Fic: Lucky (3/?)
Title: Lucky
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: R for themes.
Spoilers: Up to "Mattress," sort of. It's AU in that Quinn had a pregnancy scare, but wasn't really pregnant.
Summary: An attempt at this prompt.
WARNINGS: Cancer, Character Death.
A/N: Avoiding course work, thus more writing. And yes, I'm fully aware an Xbox game wouldn't handle that many players. It's dramatic license, y'all. :)
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you, are you sitting down?”
Desperation. It was, Quinn found as the minutes ticked by each day, a singularly unsettling feeling. The frustration of having so many things unfinished was hard to deal with, and what was worse was that the very first item on her list remained undone. She’d done her best to settle her accounts with her fellow Glee members, but remained at a frustrating impasse with Rachel. Quinn had convinced her to continue their singing lessons, but she remained unwilling to talk about anything else. And, as her headaches started to get worse, Quinn knew she was running out of time. And she wouldn’t let her list remain unfinished, not if she could help it.
And it was with that in mind that she cornered Rachel in the auditorium the next day, blocking her exit.
“Quinn, would you please-”
“No. Not until we talk.”
“And what would you like to talk about?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Quinn rubbed her temples. “I just want a straight answer - if you hate me, if you’re always going to hate me, then fine, but just tell me! I wanted to make things better, to mend some of what I’ve broken, but if you’re not going to help me out here, I don’t know what else I can do!” she threw her arms up, fuming. “I mean, I’m the one that’s dying here, you know-” anything else she’d planned to say was stopped by the impact of Rachel’s open hand across her cheek. It wasn’t a vicious slap, but it was certainly an attention getter. Quinn clapped a hand to her face, tears stinging her eyes at the sudden pain. Rachel looked shocked at her own actions, but used the chance to push by and escape the auditorium.
Quinn staggered to the stage, sitting down hard on the stairs. The tears that had threatened began to fall, and she couldn’t hold them back. Her sobs were loud in the empty auditorium, but she simply didn’t care. Obviously the damage she’d done with her bullying couldn’t be repaired, and her list would remain undone. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there when the auditorium door opened.
“Oh,” Artie exclaimed. “Sorry; I didn’t know there was anyone here.” He turned to leave.
“No,” Quinn called after him. “It’s okay, I’m just leaving.” She got up, not bothering to wipe the tears from her cheeks, and made her way down the aisle. Artie reached out and grabbed her arm as she walked past him.
“Are you okay?” he grimaced. “Sorry. Stupid question.”
“It’s fine,” Quinn’s lip twitched in a tiny smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.”
Artie looked dubious, but to his credit he didn’t push the issue. Instead he took another tack. “Since you’re here anyway, would you be interested in singing with me? I was hoping to tune up a little before Sectionals.”
Quinn hesitated, taken aback. “Uh, sure.” She walked beside him, down to the stage and up the ramp. She grabbed a stool and sat across from him as he tuned his guitar.
“I’m really sorry about what’s happening to you,” he said, almost too quietly to hear. “I mean, I know we’ve never really been friends, but that’s just because we’ve never really been in the same circles. I’ve gotten to know you through Glee, though, and I think you’re pretty special. You don’t deserve it.”
“Thanks,” Quinn choked out. “You’re a really nice guy, Artie - Tina’s really lucky to have you, and I hope she knows it.”
He smiled shyly. “So, what do you want to sing?”
Quinn bit her lip. “Would Live Like You Were Dying be too cliché?”
Artie couldn’t think of a right answer, and he just shook his head and looked down at his guitar. Quinn grabbed the music from the back and passed it over, and he took it wordlessly. He began to play, and the two of them sang together. Quinn thought about how nice they sounded together, and wished that she’d had more opportunities to sing with him in the last four months - and that was her last thought before the world lost its color and everything turned black.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She woke in the nurse’s office, with Santana and Brittany flanking her bed. She squinted against the bright fluorescents, wincing with pain. “What happened?”
“Artie said you had some kind of seizure, scared the shit out of him.”
“Oh,” Quinn said quietly. “They said that might happen sometimes - I’ve never had one before today, though.”
“The school called your folks,” Santana looked uncomfortable, “but they, uh, didn’t want to…”
“Dad’s at work and Mom is blitzed,” Quinn shrugged. “No big.” If she’d expected that her prognosis would spur some sort of drastic change in her parents’ behavior, it had become quickly obvious that she’d be disappointed. “Did anybody tell Finn?”
“He’s got a game tonight,” Santana frowned. “I wanted to tell him, but Britt said we should wait and ask you first.”
“Yeah, don’t tell him,” Quinn shook her head. “It’ll just worry him.” Then a thought struck her. “Wait, if there’s a game, what are the two of you doing here?”
“I was the first person Artie called,” Santana shrugged. “Britt and me were in the locker room doing some, uh, pre-game stretching,” she blushed, “and when we got the call I told Coach we were skipping the game.”
“She must have loved that.”
“She wasn’t thrilled, but it was just a game - it’s not like we were missing Nationals or something.”
“She said she wants to talk to you when you’re feeling better,” Brittany added.
“Speaking of, can we get out of here? I hate this room.”
Santana disappeared for a couple of minutes, reappearing with a battered wheelchair that bore the WMHS logo on the back. Quinn looked at it, then back at her, with a curious expression.
“Nurse says we can’t let you walk to the car. So we’ll give you a ride.” Santana took one of her hands, and Brittany the other, and the two of them helped her up and into the chair. Brittany wheeled her out to Santana’s jeep, making little engine noises all the way, and they helped her into the passenger seat before Santana disappeared back into the school to return the chair. In the back seat, Brittany dabbed at her red-rimmed eyes with the sleeve of her Cheerios uniform.
“Are you okay, Britt?”
“I’m sorry. I know I’m not supposed to be sad around you - San told me.”
“Hey, hey,” Quinn turned in her chair, ignoring the wave of dizziness that swept over her, and she grabbed the blonde’s hand. “It’s okay to be sad. Really.”
“But you’re not - I mean, you don’t cry or anything.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t, okay? If you need to cry, don’t ever feel like you have to hold it in. Whether I’m here or not, you’re allowed to be sad.”
“What’s a bucket list? When we were at the mall you said you had a bucket list - is that just a list of buckets?”
“No, B - it’s kind of a wish list. All the things I want to do before I die.”
“Could I see it?”
“Sure, sweetie,” Quinn retrieved the small coil notebook from her purse. Brittany was still reading it quietly when Santana got back. She started the jeep and drove away without a word. When she turned right on Main, Quinn cleared her throat. “You’re going the wrong way, San.”
“Nope. We’re going to my place.”
“Uh - why?”
“Because your parents are knobs. Thus, you’re sleeping over. At least then if you have another seizure or something, at least there’s somebody watching out for you.”
Quinn teared up and stared out the window. “I’ll have to call-“
“Your mom? Covered. My mom picked up a bag of clothes from your place too, so you’ve got something to wear tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” she watched the familiar houses pass by outside, trying to remember the last time they’d had a sleepover.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“So,” Santana flipped through Quinn’s notebook. “Is this all of it?”
“I think so. It seems like a lot when I write it all out - twenty-five things. Is it too much, you think? Not enough?”
“No, I think it’s good stuff. You’re going to kill that song at Sectionals this weekend, too. And if we don’t win that thing, I’m going to cut a bitch.”
“I love when you’re all ghetto, babe.”
“Lima Heights, bitches,” Santana said, deadpan, and all three of them laughed. Her smile vanished as she looked down at the book again. “How serious are you about number fifteen?”
“It’d be awesome,” Quinn smiled, “but I don’t think it’ll happen. There’s not that much longer I’ll be able to fly, I don’t think.”
Santana looked thoughtful. “Right. So, what are we doing tonight? Movies and popcorn, or something more ambitious?”
“I’m voting movies and popcorn. Something I haven’t seen.”
“Got it - what’s your vote, B?”
“Clinton!” Brittany’s small smile was the only hint that she was kidding. “Movies sound good.”
“Three votes for movies, motion carries. Any preference, Q?”
“Nah,” Quinn flapped a hand in the air. “Make me some popcorn, and I’ll love you forever.”
Santana disappeared into the kitchen, and Brittany took a seat next to Quinn on the couch. Loving the warm feel of her skin, Quinn put her head on Brittany’s shoulder - and didn’t wake until the next morning.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Who the hell,” Quinn muttered, digging through the overnight bag Santana had mentioned the night before, “packed this outfit? This was for, like, a club or something, not wearing to school.”
“Oh, please, Q - it’s not any more revealing than your old Cheerios uniform.”
“You mean, except for the fact that it’s backless, and cut low in front, and I don’t have the benefit of wearing spankies underneath it?”
“Well, yeah, except that. Come on, Q - you’re only coming to school for Glee now anyway. What are they gonna do, expel you?”
Quinn thought for a minute and shrugged. “Yeah, all right. I need to get home this afternoon before my dad does, though, or he’s going to flip his shit.”
“Deal. Now get dressed, we’re late.”
Quinn did, taking a second to examine herself in the mirror. The dress - the one she’d picked to fill number 8 on her list - did look nice on her. It was a warm chocolate brown, and stopped somewhere quite north of her knees - she’d have to remember not to bend over, if she could help it, as that would end in her giving everyone more of a show than she really wanted to. She wore a thin sweater overtop in a concession to the Ohio cold, and she let her hair fall loose over her shoulders.
She didn’t miss the stares when she walked into the school - some approving, some not - but decided she didn’t feel much like caring. Finn’s big arms encircling her from behind took her by surprise, and she leaned back into his embrace.
“Hi, Finn.”
“Hey. I’ve missed you the last few days.”
“I know - sorry. Had lots to do, you know?”
“Are you okay? I mean, after last night?”
“Who told you?”
“Artie did - why? Was he not supposed to? Weren’t you going to tell me it happened?” he sounded hurt.
Quinn turned to face him, putting her hands on his broad shoulders. “No, of course not - I just wanted you to hear it from me, that’s all. So you didn’t have to panic, you know?”
“Do you know why it-”
“I don’t want to talk about that, okay? I just - just know that it’s going to happen from time to time, and leave it at that. Please?” she gave him a wide-eyed look that he was powerless against.
“Sure,” he agreed, leaning down to kiss her chastely on the cheek. Then he surprised her into a small shriek by scooping her up in his arms, carrying her down the hall with him.
“How’d your game go?”
“We lost,” he frowned. “Like usual.”
“I’m sorry, Finn - if they’d get you guys a real coach, you might have a better chance.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, and then stopped short, confused. “Wait - where did you want to go? I was wandering to class, and I don’t think-”
“No,” she confirmed. “Can you take me to the library?”
“Of course!” he agreed, and took off at full speed down the hall, deftly turning her out of the way of oncoming traffic. Despite the pain that the bouncing of her head caused, she laughed delightedly. It felt, for just a minute, like nothing had changed. Like they were going to live forever.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The look Rachel gave her when she entered the choir room was indecipherable. They locked eyes for a long minute, and then Rachel turned her gaze to the front of the room. Quinn took the seat next to Santana, who reached out and linked pinkies with her as Will entered.
“Hey, guys. So, less than a week till Sectionals. Are you all feeling ready?” There was a rumble of general agreement around the room, and he nodded happily. “Good! Now, we’ll do some final practices over the next few days, but for today I thought we’d just have some fun.”
Santana spoke up, not bothering to raise her hand. “Real fun, or, like, nineteen fifties fun?”
“I thought we’d play Jeopardy,” he grinned. “I convinced some of the boys to bring in an Xbox and some controllers, I’ll hook it up to the projector. We’ll need to play in pairs, though, it won’t take that many players. So, we’ll go back to the old names from a hat, okay?”
As if the universe had deigned to make her life awkward, Quinn drew Rachel’s name. They shared an uncomfortable look, and then pulled up two chairs on the left side of the room. They sat there as the others drew their partners, and it was Rachel who finally broke the silence.
“I quite like your dress,” she murmured. “It brings out your eyes.”
“Thanks,” Quinn smiled.
“I’m tremendously sorry about yesterday. I can’t help but think that my actions contributed to your seizure last night, and I’m horrified by that thought.”
“Rachel, no - the one has nothing to do with the other, okay? I promise you. I’ll tell you what the doctors told me - that thing in my head is getting bigger. If it cuts off the signals between one part of my brain and another, that might happen. I would like to know why you did it, though. I mean, if you want to explain it.”
“I’d rather not - but I assure you that it won’t happen again.”
“Okay,” Quinn agreed, trying not to let her frustration show. “Do you want the controller? Finn’s tried to show me how to play these things, and I’m hopeless.”
“Well, I’ve no experience, but I’ll try.”
The game was loud and raucous, with accusations of cheating flying back and forth between the groups - loudest when Quinn took an absolutely wild guess at the final question and won the game. She and Rachel smiled at each other and high-fived, but Rachel then disappeared quickly when Will announced that their rehearsal time was up. Quinn sat by herself, frowning, until Finn snuck up on her.
“Where are you going after school? Could I take you for dinner?”
“Sure,” she agreed with a bright smile. “Let me call my mom first.” She did, and by halfway through the conversation, she realized her mother was drunk for the second night in a row. She just hoped the message would get to her father somehow. She called up to Santana and Brittany. “You guys want to come for supper? Breadstix?”
“We’ve got to go and talk to Coach,” Santana shouted back. “You guys go ahead, we’ll meet you there!”
Finn crouched down in front of Quinn’s chair, his back to her.
“Climb aboard!”
“You’re insane,” she laughed. “What, you’re going to piggy-back me all the way to your car?”
“Climb up!” he urged, and with a laugh she did, digging her heels into his side. “Giddyup!” she called, and he trotted out of the room, careful to lean forward as he went through the door.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“So, Mercedes was telling me you have a list - a, uh, what’s it called?”
“Bucket list,” Quinn said quietly, staring down at her plate of pasta.
“Yeah, that. I was wondering - I mean, if it’d be okay - if I could look at it? I’m your boyfriend, after all, and I should be helping you try and,” he looked away for a second, “get it all done, you know?”
“Sure,” she agreed, handing it to him. He read it, his eyes growing wide at one particular item.
“Really?” he asked.
“Really,” she nodded, knowing which one he meant. “I mean, not right this second, or anything, but sometime before - well, you know. Before I really can’t anymore. Would you be okay with that?”
“Yeah,” he swallowed loudly. “Yeah, that would mean a lot to me.”
Any further discussion was curtailed by the arrival of Santana and Brittany. “Hey,” Santana kissed Quinn on the cheek in greeting. “You were supposed to go and see Coach today, remember?”
“Oh, right - well, it can wait. She can’t really kick me off the Cheerios or anything, right?”
“Yeah, I guess. Hey, is that Berry? I didn’t think she ate anywhere that there might be a dead animal.”
“Be nice, San,” Quinn scolded. She stared across the restaurant at Rachel, sitting by herself in a booth. Her thoughts must have showed on her face to some degree, as Santana looked curiously at her.
“What’s up with you?”
“Nothing,” Quinn sighed. “It’s just - out of everyone in Glee, she’s the only one that won’t talk to me, and I can’t get her to tell me why.”
“I’m on it,” Santana climbed out of the booth, ignoring Quinn’s protests. “Be right back.”
3.). Lose my virginity.
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: R for themes.
Spoilers: Up to "Mattress," sort of. It's AU in that Quinn had a pregnancy scare, but wasn't really pregnant.
Summary: An attempt at this prompt.
WARNINGS: Cancer, Character Death.
A/N: Avoiding course work, thus more writing. And yes, I'm fully aware an Xbox game wouldn't handle that many players. It's dramatic license, y'all. :)
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you, are you sitting down?”
Desperation. It was, Quinn found as the minutes ticked by each day, a singularly unsettling feeling. The frustration of having so many things unfinished was hard to deal with, and what was worse was that the very first item on her list remained undone. She’d done her best to settle her accounts with her fellow Glee members, but remained at a frustrating impasse with Rachel. Quinn had convinced her to continue their singing lessons, but she remained unwilling to talk about anything else. And, as her headaches started to get worse, Quinn knew she was running out of time. And she wouldn’t let her list remain unfinished, not if she could help it.
And it was with that in mind that she cornered Rachel in the auditorium the next day, blocking her exit.
“Quinn, would you please-”
“No. Not until we talk.”
“And what would you like to talk about?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Quinn rubbed her temples. “I just want a straight answer - if you hate me, if you’re always going to hate me, then fine, but just tell me! I wanted to make things better, to mend some of what I’ve broken, but if you’re not going to help me out here, I don’t know what else I can do!” she threw her arms up, fuming. “I mean, I’m the one that’s dying here, you know-” anything else she’d planned to say was stopped by the impact of Rachel’s open hand across her cheek. It wasn’t a vicious slap, but it was certainly an attention getter. Quinn clapped a hand to her face, tears stinging her eyes at the sudden pain. Rachel looked shocked at her own actions, but used the chance to push by and escape the auditorium.
Quinn staggered to the stage, sitting down hard on the stairs. The tears that had threatened began to fall, and she couldn’t hold them back. Her sobs were loud in the empty auditorium, but she simply didn’t care. Obviously the damage she’d done with her bullying couldn’t be repaired, and her list would remain undone. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there when the auditorium door opened.
“Oh,” Artie exclaimed. “Sorry; I didn’t know there was anyone here.” He turned to leave.
“No,” Quinn called after him. “It’s okay, I’m just leaving.” She got up, not bothering to wipe the tears from her cheeks, and made her way down the aisle. Artie reached out and grabbed her arm as she walked past him.
“Are you okay?” he grimaced. “Sorry. Stupid question.”
“It’s fine,” Quinn’s lip twitched in a tiny smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.”
Artie looked dubious, but to his credit he didn’t push the issue. Instead he took another tack. “Since you’re here anyway, would you be interested in singing with me? I was hoping to tune up a little before Sectionals.”
Quinn hesitated, taken aback. “Uh, sure.” She walked beside him, down to the stage and up the ramp. She grabbed a stool and sat across from him as he tuned his guitar.
“I’m really sorry about what’s happening to you,” he said, almost too quietly to hear. “I mean, I know we’ve never really been friends, but that’s just because we’ve never really been in the same circles. I’ve gotten to know you through Glee, though, and I think you’re pretty special. You don’t deserve it.”
“Thanks,” Quinn choked out. “You’re a really nice guy, Artie - Tina’s really lucky to have you, and I hope she knows it.”
He smiled shyly. “So, what do you want to sing?”
Quinn bit her lip. “Would Live Like You Were Dying be too cliché?”
Artie couldn’t think of a right answer, and he just shook his head and looked down at his guitar. Quinn grabbed the music from the back and passed it over, and he took it wordlessly. He began to play, and the two of them sang together. Quinn thought about how nice they sounded together, and wished that she’d had more opportunities to sing with him in the last four months - and that was her last thought before the world lost its color and everything turned black.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She woke in the nurse’s office, with Santana and Brittany flanking her bed. She squinted against the bright fluorescents, wincing with pain. “What happened?”
“Artie said you had some kind of seizure, scared the shit out of him.”
“Oh,” Quinn said quietly. “They said that might happen sometimes - I’ve never had one before today, though.”
“The school called your folks,” Santana looked uncomfortable, “but they, uh, didn’t want to…”
“Dad’s at work and Mom is blitzed,” Quinn shrugged. “No big.” If she’d expected that her prognosis would spur some sort of drastic change in her parents’ behavior, it had become quickly obvious that she’d be disappointed. “Did anybody tell Finn?”
“He’s got a game tonight,” Santana frowned. “I wanted to tell him, but Britt said we should wait and ask you first.”
“Yeah, don’t tell him,” Quinn shook her head. “It’ll just worry him.” Then a thought struck her. “Wait, if there’s a game, what are the two of you doing here?”
“I was the first person Artie called,” Santana shrugged. “Britt and me were in the locker room doing some, uh, pre-game stretching,” she blushed, “and when we got the call I told Coach we were skipping the game.”
“She must have loved that.”
“She wasn’t thrilled, but it was just a game - it’s not like we were missing Nationals or something.”
“She said she wants to talk to you when you’re feeling better,” Brittany added.
“Speaking of, can we get out of here? I hate this room.”
Santana disappeared for a couple of minutes, reappearing with a battered wheelchair that bore the WMHS logo on the back. Quinn looked at it, then back at her, with a curious expression.
“Nurse says we can’t let you walk to the car. So we’ll give you a ride.” Santana took one of her hands, and Brittany the other, and the two of them helped her up and into the chair. Brittany wheeled her out to Santana’s jeep, making little engine noises all the way, and they helped her into the passenger seat before Santana disappeared back into the school to return the chair. In the back seat, Brittany dabbed at her red-rimmed eyes with the sleeve of her Cheerios uniform.
“Are you okay, Britt?”
“I’m sorry. I know I’m not supposed to be sad around you - San told me.”
“Hey, hey,” Quinn turned in her chair, ignoring the wave of dizziness that swept over her, and she grabbed the blonde’s hand. “It’s okay to be sad. Really.”
“But you’re not - I mean, you don’t cry or anything.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t, okay? If you need to cry, don’t ever feel like you have to hold it in. Whether I’m here or not, you’re allowed to be sad.”
“What’s a bucket list? When we were at the mall you said you had a bucket list - is that just a list of buckets?”
“No, B - it’s kind of a wish list. All the things I want to do before I die.”
“Could I see it?”
“Sure, sweetie,” Quinn retrieved the small coil notebook from her purse. Brittany was still reading it quietly when Santana got back. She started the jeep and drove away without a word. When she turned right on Main, Quinn cleared her throat. “You’re going the wrong way, San.”
“Nope. We’re going to my place.”
“Uh - why?”
“Because your parents are knobs. Thus, you’re sleeping over. At least then if you have another seizure or something, at least there’s somebody watching out for you.”
Quinn teared up and stared out the window. “I’ll have to call-“
“Your mom? Covered. My mom picked up a bag of clothes from your place too, so you’ve got something to wear tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” she watched the familiar houses pass by outside, trying to remember the last time they’d had a sleepover.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“So,” Santana flipped through Quinn’s notebook. “Is this all of it?”
“I think so. It seems like a lot when I write it all out - twenty-five things. Is it too much, you think? Not enough?”
“No, I think it’s good stuff. You’re going to kill that song at Sectionals this weekend, too. And if we don’t win that thing, I’m going to cut a bitch.”
“I love when you’re all ghetto, babe.”
“Lima Heights, bitches,” Santana said, deadpan, and all three of them laughed. Her smile vanished as she looked down at the book again. “How serious are you about number fifteen?”
“It’d be awesome,” Quinn smiled, “but I don’t think it’ll happen. There’s not that much longer I’ll be able to fly, I don’t think.”
Santana looked thoughtful. “Right. So, what are we doing tonight? Movies and popcorn, or something more ambitious?”
“I’m voting movies and popcorn. Something I haven’t seen.”
“Got it - what’s your vote, B?”
“Clinton!” Brittany’s small smile was the only hint that she was kidding. “Movies sound good.”
“Three votes for movies, motion carries. Any preference, Q?”
“Nah,” Quinn flapped a hand in the air. “Make me some popcorn, and I’ll love you forever.”
Santana disappeared into the kitchen, and Brittany took a seat next to Quinn on the couch. Loving the warm feel of her skin, Quinn put her head on Brittany’s shoulder - and didn’t wake until the next morning.
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“Who the hell,” Quinn muttered, digging through the overnight bag Santana had mentioned the night before, “packed this outfit? This was for, like, a club or something, not wearing to school.”
“Oh, please, Q - it’s not any more revealing than your old Cheerios uniform.”
“You mean, except for the fact that it’s backless, and cut low in front, and I don’t have the benefit of wearing spankies underneath it?”
“Well, yeah, except that. Come on, Q - you’re only coming to school for Glee now anyway. What are they gonna do, expel you?”
Quinn thought for a minute and shrugged. “Yeah, all right. I need to get home this afternoon before my dad does, though, or he’s going to flip his shit.”
“Deal. Now get dressed, we’re late.”
Quinn did, taking a second to examine herself in the mirror. The dress - the one she’d picked to fill number 8 on her list - did look nice on her. It was a warm chocolate brown, and stopped somewhere quite north of her knees - she’d have to remember not to bend over, if she could help it, as that would end in her giving everyone more of a show than she really wanted to. She wore a thin sweater overtop in a concession to the Ohio cold, and she let her hair fall loose over her shoulders.
She didn’t miss the stares when she walked into the school - some approving, some not - but decided she didn’t feel much like caring. Finn’s big arms encircling her from behind took her by surprise, and she leaned back into his embrace.
“Hi, Finn.”
“Hey. I’ve missed you the last few days.”
“I know - sorry. Had lots to do, you know?”
“Are you okay? I mean, after last night?”
“Who told you?”
“Artie did - why? Was he not supposed to? Weren’t you going to tell me it happened?” he sounded hurt.
Quinn turned to face him, putting her hands on his broad shoulders. “No, of course not - I just wanted you to hear it from me, that’s all. So you didn’t have to panic, you know?”
“Do you know why it-”
“I don’t want to talk about that, okay? I just - just know that it’s going to happen from time to time, and leave it at that. Please?” she gave him a wide-eyed look that he was powerless against.
“Sure,” he agreed, leaning down to kiss her chastely on the cheek. Then he surprised her into a small shriek by scooping her up in his arms, carrying her down the hall with him.
“How’d your game go?”
“We lost,” he frowned. “Like usual.”
“I’m sorry, Finn - if they’d get you guys a real coach, you might have a better chance.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, and then stopped short, confused. “Wait - where did you want to go? I was wandering to class, and I don’t think-”
“No,” she confirmed. “Can you take me to the library?”
“Of course!” he agreed, and took off at full speed down the hall, deftly turning her out of the way of oncoming traffic. Despite the pain that the bouncing of her head caused, she laughed delightedly. It felt, for just a minute, like nothing had changed. Like they were going to live forever.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The look Rachel gave her when she entered the choir room was indecipherable. They locked eyes for a long minute, and then Rachel turned her gaze to the front of the room. Quinn took the seat next to Santana, who reached out and linked pinkies with her as Will entered.
“Hey, guys. So, less than a week till Sectionals. Are you all feeling ready?” There was a rumble of general agreement around the room, and he nodded happily. “Good! Now, we’ll do some final practices over the next few days, but for today I thought we’d just have some fun.”
Santana spoke up, not bothering to raise her hand. “Real fun, or, like, nineteen fifties fun?”
“I thought we’d play Jeopardy,” he grinned. “I convinced some of the boys to bring in an Xbox and some controllers, I’ll hook it up to the projector. We’ll need to play in pairs, though, it won’t take that many players. So, we’ll go back to the old names from a hat, okay?”
As if the universe had deigned to make her life awkward, Quinn drew Rachel’s name. They shared an uncomfortable look, and then pulled up two chairs on the left side of the room. They sat there as the others drew their partners, and it was Rachel who finally broke the silence.
“I quite like your dress,” she murmured. “It brings out your eyes.”
“Thanks,” Quinn smiled.
“I’m tremendously sorry about yesterday. I can’t help but think that my actions contributed to your seizure last night, and I’m horrified by that thought.”
“Rachel, no - the one has nothing to do with the other, okay? I promise you. I’ll tell you what the doctors told me - that thing in my head is getting bigger. If it cuts off the signals between one part of my brain and another, that might happen. I would like to know why you did it, though. I mean, if you want to explain it.”
“I’d rather not - but I assure you that it won’t happen again.”
“Okay,” Quinn agreed, trying not to let her frustration show. “Do you want the controller? Finn’s tried to show me how to play these things, and I’m hopeless.”
“Well, I’ve no experience, but I’ll try.”
The game was loud and raucous, with accusations of cheating flying back and forth between the groups - loudest when Quinn took an absolutely wild guess at the final question and won the game. She and Rachel smiled at each other and high-fived, but Rachel then disappeared quickly when Will announced that their rehearsal time was up. Quinn sat by herself, frowning, until Finn snuck up on her.
“Where are you going after school? Could I take you for dinner?”
“Sure,” she agreed with a bright smile. “Let me call my mom first.” She did, and by halfway through the conversation, she realized her mother was drunk for the second night in a row. She just hoped the message would get to her father somehow. She called up to Santana and Brittany. “You guys want to come for supper? Breadstix?”
“We’ve got to go and talk to Coach,” Santana shouted back. “You guys go ahead, we’ll meet you there!”
Finn crouched down in front of Quinn’s chair, his back to her.
“Climb aboard!”
“You’re insane,” she laughed. “What, you’re going to piggy-back me all the way to your car?”
“Climb up!” he urged, and with a laugh she did, digging her heels into his side. “Giddyup!” she called, and he trotted out of the room, careful to lean forward as he went through the door.
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“So, Mercedes was telling me you have a list - a, uh, what’s it called?”
“Bucket list,” Quinn said quietly, staring down at her plate of pasta.
“Yeah, that. I was wondering - I mean, if it’d be okay - if I could look at it? I’m your boyfriend, after all, and I should be helping you try and,” he looked away for a second, “get it all done, you know?”
“Sure,” she agreed, handing it to him. He read it, his eyes growing wide at one particular item.
“Really?” he asked.
“Really,” she nodded, knowing which one he meant. “I mean, not right this second, or anything, but sometime before - well, you know. Before I really can’t anymore. Would you be okay with that?”
“Yeah,” he swallowed loudly. “Yeah, that would mean a lot to me.”
Any further discussion was curtailed by the arrival of Santana and Brittany. “Hey,” Santana kissed Quinn on the cheek in greeting. “You were supposed to go and see Coach today, remember?”
“Oh, right - well, it can wait. She can’t really kick me off the Cheerios or anything, right?”
“Yeah, I guess. Hey, is that Berry? I didn’t think she ate anywhere that there might be a dead animal.”
“Be nice, San,” Quinn scolded. She stared across the restaurant at Rachel, sitting by herself in a booth. Her thoughts must have showed on her face to some degree, as Santana looked curiously at her.
“What’s up with you?”
“Nothing,” Quinn sighed. “It’s just - out of everyone in Glee, she’s the only one that won’t talk to me, and I can’t get her to tell me why.”
“I’m on it,” Santana climbed out of the booth, ignoring Quinn’s protests. “Be right back.”
3.). Lose my virginity.