oh, i've lost all ambition for worldly acclaim (i just want to be the one you love)
Matt doesn't see much of Quinn Fabray soon after the news.
No more glimpses of the honey-haired girl in the hallways. She stops coming to Cheerios practice (rumor has it that Coach Sylvester had kicked her off the team), and her seat in Spanish class is usually empty as well.
Outside of school, she is just as elusive.
Matt doesn't see her at Sunday Mass anymore either sitting front row with her parents. Sometimes he'll eye them from across the aisle. He wants to ask them where their little girl is? And why they've chosen to damn her out of their lives.
She's almost nowhere to be found - well, except for Glee.
Glee was different. In Glee there is a light in her eyes, and a glow to her skin – Mercedes tells him that it's just her "pregnancy glow", Matt doesn't really know what that means, but he nods, nevertheless.
High ponytails are replaced with shoulder-length hair, and Cheerios uniforms are replaced by floral summer dresses.
They don't talk – and it kind of disheartens him.
Because… because he wants to get a glimpse of this changed, Quinn Fabray. She's nicer – well, nicer relative to whatever she was before. And yet, she still refused to even look his way.
Green eyes avoiding contact with his own – green eyes he swears he's seen somewhere before.
But still, he finds comfort in her own happiness. She is after all actually a good singer; much better than Matt can ever hope to be.
And so instead, he revels in her honey-voice and figures the subtle eye-contact from center-stage is the most he'll get from the Ice Queen, as she croons out a certain James Brown song.
Sometimes he finds her alone, early in the morning, sitting in an empty classroom, and praying to a God which doesn't seem to answer her.
It's always the same room – #213. He supposes it's a good choice, it was secluded in the corner and only used sparingly for classes.
Her eyes are always shut, so she never notices him walking by to get to his locker, while her hands were clasped so tightly that he can see the white of her knuckles.
He wonders what she prays for.
To be reinstated as Head Cheerio?
To not "explode" after her pregnancy?
Or…
He doesn't finish the last the thought – it's a terrible one to have. But he wonders if she thinks about it nonetheless:
Would she pray to no longer have her child?
Matt just doesn't know. He can only hope what whatever her choice is – god, or whomever, obliges to it.
"600 dollars for a sonogram, Matt! 600! God, where am I going to find that kind of money?"
Matt slurped down his carton of chocolate milk, listening to the wails of a worried Finn Hudson. He can only shrug in response – god, how expensive was having a baby?
"Have you tried looking for a job?" he asks, taking a huge bite out of his hotdog.
Finn nods defeatedly, leaning back into the cafeteria chair. "No one's hiring, dude." He sighs, crossing his arms. "I don't want Quinnie to have to worry about this – especially after all she's gone through with her folks."
Matt can only nod in response, wiping ketchup off the corner of his mouth. He pats the arm of his friend in reassurance. It wasn't nice seeing Finn like this. Star-quarterbacks were supposed to be tough and unwavering, not melt away into desolation at the first sight of trouble.
Matt supposes it made Finn more human.
"I'll see what I can do." he finally says, taking another gulp of his drink.
"I need 600 dollars, momma."
Matt stood around the kitchen table with a large smile plastered on his face, looking down at his mother who was sat – sorting the mail and their bills.
She looks up at him with near disbelief, as if she hadn't heard him right. "What did you say?"
"I-I… er, need 600 dollars." His voice is meek, and suddenly he feels like a little child again.
She drops the piece of mail she was holding onto the table, and squints her eyes – as if to get a better look at him. "What in lord's name do you need 600 dollars for, Mattie?"
He doesn't know what to say. Matt couldn't exactly tell her that his friend Finn Hudson had gotten the president of the Celibacy Club, Quinn Fabray, pregnant – it would sound absurd.
"Some friends needs it." It's not exactly a lie – but it's not exactly the whole truth either.
His mother doesn't buy it, adjusting her glasses on back. "Well I'm sure your friends can arrange for their own expenses, Mattie. I, on the other hand, have bills to pay."
Matt taps his foot nervously, "Ma-… I… er, it's for Finn and… uh, Quinn." He stutters out, "They need it, momma."
His mother scoffs, raising an eyebrow. "Need it for what? I was young too once, Mattie – weed, or whatever they're trying to buy, doesn't cost 600 dollars."
"They're not doing drugs, momma. Quinn… she needs to do a sonogram." He finally admits, eyes downcast. "She… she's pregnant, momma. Her parents won't help."
His mother is quiet for a moment, her face softening. She finally reaches across the table for her purse, and begins digging through it; pulling out bills with pictures of Ulysses S. Grant, and a sole Benjamin Franklin.
She tidies the small pile of the notes – and then extends them out, for Matt to take.
He grabs the little pile. 200 dollars.
"It's not the full 600… we-we've have bills to pay too." She murmurs softly, "but I hope it still helps them."
Matt squeezes the money tight in his hands, "It will, momma. Thank you."
"Jesus, Matt! What bank did you rob in order to get all this?!"
The quarterback looked into the envelope of money with disbelief, forcing Matt to crack a smile.
The football locker room was empty – well, except for the lingering aroma of sweat and the two of them. And yet even then, the young linebacker wished his friend would lower his voice.
Matt shrugs as he adjusted his football gear, he could've told Finn Hudson that he nearly begged his mother for it – but that didn't sound too cool, and so he simply says: "I have my ways."
Finn laughs, eyes glinting with joy. He quickly wraps Matt into an embrace, "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" when they finally part, Matt is nearly gasping for air. "I-I promise to pay you back, dude! Rachel is helping me get a gig at some mattress place and-"
"-hey, hey! It's okay, don't worry about it." Matt quickly interjects, cautious to stop his friend before he went on another of his trademark rambles.
Finn beams at him, and Matt can almost visibly see the weight lift off his shoulders. The quarterback pats his back. "This is gonna make Quinn really happy."
Matt takes in a hitched breath.
"I hope it does."
It's when he's leaning against the Big Gulp machine one morning, drinking a purple slushie for breakfast, that she finally, finally, talks to him.
She walks up to him, wearing a pretty little yellow sundress. Her bump barely shows through the free-flowing fabric, and he wonders if she had chosen it for that reason.
She stands in front of him for a moment, as if to collect her words. Her eyes dart around the empty hallways, and he can only wonder who they're watching for and what they were wary of.
"Finn told me what you did… so, thank you." Her voice nearly cracks – and he can tell that this is the hardest thing for her to do.
She stands nervously - fingers fiddling with each other. She stands in a way scared teenage girls would, not Cheerios Captains – not Ice Queens. Eyes not focusing on his face, rather looking a bit down, gazing at his varsity jacket.
And that's when it hits him. How different the dynamics were.
Sure, he was still Matt Rutherford – in his dumb varsity jacket, leaning against the dumb slushie machine. But she was no longer Quinn Fabray – or at least, the version of "Quinn Fabray" that she wanted to be.
The Ice Queen had been relegated to a peasant, and so now, it was the young linebacker who had all the power.
Matt nods, smiling softly, "It's no problem. Anything to help a friend in need. And Finn is a good friend of mine."
"Just Finn?" Her voice is so faint, that he nearly misses her words altogether. There is hurt in her voice, as if his revelation saddened her – and yet, her face doesn't move, not a muscle. There is no evidence of a grimace, and Matt wonders how she hid herself away so well.
He cocks his head, once again peering into green eyes that just won't let him in.
We know each other, but from where?, he wants to ask – but he doesn't. Of course he doesn't, because he's Matt Rutherford.
Instead, he stuffs his hands into his jeans and shrugs the same way he's done all this time before.
A silence lulls between them.
Quinn finally sighs, breaking the sacred quietness. "Alright then, Mattie…" she says softly, there is weariness in her voice.
'Mattie' – he lets it slide, hell, he almost enjoys it.
Quinn seemingly takes his silence as his response – and turns to leave.
"W-wait!" Matt calls out hastily. A bit too fast – a bit too loud. Luckily there is no one around – McKinley High in the early morning was a blessing.
She stops, turning around – green eyes telling him signals. Signals which he doesn't know how to read.
Hundreds of questions zap around his brain. If he was any smarter he would think over which one would be appropriate to ask Ice Queens – but Matt Rutherford wasn't, and so he asks:
"I-… when you pray… what do you pray for?"
It's a stupid question – it's a private question. Questions that lowly linebackers have no right to ask (former) Cheerios Captains.
He's surprised when she doesn't slap him immediately – instead, it's almost as if she weighs the question.
He catches her peering at the purple slushie in his hands and smiling softly. "I pray that you find a better slushie flavour to love, Mattie." She smiles, chuckling softly – as if she was proud off her little witty remark. "Everyone knows red is the best flavour."
Matt laughs softly, taking a large, obnoxious sip in response - the slushie is cold, and he's lucky to avoid a brain-freeze.
Quinn giggles at him - Matt thinks its nicest sound he's ever heard.
"What do you actually pray for?" he finally asks, when their laughs had subsided.
Her face softens a bit, and she cocks her head - she was reading him. Finally, she leans in close – until he can smell her strawberry shampoo and feel her tickling breath.
It was just like all those months before. Him and her in front of the slushie machine. Him and her trying to say things that just couldn't be put into words.
And yet, nothing was alike.
"So many things, Mattie…" She whispers it so lightly that he can barely hear her in his ear. "I-I pray that God rips me up into small pieces, so that I can be put back together again anew."
She steps back to look at him – really look at him. Green eyes are telling him something, something he can't understand.
Quinn doesn't say anything, and neither does Matt.
She smiles softly at him, and then turns to leave - Matt doesn't stop her, he never does.
He supposes it'll always be like this – him alone at the slushie machine and Quinn Fabray forever leaving. Matt knows that he won't go after her – she knows that he won't go after her.
He just feels like he's living a story that he's seen the ending to – he's never seen a hallway that doesn't look like her leaving.
Matt sighs, staring at the purple slushie in his hands – he thinks, he liked her funny answer better.
a/n: right-o! this chapter was very fun to write – quinn is such an interesting character to write, and I love crafting these soft bits that aren't too saccharine. Next chapter will probably be about the puck father reveal, and matt's reaction to that – and potential confrontation will quinn. i did play around with the format a bit, hopefully it's coherent.
lyrics edit: address unknown - the ink spots