A/N: If you ask me, I'll swear I'm a Puck and Quinn shipper, but the truth is, I will always have a soft spot for these two. They just have so much potential, so much to offer. In fact, I think I would be alright should the writers ever decide to make these two endgame. This is my first attempt at a Glee story, so be nice? Review? One-shot.

Stolen

He stole another glance at her. She had been standing there, leaning against her locker for almost three whole minutes now. Yes, he had been counting. Somewhere between the first and second minute, he had lost count, but how long she had been standing there was of no real importance to him.

What mattered was how long he had been watching her secretly out of the corner of his eye, how much he still cared for her. He hated himself for his weakness. She had betrayed him in a way he never thought she would, so why did he still care? He shouldn't still care, but the truth of the matter was that he did.

One more glance, but this time, she caught his eye, caught him looking at her. He almost wanted to look away, to deny that he had been watching her in the first place, but he simply couldn't.

In the end, she was the one who turned away from him first, but before she did, he saw the tiniest flicker of shame in her eyes. And so she should be, he thought, ashamed - ashamed for what she had done, what she had done to him.

"Finn, are you even listening to me?" Rachel interrupted him then, causing him to finally pay attention to someone, anyone, who wasn't Quinn Fabray.

"Uh, actually, Rachel, there's something important I need to deal with right now," he informed her, sounding as apologetic as he could, not wanting to upset her. "I'll catch up with you later, ok?"

Rachel nodded, her eyebrows knitted in confusion, but when she followed his gaze, she understood. He needed to tie up some loose ends with Quinn. He needed closure and she was going to give him that.

"Sure," she murmured, tightening her grip on the binder in her hands, but by the time the word had left her lips, he had already walked past her, had already left.

"Quinn," he started when he reached her, reaching out to tap her on the shoulder to alert her of his presence.

He changed his mind at the last minute, hesitant, retracting his hand.

She had opened her locker now, pretending to organize it, but he knew she was doing it to avoid him. Her locker was already neat and tidy. It always was.

"Quinn," he repeated, louder this time, even though he was sure she had heard him the first time around.

Slowly, cautiously, she turned, as if afraid of what he would say to her, what he would do to her.

"Could I talk to you for a moment?" he asked, although he planned to say his piece anyway regardless of her answer.

She nodded and that to him was answer enough.

"We just never really talked about you know after that day," he explained himself, looking down at his shoes for a brief second or two. "I thought it would be best if we did, you know, to get some closure."

There was pause then, but eventually she spoke, reacted.

"What do you want to hear from me Finn?" she asked him and he could hear the slight fury in her voice. "I'm sorry. Is that what you want to hear? Because I left you countless messages with those exact words if I recall, none of which you answered by the way."

He wasn't going to lie. He had deleted each and every one of them as they came, too upset to even bother hearing her out. He felt bad about it now, but could she really blame him?

"Did you expect me to, Quinn, after the way you hurt me, after the way you broke my heart?" he couldn't help but wonder.

He was angry too now. Two could play that game.

She blinked rapidly then as the tears began to burn her eyes. She willed herself not to cry. She couldn't cry, not here, not in the hallway where everyone would see her. She needed to keep what little reputation she had left at McKinley High and crying would certainly not help matters. It would label her as 'weak', a 'has-been', more so than she already was.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, knowing deep down that she had no right to be upset with him. "I really am Finn."

"Why did you do it?"

It was the only thing he really wanted to know. That and if she still loved him, if she ever really loved him.

She shook her head at his question, the tears falling uncontrollably now down her porcelain cheeks. He took a step to the left upon instinct, shielding her from the passing crowd, although truthfully, no one was paying them any mind. Even torn apart he still had an instinct to protect her from anything, from everything.

Quinn opened her mouth after a moment, prepared to blame what had happened between her and Puck on wine coolers and her own insecurities, but then, she'd be lying and she was done lying to Finn.

"Curiosity," she simply responded and the confused look on his face didn't surprise her, not in the least bit.

Her answer confused even herself, but somehow, she knew it was the truth.

"Curiosity?" he clarified, an eyebrow raised. "I don't understand."

"For a moment," she elaborated, wrenching her hands anxiously as she did so. "I just wanted to be someone else, someone that wasn't me. I needed an escape and Puck was offering that to me, one night on the wild side, one that would never happen again."

"An escape from what Quinn?" he encouraged her, needing to know. "From me? Was I that bad of a boyfriend?"

"No," she quickly assured him, not wanting him to think that he had pushed her to sleep with Puck.

That decision had been hers and hers alone, wine coolers and insecurities or not.

"In that moment, I just needed an escape…from everything," she reiterated, clarified, watching him, waiting for a reaction.

He merely nodded, not quite as lost as he was before.

"I just needed to know," he confessed, putting his hands in his pockets, looking down at his shoes once again. "I would really like for us to be friends again at least, Quinn, given our history with each other and everything."

It was her turn to nod, because really, what more could she ask of him than just that? He offered her a smile, one that she returned with much effort, but as he turned to walk away, her smile fell and her only thought was to pull him back, to not let him go.

He turned to face her again when he felt her hand tugging on the sleeve of his shirt ever so lightly. She looked as surprised as he did by the action, but he waited, waited for her to say something, anything.

"Finn, can we be in love again?" she tried her luck, suddenly finding the details of her cardigan intriguing.

He gave her no response, not until her eyes met his again because his answer was in his eyes, pleading with her to rephrase her question. He wasn't ready to open his heart again, to take her back, to take them back, not yet.

"Can we ever be in love again?" she questioned instead because she knew him well enough to know what he was thinking, what he was asking of her.

He smiled and told her honestly, "I don't know."

And with that, he walked away for the second time, except this time, he left Quinn with a genuine smile on her face.

Because his answer hadn't been a no. It wasn't a no.

It was a maybe.

A possibly.

A probably.

A someday.

Quinn smiled and let him walk away this time because his answer had been more than enough for the both of them, at least for now. Because deep down, Quinn Fabray knew that one day, his 'I don't know' wouldn't be a maybe, a possibly, a probably, a someday. It would be an unmistakeable yes and her question, too, would change, yet again.

"Finn Hudson, can we be in love again?"