fic: Kingdom Up For Sale (8/9)
Title: Kingdom Up For Sale (8/9)
Author: professor_spork
Beta: beingfacetious
Character/Pairing: Quinn-centric gen, featuring Quinn/Sam friendship, canon!Fuinn, and vague hintings at potential Faberry if you squint, with guest appearances by the rest of the gleeks.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: She owes him, and he needs her. And if it turns out that maybe she needs him, too… well. Sam and Quinn, from Comeback to Rumours.
( 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 )
She’s only just dozed off when she’s woken up by her phone.
Message from: Puck
Come outside.
She doesn’t know why she bothers. All she keeps thinking is that she knows him, though, and this is either going to be a complete waste of her time or really, really important, and she’s not confident enough to ignore him.
It’s unseasonably chilly, when she steps out of the house and walks across her driveway to meet him.
“What do you want, Puck?” she asks, shoving her hands deep in her pockets. He’s casually leaning against his truck like he’s on her block all the time and any of this is normal.
“Gotta talk to you.”
“Now?”
“Fuck’s sake, Fabray, it’s barely past midnight; what kind of teenager are you?”
“If you’ve got a point, make it,” she says, and he sighs heavily.
“Lauren brought it to my attention that we were kind of shitty to you with the whole smear campaign thing, and now that you guys are bros or whatever, she promised me under-the-shirt action if I made it up to you.”
“… This is about prom.”
He rolls his eyes, like, shit, woman, you deaf or something? “S’what I said.”
“You called me out here, in the middle of the night, to talk about whether or not my feelings are hurt by you running for prom king.”
“Jesus, Q, I don’t-”
“Get out.”
“What?”
“Get away from me,” she grits out, torn between running towards him so she can push him into his car or possibly punch him in the face, and running as far away as she possibly can. “Get off my lawn, get out of my life.”
“Quinn, what the hell?”
“You haven’t talked to me in months, and now you’re interested in making amends about prom so you can get into Lauren Zizes’ pants? God, for about half a second, I thought maybe you were capable of acting like an actual human being. But no, I was wrong.”
“I’m not a human be-fuck, I’m not the one going all Carrie every day like prom is the most important fucking thing we’ll ever do in our lives.”
“Fuck you.”
It’s not the first time she’s said the words out loud, or even the first time she’s said them to him, but they both know this is different.
“Fucking psycho,” he mutters as he gets into his car, and the second his taillights disappear around the bend she bursts into tears.
There’s a text waiting for her on her phone when she finally makes it back to her room.
Message from: Puck
Fuck YOU, Q. Your the one who stopped talking to ME, and your the one who never wanted to talk about HER. I care about shit. I just got fucking tired of waiting for you to. Have a nice life.
Grammar issues aside, it’s probably the most accurate thing he’s ever said to her.
-
“Are you free after school? We should spend the day together.”
“… Um, what?” Finn asks, closing his locker and turning to get a good look at her. “Why?”
“Is it that strange that I want to spend time with my boyfriend?” Quinn asks, pasting on a smile.
“Well, yeah, kinda.” At her glare, he quickly amends, “Not that I don’t want to! That would be cool. But I was kind of hoping to finally beat Dionysus Park today, so…”
She raises an eyebrow. “The Greek god of wine?”
“What? No. It’s Bioshock 2. I’m like this close, so… not that I don’t want to hang out, or whatever. Really.”
She leans in closer to him, pressing their bodies together. “Well, what if I came over and, y’know… watched?”
He frowns. “I dunno. It’s kind of violent and stuff, Quinn. I’m not sure if you’d be into it.”
“You can explain it to me. It’ll be nice. Like… like watching you get a touchdown for me in football.”
A slow smile starts to spread across his face. “You really want to? You won’t be bored or anything?”
She kisses him softly. “How could I bored? I’ll be with you.”
And okay, maybe that was… a severe exaggeration. But she needs this relationship to work. She can make sacrifices.
-
They don’t often see each other on weekends. She knows family’s important to Sam, and that his parents hate the fact that they hardly ever get to see their kids-but she feels completely off-balance in every possible way, and she’s pretty sure that if she doesn’t get herself back on an even keel, she’ll end up doing something phenomenally stupid and destructive. (It’s something of a habit.)
Which is how she finds herself knocking on his motel room door on Saturday afternoon.
“Quinn!” His mother says, opening the door. “Hello, sweetheart, we weren’t expecting you. Would you like to come in?”
His parents being nice to her will never not make her uncomfortable; she digs her nails into her palms and forces herself to keep eye contact. “No thanks. I was actually hoping to talk to Sam outside for a minute? I promise, this won’t take long.”
“Can I?” Sam asks, coming to the door from within, and his mother gives a small smile.
“Of course. Will you be going far?”
He turns to Quinn, who shrugs. “Nah. I think we’ll just go for a walk. Back in a bit.” He closes the door behind him and jerks his chin, and she wordlessly follows as he leads them away from the parking lot and towards the nearby picnic table. He clambers onto it, feet on the bench, and she slides in next to him.
Eventually, she has to break the silence.
“I need you to explain BioShock to me.”
“Um, what?” he asks, half-laughing in a bemused sort of way. Clearly, that wasn’t what he was expecting.
She bites her lip, but manages to keep her voice even as she explains, “It’s all Finn ever thinks about. And I was only just starting to figure out the difference between Call of Duty and Black Ops, and now he’s obsessed with something else, and… I’m tired of not being able to talk to him. You know about this stuff, right?”
“Not BioShock, no.” She looks at him all and you call yourself a red-blooded American teenage boy, and he feels himself start to blush. “I don’t… it’s complicated.”
“The game?”
“No, I-it’s just a first person shooter; whatever. The reason I don’t know more about it is…” he trails off, before finally mumbling, “it’s kind of embarrassing, okay?”
“Sam, you’ve lost me completely. I promise I don’t know enough about video games to know what’s cool or not, so just… please?”
He sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t play BioShock because it’s designed for Microsoft systems, and I made myself a deal a long time ago that I’d only use Nintendo platforms.”
“Because…?”
“Because I don’t see the point in owning something I can’t play Zelda on.” She opens her mouth, but before she can say anything he continues, “I mean, it’s not like I own anything anymore anyway, that kind of stuff was the first to go when we lost the house, but… Okay, what?” he asks, because he can’t interpret her expression.
“Why is Zelda embarrassing?”
“It’s not. Or at least, it shouldn’t be, but-it’s just better. The stories are always really involved, and Link’s just this stoic protagonist, and because he never speaks he can be whoever you want, and-I don’t want to just blow shit up, y’know? I want to save the princess.” God, he is bright red right now. He clears his throat to save face. “Why are you looking at me like that? I know it sounds really lame, okay, I just-”
“No, stop. First of all, I’m just impressed that you used the words stoic protagonist in a sentence.” At his look, she quickly adds, “Because I didn’t think video games were that deep; not because you’re… God, Sam, you’re dyslexic, not illiterate. Give me some credit. And just… that’s not lame. That’s… wonderful. And makes you sound way more like a man than anything Finn’s ever said on the subject, for the record.”
“You’re still looking at me funny.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Quinn-”
“Did you call me Zelda once?” she blurts, and then snaps her jaw shut with a click, looking alarmed.
He didn’t think his face could get any redder, but it totally does. “You mean, back when we were…?” She just nods her head, and he winces. “Um. Maybe. Yeah. But don’t get pissed off, okay, because it’s a compliment. You remind me of her. And not just because of your looks.”
“Sam-”
“She doesn’t just sit around waiting to be rescued. She does stuff. And she’s a really good leader, and always puts everyone else’s needs ahead of her own, even if that means she doesn’t get to be happy. And… why are you laughing?”
“It’s not you, it’s-” she pauses, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes as her shoulders shake, “-We were so messed up.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When you called me that… aren’t you even a little bit curious about why I didn’t pull away?”
“Um, I figured after the Beiste thing you were just too scared to ask.”
“I wish it were that sane. Sam, I liked it.”
“Why?”
“Because I was thinking about Fitzgerald.”
“… Uh, maybe this is, like, a stupid question, but-Fitzgerald who?”
“No, I mean, F. Scott. He’s the one who wrote the line I showed you. Mouth like a remembered kiss?”
“Oh, yeah. But how does that even…?”
“His wife was named Zelda. Their relationship was… interesting, to say the least.”
“Interesting like fun?”
“Interesting like he was a raging alcoholic and she ended up in a sanitarium.” He makes a face, and she clarifies, “A mental institution.”
“So you’re laughing because…”
“I was fantasizing about making out with a completely dysfunctional famous author, and apparently you were imagining a video game character. It’s just… funny.”
And it’s kind of not, really, but they laugh anyway.
It’s better than the alternative.
(She still doesn’t have the first clue about BioShock, but… honestly, she’s finding it harder and harder to care.)
-
She fucking hates her dining room.
She hates the fact that they eat in the dining room at all, when it’s just the two of them and they could just sit in the kitchen like a normal family. She hates the fake fruit centerpiece; she hates the mahogany detail work; she hates that her mother still takes the place she always has, leaving the chair at the head of the table perpetually empty-as if her father takes up room even though he’s not here.
She hates that there is no as if, not really; he absolutely does.
But her mother had pulled the “I feel like we haven’t seen each other in ages, Quinnie” card, and it’s not like she has an argument against it, because it’s nothing but the truth. She can’t even remember the last time she was home for dinner.
So here she is.
“How are things with Finn?”
“They’re… fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Mom-”
“I’m just so glad that he forgave you and the two of you are working it out. You’re going to look so gorgeous together in your prom photos.”
She breathes through her nose. “I know.”
“Still no luck finding a dress?”
“No. We tried shopping together, but…”
Judy gives a knowing smile. “Boys will be boys.”
“Yeah.”
“Have you looked at limo companies yet? You know they jack up the prices the closer it gets, sweetheart.”
“No, I-I think Finn’s just going to drive me, this year.”
“He’s such a gentleman. But you know, that reminds me. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” Quinn says nothing-all she can do is brace herself. “I think we might have to sell your car.”
Her fork drops with a clatter. “You can’t. I need it.”
“Oh, honey. I can give you rides to school, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Judy says, concentrating on her salad. “It’s just that… well, with your father gone, money’s been so much tighter, and…”
Quinn pushes her plate away, suddenly feeling sick.
She’s not stupid. She knows that her mother’s job doesn’t pay very well, and that even with alimony and child support, they’re struggling. She knows that she has to keep her grades up to get good financial aid, and even then, she might have to go back to Sue Sylvester on her hands and knees and beg for a spot on the Cheerios next year. The schools she really wants-well, they’re expensive, and if settling for a cheerleading scholarship to some state school is what it takes to get out of here, that’s what she’ll do. (The schools she really wants? Stanford. Maybe Columbia. It’s not that she thinks she can get away forever; she knows there’s no escaping the life ahead of her. But God, it would be nice to spend four years away from Lima, Ohio, no matter which coast she runs to.)
Even considering all of that, though, the fact that her mom is talking about money being tight when her best-when one of her friends is living in a motel is just… repulsive.
She takes a breath, and says evenly, “If things are still bad a year from now, we can sell my car before college. But right now, I need it.”
Her tone doesn’t leave room for discussion.
(And what it says about their relationship that her tone is the one that decides when conversations end… she doesn’t even know what to do with that.)
-
Let’s just start by getting one thing straight: she didn’t forget Sam’s birthday.
She’s thought about it. She thought about it weeks ago. But when she’d brought it up, he told her on no uncertain terms to just drop it. (“It’s not a big deal, Quinn. It’s just a day. And, like… it’s not like I could afford to keep anything you’d give me. So just leave it alone.”)
But that was last month. Things are different now-they’re different, now-and she can’t leave it alone.
Unfortunately, she’s also out of time.
She’s not too surprised to find that no one’s waiting for her in the parking lot, when she drives up to the motel. After a moment, Stevie comes out to meet her, but instead of hopping into the backseat, he knocks on the passenger window until she rolls it down.
“Mom and Dad want you to come inside,” he says simply, before turning around and walking back up to the porch.
What choice does she have?
There’s a Happy Birthday banner strung up just inside the front door, and the only word she can think of for it is precious. Sam waves at her when she walks in, blocked behind a human barricade-the whole family is huddled around the coffee table, eating cake.
“It’s not very healthy, but it’s an Evans tradition,” Sam’s mom says apologetically.
Mr. Evans smiles and shoves a paper plate in her hands. “Have a slice, Quinn.”
She looks warily down at the frosting, and to be honest, the idea of ingesting that much sugar this early in the morning makes her stomach turn. But she recognizes the offering for what it is and takes a bite.
And really? It’s not that bad.
-
The thing is… just because she knows better than to get Sam a present, doesn’t mean anyone else does. To be honest, she’d kind of worried that someone would do something extravagant or expensive, and she’d have to watch Sam pretend to be excited about it.
She shouldn’t have bothered.
No decorated locker; no cake in homeroom. Nothing from any of their so-called friends. It makes her furious-mostly because there’s basically nothing she can do about it.
“Hey. Isn’t it, like, Sam’s birthday or something?” she asks Mercedes nonchalantly before History.
“Shit, is it? Girl, you know me and mine abandoned Facebook for Twitter long ago. That sucks. Should we sing to him or something?”
Quinn gives her a look. “You want to involve Mr. Schuester in this?”
“Good point,” Mercedes laughs, but sobers a little at Quinn’s expression. “Look. Sam’s a great guy, and popular. I’m sure someone has something planned.”
It’s barely even afternoon, and Quinn’s already sure no one does.
-
She tracks down her last hope just before fifth period.
“Kurt, I need a favor. Can you babysit Stacey and Stevie after school today?”
He gives her an acid look, and she winces. Sam may’ve forgiven her for what she hears Kurt’s calling Barbragate, but clearly, Kurt hasn’t. “I think I’ve done enough of your babysitting for a lifetime. And besides, Blaine and I have a date at the Lima Bean; I can’t.”
“Look, this isn’t-I know you’ve had to clean up a lot of my messes lately, and I know I haven’t thanked you properly, but-this isn’t about me, okay. It’s Sam’s birthday.”
“What, today?”
“Yeah.”
A flash of guilt crosses over Kurt’s face. “What do you have planned?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’ve got to do something, and I can’t if we’re stuck with his brother and sister all day. I am so sorry, Kurt. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. And-Blaine can come, if you want. He likes kids, right?”
Kurt snorts. “Blaine is like a puppy in human form; if he doesn’t love kids, I’ll eat my hat. And it’s Gucci, so you know I mean business.”
“So you’ll do it?”
“Quinn, it’s his birthday.”
She reaches out and tangles her fingers with his, squeezing gently. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Who does?” he shrugs with affected pretension, but the smile he gives her is very real.
-
She cuts out of school during lunch. She has no idea where she’s headed-only that it’s entirely on her to fix this, and she can’t drive back until she has a plan.
Eventually, she ends up at Blockbuster.
“How many films based on comic books do you guys carry?” she demands of the guy at the front counter. She’s wasted too much time already to go wandering the shelves. He smacks his gum in response, and runs a hand through greasy hair.
“Um, we don’t really have a genre in the system for that. I can search by Action & Adventure…?”
“Just give me an estimate.”
The guy silently counts on his fingers, making a list in his head, and shrugs. “Like at least twenty.”
She bites the inside of her cheek, thinking hard. Her original idea had just been to rent whatever they had and go from there, but-seriously, why would there ever need to be more than, like, five superhero movies, ever?
“Can you put them on hold?”
“What, like… all of them?”
“No, just-oh, forget it. I’ll be back later.”
-
She’s at the grocery store picking up snacks when she gets the text.
Message from: Finn Hudson
Couldn’t find u @ lunch + u weren’t in spanish. U ok?
She winces against the stab of shame that suddenly pierces her, and takes a breath before she responds.
Didn’t feel well, had to go to the nurse. Went straight home.
Message from: Finn Hudson
Aw man, that sux.
Lying to him is nothing new, but lying about this… she can’t handle the squirming discomfort in her chest. It feels like she’s been caught doing something wrong, and the fact that she probably is really doesn’t help.
Any chance you picked up my homework for me, because I wasn’t there?
Turning it around so he’s the guilty one isn’t exactly her most mature move, but… she’s been doing it ever since they met.
Message from: Finn Hudson
:( totally didnt think of that, sry.
Message from: Finn Hudson
No way 2 give it 2 u N E way. Tutoring w/ mike then inventory duty @ the shop
It’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Message from: Finn Hudson
Think u’ll feel better?
Definitely, she taps out. Hesitating for a moment, she then adds, Love you.
Message from: Finn Hudson
U 2.
She’s a terrible person.
-
She has just enough time to drop everything off at home and get some things set up before she has to go back to where she started and pick Sam up from school. He seems fine, for the most part, but she can tell by the slope of his shoulders as he walks to her car that there’s a big difference between saying “it’s just a day” and having everyone treat it like it is.
“Hey,” he mumbles, throwing himself into the passenger seat.
“Hey yourself. Why so blue?” she asks, hoping for a Na’vi joke, but he just shrugs and stares at the passing trees. She decides to let her route do the talking for her.
It doesn’t long.
“Um… Quinn?”
“Yeah?”
“Where’re we going? Did you figure out a shortcut or something?”
“No; Kurt’s gonna watch Stacey and Stevie today.”
“Why?”
She gives him a Look. “Gee, maybe because it’s your birthday?”
His eyes flicker towards the window, and she just barely hears him mumble, “No one else cared, so.”
Really?
She pulls up to a red light and takes her hand off the wheel to squeeze his knee, looking him in the eye when his head whips around at the contact.
“I do,” she tells him seriously.
He clears his throat. “So, like. Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“Is it… bigger than a breadbox?”
She snorts. “Could you be more lame?”
“Laugh it up, fuzzball,” he whines, exaggerated swagger in his voice.
“Was that a reference?”
“Han Solo!” he yelps, offended. “You honestly don’t recognize Han Solo?”
“Sam, I wasn’t really raised in a Star Trek-”
“Star Wars!”
“-kind of family.”
“Don’t give me that; you’re totally trolling me. I know you know the difference. Stacey made you watch Star Wars when you didn’t know who Princess Leia was.”
“I knew who she was, I just didn’t-”
“Whatever, Fabray,” he chuckles. “I’ll convert you yet.”
“You keep telling yourself that, Evans.”
After a long moment, he shakes his head. “Okay. I’ll bite. If it wasn’t Star Trek or Star Wars… what kind of family were you raised in?”
“Republican.”
If it were anyone else, it would have been a killer punchline. Seeing as it’s Quinn…
He laughs his head off anyway. It’s his birthday, so she lets him.
-
“Blockbuster?” he asks as they walk through the front door. “I mean, I’m not complaining, but-this is your big secret birthday surprise?”
“I tried to come in here earlier and, um, rent every comic book movie ever made, but apparently there are way more than I thought there were, and I didn’t want to get something you don’t like.”
He smiles at her like he knows a secret she doesn’t. “How many can I get?”
“Three. Not counting the Lord of the Rings,” she amends immediately at his excited look, “because those are all like fourteen hours long.”
“Oh, come on, the extended editions are only-”
“The answer’s no, Sam. Pick something else.”
“You’re no fun, Quinn,” he scoffs, before wandering off to look at the selection.
It’s something she’s heard many, many times before. Sam’s the first person to ever make it sound like maybe it’s not entirely true.
“Have you seen this?” he asks, poking his head around a shelf and holding out a box set of the Back to the Future trilogy.
“I don’t think so? If I have, I was way too young to remember it.”
“Yeah, fixing that,” he says.
-
“Oh, ew!” Quinn exclaims, laughing at the screen. “She has a crush on her own son?”
“She doesn’t know who he is!”
“You know, between this and Leia making out with Luke-” Sam gives her a smugly triumphant look, which she ignores, “-I’m starting to get really concerned. Is incest, like, a thing for geeks?”
“What? No!” he sputters defensively, then frowns. “Well, I mean. I guess there’s Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch, but that’s only canon in alternate universes, so-”
“Hold on; phone.”
Message from: Kurt Hummel
Blaine wants to play Sam’s guitar, but is too chicken to ask. That okay?
“Blaine wants to know if he can play your guitar,” she relates, and smirks in amusement when Sam twists uncomfortably on her couch. “Oh, come on, seriously? Blaine is like the most responsible person on the planet. It’s not like he’ll break it or something.”
“I tune my guitar a half-step down; he’s gonna mess with it.”
“If you don’t want him to, I can just say n-”
“No, it’s-fine. I’m not gonna be a douche. Just tell him to be, y’know. Gentle.”
He says sure, just be careful with it.
Message from: Kurt Hummel
Blaine would also like to congratulate Sam for coming of age in the wizarding world. I have no idea what this means, but he insists Sam will understand.
“Now what?” Sam asks.
“Um. Blaine also says… congratulations on coming of age in the wizarding world?”
Sam bursts out laughing, and she waits patiently for him to finish.
“It’s a Harry Potter thing,” he explains, when he’s gotten a hold of himself. “Turning seventeen is a big deal, if you’re a wizard. Don’t roll your eyes, okay, those books are awesome, and the fact that you haven’t read them is insane. I don’t even know how you’re a person.”
“My older sister brought the first one home and my dad almost burned it. Probably would have, if it hadn’t been a library book. He thought it would make us devil-worshippers.”
“That’s all such bullshit. I actually started reading them because my old youth pastor in Tennessee said-”
“Tell me later, okay, I have to text Kurt back. Watch the movie.”
Apparently it’s some kind of Harry Potter thing.
Message from: Kurt Hummel
How did we come to associate with such complete nerds?
You don’t even get to talk. I’m the one stuck watching a Back to the Future marathon.
Message from: Kurt Hummel
Our social lives are a cautionary tale for why you shouldn’t join glee clubs.
It’s a curse.
“Stop talking to Kurt; you’re missing it.”
“What’s to miss? Boy meets mad scientist, boy travels in time machine, hijinks ensue. Also, incest.”
Sam throws popcorn at her.
-
“So… good birthday?” she asks, pulling into a free space at the motel.
“It-yeah. Get out of the car for a minute?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to hug you,” he says, and it looks like he’s fighting the urge to roll his eyes.
“Um… okay,” she mumbles, unbuckling her seatbelt.
By the time she gets out, he’s standing at her door, and he wraps his arms around her without a second thought.
“Today was awesome, Quinn,” he says, mouth right against her ear. “But, like. This isn’t just about today. And I know we don’t talk about it, or whatever, but… I don’t know how I’d do any of this without you. Thank you.”
“Sam…” she whimpers, voice breaking, and suddenly she’s clinging to him as tightly as she can.
It’s just that… she keeps waiting for it. That little pull in the back of her head, telling her to kiss him. She’s been waiting for it for a month and a half, and it keeps not happening, and she’s so incredibly grateful that she doesn’t know what to do with herself.
She’s never been able to trust herself like this before. Not with a guy. Not with anyone.
“You wanna come inside for a minute? Say hi to everyone?” he asks, pulling away.
“No, I-that’s okay. I think I’m just gonna head home.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. I have to study for Pre-Calc, anyway.”
He goes inside, but she idles with the engine off until the sound of Blaine, Kurt, Stacey and Stevie singing Happy Birthday in three-part harmony drifts out through the open window.
She smiles the whole drive home.
( 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 )
Author: professor_spork
Beta: beingfacetious
Character/Pairing: Quinn-centric gen, featuring Quinn/Sam friendship, canon!Fuinn, and vague hintings at potential Faberry if you squint, with guest appearances by the rest of the gleeks.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: She owes him, and he needs her. And if it turns out that maybe she needs him, too… well. Sam and Quinn, from Comeback to Rumours.
( 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 )
She’s only just dozed off when she’s woken up by her phone.
Message from: Puck
Come outside.
She doesn’t know why she bothers. All she keeps thinking is that she knows him, though, and this is either going to be a complete waste of her time or really, really important, and she’s not confident enough to ignore him.
It’s unseasonably chilly, when she steps out of the house and walks across her driveway to meet him.
“What do you want, Puck?” she asks, shoving her hands deep in her pockets. He’s casually leaning against his truck like he’s on her block all the time and any of this is normal.
“Gotta talk to you.”
“Now?”
“Fuck’s sake, Fabray, it’s barely past midnight; what kind of teenager are you?”
“If you’ve got a point, make it,” she says, and he sighs heavily.
“Lauren brought it to my attention that we were kind of shitty to you with the whole smear campaign thing, and now that you guys are bros or whatever, she promised me under-the-shirt action if I made it up to you.”
“… This is about prom.”
He rolls his eyes, like, shit, woman, you deaf or something? “S’what I said.”
“You called me out here, in the middle of the night, to talk about whether or not my feelings are hurt by you running for prom king.”
“Jesus, Q, I don’t-”
“Get out.”
“What?”
“Get away from me,” she grits out, torn between running towards him so she can push him into his car or possibly punch him in the face, and running as far away as she possibly can. “Get off my lawn, get out of my life.”
“Quinn, what the hell?”
“You haven’t talked to me in months, and now you’re interested in making amends about prom so you can get into Lauren Zizes’ pants? God, for about half a second, I thought maybe you were capable of acting like an actual human being. But no, I was wrong.”
“I’m not a human be-fuck, I’m not the one going all Carrie every day like prom is the most important fucking thing we’ll ever do in our lives.”
“Fuck you.”
It’s not the first time she’s said the words out loud, or even the first time she’s said them to him, but they both know this is different.
“Fucking psycho,” he mutters as he gets into his car, and the second his taillights disappear around the bend she bursts into tears.
There’s a text waiting for her on her phone when she finally makes it back to her room.
Message from: Puck
Fuck YOU, Q. Your the one who stopped talking to ME, and your the one who never wanted to talk about HER. I care about shit. I just got fucking tired of waiting for you to. Have a nice life.
Grammar issues aside, it’s probably the most accurate thing he’s ever said to her.
-
“Are you free after school? We should spend the day together.”
“… Um, what?” Finn asks, closing his locker and turning to get a good look at her. “Why?”
“Is it that strange that I want to spend time with my boyfriend?” Quinn asks, pasting on a smile.
“Well, yeah, kinda.” At her glare, he quickly amends, “Not that I don’t want to! That would be cool. But I was kind of hoping to finally beat Dionysus Park today, so…”
She raises an eyebrow. “The Greek god of wine?”
“What? No. It’s Bioshock 2. I’m like this close, so… not that I don’t want to hang out, or whatever. Really.”
She leans in closer to him, pressing their bodies together. “Well, what if I came over and, y’know… watched?”
He frowns. “I dunno. It’s kind of violent and stuff, Quinn. I’m not sure if you’d be into it.”
“You can explain it to me. It’ll be nice. Like… like watching you get a touchdown for me in football.”
A slow smile starts to spread across his face. “You really want to? You won’t be bored or anything?”
She kisses him softly. “How could I bored? I’ll be with you.”
And okay, maybe that was… a severe exaggeration. But she needs this relationship to work. She can make sacrifices.
-
They don’t often see each other on weekends. She knows family’s important to Sam, and that his parents hate the fact that they hardly ever get to see their kids-but she feels completely off-balance in every possible way, and she’s pretty sure that if she doesn’t get herself back on an even keel, she’ll end up doing something phenomenally stupid and destructive. (It’s something of a habit.)
Which is how she finds herself knocking on his motel room door on Saturday afternoon.
“Quinn!” His mother says, opening the door. “Hello, sweetheart, we weren’t expecting you. Would you like to come in?”
His parents being nice to her will never not make her uncomfortable; she digs her nails into her palms and forces herself to keep eye contact. “No thanks. I was actually hoping to talk to Sam outside for a minute? I promise, this won’t take long.”
“Can I?” Sam asks, coming to the door from within, and his mother gives a small smile.
“Of course. Will you be going far?”
He turns to Quinn, who shrugs. “Nah. I think we’ll just go for a walk. Back in a bit.” He closes the door behind him and jerks his chin, and she wordlessly follows as he leads them away from the parking lot and towards the nearby picnic table. He clambers onto it, feet on the bench, and she slides in next to him.
Eventually, she has to break the silence.
“I need you to explain BioShock to me.”
“Um, what?” he asks, half-laughing in a bemused sort of way. Clearly, that wasn’t what he was expecting.
She bites her lip, but manages to keep her voice even as she explains, “It’s all Finn ever thinks about. And I was only just starting to figure out the difference between Call of Duty and Black Ops, and now he’s obsessed with something else, and… I’m tired of not being able to talk to him. You know about this stuff, right?”
“Not BioShock, no.” She looks at him all and you call yourself a red-blooded American teenage boy, and he feels himself start to blush. “I don’t… it’s complicated.”
“The game?”
“No, I-it’s just a first person shooter; whatever. The reason I don’t know more about it is…” he trails off, before finally mumbling, “it’s kind of embarrassing, okay?”
“Sam, you’ve lost me completely. I promise I don’t know enough about video games to know what’s cool or not, so just… please?”
He sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t play BioShock because it’s designed for Microsoft systems, and I made myself a deal a long time ago that I’d only use Nintendo platforms.”
“Because…?”
“Because I don’t see the point in owning something I can’t play Zelda on.” She opens her mouth, but before she can say anything he continues, “I mean, it’s not like I own anything anymore anyway, that kind of stuff was the first to go when we lost the house, but… Okay, what?” he asks, because he can’t interpret her expression.
“Why is Zelda embarrassing?”
“It’s not. Or at least, it shouldn’t be, but-it’s just better. The stories are always really involved, and Link’s just this stoic protagonist, and because he never speaks he can be whoever you want, and-I don’t want to just blow shit up, y’know? I want to save the princess.” God, he is bright red right now. He clears his throat to save face. “Why are you looking at me like that? I know it sounds really lame, okay, I just-”
“No, stop. First of all, I’m just impressed that you used the words stoic protagonist in a sentence.” At his look, she quickly adds, “Because I didn’t think video games were that deep; not because you’re… God, Sam, you’re dyslexic, not illiterate. Give me some credit. And just… that’s not lame. That’s… wonderful. And makes you sound way more like a man than anything Finn’s ever said on the subject, for the record.”
“You’re still looking at me funny.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Quinn-”
“Did you call me Zelda once?” she blurts, and then snaps her jaw shut with a click, looking alarmed.
He didn’t think his face could get any redder, but it totally does. “You mean, back when we were…?” She just nods her head, and he winces. “Um. Maybe. Yeah. But don’t get pissed off, okay, because it’s a compliment. You remind me of her. And not just because of your looks.”
“Sam-”
“She doesn’t just sit around waiting to be rescued. She does stuff. And she’s a really good leader, and always puts everyone else’s needs ahead of her own, even if that means she doesn’t get to be happy. And… why are you laughing?”
“It’s not you, it’s-” she pauses, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes as her shoulders shake, “-We were so messed up.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When you called me that… aren’t you even a little bit curious about why I didn’t pull away?”
“Um, I figured after the Beiste thing you were just too scared to ask.”
“I wish it were that sane. Sam, I liked it.”
“Why?”
“Because I was thinking about Fitzgerald.”
“… Uh, maybe this is, like, a stupid question, but-Fitzgerald who?”
“No, I mean, F. Scott. He’s the one who wrote the line I showed you. Mouth like a remembered kiss?”
“Oh, yeah. But how does that even…?”
“His wife was named Zelda. Their relationship was… interesting, to say the least.”
“Interesting like fun?”
“Interesting like he was a raging alcoholic and she ended up in a sanitarium.” He makes a face, and she clarifies, “A mental institution.”
“So you’re laughing because…”
“I was fantasizing about making out with a completely dysfunctional famous author, and apparently you were imagining a video game character. It’s just… funny.”
And it’s kind of not, really, but they laugh anyway.
It’s better than the alternative.
(She still doesn’t have the first clue about BioShock, but… honestly, she’s finding it harder and harder to care.)
-
She fucking hates her dining room.
She hates the fact that they eat in the dining room at all, when it’s just the two of them and they could just sit in the kitchen like a normal family. She hates the fake fruit centerpiece; she hates the mahogany detail work; she hates that her mother still takes the place she always has, leaving the chair at the head of the table perpetually empty-as if her father takes up room even though he’s not here.
She hates that there is no as if, not really; he absolutely does.
But her mother had pulled the “I feel like we haven’t seen each other in ages, Quinnie” card, and it’s not like she has an argument against it, because it’s nothing but the truth. She can’t even remember the last time she was home for dinner.
So here she is.
“How are things with Finn?”
“They’re… fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Mom-”
“I’m just so glad that he forgave you and the two of you are working it out. You’re going to look so gorgeous together in your prom photos.”
She breathes through her nose. “I know.”
“Still no luck finding a dress?”
“No. We tried shopping together, but…”
Judy gives a knowing smile. “Boys will be boys.”
“Yeah.”
“Have you looked at limo companies yet? You know they jack up the prices the closer it gets, sweetheart.”
“No, I-I think Finn’s just going to drive me, this year.”
“He’s such a gentleman. But you know, that reminds me. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” Quinn says nothing-all she can do is brace herself. “I think we might have to sell your car.”
Her fork drops with a clatter. “You can’t. I need it.”
“Oh, honey. I can give you rides to school, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Judy says, concentrating on her salad. “It’s just that… well, with your father gone, money’s been so much tighter, and…”
Quinn pushes her plate away, suddenly feeling sick.
She’s not stupid. She knows that her mother’s job doesn’t pay very well, and that even with alimony and child support, they’re struggling. She knows that she has to keep her grades up to get good financial aid, and even then, she might have to go back to Sue Sylvester on her hands and knees and beg for a spot on the Cheerios next year. The schools she really wants-well, they’re expensive, and if settling for a cheerleading scholarship to some state school is what it takes to get out of here, that’s what she’ll do. (The schools she really wants? Stanford. Maybe Columbia. It’s not that she thinks she can get away forever; she knows there’s no escaping the life ahead of her. But God, it would be nice to spend four years away from Lima, Ohio, no matter which coast she runs to.)
Even considering all of that, though, the fact that her mom is talking about money being tight when her best-when one of her friends is living in a motel is just… repulsive.
She takes a breath, and says evenly, “If things are still bad a year from now, we can sell my car before college. But right now, I need it.”
Her tone doesn’t leave room for discussion.
(And what it says about their relationship that her tone is the one that decides when conversations end… she doesn’t even know what to do with that.)
-
Let’s just start by getting one thing straight: she didn’t forget Sam’s birthday.
She’s thought about it. She thought about it weeks ago. But when she’d brought it up, he told her on no uncertain terms to just drop it. (“It’s not a big deal, Quinn. It’s just a day. And, like… it’s not like I could afford to keep anything you’d give me. So just leave it alone.”)
But that was last month. Things are different now-they’re different, now-and she can’t leave it alone.
Unfortunately, she’s also out of time.
She’s not too surprised to find that no one’s waiting for her in the parking lot, when she drives up to the motel. After a moment, Stevie comes out to meet her, but instead of hopping into the backseat, he knocks on the passenger window until she rolls it down.
“Mom and Dad want you to come inside,” he says simply, before turning around and walking back up to the porch.
What choice does she have?
There’s a Happy Birthday banner strung up just inside the front door, and the only word she can think of for it is precious. Sam waves at her when she walks in, blocked behind a human barricade-the whole family is huddled around the coffee table, eating cake.
“It’s not very healthy, but it’s an Evans tradition,” Sam’s mom says apologetically.
Mr. Evans smiles and shoves a paper plate in her hands. “Have a slice, Quinn.”
She looks warily down at the frosting, and to be honest, the idea of ingesting that much sugar this early in the morning makes her stomach turn. But she recognizes the offering for what it is and takes a bite.
And really? It’s not that bad.
-
The thing is… just because she knows better than to get Sam a present, doesn’t mean anyone else does. To be honest, she’d kind of worried that someone would do something extravagant or expensive, and she’d have to watch Sam pretend to be excited about it.
She shouldn’t have bothered.
No decorated locker; no cake in homeroom. Nothing from any of their so-called friends. It makes her furious-mostly because there’s basically nothing she can do about it.
“Hey. Isn’t it, like, Sam’s birthday or something?” she asks Mercedes nonchalantly before History.
“Shit, is it? Girl, you know me and mine abandoned Facebook for Twitter long ago. That sucks. Should we sing to him or something?”
Quinn gives her a look. “You want to involve Mr. Schuester in this?”
“Good point,” Mercedes laughs, but sobers a little at Quinn’s expression. “Look. Sam’s a great guy, and popular. I’m sure someone has something planned.”
It’s barely even afternoon, and Quinn’s already sure no one does.
-
She tracks down her last hope just before fifth period.
“Kurt, I need a favor. Can you babysit Stacey and Stevie after school today?”
He gives her an acid look, and she winces. Sam may’ve forgiven her for what she hears Kurt’s calling Barbragate, but clearly, Kurt hasn’t. “I think I’ve done enough of your babysitting for a lifetime. And besides, Blaine and I have a date at the Lima Bean; I can’t.”
“Look, this isn’t-I know you’ve had to clean up a lot of my messes lately, and I know I haven’t thanked you properly, but-this isn’t about me, okay. It’s Sam’s birthday.”
“What, today?”
“Yeah.”
A flash of guilt crosses over Kurt’s face. “What do you have planned?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’ve got to do something, and I can’t if we’re stuck with his brother and sister all day. I am so sorry, Kurt. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. And-Blaine can come, if you want. He likes kids, right?”
Kurt snorts. “Blaine is like a puppy in human form; if he doesn’t love kids, I’ll eat my hat. And it’s Gucci, so you know I mean business.”
“So you’ll do it?”
“Quinn, it’s his birthday.”
She reaches out and tangles her fingers with his, squeezing gently. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Who does?” he shrugs with affected pretension, but the smile he gives her is very real.
-
She cuts out of school during lunch. She has no idea where she’s headed-only that it’s entirely on her to fix this, and she can’t drive back until she has a plan.
Eventually, she ends up at Blockbuster.
“How many films based on comic books do you guys carry?” she demands of the guy at the front counter. She’s wasted too much time already to go wandering the shelves. He smacks his gum in response, and runs a hand through greasy hair.
“Um, we don’t really have a genre in the system for that. I can search by Action & Adventure…?”
“Just give me an estimate.”
The guy silently counts on his fingers, making a list in his head, and shrugs. “Like at least twenty.”
She bites the inside of her cheek, thinking hard. Her original idea had just been to rent whatever they had and go from there, but-seriously, why would there ever need to be more than, like, five superhero movies, ever?
“Can you put them on hold?”
“What, like… all of them?”
“No, just-oh, forget it. I’ll be back later.”
-
She’s at the grocery store picking up snacks when she gets the text.
Message from: Finn Hudson
Couldn’t find u @ lunch + u weren’t in spanish. U ok?
She winces against the stab of shame that suddenly pierces her, and takes a breath before she responds.
Didn’t feel well, had to go to the nurse. Went straight home.
Message from: Finn Hudson
Aw man, that sux.
Lying to him is nothing new, but lying about this… she can’t handle the squirming discomfort in her chest. It feels like she’s been caught doing something wrong, and the fact that she probably is really doesn’t help.
Any chance you picked up my homework for me, because I wasn’t there?
Turning it around so he’s the guilty one isn’t exactly her most mature move, but… she’s been doing it ever since they met.
Message from: Finn Hudson
:( totally didnt think of that, sry.
Message from: Finn Hudson
No way 2 give it 2 u N E way. Tutoring w/ mike then inventory duty @ the shop
It’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Message from: Finn Hudson
Think u’ll feel better?
Definitely, she taps out. Hesitating for a moment, she then adds, Love you.
Message from: Finn Hudson
U 2.
She’s a terrible person.
-
She has just enough time to drop everything off at home and get some things set up before she has to go back to where she started and pick Sam up from school. He seems fine, for the most part, but she can tell by the slope of his shoulders as he walks to her car that there’s a big difference between saying “it’s just a day” and having everyone treat it like it is.
“Hey,” he mumbles, throwing himself into the passenger seat.
“Hey yourself. Why so blue?” she asks, hoping for a Na’vi joke, but he just shrugs and stares at the passing trees. She decides to let her route do the talking for her.
It doesn’t long.
“Um… Quinn?”
“Yeah?”
“Where’re we going? Did you figure out a shortcut or something?”
“No; Kurt’s gonna watch Stacey and Stevie today.”
“Why?”
She gives him a Look. “Gee, maybe because it’s your birthday?”
His eyes flicker towards the window, and she just barely hears him mumble, “No one else cared, so.”
Really?
She pulls up to a red light and takes her hand off the wheel to squeeze his knee, looking him in the eye when his head whips around at the contact.
“I do,” she tells him seriously.
He clears his throat. “So, like. Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“Is it… bigger than a breadbox?”
She snorts. “Could you be more lame?”
“Laugh it up, fuzzball,” he whines, exaggerated swagger in his voice.
“Was that a reference?”
“Han Solo!” he yelps, offended. “You honestly don’t recognize Han Solo?”
“Sam, I wasn’t really raised in a Star Trek-”
“Star Wars!”
“-kind of family.”
“Don’t give me that; you’re totally trolling me. I know you know the difference. Stacey made you watch Star Wars when you didn’t know who Princess Leia was.”
“I knew who she was, I just didn’t-”
“Whatever, Fabray,” he chuckles. “I’ll convert you yet.”
“You keep telling yourself that, Evans.”
After a long moment, he shakes his head. “Okay. I’ll bite. If it wasn’t Star Trek or Star Wars… what kind of family were you raised in?”
“Republican.”
If it were anyone else, it would have been a killer punchline. Seeing as it’s Quinn…
He laughs his head off anyway. It’s his birthday, so she lets him.
-
“Blockbuster?” he asks as they walk through the front door. “I mean, I’m not complaining, but-this is your big secret birthday surprise?”
“I tried to come in here earlier and, um, rent every comic book movie ever made, but apparently there are way more than I thought there were, and I didn’t want to get something you don’t like.”
He smiles at her like he knows a secret she doesn’t. “How many can I get?”
“Three. Not counting the Lord of the Rings,” she amends immediately at his excited look, “because those are all like fourteen hours long.”
“Oh, come on, the extended editions are only-”
“The answer’s no, Sam. Pick something else.”
“You’re no fun, Quinn,” he scoffs, before wandering off to look at the selection.
It’s something she’s heard many, many times before. Sam’s the first person to ever make it sound like maybe it’s not entirely true.
“Have you seen this?” he asks, poking his head around a shelf and holding out a box set of the Back to the Future trilogy.
“I don’t think so? If I have, I was way too young to remember it.”
“Yeah, fixing that,” he says.
-
“Oh, ew!” Quinn exclaims, laughing at the screen. “She has a crush on her own son?”
“She doesn’t know who he is!”
“You know, between this and Leia making out with Luke-” Sam gives her a smugly triumphant look, which she ignores, “-I’m starting to get really concerned. Is incest, like, a thing for geeks?”
“What? No!” he sputters defensively, then frowns. “Well, I mean. I guess there’s Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch, but that’s only canon in alternate universes, so-”
“Hold on; phone.”
Message from: Kurt Hummel
Blaine wants to play Sam’s guitar, but is too chicken to ask. That okay?
“Blaine wants to know if he can play your guitar,” she relates, and smirks in amusement when Sam twists uncomfortably on her couch. “Oh, come on, seriously? Blaine is like the most responsible person on the planet. It’s not like he’ll break it or something.”
“I tune my guitar a half-step down; he’s gonna mess with it.”
“If you don’t want him to, I can just say n-”
“No, it’s-fine. I’m not gonna be a douche. Just tell him to be, y’know. Gentle.”
He says sure, just be careful with it.
Message from: Kurt Hummel
Blaine would also like to congratulate Sam for coming of age in the wizarding world. I have no idea what this means, but he insists Sam will understand.
“Now what?” Sam asks.
“Um. Blaine also says… congratulations on coming of age in the wizarding world?”
Sam bursts out laughing, and she waits patiently for him to finish.
“It’s a Harry Potter thing,” he explains, when he’s gotten a hold of himself. “Turning seventeen is a big deal, if you’re a wizard. Don’t roll your eyes, okay, those books are awesome, and the fact that you haven’t read them is insane. I don’t even know how you’re a person.”
“My older sister brought the first one home and my dad almost burned it. Probably would have, if it hadn’t been a library book. He thought it would make us devil-worshippers.”
“That’s all such bullshit. I actually started reading them because my old youth pastor in Tennessee said-”
“Tell me later, okay, I have to text Kurt back. Watch the movie.”
Apparently it’s some kind of Harry Potter thing.
Message from: Kurt Hummel
How did we come to associate with such complete nerds?
You don’t even get to talk. I’m the one stuck watching a Back to the Future marathon.
Message from: Kurt Hummel
Our social lives are a cautionary tale for why you shouldn’t join glee clubs.
It’s a curse.
“Stop talking to Kurt; you’re missing it.”
“What’s to miss? Boy meets mad scientist, boy travels in time machine, hijinks ensue. Also, incest.”
Sam throws popcorn at her.
-
“So… good birthday?” she asks, pulling into a free space at the motel.
“It-yeah. Get out of the car for a minute?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to hug you,” he says, and it looks like he’s fighting the urge to roll his eyes.
“Um… okay,” she mumbles, unbuckling her seatbelt.
By the time she gets out, he’s standing at her door, and he wraps his arms around her without a second thought.
“Today was awesome, Quinn,” he says, mouth right against her ear. “But, like. This isn’t just about today. And I know we don’t talk about it, or whatever, but… I don’t know how I’d do any of this without you. Thank you.”
“Sam…” she whimpers, voice breaking, and suddenly she’s clinging to him as tightly as she can.
It’s just that… she keeps waiting for it. That little pull in the back of her head, telling her to kiss him. She’s been waiting for it for a month and a half, and it keeps not happening, and she’s so incredibly grateful that she doesn’t know what to do with herself.
She’s never been able to trust herself like this before. Not with a guy. Not with anyone.
“You wanna come inside for a minute? Say hi to everyone?” he asks, pulling away.
“No, I-that’s okay. I think I’m just gonna head home.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. I have to study for Pre-Calc, anyway.”
He goes inside, but she idles with the engine off until the sound of Blaine, Kurt, Stacey and Stevie singing Happy Birthday in three-part harmony drifts out through the open window.
She smiles the whole drive home.
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