A/N: I kind of can't believe how long this chapter has gotten. It's longer than my thesis discussion (which admitted, is relatively short… and then, I had someone write a comment about whether or not I had enough data for a thesis, but I passed my defense, so I guess I must have been good enough?). So, thank you to everyone who has reviewed, and drove me to … 2K words. Once again, I beg up to a week for the next chapter, seeing that real life has decided to be difficult, again. … Oh, and if you're curious about Scotty, his history with Jeff is introduced in Squirrel Bate, which is a Niff/Thad friendship fic. And yes, I'm pimping myself out.
The third time they meet is at the GAP.
For some reason as yet to be explained to him, every single one of the Warblers last year has a life-long ban from every GAP store in Ohio, including baby GAP, GAP body, and the outlet stores. Apparently, a picture of the choir is posted in the break room of each store to make sure none of the singers terrorize, or patronize, the store or its employees again. He is really starting to detest the store, which has become synonymous in his head with visits to the mall.
It's a warm Saturday in mid June, and he is finally enjoying having car privileges. Trent called him with a two-fold emergency. First, Trent needs new clothes, and second, Scotty is making Trent crazy.
He arrives at Trent's grandfather's house around two. It's a two-bedroom bungalow, built just after the depression. The house was once a bright shade of yellow, but its faded to a dull beige. The garden, too, has seen better days. A few dry marigolds line the beds of wilted lettuce and yellowing tomato plants. A clematis, with its spiraling flowers, curls around the front and side of the house. The plant wraps around one of the columns supporting the porch room, the wood showing through the cracked white paint. The flower's perfume does little to remove the scent of cigarettes from the air, though. Scotty, Trent's twin, sprawls gracelessly across the porch swing in his over-sized military jacket, working his way through a pack of Camels.
Sebastian doesn't want to talk to Scotty. He just wants to get Trent, and go. It makes him uncomfortable, seeing his friend's home. At Dalton, it's easy for him to pretend that everyone is financially secure, but in the summer, it's harder to ignore reality. Plus, his insulin pen is in the car, and even with the windows cracked, the black interior turns into an oven. His father will doubtless invest some horrific consequence for frying his insulin, if it should happen. He has only just convinced his dad that a mini-fridge, run off the cigarette lighter, is unnecessary and ridiculous. He has, however, replenished his supply of Life Savers.
"Hey, Pretty boy," Scotty slurs from the swing, "Gonna play butt pirates with my brother?"
Bas tries to ignore him, as he knocks on the front door. Scotty is clearly in a mood. And, even though it goes against everything inside him, he reminds himself that Scotty isn't a schoolyard bully. He's just a Lima Looser.
"Or maybe," the boy taunts, "You're going to let PissKop Sterling sprinkle you with his magical golden showers while Trent rides you and Thad watches. Is that it?"
For some reason, Scotty invokes Jeff whenever possible, and makes all sorts of wild accusations. In the five times Trent's twin has had a chance to run his mouth off without a guiding influence (Trent's steel toed boot to the shin usually does the trick), there have been implications of bed wetting, homosexuality (not really in insult, but certainly a private matter), necrophilia, lunacy, and bestiality with a squirrel.
He isn't sure why the blond brings out all his protective instincts in the way he does, but insulting Jeff is a line he can't let the boy cross. He yawns. "Sounds like a typical Thursday Warbler's rehearsal." He knows he's playing a dangerous game, but he lets his mouth run anyway. Scotty Nixon can't hurt him. "At least we all have dicks that we can get up, though, to fuck each other during our massive orgies. 'Cause I know the prescription for Viagra in your bathroom isn't for your dad, Scotty."
Trent's twin turns white with rage, and throws down his cigarette. The pulsating hatred he gives off certainly isn't a response to the suggestion of his impotence, as much as at the mention of his father. Because if there is one person Scotty loves more than anyone in the world, it's his father. Incidentally, if there is one person Scotty hates more than anyone, it's the same man. When the tall, acerbic boy from Dalton so casually mentions him, it triggers something in Scotty's drug addled brain.
He throws down his cigarette butt, leaving a black singeing on the cracked paint of the floorboards as he grinds it under his combat boots. "Fuck you, Smythe," he breathes, his voice barely a whisper.
"Thanks, but I'd rather not," the taller boy quips calmly. "I don't think you could." He pauses for a second to consider. Inside the house, Trent is hopping up and down on one foot, in the process of getting on his shoes. "And, I'd just as soon not get an STI before I'm 18, if it's all the same."
He accepts Trent's hug, and they walk toward his car. On the porch, Scotty settles himself back onto the swing. The sun glints off the silver of his square Zippo as he lights himself another cigarette.
"Where are we going?" Sebastian asks his fellow Warbler, praying that it will be anywhere but…
"The GAP," Trent says.
The visit is almost routine. As they enter the enter the white washed perfection of the mall, Trent shoves him a wad of wrinkled, folded bills, a few coupons, and several print outs. He can tell the list is mostly sale items, with clearance ranking the highest and a few full-priced items sitting at the bottom. Trent sits on a black bench, just in view of the navy blue sign, as his friend goes in to shop for him.
Trent's list is very specific about the shirt he wants, down to the obnoxious blue and purple of the plaid. He is perusing the clearance rack when he sees her across the store. For the first time, she's in a wheelchair. The sleek black frame seems to hug her body, and it's clearly fitted for her. Something happened, and he's determined to find out what.
He moves toward her, collecting the items on Trent's list. He knows, comparing the list and the wad of cash (mostly ones, with the occasional five thrown in for good measure, and a single rumpled twenty) that he's not going to even make a third of it. He tries to triage, but somehow, like always, his own money will end up covering at least one item.
Quinn is sitting below a set of shelves, looking up at shoes. He approaches gingerly. "Help you with something?" He asks, keeping her voice neutral.
"I's like to try a pair of the ballet flats, in an 8." Her husky voice is authoritative.
He shifts the pile of clothes to his left arm, and fishes on the shelf for a pair of shoes. Except, they're not arranged in anything like a logical way. With men's shoes, there are one, maybe two colors, and just a few styles. Women's shoes are a mess of styles and colors and sizes. He finally shifts through them enough to pull out a pair of dark silvery shoes from the pile.
He presents her with the pair. Quinn just stares at him. "You fail at being gay," she says, accusatorily.
"That's not what Puck said, the other night," He retorts, not entirely sure why he's taking the bate. Except that he's bored, and he does stupid things when he's bored. "If you wanted someone with fashion sense, you should have brought Ladyface and the Cyclops hobbit."
Quinn mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, "Life long ban", and "Didn't want them to see me."
"Sorry, you have to speak up," he challenges. "I don't understand the language of the illiterate unwashed masses so well."
Just then, his phone buzzes in his pocket.
"Really Smythe, Team Starkid?" Quinn quizzes.
He blushes, and checks his phone. Phones are not exactly private things at Dalton. And, Thad likes to import music, or contacts, into other people's phones. Trent is getting bored, and hungry. He shrugs. "Look, I have to go…"
He hurries toward the check out counter, which Quinn wheeling behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices her put the offending pewter shoes on a shelf. "Wait, Smythe, who are you here with?" She asks.
"Warbler Trent," he says quietly. She watches as he pays for the clearance items. "And, I'm not here 'with' him… He just needed a ride."
He hears the quiet squeak of Quinn wheeling away as his first paycheck takes a hit, and he collects the navy and white bag. When he returns to the bench, he finds Quinn and Trent deep in conversation.
"… That sucks," Trent says, rubbing Quinn's arm.
She shrugs. "It's not so bad…"
Trent gives her a knowing look. "Sweetheart, we're going to take care you." He glances up at his fellow Warbler. "We're taking Miss Fabray shopping, today." There is no room for argument when he uses that tone. Which is how he ends up following Trent and Quinn around the Lima Mall.
After an hour or two of hard shopping, he finds himself drooping. There have been far too many clothing stores involving dresses, and far too few chances to be what Thad has taken to calling Sebastian's "Draco Malfoy" impression… acting like a smarmy git. It's almost painful for him to watch the blonde struggle through the simple task of shopping.
"I swear to god, if I have to go into one more store, I will scoop your eyes out with a rusty spork," He threatens Trent.
The fabulous Warbler looks over at him. "Do you need something to eat?" He asks gently, in an almost patronizing tone.
If it was anyone else but Trent, he might loose his temper. But, it's Trent, who has put up with more of his abuse, and more of Scotty's abuse, without fighting back, than anyone else around. "I can be generally tired of shopping without being hungry," he tries to send the message.
Trent shrugs. "Shall we go to the Lima Bean anyway?"
Sebastian perks up, but Quinn shakes her head. "No." Her voice is firm.
"Breadsticks?" Trent proposes, next. Again, Quinn protests.
They end up at a small Mediterranean place in a strip mall a few blocks away. It's a strange place for Ohio. The food has a little too much flavor, and not quite enough meat for most people. And, the lack of beer keeps the normal Lima crowd away. He goes to the bathroom as Quinn orders a plate of Baba Ghanoosh and Hummus.
As he comes back, he hears Quinn explaining to Trent. "Yeah, but that was Nationals and Graduation. You only win the National Show Choir Championship once. You only graduate high school once."
"Unless you're Noah Puckerman," Trent stage whispers. "Or my brother."
Quinn gives him a dark look. "Puck graduated." She sounds defensive. "Anyway, I did it. After the accident. I said I was going to dance at Nationals, and I did. And, I said I would walk at graduation, and I did." She mutters something about Sue Sylvester and horse steroids and botox and electroshock therapy. "It worked, for about two weeks…"
"And then it stopped?" Trent asks.
"Yes. No. Sort of…" She says, her voice trailing off. "It hurt? Not like giving birth hurt…"
Sebastian's jaw drops. "Giving birth?" Trent kicks him under the table. Hard. "Dude!" Although, apparently Quinn's pregnancy isn't news for Trent. He vows to catch up on McKinley gossip with the sassy Warbler as soon as Quinn is safely away.
Somehow, they get through the meal without any more awkwardness or mentions of teenage sex. Although Trent makes an off-handed comment about how Hummus is a complex carbohydrate.
During the long drive back to his father's estate in Columbus, after Quinn and Trent have been dropped off at their respective homes, he wonders if he might have the beginnings of another friendship with a girl.