A/N: A very small piece but it's always bothered me how no one comforts Eliot after the whole Mike thing. So, I wrote another story about it.

Enjoy.

Disclaimer: The Magicians and all recognizable characters and places do not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended.

Here with You

"El?"

Quentin knocked lightly on Eliot's bedroom door. He wasn't entirely sure why he was here or what he was going to do, but… Eliot had looked so lost and without Margo who else did Eliot have if not him? There was no answer from within though and Quentin frowned.

"Eliot?"

The door pulled open then, Eliot, his hair wild and his eyes bloodshot, staring at him. "What do you want, Q?"

"Nothing!" Quentin said quickly, nervousness spiking at the uncharacteristic harshness in Eliot's tone. "Just, uh, I mean… are you okay?"

Eliot stared at him and Quentin shifted uneasily, trying not to wince. Yeah, it had been a stupid question, he knew that, just… what was he supposed to say?

"Fucking peachy. Now, if that's all…" Eliot said, starting to close the door.

"Wait – El –" And Quentin moved automatically, barring the door from closing with his foot. "Just… don't be a dick."

"Pardon me?" Eliot stared at him in amazement and Quentin did wince this time.

"Sorry – just… I want to help, okay?" Quentin stammered.

"How?" Eliot demanded and, yeah… fair question. Mere hours earlier Eliot had been forced to kill his boyfriend, someone he had thought he was falling for.

And Quentin knew already how few people Eliot actually opened up to.

So, how exactly was he supposed to help with that?

"Uh… I don't know… I could… sit with you?"

Feeling awkward, Quentin shifted his weight, very aware of the lameness of his suggestion. Sitting with Eliot wouldn't change anything. It certainly wouldn't make it okay that Eliot had been tricked and played with and used, that he had killed Mike, that Mike had been trying to kill –

Eliot was staring at him though and to Quentin's complete and utter surprise he opened his door wider and allowed him entrance.

Feeling inadequate in every way possible Quentin stepped over the threshold and stood, not sure what to do now that he had been allowed in.

"I hope you know you're going to drink if you're going to sit with me," Eliot commented, picking up a bottle of something from his bedside table and pouring a generous helping into a wineglass and handing it to him.

Quentin accepted it without comment, watching as Eliot sank to his bed, leaning against the headboard. And he had said he would sit with him, so…

Quentin took a swallow of whatever Eliot had given him and sat down beside his friend, back against the headboard, their shoulders touching.

Eliot didn't say anything and when Quentin chanced a glance at him his eyes were closed, his expression pained.

"Hey. I'm, uh… I'm here, you know?" Quentin said awkwardly. And he hoped Eliot knew what he meant. Because Eliot had been his first friend at Brakebills. Eliot had showed him around, had listened to his problems and concerns from the start. Eliot had been there for him when they had barely known each other, had shared dark, personal bits of himself and had never expected anything in return.

"Yeah, Q. I know."

Eliot's voice was quiet, and he didn't say anything else, but he didn't move, and their shoulders were still touching. Quentin nodded, awkward and relieved all at once. "Good."

Quentin fell quiet then too. Eliot had let him in and hadn't objected to Quentin's pathetic suggestion of sitting with him and so Quentin would keep his word. He would sit and he would be here and he would hope that was enough.

-End.