Jedao is sitting cross-legged on the floor, repeatedly shuffling and then dealing face-up spreads from a new card deck, learning the feel of every edge under his fingers. The suits are different - leaves and clouds and stones, metals and torches. He glances up.
Fives shoves a hand into his jeans pocket without otherwise moving and fishes out his communicator, which he lobs in Jedao's direction with uncanny accuracy given he hasn't looked at him other than a quick glance when he came in. It lands about six inches to the left of his knee, open to this conversation.
Jedao gets his cards in one hand fast enough to snatch it out of the air, and listens.
"I think I'd characterize it more as a mutual stumble," he says gently, and tosses his own communicator land next to Fives' head, open to a screen full of text.
Fives reaches blindly for where he heard it land, then rolls just enough to be able to read it, his back to Jedao... and curls slowly in on himself, knees pulling up and head tucking down as he sucks in gasping breaths.
"It's alright, love," Jedao murmurs, letting his footsteps make sound as he pads over, sits on the bed so that it dips, settles one hand on Fives' shoulder.
"You really don't speak the same language. But you both want the same things, in the end."
"He doesn't even try to understand, that what's normal for him, is-" He shakes his head and tucks into himself a little farther, to help him resist the urge to roll over and wrap himself around Jedao instead. "I don't expect him to understand being a soldier, or... or slavery."
"What's normal for him is being alone," Jedao says softly. "And powerful and free and dead certain that it's wrong and selfish and pathetic to ask anyone else to deal with his feelings."
Jedao tucks himself into the little bunk behind Fives, and it makes his heart lurch into his throat a little bit, but he presses his nose into the nape of his neck and reaches around to squeeze Fives' wrist in one hand.
"He never had brothers. He asked you to leave because he's certain you'd never forgive him, and he was going to cry." Jedao swallows, breathes warm against the back of Fives' neck. "What do you expect, darling?"
Fives holds very very still as Jedao presses up against him, then shivers out a long, slow breath at the feel of Jedao's nose pressed warm at the nape of his neck.
"I didn't mean that," he rasps after a moment. "I meant... kriffing soul truncation and... and weird magic jags of fury. I wouldn't expect him to be able to handle charging into an enemy bombardment, but he thinks magical horrors are just another kriffing day, and doesn't even think about how they're fucking terrifying to normal people." He hadn't even paused as far as Fives can tell, hadn't even cared to try and understand that he'd been so frightened he was just short of paralyzed with it. That he'd just wanted someone he could rely on to help him through it.
Which isn't what Jedao had asked, but it's what his mind is spinning around right now. "I didn't say he couldn't be family because he didn't do what I wanted, I said... I said it didn't seem like he wanted to be family, because he didn't care about how... how lost... and frightened... and alone I was."
"I know, darling," Jedao murmurs, half-hugs him with the arm draped around his waist. "Didn't you two have a talk a while ago about how you're both terrible at reading people under the best circumstances?"
Which these most certainly were not, on just about every possible level.
"I tried to tell him," he mumbles, and scrubs his face against his arm. He'd tried to ask for help, because Jedao had convinced him he could. That it's all right to lean on people, that he doesn't have to try and navigate through everything alone.
"What... what should I have said to make him understand?" Because he wants to know. He wants to think that if Quentin had understood how hard it had been to ask, and how desperately he wanted someone to help him bear the burden of worry and fear, that he would have come.
"I don't know," Jedao admits. "Both of you were already hurt before you even started, because of me. And didn't know how much the other was. And it's not like I'm very good at it either. But maybe, just, I'm scared. Instead of you're not doing enough."
It sounds so simple, but the thought of it is terrifying. If he wants Quentin to be family, though, then maybe he has to trust him with his fear, not just hope he understands it without having to speak.
"Maybe," he agrees quietly. "I... I thought he knew what was going on," he admits quietly. "That you'd been talking to him. I didn't realize he was all alone."
"No." Fives finally uncurls a little, but doesn'stops short of making any move to touch Jedao.
"You've been just shy of catatonic, cyar'ika. There hasn't been enough left over to worry about anyone else, and that's okay. I should have thought to without needing to be told... family goes both ways, and I never even checked on him. Not once."
And then he'd had the gall to accuse Quentin of not caring. "I... need to apologize. I should have known."
Which is more in the vein of clemency than contradiction. Jedao had hoped Fives would. He'd meant to nudge - but hadn't managed to follow through in the few brief days before they made port.
He squeeze-hugs Fives around the waist again. "I just. I know you're both hurt and scared and you'll probably fight more because - because it's hard, being people and trying to understand each other. But I can't be enough right now and I want you to have each other to lean on so badly and I know you both want it too." He swallows a lump in his throat, blinks hard.
"I should have had enough room to worry about him too," he answers quietly. "We could have been helping each other instead of ending up here."
He sighs and wishes he dared even touch Jedao's hand, but he thinks it would feel more like threat than comfort. "And you're always enough," he adds, fierce and low. "Just as you are, however you are. You took care of me when... when I fell apart. It's no hardship to do the same for you."
Jedao's arm moves, grabs his comm again, and Quentin's voice rises tinnily from behind Fives, a little bit choked, starting to cry.
"I told him to leave because I was starting to cry and I am not his problem. And you can tell him so? Fuck, you can play him this if you think it'd help. But I'm so fucking mad at all of you jackasses who don't believe I give a shit about you when you're the most important people in my lives. It keeps happening and it's such a horrible feeling. Spending months doing the math and magic to, you know, save all the clones, but he's prepared to believe on a dime that I'm a piece of shit who doesn't care about him at all? I didn't do it so he'd owe me but I thought I deserved the benefit of the motherfucking doubt."
Jedao, deftly, cuts it off there, skips half a minute along, and it's his own voice, low and tender.
"I probably will, at least pieces. But, darling - he wants you to be his problem. That's what family is. Fuck your propriety, and fuck your useless fucknugget parents who didn't teach you that, and cry on him already."
And Quentin answers, echoing Fives' own fear - "I really, really don't think he wants that right now." He blows his nose loudly, plaintively. "I mean, ask him, and if I'm wrong I'm wrong and I'll apologize again, but he was so mad at me, Jedao. And I'm not okay enough right now to just keep running head first into that particular brick wall."
"I don't know," says Jedao, from his own mouth this time. "What do you think?"
Fives turns his head so he can rub his face against his arm, and sniffles quietly for a moment before answering. "I didn't think he was doing that for me," he mumbles, because that seems important to make clear. "I never did. Wanting me or... or not wanting me. For family. It doesn't have to have anything to do with that." Anymore than Jedao's determination to free them has to do with him, he knows Jedao will do it with or without him, because he wants to see it done for the vod'ike's sake.
"But... I'll call him. If you don't think it's too soon," he finally whispers.
"I know you didn't. And I know why you didn't think so. But...he cares, darling, he really does. And I think you should talk to him if you're ready to talk to him. If you're ready to...listen, and be a little more vulnerable even if both of you are still mad about some things. But he loves you and he wants to figure things out and he doesn't want to be alone. So - no, I don't think it's too soon."
Jedao elides, for the moment, that Quentin promised him he was in touch with both Credence and Harry, which seems fairly well corroborated. That's not the point.
Fives is quiet for a few long moments, just breathing, slow and even, letting all the pieces settle in his mind. "Okay," he finally answers. "Okay, I... I should do it now, or at least soon." So there's plenty of time to sort things out one way or another before he has to show up for dinner shift.
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"Why do you say that, cyar'ika?"
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"I think I'd characterize it more as a mutual stumble," he says gently, and tosses his own communicator land next to Fives' head, open to a screen full of text.
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"You really don't speak the same language. But you both want the same things, in the end."
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Jedao tucks himself into the little bunk behind Fives, and it makes his heart lurch into his throat a little bit, but he presses his nose into the nape of his neck and reaches around to squeeze Fives' wrist in one hand.
"He never had brothers. He asked you to leave because he's certain you'd never forgive him, and he was going to cry." Jedao swallows, breathes warm against the back of Fives' neck. "What do you expect, darling?"
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"I didn't mean that," he rasps after a moment. "I meant... kriffing soul truncation and... and weird magic jags of fury. I wouldn't expect him to be able to handle charging into an enemy bombardment, but he thinks magical horrors are just another kriffing day, and doesn't even think about how they're fucking terrifying to normal people." He hadn't even paused as far as Fives can tell, hadn't even cared to try and understand that he'd been so frightened he was just short of paralyzed with it. That he'd just wanted someone he could rely on to help him through it.
Which isn't what Jedao had asked, but it's what his mind is spinning around right now. "I didn't say he couldn't be family because he didn't do what I wanted, I said... I said it didn't seem like he wanted to be family, because he didn't care about how... how lost... and frightened... and alone I was."
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Which these most certainly were not, on just about every possible level.
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"What... what should I have said to make him understand?" Because he wants to know. He wants to think that if Quentin had understood how hard it had been to ask, and how desperately he wanted someone to help him bear the burden of worry and fear, that he would have come.
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"Maybe," he agrees quietly. "I... I thought he knew what was going on," he admits quietly. "That you'd been talking to him. I didn't realize he was all alone."
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Jedao's throat closes, and he smashes his face against the crook of Fives' neck, forces himself to breathe, arm gone tight around him.
"I. I should - I should have asked you, at least, to - keep him updated, and then you'd both - but I just -"
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"You've been just shy of catatonic, cyar'ika. There hasn't been enough left over to worry about anyone else, and that's okay. I should have thought to without needing to be told... family goes both ways, and I never even checked on him. Not once."
And then he'd had the gall to accuse Quentin of not caring. "I... need to apologize. I should have known."
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Which is more in the vein of clemency than contradiction. Jedao had hoped Fives would. He'd meant to nudge - but hadn't managed to follow through in the few brief days before they made port.
He squeeze-hugs Fives around the waist again. "I just. I know you're both hurt and scared and you'll probably fight more because - because it's hard, being people and trying to understand each other. But I can't be enough right now and I want you to have each other to lean on so badly and I know you both want it too." He swallows a lump in his throat, blinks hard.
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He sighs and wishes he dared even touch Jedao's hand, but he thinks it would feel more like threat than comfort. "And you're always enough," he adds, fierce and low. "Just as you are, however you are. You took care of me when... when I fell apart. It's no hardship to do the same for you."
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But it is - as he said to Quentin - Fives' turn to try.
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"I told him to leave because I was starting to cry and I am not his problem. And you can tell him so? Fuck, you can play him this if you think it'd help. But I'm so fucking mad at all of you jackasses who don't believe I give a shit about you when you're the most important people in my lives. It keeps happening and it's such a horrible feeling. Spending months doing the math and magic to, you know, save all the clones, but he's prepared to believe on a dime that I'm a piece of shit who doesn't care about him at all? I didn't do it so he'd owe me but I thought I deserved the benefit of the motherfucking doubt."
Jedao, deftly, cuts it off there, skips half a minute along, and it's his own voice, low and tender.
"I probably will, at least pieces. But, darling - he wants you to be his problem. That's what family is. Fuck your propriety, and fuck your useless fucknugget parents who didn't teach you that, and cry on him already."
And Quentin answers, echoing Fives' own fear - "I really, really don't think he wants that right now." He blows his nose loudly, plaintively. "I mean, ask him, and if I'm wrong I'm wrong and I'll apologize again, but he was so mad at me, Jedao. And I'm not okay enough right now to just keep running head first into that particular brick wall."
"I don't know," says Jedao, from his own mouth this time. "What do you think?"
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"But... I'll call him. If you don't think it's too soon," he finally whispers.
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Jedao elides, for the moment, that Quentin promised him he was in touch with both Credence and Harry, which seems fairly well corroborated. That's not the point.
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"Hey, Mister Vanilla Bean. I've got somebody here that wants to try talking to you again after all. Is now good?"