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[ yeah margo you said that twice now Quentin's just getting nervous ]

I'll be back in 5.

Everything okay? Something happen?

Everything's fine. I just want to touch base.

okay, yeah, give me a few and I'll be over.

I'll be waiting on the front porch.

[ Why is he half expecting a shotgun in Margo's hand when he gets home? He's still stiff from his wound, but he's out and about, which is great. He was going nuts in the house and he's pretty sure everyone else was going nuts just because he would never leave. Quentin doesn't blame them.

He's got a few books in his arms, having not bothered with a bag, and he looks at Margo slightly apprehensively as he rounds the corner. Does Margo have her 'I'm tired but angry' face or her 'I'm tired but angry at Quentin' face? Time will tell. ]

Hey.

[ Oh no. Margo has neither. She has her sweet-but-so-sweet-you-need-to-be-afraid-look on her face. And yes, she even offers to take some of the books because of his injury. ] Have you heard of a bag?

I didn't really think there was a point. It's not like they're heavy--thanks.

[ Yeah, he's getting a little nervous. He'll roll with it, though. Maybe Margo's just being nice.

...Right. ]

Are you okay?

[ She gives him a look that says she thinks he's a moron for carrying a bunch of books while he's still nursing an injury that he's apparently using as some kind of emotional wall/crutch.

She sits on the top step of the porch.] I'm fine. Sit. [ She doesn't bother waiting for him to do it, he better.

Margo is just going to get right to it.] What's going on with you and Eliot?

[ Quentin opens his mouth. As selfish as it is, his first instinct is to say 'nothing.' It's a lie, but one that he can cling to, one that makes it easier. 'Nothing,' so they can just keep doing what they're doing. It's safer. That's always been his problem, though. Selfish, selfish Coldwater.

He thinks better of it, and, after sighing as he sits down on the chair--he swears he's 28 going on 70--and lets his hands flop with the vaguest possible gesture he can manage. ]

I don't know.

[ Yeah he does. ]

Well, that much is clear, [ she says with no small amount of snark. Sorry, Q, you've been fucking with her BFF4LLYLAS's feelings, she's not pulling punches, even if you aren't doing it on purpose.]

Want to know what I know? [ No pause, she's gonna lay it out.] I know that you're fucking with his head and that the two of you need to get over whatever woe-is-fucking-me-star-crossed-lovers-song-and-dance that is going on and just... be it or be over it.

[ Ah. There it is. He supposes it was a matter of time, and he supposes he deserves it, but he can't help but raise his metaphorical hackles. A part of him knows Margo's just looking out for Eliot. That's who Margo is--fierce and beautiful, strong and angry, and for as nonchalant as she seems she'll burn down cities if it means Eliot's well being.

So instead of acting like a dick like his knee-jerk reaction wants him to, Quentin settles for crossing his arms defensively.]

I'm not fucking with his head, alright? I'm just trying to figure shit out.

[ She wouldn't blame him for acting like a dick, not really. She came at him without much preamble, after all. But still, his answer doesn't impress her much.

Her arms cross over her chest and she tries her best to sound patient as she asks him, almost gently:]

What shit is there to figure out?

Margo-- [ It gets close a frustrated warning tone, though he never follows through. It's hard to tell if the frustration is at himself or Margo or both. He leans forward, because if they're going to have this conversation he's going to at least be semi-comfortable, rubs his eyes by pressing the heels of his palms into them momentarily, and sighs. ]

--because it's complicated. [ That's not an answer, and he knows it. ] It's not just--I can't just run up to him and kiss him and then everything will be fine, alright?

Except that you can. You can just do that. We're stuck here for who knows how long... why not just go for it? [ And they say women are complicated...] This place is basically like Vegas, what happens here, stays here, so I don't get why you don't just ovary up and tell him how you feel.

[ He can be frustrated all he wants but he's not allowed to be stupid.] Quentin, I don't think you understand how close we get to losing him.

No, I don't understand, because no one's telling me shit. [ That frustration is leaking out, Quentin's breath hitching because he can't catch the words in time. They fall out and before Quentin's brain can stop himself, he's still going. ]

He knows how I feel, I've told him, I just-- you-- Jesus, I am trying. And I know you're being protective of him because he's your best friend but I need you to back off a bit, okay?

[ Well, that's news to her.] No one's told you what happens?

[ But when he tells her to back off, she scoffs.] I'm not going to back off if you keep jerking him around, Coldwater.

I know he's trapped. [ That's been on his mind; maybe not the forefront with each month's horrors, but it's been there, lingering constantly. He feels it surface again, bubble up, and he wonders if that's the straw that breaks the camels back: he suddenly has a very, very big headache. His face moves from thin lips to a set jaw, surprisingly square before he exhales sharply through his nose. ]

Before all of this--before Deerington, before he told me he still loves me, he... I wanted to do it. Really, I just--I thought why not? 50 years. That's nothing to sneeze at. 50 years raising a family in Fillory. 50 years of having him by my side.

He--we--I got the key because I was getting ready to bury him. He just sort of fell asleep, and I knew. Maybe he did, too. But he was peaceful. We had been happy. Why wouldn't we want that, together, again?

[ He's getting to the point, Margo. Just give him a second. Most of it is just him sorting this out aloud to himself. ]

[ cue an annoyed eyebrow perk.] Which is what I'm asking you... why wouldn't you want to try again?

Because what if he's right?

[ Oh, shit. Here it comes. Quentin can feel the lump in his throat as he keeps his eyes on Margo, pleading. He's not sure what he's actually pleading for. Forgiveness, maybe. Or for Margo to have a magical answer, like she did eons ago when they sat on the stairs of the physical kids' cottage and when he found out his dad had cancer. Margo hand he were never that close but they were never apart, either, and some vague part of Quentin's brain that's trying to sink itself into rationality rather than emotion is exceedingly aware of this.

Selfish, selfish Coldwater. Margo's doing this for Eliot, not for you, and what are you giving her? Nothing. You're in hysterics. You're going to start crying if you keep this up, like a fucking idiot. ]

Even if he did it because he was scared, he told me I'd always find someone else. That I'm not 'like that.' Even in Fillory, the two of us alone, I found Arielle and had a son. And he stayed by me.

So what if he's right, Margo? Even if he didn't mean it when he said it, what if it's true? What if I fuck him over like I fucked Alice over when I slept with you two? That's all I fucking do to him.

[ Margo has empathy, thank you very much. And she doesn't like to see anyone cry (okay, maybe a few people). Eliot is her number one but that doesn't mean that she doesn't care about Q. She's not the heartless bitch she tries to appear to be.

So she listens to him, listens and watches his face.]

Jesus, Quentin. Stop trying to put yourself into one of those stupid fucking boxes that society wants us to be in. Maybe you're not supposed to be with only one person, did you ever think of that? Or maybe El said those things because he's the fucking king of sabotaging his own happiness. [ She sighs, her tone is still more gentle than it would be if she was truly pissed at him.] Maybe instead of "maybe" fucking him over, you just be with him and see what happens.

[ Margo's soft right now. Quentin knows she has the capability--no one is truly an iron maiden, not 24-7. He wants to express how much he appreciates it but he winds up sniffing instead, and the words sort of die in his throat.

Yeah, Margo's a bitch. But when she gives a shit--when she really, really gives a shit about you, you'll know. ]

You're right. I know you're right, but I--

[ He leans back, forces himself to exhale and runs his hands across his face for what feels like the umpteenth time. Instead of bringing them down he raises them again, some strange version of jazz hands as he speaks before they flop uselessly to his sides: ]

--I break everything. I don't want to break him. He's already... He's already barely holding on. You know that.

[ Cue the highest of eyebrow arches and a scoff to end all scoffs.] And you don't think that stringing him along isn't breaking him? Stop acting like a drama queen, Q. You don't break everything. And if you break something, just fix it.

Oh, yeah, like any one of us fixes things without it blowing up in our face.

[ But he's smiling, or at least it's Q's version of a smile--he feels a little better. Probably because Margo's saying exactly what half of him already thinks. ]

...You know, I'm surprised you haven't found someone to play around with yet.

[ She rolls her eyes because it's none of his business but maybe it might encourage him to stop fucking around. .] That's a pretty big assumption there, Coldwater.

I'm just saying. [ Why did he sound like a teenage girl just then? Whatever. Time to light up a cigarette and offer one to Margo. ] You've always just gone for what you want. Anyone here?

[ He figures if Margo and him can have a serious conversation, Quentin can tease Margo. Just a bit. Not too much, though, he still values his life. ]

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