#echomoon

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YEAH

Waffles

“What the fuck are you doing?” Penny asks, walking into the kitchen, half asleep. Quentin’s standing on top of a chair, waving a dish rag over the smoke detector, while smoke billows out behind him on the stove. 

He looks at him guiltily as the incessant beeping finally stops. His arm stillw aves frantically, as Penny rushes across the kitchen, grabs the pan off the stove and throws it in the sink, turning the water on. “I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Quentin says, breathless. 

Penny turns to him, looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Again, I ask. What the fuck are you doing?” He asks, making his way over to him, “Get the fuck off the chair, jesus.” 

“The alarm -,” 

Penny shakes his head and reaches up to tug on Quentin’s elbow. Quentin stumbles, but Penny catches him just as his foot loses purchase on the chair, and carefully sets him down on the floor. He grabs the towel from him, and sets it on the table, before moving across the kitchen floor to open the back door and let the smoke out. 

He turns his attention back on Quentin, then, who’s standing in the middle of the kitchen, arms wrapped around his waist, and a guilt ridden look that is dangerously on the brink of tears. “What the fuck?” Penny asks again. 

Quentin shrugs half heartedly. “Was gonna surprise you.” 

“Surprise me.” Penny deadpans. 

He nods over to the countertop, “Wanted to make you breakfast in bed …” 

“You wanted -,” He stops, takes a deep breath. “How did that turn into this?” 

Quentin looks down at the ground guiltily, shrugging again as one of his hands runs up his arm to squeeze uncomfortably at his shoulder. “I don’t know how to make waffles. And I turned my back for one second, and then it was on fire.” 

Penny watches him for a moment. Long enough that he looks up at him through his hair. He sighs, “Wash the pan, Quentin,” He murmurs, moving over to the stove to read the directions on recipe Quentin printed out. 

“But -,” 

He looks at him over his shoulder, “I’m going to teach you to cook. Now wash the pan.” When Quentin doesn’t move, he sighs, setting the recipe down and turning around. “What?” 

“You’re going to -,” 

Penny rolls his eyes. “I just don’t want to wake up to the smoke alarm again. Or for you to fall off that raggedy ass chair and break your back.” He pauses, making a face as Quentin starts to smile. “Don’t get any ideas, there,” He says, pointing a finger, “It’s not like I care about you or anything,” he shakes his head and turns around to look over the recipe. 

Quentin’s quiet for a moment, before making his way over to the sink. Before he turns the water on, he says, soft, “I care about you. Even if you are a jackass.” 

Penny smiles to himself for a second, before forcing a scowl, and turning back around. “You realize you had this on high heat? When the recipe distinctly says low heat? I mean, I knew you were dim, but come on.” 

Quentin smiles as he cleans off the pan. “Good thing you’re here, then,” He says, looking over his shoulder at him. 

Penny rolls his eyes, “Hurry up so we can make your damn waffles.” 

“They’re your waffles. Remember? Breakfast in bed. That was the plan.” 

Penny sighs, ignoring the stupid pitter patter of his heart, and the warmth spreading across his cheeks as he turns the heat down on the stove, and gets to working the batter for the waffles together. “Yeah, well,” He mutters as he cracks an egg into the bowl, “We both know you would’ve stolen most of them.” 

“Only because you’d let me.” 

He scoffs. “Is that pan clean yet?” Quentin doesn’t respond, so he turns around to make sure he hasn’t passed out from carbon dioxide poisoning or anything, and the dimwit is staring at him with this little half smile. “What?” 

He shrugs. “Nothing,” He murmurs, but he’s moving forward, leaving the pan in the sink. Penny’s about to make a remark, but Quentin’s arms wrap around his waist, and he’s looking up at him, eyes soft. 

“What?” 

“I want to kiss you,” He says it slow, like he wants to make sure Penny gets every syllable of every word. 

Penny makes a face. “Okay. Then why are you just staring at me?” 

Quentin wrinkles his nose. “You’re too tall. You gotta help.” 

“For fucks sake,” Penny murmurs, leaning down, “Can’t you do anything by yourself?” 

Penny, in what should possibly not be a surprise and yet somehow is, completely avoids Quentin and Fillory after the big reveal via bunny rabbit about Quentin’s pregnancy.

But how? Eliot asks after the rabbit outs Penny and Quentin, and Quentin is absently pleased to hear Eliot voice that question because as a man with a pregnant wife, clearly Eliot knows how, but yeah... how? Fen, for what it’s worth, just blinks her pretty eyes at them and goes don’t men get pregnant in your world?

Yeah... and that’s the note Quentin needs to sit down on, but he ends up doing a lot of sitting down, especially with Fen because after Penny pulls a runner (And why is that surprising? Why? And why the fuck does it kinda hurt? It is way too early for pregnancy hormones, damn it.), Eliot starts just keeping them together, like instead of keeping all his eggs in one basket, he’s decided to keep all royal fetuses in one room.

“How did you survive this?” Quentin asks her about seven weeks later, more than a goddamn month after Penny disappears and a couple of weeks since Quentin lost the ability to keep anything in his stomach. It feels like he lives with a bucket at his side and Fen gives him a sympathetic look while patting at the swell of her own stomach, looking fit to burst. 

“it gets better,” She told him in a supportive voice, shrugging a shoulder. “But then you start feeling kicks to your ribs and you need to use the bathroom every fifteen minutes, so it’s not really ever easy...”

When Fen trails off, Quentin ignores it because she’s been doing that a lot lately, her words fading while she looks off somewhere in the distance and Quentin can only assume that’s what people mean when they whisper baby brain or maybe she’s just lost thinking about what sort of future her child will have as heir to Whitespire and comparing it to her own childhood. Quentin’s spent more than a small amount of time lamenting his own life, he won’t judge Fen too harshly for getting lost in thought about her own life and the life of her baby.

“I hate this,” He declares a few minutes later, wanting to break the silence. “I hate just sitting here and not even being able to drink, I hate that people expect me to knit a baby blanket” - Fen has already finished a blanket for her baby and Quentin’s pretty sure started one for his - “And I hate that I-”

“Yo, Quentin!” A voice calls out loudly as the doors to the sitting room are pushed open.

Quentin’s heart does a stupid little flip flop over the noise as his head jerks around and if he stands up abruptly, it’s only because he’s tired of sitting and he wonders swiftly if Penny would let him get in a free hit because he’s pregnancy because punching Penny is exactly what Quentin wants to do as the man comes striding in.

“You and me need to talk.” Penny says.