.
Here comes a sign in the form of a girl
.
She actually doesn't harass Quinn with texts Saturday night and Sunday morning. She figures if she does, Quinn could get distracted with it and suddenly lose all the courage she needs to come out to Rachel.
Not that she should really need courage. Like, god. It's Rachel. Sure, sure, she's in love with her or whatever, but telling Rachel can really only help, she thinks. It's not like she'll react badly.
When she gets home and into bed after work, Rachel and Quinn are just waking up. She just rolls over and tries to block out their low, stilted murmuring until they finally leave the bedroom. She wakes up a little bit when they bustle around after their showers and pack Quinn's bags, and she's relieved when they finally leave so Quinn can catch her desired train and Rachel can head to the clothing store. She's used to sleeping through Rachel, but both of them is harder. And they're awfully chatty.
She gets out of bed at around 4, grumbles her way to the coffee machine and then notices Rachel sitting on the couch. She blinks sleepily, "You done your shift already?" she asks with begrudging politeness.
"Yes. It was only a half shift," Rachel answers, still staring unnervingly at Santana.
Santana pushes the button so the coffee will start brewing and glances over her shoulder a few times to see Rachel still watching her. "What," she finally asks irritably, "You're making my shoulders itch. How do you even do that? Are you actually a Medusa?"
"We need to talk," Rachel answers firmly.
Santana rolls her eyes, "Oh, god. I had nothing to do with your missing hairspray."
"Wait, what?" Rachel frowns, then shakes her head, "I'm not accusing you of anything, I just require a rather serious conversation."
"Okay, okay, can I at least have a cup of coffee first?"
Rachel just nods and continues to watch Santana, which really does make her feel…deeply uncomfortable. Or something.
A few minutes later, she settles next to Rachel on the couch and takes her first glorious sip of coffee. She sighs in dramatic pleasure, then takes a spoonful of cereal and mumbles through it, "Alright. Talk."
"You knew about Quinn," Rachel states immediately.
It isn't a question, and Santana doesn't really get why it's an issue, so she just nods, "Yeah. She told me a couple weeks ago."
Rachel sighs forlornly. "I don't understand. I'm…I'm hurt that she didn't tell me until she'd already told several people."
Santana raises an eyebrow, "It never occurred to you that she might've been afraid to tell you?"
"Why?" Rachel asks pleadingly, and Santana bites her cheek. She wishes she were more awake for this.
"Because sometimes telling the people most important to you is hardest. Like," she swallows. She hates to talk about it. "Like with my abuela. I love her, almost more than my parents. That's why I told her last, because her rejection would hurt more than anyone else's."
"Couldn't she know I wouldn't reject her?" Rachel asks, pained.
"You just never know. Rachel, not everyone grew up with parents like yours. Quinn's parents—who were supposed to love her unconditionally—rejected her when she got pregnant. Of course she's going to be gun shy. Hell, I'd never have really thought my abuela would reject me, even though I was afraid of it." She looks away. "But she did. There's always that fear, that coming out will fuck up everything."
Rachel nods slowly, "I…get that. I mean. It's not like I've told my dads. But that's more because they don't need to know, since in all likelihood I will end up with a man. Even though…I feel like, from with Kurt, telling gay men you're actually bisexual changes the dynamic. I don't think it would be quite the same with my fathers, but…maybe I am afraid, a little."
Santana shrugs, "Yeah, well. Quinn is scared a lot."
"I know," Rachel concedes. She sighs, "I just wish we could've confided in each other more."
"Well, maybe you should've been honest with her about some of the Finn stuff."
Rachel turns hurt eyes to her again, "Did she say something about that?"
"No," Santana lies, not wanting to get into all the things she and Quinn did discuss, "I just know, because of the way you were keeping the Finn stuff between you, me and Kurt. You were trying not to hurt Finn, I know, but I think keeping Quinn out of the loop hurt her, too."
"You know, it's funny," Rachel muses, "But I thought she and I had become so distant because she was still in love with Finn. When she told me she was gay—"
Rachel is interrupted by a small clatter from the kitchen. She and Santana exchange a brief wide-eyed expression before both turning physically to look over the back of the couch, where Kurt is framed by the cabinets and counter, staring at them.
"Quinn is gay?" he asks, completely shocked.
"You're home?!" Santana queries in surprise.
"How long have you been listening?" Rachel asks in trepidation.
"I…I just came out of my room like half a minute ago," Kurt admits, "I guess you guys were so engrossed you didn't hear me…"
"I thought you were at work!" Santana frowns.
"My shift got switched. I opened today. I came home at around two and napped for awhile."
"Oh," Rachel says, "You got home before I even did."
"And you were probably gone before I even got home," Santana frowns, "That sucks, you shouldn't be walking to work alone when it's that early and dark."
"I know. I hate opening anyway," Kurt mutters, "I'm hoping this was a one-time thing. They called me when I was asleep last night and asked if I could come in. I wasn't about to bother either of you about it." His expression changes, "But forget that. Did I hear right? Quinn is gay?"
Santana and Rachel are both silent for a moment before glancing at each other, and then Santana confirms, "Yeah. But she hasn't come out to very many people yet, so…"
Kurt nods, "Okay. I take that kind of confidentiality very seriously, but…wow. This is big. Who else knows?"
"Us, Puck and Zizes," Rachel reports.
"Zizes?" Kurt repeats incredulously, then shakes his head, "Wow. Just, wow. Everything makes so much more sense now. The way she was in high school, the way she was with…" he's looking at Rachel in fascination, then catches Santana's eye and quickly modifies, "Finn."
"Yeah," Rachel agrees, "It does explain a lot. I told her so."
"You did?" Santana questions, interested, wondering if Rachel had somehow put together some of the same pieces she and now Kurt had.
Rachel nods, and looks distant, thoughtful. "I just remember looking at her in high school, and knowing she was hurting and not knowing why. I spent so much time trying to become her friend, because I wanted to help her not be so hurt all the time. I thought, looking back, that it was the pregnancy, and the way she kept having to fight for Finn while his eye wandered…to me, incidentally," she sounds both smug and guilty at this, "But now…I get it. She was hurting because she was gay." She sighs, "But when I told her that, she got upset, and told me not to use this to think back to high school and excuse how much of a bitch she was. But I think it's valid. I mean," she gestures to Santana, "You got nicer once you came out. It's a difficult burden to bear."
"Well, I can agree with that," Santana mutters, "But really, I'll bet Quinn means that. She wants to move on from high school."
"Don't we all," Kurt agrees pompously, then gives Santana another intrigued look.
"The best way is to be honest with each other. That's what you and Quinn need, I think," Santana addresses Rachel.
"I tried to be as honest with Quinn as possible during our conversation," Rachel replies.
Santana nods. She knows Quinn wasn't entirely honest with Rachel—she certainly couldn't admit she is in love with her—but she hopes Rachel was.
She and Kurt manage a murmured conversation a little later, in the corner of the kitchen while Santana washes some dishes, and he gushes, "Oh. My. God. Quinn is crazy for Rachel."
"Basically," she hisses in return.
"How has Rachel not figured it out?"
"How long did it take you to figure out Karofsky was into you?" Santana shoots back.
Kurt dismisses this with a wave of his hand, "Okay, but this is big." His eyes widen, "What if…did you hear her toward the end there? Talking about the way she used to stare at Quinn and feel her sadness?" He meets Santana's eye excitedly, "What if Quinn is the girl she thought she had romantic potential with?"
Santana blinks. It does seem to fit, although a strange part of her is defensive. Rachel is supposed to have lingering feelings for her.
"I could so see this," Kurt continues in a low voice.
"Oh, that's just lovely," Santana answers bitterly, "But what happens when she realizes she can't really fall for Quinn?" Kurt frowns, and Santana continues, "I'm not encouraging this, if that's what you're asking. I'm actually hoping that Rachel told Quinn she doesn't fall in love with women and Quinn will move on."
Kurt's brow furrows, "Perhaps it's the hopeless romantic in me, but I kind of want Quinn to get the girl."
"I do, too," Santana growls, "But a different girl. I'm not putting my best friend's heart in danger, in the hands of someone who doesn't even think she could love her."
Kurt just shrugs awkwardly to concede the point.
Santana can't really explain why she's gotten to this point, but the part of her that used to be slightly intrigued watching Rachel and Quinn cuddle is now petrified.
Maybe because she knows what it's like to have her heart broken by her first love.
Her first love, the girl who once rejected her for a man.
.
For we are many hometown ghosts
.
It's been almost two weeks, but that conversation with Quinn still weighs on him.
He's surprised to find that her telling him that he didn't assault her barely makes him feel better. He's spent enough months beating himself up and scrutinizing every encounter he's ever had for her words to change how afraid he is. Although, of course, there aren't as many women as he lets people believe. Even when talking to Kurt about this, back in the fall, he'd let Kurt believe the false numbers. Most of those women he's able to put behind him, to remember how they'd put sex on the table before drinking even happened, or how enthusiastically they'd pursued him. Things like that. The alcohol still bothers him, which is why he's been trying to prove to himself that he can drink responsibly with women and keep them safe.
But Quinn…who had consented to sex with him because she was gay. Trying to prove she was straight.
He has trouble wrapping his head around this and making it okay. If she was gay, wouldn't it be even worse that he'd convinced her to have sex? He sort of understands experimenting. I mean, he's thought about it. Hasn't everyone?
But if she knew…which it sounds like she already did…
It's all so complicated and confusing, because she did date men for the next year and a half.
He gets some texts from Kurt at around this time. Kurt apparently heard about Quinn and about Puck knowing and sent a couple of texts checking up on him, because, he claims, he "knows how important Quinn is to you." Puck tries to brush him off at first, and definitely makes sure he knows that Quinn is important to him mostly as Beth's mother and as a friend, not as a love interest, but as Kurt persists, he does admit that he finds it weird that she's gay after everything that happened. Kurt reminds him about his own dalliance with Brittany and tells Puck sometimes it's harder for girls to figure it out for some reason, and Puck tries to take some comfort in that. And as Puck relays more of his conversation with Quinn, Kurt reassures him that her consenting, for whatever reasons she had, is really the most important thing, and Puck should rest easy knowing that.
Still, it feels so weird that something that meant so much to him at the time was just a part of Quinn's journey of self-discovery to be filed under Never Again. He thinks maybe if it hadn't been muddied by the alcohol and the baby, he might be honored by this one-of-a-kind role. As it stands, he just feels more uncomfortable than ever by the whole thing.
He really can't dwell on it except when he's trying to go to sleep. He's far too busy at the diner during the day. Some nights he's lucky enough to be so exhausted that sleep comes easily, but other times, he has trouble.
He thinks he likes working with Billy, the older cook who works daytime, best. Billy's calm and mellow, and has sense enough to take over certain tasks when Puck is letting the pressure of a full dining room fluster him. Malcolm, the high school dropout night cook, is also a pretty cool guy, and it's nice to work around somebody his own age, but Malcolm is not nearly as responsible as Billy, and they don't work together nearly as smoothly. If the place gets packed, as it does almost every night around 6 o'clock, they're both swearing and banging containers of food around in frustration.
During a slow mid morning, Puck is peeling potatoes to make homefries and Billy is chopping lettuce and tomato. He eyes Puck for a moment and then asks, "So, what's your story?"
Puck glances at him and then shrugs, "Not much to it. Just got outta McKinley. I was gonna go to California, but it didn't work out."
"California?" Billy asks, his interest obviously piqued, "You ever been there?"
"Yeah," Puck answers, "Drove out there over the summer with my best friend." He smiles then, feeling a pang of longing for his connection with Finn. "We hit a couple of the major cities, though we couldn't do much more than pass through. We even got to drive a stretch of the Pacific Coast Highway, it was incredible. We didn't get to spend too much time there, it was part of a much bigger roadtrip, but man…I loved it. Loved everything I saw in that state."
"How come you ain't there now then?"
Puck shrugs and grunts, "Couldn't leave my mom and sister yet. They need me."
"Coulda sent them home money," Billy offers.
Puck twists his mouth, "Well, maybe next year."
"What did you want to go for, anyway?"
Puck hesitates, then, "It's kinda stupid, but I was hoping to go there for music. You know. Put together a band, maybe find a record deal."
Billy puts down his knife, "No shit. You play?"
"Guitar, yeah."
Billy laughs, "Shit, me too," he shakes his head jovially for a moment, "Actually, I first went out to California when I was barely older than you. For the same reason you wanna go."
"Yeah?" Puck asks, interested.
"Yeah. Went with my band. See, I grew up not far from here, and the band I had? Well, we liked 60s and 70s rock and, ya know, we also listened to a lot of country. We were 'Billy and the Werewolves,'" he grins nostalgically. "This was like 1983, so like, we got out there, and we were pretty good, ya know, but like a band that sounded kinda like Lynyrd Skynyrd or The Eagles? Nobody wanted that shit. They were looking for metal—hair metal was making a big splash at that time—or punk rock, or even synthesized goth shit." He shakes his head, "We never got too far. There were some people interested, sure, probably because of our name, they figured we were more hardcore than we were, when really our name was because we dug Warren Zevon. Ya know, 'Werewolves of London'?" he adds, at Puck's blank look.
"Oh, right," Puck nods.
"Yeah, so, but here's the thing: we shoulda never given up. Cause even if we hadn't hit the big time in our first year in Cali, we were doing what we loved, you know? We shoulda stayed out there and kept doing it, because we all came back around here, and, well, you see where I ended up. I love my wife, and thank god she waited for me here, and thank god she never found out about the women out west, and I like cooking just fine, but music, ya know. That was what I loved."
"So, you're saying…" Puck starts.
"I'm saying you get your ass to California and live how you want if you love it. I'm sure your mom and sister will be okay, and besides, you can't live your life for somebody else. And 'cause even if you never make music your career, you'll sure as shit have more luck doing it there than here, and hey, at least you'll be there. At least you won't be here." He points to the ground with his knife, then turns back to the cutting board to start on another tomato.
Puck keeps this in his head for several days, and finds it's half-inspiring, half-terrifying. He remembers what Quinn said, back in the summer, about being afraid of him leaving in case Beth ever needed to find them, but…he wants to believe Beth could always find them if she needs. Besides, it's not like either of them heard from Shelby since Sectionals of their Senior year—god, more than a year ago. He thinks about the money he'd need to get there, wishes he hadn't used so much of his savings on that roadtrip with Finn…
He thinks about Finn, then, for the first time in awhile. Not that he'd forgotten about him, just that until now, every time he'd thought about him, he'd made himself think about something else. But now…he just misses his best friend. He remembers how he'd wanted Finn to move out to California with him, how he didn't think he could do it alone.
And that's really it, at the end of it all. He's not sure he can leave Lima by himself.
A few days later later, he's feeling alright because he'd sent Finn a message just saying hey and asking what was up, and it was nice to talk a little bit, and he hasn't been worrying nearly so much about Quinn, he's just starting to feel proud of her, for coming out to him. He's mostly just thinking about what Billy said, and about leaving Lima. About not being a Lima Loser for the rest of his life.
He's working with Malcolm tonight, and Billy and the boss, Georgie, both just left. Malcolm is just coming in the back door, where the employees park and he and Puck watch Billy drive off. Malcolm snorts, "The fuck is that? Cree-dance Clearwater?" He points at one of Billy's bumper stickers.
"A band, I think," Puck answers, "Probably one of those ones he was into back in the day."
Malcolm rolls his eyes, "Aww, shit, he told you that story, didn't he? About his damn band?" Malcolm stubs out his cigarette and spits on the asphalt as he closes the back door and they walk back toward the kitchen to deal with late lunch customers and to make sure everything's ready for the dinner rush. "If that's true, I'll blow Georgie. Well, maybe not Georgie, he'd like it too much," Malcolm laughs.
Puck laughs, too, even though he's not sure it's too funny to laugh at Georgie being gay (it would sure explain that wink he gave Puck when he hired him, not to mention a bunch of other little things…he really has pathetic gaydar). "Well, I dunno. It could be true."
Malcolm shakes his head, "Man, I never figured you for a gullible guy. I mean, I've heard of you, of course, before you even got here, and you ain't a fool. Don't tell me all those excuses about how it 'wasn't the right time for Billy and the Werewolves' got you," he finishes, imitating Billy's drawl toward the end.
Puck's not sure what to say and finds himself thinking back on the conversation. Had he been made a fool? He frowns. He had gotten a lot of inspiration out of that story, but…it had really been mostly about Billy, hadn't it? About making Billy look cool?
At this moment, Puck feels pretty mad at his cooking mentor.
"I'm no fool," he tells Malcolm with certainty, "I just thought I'd heard of his band, that's all. Probably he stole some band name."
"Wouldn't put it past him," Malcolm mutters, and they get to work setting up for dinner.
Soon, it's 3:30, smack dab in the middle of that stretch between about 2:30 and 4:30 when the place is damn near empty. Malcolm usually disappears around this time, Puck doesn't know where, but sometimes he thinks he hears him talking near the back of the building.
He's bored. Everything is pretty well set for the dinner rush; the vegetable sides are in the warmer drawers, the soups are heated and full in the dining room, the vegetables are chopped for salads, a few salads are prepared and covered with cling wrap in the fridge, and the special entrees are either prepared and in the warmers or ready to be slapped on the grill. He almost craves a cigarette…but tries not to give in. He only started smoking because otherwise he never got a break at the diner, and he's trying to make sure he only smokes when he just really needs to get out of the kitchen for a few minutes.
But getting some fresh air can't hurt. Even when it's freezing out it usually feels better to stand for a bit outside in the cold in his short sleeves than in the boiling kitchen.
He peers out the window into the dining room, where the waitress, having finished all her tasks to prepare for dinner, is reading the newspaper. He catches her eye and mimes a cigarette, then pushes the call bell down the serving window toward her in case she needs him; she just nods and turns back to the paper.
As soon as he opens the back door, he hears hushed voices. He hesitates for just a moment, but as they die off, he figures he'd better just appear, and steps out into the chilly afternoon. He glances toward the sound of the voices and sees Malcolm, the night dishwasher Joey, and a guy he doesn't know further down the back of the building near the dumpsters, staring at him.
"Who the fuck are you?" the strange guy asks.
"Don't worry about it, he's cool," Malcolm approaches Puck, slinging an arm around him to drag him to the circle, "He used to deal for a bit back when I was in school."
The new guy eyes Puck, then grins a bit, "Oh, Puckerman. I know you."
"Sup?" Puck asks casually, still trying to piece together what's happening. He still doesn't recognize the man that seems to recognize him.
"Hey, actually, you want in on this?" Malcolm asks, and when Puck raises an eyebrow, Malcolm fishes out the little baggie of white powder, and another of weed.
Puck can't believe he hadn't realized, until now, what Malcolm was doing when he disappeared. But suddenly it made sense. How some nights, Malcolm and Joey were a lot harder to work with, a lot slower, a lot more confused.
Puck's about to just refuse, when the new guy seems to interpret his expression and snaps, "Not to smoke, asshole. To sell. I think I know your neighborhood, I could use a guy there." And then that comment about dealing makes sense, too. He had sold some weed Sophomore year (or, well, cupcakes laced with weed), when Quinn needed money. Or the Glee club needed money that he had intended to steal for Quinn, that was it. It was supposed to be subtle enough to be a secret ingredient, but apparently, some of the students had figured it out.
Puck can think of a thousand reasons to say no. He still lives with his mother. He doesn't want his sister to find this stuff (and he knows she snoops in his room). He's already got a juvenile record, he can't really afford to screw up as an adult.
But as he looks at that stuff, even though he's discounted almost everything else Billy told him, all he can see is my ticket outta Lima.
My ticket to California.
.
If I only could, I'd make a deal with God
.
She wakes up to a text that she has to read several times before she can really process it.
Q: This is going to sound dumb, but…can
you meet me on Saturday afternoon? Pick
a place in Manhattan, I don't care where,
as long as it's near Grand Central. I can
be there around 3.
Once she finally pieces together enough brainpower to decipher it, she's a bit annoyed.
Tana: so lemme get this straight. you
want me to wake up early on sat, which is
a nite I work I might add, and spend forty
minutes on the train coming to meet u in
the freezing cold and ur not even going to
tell me why
Q: I'm the one jumping on the Metro
North and back in an afternoon. I'll buy
you a damn breakfast, okay? Just,
please? We need to talk and a phone call
won't do it.
She can almost see Quinn rolling her eyes in that text. But then…
Tana: this is about Rachel isn't it
Q: Among other things.
Freaking cryptic Fabray.
Tana: fine
She turns over to maybe doze for a couple more minutes and is surprised hear her phone buzz again. But not nearly so surprised as when she reads it.
Q: Thank you.
Well. That's not common.
The rest of the week passes rather quickly. After the conversations with Kurt and Rachel on Sunday about the revelation about Quinn, they don't talk about it much more. Kurt seems ponderous and watches Rachel with much more interest and much less aversion than he has since she came out, and Rachel just seems blissfully proud of the new step her friendship with Quinn has taken. She's a chipper person already, but now it's to the point where if Santana is at all tired, she feels those old high school violent urges she used to get for Rachel come back full force.
By the middle of her Friday night shift, she's thinking more about her meeting with Quinn. She reflects that the whole reason she wanted Quinn and Rachel to come out to each other was so that she didn't have to be in the middle of them anymore, and yet, first thing Rachel did was come to her, and now here's Quinn, coming to her too. She tries not to be resentful of the fact that she'll have to wake up early to meet Quinn on-time. She tries to care about what Quinn wants to talk about, when chances are, she just needs to process Rachel's disclosure, which, come on, couldn't they have done this over email or something?
By the time she's bundled up and scowling waiting for her train, she's mostly gotten over any frustrations she has with the meeting time, place and circumstances. She gets off the train, chooses one of the many nearby Starbucks, and texts Quinn her location.
She sees pretty quickly that this might not be the best idea, because the place is ridiculously packed. She gets in line to save their place and grabs Quinn when she comes in and then, reminding her of her promise, gets her to buy their coffee and pastries.
There is barely any seating, so they're standing around in the crowd waiting for seats to open up awkwardly trying to hold their coffee and eat giant muffins without making a mess. When a table opens, Santana shoulders people out of the way to snag it and gestures to an embarrassed Quinn to join her.
"Much better," Santana murmurs, fully unwrapping her muffin. She concentrates on eating for a good half a minute or so and notes that Quinn isn't doing anything but watching her. She makes a "hurry up" gesture. "Well, spill. What was so important you had to drag me out here at what is like 7 in the morning for me?"
Quinn sighs and begins to pick at her muffin. "Well. Rachel."
"Right," Santana rolls her eyes.
"So you…you know, right? She said she talked to you and Kurt about it…"
"What, that she's bisexual?" Santana asks, "Yeah. She told us." A pause. "Uh. Speaking of Kurt…"
"I know," Quinn answers in a short tone, "Rachel texted me right after it happened to apologize for letting it slip around him." She glares at the table, "Just had to go chatting about my personal business. Is it really that big a deal?"
"He wasn't supposed to be home," Santana defends, "Besides, yeah, it's a big deal. It's kind of unexpected. Of course, what Rachel didn't realize is that Kurt figured out you have feelings for her."
Quinn closes her eyes for a long moment as if praying. "Great. That's great. Wonderful. Just what I need."
"He's not going to tell anyone. He's more respectful than that."
Quinn laughs shortly, "Right. Respectful."
Sighing, Santana says, "Ya know, at least Rachel was honest with you when it happened. In fact, said she was honest with you throughout the conversation where you both came out. So. Were you?"
Quinn glares, "You know I couldn't be."
"I know that, but I mean…Did you tell her about Stephanie? I mean, I imagine she wanted to know if you'd kissed a girl yet."
Silence. Then, "No."
"No, she didn't want to know, or no, you didn't tell her?"
Quinn sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, "No…to both. I just…didn't know how to tell her. She was telling me things, about how she had loved Finn and fooled around with that Jeremy guy…and I was trying to be careful about what I said. I didn't want to reveal too much."
"She's all happy you guys are finally being honest with one another, and you're not."
"I can't be. I can never be fully honest with her." Quinn stares at her food. "I thought maybe I could be, someday. I was…elated. For a split second. Until she said she can't fall in love with women. And then I knew, I'm a friend, but not one who can be honest with her, ever."
"Yeah," Santana replies. It's hard to put much sympathy in her tone, because like, Quinn needs to move on.
"I didn't even know Rachel's kind of attraction was a thing," Quinn continues mournfully.
"I didn't really either, but look, you've got to move on. Rachel isn't ever going to return your feelings."
Quinn stares at Santana fiercely for a few seconds and then mutters, "It's not that simple."
"Hey. I've been here. It sucks, remember?"
"And you got the girl," Quinn shoots back, "Because at least Brittany is legitimately bisexual."
"Okay, yeah, I got like. Really lucky. It could've gone the other way. I couldn't made myself miserable sleeping with her for years while she continued on loving whatever guy she was seeing and not me."
"That's better than nothing," Quinn grumbles.
"Um, no. It's awful. Listen, don't make yourself miserable by trying to sleep with Rachel. She might not even go for it because, like, she's all convinced she needs to be in love to hop in bed. Why not fool around with your roommate again?"
Quinn laughs bitterly, "Yeah, because I can totally see why sleeping with a straight girl I don't have feelings for is a better idea."
"Aw, c'mon. She's hot, and not having feelings is a good thing when you're just fooling around. Why do you think I fooled around with Puck so much?"
"Look, I've told you why anything with her is a bad idea. I had like a gay panic with her or something. I think I really hurt her, and things are finally going back to normal. At least, until she gets stressed and takes it out on me…"
"Well then, be her stress relief. Really, Q, it's a win/win."
"I just…can't."
"Are you attracted to her?"
A pink tinge appears on Quinn's cheeks, "Yes, okay? I admit that Stephanie is really attractive, alright?"
"'Really attractive,' right, that's Quinn-speak for fucking hot, right? Seriously, it's not 1950."
"Yes, that's what it means," Quinn hisses.
Santana smirks then, "Man, she's got a rack. So, like, does she come back into the room after showers in her towel? Do you sneak peeks?"
"Oh my God," Quinn bursts, "No, okay? Just stop."
"Alright, alright," she raises her hands in surrender, "But still. If you don't want to sleep with Stephanie, find someone else. Don't you go to, like, the gayest Ivy League? Just come out already and I'm sure someone will try to tap that."
Quinn bites her lip for a long moment, and then nods once, "Okay."
Santana blinks, taken aback, "Okay?"
"Okay," Quinn nods again. She shrugs when Santana still looks confused, "Coming out to Rachel was the hardest part. Considering I'm never coming out to my mother or other family, I'm not scared anymore by anyone else finding out."
"That's…that's good."
"Yeah," Quinn nods, "So I'll do that." She sighs, hard. "I couldn't get over Rachel when I thought she was straight. But, I could try harder."
"It's the best move. Trust me," Santana encourages.
Quinn drops her eyes to her muffin and begins to halfheartedly munch on it, looking melancholy and withdrawn. Santana doesn't want to watch so she concentrates on sipping her coffee, giving Quinn time to grieve a bit. She's so close to being able to have the girl of her dreams, yet so far. Santana feels terrible for her, so she gives her a good thirty seconds to brood before speaking.
"So, if that's all, I'm gonna head home and drink more coffee so I can actually survive my work shift tonight."
Quinn glares at her abruptly, "No. Are you an idiot? We could've had this conversation over the phone."
"Well, yeah, that did occur to me," Santana snaps back, "Why didn't we?"
"Because we have more to talk about?"
"Wonderful," Santana gripes, "Go ahead, I'm all ears," she continues sarcastically.
"We're going to talk about you now," Quinn replies severely.
"Great, my favorite topic!" Santana gives a mocking smile, "I'm hot, fantastic, and a great lay. What more is there to say? Discussion over."
"Let's talk about how depressed you are," Quinn continues.
Santana falters, but only briefly, before forcing back that wicked smirk, "I think you've had one too many sessions with your therapist. Like, who are you, Tobias Funke? I've never been unhappy being me."
"No. But you're pretty unhappy with your life circumstances right now."
Santana shrugs, "It's really not a problem. I'm in New York."
"Yeah. Doing what? Working a job you hate and being away from the girl you love."
"Well, it's not as though it's going to be forever. It's good for Britts and I to work this kind of thing out."
"Yeah, but I can't see how it's worth making yourself miserable."
"I'm fine."
"You're not. Don't you see what's happening here?"
"Oh clearly you know my life better than me. Go on. Enlighten me."
"Alright. So, you had no idea what to do after high school. Understandable. Brittany got you into a school and a program you really didn't want to do. Because you don't love cheerleading, you love power. I get that. When you got money from your mom, you decided to go with Rachel to New York because it would be somewhere that wasn't Lima and because you'd have someone there to help you out. Turns out, though, that she's very busy with her own school, which makes you a little jealous, so you've immersed yourself in your work. Which you hate, yet are obsessed with. You're obsessed with the money you're making and how much you're working and the way your schedule limits your ability to go out into the city and meet people. You're also obsessed with Brittany, and her doing well, and her coming to join you here. So you basically chose and keep a job that you're not all that attached to because, what if Brittany decides not to come to New York? You want to be in a situation where you can just leave, no consequences, to follow her. Basically, you're living your life for Brittany, waiting for her to make decisions for you."
Santana doesn't have anything to say for a long moment before she scoffs, "That's bullshit."
"It's not. This is exactly what you're doing."
"Look, I'm not jealous of Rachel or obsessed with my work. I'm worried about making enough to live here. And I want Brittany to be able to make good choices about her future."
"What about your future?"
"What about it? I can decide what I want to do later."
"This is exactly the problem. You're not living your own life!"
"Sometimes when you love someone, you make some minor sacrifices for them. Maybe I'm making a few for Brittany, and what of it? If you'd ever dated someone you were actually in love with, maybe you'd understand."
Quinn scowls, "That was a really low blow, but this isn't about me. You're too young to put your life on hold for someone else. All the evidence suggests that high school sweethearts don't end up together. What happens if you and Brittany break up? How are you going to look back on this year?"
"We're not going to break up," Santana hisses, "I've loved this girl since I was too young to even know what those feelings meant, and she feels the same. I've heard the same things you have, and I have faith in Britts and I. We're gonna make it."
Quinn shrugs, "Well, if you do, I suppose it could be worth it. But what if you don't? Or what if Brittany gets into a school in the middle of nowhere, and you follow her, and you hate it? Maybe you should have a backup plan."
"What are you even talking about?"
"I'm talking about applying for school, now. If Brittany comes here, great. If she doesn't…for whatever reason…you should go anyway."
"And, what, spend the next four years apart while we go to schools in different cities? No thanks."
"Damn it, Santana, this is important! The longer you wait to apply, the less likely it is you'll even go back. Do you really want to work retail for the rest of your life?"
"Of course I don't, but if Britts needs me to support her, I'll do it for as long as I have to."
"And then you'll have to take the SATs again, because your scores will have expired, and you'll never want to go through that again. You should keep those scores anyway, I remember they were good."
"I really didn't come here today for a meeting with Ms. Pillsbury. Or, god, Mrs. Schuester, whatever."
As if on cue, Quinn opens her bag and takes out a manila folder. "Here. This has admissions information for a lot of local schools."
"I don't care!" Santana snaps, "Just let me do what I need to do to keep Brittany happy, okay? Let me make my own goddamn choices."
Quinn sits stoically for a few moments, then replies, "I will be happy to help you apply to whatever schools you want if you change your mind. And I really think you should. You're not happy. The things you're doing, for Brittany? They will tear you guys apart if you stay this miserable."
"I'm fine," Santana insists again.
Nodding, Quinn says gently, "Sometimes, you have to be brave enough to ask for help. And if you ask me, I will."
"Whatever, are we done here?" Santana finally asks.
"Sure," Quinn nods.
Santana doesn't move. She doesn't feel like moving, and she finally bursts, "I just want to bang it through your skulls that I'm not doing anything I don't want to be doing."
"Alright," Quinn shrugs. Santana just nods for a few moments in response, and finally Quinn continues, "Do you know what I used to say to myself when I would go running?"
"What?" Santana asks, caught off guard.
"When I went running, I used to tell myself, 'I can beat this,' with every stride."
"Okay…" Santana trails off, "Thanks for the Fun Facts to Know and Learn about Quinn Fabray. I'll remember it forever."
Quinn is irritatingly unfazed. "For a long time, it was just about my weight, and about beating the things my old self wanted—laziness, and too much sugar. But then, from about Junior year onward…it was about how depressed I was. I ran not even really because I was taking baby weight off, although that was part of it. I ran because I kept hoping and praying that it would make me feel better. And because it was something I could do myself, without having to tell anyone how I was feeling."
Santana just listens then, her hackles lowering slightly, and thinks back to that year and eventually to how Quinn broke down in New York during Nationals. At the time, she hadn't even realized how long those feelings were building up in Quinn, and how bad they were. She thought it mostly had to do with breaking up with Finn, and a haircut/makeover seemed like good therapy at the time. Of course, she had a hunch that it was more than that when Quinn avoided her all summer to hang with the Skanks, but…the idea that it had lasted over a year, since Beth's birth, is new for her.
"You and I are a lot alike," Quinn continues, "We're both stubborn and proud. I hated to ask for help, that's why I spent so long trying to making running into the cure for my postpartum depression. It helped some, but it didn't work. But when Rachel told me I was a better person than I realized…when Rachel showed me that taking Beth from the only mother she'd ever known would be a mistake…I knew then that I really needed more help than I could give myself. Rachel forcing her help onto me was what got me there. Which is why I tried the same with you."
"Well, I don't need it."
Nodding again, Quinn asks in a clear, low voice, "So when I tell you that what I see is you going to New York so that Brittany won't feel like she's holding you back, then getting a job you can abandon without consequence, just so you can follow Brittany anywhere, then ask if you're putting your life on hold for Brittany, you would tell me that you're not."
The words are gentle, and perhaps that's why this time, they finally hit Santana like a kick to the chest. She'd been avoiding thinking about her plans and goals, just believing that this was the place she wanted to be, and that she wanted to invest as much as she could into her relationship with Brittany. She hadn't felt it as something she was doing wrong until Quinn said something.
But it isn't wrong. It's love.
"My life isn't on hold. My life is just open to Brittany's future."
"Right. Okay," Quinn shrugs.
"Is that it?" Santana asks, now studying her nails.
"Sure," Quinn shrugs.
"Okay. Bye," Santana pulls on her coat. Quinn just stays sitting, watching her leave.
She's scowling so hard her forehead hurts. It's not as though being away from Brittany is a goddamn cakewalk, but she thought she was doing what was right for both of them, ensuring Brittany can succeed by not being a distraction. Hearing how Quinn sees it, though, makes her question everything.
Goddamn Quinn Fabray.
.
Grow pretty long lashes and beards
.
It's frustrating, that the conversation with Santana didn't amount to what she had hoped.
She's not really sure what she'd hoped for. She doesn't think she expected Santana to break down in front of her and cry about how miserable she is or anything. But she was expecting to break through Santana's stubbornness, at least a little.
Somehow, that bitch is even more stubborn than she is.
Still, one good thing she gleaned from their conversation was Santana's advice to just come out fully at school, start looking for new prospects. That is actually a decent idea, Quinn begrudgingly admits, and she finds she is nervous about doing it, but kind of excited too. It's not the throat-blocking nervousness that happened when she was telling Zizes, thankfully. Not the nervousness that made her inexplicably fear for her safety as she tried to tell those she cared about.
So at dinner that night with Stephanie, Steve, Sean, and Lucas, she just goes for it. "I've been thinking about joining one of the gay organizations on campus."
She tries to take in everyone's reactions while keeping her face casual. Sean's eyebrows just rise, which makes sense, as he thought he was sworn to tight secrecy. Steve looks vaguely intrigued, Stephanie perplexed. A slow smirk is spreading across Lucas's face.
"I knew it," Lucas murmurs.
Quinn just ignores his comment and turns to him, "What can you tell me about them?"
Lucas looks a little surprised, "Well, I don't know. I'm not really one to join clubs like that." He waves a hand dismissively, "I mean, I've tried, but it always seems to me that like, the club is run by lesbians who are super gung-ho about all the political issues and trying to make a change without admitting that they really don't have the clout or power to make any change, and their efforts are stymied by the gay dudes who are just trying to hook up with each other, and then there are the straights who are just kind of there and think they deserve a medal just for joining and believing in our equality. And I mean, Yale itself is not a campus that needs a ton of change. I mean, we've got a lot of gender-neutral bathrooms and such. I think the organization here has its sights set on national change, which is just silly to me."
Quinn frowns, "They can't all be the same."
Lucas shrugs again, "See for yourself. I hear there's one that meets…Wednesdays, I think? You could look it up easily."
"I take it you won't come with me?"
Lucas chuckles, "Nah. It just gives me too much secondhand embarrassment."
As they're walking back up to their rooms, Sean hangs back just enough to murmur to Quinn, "If you want, I'll come with you to the gay meeting. You know, as your ally."
"Sean, that's so sweet, but you don't have to."
"I don't mind," he shrugs, "I mean, I barely know anything about the issues, just how I feel about gay people being equal. I don't even know what Lucas means about gender-neutral bathrooms."
"That's…a trans issue. I think," Quinn frowns thoughtfully, "But…yeah, if you want to come with me, that'd be great."
Sean nods, smiles briefly, and says, "Just let me know when, and we'll head over together."
Come Wednesday, they're walking over to the meeting together. The air is blessedly still this evening, just frigid, no wind. It hasn't snowed lately, so most of the snow on the ground is old, crusted over with a layer of ice, or tramped down into muddy slush by students taking shortcuts all over campus. Quinn hopes fervently that spring comes early like the groundhog predicted; she's tired of being cold.
They can tell which room the meeting will be in by the lively voices before they even get close. Everyone is clearly socializing before the meeting gets underway, and as Quinn and Sean step in, there's a moment's palpable lull as everyone regards them curiously, until a guy in a tight-fitting sweater calls, "Welcome!" in greeting, and everyone continues their conversations normally.
She and Sean survey the room quickly. It's pretty large, with chairs arranged in a circle. Should make the meeting feel very inclusive, Quinn muses. There's a snack table in the back of the room, where almost everyone else is standing and talking. She looks at Sean and shrugs. She doesn't particularly want to approach the people who are clearly already conversing, and by her watch, the meeting should start in a few minutes. So she just takes a seat and Sean sits beside her.
It takes almost ten minutes for the meeting to finally start, because everyone seems to not want to stop chatting with friends to actually get it underway. Quinn and Sean just sort of sit awkwardly and talk about movies. A few times as the meeting start gets pushed back more and more, Quinn thinks about leaving. This is just awkward, and no one is talking to them. She feels more like an outsider than ever, but, as she thinks about it, she knows she can easily pass for straight. Maybe they see her and Sean as the straight interlopers—maybe even a couple—that Lucas talked about, the ones who want credit just for showing up.
When the meeting is finally called to order, Quinn sees that it's the tight-sweater guy who is president. He calls the meeting to order lazily, and then his vice-president, a girl with a choppy, uneven haircut, seems to take over.
First, she looks at Quinn and Sean and smiles tightly, "Looks like we have some new faces here tonight. Why don't you introduce yourselves?"
Quinn takes a breath to steel her nerves and says, "My name is Quinn, and I'm…a lesbian."
After the briefest silence, a simpering male voice cuts in with, "Girl, this ain't Gays Anonymous," and it's followed by a round of laughter. Quinn blushes. Saying it to a group of near strangers had felt so good, she'd felt a rush of relief. But now she just feels foolish.
Beside her, Sean waits for the laughter to die down before just saying, "I'm Sean," and, either because of her getting laughed at or because he figures his heterosexuality is obvious, doesn't elaborate.
"Glad you both could join us," the vice-president smiles, and Quinn notes it's a bit warmer. Quinn tries to hold her head high after being laughed at, and notes that she is receiving more attention than when they first walked in. Meanwhile, the club's officers are introducing themselves to Quinn and Sean, but Quinn is having trouble paying attention.
The vice-president talks about an upcoming event in which they're raising money to march in Washington DC for the DOMA case. They're selling t-shirts, buttons, rainbow lollipops and other things as well as canvassing the campus asking for donations. Their faculty advisor got together a few other friends who agreed to match half of all the money they raise. So the vice-president is handing out order forms, and passing around sign-up sheets to get people to man tables at a couple of different dining halls. Quinn isn't feeling much up for doing any of this. She thinks it's great that they want to go, but she can't help thinking about Lucas's words, that they don't have the power to make any change. Besides, if she marched in Washington with them, there was always the chance she'd be photographed, and her mother would see…so, she doesn't want to go, and therefore doesn't feel much like helping to fund the trip.
To her surprise, though, Sean signs up when she passes the paper to him.
After this order of business, the topic changes to an event the College Republicans are planning, and as they discuss how they can peacefully counter the event, the meeting sort of devolves into chaos. Even as they were discussing funding their trip to D.C., there had been a myriad of snarky comments and laughs interrupting the vice-president, as well as obvious inside jokes, but now, this seems to become the whole meeting. No one really offers any constructive options except a few half-hearted offers to make pamphlets to hand out. In the middle of it all, Quinn hears a few disparaging remarks about "Christians," which just makes her cringe.
By the time the meeting is over, Quinn is definitely ready to go. She doesn't know whether it's because of what Lucas said, maybe she went in with low expectations, maybe they just weren't having a particularly interesting meeting, or maybe she's just too green at being gay to be ready to be part of such a thing. But either way, she's pretty sure she won't be coming back.
As she and Sean stand up to leave, though, she's approached by the club's secretary, a girl with shoulder length brown hair. She smiles at them, and says, "I just wanted to get your full information so I can put you on the club roster."
"Sure," Sean offers, then answers all her questions. He glances between Quinn and the girl, and says, "I'm going to hit the bathroom, I'll meet you at the exit," nods to Quinn, and walks away.
Quinn watches him go, and turns back to the girl. She smiles slightly, "I'm not sure I want to join."
Her face twists slightly, "I was afraid of that. Don't take Richie's sassy-ass comments too seriously. No one was really laughing at you."
"No, it wasn't really that," Quinn mutters, "I don't regret saying it, I know I can look straight, and I need practice coming out. I think I'm just not ready to be this publicly gay. I want to be out, but…not political. Not yet."
The girl smiles sadly, "I get it. Well, there are other organizations within the GLBT community here. Perhaps I can send you some information about the more social gatherings? That might be more your style."
"Yeah. Maybe," Quinn answers skittishly.
"Honey," the girl leans forward with a smile, "I'm just trying to get your number."
"O-oh," Quinn stutters, "Um. Okay then." She then proceeds to give the girl her information, but as she walks away, she is immensely relieved.
Sean is waiting for her at the building's exit. He smirks momentarily when he sees her, "So, how'd it go?"
"What do you mean?"
He chuckles briefly, "She was checking you out for half the meeting. I figured you got her number after I walked away."
"She got mine," Quinn mumbles.
"Yeah?" Sean is smiling a little, more than his stoic features usually allow.
"I dunno, though," Quinn frowns, "I wasn't too into it. The meeting, I mean."
"I didn't think so," Sean nodded, "Because it reminded you of what Lucas said?"
"Maybe that was part of it. I don't know. I just don't think I can be so political yet. I need to figure out how this fits into my life personally first. Hell, maybe I was hoping it would be a bit more like Gays Anonymous."
"I understand. But the evening wasn't a total waste. I'm sure you'll be hearing from Hope."
"I guess," Quinn shrugs, thinking, Oh, that was her name…
"Not your type?" Sean asks.
Quinn hesitates, "I'm not sure what my type is. I'm just not sure I clicked with her."
"You can always find out."
"Yeah," Quinn changes the subject, "How about you? It sounds like you're into it."
Sean shrugs, "I am, I guess. I want to try to make a difference. I know that Lucas doesn't think a group this small and collegiate can, but I figure, every voice helps."
"That's great," Quinn smiles, "And I'm sure it has nothing to do with wanting to impress the bi girls there?"
Sean laughs, "Hey, it wouldn't hurt. But really, it's about doing what's right."
Quinn just keeps smiling as they walk back to their dorm together.
The next evening at dinner, everyone is there, including Lulu and Rob this time. Once they've all sat down with their food, Lucas gives Quinn his twinkly-eyed smile, "So? How did it go last night?"
"The GLBT club meeting?" For the first time, Quinn wishes she didn't agree with Lucas on this. She likes disagreeing with him. He's a nice enough guy, but she just likes conflicting with him. So, she shrugs, "Eh."
"I didn't know you were thinking about joining them," Rob cuts in cheerfully, "I always wanted to, but it never really fit into my schedule except for one semester. They're a nice group. Silly and chatty sometimes, but nice."
"They're alright," Quinn agrees. She notes that Lulu doesn't look at all surprised by the conversation. She hadn't thought to mention it to Lulu after their seminar together on Monday, but someone probably told her about Quinn essentially coming out. "I'm not sure it's my thing. I'm not sure I want to be a political gay."
The fact that there's almost no reaction around the table as she drives a verbal stake through the heart of any of her remaining supposed heterosexuality is nice. The closest thing to a reaction she gets is a twitch from Stephanie.
"That's reasonable," Lucas shrugs, "Good on people who want that sort of thing, but it's not for me. The gay political machine right now is all about same-sex marriage, and yeah, it'd be nice, but it's not my priority in life yet, so…"
"I think I'm going to join," Sean announces, cutting off Lucas before he can go into a spiel about what the national gay rights organizations should be focused on.
"Yeah?" Lucas looks mildly surprised, "Hope you're ready to be a second-class citizen in the club as a straight ally."
"You won't be, good on you," Rob reassures Sean, who looks completely unperturbed anyway, while Lulu nods, shooting a mildly disapproving glare at Lucas.
For her part, Quinn is happy to again find something she disagrees with Lucas on. Straight allies aren't annoying at all.
She wishes more of them had been as overt as Sean in Ohio.
.
I've carried your fears and your hopes, father
.
He's had a lot of training, a lot of discipline, and now his orders have finally come.
The good thing is, he thinks, he's not being sent to the Middle East, to the place that crushed his dad's spirit.
The bad news is, he's being sent to Korea.
He knows it's a bad place. He's pretty sure the US fought a war there once—the one the hippies got so upset about, maybe? Either way, he knows a lot of soldiers came back damaged afterwards, and that scares him.
But his superiors are proud of him and his accomplishments. He's one of their best mechanics, and they'd continued to train him until they deemed him skilled enough to work on almost anything.
And now, they need him in Korea.
He isn't sure what he's supposed to do. He's home, for now. Burt is in Washington, but is hoping to be home the weekend before Finn leaves, and his mother is making him all his favorite foods. Sam is rather busy, and doesn't seem all that perturbed by Finn's imminent departure, just tells him, "I'm proud of you, man."
A call to Kurt produces similar results.
"South Korea, I presume?" Kurt asks.
"Uh. I think so? Whatever the good Korea is."
Kurt makes a thoughtful grunt. "This is what you've trained for. Aren't you excited?"
"No. I mean. Not really. They want me there to…work on planes, mostly. There's a lot of aircraft there. I really prefer working on land vehicles, but…"
"Still, it's good practice."
"I guess. It's just. Kurt, one mistake and the whole plane goes down and everyone in it dies."
"It's…that way with a lot of things, actually."
"I know, but…I'm such a screw-up. I make a lot of mistakes."
"That's why you practice, Finn. Did you make a lot of football mistakes? Did you make a lot of singing mistakes? Are you making a lot of mechanical mistakes now?"
"No, but—"
"You made mistakes with people because they're not machines. We're a lot more complex, and it takes a lot more mistakes to figure out how we work. You're lucky enough that most people in your life have been nice to you. That's why you made a lot of mistakes. Hell, we all did, really. But you know machines. Trust yourself. You're going to do fine."
It makes sense, but…Finn's not convinced. It's not just people he made mistakes with. He used to do really bad in his classes, too, even math class, which is what everyone says is most related to machines.
The other week, Puck had sent him a message asking him how he was. He hadn't gotten his orders yet, so he wasn't worried at that time, just enthusiastic and really, really glad to hear from his best friend. So now, he arranges to meet Puck to talk.
The first thing he notices when he gets to Puck's house is that he seems really skittish. He barely opens the front door, ushers Finn in quickly. Maybe it's just because it's cold, though. The second weird thing is that he doesn't let Finn up into his room. Instead, they settle on the sofa in the living room. Puck offers him a beer, which Finn declines. He's not sure he'll be staying long enough before he has to drive home. Besides, if he's caught, that could be big trouble for his military career. So Puck brings him a Coke and one for himself.
"How've you been?" Finn asks.
Puck shrugs and stays quiet for a few moments. "Alright," he grunts, "Work is weird, but we're busy, which is always good."
"Weird?"
"Yeah. The other cooks are both kind of assholes and my boss is a perv. What can ya do," he twists his mouth in a forced half-grin.
"Oh," Finn answers, "That kind of sucks."
Puck peers at him. His eyes are a little bleary; Finn wonders when he last slept. "How about you, man? It's good to see you. You look, like, all kinds of fit. Even Beiste never whipped you into this kind of shape."
Finn chuckles, "It's been good for the most part. I dunno. I just got my deployment orders."
"When are you leaving?"
"Couple weeks."
"Shit, man," Puck takes a noisy slurp of soda, "That's crazy. You only just got home."
And you only just decided you want to talk to me again, Finn thinks, but he doesn't say it. It hurt, but he gets why Puck needed to be mad at him for a little while. So far, he's just immensely relieved that things feel pretty normal between them, despite Puck acting all weird for a bit there.
"I'm scared," Finn admits abruptly.
The sentence hangs in the air tangibly for several long seconds.
Finn takes a breath. "I figured I could tell you because…ya know…you told me once about how you were scared to go to California by yourself."
Puck sighs, "Yeah. I still am a little but I want to go. Why are you scared?"
"They're sending me to Korea. The…the good Korea, whichever one that is."
Puck's eyes widen a bit, "Shit, man."
"You understand?"
"Sure," Puck nods, "I wouldn't want to go there. You couldn't pay me. Everybody at work is always gossiping, and a bunch of the old guys who hang around half the day talk about how war is about to break out there. I can hear them all the way back in the kitchen, they get so heated. It's a scary part of the world."
Finn sags back, "I'm supposed to be working on planes, so…I don't know. If something happened, I don't know whether I'd be made to fight or not."
"Listen, bro," Puck says, "You're my best friend. You haven't always been the bravest guy, sometimes you made the choice that was easy for you. But there isn't a choice here. You're going. The only question now is whether you're gonna go as the guy I know you can be, or the guy I'm being right now."
Finn stares at him, "What do you mean? How are you being?"
Puck shrugs sullenly again, "I'm not a coward at heart, but I'm being one right now. So. Go be you, not me."
Try as he might, Finn can't get any more information out of Puck, but Puck does offer a few more words of encouragement. Reminds Finn he was Quarterback and Glee Club Co-Captain because he was brave and a great leader, which…it's nice to hear, someone thinks those things about him. They feel like they don't matter nearly so much now.
Puck's been by his side for as long as he can remember. Through their ups and downs, Puck has almost always thought the best of him.
Finn borrows some of that courage and faith from his best friend to head over to the other side of the world.
A/N: Chapter titles from Hole, "Heaven Tonight," DeVotchKa, "We're Leaving," Kate Bush, "Running Up That Hill," Purity Ring, "Crawlersout," Niki & The Dove, "The Fox."
The band name "Billy and the Werewolves" is a Dresden Files reference.