Summary:

Nobody asked for this but I'm writing it anyway.

A/N: Unexpected and unnecessary sexual tension I guess.

Alicia didn't go to Bible study that night, and she didn't speak to Quinn the next day when they tried to apologise. Quinn spent their time trying to forget about it with Gabe's still and Terry's herb. Also, Gabe seemed to be warming up to Quinn, finally. He'd found their glasses the evening after the drama at breakfast and returned them, and the two of them agreed to sneak out early the next day to smoke before breakfast, then spent the rest of the morning in the bunker, throwing jokes at each other and playing thumb wars, which, after long enough, resolved into a full-on wrestling match. Quinn remembered the smell of Gabe's hair, like paprika, and wondered if it was just their brain playing tricks on them because of its colour, only, when they told Gabe this —in between attempting to hold him down— he laughed so hard he fell asleep.

Quinn grinned down at him, catching their breath. They scoffed when they realised Gabe was hard. To be honest, Quinn was a little flattered. Still, they got up to spare his dignity. Their mind was foggy and bored, so they stepped across the room and opened Geoff's barrel. Quinn covered their nose from the smell immediately, then sprayed some of the perfume over the cage—which didn't much help so much as add. Regardless, Quinn lifted the cage and carried Geoff over to the table.

Gabe muttered something from the floor, raising a hand as if to reprimand them, but quickly fell asleep again. Quinn put their attention on Geoff.

They asked him, "Are you really sentient?"

Geoff growled.

"Was that an answer?"

Geoff growled.

"Growl if you're a moron."

Geoff growled.

Quinn snickered.

"Okay. Serious now... Growl if I am."

Geoff watched them, snapped his teeth, then growled harshly. Quinn rolled their eyes and sat with their back to him, staring off into space for a little while until they thought of another question.

"Geoff... what happened to Chris?"

I died, dumbass.

Quinn looked around dazily. "But how?"

Don't be a dumbass. I just... died.

Quinn sat up, turned, and tapped the cage impatiently.

What, Chris asked. You want to know more? Then come and find out... His voice seemed to be coming from inside Geoff's mouth, as if Chris was sitting right between torn tongue and throat. Quinn reached through the metal bars, in close enough to hover there in front of Geoff's nose, and then—

"What are you doing?!"

Before they could even startle, Gabe yanked their hand down and shoved them away from the table. Quinn collapsed to their back, a little winded as Gabe stumbled down with them. He was panicked, with that paranoid high look in his eyes, holding Quinn's wrists down hard against the ground.

Quinn glared him right in the face, and then they kissed him. Just like that. Just like kissing Chris. Though, he didn't act the same way Chris had. He shoved Quinn back immediately and roughly. He looked disgusted, and then he just sat back, looking sleepy and vaguely uncomfortable.

He sighed and rubbed his face.

"You're hard," Quinn said, like it was an accusation.

Gabe looked down at his lap.

"I'm baked," he said.

"So am I," Quinn retorted, "but you don't see me waving my junk around like that."

Gabe laughed.

"Sorry," he said. He yawned. "Don't touch Geoff."

Frowning, Quinn got up. They put Geoff back in the barrel and made for the exit. Gabe must've noticed they were gone quickly, because he caught up with them before the end of the trail, and the two walked back to the ranch in silence.

Madison was back with Troy and the others from looking for Jeremiah's friends. It hadn't gone well, given that they had returned without them, and without everything else. Even their shoes. There were bad things going on, too. Quinn found it hard to take in. Something about Natives, they understood. And scalping. And threatening the ranch to give them their land back. It sounded far too Cowboys and Indians for Quinn's taste, but it was served up raw and real anyway. And then Quinn asked Nick where Luciana was.

"She's gone south," he said.

Quinn didn't really know what to say about that. As much as they didn't want her to go, they weren't surprised, so they just sort of pointed to Nick's waist and said, "You have a gun."

"Yeah," he said, narrowing his eyes at them.

A memory swam through Quinn's head and under their breath they mumbled, "He has a gun too. You just have to put it on him." They smiled. Nick did not.

"Quinn..." he said.

"Yeah."

"We're losing you."

Quinn looked at him. "What?"

"You're smoking too much," he said.

Relieved, and also attempting to act sober, Quinn shook their head and shushed him, worried about what Alicia and Madison would think, as they were both in the shack too. Alicia just continued to tend to her mother's wounded feet, like Quinn wasn't there. Quinn dipped their head, accepting the glass of water Nick pushed into their hands.

Soon after that, Alicia got up to leave.

"Where you going?" Madison asked her.

"Gonna find Jake," Alicia said. She avoided looking at Quinn, and once she was gone, Quinn got up too.

"And where are you going?" Madison asked them too.

"Hungry."

Quinn left before Madison or Nick could argue. They didn't go to cafeteria right away. The temptation to follow Alicia was somehow stronger than their munchies, but then Gretchen caught them.

"Hey!" She looked tired and anxious. Quinn shuffled away from the wall they were trying to loiter behind. "You alright?"

"Mm. You?" Quinn didn't so much say this as motion is out with their head.

"Madison around?" Gretchen asked, like it was her answer. "Need to talk to her."

Quinn pointed back towards their shack, and Gretchen left quickly. Quinn was still hungry, and they'd lost where Alicia went, so they gave into their stomach and grabbed whatever they could from breakfast.

They sat at a bench with Terry, Gabe, Adam and Evie. Gretchen showed up a little later. She looked like she'd been crying. Quinn sat with her for a while with an arm over her shoulder, rubbing her hand. Gretchen didn't tell them what was wrong, even when Quinn told her she could. Gretchen just said, "I know what I see in you now."

"Yeah?" Quinn asked.

"Yeah. You're a keeper," Gretchen said, smiling this miserable smile. "A keeper of secrets... And yours are the worst."

Quinn let go of her. They felt sick, suddenly. Though, Gretchen hadn't seemed to say any of it in malice. She sounded grateful, if anything, definitely not like she was talking specifically about how Quinn had killed their own mother and not told a soul, except perhaps Nick in not so many words.

Quinn spent the rest of their day with the others at Bible Study. Gretchen decided not to show, along with Alicia. Quinn distracted them-self from this with weed and alcohol and music, and Gabe, who was acting differently after this morning. He was more jokey and physical, shoving Quinn when they were funny or argumentative or grabbing them into a celebratory noogie when they downed another shot or took another deep hit.

Quinn knew why — or, if they didn't and were wrong then they had at least decided not to care. Gabe liked them, or he didn't. He might've even just wanted to experiment. Quinn. Didn't. Care. They were thinking —because they had thought about this— of the one or several times on those nights Chris would steal the prosecco bottles from Eliza's cupboards, when Chris would come close and put his nose to Quinn's ear, and whisper things to them. Boys were... something, Quinn knew. But never knew exactly what, though. And the subject was never relevant enough to ever put into practice, except on Chris that night at Baja, but that had been almost an accident.

After some time, Quinn got up and left to pee outside—they didn't trust the bunker's washroom. Plus, they needed the air.

Outside, the night air was crisp and fresh and alive, washing their hair around their face. They'd left their cap inside. Being quick, Quinn did their thing behind a shrub fifty yards or so away from the bunker hatch, but they were hardly finished by the time they heard it open.

"Hey, hey, I'm busy!"

Gabe kept his back to them as he climbed outside, shutting the hatch behind him. He held out Quinn's cap. Quinn, as quickly as they were able, snatched it from him. They held it in their hands and frowned down at the markered-in C.M on the white inner-rim.

"Knew them? The C M?"

Quinn looked up at him. Gabe didn't look like he usually did, all sly and cocky and disinterested, nor boisterous and guyish like he had been all day. He seemed genuinely curious.

"Yeah," Quinn said, "he was my best friend."

"Right," Gabe said, snapping his fingers like he was trying to remember something. "Erm... Chris, right? You said about him. You said you and him—"

"Yeah."

There was a small space of quiet.

"What happened to him?" Gabe asked.

"Died."

The two stood side by side for a minute, awkward, not sure what to do. Quinn could see something was on Gabe's mind. It was obvious. He was fidgeting and his eyes were moving a lot and he almost looked afraid. Quinn wondered if it was the news about the Natives that Madison and the others brought back, or maybe it was just because they'd caught him hard that morning, and kissed him, or maybe it was just something wrong with his stupid stills.

"Look, I'm sorry," Gabe said, "about this morning." Bingo. "And I'm sorry I'm a douche to you sometimes. There's just so much going on. It's like I can't ever keep up anymore."

Quinn was too sober for this. They hadn't had a hit or shot of anything in hours. They shrugged their shoulders and said, "I don't care."

"You— don't care?"

"I don't care."

Gabe looked at them sideways. "As in, you really don't care, or you just, you know, don't care?"

"I don't care, Gabe." It was remarkable how honest this statement felt. Quinn. Just. Didn't. Care. Not anymore. Consequences didn't matter anymore. It all ended the same. It all ended.

In the distance, a cayote crooned into the night and an owl hooted in a nearby tree. The breeze felt cooler, running through Quinn's fingers and hair. They put on Chris' cap.

"You know," Gabe said, "my grandpa fought in the Korean war."

Quinn rolled their eyes. "That why you hate me so much?"

"I don't hate you!" Gabe retorted. "Well, okay, I did—" Quinn just rolled their eyes again. "—but I don't, anymore."

Quinn grimaced, then smiled at their feet. "Good."

"Yeah," Gabe admitted. "You're a lot cooler than the Koreans Gramps told me about."

Quinn bust out laughing.

"You're so full of shit, Gabe."

He didn't deny it. In fact, he laughed too, which made Quinn laugh even harder, until the two of them were just laughing their asses off. And then Gabe stopped. He was looking at them. Quinn knew why. They knew Gabe was going to kiss them, and he did. Quinn didn't kiss him back though, not the first time or the second, or the third, but they did on the fourth time. And the fifth. And sixth. And seventh and fiftee—

"Wait, stop."

Quinn did, out of breath, turning to look at what had caught Gabe's attention. Fire. Up on banks surrounding the ranch. One wasn't far away from where they were, in fact, maybe three or four hundred yards. Had it been there this whole time? Had whoever lit it left already? Were they still around, watching? Quinn swore under their breath. They shoved Gabe towards the bunker and said, "Get the others, now."

Notes

Why fukin not yakno, thanks for the patience, and the support, means a lot.

Happy reading, nerds.