At three in the morning, Emily climbs through his bedroom window and drips on his carpet shamelessly. A few seconds later her sister does the same, but Quinn at least looks a little bit sheepish.
They remain silent, as if not to bother him, even though they know he’s already awake.
He sighs, “I’ll get some towels,” he decides before dragging himself out of bed towards the linen closet in the hallway.
“Thank you,” Quinn’s voice follows after him and, after a second and no doubt an elbow to the ribs, Emily voices a grudging, “Thanks.”
On his way to the linen closet, he knocks on the apartment’s other bedroom door. “The twins are here, and they’re dripping on my carpet,” he complains. He doesn’t hear a response, but he knows Maroon is awake and heard him. She’ll be by to ask for their report.
Back in his own bedroom, he tosses the twins a towel each and rummages through his drawers for some dry clothes they can change into. By the time he decides he wouldn’t mind losing his old charity marathon shirts and some basketball shorts to the terror twins, Maroon has slipped into his room with the first aid kit and has begun carefully inspecting them for injuries.
“Nothing too bad,” Emily says, “No need for all this fuss,” though the way she leans into Maroon’s hand tells another story.
Quinn, having no desire to save face, blandly presents her forearm. There is a giant angry burn surrounded by painful looking blisters.
“What happened?” Maroon asks, beginning to treat the wound with ointment and bandages.
“Ah, well, you know…” Emily demurs, shrugging with a false nonchalance, “Thunderbolt.”
Quinn’s lips purse, partially because of her arm, mostly because of the memory. He can sort of understand: if his childhood friend were on the opposite side of the law and they had to fight each other, he’d be conflicted, too. Or… upset? Pissed off?
He’s not sure, Quinn’s expressions are hard to read.
“Stay here for the night,” Maroon directs.
“Or what’s left of it,” he interjects, giving each twin a bundle of clothes. They change immediately, as if he and Maroon weren’t right in front of them.
“Take my bed,” Maroon nods in the direction of her room, “I’ll share with Xander.”
~
A/N: A little bit connected to this ficlet. I’m posting this sort of preemptively for tomorrow since I know I’ll be very busy but also because today’s The Queen’s Council spin-off was kind of short.
JackSGreyson Says 