Work Text:
The lights of Las Nevadas buzz around Quackity and Tubbo as they sit on the balcony of the needle. Rather than chairs, they’ve opted to stick their legs through the railings. Quackity leans back on his hands, looking up at what is left of the stars. Tubbo leans his body too close to the edge, looking down at the ground. Between them sits a basket of untouched fries.
Tubbo asks, “Do you believe in love?”
“What the Hell does that mean?” The question is posed like a joke, but there is a layer of defense that makes Tubbo roll his eyes.
“Oh, you know what I mean.” If anyone in the world knows what Tubbo means, it would be Quackity. “Do you think it can last?”
“I don’t know. Nothing really lasts. Not buildings, not people.” Not nations, but Las Nevadas has stood strong for this long.
“We have.” Both eyes flit toward walls that never mattered in the distance. A threat or defense or illusion of both torn down. Now their only barrier is a basket of fries.
“Yeah. Yeah, we have.” A beat passes between them as their eyes return to the sky and ground respectively. “Do you love your husband?” Tubbo lets out an exaggerated gasp.
“Out with the punches, are we?”
“You started it.”
“You were supposed to ask me back! Ask me if I believe in love back.” Quackity laughs.
“Alright, alright. Do you believe in love?”
“I don’t know.” The only sound is the buzzing of lights. Tubbo laughs. “Maybe I should’ve just kept to the first question.”
“Look, love’s weird.”
“I know. I watched you be weird in Manberg. I watched you be weird today, even.”
“I am not fucking in love with Wilbur.” The defense there is higher than any walls Tubbo could ever build.
“I meant Slime, but it’s funny your mind went there.”
“Whatever, fucking- whatever, man. The point is-”
Tubbo laughs, “Yeah? Yeah?”
“No, fuck you, we’re talking about you.”
“Oh, but do we have to?”
“You asked me to ask you!”
“Yeah, but I thought the topic would veer. I don’t fucking know. Make a weird bit or something.”
“Weird bit’s your marriage.” The buzz returns. “Too far? You can tell me to fuck off, Tubbo. I’m just wondering.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. It literally started as a weird bit. A- a way to get out of taxes. Thought it was funny, really, at first.” Tubbo leans a little more forward, letting his arms go through the railings completely, a feeling like he’s free-falling even though the railings keep him in place. Quackity shifts, keeping a close eye. “Not so funny now.”
“You’re talking to the king of taking bits too far.”
“Really? I’m talking to Tommy Innit? Getting his input on my love life?” They share a laugh. “I actually don’t really talk to Tommy about my marriage. Like, at all. He tries sometimes. To make sure I’m happy. Said yes too many times to back out now.” Tubbo laughs again, but this one is a little strange. Strangled, maybe.
“If you’re not happy-”
“I don’t know, is the problem! I’m not upset about it. I like him. I like spending time with him.” Tubbo taps his chin, exaggerating the movement as he leans back to look at Quackity. “Might even like like him.” They share another laugh.
“I think that’s good. To like like your husband.”
“Yeah,” Tubbo leans forward again. He feels the urge to try and shove his head through the railing. “Loving him’s the issue. Being happy’s the issue.”
“If he doesn’t make you happy-
“That’s the thing, Big Q. I don’t know what does make me happy.” Tubbo shrugs. “I have this job. I have my husband. I have my son. I have Tommy. I think… I think I get close with Tommy.” Anyone with eyes can see Tommy and Tubbo are different than they used to be. Post-presidencies and towers, Tommy jumps at shadows and Tubbo builds weapons to blow them up if they creep too close and the two of them stand on opposite sides of a stream, balancing just close enough to the edge to graze each others hands. It is a wariness that doubles as dedication.
“Tommy’s good at that.” Quackity leans forward, letting himself dangle to hit his shoulder against Tubbo’s. “Thought I was too, asshole, what gives?” Tubbo laughs.
With something like wonder, Tubbo says, “I don’t- I just don’t know! I’m enjoying being here, I’m glad you hired me, I’m- I’m everything close to happy, really, just not… quite there, I guess.” The buzzing lights envelop them once again. Tubbo’s voice is like a gunshot in the night as he asks, “Am I weird?”
“I think you’re depressed.”
“No. No, surely not. Just a little quirky. Just a bit.”
“I’m serious, man.”
“Well, stop it.” Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. The silence lasts longer than a beat. While Quackity gathers his words, Tubbo eats the first fry of the night. It’s cold. He hardly tastes it.
Quackity says, “I believe that love is hard. I believe that it’s just close enough to hate to drive you fucking crazy.”
“I don’t hate Ranboo. You don’t hate Slime.”
“No,” Quackity admits. Like not hating Slime is a personal failure. “But I could. I think I could.”
“Could you?”
“I dunno. I think- I mean, I hate everyone else.” It’s Quackity’s turn for his laugh to go almost strangled.
“Everyone else sucks. It’s a your taste in men issue, not a love issue, Big Q.”
“Oh, fuck you. It can be both.”
“Of course,” Tubbo nods, a little laugh in his voice. “Yeah, of course. It’s both.”
“You’re such a dick. I’m trying to be- be wise and life advicey, asshole.”
“And what’s your advice? Eat his heart?” Quackity laughs. If he listens too closely, another laugh echoes within it. An angry, harsh wheeze that threatens to overtake his own.
“Hey, if that’s what it takes, man! If that’s what it takes.”
“I don’t know what it’ll take. I think maybe I’m just overreacting, really. This is probably how everyone feels.”
“No.”
“Say it, Big Q, say it’s how everyone feels.”
In a high, petty voice, Quackity repeats, “No!”
“You’re a dick.” The buzzing is back. With it are the thoughts of what love is. What hate is. Depression implies he wants to die, right? Tubbo hasn’t wanted to die in a very long time. Not that he ever wanted to die, it was just a fact he knew deep within his bones that he would and soon. Not anymore, though. Tubbo won't die. Tubbo doesn’t want to die, he’s just… rather tired.
Tubbo says, “He got upset earlier. I think he did, anyway. I thought the conversation was going fine. We were talking like normal, then I realized he was- he was sad, I think.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know! Maybe me? Maybe Wilbur? Maybe himself? He could be upset with Michael for all I know.”
“Your kid or Mcchill?”
“Either one! Either one, really!” They share another laugh. “I should though, right? I should know?”
“Yeah. Yeah, you should probably know.”
“Rats.” Quackity nudges his shoulder again.
“Hey. If you and Ranboo get a divorce, I’ll throw the party.”
“That means nothing, Big Q. You hate Ranboo.”
“I don’t hate Ranboo, Tubbo. I just think he’s annoying and sucks and you’re too good for him.” Quackity shrugs, a little grin directed at Tubbo. Smarmy but friendly, because Quackity is good at finding the middle ground between those two. “Completely different thing.”
“Right. Of course.”
“Of course.” The buzz of Las Nevadas returns. Quackity finally takes a fry. Salty and greasy and cold. It feels like dried glue going down his throat.
Tubbo asks, “Do you need to know someone to love them?” Funny question to ask Quackity, who used to throw himself into the deep end of every relationship because he assumed love would be enough to make up for everything else.
With something like regret, Quackity answers, “I think it probably helps.”
“Rats,” Tubbo says again. He tosses his arms up. “Rats! Too many rats!”
“I’ll call an exterminator.”
“Knew I could count on you.”
“Hey, man, always.”
Tubbo keeps his gaze toward the ground, looking for something he can’t name. Quackity joins him now, watching for something he can’t predict. The buzz of Las Nevadas takes over as they sit in the comfortable silence of a false promise.