a/n: alrighty, here it is – the decisive chapter. I enjoyed writing it! Next chap will probably be about prom. I've started writing it, but I can already tell it's a long one :( hopefully by Monday I can release it?

lyrics credit: billy idol, eyes without a face

Prom fever had taken McKinley High by storm – that was all Matt Rutherford could think of as he looked over the dozen or so campaign posters taped outside his Algebra class.

It seemed that everyone from Lauren Zizes to Santana Lopez were campaigning for Prom Queen.

But Matt Rutherford had his eyes-fixed on one particular poster – he inches to it, examining it more deeply.

'VOTE QUINN FABRAY 4 PROM QUEEN'

The words were big block-letters – coloured in a bright yellow to make them pop. A pretty blonde stood front-and-centre of the poster, holding up a single finger – as if to almost tease the viewer.

"Who do you think you'll vote for?" asks Mike from behind – his voice nearly makes the linebacker jumpa foot in the air.

Matt shrugs, "I don't know." He lies.

Truth was, he knew exactly who he'd vote for.

The weeks pass by with a relative after that.

Matt is happy in Glee and content with the football team. And despite him barely passing Algebra (somehow his assignments were keeping afloat… but truth is, Matt is almost certain that he didn't even do half of them), he was lucky to have a certain blonde-haired cheerleader answer his quiet-whispers of help.

And so when he sees the picture – it feels like as if he's been punched in the gut.

He moves through the large crowd which gathered around the hallway bulletin board. Luckily Matt was much taller than most, and managed to catch a glimpse of it – though only for a second - before a panicked Head Cheerio tears it down. But that is enough time for him to have the poster tattooed into brain.

'VOTE LUCY CABOOSEY'

'… Lucy? Oh! Lucy!'

Of course, he remembered the brown-haired girl! They were both in Ms. Smith's 3rd grade class – and were even seatmates for a while.

The linebacker recalls her timid voice, and nervous stance. He remembers the way she'd fiddle with the bridge of her reading glasses or how she'd let him copy off of her during their multiplication quizzes.

But most of all, he fondly recalls the way she'd just sit with him during recess. Giving the little boy a quiet sense of comfort, as he'd try to forget a nasty comment made his way (though 'Mattie The Fattie' is anything but easy to forget, especially for little boys).

"It's okay, Mattie." She'd say, gently patting the crying boy's shoulder, "Don't listen to what they have to say."

But that would be so much more difficult for the little boy. "Y-yeah… but… it's hard." He'd reply, pausing to wipe his nose. "How d-do you do it… like, not care?"

She'd always just shrug back at him – as a kid he'd see that as a sign of strength, but an older-Matt isn't too sure anymore.

Her eyes would be full of a kind of weariness that he'd never quite understand. Eyes which were a mess of green and hazel…

… eyes which he sees nearly every day in Algebra.

The realization hits him like a brick to the head.

Matt feels his palms go sweaty and his throat close up, as his lungs began gasping for air that seems to have suddenly vanished. He begins taking big, panicked gasps of air. The linebacker didn't care if others in the hallway looked at him strangely, god, he felt like a planet had just crashed onto his back – and he was doing his best just to keep it afloat.

Matt snaps his head and catches a glimpse of Quinn Fabray running down the halls – before disappearing behind a corner. The linebacker does the only thing he can in that moment – he bolts after her.

Matt finds Quinn in the school's printer room – frantically pressing and jamming a series of buttons, in hopes to stop the machine from printing more posters resembling the one he had just seen.

She punches the printer with a wailing frustration – the Head Cheerio's oh-so familiar apathetic attitude, disintegrating into a pool of utter chaos and entropy. Finally, she simply kneels down, and yanks the printer's power cable out of the electrical socket.

The printing machine stops instantly. Quinn gets up wearily, and starts looking through the already printed posters. Her back is to the linebacker, as if he wasn't even in the room with her.

There is a silence – Matt thinks a pin drop could be heard in the room. But the linebacker has had enough of quaint silences and lack of answers.

"I'm assuming you're… that you're the girl on the posters." He asks. There is conviction in his voice – conviction which threatens too easily to turn into hurt.

Quinn doesn't respond, eyes not even moving to fix themselves onto the linebacker. He could've been a ghost for all she cared – cold, inanimate, and dead… just like Lucy.

"When I first say you, in freshman year… I swore that we had met before," recounts the linebacker, fists curling up into tight stress-filled balls. "You didn't say anything, so I thought that maybe I was wrong… that maybe I mistook you for someone else."

The Head Cheerio still doesn't answer – and at this point, the linebacker just doesn't care. At this point, all he wants are his words to be spoken out – for them to become tangible entities.

Matt takes a deep, deep breath – trying to bring much-needed oxygen into his lungs, lest he clouds his judgement without it. "The pieces of the puzzle kept growing and growing… and now, I know – you're Lucy." he confirms; voice squeaking, and eyes-widening in near-mania.

That name seems to get her attention, and she turns around so quickly that blonde hair sticks to cheeks. "Just stop!" she exclaims – but it barely comes out as a croaky whisper. Her green eyes threaten to spill over tears, she wipes them before they even have a chance. "Mattie-"

"-Don't call me that!" he interrupts, much louder than he would've anticipated. His voice booms with a ferocity he's never seen before, echoing around the tiny printer room. "You have no right to call me that!"

"Why?!" she replies, suddenly – equal parts ferocity evident in her own tone. "Is it because I'm not some 4-eyed, brown-haired, overweight loser anymore?!"

Matt points a furious finger way, "Don't you dare. She-… you were kind to me. Lucy was my friend."

The Head Cheerio grimaces, as if even saying the name sent daggers through her chest. "And I still am, Matt!" she fumes, a hastiness evident in her tone. "But I just couldn't live like that anymore. I-I needed… needed… to be someone different."

Matt ran a hand through his hair, jaw clenching. "And I suppose being some cheerleading-bully was just the difference you needed, eh?"

The blonde shuts her eyes, letting a quiet breath escape her lips. "You would've done the same…" she exasperated.

Matt doesn't reply. He wonders if there is truth in the Head Cheerios assessment.

"And what about Beth?" he finally calls out, and Matt regrets it immediately. Talking about Beth was uncharted territory, she was a line which any respectable linebacker wouldn't cross - but his mouth seemingly had a mind of its own right now.

"What about Beth?" Quinn retaliates, voice dripping venom. She was on edge now, examining every word that the linebacker threw her way.

"Wouldn't Beth be just like Lucy?" he jeers, taking overzealous steps towards the Head Cheerio. "Wouldn't she grow up to become the very same kind of people you spit on?"

Quinn slaps him – it was sudden, it was crisp. Matt figures he deserves it.

It leaves his left cheek tingling with a raw, burning sensation, as the linebacker attempts to comprehend what had just happened. Peering at the blonde-haired girl, he finds her in an equal state of shock – he figures she doesn't slap lowly linebackers too often.

Matt looks at her – really looks at her. It becomes really easy to picture Lucy in Quinn's place. Unruly brunette hair, in the place of calm blonde locks. Oversized glasses, perched on the bridge of her nose. Large braces, in the place of pearly whites. The same green eyes which never gave away more than needed to.

In some ways, she was still Lucy. In others, she was nothing like her.

Rather, Quinn Fabray was near spirit-like, Matt thinks. She was a women (a girl, really) who was unsure of her existence – like a ghost that didn't know it had died, like something dead that thinks it's alive.

Quinn shuffles in her spot, grabbing the pile of 'Lucy Caboosey' posters from behind her – probably to throw them away. She makes her way to the door. Matt didn't want the blonde-haired cheerleader to leave, but he just can't find the courage to ask her to stay.

So instead, he watches and she walks out the door – leaving the young linebacker to ruminate over their conversation alone.

He thinks he must've stayed standing in that printer room for an hour – maybe even more.

A week later…

Mr. Schue clapped his hands together in excitement, as he stood in front of his Glee students. Prom season was in the full blast, and yet the looks of glum fixed on their faces indicated anything but excitement.

"Alright guys," he says, trying to take a jovial tone. "Before we get started with recital today, one of your peers had requested to perform a solo." The Spanish teacher eyes, Matt Rutherford from the backbenches. "Matt – come on up! Everyone, give Mr. Rutherford a hand!

Quiet applauds go around the room, as the linebacker makes his way to the centre of the stage.

There was a quiet anger to the young linebacker, something that the Spanish teacher had seldom seen in the teenage boy – usually he was much more mellow and quaint. Though Schuester tries to push the thought to the back of his head, and smiles his way, hoping to crack through the linebacker's furious façade – it does not work.

"The song I'd like to perform is by Billy Idol…" murmurs the linebacker, shifting in place. "I… uh, the song is called 'eyes without a face' – it's one of my favorites."

Another round of applause erupts around the room – followed with small affirmations of encourage.

Interestingly, Mr. Schue swears he hears someone's breath hitch in the room, he doesn't know whose it is.

He doesn't think it matters.

~ you're eyes without a face (darling', you got not human grace)

Les yeux sans visage

You're eyes without a face (darlin', your such a human waste) ~