Disclaimer: The Magicians is very decidedly not mine. Though I do adore Eliot.

Author's Note: My good friend TwilightBrightStar gave me a prompt... "Eliot walks in on Quentin and Alice sleeping together and proceeds to sit on the bed and give them pointers."

So... here it is. Enjoy.

Also... Fanfiction(.Net) spells Eliot with two Ls (Elliot)... but IMDB spells it with one. Eliot. I like the Eliot spelling better. So... that's what I'm going to use.

For This Moment

Eliot Waugh poured himself a drink. His third.

(Sixth actually, but there was no one there to count or keep track so Eliot figured he could give it whatever number he wanted.)

Margo was still gone. Still on the retreat and Eliot felt the distance far more than he cared to admit.

Mike.

He saw Mike every time he closed his eyes and in every waking moment as well. Saw him with every thought, with every breath. Saw what he had done to Mike, remembered every instant of it, the milliseconds that had lasted an eternity and Mike had been crumpled on the ground dead.

Things aren't usually worth caring about.

Eliot grinned humorlessly, lifting his drink to his lips, remembering his words to Quentin.

That was what hurt the most. He had genuinely believed Mike was worth caring about – he, who never let anyone in. Not really.

Margo had been the first. The first to really know him in more years than were worth mentioning. The first to know the him that he wanted to be, that he created and became and even what was underneath it.

And then Quentin. Quentin had just sort of snuck in there and Eliot, like he had told the younger student, had bonded quickly.

And Mike…

Eliot finished his drink and poured another, his movements automatic, like breathing.

Mike, dead at his feet.

Abruptly Eliot got up, laughing drunkenly as he almost crashed to the floor, swerving toward the stairs without conscious thought and he didn't think about where he was going but when he found himself at Quentin's door he decided to go with it.

He didn't knock. It didn't occur to him.

Instead he pushed the door open and walked in.

"What – Eliot –"

"Ever heard of knocking?"

Quentin and Alice both scrambled to cover themselves, a jumble of surprise and embarrassment and awkwardness.

"Oh my," Eliot said mildly, blinking at them and stepping forward to sit on the edge of the bed.

"What are you doing?" Alice gasped, pushing her glasses up her nose and clutching the blankets practically to her chin.

"Um… can we… can we help you?" Quentin stuttered, brushing hair nervously from his eyes, his chest, all Eliot could see (and the upper classman tried not to let himself be disappointed about that) bare.

"Oh, I doubt anyone could help me," Eliot said, more honest than he had intended, waving his drink, some of it sloshing over the edge.

"Hey!" Alice protested as it splashed on her lap.

"I suspect I could help you though," Eliot continued, looking at them with interest. "I mean, admittedly sleeping with women is not my strong suit, but if you got on top of her and –"

"Eliot!"

"Oh my God!"

Quentin and Alice were both aghast, and neither seemed at all capable of looking anywhere near his face and Eliot laughed, thoroughly amused.

"I'm just saying…"

"No! Um… thank you very much… for your, uh… help," Quentin rambled. "But, uh… I think we've got it."

"Are you sure?" Eliot asked, raising a brow.

"Yes!" Alice snapped, her cheeks a deep red color and Eliot laughed quietly. "Just get out!"

"Fine, fine." Eliot raised the hand not holding what remained of his drink in surrender, getting up and stumbling from the room. Outside he leaned against the wall beside Quentin's door.

"Um…," he could hear Quentin saying, eloquent as ever, and he grinned. "So… that just happened…"

"Yeah." Alice's voice was tense and embarrassed.

"So, uh…"

"I'm just going to go," Alice said abruptly and Eliot could hear quick movements within the room.

"You… uh… don't have to…" Quentin trailed off.

"I think it's safe to say the moment is ruined, Q," Alice's voice said. Then, quieter, almost so quiet Eliot missed it… "He needs you, Q." And a moment later she appeared at the door, her eyes meeting his for the briefest of moments before shooting to the floor and she hurried away.

"Want a drink?" Eliot drawled, stepping back into Quentin's bedroom, noting with regret that he had pants on and was in the process of pulling on a shirt.

"Don't you ever knock?" Quentin asked, brushing a hand nervously through his hair again.

Eliot grinned, pretending more humor than he felt. "No. Drink?"

Quentin sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "Sure."

"There. Everything's better with alcohol," Eliot said, pouring Quentin a drink once they were seated on one of the downstairs sofas.

"Is it really?" Quentin asked, his gaze a little too knowing, his voice quiet, thoughtful.

"No," Eliot admitted, glancing quickly at him before looking at the liquid in question. "But it can't hurt, right?"

Quentin shrugged, characteristically verbose, and Eliot grinned again, the expression not reaching his eyes.

"So, um… how are you… how are you doing?" Quentin asked after a while, looking anxiously at him.

"How am I doing?" Eliot repeated, leaning back and chuckling without any real amusement.

"Yeah, with… you know…" Quentin trailed off awkwardly and Eliot closed his eyes.

With Mike. How was he doing with Mike. With killing him. With caring about him and then ending his life.

"Oh, you know…" Eliot waved his drink, trailing off, his voice carefully light. He had walked in on Quentin having sex because he needed someone; needed a friend and when all sane people, all okay people would have left he had stayed. He had stayed because sitting on Quentin's bed while Quentin and his girlfriend were naked was still preferable to the solitude of his own thoughts.

Beside him Quentin shifted and Eliot could feel his nervousness, the awkwardness practically radiating off him.

"El…"

Quentin trailed off, swallowing anxiously and Eliot turned his head just slightly to see him. "I'm okay, Q. Right now… I'm okay."

Quentin met his eyes very briefly before looking at his own drink, seeming to suddenly realize he hadn't had any of it yet and quickly taking a gulp. "Okay," he said finally, after a long moment, echoing Eliot and leaning back beside him, his movements slow and cautious.

"Okay," Eliot said again, taking another swallow and sighing.

Mike, dead at his feet. Dead, because of Eliot, and he had used Eliot, had played him, but he had made him feel…

"I hope Alice wasn't too upset," Eliot commented, trying in vain to shove thoughts of Mike from his head.

"Uh… she'll, um… be okay," Quentin said, his hand twitching through his hair. "She, um… was a bit…"

"Yeah," Eliot said, not really needing Quentin to finish. A bit upset. Embarrassed. Uncomfortable. Maybe even annoyed.

She would be okay though. Eliot knew that.

"He needs you, Q."

Alice was too smart to be anything else.

Eliot sighed, his eyes closing and Quentin's presence at his side, his endearing awkwardness and nerves, had a calming effect.

He could still see Mike – he doubted he would ever stop seeing Mike – but… but the memories weren't quite as loud in Quentin's company. Not quite as all consuming.

Right now, he was okay.

His drink was slipping from his fingers and he felt Quentin removing it from his grasp but he didn't have the strength to object.

Instead, for now, he stopped fighting, only vaguely aware that his head had somehow ended up on Quentin's shoulder.

And he slept.

-End.