Fives wishes he hadn't even gone. He doesn't even understand what Quentin thought he was apologizing for, or what he wanted him to explain or why, and he's come away feeling like Quentin thinks his own distress is all Fives' fault somehow. Like he'd done everything wrong but he has no idea what he's supposed to have done instead.
So... fuck him. Quentin's not his problem, he's a grown man and he can deal with his own shit. And if he hadn't actually wanted to be family then he should have kept his Sithfucking mouth shut about it. He's so angry he doesn't even realize he's basically storming through the halls until he gets back to Jedao's quarters and finds himself slamming the door, and then he winces in reaction as Tits springs up from her spot at the head of the bed with an affronted yowl.
"Sorry, Jed'ika," he murmurs, his voice even more quiet than usual in reaction, and hoarse as well. Then he pauses for a moment just inside the door to try and collect himself.
The outburst - such as it was - actually seems to rally Jedao a little, and he gets up from where he's been sitting and watching the fish, and actually goes to Fives at the door, reaches, then balks and hovers, then puts a deliberate hand on Fives' wrist.
"It's okay," he says softly. At least in the sense that he doesn't require an apology.
Fives holds almost painfully still at the hand on his wrist, afraid that if he moves wrong, moves at all, Jedao will jerk away and retreat.
He waits a slow beat, inhaling and then exhaling, before asking, "Do you want anything? I could go get some new books from the library, if you like?" It seems safer than commenting on the fact Jedao is touching him, for only the second time since the Admiral had shoved all his nightmare memories back into his head.
"All right, cyar'ika, where do you want me?" He's trying to sound normal, or as close to as he can. He's mostly good at it for Jedao. Smiling, however faintly, and keeping his voice soft and steady, not letting the hurt or fear or worry leak through, at least not too much. But he's so kriffing angry and confused right now, and he's realized entirely too late that he shouldn't have come back here. Not until he'd managed to work this off somehow.
"You don't have to -" he starts, and doesn't know how to finish, even as he tugs Fives over to the cot, sits down on the edge of it with Jedao's back to the wall and a place for Fives next to him. "You don't have to make yourself small, just because you're taking care of me."
He lets himself be led without complaint, then settles down carefully, next to Jedao but not actually touching. Not even close enough to accidentally touch with an ill-considered movement.
"I don't-" He stops, frowning, not sure what Jedao even means by that, and he's so tired of not understanding. Of getting things wrong because he doesn't know how real people are supposed to be have, or what they expect. "I'm just... I'm doing my best. I don't know what else to do."
"I know you are. You're - you're being so good to me. But you don't have to - fix me. I got - just -"
He swallows.
"I got so much at once, and slower would have been worse, but - so much of it is that I just need time, I think. To get used to - being the person all that happened to. The way normally you would, day by day, but I'm just so far behind."
He squeezes Fives' wrist a little tighter, closes his eyes for a moment, sucks in a breath.
"It would be totally crazy to suggest that you weren't allowed to be upset for however long it takes me to deal with it. You don't have to be perfect to be around me, Fives. You're - enough, just being you."
He almost can't breathe for how good it feels just to have Jedao touching him. Holding on to him.
"I know. That I can't fix you," he answers quietly, and wishes he dared lean into him. But he knows better than that. "But I can be here for you. With you." He pulls his legs up and wraps his free arm around them, rests his chin atop his knees.
"You couldn't fix me either, but... you were there. And it helped. And-" He rocks his head a little, voice going hoarse. "What point is there in being upset? At who? It's... it's not your fault." And the person whose fault it is... well, he was out of their reach even before Jedao's boy killed him. There's no point raging at the dead.
"And... it's not like I'm suffering, cyar'ika." Not really. Not in any way that matters. Even if he still feels tied in wire knots by the anger and hurt and betrayal he feels at Quentin, and his confusion over the whole kriffing mess, by his fear that Jedao won't ever get past his inability to touch him this time. Not really. That he'll only ever be a reminder of something horrible after this.
"... I just want to help," he adds in an almost whisper.
"Yes, you are. And it matters," Jedao says, quiet and absolutely sure, "Because you matter."
He strokes his thumb over the edge of bone at Fives' wrist. "You are helping. You don't have to be calm and helpful every moment you're with me to still be helping."
Fives draws in a quiet, shuddery breath. It's hard to feel like he matters right now, no matter what Jedao says. But it helps anyway. A little.
"What am I supposed to be if I'm not calm?" he asks, quiet and painfully serious. Because he doesn't know. "If... if I let go of that-" He shakes his head, feels rage bubbling up under his skin. Loss and betrayal buzzing along his nerves. "It wouldn't be helping. It wouldn't be okay."
Fives shudders at the touch, and can't quite choke back a hoarse, almost sob at the way Jedao grips the nape of his neck. He presses his face to his knees as he feels his eyes prickling and rocks his head a little.
"No," he protests, quiet and strained. "It's not. It's... you won't want it-" He should leave, he wants to get up and leave. To go take his frustrations out in the gym or the Enclosure, but... he can't. He can't pull away from the only time Jedao's really touched him in over a week.
"Probably I won't." Jedao won't like anything that hurts Fives. "But I'd rather hear it than watch you suffer alone while you're right next to me. Let me - let me pull myself together for you, for a little while. It's - easier, in some ways, than just for me."
He shakes his head again, more a rocking motion against his knees than anything, and draws in another shuddering breath. And then another. And then one more.
"You... you don't want to hear how angry I am at Quentin," he finally rasps. "And I don't want to hear you defending him." The thought of it makes his stomach churn. He doesn't want to hear how perfect and wonderful Quentin is, and how he just needs to understand him, and that's all he can really imagine Jedao saying on the matter.
Jedao's heart squeezes in fear; he'd like to say it was at the prospect of disentangling something so painful, but if he's honest with himself, it's simple projected terror at the idea of confronting Quentin at all.
"Okay," he breathes carefully. "I don't want to hear it. But I still think I need to. And if I can't say anything that isn't defending him, then I won't talk, I'll just be here with you and listen."
He squeezes the back of Fives' neck again, then tugs a little, urging him to lay his head down in Jedao's lap. "Just - as long as you don't grab me," he murmurs, almost sotto voce. That'd probably be alright. Right now, when Fives needs him so badly, it's easier to ignore the ghosts of all his old bad decisions.
Fives hesitates for a moment, making himself take slow, deep breaths, then shifts himself carefully down until his head is resting in Jedao's lap, his arms both curled in front of himself so Jedao doesn't have to worry that he might reach for him. "I won't," he promises quietly. He's worried even doing this much, and he's honest enough to admit to himself it's at least as much because he knows how much it will hurt if Jedao panics and pulls away from him as it is not wanting to hurt Jedao in the first place.
He lays very still for a few seconds, then reaches down to pull his communicator out of his jeans pocket. He takes a few more seconds scrolling through it, then holds it up so Jedao can take it rather than trying to actively pass it to him. It's open to this conversation, and at least it's a starting point.
Jedao sets his forearms on Fives' back as he holds the communicator in his hands, maintaining pressure and contact. He places the conversation on low volume, although of course Fives will hear it again anyway. He clenches he jaw, just - looking at Quentin's face, which still makes his guts writhe like frenzied eels with tangles of horror and longing and self-loathing and confusion. Quentin isn't hear to see him do it, grit his teeth and endure it, so he can, he decides. He just can.
Jedao still winces a little as the conversation goes on, at least as much at Fives' face talking about him as the things Quentin and Fives said to each other.
"He should never have said that to you," Jedao says, low and fierce. He's not shocked that Quentin did, with what Jedao's put them both through, the impossible corner of it, holding on and pushing him away. But Fives doesn't need that now, and it's still an appalling thing to say, thoughtless and spiteful and cruel, worse from someone who knows Fives like Quentin does.
The contact helps, more than almost anything has since this all started. Just feeling Jedao's solidity and warmth. It also makes him feel pathetic, for how badly he needs it and how terrified he is of losing it, but... he can't do anything about that now. Right now he's going to let himself have this, even if it's just for a very little while.
And he's doubly glad he has it as Jedao replays the conversation, as he hears his own anger and confusion and loss and fear, even if almost no one else could catch it... as he hears Quentin's spite and vitriol. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and tries not to let it hurt again. He was stupid. Stupid to think Quentin really meant it. Stupid to think it would matter. Stupid to trust.
It helps at least a little that Jedao doesn't try to defend it, but it also makes him feel even worse for making Jedao see that in Quentin. It makes him wish, even more, that he'd just gone somewhere else. It's too late now, though.
"He wanted to talk. Today," he finally says, rather than responding to what Jedao had said. He wishes he hadn't gone.
He tosses the communicator toward the end of the bed, and lets himself run a hand over Fives' hair, settling again on his neck.
"If he didn't want me to hear it, he shouldn't have said it," Jedao murmurs, in a solid, steady cadence. "I would have found it looking through your comm sooner or later." Of all the people involved, it's not Fives' fault Jedao watched it.
"And he went and made everything worse?" Jedao assumes, albeit more from Fives' current state than a complete lack of faith in Quentin.
He's not even surprised anymore that Jedao seems to know exactly what he was thinking, he does it too often for him to do more than take it in stride. It doesn't make him feel any better about putting him through this, though. Which is why when he answers it's with, "I... maybe? Or... or maybe I did. I don't know."
He tips his head a little, so he can press his face against the top of Jedao's thigh while keeping his hands curled carefully against his chest. "He said he wanted to apologize. And ask me to explain. But-" He draws in a shuddering breath. He's just so kriffing tired and confused. "But he didn't say what for, and then... when he said he should have done it differently and I agreed? He just... wanted me to go."
Was he supposed to disagree and tell him it had been fine? Because it wasn't. Was that even what Quentin was sorry for? Or was it just for giving him the false impression he'd care enough to help him?
Jedao hums, scratches Fives' nape. He has - a lot of theories, but he doesn't always understand Quentin nearly as well as he does Fives, and he doesn't know where the line is between explaining and defending anyway.
"When you agreed to talk to him, what did you want to happen?"
"Not your fault I was stupid and he's an asshole," Fives mutters hoarsely. "Should've known he didn't really mean it." It must have just been something he'd said to make sure Fives wouldn't give him trouble over deciding to stay.
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Fives wishes he hadn't even gone. He doesn't even understand what Quentin thought he was apologizing for, or what he wanted him to explain or why, and he's come away feeling like Quentin thinks his own distress is all Fives' fault somehow. Like he'd done everything wrong but he has no idea what he's supposed to have done instead.
So... fuck him. Quentin's not his problem, he's a grown man and he can deal with his own shit. And if he hadn't actually wanted to be family then he should have kept his Sithfucking mouth shut about it. He's so angry he doesn't even realize he's basically storming through the halls until he gets back to Jedao's quarters and finds himself slamming the door, and then he winces in reaction as Tits springs up from her spot at the head of the bed with an affronted yowl.
"Sorry, Jed'ika," he murmurs, his voice even more quiet than usual in reaction, and hoarse as well. Then he pauses for a moment just inside the door to try and collect himself.
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"It's okay," he says softly. At least in the sense that he doesn't require an apology.
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He waits a slow beat, inhaling and then exhaling, before asking, "Do you want anything? I could go get some new books from the library, if you like?" It seems safer than commenting on the fact Jedao is touching him, for only the second time since the Admiral had shoved all his nightmare memories back into his head.
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Jedao hates that he's made Fives afraid around him again. And yet - there are parts of Fives' caution he is shamefully grateful for.
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"I don't-" He stops, frowning, not sure what Jedao even means by that, and he's so tired of not understanding. Of getting things wrong because he doesn't know how real people are supposed to be have, or what they expect. "I'm just... I'm doing my best. I don't know what else to do."
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He swallows.
"I got so much at once, and slower would have been worse, but - so much of it is that I just need time, I think. To get used to - being the person all that happened to. The way normally you would, day by day, but I'm just so far behind."
He squeezes Fives' wrist a little tighter, closes his eyes for a moment, sucks in a breath.
"It would be totally crazy to suggest that you weren't allowed to be upset for however long it takes me to deal with it. You don't have to be perfect to be around me, Fives. You're - enough, just being you."
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"I know. That I can't fix you," he answers quietly, and wishes he dared lean into him. But he knows better than that. "But I can be here for you. With you." He pulls his legs up and wraps his free arm around them, rests his chin atop his knees.
"You couldn't fix me either, but... you were there. And it helped. And-" He rocks his head a little, voice going hoarse. "What point is there in being upset? At who? It's... it's not your fault." And the person whose fault it is... well, he was out of their reach even before Jedao's boy killed him. There's no point raging at the dead.
"And... it's not like I'm suffering, cyar'ika." Not really. Not in any way that matters. Even if he still feels tied in wire knots by the anger and hurt and betrayal he feels at Quentin, and his confusion over the whole kriffing mess, by his fear that Jedao won't ever get past his inability to touch him this time. Not really. That he'll only ever be a reminder of something horrible after this.
"... I just want to help," he adds in an almost whisper.
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He strokes his thumb over the edge of bone at Fives' wrist. "You are helping. You don't have to be calm and helpful every moment you're with me to still be helping."
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"What am I supposed to be if I'm not calm?" he asks, quiet and painfully serious. Because he doesn't know. "If... if I let go of that-" He shakes his head, feels rage bubbling up under his skin. Loss and betrayal buzzing along his nerves. "It wouldn't be helping. It wouldn't be okay."
Jedao doesn't need his anger and hurt.
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He reaches with his other hand, strokes Fives cheek once, then slides to grip his neck.
"I promise it's okay."
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"No," he protests, quiet and strained. "It's not. It's... you won't want it-" He should leave, he wants to get up and leave. To go take his frustrations out in the gym or the Enclosure, but... he can't. He can't pull away from the only time Jedao's really touched him in over a week.
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And that's the pure and desperate truth.
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"You... you don't want to hear how angry I am at Quentin," he finally rasps. "And I don't want to hear you defending him." The thought of it makes his stomach churn. He doesn't want to hear how perfect and wonderful Quentin is, and how he just needs to understand him, and that's all he can really imagine Jedao saying on the matter.
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"Okay," he breathes carefully. "I don't want to hear it. But I still think I need to. And if I can't say anything that isn't defending him, then I won't talk, I'll just be here with you and listen."
He squeezes the back of Fives' neck again, then tugs a little, urging him to lay his head down in Jedao's lap. "Just - as long as you don't grab me," he murmurs, almost sotto voce. That'd probably be alright. Right now, when Fives needs him so badly, it's easier to ignore the ghosts of all his old bad decisions.
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He lays very still for a few seconds, then reaches down to pull his communicator out of his jeans pocket. He takes a few more seconds scrolling through it, then holds it up so Jedao can take it rather than trying to actively pass it to him. It's open to this conversation, and at least it's a starting point.
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Jedao still winces a little as the conversation goes on, at least as much at Fives' face talking about him as the things Quentin and Fives said to each other.
"He should never have said that to you," Jedao says, low and fierce. He's not shocked that Quentin did, with what Jedao's put them both through, the impossible corner of it, holding on and pushing him away. But Fives doesn't need that now, and it's still an appalling thing to say, thoughtless and spiteful and cruel, worse from someone who knows Fives like Quentin does.
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And he's doubly glad he has it as Jedao replays the conversation, as he hears his own anger and confusion and loss and fear, even if almost no one else could catch it... as he hears Quentin's spite and vitriol. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and tries not to let it hurt again. He was stupid. Stupid to think Quentin really meant it. Stupid to think it would matter. Stupid to trust.
It helps at least a little that Jedao doesn't try to defend it, but it also makes him feel even worse for making Jedao see that in Quentin. It makes him wish, even more, that he'd just gone somewhere else. It's too late now, though.
"He wanted to talk. Today," he finally says, rather than responding to what Jedao had said. He wishes he hadn't gone.
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"If he didn't want me to hear it, he shouldn't have said it," Jedao murmurs, in a solid, steady cadence. "I would have found it looking through your comm sooner or later." Of all the people involved, it's not Fives' fault Jedao watched it.
"And he went and made everything worse?" Jedao assumes, albeit more from Fives' current state than a complete lack of faith in Quentin.
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He tips his head a little, so he can press his face against the top of Jedao's thigh while keeping his hands curled carefully against his chest. "He said he wanted to apologize. And ask me to explain. But-" He draws in a shuddering breath. He's just so kriffing tired and confused. "But he didn't say what for, and then... when he said he should have done it differently and I agreed? He just... wanted me to go."
Was he supposed to disagree and tell him it had been fine? Because it wasn't. Was that even what Quentin was sorry for? Or was it just for giving him the false impression he'd care enough to help him?
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"When you agreed to talk to him, what did you want to happen?"
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