A/N 1: There's some ablest language in this chapter that some people may find offensive.
The second to last time they see each other before the end of summer, it's at the dinner. Neither realized that it would be the second to last opportunity, but things were moving swiftly. The trial over her accident had ended; it was time for her to return to Lima. And, the collaboration between John Smythe and Liz Cohen was quieting. Sebastian would be confined to the Columbus metro area for the rest of the summer.
If they knew, or they let themselves think about it, they might be sad. Things were changing, unable to fight the inexorable march of time. Their friendship, fought for and hard won, was inevitably going to change. There is no way to maintain what they have, with her departure to New Haven in late August. She knows friendship won't simply be snuffed out: it's too hardy, able to withstand the storms of both their tempers. It's strong and flexible: able to adapt. But, that doesn't mean that the change won't come with loss.
She pushes aside the metaphysical and the philosophical and focuses on the present. There are much more important things to think about. Shoes, for instance.
She can do this. It's not hard, not really. She's done it a million times before. She's done so much more than this. Hell, she danced nine months pregnant in shoes higher than these. But, she's shaking as she takes a deep breath and slides her stocking-clad foot into the elegant t-strap with the low heel. This is the first time since the accident she's walking without the benefits of braces, muscle relaxants, steroids, or horse tranquilizers.
"Quinn, mija, where's you're curling iron?" The shout comes from the bathroom where her friend, a second member of the unholy trinity, is getting ready.
"At my mom's," she calls back. "I haven't needed it. There's a flat iron, if you want it. Second drawer to the right."
A string of muffled curses come from the door of the private bathroom. It doesn't matter the pair has seen magic worked with much less (a card of bobby pins and a 5 cent comb in one case), Santana is annoyed at having to do her curls the hard way.
She takes a deep breath, and returns to the task at hand. She carefully buckles the shoe, then slips her foot into the other and fastens it as well. Slowly, she gets to her feet, and takes a tentative step.
It's just like riding a bicycle. They say you never forget how to do it. They say that once you learn, once you graduate from training wheels and can sail down the street without your father running along behind you holding the seat and encouraging you, you'll always be able to do it. Her first real bike had been a pale sunshine yellow, with white and yellow streamers that blew in the wind. It had been Avery's bike first, long ago abandoned by the budding pubescent teen: her sister too fast becoming a woman. The piece about always remembering was a lie, though. The first time she sat down at her second first bike, this one an ugly, serviceable blue tricycle sized for an adult, she couldn't remember how to ride. She couldn't make her legs move up and down, couldn't balance herself (obviously, that's why they'd given her the trike instead of a proper bike). Her body forgot how to ride. Just like it seems to have forgotten how to walk in heels.
Her first few steps are slow. She feels her ankle begin to give, but she straightens herself the way she's practiced in physical therapy. She smooths the skirt of her white eyelet dress, and carefully walks into the bathroom to apply a final coat of lipstick.
Santana studies her from the mirror. The blonde is better than at senior prom. She's being honest this time, the slight limp the result of hard won physical therapy and not just adrenaline and pain killers. She looks like her old self, the girl Santana remembers as the president of the celibacy club and the head cheerio. But, she's not the same girl, even as she applies the same rose lipstick.
Santana wraps an arm around her friend's waist, and smiles at the blonde in the mirror.
She squeezes back. "Thanks for doing this, San."
"And miss a chance to get dressed up and meet your awful co-workers?" The ravenette's tone is light, although there is an edge to it. "I can't believe I get to meet Broadway's older sister."
She laughs and shakes her head, letting her loose hair fall around her shoulders. "I'm looking forward to that," she admits.
The Latina twists her cascading hair into a final curl, and gives her companion a smile so saccharine, it can only be evil. It's a smile Santana wore around the time Finn came down with mono. It almost makes her wonder if the other girl had anything to do with the disease…
There's a knock at the door.
"Quinn?" Wes' voice sounds different.
She walks slowly, still unsteady in the higher shoes. Santana matches her pace without commenting.
She opens the door to find Wes and Bastian standing outside. They're dressed in dark suits, tailored to give them broad shoulders and narrow waists. Even though it's the same basic outfit as the Dalton uniform, there's a night and day difference in their attire. She supposes that's the point of eveningwear.
Wes' smile is nervous and inviting. She kisses him gently on the cheek.
Sebastian just looks surprised, and maybe just a bit intimidated, when he sees Santana. He'll never admit that he's scared of the Latina, but she knows him well enough to have suspicions. For her part, San leers at the Warbler with her most intimidating, yet still appealing look. Suddenly, the evening has gotten more interesting. She kisses Wes again. Her boy is a genius.
"You look … lovely, Satana." Sebastian is at least trying to be charming and failing miserably as the nickname accidently slips out. His nerves just sound like his usual snark.
"You clean up well, too, Sebastard." Apparently the Latina isn't on her best behavior, either.
The evening will be interesting. Hopefully the two can keep their tempers under control enough to only blow up at threats outside the group.
She ducks back inside her room for her wrap and purse. Santana wears a short black leather jacket.
Wes offers his arm, and escorts her out to the foyer. The room is two stories of white marble, with a sweeping staircase. Much as she is loathe to call anything a foyer, this space warrants the title. It's just ostentatious enough that she imagines Blaine's parents debated about it before they bought the house. She imagines that Mrs. Anderson (whose tastes are somewhat more modern than her husband) hated the space, but that Blaine's father won the argument. He probably whipped out the big brown eyes his son is so efficient at using, and convinced his wife.
She expects they're going to make a clean get-away, taking Sebastian's car and leaving. Wes's is nice enough, for a minivan. But, if she's honest, it sort of smells like hamburgers since someone (Blaine and David) borrowed it in their quest to identify the best French fries in the city of Columbus. (For the record, Blaine attributes this title to the herbed vampire fries at Westie's Drive-In, while David happens to like the chips and his favorite Irish Pub. Wes and Quinn abstained from the activity for the sake of their stomachs and waistlines). Instead, she finds Thad, Leesha, Blaine and Kurt waiting in the entry. Kurt is complementing Leesha on her dress and the simple barrette in her hair. The girl is glowing. Blaine has Thad in a corner, and is talking to him quietly. She wonders what advice is being passed along.
Wes clears his throat, and Kurt and Blaine turn from their respective charges.
"Pictures!" The countertenor's voice is piercing as he produces an almost professional grade camera. "I borrowed it from Tina." As if that explains everything. And, actually, knowing Tina, it sort of does.
He begins the careful process of arranging them artistically around the house and garden and snapping pictures. There's a shot of Quinn and Wes in the rose garden. Sebastian plays the piano while Santana trails her fingers over his neck and sings. Thad and Leesha stick their tongues out at each other in a candid shot taken while they were arguing houses in Pottermore.
Then, he poses them in unusual groups. There's a shot of the three who worked at the office. He pushes the camera off on Santana so he can get a picture of all the Dalton boys, then all the private school survivors. Quinn and Sebastian end up in the garden, posed classically as friends. And, she and Santana grin together with their arms around each other. She is going to kill Kurt if he doesn't post the pictures on Dropbox or Facebook.
Blaine clears his throat, and glances pointedly at his watch. Even with Sebastian's driving, they'll be late if they don't leave now. Wes takes Quinn's elbow gently as he escorts her out to Sebastian's clean car. Santana slides in the front, next to her date, while Quinn and Wes cuddle in the back. She uses the excuse to slip her feet out of her heels, and stretch her toes.
The valets are prompt to take Sebastian and Thad's cars. She notices that the boys have the malice of forethought to slip the uniformed workers money. Maybe tipping was part of Blaine's lecture to Thad. Then again, knowing what she does about Thad, it could have been a reminder not to ask people what shape their patronuses might take, or comment too loudly on the implications of Citizen's United unless someone brings it up first. She will resist the urge.
They walk through the hotel, up the stairs and to the ballroom. Sebastian and Wes quietly look at each other and switch as they approach the stairs. Wes will never admit it, but a flight of stairs take mores energy than it should. Which is a lot, considering how little energy Wes has to spare. So, Bastian helps her up the stairs without calling obvious attention to the fact that she almost slips a few times, and Santana makes what she can only assume to snarky comments in Wes's ear.
They make their entrance midway through the cocktail hour. Leesha and Thad peel off to find canapés and argue about children's literature. She can feel the force of Elizabeth Clarise Worthington's gaze on her, over Howell's shoulder. She's not sure what she's done to earn the older girl's ire, but she can feel the full force of it, now. She is not used to being on the receiving end of soft power wars with someone she cannot burry in dirt.
Santana leans in. "Who's the bitch eye-fucking the meerkat?"
Wes stifles a laugh, and Sebastian pretends not to hear.
"Worthington." She has learned the art of talking under her breath to Santana. It was an excellent way to keep up with Cheerios gossip during Spanish. "She'll be a senior at Columbia. Says she's a shoe-in for Law at Harvard. I'm not sure how spending her summer playing messenger pigeon makes her a better candidate, though."
Santana's evil smile returns. "Which one is chicken-fetus killer's sister?"
Quinn nods to the too-skinny girl in a green cocktail dress. St James is pretty, or she would be, if she wasn't for her fragile hair, ashy skin and almost skeletal body.
Sebastian frowns quietly at the pair. "Chicken fetus?"
"Rachel is a vegan." Santana might be vicious to people in the group, but she's protective of her own. "And Jesse and Vocal Adrenaline decided it would be fun to throw eggs at her."
"Puck and Finn slit their tires, though, I think." She supplies quickly, as if that made the act of throwing eggs okay.
"Jesse?" Sebastian is still lost. Wes, on the other hand, lost three years of Show Choir sectionals to Vocal Adrenaline.
"Jesse St James," She supplies. "Isabella's younger brother, the family favorite, and a Show Choir prodigy."
"He was like the second coming of Elvis, Freddie Mercury and Blaine Anderson all rolled into one." If she didn't know Wes better, she'd think he was being sarcastic. But, this is Wes. He's too honest and good for that.
Sebastian snorts into his hand, just in time for his father to slide in beside him.
"Good evening, Sebastian." The greeting feels strangely cold and formal. "How are you?"
The few times she's seen Bastian and his father together, the two have been distant but not uncaring. They're not a pair who touches, but there is a difference between not touching and not caring at all.
"Fine." Sebastian's smile suddenly feels a bit forced. "Have you met Santana? She just graduated from McKinley with Quinn."
Santana and Sebastian's father shake hands, politely. Mr. Smythe says something complementary about New Direction's victory at Nationals. Sebastian's eyes bug out.
She takes the opportunity to loop her elbow through Wes' arm. "Let's go find something to drink and avoid the drama."
He leads her away as Santana starts to say something about welding masks. Wes gives her a significant glance.
"Sue Sylvester." The name is really all the explanation anyone needs. Wes nods, understandingly.
The cocktail waiters disappear, and they move into the dining room from the large reception area. She and Wes find their names at a table with enough clearance that she could have been comfortable in her wheelchair. There is an exit nearby, which she suspected lead to the men's room. It seems that someone has put thought into the seating arrangements.
Wes, ever the gentleman, pulls out her chair so she can sit. She appreciates the gesture. Finn, Sam, Puck, even Joe: none of the boys at McKinley would have ever been so considerate. Wes slides the peach linen napkin into his lap. Finn rarely remembered that napkins exist and he shouldn't wipe his hands on his pants. It was nice to go out with someone with manners.
The others join them, leaving two empty seats at the table. She doesn't peak at the place cards; she doesn't want to know who else will be at the table. Leesha and Thad are arguing about James Bond movies.
"I'd be Q's assistant." A very pink Leesha explains into her water glass.
"I think you're pretty enough for a Bond girl." Thad's remark is sincere, but the glare he receives suggests he's put his foot in it.
"Sebastian would be a Bond girl," she offers, trying to keep the peace.
"Sebastian would be a Bond villain." Warbler captain wears an evil grin on his face. "Operating out of his secret lair in Ohio because he was snubbed by a beautiful boy during his adolescence."
"And he'd blind Bond with a rock salt slushie?" Santana's words are cold.
Sebastian laughs, artificially. "No, I'd send my tortured, conflicted boys and girls after old Jimmy. A man that beautiful can't be entirely straight."
Thad shakes his head. "He's old school, and if he is gay, he's in the closet. Do right by the crown and all. Although, as I think we learned in Quantum of Solace the reason he can be so wild."
Thad's about to continue onto a tirade, which she has no double will discuss the results of whipping on male virility, but Wes intervenes. "He did it in the service of the British crown and flag."
Thad shuts up, suddenly, turning pink.
The look of relief is evident on the faces of Leesha and Sebastian when Wes asks Santana if she's excited to start college. Thad is known for his wild selection of topics and lack of filters. College is usually a reasonably safe topic, even with Thad around.
Her nerves are heightened when the last member of their table sits down. She appreciates the effort to put the four high school interns at ease by seating them together. She just didn't expect the fourth member of their group to be…
"Karofsky?" Santana sounds a bit incredulous as she greets their old classmate.
He looks the same as always, tall and broad. His hair has been cut shorter, but he remains clean-shaven. The one strange thing is seeing Karofsky in a suit. The last time she saw him dressed that way was at Prom, when he got so angry. He looks uncomfortable.
Sebastian gives him a wide smile. "Come join us, Cub."
"Don't call me that." Karofsky's voice has a smooth, hard edge. "Unless you want to talk about your beard?"
Sebastian and Santana share a long suffering long, and then with almost choreographed precision stroke their chins.
Dave sits, his suit settling around him.
"Where were you working this summer?" The question is politely, and yet still nosy.
Across the table, the former football player forces a smile onto his face. "Up near Toledo. I stayed with my mom."
Santana looks like she's about to comment, and then bites her lip.
Wes looks around the table. "I think I'm missing something. I'm Wes Montgomery." He offers his hand to the newcomer.
She blushes, feeling rebuked for not introducing her date.
"David Karofsky." He shakes Wes' hand.
She can see the look of realization dawning on the faces of Wes and Thad. Wes looks like he might want to punch his new dining companion, or at least saw a few choice words to him. Thad's eyes darken, too. There are levels of emotion behind them that she'd love to ask about.
She realizes that only she, Santana, and Thad have been around for the whole drama. Wes knows Kafosky as the bully who drove Kurt away from McKinley, somehow. Sebastian knows him as the boy who committed suicide because he was gay. And, Leesha doesn't know Karofsky from Adam, Eve, or Steve Jobs.
"Wes, don't," she breathes in his ear as she reaches for the butter. "There's a lot you don't know."
"Obviously," he replies tartly. He picks a roll out of the basket and starts shredding it.
Leesha takes a sip of her water. "How did you like it up there?"
Karofsky smiles at the unfamiliar, friendly face. "It was okay. Ohio."
His comment breaks some of the tension.
"Did you make it to the zoo?" Leesha forges ahead in the conversation.
She remembers that the Toledo zoo was one of the best in Ohio. The last time she'd been was a class trip in fourth grade. She'd still been plain Lucy Fabray, and no one had wanted to be her bus buddy, so she'd had to be partnered up with Ryan Wescott who talked with a lisp and always smelled like peanut butter. The popular girls, the girls she had eventually joined, whispered that she looked like a rhinoceros. She decided that she hated the zoo.
"Once or twice. I liked the penguins." Karofsky grins, unabashedly. It's surprisingly nice. She wonders why he didn't smile more in high school. "What are yours…?"
"Leesha," The girl supplies. "I like otters."
Thad wrinkles his nose. "You're such a Hermione! Except you can sort of draw." He pauses, then offers his hand as well. "Thad Harwood. I went to Dalton with well… everyone."
"I bet your favorite animal is the meerkat, Sebastard," A certain Latina comments snarkily.
"And yours is probably a praying mantis," Sebastian retorts smoothly.
She knows that Sebastian's favorite animal is a Macaque.
A microphone crackles to life, cutting off further conversation. She's thankful for the interruption.
On the dais, the Attorney General's secretary holds a microphone and a series of index cards. He plays MC for the night, announcing the winners of various awards and prizes. Most are boring, administrative things, but she appreciates a few.
Thad is called up for a small scholarship awarded by the office for college students who show particular promise as lawyers. She can see the dark glares of Worthington, Howell, and St James on the boy, as well as Leesha's beatific grin.
Thad once admitted to her during their lunches together that he'd wanted to be a lawyer since he was a little boy. He'd been raised on a steady diet of Grishman and SUV. She isn't sure what person in their right mind would let an eight-year-old watch a show like that (her mother had kept her to Hannah Montana and Saved by the Bell re-runs), but it had an impact. Later, she found out that Thad made the four-hour commute between his family's empty Columbus mansion and Lima to work with Liz Cohen. Apparently, Tina's mother has a reputation of being one of the best prosecutors in family cases in the state. Thad had jumped at the opportunity to work with legend.
She had simply accepted the job because she'd needed one that didn't require standing, walking or running and Tina was away.
Liz Cohen receives a special acknowledgement from the state for her work with children and families. The tiny, rotund woman climbs on stage, her short, frizzy hair going everywhere. Her family is standing together by their table, clapping loudly. Tina's bright smile splits her face as she claps for her mother, the sleeves of her leather jacket curling over her hands. Beside her, her father beams. He looks as uncomfortable as Karofsky in his jacket and tie. This third member of the group is a skinny man somewhere between ginger and gray. He's wearing a green tweed coat, and filming on a small camcorder.
It takes her a minute to place the man. Then, she remembers. Liz's older brother, Mark, who Tina was staying with over the summer. She promises herself that after dinner, she and Wes will go over and congratulate her boss.
The awards seem to last forever. Howell and Worthington continue glaring at Thad throughout the presentation. But, finally, they finish and dinner is served.
An army of white and black clad caters descend on the dining room in unison. They serve soy-glazed salmon with orzo and steamed vegetables. She watches Wes' face fall, slightly. He's torn between wanting to eat to be polite, and knowing the consequences if he does.
Sebastian stops the waiter with a hand on his arm, and says a few quiet words to the man. The plate of fish and pasta disappears, along with the man.
Santana wrinkles her nose. "I didn't know you were a picky eater, twink. I thought you'd try anything, as long as it had enough rock salt."
"I don't like fishy things." Sebastian looks pointed at the Latina's lap. "I prefer meat."
The waiter returns a moment later with a grilled chicken breast and rice. A few discrete movements later, and Wes has the easy to digest food, while Sebastian has the fish he wanted all along. She marvels at the simple, yet effective solution.
Dinner passes more or less uneventfully. Karofsky and Thad get into an argument about sports midway through the meal, with Thad contending that Intercollegiate Quiddich should be official recognized by the NCAA. Karofsky takes a more practical point of view, pointing out that Universities have enough trouble with club sports and Title IX without introducing another ridiculous competition. Despite the ferocity with which each boy defends his position, the banter is amiable. She's also surprised at how well Karofsky holds his own against the former Dalton debate captain. Dave is smarter than he left on at McKinley.
After dinner, there is dessert and dancing. While Leesha slips away to the bathroom and Santana and Dave Karofsky do something akin to gossiping about whom at McKinley is in the closet (if anyone could imagine Dave Karofsky gossiping), she, Thad, Wes and Sebastian go over to congratulate Liz Cohen.
Liz practically glows under their admiration. She envelops each of them in a hug, the soft, slick, cool satin of her drapy top sliding against their clavicles and cheeks. "Thank you dears," she gushes. "I can't believe it."
Then, Liz introduces them to her family. Tina, of course, most of them already know. But, there's also Mr. Chang, and Liz's other brother, Mark.
She and Tina hug each other and she complements the younger girl on her jacket. "How was New York?"
"Fantastic." Tina glows. "We went to see Godspell and Newsies, and I took a couple of classes, and I saw Rachel."
"How is she?"
"Settling in." Tina sighs. "She seems at home."
"Good." She knows that Rachel was never meant to be in Lima. She's just afraid that she was.
Sebastian and Tina eye each other cautiously when they shake hands. Beyond the bad feelings between New Directions and Sebastian, she wonders if Sebastian's nickname for Liz's daughter has gotten out, somehow. If Liz knew, she'd probably have gone Mama-bear on his ass, though.
Thad grins, shyly. She isn't sure she's ever seen Thad shy, or less than bubbling with exuberance, but he's surprisingly reserved tonight. He congratulates his boss, and almost glows when she returns the accolade. Liz lets him know that should he want a position next year, she'll be happy to have him return.
When the trio takes their leave, Thad practically floats back to Leesha. He grabs her hand, despite her giggling protests, and drags her onto the dance floor. The pair is off in their own little world.
At some point during the night, she slips off the to lady's room. It's quiet in the long, carpeted hallway between the ballroom and the bathrooms. The lights are low, and she steps carefully. When she was younger, she used to play on the patterns of carpet. She doesn't do that anymore.
She slips through the double door to the bathroom, past the carpeted lounge area with a mirror and a fainting couch, and into the toilets. Howell and St. James are at the mirror, freshening up their appearances. She knows they see her when she enters the stall.
"Honestly, I don't know why they even do this," St. James complains. "It would be so much better if we could just do a bar crawl to celebrate the end of the summer."
"They couldn't do that with people working for them who are underage." Howell's voice is crisp and carrying. "Although I don't know why we got all the charity cases this year."
"What do you mean?" St. James demands, hungry for gossip.
She wonders how Jesse's older sister manages to live on cruel words and unkind thoughts alone.
"Well, I heard the runner from Toledo tried to commit suicide." Howell's voice again.
It's true, but she wonders how the older girl found out.
"And the boy from Lima, the one who won the award? His sister is retarded. Like, drooling can't function retarded."
"How do you know?" St. James asks the question that Quinn wants answered as well.
She images that Howell is smiling, like the cat who got the canary. "We went to school together, Arianna Harwood and I, at least for a little while. Until they realized what a mistake it was to try to mainstream her, and her parents sent her away."
She wonders if that's why Thad is so passionate about family law. That maybe he got into it because of his sister?
St. James snorts in an unladylike fashion, and smacks her lips. "I wonder if that's why he got the scholarship? Pity."
"Probably." Because it would be impossible for Thad to win it on his own merit. No high school student could ever be as good as a Columbia girl.
She's done peeing, but she's not sure she can face the gauntlet of the bathroom. It was different in high school, where she'd been the Queen Bee, at least for a little while. It was different when she had ammunition to throw back, ways to wound people. So, she stays where she is and pretends that she's not there.
"And then there are the two we had. Fabray and Smythe." Howell's tone is laced with loathing. "I mean, she's bad coming in half-way through the summer. Practically retarded herself, with the way she walks."
She knows that she still limps, but she's gotten so much better. She hasn't used her crutches since the day she was recovering from that really bad spasm. And, mostly, she hasn't even needed the AFOs anymore.
"It's like she doesn't know where her feet are!" St. James brays.
"Right?" Howell chortles. "But, at least we only had her for a few weeks. Not like Smythe."
"Oh, God, Smythe." St. James groans. "I swear, he's a drug addict or diseased."
Howell snorts. "What lead you to that impression?"
"You know he has syringes in his bag? The one he won't let out of his sight?"
The door opens. She prays to sweet baby Jesus that it's Santana, and the Latina will come to rescue her.
"Excuse me." Leesha's voice is barely audible over the sounds of Howell and St. James. It's a shy whisper, someone who doesn't want to be noticed. The quiet shyness, the façade of a victim, sets the other girls at ease. They ignore the interloper and continue trashing their co-workers.
"Oh God! He must do drugs!" Howell says, knowingly. Considering the number of times she's been witnessed taking pills from bottles with other people's names on them, it's not exactly a fair accusation. "I wonder if anyone has ever checked for track marks. Bet Daddy Smythe wouldn't be too pleased to find out."
She decides that she can emerge from the stall. Leesha is there, so she'll at least be protected. And, the other girls seem focused on trashing Sebastian. She flushes the toilet and emerges from the stall.
"And sometimes," St. James amends, "he looks spaced out during meetings."
"You space out during meetings." Howell points out. Actually, most of the interns tend to lose focus during their weekly reviews. Only Thad is avid enough about his work to actually pay attention to the test best ways to drive and conserve gas or the most efficient routes through rush out traffic in Columbus and surrounding suburbs.
"Well, when he's spaced out, he goes all pale and starts shaking." Jesse's sister is applying a thin coat of peachy gloss to her lips.
She meets Leesha's eyes in the mirror. They're wide with horror and shock. The eyes of an antelope caught alone in the bush, singled out by a pack of lionesses.
Then, Leesha does something unexpected. She slides her purse up onto the counter, and fumbles out the contents: A small silver device, larger than an old fashioned pager, a thin white pen, and a bottle of strips. Sebastian has something similar, he's used it once before, but he keeps his in a black nylon case instead of a beaded black purse. Leesha pricks her finger with quick efficiency, and draws a bead of blood that she loads onto the meter. Her hands stay unobtrusively at counter level the whole time.
Howell opens an altoids container, and offers one of the small white pills (too small to be breath mints) to St. James. They continue to discuss Sebastian's obvious drug use.
Leesha sighs quietly when the device shows a number, and shoves it back in her purse. She slips out an open plastic bag of needles, a tear in the upper right corner distorting the label, "0.3 CCs" and a small clear bottle of what must be insulin. She studies the little plastic syringe, pulls back a volume and injects it into the bottle, before carefully filling it at eye level. She flicks it a few times, and pulls back a bit more, then caps it and sets it on the counter.
"Could you move over a bit?" The words are barely a whisper, so quiet and sweet that they can't possibly be threatening.
Howell glances over at the girl for the first time, and sees the orange and white needle on the counter. "Sorry, what?"
"Just shift over a bit, please?" Leesha's had hovers by the counter, drawing focus to the things displayed there.
Howell and St. James notice what she has, and back away quickly.
With a practiced efficiency, Leesha reaches across to her left bicep and pinches the skin. She injects herself with a smooth detachment while Howell and St James watch in horror. The needle and insulin disappear back into her bag, and she washes her hands.
"What the hell?" St. James' voice is raw.
Leesha's smile is innocent. "Sorry, I though this was the bathroom where the girls went to use drugs? Since the two of you have …" she pauses to inspect the Altoid container left open on the counter, "quite a pharmacy in there. At least mine are legal."
She turns on her heel, than pauses. "Oh, Quinn, Sebastian's looking for you." And then, Leesha takes her leave.
The college girls stare at each other in amazement as she uses the opportunity to make her exit as well.
She thinks she's underestimated Leesha. The girl may not be a lioness like Howell, St James or Santana Lopez. But, she's not an antelope, either. Leesha is a shy jungle cat. A lynx, maybe, or a civet. Maybe a Honey Badger? She's as much a predator as the others. And, she's won this round.
She finds Sebastian sitting in the hall, his tie loose and his face pale. His knees are bent, and he looks shaken or stressed.
"What's wrong?" She puts a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Nothing." He lifts his head so his green eyes meet hers. "Leesha is taking care of it." His voice shakes a little.
She nods, and changes the subject. "So, what do you think about Santana?"
"She hasn't threatened to kill me yet," he admits. "But she says that if we don't go to iHOP after this, she might go Lima Heights on my ass."
She laughs. That sounds like Santana. "Are you getting a hotel room, tonight?"
Sebastian wrinkles his nose in disgust. "I'm not a fan of any variety of pussy, feline or female." She laughs. Even though he's struggling, his wit is still there. "Besides, I'm afraid Satana might castrate me."
"San promised me that she'd to play nice." It hadn't been an easy promise to extract, but a few threats and the promise of frozen yogurt with Brittany and sprinkles was enough. Shockingly, the Latina has an unexplainable passion for multi-colored sprinkles. Something about her abuela. "She left her switch blades at home."
"So she can't go Lima Heights on my ass?" The imitation is almost purpose.
There isn't a time that Santana can't go Lima Heights on someone's ass, regardless of the circumstances. "I wouldn't say that…"
Leesha arrives, her heels in one hand a bottle of coke in the other. "Do you know what I paid for this?" She demands. "Two-fifty! Highway robbery."
Sebastian takes the drink and opens it. "Thanks, Leesh. I owe you one."
"You do," she agrees.
They make their way back to the ballroom, and she rejoins Wes at their table. Sebastian stops to say something in the senior Warbler's ear, before going back to where Santana and Dave are dancing together. Leesha is already in Thad's arms.
"Do you want to dance?" Wes asks, holding out his hand.
She smiles, shyly. "I'm not sure if it's a good idea…"
He shrugs. "Sebastian said he and Santana will bowl over anyone who gets in our way. Ten points for an intern, Twenty five for a female lawyer, One hundred points for a state's attorney."
She giggles. "Let's wait for a slow song?" She's still nervous about her heels. She knows that she's done this before, done worse than this before, but she's still afraid. It's only in retrospect that you realize just how bad things were, and it's only in retrospect that you realize the impossibility of what you've accomplished.
The music changes, the piano tinkling and the soft strains of Frank Sinatra filling the air. The two move to the dance floor, and Wes holds her close. She isn't sure if he's there to support her, or to be supported.
Liz and her husband sway together, smiling and locked in an embrace.
Thad twirls Leesha in a manner that's almost incongruous with the music, but still works.
Santana and Sebastian rock together. They've left room for Brittany, or whoever else might be in their lives, but that's where they are. They stand like body guards.
Howell and St. James sit in chairs at the edge of the parquet, glaring at the proceedings/
"Congratulations," Wes whispers into her hair.
She glances up at him. "What for?"
"Making it through the craziness to get here." He's gentle.
"Oh?" She snuggles against him.
"No one can ever call either of our glee clubs exactly sane." He chuckles. "And, I'm pretty sure your high school experience was sort of a typical. Not to mention your summer."
She laughs lightly as well.
"I mean, you've almost tamed the famous Smythe." Wes's words continue in her ears. "I don't think he's ever been friends with a girl before."
"Maybe he tamed me," she suggest, playfully.
Wes kisses her lightly on the lips. "I'm glad he did."
A/N 2: I couldn't sleep until I got this out. Damn Muse! Damn proposal! Damn Graduate school. Damn depressive episode this weekend. There, I've said it.
I do not know if I've ever actually been to Columbus (I've been to Ohio only twice in recent memory), so I cannot actually speak to the existence of a drive-in called Westie's, or the quality of their vampire fries. I also know nothing about hotels in Columbus, and so this is based on various banquette halls and ballroom facilities around the US.
Citizen's United was a court decision in 2010 that gave corporation the legal right to personhood in the United States and launched what are commonly known as Political Action Committees (Pacs) and SuperPacs. These featured prominently in the 2012 election cycle. Stephen Colbert did an amazing set of covering of the way they worked, if you're curious.
Shout out to Pi-on-a-skateboard for helping me identify Dave Karofsky as the most awkward person to appear at the dinner table... also the suggestion that Tina wear more leather and, well… yeah. She knows what she does. Also to Different Child, Juks-Writes-4-You, EloquentFever, and Martina Malfoy LaStrange. And KjAnDcool who probably doesn't read this, but deserves a shout out anyway.
Finally, I will write a one-shot about just about anything for the first person to correctly identify the original source (composer, work and actor) for Liz's brother/Tina's uncle. I'll give you one final hit: Telly Leung played a character along side this one on Broadway. However, there were no references to Star Trek, High School Musical, or Panem in this production.
Comments, questions, concerns, critiques all welcome. I know this didn't necessarily turn out the way I expected it to, so I'll be glad of any feedback. Okay… bed. And then apoptosis and autophagy. Fun day, tomorrow!
- C65