Uh, I dunno, maybe "try asking politely" or—or whatever the fuck was going on at the pool way back when or—wait. Hold the fuck up.
[Quentin stops short because—what was that??? The "you admit it" part just registered in his brain, derailing every train of thought he was going down up to that point. He... admits it? He admits?? It????? Quentin stares at Julian in baffled disbelief. Is he really that fucking stupid? Or does he just not remember?]
I offered you a helping hand, you moron. You know? When I pulled that little thought fragment out of your brain? Ring any fucking bells?
[He points emphatically at his own head, as though an illustration is necessary.]
How about you tell me what the hell you thought that meant?
( what happened to not mentioning that ever again?
technically speaking, julian brought up the whole quentin flirting with him thing first, but quentin's the one that wanted to meet up and was accusing julian of flirting with him and so this is somehow his fault and definitely not at all julian's.
there's a scowl on his face, but, )
Was that before or after you and Sophie started getting into bullshit?
[Look. If there's an elephant in the room, Quentin has to mention it. He's just gotta. It's a compulsion. A way of life. Secrets secrets are no fun, secrets secrets hurt someone.
... Unless they're his in which case what elephant.
But this one isn't. Which means he's gonna yap about it.
Julian is scowling and diverts to—what else?—the Sophie situation. Quentin rolls his eyes and folds his arms over his chest.]
Before. Obviously. It was before we kinda figured our shit out. Ish. Pool was after, in case you're curious. Why?
( this is the worst conversation he's ever had in his entire life because even julian doesn't quite know where he's going with it, which just makes it even more messy. because fuck quentin quire for causing all this bullshit but also how dare he?
arms raise, almost as if he's going to cross them over his chest before he realizes quentin just did that and instead of coming across as some kind of disappointed copy-cat, julian puts a hand on his hip, raising a brow. )
So you're, what, flirting with me then immediately going off to fuck around with Sophie?
( rude? it's not like he and sophie are dating-dating. so it probably not actually a big deal. but also? fucked to offer julian a hand then go fuck someone else. )
[What the hell is this conversation? And what did Quentin do to deserve it? Nothing, that's what! Okay, maybe something. But still!
There was a brief pause in the yelling, but guess what, it's back now. Quentin uncrosses his arms to gesture sharply at Julian with both hands.]
Are you serious, dude? Oh. Yeah. My bad. Next time I'll double-check with the straight guy who thought a buzzed, half-formed idea at me before I stumble into a weird, stupid situationship with my ex's identical sister that only happened because every single fucking conversation we try to have goes to shit.
It's not about how I feel about any of it, asshole.
( he has no idea where the hell this conversation has fucked off to. but it's too late, they're in it, and quentin's started yelling again so julian starts up again also, leaning just a little with a hand raised to point straight at quentin again. )
It's a dick move toward Sophie regardless of who you were messing around with outside of her. Maybe if you weren't such a fucked up mess you'd figure out how to just talk to people!
[Quentin glowers at that pointing finger. Just where the hell does Keller get off accusing him of shit? It's absurd. Outlandish! Offensive! So much so that he decides to point back even more aggressively. That'll show him! Somehow.]
Maybe if you pulled your head out of your ass for a second you'd hear what I'm actually fucking saying!
[And what is he saying? Uh, well. It's obvious! Duh! Don't even need to explain it. Yep.]
Fuck off with your "sneaking around behind Sophie's back" accusations, because you and I both know that ain't true. Last time was on the public goddamn network, and newsflash, genius, she's got eyes. This is your stupid crisis, not mine!
( quentin's pointing aggressively now? guess he needs to point back even more aggressively despite the fact they're standing - what, just barely out of arm's reach? jesus christ. he doesn't even know what he's doing anymore but he's still doing it because. they're here. and julian doesn't know where he's supposed to get off this ride so obviously that means he just has to stay on it until he finds a way to win. )
You're the one who started crap on the network! You're the one who turned this into a whole thing! This is your crisis, not mine!
[Holy shit, he's going to have an aneurysm. This is it. His latest death. His massive amazing incredible brain is going to fucking spontaneously combust due to exposure to too much raw stupidity. Courtesy of one Julian Keller. Well, everybody, it was a good run. So long and thanks for all the fish.
Or, you know, he could just vaporize Keller's brain, but. Eh. Honestly, who knows if there's anything up there. Could be a matter plus anti-matter situation. Create a black hole that swallows everyone and destroys the world.
... Or he could, you know. Let it go. Calm down. Be reasonable. But that's. So. Haaard. Ugh ugh ugh.
Okay. Alright. Whatever. He'll do it. But only for the sake of saving the world and, more importantly, himself. Quentin forces himself to lower his hand, a process that judging by the grimace on his face takes significant effort, and breathes harshly out through his nose. Straightens his shoulders. Puts two fingers to his temple.]
Fine. You want me to tell Sophie? Good thing I've got a direct line. Should I get her blessing just to ogle from afar, make a few suggestive comments? Or you think I should ask her for any makeout tips? You know, since her being informed is apparently your biggest concern.
( he feels like there was a point he was trying to make here and it's gotten completely lost under the yelling and bitching and pointing and - whatever the fuck this is, hell if julian knows. he's usually better at this, isn't he? usually. not at handling quire, to hell with that, but with handling anyone else. )
I - ( i what? that's not what he meant? because it isn't. i don't know how the hell to answer your stupidity? because he doesn't. but to be fair, he doesn't know what the hell either of them are going on about at this point either so it's.
hell.
is he more pissed at himself or at quire at this point? who the fuck knows. his hand drops too, because there's no point in making it worse even if he feels the instinctual need to shove quire over now.
a process that makes him realize also that he's mirroring the energy quire's giving off which just pisses him off more. julian'll do it intentionally sometimes, but this isn't that. maybe he should just push him over. just for that.)
You know what? I don't care. Do whatever the hell you want.
( he's resisting the urge to shove still. would it make him feel better? yes. but it'd also escalate - all of this. )
[Quentin lowers his hand from his temple and tries not to look too haughty about it. He fails, but you know. It's the thought that counts. At least he successfully resists the urge to make this worse, which he could very easily do. So hey, got that going for them. He sighs and rubs his hand over his forehead.]
What I want is for you to, I dunno. Be honest with me? Or... you know, with yourself, at least. Fuck, that's corny. Hang on.
[He grimaces and scratches his scalp for a moment in thought.]
Look, man, I get it. You're pissed the fuck off for—reasons, doesn't matter, and that shit's gotta go somewhere. So you pick some place—or some places—and bam, that's where the shit goes. You know? People, concepts, situations... whatever. It just, well.
[He looks up and to the left briefly before looking purposefully back at Julian, though he instinctively shoves his hands back into his pockets with a shrug. 50/50 shot that the asshole is receptive to all this blather or if he just gets defensive and mad. Hopefully Quentin's luck is good today, but you never know.]
Shit doesn't always go to the best places. You feel?
for a multitude of reasons, really. the guy is a prick. has a stupidly high ego in some ways and stupidly low self esteem in others in just the wrong ways so it - rubs against julian in a way he really does not appreciate. he doesn't have the patience for it. doesn't even know how to describe the ways in which he doesn't know how to fucking tolerate quentin's bullshit. maybe it's because they're riding opposite sides of the social hierarchy yet struggling with the same goddamn problems and just - dealing with them all in really shitty ways.
fighting like this with one another, where they'll yell at each other on rooftops over who the hell knows what before calming down and instead struggling with - this. the emotional weight of all their fucked up life problems that are both the same and entirely different all in the same breath.
julian's mouth presses together into a fine line, because he knows quentin knows he isn't necessarily wrong and that telling him he's got no idea what he's talking about is just going to make him even more right. but he doesn't want to talk about it either. )
Our entire lives are fucked. ( is a good starting point, probably. both of them know this. ) Crap here is fucked. And there's nothing either of us can do to fix any of it because this is just the way it's going to be for us.
( from m-day on, nothing has ever felt safe. for quentin, it started earlier. but it's - they're mutants. x-men. young adults who never had the opportunity to be kids because of all the fucking hate directed their way. doesn't matter. they both know it. )
But congrats on getting some of your own shit figured out. At least one of us managed it. Couldn't be me.
[Cool, a secret third option. Quentin loves that for himself. Keller has found a way to be both receptive and defensive, which honestly? Takes talent. Kudos to him, seriously. Unfortunately it's also a pain in Quentin's ass, so kudos revoked. Sorry not sorry.
He peers at Julian for a moment through narrowed eyes. Hm. They sure are a pair of cynical asshats, aren't they? Damn. Of course, Quentin prefers to think of himself as a realist, but well. When your entire reality is shit, what's the difference? None. It just is what it is. Nothing to be done except pick up your piles of baggage and carry on. It's either that or lay down and die, and well. There's a couple of floating prosthetic hands that say which one of those options Julian chooses. Hell, Quentin's died more than any other mutant, but damn it, he sure as hell doesn't stay down.
All that to say... Keller's full of crap.]
Yeah, I'm not buying it.
[Said matter-of-factly with another nonchalant lift of his shoulders.]
Shit's fucked, yeah, but you're not a quitter. Asshole, yeah. Miserable sack of crap, obviously. But not a quitter.
[Quentin strolls over and plops down to sit cross-legged near the edge of the roof.]
Besides, I'm way more messed up in the head than you are. If I can get some of my shit together, you've got no damn excuse.
I've still got burns on my arms and legs from trying to dig Brian out from the school bus before it'd really gone up in flames.
( it's completely without context. he knows it's a weird fucking place to go with this whole conversation. everything else going on. just like he knows it's entirely relevant despite it being a weird direction to turn in. because julian isn't finished yet. )
Though a lot've them are mostly covered by burns from the Sentinels blowing off my hands. I'm not going to rehash stupid crap. I bring up my lack of a spleen, you bring up you've died over thirty-six times, we both bitch about how neither of us are even close to in one piece 'cause sure, I'm covered in the physical evidence of all my fuck ups, but you get the fun mental scars of being ripped to pieces countless times. I bring up how everyone fucked off and left me behind, you bring up how they would leave you behind if you weren't so stupidly useful.
( he's not sitting, not getting himself comfortable, but he's not walking away just yet either. instead, julian's shoving his hands into his pockets, chewing on the inside of his cheek. )
There's a girl back home who I've been in love with since I was fifteen, who's never going to bother giving me a second glance even if I do come back in one piece. Sophie already showed me as much. But it doesn't even matter, because I'm stuck here, mourning a home I'd barely had time to get used to being safe because it's gone now and even if it wasn't, it was always fucked. You think if I fell off from here and splattered on the ground, Aurora'd bring me back in one piece? Except you're right, I'm not a quitter. I can't just let go of crap, and maybe that's my whole problem.
[Uh, what? Quentin looks back with a raised eyebrow when Julian brings up the bus. Uh, okay, random but, uh. Eh, sure, why not, he'll hear the guy out. So he does, and... Woof. It's a doozy. Around the part where he brings up all the deaths, Quentin turns to look forward out across the horizon. He's never been great about making eye contact for crap like that. But it's fine. It's not like Julian's expecting any kind of diligent eye contact or anything. He knows Quentin is listening. "Perk" of being a telepath: hearing shit is never the problem.
He waits until it's clear that Keller is done and... scoffs quietly.]
Guy without hands can't let go. That's a hell of a punchline.
[Quentin gestures vaguely at the area of the roof near his spot without looking up.]
Come on, asshole. Sit. If you're gonna angst, might as well not be by yourself.
[And since there's no point in waiting for Julian to actually decide to sit down or just linger weirdly around, Quentin continues talking as though he will sit down. He's been on the opposite end of this enough times to know how excruciating it is when somebody brings too much attention to your avoidant bullshit.]
Okay, real talk? You asked me what I wanted. With, you know, this whole... whatever.
[He clears his throat and absently adjusts his glasses before looking at his hand and placing it and the other in his lap.]
Here's another one for you: guy who can't touch anything and a guy who feels every godforsaken thinking life form on the planet walk into a bar. I wanted... I dunno, I can't fix anything. I know that. But, I mean. I feel everything, dude. The one damn time our stupid ironic bullshit actually lines up, and I just... I wanted to help. Somehow. That's all.
( he doesn't want to sit down, thank you very much. especially not when they're talking about his life problems, because it's already hard enough as it is when he's got a very easy way out - think of how hard it'll be when he's down and it'll take a few more moments to get up and running when this conversation shifts a direction he doesn't want it to go.
he hesitates for several long moments, but does end up giving in and walking himself over to where quentin has settled so he can drop down to the rooftop with a good arm's length between them still, heel of one foot pressed to the ground so he can rest his forearm against his knee. listens, because that's what this whole bullshit is about - right? listening. trying to find some kind of middle ground because they do keep starting fights over fucking - nothing. )
I don't want your feelings. I don't want to feel crap from your perspective. From using your abilities. ( he knows quentin feels - well. everything. if he wanted to, he could tap into julian's head, feel everything he feels, really get it. but that's not the point. and he knows quentin gets that, too. ) I wanted to be free. Thought if I went through Crucible and came back, I'd finally get that. To not feel so fucking - tied down by all the bullcrap of before. I was holding onto that like it was the only hope I had of fixing anything, and now? I don't know, man.
[Good, at least the idiot gave up enough of his dumb pride to actually sit down. Quentin does him the courtesy of not addressing it or even looking at him. Don't ever say he never did nothing for you, Keller.
... Well, okay, Quentin does glance at Julian out of his peripheral vision when he starts talking about the Crucible and... Shit. God damn it.
Fuck. Quentin's gonna have to talk about... the list, isn't he? Cripes. Uuuuuuugh. Fine. But he's going to slouch his shoulders and fiddle with his glasses while he does it. Shut up, he's coping.]
Yeah, well. That's on you, thinking resurrection was gonna fix shit.
[His tone isn't unusually derisive, despite the wording being, well. Not overly flattering. Look, he's having a bad time. Quentin grimaces in preparation for what he's gotta say next.]
Trust me, I gave it a good college try. Had a whole, uh. Array of custom resurrection modifications. You know, 20/20 vision, get rid of the bleach-and-dye rigamarole. Shit that pissed me off. Anything that held me back from being... fuck, the best Quentin Quire money can buy, I guess. I dunno.
[He clears his throat and pulls off his glasses to peer at them with mild disdain before wiping the lenses on his shirt.]
'Course, most of them got thrown in the trash in the last batch of resurrections after Creed decapitated me, which is why I got these things back, but. Point is, getting your hands or spleen back ain't gonna, you know. Un-bus fire your friends. Doesn't work like that.
( it is to an extent, but it's not - like that necessarily. like yeah, quentin has a lot of bullshit he could do to fix himself up. julian can see where this asshole gets the need to fix and improve himself from: quire's got a need to stick out and he's a twig with shit vision. and, okay, julian doesn't feel as crappy about himself physically as quire does, especially appearance-wise. though he realizes two seconds after he thinks it how shitty it is just to think that. not like quire's terrible to look at or anything, but julian's confident he still has a leg up on him even despite how mangled he is.
a hand raises, fingers shoving through the hair just above his ear. there's no clear way to explain what's going on inside his head either, which sucks too because he knows how easily quentin could just get it if julian let him in - but he won't. )
Everyone else was getting - a new start. Or as good as we could do a new start. Those fucked by M-Day were having their mutations fixed. People who've been dead years were getting to come back. People felt safe, like they were home. That's what I wanted.
[If it helps, Quentin isn't entirely confident he could unravel this mess even if he dug around in Keller's thick skull. This seems like... well, a lot. A true Gordian knot of a thing. Which, I mean, big mood. But still.
For example, how the hell does Crucible relate to any of the stuff Julian just said? Sure, maybe Crucible in general, but that's not what Keller said. He said "if I went through Crucible". Personal pronoun, first person singular. And there's only one reason Keller would do that shit.
Well. Two reasons, technically. Ha.
But no, it's never about the hands, is it? Except when it is. But actually, no, just kidding, it's not, and fuck you for thinking it is. Quentin glances at Julian, tightening his mouth as he decides whether or not to follow this whole rabbit hole the guy's going down. But, well. What the hell's he supposed to say? "Sorry, bud, paradise is fake, and life is just endless misery"? "Hey so it turns out putting all the mutants on an island in fact makes it super easy to kill all the mutants, and you'd think we'd have learned that after the first two islands"? "All that good shit you just mentioned was built on a ton of war crimes, and I don't know how to feel about that"?
No. Terrible ideas, the lot of them. Not a single winner in that batch. Quentin lets the silence hang for a moment, dutifully cleaning his glasses and putting them back in place before he blurts out:]
Why won't you let me do the hand thing? I don't mean, like... all the other stuff. Just, you know. Letting you feel a table. Boring shit.
( it feels like an almost entirely unrelated question, but - this just circles back to quire wanting to help, doesn't it. quire, who starts shit constantly for no fucking reason and pisses julian off like it's an olympic sport. quire, who brought up the bullcrap with foley as a means to get back at him. who pissed him off to the point he snapped and sophie snapped at him. which, to be perfectly fair, julian would have done the same in her place. )
'cause what's the point?
( okay, he does know what the point is. knows that when people lose one limb, they'll often put up a mirror so when they move their remaining one, they look to the mirror and it helps them feel as if they're moving the limb that is no longer there. that it helps with phantom limb syndrome. if quentin had been offering during one of julian's 2am nightmare scenarios where he wakes up and feels like his hands are burning, he would take him up on the offer in an instant. kill the pain, make him feel like there's something there where he knows there's nothing. trick his brain into - not trying to kill him anymore.
julian lets out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and - scoots a little closer to quentin. raises an arm, to hold his hand out, palm up, towards quentin. )
Give me your hand. Not - mentally, just. You know.
[What is the point? It seems obvious, but at the same time... Quentin's not sure if he can actually answer that question. Not verbally, at least. It just... seems like something that would help. A... relief? Something nice, even if temporary. But then he's saved from having to try and figure out how to answer that question by Keller holding out his hand and... Quentin stares at it for a moment. With only mild suspicion, but. You know.]
This had better not be an excuse for you to break my hand or some shit.
[Why would Julian break his hand? Who knows. It's... plausible. Maybe. In any case, Quentin does begrudgingly plop his hand into Keller's, palm down like a handshake.]
It's not my hand, so this isn't actually handholding.
( prefacing reaching out to hold quentin's with it definitely isn't actually handholding because. well. they just finished the whole not like that conversation. quentin looks put out, but so does julian as his mouth twists into a small frown, metal hand turning over gently and his arm moves alongside it, shifting his fingers so each metal one slides in between quentin's significantly less metal fingers - but gently. careful not to pinch. )
I can still feel this, kinda. You get used to feeling without actually touching when it's the only way you can do crap. You know how it is. The - ( he doesn't know the scientific terms for any of this because why the fuck would julian care to learn something stupid like that. ) telekinetic pressure? I've gotten a lot better with it over the last few years, too. Before I might've accidentally broken a hand. Now? It's more like feeling it but without really feeling it.
[There's only one thing that saves both of them from Quentin obnoxiously pointing out that saying "this isn't handholding" before literally holding his hand—and no, he's not buying the "oh this is just a hand-shaped metal thing I use as my hand in daily life but it's not really my hand" excuse—is really goddamn weird and makes this whole stupid thing ten times more awkward. And that one thing is the fact that Julian's explanation is actually really goddamn interesting. Because yeah, Quentin does understand. Better than most would, in any case. His telekinesis is on the stronger side amongst psychics, comparable to Julian's own in raw power even if not in refinement.]
Similar to how I "feel" minds, I guess. But it's just... you know, pressure. From you. It doesn't go both ways?
[Also, since this is "totally not handholding" apparently, Quentin assumes Julian won't mind if he curls his fingers tighter between those metal ones, watching with a curious head tilt. Don't worry, Keller, it's for science. Or something.]
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[Quentin stops short because—what was that??? The "you admit it" part just registered in his brain, derailing every train of thought he was going down up to that point. He... admits it? He admits?? It????? Quentin stares at Julian in baffled disbelief. Is he really that fucking stupid? Or does he just not remember?]
I offered you a helping hand, you moron. You know? When I pulled that little thought fragment out of your brain? Ring any fucking bells?
[He points emphatically at his own head, as though an illustration is necessary.]
How about you tell me what the hell you thought that meant?
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technically speaking, julian brought up the whole quentin flirting with him thing first, but quentin's the one that wanted to meet up and was accusing julian of flirting with him and so this is somehow his fault and definitely not at all julian's.
there's a scowl on his face, but, )
Was that before or after you and Sophie started getting into bullshit?
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... Unless they're his in which case what elephant.
But this one isn't. Which means he's gonna yap about it.
Julian is scowling and diverts to—what else?—the Sophie situation. Quentin rolls his eyes and folds his arms over his chest.]
Before. Obviously. It was before we kinda figured our shit out. Ish. Pool was after, in case you're curious. Why?
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arms raise, almost as if he's going to cross them over his chest before he realizes quentin just did that and instead of coming across as some kind of disappointed copy-cat, julian puts a hand on his hip, raising a brow. )
So you're, what, flirting with me then immediately going off to fuck around with Sophie?
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Anyway. Quentin narrows his eyes. Awfully sus question there, Jules.]
If you're straight then why's it matter?
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( rude? it's not like he and sophie are dating-dating. so it probably not actually a big deal. but also? fucked to offer julian a hand then go fuck someone else. )
Because you're not.
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There was a brief pause in the yelling, but guess what, it's back now. Quentin uncrosses his arms to gesture sharply at Julian with both hands.]
Are you serious, dude? Oh. Yeah. My bad. Next time I'll double-check with the straight guy who thought a buzzed, half-formed idea at me before I stumble into a weird, stupid situationship with my ex's identical sister that only happened because every single fucking conversation we try to have goes to shit.
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( he has no idea where the hell this conversation has fucked off to. but it's too late, they're in it, and quentin's started yelling again so julian starts up again also, leaning just a little with a hand raised to point straight at quentin again. )
It's a dick move toward Sophie regardless of who you were messing around with outside of her. Maybe if you weren't such a fucked up mess you'd figure out how to just talk to people!
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Maybe if you pulled your head out of your ass for a second you'd hear what I'm actually fucking saying!
[And what is he saying? Uh, well. It's obvious! Duh! Don't even need to explain it. Yep.]
Fuck off with your "sneaking around behind Sophie's back" accusations, because you and I both know that ain't true. Last time was on the public goddamn network, and newsflash, genius, she's got eyes. This is your stupid crisis, not mine!
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( quentin's pointing aggressively now? guess he needs to point back even more aggressively despite the fact they're standing - what, just barely out of arm's reach? jesus christ. he doesn't even know what he's doing anymore but he's still doing it because. they're here. and julian doesn't know where he's supposed to get off this ride so obviously that means he just has to stay on it until he finds a way to win. )
You're the one who started crap on the network! You're the one who turned this into a whole thing! This is your crisis, not mine!
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Or, you know, he could just vaporize Keller's brain, but. Eh. Honestly, who knows if there's anything up there. Could be a matter plus anti-matter situation. Create a black hole that swallows everyone and destroys the world.
... Or he could, you know. Let it go. Calm down. Be reasonable. But that's. So. Haaard. Ugh ugh ugh.
Okay. Alright. Whatever. He'll do it. But only for the sake of saving the world and, more importantly, himself. Quentin forces himself to lower his hand, a process that judging by the grimace on his face takes significant effort, and breathes harshly out through his nose. Straightens his shoulders. Puts two fingers to his temple.]
Fine. You want me to tell Sophie? Good thing I've got a direct line. Should I get her blessing just to ogle from afar, make a few suggestive comments? Or you think I should ask her for any makeout tips? You know, since her being informed is apparently your biggest concern.
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I - ( i what? that's not what he meant? because it isn't. i don't know how the hell to answer your stupidity? because he doesn't. but to be fair, he doesn't know what the hell either of them are going on about at this point either so it's.
hell.
is he more pissed at himself or at quire at this point? who the fuck knows. his hand drops too, because there's no point in making it worse even if he feels the instinctual need to shove quire over now.
a process that makes him realize also that he's mirroring the energy quire's giving off which just pisses him off more. julian'll do it intentionally sometimes, but this isn't that. maybe he should just push him over. just for that.)
You know what? I don't care. Do whatever the hell you want.
( he's resisting the urge to shove still. would it make him feel better? yes. but it'd also escalate - all of this. )
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What I want is for you to, I dunno. Be honest with me? Or... you know, with yourself, at least. Fuck, that's corny. Hang on.
[He grimaces and scratches his scalp for a moment in thought.]
Look, man, I get it. You're pissed the fuck off for—reasons, doesn't matter, and that shit's gotta go somewhere. So you pick some place—or some places—and bam, that's where the shit goes. You know? People, concepts, situations... whatever. It just, well.
[He looks up and to the left briefly before looking purposefully back at Julian, though he instinctively shoves his hands back into his pockets with a shrug. 50/50 shot that the asshole is receptive to all this blather or if he just gets defensive and mad. Hopefully Quentin's luck is good today, but you never know.]
Shit doesn't always go to the best places. You feel?
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for a multitude of reasons, really. the guy is a prick. has a stupidly high ego in some ways and stupidly low self esteem in others in just the wrong ways so it - rubs against julian in a way he really does not appreciate. he doesn't have the patience for it. doesn't even know how to describe the ways in which he doesn't know how to fucking tolerate quentin's bullshit. maybe it's because they're riding opposite sides of the social hierarchy yet struggling with the same goddamn problems and just - dealing with them all in really shitty ways.
fighting like this with one another, where they'll yell at each other on rooftops over who the hell knows what before calming down and instead struggling with - this. the emotional weight of all their fucked up life problems that are both the same and entirely different all in the same breath.
julian's mouth presses together into a fine line, because he knows quentin knows he isn't necessarily wrong and that telling him he's got no idea what he's talking about is just going to make him even more right. but he doesn't want to talk about it either. )
Our entire lives are fucked. ( is a good starting point, probably. both of them know this. ) Crap here is fucked. And there's nothing either of us can do to fix any of it because this is just the way it's going to be for us.
( from m-day on, nothing has ever felt safe. for quentin, it started earlier. but it's - they're mutants. x-men. young adults who never had the opportunity to be kids because of all the fucking hate directed their way. doesn't matter. they both know it. )
But congrats on getting some of your own shit figured out. At least one of us managed it. Couldn't be me.
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He peers at Julian for a moment through narrowed eyes. Hm. They sure are a pair of cynical asshats, aren't they? Damn. Of course, Quentin prefers to think of himself as a realist, but well. When your entire reality is shit, what's the difference? None. It just is what it is. Nothing to be done except pick up your piles of baggage and carry on. It's either that or lay down and die, and well. There's a couple of floating prosthetic hands that say which one of those options Julian chooses. Hell, Quentin's died more than any other mutant, but damn it, he sure as hell doesn't stay down.
All that to say... Keller's full of crap.]
Yeah, I'm not buying it.
[Said matter-of-factly with another nonchalant lift of his shoulders.]
Shit's fucked, yeah, but you're not a quitter. Asshole, yeah. Miserable sack of crap, obviously. But not a quitter.
[Quentin strolls over and plops down to sit cross-legged near the edge of the roof.]
Besides, I'm way more messed up in the head than you are. If I can get some of my shit together, you've got no damn excuse.
cw: suicidal ideation
( it's completely without context. he knows it's a weird fucking place to go with this whole conversation. everything else going on. just like he knows it's entirely relevant despite it being a weird direction to turn in. because julian isn't finished yet. )
Though a lot've them are mostly covered by burns from the Sentinels blowing off my hands. I'm not going to rehash stupid crap. I bring up my lack of a spleen, you bring up you've died over thirty-six times, we both bitch about how neither of us are even close to in one piece 'cause sure, I'm covered in the physical evidence of all my fuck ups, but you get the fun mental scars of being ripped to pieces countless times. I bring up how everyone fucked off and left me behind, you bring up how they would leave you behind if you weren't so stupidly useful.
( he's not sitting, not getting himself comfortable, but he's not walking away just yet either. instead, julian's shoving his hands into his pockets, chewing on the inside of his cheek. )
There's a girl back home who I've been in love with since I was fifteen, who's never going to bother giving me a second glance even if I do come back in one piece. Sophie already showed me as much. But it doesn't even matter, because I'm stuck here, mourning a home I'd barely had time to get used to being safe because it's gone now and even if it wasn't, it was always fucked. You think if I fell off from here and splattered on the ground, Aurora'd bring me back in one piece? Except you're right, I'm not a quitter. I can't just let go of crap, and maybe that's my whole problem.
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He waits until it's clear that Keller is done and... scoffs quietly.]
Guy without hands can't let go. That's a hell of a punchline.
[Quentin gestures vaguely at the area of the roof near his spot without looking up.]
Come on, asshole. Sit. If you're gonna angst, might as well not be by yourself.
[And since there's no point in waiting for Julian to actually decide to sit down or just linger weirdly around, Quentin continues talking as though he will sit down. He's been on the opposite end of this enough times to know how excruciating it is when somebody brings too much attention to your avoidant bullshit.]
Okay, real talk? You asked me what I wanted. With, you know, this whole... whatever.
[He clears his throat and absently adjusts his glasses before looking at his hand and placing it and the other in his lap.]
Here's another one for you: guy who can't touch anything and a guy who feels every godforsaken thinking life form on the planet walk into a bar. I wanted... I dunno, I can't fix anything. I know that. But, I mean. I feel everything, dude. The one damn time our stupid ironic bullshit actually lines up, and I just... I wanted to help. Somehow. That's all.
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he hesitates for several long moments, but does end up giving in and walking himself over to where quentin has settled so he can drop down to the rooftop with a good arm's length between them still, heel of one foot pressed to the ground so he can rest his forearm against his knee. listens, because that's what this whole bullshit is about - right? listening. trying to find some kind of middle ground because they do keep starting fights over fucking - nothing. )
I don't want your feelings. I don't want to feel crap from your perspective. From using your abilities. ( he knows quentin feels - well. everything. if he wanted to, he could tap into julian's head, feel everything he feels, really get it. but that's not the point. and he knows quentin gets that, too. ) I wanted to be free. Thought if I went through Crucible and came back, I'd finally get that. To not feel so fucking - tied down by all the bullcrap of before. I was holding onto that like it was the only hope I had of fixing anything, and now? I don't know, man.
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... Well, okay, Quentin does glance at Julian out of his peripheral vision when he starts talking about the Crucible and... Shit. God damn it.
Fuck. Quentin's gonna have to talk about... the list, isn't he? Cripes. Uuuuuuugh. Fine. But he's going to slouch his shoulders and fiddle with his glasses while he does it. Shut up, he's coping.]
Yeah, well. That's on you, thinking resurrection was gonna fix shit.
[His tone isn't unusually derisive, despite the wording being, well. Not overly flattering. Look, he's having a bad time. Quentin grimaces in preparation for what he's gotta say next.]
Trust me, I gave it a good college try. Had a whole, uh. Array of custom resurrection modifications. You know, 20/20 vision, get rid of the bleach-and-dye rigamarole. Shit that pissed me off. Anything that held me back from being... fuck, the best Quentin Quire money can buy, I guess. I dunno.
[He clears his throat and pulls off his glasses to peer at them with mild disdain before wiping the lenses on his shirt.]
'Course, most of them got thrown in the trash in the last batch of resurrections after Creed decapitated me, which is why I got these things back, but. Point is, getting your hands or spleen back ain't gonna, you know. Un-bus fire your friends. Doesn't work like that.
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( it is to an extent, but it's not - like that necessarily. like yeah, quentin has a lot of bullshit he could do to fix himself up. julian can see where this asshole gets the need to fix and improve himself from: quire's got a need to stick out and he's a twig with shit vision. and, okay, julian doesn't feel as crappy about himself physically as quire does, especially appearance-wise. though he realizes two seconds after he thinks it how shitty it is just to think that. not like quire's terrible to look at or anything, but julian's confident he still has a leg up on him even despite how mangled he is.
a hand raises, fingers shoving through the hair just above his ear. there's no clear way to explain what's going on inside his head either, which sucks too because he knows how easily quentin could just get it if julian let him in - but he won't. )
Everyone else was getting - a new start. Or as good as we could do a new start. Those fucked by M-Day were having their mutations fixed. People who've been dead years were getting to come back. People felt safe, like they were home. That's what I wanted.
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For example, how the hell does Crucible relate to any of the stuff Julian just said? Sure, maybe Crucible in general, but that's not what Keller said. He said "if I went through Crucible". Personal pronoun, first person singular. And there's only one reason Keller would do that shit.
Well. Two reasons, technically. Ha.
But no, it's never about the hands, is it? Except when it is. But actually, no, just kidding, it's not, and fuck you for thinking it is. Quentin glances at Julian, tightening his mouth as he decides whether or not to follow this whole rabbit hole the guy's going down. But, well. What the hell's he supposed to say? "Sorry, bud, paradise is fake, and life is just endless misery"? "Hey so it turns out putting all the mutants on an island in fact makes it super easy to kill all the mutants, and you'd think we'd have learned that after the first two islands"? "All that good shit you just mentioned was built on a ton of war crimes, and I don't know how to feel about that"?
No. Terrible ideas, the lot of them. Not a single winner in that batch. Quentin lets the silence hang for a moment, dutifully cleaning his glasses and putting them back in place before he blurts out:]
Why won't you let me do the hand thing? I don't mean, like... all the other stuff. Just, you know. Letting you feel a table. Boring shit.
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'cause what's the point?
( okay, he does know what the point is. knows that when people lose one limb, they'll often put up a mirror so when they move their remaining one, they look to the mirror and it helps them feel as if they're moving the limb that is no longer there. that it helps with phantom limb syndrome. if quentin had been offering during one of julian's 2am nightmare scenarios where he wakes up and feels like his hands are burning, he would take him up on the offer in an instant. kill the pain, make him feel like there's something there where he knows there's nothing. trick his brain into - not trying to kill him anymore.
julian lets out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and - scoots a little closer to quentin. raises an arm, to hold his hand out, palm up, towards quentin. )
Give me your hand. Not - mentally, just. You know.
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This had better not be an excuse for you to break my hand or some shit.
[Why would Julian break his hand? Who knows. It's... plausible. Maybe. In any case, Quentin does begrudgingly plop his hand into Keller's, palm down like a handshake.]
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( prefacing reaching out to hold quentin's with it definitely isn't actually handholding because. well. they just finished the whole not like that conversation. quentin looks put out, but so does julian as his mouth twists into a small frown, metal hand turning over gently and his arm moves alongside it, shifting his fingers so each metal one slides in between quentin's significantly less metal fingers - but gently. careful not to pinch. )
I can still feel this, kinda. You get used to feeling without actually touching when it's the only way you can do crap. You know how it is. The - ( he doesn't know the scientific terms for any of this because why the fuck would julian care to learn something stupid like that. ) telekinetic pressure? I've gotten a lot better with it over the last few years, too. Before I might've accidentally broken a hand. Now? It's more like feeling it but without really feeling it.
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Similar to how I "feel" minds, I guess. But it's just... you know, pressure. From you. It doesn't go both ways?
[Also, since this is "totally not handholding" apparently, Quentin assumes Julian won't mind if he curls his fingers tighter between those metal ones, watching with a curious head tilt. Don't worry, Keller, it's for science. Or something.]
I mean, you don't feel that, right?
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