How You Came To Leave (Part II)
Part I: An' Another Thing
Part II: Last To Know
You were the first to lie when we were not alright (Three Days Grace - Last To Know)
You don’t say anything when you walk into the office the next morning, but you feel Kelsey’s eyes upon you the entire time, tracking your movements. It’s the same scrutiny Sue used to use on unsuspecting freshmen during Cheerio practice, and you have to remind yourself you’re not a freshman on the cheerleading team anymore, that Kelsey is on your side.
Her silence continues as she just watches you. Her dark brown eyes are reading you, and you have to make an effort not to reveal anything. You’re saved by your office phone ringing.
As you turn around to answer it, you catch a brief look at Kelsey’s face. Her expression is strangely similar to regret.
“Fabray speaking,” you say gruffly into the phone.
“Quinn?” A voice stutters. You stare at the phone in horror. “It’s Kurt Hummel speaking, we knew each other from Glee Club?”
“How the fuck did you get this number, Hummel?” You snarl.
“Santana gave it to me, and-“ Your eyes narrow.
“Put Santana on,” you growl. Kurt hesitates. “Hummel, if you don’t put Santana on, I swear to God I will make a point of ruining your life. You think you had it bad in high school? That will look like heaven in comparison to what I’m going to do to you. In fact -“
“You don’t understand,” Kurt stutters. You roll your eyes. “Santana hasn’t booked a flight back to Lima yet. She’s still in Los Angeles.”
“And why are you tell me this?” You demand. You can practically hear Kurt cower on the other end. If nothing else, you haven’t lost your touch.
“Well, she sent me a text saying that she was going to meet you at your office, but she never let me know how it went. I just wanted to make sure you worked everything …” You never hear the end of the sentence because Santana freaking Lopez chooses that moment to stroll into your office.
“Sorry I’m late, Fabray,” she drawls. “LA traffic is a bitch. And look, you even look like you got some sleep.”
You immediately hit the intercom button.
“Kelsey,” you growl, “there is a rodent in my office. Please come take it outside.”
Santana reaches over to press the intercom button in return.
“Kels, baby,” she drawls, “bring in two coffees, ok love? Starbucks, yeah? Latte. Soy milk. Thanks love.”
“I’m going to murder you,” you tell her. “Then I’m going to bury you. In a shallow unmarked grave. Just so you know.”
“Not gonna happen,” Santana says cheerfully as she sits on your desk. “Kurt knows I’m here. He’ll alert the police if I go missing.”
“Hummel will be taken care of as well,” you growl. Santana leans over and gives you a kiss on the cheek.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, doll,” she drawls. “Sometimes it’s just not nice to tease.”
“Why the fuck are you here?” You ask. “I thought I made myself clear last night. I’m not coming back to Lima. I’m sorry Mercedes got into a car accident, I really am, but what’s it got to do with me?” You try desperately to swallow the lump in your throat. To cry in front of Santana Lopez is a sign of mortal weakness. “San, why can’t you just leave me alone?”
Kelsey enters that moment with the coffee. You know without looking at her that she’s annoyed at Santana, at this supposed stranger who walked into your office as if she owned it. Your intern catches your eye and you give a slight nod, one that you hope Santana won’t notice.
“You can leave,” Santana growls at Kelsey.
“She stays.” Santana turns to glare at you. You simply raise an eyebrow in response. Kelsey ducks her head to hide her smirk. “My office, Lopez,” you remind her. “These are my rules.”
“You sure you want her to know about your past?” Santana asks. She turns to face Kelsey, again you’re reminded of the old Santana, the one who ruled the high school during your pregnancy and how reluctant she was to give it up once the whole Beth fiasco was over.
“Has she told you what happened back in Ohio?” Santana presses. “Has she talked to you about why she left? Did she ever mention the reason behind her insomnia?”
“Stop it,” you plead. “Santana, stop it. This is my office. Let’s at least try and keep this professional. Don’t turn this meeting into a personal vendetta.”
Kelsey’s eyes flicker from Santana to you then back again. Confusion is the predominant emotion, but there’s something else -something like curiosity, something like interest- that’s starting to emerge. And you realize, Kelsey isn’t trying to read you at all. She’s focused on Santana.
Your sweet, innocent, pain in the ass intern is actually protecting you. You find yourself chocking up a little.
“They need you,” Santana says quietly.
“What?” You ask, stuttering. Santana shifts slightly, and now she’s staring at your Trophy Wall - a name you stole from Sue. Your success stories are there for her to see. You’ve become someone, and for the first time you realize the implications behind that. You became someone, and they weren’t there to witness it.
“They need you,” she repeats softly. “I know you don’t want to accept this but they sure as hell need you. Mercedes is in a coma and… The doctors just don’t have answers. It’s not that they don’t know when she’ll wake up, they don’t know if she’ll wake up, and there’s a hell of a difference between the two. And they just need someone there to keep them grounded, because right now they’re all just falling apart.”
“I just don’t think me being there will make a difference,” you find yourself moving closer to Santana, and you pull her towards you. But she stiffens and shifts away, her attention not leaving the wall.
“You kept your word about not needing us,” she says, and there’s a brief smile, and you get what Santana isn’t saying -she’s proud of you. “But can’t you make an exception, just this one? Can’t Mercedes being in a coma be enough of a reason to come back?”
“It’s not like that,” you argue. “It’s not a question about needing someone or not. It’s just not that simple, Santana, you have to understand…”
“Understand what, exactly?” She snaps, and finally, finally the old Santana is returning to you. You’ve missed this, the verbal sparring between the two of you. The constant power struggle is comforting in it’s own way. “Because I don’t get it, Quinn, I really don’t get it. I understand that you have a nice life going on for you here - your trophy wall demonstrates as much- but I don’t see how framed pictures of you and…” Santana squints, looking closer at the pictures. “I have no idea who that is, actually. But regardless, I don’t see how any of this means more to you than we once did.”
“Santana…” You move awkwardly, torn between comforting her and backing away entirely. She continues to follow your success stories on the wall. “San, come on. Be realistic. You have to know it’s not that simple. And when you think about it, me coming back to Lima? Especially after all that happened, it’s only going to do more harm than good.”
“No,” she disagrees. “I think you’re just making excuses. You forget you know I know why you left, Quinn. I know why you got out of Lima when you did and you know damn well I’m aware of why you can’t sleep at night. Hell, I even know why you hired Child Prodigy over here, and it’s not because she knows your fondness for vegan food.” She winks at Kelsey. “You’re good, sugar, but I’m better at this.”
Kelsey looks like she wants to strangle Santana. You’re briefly tempted on letting her.
“You have no idea why I have the occasional trouble sleeping,” you growl. “Now get the fuck out of my office.”
Santana leans over and lets her lips graze against your ear. Aware of Kelsey’s eyes upon you, you have to make a conscious effort not to react.
“Rachel misses you so much it’s killing her,” Santana whispers. “She misses you more than Broadway. And that’s the reason you can’t sleep at night. Because you did that. You made sure her dreams wouldn’t come true. You made sure she wouldn’t end up on Broadway. You stole her passion for music. You are the one who broke her, Fabray. And now you are the one that has to live with that.”
She leans back and walks towards the door, winking at Kelsey as she leaves. “See ya later, rock star.”
Kelsey’s appalled expression towards Santana almost makes you laugh. The look on her face, however, as she looks at you sobers you immediately.
“So?” You ask, as you turn towards your intern. “What did you get out of the conversation? Did you figure out Santana’s motives?” You hope that Kelsey will ignore how the desperation in your voice, your need to focus on anyone on but yourself, but you suspect you won’t get away with it this time.
“You still love them,” she says softly, and you hate how vulnerable, how hurt Kelsey suddenly looks. “You love them more than me.”
“You’re good, Quinn,” Sue says to you one morning after practice. You turn towards your coach, suspicion blatantly written across your features. Sue is never nice, especially not to her own Cheerios.
“Thank you?” It comes out as a question without meaning to. You glance around, hoping to find an escape. Santana catches your eye from across the field, but she’s too far away to make an immediate impact. You’re stuck.
“You’re good, but you could be better,” Sue continues, and you duck your head to hide your smile, because this, this is more like your coach - insults disguised as compliments.
“What do you want me to do?” You ask. You know how this game is played - Coach compliments you, Coach insults you, you vow to get better, practice is grueling, you impress Coach, then a couple of weeks later the whole cycle starts again. It’s nothing you haven’t been through before.
“You’re good but you’ve been distracted lately,” Sue says. “Whatever it is that’s holding you back? Get rid of it. You’re scholarship material, Fabray. But you’re not going to get one unless you start focusing more. You and I both know I’m not talking about Glee -God only knows how that useless club somehow keeps you guys sane. I’m talking about other distractions.”
It’s as close as Sue gets to saying she knows about the secret affair you’ve been having.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you stutter.
“Yes you do, Quinn.” Your coach doesn’t raise her voice at all, and it’s starting to affect you. It makes the entire conversation that much more serious. “You know exactly which distraction I am talking about. You are one of the best cheerleaders I’ve had on this squad. You think I’d let anyone walk back on after they got knocked up? No freaking way. I want the best on my squad, and you are the best. And if you got rid of what’s holding you back, you could have the world.”
“I…” You’re at lost for words. In that moment -when you didn’t have the right answer- Sue suddenly realizes she’s discovered your weakness.
“You could have the world,” Sue repeats. “You could have everything you wanted before your youthful indiscretion took it away from you. You were going places before Glee, Quinn. Now you have the chance to get that back. You can have the world again. I can make that happen. You don’t even have to tell Will, let me deal with him and his horrible obsession with gel. You don’t have to worry about the consequences. All you have to do is that one thing…”
“I have to get to class,” you stutter, and you hate it, you hate how you find yourself being persuaded by Sue’s words, by the temptation of bigger dreams, dreams you once thought had been taking away from you for good.
“Think about it, Quinn,” Sue says as you start to leave. “Cheerleading is your way out of this town. You could be great, Quinn. All you have to do is end your fling and that’s it. Scholarship to wherever you want. I can make it happen. Full ride and everything. All you have to do is end it. It’s just a high school romance anyway…”
Sue doesn’t stop talking, but you stop listening anyway. In hindsight, you would wonder why you never stood up for the one thing you had loved more than anything.
“Kels…” Your voice breaks as you reach out to her, but she jerks away from you. Emotions keep flashing across her face - confusion, hurt, anger, vulnerability, all different emotions you once wondered if Kelsey even knew what they meant before she met you.
“Stop it,” she cries, “just stop it.” She starts shaking her head as she looks at you. Eventually she takes a deep breath. “What the hell happened in Ohio that you still feel so guilty about? Did you kill someone or something?”
You stare at her. Kelsey stares back.
“Or something,” you say eventually. “But Kelsey, it’s not what you think, there were circumstances behind it, I didn’t really have a choice.”
“Or something,” she repeats, the mocking tone evident in both her eyes and her voice. “Do explain, Quinn, how you can kill someone or something.”
“I chose my future over someone,” you confess. “I chose to go to Berkeley. I chose being an English major over supporting the person I was with. I was selfish and young, and I had an opportunity to study at one of the best universities in the countries, and you know what, Kels?” Suddenly you’re mad, you’re mad that you have to defend yourself in front of your intern. “I don’t regret it. I would make the same decision all over again. I chose my future, Kelsey, and I had every right to do that.”
Remorse, guilt, flickers across Kelsey’s face.
It’s almost the same look Sue gave you when you told her Berkeley was willing to offer you a full ride.
It’s that look, of quiet guilt, of lingering questions, that has kept you up at night so many times. It’s the look that says you’re not quite sure if you made the right decisions, but you try to convince yourself you have even if you don’t fully believe it. It’s the look that says you want to try and make up for mistakes you haven’t really committed.
Because a part of you knows you had a choice. Like the scouts said when they recruited you, you had your choice of schools. You didn’t have to go to Berkeley, but as you rationalized it later, no one really says no to that school. You would have been a fool to give it up.
You just didn’t realize that the sacrifice -the thing Sue and the scouts didn’t mention- that you would be making would be your conscience.
Because you knew. You knew what would happen if you left. You knew it would break Brittany and Will would start questioning his ability to guide his students and you knew that even Santana, confident Santana, would find herself wondering what she did to lose her best friend. You knew you would be partly responsible for Santana not taking over the Cheerios the second time you were no longer on the squad.
And a part of you knew, too, what it would do to Rachel. You had suspected it all along.
You knew what would happen.
And yet you still chose Berkeley.
Because you got this. You got your prestigious job in a prestigious firm and you actually became someone, and you know it’s because you got to go to Berkeley that all of this happened. Because if you had stayed -if you hadn’t chosen that scholarship- you wouldn’t have had the education, the power, to go after what you wanted.
You weren’t going to give up your future just so others could live their dreams (dreams you know don’t include you).
Really, you rationalize to yourself as you end your inner monologue, you didn’t do anything to them that they wouldn’t have done to you.
“I’m not going to apologize for my life, Kelsey,” you sigh. “I’m not going to apologize for choosing my career.”
“Yeah, well…” She gives you a quick smile, and you know that everything is going to be ok between you two. “I still think Santana is a bitch. Who the hell drinks soy lattes?”
“I’m a vegan,” Rachel says quietly. Santana scoffs behind you.
“You’re also Jewish,” she responds sarcastically. You roll your eyes. “Sorry,” she continues, “I thought we were just making obvious statements about Man Hands.”
“You know I’m sitting next to you, right?” Rachel asks. Brittany snickers.
“Fine,” Santana concedes, “do enlighten us why you felt the need to express something we were already aware of.”
“I’m a vegan,” Rachel says, and she stops looking at you and stares at the floor, and something like pain -or is it guilt?- flickers across her face, and you don’t know what to make of it. “Sometimes I like to think I’m a vegan because I don’t want to hurt animals the way humans hurt each other.”
“Rachel…” You breathe. “I’m sorry we hurt you, I really am.”
“I know,” she says, and suddenly she’s looking at you again, but the only thing you notice is how fake her smile looks. “And I’m sorry at how selfish this going to sound, because I’m not actually a petty person, but, I like to think being vegan makes me a better person somehow. Like I’m trying to make up for the suffering somehow.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Santana snarls, “drinking soy lattés is not going to ease the burden of human suffering.”
You wonder if Santana’s new choice in beverages has anything to do with her wanting to make up for the mistakes she made in the past.
You wonder if the guilt is ever going to stop eating away at you. You wonder when your boss will notice you go out of your way for Broadway singers, as if by making their dreams come true, you will also make up for taking Rachel’s dream away for her. It’s not the same -what you did, how you did it, was unnecessarily cruel, but as Sue had told you, you didn’t really have a choice.
You don’t say no to Berkeley has been your mantra for the better part of three years, you see no reason why you should stop now.
And maybe, just maybe, maybe you had been doing Rachel a favor, after all. You’ve seen first hand how cruel the music industry can be. You’ve seen entire careers fall apart because they released the right song at the wrong time, and even though the LA scene isn’t as forgiven as Broadway, you know neither coast is willing to give second chances.
As your boss told you, once you’re out, you are out. You don’t get to come back and prove a mere indiscretion of your youth was just a lapse in judgment. Los Angeles wouldn’t understand Rachel, and Broadway wouldn’t accept her.
In your own way, you are still trying to protect her, even if sometimes it is from yourself.
“She was telling the truth,” Kelsey says quietly, and you know that it pains her to say this. “They need you. She knows you don’t need them but she meant it when she says they need you.”
“They always need the people who hurt them,” you tell Kelsey. “They needed Rachel in high school because she had what it took to win. They treated her like dirt but they wouldn’t just let her go because they needed her voice. They needed the Cheerios because of the creative flow that came along with them, but up until then the Cheerios had never shown an act of kindness towards them. Even Will needs Sue despite the misery she puts him through.”
“I left,” you continue. “That’s the only reason they want me to come back. I left them, I hurt them, and therefore they want me to come back. It has nothing to do with moral support or whatever it is Santana has convinced herself of this time. It has to do with wanting someone who hurts you.”
“Why?” Kelsey asks, genuinely confused. You understand what she’s going through. It took you four years and soul searching at bars in San Francisco before you found the answer.
“Because when they finally leave you for good, you’ve managed to convince yourself it’s not the painful thing they’ve done to you,” you answer.
Something flickers in Kelsey’s eyes again, this time it resembles compassion, empathy. You find it interesting that Kelsey can read people so well, and yet also find it so difficult to feel emotions. She’s built so many walls around herself, to protect herself from others -or from people like you- and the price she had to pay was forfeiting emotions completely.
It’s an art Santana had perfected long before you met Kelsey.
Santana walks into the locker room shortly after practice, her face completely void of emotion. You know immediately something is wrong. You look around for Brittany -did something happen to her?- but she’s sitting in the corner, oblivious to Santana’s misery. Brittany is fine. Which leaves only one other possibility.
“Did something happen with Coach?” You ask quietly, sitting down next to Santana. Santana continues to stare at the floor.
“She told me,” Santana says quietly. “She told me everything. And you knew, you knew what was going on, but you didn’t say a word.”
“San, what on Earth are you talking about?” You stutter. Santana doesn’t lift her head, for a long time, doesn’t say a word.
“You knew,” she repeats, “you knew all along but you didn’t say a word. I’m your best friend and you didn’t tell me.”
You mentally run through the list of sins you’ve committed without Santana- you went to see Inception, you went to the mall, you flirted with some guy called Chris, you caved and finally brought a Mac. You don’t understand what Santana is so upset about.
“Talk to me,” you prompt, “just talk to me, San. Let me know what’s going on. I can’t read your mind here.”
Brittany finally notices Santana, and shoots a confused look in your direction.
“Think about the others,” Santana whispers harshly in your ear. “Think about what you’re going to do to them. Think about Brit, about Will, hell even about Man Hands. Think about what will happen. Use your head, Quinn. You’re not going to save your future, you’re going to destroy theirs.”
“It’s not what you think,” you plead.
“Don’t tell me that,” Santana snaps. “It’s exactly what I think. I don’t even know who you are anymore.” Then, after a pause, so softly you almost missed it, “you could have told me what was going on. I would have listened.”
“I haven’t said yes yet,” you defend yourself. Santana scoffs behind you.
“You didn’t say no, either.”
It’s the last real conversation you would have with Santana until she showed up at your doorstep in Los Angeles four years later. But amid your guilt, you let yourself remember something else. Santana made it through your departure relatively unscarred.
(You took her desire to win but she kept everything else)
She kept Brittany, she kept her memories of high school in tact. She kept Glee Club and she kept the Cheerios and the bitter part of you resents the fact Santana even got to keep Sue, despite what your coach did to you. You had no one until you met Kelsey.
Berkeley gave you everything you wanted, but it took everything from you as well. The scout hadn’t been lying when she said that Berkeley would break you down only to build you up - trouble is, you’re still rebuilding. You had to rebuild a life that evolved around music but you couldn’t be a part of it, were forced to watch from the outside as people got to live their dreams, and so often it came down to you whether or not that dream could come true.
It shouldn’t affect you this much. But each time you have to say no, each time you kill someone’s dream, all you can think of is what you did to Glee. And the guilt creeps up inside of you, suffocating you until you can no longer breathe. You’re still repenting for your sins. Your father should be proud. Living in California reaffirmed your faith. Glee Club, you think spitefully, were the ones that took it from you. You never would have questioned your religion if they hadn’t been a part of your life.
(You never would have lived, either)
“You’re Quinn Fabray, right?” A twenty-something girl walks over to you with a quiet confidence you will later learn comes from the knowledge that things always work out the way you want them to. You nod in confirmation. The girl’s smile brightens. “I’m Heather,” she breathes, full of life and energy.
“Nice to meet you,” you say politely, even though you’re confused as to how she knew your name. The girl’s smile brightens.
“Oh, wow, this is awkward, you must think I’m a stalker or something,” she laughs. “I’m the scout from Berkeley.” She smiles at you again. “Your coach told me I’d find you here.”
You nod again, suddenly at lost for words.
“Let’s get coffee!” Heather suggests, almost bouncing in excitement. You’re reminded of Brittany and her endless energy. Before you have time to agree, Heather is already dragging you towards the parking lot. She stops in front of a convertible, and obviously being a scout pays incredibly well, because there’s no way a twenty-something grad should be able to afford a car like this.
“Oh, it’s not mine,” Heather laughs. “Berkeley just paid for the rental car. They think it helps impress the recruits.” She winks at you before getting in. “Come on, I need a caffeine fix.”
The car ride is relatively quiet. Heather makes quiet small talk as she asks about life in Ohio, homework, even the weather. You know she’s not really interesting in your answers - the real questions will come over a Latté. She is hardly the first scout to take out for coffee. You know how this is played.
Heather doesn’t disappoint.
“Your coach spoke quite highly of you,” Heather comments softly. “Giving who your coach is, that’s an accomplishment right there.”
“Sue has a strange way of showing affection,” you say, but your words don’t come across as biting. Heather laughs, and you find yourself being pulled in by her charm. She makes life seem so easy, so effortless. There’s a flicker of spite inside of you - has Heather ever had to work for anything? She comes across as the type of person who has had everything handed to her.
“I graduated from Berkeley three years ago,” Heather smiles at you. “And, well, I guess you never do get over your first love, because their athletics department hired me as a scout, and, well, you don’t exactly say no to a school like Berkeley.”
“It’s a good school,” you say for lack of anything better. Heather laughs, and flashes you a blinding smile.
“Relax,” she laughs. “This is just coffee, it’s not a job interview. We’re just chatting about schools. Except I’m gonna brag about Berkeley. And probably talk trash about Stanford, because, well, you know how these things go.”
“It’s ok,” you smile, “I hate Michigan. I think it’s a prerequisite for being from Ohio.”
“Here’s the thing,” Heather eventually drawls, “we know we’re not the only school interested in you. Hell, someone of your potential, you have your choice in schools. Duke, Berkeley, Notre Dame, probably even USC, you have your pick. Any school would be lucky to have you. You’re good. Straight up, there’s no real reason why you wouldn’t be happy at any of the others.”
“Thank you?” You’re not quite sure how to respond. Heather leans forward, and there’s a flash of something in her eyes, something so close to determination, and this right here is what makes her so good at her job.
“What I’m about to say is off the record, yeah?” Heather smiles at you. “Anything you want, we’ll make it happen. Anything at all. You have your choice of schools, we have our choice of recruits. You’re not the only one we’ve been looking at. But you’re the one we want. We’re willing to do anything to make it happen. Just let us know what you want, we’ll do it.”
“Full ride?” You ask. Heather nods.
“Like I said, we’re very interested. We believe you have what it takes,” Heather says. “And we want to be a part of that. Help us help you, if you get what I mean.”
“There’s just one minor catch,” Heather drawls. You look at her, puzzled. Heather shrugs. “If you come, you’re gonna have to come a semester early. Start this spring instead of next fall.”
You stare at her, stunned.
“Why?” You ask. Heather shrugs, but you know she’s aware of the reason behind it. You suspect Sue is probably aware of what Heather is asking of you. You suspect that is why Sue was pushing for Berkeley in the first place.
“It’s a competitive environment,” she answers. “There’ll be some people on the squad who won’t be super thrilled at the idea of a freshman taking their spot. We’re offering you first team status. But we want to make sure you have time to get used to the style and all that. If we bring you in the spring, we’ll have you ready for the fall. It doesn’t change that much in the long run. It also means you could graduate in three years, especially with your current GPA and all.”
“Oh, and one more thing,” Heather says as she gets up. “Keep in mind we’re asking you to do this because while you’re our top recruit, we still have a certain image we want to protect. As long as you do it, there should be no problem in granting you the scholarship at Berkeley.”
“What is it?” You ask, even though you’re beginning to suspect you already know. If Heather talked to Sue, then odds are your past would have come up in conversation. Which means Heather knows about your involvement with Glee Club, knows about Beth, and everything that happened before and after it.
“Your affair with the singer,” Heather says, and you freeze because you weren’t expecting that at all. “End it.”
Not stealing if you acknowledge it:
- Still don't own Glee
- Title is taken from the song "Last to Know" by Three Days Grace
- Heather is based off Heather Morris, without actually being Heather Morris. I just wanted someone who would remind Quinn of a darker version of Brittany
- not encouraging NCAA recruitment violations, but things do work a certain way.
Part III: Wicked Game
Part IV: Talking to the Moon
Part V: Look What You've Done
Part VI: Knife Going In
Part VII: I'm Not Calling You a Liar
Part VIII: Told You So
Part IX: I Gave You All
Part X: I Adore You
Part XI: Love Is No Big Truth
Part XII: Escape
Part XIII: No Longer What You Require
Part XIV: This Will All Make Perfect Sense Someday
Part XV: Our Love
Part II: Last To Know
You were the first to lie when we were not alright (Three Days Grace - Last To Know)
You don’t say anything when you walk into the office the next morning, but you feel Kelsey’s eyes upon you the entire time, tracking your movements. It’s the same scrutiny Sue used to use on unsuspecting freshmen during Cheerio practice, and you have to remind yourself you’re not a freshman on the cheerleading team anymore, that Kelsey is on your side.
Her silence continues as she just watches you. Her dark brown eyes are reading you, and you have to make an effort not to reveal anything. You’re saved by your office phone ringing.
As you turn around to answer it, you catch a brief look at Kelsey’s face. Her expression is strangely similar to regret.
“Fabray speaking,” you say gruffly into the phone.
“Quinn?” A voice stutters. You stare at the phone in horror. “It’s Kurt Hummel speaking, we knew each other from Glee Club?”
“How the fuck did you get this number, Hummel?” You snarl.
“Santana gave it to me, and-“ Your eyes narrow.
“Put Santana on,” you growl. Kurt hesitates. “Hummel, if you don’t put Santana on, I swear to God I will make a point of ruining your life. You think you had it bad in high school? That will look like heaven in comparison to what I’m going to do to you. In fact -“
“You don’t understand,” Kurt stutters. You roll your eyes. “Santana hasn’t booked a flight back to Lima yet. She’s still in Los Angeles.”
“And why are you tell me this?” You demand. You can practically hear Kurt cower on the other end. If nothing else, you haven’t lost your touch.
“Well, she sent me a text saying that she was going to meet you at your office, but she never let me know how it went. I just wanted to make sure you worked everything …” You never hear the end of the sentence because Santana freaking Lopez chooses that moment to stroll into your office.
“Sorry I’m late, Fabray,” she drawls. “LA traffic is a bitch. And look, you even look like you got some sleep.”
You immediately hit the intercom button.
“Kelsey,” you growl, “there is a rodent in my office. Please come take it outside.”
Santana reaches over to press the intercom button in return.
“Kels, baby,” she drawls, “bring in two coffees, ok love? Starbucks, yeah? Latte. Soy milk. Thanks love.”
“I’m going to murder you,” you tell her. “Then I’m going to bury you. In a shallow unmarked grave. Just so you know.”
“Not gonna happen,” Santana says cheerfully as she sits on your desk. “Kurt knows I’m here. He’ll alert the police if I go missing.”
“Hummel will be taken care of as well,” you growl. Santana leans over and gives you a kiss on the cheek.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, doll,” she drawls. “Sometimes it’s just not nice to tease.”
“Why the fuck are you here?” You ask. “I thought I made myself clear last night. I’m not coming back to Lima. I’m sorry Mercedes got into a car accident, I really am, but what’s it got to do with me?” You try desperately to swallow the lump in your throat. To cry in front of Santana Lopez is a sign of mortal weakness. “San, why can’t you just leave me alone?”
Kelsey enters that moment with the coffee. You know without looking at her that she’s annoyed at Santana, at this supposed stranger who walked into your office as if she owned it. Your intern catches your eye and you give a slight nod, one that you hope Santana won’t notice.
“You can leave,” Santana growls at Kelsey.
“She stays.” Santana turns to glare at you. You simply raise an eyebrow in response. Kelsey ducks her head to hide her smirk. “My office, Lopez,” you remind her. “These are my rules.”
“You sure you want her to know about your past?” Santana asks. She turns to face Kelsey, again you’re reminded of the old Santana, the one who ruled the high school during your pregnancy and how reluctant she was to give it up once the whole Beth fiasco was over.
“Has she told you what happened back in Ohio?” Santana presses. “Has she talked to you about why she left? Did she ever mention the reason behind her insomnia?”
“Stop it,” you plead. “Santana, stop it. This is my office. Let’s at least try and keep this professional. Don’t turn this meeting into a personal vendetta.”
Kelsey’s eyes flicker from Santana to you then back again. Confusion is the predominant emotion, but there’s something else -something like curiosity, something like interest- that’s starting to emerge. And you realize, Kelsey isn’t trying to read you at all. She’s focused on Santana.
Your sweet, innocent, pain in the ass intern is actually protecting you. You find yourself chocking up a little.
“They need you,” Santana says quietly.
“What?” You ask, stuttering. Santana shifts slightly, and now she’s staring at your Trophy Wall - a name you stole from Sue. Your success stories are there for her to see. You’ve become someone, and for the first time you realize the implications behind that. You became someone, and they weren’t there to witness it.
“They need you,” she repeats softly. “I know you don’t want to accept this but they sure as hell need you. Mercedes is in a coma and… The doctors just don’t have answers. It’s not that they don’t know when she’ll wake up, they don’t know if she’ll wake up, and there’s a hell of a difference between the two. And they just need someone there to keep them grounded, because right now they’re all just falling apart.”
“I just don’t think me being there will make a difference,” you find yourself moving closer to Santana, and you pull her towards you. But she stiffens and shifts away, her attention not leaving the wall.
“You kept your word about not needing us,” she says, and there’s a brief smile, and you get what Santana isn’t saying -she’s proud of you. “But can’t you make an exception, just this one? Can’t Mercedes being in a coma be enough of a reason to come back?”
“It’s not like that,” you argue. “It’s not a question about needing someone or not. It’s just not that simple, Santana, you have to understand…”
“Understand what, exactly?” She snaps, and finally, finally the old Santana is returning to you. You’ve missed this, the verbal sparring between the two of you. The constant power struggle is comforting in it’s own way. “Because I don’t get it, Quinn, I really don’t get it. I understand that you have a nice life going on for you here - your trophy wall demonstrates as much- but I don’t see how framed pictures of you and…” Santana squints, looking closer at the pictures. “I have no idea who that is, actually. But regardless, I don’t see how any of this means more to you than we once did.”
“Santana…” You move awkwardly, torn between comforting her and backing away entirely. She continues to follow your success stories on the wall. “San, come on. Be realistic. You have to know it’s not that simple. And when you think about it, me coming back to Lima? Especially after all that happened, it’s only going to do more harm than good.”
“No,” she disagrees. “I think you’re just making excuses. You forget you know I know why you left, Quinn. I know why you got out of Lima when you did and you know damn well I’m aware of why you can’t sleep at night. Hell, I even know why you hired Child Prodigy over here, and it’s not because she knows your fondness for vegan food.” She winks at Kelsey. “You’re good, sugar, but I’m better at this.”
Kelsey looks like she wants to strangle Santana. You’re briefly tempted on letting her.
“You have no idea why I have the occasional trouble sleeping,” you growl. “Now get the fuck out of my office.”
Santana leans over and lets her lips graze against your ear. Aware of Kelsey’s eyes upon you, you have to make a conscious effort not to react.
“Rachel misses you so much it’s killing her,” Santana whispers. “She misses you more than Broadway. And that’s the reason you can’t sleep at night. Because you did that. You made sure her dreams wouldn’t come true. You made sure she wouldn’t end up on Broadway. You stole her passion for music. You are the one who broke her, Fabray. And now you are the one that has to live with that.”
She leans back and walks towards the door, winking at Kelsey as she leaves. “See ya later, rock star.”
Kelsey’s appalled expression towards Santana almost makes you laugh. The look on her face, however, as she looks at you sobers you immediately.
“So?” You ask, as you turn towards your intern. “What did you get out of the conversation? Did you figure out Santana’s motives?” You hope that Kelsey will ignore how the desperation in your voice, your need to focus on anyone on but yourself, but you suspect you won’t get away with it this time.
“You still love them,” she says softly, and you hate how vulnerable, how hurt Kelsey suddenly looks. “You love them more than me.”
“You’re good, Quinn,” Sue says to you one morning after practice. You turn towards your coach, suspicion blatantly written across your features. Sue is never nice, especially not to her own Cheerios.
“Thank you?” It comes out as a question without meaning to. You glance around, hoping to find an escape. Santana catches your eye from across the field, but she’s too far away to make an immediate impact. You’re stuck.
“You’re good, but you could be better,” Sue continues, and you duck your head to hide your smile, because this, this is more like your coach - insults disguised as compliments.
“What do you want me to do?” You ask. You know how this game is played - Coach compliments you, Coach insults you, you vow to get better, practice is grueling, you impress Coach, then a couple of weeks later the whole cycle starts again. It’s nothing you haven’t been through before.
“You’re good but you’ve been distracted lately,” Sue says. “Whatever it is that’s holding you back? Get rid of it. You’re scholarship material, Fabray. But you’re not going to get one unless you start focusing more. You and I both know I’m not talking about Glee -God only knows how that useless club somehow keeps you guys sane. I’m talking about other distractions.”
It’s as close as Sue gets to saying she knows about the secret affair you’ve been having.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you stutter.
“Yes you do, Quinn.” Your coach doesn’t raise her voice at all, and it’s starting to affect you. It makes the entire conversation that much more serious. “You know exactly which distraction I am talking about. You are one of the best cheerleaders I’ve had on this squad. You think I’d let anyone walk back on after they got knocked up? No freaking way. I want the best on my squad, and you are the best. And if you got rid of what’s holding you back, you could have the world.”
“I…” You’re at lost for words. In that moment -when you didn’t have the right answer- Sue suddenly realizes she’s discovered your weakness.
“You could have the world,” Sue repeats. “You could have everything you wanted before your youthful indiscretion took it away from you. You were going places before Glee, Quinn. Now you have the chance to get that back. You can have the world again. I can make that happen. You don’t even have to tell Will, let me deal with him and his horrible obsession with gel. You don’t have to worry about the consequences. All you have to do is that one thing…”
“I have to get to class,” you stutter, and you hate it, you hate how you find yourself being persuaded by Sue’s words, by the temptation of bigger dreams, dreams you once thought had been taking away from you for good.
“Think about it, Quinn,” Sue says as you start to leave. “Cheerleading is your way out of this town. You could be great, Quinn. All you have to do is end your fling and that’s it. Scholarship to wherever you want. I can make it happen. Full ride and everything. All you have to do is end it. It’s just a high school romance anyway…”
Sue doesn’t stop talking, but you stop listening anyway. In hindsight, you would wonder why you never stood up for the one thing you had loved more than anything.
“Kels…” Your voice breaks as you reach out to her, but she jerks away from you. Emotions keep flashing across her face - confusion, hurt, anger, vulnerability, all different emotions you once wondered if Kelsey even knew what they meant before she met you.
“Stop it,” she cries, “just stop it.” She starts shaking her head as she looks at you. Eventually she takes a deep breath. “What the hell happened in Ohio that you still feel so guilty about? Did you kill someone or something?”
You stare at her. Kelsey stares back.
“Or something,” you say eventually. “But Kelsey, it’s not what you think, there were circumstances behind it, I didn’t really have a choice.”
“Or something,” she repeats, the mocking tone evident in both her eyes and her voice. “Do explain, Quinn, how you can kill someone or something.”
“I chose my future over someone,” you confess. “I chose to go to Berkeley. I chose being an English major over supporting the person I was with. I was selfish and young, and I had an opportunity to study at one of the best universities in the countries, and you know what, Kels?” Suddenly you’re mad, you’re mad that you have to defend yourself in front of your intern. “I don’t regret it. I would make the same decision all over again. I chose my future, Kelsey, and I had every right to do that.”
Remorse, guilt, flickers across Kelsey’s face.
It’s almost the same look Sue gave you when you told her Berkeley was willing to offer you a full ride.
It’s that look, of quiet guilt, of lingering questions, that has kept you up at night so many times. It’s the look that says you’re not quite sure if you made the right decisions, but you try to convince yourself you have even if you don’t fully believe it. It’s the look that says you want to try and make up for mistakes you haven’t really committed.
Because a part of you knows you had a choice. Like the scouts said when they recruited you, you had your choice of schools. You didn’t have to go to Berkeley, but as you rationalized it later, no one really says no to that school. You would have been a fool to give it up.
You just didn’t realize that the sacrifice -the thing Sue and the scouts didn’t mention- that you would be making would be your conscience.
Because you knew. You knew what would happen if you left. You knew it would break Brittany and Will would start questioning his ability to guide his students and you knew that even Santana, confident Santana, would find herself wondering what she did to lose her best friend. You knew you would be partly responsible for Santana not taking over the Cheerios the second time you were no longer on the squad.
And a part of you knew, too, what it would do to Rachel. You had suspected it all along.
You knew what would happen.
And yet you still chose Berkeley.
Because you got this. You got your prestigious job in a prestigious firm and you actually became someone, and you know it’s because you got to go to Berkeley that all of this happened. Because if you had stayed -if you hadn’t chosen that scholarship- you wouldn’t have had the education, the power, to go after what you wanted.
You weren’t going to give up your future just so others could live their dreams (dreams you know don’t include you).
Really, you rationalize to yourself as you end your inner monologue, you didn’t do anything to them that they wouldn’t have done to you.
“I’m not going to apologize for my life, Kelsey,” you sigh. “I’m not going to apologize for choosing my career.”
“Yeah, well…” She gives you a quick smile, and you know that everything is going to be ok between you two. “I still think Santana is a bitch. Who the hell drinks soy lattes?”
“I’m a vegan,” Rachel says quietly. Santana scoffs behind you.
“You’re also Jewish,” she responds sarcastically. You roll your eyes. “Sorry,” she continues, “I thought we were just making obvious statements about Man Hands.”
“You know I’m sitting next to you, right?” Rachel asks. Brittany snickers.
“Fine,” Santana concedes, “do enlighten us why you felt the need to express something we were already aware of.”
“I’m a vegan,” Rachel says, and she stops looking at you and stares at the floor, and something like pain -or is it guilt?- flickers across her face, and you don’t know what to make of it. “Sometimes I like to think I’m a vegan because I don’t want to hurt animals the way humans hurt each other.”
“Rachel…” You breathe. “I’m sorry we hurt you, I really am.”
“I know,” she says, and suddenly she’s looking at you again, but the only thing you notice is how fake her smile looks. “And I’m sorry at how selfish this going to sound, because I’m not actually a petty person, but, I like to think being vegan makes me a better person somehow. Like I’m trying to make up for the suffering somehow.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Santana snarls, “drinking soy lattés is not going to ease the burden of human suffering.”
You wonder if Santana’s new choice in beverages has anything to do with her wanting to make up for the mistakes she made in the past.
You wonder if the guilt is ever going to stop eating away at you. You wonder when your boss will notice you go out of your way for Broadway singers, as if by making their dreams come true, you will also make up for taking Rachel’s dream away for her. It’s not the same -what you did, how you did it, was unnecessarily cruel, but as Sue had told you, you didn’t really have a choice.
You don’t say no to Berkeley has been your mantra for the better part of three years, you see no reason why you should stop now.
And maybe, just maybe, maybe you had been doing Rachel a favor, after all. You’ve seen first hand how cruel the music industry can be. You’ve seen entire careers fall apart because they released the right song at the wrong time, and even though the LA scene isn’t as forgiven as Broadway, you know neither coast is willing to give second chances.
As your boss told you, once you’re out, you are out. You don’t get to come back and prove a mere indiscretion of your youth was just a lapse in judgment. Los Angeles wouldn’t understand Rachel, and Broadway wouldn’t accept her.
In your own way, you are still trying to protect her, even if sometimes it is from yourself.
“She was telling the truth,” Kelsey says quietly, and you know that it pains her to say this. “They need you. She knows you don’t need them but she meant it when she says they need you.”
“They always need the people who hurt them,” you tell Kelsey. “They needed Rachel in high school because she had what it took to win. They treated her like dirt but they wouldn’t just let her go because they needed her voice. They needed the Cheerios because of the creative flow that came along with them, but up until then the Cheerios had never shown an act of kindness towards them. Even Will needs Sue despite the misery she puts him through.”
“I left,” you continue. “That’s the only reason they want me to come back. I left them, I hurt them, and therefore they want me to come back. It has nothing to do with moral support or whatever it is Santana has convinced herself of this time. It has to do with wanting someone who hurts you.”
“Why?” Kelsey asks, genuinely confused. You understand what she’s going through. It took you four years and soul searching at bars in San Francisco before you found the answer.
“Because when they finally leave you for good, you’ve managed to convince yourself it’s not the painful thing they’ve done to you,” you answer.
Something flickers in Kelsey’s eyes again, this time it resembles compassion, empathy. You find it interesting that Kelsey can read people so well, and yet also find it so difficult to feel emotions. She’s built so many walls around herself, to protect herself from others -or from people like you- and the price she had to pay was forfeiting emotions completely.
It’s an art Santana had perfected long before you met Kelsey.
Santana walks into the locker room shortly after practice, her face completely void of emotion. You know immediately something is wrong. You look around for Brittany -did something happen to her?- but she’s sitting in the corner, oblivious to Santana’s misery. Brittany is fine. Which leaves only one other possibility.
“Did something happen with Coach?” You ask quietly, sitting down next to Santana. Santana continues to stare at the floor.
“She told me,” Santana says quietly. “She told me everything. And you knew, you knew what was going on, but you didn’t say a word.”
“San, what on Earth are you talking about?” You stutter. Santana doesn’t lift her head, for a long time, doesn’t say a word.
“You knew,” she repeats, “you knew all along but you didn’t say a word. I’m your best friend and you didn’t tell me.”
You mentally run through the list of sins you’ve committed without Santana- you went to see Inception, you went to the mall, you flirted with some guy called Chris, you caved and finally brought a Mac. You don’t understand what Santana is so upset about.
“Talk to me,” you prompt, “just talk to me, San. Let me know what’s going on. I can’t read your mind here.”
Brittany finally notices Santana, and shoots a confused look in your direction.
“Think about the others,” Santana whispers harshly in your ear. “Think about what you’re going to do to them. Think about Brit, about Will, hell even about Man Hands. Think about what will happen. Use your head, Quinn. You’re not going to save your future, you’re going to destroy theirs.”
“It’s not what you think,” you plead.
“Don’t tell me that,” Santana snaps. “It’s exactly what I think. I don’t even know who you are anymore.” Then, after a pause, so softly you almost missed it, “you could have told me what was going on. I would have listened.”
“I haven’t said yes yet,” you defend yourself. Santana scoffs behind you.
“You didn’t say no, either.”
It’s the last real conversation you would have with Santana until she showed up at your doorstep in Los Angeles four years later. But amid your guilt, you let yourself remember something else. Santana made it through your departure relatively unscarred.
(You took her desire to win but she kept everything else)
She kept Brittany, she kept her memories of high school in tact. She kept Glee Club and she kept the Cheerios and the bitter part of you resents the fact Santana even got to keep Sue, despite what your coach did to you. You had no one until you met Kelsey.
Berkeley gave you everything you wanted, but it took everything from you as well. The scout hadn’t been lying when she said that Berkeley would break you down only to build you up - trouble is, you’re still rebuilding. You had to rebuild a life that evolved around music but you couldn’t be a part of it, were forced to watch from the outside as people got to live their dreams, and so often it came down to you whether or not that dream could come true.
It shouldn’t affect you this much. But each time you have to say no, each time you kill someone’s dream, all you can think of is what you did to Glee. And the guilt creeps up inside of you, suffocating you until you can no longer breathe. You’re still repenting for your sins. Your father should be proud. Living in California reaffirmed your faith. Glee Club, you think spitefully, were the ones that took it from you. You never would have questioned your religion if they hadn’t been a part of your life.
(You never would have lived, either)
“You’re Quinn Fabray, right?” A twenty-something girl walks over to you with a quiet confidence you will later learn comes from the knowledge that things always work out the way you want them to. You nod in confirmation. The girl’s smile brightens. “I’m Heather,” she breathes, full of life and energy.
“Nice to meet you,” you say politely, even though you’re confused as to how she knew your name. The girl’s smile brightens.
“Oh, wow, this is awkward, you must think I’m a stalker or something,” she laughs. “I’m the scout from Berkeley.” She smiles at you again. “Your coach told me I’d find you here.”
You nod again, suddenly at lost for words.
“Let’s get coffee!” Heather suggests, almost bouncing in excitement. You’re reminded of Brittany and her endless energy. Before you have time to agree, Heather is already dragging you towards the parking lot. She stops in front of a convertible, and obviously being a scout pays incredibly well, because there’s no way a twenty-something grad should be able to afford a car like this.
“Oh, it’s not mine,” Heather laughs. “Berkeley just paid for the rental car. They think it helps impress the recruits.” She winks at you before getting in. “Come on, I need a caffeine fix.”
The car ride is relatively quiet. Heather makes quiet small talk as she asks about life in Ohio, homework, even the weather. You know she’s not really interesting in your answers - the real questions will come over a Latté. She is hardly the first scout to take out for coffee. You know how this is played.
Heather doesn’t disappoint.
“Your coach spoke quite highly of you,” Heather comments softly. “Giving who your coach is, that’s an accomplishment right there.”
“Sue has a strange way of showing affection,” you say, but your words don’t come across as biting. Heather laughs, and you find yourself being pulled in by her charm. She makes life seem so easy, so effortless. There’s a flicker of spite inside of you - has Heather ever had to work for anything? She comes across as the type of person who has had everything handed to her.
“I graduated from Berkeley three years ago,” Heather smiles at you. “And, well, I guess you never do get over your first love, because their athletics department hired me as a scout, and, well, you don’t exactly say no to a school like Berkeley.”
“It’s a good school,” you say for lack of anything better. Heather laughs, and flashes you a blinding smile.
“Relax,” she laughs. “This is just coffee, it’s not a job interview. We’re just chatting about schools. Except I’m gonna brag about Berkeley. And probably talk trash about Stanford, because, well, you know how these things go.”
“It’s ok,” you smile, “I hate Michigan. I think it’s a prerequisite for being from Ohio.”
“Here’s the thing,” Heather eventually drawls, “we know we’re not the only school interested in you. Hell, someone of your potential, you have your choice in schools. Duke, Berkeley, Notre Dame, probably even USC, you have your pick. Any school would be lucky to have you. You’re good. Straight up, there’s no real reason why you wouldn’t be happy at any of the others.”
“Thank you?” You’re not quite sure how to respond. Heather leans forward, and there’s a flash of something in her eyes, something so close to determination, and this right here is what makes her so good at her job.
“What I’m about to say is off the record, yeah?” Heather smiles at you. “Anything you want, we’ll make it happen. Anything at all. You have your choice of schools, we have our choice of recruits. You’re not the only one we’ve been looking at. But you’re the one we want. We’re willing to do anything to make it happen. Just let us know what you want, we’ll do it.”
“Full ride?” You ask. Heather nods.
“Like I said, we’re very interested. We believe you have what it takes,” Heather says. “And we want to be a part of that. Help us help you, if you get what I mean.”
“There’s just one minor catch,” Heather drawls. You look at her, puzzled. Heather shrugs. “If you come, you’re gonna have to come a semester early. Start this spring instead of next fall.”
You stare at her, stunned.
“Why?” You ask. Heather shrugs, but you know she’s aware of the reason behind it. You suspect Sue is probably aware of what Heather is asking of you. You suspect that is why Sue was pushing for Berkeley in the first place.
“It’s a competitive environment,” she answers. “There’ll be some people on the squad who won’t be super thrilled at the idea of a freshman taking their spot. We’re offering you first team status. But we want to make sure you have time to get used to the style and all that. If we bring you in the spring, we’ll have you ready for the fall. It doesn’t change that much in the long run. It also means you could graduate in three years, especially with your current GPA and all.”
“Oh, and one more thing,” Heather says as she gets up. “Keep in mind we’re asking you to do this because while you’re our top recruit, we still have a certain image we want to protect. As long as you do it, there should be no problem in granting you the scholarship at Berkeley.”
“What is it?” You ask, even though you’re beginning to suspect you already know. If Heather talked to Sue, then odds are your past would have come up in conversation. Which means Heather knows about your involvement with Glee Club, knows about Beth, and everything that happened before and after it.
“Your affair with the singer,” Heather says, and you freeze because you weren’t expecting that at all. “End it.”
Not stealing if you acknowledge it:
- Still don't own Glee
- Title is taken from the song "Last to Know" by Three Days Grace
- Heather is based off Heather Morris, without actually being Heather Morris. I just wanted someone who would remind Quinn of a darker version of Brittany
- not encouraging NCAA recruitment violations, but things do work a certain way.
Part III: Wicked Game
Part IV: Talking to the Moon
Part V: Look What You've Done
Part VI: Knife Going In
Part VII: I'm Not Calling You a Liar
Part VIII: Told You So
Part IX: I Gave You All
Part X: I Adore You
Part XI: Love Is No Big Truth
Part XII: Escape
Part XIII: No Longer What You Require
Part XIV: This Will All Make Perfect Sense Someday
Part XV: Our Love