This is a retelling of the story A Million, Two, One from Will's perspective. AM21is completed, but you do not need to have read it for this story to make sense. Actually, you might enjoy Willpower more if you haven't, because AM21 contains some major spoilers for this story. But don't let me stop you from seeking it out if you want to ;)
xxx
Title: Willpower.
Author: With My Radio
TV Show: Glee
Spoilers: Through Season One, Episode 13 (Sectionals)
Pairing: Will/OFC
Categories: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: The highest you've got. This story is not for children, and not just because of the sex.
Extended Summary: William Schuester's life was perfect... Until he discovered the secret his wife had been concealing from him. Broken and betrayed by her lies, he's looking for oblivion, for something, anything to distract him from his pain. This distraction appears in the form of Honor, a woman who not only makes him forget about his problems but also makes him believe that he can overcome them. With her, he feels like the man he's always wanted to be. But it's just possible that the timing isn't right, and it's just possible that Honor is not all that she seems...
I would like to dedicate this story...
First and foremost, forever and always to traceit, whose priceless advice saved AM21 and is the only thing that will make this story readable.
Then to jilly74, who has somehow already added this story to her Alerts.
Next to every reader of AM21, and especially all of my wonderful reviewers. Your dedication to the story humbled me, and I will endeavor to live up to your standards with Willpower, and remain worthy of it.
Finally, for Greys has become my life, because she really wanted it.
xxx
1
The Liquor Box on East Elm was what my kids at McKinley would call shady, a grungy little hole-in-the-wall bar with no television, no food, no expensive microbrews and nothing whatsoever to recommend it to anyone, especially me, which strangely was exactly what had recommended it to me in the first place. It was all the way across town from my apartment, out of my district, the last place I'd ever expect to find anyone I knew, the last place anyone I knew would ever expect to find me. Those things made it perfect. I was a wreck, had been for the past week, but circumstances had made it impossible for me to just let go, fold in on myself and collapse under the weight of my despair, and I just needed… Somewhere to escape, I suppose, escape the watchful eyes of colleagues and students so I could fall apart. That was the first step, I knew. Before I could put myself back together, I needed to fall apart as thoroughly as my life had. And the Liquor Box was the perfect place, anonymous and safe, because it's one thing to drink until you can't see straight and everything fades away and another to do so while a student's parent watches, horrified, and don't ask me how I know, just trust me.
So I was at the Liquor Box, and I was drunk, which had been the goal, so that was nice. I wasn't quite drunk enough, but it was early yet, and every shot of whatever the bartender kept pouring me- and honestly, I have no idea what it was, I'm not a big drinker normally, it just tasted like burning- was wrapping me tighter and tighter into a comforting cocoon of I-don't-care and slowly turning down the volume on my inner monologue, and I had high hopes I'd soon forget my name and everything else that had forced me to the bar in the first place. While I wasn't quite at that point yet, I was certainly beyond the point of inhibition and common sense, either or both of which might have prevented me from volunteering to perform some karaoke for the three other patrons attempting to get as drunk as I was. But I'd volunteered because I'd wanted to, because for me singing is another way of letting go, and I needed to. Also because the bartender promised me a free drink when I was done, and the night had been pretty expensive as it was. And this is why I was singing on stage with deep emotion and very little technique the first time I saw her.
She entered the bar hesitantly, as though she wasn't really sure she wanted to, and glanced over at me with an almost resigned expression on her face, like Of course I will be forced to listen to bad karaoke tonight, such a thing is inevitable. Which was strange, and everything, but that isn't why I noticed her. There was just something about her, something that had nothing to do with the way she looked- though even from 50 feet away and in the dark I did note a strong resemblance to the artist whose song I was singing- but she was… Sharp. Despite the alcoholic haze I was swaddled in, despite the softness it imparted to everything in my field of vision, she was defined. I could see her. And I threw myself even more completely into my song, not just because the words I was singing were the perfect vehicle to express the devastation I felt, but because I wanted her to look at me, wanted her to see me too.
For a moment, I think she did. She paused just inside the door, watched briefly, cocked her head to the side, and even after she made her way to the bar itself I imagined I could feel her eyes on me. And as I finished the song, threw the full power of my anguish and my voice behind the soaring climax (my favorite part, a series of trilling high notes that hovered just below the ceiling of my range and made me feel like I was flying each time I hit them), I think I was singing as much for her as for myself. The words were powerful, painful, sharp like her outline, and why had I never realized before how desperately sad this song was? How had its upbeat tempo fooled me so completely? And all the roads I've known will never lead me home to you… Without you, there's nowhere to go home to. I felt a wave of longing roll through me, yearning so powerful it was physically painful, as I thought of the child I'd wanted so badly, the family that would have been my home, the family that didn't exist, and the song was perfect, perfect, perfect, and then it was over.
The final note hovered in the air for a moment, and I came back to myself slowly, felt her eyes on me again, and suddenly, unexpectedly, I was imagining an alternate reality where I stepped down off the stage and approached her, spoke to her, bought her a drink. It surprised me, almost confused me, because as drunk as I was, I couldn't imagine anything beyond that, even in an alternate reality. I was married, still, technically, not to mention the strangeness with Emma, and anyway I'd never in my life picked up a girl in a bar, had never wanted to, and I'm not saying I wanted to now. Necessarily. There was just something about her. That's all. And whatever it was made me dizzy, lightheaded in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol I'd consumed, as I stepped down off the stage in the current reality, the real one, and made my way to the bar. To her. She drew me somehow with a force like gravity, and I stood next to her because gravity is a law of nature, alright, how was I supposed to resist? But I wouldn't speak to her. Couldn't. The alternate reality was alternate for a reason.
And then she spoke to me.
TBC