Fic: Stage-Left
Title: Stage-Left
Characters/Pairings: Quinn-centric. Features hints of Quinn/Artie and background Puck/Rachel
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2008
Spoilers: Aired Episodes
Summary: It sucks, doesn't it? Sitting stage-left.
Disclaimer: Don't own Glee.
Author's Notes: A gift for violetshadow84. Major thanks to une_fille for helping me immensely a TON of lines, and then beta'ing it when it was done. ♥
-
The day after sectionals, Quinn Fabray moves out of the Hudson's home.
Finn is kind enough to wait until she's packed and gone before he tells his mother the news.
-
The Hummels are nice enough.
Kurt is a little particular about his beauty products and Mr. Hummel sort of blushes and mutters when she's around. Kurt says it's been a while since there's been a woman in the house -- the snarky reply is there in her mouth, she can taste it, and Kurt must sense it too because he shoots her a look that says both "Say it, we both know you want to" and "Let's watch you lose your last friend, Fabray, it's what you're good at" at the same time -- and his father doesn't quite know to behave.
Puck visits on her first night there and at the insistence of Kurt, she waddles (friggin' waddles) out onto the front stoop to meet him.
"You could've stayed with me," he mutters, spitting onto the ground in disgust.
She's too tired, too sore, too homeless to castigate him so instead she narrows her eyes and says, "I'd really rather not, Puck."
"Whatever," he snorts, shoving his hands deep into his pockets to protect his fingers from the chill, "I'm only asking cause I'm like, obligated to."
"How very thoughtful," she throws back and starts back towards the house. He stops her with a hand on her elbow.
"Call me if you need me, I mean it." She starts to rip her elbow from his grip, but he holds fast. "Seriously, Q. You can't do this alone."
"Maybe not," she sneers, "But I can do this without you."
-
The following Glee practice, Mr. Shue offers them a rare day off to bask in their glory.
Finn leaves as soon as practice is cancelled.
Everyone else stays.
Of course, Rachel is beside herself, prattling on about the dangers of resting on their laurels until finally, Puck kicks the back of her chair with grunt and tells her to shut up and eat some cookies. Rachel glares back at him and he just shoots her a smirk that nearly makes Quinn scoff out loud; it's like watching two wildebeests in heat on the Discovery Channel.
She sits silently alone on the side of the room and it doesn't take long for her to realize that she really doesn't want to be there. But Kurt is her ride and he seems currently enthralled with his conversation with Mercedes, so instead she settles herself behind the drumset and runs her fingers gingerly across the cymbal.
"He just needs time to stew."
She lifts her head at the sound of Artie's voice and stares at him intently before laughing softly to herself. "No, Artie, I don't think he's just stewing," she taps the cymbal lightly with her fingernail. "I know I wouldn't forgive me."
"Well, I know I would."
The pity in his voice kicks at something inside of her, and she snaps. "You don't even know me," she says with more virulence than she intended. She glares at him, willing him to leave her in peace, and finally he puts his hands up in surrender.
"Maybe I don't know you, Quinn," he says, eying her as he starts to roll backwards, "but if I don't, it's only because you never let any of us in."
-
She's decided that Kurt is both the best and the worst roommate that a pregnant girl could have.
"Oh please, stop making that face, it's going to freeze like that," he says as he sprays an ungodly amount of hairspray onto his bangs and she can feel the nausea rolling over her in waves.
"That stuff can't be good for the baby," she snipes, glaring at the aerosol can. She eyes the flowered cardigan Kurt is sporting, an item from her suitcase that he helped himself to since she no longer fits in it, "If she ends up a freak, I'm gonna make sure to give birth on your new Tom Ford blazer."
"You're a lot less frightening when you can't see your own toes, Fabray," he says, but he sets the hairspray down with a dramatic eyeroll and turns to her, "I'll have Mercedes stop for pickles on our way back. Please refrain from eating us out of house and home until I return."
She opens her mouth for a scathing retort but he cuts her off with a kiss to her forehead, muttering, "Don't even act like you didn't annihilate our cookies last night, Quinn," as he excuses himself from the bathroom.
-
Rachel shows up one practice with a grin that threatens to eat the rest of her face --god willing-- and declares that she spent the night storyboarding some new choreography for the group.
Everyone snaps to life, buzzing in excitement -- when did they decide to stop hating her, exactly? -- and out of the din she can pick out Puck's voice, muttering "Not the whole night, Berry," in Rachel's ear.
She doesn't know what disgusts her more: the mental images that are forcing their way into her mind's eye, the happy blush on Rachel's face, or the fact that she herself spent last night staying up watching Deadliest Catch with Mr. Hummel because the heartburn was too bad to sleep through. Again.
Not even fifteen minutes into learning Rachel's new routine, she feels dizzy and nauseous and she is gasping to catch her breath, sinking to the bleachers before she can fall. She presses her palm to her belly in a vain attempt to settle her lunch, and she sucks in a breath of air before she croaks out, "Too much spinning," and grips the seat as the room whirls.
"I had planned for this very occasion," Rachel says, clapping her hands together, "You can stand stage-left and frame the performance."
She considers lunging at the petite brunette but she feels her chili-cheese fries rising in her throat (worst lunch idea, ever) and so instead she curls her lip and mutters, "Whatever, Tranny" under her breath, swallowing hard.
-
It doesn't bother her, alright? So what if she's so pregnant that she can't even dance anymore.
She doesn't care that the entire routine is thrown off with her inability to participate. She doesn't care that during the number, there is a fleeting moment where Finn catches Rachel around the waist and spins her around. She doesn't care that he is smiling for the first time in weeks and she certainly doesn't care that after the music is put away, she notices Puck catching Finn's eye and the two nod at each other like everything is going to be just fine. She doesn't care that she can barely recognize herself in the mirror anymore, let alone dance.
As the rest of the club files out of the room, Rachel corners her against the piano, flailing her arms madly as she explains hurriedly that, "Please don't take offense Quinn, it's not that I don't think you can dance, or could dance, rather. And I am not discriminating against you in the slightest. On the contrary, I've always heard it was beneficial for both mother and baby to exercise during the pregnancy but let's be perfectly honest, you still vomit quite a lot and your movements lack a certain grace even Finn has managed to master and we cannot afford a wobbling cog in our well-oiled machine at Regionals."
She pushes past the smaller girl, throwing her hair over her shoulder as she does so. "Whatever, He-She" she repeats, walking quickly, "Not like I care."
-
The next day at lunch, Tina mentions Rachel's new dance routine, and it is Mercedes who finally says what they're all thinking.
"It looks good, girl, not gonna front," she drawls, ripping her bread in half and biting into it, "But let's be perfectly honest. It's all lopsided-like, what with Preggo over on the right bopping from side to side. Five and a half pairs doesn't have the same pop as six." She throws Quinn an apologetic look. "Sorry, Q, but it's true. That routine ain't gonna work for us."
Rachel opens her mouth, obviously gearing up for one of her How Do You Expect Us To Win If You're Just Going To Give Up Like That speeches, but Quinn tosses her napkin on her tray and interrupts her.
"You're right, Mercedes," she says and she stands, pulling her tray off the table with such force that her milk carton topples over and soaks the paper-thin napkins.
"Q-Quinn--" Tina starts, but Quinn throws the girl a withering glare and she closes her mouth in shock.
She stomps off as menacingly as possible when she feels the size of a small SUV.
-
At some point, the choir room became safe space for her, and the idea is startling; it seems so long ago she would have stomped to the Cheerleader's Lounge (which used to be the Seniors Lounge before Coach Sylvester convinced Figgins to convert it) instead.
She gets a pass from Ms. Pillsbury to skip last period and storms into the choir room, fully intending on shoving a few music stands over in her rage, but she spots Rachel and Puck in the back row and she'd almost prefer it if they were rutting together like she's seen him do with countless other girls all over the school because this cuddling and --ugh-- the stupid lovesick looks they're giving each other make her dry heave.
She executes a perfect pivot and doesn't look back, even when she hears Puck bellow, "If you say a word to anyone, Fabray, I'm going to...” but she’s already down the hall out of earshot before she can find out what lame threat Puck is bluffing with.
She's not sure why she automatically makes her way to the theatre but before she can even stop herself, she is slamming the double doors open and continuing her tantrum down the aisle for a good second before she notices the figure on the stage.
Artie stares at her for a long beat, his chair angled back onto the rear wheels, mid-wheelie. There is a wide distance between them but his voice echoes through the room easily when he says, "Quinn?" and the confusion in his tone is hard to miss.
"I didn't know anyone was in here," she calls back, muttering under her breath, "Why can’t any of you freaks just leave me in peace?”
One hand is almost out the door again when he calls out to her, "It sucks, doesn't it?"
Turning, she studies him carefully from across the space between them. "What?"
"Sitting stage-left."
A long, precarious silence settles over them and Quinn makes her way towards the stage, fuming. "I used to be someone," she chokes out over a sardonic laugh, pushing her fingers through her hair angrily. "I used to be pretty and popular, now I can't even fit in with a group of Gleeks. I used to fit into my clothes. I could dance, better than any of those losers in that stupid club."
"They're not--"
"Now I'm just useless. Background noise. Even you can do more than I can."
The words leave her mouth before she can even think about them, and the sound of them feels like cold water rushing down over her, causing her to wince. "Artie, I'm sorry, I--"
"That's kind of why you don't fit in, Quinn," he mumbles, staring down into his lap.
She suddenly feels so very, very close to crying and she is so not going to do it here, not with someone watching, so she sputters an apology helplessly before turning on her heel and racing down the aisle towards the exit.
"Quinn!" His voice rings out through the theater just as her hand is on the doorknob and the urgency behind it forces her to halt. When she turns, he pats his lap awkwardly.
"How about I take you for a dance?"
Characters/Pairings: Quinn-centric. Features hints of Quinn/Artie and background Puck/Rachel
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2008
Spoilers: Aired Episodes
Summary: It sucks, doesn't it? Sitting stage-left.
Disclaimer: Don't own Glee.
Author's Notes: A gift for violetshadow84. Major thanks to une_fille for helping me immensely a TON of lines, and then beta'ing it when it was done. ♥
-
The day after sectionals, Quinn Fabray moves out of the Hudson's home.
Finn is kind enough to wait until she's packed and gone before he tells his mother the news.
-
The Hummels are nice enough.
Kurt is a little particular about his beauty products and Mr. Hummel sort of blushes and mutters when she's around. Kurt says it's been a while since there's been a woman in the house -- the snarky reply is there in her mouth, she can taste it, and Kurt must sense it too because he shoots her a look that says both "Say it, we both know you want to" and "Let's watch you lose your last friend, Fabray, it's what you're good at" at the same time -- and his father doesn't quite know to behave.
Puck visits on her first night there and at the insistence of Kurt, she waddles (friggin' waddles) out onto the front stoop to meet him.
"You could've stayed with me," he mutters, spitting onto the ground in disgust.
She's too tired, too sore, too homeless to castigate him so instead she narrows her eyes and says, "I'd really rather not, Puck."
"Whatever," he snorts, shoving his hands deep into his pockets to protect his fingers from the chill, "I'm only asking cause I'm like, obligated to."
"How very thoughtful," she throws back and starts back towards the house. He stops her with a hand on her elbow.
"Call me if you need me, I mean it." She starts to rip her elbow from his grip, but he holds fast. "Seriously, Q. You can't do this alone."
"Maybe not," she sneers, "But I can do this without you."
-
The following Glee practice, Mr. Shue offers them a rare day off to bask in their glory.
Finn leaves as soon as practice is cancelled.
Everyone else stays.
Of course, Rachel is beside herself, prattling on about the dangers of resting on their laurels until finally, Puck kicks the back of her chair with grunt and tells her to shut up and eat some cookies. Rachel glares back at him and he just shoots her a smirk that nearly makes Quinn scoff out loud; it's like watching two wildebeests in heat on the Discovery Channel.
She sits silently alone on the side of the room and it doesn't take long for her to realize that she really doesn't want to be there. But Kurt is her ride and he seems currently enthralled with his conversation with Mercedes, so instead she settles herself behind the drumset and runs her fingers gingerly across the cymbal.
"He just needs time to stew."
She lifts her head at the sound of Artie's voice and stares at him intently before laughing softly to herself. "No, Artie, I don't think he's just stewing," she taps the cymbal lightly with her fingernail. "I know I wouldn't forgive me."
"Well, I know I would."
The pity in his voice kicks at something inside of her, and she snaps. "You don't even know me," she says with more virulence than she intended. She glares at him, willing him to leave her in peace, and finally he puts his hands up in surrender.
"Maybe I don't know you, Quinn," he says, eying her as he starts to roll backwards, "but if I don't, it's only because you never let any of us in."
-
She's decided that Kurt is both the best and the worst roommate that a pregnant girl could have.
"Oh please, stop making that face, it's going to freeze like that," he says as he sprays an ungodly amount of hairspray onto his bangs and she can feel the nausea rolling over her in waves.
"That stuff can't be good for the baby," she snipes, glaring at the aerosol can. She eyes the flowered cardigan Kurt is sporting, an item from her suitcase that he helped himself to since she no longer fits in it, "If she ends up a freak, I'm gonna make sure to give birth on your new Tom Ford blazer."
"You're a lot less frightening when you can't see your own toes, Fabray," he says, but he sets the hairspray down with a dramatic eyeroll and turns to her, "I'll have Mercedes stop for pickles on our way back. Please refrain from eating us out of house and home until I return."
She opens her mouth for a scathing retort but he cuts her off with a kiss to her forehead, muttering, "Don't even act like you didn't annihilate our cookies last night, Quinn," as he excuses himself from the bathroom.
-
Rachel shows up one practice with a grin that threatens to eat the rest of her face --god willing-- and declares that she spent the night storyboarding some new choreography for the group.
Everyone snaps to life, buzzing in excitement -- when did they decide to stop hating her, exactly? -- and out of the din she can pick out Puck's voice, muttering "Not the whole night, Berry," in Rachel's ear.
She doesn't know what disgusts her more: the mental images that are forcing their way into her mind's eye, the happy blush on Rachel's face, or the fact that she herself spent last night staying up watching Deadliest Catch with Mr. Hummel because the heartburn was too bad to sleep through. Again.
Not even fifteen minutes into learning Rachel's new routine, she feels dizzy and nauseous and she is gasping to catch her breath, sinking to the bleachers before she can fall. She presses her palm to her belly in a vain attempt to settle her lunch, and she sucks in a breath of air before she croaks out, "Too much spinning," and grips the seat as the room whirls.
"I had planned for this very occasion," Rachel says, clapping her hands together, "You can stand stage-left and frame the performance."
She considers lunging at the petite brunette but she feels her chili-cheese fries rising in her throat (worst lunch idea, ever) and so instead she curls her lip and mutters, "Whatever, Tranny" under her breath, swallowing hard.
-
It doesn't bother her, alright? So what if she's so pregnant that she can't even dance anymore.
She doesn't care that the entire routine is thrown off with her inability to participate. She doesn't care that during the number, there is a fleeting moment where Finn catches Rachel around the waist and spins her around. She doesn't care that he is smiling for the first time in weeks and she certainly doesn't care that after the music is put away, she notices Puck catching Finn's eye and the two nod at each other like everything is going to be just fine. She doesn't care that she can barely recognize herself in the mirror anymore, let alone dance.
As the rest of the club files out of the room, Rachel corners her against the piano, flailing her arms madly as she explains hurriedly that, "Please don't take offense Quinn, it's not that I don't think you can dance, or could dance, rather. And I am not discriminating against you in the slightest. On the contrary, I've always heard it was beneficial for both mother and baby to exercise during the pregnancy but let's be perfectly honest, you still vomit quite a lot and your movements lack a certain grace even Finn has managed to master and we cannot afford a wobbling cog in our well-oiled machine at Regionals."
She pushes past the smaller girl, throwing her hair over her shoulder as she does so. "Whatever, He-She" she repeats, walking quickly, "Not like I care."
-
The next day at lunch, Tina mentions Rachel's new dance routine, and it is Mercedes who finally says what they're all thinking.
"It looks good, girl, not gonna front," she drawls, ripping her bread in half and biting into it, "But let's be perfectly honest. It's all lopsided-like, what with Preggo over on the right bopping from side to side. Five and a half pairs doesn't have the same pop as six." She throws Quinn an apologetic look. "Sorry, Q, but it's true. That routine ain't gonna work for us."
Rachel opens her mouth, obviously gearing up for one of her How Do You Expect Us To Win If You're Just Going To Give Up Like That speeches, but Quinn tosses her napkin on her tray and interrupts her.
"You're right, Mercedes," she says and she stands, pulling her tray off the table with such force that her milk carton topples over and soaks the paper-thin napkins.
"Q-Quinn--" Tina starts, but Quinn throws the girl a withering glare and she closes her mouth in shock.
She stomps off as menacingly as possible when she feels the size of a small SUV.
-
At some point, the choir room became safe space for her, and the idea is startling; it seems so long ago she would have stomped to the Cheerleader's Lounge (which used to be the Seniors Lounge before Coach Sylvester convinced Figgins to convert it) instead.
She gets a pass from Ms. Pillsbury to skip last period and storms into the choir room, fully intending on shoving a few music stands over in her rage, but she spots Rachel and Puck in the back row and she'd almost prefer it if they were rutting together like she's seen him do with countless other girls all over the school because this cuddling and --ugh-- the stupid lovesick looks they're giving each other make her dry heave.
She executes a perfect pivot and doesn't look back, even when she hears Puck bellow, "If you say a word to anyone, Fabray, I'm going to...” but she’s already down the hall out of earshot before she can find out what lame threat Puck is bluffing with.
She's not sure why she automatically makes her way to the theatre but before she can even stop herself, she is slamming the double doors open and continuing her tantrum down the aisle for a good second before she notices the figure on the stage.
Artie stares at her for a long beat, his chair angled back onto the rear wheels, mid-wheelie. There is a wide distance between them but his voice echoes through the room easily when he says, "Quinn?" and the confusion in his tone is hard to miss.
"I didn't know anyone was in here," she calls back, muttering under her breath, "Why can’t any of you freaks just leave me in peace?”
One hand is almost out the door again when he calls out to her, "It sucks, doesn't it?"
Turning, she studies him carefully from across the space between them. "What?"
"Sitting stage-left."
A long, precarious silence settles over them and Quinn makes her way towards the stage, fuming. "I used to be someone," she chokes out over a sardonic laugh, pushing her fingers through her hair angrily. "I used to be pretty and popular, now I can't even fit in with a group of Gleeks. I used to fit into my clothes. I could dance, better than any of those losers in that stupid club."
"They're not--"
"Now I'm just useless. Background noise. Even you can do more than I can."
The words leave her mouth before she can even think about them, and the sound of them feels like cold water rushing down over her, causing her to wince. "Artie, I'm sorry, I--"
"That's kind of why you don't fit in, Quinn," he mumbles, staring down into his lap.
She suddenly feels so very, very close to crying and she is so not going to do it here, not with someone watching, so she sputters an apology helplessly before turning on her heel and racing down the aisle towards the exit.
"Quinn!" His voice rings out through the theater just as her hand is on the doorknob and the urgency behind it forces her to halt. When she turns, he pats his lap awkwardly.
"How about I take you for a dance?"