Fic: Father Figures (Quinn, Will) R
Title: Father Figures
Author: glasheen25
Fandom: Glee
Characters/Pairings: Quinn, Will
Word Count: 1993
Rating: pg-13
Spoilers: For all episodes through to Sectionals.
Summary: Future-Fic. After ten, long years spent away, Quinn is forced to return to Lima.
Perched regally at the bar, Quinn took a delicate sip from her mojito cocktail before clamping a hand over her mouth to smother a yawn that was threatening to escape. Work had been hectic; the luminous yellow paint still encrusted under her fingernails a testament to the two hours she had spent finger painting with the thirty-two kindergarteners under her charge. Delayed by the mammoth cleaning task, Quinn had literally raced to the airport to make the flight, clearing security with mere minutes to spare. She was dressed in pale blue, the outfit painstakingly chosen; Quinn disappointed in herself that she still so desperately sought her mother’s approval even after all these years.
Quinn had always swore to herself that she would never go back to Lima, her bridges burnt long before she had boarded a flight to Boston, but her mother had rang her the previous night, inconsolable and desperate, pleading with Quinn to come back home. Russell Fabray was dying; the doctor’s only giving him weeks to live after being diagnosed with a rare and inoperable form of esophageal cancer.
When her mother had told her the news over the phone, Quinn had felt numb; her feelings for her father impossibly complicated and conflicted. On one hand Russell Fabray had been the one to teach her to ride a bike, spending hours patiently helping her to balance on her beloved pink Barbie bicycle. He had taught her to read, had accompanied her to her first day at school and had attended a million football games to see her in all her glory as head Cheerio. But Quinn could never forgive her father’s cruel denial of her, when she had come to him pregnant and desperate, needing for him to understand but Russell Fabray hadn’t, kicking his daughter unceremoniously out of the house instead, with nothing but a few items of clothing she had managed to toss into a bag.
Glancing curiously around the bar, Quinn felt a pang of wistfulness, remembering the bar in it’s former glory as a diner, the red and yellow plastic interior the scene of the crime of so many dates with Finn. Clad in her indecently short Cheerios uniform, the red vinyl seats had squeaked noisily whenever she had moved and had stuck uncomfortably to her thigh whenever she had stood up, displaying her pale pink panties much to Finn’s delight.
Now the cheap plastic booths and the garish sports memorabilia stuck on to the wall had been ripped out and in it’s place were silvery-blue papered walls and soft lighting and a seriously more upmarket clientele.
“Quinn Fabray, is that you?”
Tucking a lock of golden hair behind her ear, Quinn was startled out of her reverie by the sound of a familiar voice.
“Mr. Schuester,” she smiled in happy surprise, flashing a row of pearly-white teeth at her former teacher.
“You know, I’m not your teacher, anymore, Quinn,” Mr. Schuester countered, looking slightly bemused as he nervously took a seat at the bar beside Quinn. “You can call me Will,”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Schuester, I mean Will,” she corrected herself with an embarrassed tinkle of laughter, her hair falling in a golden veil around her shoulders. Quinn knew it was ridiculous but though eight years had passed since she had graduated, the clearly defined teacher student boundaries that had been laid down in school were still difficult to cross.
“It’s good to see you, Quinn. How are things with you?” Will began a little awkwardly as he signaled to the white-haired bartender to bring him a beer.
Mr. Schuester always had the most amazing smile, Quinn considered dreamily, before realizing with shock that he was staring expectantly at her, waiting for an answer.
Fuck, what the hell is he after asking me? she inwardly swore before fumbling uncertainly for the most likely answer.
“Things are going great,” she tried, relieved when he didn’t appear the least bit confused by her answer. “I’m teaching in an elementary school in Boston and I’m really enjoying it. Having said that, the kids do tend to drive me slightly crazy at times,” Quinn finished with a wry smile, taking a generous sip from her wine as if to illustrate her point.
“Kids tend to do that,” Will Schuester agreed with a rueful shake of his head and gazing at him, Quinn was again reminded of how wonderful and amazing her former teacher was. In the tumultuous weeks following her undignified fall from grace, William Schuester had filled the role of a father figure of sorts to Quinn, giving the teenager the much needed support and guidance that her own parents had failed to provide.
“Are you still running the Glee club?” Quinn was eager to know, the club her one refuge during the long months of her pregnancy.
“Sure am,” William replied back heartily, a smile spreading across his face at the mention of his beloved Glee club. “Regionals are only a few weeks away, so the kids are really feeling the pressure.”
“God, I used to love Glee club so much,” Quinn revealed with a wistful sigh, her long eyelashes dark against her skin as she brought her glass of wine to her lips. “The night we won Regionals was one of the best nights of my life.” Although the memory was slightly bittersweet as Quinn had given birth to her daughter a mere two days later, the little girl reluctantly handed into the arms of her adoptive parents as Quinn had laid slumped on her hospital bed crying.
The bar was quietly bustling, women dressed in flowing jewel-colored gowns sashaying across the walnut floor evidently attending a formal dance in the adjoining hotel. Men dressed in tuxedos lined the bar drinking amber hued whiskey and a boisterous after work crowd were slowly filtering into the bar, their raucous cries filling the air.
Deliberating momentarily over the lengthy wine list, Quinn ordered a glass of wine from the bar, feeling slightly uncomfortable as she sensed Will’s gaze on her, staring at her curiously.
“What are you doing back here anyway?” he asked, taking a long gulp from his beer before plonking the bottle noisily on the table. “Visiting the family?”
The frothy beer had succeeded in relaxing Will and he seemed a little more at ease as he settled into the conversation.
“Yeah, something like that,” Quinn replied, the lump forming in her throat threatening to choke her. “My dad’s actually sick and well, my mom needs the support, so I’m here...” she trailed away, swallowing heavily as she focused her attention on the glass of wine clutched in her hand.
“I’m so sorry, Quinn,” Will murmured as he awkwardly extended an arm and placed it tentatively on her shoulder. “Is it serious?”
“Cancer,” Quinn stated bluntly, avoiding meeting her former teacher’s eyes as she stared dully into space. “He’s not expected to make Christmas. Not that it really matters,” she shrugged, wiping a few tears stubbornly from her cheek. “I haven’t spoken to my dad in years.”
Quietness descended upon the pair after that, each one lost in their own thoughts before Quinn finally spoke up, breaking the silence. “I’m sorry for bringing down the mood. Here we were having a perfectly lovely catch-up and I’ve ruined it with my depressing family drama,”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Quinn,” Will spoke back softly, placing his hand gently on his arm, the tenderness of the action surprising Quinn by sending shivers racing up her spine. “Your dad is sick and you have every right to be upset. You should never apologize for how you feel,”
“I guess, Ms. Sylvester is still as insane as ever,” Quinn sounded with a faint smile, in a weak attempt to lighten the mood.
“That she is,” Will reported back dryly, settling back into his chair and taking a long drink from his beer. “At the moment, she is petitioning to ban the color pink from the school. Apparently Sue finds the color offensive and gender discriminative and any students found wearing it have been warned that they will be sent indefinitely to the coal-hole,"
“You’re not serious,” Quinn retorted, erupting with laughter and clamping a hand over his mouth to avoid ungraciously spewing beer all over the bar.
“You’ll have another glass of wine, Quinn,” and the statement was less a request and more a demand.
“I shouldn’t,” Quinn deliberated for a minute before remembering Will's honest smile and the feel of his hand warm on her skin. Besides, the thought of returning to the lonely hotel room was utterly depressing.
“Okay, you’ve twisted my arm,” she finally relented with a bright smile, accepting the fresh glass of wine from a handsome dark-haired bartender.
Three glasses of sweet white wine later and Quinn was slurring, her eyes heavy and bloodshot and Will wasn’t holding up much better, alcohol being a rarity in his normally hectic schedule.
“How is she?” Quinn finally brought herself to ask, twisting a lock of golden hair nervously around her finger.
Isabella would be ten now and scrapbooks of photographs sent monthly to Quinn’s apartment showed her to be as blonde and as pretty as Quinn, the girl a possible future Cheerio and a definite heartbreaker, when it would come to the boys.
“She’s amazing, Quinn,” Will replies back honestly, running a hand through his slightly rumpled head of curls. “She’s so smart. She’s is top of her grade at school and you should see her playing soccer. Isabella kills the guys on the other team with these brilliantly sneaky little side swipes she does. You know, they’d hate her if she wasn’t so sweet,”
Tears glistened in Quinn’s eyes at that. Back in her tiny apartment in Boston, she doesn’t allow herself dwell too long on thoughts of the tiny daughter she gave up for adoption at birth. Away from the familiar faces and places, it’s easier somehow to forget. Quinn tells herself that the main reason she stays away from Lima is because of the painfully strained relationship between herself and her father. But inwardly, Quinn knows that if she were to be truly honest with herself, the truth is that being in Lima reminds her too much of her daughter and of the night she had cradled her close to her breast in the hospital and of how easily she could negotiate the familiar sequence of roads back to Emma and Will’s white picket fenced house and knock on the door in the hopes of setting her eyes on her golden-haired daughter again.
Swiping a hand hastily across her damp cheeks, Quinn pushes the high barstool noisily away from the bar and gracefully steps down onto the scuffed wooden floor.
It was time to go.
“I guess, I should go back to the hotel. You know, early start and everything,” she offered in explanation, dropping some bills onto the counter to cover her tab.
“I should be getting home, anyway,” Will agrees uncertainly, cringing when he catches sight of the time on his watch.
It’s inky black when Quinn pushes her way out onto the darkened street, the quietly blinking streetlights guiding her way to the budget motel a couple of doors away.
Quinn manages to maintain her composure long enough to shut herself into her cheaply furnished room and then she’s inconsolable, her chest heaving with sobs as she flings herself on the creaking bed.
She should never have come back here.
Quinn is a good person and she knows she will perform her daughterly duty, visiting her father and pretending that everything is fine, like her family are so good at doing.
But things are not fine. Quinn misses her daughter and her father and she yearns to make things right with both of them. But she can’t. Too much has been said and done and too much time has passed. Pulling the thin cotton sheet under her chin, Quinn closes her eyes wearily, waiting for sleep mercifully to claim her.
Author: glasheen25
Fandom: Glee
Characters/Pairings: Quinn, Will
Word Count: 1993
Rating: pg-13
Spoilers: For all episodes through to Sectionals.
Summary: Future-Fic. After ten, long years spent away, Quinn is forced to return to Lima.
Perched regally at the bar, Quinn took a delicate sip from her mojito cocktail before clamping a hand over her mouth to smother a yawn that was threatening to escape. Work had been hectic; the luminous yellow paint still encrusted under her fingernails a testament to the two hours she had spent finger painting with the thirty-two kindergarteners under her charge. Delayed by the mammoth cleaning task, Quinn had literally raced to the airport to make the flight, clearing security with mere minutes to spare. She was dressed in pale blue, the outfit painstakingly chosen; Quinn disappointed in herself that she still so desperately sought her mother’s approval even after all these years.
Quinn had always swore to herself that she would never go back to Lima, her bridges burnt long before she had boarded a flight to Boston, but her mother had rang her the previous night, inconsolable and desperate, pleading with Quinn to come back home. Russell Fabray was dying; the doctor’s only giving him weeks to live after being diagnosed with a rare and inoperable form of esophageal cancer.
When her mother had told her the news over the phone, Quinn had felt numb; her feelings for her father impossibly complicated and conflicted. On one hand Russell Fabray had been the one to teach her to ride a bike, spending hours patiently helping her to balance on her beloved pink Barbie bicycle. He had taught her to read, had accompanied her to her first day at school and had attended a million football games to see her in all her glory as head Cheerio. But Quinn could never forgive her father’s cruel denial of her, when she had come to him pregnant and desperate, needing for him to understand but Russell Fabray hadn’t, kicking his daughter unceremoniously out of the house instead, with nothing but a few items of clothing she had managed to toss into a bag.
Glancing curiously around the bar, Quinn felt a pang of wistfulness, remembering the bar in it’s former glory as a diner, the red and yellow plastic interior the scene of the crime of so many dates with Finn. Clad in her indecently short Cheerios uniform, the red vinyl seats had squeaked noisily whenever she had moved and had stuck uncomfortably to her thigh whenever she had stood up, displaying her pale pink panties much to Finn’s delight.
Now the cheap plastic booths and the garish sports memorabilia stuck on to the wall had been ripped out and in it’s place were silvery-blue papered walls and soft lighting and a seriously more upmarket clientele.
“Quinn Fabray, is that you?”
Tucking a lock of golden hair behind her ear, Quinn was startled out of her reverie by the sound of a familiar voice.
“Mr. Schuester,” she smiled in happy surprise, flashing a row of pearly-white teeth at her former teacher.
“You know, I’m not your teacher, anymore, Quinn,” Mr. Schuester countered, looking slightly bemused as he nervously took a seat at the bar beside Quinn. “You can call me Will,”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Schuester, I mean Will,” she corrected herself with an embarrassed tinkle of laughter, her hair falling in a golden veil around her shoulders. Quinn knew it was ridiculous but though eight years had passed since she had graduated, the clearly defined teacher student boundaries that had been laid down in school were still difficult to cross.
“It’s good to see you, Quinn. How are things with you?” Will began a little awkwardly as he signaled to the white-haired bartender to bring him a beer.
Mr. Schuester always had the most amazing smile, Quinn considered dreamily, before realizing with shock that he was staring expectantly at her, waiting for an answer.
Fuck, what the hell is he after asking me? she inwardly swore before fumbling uncertainly for the most likely answer.
“Things are going great,” she tried, relieved when he didn’t appear the least bit confused by her answer. “I’m teaching in an elementary school in Boston and I’m really enjoying it. Having said that, the kids do tend to drive me slightly crazy at times,” Quinn finished with a wry smile, taking a generous sip from her wine as if to illustrate her point.
“Kids tend to do that,” Will Schuester agreed with a rueful shake of his head and gazing at him, Quinn was again reminded of how wonderful and amazing her former teacher was. In the tumultuous weeks following her undignified fall from grace, William Schuester had filled the role of a father figure of sorts to Quinn, giving the teenager the much needed support and guidance that her own parents had failed to provide.
“Are you still running the Glee club?” Quinn was eager to know, the club her one refuge during the long months of her pregnancy.
“Sure am,” William replied back heartily, a smile spreading across his face at the mention of his beloved Glee club. “Regionals are only a few weeks away, so the kids are really feeling the pressure.”
“God, I used to love Glee club so much,” Quinn revealed with a wistful sigh, her long eyelashes dark against her skin as she brought her glass of wine to her lips. “The night we won Regionals was one of the best nights of my life.” Although the memory was slightly bittersweet as Quinn had given birth to her daughter a mere two days later, the little girl reluctantly handed into the arms of her adoptive parents as Quinn had laid slumped on her hospital bed crying.
The bar was quietly bustling, women dressed in flowing jewel-colored gowns sashaying across the walnut floor evidently attending a formal dance in the adjoining hotel. Men dressed in tuxedos lined the bar drinking amber hued whiskey and a boisterous after work crowd were slowly filtering into the bar, their raucous cries filling the air.
Deliberating momentarily over the lengthy wine list, Quinn ordered a glass of wine from the bar, feeling slightly uncomfortable as she sensed Will’s gaze on her, staring at her curiously.
“What are you doing back here anyway?” he asked, taking a long gulp from his beer before plonking the bottle noisily on the table. “Visiting the family?”
The frothy beer had succeeded in relaxing Will and he seemed a little more at ease as he settled into the conversation.
“Yeah, something like that,” Quinn replied, the lump forming in her throat threatening to choke her. “My dad’s actually sick and well, my mom needs the support, so I’m here...” she trailed away, swallowing heavily as she focused her attention on the glass of wine clutched in her hand.
“I’m so sorry, Quinn,” Will murmured as he awkwardly extended an arm and placed it tentatively on her shoulder. “Is it serious?”
“Cancer,” Quinn stated bluntly, avoiding meeting her former teacher’s eyes as she stared dully into space. “He’s not expected to make Christmas. Not that it really matters,” she shrugged, wiping a few tears stubbornly from her cheek. “I haven’t spoken to my dad in years.”
Quietness descended upon the pair after that, each one lost in their own thoughts before Quinn finally spoke up, breaking the silence. “I’m sorry for bringing down the mood. Here we were having a perfectly lovely catch-up and I’ve ruined it with my depressing family drama,”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Quinn,” Will spoke back softly, placing his hand gently on his arm, the tenderness of the action surprising Quinn by sending shivers racing up her spine. “Your dad is sick and you have every right to be upset. You should never apologize for how you feel,”
“I guess, Ms. Sylvester is still as insane as ever,” Quinn sounded with a faint smile, in a weak attempt to lighten the mood.
“That she is,” Will reported back dryly, settling back into his chair and taking a long drink from his beer. “At the moment, she is petitioning to ban the color pink from the school. Apparently Sue finds the color offensive and gender discriminative and any students found wearing it have been warned that they will be sent indefinitely to the coal-hole,"
“You’re not serious,” Quinn retorted, erupting with laughter and clamping a hand over his mouth to avoid ungraciously spewing beer all over the bar.
“You’ll have another glass of wine, Quinn,” and the statement was less a request and more a demand.
“I shouldn’t,” Quinn deliberated for a minute before remembering Will's honest smile and the feel of his hand warm on her skin. Besides, the thought of returning to the lonely hotel room was utterly depressing.
“Okay, you’ve twisted my arm,” she finally relented with a bright smile, accepting the fresh glass of wine from a handsome dark-haired bartender.
Three glasses of sweet white wine later and Quinn was slurring, her eyes heavy and bloodshot and Will wasn’t holding up much better, alcohol being a rarity in his normally hectic schedule.
“How is she?” Quinn finally brought herself to ask, twisting a lock of golden hair nervously around her finger.
Isabella would be ten now and scrapbooks of photographs sent monthly to Quinn’s apartment showed her to be as blonde and as pretty as Quinn, the girl a possible future Cheerio and a definite heartbreaker, when it would come to the boys.
“She’s amazing, Quinn,” Will replies back honestly, running a hand through his slightly rumpled head of curls. “She’s so smart. She’s is top of her grade at school and you should see her playing soccer. Isabella kills the guys on the other team with these brilliantly sneaky little side swipes she does. You know, they’d hate her if she wasn’t so sweet,”
Tears glistened in Quinn’s eyes at that. Back in her tiny apartment in Boston, she doesn’t allow herself dwell too long on thoughts of the tiny daughter she gave up for adoption at birth. Away from the familiar faces and places, it’s easier somehow to forget. Quinn tells herself that the main reason she stays away from Lima is because of the painfully strained relationship between herself and her father. But inwardly, Quinn knows that if she were to be truly honest with herself, the truth is that being in Lima reminds her too much of her daughter and of the night she had cradled her close to her breast in the hospital and of how easily she could negotiate the familiar sequence of roads back to Emma and Will’s white picket fenced house and knock on the door in the hopes of setting her eyes on her golden-haired daughter again.
Swiping a hand hastily across her damp cheeks, Quinn pushes the high barstool noisily away from the bar and gracefully steps down onto the scuffed wooden floor.
It was time to go.
“I guess, I should go back to the hotel. You know, early start and everything,” she offered in explanation, dropping some bills onto the counter to cover her tab.
“I should be getting home, anyway,” Will agrees uncertainly, cringing when he catches sight of the time on his watch.
It’s inky black when Quinn pushes her way out onto the darkened street, the quietly blinking streetlights guiding her way to the budget motel a couple of doors away.
Quinn manages to maintain her composure long enough to shut herself into her cheaply furnished room and then she’s inconsolable, her chest heaving with sobs as she flings herself on the creaking bed.
She should never have come back here.
Quinn is a good person and she knows she will perform her daughterly duty, visiting her father and pretending that everything is fine, like her family are so good at doing.
But things are not fine. Quinn misses her daughter and her father and she yearns to make things right with both of them. But she can’t. Too much has been said and done and too much time has passed. Pulling the thin cotton sheet under her chin, Quinn closes her eyes wearily, waiting for sleep mercifully to claim her.