Chapter Text
And so it goes.
In truth, Elliott expected more crashing and burning in the immediate aftermath.
After Hound had departed the Lounge that night he’d eventually dragged himself back up to his flat and called Renee to tell her what had happened. He’d barely made it a minute into the call before another panic attack had swept through him, resulting in him bringing up all the liquor he’d drunk that evening into his toilet bowl.
And as he’d sat slouched, arms resting on the seat, shivering from the cool tiles and waiting for Renee to show up, he wondered how things were supposed to continue forwards after this. It seemed unfathomable that between them they’d be able to return to any sort of normalcy, or that life could simply continue on around them as it had been.
But it does.
Albeit a little awkwardly for a time. The bounds and edges of their friendship are unknown now, and it is not just Elliott who struggles to navigate them. Hound stays true to his wishes; they give him the space he asked for, though after a couple of weeks it is clear that they are not going to reach out unless he reaches first.
There’s a crow that’s begun perching near his window boxes, and it takes Elliott three days to work up the courage to extend the olive branch and text them a picture of it.
Sent: Elliott Witt
> IMG_2287
> New friend for Artur?
Once he sees the sent icon, Elliott — in an act of complete nonchalance — proceeds to throw his phone in the vague direction of his couch and rush out of the flat shortly after. He spends the afternoon collecting groceries and taking a trip around the Solace food markets to distract him into feeling like a normal person, which works splendidly until he eventually has to return home. As he’s busy putting away the groceries several dings sound from the couch cushions.
He makes it another ten minutes before he cracks and goes over to rummage in between the cushions to find exactly where his phone was banished to. Embarrassingly it takes longer to find it than he expected, and when he’s finally got it in his hands he’s immediately scrolling through the notifications to see if there’s anything from Hound.
There’s a message from his publicist, some kind of article from Renee, a reminder to renew various subscriptions and—
From: Houndie
> It would do him good to have a friend, though I fear he’s too grouchy to accept one.
> Though he is not above bribery and has a penchance for raisins. Do with that what you will.
Elliott grins, and for a moment feels hopeful.
“So it’ll be the first time since that night?”
Once more the evening before the next season has arrived and all of the important tasks that Elliott usually leaves until the last minute have been completed, for once. Unfortunately this means that there’s been nothing to stop his thoughts from spiraling, so with little else to distract him he has ventured into the culinary wilds in the hope it will take his mind off of tomorrow, and is currently pottering around the kitchen with Renee on speaker.
“Yeah but I mean we’ve texted since then. Not like, loads but, y’know. Conversations have happened. Honestly it’s fine, really! They even sent me a smiley face the other day so we’re good, I think. I’m not gonna break down when I see them in person again, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Frankly Elliott thinks it would be impossible for things to get any more awkward than they did that night at the Lounge, so he’s been living under the impression that even though heartache sucks absolute ass, it was at least probably uphill from here.
He hopes.
And besides, it wasn’t Hound he was nervous about seeing again.
(Well alright, it wasn’t just Hound, to be precise.)
There’s a deep sigh from over the phone, which admittedly pisses him off a little because sighs like that from Renee are usually a prelude to some lecture where she talks to him like he’s a child. Normally it’s warranted, he can admit, but not today! For starters she’s the one who inquired first, and more importantly he hasn’t cried over ‘The Situation’ in two weeks. He’s coping extremely well, thank you very much.
“You know it’s going to hurt, right?”
Elliott scoffs, gently scooping batter into a piping bag.
“Wow, incredible, thanks for the astounding insight, I never would have guessed. Crazy actually, ‘cause none of this has hurt whatsoever up until now as we all know.”
“Don’t be an ass, you know that’s not what I’m saying.”
Fine. Yes, he does know what she’s saying. And he knows that it’s not coming from a place of condescension, it’s because she’s speaking from her own experience. So… alright, maybe he should adjust his attitude, especially since she’s been by his side throughout this entire mess.
“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely, “I know you’re just trying to help, I’m just… I’m reeeeally trying not to think about it. If I think about it then I have to wonder what Fitz is gonna say to me when he sees me next and how awful it’s going to be and how I’d rather be forced to do an entire match naked than have that conversation. So. We’re not thinking about it! That’s a tomorrow problem, and most importantly a problem for future Elliott. Sucks to be that guy.”
She doesn’t respond for a few moments. And then—
“What are you doing right now?”
Elliott pauses, hovering over a baking tray with his piping bag mid air.
“...I’m not sure I want to tell you.”
“El.”
“It’s fine! It’s— I’m— I’m making pastry.”
“Pastry?”
“Choux pastry. I’m making profi-profu- the little desserts! Small, round, full of cream, topped with chocolate. I mean something around here deserves to be topped and full of cream, haha.”
There is dead silence on the other end of the line and really it’s impressive how Elliott can feel the judging glare despite not being able to see her face.
“You should have told me you weren’t okay.”
“Oh my god, I am fine, I swear!” he groans.
A door swings open in the apartment and Ramya sticks her head out of her bedroom, shouting loudly down the hallway.
“Blasey don’t tell him off, some of us want to reap the rewards of his stress cooking!”
Elliott whirls round to glare at her, painting only the most menacing image with a piping bag in his hand.
“You were not invited to be a part of this conversation.”
“Don’t be on speaker then, dipshit.”
“Do you hear this?” Elliott titters, pointedly turning back around and ignoring the middle finger he knows Ramya’s giving him in order to pipe the last of the mix out. “In my own home and everything. I will let you know when they’re ready, now politely can you fuck off?”
Ramya cackles as she disappears back into her bedroom, her music starting up again only a few moments later. The tray goes into the oven and Elliott starts to whip out the ingredients for the ganache.
“Anyway, what were we talking about?”
“That you— Nevermind. Listen, tomorrow I’m going to meet you in the morning, we can go to the compound together.”
Elliott knows that’s an awkward journey for her to make; she’d be going well out of her way to do it, to the point where he almost protests. But the thought of not having to walk into that place alone tomorrow is a balm to his anxiety. The part of him that’s embarrassed to be such a fucking mess wants to make some kind of smarmy, sarcastic comment, but he realises that he’ll just be biting the hand that feeds which is helpful to no one right now. Really he is very grateful for the offer, he needs to stop being so defensive.
“Thank you. Breakfast on me then? I’ll pick up some of those wraps from that corner cafe. Also um, I may have made way more pastry than I anticipated… you fancy some profiteroles tomorrow as well?”
“...Yeah alright.”
Whatever anxiety that had been soothed by Renee’s presence skyrockets back up by the time they arrive at the Apex compound. Elliott doesn’t spot Hound or Fuse as they walk in, but unfortunately Renee has to split for their individual check-ins, and the moment she’s out of sight Elliott finds himself on high alert.
The first person to catch up with him is his agent, who starts to chat about the new season, giving him a reminder packet of changes made in the arena for this go around, but it mostly falls on deaf ears as Elliott finds himself desperately trying to plan out what the fuck he’s going to say if Fuse brings up anything to do with what happened that night. If he sees Hound first that might be okay, he couldn’t imagine them wanting to acknowledge anything about it, which suited him just fine. Fuse, however, was going to be an issue. Or maybe he’d get lucky, maybe the guy wouldn’t be scheduled at all today!
By the time he’s had his gear checked and jumpkit fitted he still hasn’t crafted any kind of suitable response, and he was boarding the dropship with about as nervous as he’d been during his first ever match, which was not something he was enjoying experiencing again. Trying to look around to see if Fuse or Hound are even on the ship, without coming off as a paranoid weirdo is a fine balance that he’s pretty sure he’s fucking up. Someone ought to alert Crypto that his brand is being infringed upon.
It occurs to him as he tries to also see if Renee is scheduled for the first match, that the roster for the entire day’s worth of matches was probably in the files his agent gave to him, which were sitting blissfully unread in his locker. Whoops!
A hand on his shoulder startles him, and he whips around to the amused face of Dr Somers.
“Apologies darlin’, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Me? Startled? Prepa—prepo— that’s unheard of, I was just uh… getting my game face on! Lots of changes this time around right?”
It’s a bit of a stab in the dark considering he hasn’t got a single fucking clue what the orgs have done (stupid unread documents), but she rolls her eyes good naturedly and starts complaining about heat shields so score one to Elliott. It’s reassuring actually, having her talk to him, she’s always gentle with him and the way she speaks reminds him of his mother. Not that he’d ever tell her that, aside from the fact he’d never live down the embarrassment he has the feeling it would probably just make her sad. But selfishly he finds that being around her does wonders to calm his frayed nerves.
“—Anyhow, I’m sure it’ll be alright. We’re a good team, the three of us. I’m not nervous.”
Three of us? Oh shit, he has got to start paying attention when people are speaking to him.
“Yeah! Absolutely! And uh, just to— hah, just to double check, who—”
A distinctly metal arm swings around the back of his neck and Elliott has to fight the immediate urge to recoil, under the impression that it’s Revenant or Ash about to lock him in a chokehold, but then Fuse’s face comes into view and Elliott thinks this outcome might actually be worse than getting strangled to death by angry simulacra.
“Ready to kick arse today squad?”
He really hopes that he’s managed to muster up a believable grin and not a grimace as he lets himself be squeezed in Fitzroy’s one armed embrace. Regardless of the fact that he is currently shit scared of him, Elliott thinks this would be uncomfortable no matter what — the man does not seem to realise the additional strength he’s got in that arm. Honestly, Elliott isn’t sure how the hell Hound deals with it. Which makes his imagination bring forth a very colourful set of images that makes him want to curl up and die on the spot. His brain is supposed to be on his side in all of this surely! And yet!
“Yeah, uh, go team! Truly an unbeta-unbeatable combo! Dr Somers can pull them in, you can fire grenades at them, and I, uh… I will also be here. I mean someone has to be the eye-candy, right? I’m a great distraction.”
Dr Somers laughs before someone else calls her name and she excuses herself, leaving Elliott alone with Walter. The man finally unhands him, but doesn’t move any further away, much to Elliott’s growing despair.
This is fine! It’s fine, it’s finally happening, they are going to have this fucking horrible conversation and then at least it will be done and that will be that and when he gets home tonight he can drown his sorrows in alcohol and leftover profiteroles. Maybe if he looks pathetic enough Ramya won’t even laugh at him.
“Haven’t managed to drop by the bar as of late, business good?” Fuse asks.
It’s so left field from what Elliott expects him to say that he can do nothing but blink stupidly for a few seconds while his brain catches up.
“Yeah! Sorry, yeah it’s um, it’s good! Hired a couple more hands. Thinking about swapping out the cocktail menu every couple of months, just to keep things intress-interesting.”
He’s painfully aware he’s rambling but Walter’s conversation opener has somewhat thrown him for a loop. Is this supposed to instill a false sense of security? Let him drop his guard and then hit him with the ‘don’t ever go near Hound again’? Or is it just not a big deal to him? That would be insane, Elliott thinks, even if he is a relatively chill guy surely you’d have something to say to the person that confessed feelings for your partner. Not that it was done in a home wrecking kind of way, and oh fuck he really hopes it didn’t come across like that because frankly Hound was being insistent with getting Elliott to say what was wrong and—
“Nice! Glad to hear it, I’ll have to come try one of the new ones. Listen, I gotta nab ‘Koa before we reach the drop zone and have a chat with him, see you in a bit yeah mate?”
Walter doesn’t even give him a chance to reply, just slaps him on the shoulder and walks away (which again, ow, big giant metal arm). And Elliott—
Well. His heart is pounding away furiously in his chest, his entire body geared up to take a hit that hasn’t come. The leftover adrenaline turns very quickly to nausea, but he has never thrown up on the dropship, not even that one time he turned up hungover, and he is not about to break that streak thank you very much.
Maybe Walter really is not bothered by it. Which is absolutely insane. Then again, it’s not like Walter has anything to be concerned about, does he? He already has Hound and it’s hardly as though Elliott’s planning to make any moves on them. It’s just baffling because if the situation was reversed, Elliott knows he’d want to say something. What exactly he’d say he’s got no idea, would he offer pity? Apologies? Maybe it doesn’t bother Walter because… maybe Walter is just a better man than him.
He must be. Hound fell in love with him after all.
And so it goes.
Things find their way to a new normal. The games continue. Elliott kills and dies for the entertainment of the Outlands. His mother has a bad week. He signs off on a new brand deal. The holotech he uses in the bar breaks and he has to fix it. Ramya steals his hair conditioner.
Time passes and eventually he and Hound get brave and start to hang out with each other again. Elliott expects it to go terribly, but aside from a little stumbling here and there as they navigate what now can and cannot be said or alluded to, it’s just like they were before.
Which is a relief, honestly, knowing that their friendship has been solid enough to survive this. Elliott considers himself a popular guy — he knows a lot of people, talks to a lot of people, but similarly he can count on one hand the amount of actual friends he has. He was not interested in losing one.
Hound does not talk about Walter. Not unless prompted. And Elliott does prompt, knowing it would be weird not to. But even then, Hound keeps it brief. Whether that’s to spare Elliott’s feelings or for some other reason he’s not sure, frankly he’s not about to ask, but admittedly it is a relief to not have to hear how great things are. Because they are great, clearly.
(And Elliott is still in love with them. So unbelievably in love with them. But it’s fine. It’ll pass. Surely this will pass.)
Renee understands. There are nights where she’ll come over and the two of them will share a drink and lament over feelings and being in love. Renee says less and less on the subject of Natalie these days, and Elliott always means to ask her more about it, but it slips by him when he gets lost thinking about how unfair it all is.
Though she may not say much, she always lets him curl up on the couch and rest his head in her lap. They watch shit TV while she plays with his hair and the ache in his heart is yet to go away, but on these evenings it is soothed, if only for a moment.
It is one of those evenings. Earlier in the day Hound had video called him to discuss some tech issues, during which time Elliott had spotted a new looking guitar in the background of their workshop.
“I didn’t know you played!” he’d exclaimed.
“That is because I do not,” they’d said, almost bashfully, “it is a project I am working on. It is Walter’s, I am merely… repairing it. Or trying to, it has been a challenging process. It cannot stay on Gaea in case he sees it, so it remains on Solace where I can tend to it when I am here. I thought it might… it will be a year soon so I thought maybe…”
Oh. Of course. Their first anniversary.
Fuck. Has it really been that long? Has he truly been pining for over a year?
“That’s great! I’m sure he’ll love that!”
He hopes his voice doesn’t give away that it feels as though his stomach has just dropped out of his body. Heartbreak isn’t a one and done thing, as it turns out, it is an ever persistent and troublesome bruise, and here he is still pressing at it a year later.
They change the topic back to their tech quickly, and Elliott tries to keep the charm on until the call ends but the moment they hang up he finds himself drowning in a wave of guilt and shame. A whole year and he’s still just as pathetic about them as he was at the start.
He doesn’t want to keep thinking about it. So he texts Renee telling her to come over and then goes out to buy her favourite wine, some fruity one that is definitely frowned upon by actual wine drinkers, but it’s what she likes and Elliott aims to please.
He sets everything up in something of a daze, time passing outside of his awareness. He starts early on his own wine, some semi-fancy red that he drinks purely for its percentage rather than its taste. By the time he hears the front door opening, he’s long since settled into the couch, riding the edge between tipsy and drunk.
“Renee! Important question, there’s a new season of Colony Wives if you want to watch that, but we never finished that one cash grab puzzle series so it’s up to you tonight.”
He wonders if Hound watches trashy shows too. If they watch anything at all. Maybe not, they seem like the kind of person to not own a TV, but perhaps they’re into trashy books instead. That could have been nice, in another life, them reading some terrible romcom while Elliott watches an equally terrible reality show. Not this one though, no, they’re probably doing that with Fitz right now. Making plans for their stupid anniversary. Being sweet on each other and— ugh. Elliott takes another long sip from his glass.
It takes a couple of moments for him to clock that Renee hasn’t actually replied to his question and he cranes his neck to look towards the front door where she remains standing looking… uneasy? Awkward? Which alright, that’s not exactly unusual for her, but he’d expect that if she was in a crowded public space, not his apartment.
“You good? We can watch something else entirely if you want, I’m very flexa-flexuh- ah you know me, I’m easy.”
She hesitates, as though she’s about to say something, but after several seconds of nothing she merely sighs, evidently deciding it was unimportant, and finally comes over to join him on the couch.
“What happened?” she asks, instead of giving her show preferences. Fine, whatever, snooze you lose, Colony Wives it is. He starts it up and then takes another hearty sip of his wine.
“Oh y’know, nothing special. Time just really flies by huh? Doesn’t feel like that much has passed and then wow, suddenly you’re on call with them and they’re talking about anniversaries and you realise an entire year has gone by. Still embarrassingly in love with them after all this time.”
That guilt from before starts to creep back in and Elliott pulls a face. God he didn’t fucking ask for this, to feel like this. It’s not fair.
“Why is it so easy to fall in love but so difficult to fall back out of? It’s not… it’s not fair… it’s fucking stupid is what it is.”
“...A whole year,” she responds, eventually.
“Yep. Crazy isn’t it? Love that. So fun.”
Another long sip has him emptying his glass. He should probably pace himself better than this given that he started drinking before she got here but whatever, he can’t find it in him to give a shit right now.
Renee hasn’t relaxed into the couch like she usually does by now, which is weird. Elliott puts his empty glass down on the coffee table and shifts to face her, and sees her looking off into the distance, like she’s wrangling with something.
“Hey seriously, are you sure you’re good? You’re being weird. Like more than your usual level of weird.”
She takes a deep breath and finally turns to look him in the eyes and oh, that’s not a good look. That’s a look that usually comes before some kind of bad news. He’s very used to seeing that look.
“You know that I love you, don’t you?” she begins, and oh yeah, this is super bad, she does not tell him that she loves him unless things are serious.
“Uh, sure. And I mean, you too… So… What’s up?”
“Loving you means I want what’s best for you. Which means saying things that you don’t want to hear.”
Her telling him shit he isn’t prepared to hear is not an uncommon practice from her, and he knows this, so having her reiterate this statement does not bode well for what she’s about to say.
“Okay…? Ren you’re killing me here, just say it, I can handle whatever it is.”
She doesn’t say anything right away, evidently still trying to work out the best way to tell him whatever upsetting thing she needs to. But a few moments later she reaches out to take his hand and hold it in hers, squeezing tightly.
“I care about you a hell of a lot. I hope you know that. And I know this has hurt you, the entire situation with Hound. But Elliott, you can’t keep going on like this. It’s… You need to start getting over them.”
Oh. Hm. Yeah, that stings.
“I am getting over them! I’m— I’m trying, it’s not like it’s an easy process, I kind of figured you knew that?”
“I do know that,” she says tiredly, “which is why I know you’re not really trying.”
There’s a horrible sharp feeling in his chest and he slowly pulls his hand away from her.
“Are you— are you serious?”
“I think at first this was good for you, for the both of us, to get it out of our systems. Let’s face it, you and I we’re not… we don’t do feelings well. I don’t talk about stuff, and you talk about things even less than that. But I know that it’s… it’s easy to get stuck in it, the feeling like shit. And I should have put a stop to it sooner because I knew it wasn’t going to help you in the long run but I didn’t, because you’re right, I do know how it feels.
“But this,” she gestures between them, “the nights of drinking and reminiscing, I think this stopped being helpful a while ago. All we do here is wallow, and I mean you said it yourself, it’s been almost a year now. You’re not going to move on if we keep talking about it.”
The worst part is that he knows that she’s right. He wants to protest, defend himself, but the entire reason for inviting her over tonight was to distract from how pathetic he feels for still loving someone he knows he will never have. And yet the bit that really stings is not that she’s right, it’s that she’s trying to be gentle with him. Elliott knows he’s pathetic to still be pining like this, but it hurts a little bit more knowing that she seems to think so too.
“Ramya told me she’s tried to set you up on nine separate dates and you refused to go on any of them.”
“Because Ramya has shit taste,” he retorts, but his voice is quiet and uneven and he knows it doesn’t escape her notice.
“That’s not why you turned them down, El. And I think you know that.”
Ramya had given up trying eventually, but he hadn’t realised she’d told Renee all the details. It makes the whole thing feel a lot more condescending than it did at the time — trying to organise pity dates for him because he can’t get past his stupid fucking crush. Were they going to pack his lunch next too?
“So what, that’s the key to moving on is it? Blind date after blind date, take someone home, fuck them and hope for the best?”
“No, obviously not, but I think talking to more people would be a step forward. It might stop you from obsessively thinking about them.”
“I do not—”
“You do. I know that you do. This isn’t— I’m not trying to blame you. To be honest I don’t think it helps that they’re so… weird about talking about their relationship with you. I’m sure they’re just trying to be respectful but I wish they’d just… I don’t know. I don’t want this to hurt you forever. Which means I can’t keep talking about it again and again with you either.”
It’s not fair. Perhaps it’s coming from a good place but all this lecturing makes him feel like he’s done something wrong, when he’s only ever tried to do everything right. He never asked to fall in love with Hound. He’s been as respectful as possible; for fuck sakes he was never going to tell them in the first place! And he told them to not let his stupid confession affect things with Walter and clearly it hasn’t because it’s almost their fucking anniversary! Elliott has sat with these feelings for over a year and they have only hurt him but somehow he’s still in the wrong. Still fucking it up somehow, as always.
It’s not fair. It’s not fair.
“I’m sorry,” Renee murmurs. Her hand reaches to touch his shoulder but hesitates half way, and in the end her hand drops back down to her side. It doesn’t help, the thought that she doesn’t know whether to comfort him or not. If he was more sober and less emotionally compromised he could understand that this is already miles outside her comfort zone and she’s doing the best she can. But unfortunately he is now more drunk than tipsy and absolutely devastated.
So he does what he does best. Ignores the stinging behind his eyes and scrapes together the remnants of a smile, putting on his bravest face.
“It’s alright,” he says, though he refuses to look her in the eyes, “you’re just looking out for me. I get it. Don’t want me trailing around like a sad puppy or something. Let’s not talk about any of it then let’s just watch something, yeah? That’s— we can do that.”
“Maybe… maybe another time? I think… I can stay if you really want but I think I should go. Give you some space to think this over.”
He doesn’t know what he wants right now. To shout, to cry, to finish the bottle of wine and then pass out in bed. To go back in time and never bother telling Hound that their mothers knew each other.
He stares at Renee’s wine bottle, unopened on the table.
“Sure, whatever you want. Matches this weekend, yes? Guess I’ll see you then.”
“Elliott—”
“I’ll be fine. Text me when you get home.”
“Alright. I… I love you. I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t watch her go, only knows that she’s gone when he hears the latch click shut.
Fuck. He is tired. He is so tired of it all.
He wishes he’d never fallen in love.
Morning comes. His head aches something fierce and he thinks back on everything she said.
She’s right. He has to move on.
He can’t keep doing this forever.
Begrudgingly he asks Ramya to set him up on those dates. In hindsight he can admit he might have been unkind about her taste, she has managed to find a variety of people for him to meet. They are all nice enough, but he doesn’t go for a second with any of them.
When Ramya prods him into just getting laid instead he calls up an old friend with benefits. He hasn’t seen them in years and their hair is red now.
He lets them fuck him and tries to convince himself he’s not picturing someone else. Regret claws at him long before the sun rises, and he ends up sneaking out in the early hours, blocking their number the moment he’s back home.
(It’ll pass, it’ll pass, it’ll pass.)
“So feel free to tell me to shove it, but I can’t help but notice you look a little… tired?”
Hound looks up at him from where they have been leant over a large cooking pot with an amused expression.
“Surely I could simply shove you, instead of telling you to ‘shove it’.”
Elliott gasps dramatically.
“You would never! Besides, I am un-shovable. The man who cannot be shoved. Unbeatable in hand to hand combat, obviously.”
“Obviously, and yet this great fighter still refuses to spar with me.”
“Because you would lose and it would ruin your image, we can’t have the Hunter of the Outlands lose to me like that, I’m sparing you the embarrassment. I’m very kind like that, you know.”
“I see, that must be it.”
“Good, I’m glad you understand. And don’t think I don’t notice you avoiding the question Houndie.”
Elliott is leant against his counter, watching them intently, which means he sees the pause when they realise they can’t just shake off his concerns by deflection. Honestly they’ve got to try harder than that, Elliott is the de facto champion of avoiding answering things he doesn’t want to, he should teach them how to up their game sometime.
“Perhaps there is some merit to your observation, but it is nothing serious. There is no need to worry.”
“Aw c’mon. Problems shared are problems halved right?”
They answer with a weary sigh, abandoning their ladle in the pot and leaning back against the kitchen island, mirroring Elliott’s position across from them. They fold their arms over their chest, clearly frustrated, but Elliott is rather more focused on the way the action makes their biceps flex. He is a terrible, weak man.
“Are you aware that Margaret handed herself back into Syndicate custody?”
Oh, yeah. That whole thing. Elliott wasn’t entirely sure of everything that had gone on there — Tavi had come into the bar one night and gotten very drunk and said some stuff about it, but it had been difficult to piece it all together; something about his weird ass dad, Ajay teaming up with Maggie, and Rev was also there maybe? Elliott had gathered there had been some kind of falling out, but frankly with how many people seemed to be involved in whatever the fuck went down, he was rather glad to have not been invited to that particular shit show.
“Sure. Thought it was kinda weird that she did given her whole schtick.”
“Yes, quite. I have been… visiting her.”
“You have? Wow.”
That is unexpected. And also more than a little confusing — as far as Elliott’s aware, Hound also didn’t have much to do with whatever went down, so what reason would they have for visiting her? And surely that must be super awkward because Fitz…
“Ohhhh… Shit. Guess there’s uh, a certain conflict of interest there.”
Hound grimaces, the tiredness that Elliott noticed earlier seems to squeeze at them.
“It is not a secret, Walter is aware of it. He does not approve, however. Things have been… tense, as of late. It is hardly as though we fight over it, but he…”
A small frustrated huff escapes them and they stare up at the ceiling like it might have answers for them. Elliott’s not sure whether they want him to say anything else, not that he’s got any clue where to start. He’s always tried his best to stay out of that particular drama (Maggie and Fuse, that is, he is painfully aware that his life seems to revolve around Hound). Thankfully they speak up again before he can say something foolish.
“I can’t imagine you’ve had many conversations with her, but you have heard what it is she fights for, yes?”
“I mean yeah, she’s kinda… loud about it.”
“Fearlessly so. She has such a passion for her people, her planet, a passion that has driven her to fight over and over, despite the odds.”
“Like you then.”
They look at him then, gaze softening, affection evident. It makes his traitorous heart beat furiously knowing he is the sole recipient of such a look, and he has to resist the urge to turn away.
“Yes, in many ways I feel I understand her. I know the plights she has experienced, the fire that burns in her is one I am intimately familiar with. And I understand what it is like to be overwhelmed by forces bigger than you and not know if the fight is worth it.”
Elliott remembers that period of time they refer to all too well. It had been difficult, trying to pick up the pieces as Hound began to fracture under the weight of it all; the rebellion, the destruction, how defeat seemed inevitable. They had… not been well, to say the least. And while he’d never spoken to the other man about it, between himself and Walter they’d managed to keep Hound afloat.
“She walks a path similar to one I have tread before. The Syndicate has moved in on Salvo, and she has lost hope. That is why she has placed herself back in custody.”
Yikes. Alright, the woman might terrify him, but Elliott can sympathise. Having everything you’ve fought for disappear in front of you can’t be a good feeling. And well, Hound would certainly know.
“Is that why you’re visiting her then? Some kind of moral support?”
“In a way. I have been trying to remind her of what matters.”
They push away from the kitchen island with a sigh and return to stirring the pot.
“I shall always mourn for Talos,” they say quietly, “and what was done to it. I know that I will spend the rest of my life wondering what I could have done to stop it all from happening, what it would have taken to have been able to protect my people and our home and have us remain there. But my people still live. They have a new home. We have each other. That itself is a great victory and should not be so easily discarded. It is that which I am trying to make her understand. She has not lost her people yet.”
“Is it working? Is she listening to you?”
Hound pauses, mulling it over for a moment. Elliott takes this time to start getting out containers for the stew.
“...Yes. I believe so. It will take time, as it did for me. Which, now that I am speaking on it… I realise that you and I have never discussed that period of time. There was much that happened and I was a poor friend to you during it. I do not know that I ever truly apologised or thanked you for the support you gave me.”
Some of the container lids slip out of his hands and he rushes to pick them up off the ground, embarrassed on multiple levels.
“No no, you don’t have to, I mean it’s okay, really it was nothing!”
“It was not nothing to me. I was lost for a very long time and I do not think I would have found my way back to myself if it had not been for you and your help. So thank you, truly. I hope that I can repay you one day.”
Elliott feels his cheeks flush, not just from the sweetness of the sentiment but it had been during that time that the penny had dropped that he had feelings for them. Somewhere along the lines of realising there was little he wasn’t willing to do for them, he’d found himself in love. Obviously the timing had not been great given that, well they described it aptly, they were very lost and not at all there for a long time. Not really the kind of time to express romantic interest. And then of course he’d never found the time to tell them, until it was too late. But that wasn’t something he wanted to think about right now.
“Anytime,” he smiles, gently nudging their shoulder with his own. They chuckle, though it quickly tapers off and then they are frowning again.
“Margaret does not have friends to fall back on. I have told her that Walter will find his way to her in time but… I admit, I am starting to have my doubts.”
“I gotta say, I know he’s a chill guy and everything, but she did blow his arm off, right? I mean if my supposed best friend did that to me, I’d probably be permanently mad with them after that too.”
“It— Yes, that is certainly a factor, I agree. I do not mean to diminish the significance of that event, but I… They have years and years worth of history, I doubt Walter has told me even half of it. But they have both hurt each other, which Walter fails to understand. That incident did not happen in a vacuum. He… he cannot fathom why his actions, or lack thereof, caused her pain then and why it continues to do so now. And when I try to discuss it he changes the subject. It is becoming incredibly frustrating. Especially knowing he has seen me fight the same fight she has, has watched my people be uprooted and forced from their home, their planet, has come to live with those people but still he cannot express anything more than indifferent passing comments on the hostile takeover on his home planet—”
A dry, hacking cough cuts them off, to which Elliott quickly dumps the empty containers in his arms onto the nearest surface and grabs their respirator from the bag they brought with them, holding it out for them to take. This is not his first rodeo, though even after all this time he still can’t help the small bubble of panic whenever it happens. The respirator seems to help some at least, though the fit continues for longer than he’d like.
“Here,” he leads them over to the couch and gestures for them to sit down while the worst of it passes. It takes a few minutes but eventually the coughing subsides, and Elliott can only hear deep, raspy breaths instead.
Half of his mind is focused on trying to wrangle his impulses and not reach over and stroke their back as they come down from the worst of it. The other half however can’t help but think about what they said about Fitz and the whole situation with Maggie.
It isn’t his business to pass comments since he’s not involved in the situation whatsoever, but if he had to offer an opinion, it does feel kind of shitty. Fuse was the Syndicate’s chosen from Salvo, handpicked for the games. Elliott imagines what it would be like if Ramya told him she was suddenly about to enlist for the IMC, and alright they’ve only known each other a couple of years, maybe he wouldn’t blow her arm off about it but if they’d grown up together? Maybe he can’t really fault Maggie too much on that, upon reflection.
“You doing alright?” he asks when their breathing seems to settle back to its usual rhythm.
“Yes… Thank you. I apologise, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s all good, no sweat. I, um… Listen, I— Uh, I’m sorry about Fitz. Him being weird about it all. I mean I get why you’d go see her, it makes sense. You’d think he might be able to understand it too, even if they have got like, decades old beef. And I guess it must be frustrating that he’s not willing to… take a stance?”
“Incredibly frustrating. I cannot grasp why… I wondered if perhaps it was because he was quietly hurting over it, frustrated or upset with the Syndicate for what they’ve done to his home, trying to survive under its reign by feigning nonchalance. But I would have thought he could have told me if that were so… after all this time… Now I worry it does not matter to him at all, what has happened. And his refusal to make peace with Margaret is vexing on multiple levels. Gods, he does not even realise how fortunate he is.”
“Fortunate?”
“We assumed she was dead until the Syndicate threw her into the games, do you remember? Walter thought she was dead too. Someone he grew up with, someone he loved, gone before they had a chance to fix things between them. But she returned… She lives and fights and he does not—”
The grip on their respirator tightens, the other hand clenching in their lap.
“Helvitis… I would have given everything to have that… to have him back and speak with him again…”
They don’t say his name, but Elliott knows. And worse perhaps, he thinks he understands. A memory comes to the front of his mind, one he tries very hard not to think about normally.
“My brothers—” he starts, then immediately shuts his mouth, trying to work out how he wants to say this. His eyes stay firmly on the ground but he can see Hound turn to look at him from his periphery.
“I don’t, um, I told you about them before I know but they uh, they’re still listed as M.I.A. I hope— I mean you never know, right? I just, I was so mad when they enlisted ‘cause it felt like being left behind and they made jokes about how I’d never get tall enough to enlist with them. So when they left I didn’t— I mean there wasn’t an argument or anything like that but I was still so mad with them, so when it was time for them to leave I didn’t tell them I loved them. Mom did. Told me off when I refused to say it, but I was just so mad about the whole thing. I don’t remember when I last told them I loved them, before that. And then they never came home.”
He hates himself for it, in all honesty. Sure, he couldn’t have known that would be the last time he’d see them. But they were going to war, and he knew it was a war, and was very aware they could die out there. Yet he did not budge, too busy clinging to his anger because it was easier to be angry than it was to admit how scared he was that they were leaving and that everything was about to change.
And then things would change again for the worse.
“So I mean, there wasn’t a fight, nothing like you and Boone, or um, Fitz and Maggie but… I get it? After we got the news I wanted to look for them more than anything. I mean we’d done work with SARAS before, me and mom, I wanted to know if we could reach out to any search and rescue ops on Gaea but… I mean it was war, so. Things were different. And mom took it really hard, obviously, they were her kids and um, she started getting sick around this point so I knew I had to try to look after her and so it’s just… been this way ever since. I worked a lot of jobs for a while and spent all my spare money on seeing if any private companies could find them but nothing ever came of it. I never got the chance to look for myself. But I would, if I could. I— I mean I still want to look, I want to look so badly.”
His voice cracks on the last part and he swears, nervously laughing and running a hand through his hair.
“Um, sorry I didn’t mean to— what I’m trying to say is that I get it, wanting someone back and wanting to fix it all. I know the whole thing with Fitz and Mags is hugely messy but I know why you feel the way you do. And I’m here for you. I’ve got your back if you need it, I can always like… I don’t know, go with you when you visit? I don’t have to be in there too, can’t imagine she’d want to see me haha, but um, afterwards? So you don’t have to do it alone.”
Ellliott feels a hand touch his shoulder, and when he looks over Hound is watching him with an expression that he’s never seen before, one he can’t quite decipher. So he focuses more on their touch instead; it is nice, grounding after talking about his brothers. He almost hopes they’ll never let go.
“Thank you,” they murmur, squeezing his shoulder gently, and he knows they are not just thanking him for his offer.
All he can do is smile at them, and though their mouth is covered by the respirator, the way it moves lets him know they are smiling back. Some of that earlier tension seems to have eased up also, their shoulders much more relaxed, which Elliott is grateful for. His feelings for them might be a hot mess, but they are his friend first and foremost, and as he learnt during the breakdown of Harvester, all he wants is for them to be okay and happy.
They finally let the respirator go, trying a few cautious breaths and seeming relieved when there are no issues.
“I guess we added too much spice,” Elliott jokes, and Hound huffs a laugh as they both stand up from the couch and head back towards the kitchen so that they might finish up with the stew.
“Impossible,” they say fondly, and then stop in their tracks for a moment, as though something has just occurred to them. Elliott pauses too, infinitely curious.
“Forgive me for asking, but you said that you had wanted to reach out to Gaea search and rescue?”
“Ah, yeah, that’s uh— that’s where they crashed. Or where their ship crashed, anyway.”
Hound looks at him very seriously.
“I realise that many years have passed. But if the time comes where you are able to, and you still wish to search for your brothers, I will assist you.”
He doesn’t speak for a moment, too overwhelmed by their offer and trying very hard to push down the emotions that unfurl within him.
“Y-you will?”
They reach out to grip his shoulder again, holding on tightly.
“You have my word.”