A/N: This is the first in what will probably be a 3 part fic, maybe 4. Because this situation fits them way too perfectly. This is also completely un-beta'd, so forgive me. I also have to give credit to Michelle for helping me navigate through my bumbling feelings for these two. PSA: I don't claim to know what kind of rehab goes into healing a compressed spine, and Finn probably wouldn't be able to help in the real world, but Glee suspended reality for the show, so you should for this fic too!
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"Quinn's at physio. Oh, she refuses to have anyone around but doctors, you know how she can be…"
Finn usually makes a point of not interacting with Judy Fabray anymore. He dumped her daughter, and even if he and Quinn are in a friendlier place these days, the lady's death stare was a mean one—and there's no point in going out of your way to provoke it.
He's seen her some lately though, with visiting Quinn at the hospital after her accident and stuff, but they hadn't spoken really—he'd just talked to Quinn briefly a couple times about anything and everything that wasn't about cars, cell phones, or weddings. It'd been awkward, and this weird thing had happened to his chest every time he walked into her room for the first time and was greeted by that huge neck brace keeping her together—maybe it was a hospital thing to feel like an elephant was stepping on his heart (or a Quinn thing)—but it'd been worth it. At first, she'd been completely rude and he wanted to be mad at her for it, because seriously—but then he'd realized that if he suddenly had his legs basically cut off, he'd be pretty pissed too. So he gave her a pass, and their conversation had been easy.
(Just like always.)
These days she was back at school, and she'd missed a lot while in the hospital—there was no silver band around his left ring finger, and he and Rachel had this huge blowout fight about weddings and waiting, which had turned into a whole other thing about her waiting on him in general, since he'd been dragging his feet on picking a future. He'd been screamed out when they eventually collapsed tiredly, and it was unspoken that they weren't together anymore. They were still something, and it was still pretty fucking shitty to see her at school nowadays, but they weren't getting married and they definitely weren't going on dates. He pretty much stuck to Puck and Sam these days, so this news about Quinn being difficult made his ears perk up as he stood awkwardly in Aisle 4 of the supermarket with his mom as she chatted up Judy Fabray. They definitely had the weird mom vibe going, where they insisted on talking about everything they could think of, but his brain remained stuck on Quinn.
Her being difficult was nothing new—Quinn Fabray always dug her heels in and was stubborn as hell when it came to saving face. A wheelchair had never been part of the plan, and while he thought she was totally badass and owning it, Finn could definitely see why she had shut everyone else out of her therapy sessions. He could feel the sympathy creep up on him—he definitely understood having your whole life redirected like a nuke and being flung in totally uncool territory (like Russia—that place was cold). It was an all too familiar feeling this year—everyone was always up in his business about graduating and what was gonna come after—and he just didn't know. Especially now without Rachel, who'd been his one steady thing lately. That was whole other issue, but whatever. He did know Quinn, and that's what made him ask Judy outright about Quinn's progress, although he felt he was pretty ninja about making her let slip when and where they were.
And walking into the hospital two days later at 3:30pm, he didn't feel bad about it at all. Dressed in his typical workout clothes—because it was called physical therapy, hello—he found the appropriate floor and place, spotting Quinn immediately. It had everything to do with the fact that she was dressed in tight sweats and a fitted tshirt, which let him see just how toned her arms had gotten with all this wheeling stuff. Everything else looked pretty sweet too, but unfortunately she didn't let him look too long—she'd seen him too, and immediately frowned, scrambling like she wanted to get away. Only she really couldn't.
That was a really shitty thought.
"Finn! What are you doing here? How do you even-?"
"I got it out of your mom. On accident, kinda, but not. I wanted to come," he cut her off, and she narrowed her eyes. Figured—she'd become fairly suspicious of people doing nice things for her lately, considering how she kept saying that she wanted to live her life and not be looked at that. "Look, I know you like, banned people from this, but I know that when you get all ultimatum-y," he sighed, smiling. "It definitely means you want the opposite thing, and you know you'd rather get out of this sooner than later. So I'm here to help!" He clapped his hands together enthusiastically. "Can't be worse than lying around by yourself in this stuffy place being completely quiet."
"I'm good to do whatever—I can play cheerleader, kick you in the ass if you need it. I like all the versions of Quinn, but if you want the old one back, let's do it."
The whole time, she'd been eyeing him skeptically, but something about his last sentence—he couldn't really remember it now, it had all kinda come tumbling out of his mouth, he tended to do that—had changed her mind, and she waved him over and introduced him to her doctor. He thought he caught a slight smile on her lips, too.
Everything was still fairly basic with her recovery, but after a few minutes of him bouncing on an abandoned medicine ball and talking the ear off of her and her therapist, Finn got to help with stretching her—he'd also turned bright red and looked everywhere but at her, for obvious reasons. His hand was like, 3 inches from her ass at one point, and he hadn't counted on that. Especially with her doctor right there. Eventually, he'd either gotten over himself or needed a distraction, so he'd started talking mindlessly again, and she'd finally talked back. Their conversation flowed, from glee assignments to him telling her all about how Wrath of the Titans had been totally worse than Clash when he saw it with Sam last week, and that one had been really fucking bad besides Gemma Arterton's face—he found that this wasn't so awkward (there was still 3 inches there, he was safe) and he enjoyed helping her. After an hour, he was so comfortable that he couldn't resist a cheeky taunt during another stretch.
"You're totally glad I'm here, aren't you? You're getting a good stretch, huh?"
He wasn't exactly sure how to take the non-answer and her hand shoving his face away, but he laughed loudly and poked her when he saw the helpless (but genuine) smile on her face.
Weights were easier—he was absolutely familiar with this kind of training with football and basketball, and they worked mostly in silence as they lifted. He spotted her, watching her arms move fluidly, her face knotted in concentration. She was completely interesting when she got like this—so intense and driven, but not crazy. In the back of his head, he thought it was a little bit or a lot hot, but he didn't linger on that. But he did tell her about it. The first part, the driven part==not the hot part.
"I think it's pretty amazing, ya know," he said as he examined his choices of Gatorade from the vending machine down the hall. "Wait, do I want fruit punch or the blue kind, because I—" she punched the button for Cool Blue flavored electrolytes and looked up at him expectantly.
"You were saying?"
He smiled wryly, making a face at her.
"I said, I think you're being amazing with all this," he repeated, snatching his Gatorade from where it had fallen in the slot and quickly paying for a fruit punch one—there was no question, it was her favorite—and handing it to her. "Seriously. Like, sometimes I can't sleep, right? But there's nothing on at 3am, so I watch poker on ESPN. And those guys are so lame—like, all hoodies and sunglasses and no smiling—and they get so upset when they lose one hand, even though they've got a trillion dollars in chips still. You'd think they'd be pretty stoked about all that money because at least they have that. It makes me think how you got dealt like, the worststuff—either that or your just crap at life poker and keeping losing—but you're not pitching a fit or anything about it, like they are about money. Maybe you just don't want to let anyone see you do it, or whatever, but it still counts." He gave her a long look. "You just keep going. Fighting back. Most of those douchebags would've folded by now, and they never had to pop out a baby after Regionals or deal with all the drama you did. All they had to worry about was cards."
He wasn't sure when Quinn Fabray had seeped into his drowsy thoughts about poker late at night, but he didn't question it.
It was strange how seeing her like this, in a private moment where she was so completely at a disadvantage and yet unfazed, had made him instantly recall everything else about her in his head, like a movie. Beth, and the suddenness and terror of that. Her terrible father and unreliable mother. The Shelby shock this year, and the pink hair. Her whole issue with Puck. Prom Queen, and him, even, because he knew he'd been kind of rude to her last year in his haste to get Rachel back— that thought made him super bitter, because really, that hadn't turned out so well and he really didn't want to think about if it had been worth it. Quinn had always confused him, and probably always would in a way, but he realized now that admired her spirit more than anything else he could think of, and that definitely, somehow made her less of a mystery.
She was quiet after his little speech, and she didn't look at him while they wheeled/walked side by side back to the physio room for her bag, only offering a small 'thank you' and shrug. And he knew it, he just knew it—that he'd done the right thing in coming here, that she did need someone to notice. Maybe she wasn't being public about her meltdowns—she never had, really—but that didn't mean that she wasn't on the verge of one (she was fucking paralyzed) and didn't need someone to pull her back and loosen her up. It probably wasn't ideal to her that it had been him, but they'd had a pretty good time, he thought. It was that particular thought that made him stop her before she could resituate herself in the front seat of Judy's Hyundai—yeah, Judy had looked pretty shocked to see him, but whatever. He was a ninja.
"Hey, so—should I come back? Again, to do this? Would you want me to?" He knew it was bad manners or whatever to invite yourself to things, but he didn't know if that protocol applied to the physical therapy of your ex-ex girlfriend who you were sort of friends with now. In typical Quinn fashion, she just arched an eyebrow and looked past him, at the hospital.
"Do you want to come? It'd just be more of the same—boring, really."
He knew a brush off when he heard one, but he just leaned down, his hand on the car door as he smiled and nodded slightly.
"Oh, I'll be here. Prepare to do real work, Fabray. No slackin' now that I'm around. We're aiming for football shape." Mostly because that was all he knew how to do, so it was easy to say. But it worked, and she cracked another smile after hesitating and staring at him a bit, almost like she was trying to figure if he was serious or not. He was, and he threw her a knowing look before shutting the door and waving them off.
But there wasn't any hesitation in her smile the next day, when he plopped down beside her, not Puck, at the lunch table where the Glee kids usually gathered. Rachel was giving him a weird look—so was Kurt, but his was a little less obvious—but he couldn't find any kind of regret in just sitting down next to Quinn. Yesterday, something had finally changed—all year he'd felt so stuck, trying to latch onto something solid and it hadn't worked. And yeah, he still hadn't found that something, but he still felt different today, for whatever reason (Quinn)—so why not take that and run with it? He grinned instantly back at Quinn before chomping down on his burger, and though he still debated flavors of Fruit Roll-Ups with Sam and Mike, eventually, in between bites, he was drawn back to Quinn. Oddly enough, after the small bit of stupid jokes and small talk, they sort of fell into arguing about English class. It was whatever—Grapes of Wrath sucked as a book because the Dust Bowl totally sounded like something from college football season, and it really wasn't—maybe that was stupid to say, but he didn't regret it when Quinn rolled her eyes at him, still smiling gently before she pulled out her own copy and started explaining it to him.
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He went to every single session of hers for seven straight weeks, 3 times—sometimes 4—a week. For Finn, it was nice because it was something steady—he could always count on Quinn and her stretches and weights and 3:30 every afternoon. He'd never counted on actually enjoying himself, but he found that these appointments with her where they dealt with her paralysis—it was getting better, but whatever—were quickly becoming some of the best times he'd ever had with her.
Way back when they'd first been together, he'd always done this thing—counted her laughs—because Quinn Fabray didn't giggle for much. He prided himself on being the only person to actually make her cackle now and again—it was usually at his expense as freshmen, but whatever—but these days, he'd lost count of the times they'd both had to stop and wheeze, get their bearings back before her therapist could touch her and push her to the next position. It wasn't work at all to be there and hang out with her, and soon their good times were bleeding through to school. A duet in Glee, a math tutoring session in the library (okay, more than one), and she had become his new lunch buddy, as beside her was his new regular seat.
Almost instantly, they were friends, probably because there was no pressure. He didn't have to worry about getting the wrong shade of blue for his bowtie to match her, and she was too busy being grateful for his no-strings-attached help (or maybe it was that he didn't look at her different, he wasn't sure). They weren't Quarterback and Cheerio anymore-she couldn't walk and he had no future, so there was no use in the pretenses that had hung over their relationship so many times before. And that freedom totally suited them—he could make fun of her actually sweating and she could snap back that he was an oaf, but instead of a fight and disbelief, they'd somehow end up snorting in laughter as the insults got lamer.
Plus, he actually really liked helping her—the job of it. He'd learned a lot from just being around the place and the doctors and patients, and really, it made his problems seem a little bit less intimidating. If Quinn could maybe get her legs back one day, there was no reason he couldn't figure his own shit out. Eventually. If anything, he'd gotten a lot more comfortable with being unsure, and that's what made him ask after their latest Friday session.
"You wanna go get some food or something?"
Even if they were closer than before, there was still an unspoken line they didn't cross—they never spoke about their previous relationship and they definitely didn't hang out without supervision. But Finn didn't really see the problem with going to get food—he was starving (their workouts got more strenuous and he often took the time to pack in a normal weight session for himself)—and it's not like the company would suddenly get bad. It was only around 3 seconds of dead air between them before she answered with a 'yeah, okay,' and he opted not to complicate things by reading into that, instead helping her into his truck and packing her chair in the back.
This wasn't a date—he was pretty sure you weren't allowed to have pit stains on those—so he had no issue or doubts driving them to a small diner on the outskirts of town that wasn't exactly Breadstix swanky. They sat elbow to elbow at a worn-in booth, neither needing a menu—this place served round-the-clock breakfast, so Quinn got a weird omelet thing with an extra side of bacon while he scoffed at her and ordered a short-stack of flapjacks. They were pretty much the only ones in the place so it wasn't long before their food slid onto the table in front of them, and the silence was comfortable as they both stuffed their faces and flirted with the idea of maybe using table manners.
For Finn, that meant trying really hard to chew with his mouth closed, which was about 60% successful, except for when his thoughts would wander and he forgot—like when he noticed Quinn had a really pretty mouth. Slamming the door on that thought train, he tried to talk about anything else. Unfortunately, the easiest and most common topic was graduation, which was quickly approaching, and Finn actually spoke the words aloud for the first time, thought, ever.
"I actually don't really know what I'm gonna do." He shrugged, embarrassed because there was really no getting around how true it was, first, and it wasn't an easy thing to admit when literally all of your friends had some kind of plan in place. Even if Puck's was to bang California cougars.
"What happened to New York, and acting—all that?" she says, not looking at him and instead picking at her eggs. That tells him it's a subtle way of asking about Rachel, but he doesn't mind. She hadn't been around for that, and he hadn't offered any information thus far—he was in an honest mood, so screw it.
"I thought I wanted to be an actor," he laughs now at the prospect. "I thought it'd be sweet, you know. Performing onstage like always, like Glee. But really, I figured if I just said it out loud, just something concrete, if I just told Rachel that yeah, we were gonna do it together," he trailed off and shrugged with a sad smile. "It would just happen, and maybe I could finally just stop thinking about next year and the future and everything else. I could wish it true, or something." He looked out the window, biting the inside of his cheek. It still sort of stung. "But it didn't help, at all. I mean, Rachel loved it, and she wanted to prep for all these auditions and teach me all this stuff and kept talking about proper etiquette and improving my stage presence," he ticked things off on his fingers. "And well, that just made it totally unappealing. Not because of her, but it's just-I can't picture myself actually doing it, every time I try. Performing all the time? Not being just me practically ever? No way. That's too complicated."
"And that sucked to realize, because all year I wanted to be sure about something, and it had to be that. Rachel was pretty quick on the uptake, and figured out that meant I was actually sure about not wanting to go to New York, which she took as me not wanting to be with her." He sighed. It figured, that the first bit of clarity he'd gotten would cost him his girlfriend.
"It wasn't that at all, even if it made me feel like an asshole when she said it. But we didn't talk for like 2 weeks and then when we did, it was pretty easy to break it off. She wants it bad, more than she wants me. And that sucks, but it is what it is. I'm not going and she is." They'd considered long-distance but Finn knew her-as soon as she got to the city she'd be throwing herself into auditions, attending workshops, networking. Again, not exactly his cup of tea, which was why they were breaking up in the first place, and they knew it wouldn't be the same. He wouldn't fit in that life she would have, and she didn't fit in his.
"I get the worst though, because at least she has Broadway still. I'm stuck here." He rolled his eyes. He wasn't bitter. He wasn't. Even if he'd spent the last three years thinking Rachel was the right thing for him, only for the reality of it to blow up in his face. No big deal, he was just a life-long Lima loser in the making.
"I deferred Yale," she said quietly. He didn't quite know what that meant, but that lasted about 3 seconds before she went on. "My mom and I discussed it, and I'm not ready to go off on my own in a chair like this, even if I am supposedly getting better."
Finn's mouth twisted in a wince. Out of everyone, maybe the most impressive thing had been Quinn getting to Yale. That was a smart school, and he knew it was everything she wanted for herself. Had wanted. What was worse was that he had no idea what to say to that. At least his future hadn't ever been plotted out—Quinn's had been specific and planned and ready to go as soon as she threw her cap in the air in May, but it had been snatched away from her. Jeez.
"I'm sorry. But, that doesn't mean it won't ever happen, right? It's just a year, and you'll be an even more impressive person when you write them to say that you beat paralysis and are now wanting to kick ass in school again." He shrugged one shoulder and tried for a reassuring smile, though only one half of his mouth quirked up. "You were in a huge bad accident like a couple months ago. These things take time to figure out and heal and stuff. You'll get it all one day, and it'll be awesome. I believe in you—everyone else does too. It'll happen." He nudged her elbow with his own and nodded, mock sternly.
He wasn't sure how well his 'speech' went over, because she just kept looking at him—like she was mapping his face, or trying to figure him out—so he just stared back, confused.
"So why aren't you taking your own advice then, hmm?" She finally spoke, sticking another bite of eggs in her mouth and giving him a cheeky look. It took him a second to get it, but he did. And then he rolled his eyes.
"It's the same thing at all."
"Maybe not," she replied, still with the same knowing tone. "But Finn, honestly. Just because your ex-girlfriend and couple of your friends are leaving with plans doesn't mean they're good plans. Or that they're right. It doesn't mean you're any less than they are. Sometimes these things take time," she quoted him. "You'll get it all one day. We all believe in you. So stop moping like a grump, and get out of your own way."
He hated that she seemed to see all that so easily, and made a face at her, shaking his head. It was Quinn's way to be able to cut through all the bullshit and get straight to the core of you (probably because she'd been an expert at building the walls of masks herself), and she'd just laid it out, simple, for him. Ugh. "You know what? You're way less cute when you're right about stuff, so maybe stop," he quipped, throwing her a sarcastic smile.
She only laughed, heartily, cackling when he flicked a piece of bacon at her with a smile.
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