Bad Night Out (Quinn/Flynn)
Nov. 26th, 2008 08:36 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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darker_londonQuinn had been strange the entire night, and Flynn didn't know how to bring attention to it. Quinn had never really acted closed off with him before. It had to be said that for two people who had been through so much together, they had had incredibly few trials in their relationship. Quinn wasn't a closed off mopey person. Sometimes Flynn was, but Quinn tended to bring him out of it right away. Flynn didn't know how to do the same, so he sat across from Quinn and he watched him push his food around on his plate without eating it. "Did I feed you too many scones?" Flynn finally asked, breaking the silence so suddenly that Quinn gave a little jump.
"What? Oh. No, no, not at all." Though Quinn still made no move to eat the meal he had ordered, which was very unlike him to say the least.
"Okay..." Flynn sighed and he returned to eating his because like he was going to waste food! They sat in silence for a further several minutes until Flynn cleared his throat and he said, "this is nice...?" rather lamely.
"Mmm."
"Quinn, do you feel sick?" Maybe Quinn was coming down with little Mara's cold. That worried Flynn because Abby had said Mara might develop pneumonia and the idea of Quinn that sick just brought back images of him lying in bed unable to do anything but stare at the wall.
"I'm not sick." Quinn was quick to say, though his tone was much less soothing than it normally would have been. "You still have bruises. Everyone is looking."
Flynn narrowed his eyes and he straightened up a little. "So?"
"They're probably afraid you're going to steal the silverware." Quinn said, not quietly enough that a waiter didn't hear them and cast a wary glance in their direction.
"Well that's stupid." Flynn said with a shrug, and he went back to eating. "I don't steal." He had 'lived' on the streets for six years and never stolen a thing. At least not until someone else had left it. Scraps on tables of restaurants didn't count in his mind. "And anyway, shouldn't they be more worried about the person who gave me the bruises?"
"Shouldn't you be more worried about the person who gave you the bruises!?" Quinn hissed, his head low over the table, which didn't actually make it any less covert.
"Is that what you're weird about?" Flynn asked then, putting his fork down. "The fact that I'm not hiding from Frankie? I'd rather get this whole thing over with, you know? I spent so long holed up and I don't want to do it anymore. Not even to make you and Tristan feel better."
"Tristan?" Quinn raised his eyebrows, which had the effect of making him look menacing in the flickering candlelight. "What does this have to do with Tristan?" Quinn had no problems with Tristan, he just felt all mixed up inside. That girl he had met earlier in the day had spun his head around and now it felt like it was on backwards.
"He's just freaking out is all and I can't make it better no matter what I say. I know Frankie better than anyone, and people don't seem to think I know what I'm doing. If I hide, he goes after all of you. I'm not stupid. He'll drive me out. You know, like that movie Deirdre made me watch with the space cowboys?"
"Serenity?" Quinn asked, confused.
"Yeah, that one. The space cowboys. And that weird girl with the arse kicking ballet skills. Anyway, that evil guy said when you go to ground, leave no ground to go to. Frankie things like that. He's a warrior and nothing else. And I don't think he'll settle for just bruising you all up. I'm sorry if you're worried, but I-"
"That's not it." Quinn said quickly before Flynn rambled more. Generally Flynn rambling was something he enjoyed because it happened so rarely and he really was endearing when he did it...apparently if he wanted it to happen more often all he had to do was stop rambling himself...but he didn't have the patience for it right now.
"Oh. Okay, well what is it then?" Flynn asked softly. He reached his hand across the table to try to hold Quinn's.
Quinn rapidly withdrew his hand and he shook his head. "I...I have to...I'm sorry, Mal, I have to go. I'm sorry." He rose from the table quickly, and he left Flynn sitting there in the fancy restaurant, staring in shock at Quinn's still full plate.
"What? Oh. No, no, not at all." Though Quinn still made no move to eat the meal he had ordered, which was very unlike him to say the least.
"Okay..." Flynn sighed and he returned to eating his because like he was going to waste food! They sat in silence for a further several minutes until Flynn cleared his throat and he said, "this is nice...?" rather lamely.
"Mmm."
"Quinn, do you feel sick?" Maybe Quinn was coming down with little Mara's cold. That worried Flynn because Abby had said Mara might develop pneumonia and the idea of Quinn that sick just brought back images of him lying in bed unable to do anything but stare at the wall.
"I'm not sick." Quinn was quick to say, though his tone was much less soothing than it normally would have been. "You still have bruises. Everyone is looking."
Flynn narrowed his eyes and he straightened up a little. "So?"
"They're probably afraid you're going to steal the silverware." Quinn said, not quietly enough that a waiter didn't hear them and cast a wary glance in their direction.
"Well that's stupid." Flynn said with a shrug, and he went back to eating. "I don't steal." He had 'lived' on the streets for six years and never stolen a thing. At least not until someone else had left it. Scraps on tables of restaurants didn't count in his mind. "And anyway, shouldn't they be more worried about the person who gave me the bruises?"
"Shouldn't you be more worried about the person who gave you the bruises!?" Quinn hissed, his head low over the table, which didn't actually make it any less covert.
"Is that what you're weird about?" Flynn asked then, putting his fork down. "The fact that I'm not hiding from Frankie? I'd rather get this whole thing over with, you know? I spent so long holed up and I don't want to do it anymore. Not even to make you and Tristan feel better."
"Tristan?" Quinn raised his eyebrows, which had the effect of making him look menacing in the flickering candlelight. "What does this have to do with Tristan?" Quinn had no problems with Tristan, he just felt all mixed up inside. That girl he had met earlier in the day had spun his head around and now it felt like it was on backwards.
"He's just freaking out is all and I can't make it better no matter what I say. I know Frankie better than anyone, and people don't seem to think I know what I'm doing. If I hide, he goes after all of you. I'm not stupid. He'll drive me out. You know, like that movie Deirdre made me watch with the space cowboys?"
"Serenity?" Quinn asked, confused.
"Yeah, that one. The space cowboys. And that weird girl with the arse kicking ballet skills. Anyway, that evil guy said when you go to ground, leave no ground to go to. Frankie things like that. He's a warrior and nothing else. And I don't think he'll settle for just bruising you all up. I'm sorry if you're worried, but I-"
"That's not it." Quinn said quickly before Flynn rambled more. Generally Flynn rambling was something he enjoyed because it happened so rarely and he really was endearing when he did it...apparently if he wanted it to happen more often all he had to do was stop rambling himself...but he didn't have the patience for it right now.
"Oh. Okay, well what is it then?" Flynn asked softly. He reached his hand across the table to try to hold Quinn's.
Quinn rapidly withdrew his hand and he shook his head. "I...I have to...I'm sorry, Mal, I have to go. I'm sorry." He rose from the table quickly, and he left Flynn sitting there in the fancy restaurant, staring in shock at Quinn's still full plate.
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