Fic: Lucky (1/?)
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: I have no idea if I'm going to like how this turns out or not. The subject matter is really close to home for me, but I really wanted to take a shot at the prompt, because it's a good prompt, and because it's an opportunity to work through some personal issues. I'm going to keep it strictly on my own journal for now, until I see whether it turns out to be worth posting elsewhere.
“There are storms we cannot weather.”
Rage. It’s the easiest, the simplest reaction. To yell, to scream, to break things. There’s a purity in it, some connection with the most primal part of the human brain. Every other emotion disappears in the crimson veil, and for a brief moment everything is okay. There’s no pain, there’s no fear, there’s just pure blinding anger. But drawing on it is like sipping from a cup - sooner or later, the cup is empty. And then you’re left sitting in the eye of the destruction you’ve created, tears on your cheeks and pounding in your skull.
Quinn Fabray lay, sobbing, surrounded by the broken mementos of a broken childhood, a broken home. All she could think, all her overwhelmed mind could replay, were the words of the sour-faced doctor who’d sat opposite her and her mother. Her father, in typical Russell Fabray fashion, hadn’t deigned to accompany them. Inoperable, terminal, he’d said, and to her ears it sounded like the pounding of a gavel as he’d pronounced her sentence - death. Maybe if we’d caught it sooner. Six months at the outside. And with his words, she’d seen her dreams evaporate, disappearing like a puff of smoke on a windy day. Everything she’d ever planned, everything she wanted to become - none of it meant anything anymore. Not the reputation she’d so carefully built, not her dreams of escaping this dead-end Ohio town on the back of an athletic scholarship as part of Sue Sylvester’s Cheerios. It had all been for nothing.
And the worst of it, she thought, was that she didn’t even like the person she was. She’d worked so hard to get where she was, and something like that didn’t happen without other people being hurt. So she’d hurt them. In every cold, calculated way that her fundamentalist father had ever demonstrated to her, and a few new ones she’d learned along the way. And now that was the person everyone would remember her as. There would be no one left behind who knew the person she’d wanted to be.
She sat up suddenly, scrabbling in the destruction for a piece of paper and a pen. Maybe it wasn’t too late. If she had six months, then she’d live them as the person she wanted to be instead of the person she’d been. And her list of things to do started in one place - Glee.
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1. Make things right with Glee Club.
“Quinn?” Finn’s voice startled her, and she slammed her locker harder than she’d meant to.
“Yes?”
“Where’ve you been? You didn’t answer any of my calls - and why aren’t you wearing your uniform?”
“Walk me to Glee, okay? I have something I need to tell everybody.” He did, and she was grateful that he didn’t ask any further questions. When they reached the choir room, her dress and sweater combination, as well as her loose hair, drew stares from those who had barely ever seen her out of her uniform. She exchanged quiet words with Will Schuester, who gestured for her to stand at the front. She did, her hands worrying at the hem of her dress.
“I’m a terrible person,” she began, and her fellow club members went silent. “I’ve been nothing but awful to most of you, and you’ve been here for me. When I thought I was pregnant, it was you that stood behind me, who sang to me and made me feel like I belonged. I owe all of you so much, and I can’t ever repay it.” She cleared her throat, fighting back tears. “Before long, it’s going to be impossible to hide this, so I wanted you all to hear it from me. I’m dying,” there was an audible gasp. “I’ve got inoperable cancer. It’s, uh,” she pointed at the back of her head, “back here somewhere. They tell me I’ve got about six months. Now, for the last two days, I’ve sat at home and felt sorry for myself. But I realised something yesterday. I can be different now. I want to be your friend, instead of just the Cheerio who comes to Glee. I quit the Cheerios this morning,” she finished awkwardly, suddenly realising she hadn’t planned this speech as well as she’d thought. “So, uh, yeah. That’s all.” She looked around the silent room - and were there tears in Rachel Berry’s eyes? How could that be?
Mercedes got to her first, the hug nearly bowling her over. The rest of them joined in, with two exceptions - Finn stayed rooted to his chair, and Rachel fled the room. When the crowd broke up around her, Will approached her cautiously. “Quinn, is there anything we can do?”
“No,” she smiled through her tears. “Thanks, though, Mister Schue. You’re a really good teacher. I’d like - I probably won’t go to all my classes anymore, but if I can keep coming to Glee, that’d be nice. Would that be okay?”
“Of course, Quinn, as long as you want,” he hugged her, defying the ‘no contact’ rules of the school board, and she could see the tears in his eyes. “As long as you want.”
“What the hell?” Finn exploded, and she turned out of Will’s embrace to stare at him. “I’m your boyfriend, Quinn, and you couldn’t have at least told me before you dropped this on everyone else? Don’t I rate a little better than that? Was this just to hurt my feelings?”
“Yes, you ass,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m dying just to hurt your feelings.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have-” Finn stopped as Puck stepped threateningly toward him.
“This’d be a good time for you to stop talking, dude. Seriously.”
“Hey, back off, man, that’s my-”
“Stop it!” Mercedes’ shout made them flinch. “If you two want to whip ‘em out and measure, go somewhere else - Quinn deserves better than that.” She turned back and took Quinn’s shaking hand in her own. “Come on - we’re going out for supper.”
“It’s only three thirty.”
“Girl, are you turning down a dinner at Breadstix, on me?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Quinn smiled. “Lead the way.”
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“You know,” Mercedes mused, “these breadsticks aren’t even very good. I don’t know why we keep coming back here.”
“Because there’s nowhere else to eat in this town?” Quinn laughed.
“True enough. Now, tell me - do you have a list?”
“I started it yesterday. Mending my fences with all of you was the first thing on it. Actually, since you’re here anyway-“
“Don’t even say it, girl.”
“No, I need to. I’m sorry for all the mean things I ever said to you, for every time I slushied you, or laughed when someone else did. You didn’t deserve it.”
“You were playing a role. I know that’s not the kind of person you are inside. I saw the way you held your stomach for those two weeks that you thought you were pregnant, and I saw the way you protected Finn from the truth about whose baby it would have been.”
“You knew?”
“Puck told me. I didn’t share it with anyone - figured that was your business.”
“Thanks,” Quinn managed, dabbing at her eyes. There was a sudden pain in her head, and she gently massaged her temples.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just my head. That, uh, that’s how they found it. I was getting really bad headaches, like every day.”
“Want me to drive you home?”
“Sorry - it’s just hard to eat when it’s like this.”
“Don’t be silly.” Mercedes settled the bill and helped her out to the car, lending her a pair of sunglasses to dull the pain a little. When they stopped in front of the Fabray house, Quinn handed them back.
“Thank you for tonight,” she smiled. “This was nice.”
“My pleasure,” Mercedes patted her hand. She watched as Quinn walked an unsteady path to the door, leaving only once the door had opened to admit her. Russell took her hand and angrily pulled her inside.
“Is that the sort of people you’re getting rides from? Do you think we spent all that money on a car for you so you can get driven around by coloreds?”
Quinn wanted to object, to shout down her father’s racism, but the pain in her head reached a brutal plateau. “Please don’t yell, daddy, my head hurts,” she begged.
“Then go to your room. But before you lay down, you’d better clean that mess up. I don’t care what you’re dealing with, I still expect you to act like a Fabray. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, daddy,” Quinn staggered to her room, shutting the blinds and turning off all the lights before, eyes half-shut, she picked up the worst of the damage she’d caused the day before.
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The next day dawned, miraculously headache-free. Quinn dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and a light sweater, leaving her hair loose and billowing around her face. She made it to McKinley, only to be confronted at the door by Santana and Brittany.
“Santana’s really sad,” Brittany spoke for the two of them. “I mean, I am too, but she wanted me to talk to you because she’ll cry if she talks,” Santana sniffled, turning away. “We - both of us - hope you’re okay. If you want anything, you can call us.”
“Thanks, Britt. You too, S.” They were interrupted by Karofsky, who brandished a grape slushie.
“Oh, Fabray, I’ve been waiting for this day since middle school. You’re not on the Cheerios anymore, so you’re totally fair game now.” He drew his arm back, and Santana leaped across Brittany to punch him in the face. He staggered back, blood dripping from his nose and murder in his eyes.
“Not ever!” she screamed, Brittany holding her back. “Not even once! First one that does it, I’ll ruin your fucking life! I’ll have you slushied so many times, you’ll have to move out of the fucking district! Now go, you asshole! Pass the word!”
He retreated, and Santana turned to bury her face in Brittany’s shoulder. She sobbed quietly, and Quinn used the opportunity to embrace her from behind. The three of them stood there like that until the bell rang for first period.
Not wanting to push her luck, Quinn spent most of the day lying in the nurse’s office, only emerging for history - the one class she really felt like attending. She did go to Glee after classes were over, though, and took a seat beside Finn. Rachel, who had the seat in front of them, got up and moved to the other side of the room.
“You didn’t answer the phone last night,” Finn said accusingly.
“Sorry,” Quinn took his hand. “My head - I could barely open my eyes. I’m really sorry. And I’m sorry about yesterday, too - I just didn’t know if I could say it twice, you know?”
“Aw, that’s okay,” he kissed the top of her head. “I shouldn’t have acted like that. Mercedes was right - you deserved better. A good boyfriend should treat you like a queen, especially now.”
“Thanks, Finn.”
“Are you - I mean, are you scared? Are you okay? Sorry, that’s a stupid question.”
“I’m absolutely terrified,” she admitted shakily.
“Come here,” he put his arm around her, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. Will walked in moments later, clapping his hands briskly.
“Afternoon, guys, sorry I’m a bit late. Now, let’s talk about Sectionals.”
“I’m sorry,” Rachel interrupted, “but we’re just going to go on about our business? Given the recent news about Quinn, shouldn’t we be,” she waved an arm, “doing something else?”
“This is what Quinn asked for, Rachel,” he said, a scolding note in his voice. “To continue to be a part of New Directions for as long as possible, and this is what we’re doing this week. Now, Sectionals. I know we’ve talked a lot about what songs we’re going to do, but I think we need to shake things up, wipe the slate clean. I’d like everyone to come up with something they’d like to sing, and we’ll vote as a group. We’ll be looking for one solo and two group numbers, so keep that in mind. That’s your assignment for this week,” he turned and wrote ‘Sectionals’ in green marker on the board. “Does anyone have something prepared for last week’s ballad assignment?”
Finn put an arm up. “Mister Schue, I’d like to sing something - it’s a ballad, but I haven’t really done any choreography or anything. I just,” he looked down at Quinn. “I’d really like to say it.”
“That’s fine, Finn, come on up,” Will gestured. Finn eased his arm out from under Quinn and stepped down to the front of the room. When he turned, he met her eyes.
“Uh, this is for Quinn,” he mumbled, obviously fighting tears. When the melody of I’ll Stand By You started, he was far from the only one. Quinn sobbed, and Brittany moved closer to pull her into a tight hug. Halfway through, Rachel left the room again. The others joined in, harmonising, and Finn made it through the song - barely. He was a crying mess by the time he made it to Quinn, and he managed to semi-gracefully fall into her arms. She held him tight as Will cleared his throat repeatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“That was really good, Finn,” he said hoarsely. “Anyone else?”
No one spoke up. “Okay, guys, try and have something ready tomorrow, okay? And remember - Sectionals.”
In her head, Quinn made an addition to her list.
2.) Sing a solo at Sectionals.
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: I have no idea if I'm going to like how this turns out or not. The subject matter is really close to home for me, but I really wanted to take a shot at the prompt, because it's a good prompt, and because it's an opportunity to work through some personal issues. I'm going to keep it strictly on my own journal for now, until I see whether it turns out to be worth posting elsewhere.
“There are storms we cannot weather.”
Rage. It’s the easiest, the simplest reaction. To yell, to scream, to break things. There’s a purity in it, some connection with the most primal part of the human brain. Every other emotion disappears in the crimson veil, and for a brief moment everything is okay. There’s no pain, there’s no fear, there’s just pure blinding anger. But drawing on it is like sipping from a cup - sooner or later, the cup is empty. And then you’re left sitting in the eye of the destruction you’ve created, tears on your cheeks and pounding in your skull.
Quinn Fabray lay, sobbing, surrounded by the broken mementos of a broken childhood, a broken home. All she could think, all her overwhelmed mind could replay, were the words of the sour-faced doctor who’d sat opposite her and her mother. Her father, in typical Russell Fabray fashion, hadn’t deigned to accompany them. Inoperable, terminal, he’d said, and to her ears it sounded like the pounding of a gavel as he’d pronounced her sentence - death. Maybe if we’d caught it sooner. Six months at the outside. And with his words, she’d seen her dreams evaporate, disappearing like a puff of smoke on a windy day. Everything she’d ever planned, everything she wanted to become - none of it meant anything anymore. Not the reputation she’d so carefully built, not her dreams of escaping this dead-end Ohio town on the back of an athletic scholarship as part of Sue Sylvester’s Cheerios. It had all been for nothing.
And the worst of it, she thought, was that she didn’t even like the person she was. She’d worked so hard to get where she was, and something like that didn’t happen without other people being hurt. So she’d hurt them. In every cold, calculated way that her fundamentalist father had ever demonstrated to her, and a few new ones she’d learned along the way. And now that was the person everyone would remember her as. There would be no one left behind who knew the person she’d wanted to be.
She sat up suddenly, scrabbling in the destruction for a piece of paper and a pen. Maybe it wasn’t too late. If she had six months, then she’d live them as the person she wanted to be instead of the person she’d been. And her list of things to do started in one place - Glee.
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1. Make things right with Glee Club.
“Quinn?” Finn’s voice startled her, and she slammed her locker harder than she’d meant to.
“Yes?”
“Where’ve you been? You didn’t answer any of my calls - and why aren’t you wearing your uniform?”
“Walk me to Glee, okay? I have something I need to tell everybody.” He did, and she was grateful that he didn’t ask any further questions. When they reached the choir room, her dress and sweater combination, as well as her loose hair, drew stares from those who had barely ever seen her out of her uniform. She exchanged quiet words with Will Schuester, who gestured for her to stand at the front. She did, her hands worrying at the hem of her dress.
“I’m a terrible person,” she began, and her fellow club members went silent. “I’ve been nothing but awful to most of you, and you’ve been here for me. When I thought I was pregnant, it was you that stood behind me, who sang to me and made me feel like I belonged. I owe all of you so much, and I can’t ever repay it.” She cleared her throat, fighting back tears. “Before long, it’s going to be impossible to hide this, so I wanted you all to hear it from me. I’m dying,” there was an audible gasp. “I’ve got inoperable cancer. It’s, uh,” she pointed at the back of her head, “back here somewhere. They tell me I’ve got about six months. Now, for the last two days, I’ve sat at home and felt sorry for myself. But I realised something yesterday. I can be different now. I want to be your friend, instead of just the Cheerio who comes to Glee. I quit the Cheerios this morning,” she finished awkwardly, suddenly realising she hadn’t planned this speech as well as she’d thought. “So, uh, yeah. That’s all.” She looked around the silent room - and were there tears in Rachel Berry’s eyes? How could that be?
Mercedes got to her first, the hug nearly bowling her over. The rest of them joined in, with two exceptions - Finn stayed rooted to his chair, and Rachel fled the room. When the crowd broke up around her, Will approached her cautiously. “Quinn, is there anything we can do?”
“No,” she smiled through her tears. “Thanks, though, Mister Schue. You’re a really good teacher. I’d like - I probably won’t go to all my classes anymore, but if I can keep coming to Glee, that’d be nice. Would that be okay?”
“Of course, Quinn, as long as you want,” he hugged her, defying the ‘no contact’ rules of the school board, and she could see the tears in his eyes. “As long as you want.”
“What the hell?” Finn exploded, and she turned out of Will’s embrace to stare at him. “I’m your boyfriend, Quinn, and you couldn’t have at least told me before you dropped this on everyone else? Don’t I rate a little better than that? Was this just to hurt my feelings?”
“Yes, you ass,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m dying just to hurt your feelings.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have-” Finn stopped as Puck stepped threateningly toward him.
“This’d be a good time for you to stop talking, dude. Seriously.”
“Hey, back off, man, that’s my-”
“Stop it!” Mercedes’ shout made them flinch. “If you two want to whip ‘em out and measure, go somewhere else - Quinn deserves better than that.” She turned back and took Quinn’s shaking hand in her own. “Come on - we’re going out for supper.”
“It’s only three thirty.”
“Girl, are you turning down a dinner at Breadstix, on me?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Quinn smiled. “Lead the way.”
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“You know,” Mercedes mused, “these breadsticks aren’t even very good. I don’t know why we keep coming back here.”
“Because there’s nowhere else to eat in this town?” Quinn laughed.
“True enough. Now, tell me - do you have a list?”
“I started it yesterday. Mending my fences with all of you was the first thing on it. Actually, since you’re here anyway-“
“Don’t even say it, girl.”
“No, I need to. I’m sorry for all the mean things I ever said to you, for every time I slushied you, or laughed when someone else did. You didn’t deserve it.”
“You were playing a role. I know that’s not the kind of person you are inside. I saw the way you held your stomach for those two weeks that you thought you were pregnant, and I saw the way you protected Finn from the truth about whose baby it would have been.”
“You knew?”
“Puck told me. I didn’t share it with anyone - figured that was your business.”
“Thanks,” Quinn managed, dabbing at her eyes. There was a sudden pain in her head, and she gently massaged her temples.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just my head. That, uh, that’s how they found it. I was getting really bad headaches, like every day.”
“Want me to drive you home?”
“Sorry - it’s just hard to eat when it’s like this.”
“Don’t be silly.” Mercedes settled the bill and helped her out to the car, lending her a pair of sunglasses to dull the pain a little. When they stopped in front of the Fabray house, Quinn handed them back.
“Thank you for tonight,” she smiled. “This was nice.”
“My pleasure,” Mercedes patted her hand. She watched as Quinn walked an unsteady path to the door, leaving only once the door had opened to admit her. Russell took her hand and angrily pulled her inside.
“Is that the sort of people you’re getting rides from? Do you think we spent all that money on a car for you so you can get driven around by coloreds?”
Quinn wanted to object, to shout down her father’s racism, but the pain in her head reached a brutal plateau. “Please don’t yell, daddy, my head hurts,” she begged.
“Then go to your room. But before you lay down, you’d better clean that mess up. I don’t care what you’re dealing with, I still expect you to act like a Fabray. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, daddy,” Quinn staggered to her room, shutting the blinds and turning off all the lights before, eyes half-shut, she picked up the worst of the damage she’d caused the day before.
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The next day dawned, miraculously headache-free. Quinn dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and a light sweater, leaving her hair loose and billowing around her face. She made it to McKinley, only to be confronted at the door by Santana and Brittany.
“Santana’s really sad,” Brittany spoke for the two of them. “I mean, I am too, but she wanted me to talk to you because she’ll cry if she talks,” Santana sniffled, turning away. “We - both of us - hope you’re okay. If you want anything, you can call us.”
“Thanks, Britt. You too, S.” They were interrupted by Karofsky, who brandished a grape slushie.
“Oh, Fabray, I’ve been waiting for this day since middle school. You’re not on the Cheerios anymore, so you’re totally fair game now.” He drew his arm back, and Santana leaped across Brittany to punch him in the face. He staggered back, blood dripping from his nose and murder in his eyes.
“Not ever!” she screamed, Brittany holding her back. “Not even once! First one that does it, I’ll ruin your fucking life! I’ll have you slushied so many times, you’ll have to move out of the fucking district! Now go, you asshole! Pass the word!”
He retreated, and Santana turned to bury her face in Brittany’s shoulder. She sobbed quietly, and Quinn used the opportunity to embrace her from behind. The three of them stood there like that until the bell rang for first period.
Not wanting to push her luck, Quinn spent most of the day lying in the nurse’s office, only emerging for history - the one class she really felt like attending. She did go to Glee after classes were over, though, and took a seat beside Finn. Rachel, who had the seat in front of them, got up and moved to the other side of the room.
“You didn’t answer the phone last night,” Finn said accusingly.
“Sorry,” Quinn took his hand. “My head - I could barely open my eyes. I’m really sorry. And I’m sorry about yesterday, too - I just didn’t know if I could say it twice, you know?”
“Aw, that’s okay,” he kissed the top of her head. “I shouldn’t have acted like that. Mercedes was right - you deserved better. A good boyfriend should treat you like a queen, especially now.”
“Thanks, Finn.”
“Are you - I mean, are you scared? Are you okay? Sorry, that’s a stupid question.”
“I’m absolutely terrified,” she admitted shakily.
“Come here,” he put his arm around her, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. Will walked in moments later, clapping his hands briskly.
“Afternoon, guys, sorry I’m a bit late. Now, let’s talk about Sectionals.”
“I’m sorry,” Rachel interrupted, “but we’re just going to go on about our business? Given the recent news about Quinn, shouldn’t we be,” she waved an arm, “doing something else?”
“This is what Quinn asked for, Rachel,” he said, a scolding note in his voice. “To continue to be a part of New Directions for as long as possible, and this is what we’re doing this week. Now, Sectionals. I know we’ve talked a lot about what songs we’re going to do, but I think we need to shake things up, wipe the slate clean. I’d like everyone to come up with something they’d like to sing, and we’ll vote as a group. We’ll be looking for one solo and two group numbers, so keep that in mind. That’s your assignment for this week,” he turned and wrote ‘Sectionals’ in green marker on the board. “Does anyone have something prepared for last week’s ballad assignment?”
Finn put an arm up. “Mister Schue, I’d like to sing something - it’s a ballad, but I haven’t really done any choreography or anything. I just,” he looked down at Quinn. “I’d really like to say it.”
“That’s fine, Finn, come on up,” Will gestured. Finn eased his arm out from under Quinn and stepped down to the front of the room. When he turned, he met her eyes.
“Uh, this is for Quinn,” he mumbled, obviously fighting tears. When the melody of I’ll Stand By You started, he was far from the only one. Quinn sobbed, and Brittany moved closer to pull her into a tight hug. Halfway through, Rachel left the room again. The others joined in, harmonising, and Finn made it through the song - barely. He was a crying mess by the time he made it to Quinn, and he managed to semi-gracefully fall into her arms. She held him tight as Will cleared his throat repeatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“That was really good, Finn,” he said hoarsely. “Anyone else?”
No one spoke up. “Okay, guys, try and have something ready tomorrow, okay? And remember - Sectionals.”
In her head, Quinn made an addition to her list.
2.) Sing a solo at Sectionals.