Mr. Quincy Beck
“You look exceptionally sour today, Q.” Tony observed, listening to Quentin crunch on a lollipop with a wince.
Quentin’s eyes flickered to him for a minute before moving back to the tablet in his hands.
“I have good reason.” He said simply, continuing to ruin his teeth.
Tony waited impatiently for Quentin to finish, huffing when the man stayed silent, save for the crunching sounds.
“Are you gonna leave me hanging, or are you gonna spill the beans?” Tony waved his hand in front of the screen, blocking Quentin’s vision and earning an annoyed sigh for his efforts.
“My brother is in town,” Quentin admitted slowly, like the words were unpleasant on his tongue.
“You have a brother?” Tony asked curiously. Quentin sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. Tony felt his grin widen at the man, finding it utterly adorable how his eyes screwed shut in annoyance.
“I do. He doesn't have a place to stay, and insists on staying with me instead of at our parents’ home.” Tony snorted, patting Quentin’s head before his hand could be batted away.
“Aw, I’m sure he’s not that bad. Your mom’s way too nice to have a bad kid.”
Tony internally cheered when the deep set of Quentin’s brows lightened up a little at the mention of his mother.
“It’s not that he’s bad, per se, it’s- he’s not very… We clash quite a lot.”
Tony hummed, mind whirring with thoughts of an older looking Quentin who was even stricter, an obnoxious voice harassing the man.
“Sounds tough.”
Quentin huffed a bit, shoving Tony off of the desk he was perched on. “The least you could do is pretend to be sympathetic.” As annoyed as he tried to sound, Tony knew the difference, the tiny quirk of his lips betraying his amusement.
Tony laughed uproariously, heart light with the knowledge that Quentin trusted him enough to reveal more of his personal life.
Quentin tapped his foot impatiently, wondering where Quincy had gotten to. His twin was supposed to arrive at least twenty minutes prior, and the crowds of the airport were starting to grate on Quentin’s nerves.
“Tin-Tin!” Quentin felt a growl in the back of his throat, whirling around to shoot a glare at his twin. The man looked different from when he had moved away.
Quincy’s hair wasn’t neat, with a heavy dusting of stubble, far more unkempt than Quentin’s own. He had a smattering of freckles from the sun decorating his nose and cheeks, and was more tan than Quentin would ever be.
Quentin couldn’t help but wonder what his parents would think of Quincy’s outfit. The man wore a simple button up shirt, unbuttoned enough to show tanned skin and chest hair. Quentin sourly recalled the middle school days when Quincy had started growing hair while Quentin stayed smooth.
Abruptly, he noticed that Quincy was holding something.
“Where did you get that?”
Quentin couldn’t believe his eyes, staring down at the fussy baby in Quincy’s arms.
Quincy frowned and stuck his tongue out. “Where do you think? She’s mine,” he said possessively. Quentin peered down at the baby, taking in the watery eyes and trembling lip, the tiny displeased whines and huffs.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you had a baby? Where’s the-“ Quentin looked up at Quincy, looking back down.
“She didn’t want her, so she’s staying with me, thank god.” Quincy looked up from the baby, reaching out to flick Quentin on the nose.
“Oh, mein bruder, you don’t look happy to see me.” The older of the two squinted at him, amused. “You don’t look happy at all.”
Quentin huffed, taking the other bag in hand, since his brother was content to lug it with a slouched posture. “I’m just surprised.”
“Aren’t you strong?” Quincy teased, playfully punching Quentin’s shoulder with his free hand. Quentin let a wry grin grow on his face.
“You have to be unless you want your fingers crushed,” He huffed, thinking to the instances where Tony underestimated how heavy something was, leaving Quentin to patch up bruised fingers and soothe bruised egos. Quentin had no idea how the man hadn’t died yet, with how bad his self-preservation was.
Quincy looked astonished at his dry humor. The Quentin he knew never cracked jokes or even reacted to them.
“Does your kid-” wasn’t that weird? “Need a carseat?”
Quincy nodded, moving to a contraption tied to his luggage.
“Here, hold her for a second-”
“-I don’t want to-”
Quentin found himself with an armful of baby.
He fell silent, as did she. Her sniffles died out and she reached for Quentin’s face.
She was small. Everything about her was small, Quentin realized.
He tentatively dipped his head, eyes widening when she clumsily ran her (incredibly small) hand over his chin with a happy gurgle.
He carefully outstretched a finger towards her, feeling something warm up in his chest when she took her whole hand and grabbed it with stubby little fingers.
Quentin breathed out in surprise at her grip. She was strong.
“Hello,” He murmured lowly, not wanting Quincy to hear him. His voice was softer, and he carefully ran a finger along her plump cheeks. She was soft.
“I’m Quentin,” He hummed, gently brushing back her wisps of hair. Dark, like his own and his mother’s. She had very long eyelashes for a baby, or did babies always have long eyelashes?
The baby didn’t answer, happily babbling away while gripping random parts of his sweater, delighted by the softness of the fabric.
“I suppose I’m your uncle, then. Onkel. That’s me.”
She didn’t call him uncle or onkel, choosing instead to try and gnaw on his sweater. Quentin blinked, prying it away from her mouth. “No, you can’t do that, that’s not sanitary,” he scolded gently.
She resisted with a stream of indecipherable chatter, tugging it back.
“Quincy, get your baby to stop trying to eat my sweater,” Quentin finally looked up to see that Quincy had been watching him interact with the child with fascination and no small amount of awe.
“Let me set this up in your car. Let her eat it, she doesn’t have all her teeth so your sweater’ll probably be fine. Say, that’s a good sweater, where’d you get it?”
“It was a gift,” Quentin sighed, acquiescing to the baby’s grip. She blew a raspberry in triumph, happily gnawing on his sweater.
“I hope you’re enjoying that,” He murmured to her, she blinked innocent blue eyes at him in response.
Quentin shouldn’t have been surprised how a smile twitched at his lips down at her.
“So what do you do for fun around here? Haven’t been around since we were itty bitty Becks.” Quincy asked once they were in the car.
Quentin frowned. “I don’t want to play tourist with you, Quincy. I have work.”
Quincy made an ‘ah’ sound. “The Stark job, right? The one you got those fancy degrees for?”
Quentin nodded, squinting through the mirror at his brother, surprised that Quincy remembered. “Yes, that job.”
Quincy wrinkled his nose. “So you’re stuck in a lab for the majority of the week? Knowing you, you just stay home when you’re not at work, right?”
Quentin bit the inside of his cheek, trying to suppress the wince that threatened to break free, thoughts on the times Tony dragged him out for drinks.
Quincy took his silence as a confirmation. “I guess I’ll have to explore by myself. Just a lonely Beck boy out on the town, without his own brother to show him around.”
Quentin shot an annoyed glare at him. “You grew up here. Surely your memory hasn’t deteriorated that badly?”
Quincy groaned, sliding down in his seat, leading his daughter to squeal when he popped back into her vision. “God, lighten up, Tin-Tin. Must you be so eloquent all the time?”
Quentin gripped the steering wheel tighter. His eloquence was a result of grasping English the hard way, not taking to the confusing language as easily as Quincy.
“How else am I going to get the point across? Especially to someone as dense as you…” He muttered the last bit, flinching when Quincy erupted in surprised laughter.
“Dense as I am, at least I’m not blind!” The man mimed pushing glasses up, squinting at Quentin through his fingers.
“It’s my place you’re staying at, watch it. I might have an accident and set you on fire during your sleep,” Quentin said, unable to help the smirk that bloomed on his face when Quincy burst into laughter again.
“Jeez, Tiny, I like you with a sense of humor.”
Quentin groaned, pulling into his parking garage. “I think I preferred when you called me Tin-Tin. You haven’t called me that since Mutter yelled at you for making fun of my height.”
Quincy smiled fondly at the memory, getting out of the car in tandem with Quentin.
“And yet,” Quincy hummed, pleased with his discovery as he stood shoulder to shoulder with his twin.
Quincy just barely stood higher than him. “I’m taller than you, still.”
Quentin scoffed. Quincy grinned, ruffling his hair before Quentin could duck out of the way.
“Why don’t you drink your milk, Tin?” He narrowly dodged the hand that came to swat his head.
“Your apartment’s nicer than mine,” Quincy said, a bit put out.
“Why does it look like it’s out of an ad? Where’s the lived-in feel? I-” Quentin tuned Quincy out, dumping his bags in the guest room and holding his daughter on his hip.
When he came back, Quincy was staring curiously at a table near the entryway, or rather, the pair of sunglasses that lay on top of it.
“These are a bit… Bold, Tin-Tin.” He commented, reaching out for them. Quentin snatched them from the table before he could, hooking them in the collar of his sweater possessively.
Quentin flashed Quincy a grin, stunning his twin with its luminosity. “They’re not mine.”
Quincy lit up, idly noting how Quentin had inherited their mother’s dimples when he had not. It had been so long since Quentin had smiled at him, he seemed to have forgotten. “Can we go visit Mutter later? I want her to meet this little scamp,”
Neither of the brother commented on their father.
Quentin checked his phone. “Yes, I have time for that.”
Quincy watched curiously as Quentin then swiped to his text messages, telling “Tony” that he had left his sunglasses.
“Who’s Tony?”
Quentin hissed, backing away from the sudden proximity. “Mind your own business,” He snapped moodily. Quincy relaxed. Now that was the Quentin he knew.
He wiggled his brows at Quentin lecherously. To his surprise, he earned a dark blush that crept up Quentin’s pale neck to the tips of his ears.
“It’s… not like… that?” Quentin tried to sound sure and monotone as he always did, but there was a hesitance to his words that made Quincy whoop with joy.
“So Tin-Tin’s got a little crush, then? Does Mutter know? Oh, she’d be thrilled-”
“Shut up!” Quentin growled, flicking him in the forehead.
Quincy laughed loudly, startling his baby into a wail.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay, your Onkel Quenty just has a little crush,” He teased, soothing the baby into hiccups.
“You never told me her name,” Quentin said, peering down at the tiny creature in his brother’s arms, fighting the irrational urge to wipe the tear-streaked cheeks.
“Her name’s Misty. Misty Beck.”
Quentin’s lips quirked up, seeing her mirror his grin. “She has Mutter’s dimples.”
Quincy hummed in agreement. “Yours, too.”
Quentin ignored it. “Mutter will love her.”
Quincy smiled a bit sadly. “I know.”
Quentin knocked on the door, smiling when his mother opened it with a greeting.
Quentin stepped to the side, jerking a thumb to his car. “Quincy is here to visit.”
His mother grinned widely, though her expression quickly morphed to one of shock when she glimpsed Quincy with a bundle in his arms.
“My dear, is that a…”
“Yes.” Quentin answered.
Quentin walked over, kissing his mother on the cheek. “Hi, Mutter. I’ve been meaning to introduce you…” He lifted Misty forward, and the baby yawned, but didn’t wake.
“You have a baby?” She breathed out, reverently taking the baby into her arms with a well-practiced tenderness.
Quentin and Quincy shared a grin at her jubilant expression.
“She’s beautiful,” She whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of Misty’s head.
Quincy beamed proudly, but the moment was interrupted.
“Emily, who’s at the door?”
All three winced, and Quentin and Quincy shared a whispered argument.
“It’s only for a small amount of time. If he sees Misty, he’s going to kill you!”
Quincy scowled, but ran off to strap Misty into her car seat, hesitantly leaving her in the car for the time being..
What followed was a tense conversation with their father. No one mentioned the baby, knowing full well what would happen if the eldest Beck found out.
Quentin and Quincy were quiet during the drive home.
“Does he hurt her?” Quincy whispered, brows set in turmoil. Misty snoozed calmly beside him.
Quentin’s knuckles were white on his steering wheel. “No. I- she is too docile to earn his…”
“...abuse.” The two said together.
“How is he living so well while she lives like that?” Quincy was thinking to the worn-in dresses that their mother wore, which, save for the green sweater Quentin had given her, was what her entire wardrobe consisted of.
“When I give them the check, I guess he keeps most if not all of it for himself.” Quentin estimated angrily.
Quincy was pensive, a rare look for the chattery man who dropped out of college and was the figurative ‘black sheep’ of the Becks, or at least to their father. Emily had too much love to be disappointed in any of her children.
“We should help her.” Quincy murmured. Quentin nodded.
“I’ve been thinking of a plan, but it needs more thought.”
Quincy leaned forward, blue eyes glinting with the prospect of a challenge.
“Can we brainstorm tomorrow?”
Quentin shook his head. “I have work tomorrow.”
Quincy shrugged. “Take me with you.”
Quentin glared at him. “I can’t just bring you to work. And what about your baby?”
“I- she won’t make a mess or anything, don’t worry. Don’t you want to spend the day with your favorite bruder? What about your little niece? ” Quincy teased, drawing out the last word in a plea.
“You’re my only brother...” Quentin rolled his eyes. Quincy grinned, crossing his arms and smirking smugly. “You didn’t say anything about Misty.”
Silence fell, with the only sounds being the soft breaths of Misty, and Quentin finally let out a growl and a ‘fine.’ Quincy immediately cheered up.