep breath through his nose. Zipper knows what he’s doing, he reminds himself. “Anything I can do to help?”
Faie squeezes his eyes shut. “Stay?”
“Of course.” Penchant drags his chair closer. “Wanna bunk down together?” It always helps when you’re high, he doesn’t say. Faie knows that. He doesn’t need to be reminded. Doesn’t need to think about the relapse that’s going to come crashing down on them both in the next few weeks.
“Yeah.” Faie’s throat bobs when he swallows. He cracks an eye open and fixes Penchant with a teary stare. “Please,” he whispers.
“Okay.” Penchant starts unclipping his bracers. “Okay, we can do that.”
“Don’t leave.”
Fuck. Fucking hell. Hmm.
Someday, Quinlan, the little Tholme in his head tells him, you’ll learn to keep your inside thoughts inside.
He hadn’t meant to say that, but he had, and now it’s out in the air and Faie’s perched on the edge of the bed staring at him with comically round eyes and a slightly open mouth.
“I mean, uh, you don’t have to leave. If you don’t want to. You can stay. If you want.”
Smooth moves, Vos. Smooth moves.
Faie stares at him. Quinlan stares back. He makes a concerted effort not to fidget with the blankets, and fails. Faie doesn’t move at all. That’s Quinlan’s sweatshirt he’s wearing, Quinlan realizes. It’s too big on him, but only just. Quinlan’s taller and Faie’s broader, so it all cancels out, kind of. Still, it’s big enough to slide down and show some collarbone.
Focus, dummy.
Faie clears his throat. “Stay. Here?”
“Well, yeah. Where else?”
“I don’t know.” He doesn’t say anything else.
Quinlan breaks eye contact first, sliding down to a more comfortable sleeping position. “Or not. Just if you want to, or want to in the future.” Should he say good night now? Would that be too dismissive? Is Faie upset? Did Quinlan misunderstand something?
They’ve been fuckbuddies now for two months and change, but he’d thought maybe—
“Okay.”
“...Huh?”
“I’ll stay with you tonight. You don’t hog the covers or anything, do you?” Faie swings his legs back up on the bed.
“Uh, no.” He takes a moment to think about it. “Maybe? I don’t know.”
Faie rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He pulls the blankets up to his shoulders and rolls over to put his back to Quinlan. “Turn out the lights?”
He turns them out with a wave of his hand, and then it’s just the two of them in the dark. He feels a bit whiplashed, like he missed something. Did he miss something?
Faie’s breathing suspiciously slowly and quietly. Quinlan can feel the way every other exhale shudders just a little bit. What should he do? Does he just… turn to the wall and try to sleep?
He’s about to close his eyes and resign himself to the awkwardness when Faie shifts. “Are you going to cuddle me or not? That’s what you’re supposed to do, isn’t it?”
It’s so Faie that it breaks Quinlan out of his strange stupor and he snorts a laugh. “You’re such a romantic, you know that?” What was he worried about? This is Faie. He knows Faie. “Such a way with words.”
Faie heaves an exaggerated, put-upon sigh. “Well?”
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” He rolls onto his side and slings an arm over Faie’s waist. “Good?”
Faie shuffles backwards a bit and hooks their legs together. “Good.”
“Goodnight.”