After he had Siri find them a nearby hotel on the outskirts of Aylesbury, Quentin felt Laurence’s eyes on him.

He raised his eyebrows and lifted his head on the way to the taxi rank. “What is it?”

Laurence chuckled and gestured to the phone. “You’re using your phone. Like, I’m impressed. It’s good. Have you installed any apps yet?”

Quentin narrowed his eyes, unsure whether Laurence was pulling his leg. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“You’ll get there.” Laurence opened the door of the first taxi they reached. “It’s awesome.”

He eyed Laurence suspiciously and slipped into the car, then gave the driver the name of the hotel. Once Laurence was beside him, Quentin placed a hand on his thigh and felt the flow of energy - of power - contained within Laurence’s body. It surged toward his touch, and his breath hitched.

The temptation to take some was almost too great, so he withdrew.

Laurence looked down. He reached for Quentin’s hand and put it back where Quentin had taken it from. “It’s okay,” he said.

“I can’t. I don’t need it.”

“You do. I can feel it, Quen. When you’re low, hurt, when you’re running on empty, this pull you have on me gets stronger. I can feel you pulling now, and that means you need it. So take it. It’s okay.”

“I don’t need it,” he breathed. “I’m just tired.”

Laurence dipped his head and leaned closer. “If you’re sure.”

Quentin nodded. He wasn’t at all sure, but he was damned if he would let himself become a danger to Laurence in any way.

They sat leaning against one another in the taxi, and he fought to keep his eyes open, because he didn’t dare let them close.

* * *

They checked in to the hotel with ease.

It wasn’t that Quentin suspected there was a nationwide network of hoteliers who would all phone one another to warn off letting him have any more rooms, but it remained a relief when he was able to close the door to their new room and lean against it.

Laurence crossed to the window and opened it so that Windsor could squeeze through the tiny gap, then he kicked his shoes off. “Goddess, I have got to have a shower. I smell like a trash can.” He paused, balanced on one foot, sock in hand as he looked to Quentin. “Do you wanna go first, baby?”

“It’s all right, darling. You go ahead. I can wait.”

Laurence nodded. “Want me to undress in the bathroom?”

“I don’t mind.”

“Okay.” Laurence turned away from him, though, and peeled his clothes off without any panache. “I’m gonna leave the door open in case you need me.”

“Thank you.” He glanced toward the bed as Laurence skirted it and disappeared into the bathroom.

The single, king-sized bed.

He looked around the rest of the room. It was a simple affair, a cheap place like the one he’d lingered a few hours in down in Royal Tunbridge Wells. There was the clean bed, a desk, two chairs - one by the desk and one tucked into a corner for no apparent reason - and an electric kettle. A small wardrobe sat by the door, and that was about it for facilities.

But it had a bed, and that was all that mattered.

Quentin walked around the bed so that he could close the window and blinds, then reached out to pet Windsor’s head. “You must be tired too,” he said softly. “You’ve worked extremely hard.”

Windsor clacked his beak in agreement and hopped onto the back of one of the chairs. Quentin supposed that it was more comfortable for him than standing on a flat surface.

He sat on the edge of the bed and removed his shoes and jacket, but that was as far as he got.

He couldn’t take off more.

Could he?

He began to unbutton his shirt, but paused only two buttons down as his hands drew level with the bloodstained cuts in it.

His father had done that.

His own father had done all of it.

To him.

When he was only a child.

The grief which welled up in him pushed past the calm he’d enforced for the last couple of hours. He couldn’t hold himself together any more, but at least he could try to keep quiet.

He didn’t want Laurence to see him cry.

He took quick, gasping breaths that came out again in low, chest-aching sobs, and buried his face in his hands. Trying not to make any noise made his throat hurt, and his shoulders shook as the outpouring of misery struggled to find another way to free itself.

“Baby?” Laurence came to him all too quickly. “Goddess, Quen… It’s okay. It’s okay.” The mattress gave a little as Laurence sat beside him.

“It’s not.” Quentin’s voice cracked, and he shook his head, refusing to raise it from his hands. “It’s not okay.”

“It’s okay to cry,” Laurence said. “You don’t have to hide from me, baby. Whatever you need, I’m right here. We’ll figure this out. We’ll get through it.”

“How?” He tried to look up, but his eyes hurt so much, and his nose began to run. He had to be the most hideous thing Laurence had ever seen.

“I don’t know.” Laurence lifted a hand to cup Quentin’s cheek, and his thumb carefully brushed tears aside. “But we’re together. I want you to know…” He hesitated, then took a deep breath. “I want you to know that it’s not your fault, Quen. What he did, it was never your fault. It wasn’t anything you did, or were, or whatever else you might be thinking. It doesn’t make you… It doesn’t diminish you. It doesn’t make you anything less than what you were before you knew. You are strong and beautiful, kind and compassionate. You are the one I love, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you.”

He sniffed, and it made him feel like a toddler all over again, except this time Mama wasn’t here to offer him a handkerchief.

Laurence pulled away and hurried into the bathroom, then came back with a box of tissues. The poor man hadn’t even finished his shower. There were soap suds on his back, and in his hair, and a towel was wrapped hastily around his waist. He sat again and offered the box over.

Quentin grabbed a fistful of tissues and blew his nose, and the effort that took left him drained. He sagged with the tissues clutched in his hands and the sobbing came out of him less forcefully now. He was able to breathe through it. “What if I can’t sleep?” he whispered.

“Then I’ll stay awake with you,” Laurence said.

“What if I have nightmares?”

“Then I’ll be here to wake you from them.”

“What if I panic and hurt you?”

Laurence licked his lips briefly. “Then I’ll forgive you.”

It seemed so absurd that Quentin laughed weakly. “You can’t promise that.”

“Of course I can. I know you. I trust you. After everything you’ve gone through, you still wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Quentin looked around for somewhere to place his tissues, and finally leaned across to place them on the bedside table. He took a few breaths to stop his chest from spasming and get the sobs under control, then leaned back and planted his fists on his knees. “You think I should have killed him,” he said quietly.

“It’s not my decision to make,” Laurence sighed. “I would have, in your shoes. I want to. I wanna go back there and pull his guts out with my bare hands, but…” He tailed off and placed the back of his hand against Quentin’s forearm. “I’m proud of you. You’ve taken a harder path. You’re the Warrior, and I think what you’ve done is chosen to avoid becoming the Tyrant that he is. Killing is… It’s kinda an easy solution, isn’t it? You kill someone and the problem just goes away. But I think you’re right. I think he should live with what he’s done. I think he should suffer for it. I think you’ve made him see that he’s been wrong his whole life, that normalizing what your family’s done for generations is… just horrible.”

Quentin exhaled slowly and forced his fingers to unfurl. “Thank you, darling.”

Laurence nodded. “How about, for now, I take my hands off the wheel. You’re in charge, baby. You control how much or how little you see of me. You tell me what you want me to wear in bed, how close or how far away you want me, whether or not you want to touch me or me to touch you. You talk to me as and when you want to, about whatever you’d like, and if you want peace and space too that’s fine. We’ll take it one day at a time.”

He dipped his head a moment, then forced himself to raise it.

He had Laurence’s full support. He knew that. Despite what his brain was telling him, despite the desperate fear that he’d make mistakes or Laurence would leave him, he knew Laurence’s words to be true.

Laurence wouldn’t lie to him.

Quentin took a deep breath, then mustered a smile. He knew it was weak, that it wouldn’t convince anyone, but he had to try. “Finish your shower, darling. I shall take one after you.”

“All right.” Laurence withdrew and stood.

He reached out and snagged Laurence’s hand, and squeezed it.

Maybe they wouldn’t cope. Maybe there would be missteps along the way. But he had to try, and there was no way he could hope to succeed without this man by his side.

All he could do was his best, and pray that it was enough.