After the hospital, he tries to avoid Quinn as much as possible. They somehow manage not to have contact until the second week of July. She goes to visit her sister in Chicago, and he spends most of the week with Trent, trying to keep his friend together. But, given everything going on, they can't avoid each other forever. Wes Montgomery's visit makes a new complication.
He, Leesha, and Cory are once again hanging out in the airy lobby of Children's. Even though he has a car, he stays and waits with the others while they wait for rides. They usually need to debrief, or at least find a release after their emotionally charged group meetings. More often than not, someone ends up crying. And, although he's loathed to admit it, he's cried a few times before.
This afternoon, it's Cory who is a bit misty around the eyes and red of the nose. He had limped into the meeting in obnoxiously orange shorts patterned with large turquoise hibiscus flowers and fuchsia hummingbirds. The pants seemed to indicate one of two possible outcomes. Either a sea breeze was about to start flowing through the room accompanied by soft ukulele music, or else multiple people were about to get migraines.
"My swim coach just told me they couldn't have me on the team," Cory sniffed once the group had settled down. "He said I was a liability."
"Asshole," He had muttered.
"Bastard," Jamie agreed quietly.
"Because of…" Maddie motioned to the black fiberglass and metal leg visible under the riot of colors.
Cory shrugged. "Maybe."
"Didn't you go low in the middle of state qualifiers last year and almost drown?" Leesha asked, her voice dry. She is edgy this week, harsher and more blunt that usual.
Cory shrugged, again. "Going in, I had the best time in the state," he argued.
"How was it justified?" Evie queried, gently.
Cory's head drooped. "Academics," he said. "Stupid English class." He launched into a story about how he almost failed last semester for inappropriate imagery on his Odyssey project. Jamie snorted approvingly when Cory admitted to using images of "Baywatch babes" for his sirens.
Leesha suggested Tom Felton and Nicholas Hoult, which earned her a dark look from Evie.
Now that the session is over, they return to the pertinent and important topic of appropriate sirens. Leesha is a fan of "any man who can play the cello" or what seems like most superheroes.
He offhandedly observes that he could maybe understand Cory's English teacher's problem if the image had been Daniel Radcliffe in "Equus", which leads to a snort of agreement from Leesha.
Somehow, the conversation descends into a debate about butts. Leesha whips out her phone and starts googling images of various body parts. Images of all six Avenger's asses come up between their three phones. He's leaning across the table, studying a photo of Jeremy Renner's wet flexing ass when Cory starts waving his phone (and Emma Watson's chest) at someone.
He glances up to see a blonde he knows all too well. He curses Cory under his breath; he's been trying to avoid Quinn since they parted in the hospital. His stomach has been writhing with nerves when he thinks about her, and his words ring in his ears at the most inopportune moments. He can't keep the thought out of his head: What if she hates him?
Without the comforting dark wood walls and blue blazers, it takes him a minute to recognize the boy at Quinn's elbow: Wes Montgomery. Then again, he's only met the legend in passing; but he's heard more than enough stories of the older boy to make him more than a little jealous. Wes not only knows everyone without revealing their secrets, he's the person they confide in. He's amazingly charismatic and a true leader, but fun at the same time. Wes arranged at least half the music the Warblers sang, in his copious free time between a job and the studying required to earn a place among the National Merit Scholars. He's not sure if Wes is a human being or not.
The older boy pulls out a chair for Quinn. He is a perpetual gentleman. "I'm Wes," he says, offering his hand to Cory and Leesha.
The pair smiles, warmly. Leesha already seems charmed by Wes and Cory is, of course, infatuated with Quinn. Leesha's reaction makes him question her taste in men, although perhaps not. Wes is a charming bastard. Cory he can hardly blame. Quinn has had plenty of boys crush on her: Artie, Rory, Mike, Nick, Thad, David, probably Wes… and those are just the ones he knows about. Hell, if he's honest with himself, she's the kind of girl he's love to date if he were straight.
"How are you, Quinn?" Cory asks. He grins, adoringly. He might as well simply be spewing nonsense all over himself like a fangirl for all the good it does his relationship with Quinn.
"Fine," she says. She is steadier than the last time he say her. Then again, so is he. If the two of them were on better terms, he might smile and ask offhandedly if today is a good day. She might smile, and make an off-handed gesture that he would respond to, telling her that he's woke up last night with a low blood sugar. But, they're not on good terms at all, so he doesn't.
"How are you, Bas?" She asks, turning to him icily. She is in full-on bitch mode, the queen of the schoolyard. The nickname, the one his mother uses, sounds like a rebuke. "Still worse than cancer?"
It's like a slap in the face. She hasn't forgotten. And, she's using it against him. She's nervous, though. Quinn is normally a political genius; her control of the social strata is almost Machiavellian. But, when she's afraid, she starts to lose her edge. She gets sloppy. If she were in top form, she would have remembered Leesha.
The dark haired girl looks between the blonde and the tall boy with a stricken look. Her hand moves unconsciously to the pale pink line across her throat. It's faded in the months he's know her to the point that it just looks like a crease in her neck. He remembers the livid red scar. He remembers the look of fear in the doctor's office. He's an asshole and Quinn is a bitch. They've fucked up.
"Shut up," Cory hisses. Leesha's eyes are brimming with tears. He's protective of his messed up little family.
Wes lays a gentle hand on Leesha's shoulder. He doesn't know the girl, but he feels compelled to try to comfort her and take away her pain. It has been a long time since Wes has looked at pain and not neededto take it away.
Cory reaches across the table to take Leesha's hand, but she snatches it away. "I'm fine!" She almost snarls. The younger boy ignores her, and struggles to his feet. He fishes for his wallet, and mutters something about frogs as he limps away.
Quinn and Sebastian are glaring daggers at each other. But, Quinn is beginning to crack. Tears are filling her big, blue eyes. The boy, too, is fraying at the edges. Wes doesn't think he'll cry, but something is wrong. He doesn't know what, but he needs to fix it.
Leesha is turning unnaturally pale as Cory comes back with a soda. He sets it on the table just out of the girl's reach, and waits expectantly.
He moves his glower from one girl to the other. "We had an agreement," he reminds her, conviction in his voice. She shakes off Wes's hand, and fishes in her bag. A few heartbeats later, Leesha reaches for the can, and opens it with trembling fingers.
The chirp of Cory's cellphone surprises all five teens from their uneasy silence. "It's my auntie," the boy announces, almost glumly. "She's going to be disappointed."
He tries to be encouraging to the younger boy. "Look, if you need to, call me later," he offers.
It's something he never would have done a year ago. He wouldn't have known how to answer the call. In truth, he still doesn't. But, he's learning with Trent and Nick, Cory and Leesha that it doesn't matter so much what he says (as long as it doesn't actively promote anything harmful) that just being there is usually what it takes. It's as much about listening and acknowledging the suckiness of the situation as trying to fix it. In fact, listening sometimes gives more comfort than solutions … as much as he wishes he could wave a magic wand and just make things better. Sadly, he's not that kind of fairy.
Wes looks at the remaining three teens. "Shall we make our exit as well?" He asks. Wes is comfortable with a lot of displays of emotion, but he prefers to have them happen someplace semi private, not somewhere anyone can interrupt. He has a feeling that when Sebastian and Quinn lose control, it could be catastrophic.
"Will you come, too?" Bas almost begs Leesha. He wants an ally or another neutral party, something so that he's not about to end up in a two-against-one argument. "If you call your sister, I'll bring you home."
Leesha shrugs and wipes a hand across her wet cheeks. She texts her little sister as the other three collect their things. They drive to a little coffee shop/cafe a few miles from the hospital campus. It's an odd enough time that they're some of the only patrons. Somehow, in the semi-privacy, the masks drop. Wes smiles genuinely and Quinn leaves the charade behind. She goes from looking serene to uncomfortable and vulnerable in half a second. Leesha isn't as good of an actress, she can be read like an open book. She jiggles her leg nervously under the table.
He half listens as Wes and Quinn talk about some shared history. The Asian boy keeps calling her Lucy, or trying to. He stumbles when he addresses the blonde as Quinn, as though this is a new alias for someone he has known for a long time. The part of him that is observing is jealous; there is no one who remembers him when he was younger, no one who has a hitch in their speech when they call him "Sebastian", except maybe his mother.
He watches Leesha. Her knee bobs. Maybe it was a mistake to ask her to come along. But, he didn't want to leave her crying in the hospital lobby. He feels oddly protective toward her. It's a strange feeling.
They order drinks, and he's a bit surprised when Wes orders herbal tea. Wes is a Warbler. Hell, he's The Warbler. And Warblers jones for caffeine the way addicts do. Automatic coffee makers have replaced alarm clocks in many dorm rooms at Dalton, and David has been known to threaten anyone who touches his espresso machine without permission. Trent is strictly forbidden. Blaine, and even his gay-faced honorary-Warbler boy-toy drink coffee like mother's milk. Nick likes green tea, but he's been pour liquid caffeine into brew. Jeff has his hot chocolate, but perhaps most famous is the pallet of bawls Meatbox has hidden somewhere in the dungeons under Dalton. So, for Wes to drink something without caffeine gives him pause.
He feels even more on edge when they settle at their table, and Quinn turns to Wes. "You're back eating?" She asks. Quinn loses her filters when she gets nervous. It's not so obvious if you're used to the snarky, queen-bitch incarnation.
Wes shrugs and takes a sip of his tea. "I'm at about half and half," he replies. "Not as bad as last year…" Quinn shudders almost imperceptibly and nods. "Actually, things are a lot better than last year." Wes tries to sound reassuring.
He listens to the discussion, but doesn't really follow it. Leesha buries her face in her chai. "We're being rude, Lu-Quinn," the Asian boy says.
"Seb started it," Leesha says glibly. She sounds young when she says it, but it diffuses some of the tension.
Quinn lets out a mirthless chuckle.
"Seb usually starts it," Wes agrees.
He feels a flash of anger. He's already on edge. Wes doesn't know him at all. They're not friends. Hell, they're barely acquaintances. He tries to play it off with snark. "I don't start things, I merely bring them to their logical beginning." He retorts. It's not very good. He's getting rusty. He takes a sip of his coffee to cover his embarrassment.
"Are you at Dalton, too?" Leesha asks, continuing to impersonate a younger girl. It's clear she's trying to make small talk and diffuse the situation. He's thankful. He wonders if this is one of her defense mechanisms. Leesha is a dichotomy. Sometimes when she's threatened, she gets stronger and mature. Other times, she falls apart and regresses to a child.
"I was," Wes says. "I graduated last year."
Leesha grins, missing the note of melancholy in the older boy's voice. "Where are you in school, now?"
Wes turns pink and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like Boston College. Leesha congratulates him on his brilliance, just like she did when she heard about Quinn's early admission to Yale. She asks him what he's studying, and then suggests that pre-med is not a real major. Leesha is back to being bossy. Somehow, though, she still seems young.
He can tell that she wants someone to ask her where she will be next year. No one does. He knows he could. She's proud of her admission to the small, liberal arts school she'll attend in the fall. Leesha is more of a big fish in a little pond type girl. But, he can also hear a note of longing in her voice as the others talk about their big name schools. Leesha has an unfounded inferiority complex.
"I'm glad I don't have to worry pre-med. I don't know how you do it," Quinn says, half teasing. It's the most relaxed he's seen her in a while. "I just have to read."
Leesha laughs. "English can be harder than math," she declares. "And math is usually harder than chemistry."
Quinn stares at the brunette in disbelief. "You're joking." He lets out a puff of disbelief, and Wes studies the younger girl.
Leesha's face breaks into a grin. "Don't tell me you dislike chemistry," she says.
"My only B in high school," Wes admits. Then, a look crosses his face. "Excuse me," he says, quickly exiting from the table. He disappears in the direction of the rest room.
Quinn just looks at the other girl for a minute. "I'm not sure we can be friends," she sounds serious. He would believe her if he didn't know her sarcastic side.
"Says Barbra 2.0," He shoots back, defending his friend. Quinn winces and takes a sip of her
"Barbra?" Leesha asks, clearly confused.
He smiles. "Com'mon, Lovelace. One of my old Glee competitors. She sang in Nude Erections with Quinn."
"Lovelace?" Leesha laughs. "And I'm the nerd? God, only you would pull out programing."
"Nude Erections?" Quinn asks, glaring.
He shrugs. "Your group was poorly named. Or was it meant as a double entendre?"
Quinn thinks about it for a moment. "I didn't name it," she finally responds. "I just joined to keep my boyfriend away from … someone."
Leesha grins. "I've heard of worse. Actually, it's kind of adorkable."
"Sort of like Mr. Schue," Quinn admits. She takes another sip of her drink.
They talk about choirs, and names and songs. Quinn gets a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, and pulls out her Johnny Cash collection. Leesha responds with some Dylan.
As they talk, he feels the tension slowly releasing. They're still bot a bit on edge. The fight hasn't been forgotten, but they can compartmentalize. They're on neutral territory again, like that first day in the office. It's a fork in the road.
He drains his cup, and realizes that Wes has been gone for a while. He excuses himself, and makes his way back to the bathroom.
He opens the door slowly, praying that Wes will be the only occupant. Luck seems to be on his side. The urinals are mostly empty and the single stall door is locked. He hears the sound of wretching over the musiak.
"Wes?" He calls, tentatively. He is not the kind of person who checks on other people in the bathroom and finds them throwing up. He's not sure what to do. He wishes Nick or Jeff or Trent were here. He might be better than David, but only because David doesn't do bodily fluids.
There's a pause, and then another heave. "I'm fine," Wes replies, weakly. "Just finishing."
There's a flush, and the stall door opens a few heartbeats later. Wes staggers out, weakly. His face is pale, his lips gray.
"Shit," He says, studying the older boy. "You're not fine."
Wes shrugs, and moves to the sink. He rinses his mouth out with some water, spitting but not swallowing. "It's a bad day," he says, non-committally. "Tomorrow will probably be better."
He raises his eyebrows in disbelief. Not that today is a bad day, but that spending today vomiting is an indication that tomorrow will be better.
Wes sighs, and raises his own eyebrows. He knows about the fight. "Everyone has good days and bad days," he tells the younger Warbler. "But you have to keep things in perspective."
He starts to glare at the older boy. Wes doesn't know what he's talking about.
"I imagine it sucks, having diabetes," Wes continues.
"How do you know?" He demands, a bit more forcefully than he means to.
Wes shrugs. "David called me in the middle of baking. I convinced him that Pavlova was a far better idea than a sugar free wedding cake."
"Thank you for that."
Wes laughs. "And you weren't even a victim of the gluten-free, egg-free, dairy-free attempt at baking."
"How? … What? …Was it even edible?"
"I don't know. I'm not a masochist. Sometimes the feeding tube comes in handy." Wes smiles for a minute, then winces, a hand going to his abdomen.
"Feeding tube?" He demands, confused. He's heard all sorts of stories about Wes. The boy is larger than life. Never once did anyone mention that he was too sick to digest food.
"Excuse me?" The older boy walks back into the stall. A series uncomfortable sounds which either emanated from the small space and echo off the hard walls.. He was having trouble deciding if they came from Wes, or a low bass section hidden somewhere in the bathroom. They're accompanied by a foul odor, like a baby after too much fiber.
When Wes returns, he's blushing. He washes his hands quickly and efficiently. "Bad day," he repeats. "… Isn't that what you and Quinn argued about?" Wes asks shrewdly.
He blushes, and nods.
"I'm going to tell you what I told her," Wes continues. "Everyone has good days and bad days."
He goes to object.
"Trust me," Wes says. "Everyone has good days and bad days. Even when you deal with the same shit every day." He motions toward the stall. "But, even on my bad days, I try to remember that there are people out there whose good days are worse than my bad days. I work with people who have trouble feeding themselves or communicating on their best days."
He gapes at the older boy, and smiles to hide his shame. Because he feels like an asshole. What Wes has said is true, absolutely true. He's lucky, and he forgets it a lot. He wants to hide somewhere, so the shame can go away.
Wes won't let him escape, though. "We should go back out," he says. "The girls have probably wondered if we've fallen in."
"Or else gotten into an argument about Redvines verses Twizzlers," He suggests. He doesn't really understand the appeal of either, although most of his classmates at Dalton are obsessed with one or the other. Only Nick and Jeff have the attitude that it doesn't matter which you buy, as long as you buy your licorice on sale.
"I like Panda," Wes admits as they make their way back, "but its not gluten free."
They return to the table to find Leesha and Quinn engaged in a deep discussion about religion and science. He laughs, for what feels like the first time in a long time.
They stay and talk for half an hour more, until his father texts to find out where he is. As they walk out, he pulls Quinn aside. "I'm sorry," he says, sincerely. "I was an ass."
"Apology accepted," she replies. "I wasn't my best, either. See you later this week?" She asks.
His smile is genuine, and not afraid.
A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Pi-on-a-skateboard as both a bribe and sort of an homage to an disagreement we had over the last chapter. If you haven't read her stuff, especially There's Something About Blaine and you're anything of a Warbler fangirl or an angst whore, you should go do it.
Secondly, I apologize for how long this has taken me to write. More than two months is kind of shameful. Thank you for sticking with me. I've had a few changes… moved cross country, started a new PhD program, and had a bad case of writer's block. I'm not going to promise an update schedule, but I have a few ideas of where this is going. I promise, its not getting abandoned.
Reviews are like whole boxes of Raspberry Panda Licorice?