Hello! This is my first non klaine fic. It's wildly AU. Set in the 1920's and it's Fabrevans! Also Hummelbray because of reasons
I own nothing, seriously.
Quinn stumbled out of the doorway, her heels providing little support for her slightly intoxicated body. Despite her father's standing in politics, she refused to abide by the Prohibition laws. She was twenty year old girl living in the twenties, and she could do whatever she pleased. Which just so happened to include, drinking and dresses of scandalous lengths. The driveway she was currently standing in was huge, it was only one part of the sprawling estate that housed the Pilkington family, and more specifically, Dave, Quinn's favorite member of the clan. Not only did her father not approve of him, but he was gorgeous, with dark eyes, a closed mouth, and blonde hair, simply made to be under a slick fedora. Her daydreams were interrupted by a black car pulling in. Without even checking to make sure the car belonged to her, Quinn stepped right in.
"Evening Bernard, you know the way." She called loosely to her driver, before laying down, her slim body covering both seats.
"M-miss?" a young voice asked.
This was certainly not the voice of old Bernard. Quinn squinted her eyes and raised a questioning eyebrow before her pupils focused on a young man. Even through the moon's dim lighting, Quinn could see his hair was bright as sunshine and a lips women would kill for, plump and pink. She also noticed the worried look gracing his features.
"Who are you?" she asked, worriedly.
"Forgive me if I frightened you, Miss. My name is Samuel."
Quinn's eyebrows knitted together
"Are you our new driver?" she asked, switching back to her more comfortable position.
He nodded and tipped his hat, his shaggy blonde hair shaking like the wind.
"At your service, Miss Fabray."
Quinn pursed her lips and swallowed. She hated being called Miss Fabray. It made her sound like a washed up house wife who prayed in favor of drinking.
"How old are ya, Sammy?"
"Just shy of twenty-two, Miss Farbray." Sam replied. "Are you sure you should be sitting like that? You may get hurt."
She scoffed and rolled her emerald eyes.
"I don't need you taking care of me, Sammy." She snapped, burying her face in her lush coat.
"Didn't mean to be disrespectful, miss."
Quinn lifted her eyelids at the sound of a slight southern drawl coming from Sam's mouth.
"You a country boy, Sam?"
"That I am, Miss."
"What are you doing here?" She wondered aloud. This was Illinois, the home of Chicago, Al Capone, and the lavish suburban society to which Quinn belonged.
"My Mama needed help paying for the house after my Pops passed, so I left my little brother and sister to tend to Mama's heartache, while I bring in money up here." He told her, his green eyes dancing when he spoke of his family.
"Well, Mr. Texas, that' a very noble thing to do." She told him.
And it was. Quinn couldn't remember the last time she'd even told her father she loved him, but this boy gave up his home for his family's comfort.
Suddenly the car stopped.
"I know you're not from around here but I still live twelve miles from here." She informed him.
"I'm from Tennessee, and I am aware, but I was under orders to pick up your brother, Miss Fabray."
As if on cue, Kurt Fabray made his entrance; stepping into the car with a glistening forehead, loosened tie, and bright eyes that showed signs of a marvelous time.
"Hi Quinnie!" He said, his voice coated with alcohol induced happiness. "Did you and Dave have a nice time? I'm sue you did. The party got better after you left. You were throwing your pretty little self at Pilkington and it made me sad."
Quinn scoffed and leaned against her brother.
"Be quiet and sleep." She ordered, lazily. Quinn drifted off to sleep, dreaming of Southern accents and plump lips.
She jumped awake when the car pulled to a complete stop. Kurt, on the other hand, was out like a light. She flicked his ear and he stumbled off, still drunk and half asleep. Quinn wiped hastily at her under eyes and eyelids, ridding her face of all the extravagant make-up with an extra tissue.
Sam opened the door.
"Have yourself a good night, miss." He offered, smiling slightly.
Quinn sunk down onto the step of the car, putting her at eye level with her driver. She pulled her face close to his, their noses practically touching.
"You have a good night, too." She said seductively, moving her hips teasingly as she walked away.
Instead of going through the front entrance, she made her way to the side of the mansion, nearing the garden her mother had kept, the maids were currently dealing with the upkeep. After a few strides of searching, she was in between a bed of roses and a patch of daisies. It had been her favorite place as a child, but something seemed off.
For a moment, it was still. The air around her was sweet and the wind was pricking her neck. The moment was perfect. No yelling, or crying or expectations or judgments. It was a peaceful experience that Quinn really was not used to, but she certainly could get used to it if the chance were given. She kicked off her heeled shoes and let her toes curl around the cool Earth beneath them, relishing in how real everything felt.
It was ruined then.
"Miss… Miss Fabray?" Sam asked "Are you... alright? I don't feel comfortable just leaving you here, at night, by yourself."
She scowled. Her toes releasing the dirt she was holding captive.
"Samuel, leave." She spat.
"It doesn't feel right, I can't just leave you here." He tried to reason.
"Take your southern hospitality elsewhere, Sam. I don't want it, I don't need it. I don't need you. I don't need anyone." She fired back.
"Miss Fabray, tha-"
"I'm not Miss Fabray, you bastard!" Quinn yelled, the anger spreading in her shaking body. "She's seven feet under. Died. Died before everything and everyone turn to shit. Call me whatever the hell you like, but don't think we're the same person! She was blind, the worst kind! Where you can see everything but you don't do anything so don't you dare make us out to be the same woman."
Quinn buried her face in her hands, crying. Crying because her mother was dead, because her father was always away even if he was near, because her brother was a wreck, and because her flask was empty. Quinn tried to melt to the ground, but strong arms caught her. Crushing leaves joined the sound of her sobs as Sam attempted to get Quinn to walk. She protested, her fists flying and colliding with his chest, over and over again. Until her arms fell limp. And Sam's hoisted her into his arms.
"I'll carry you, Quinn. You can go to sleep there." He whispered soothingly before heading toward the house.
Too exhausted to protest, Quinn directed him toward her bed room.
Once they had arrived, he placed her on the bed and left to fetch a glass of water, setting it on the bed side table. He eyes her short dress, the fringe smudged with dirt. Doubting it's comfort he asked:
"Shall I get the maid to help you change?"
To which Quinn shook her head.
"I don't mind, Sammy." She slurred. "Seeing my delicates isn't exactly a privilege."
Despite her state, Quinn managed to get her garment off in a matter of seconds, causing Sam to blush like mad and turn away.
"What's wrong, Sammy?" she giggled, putting on her nightgown. "Never seen a girl without her slip?"
"I don't think this conversation is entirely appropriate." He squeaked
"Oh come to, Sammy." She sighed, placing her head on the pillows "Am I not up to your standards?"
Before she could hear his answer, she yawned and her breathing steadied, giving signs of a dreamless sleep. With tentative fingers, Sam pulled the sheets and heavy comforter over her shivering body.
"You're perfectly adequate, Quinn. Just… perfect." He whispered as he left the room and headed to his quarters in the West wing of the estate. He yawned, set to dream about emerald eyes and a voice sweeter than strawberries.