I love, love, love this chapter! :D
Quinn's POV
"Is this a bad time?"
"No, of course not. I told you that you could come whenever you wanted."
"Oh, yeah. Well, Mr. and Mrs. Hummel are yelling at Finn and I was with Kurt for a few minutes, but I just had to get out of there."
"Ah, I see." Mr. Schuester gestured for me to enter his apartment. I went straight to the living room and sat down. Mr. Schue decided to sit on the complete opposite side of the sofa; I felt more comfortable that way. "So why are they yelling at Finn?"
"It's a long story," I sighed. "Basically, we were fighting and he hit me. I'm fine, though; it's just kind of stinging." I placed my fingers on my left cheek.
"Oh, I see it now," Mr. Schue said, leaning forward to examine the red burning spot on my face. "It looks bad. Are you sure you're all right?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. I hit him first, and I know he has some anger management issues, so I guess it wasn't much of a surprise that he would lose it easily."
Mr. Schue nodded. "Well, now there are some important things we need to take care of."
"Yup."
"I have a question first, though. When can there finally be a paternity test?" he asked.
"When I'm eight weeks. I'm only three weeks along now," I told him.
"If the baby is mine, would you want to keep him?" As he said this, Mr. Schuester stood up and entered the kitchen. I assumed he was going to get a drink or something.
"Him? I don't know if the baby is a boy yet."
"If the gender is unknown, it's appropriate to use the masculine pronoun," the teacher explained from the other room. I nodded to myself in understanding. I heard some type of liquid pouring into a cup, and it was definitely apparent to me then that Mr. Schuester was getting a drink.
"Oh. I should have known that," I mumbled. "I have an A in English."
Mr. Schue chuckled as he entered the room again. He held two clear glasses in his hand, both filled with water. "I didn't know what you'd like so I just got us both water," he explained, putting one glass on the coffee table in front of me. He took a sip of his and sat back down, putting his glass on the table in the process.
"Thank you." I took a small sip and looked at him, waiting for his next question.
He smirked. "You haven't answered me yet," he reminded me.
"Oh, right." I grinned. "Um . . . I'm not going to abort it. I know that for a fact. And as for giving it up for adoption, I have no clue at this point. It's still really early. What do you think?"
His smirk widened into a smile. "It doesn't matter to me. I'm not a teenager, Quinn; I'm ready to raise a child no matter who the mother is."
I'd forgotten about that. He wasn't Finn or Puck. He wasn't a previous or a current boyfriend of mine. He was my teacher. The hottest teacher in the school, no doubt. But still my teacher, and possibly the father of my child. I couldn't believe I'd slept with the guy that every single girl in school had had dirty fantasies about at one time or another; my daydreams had unquestionably become authenticities, and now I was dealing with the penalty of it.
I nodded. "That's true. But I still want your honest input. If we keep it—err, him—will we have to live together?"
"That's your choice," he replied honestly. "If you're not comfortable, you can continue living where you are."
"But that would be awkward because I'm living with Finn. If the baby isn't his, I'll have to raise someone else's kid with Finn around."
"I guess so. But it's ultimately up to you, as I said. You could even move in with someone else," Mr. Schuester suggested. "Didn't you live with Mercedes for some time before Beth was born?"
"Yeah, that's true." I swallowed hard and looked down, staring as my fingers entwined over my stomach. It was mind-blowing to try to picture a ball of cells rapidly dividing and shaping itself into a miniature human being. It was happening, though, right under my clammy hands, even if I couldn't see it. "But if it isn't too much trouble . . . I'd rather just live here with you and the baby. A kid should have two parents, right?"
"Right." Mr. Schue smiled. "As long as you're contented, it's absolutely fine with me."
I grinned at the man who was eight years older than me. It wasn't a big difference; not a huge one, at least. I was seventeen, and he was twenty-five. Sure, it wasn't a normal thing to have a teenage girl's baby daddy eight years older than her, but that's how things were (if the kid was Mr. Schuester's after all) and I had to deal with it. I wasn't complaining; my baby with Mr. Schue would be beautiful, to say at the least. And I had friends whose parents were decades apart in age. One girl on the Cheerios squad had a mother who was turning forty, and her father was sixty-five. I'd almost gagged when she had first mentioned it, but now I certainly wasn't one to judge.
"Cool." I nodded once. "So . . . would I still have to call you Mr. Schue?"
"Not if you don't want to."
"Okay. I'll hold off on that one until I know if you're the dad."
"So does that mean you want to keep him?" Mr. Schuester asked after a few moments.
I bit my lip and looked down again. "Yes."
"Good," the teacher breathed. "Now all that's left is to find out if I'm the father." And with that, he bid me goodbye and patted me on the back. I trekked out of his apartment with a weight lifted off my chest; everything with Mr. Schuester was settled. Now I'd have to face Finn, and I knew that, eventually, I would have to deal with Puck.
If he ever woke up.
I stopped dead in my tracks, my eyes widening. Quickly, I spun on my heel and sprinted back up the stairs. I frantically knocked on Mr. Schue's door before he opened it. He asked what was wrong. I held up a finger, struggling to catch my breath before I could even try to speak. I sucked in a deep breath.
"I need to know if Puck's okay," I panted.
"They took him to the hospital after you left with Finn. They're going to call me when we're allowed to visit," he explained.
"And are they going to give you updates on what's happening?"
"I don't think so."
I shoved my face in my hands and wept, right there in the middle of the hall. Mr. Schuester was instantly consoling me. I angrily shoved him away and began to run toward the hospital.
"Where's Noah Puckerman?"
"Excuse me, but who are you?"
"Tell me where he is!" I demanded, slamming my hands against the reception desk.
"Please lower your voice," the woman behind the desk said in a soft tone. "I need your name first."
"Quinn Fabray," I said through clenched teeth.
"All right." Her eyes moved to the computer screen, and she didn't look up as she asked, "You're looking for Noah Puckerman?"
I didn't answer.
"You can't see him right now. They're currently trying to revive him," the woman told me, looking up. "But I'd be happy to keep you posted on what's happening.
I nodded, thanked her, and went to sit on one of the chairs in the waiting room. I crossed my ankles and felt my hands shaking; I was just so damn nervous. I took a deep, slow breath and closed my eyes. I tried to assure myself that Puck would be okay, that he'd stand up and walk out of the hospital with his cocky, look-at-me smirk showing proudly. But I honestly just didn't know.
My throat rapidly became dry, but I just couldn't bring myself to stand and go to the cafeteria to get a drink.
I hadn't even realized that I'd fallen asleep until I was woken up by a light tapping on my arm. I rubbed my eyes as I sat up, blinking hard as I looked for whoever had tapped me. I looked down and saw a little girl smiling widely up at me. Her pale blond hair was pulled up into two high ponytails on either side of her head. Her bangs hung neatly over her forehead. Her hands were balled into fists, placed firmly on her hips. She had dimples on her cheeks and bright blue eyes that glistened. The rose pink dress she wore hung around her knees, and her silver ballet flats were tight together.
"Hello," she greeted me in a cheerful tone, her smile widening, if that was even possible. "What's your name?"
"Quinn," I told her, smirking slightly.
"I'm Josie," she announced. "I saw that you were sleeping over here all alone and I was wondering if you lost your mommy."
"No, I'm okay," I assured her. "I'm waiting for my friend."
"All by yourself?"
"Yes," I laughed quietly, blinking slowly.
"I know what it's like to lose your mommy 'cause I lost mine once. I was only four and I was in the store, but now I'm five and Mommy even lets me get the milk for her all by myself," Josie said happily.
"That's very nice."
"Yup, sure is!" she exclaimed. She was really cute. I wondered if Beth would have acted like that if I'd kept her. Were all little girls this cute? If so, I definitely wanted one. I silently began telling myself that I wanted to have a girl.
"Josie," a young woman said suddenly, approaching Josie and grabbing her hand. "We don't talk to strangers, remember?"
"Yes," Josie huffed, leaning over slightly. Out of the blue, she straightened her back and her arm sprang up, her finger pointing right at me. "I just thought Quinn lost her mommy, that's all!"
The woman looked at me and half-smiled. "I'm sorry. She's very outgoing and loves making new friends; she just doesn't understand yet that there's a limit for who she can befriend."
I shrugged. "It's okay. She's very cute, by the way," I giggled.
"Thank you!" the woman chimed, lifting Josie up to her hip. "We've got to go now, but I can just say I'm glad she ran into you instead of some sort of rapist." She grinned once more and carried Josie away. I wondered what kind of rapist looking for little girls would hang out at a hospital to find them. I was just about to giggle slightly when I heard the woman behind the desk talking to me.
"Quinn Fabray?"
I turned to face her. "Yes?" I asked, approaching the desk.
She didn't give me her usual friendly, welcoming smile. Instead, she was frowning sympathetically, her eyes full of sincerity. Her eyebrows were together, and that completed her sad expression. "They tried everything they could," she whispered. "But I'm very sorry to say that it wasn't enough. They couldn't get him back." She paused slightly. "He's gone."
I blinked several times. "What?"
"He's gone," she repeated.
I heard you! I wanted to scream. I squeezed my lips into a tight line instead.
"They've decided to allow you to see him, if you'd like."
Why would I want to stare at Puck's dead body? Why would I want to torture myself, to sit there and know he'd never be back? He would never hold my hand again. He would never kiss me again. He wouldn't be there if the baby was his. He would never know that he was a father, if he truly was. Worst of all: he would never tell me he loved me ever again. Why would I want to stand there and look at him, reminding myself of all that in one short moment?
For the oddest reason in the world, I did.
I nodded slowly. The woman led me down the hall. I staggered after her unsteadily, my hands shaking the whole way. I could hear my own heart beating in my ears. When we reached the room, I swallowed hard, dryness stinging my throat before I stepped into the room after her.
And there he was.
He was lying limp on the bed, a blanket covering him from the neck down, tucked tightly under his body. His veiny eyelids were covering his eyes. His lips were purple and his face had a sickeningly pale shade.
It wasn't even a question; he was dead.
I would never be able to hug him again. I'd never feel his soft lips against mine. I wouldn't be able to look into his perfect hazel eyes. I squeezed my eyes shut and struggled to even recall the days he smirked and greeted me with, "Sup, MILF?"
I slowly approached the bedside and lifted the blanket a bit. His hand lay there motionless. Gently, I slid my fingers between his and held his hand tightly in mine. It was cold, but I didn't care. I wished he could be alive, snatching my hand out of nowhere when I least expected it like he used to do.
"Puck?" I croaked. "Can you hear me?"
He didn't answer. I still felt that little twinge of hope, wishing his eyes would suddenly flutter open and he'd grin cockily at me. But nothing happened.
"Puck, please. Answer me."
Nothing.
I forced back my tears. I wasn't going to cry here. Not now. I was sad, but I'd save all the tears for later. Unwillingly, I put Puck's hand down and covered it with the blanket once again. I nodded once at the woman, signaling to her that I wanted to go now. She gestured for me to walk in front of her. I did, loping down the hall while staring at my shoes, a frown set on my face. She bid me goodbye as I exited the hospital, walking slowly through the sheet of rain. It was getting heavier with each step I took. I ignored it. My mind seemed to be completely empty. I made my way to the Hudson-Hummel house and went inside, taking off my drenched sweater.
"Quinn," Finn breathed, suddenly appearing in front of me. "I need to talk to you."
I hung up my sweater and stayed silent, my eyes glued to the floor.
"Look, I'm really sorry I hit you. I started that stupid argument and it got out of hand," he recalled, shaking his head. "That wasn't me back there. It was a mistake; I'm sorry."
I nodded, ruffling my soaking wet hair. "I get it."
"So you're not mad?"
"I'm mad, but I'm not mad at you."
"Then why are you mad?" Finn asked, following me as I walked toward the living room. I sat down slowly, perching on the edge of the sofa. Finn flopped down next to me. His innocent brown eyes were fixed on my face.
I closed my eyes. "Puck was doing drugs earlier and he just collapsed in Mr. Schue's office. They tried to revive him. I went to the hospital to see if he was okay, but . . . it was too late," I explained. "They couldn't do anything. He's . . . gone."
Finn stared at me, lips parting. "Like . . . dead?"
"Yes, Finn. He's dead."
I didn't want to cry in front of Finn. The only possible excuse would be that I was crying over Puck, and that would sure set Finn off, no matter how he decided to show his emotions. I was dating Finn; I had to focus on him, to put him in the front of my mind. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get over the way I wasn't able to push aside the fact that I still loved Puck.
But he was gone now.
