Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, and this is for fun, not profit (don't I wish!).
Author's Note: This is my first Glee fic, so feedback is especially appreciated. Spoilers: up to and including "Hairography."
True Colors
Quinn
True colors, Mr. Schue? I don't think so. I've been lying for so long, I don't even know what my true colors are.
White, for purity? To symbolize my goodness, my worthiness as a Christian? To show that I'm Daddy's little angel?
Or how about blue, for bitch? For Ice Queen Fabray? (Like I don't know they call me that.) To show how I wield my power, my popularity, to make or break someone?
Or I used to, anyway.
Maybe yellow…yellow for a scared pregnant teenager who's dug herself in so deep she can't see the surface anymore.
Well, it's not like anyone else is baring their souls, either. Everybody's got some secret—mine's just bigger (and bigger and bigger…every day). Rachel and Kurt crushing on Finn. Mr. Schuester making eyes at that counselor. And Mr. Schue's wife—she's got a whopper going herself.
But sometimes you think a person is showing you his true colors. Like Puck. I thought he really cared about me.
I mean, I'm not stupid. Obviously. I knew his reputation with girls before I went home with him that night. I knew he probably saw me as some kind of challenge—the whole bad-boy seduces good-girl thing.
The truth is, he would've stopped. But I didn't want him to.
That night, I was sick. Sick of my dad and his overprotectiveness; he wasn't going to let me go out. "Parties are nothing but hotbeds of sin!" he insisted. For once, my mom spoke up: "Oh, now, honey, we can trust our Quinnie—she always makes the right choices."
But I was sick of making the right choices. Sick of never putting a foot wrong, of having to be perfect all the time. Sick of being me.
So, at the party, I drank wine coolers instead of diet Coke. And instead of "protecting my purity"—staying away from all those buzzed-hungry boys—I picked the hungriest one of all, the one who'd been eyeing me all night with a smirky smile.
As soon as we started kissing, I knew I was in over my head. With Finn, it's easy to draw the line—we can do this, but no more. I mean, I like kissing Finn, but the world doesn't start spinning out of control or anything.
Puck's lips touched mine and my whole body turned liquid. I've never wanted anything so bad as I wanted him, kissing me, touching me…everything.
So I did what I did. It felt great, actually—it felt great to be bad, to be just like everyone else.
Afterward, I freaked out. I gave him the full-on Queen Bee treatment—like he wasn't fit to wipe my ballet flats on. But every time I caught those dark eyes with mine, I melted a little.
Since he found out about the baby, he's gone overboard trying to prove that he'll be a good dad. And I was ready to consider it, especially after we babysat for Mr. Schue's crazy nephews. (By the way, it's probably a good thing for Mr. Schue that Mrs. Schue isn't really pregnant. The genes on her side are totally wack.) Puck was pretty impressive, coming up with the music idea…and he didn't let those hellions walk all over him, like Finn would have. I started to think, maybe…
But it was all a lie. Puck's true colors are just what I thought they were: he's selfish, conceited, immature, and oversexed. He doesn't care about me or our baby—not enough to grow up, anyway.
I just can't believe this is happening to me. I was going places—right out of Lima, for sure. Being captain of the Cheerios wasn't just about ruling McKinley High; winning nationals would've gotten me a cheerleading scholarship anywhere…and then maybe I could've convinced Daddy that I could handle something bigger than College of the Cross in Wapakoneta.
Well. That's all over now. As far as Daddy's concerned, I no longer exist. I could go anywhere—but I have no money, no Cheerios, no real friends…nothing.
Except Finn. Sweet, clueless Finn.
I see your true colors
Shining through
I see your true colors
And that's why I love you
If he only knew.
* * *
Puck
True colors, my ass. Nobody wants the truth around here…maybe not even me.
'Cause the truth is, I've got it bad for Quinn Fabray. And not just because she has the newest Puckerman swelling her belly. There's just something about that girl. When she gives me that kinda secret look from under her hair—it makes me want to do crazy stuff, like climb up a tower or slay dragons or some shit…like she was a princess and I was some whipped knight. (I would have wicked armor though—none of that tin-can garbage—real men wear chain mail. Word.)
I wonder if Finn feels that way. Probably not. Good ol' Finn: he's too busy trying to do the right thing to have femmy fairy tale fantasies. I see him watching Rachel (she is one hot Jewess, even if she's not for me), and then he gets this guilty look, shuts himself off, and works twice as hard…for Quinn and "their" baby. Even when she's a flat-out bitch to him, he just brushes it off and mumbles something about her hormones.
It's no wonder she loves him. He's totally dedicated to being what she wants him to be.
But that night? That night, Finn wasn't around...and she was mine, all mine. She showed up at this party—Quinn never came to parties, not my kind of parties anyway—and out of nowhere, we were in a corner of the basement kissing. God, she tasted good, some wine-cooler-and-strawberry-lipgloss combo. And for the President of the Celibacy Club, she was a helluva kisser.
So she must've been pretty buzzed, because after awhile she tossed her hair back and said, "Take me home, Noah."
Nobody at school calls me Noah. It sounded damn sexy coming out of her mouth…but still.
"It's only 9:30, baby," I purred in her ear. "And the name's Puck. Rhymes with—"
"I'm not your baby, Noah." She ran her tongue over her lips. "And I didn't mean my home."
Holy crap! Yeah, she was my best friend's girl, but she was also driving me crazy six ways to Sunday. I couldn't think beyond the next five minutes—I just didn't want to lose the feeling of her, curled up in my lap. So much for brotherhood.
I thought for sure she would change her mind once we were in bed (all that Jesus-freak brainwashing had to kick in) but she never stopped me. She seemed almost desperate—not desperate like an ugly chick, but like she was gonna go through with this no matter what.
I took my time. Truth be told, I wanted to rock her world. I wanted to hear her say my name again (she did—in the softest, sexiest whisper). I wanted this night to be so amazing that she'd never, ever forget it—and never forget me, either.
Guess I succeeded a little too well.
But afterward—Jesus, she was cold. She froze me out like nobody's business, calling me a Lima loser and insisting she'd swear the baby was Finn's. And what's Finn gonna do when she pops out a little Puckette, all tiny dark eyes and black hair stickin' straight up? He'll probably find some way to justify it—some freakin' recessive Italian gene or something. Finn's too damn loyal for his own good. But that's his problem.
Just lately, though, the Ice Queen had thawed a little. She was pretty wowed by my cupcake-selling skills (I didn't tell her about the secret ingredient), and I caught her watching me sometimes when we're singing. Then she asked me to babysit with her…totally a date.
But I blew it. I should've known Santana wouldn't keep her mouth shut about those texts. I don't know why I did it in the first place, except that it's been awhile (OK, a long while) and she started it. I swear, scratch that girl's skin and you'd probably find scales.
The look in Quinn's eyes when she saw my phone…and then I tried to make excuses, said something completely lame about my "needs" and how she hadn't "given it up to me" since that night (yeah, like that was gonna go over well). I am an IDIOT.
So, I got what I deserved: I had to watch her run into Finn's arms in tears. It sucked. The whole thing sucks.
I see your true colors
Shining through
I see your true colors
And that's why I love you
If she only knew.