A/N: I've decided to write a three chapter piece based on the Wemma moments from the various Glee promos. (If you haven't seen them, I've posted links to them on my profile) This one is based off the first one listed on my profile. Only one more week until we can see how accurate I am :D :D :D
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think :)
It was raining, and Emma looked sullenly out the window of her office at the wet weather, dreading the trek across the parking lot to her car.
She sighed, arranging her files once again in her bag. In the past fifteen minutes, she had taken them out of the bag a total of four times, first to arrange them by last name, then by first. Another glance at the muddy parking lot had prompted her to take them out for a third time to organize them by color. Now, she placed the last one in snugly, the largest of the folders, as she had decided to arrange them by size.
She bit her lip, fighting back tears, as she realized how ridiculous her behavior was. She gulped in a deep breath, trying to repress her heightened wave of anxiety. She knew, in reality, it was not about the folders, nor was it about the bleak rain.
She did not want to go home.
That was the reason she was back in her small pristine office, performing the job she had resigned from only a week before.
Principal Figgins had been more than glad to give her back her job, relieved even, seeing as it saved him from finding a replacement. Her voice sounding small and weak, she had thanked him, waiting for that feeling of relief to sweep over her.
But her stomach only had continued to twist in painful knots. A wave of panic shot through her as she battled internally for that control she sought in all aspects of her life.
She was scared.
She had finally admitted the undeniable truth to herself.
For once in her perfectly planned life, she did not know what to do next. She had quickly discovered that staying home, searching for a new job, was not the next step. The loneliness, the way she had severed herself from the rest of the world, only caused her anxiety to skyrocket.
She cleaned, but there was only so much cleaning that could be done around the immaculate apartment. She found herself pacing for hours at a time, her swirling thoughts consuming her. She lay in bed for hours, trying in vain to sleep, tying to bring her mind away from the hell she had created for herself. She showered more often than she even had before, rubbing frantically at her delicate skin with a bar of soap until it burned. She forgot to eat.
Going back was the only option, if she were going to somehow manage to hold herself together at the seams.
She hadn't talked to Will. They had exchanged cell numbers before Sectionals, and she had four missed calls from him already. Four missed calls and four new messages. She could not bring herself to listen to a single one of them.
It was ironic, she thought to herself, bitterly ironic, that she had spent the last two years of her life—the two short years she had worked at McKinley—fabricating ways to gain Will's attention and devising plans for when she did finally obtain it.
Now she had him at the tip of her fingers, and she was allowing him to slip away. All she ever wanted suddenly was not at all what she wanted anymore, not if it meant being the rebound. Not if it meant she had to take a risk. Not if it meant she might get hurt.
She had only been back at McKinley for two days now, and as carefully as she had devised ways to encounter Will more frequently before, she now sought precise measures to avoid him. Minor meetings had been inevitable, in which Emma had plastered a contented smile on her face, effectively hiding the turmoil that ate away at her beneath the surface. She did not want him to see how much this was hurting her.
He wanted to talk, though he did not blatantly say the words. Emma had become all too skilled at reading those warm brown eyes. But he was hurt and confused—hurt and confused that she had not picked up at his numerous calls, nor had she returned any of his messages.
Just like Emma, he was not about to throw himself recklessly into a position where he might get hurt any further.
Emma wondered how much longer either of them could go on like this.
She slung her bag over her shoulder, glanced at her office to assure that everything was in order, then left, padding softly down the empty corridor.
She reached the door, staring reproachfully at the puddles that spanned across the pavement. She cursed herself for leaving her umbrella tucked neatly under the passenger seat of her car. If only she had taken heed of the brewing storm clouds that had gathered in the sky earlier that morning.
"I could drop you off at your car if you'd like…"
The voice startled her, though she knew exactly who it belonged to the moment it reached her ears.
She stuttered hopelessly over her words, unable to catch his gaze."Will, um, well, that's very nice of you to offer, but um, I, um—"
"Emma." Her head shot up as soon as her name slipped from his lips. "It's just a quick drop off to your car—I'm not asking you to talk to me. I'm not asking for anything from you at all…" His voice wavered slightly over the last words.
Emma bit her lip, fighting not to lose control. Faked a smile. "Alright. Thanks, Will."
She watched him disappear into the downpour. She clutched her bag tightly, digging her nails into the soft material. He pulled up a moment later, and she quickly dashed out across short distance from the door to his car.
"Thanks, Will," she muttered, arranging her bag at her feet. She buckled in, despite the short distance, and took a moment to take in her surroundings.
His car was not sloppy, though it wasn't what she would consider neat. A few folders covered the backseat, and she was pleased to see that all of his trash had made it into the designated plastic bin. A minty air freshener hung from the mirror, mixing with the musky smell of his cologne.
"My pleasure," he replied, driving more slowly than necessary down the empty parking lot. Emma's car was one of three vehicles that remained.
She opened her mouth to tell him which one was hers, but he pulled up in the parking spot beside hers before she could utter a word.
He stopped the car, sighing as he leant back in his seat, his brow knitting as he pushed back the words he wanted to say.
Emma fidgeted, groping for her bag. Her hand rested on the door handle, but she could not make herself undo the latch.
"Emma." Her heart shattered into a thousand pieces as he uttered the simple word. She removed her hand from the door handle. "We need to talk."
She stiffened, biting her lip as she lifted her face to catch his gaze.
"I know you don't want to," the words spilled from his mouth. "And I know I said we wouldn't. But Emma, we can't keep brushing this to the side. I know you don't like it when things get messy. But Emma, sometimes it's okay to take the risk."
If only she could make him realize that it wasn't okay. She had spent so long trying to protect herself that she wasn't sure she knew how to emerge from her shell.
"I'm scared, Will," she finally whispered, her hushed words settling in the air around them.
"I know." He reached gently across the seat divider to take her hand in his. "And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared too. But I'm more afraid of not taking that risk. Of losing you."
The anxiety that had been weighing on Emma's chest subsided, though she knew it had no reason to. If anything, she should be more afraid then before, but with both their vulnerabilities exposed, Emma felt a little less alone. A little less scared.
"I don't want to go home," Emma barely registered the words until they had slipped from her lips.
"Then don't. Come back to my apartment with me—We can do a simple dinner together. Terri's moved in with her sister, so it's just me," he reassured her, and Emma could tell that he hoped he hadn't taken it too far.
Emma had always been one to take baby steps, and even though this simple invitation felt like a colossal leap, she took a deep breath as she answered. "I'd like that."
Though she hated to leave the comfort his car—the comfort of him, Emma pried open the door so she could follow Will back to his apartment in her own car. Will had offered to drive her back to McKinley to pick up her car after their dinner, but Emma had insisted that it would be ridiculous. They both knew she was right, but Emma could sense that Will was slightly frightened that she would bail if left to drive her own car.
"I'll follow right behind you," she assured him, draping her bag over her shoulder as she left the warmth of his car.
The cold, wet air left her shivering as she hurried over to the driver's seat of her car. She was surprised how at ease she felt as she started the car and followed him out of the parking lot. Was this all it took? Had her insufferable anxiety that had consumed her for the past few days all been for nothing? The comfort of Will was all she had needed.
Will's apartment was close by, and after parking, the pair silently made their way up to the third floor. Like his car, Will's apartment was not messy, but Emma could hardly call it neat. Subconsciously, she began to scout out what needed cleaning and how she would go about it.
"Make yourself comfortable," Will told her, pulling Emma's mind away from her obsessive thoughts. He took her coat from her and hung it next to his own.
She folded her hands gingerly in front of herself, trying not to feel oppressed by her surroundings. She felt uneasy in any place that had not been cleaned by her own hands. She caught Will's gaze, his soft eyes causing a wave of relaxation to wash over her. She allowed herself to relinquish some of her control.
She smiled, and a grin spread across Will's face in return. "Now there's the Emma I know."
She followed him into the kitchen, watching as he opened the fridge to rummage for something that would suffice as dinner. "We can have a salad. And I think I have some chicken. How does that sound?"
"A salad sounds great, but I, um, don't really, um, eat meat…" she trailed off, hoping she didn't sound too rude.
"Of course," Will muttered, looking embarrassed. "I'm sure I can find something else…"
"Oh, no, Will. You don't have to do that. I'm fine with just a salad and feel free to make yourself some chicken—I don't mind."
"Are you sure?"
Emma nodded fervently. "I'll even make the salad if you'd like."
The pair set out to prepare the simple meal. Conversation was light and easy as the two settled back into their old, comfortable friendship. When the dishes were done and put away, Will glanced nervously at the clock. Emma followed his gaze, twisting the dish rag in her hand as she waited for him to speak.
"I know it's a school night, but it's only six thirty. Would you want to stay for a little bit longer? Maybe watch a movie?" He looked up, running his tongue across his lips.
Emma took in a deep breath, trying to settle her swirling thoughts before she answered. She continued to fumble with the dish towel.
"Em, if you don't want to, don't feel pressured," Will quickly assured her, gently prying the dish rag from her anxious hands.
"No, I'll stay." She rubbed her empty fingers together, not seeming to fully register that the dish towel had been taken from her. "I'd love to stay."
Will smiled, but a look of concern shone through his eyes. "Would you like some popcorn?"
Emma nodded. "I'll, um, get some drinks for us," she offered, not wanting to feel useless.
Once in the living room, Emma sat down on the couch as Will rummaged through a cabinet of movies. "What would you like to watch?" he asked her, scanning the titles.
"Gosh, um, I'm not sure…anything's fine."
He continued to search. Emma sucked in a breath, wondering if she should break the silence.
"Aha!" Will exclaimed before she could make up her mind. "I've found the perfect one—my favorite. Singin' in the Rain. Perfect for this terrible weather we've been having."
Emma chuckled lightly, feeling slightly more at ease. "I like that one a lot, too."
"Great." Will smiled, placing the DVD into the player, then sat down beside Emma as the screen flickered to life in front of them.
As the opening credits rolled on, Emma felt Will's hand slid into hers. She left it, the warmth of his skin putting her at ease. As she watched the screen, barely registering what she saw, she felt Will's eyes rest on her rather than on the television.
She stole a glance at him, and when he did not turn away, she muttered, "What?" She glanced at him through her thick lashes, her already large eyes seeming to widen even more.
Will blushed, squeezing her hand gently. "You're beautiful."
Emma had not been expecting such blunt words, but she felt her cheeks flush with pleasure as he continued to gaze at her. The movie was forgotten as Will took his free hand and cupped her chin gently.
Emma's breath hitched slightly as his head neared hers. She closed her eyes as she felt his sweet breath fan across her face.
His lips came down on hers, tentatively at first. Emma kept her eyes closed, her heart rate accelerating as the kiss became more urgent. His hand slid up her cheek until his fingers laced through her hair.
Emma thoughts tumbled. She tried to separate her logical thoughts from her feelings of desire. It felt too right, to be here with Will, to be kissing him like she had always fantasized. And that bothered Emma. That some so wrong, that something that had always been so forbidden, could suddenly feel so right. Emma pulled back, grounding her hands onto the cushion of the couch as she turned her face away.
Will abruptly pulled away, glancing at her quizzically. "Is everything okay?" His warm breath ricocheted off her cheek.
"I think it's a little weird for me—making out in a space that you shared with her. You know, a place you made a fake baby in," the words tumbled awkwardly from her mouth as she tried to convey her uneasy thoughts into words.
Will sighed, blowing a stream of steady air out from his pursed lips. He leant back against the couch, turning to look at Emma. Her fiery red hair spilled across her face, shielding her eyes from his.
She peaked at him through her veil of hair, waiting for him to speak. When he did not, she took the initiative to speak first. "Will, I'm sorry. Gosh, I didn't mean to bring up, you know, the fake pregnancy. Will, I—"
He cut her off. "Come here, Em." He opened his arms, beckoning her to him.
She stared at him, unsure of how to react. She wished she knew what he was thinking.
"Come on," he urged her, and once again, she tried to read his expression.
Hesitantly, she crawled into his arms, resting her head against his shoulder. His arms closed around, his hands straying to her back as he began to rub it gently. She relaxed against him. Desire was slowly begin to win.
"You're—you're not mad at me?" Her voice came out in a small squeak. She wished she could see his face, but she didn't dare move out of his embrace.
He pulled back so her could look her in the eye as her spoke. He sucked in a deep breath before speaking. "Emma, I'm not mad at you. Sure, I'm a little frustrated, but this isn't going to be smooth sailing. Not with what both of us have been through—not with what we're both going through now. And I can understand that, but that doesn't make me want this any less. And I know it's not going to be easy for you to be here. It's not easy for me either—finding articles of clothing or a book she left behind, constantly reminding me of what I lost—of the pain she put me through." He shuttered slightly, and Emma buried her face deeper into his neck, listening to the uneven beat of his breathing. "But Emma, we can't let that win—we can't let the memory of her win. And Emma, I'm not mad because I want you to be able to tell me how you're feeling—if something's making you uncomfortable or scared, I want us to be able to talk about it, just like you told me now. We both need to be able to talk about these things instead of brushing them to the side."
She relaxed against him, and she felt his muscles unclench as he held her closer to him. "Thanks, Will," she whispered, lifting her small fingers as she absentmindedly began to play with the collar of his shirt. She could've spoken more, giving him the same confirmation, the same reassurance he had just given her, but instead, she snuggled deeper into his lap and entwined her hand with his. And she knew, for now, that was enough.
They shifted to face the movie. Gene Kelly's character strolled down the street in the pouring rain without the protection of his umbrella, singing the song that had given the movie its title. With Will singing the lyrics softly in her ear, Emma found herself losing interest in the movie once again.
It was hard for Emma not to think about all the memories Will and Terri had shared in this very apartment, but just as Will had said, they were just memories. Memories were strong, but Emma was determined not to let them win. After all, Will was all she had ever wanted, and she had finally decided she was not going to let him slip through her fingers.
