A/n-(This takes place before Season 2, Episode 17, "A Night of Neglect")
Boundaries
"No, no, no, no," Will Schuester exclaimed as his old, beat-up clunker sputtered to a stop. He was already running late. For some reason, all the power in his apartment complex had turned off and back on (which reset his alarm clock so that he didn't wake up on time), but none of the neighboring complexes had that issue. Now he knew he wasn't going to make it to school at all.
He got out of his car and slammed the door shut in frustration. Was this his car's last leg? Had it finally died after all these years? He sighed. He really didn't have the money to buy even a used car, regardless of all the salary that Figgins had returned to him after New Directions had won Sectionals and Regionals that year.
Will heard another car pull up behind his and looked up to see who had come to his assistance. It was Quinn Fabray in her convertible.
"Hey Mr. Schuester," she said as she got out of the car. "I normally don't stop to help when I see it's a man whose car is stalled, but then I saw it was you. So, do you know what's wrong?" She walked over to him and stared at the spot where Will had been staring.
"No, I haven't a clue," he said. "I just had it serviced and the tank is almost full . . ."
Quinn walked over to his fuel tank door and opened it. "Ah-ha, here's the culprit," she said, running a finger along the bottom of the depression. "Sand."
"What on earth?" Will said as he walked over to where she was standing. He could clearly see it was sand.
"Sugar doesn't do the trick like sand does," Quinn said. "Once it clogs up the fuel sock and the fuel filter, your car needs a new fuel tank."
"How do you know this?" Will asked, narrowing his eyes. She didn't seem the type to know things like that about cars, and Will was positive she didn't have a grudge against him. How could she after all the Glee Club had done for her?
"Ch-Cheerios did it to some people to torture them. When I was captain . . . but I doubt any of the Cheerios did this," she said. "I'll bet it was Coach Sylvester." Quinn visibly flinched. It was still a habit to call her "Coach" even after all this time, and it obviously hurt.
"How do you know it was her?" he asked.
"Well, today's April 1st, you know, April Fool's Day?" Quinn explained. "I'll bet that she wanted you to be so late for school that you don't get there until school's almost over. When I was in Cheerios—" Another flinch. Getting kicked out must still sting a little. Popularity's siren song was a powerful one. "She was always complaining about how you had an almost perfect attendance record."
Suddenly, everything made sense, from the power going out to the garbage in front of his apartment door to his car dying. If Quinn hadn't come along, Will would probably have called a tow truck and walked to school. Her theory made perfect sense. But then, Quinn always was a clever one.
"Tell ya what," Quinn said, tapping her finger on his arm. "How about I give you a ride?"
Will jumped at the contact and looked over at Quinn. Yes, it was an innocent touch, but his heart had skipped for a moment when her finger had touched him. He shook it off as her startling him. The girls he taught crushed on him, not the other way around. "Thanks Quinn, but that might not look appropriate." He turned to look at his car again.
She looked down at the sidewalk. "O-o-oh right, right. Of course it would look bad. It's just . . . you're not like my other teachers, so I forgot . . . I know: I could drop you off a block from school on a street that not many of the kids come by."
Why was she being so persistent? Will left the question unanswered. He didn't want Quinn to feel any of the awkwardness he'd just experienced a moment ago. "Well, I guess that would be all right," he said. He probably could call in sick and take care of his car, but he didn't want to give Sue the satisfaction of winning this one.
Will felt Quinn's hand press against his lower arm and her face lean on his bicep. He felt his face grow a little warm, and he turned to scold her for the inappropriate contact. Her eyes were closed, and she started to slump down toward the ground.
Will caught her in time and held on to her to make sure she didn't hit the ground. "Quinn! Are you all right?" he asked, anxious for the unconscious girl.
Her long eyelashes fluttered and she came to a couple of seconds later. "Hmm? What happened?" she asked as she stood on her feet again.
"You fainted," Will said.
She let out a small laugh. "That's what I get for skipping breakfast. It's been the case ever since I was pr . . . you know. . . I think it changed my metabolism." She moved away from Will and started to walk toward her car. "We should get going, Mr. Schuester."
Will grabbed his briefcase and locked his car door. He hurried over to Quinn and grabbed her arm. She turned to look at him and those beautiful eyes that were more green than hazel made his head feel light and his breathing erratic for a moment.
What the hell? Stop reacting like that. She's your student. "I don't think you should drive," he said. "You might pass out again."
Quinn shrugged and walked over to the passenger side of her convertible without any argument. Will blinked and then climbed into the driver's side. He reached over and unlocked the car for her. Quinn climbed in and they both fastened their seat belts before Will put the car into drive.
"Thank you for helping me out," Will said, looking over to Quinn. She tugged her skirt so it covered up more of her leg and nodded.
"In fact, let me buy you some juice and something to eat when we get to school as a way of showing you my gratitude," he said, looking back at the road and feeling slightly guilty that he'd noticed her fixing her skirt.
"You don't need—"
"Quinn, please. Let me do this," he said. "If not to thank you, then as a teacher who is concerned about you and your health." There. Put everything back into the proper context. Teacher and student. That's all they were to each other.
"O-o-okay . . . meet me at the juice machine nearest to the north entrance of the student parking lot?" Quinn said.
Will nodded and ignored the warmth the secret rendezvous-like feeling that statement brought to his cheeks. They were student and teacher; that's all.
The rest of their conversation was all business: what was planned for Nationals, how Quinn was doing in school, if there was a Spanish quiz coming up, directions to the street Quinn had mentioned.
Will grabbed his briefcase and got out of Quinn's car. "Thank you again," he said, smiling.
Quinn nodded and looked at the ground. "Any of us in New Directions would have done it," she said, her cheeks coloring slightly. She quickly walked around the front of the car and climbed in. She waved to Will and looked away when he returned the wave. After fastening her seat belt, she drove down the road toward William McKinley High, leaving Will to walk the rest of the way.
Will sighed as he watched her car disappear down the street.
It's just the thrill of driving a car you'll never be able to afford, he told himself as he tried to calm the thumping he clearly felt in his chest. That's all. You are teacher and student. Nothing more.
Quinn felt her cheeks grow warm when she had tapped Mr. Schuester on the arm. She hadn't even thought about it; it had been one of those automatic things, where you just touch someone because you're gesturing while talking. She hadn't expected to feel a toned arm under that dress shirt. Most teachers were all flabby.
"How about I give you a ride?" Quinn heard herself say. Good Lord, why did that feel like a pick-up line?
"Thanks Quinn, but that might not look appropriate," Mr. Schuester said, turning to look at his car again.
She felt her ears get hot from embarrassment. "O-o-oh right, right. Of course it would look bad. It's just . . . you're not like my other teachers, so I forgot."Why the hell did she need to explain to him? He didn't need her to make him feel "okay". But she did want to help him out. He'd never blamed her for her role in his ex-wife's deception last year, and he always made her feel comfortable in Glee Club.
"I know: I could drop you off a block from school on a street that not many of the kids come by," she said. Sometimes when she didn't want anyone to see her because she hadn't put on makeup yet, she'd take the street north of the school. Most students came from the south and west of the school.
"Well, I guess that would be all right," Mr. Schuester said.
Why did he sound like Finn does sometimes when he's apologizing for something? Suddenly she felt dizzy and found herself reaching out for the nearest thing for support—Mr. Schuester's arm—before everything went black.
". . . all right?" she heard as if it was far away. She opened her eyes and saw her teacher looking at her, concern written all over his face.
"Hmm? What happened?" She felt her feet find solid ground again.
"You fainted," he said.
Quinn laughed. "That's what I get for skipping breakfast. It's been the case ever since I was pr . . . you know. . . I think it changed my metabolism." She didn't need to explain to Mr. Schuester. He knew everything already. That's what made him different from all the other teachers.
She noticed that Mr. Schuester was still holding onto her arms, even though she was standing on her own. So this is must be what it felt like when a man touched someone. It felt so different from all the boys who had held her; it was stronger, warmer, more secure. He even had a more masculine scent that danced on an April breeze that suddenly lifted a few strands of hair away her face.
Her heart started pounding, and she scolded herself for thinking of her teacher that way. She felt her face grow hot and quickly turned to walk to her car to hide anything that might show. "We should get going, Mr. Schuester," she said; the spring air was helping cool down her burning cheeks.
Suddenly, Mr. Schuester grabbed her arm. She turned to look at him and forgot how to breathe when their eyes met. "I don't think you should drive," he said. "You might pass out again."
Her heart skipped a beat. She tried to hide it by shrugging and walking over to the passenger side of her convertible. He was just her teacher; he shouldn't be causing that kind of reaction.
Mr. Schuester climbed into the driver's side. He reached over and unlocked the car for her. Quinn climbed in and they both fastened their seat belts before he put the car into gear.
"Thank you for helping me out," Will said, looking over to Quinn.
Holy crap, her skirt was practically showing everything. She looked up and saw that Mr. Schuester was looking at her face. Still, she tugged her skirt so it covered up more of her legs and nodded.
"In fact, let me buy you some juice and something to eat when we get to school as a way of showing you my gratitude," he said, looking back at the road.
Quinn silently laughed before catching herself. She had suddenly started thinking about all the boys who'd offered to buy her something just to get her attention. No! This was her teacher, and she needed to keep him from acting like all those high school boys. "You don't need—"
"Quinn, please. Let me do this," he interrupted. "If not to thank you, then as a teacher who is concerned about you and your health."
There it was. He was re-establishing the boundaries. Quinn felt herself fluster a little for getting carried away. She could tell him to meet her at the juice machine by the main office, where everyone could see them and that they were only student and teacher. No. They should still keep this secret. What if Finn or anyone else saw? How would she explain why Mr. Schuester needed to buy her a juice?
"O-o-okay . . . meet me at the juice machine nearest to the north entrance of the student parking lot?" she suggested, trying to ignore the thrill she felt at the implied secret rendezvous. Mr. Schuester probably didn't know this since he usually brought his lunch, packed away in that old briefcase of his, but this was the drink machine that couples went to when they didn't want anyone else to see them or catch them making out.
"So . . . have you decided what we're going to sing for Nationals?" she asked, trying to change the subject while mentally berating herself for suggesting that spot. She couldn't change the location now without his asking why and her having to come up with some lame reason. She didn't even hear his answer to her question. None of the rest of the conversation got through either. He's my teacher, he's my teacher, he's my teacher, became the only mantra she could hear in her head.
When they got close to William McKinley High, she stopped her internal chanting to give Mr. Schuester directions to the street north of the school. After parking the car, he grabbed his things, and they both got out.
"Thank you again," he said, smiling at her. It should be illegal to look that good when a person smiled.
Quinn felt her heart start pounding. She had to remind herself to breathe. She nodded and looked down, hoping he couldn't see the pink she was sure the warmth in her cheeks was bringing. He's my teacher, she thought futilely.
"Any of us in New Directions would have done it," she said. There. That made this whole thing "not special" and his paying for a juice "not special" either.
Quinn walked over to the driver's side without looking at him and quickly climbed in. When she did look up, she saw that Mr. Schuester was looking at her. Why was he looking at her like that? His expression didn't look like one that she'd seen from other male teachers. She felt her heart skip again as she waved to him. He returned the wave.
He's my teacher. She looked away and fastened her seat belt, then drove down the road toward the school.
Quinn looked in the rear-view mirror and felt her heart start pounding again. Mr. Schuester hadn't started walking yet. Instead, he was watching her leave.
"He doesn't think of you any more than just a girl and a student," she said to herself. "Stop day-dreaming Quinn." Besides this was probably just April Fool's Day playing a trick on her. She tried to tell herself that the pounding she still felt in her chest was merely nervousness at the future possibility of getting caught by someone when he bought her that juice at the "make-out" hallway.
Yeah. That's all it was.
A/N
Okay. I don't normally write for this fandom. It's not that I don't love this show. I do. It's just . . . I've never had anything to write about it that hasn't already been written.
But the weirdest thing happened to me: I had a dream. And now you've just read what happened in it.
I hope you enjoyed it b/c I have no idea where it came from.
And I think it's probably going to only be a one-shot. Don't know yet.
Just so you know, I don't ship these two . . . I don't . . . really . . . you gotta believe me!
B/c of the whole teacher-student relationship implications (even though what happens in the story is innocent), I'm not sure if I should mark this for Mature audiences b/c of its ideologically sensitive nature. Please let me know.
If you liked what you've read, please let me know in a review. If you have some concrit for me, please let me know as well (you can leave it in a review or PM me, I'll be happy for it either way). If you didn't like what you've read, thank you for taking the time to read this far ^_^
Glee and its characters belongs to 20th Century Fox Television, Brad Falchuk Teley-Vision, Ryan Murphy Television and Ian Brennan.
Photo belongs to 20th Century Fox Television.