Chapter Text
Penny was waiting for him in the hall. “Ready to go?” He pushed off the wall he was leaning on as soon as Eliot came out of Alice’s office.
All Eliot could manage was a silent nod.
“Here--give 'em this.” Penny held out a small, white plastic card. It looked like a hotel room key, but blank.
Eliot shook his head. “What is it?”
Penny gave him an enigmatic smile. “He’ll know what to do.” And, as an afterthought, almost. “Don’t forget to mention he never drank the hot chocolate.”
“What is it about the damn cocoa?” Eliot had brain space dedicated to knowing Ina Garten’s husband name was Jeffrey and when Tim Gunn made a suggestion during critiques you’d better fucking listen and make it work. Apparently nada for hot beverages in the Underworld.
“He’ll get the reference. Just don’t forget, ok?” Penny clapped him on the shoulder. “Alice tell you the deal with the hourglass?”
He nodded again.
“Well, I guess that’s it. You ready?” Penny was watching him carefully.
Eliot closed his eyes, breathing in and out. He looked back at Penny. “Yeah.”
“Then, you just have to go through that door.” He pointed behind Eliot.
Of course. It was the door to their cabin.
***
Eliot thought he was ready, or as ready as he could be, considering. But. As the door squeaked open--the humid Fillorian air always made the wood swell and the hinges catch--their son was the first to turn and greet him. Teddy was maybe five years old, sitting in between Quentin and Arielle on their patchwork quilt. “Papa!” He made grabby hands towards Eliot.
Eliot, completely off balance, swayed back into the door frame, stumbling a little. Quentin had hopped up, throwing his arms wide and embracing him, holding him steady. “Eliot? What are you doing here?”
Eliot couldn’t speak, just tucked Quentin under his chin, where he always fit just so. He was shaking, and Quentin was rubbing a soothing palm between his shoulder blades. Arielle had stood as well, coming up on his side. “Hi there.” Her large blue eyes were sparkling with laughter, always like there was this hilarious joke he had just missed. And. He ached at the sight of her.
Teddy was clinging to her side, begging to be picked up, so she did, easily passing him into Eliot’s arms as if it were nothing. As if it weren’t everything. He kept Quentin tucked into his side, the crown of Teddy’s head bumping up against his chin. Of course this would be Quentin’s version of the afterlife, surrounded by family. Teddy’s hand slid onto his throat, just resting there, his other thumb going into his mouth. Abruptly, he leaned back with eyes wide, popping his thumb from his mouth. “Papa, you have a heart.”
And that, well. That’s what breaks the silence. He looks down at Quentin. “Yeah buddy. Turns out, I’m still alive in here. And, I really, really need to talk to daddy.”
Confusion clouded Quentin’s face. “El? But how--” He stepped back a bit to get a better look at him; Eliot missed that familiar weight immediately.
Eliot sighed. “I have so much to tell you. And not a lot of time.” He glanced over at Arielle who was watching with knowing eyes. She reached over to take Teddy back, but not before allowing Eliot the chance to kiss Teddy's forehead.
“See you later, Quentin. Wave bye to papa.” Arielle ran a hand over Eliot’s forehead, fingers lingering on his cheek. “I’ll be seeing you.” Then, they both disappeared.
He spun in a small circle. “Where’d they go?”
Quentin just chuckled. “It’s just like that. You can visit with whomever you want, providing they’re here. I’ve spent time with my dad. Met my maternal grandmother. I even got to see my childhood dog.”
“Indy?” Eliot was inordinately happy to hear that Pastor O’Reilly had been wrong about that particularly devastating piece of catechism. He had told Eliot, who had been eight-years-old and grieving over the loss of his favorite dog, Bucky, that pets didn’t have souls and so couldn’t go to heaven. Pastor O’Reilly could fuck himself.
“Yep!” Quentin smiled that full dimpled smile. The one that always did Eliot in. He nodded to the card still clutched in Eliot’s hand.
Eliot handed it over wordlessly. Waiting.
“What is it?” Quentin turned the white plastic card over in his hands before looking up at Eliot.
Eliot shrugged. “No idea. Penny just told me you’d know what to do with it.”
“Great.” Quentin held the card up to his forehead. “So, like psychic paper or something?” He frowned, looking at the card. No change.
Psychic paper. Of course Quentin’s nerdy brain would supply that. Eliot was suddenly struck by a memory of a rainy afternoon stuck inside their cabin, playing the never ending game of fuckable celebrities. He’d admitted David Tennant did things for him. To his surprise, Quentin had readily agreed. Who wouldn’t want to fuck a Timelord? Eliot felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards almost to a smile.
Quentin chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Still a nerd even in death.”
And at that reminder, Eliot felt all the words dry up in his mouth. He closed his eyes and took in a shaky breath.
Quentin noticed the immediate change and grabbed at his hand, pulling him towards their small bench. The bench that Quentin had grieved for his wife on. The bench that Eliot had regaled their son with stories of the girl named Buffy who could fight monsters. The bench that, as old men, they would rest their weary bones while sharing tea and the comfort of just being together.
They both sat, and Quentin immediately took one of Eliot’s hands in both of his own. “How are you here?”
Eliot took a long breath in through his nose. “Alice sent me.” At Quentin’s little chuckle of surprise, he tilted his head. “She’s Co-Head Librarian.”
Quentin squeezed his hand, his eyes doing that crinkling thing in the corners. “Why doesn’t this surprise me in the least?”
At that, Eliot did chuckle a little. “Well, it was a surprise for me.” He swallowed thickly. “So, apparently, Penny, our Penny--” Quentin nodded encouragingly. “He was the one who led you here?”
“Yeah.” Quentin’s face was doing something complicated, and Eliot felt his heart turn in his chest.
“Well, apparently he got promoted from listening to secrets, or whatever, and now works in “Unfinished Stories”. He shifted a little, the bench always was a bit pokey, and straightened out a leg. He forced himself to look at Quentin who was just watching him. He shrugged. “Well, Alice read our books, apparently.”
At that, Quentin did flinch. But remained silent, giving Eliot the space he needed.
“Decided you qualified. That I should--there’s something I need to tell you, Q. It’s--” And Jesus fuck his eyes suddenly welled with tears; his chest heavy and thick.
Quentin squeezed his hand again, thumbs circling the back. “It’s ok, El. You can tell me anything. You know this.”
Be brave. “Right. God, Q--I.” A sob escaped and one of Quentin’s hands came up to rub his back. Always providing comfort, even now. Eliot closed his eyes for a brief moment, steeling himself. “I’m so sorry, Q.”
“Eliot, I never blamed you. That Thing? I never thought it was you.”
Eliot shook his head in protest and let out a loud sigh. “That’s not--I mean. Yeah. Ok. I’m sorry about that, too. But that’s not--” His head dropped down, but he forced himself to look back up at Quentin. He owed him that much. So much more. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”
Quentin’s eyes were wide. “Lied? About what?”
And, despite his best efforts to just keep it the fuck together, Waugh, Eliot began to cry. Once he started, he found he couldn’t stop, Quentin rubbed the back of his neck, fingers sinking into the curls at the nape. Eliot tried to calm himself a bit. He was, after all, on a clock. “Q. When you asked me to give us a shot? I lied. I pushed you away because I thought I had to. Rip off the bandaid. Because, I thought--there, in the real world, where there was--Alice? You would never choose me.”
At that, Quentin did pull back a bit, snatching his hand from Eliot’s neck. He still held Eliot’s hand in his other, though. “You never even gave us a chance, Eliot.”
Eliot just nodded, closing his eyes and feeling a tear snake its way down his cheek and across his nose. “I was an asshole. I was scared, Q.”
Quentin reached over, brushing off the tear. “Of what?”
“Of believing someone so good and true as you could ever really love someone like me.” At that, he bent over, taking hiccuping breaths, one hand over his face. Way to stick the landing. He angrily swiped at his eyes between his thumb and forefinger. “And I tried, Q. I tried to fall out of love with you. I sent you on a fucking quest, just to--” He glanced over at Quentin, who looked on the verge of tears as well. “But then, you had to go and be the goddamned hero and sacrifice yourself at Blackspire, and I couldn’t--” Fuck. The dam had truly broken. “I couldn’t imagine living in a world without you.” The last words were said through sobs. “And, it's as awful as I’d imagined. Worse.” He bent over again, just allowing the tears to flow.
All the while, Quentin kept a firm grip on his hand, silently offering comfort. When Eliot finally got a little control back, he swiped at his nose. “And, I know you’ve moved on. But, I needed you to know. That I never stopped loving you.”
Quentin was giving him a strange, fond smile. His voice was but a whisper. “And, I thought I was the fool.” He tugged on Eliot’s hand. “You spectacular, idiotic bastard.”
And, that--wasn’t exactly what Eliot had been expecting to hear. He sat up straighter, wiping at his eyes again.
Quentin gave him a real, full smile. “What do you think was my secret I took to the grave?”
Eliot immediately jumped in to protest. “Penny didn’t tell me--”
Quentin rolled his eyes. “Like I would've told Penny.” He shook his head, then took a deep breath, eyes going soft. “I’m in love with you, dumbass. I never stopped, either. And, God knows I tried.”
Eliot’s mind was filled with static; white noise drowning everything else.
Quentin shook Eliot’s hand in his. “Look. Things were really terrible for a really long time. And, by the end?” Tears began to spill down his cheeks, and now Quentin was the one to angrily swipe them away. “I thought I lost you so many times, El. And I was sure we weren’t going to get you back. God.” He threw his head back, but then looked back at Eliot. ‘But not for one second did I stop loving you.”
And, because, he was always the brave one, Quentin reached over and gently placed a hand on the back of Eliot’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss. It wasn’t a great kiss, if Eliot was being honest. He could barely breathe because of the crying, and it was desperate and messy. But, that’s also what made it perfect. They pulled apart, breathless, foreheads resting against each other.
Quentin flicked his eyes open, staring into Eliot’s. “I love you, dumbass.”
To which, really, all Eliot could do was smile. “I love you, always.” And, something began to warm in his pocket and oh shit. “Oh shit!” He pulled the hourglass out, and it was definitely warm. Only a small amount of sand was left. He sat back, holding it up to show Quentin. Frenzied, a thought wormed itself to the front of his brain. “Oh fuck. The--the cocoa!”
Quentin face did that adorable confused scrunched up thing. “Cocoa?”
“Yeah--um. Penny’s cocoa? He said you didn’t drink it. I needed to remind you of that.” Eliot’s heart was hammering in his chest; so little time. Why did it have to be so little time?
“Huh.” Quentin’s mouth quirked up, as if something was dawning on him. “You’re right. I didn’t.”
“What does that mean?” Confusion was warring with wanting to pull Quentin into his body, every inch chanting forever forever forever.
But, Quentin, with a fond look that Eliot knew meant you’re an idiot, but I love you anyways, tugged at the back of his neck. “Just shut up and kiss me.”
And Eliot leaned in to meet him.
***
There was no fanfare or anything. Just. Eliot blinked into the hallway of the Library, seated on one of those long benches. He tried to take a breath, but he was doing that silent scream thing that toddlers do when they fell down, ramping up for the giant sobs. In place of his heart was a sucking chest wound he found impossible to breathe around. And then, he wept.
He had no idea he how long he had sat there, in abject, painful misery. But, as he took in deep breaths, trying to steady himself, he became aware that sensible heels were clacking towards him. She probably wanted to give him a chance to get himself together. Alice sat next to him on the bench, gently nudging his leg with a box of tissues, holding a bottle of water out to him. They sat in silence for a full minute. “So. It worked.”
“What the fuck, Alice?” His voice was absolutely shredded. “Why? What was the point?”
“You give him the card?”
He glanced at her through watery eyes. She was sitting ramrod straight, not looking at him. "Yes. What was it?"
“A metro card.”
“A metro card? It was blank. Q thought it was psychic paper or something”
The corners of her mouth turned up at that, and yeah. They both loved their supernerd. For the first time, instead of jealousy, Eliot was fucking grateful that she had been there for Quentin. That someone had, in the end. She turned to face him. “You remind him about the cocoa?”
At that, he threw his hands up. “What 's the deal with the fucking cocoa?”
She did smile a little at him, gentle and soft. “In the Underworld, if you eat or drink anything, then you can never come back."
His rabbit heart started hammering in his chest. “Come back?”
Her smile grew a bit wider, going all the way up to her eyes. “The metro card was a return fare.”
He tried several times to gain the ability to speak, but all he could do was sputter a bit. When he finally regained his voice, it was strained. “Return?”
She nodded at him.
“Then why not just tell him?” He shook his head in confusion. “Why all the cloak and dagger? If he could just come back--”
“You couldn’t just tell him. There are rules.” She took in a deep breath. “He has to decide on his own that he wants to come back.”
Eliot swallowed down a scream of frustration. “But that’s--” He ran a hand over his face. “What if it takes him sixty years to figure that out?”
Alice tilted her head to the side, considering. “Well--” Then her eyes went wide, tracking something behind him.
He turned his head to see, looking back at her to confirm. And held his breath, taking her hand, as they both silently watched the red digital dial above the elevator move from "U", up through seven floors as it inched its way to one, past a mezzanine, before coming to a stop on "L".
A female robotic recording announced “Lobby” just as the elevator door opened with a ping.