Chapter Thirteen: Someday, I will be strong enough to lift not one, but both of us.
"But—but I really like it!" Brown eyes peer up into his, and Sam looks to Quinn helplessly. Besides the fact that they've been shopping far longer than he would have liked, he simply can't say no to Brooke nor can he agree to buy a hamster. He knew they should have picked up the pace while crossing the petshop.
They're supposed to be shopping for school supplies, as Brooke is starting school again next week. However, being that he's with Quinn, who loves to shop, and Brooke, who insists on inspecting the items behind every window they pass, it's taken longer than he had imagined. He tries not to seem bothered though because Brooke (and Quinn) pull on his heartstrings with just a hint of a smile.
He's still struggling with that smile. Flinching is his instinct every time Brooke flaunts those ivory teeth, but it is getting easier to overrule. He doesn't want to be like this, and he refuses to be that person forever.
Absently, he listens to Quinn reason with Brooke. All they have left to buy is a few copies, which at Brooke's age won't even all be used, but Quinn wants her to be prepared. He's (only once) never seen her like this before; motherly, nurturing, radiating warmth. She's so genuinely happy around Brooke, so at peace with herself and everyone around her that Sam's treacherous thoughts ponder on how this will be good for Quinn.
Good. How could he ever describe what's happening as good? He wants to physically throw himself into a wall at these wonderings. Yet, more and more, he's seeing a better and healthier Quinn. Of course, she's still the Fabray he always knew; feisty, stubborn, infuriating, clever and often distant – but she's better.
The same can't quite be said for him. It's like she's becoming the best of him, while he's taking the worst of her. Sam wishes he could change that – and he will.
They move onto the stationary shop to pick up some final pieces, and Sam remembers with fondness how excited his friends were last year when Brooke started school. Of course, she was only three and it was only Kindergarten, but there was a whole lot of fuss in any case. He couldn't blame them though; she is adorable.
Salty water springs to his eyes with no warning, causing him to turn away subtly and blink rapidly to rid of them. The two girls move between the aisles, Brooke asking for everything in sight, but Sam decides to wait outside. He shouldn't be here right now.
In a perfect world, in a world where life is just and fair, Rachel and Finn would be here.
For a second, he allows himself to fall into the trap of thinking everything is okay. Pretending for a moment lifts the guilty haze from his eyes. Rachel and Finn are currently arguing over whether Brooke really needs a fluffy, pink folder at her age while the girl in question skips around the shop to the tune of "Niggas in Paris" – her new favourite song, which is even worse than the last – with Quinn being dragged behind her. He's taking a breather outside from the madness.
Right? No. Quinn and Brooke exit the shop then, indeed singing "Niggas in Paris" with a pink folder in hand – but there's no Finn and Rachel. Life isn't fair and just, and this isn't a perfect world.
"Sammy? Are you okay? Do you want me to hold your hand? Whenever I feel bad I just hold you or Quinn's hands and it feels much better so do you want me to hold your hand?" Smiling gently at her, Sam accepts her hand gladly. As cheesy as it sounds, it's times like this that causes him to think; the world may not be perfect, but Brooke Hudson sure is.
His initial reaction is to return her smile this time.
They go for dinner after that, giving the choice of where to Brooke. It wouldn't be difficult to guess what she picks, as the yellow M sign beckons her with promises of happy meals and loud, screaming children. Sam doesn't really mind though, he's always loved children – the innocence, happiness, playfulness are all things he can get on board with. He loves imaginary games, animation movies and action figures but Quinn doesn't adopt the same attitude.
He sees her slight grimace as the baby at the table next to us smears her ketchup all over the table and has to hide his smile. Some things never change, thank God. She catches his eye, as well as his grin, and gives a sheepish smile herself. She shrugs then and returns to opening up Brooke's food. Eating is one of the few times their little Hudson is quiet – and even then, there's some talking going on.
Inspecting her chicken sandwich subtly, Quinn asks him, "Is Dina visiting later?" She always says 'visiting', like she'll never be anything more than a visitor. He doesn't know whether that's him being paranoid and picky, or whether Quinn genuinely feels a little territorial about the whole situation.
Regardless, he replies easily, "Nope. She's working late because it's month end. Accountants don't get off easily this time of the month… This is Dina's 'that time of the month', let me tell you. She's grouchy as hell when doing month end at work."
Her smile is small, but genuine, "I can imagine it's quite hectic. You know she's welcome at any time, don't you? You live there now as well."
Sam knows she thinks it's her fault Dina doesn't visit much, but that's not true at all. It's him. Sam is the first to admit he finds the situation odd and slightly uncomfortable; dinner with his fiancé and ex-girlfriend. He doesn't even think Quinn should be classed as an 'ex-girlfriend' because it seems such a measly word to describe what she was to him.
"I know, thanks. I just need time to settle in. I appreciate the kindness though… you know you're great sometimes, don't you, Q?"
She blushes prettily and glances away, but questions sassily, "Sometimes, eh?"
"All the time!" Brooke pipes up from behind her burger, which is nearly demolished. There's ketchup colouring the skin around her lips, and her hands are stained with red, too. The host of onions and gherkins lie on the table carelessly, which causes Quinn to frown, but she says nothing. The young girls eyes focus in on something then, and she drops the burger onto a tissue Quinn had luckily placed in front of her. Hastily, she plunges to the ground and plucks a piece of paper up off of it. Examining it closely, Brooke then thrusts it under Sam's nose.
He gulps. Brooke must vaguely recognise the words and colours, because she's looking at him earnestly and he knows exactly why. It's an advertisement for West Side Story on Broadway, which Rachel has starred in. He wonders how the world returns to things so quickly. He supposes it's been nearly four months.
"Can we go?! I know that my mommy was in that play because I seened it once and it was really good and afterwards Daddy took me to McDonalds while we waiting for Mom to finish and she branged back loads of flowers!"
Quinn is awfully quiet, so he checks to see what her stance is on this. He's speechless. It seems as if Quinn is the same though, as her head is hung slightly, her glistening blonde hair hiding her eyes from his vision. He doesn't want Brooke to see her upset, and nor does she, so he turns his back to her in the booth. Brooke is still standing at his side, examining the leaflet in his hands. He wonders if she thinks her Mom will be there, and approaches the topic with hesitance.
"If you want, B… but you know, they have a new actor now? And we could just watch Star Wars again!" Sam adds, becoming genuinely enthusiastic about that prospect. Part of him wants to see this musical though; he feels he's ready and that he needs it. He needs to take part in something that reminds him of them, but not in a regretful way.
Brooke looks down at her shoes, "Yeah I know my Mom can't be in it 'cause she's in the clouds now. Like you and Quinnie said."
He gulps, all moistness abandoning his lips and throat, "Yeah. Yeah, that's right, Brooke."
"But you know she's still here, looking over you and helping you," Quinn says, coming to life again. There are no signs around her eyes that she's been crying, and Sam is able to find those signs with ease, so he assumes she only needed a minute to compose herself. "Maybe we should ask Kurt along, too."
Sam perks at this, having not seen the man in a long time. He didn't stay close with Kurt, but they were friends by association at the very least, and they'd had some good times together. He knows that Kurt is having a difficult time, not unlike them, after the passing of their friends; he can't help but feel a little guilty that he didn't reach out.
Brooke's eyes light up upon hearing her uncle's name – he spoils her senseless, as he promised from day one, "Yay! Kurt is coming!"
He reads the leaflet quickly, "The show isn't for another while, okay? But we'll mark it on the calendar," He and Quinn bought Brooke a calendar to keep track of everything that is going on around her, with their being so much. They want her to know where they are at all times – and avoid worry and panic when one of them is missing. Lately, she's been very clingy and acutely aware of where the two of them are at all times.
Brooke visits her own world then, rambling at length about the play and other topics that vaguely relate. Sam takes a look at the woman sitting beside him, gazing thoughtfully at the four-year old accompanying them. He sees the life in her eyes again when Brooke is around, but he knows it's short-lived.
Brooke brings out the best in Quinn, but part of it worries him. She's only living for her; and without that, without her, Quinn is an empty shell.
As for Sam? He's so full of emotion and conflict that he can't see straight.
He thought he had faced all the pain life had to give him, but he should have known better. He's been sitting here for a half hour now, cooing softly and generally feeling lost. Her sobs pierce his consciousness like Quinn's eyes once did, but now it's a harrowing and excruciating cut into him which leaves him gasping for air.
There are few people that he has ever felt this magnitude of love for; so much love, that the hurt of that person rebounds twofold onto you. It makes him more than a little vulnerable, but he's not afraid of those kinks. (not like Quinn.) However, he tries to conceal the anguish on his face as he rubs circles into her back.
At times, she shakes so violently with the harsh cries that he worries she's having a fit. Quinn holds her head gently to her chest, listening intently to the muffled words while Sam has her legs in his lap, but focuses on trying to provide comfort through soothing movements on her back.
It's not the first time Brooke has broken down in tears before bedtime – he doubts it will be the last. The beginning isn't difficult; one might even call it easy, where a few stern words has Brooke finally moving to get ready for bed. She brushes her teeth at a painstaking pace and demands in an angelic tone a story from them. They both put her to bed every, single night to make her feel secure.
The story finishes, and so does the façade.
Perhaps it's not a façade, Quinn reasons some nights. Brooke genuinely doesn't think about it till bedtime, when it should be Finn and Rachel tucking her in, when Rachel should be singing a gentle lullaby and Finn creating some ludicrous story. Either way, at least once a week, they're greeted to a girl who is so upset she makes herself sick. Calpol has become a necessity in the house.
This time, with striking clarity, he hears her whisper brokenly, "I—I just want to see their face. I want my Mommy and Daddy and I can't remember!" Pulling back, Brooke peers up at her new guardian through misty eyes and a wet face, "Sometimes I miss their face."
He wonders how a four-year old can articulate, with such brilliant intelligibility, exactly what he's feeling. Sam is struggling, as he always does with her, to find the correct words – where he is usually so infallible, he never succeeds anymore. He used to be the one Brooke would run to for support. Before everything.
Quinn raises her hand to the girls face, "I know, Brooke," words are soft, touching him as well as the girl, "I know how hard it is. Sometimes, I just want to look at pictures of them all day and not leave bed. Sometimes, I'm afraid I'll forget what they look like."
She lifts Brooke's chin up, "But then I remember that I have you. I have you and Sam, and we're all in this together. Neither of us will ever let you forget, and you are so like that I could never forget their faces… They're probably wishing you could see this right now, chick. I love you, Sam loves you and they love you, okay? So let's try and remember the happy Brooke, and going to sleep thinking about our baking tomorrow or school next week or the fact that you've got us wrapped around your finger!" She jokes, tickling Brooke lightly.
It has the right effect, because she allows a small, uncontrollable giggle that changes the mood entirely. "Now, tell me you didn't forget the bedtime song!"
Sam observes in astound the ease with which Quinn controls the situation, and wonders if he's ever admired her more. (There's still a numbness to her movements that nags him.)
In hindsight, there's so many reasons to admire Quinn; Beth, her crash, her mother passing, their own loss…. Sam immediately drops his train of thought. They had agreed to leave that behind; whatever they've lost over the years, is gone for good.
He hopes that by the end of the day, they both still remember this.
There isn't much of a routine between them after they put Brooke to bed each night. Some nights, they both feel so drained that bed is the number on destination. Other nights, they sit on the couch for an hour or so, trying to keep up with the events playing out in any given show. The rarest nights are the ones where they sit at the kitchen table, chatting quietly about the asinine and trivial things in their lives.
Some nights, they even talk about their situation.
It leaves him with two feelings that aren't quite compatible; guilt and relief. The relief is easy to embrace, as the burden on his shoulders trickles away with each word spoken between them. She understands and it's like the oasis in a desert. He keeps reminding himself that it's dangerous to see Quinn like that.
Especially since he keeps seeing Quinn. Every waking moment, save work and the occasional meeting with Dina, she's there. He's come to curse how beautiful she is, at any given time of the day. Whether she's just been through an hour of comforting Brooke, or slaving over a stove when it's her night to cook, or even after a long day at work, the binding and unambiguous fact is that Quinn Fabray is absolutely beautiful. It's just not right. (or fair.)
This brings the guilt back around. Disregarding his private sentiments on how Quinn looks, his conscience comes to life and nags him every time he opens up to Quinn in a way he never has done to Dina.
Sam's a good person, and he knows this. He's a good person – he doesn't want to hurt Dina. Sam is perfectly aware of how unfair he's being to his girlfriend, how foolish and damning this circle is. Why can't he right it then?
Quinn comes out of the bathroom then and breezes past him towards the kitchen, appearing troubled. His hand darts out to gently take hold of her wrist, pulling her to a stop and a bit closer to him. Hazel orbs connect with his, and she releases a long sigh.
His brow creases, "Are you okay?"
Her eyes move away, roving around the room for god knows what (nothing.). She shrugs helplessly, not really giving him an answer. His eyes are trained on her, unspoken words flying between them. "I guess." She says uncertainly.
Her hand still in his, Sam brings them both to the sitting room. Lately, worry has been circling around in his head for Quinn. While he's overwhelmingly grateful for Quinn's unwavering attitude with Brooke – optimism, loving, mothering and knowledgeable – he can't help but notice how the light in her eyes goes out around the same time as the ones in Brooke's bedroom.
He hasn't seen genuine grief for anyone but Brooke in Quinn in a long time.
They sit facing each other on the couch, his elbow propped up against the back. One leg folded underneath her as her body turns to him, Quinn's eyes seem to find the chipped polish on her nails riveting. He remembers her old ways of keeping her nails religiously immaculately perfect, and a strange wistfulness accompanies the memory.
Their hands fall apart, she drawing hers into her lap. Sam uses one to lean his face against, while the other lies limply on his leg.
"Quinn, come on, you can talk to me," He probes, a desperation in him to help her that is unhealthy.
She shakes her head, her eyes sad and resigned, "There's nothing wrong. I'm just upset for Brooke, she shouldn't have to be like that…"
"Of course she shouldn't… it's the worst thing imaginable. But you're doing such an amazing job, Q." Sam wants his words to hit home, to open her eyes but they always fail to really reach her ears.
"I don't… I guess I'm trying my best, but feeling that it'll never be enough," He hears her voice start to quiver, and he knows that finally Quinn is allowing him in a little, "And then, perhaps what scares me more, is what if it is enough? What if Brooke forgets them?" She whispers the next bit hoarsely, searching his eyes distraughtly for an answer, "What if we're replacing them?"
The gulp he makes his loud against the quiet room, making Quinn more fearful of his response. He mulls over her words slowly, wanting to articulate his response perfectly. He knows it's an awful thing to say, but she has always looked pretty at her most vulnerable. It's an aspect so rarely seen that some would doubt it exist, but by god Sam knows different. Her teeth catch her lip in a gnawing clutch, her eyes blink fast in their wide sockets and her shoulders sink in an almost imperceptible measure. She looks to him for answers in these instances and it's a welcome change from the indestructible and all-encompassing Quinn.
In the end, he can't be anything but utterly honest with this Quinn. "In some ways, we will replace them…" his own words and thoughts begin to process with him, causing his eyes to drop in order to find strength from some part of the gleaming leather of the couch. He feels her soft, cold hand reach out to his, gripping it tightly. It gives him strength in a way he wouldn't have previously imagined. "She'll always remember them, though. It's obvious that neither of us will let her forget them – and no, we won't forget them either. How could we ever forget the beauty in Rachel's voice? Or the kindness in Finn's words?" A small voice in Sam's head is berating him for being so damn sappy, but he mostly doesn't care. The dominant feeling in him is to help Quinn. Words are all he has. "The fact is though, no matter how hard we try, we will eventually become those parental figures to her. Who knows what she'll call us, when she'll realise it or even if it'll be a gradual thing – as long as she's happy, do you think either Finn or Rachel would care?"
Sam hastily sniffs to rid himself of the tears, finally coming to look back at Quinn. She's looking at him in an odd way, as if having never heard such words or thought of these sentiments. At an agonizingly slow pace, she leans forward and puts her arms around him.
He clutches onto her tightly, as though if he let go, they would both be lost forever. In some ways, it's true.
When they wake in the morning, lying together on the couch with her in his arms, a new worry begins in his chest; why would he rather be here than anywhere else?
"You just don't understand, it has to be perfect," This was Finn's explanation for visiting six – maybe seven? He had lost count – jewellery shops. Sam wasn't sure why he was there, because lord knew he wouldn't be any help. Rachel was a good friend of his, but he had no idea as to her jewellery preferences. They only inkling he had was that a big diamond should do the trick, knowing Rachel and her love of the extravagant.
Finn was dubious of his suggestion – not only because they were by no means rich, but also because he reckoned she would prefer something more low-key. Who was Sam to argue, he just wanted to go home to his pregnant girlfriend. Quinn was a little difficult at times, but it was so worth it because truth be told, he was the luckiest man he knew. Throwing a glance toward his friend, he reckoned he was even luckier than Finn.
Granted, Finn had little Brooke, too, but soon Sam would have his own baby to coo over. They were young – perhaps too young for such a step – but he knew that this child would be just as loved as Brooke by everyone. He secretly hoped for a girl that could play dress-up with Brooke when they got older, but never voiced this aloud.
Besides, a boy to teach all the tricks of the trades to sounded equally amazing.
"Come on, Sam," Finn whined, nudging the blond subtly, "I brought you because I thought you'd be better than Puck. At least Puck would chat the store clerks up to get a discount."
"Or get you thrown out." Sam replied dryly.
Finn silently conceded that one, and swiftly moved on, "I want it to be perfect, y'know? You have to understand, you love Quinn, right?"
Sam raised an eyebrow: where was this going? Flatly; "I think so." Sarcasm was always good to use when in doubt.
The taller man ignored that, "If you were going to propose to her, wouldn't you be going crazy trying to find something she wouldn't be disappointed in, or want to return?"
He thought for a moment. While he agreed wholly with Finn, he knew that both Quinn and Rachel would be picky about this sort of thing – while they would appreciate the gesture, there was a large chance they would return the ring anyway. "Yeah, but dude, they're picky as hell about this stuff."
He signed laboriously, "Just wait till you're finding Quinn's. I'm going to laugh in your face."
"Gee, thanks, man." It was strange that he didn't feel the slightest bit of trepidation in thinking of getting married to Quinn, except maybe regarding the chance she'd reject him. They were young, and Quinn was ambitious, after all.
A loud clapping alerted the men once more to the toddler in the buggy beside them. Finn bent down and smiled at Brooke, "Hey ladybug, did you see something you like?"
"Mine!" she said, grasping at air for the ring behind the case. Finn looked to the one she was gesturing to, giving it serious consideration. The band was a white gold, leading to the diamond shaped jewel glistening underneath the bright lights.
After a quiet moment – save for Brooke's cries for the ring – Finn turned to Sam, "Is it wrong to let our year-old daughter pick the ring?"
A/N: I feel like I'm dodging death glares here... I'm sorrry for keeping you all waiting! I really haven't been feeling up to writing lately. Like, I simply didn't want to. I'd sit down and try and then give up... But hopefully, I'm back now :) I'm going to try and tackle my other stories now. (Friends :D )
The flashback of the next chapter will answer a lot, but also make some of you quite unhappy...
Thanks for all the wonderful reviews, you guys are seriously great! I don't own Glee or "Both of us" by B.O.B.
CN.