BioSynth | ONC 2021 WINNER | MM Romance | Sci-Fi | Complete

Thirteen: Tuesday

This chapter is very similar in both novellas. The dialogue lines are mostly the same, the situation is obviously the same, the one change is whose thoughts we're privy to. I apologise in advance for that, but couldn't find a way where it would make any sort of sense to skip this scene in favour of writing a different one in the other novella.

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The door opened just as Quentin was walking towards it.

"You're awake." Ian. The lights turned on with a voice command that blinded Quentin for a moment.

A moment was all it took.

By the time his sensors adjusted, Ian had closed the door behind him, blocking Quentin's only escape route. Not again. This couldn't be how it ended after everything, not now that Quentin wanted to do so much more than just live. He stepped forward, trying to look intimidating, but even without a weapon, Ian wouldn't budge.

Two images flooded his mind in quick succession. Subduing Ian, making him pass out, escaping, both of them unharmed; Ian was unarmed, and Quentin was no stranger to non-lethal disabling methods. Maxine's blood splattering all over his face. Her life snuffed out like a candle because Quentin hadn't been able to control his own strength.

He'd never risk it. Nothing had changed in the end. Ian could still bring him to his knees with nothing but his presence; what else could Quentin have done? Accidentally killing his husband would have been just another form of suicide. He'd take his chances with the mines. Jax had escaped; maybe Quentin would too.

"You win." So much for the better future he wanted to live in. "I'll shut down."

"Quentin, no, wait." Ian's blue eyes were wide, no longer wearing the cold, focused mask Quentin would never become accustomed to. "Please. Hear me out."

The tone was as much a surprise as the look in his eyes. Not the emotionless, robotic voice Ian had adopted when talking to him in the car, when he'd asked 'Where's Quentin?'

He studied Ian's face. Bruised eyes, dirt painting the dark bags underneath even darker. He looked like he'd aged a lifetime.

'I have no need to destroy you if you cooperate. Where. Is. My. Husband?' He'd been so sure Quentin was an impostor then... Ian wasn't looking for Quentin anymore — he was grieving for him. He knew, then. He had to know there was no real Quentin to rescue from the big bad BioSynth conspiracy.

Quentin didn't have it in himself to console him. Not when the man Ian mourned was a version of Quentin who'd never existed; not when Quentin himself stood right here with all his flaws, unwanted. "What do you want from me, Ian? What are we doing here?"

"Are you hungry?" Ian said, taking off his backpack, as if that wasn't the most incongruous thing he could have asked. "I have soup and your protein bars."

Quentin was hungry, he realised with some amazement. In the middle of everything that was happening, that his system would spare the capacity for something this mundane was bizarre. But every minute Ian wasn't demanding he shut himself down was a shred of hope. Maybe Quentin could still escape if he played this right. "I suppose I could eat." He shrugged. "Does it make you feel better? Offering me a last meal before you ship me off?"

That wasn't what he'd meant to say; it was certainly not the best way to get Ian to let down his guard. Quentin seemed intent on self-sabotaging his shot at freedom.

Ian recoiled as if he'd taken a hit. "I'm not shipping you off anywhere. You're free to go. I just—" A shuddering breath. "I understand. Just... Five minutes. Give me just five minutes to explain and then you can go. Please. Is that alright?"