[Is... is he serious? Okay, that's it. Julian Keller is the dumbest man alive. There's no other possibility.
Quentin stares at Julian in bewilderment and exasperation, and he wants so, so bad to give Keller shit about... something. Any of this. All of it. But... no. He said he would be nice. He apologized, for god's sake. Said he'd mind his own business and shit. But holy fuck, Julian's making it difficult.]
Are you really gonna make me—[He makes a frustrated noise, pinching the bridge of his nose. Fine, screw it. Quentin holds out both hands emphatically.]
You kiss a telepath, dude! I mean, hello? We feel everything. Meaning no hands, no problem. Capiche?
[He throws his arms up in the air, utterly defeated. Stupidity wins. He gives up.]
But as you've clearly stated, you don't have any of those on your to-do list, which means this is the best I got, okay? I'm trying here, man.
( because no, telepathy doesn't just fix the whole missing limbs thing. maybe it kind of does, a bit on quentin's side? which isn't a thing he's really considered but again: it's not like julian can just cup someone's face between his palms while he kisses them, or run his hands down their arms while pulling them in close, it's not the same and he's - he's trying to explain that, except quire's a fucking idiot who isn't listening.
or. he kind of is. but he also isn't. )
I mean I want to. I don't want to feel something through someone else, or have you fix it via psionic to motor cortex bullshit. I don't want you to offer a temporary fix to feel somewhat together again, I just want you to get it.
[How the hell does it not make sense? Telepaths feel everything and can make anyone feel anything. All physical stimuli are just neurons firing in the brain, easily manipulatable to a talented enough telepath. Quentin knows—knows—that Julian not having hands wouldn't be an issue for any halfway decent psychic, because any missing tactile sensation could be substituted with additional direct emotional input or—
I just want you to get it.
Quentin blinks, his brain screeching as it abruptly changes to an entire different set of computations.]
Oh.
[Nailed it.]
Yeah.
[He clears his throat uncomfortably, looking down at his hands in his lap.]
Look, back home? I feel a few billion minds. All the time. Not counting the animals and shit, I mean. Missing that and not even having hands? [He grimaces.] Don't know how you do it, honestly.
( it doesn't make sense because he's half-buzzed and going in for another drink, because trying to comfort quentin when he's feeling alone? just fine. somehow getting into his own bullshit at some point and actually talking about it? definitely vodka-worthy. )
You skipped over a lot of the bullcrap. ( maybe a little insensitive, considering where quire had been, but it's not untrue. ) I've been sliced and diced to hell and back, and it wasn't like we had a healer on deck who could just regenerate crap at the time. And it wasn't just my hands. Deathstrike took my whole goddamn spleen. I've got more muscle mass than you but do you know how much of it is fucked by scar tissue?
( another drink, thank you. this is his bottle now. )
Then there was all the damn times I had to relearn everything from scratch. Ms Frost takes off the mental blocks? At least I had hands back then because I couldn't do jack shit with my TK. Lose my hands? Good luck with fucking everything because everyone fucked off and joined other teams while I was stuck trying to figure out how to hold a fork. It's not a matter of just - doing it. I mean it is but it's not like any of us had a choice. It was figure your crap out or get left behind or slaughtered.
( the bottle raises, vaguely gesturing towards quentin. )
But, look, you're in one piece. So you've got that going for you.
[Quentin listens to Julian vent for a bit, mostly keeping his eyes directed at his hands in his lap but occasionally glancing up with his eyebrows creased upwards sympathetically. Just so he knows he's still listening and stuff. It's nothing Keller hasn't told or shown him before, but... It's clearly important for Julian to say it, so Quentin's gonna let him. Until he gestures with that bottle and says Quentin's in one piece, which... technically is true. He sighs, shifting his position anxiously in his seat.]
I've died 36 times.
[It's no mistake that he's saying that mere seconds after Julian said "you figure out your crap or get slaughtered." Quentin knows which category he belongs to in that binary.]
I stopped counting at 36, at least. Makes a guy start feeling kinda bad about himself at a certain point, yeah? ["A guy." Yep. No guy in specific or anything.]
And they stopped bothering to pick up my bodies pretty quickly so. Whole damn planet is lousy with Quire Compost. Omega level fertilizer. All because I just... I dunno. Suck at survival, I guess. Didn't even make it through the gate on my first mission. Well, okay, that's not completely true. My head did.
[He says it flatly, like he's recounting something that happened to someone else. And well, most of those deaths happened to Quentin Quires he has no memory of ever being, so they kinda did happen to someone else. He frowns, holding up his hand to absently watch his fingers flex, tendons contracting and expanding visibly under the skin of his wrist. Sure, he's in one piece like Julian said, but....]
You know I haven't been in the body I was actually born with since that stupid riot? Remade one for myself a few times until I eventually came back for good, but... I dunno, the astral plane kinda fucked with my head so who knows if I got it right. I think I had a tattoo? No clue where that went. And this body's only been out of the White Hot Room maybe... 7? 8 months? Victor Creed murked me and woke me up as some fucked up undead head in a box so he could use my powers for his unhinged homoerotic revenge fantasy bullshit against Logan.
[That one gets more of a reaction, because... well, that memory is still fresh. His shoulders tense reflexively before he forces them to relax and breathes out shakily.]
I'm not in one piece because I haven't, you know. Been through shit. I'm just a bigger fuck up than you. That's how I know I couldn't do, well. That.
[He gestures at Julian to indicate everything he was just saying.]
( if julian had died, he wouldn't have come back up so quickly. there wouldn't have been a need for him - he may be a powerful telekinetic, but he's a one trick pony as opposed to most the other telekinetic-slash-telepaths who can manage both without issue. he's good at what he does: fine motor control isn't something that comes easily, but it's something julian has mastered down to the molecular level. still. if he keeled over, he'd go on the list to be resurrected, but probably far enough down quentin'd get back up a good handful of times before julian ever did.
well. back when krakoa was a thing, because apparently it's not now. they're just shit out of luck when they keel over back home, even if julian does know it doesn't apply here. which is a whole other mess of bullcrap to get into.
eyes look down to the vodka bottle for a moment, before julian's rolling his shoulders and offering it over to quentin. just in case. )
But no one's going to leave you dead if they can help it. You're too valuable. Me? I've gotten left behind on purpose.
( he's no omega level telepath. it's not that he's jealous, because he isn't. julian's just fine with his power set as-is. it's just the whole, )
When the sentinels blew me up, everyone else moved on to new squads. Cess, Santo, Vic - you know. Me? Well, y'know. And look at you now, you're on a squad with Scott fucking Summers. No one's going to let you fall apart, because they need you.
( indirectly putting himself as one of those people who do need him, because who else is julian going to chat with like this? )
[The worst part of this is it feels good to hear all of what Julian is saying. That Quentin is valuable. Needed. That he earned his spot on Cyclops's team with his powers and expertise. He would love nothing more to accept the praise, say yeah, he did deserve to get top of the list resurrection priority and got recruited by Summers on his own merits.
See, the thing is, when most people say Quentin is "too valuable" to get rid of, they mean his powers and not, well... him. As a person. Not just a big brain to throw at scary brain shit when there are no preferable big brains available. Honing his skills, finding his specific strengths, his own place in the exceptionally bloated field of mutant telepaths—that's something Quentin has only very, very recently started exploring. And look, he's damn proud of what he's accomplished. He's actually confident in his role on a team, in his ability to do his job in a way nobody else can. For the first time ever, he's valuable because of who he and not despite it. (Even if, uh, there is also that whole "you have to stop the Phoenix" thing, which Quentin is doing his best to not completely freak out about.)
When Julian says "they" need Quentin? He's not saying it the way most people do.]
Yeah, well. Anyone who'd leave you behind is a fucking moron. Pfft.
[Oh, and yeah, he's accepting the offered vodka, taking a hefty drink, and holding it out so Julian can take it back if he wants. Quentin just needed some booze to not literally die from cringe after delivering that cheesy-ass line.]
( though he's not quite sure what he's getting at currently. he came here originally to console quire for being aware some girl he clearly was into at some point is fucking around with someone else and knows he knows it. and somehow it got into making out with quentin, which, gross, but. honestly? this is probably a more safe topic than what they'd been bitching about earlier, so this is fine.
he'd start bitching about emma frost, scott summers, rogue, all of the snark and bullshit he's dealt with over the years, but it's not worth it to be endlessly pissed about crap that's already done and over with. julian's fine, he's managed to make it this far, and to be fair: it's not like he listened worth crap anyway. maybe it was because he thought all of them were pulling bullshit out of their ass and hoping no one would notice they didn't have any clue what the hell they were dong, but he's also aware now that summers was trying, even if he was an ass about it.
the vodka bottle gets offered back over, but julian waves it off. being drunk is more inconvenient than not when one's abilities depend on brain power, and he needs to be able to open doors to get himself back to his room after this. )
[Julian just... takes Quentin's weirdass "compliment" in stride, and that's what makes him realize oh. Yeah. No, Quentin's just got hella abandonment issues. Or imposter syndrome. On account of being an imposter who gets abandoned a lot. Or something.
Neat.
Also cringe af.
Quentin pulls the bottle back, since apparently Julian's not interested anymore, but he doesn't have another drink yet. Instead he just looks at the bottle pensively.]
They were gonna bench me, you know. Before Krakoa. Like "civilian path" benched. As in, nobody trusts you on a team, so you get to go be an accountant or yoga instructor or something. Eye-boy tier shit.
[He hunches his shoulders in an uncomfortable shrug and leans back in his chair. It really, really sucks to be saying this, and he feels the prickle of anxiety screaming at him not to. To take the damn compliment, idiot. It's not like Julian is remotely shy about telling Quentin how much he sucks as a person. If he's saying anything vaguely complimentary, he means it, and he's unlikely to change his mind. It's not like this is even all that different than, you know, Quentin admitting he died a truly idiotic number of times, even if it feels different. Maybe because this shit shows that his failures aren't new. It's a pattern. The rule, not the exception. And saying that? Out loud? To a person? Quentin would rather lobotomize himself.
But... fuck. He's gotten this far, hasn't he? And blah blah blah who else could understand and all the crap. Same verse same as the first. Ugh.]
And then there was Krakoa, and. Well, look. A guy who dies 36 times in less than a year? That guy's not valuable to the team. They brought me back because I was valuable, but you know... as an Omega. A resource. Nuclear deterrent, power play, asserting political dominance, all that. My status was valuable, not me. I mean, you know how pathetic it is to be an Omega level telepath and get surprised by shit? Hell, you attack me like every other day, and I never fucking see it coming. Somehow. My brain runs fifteen times faster than yours, and still—
[He makes a frustrated noise and adjusts his glasses.]
Whatever. I know my job now, and I'm good at it. I know what I'm worth now. It's just, you know. You and me on two sides of the same shit coin again, I guess. The usual. I'd offer you a hug that you could pretend you hate, but I don't feel like getting up, so.
[Quentin holds out an arm towards Julian with his hand in a loose fist. Asking for a fist bump? You bet your ass he is. Also no, he's not leaning any closer to try and be within arms reach. Julian's hands don't even connect to his wrists, and there's like a 50/50 shot he'll think this is stupid anyway. Quentin's not wasting the extra effort.]
( they tried benching julian, too. less in the same way they'd done with quire and more in the, abandon him at a hotel and tell him to fend for himself for the rest of forever way. he still doesn't know what the hell emma thought was going to happen: did she think julian would just leave the hotel, get a job at a starbucks and live his best barista life? that he'd just drop everything after he'd given up so much for the x-men? nah.
he'd told quentin no one else here was going to get his shit as well as julian does. and, well. it wasn't wrong. apparently in more ways than julian had originally understood.
you and me on two sides of the same shit coin.
julian rolls his eyes, but his hand does move in to bump it's knuckles against quire's own even if his arm doesn't move with it. that's too much effort right now, thanks. )
I know I already said as much, but you really need to stop letting them use you like that man.
( julian might have done something similar: walked into danger countless times, keeled over countless times for others, but he wouldn't have just let it happen. not in the same way it sounds like quire had. )
The difference between you and other telepaths? If you were any more of an asshole, you'd know the moment I wanted to reach out and hit you. You're capable of stopping me soon as the thought so much as crosses my mind. But you're not listening.
( and the fact quentin's not trying to snoop around in his head all the time? much as julian hates the thought, it does make him - trust the guy a little more. there's been people in and out of his head since he was barely a teenager, he likes knowing there's someone around who'll at least respect the one space that's meant to be private, even if it so rarely is. )
[The returned fist bump gets a crooked half-smile before Quentin goes back to crossing his arms, though his posture is noticeably less tense than before, and his eyebrows quirk almost softly when Julian speaks. He's saying basically the same thing in both of those sentiments, even if Quentin's not sure Julian realizes that. Telepaths don't often get accused of being too trusting. Or of being trustworthy.]
Yeah, well, it's not like stopping you would make you want to hit me any less.
[It's a snarky retort but lacks most of his usual biting tone. Did he anticipate he'd be making off-handed, relatively not-pissy jokes about Julian clobbering him today? Or... ever, really? No. But he also was dead certain Julian was about as straight as anyone with an X-Gene can be, and apparently that's in question now, soooo... Eh, sometimes life is funny like that.]
That's the whole, you know. Catch-22 of telepathy, right? Damned if you do, damned if you don't? I mean, you don't read people, and they hit ya. You do read them, and it's "oh no, you violated my personal boundaries, and now I'm soooo mad at you!" and then still hit you, and also they're pissed, and also everybody hates you. And sure, you can make people not hate you, but—[Quentin screws up his face dramatically like he's tasted something rancid.]
It's a whole thing. And a lotta work. I'm not out here trying to be Xavier, you know what I mean? It's just... easier to not bother. And if I get hit, I get hit.
( it's true: stopping julian from hitting quentin would only make him want to hit him even more - something they're both well-aware of. being told what to do? terrible. being stopped from doing what he wants to do? significantly worse, a crime that can only be rectified by fucking up whoever the hell has deigned it reasonable to shove him around. julian may not be a telepath, but he's got enough mental fortitude to shove most of them out when he feels the need to. and even more than that: he's got the stubborn attitude needed to fight anyone who decides to fuck with any of them. the kind of indomitable will needed to push through damn near anything, even if there's several times it's almost gotten him killed in the process.
it's not a concern with quire, who knows better. )
It's not like I've ever hit you all that hard.
( he could, theoretically, throw his punches with as much force as he can telekinetically push. but he doesn't, not with quire. not any time recently, at least. and if he really wanted to? he can manipulate the things around him down to an atomic level. it wouldn't be all that difficult to squeeze a vein tight enough to cut off oxygen supply to someone's brain, to knock them out or take them down permanently if he was feeling particularly vindictive. laura had tried to get him to do it, once.
but that isn't julian keller, and it never has been.
instead, he's dropping his hand back down onto the table and - looking to quentin's knuckles. )
[Quentin gives Julian the obligatory "oh, please" eyeroll at the assertion that he never "hit him all that hard". You know, normal people don't hit their friends, much less enough times to say they didn't do it "that hard."
Then again, it's well established by this point that nobody here is remotely normal, so. Eh. Fine. He'll let it slide just this once and move on to Julian's question.]
Dunno. Nate's blocking me. Really obviously, I might add. Subtlety isn't exactly the guy's strong suit, in case you hadn't noticed.
[Quentin follows Julian's eyes down to his hand and raises his eyebrows questioningly.]
But, uh, it's fine. If you wanna go, I mean. I'm good now.
Doubt he's had reason to get used to a lot of telepaths capable of just waltzing on in whenever they wanted to.
( to be fair to nate, it's not like julian has any idea how he's trying to block them out. julian doesn't have that capability, he just knows how to strong-arm his way out of having someone dick around in his head when he feels their telepathic fingers start sifting around through his brain.
quentin follows julian's eyes, but julian - just scrunches his nose, keeping his own down. and for a brief moment, it almost, almost seems like he's going to open his mouth and say whatever thought it was that had his attention shifting.
instead, he just opts to make sure everything's shoved away from the edge of the counter, and pulls himself back up to his feet a little less steadily than he'd been when he'd dropped down onto the chair. )
[Okay, well, it's pretty obvious Julian does not understand what Quentin means when he says blocking, which... guess that makes sense. Eh. He's about to explain more, but that topic is made utterly unimportant by whatever the hell just happened with Julian looking at Quentin's hands?? And then he has the audacity to pretend nothing happened???
The second Julian stands, Quentin sits up straighter, gesturing indignantly between them.]
( okay, that's - that's actually a lie. he was going to say something, but that was a whole two seconds ago and yeah, he remembers what had crossed his mind when he was going to open his mouth but he doesn't - )
You don't remember what you weren't going to say... ten seconds ago?
[... Julian's totally just going to go with that if Quentin lets him, isn't he? Asshole. Okay, changing strategy. Quentin makes an overly dramatic, frustrated sigh and tilts his head back to look at the ceiling.]
Christ alive, man, what could possibly be more embarrassing than the entire rest of this stupid conversation? Nothing. So just spit it out already! We can pretend I pulled it out of your head, and you can beat me up for it or... whatever. I don't give a shit.
I don't remember. Okay? I can't tell you what I don't remember.
( there's so much bullcrap that could be more embarrassing than this whole conversation, thanks! he knows it! like, talking about girls? totally fine and normal. talking about girls breaking their hearts? happens. talking about how hot julian is? valid. and he's not lying lying. he doesn't remember the exact wording of what he was going to say, just that it sounded like complete and absolute bullshit and he's definitely not going to say it out loud because it sounded stupid before he'd even gotten the chance to utter the words. )
You can't pull crap out of my head if I don't remember what the hell it was.
It's not my job to know how your crap works, asshole.
( he's about ready to walk himself right back over there and shove quentin out of his chair and onto the ground for being a dick but then he realizes that's also playing right into whatever the hell this is.
and he could actually, you know, open his mouth and try to piece together a sentence that sounds less embarrassing and stupid than what he's currently trying to shove together except he's already said he doesn't remember and he can't go back on that.
except if quentin can pull it out of him, then there's the whole obviously i'm not lying, asshole, why would i? argument that julian can't disprove because he could just tell quentin to go ahead, make himself at home.
this is why he hates telepaths. nothing is sacred. )
But fine, if you can? Go for it.
( because, see, julian didn't open his mouth and say anything because he hadn't fully formed the thought. it was the barest idea of a thought, a what if, and it was fucking stupid and embarrassing and the worst thing julian's ever thought in his life so he hadn't wanted to actually make it make sense because it wouldn't have regardless.
quentin had offered to use his hands to make it feel like julian had hands. connect their nervous systems or - something. he'd gotten technical, julian hadn't cared to follow along with the technicalities. and he's pretty sure quentin both called julian dateable and hot all in the same breath earlier. and that's just it, isn't it.
they were talking about julian's lack of hands. quire was offering to share. julian is hot and maybe date-able. julian is also straight. sophie's off fucking around with nate somewhere and it's bothering quentin.
there's the thought at the front of his mind, that it'd be fucking nice if he could just borrow quentin's hands for a little bit. also, he's drunk? tipsy. no, definitely drunk. absolutely drunk, because if he wasn't drunk he wouldn't be even vaguely considering asking even if he's not quite sure what the question is. because god, it'd be nice to just - get off, you know? but do you know how hard that is when one doesn't have hands and rarely ever has a consistent place to live/doesn't have money/lives in shared living spaces surrounded by a shitton of other people around his age and younger? impossible.
it's not a complete thought. not a complete question, because he doesn't know exactly what it is he was going to ask, he just - god, is he jealous of nate? maybe he's a little jealous of nate. )
It kinda is your job, oh "fearless leader". But sure, fine, I'll do your damn job for you.
["Go for it," Julian says. So Quentin rolls his eyes, wondering why this asshole is being so damn cryptic, and, well. Goes for it.
... He understands why Julian didn't want to say anything.
Look. It's not like Quentin hasn't had... similar ideas. How could he not? He's the one who brought up the whole hand-nervous-system-patching thing. He razzed Julian about wanting to make out with him, called him hot, poked him with a stick to watch him squirm. He literally said Julian should kiss a telepath, for fuck's sake. Quentin sowed, and now he's reaping. And his brain is just fuzzy enough from vodka that he isn't quite sure if he regrets it. Which is. Absurd? And not because of any stupid "no homo" bullshit. Quentin's known he was into dudes in general since he was 16. It's absurd because, uh, quite frankly Quentin would've thought he had better taste than Julian Keller.
Of course, that's making the grand assumption that both of them aren't just the right combination of drunk, miserable, and lonely right now to consider shit they normally wouldn't. Shit like helping this poor handless bastard get a little relief, because when Quentin had the realization that Julian hasn't touched anything in 6 years, he knew that meant anything, which... Oof.
Okay, you know what? No. There's no point in even thinking about any of this crap right now, because there sure as shit isn't going to be anything like that happening tonight.]
It's, uh, muddled. A little messy. But, uh.
[He clears his throat. It doesn't matter what he says here, because there's a 50% chance Julian won't even remember this conversation, and a 99.9% chance he will never ever want to talk about it ever again. Which means Quentin won't even have to consider any of this.]
If you, er, figure out that thought of yours, tell me. I'll, uh. I'll help out if I can. Lend a helping hand, you know?
( no, listen, his job is to know where he should be playing his cards and when to put them out on the table. and quentin? more of a jack of all trades, minus any heavy lifting. julian knows that, which he considers to be plenty. and besides - usually it's maybe one telepath per squad, if that. the few squads julian's been on haven't had one at all: he's been the mind-powered ability person on the team, and he understands his own ability just fine.
but this? is muddled because it feels messy as hell without voicing the thought as is and it's fucking embarrassing, to be this known. it's partially why he bitches so loudly when people do try to fuck around in his head: there's a lot of crap going on in there he doesn't want others to get a glimpse of. it's one thing to be messy as hell, it's another to have others know it.
because it has been about six years, hasn't it. the prosthetics help prevent phantom limb pains, they handle most daily tasks just fine and what they can't - he's a telekinetic, he doesn't need hands for a lot of crap.
julian keller exudes confidence when it comes to a lot of things. he knows he's smart, capable, good in the field, worthy of being an x-man even if he's lacked the squad to show for it for - well. a while. he's strong, doesn't let anything break him. but he's also standing in the kitchen at fuck o clock after drinking vodka and redbull with quentin quire sadly discussing their lack of successful relationships and the countless times they've both been fucked up by everyone around them.
the tips of his ears are bright red, because it is fucking stupid. quentin brought it up first. kiss a telepath, he'd said. problem solved. as if the only kissable telepaths weren't either fucking elsewhere or, you know, directly in front of him. and that's taking off the i don't kiss guys requirement.
which okay. he did technically kiss foley. but that was different. it was the effects of the casino in aphaia, it wasn't like he would have done it without that.
it's fine. it's whatever. he's already standing and heading out, so julian just keeps on walking. )
I drank too much. ( an obvious excuse. maybe not untrue, he is feeling a little unsteady. but. ) And it's - ( he doesn't need a helping hand. he's fine. maybe a little too used to being alone at this point, a little too desperate for - something. he's been pining after the same goddamn girl for longer than he can remember and she's literally never going to look his way again, but, ) It's fine. I'm going to bed. Night.
[Ah, yes, the mortifying ordeal of being known. Quentin can relate, because of course he can. Seems like all the shit they have in common is the most fucked up. Sometimes in the same way, sometimes in the opposite yet equally awful way. Maybe that's why Quentin's entertaining the notion of... any of this. Fraternizing, so to speak. He sees in Julian the same crap that's broken in himself?ย
God, that's narcissistic, isn't it? "Hey, you remind me of myself in all the worst ways, and that kinda makes you attractive to me." Jesus. At least that doesn't feel fully accurate, thank fuck. No, it's less seeing his worst traits in Julian and more... the same wounds. Wanting so bad to just fucking be seen, but actually having that happen hurts too much. It's like an exposed nerve, raw and sensitive. And the only options are to keep it protected and hidden or take a chance that someone will come along who won't grind the most vulnerable bits of yourself into the dirt. Julian can't connect, can't touch anyone in a very literal way, and Quentin? Well, the downside of telepathy is you get access to everyone else's softest underbellies, but the only other people who have a chance of seeing yours are other telepaths. And telepaths are fucking assholes.
Quentin's let people close before, to varying degrees and with widely varying levels of success. Logan's got his own hot mess of emotional walls and shit, but he clawed his way in and hasn't hurt Quentin too badly, all things considered. With Idie, well. He could never quite get the right balance of when to raise and lower his shields with her. Always seems like he makes the wrong choice with her, but they're more or less fine now. The rest of his team back home have also wormed their way close to Quentin's crusty little heart and haven't fucked him over yet. Phoebe was the one he let in the closest of anyone, and... The less said about Phoebe the better, honestly. That's a cut that isn't going to heal any time soon. See: asshole telepaths.
Maybe that's why he's found himself trying with Julian. Reaching out. Attempting to connect in about a dozen different ways until they eventually meandered... here. With Julian blushing up a storm for reasons that are not entirely alcohol-based, having just spawned a half-baked idea about homoerotic telepathy that Quentin for some stupid reason agreed to kind of, and thinking about—is that Elixir? That explains a lot—a whole mess of contradictory things that all boil down to a single concept: Julian Keller doesn't get truly known a lot. Much less than he deserves, quite frankly. He'd probably be a whole lot less of a piece of shit if he wasn't so emotionally constipated. And Quentin? If he's someone Julian lets in for god knows what reason, he'll help however he can. One of the cases where the ways in which they're fucked up actually compliment each other. Two sides of the same shit coin.
He watches Julian hurriedly leaving and just gives him a quick:] Hey, uh. Thanks, man.
[And just to make it clear he's not trying to keep Keller here any longer, he does a little half-salute-half-wave gesture as a farewell.]
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Quentin stares at Julian in bewilderment and exasperation, and he wants so, so bad to give Keller shit about... something. Any of this. All of it. But... no. He said he would be nice. He apologized, for god's sake. Said he'd mind his own business and shit. But holy fuck, Julian's making it difficult.]
Are you really gonna make me—[He makes a frustrated noise, pinching the bridge of his nose. Fine, screw it. Quentin holds out both hands emphatically.]
You kiss a telepath, dude! I mean, hello? We feel everything. Meaning no hands, no problem. Capiche?
[He throws his arms up in the air, utterly defeated. Stupidity wins. He gives up.]
But as you've clearly stated, you don't have any of those on your to-do list, which means this is the best I got, okay? I'm trying here, man.
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( because no, telepathy doesn't just fix the whole missing limbs thing. maybe it kind of does, a bit on quentin's side? which isn't a thing he's really considered but again: it's not like julian can just cup someone's face between his palms while he kisses them, or run his hands down their arms while pulling them in close, it's not the same and he's - he's trying to explain that, except quire's a fucking idiot who isn't listening.
or. he kind of is. but he also isn't. )
I mean I want to. I don't want to feel something through someone else, or have you fix it via psionic to motor cortex bullshit. I don't want you to offer a temporary fix to feel somewhat together again, I just want you to get it.
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I just want you to get it.
Quentin blinks, his brain screeching as it abruptly changes to an entire different set of computations.]
Oh.
[Nailed it.]
Yeah.
[He clears his throat uncomfortably, looking down at his hands in his lap.]
Look, back home? I feel a few billion minds. All the time. Not counting the animals and shit, I mean. Missing that and not even having hands? [He grimaces.] Don't know how you do it, honestly.
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You skipped over a lot of the bullcrap. ( maybe a little insensitive, considering where quire had been, but it's not untrue. ) I've been sliced and diced to hell and back, and it wasn't like we had a healer on deck who could just regenerate crap at the time. And it wasn't just my hands. Deathstrike took my whole goddamn spleen. I've got more muscle mass than you but do you know how much of it is fucked by scar tissue?
( another drink, thank you. this is his bottle now. )
Then there was all the damn times I had to relearn everything from scratch. Ms Frost takes off the mental blocks? At least I had hands back then because I couldn't do jack shit with my TK. Lose my hands? Good luck with fucking everything because everyone fucked off and joined other teams while I was stuck trying to figure out how to hold a fork. It's not a matter of just - doing it. I mean it is but it's not like any of us had a choice. It was figure your crap out or get left behind or slaughtered.
( the bottle raises, vaguely gesturing towards quentin. )
But, look, you're in one piece. So you've got that going for you.
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I've died 36 times.
[It's no mistake that he's saying that mere seconds after Julian said "you figure out your crap or get slaughtered." Quentin knows which category he belongs to in that binary.]
I stopped counting at 36, at least. Makes a guy start feeling kinda bad about himself at a certain point, yeah? ["A guy." Yep. No guy in specific or anything.]
And they stopped bothering to pick up my bodies pretty quickly so. Whole damn planet is lousy with Quire Compost. Omega level fertilizer. All because I just... I dunno. Suck at survival, I guess. Didn't even make it through the gate on my first mission. Well, okay, that's not completely true. My head did.
[He says it flatly, like he's recounting something that happened to someone else. And well, most of those deaths happened to Quentin Quires he has no memory of ever being, so they kinda did happen to someone else. He frowns, holding up his hand to absently watch his fingers flex, tendons contracting and expanding visibly under the skin of his wrist. Sure, he's in one piece like Julian said, but....]
You know I haven't been in the body I was actually born with since that stupid riot? Remade one for myself a few times until I eventually came back for good, but... I dunno, the astral plane kinda fucked with my head so who knows if I got it right. I think I had a tattoo? No clue where that went. And this body's only been out of the White Hot Room maybe... 7? 8 months? Victor Creed murked me and woke me up as some fucked up undead head in a box so he could use my powers for his unhinged homoerotic revenge fantasy bullshit against Logan.
[That one gets more of a reaction, because... well, that memory is still fresh. His shoulders tense reflexively before he forces them to relax and breathes out shakily.]
I'm not in one piece because I haven't, you know. Been through shit. I'm just a bigger fuck up than you. That's how I know I couldn't do, well. That.
[He gestures at Julian to indicate everything he was just saying.]
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well. back when krakoa was a thing, because apparently it's not now. they're just shit out of luck when they keel over back home, even if julian does know it doesn't apply here. which is a whole other mess of bullcrap to get into.
eyes look down to the vodka bottle for a moment, before julian's rolling his shoulders and offering it over to quentin. just in case. )
But no one's going to leave you dead if they can help it. You're too valuable. Me? I've gotten left behind on purpose.
( he's no omega level telepath. it's not that he's jealous, because he isn't. julian's just fine with his power set as-is. it's just the whole, )
When the sentinels blew me up, everyone else moved on to new squads. Cess, Santo, Vic - you know. Me? Well, y'know. And look at you now, you're on a squad with Scott fucking Summers. No one's going to let you fall apart, because they need you.
( indirectly putting himself as one of those people who do need him, because who else is julian going to chat with like this? )
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See, the thing is, when most people say Quentin is "too valuable" to get rid of, they mean his powers and not, well... him. As a person. Not just a big brain to throw at scary brain shit when there are no preferable big brains available. Honing his skills, finding his specific strengths, his own place in the exceptionally bloated field of mutant telepaths—that's something Quentin has only very, very recently started exploring. And look, he's damn proud of what he's accomplished. He's actually confident in his role on a team, in his ability to do his job in a way nobody else can. For the first time ever, he's valuable because of who he and not despite it. (Even if, uh, there is also that whole "you have to stop the Phoenix" thing, which Quentin is doing his best to not completely freak out about.)
When Julian says "they" need Quentin? He's not saying it the way most people do.]
Yeah, well. Anyone who'd leave you behind is a fucking moron. Pfft.
[Oh, and yeah, he's accepting the offered vodka, taking a hefty drink, and holding it out so Julian can take it back if he wants. Quentin just needed some booze to not literally die from cringe after delivering that cheesy-ass line.]
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( though he's not quite sure what he's getting at currently. he came here originally to console quire for being aware some girl he clearly was into at some point is fucking around with someone else and knows he knows it. and somehow it got into making out with quentin, which, gross, but. honestly? this is probably a more safe topic than what they'd been bitching about earlier, so this is fine.
he'd start bitching about emma frost, scott summers, rogue, all of the snark and bullshit he's dealt with over the years, but it's not worth it to be endlessly pissed about crap that's already done and over with. julian's fine, he's managed to make it this far, and to be fair: it's not like he listened worth crap anyway. maybe it was because he thought all of them were pulling bullshit out of their ass and hoping no one would notice they didn't have any clue what the hell they were dong, but he's also aware now that summers was trying, even if he was an ass about it.
the vodka bottle gets offered back over, but julian waves it off. being drunk is more inconvenient than not when one's abilities depend on brain power, and he needs to be able to open doors to get himself back to his room after this. )
I know my worth. I know yours, too.
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Neat.
Also cringe af.
Quentin pulls the bottle back, since apparently Julian's not interested anymore, but he doesn't have another drink yet. Instead he just looks at the bottle pensively.]
They were gonna bench me, you know. Before Krakoa. Like "civilian path" benched. As in, nobody trusts you on a team, so you get to go be an accountant or yoga instructor or something. Eye-boy tier shit.
[He hunches his shoulders in an uncomfortable shrug and leans back in his chair. It really, really sucks to be saying this, and he feels the prickle of anxiety screaming at him not to. To take the damn compliment, idiot. It's not like Julian is remotely shy about telling Quentin how much he sucks as a person. If he's saying anything vaguely complimentary, he means it, and he's unlikely to change his mind. It's not like this is even all that different than, you know, Quentin admitting he died a truly idiotic number of times, even if it feels different. Maybe because this shit shows that his failures aren't new. It's a pattern. The rule, not the exception. And saying that? Out loud? To a person? Quentin would rather lobotomize himself.
But... fuck. He's gotten this far, hasn't he? And blah blah blah who else could understand and all the crap. Same verse same as the first. Ugh.]
And then there was Krakoa, and. Well, look. A guy who dies 36 times in less than a year? That guy's not valuable to the team. They brought me back because I was valuable, but you know... as an Omega. A resource. Nuclear deterrent, power play, asserting political dominance, all that. My status was valuable, not me. I mean, you know how pathetic it is to be an Omega level telepath and get surprised by shit? Hell, you attack me like every other day, and I never fucking see it coming. Somehow. My brain runs fifteen times faster than yours, and still—
[He makes a frustrated noise and adjusts his glasses.]
Whatever. I know my job now, and I'm good at it. I know what I'm worth now. It's just, you know. You and me on two sides of the same shit coin again, I guess. The usual. I'd offer you a hug that you could pretend you hate, but I don't feel like getting up, so.
[Quentin holds out an arm towards Julian with his hand in a loose fist. Asking for a fist bump? You bet your ass he is. Also no, he's not leaning any closer to try and be within arms reach. Julian's hands don't even connect to his wrists, and there's like a 50/50 shot he'll think this is stupid anyway. Quentin's not wasting the extra effort.]
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he'd told quentin no one else here was going to get his shit as well as julian does. and, well. it wasn't wrong. apparently in more ways than julian had originally understood.
you and me on two sides of the same shit coin.
julian rolls his eyes, but his hand does move in to bump it's knuckles against quire's own even if his arm doesn't move with it. that's too much effort right now, thanks. )
I know I already said as much, but you really need to stop letting them use you like that man.
( julian might have done something similar: walked into danger countless times, keeled over countless times for others, but he wouldn't have just let it happen. not in the same way it sounds like quire had. )
The difference between you and other telepaths? If you were any more of an asshole, you'd know the moment I wanted to reach out and hit you. You're capable of stopping me soon as the thought so much as crosses my mind. But you're not listening.
( and the fact quentin's not trying to snoop around in his head all the time? much as julian hates the thought, it does make him - trust the guy a little more. there's been people in and out of his head since he was barely a teenager, he likes knowing there's someone around who'll at least respect the one space that's meant to be private, even if it so rarely is. )
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Yeah, well, it's not like stopping you would make you want to hit me any less.
[It's a snarky retort but lacks most of his usual biting tone. Did he anticipate he'd be making off-handed, relatively not-pissy jokes about Julian clobbering him today? Or... ever, really? No. But he also was dead certain Julian was about as straight as anyone with an X-Gene can be, and apparently that's in question now, soooo... Eh, sometimes life is funny like that.]
That's the whole, you know. Catch-22 of telepathy, right? Damned if you do, damned if you don't? I mean, you don't read people, and they hit ya. You do read them, and it's "oh no, you violated my personal boundaries, and now I'm soooo mad at you!" and then still hit you, and also they're pissed, and also everybody hates you. And sure, you can make people not hate you, but—[Quentin screws up his face dramatically like he's tasted something rancid.]
It's a whole thing. And a lotta work. I'm not out here trying to be Xavier, you know what I mean? It's just... easier to not bother. And if I get hit, I get hit.
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it's not a concern with quire, who knows better. )
It's not like I've ever hit you all that hard.
( he could, theoretically, throw his punches with as much force as he can telekinetically push. but he doesn't, not with quire. not any time recently, at least. and if he really wanted to? he can manipulate the things around him down to an atomic level. it wouldn't be all that difficult to squeeze a vein tight enough to cut off oxygen supply to someone's brain, to knock them out or take them down permanently if he was feeling particularly vindictive. laura had tried to get him to do it, once.
but that isn't julian keller, and it never has been.
instead, he's dropping his hand back down onto the table and - looking to quentin's knuckles. )
They done yet?
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Then again, it's well established by this point that nobody here is remotely normal, so. Eh. Fine. He'll let it slide just this once and move on to Julian's question.]
Dunno. Nate's blocking me. Really obviously, I might add. Subtlety isn't exactly the guy's strong suit, in case you hadn't noticed.
[Quentin follows Julian's eyes down to his hand and raises his eyebrows questioningly.]
But, uh, it's fine. If you wanna go, I mean. I'm good now.
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( to be fair to nate, it's not like julian has any idea how he's trying to block them out. julian doesn't have that capability, he just knows how to strong-arm his way out of having someone dick around in his head when he feels their telepathic fingers start sifting around through his brain.
quentin follows julian's eyes, but julian - just scrunches his nose, keeping his own down. and for a brief moment, it almost, almost seems like he's going to open his mouth and say whatever thought it was that had his attention shifting.
instead, he just opts to make sure everything's shoved away from the edge of the counter, and pulls himself back up to his feet a little less steadily than he'd been when he'd dropped down onto the chair. )
I'm going to sleep. Night.
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The second Julian stands, Quentin sits up straighter, gesturing indignantly between them.]
Hey, wait, no. What were you gonna say?
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( okay, that's - that's actually a lie. he was going to say something, but that was a whole two seconds ago and yeah, he remembers what had crossed his mind when he was going to open his mouth but he doesn't - )
Whatever it was, I don't remember.
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You don't remember what you weren't going to say... ten seconds ago?
[... Julian's totally just going to go with that if Quentin lets him, isn't he? Asshole. Okay, changing strategy. Quentin makes an overly dramatic, frustrated sigh and tilts his head back to look at the ceiling.]
Christ alive, man, what could possibly be more embarrassing than the entire rest of this stupid conversation? Nothing. So just spit it out already! We can pretend I pulled it out of your head, and you can beat me up for it or... whatever. I don't give a shit.
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( there's so much bullcrap that could be more embarrassing than this whole conversation, thanks! he knows it! like, talking about girls? totally fine and normal. talking about girls breaking their hearts? happens. talking about how hot julian is? valid. and he's not lying lying. he doesn't remember the exact wording of what he was going to say, just that it sounded like complete and absolute bullshit and he's definitely not going to say it out loud because it sounded stupid before he'd even gotten the chance to utter the words. )
You can't pull crap out of my head if I don't remember what the hell it was.
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[Ugh, okay, no. Chill. Count backwards. 10... 9... They were doing fine until now, just calm your tits, Quire, and talk rationally.]
Fine, whatever, blueball me. Not like I poured my heart out to you or anything. Yeah, no biggie, I just thought we were friends and stuff.
[Emotional blackmail? Much more rational. Obviously.]
kind of nsfw
( he's about ready to walk himself right back over there and shove quentin out of his chair and onto the ground for being a dick but then he realizes that's also playing right into whatever the hell this is.
and he could actually, you know, open his mouth and try to piece together a sentence that sounds less embarrassing and stupid than what he's currently trying to shove together except he's already said he doesn't remember and he can't go back on that.
except if quentin can pull it out of him, then there's the whole obviously i'm not lying, asshole, why would i? argument that julian can't disprove because he could just tell quentin to go ahead, make himself at home.
this is why he hates telepaths. nothing is sacred. )
But fine, if you can? Go for it.
( because, see, julian didn't open his mouth and say anything because he hadn't fully formed the thought. it was the barest idea of a thought, a what if, and it was fucking stupid and embarrassing and the worst thing julian's ever thought in his life so he hadn't wanted to actually make it make sense because it wouldn't have regardless.
quentin had offered to use his hands to make it feel like julian had hands. connect their nervous systems or - something. he'd gotten technical, julian hadn't cared to follow along with the technicalities. and he's pretty sure quentin both called julian dateable and hot all in the same breath earlier. and that's just it, isn't it.
they were talking about julian's lack of hands. quire was offering to share. julian is hot and maybe date-able. julian is also straight. sophie's off fucking around with nate somewhere and it's bothering quentin.
there's the thought at the front of his mind, that it'd be fucking nice if he could just borrow quentin's hands for a little bit. also, he's drunk? tipsy. no, definitely drunk. absolutely drunk, because if he wasn't drunk he wouldn't be even vaguely considering asking even if he's not quite sure what the question is. because god, it'd be nice to just - get off, you know? but do you know how hard that is when one doesn't have hands and rarely ever has a consistent place to live/doesn't have money/lives in shared living spaces surrounded by a shitton of other people around his age and younger? impossible.
it's not a complete thought. not a complete question, because he doesn't know exactly what it is he was going to ask, he just - god, is he jealous of nate? maybe he's a little jealous of nate. )
also a little nsfw rip to both of these idiots
["Go for it," Julian says. So Quentin rolls his eyes, wondering why this asshole is being so damn cryptic, and, well. Goes for it.
... He understands why Julian didn't want to say anything.
Look. It's not like Quentin hasn't had... similar ideas. How could he not? He's the one who brought up the whole hand-nervous-system-patching thing. He razzed Julian about wanting to make out with him, called him hot, poked him with a stick to watch him squirm. He literally said Julian should kiss a telepath, for fuck's sake. Quentin sowed, and now he's reaping. And his brain is just fuzzy enough from vodka that he isn't quite sure if he regrets it. Which is. Absurd? And not because of any stupid "no homo" bullshit. Quentin's known he was into dudes in general since he was 16. It's absurd because, uh, quite frankly Quentin would've thought he had better taste than Julian Keller.
Of course, that's making the grand assumption that both of them aren't just the right combination of drunk, miserable, and lonely right now to consider shit they normally wouldn't. Shit like helping this poor handless bastard get a little relief, because when Quentin had the realization that Julian hasn't touched anything in 6 years, he knew that meant anything, which... Oof.
Okay, you know what? No. There's no point in even thinking about any of this crap right now, because there sure as shit isn't going to be anything like that happening tonight.]
It's, uh, muddled. A little messy. But, uh.
[He clears his throat. It doesn't matter what he says here, because there's a 50% chance Julian won't even remember this conversation, and a 99.9% chance he will never ever want to talk about it ever again. Which means Quentin won't even have to consider any of this.]
If you, er, figure out that thought of yours, tell me. I'll, uh. I'll help out if I can. Lend a helping hand, you know?
i love mess
but this? is muddled because it feels messy as hell without voicing the thought as is and it's fucking embarrassing, to be this known. it's partially why he bitches so loudly when people do try to fuck around in his head: there's a lot of crap going on in there he doesn't want others to get a glimpse of. it's one thing to be messy as hell, it's another to have others know it.
because it has been about six years, hasn't it. the prosthetics help prevent phantom limb pains, they handle most daily tasks just fine and what they can't - he's a telekinetic, he doesn't need hands for a lot of crap.
julian keller exudes confidence when it comes to a lot of things. he knows he's smart, capable, good in the field, worthy of being an x-man even if he's lacked the squad to show for it for - well. a while. he's strong, doesn't let anything break him. but he's also standing in the kitchen at fuck o clock after drinking vodka and redbull with quentin quire sadly discussing their lack of successful relationships and the countless times they've both been fucked up by everyone around them.
the tips of his ears are bright red, because it is fucking stupid. quentin brought it up first. kiss a telepath, he'd said. problem solved. as if the only kissable telepaths weren't either fucking elsewhere or, you know, directly in front of him. and that's taking off the i don't kiss guys requirement.
which okay. he did technically kiss foley. but that was different. it was the effects of the casino in aphaia, it wasn't like he would have done it without that.
it's fine. it's whatever. he's already standing and heading out, so julian just keeps on walking. )
I drank too much. ( an obvious excuse. maybe not untrue, he is feeling a little unsteady. but. ) And it's - ( he doesn't need a helping hand. he's fine. maybe a little too used to being alone at this point, a little too desperate for - something. he's been pining after the same goddamn girl for longer than he can remember and she's literally never going to look his way again, but, ) It's fine. I'm going to bed. Night.
( later, loser. )
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God, that's narcissistic, isn't it? "Hey, you remind me of myself in all the worst ways, and that kinda makes you attractive to me." Jesus. At least that doesn't feel fully accurate, thank fuck. No, it's less seeing his worst traits in Julian and more... the same wounds. Wanting so bad to just fucking be seen, but actually having that happen hurts too much. It's like an exposed nerve, raw and sensitive. And the only options are to keep it protected and hidden or take a chance that someone will come along who won't grind the most vulnerable bits of yourself into the dirt. Julian can't connect, can't touch anyone in a very literal way, and Quentin? Well, the downside of telepathy is you get access to everyone else's softest underbellies, but the only other people who have a chance of seeing yours are other telepaths. And telepaths are fucking assholes.
Quentin's let people close before, to varying degrees and with widely varying levels of success. Logan's got his own hot mess of emotional walls and shit, but he clawed his way in and hasn't hurt Quentin too badly, all things considered. With Idie, well. He could never quite get the right balance of when to raise and lower his shields with her. Always seems like he makes the wrong choice with her, but they're more or less fine now. The rest of his team back home have also wormed their way close to Quentin's crusty little heart and haven't fucked him over yet. Phoebe was the one he let in the closest of anyone, and... The less said about Phoebe the better, honestly. That's a cut that isn't going to heal any time soon. See: asshole telepaths.
Maybe that's why he's found himself trying with Julian. Reaching out. Attempting to connect in about a dozen different ways until they eventually meandered... here. With Julian blushing up a storm for reasons that are not entirely alcohol-based, having just spawned a half-baked idea about homoerotic telepathy that Quentin for some stupid reason agreed to kind of, and thinking about—is that Elixir? That explains a lot—a whole mess of contradictory things that all boil down to a single concept: Julian Keller doesn't get truly known a lot. Much less than he deserves, quite frankly. He'd probably be a whole lot less of a piece of shit if he wasn't so emotionally constipated. And Quentin? If he's someone Julian lets in for god knows what reason, he'll help however he can. One of the cases where the ways in which they're fucked up actually compliment each other. Two sides of the same shit coin.
He watches Julian hurriedly leaving and just gives him a quick:] Hey, uh. Thanks, man.
[And just to make it clear he's not trying to keep Keller here any longer, he does a little half-salute-half-wave gesture as a farewell.]
Later.