I wake up to blinding sunlight reflecting off the newly fallen snow through the window. My heart skips a beat when I realize I'm not in Finn's guest room anymore. It takes another beat for my brain to catch up: I'm in Mr. Schue's apartment. I slept in a teacher's apartment. The thought sends chills chasing down my arms, so I grab Finn's letter jacket and zip it up over my nightgown.
Before Terri had left, she had transformed the apartment's second bedroom into a nursery, so I had to sleep on Mr. Schue's pull-out couch in the living room. I didn't mind – truthfully, I was too tired to care where I slept. The moment Mr. Schue had left the room last night, a soft "good-night" falling from his lips as he padded into his bedroom, I had crashed, too tired to even brush my teeth. Now that I was well-rested, I was curious to see the nursery. After all, had Terri gone through with her plans, my daughter would have grown up in the nursery.
There were three doors leading away from the living room. Mr. Schue had gone to bed through the door on the right. The middle door was left open, clearly revealing a cramped bathroom. The door on the left was slightly ajar. I pushed it open and went into the nursery. It was beautiful. Sunlight shone through the window, illuminating the pale pink walls and the plush white carpet. A crib fitted with pink polka dotted sheets stood against one wall. A mobile hung over the crib; as I turned the mobile round with my finger, "Brahm's Lullaby" chimed softly. The room looked as if it had been torn out of a Pottery Barn catalog; if Terri had anything to do with decorating it, it probably was. It was darling, precious, beautiful.
Overwhelmed, I slide down the wall and lean my head against the side of the crib. A few trickling tears quickly develop into thick, racking sobs. I would never be able to afford any of this for my daughter. I didn't know it was possible to love someone the size of a grapefruit with your entire being, but I did. I want to shower my daughter with lavish gifts and take her on vacation to tropical resorts. I want to buy beautiful party dresses for her and decorate her room with furniture designed in Europe. It won't happen. Terri Schuester could give my daughter more than I ever will be able to. The more I wrap my mind around that thought, the more I want to vanish. I squeeze my eyes shut and curl my knees up against my stomach, willing this whole situation to go away. I wish and pray for this mess to disappear, but when I open my eyes again, I'm still slumped against the wall in the beautiful nursery Terri Schuester had created for my daughter.
I'm not alone anymore. Mr. Schue is leaning against the wall with me. He has his arm wrapped around my shoulders, awkwardly patting my arm.
"It's okay, it's okay," he says in a voice that he probably means to be soothing.
This – a perfect nursery I could never afford, sobbing next to Mr. Schue, his arm across my shoulders – is not okay. Nothing about this is okay. For the millionth time since I moved in with Finn, I desperately wish I could be Daddy's little girl again and crawl into one of his hugs.
"What's wrong, Quinn?" he asks, still patting my arm.
"The – the nursery," I manage, in between heaving sobs.
"You don't like it?" he asks, looking crestfallen.
I shake my head. "That's not the problem – Terri did a beautiful job," I say weakly.
Mr. Schue recoils slightly at the mention of Terri's name. "I don't understand," he says.
"All this – I'll never be able to afford this. I can afford a secondhand crib from a garage sale, not the deluxe model from Pottery Barn. I won't be able to give my daughter the same life a stable, married couple would be able to give her." The words are jagged and I'm afraid if I say any more, they will rip into my throat like shards of glass.
What happens next feels so natural I hardly notice it. I rest my head on Mr. Schue's chest and let the tears flow freely. He strokes my hair and doesn't say a word, just keeps stroking my hair as if he's not my teacher and I'm not a pregnant sixteen-year-old. I'm not sure how long we stay like this – minutes? hours? I'm not sure. When the tears dry and my body stops quivering, he untwines his finger from my hair and stands up. I try to stand up, but I'm lightheaded from hunger and nausea. With my left hand, I hold the wall for support as I stand. Mr. Schue takes my right hand and helps steady me. It's then that I remember his request from last night. "Call me Will."
"Thank you, Will," I say. My voice is steady and strong; I've regained my balance.
"It's been a hard few days, huh?"
"Yeah," I admit.
"Why don't you get dressed? I'll make breakfast. I'm not the world's best chef, but I think I can manage pancakes without burning down the house," he offers.
"Pancakes sound delicious," I say.
He smiles at me and turns to leave the nursery. I follow him out of the room to get my duffel bag. I pull out a fresh pair of clothes and head into the bathroom to change. I unzip Finn's letter jacket as Will's voice drifts into the bathroom. He's singing show tunes, his voice bright and clear and strong. I drop Finn's jacket to the floor. I don't need it – or him – anymore.
A/N: I think you know where I'm headed with this fic. :) Quill is one of my favorite couples and there are so few couple-centric fics about them. How do you think I'm doing so far? Reviews are always appreciated!