The Hidden Life, ch 1
title: The Hidden Life
rating: PG to slight PG-13 for now, rating may go up.
pairings/characters: Quill, some original characters.
warnings/spoilers: i mean, through S2, refers to S3. No real spoilers, though.
summary: somewhere between witnessing a murder and adjusting to their "new lives" in this sleepy beach town, Quinn found he had gone from Mr. Schue to just Will. futurefic.
notes: hello! i've been lurking on the comm for a while, but I've come back with fic. Many thanks to prettylilagent for beta-ing!
"Thanks again for letting me in to the building, Mr. Schue," Quinn said as they both left the grounds of William McKinley High School. Quinn had visited the Glee club and a few of her high school teachers the day before, and had left her purse behind. It had been uncomfortable trying to explain to the school resource officer that she genuinely needed to get her purse back, especially considering she hadn't been a McKinley student for almost three years, until Mr. Schuester offered to escort her through the building. The officer had looked at them strangely, but Quinn brushed it off. The officer had been a little strange, anyway, but she just assumed the man was new.
"Any time, Quinn! I completely understand. I forget things all the time; you wouldn't believe the number of times I've had to drive back home to pick up tests I was grading or my lesson plans," he said sympathetically.
"All the same, I appreciate it." Quinn smiled at Mr. Schuester in gratitude and they continued to walk through the parking lot while Quinn told him about her experiences at college. She had passed up the larger public universities in favor of making a fresh start at the University of Dayton, a small Christian college where no one else knew the struggles she had endured in high school and where she was able to focus more on studying and delving into her faith again. It had been an incredible school for her, and she had grown so much in her time there. She had found a new group of friends who were just as accepting as her Glee family, and she was able to come home often and visit her family and occasionally even Beth and Shelby. Mr. Schuester listened attentively while she described the campus and the academics offered, as well as her major and plans for her future.
"Well, Quinn, I've said it before, but I'm still so proud of everything you've accomplished here and in Dayton. You look so much happier, and I look forward to seeing you go out and change the world. Don't be a stranger, okay? Keep in touch, you have my school email address if you need anything, and you're always welcome to come back and visit the club and see everyone," he said, his hand on her shoulder like a paternal figure. Quinn nodded and hugged him, and thanked him, once again, for everything he had done for her.
They had broken away from their embrace and were about to go their separate ways when they heard the first gunshot. They turned sharply, searching for the source of the loud noise Quinn had only ever heard come from a rifle. (When you're ten years old, and your father and his family take you hunting with them, and you see your Uncle Adam shoot Bambi's mother, and you're so traumatized you can't eat for three days, you tend to remember the sound.) Mr. Schuester moved so that he was blocking her body with his, in case the shooter was close. Out of the corner of her eye, Quinn saw movement, and she tugged on Mr. Schuester's arm and tried to point as discretely as possible to their right. About 30 yards away, in front of the school, she could see the new resource officer and a lunch lady standing close to each other, shouting. Apparently, the first shot had only been a warning, but from the shouting match between the two people, it seemed as if things were heating quickly.
Once again, Mr. Schuester stepped in front of her, as if determined to shield her with his body as much as he could.
"I don't understand," Quinn said. Why were two school employees even arguing like this in the first place? "What's even going on?"
"Quinn," Mr. Schuester said in a low voice, "now is not the time. We're going to back away from here slowly and get to my car. Do you see it? It's the green sedan. Once we get in there, we are going to call 911 and tell them what's going on. I need you to do that, okay?" He was struggling to get his breathing under control, and the words came out as if forced. Suddenly it dawned on Quinn that they were witnessing something far more serious than an altercation between two employees.
Fate was smiling on them that day, as they were able to scurry to Mr. Schuester's car completely unnoticed by the two adults arguing across the parking lot. After locking all the doors in the car, and even buckling their seatbelts, just in case, Quinn pulled her cell phone out with trembling fingers and dialed 911.
"911, please state your emergency," a soothing voice said on the line. Quinn opened her mouth, but found she was unable to speak. Wordlessly, she handed the phone to Mr. Schuester, who described the scene before them to the dispatcher. His voice was shaking. Halfway through his conversation, Quinn, who had tensely been watching the figures on the chance that they decided to come after her, saw the resource officer pull his gun, point at the lunch lady, and -
Quinn squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to see what inevitable had occurred. She faintly heard Mr. Schuester's voice.
"Oh my God," he said, close to tears.
"Mr. Schuester," Quinn said, trying to get his attention. When he continued to stare blankly ahead, she repeated his name. When she still received no response, she tried his first name. "Will!" He jumped and looked at her. The fear evident on his face made her even more afraid. "We need - we should go to the station. Tell them what happened." He nodded in response, and relayed to the emergency dispatcher that they were leaving the scene as they felt it necessary for survival. As Mr. Schuester raced out of the parking lot, Quinn took over with the emergency dispatcher and continued to speak with her, relaying the information of what had just occurred. After what seems like hours, Mr. Schuester pulled haphazardly into a parking space outside the station and they sprinted into the building, seeking sanctuary in the arms of Lady Justice.
Quinn wondered when she started thinking in such fanciful terms.
Once they explained the situation to the officers on duty, they were led away to have their statements taken, both together and separately to ensure accuracy and honesty. The officers seemed satisfied that they were, in fact, mere witnesses in what was probably a murder, and sent them back to the lobby of the station and gave them some coffee to calm them down. Quinn found this ironic, given that coffee was a stimulant and there hadn't been a fresh batch for quite some time, but she supposed beggars couldn't be choosers.
Time at the station took much longer than she had expected. After describing the man who, as it turned out, was not a real resource officer, one of the officers on the force had sent over a sketch artist, which meant Quinn had to describe the man for a third time. It felt surreal, like her body was on autopilot, going through the motions of what the police needed. She spent most of the day in a daze until she realized she and Mr. Schuester had been stuck inside the poorly-designed building for almost six hours. And she really had to pee.
As she was contemplating sneaking away to use the restroom, a detective walked over to where she and Mr. Schuester sat, not speaking to each other for the past forty-five minutes. Her face was grave and Quinn had the sinking feeling that whatever news she was about to hear would not be good.
"Mr. Schuester, Miss Fabray, if you would please follow me, we need to discuss this case. I have some news."
They were led to a small room where it was likely that the officers and detectives took their breaks. Quinn snagged a glance at Mr. Schue, but he kept his expression perfectly neutral. She had no idea what to think except that this news couldn't possibly good.
The detective, who introduced herself as Anne, had pale blonde hair with dark brown eyes behind glasses. She carried herself with poise and something about her demanded respect beyond the badge and gun. Quinn felt a little reassured by the idea that the woman could protect her. She sat herself down across from them and started talking.
"We've been able to gain a lot of information in the past few hours about the man you saw. It turns out that some of our other detectives were already investigating a case linked to the man you saw. Carlos Gutierrez is a member of a strong cartel in Mexico and they've been sending members of their gang to various towns in the Midwest, trying to set up in the United States and spread their market and network."
Another detective walked in, presumably from the other case. He was older, probably in his fifties, and thin - although Quinn had a feeling he could take care of himself. He wore glasses and seemed to give off a vibe of cynicism.
"Drug gangs and cartels are almost more efficient than major corporations when it comes to marketing and networking," he noted wryly. Quinn caught Mr. Schuester's eye and could tell that even in this extreme circumstance he wanted to laugh at the joke as well.
"At any rate, there must have been a problem with one of the lower-level gang members here and Gutierrez decided to kill her. Which is where you come in. Not only are you eyewitnesses to the murder, but you actually spoke with him, making your account more solid, and since you can identify him, we can tie him to smuggling drugs and working with the gangs in the Midwestern area. This could potentially be a huge case."
Quinn sat completely still, letting the words sink in. There was something she could do for this woman. She could even help bring about justice. The idea appealed to her, but she knew from experience that there's always a catch.
"The only problem is that since you did communicate with Gutierrez, he knows who youare. He fled the scene before we could get to the school and no one seems to know where he is. Either his followers are very loyal or he just went completely underground. And that doesn't bode well for you. He could have gotten a message out to his comrades to put a hit on you. You're not safe in Lima. You're not safe in Ohio. The cartel's network is vast and there's no telling where you would be completely safe from them."
Quinn felt all of the blood rush out of her face. It was reasonably warm in the room, but she couldn't suppress her shivers. Shewasn'tsafe.She was in danger and there was a chance she could die, or someone else she loved could suffer. It could be her best friend, or her mom, or ...
"Beth," she said aloud. Mr. Schue must have been able to follow her train of thought because he reached for her hand, which she grasped as if she were holding on for dear life. Her heart was racing. Her daughter couldn't suffer because of this. She would never forgive herself. Her heart clenched in her chest and she fought back sobs as she thought of the last time they'd seen each other. Beth was showing off how well she could ride her bike without the training wheels and she taught Quinn about butterflies. To have her baby's life snuffed out was too much.
The detectives were confused by her outburst, so Mr. Schuester decided to explain. "Miss Fabray had a child a few years ago. She gave her up for adoption, but still keeps in touch with her daughter and the adoptive mother. I think it would be prudent if they were protected in case the cartel was to try and threaten Beth's family."
Anne nodded sympathetically and the male detective walked out of the room to put together some sort of security detail for the Corcorans.
"Please rest assured, Miss Fabray, that your daughter will be protected. But things will be much easier for us if you both looked like you disappeared without a trace."
Mr. Schuester nodded somberly, but Quinn felt like she was in the dark.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
Anne paused. "I think it's in your best interests if you enter the witness protection program.
rating: PG to slight PG-13 for now, rating may go up.
pairings/characters: Quill, some original characters.
warnings/spoilers: i mean, through S2, refers to S3. No real spoilers, though.
summary: somewhere between witnessing a murder and adjusting to their "new lives" in this sleepy beach town, Quinn found he had gone from Mr. Schue to just Will. futurefic.
notes: hello! i've been lurking on the comm for a while, but I've come back with fic. Many thanks to prettylilagent for beta-ing!
"Thanks again for letting me in to the building, Mr. Schue," Quinn said as they both left the grounds of William McKinley High School. Quinn had visited the Glee club and a few of her high school teachers the day before, and had left her purse behind. It had been uncomfortable trying to explain to the school resource officer that she genuinely needed to get her purse back, especially considering she hadn't been a McKinley student for almost three years, until Mr. Schuester offered to escort her through the building. The officer had looked at them strangely, but Quinn brushed it off. The officer had been a little strange, anyway, but she just assumed the man was new.
"Any time, Quinn! I completely understand. I forget things all the time; you wouldn't believe the number of times I've had to drive back home to pick up tests I was grading or my lesson plans," he said sympathetically.
"All the same, I appreciate it." Quinn smiled at Mr. Schuester in gratitude and they continued to walk through the parking lot while Quinn told him about her experiences at college. She had passed up the larger public universities in favor of making a fresh start at the University of Dayton, a small Christian college where no one else knew the struggles she had endured in high school and where she was able to focus more on studying and delving into her faith again. It had been an incredible school for her, and she had grown so much in her time there. She had found a new group of friends who were just as accepting as her Glee family, and she was able to come home often and visit her family and occasionally even Beth and Shelby. Mr. Schuester listened attentively while she described the campus and the academics offered, as well as her major and plans for her future.
"Well, Quinn, I've said it before, but I'm still so proud of everything you've accomplished here and in Dayton. You look so much happier, and I look forward to seeing you go out and change the world. Don't be a stranger, okay? Keep in touch, you have my school email address if you need anything, and you're always welcome to come back and visit the club and see everyone," he said, his hand on her shoulder like a paternal figure. Quinn nodded and hugged him, and thanked him, once again, for everything he had done for her.
They had broken away from their embrace and were about to go their separate ways when they heard the first gunshot. They turned sharply, searching for the source of the loud noise Quinn had only ever heard come from a rifle. (When you're ten years old, and your father and his family take you hunting with them, and you see your Uncle Adam shoot Bambi's mother, and you're so traumatized you can't eat for three days, you tend to remember the sound.) Mr. Schuester moved so that he was blocking her body with his, in case the shooter was close. Out of the corner of her eye, Quinn saw movement, and she tugged on Mr. Schuester's arm and tried to point as discretely as possible to their right. About 30 yards away, in front of the school, she could see the new resource officer and a lunch lady standing close to each other, shouting. Apparently, the first shot had only been a warning, but from the shouting match between the two people, it seemed as if things were heating quickly.
Once again, Mr. Schuester stepped in front of her, as if determined to shield her with his body as much as he could.
"I don't understand," Quinn said. Why were two school employees even arguing like this in the first place? "What's even going on?"
"Quinn," Mr. Schuester said in a low voice, "now is not the time. We're going to back away from here slowly and get to my car. Do you see it? It's the green sedan. Once we get in there, we are going to call 911 and tell them what's going on. I need you to do that, okay?" He was struggling to get his breathing under control, and the words came out as if forced. Suddenly it dawned on Quinn that they were witnessing something far more serious than an altercation between two employees.
Fate was smiling on them that day, as they were able to scurry to Mr. Schuester's car completely unnoticed by the two adults arguing across the parking lot. After locking all the doors in the car, and even buckling their seatbelts, just in case, Quinn pulled her cell phone out with trembling fingers and dialed 911.
"911, please state your emergency," a soothing voice said on the line. Quinn opened her mouth, but found she was unable to speak. Wordlessly, she handed the phone to Mr. Schuester, who described the scene before them to the dispatcher. His voice was shaking. Halfway through his conversation, Quinn, who had tensely been watching the figures on the chance that they decided to come after her, saw the resource officer pull his gun, point at the lunch lady, and -
Quinn squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to see what inevitable had occurred. She faintly heard Mr. Schuester's voice.
"Oh my God," he said, close to tears.
"Mr. Schuester," Quinn said, trying to get his attention. When he continued to stare blankly ahead, she repeated his name. When she still received no response, she tried his first name. "Will!" He jumped and looked at her. The fear evident on his face made her even more afraid. "We need - we should go to the station. Tell them what happened." He nodded in response, and relayed to the emergency dispatcher that they were leaving the scene as they felt it necessary for survival. As Mr. Schuester raced out of the parking lot, Quinn took over with the emergency dispatcher and continued to speak with her, relaying the information of what had just occurred. After what seems like hours, Mr. Schuester pulled haphazardly into a parking space outside the station and they sprinted into the building, seeking sanctuary in the arms of Lady Justice.
Quinn wondered when she started thinking in such fanciful terms.
Once they explained the situation to the officers on duty, they were led away to have their statements taken, both together and separately to ensure accuracy and honesty. The officers seemed satisfied that they were, in fact, mere witnesses in what was probably a murder, and sent them back to the lobby of the station and gave them some coffee to calm them down. Quinn found this ironic, given that coffee was a stimulant and there hadn't been a fresh batch for quite some time, but she supposed beggars couldn't be choosers.
Time at the station took much longer than she had expected. After describing the man who, as it turned out, was not a real resource officer, one of the officers on the force had sent over a sketch artist, which meant Quinn had to describe the man for a third time. It felt surreal, like her body was on autopilot, going through the motions of what the police needed. She spent most of the day in a daze until she realized she and Mr. Schuester had been stuck inside the poorly-designed building for almost six hours. And she really had to pee.
As she was contemplating sneaking away to use the restroom, a detective walked over to where she and Mr. Schuester sat, not speaking to each other for the past forty-five minutes. Her face was grave and Quinn had the sinking feeling that whatever news she was about to hear would not be good.
"Mr. Schuester, Miss Fabray, if you would please follow me, we need to discuss this case. I have some news."
They were led to a small room where it was likely that the officers and detectives took their breaks. Quinn snagged a glance at Mr. Schue, but he kept his expression perfectly neutral. She had no idea what to think except that this news couldn't possibly good.
The detective, who introduced herself as Anne, had pale blonde hair with dark brown eyes behind glasses. She carried herself with poise and something about her demanded respect beyond the badge and gun. Quinn felt a little reassured by the idea that the woman could protect her. She sat herself down across from them and started talking.
"We've been able to gain a lot of information in the past few hours about the man you saw. It turns out that some of our other detectives were already investigating a case linked to the man you saw. Carlos Gutierrez is a member of a strong cartel in Mexico and they've been sending members of their gang to various towns in the Midwest, trying to set up in the United States and spread their market and network."
Another detective walked in, presumably from the other case. He was older, probably in his fifties, and thin - although Quinn had a feeling he could take care of himself. He wore glasses and seemed to give off a vibe of cynicism.
"Drug gangs and cartels are almost more efficient than major corporations when it comes to marketing and networking," he noted wryly. Quinn caught Mr. Schuester's eye and could tell that even in this extreme circumstance he wanted to laugh at the joke as well.
"At any rate, there must have been a problem with one of the lower-level gang members here and Gutierrez decided to kill her. Which is where you come in. Not only are you eyewitnesses to the murder, but you actually spoke with him, making your account more solid, and since you can identify him, we can tie him to smuggling drugs and working with the gangs in the Midwestern area. This could potentially be a huge case."
Quinn sat completely still, letting the words sink in. There was something she could do for this woman. She could even help bring about justice. The idea appealed to her, but she knew from experience that there's always a catch.
"The only problem is that since you did communicate with Gutierrez, he knows who youare. He fled the scene before we could get to the school and no one seems to know where he is. Either his followers are very loyal or he just went completely underground. And that doesn't bode well for you. He could have gotten a message out to his comrades to put a hit on you. You're not safe in Lima. You're not safe in Ohio. The cartel's network is vast and there's no telling where you would be completely safe from them."
Quinn felt all of the blood rush out of her face. It was reasonably warm in the room, but she couldn't suppress her shivers. Shewasn'tsafe.She was in danger and there was a chance she could die, or someone else she loved could suffer. It could be her best friend, or her mom, or ...
"Beth," she said aloud. Mr. Schue must have been able to follow her train of thought because he reached for her hand, which she grasped as if she were holding on for dear life. Her heart was racing. Her daughter couldn't suffer because of this. She would never forgive herself. Her heart clenched in her chest and she fought back sobs as she thought of the last time they'd seen each other. Beth was showing off how well she could ride her bike without the training wheels and she taught Quinn about butterflies. To have her baby's life snuffed out was too much.
The detectives were confused by her outburst, so Mr. Schuester decided to explain. "Miss Fabray had a child a few years ago. She gave her up for adoption, but still keeps in touch with her daughter and the adoptive mother. I think it would be prudent if they were protected in case the cartel was to try and threaten Beth's family."
Anne nodded sympathetically and the male detective walked out of the room to put together some sort of security detail for the Corcorans.
"Please rest assured, Miss Fabray, that your daughter will be protected. But things will be much easier for us if you both looked like you disappeared without a trace."
Mr. Schuester nodded somberly, but Quinn felt like she was in the dark.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
Anne paused. "I think it's in your best interests if you enter the witness protection program.