fic: practicality; glee; judy fabray, brittany/santana, quinn/rachel; pg-13
Title: practicality
Author: yesssirrr
Characters/Pairings: Judy Fabray; Brittany/Santana; minor Quinn/Rachel
Rating: pg-13
Length: 2,130 words
Spoiler: None
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or people. No copyright infringement intended. I JUST WANT TO WRITE ABOUT THEM.
Summary: Judy Fabray watches Brittany and Santana take walks, always holding hands, past her house.
Author's Note: This is written for phenomenal0cat when she prompted me about Judy Fabray and Brittana. I'm not sure if this is what you wanted, but here it is. Also, this is basically a sequel to After All.
Author's Note II: Thanks to gilligankane for being worthless and beta-ing this for me. Preeesh. Anyway, enjoy!
;;
Judy Fabray has taken to checking the mail with a sliver of hope that her daughter will slowly let her back into her life.
But she doesn’t hope too much because she’s a woman of practicality and being realistic, holding out hope from her daughter she abandoned does not exactly sound promising. But she still does it.
After doing some grocery shopping one afternoon, she checks the mailbox and hopes to see any sign. She’s never surprised that there isn’t any, but a little disappoint mars her heart.
When she looks up from the pile of bills and subscription magazines, she’s surprised to find two of Quinn’s friends going on a walk down the neighborhood. She sees their entwined hands, but she tries not to stare because that’s not the proper thing to do. She does glance back a couple of times at the two girls that are now only several yards away from her property.
She opens the trunk to her Porsche and tries to juggle carrying the mail and a couple of the grocery bags at once. One of the bags loosens from her grip and the contents tumble out of her hands, letting the handful of apples and an almost-ripe cantaloupe role down her sloped driveway.
She lets out a small shriek of surprise when she sees that the fruits, probably bruised already, have scattered all over the driveway. She sighs and returns the bags back into the trunk before straightening herself up. She’s about to turn around to retrieve those bruised fruits when a voice calls her out.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Fabray.” She catches sight of a blonde girl smiling brightly at her holding four apples, two on each hand, in front of her. The other girl’s carrying the cantaloupe and two more apples, her face expressionless. “Here you go.”
“Thank you,” she barely manages to say as she accepts the apples back momentarily forgetting the girl’s name. She’s never fully paid attention to anybody in the Cheerios squad except for her daughter, the head cheerleader, or was. Santana (she remembers) holds out the rest of the fruits and waits for her to take them back. She smiles graciously and takes them out of her hands. She turns a little to put the fruits back in the bags and when she looks back at them, the back of their hands are touching. They’re looking at her, waiting.
“How are you girls doing today?” she finds herself asking even though she has nothing to say to them. She just goes with it, though, because it’s about being a proper lady to everyone.
“Fine.” “Good.”
She nods at them as they remain silent. She scrambles for any tidbits of information left over from a life that seems so long ago.
“Aren’t you dating that boy, Buck? How is he?” she asks suddenly, conjuring up names and faces to make small talk. That’s what she’s good at, anyway, keeping up appearances.
Santana, she notices, narrows her eyes a little, but eases her features again when the girl beside her nudges her hand.
Finally, “Puck? I’m sure he’s doing fine. But no, we’re not dating anymore.”
“That’s a shame, he was a rather handsome boy.” The blonde girl laughs and Santana smirks. She alternates looking at the two young girls in front of her, unsure of what to do or say next. She stands tall and straightens her blouse.
So she nods once, twice. She’s run out of questions.
She does her best to smile as genuinely as she can before thanking them again for retrieving her groceries. The blonde girl smiles one more time and waves at her even as Santana tugs at her hand and walks away first.
She doesn’t think they see her watching, but when she finally gets a good grip with the mail and her groceries, she witnesses the blonde girl give a small peck on Santana’s cheek. She can’t tell how the smaller girl reacts, but before she can even make a step, the blonde girl is already running away laughing as Santana chases her down. She hears a name being yelled, Brittany, and remembers - remembers how the same two girls used to spend time with her daughter at her house.
She frowns at the thought that so much time has passed that she doesn’t even remember the name of her daughter’s best friends.
--
As the summer months progressed, she discovers that Brittany and Santana always took a walk in the afternoon. They were always on time, too, rounding the corner at 4:15 every day. At first she figured they were just training some more for the Cheerios because sometimes they were dressed in exercise gear. But most of the time, they wore normal clothes. They really were just taking walks, laughing, and always holding hands.
She doesn’t think that these young girls were making wise decisions, walking in public so openly like that, when she can see them, then so can her neighbors. But she has no place in lecturing them when her own teenage daughter is somewhere across town being a mother to an infant.
She’d always see them walk on the other side of the street. Whenever she walked to or from her car after a meeting or a book club or grocery shopping, Brittany smiles and waves at her and Santana would nod at her direction.
She never waved or smiled back. Once, when she was caught off guard, she almost did. But she knows her place and she knows what thrilling gossip fodder it would be when she got caught anywhere near reckless teenagers with the likes of her own daughter.
It’s sickening, on principle, how the two always hold hands. But all she sees is how cute they look, swinging their arms playfully. She remembers a time when she did the same with Russell all those years ago. She doesn’t correct the small ghost of a smile on her lips when she sees Santana laugh at something Brittany said before taking the blonde girl’s hand in hers. She at least hopes that Santana laughs and smiles more because it suits her features better, instead of the scowl she remembers the young brunette wear so often.
As the girls leave her view, she wonders if her daughter and that Rachel Berry girl hold hands and take walks with Isabelle. If they make sure Isabelle gets a lot of sun, like what she and Russell did when both of their girls were just babies.
For a small, weak moment she has a silly notion of asking the girls, but she knows that’s not practical. She’s sure they would never tell her since they have no reason to trust her, after all.
Maybe one day, she would ask them. She doesn’t know when she’d get the courage, but hopefully it’s soon. She has a granddaughter she has never met somewhere across town and a daughter she misses dearly.
Maybe that one day would be soon.
--
Her groceries fall and roll down the sloped driveway again. She’s a little harried, running errands and rushing through grocery shopping trying to prepare after she gets an unexpected call from Russell about a couple of business partners and their wives coming over for dinner.
She mentally curses at how her afternoon is panning out and the day she’s having. She hopes that the rest of the evening doesn’t turn out into a disaster because she simply can’t afford that.
She sighs and quickly gathers the rest of the food supplies back into the bags before she turns around to retrieve the bag of cabbage that’s rolled to the end of her driveway.
When she does turn around, she finds Brittany and Santana already walking up the driveway with the bag of cabbage in the blonde’s hand.
She stops in her tracks and waits for the two young girls to get to her; she clears her throat.
“Here you go, Mrs. Fabray,” Brittany says, extending her hand out to return the bag. She nods her thanks.
Brittany waves a goodbye and Santana turns around to walk away when she feels her mouth move more than hear the words she’s saying. “H-How’s my daughter? And the child, Isabelle?”
The two girls slow to a stop and turn to face her. Brittany’s face lights up, smiling enthusiastically. “Izzy’s growing up so fast! And she has a full head of really soft black hair.” She nods back and returns a genuine smile after hearing about her granddaughter. There is a twinge of jealousy that runs through her because a part of her resents that it’s not her getting to coo over her granddaughter; she has no choice but to grip the bag tighter. She then looks at Santana to see if the girl is going to say anything since she’s been quiet the entire time.
“Quinn’s doing good,” Santana says guardedly, not offering more than that. She understands why even as she tries not to visibly react to hearing her daughter’s name for the first time in a long time; her smile nonetheless grows wider. They stand there a little awkwardly, before she offers a soft ‘thank you’. As she suspected, Brittany returns a hearty ‘you’re welcome’ while Santana silently smiles back.
The two young girls offer a lame wave goodbye before walking away, joining hands before they even reach the sidewalk. She wants one of them to turn around so they can see a faint smile on her face, almost like an approval, but neither of them does. Just looks both ways before crossing the street.
Her smile falters just a little as she watches them, loosening her grip on the cabbage in her hands, even after they turn left disappearing from her sight.
It’s only when she hears a ring from her phone in her pocket that she remembers why she was in a hurry in the first place. She answers the phone as she walks quickly back to her car to retrieve the rest of the food to get started on dinner.
Dinner and everything else that night goes without a hitch and she not only thanks God, but the two young girls that gave her what she doesn’t deserve.
--
School has started and the girls have stopped taking their walks around the neighborhood and she finds that she rather misses seeing them. She’d never admit anything because she knows that even approving the misfits her daughter calls friends means approving of the misfit disgrace that her daughter has become.
When a particularly unexpected warm day comes for a visit, she’s surprised to spot blonde hair from the corner of her eyes as she looks out of her window. A part of her is somewhat excited to just see even the presence of the two girls she’s grown accustomed to passing her by for a couple of months; but she doesn’t hope too much since it’s not the practical thing to do.
So it takes her completely by surprise when she sees Brittany and Santana, still holding hands, walk in front of her daughter and Rachel Berry pushing a stroller.
She stands from her place and quickly scans the neighborhood for anybody on the ready to gossip about the four girls walking past her house. When she doesn’t see anyone, her attention is back on the group and she stands there, motionless, tries her best to keep up appearances.
She thinks maybe they can’t see her, but Brittany, as she’s done many times before, waves at her with a smile on her face. Santana looks between the two of them before nodding in her direction. The four of them never slow down, never stop walking. That Rachel Berry girl is looking at her then back at her daughter but not saying anything; instead just walks with her head held high, holding her daughter’s hand.
She glances once or twice at the stroller, but she maintains her gaze at her daughter who hasn’t done anything but stare straight ahead. She expects nothing less, but the sting of disappointment is lingering heavily in the air.
When she sees that they’re about to turn left and out of her view, Quinn looks back at her house, at her, and hesitantly raises her arm up, offering a lame wave. She smiles as tears prick her eyes and she offers her own lame wave in return.
She drops her arm down and leans it on the window, sure the sweat in her palm is going to leave a mark. She finally releases the breath that’s been caught in her throat only after they turned the corner and disappeared.
She doesn’t care what the neighbors say as a tear runs past the grateful smile she has on her face.