Disclaimer: See chapter 1
A/N: Another first (well two actually), I've never written drama and I've never written in second person. This little experiment seems to be getting me out of my safety zone pretty damn quickly. Thanks again for the wonderful reviews, I appreciate each and every one of you who takes the time! Enjoy!
Puppy love, drama, 2nd person (Emma)
It started out like any other day, you made Will's lunch and he made yours and then you headed off to school together. It had surprised you in the beginning, how easily you'd fallen into a routine together. With Carl things had always been strained and difficult, and you'd never really felt comfortable in his house. You wonder if the fact that you refused to sublet your place, even after you got married and moved into his, had something to do with it. You had given up your apartment in a heartbeat when Will had asked you to move in, not even taking a moment to think about the gravity of the step you were taking. It was unlike you to be so impulsive but things had worked out well so far.
"Em?" Will's voice breaks into your reverie and you realize not only are you parked in the staff lot at McKinley, Will is standing next to your open car door. You blush, wondering how long you've been sitting here like a fool. "Is everything okay Emma?" Will asks you, sounding so sweet and concerned as always.
"I'm fine," you tell him unbuckling your seatbelt and turning to dazzle him with a bright smile. You walk hand in hand to the door where you have to separate, you to your office and Will to his first period Spanish class.
You unlock your office door and put your coat away neatly on the rack by the door and then you putter around the office, straightening and tidying things that don't need straightening or tidying while you wait for your first appointment.
The period seems to drag on, you know Will has a spare next period and you always hope he'll stop in to see you, so you purposely booked only two appointments for the morning so you'd be free when he was. The bell rings and you let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding.
And then you hear the screams.
At first you think it might just be some kids messing around in the hall between classes but there is an edge of absolute terror in the scream and the word passes like wildfire up the hall,
"Gun!"
Students run for cover into the nearest classrooms and up and down the hall doors slam and lock, paper going up over the windows. This is not a lockdown drill. You realize Figgins is on the PA system calling for a lockdown and you shake yourself into action, locking your door and trying to get paper up over the unfortunately extensive windows in your office.
The pounding on your door starts just as you tape the last piece of brown paper into place and it causes you to scream in panic.
"Emma, it's me!" you hear Will's frantic voice outside your door, "Let me in!"
Quickly you flip the lock open and Will rushes inside, nearly knocking you over in his haste. As he turns to shut the door, the silver barrel of a gun slips through. Will tries to force the door shut but it's no use, the person on the other side is intent on getting in, a steel toed boot preventing the door from closing. Will steps in front of you as the door swings all the way open revealing a student you vaguely recognize staring daggers in your direction. The kid is dressed in jeans and a Hollister hoodie which surprises you, you had expected black and leather.
"Move," he orders Will but Will holds his ground.
"Look, no one needs to get hurt," Will says, his hands in front of him, palms forward and trying to be as non-threatening as possible.
"Move or I'll move you," there is no inflection in the kid's voice and his eyes are devoid of emotion. You are trembling all over, you can't believe this is happening in Lima. The kid, Morgan Findlay your brain supplies, raises the gun to chest level, aiming directly at Will. You can't look anywhere but down the barrel of the gun. Your father collects handguns and you recognize this one and know it has pretty substantial recoil. You wonder if Morgan has ever fired it before.
"You said it was puppy love," Morgan says, his eyes focused on you but the gun never wavering from Will. "You said I couldn't possibly be truly in love with someone fifteen years older than me. That every high school boy gets a crush on his teacher."
Your session with Morgan a month and a half ago comes flooding back to your mind. He'd professed his undying love for Shelby Corcoran and you had tried to make him see that he couldn't possibly have her.
"She slept with Noah Puckerman you know," Morgan says almost offhandedly and your eyes widen in shock. "No one is supposed to know but I do. I was watching her. He stayed the night and everything. I could have had her and you made me lose her!" His voice is rising and he's getting angrier, you wrack your brain trying to think of something, anything that will calm him down but it's too late.
You see the flash of the muzzle and your scream echoes through the office with the crack of the gun as Will's body spins towards you, bright red blossoming near his right shoulder. Will is falling and you do your best to break his fall, screaming his name as tears pour down your face. A second gunshot makes your head snap up and you see Morgan falling to the floor, blood blooming between his shoulder blades as SWAT officers pour through the door.
Everything between the shooting and the hospital is a blur. You remember snippets of time; your hands putting pressure on Will's wound, the paramedics pulling you away and trying to asses if you've been injured, the way your yellow blouse clings to you, wet and sticky with Will's blood, the deafening roar of the sirens as you sit in the back of the ambulance racing code four to the hospital and Will's lips forming the words "Love you," before his eyes slip shut.
It is a little more than a week before Will is discharged home, his right arm bound up in a sling while the bones that had been shattered by the bullet heal. The doctors are hopeful he will regain full movement of his arm after some physiotherapy. The damage hadn't been nearly as severe as you had thought, sitting on the floor of your office getting covered in Will's blood, just some broken bones and torn muscle.
The last four days at home have gone surprisingly well and you like feeling useful again. In the hospital the nurses had come and gone, quickly doing their work and offering you simple comforts like a blanket or cup of coffee but what you really wanted was to do something to make this better.
Will is already in bed, still easily tired after the trauma, so you are scrubbing the kitchen before you retire for the night. With a final swipe of a bleach soaked rag you proclaim the kitchen clean and decide to head to bed, it will be your first day back at McKinley tomorrow and you know it's going to take you hours to fall asleep.
As you enter the bedroom Will lets out a groan of frustration and you cock an eyebrow at him in question, "Is something wrong Will?"
"No, it's nothing," he tells you but you know he's lying.
"Will I can't help you if you won't tell me what's wrong," you try, feeling the need to make up for being part of the reason he'd been shot. Guilt is a great motivator.
"Fine Emma, you want to know?" Will asks a little angrily as he rips the blankets away from his body, "THIS is my problem."
Your eyes fixate on the very prominent erection you can see straining against Will's boxers. It clicks in your head that Will is right handed and, while sexual pleasure was not something you often think about, you know Will does. You have heard him before, in the shower, groaning your name softly when he thinks you're out of earshot and you realize what he needs.
"I can help," you hear yourself say and the shock of the words coming out of your mouth stops you short of the bed.
"No Emma. I don't want you doing this out of some sort of obligation. Our first time is supposed to be special and intimate. I don't want it to be like this," he says and you find your feet have carried you to the bed and you're climbing in beside him.
"It's not obligation Will," you whisper, "We've been together for months and I want to go further than kissing and over-the-clothes touching. I'm not a child."
"I know that Em. It's just, why now? Is it because you feel guilty?" You look up with a start, you hadn't realized he'd noticed the guilt. "I don't want you to feel guilty Emma; nothing that happened was your fault."
"Then let me help you Will," you say, kneeling beside him and letting your hands stray to the waistband of his boxers. You take a moment to wonder what has made you so courageous tonight but decide it's best not to think too hard about it as Will lets you slide his boxers down his legs. You can't suppress the blush that flushes across your cheeks and down your neck as you take in the sight of an erect penis for the first time in your thirty-two years. You reach out tentatively and grasp him in your hand, jumping as Will hisses his approval. Experimentally, you move your hand, not entirely sure what you're supposed to be doing. Will's hips rock up to meet your hand so you know you're doing something right and you tighten your grip a little as you continue to stroke his length.
"Oh my God Emma," Will breathes, his head thrown back, eyes shut and you smile. It takes you a moment to convince yourself to do it but while his eyes are still closed you wrap your lips around him and wait for a reaction. You aren't disappointed. Will's eyes fly open and he cries out; his good hand coming to cradle the back of your head, tangling in your hair. Carefully, you slide your mouth lower, finding that this act isn't nearly as frightening as you'd thought it would be. You have been at it only five minutes, still figuring out what you are doing, when Will says in a strangled voice,
"Em. Stop."
You look up at him, wondering what you've done wrong and he must see it in your eyes because he says,
"I'm almost there, I wasn't sure you'd want it in your mouth the first time." That was Will, constantly concerned about you. But he is right, you aren't ready for that level of icky yet so you go back to using your hand. Will's breathing becomes erratic and his hips are thrusting hard against your hand so you assume he's very close. You watch, fascinated, as he climaxes. You release him and pull a pair of latex gloves from the bedside table before cleaning him up.
"I love you," you tell him, your eyes filling with tears.
"I love you too Em," he says and you snuggle into his side for your first restful night's sleep in weeks.
A/N: Obviously I'm going to be pretty liberal with my definition of sex for this little experiment because I think 25 chapters of plain, boring, vanilla sex will get, well, boring. Hope you enjoyed the drama!
Up next: "test", romance, 3rd person omniscient