Author's Note: Hello there. :D Welcome to my newest Glee fanfiction, Off the Map. I hope you guys really love it, as it's been so much fun to write. I already have another Glee fanfic up right now, but I'm so excited for this one that I wanted to go ahead and post it. Remember, reviews make me smile and inspire me to update faster. XD
This is sort of AU. For one thing, it takes place in the middle of March - Spring Break! Whoo-hoo! Hahah. And another thing different is that Rachel never found out about Finn and Santana (it's not even important to this particular storyline). Hope that clears some things up for you guys.
Pairings: Puck/Rachel; Artie/Quinn – With unlikely friendships for all. :)
Disclaimer: *reluctantly grumbling* Oh, fine...make me say it, why don't you? "I only own the plot." There, are you happy now? ;)
Chapter One
"Run, run, run, run, run, run, run!" Noah "Puck" Puckerman chanted, bolting down the street.
"Uhm…a little help here?" Artie Abrams called, desperately wheeling himself forward. "'Run, run, run' isn't exactly possible when your legs don't work."
"I gotcha," Quinn Fabray said, sprinting up behind him to propel his wheelchair down the street. Had it not been for the life-or-death circumstance, Artie would've thought the accelerated speed was fun.
"Where's Rachel?" Puck demanded, pausing to look over his shoulder.
As if on cue, Rachel Berry shot out of the building like a bullet, arms and legs pumping. In no time, she caught up with the group.
"Come on, guys, the motel's only a few blocks away!" she rallied.
The second gunshot of the night blasted through the air, shattering the group's nerves, as well – Quinn screamed, Artie's shoulders tightened, and without thinking, Puck lurched forward to grab Rachel's hand protectively.
Okay…I know what you're thinking…why is this unlikely quartet running (or in Artie's case, rolling) down the street as if their lives depend on it? Where's the rest of the Glee Club? And why on earth did Noah Puckerman just protectively grab Rachel Berry's hand?
Well, it all started –as most major life-changing journeys do – with a break up. Three break ups, to be specific.
One Week Earlier, Friday, Before School.
"I think we should break up."
The perfectly wrapped present tumbled from Rachel's hands in shock, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
"Wh – what?"
"Rachel, you're really awesome," Finn Hudson said gently, stepping forward to take his now ex-girlfriend's hands within his own. "And it's been fun being your boyfriend, but lately I've just felt so…," he paused, searching for the right word, "trapped by you."
"I don't understand," Rachel protested, her widened brown eyes desperately probing Finn's for an answer. "It's our ten-and-a-half month anniversary! Arguably one of the most crucial milestone's of any young couple's romance – why now?"
"Look, I didn't even know it was our ten-and…that anniversary, or whatever you said. I just know that I've been thinking about this for a while now."
Rachel pulled her hands away from Finn's and stooped down to pick up his gift. "Open it," she insisted, thrusting it toward him. "It'll cure your mind from this temporary bout of insanity you're enduring."
She smiled at him gently. "I know we've been going through a rough patch, Finn, but this present will remind you why we're great together."
Finn took the present a bit reluctantly, sucking in an inhalation of strength. God knew he would need it if he were really going to end things with a girl as stubborn as Rachel.
The gift was sizeable and square, covered in metallic blue wrapping paper and topped with a big red bow.
"I know blue's your favorite color," Rachel told him, "and the red bow is a metaphor for our burning, passionate love holding us together."
Finn raised his eyebrows and tore off the wrapping paper – he wasn't a big fan of surprises, but there was something cool about opening a present when it wasn't your birthday or Christmas.
He felt like Rachel had punched him in the chest when he saw what it was – she'd gone to the trouble of making him a scrapbook documenting their relationship. Could she be any more thoughtful and caring? She was making it twenty times harder to break up with her.
"Wow, Rachel," he breathed, flipping through the pictures and skimming over the cute tidbits she'd written beside each one. "This is amazing – "
"I knew you'd like it."
" – But I can't accept it."
Rachel's smug smile slipped off her face. "What?"
Finn handed it back to her and stuck his hands in his jean pockets. "That's a really cool gift, and you're a really cool girl and all…but I still think we need to break up."
Rachel's heart stuttered in protest before picking up in double speed. "Finn," her tone was quiet, pleading. "Why are you doing this?"
"I haven't felt like myself for a while; I feel like I'm just a co-star on the Rachel Berry Show."
It felt like a rock was squeezing through Rachel's throat. "That's not true."
"That's how I feel."
"Please," Rachel begged, hugging the scrapbook to her chest as if it were a shield. "Finn, I love you! And I thought you loved me, too."
"I do, but we both knew this wouldn't last forever," he said gently, casting his eyes to the ground. He blinked away the stinging sensation of tears; contrary to what Rachel may believe, this was hard on him, too. Part of him still wanted to be with her – really badly, but the majority of his heart was telling him it was time to move on.
"I thought it would," Rachel protested, desperation coloring her rising tone. "Please, give me another chance!"
"There's nothing you can do; the spark's just not there for me anymore." Finn coughed against the lump in his throat. "I'm so sorry."
You should be, Rachel thought. Instead, she said, "At least keep my scrapbook. Maybe one day you'll look at it and remember why we're meant for each other, and then you'll come back to me."
She held out the scrapbook but he slowly shook his head and pressed it back against her chest. He met her eyes, hating the pain shining so evidently there. "No." The word was soft but firm. "I appreciate it, but I can't keep that; it would just make this whole thing hurt more."
"But don't you see, Finn?" Her eyes were brimming with tears, making the dark brown color appear to glow. But she valiantly continued on with her passionate words, though her voice wavered. "You can prevent that hurt by not breaking up with me! The remedy is so simple, and yet you're choosing a path marked with lonely nights and a bounty of tears. Please, don't do this to us."
"I'm sorry, Rachel," he whispered, because his own voice would crack with emotion if he raised it even a single decibel. "But I mean it – we're over. For good."
He leaned forward and planted a good-bye kiss on top of her soft head, breathing in the woodsy scent of her hairspray. Rachel's eyes squeezed shut, sending the barrage of tears to splash over. Her face squeezed up in that way she had when crying, and she kept the scrapbook tucked under one arm as her free hand flew up to cover her face.
Finn turned away and shuffled down the hall, his shoulders hunched and his hands still in his pockets. He hated doing that to her (and to himself), but it had to be done – it wouldn't be fair to either of them to stay in a relationship he wasn't putting his whole self into.
Rachel's shoulders trembled with her silent sobs, but she couldn't bring herself to flee into the nearest girls' bathroom. Her heart throbbed like a bruise, and all she wanted was to go home, curl up under her covers, and bawl loudly into her pillow while the soundtrack to Barbra's Funny Girl drifted soothingly through her headphones.
Still Friday, Before School.
"What do you mean you're breaking up with me?" Artie asked, confusion drawing his eyebrows into a pucker.
Brittany Pierce bit down on her lower lip and wound her bouncy blonde ponytail around her finger. "Look, Artie, I'm sorry, but I don't want to date you anymore."
"Why not?"
"It's not fun," she shrugged, not able to meet those big, saddened eyes of his behind his adorably dorky glasses. "And I don't want to drag you on…I mean, roll you on, or whatever."
"I don't understand where this is coming from; we have plenty of fun together." He tried to remember anything that would indicate Brittany had been bored on their last few dates, but considering her expression was usually blank, it was hard to tell.
"The truth is, I've never been in a serious relationship," said Brittany, staring at the locker above Artie's head. "And I don't like being in one. I watched Disney's Peter Pan last night, and he taught me that I can't be tied down."
Artie's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "You're taking relationship advice from a cartoon about a boy who's afraid to grow up?"
"Don't knock down Peter just because he's living the dream, Artie. Besides, he can fly, and everyone knows birds are a simile of honesty."
"But I don't understand – we have a really good thing going, Brittany."
"The truth is…" Brittany took a deep breath. It seemed almost illegal to make a sweet boy in a wheelchair feel badly. "You're not adventurous enough for me. I need a bad boy like Captain Crunch."
"You mean Captain Hook."
"Yeah, him, too. Face it, Artie…" she hesitated before going in for the kill. "You're kind of boring."
His heart sank into his knees. "No, I'm not!"
Brittany smiled sadly and leaned down to press her hand against the side of his face. Their eyes connected – hers were apologetic; his, pleading.
"Yes," she said, patting the recently-shaved smoothness of his cheek. "You are."
Artie closed his eyes and leaned into her palm; a moment of finality passed between them.
"I'll see you around," she said, pulling away and standing up. "I hope we can still be friends."
"Yeah," Artie nodded, giving her a small smile. "I'd like that."
He watched her amble down the hallway. He wiped away a tear and sniffled before wheeling himself slowly down the opposite end of the hall.
Half of him kept waiting for Brittany to run back for him, drop to her knees, and beg him to take her back (he would, of course, but not until after she'd apologized profusely).
But she never did.
Still Friday, Beginning of Lunch.
"Explain this," Quinn demanded, jabbing her boyfriend's cell phone right into his face.
Her stance radiated fury; eyes narrowed, lips pressed together, and her foot tapping with an impatient kind of ire.
Sam Evans flinched away from the offending object, nearly colliding with his open locker door in the process.
"Explain what?" he asked, lifting one eyebrow and taking his phone away from Quinn.
He looked down at the screen and his indignant look turned into pure horror and then into complete guilt. "Quinn." He said her name as if it were a plea.
"I said 'explain'!" her voice was shrill, unrecognizable.
Sam swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "It's not what it looks like."
"Oh, really?" Quinn scoffed, emitting a laugh that lacked any sort of mirth. "That's funny, because what it looks like is you and some random girl have been sending naked pictures back and forth for who-knows how long."
Sam switched tactics – accusation hardened his handsome face. "What were you doing going through my phone, anyway? Have you ever heard of 'mind you own business'?"
Quinn drew back as if he'd slapped her. "You left your phone in our English classroom, and when I picked it up, it beeped. I was more than a little intrigued when the text's caller ID said 'My Baby' and the message was a picture of some girl's nude body."
The top of Sam's chiseled cheekbones flared crimson. "That's just Victoria," he said. "She's an old friend from back home."
"Don't lie to me, Sam!" Quinn yelled, her heart starting to race. Confrontations always invoked a contrasting mixture of power and helplessness within her. She took a deep, shaky breath and smoothed her sweaty palms over her Cheerios skirt.
"Answer me this," she said, her tone dangerously low and calm. "How long have you been cheating on me?"
"You call that cheating?" Sam spluttered. "It's just pictures; it'd be like if I looked at porn online – you don't call that cheating, do you?"
"That's not the same, and you know it." Quinn inhaled again, then exhaled slowly. She prayed for strength, not wanting to blow up in Sam's face, though she very much felt like punching him right now.
"I'm going to ask you again, and this time I want you to answer me honestly: how long have you been cheating on me?" She repeated it slowly, each syllable sharp and punctuated.
Sam sucked in his cheeks and focused all of his attention on the inside of his locker. It had once been a mess in there, but Quinn – devoted girlfriend that she was – had spent an entire afternoon cleaning and organizing it for him. He'd appreciated the surprise so much that he'd taken her out for ice cream afterward.
"Sam!"
He jerked at her hissing his name before slowly turning his neck to look at her. His usually sweet and sensitive gray-green eyes were dead. His voice was monotone as he finally replied. "Since before we even started going out…" he looked up at the ceiling before continuing. "She's actually been my girlfriend for over a year now, so technically I'm cheating on her with you."
Quinn felt as if an iron claw were crushing her lungs, squeezing the air out of her. Her blood pounded loudly in her ears; her heart pulsated slowly and painfully, like the ticking vein of an open wound.
"No." The word was a gasping whisper, almost inaudible even to Quinn. Her bleary vision focused onto Sam's face – so audaciously guilty – and the word left her lips again, much louder and more forceful then before. "NO!" She backed up, holding up her hands as if begging for mercy.
Molten tears stabbed at the backs of her eyelids. "Why?" she demanded.
Sam took a few steps forward, closing the space between them. "It's not you," he said softly, smiling a smile so cute and apologetic that it broke Quinn's heart all over again. "It's me – I'm a completely insecure jerk. You and Victoria deserve better; I'm…I'm going to call her and come clean, okay?"
Quinn nodded stupidly. Silence, and then she said harshly, "I hope you're smart enough to realize that this means we're over?"
One corner of Sam's mouth turned up in a sad, humorless smile. "Yeah. I gathered that from the way you look like you're plotting my murder."
Quinn shook her head slowly, trying to clear her mind. "I trusted you," she said, her words an accusation rather than a statement. "I was good to you – better than you deserved – and you…" She swallowed against the lump in her throat. "How could you do this to me?"
"I told you; it's not you, Quinn. Don't waste time blaming yourself – I'm just an unworthy jerk."
Unbelievable – even when Sam was a terrible person, he still oozed nice-guy charm.
"Yeah," she nodded and rolled her bottom lip between her teeth. "You are." She shoved against his chest with her hands with such force that he almost stumbled to the ground.
He caught himself on the combination lock of a locker and turned miserable eyes to her. He opened his mouth to speak, but Quinn was already turning her back to him to stride down the hall. Her posture was straight, shoulders-back – she carried herself with grace and dignity. Her chin was raised; her arms were at her sides.
She slipped into the girls' bathroom at the end of the hall (which was, thankfully, empty), locked herself into the big stall at the very back, and tucked herself into its far corner, completely composed the entire time.
Then, she finally let herself burst into tears.