Failure and inadequacy were the most difficult things for Quentin to even begin to know how to deal with. He wrapped so much of himself up in pride over what he was capable of that falling short of it in any way left him with the intolerable, consuming feeling of stupidity. Typically, that was when he left. He blamed any and everything around him, except for himself, and removed himself from the situation entirely. Heâd have done it back on the bridge, too, if he hadnât had more of a reason than usual not to. The words and excuses had popped into his head immediately. There was a laundry list of people whose fault it was, and how stupid the whole thing had been, and that he had better things to do with his time than be there - so on, so on. But for once, he hadnât given into that. Heâd stayed.
Staying meant dealing with what had happened. It wasnât as if anyone was pointing some kind of finger at him, but it didnât really matter. Quentin wasnât even really some big believer in the preservation of life, as heâd killed before and often thought that some people were just better off dead for a whole host of reasons, but that also didnât really matter. Not right then. Heâd signed up to protect that bridge and the people on it and heâd absolutely failed to do it, even if heâd minimized the damage. Twenty seven people were dead, and maybe all twenty seven of them were his fault, because heâd been too slow. Heâd hosted the fucking Phoenix Force before, had a shard of it preserved in his mind, and heâd still been too slow and too dumb.
As he walked back into the condo, he just felt like a fraud. It ate through him like acid. The bravado and confidence that usually radiated from him had been sucked away. When he sat down next to MJ outside, his shoulders were hunched. âHey,â he offered, reaching for the bottle. âYou okay?â He wasnât a helper, really, or a person often concerned with someone elseâs feelings, but despite what had happened afterward he hadnât forgotten how heâd found MJ when Jokerâs video started to play.Â
The way Quentin carried himself was noticeably different from the norm, but MJ didnât fully understand why. She knew bits and pieces of what happened on the bridge, the order of events, but she didnât know how Quentin held himself responsible. The day still felt like a blur to her. She had the vague recollection of the explosion at the bridge, but only of Quentin being present and managing to save people. It was something she registered as a success. Looking at him now, it was obvious that he wasnât thinking about it the same way - or maybe something else happened that she didnât know about yet.Â
The question was one she batted away with an offhanded, âIâm fine.â So the Joker showed up and she had a breakdown. It might as well be another Tuesday. There was no shame in it, but MJ still hated that he had any power over her at all. Her experiences in Star City were dominated by run-ins with him. This time hadnât been personal, sheâd just happened to be in the vicinity, but that hadnât changed the severity of her reaction. It bothered her that sheâd given him the ability to affect her to that degree. It was easier to turn the subject around on him instead.
âWhatâs wrong?â She asked outright, allowing Quentin to take the bottle, and tried to keep her tone measured. Her own glass was already getting low, but she didnât make a grab for the bottle. Not yet. There was something going on and she wanted to know what it was. MJ knew him too well, she knew when even the smallest habit was off, and she wasnât going to let something like that slide. Quentin already had trouble opening up to her in an emotional way. Sheâd also promised to help him. It wasnât helpful if she didnât push from time to time, was it? Maybe conversations like this were exactly the ones they should be having, instead of avoiding.Â
