Chapter Text
Eph stands in front of the mirror in their improvised bathroom. He needs to shave if he wants to look like a human being. Instead, he keeps knocking back one glass after another. Recovering alcoholic, he thinks, smirking at his reflection.
“What a perfect solution for all the problems in the world.” A male voice comes from the doorway. Eph has come to hating this quiet, mellow voice speaking with a heavy accent he cannot identify for the life of him. “Such a shame it cannot bring your wife back from the dead.”
Who told him, Eph wonders for some reason. Zach? No, his son still believes stubbornly that his mother is very much alive. Well, technically, she is, of course, but…. No, he corrects himself, it must have been Nora. She seems to have developed a strange, deep liking for this… creature.
“Do not poke your nose into what you don’t understand!” Eph regrets snarling as soon as the words escape his lips.
“What I don’t understand precisely?” Quinlan eyes half-naked Dr Goodweather from top to toe. He is in good shape for the man who is unable to make it through the day without booze. He is not even a coward, Quinlan admits. He has seen mortal people losing their grip after catching a glimpse of what this man has seen too often in his long, eventful life of a vampire hunter. This doctor did not.
“The question is,” Eph puts his glass on the sink with a bang, glaring at Quinlan’s reflection in the mirror because he does not have balls to look him in the face. His ugly, terrifying, and covertly handsome face. “What do you understand, to begin with?! You have no family, no home, no—“
“I had a wife once, and a daughter. The Master killed them both.”
Eph hates this feeling, which he experiences when he assumes something about Quinlan and finds himself proven wrong. It gets on Eph’s nerves so harshly – especially in this very moment – that he pours himself some vodka or whatever it’s he drinks. He’s no longer capable of telling vodka from whiskey or scotch by taste unless it’s specified on a bottle. Sadly, however much he swallows, it doesn’t bring him closer to breaking free from this bitter truth: if he wasn’t good enough for Kelly, how can he be good enough for the man with no weaknesses and affections?
“You don’t have a son who reminds you at every turn that he wants to see his mother.” Although Eph knows that he has already lost this battle, he is dying to save appearances. He cannot let the vampire hunter see through him. Not if he can help it.
“Alcoholic intoxication isn’t your best assistant in explaining to him what happened to her.”
Eph snorts. “I’ve tried. Once or twice. He wouldn’t listen.”
Against his deepest instincts and the resolution to stay away from Dr Goodweather, Quinlan steps towards him and collects the glass from his hand. “Nobody listens to the man whose breath smells of alcohol.”
His sudden – and welcomed – closeness hypnotizes Eph and he fails to refrain from turning his head to take a look at the dhampir himself, not just at his reflection. His eyes meet his grim, inhuman eyes of light blue colour with pitch-black pupils.
“Nobody listens to me even when I’m sober.” Eph blurts out against his will. It sounds awfully pathetic, so he closes his eyes to hide humiliation he feels. “Maybe, I just wasn’t born a persuasive talker.”
“Just because the Master has fooled Mr Palmer into being his ally," Quinlan is surprised to hear his tone soften. Eph is no less surprised. He opens his eyes and stares at the dhampir in disbelief. "It doesn’t mean that the others won’t listen to you once they’re informed of what you and Nora have created.”
Great, Eph groans mentally, now she confides to him. And who really knows which side he is on? Most importantly, who cares? Not so long ago, Eph saw it clearly – as a doctor from CDC, he had to stop this epidemic at any cost. Right now? He doesn’t give a fuck about anything. Except for the glass Quinlan has taken away from him and the man of himself. Booze and Quinlan; Quinlan and booze. Two addictions, he cannot be cured of.
“Let’s not rush things.” Eph seizes the glass to get it back before he realizes how ambiguous it is, what he’s said just only. Oh God damn it…
His fingers brush against the dhampir’s. He likes its pleasant coldness. He is not as warm as any human is, but he’s not as cold as any vampire is. He’s somewhere in the middle. Not too warm, not too cold. Eph imagines what it would be like to touch his naked skin. Would it become warmer if Quinlan were aroused? Or colder? Would it still be pleasant if he pressed himself to him? And how would they do it if vampires do not have genitals? Or he does have it? Abruptly, Eph’s look moves down, to the belt of Quinlan's black trousers. He is so eager to find out…
“As you say." Quinlan didn’t plan to agree with him. Nevertheless, he lets go of the glass. "You’re the doctor.”
He didn’t plan to retreat, either. He never retreats. Yet he goes off. Fast. Way too fast as if running away. You don’t need another human pet, he reasons with himself in so doing. They’re mortal, and vulnerable. They fade away and die sooner or later. However, Dr Goodweather’s eyes staring at his fly and the smell of alcohol on his breath are all Quinlan can think of.