A/N: Why yes, a new crack ship. This is a pairing I would've never thought to put together, but it ended up working surprisingly well. I hope you enjoy
On moonlit nights, you wonder.
You look up at the sky, glittering with scattered stars, so bright, so beautiful, that merely gazing upon their splendor is a symphony to your soul.
You close your eyes, continuing to wonder, trying to forget, wishing you could feel without consequences.
XXXX
You went to Berklee with a full ride and a plan for your future.
You promised yourself you'd leave Ohio in the dust, dreams of finally making something of yourself just as you had strived for your whole life.
Yet, four years later, here you are, renting a cheap apartment, bagging groceries during the day, bussing tables at night. Menial jobs you would've never thought you'd be caught dead doing.
But time has mellowed your arrogance, and experience has caused you to question your narrow mindset.
And suddenly you aren't so sure what you want anymore.
XXXX
You see familiar faces at the grocery store all the time; in a small town like Lima, it's impossible not to.
You see her your first Saturday at work, curled red hair—longer than it used to be—arranging her purchases meticulously on the conveyer belt.
You smile pleasantly, waiting for her eyes to meet yours. She looks slightly startled, her eyes resting on your lazy smile.
"Hello, Ms. Pillsbury."
XXXX
"Transferring schools in the middle of your senior year? That's never easy," she muttered, glancing at your files and transcripts as you sat patiently in her immaculate office.
You nodded as she continued to scan your papers. She wasn't quite like anyone you'd seen before. Her attire was quirky, her eyes bigger than any you'd seen before. She was old fashioned, yet fresh at the same time, and as her curled hair fell around her face, you couldn't decided if you found her beautiful or not.
"So you moved in with your uncle?" she clarified, looking up from the desk. You nodded once again.
"Not far from your last address..." she muttered, straightening the stack of papers. "Is everything alright at home, Jesse? Not that I, you know, mean to pry, or anything...I'm just not, well, sure I understand you moving such a short distance..."
"No worries, Ms. Pillsbury," you told her sweetly, folding your hands on your lap as you uttered your well-rehearsed lie. "Everything's fine at home, I can assure you. McKinley High can just offers me so much more right now, and who would I be to pass up such an opportunity?"
"Of course, Jesse. Of course," she replied. "I mean, I guess I'm just having a little trouble grasping why you're opting to transfer when you have a choice..."
You glanced around her prim office once again, not an item out of place. Though you hardly knew the woman, you could say it was safe to guess she lived a structured life style, hardly straying from what she found comfortable. You flashed her an easy smile, leaning forward, your voice holding a certain charm. "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, old time is still a-flying. And this same flower that smiles today, tomorrow will be dying."
She gave you a quizzical look, unsure how to respond to your sudden recitation.
"Robert Herrick," you told her. "From 'To the Virgins: to Make Much of Time." You easily cited the source of your words. "A poem about not letting life's opportunities pass you by," You leant back, smiling again. "Carpe diem. Seize the day..."
You watched her eyes dart around her office, amongst the precise order, before landing on your own eyes, surprised when her lips curved into a genuine grin.
Smiling so purely, there was no question that you found her beautiful.
XXXX
"Hello, Jesse," she mutters, blushing arranging three different types of dish soap on the belt by the size of the bottle. "How have you been?"
A friendly curiosity, like any past teacher would ask concerning a previous student. But in her eyes, you can sense something deeper, something untilled that you hadn't seen there before.
"I've been well," you assure her pleasantly. "Just finished school, and now I'm just trying to figure out what I want to do next."
"Wow, finished school already...time really does fly by," her huge brown eyes widen even more, and you lose her attention for a moment. You know she's remembering the over zealous teenager in her office from so many years ago.
You smile again, beginning to bag her groceries. As she continues to load her items onto the belt, a shard of light ricochets off her hand, drawing your eyes to the sizable rock and platinum wedding band on her left hand.
You're taken aback, though you shouldn't be, and it's your turn to have a revelation about how much time has passed. You properly look at her for the first time, noticing her longer hair isn't the only difference. She looks older, though not in a diminishing way. It's as if age has favored her, and she has finally full developed into her body. She's curvier in a tasteful way, seeming to only grow more beautiful with time.
"Goodbye, Jesse," she tells you after you finishing bagging her items and loading them securely into her cart.
And she she turns to leave, pressing against the material of her lavender cardigan, you see a slight, but define bump.
XXXX
She comes again the following Saturday at the exact same time, and you're not the least bit surprised. She deliberately wheels her cart to your register, striking up another pointless conversation.
Waiting through the next week is agony, and when she returns yet again on Saturday, you slip note into one of her bags, amongst the cleaning products.
Meet me at the park. Nine o'clock.
Carpe diem.
~J
XXXX
You're surprised when she actually shows up, her curled hair pulled halfway back, her cheeks flushed slightly from the chilly evening.
You walk in silence for a moment, neither of you speaking as you allow the stillness of the evening to settle around you.
You wonder why she came, wonder what she's wants. Wonder what you want.
But as she smiles at you under the soft starlight, you realize it doesn't matter.
XXXX
You've circled the park more times than you can count, talking about things that are hardly significant.
You do discover that she's Mrs. Howell now, not Mrs. Schuester like you orginally suspected. You vaguely remember the dentist she tells you about—the man who always praised your perfect smile.
Silence once again slips between you. You notice her stumbling slightly, her feet sore from walking too far in a pair of gaudy heels. You stop, catching her gaze in the glow of the moon.
She looks at you, lifting her chin bravely, never faltering over her words. "Do you want to come back to my place for dinner?"
XXXX
Her husband is at a convention for the weekend, she assures you as she unlocks the door the massive house.
She turns on the lights, illuminating an enormous kitchen. She makes you chicken marsala and mashed potatoes, wearing a lacy apron, looking much like a early twentieth century housewife.
Dimming the lights in the dining room, she offers you some wine, though you politely decline, opting for a glass of water instead, all she can have in her current condition, reminding you of the forbidden nature of this situation.
The silence is easy to fill. You tell her about yourself, and she listens with more interest than you can recall anyone ever giving you. You know the warmth in your belly is hardly from the satisfying meal she fed you.
When you both finish, you reach across the table to wipe a small spot of gravy from her upper lip. Stunned for a moment, her eyes grow large, and you fear she'll regret bringing you here.
But she leans against your hand after a moment, allowing you to cup her face gently.
The dishes on the table as soon forgotten.
XXXX
Her bedroom is like a small house in and of itself, with it's own sitting area, balcony, and bathroom suite.
She leads you past the bed—which is even bigger than any king sized bed you've ever seen—and out onto the balcony. The chilly air settles around you as she keeps her hand gently in yours. Slowly, but without any sign of regret, she stands on her tiptoes to place a gentle kiss against your lips.
You melt against her lips, your free hand gently stroking her jaw. But as her swelling belly pressing up against yours, you pull away. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
Her eyes shine, never breaking away from yours. "Carpe diem," she reminds you.
You gently tuck her hair behind her ear, chuckling slightly. You dig up your limited knowledge of the Latin language,"More like carpe noctem."
Seize the night.
XXXX
Her naked body rises and falls as she lies across the massive bed, close to slumber. You kiss her shoulder softly. "Goodnight, Emma," you whisper, pulling gently away from her.
Her eyelids flutter open. "Don't go." The words fly from her mouth, panic seeping into the simple phrase. In the glow of the dim candles you insisted lighting, you can see tears forming in her eyes, soon leading to violent sobs.
"I'm s-s-sorry," she wails as you gently take her in your arms, stroking her tangled hair, whispering sweet nothings in her ear in attempts to calm her.
"Don't be sorry," you scold her. "I'm not going anywhere..."
Her tears stop soon enough as you rock her against you, falling asleep with her head tucked securely under your chin.
XXXX
She's sleeping deeply when you wake the next morning, the faint glow of morning sunlight bouncing off her perfect skin.
You slip from the bed easily this time, deciding that perhaps it is best if you go this time, letting her sleep, avoiding more commotion. You dress, heading softly down the steps.
You notice your dishes from the night before, sitting idle just as you left them. As you take them to the sink to wash them, you notice a bowl of perfectly arranged fresh fruit on the countertop. When the dinner dishes are placed neatly away, you search for a knife and a cutting board, putting together a colorful fruit salad. Finding a tray, you toast two slices of bread and pour a tall glass of orange juice, balance the tray carefully as ascend the stairs.
As you approach the bedroom, you hear the faint murmur of singing, the tune becoming louder as you reach the door. She's out of bed, a bathrobe draped loosely over her shoulders, the front untied as she dances about the bedroom, singing sweetly.
Her voice is raw and untrained, but you find it holds a certain beauty. For a moment, all you can do is stand there, transfixed, a grin spreading across your face.
"Good morning, beautiful," you tell her, finally entering the bedroom. She stops abruptly, looking embarrassed as she ties her robe, blushing slightly.
"I thought you'd left," she muttered, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
"Not a chance," you laugh, glad you decided to stay. You join her on the bed, watching her face light up as she notices your simple breakfast for the first time.
She smiles as she enjoys the meal, and you kiss the sweetness from her lips when she is done.
XXXX
She comes to the store earlier next weekend, blushing slightly as she places her items onto the belt without a care.
"Carl's out golfing this afternoon," she simply states.
It doesn't take you long to feign a stomach virus and call off work for the rest of the day.
XXXX
She's visibly more nervous durning the day.
As you kiss her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, she babbles aimlessly.
She tells you about her marriage. In every way, you discover it's the ideal relationship. They dated for two years before he proposed—an evening out at a fancy restaurant, right after they had finished their meal. Nothing clever, yet still romantic. They've been married for two years, now expecting their first child. Dr. Howell's job consumes a lot of his time, though he still makes time to dote on his (seemingly) perfect wife. She tells you this without bitterness, without regret.
You pull away from her, catching her gaze. "You sound happy."
She swallows before answering. "Happiness doesn't mean passion." You both feel the spark burning between you as she says the words. She presses a soft kiss to your neck before speaking again. "Happiness doesn't mean love."
You lower her to the bed, entering her as she begins to shriek your name, before you can let her words settle too deeply.
XXXX
You usually like to be the one in control, but with Emma, you've found you sometimes like to give her dominion. She's always hesitant at first, awkward and unsure of herself, and though you've never spoken about it, you can only assume Dr. Howell was the one to pop her cherry. And if their sex life is as routine as the rest of their life, you can't imagine he's not offering her much in that department.
You like to let her explore, like to let her touch you in ways she hasn't dared to before. You find her curiosity to be sweet; it fulfills you in an odd way. And she allows you to explore her as well. You're fascinated by her growing belly, despite the fact that it serves as a constant reminder of the forbidden nature of your relationship.
You're lying in bed with her, your naked bodies comfortably intwined when she grabs your hand, placing it against her stomach. You feel the tiny fluttering kick, unable to suppress you delight.
"She never kicks when Carl's here," she tells you softly.
You bend over to gently kiss the swell of her stomach, wishing for things you know you should not.
XXXX
You both discover that her large jacuzzi tub is one of your favorite places to spend the afternoon. She's more free in the tub, more daring, and you can only assume the cleanliness loosens her slightly.
The steamy water rises around you. You both pant heavily, recovering from your intense loving-making. She closes her eyes, leaning her head against your chest.
"Talk to me, Jesse," she mutters, her hands gripping at your curly chest hair.
You kiss her head lightly. "What do you want me to talk about, gorgeous?"
"Anything," she whispers, her mouth against your heart. "I just love the sound of your voice."
You smile, holding her tighter against you. You plan to sing to her, but instead, you find yourself delving into a monologue about yourself, allowing yourself to finally reveal the insecurities you've never told anyone before.
She listens intently, with more concern and care than anyone has listened to you before.
You don't know what you want. You don't know who you want to be. You're striving for a meaning in life that you don't even know exists.
"Don't dwell too much on your future, Jesse. I know I'm the last one to preach this, but what truly is important is cherishing the moment, making the best of what you have right now...You're a great young man, Jesse. Just the way you are.." she whispers, telling you the words you've known all along. You're only surprised to hear her utter them with so much passion.
And she's helped you realize that more than anything. These past few months, you've been living in the moment. You with your ambiguous future, and her with a life that's set in stone. But you've both met somewhere on the edge, seizing the day, seizing the moment.
XXXX
"I'm due in two weeks, Jesse," she tells you, her sweaty hair fanning out around her as she lies against the bed, you hovering over her.
You lower your body next to hers, your throat tightening, her words catching you off guard, though they should not. Her belly's now so big that it has become a constant barrier in your love making. Not only can she not maneuver her body the way she used to, but she tires much more quickly now.
She turns, pressing her swollen lips against yours. You pull away, unable to look at her.
"Make love to me again," she whispers, and as you turn to her, you can hardly decline her request.
But as you take her in your arms once again, you somehow know that this is the last time.
XXXX
She names her daughter Jessica.
It is a name that means nothing to anyone but you.
You can only imagine that the nickname "Jessi" will evolve all too soon, and you wonder how she'll be able to utter it without guilt and sorrow, a constant reminder of an affair that should've never happened.
But perhaps she doesn't see it that way. Perhaps instead she sees it for what it was, in it's rawest sense.
A opportunity to escape from the binds of a predictable life.
A burning passion that was unable to be doused.
Feelings that were too real to ever forget.
A reminder that as her life goes on, she took it upon herself to seize the day.