storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2010-01-14 09:31 am
storypaint) wrote2010-01-14 09:31 am
[Glee] Seven (Will/Terri; Will/Emma; Will/Rachel)
Title: Seven
Fandom: Glee
Length: 2978 words
Prompt:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
glee_kink_meme: Will/Terri, Will/Emma, and Will/Rachel if you please. Will Schuester is working on his new Broadway production but he has hit a major slump and it looks like it might flop. Write how the six women (and Kurt) in his life inspire him to finish what may become his greatest work. His wife (Terri), his mistress (Emma), his star (Rachel), the mother of his daughter (Quinn), his daughter (Drizzle), his nemesis (Sue), his costume designer/confidante(Kurt).
Pairing: Will/Terri; Will/Emma; slight Will/Rachel
Other: Warnings for infidelity as per prompt. Plot heavily borrowed from and inspired by Nine (2009 movie) as per prompt. Timelines are kinda weird; basically, the Glee kids should be in their early twenties and Will has been writing successful plays basically ever since canon left off.
Excerpt: Will has been writing for four hours. So far, he has the word "The." He looks at it for ten minutes, and then carefully deletes it.
i. Terri
Will has been writing for four hours. So far, he has the word "The." He looks at it for ten minutes, and then carefully deletes it. After a long sigh, he rests his head in his hands, and then gets up from the computer.
He needs a break. He needs to write this play. He looks up at the little golden statues that sit on the bookshelf on his desk. They glitter at him garishly.
Will Schuester, best new Broadway writer in decades. Will Schuester, hit after hit. Will Schuester-- everything he touches turns to gold. To gold.
He brushes his fingers against the platforms of his awards, the edges sharp against his fingers. And then he pulls his keys from his pocket and steps very quietly out of his home office.
"Will!"
Has Terri been lurking at the door? She appears around the corner like a wraith and it's all he can do not to turn around and go back into the dark room. But he's been there since 10am and it's 2pm; the days are getting shorter as Lima slides into winter and the sun is already sinking. He'd like to see it at least once today.
"Yes, Terri?" he says with a sigh. He isn't quite sure why she's here today. He'd asked her for space after the whole hysterical pregnancy incident, but she'd given him barely a week and then just... came back, moved in like it was still her house too. Every time he sees her flat stomach he thinks about filing for divorce-- not because he wants a child that badly, but because her betrayal is a knot in his stomach that might never go away.
Maybe this is why he can't write? But all the best writers are tortured artists, right? In any case, seeing her makes a spurt of anger bloom in his stomach and he crosses his arms, waiting for her to explain herself.
"I thought maybe--" she begins. She's all hesitant now, all fearful and uncertain, as if she thinks he'll hit her. He might be upset with her, but he resents that implication; he never hit her, not even when he tore the false belly from underneath her clothes. Terri has never known who he is. She bites her lip. "I thought maybe we could go out tonight. Just the two of us, and reconnect?"
"I have a play to write, Terri," he answers, brushing past her out the door, and she watches him go in silence.
*
ii. Kurt
They're building a set; he's told them that this musical will be about Lima-- about Ohio, about home, about the soul of the place. It sounded good in interviews and his chief backer, April Rhodes (talk about a turn-around there), likes it. So whatever the musical ends up being about, it will take him back there again. In the meantime, Will is always disoriented to walk into the theater and see the half-built hallways of McKinley and that world he left behind so long ago.
He pulls his hat low over his distinctive hair and sneaks into the costuming department, where Kurt is sewing a hem onto a short pink skirt that has a matching glittery cardigan. It's ugly and somehow it manages to remind him of someone-- who?
"Kurt," Will says with a sigh, sinking into a chair as the young man sews and the business of costuming goes on around them. "What is this monstrosity?"
He's trying to be light-hearted but Kurt scowls. "It's for Rachel, of course," he says. "Don't you recognize the toe-curling combination of grandmother and toddler?"
"Oh," Will says, and looks, and rubs the bridge of his nose. It does look exactly like the outfits Rachel used to wear in high school.
"It's an affront to my designing dignity, I'll have you know," Kurt says, tying a knot and then leaning down to fish in his sewing kit. "I'll be laughed out of Milan next year, just you wait."
Will puts out his hand and waits as Kurt produces a diet soda from its hiding place in the sewing kit. The slight young man takes a couple of sips before handing it to Will, who does not hesitate to savor the lukewarm, flat taste of Diet Pepsi. Terri never buys soda anymore; she can't get pregnant if she's diabetic, Will, remember? Kurt is his supplier. After all, he says, laughing, neither of them are trying to get pregnant.
"No one will laugh at you," Will says, trying to sound reassuring as he downs the soda. "They'll understand when they see the musical."
"The musical you haven't written," Kurt answers, lifting an eyebrow in mild condemnation and then picking up a handful of sequins and looking appraisingly at the cardigan. He turns his back on Will, holding up the sequins.
Will and Kurt have a sort of odd, unexpected friendship. Kurt has been with Will since the first musical, the wild success that made Will famous. Will hired Kurt at the time because he offered to work for almost nothing, but it wasn't difficult to recognize Kurt's talents, and they had a standing partnership ever since. It took Will some time to think of Kurt as a friend instead of a student, but once he had he found the designer to be a great confidant.
Who apparently knows him too well, Will thinks, staring down at the can.
"It's getting there," he lies. "I'm almost there."
Kurt snorts. "Of course, of course. Well, I'm sure Rachel will be in it."
Will can feel rather than see the sneer. He doesn't say anything, because it's true. Rachel is his star, and she always has been. He writes for her.
"Less sequins," he says grumpily, getting up and tossing the can in the garbage. "Wardrobe always goes over budget."
"I bemoan the fact," Kurt answers dryly, and he doesn't watch him go.
*
iii. Emma
If he stays at home, he's going to go insane from Terri's prodding. He can't work at the set because the script is supposed to be done already; if he sticks around too long April will want to see it. So he makes the drive out to the little house in the Bronx where Emma is living.
When she answers the door with plastic gloves on her hands, and she smiles sweetly, he inhales PineSol and feels like he's home. And also, a little giddy.
"I was cleaning the bathroom," she says. Will lifts her up by the waist and kisses her. When he sets her down again she is blushing furiously, lifting a hand to touch her mouth but pausing in time to avoid that contamination.
"Will," she says, "I haven't seen you in a while."
"I've been working," he says. She nods, a little hesitantly, as if she doesn't believe him. She lets him into the house and he'd marvel at the hospital-level cleanliness, but he's quite used to it by now.
"Ken went out with the boys," she says, falsely casual, "so I thought I'd do some cleaning."
"Have an extra pair of gloves?" he asks jovially.
"Always, for you," she answers, eyes bright.
They clean for another hour, until Will's head is swimming with chemicals and the bathroom is acceptably sterile. Then he takes her to bed until stars break behind his eyes. It doesn't take long with her little panting breaths as encouragment. She's making the bed with hospital corners when Ken comes home to find Will in the living room.
"Schuester," he says, tone guarded.
"Will stopped by to see us. Isn't that nice, honey?" Emma says as she comes into the room, her eyes worried. She blows her husband a kiss, which he catches with a baseball glove gesture, his gaze on Will the entire time.
"I'm actually pretty tired," Ken says with an exaggerated yawn. He offers a hand to Will and pulls him roughly to his feet. "So maybe we can hit the bars another time?"
"Oh, no problem," Will answers swiftly. "I understand. I've been working pretty hard on the new musical. I'll send you tickets, all right?"
He tries to catch Emma's eyes as he's herded out the door, but she looks away.
*
iv. Rachel
He sleeps in his office that night, which he still does sometimes. It's not the same mattress that nearly lost the Glee Club their Sectionals-- Will isn't that nostalgic. A cot in the corner of his workplace does for him. He slips out the door early the next morning, before Terri is awake. Screen tests are today, and he's rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, jittery.
Rachel is perfectly on time, sweeping in and radiating confidence. When she steps onto the stage, she pauses for just a second, biting her lip, and it isn't the first time that Will wonders just what had happened to her in high school when he hadn't been around. He spends a moment wishing he could have protected her from it; old regrets. Rachel has the best revenge: success. When she isn't acting in his plays, the entirety of Hollywood clamors for her.
"I don't have a script, Mr. Schuester," she says, as soon as she locates him. She zeroes in on him, all big brown eyes and sharp red heels, and he almost reels from the force of her personality. Will might come up with the plots, but Rachel brings his characters to life-- Carlotta, the vulnerable newlywed; Tara, the jaded detective; Martha, the spontaneous rock-climber. Rachel pours all of herself into every role and this is why he loves her. This is why she is his star.
"You can call me Will, Rachel," he says first, an old dance but the first step is always the same. She blinks but continues on.
"Your assistant promised that you mailed it but I never got the delivery confirmation or the UPS tracking number. I gave her my new email address twice!"
She plants her hands on her hips and he takes them gently, rubbing at her wrists to calm her, and says, "Let's do some screen tests and I'll give you a script before you leave, all right?"
He thinks that he can slip out near the end, step through the door that would lead to the McKinley locker room if it were real. After a moment, she nods. And so he ushers her into wardrobe (thankfully, Kurt doesn't push the glittery cardigan and skirt combination; it's gained another pound of sequins in his absence and Will makes a note to write that scene for dim lighting). When she emerges onto the stage in knee socks and a plaid skirt, it's like she never left high school. She might be in her twenties, but she can definitely play this part.
He begins shooting, which always calms him. There's something bubbling in the back of his mind, and he thinks it might be a scene, so he lets it percolate.
"What do you want me to do, Mr. Schuester?" she asks. He looks up from behind the camera and smiles at her, giving her a few directions. Back, front, side. Now sing something.
She gives him a long, hard look and then sings "Maybe This Time," and when she's done she crosses her arms and refuses to do anything more.
"Not until I've seen the script," she says, lifting her nose, and he can only scrape and apologize and promise it by tomorrow; he doesn't know what has happened, but even his personal copy is missing, what a travesty.
He looks at his watch; nearly six already. Another day gone. He stops in to see Kurt, who tells him he looks worse than yesterday, which Kurt hadn't even thought possible. Kurt hands him a can and tells him that it's nearly six and he should get going.
And Will gets in the car and drives, the scene slipping away from him into the ether from which Rachel had seemingly emerged.
*
v. Quinn
Even with Terri's betrayal and the way that their marriage had fallen apart in the aftermath, Will could not let Quinn down. It might not have been his promise, but he isn't heartless. So he promised to honor his wedding vows and signed the paperwork. He has a daughter, even if they aren't related by blood, and that is almost worth the entire mess.
Quinn wants to be involved in her daughter's life. She might be more involved than she had initially anticipated, a fact which makes Will feel extremely guilty when he has a moment to pause and reflect. She never seems to mind, though, whether she's babysitting for an hour or a week. Quinn has always been a strong person; now that strength manifests in a fierce, tangible love for her child, rather than in pointed barbs at someone else's expense. She's grown up.
When Will arrives at her apartment, the door is already unlocked in anticipation of his coming, and Quinn and Anna are on the floor playing rock-paper-scissors. Anna squeals with delight every time she wins a hand.
"Daddy!" she says, though, as soon as he opens the door, and he's gratified almost to the point of tears when she gets up and toddles toward him, wrapping her arms around his knees.
"Hey, baby," he says softly, scooping her up in his arms. He turns to Quinn, who hasn't moved. Her eyes are gentle as she looks on the two of them. Her hands are clasped in her lap. Despite the fact that she's been keeping the child for the entire weekend and today, she looks perfectly composed, not tired, her makeup and her carefully-chosen casualwear pristine. He doesn't know how she does it. When Anna comes home with him, the whole house is reduced to a four-year-old's perspective, cookie crumbs and nightmares and a million tiny questions about the way the world works.
"How are you, Quinn?" he asks.
"Good," she says, smiling. "I always get to spend more time with her when you're working on a new musical."
It is possible, he supposes, just barely possible, that they could leave Anna at home with Terri alone. But neither of them consider it. It is only done when absolutely necessary. Anna calls Quinn "Mommy" and Terri "the crying lady." Once she'd started talking, that cemented the deal. It is as if Will and Quinn are raising Anna together, just the two of them.
"Daddy's writing songs?" Anna asks, reaching up to tangle her hands in his hair, and he nods, nuzzling at her neck, which still smells like baby to his mind, soap and softness.
"Don't be a stranger," Quinn says, her mouth quirked in a half-smile, as she packs up Anna's overnight bag and lets them out the door.
"Never," Will promises. He's always happy to come back to Quinn's apartment, which is white and airy, somehow calming instead of distancing.
He bundles the girl into the car and sings to her on the way home, the warmth of Quinn's smile solid in the back of his mind.
*
vi. Anna
Will has been writing for four hours and he has nothing. He writes a sentence and erases it. He feels as if he's been awake for days-- his eyes are red and scratchy, and his brain swims with half-formed thoughts that don't resolve into music or dialogue or scene, anything useful.
Anna has been playing quietly for the most part, engrossed in a soap opera of Barbie dolls illuminated by her tiny mumbles. But eventually she climbs carefully onto the cot in his office and falls asleep, thumb in mouth, a habit neither Will nor Quinn have managed to break her of. Will gets up from his computer desk and stretches, turning in a circle, and he sees her-- the little girl with long dark hair plastered to her cheek, with that soft round face of her mother's. Her breathing is even and soft. She has no musical to write.
It's quite a story, Will thinks to himself, how he became a father. Almost unbelievable, in fact, that this little girl is his.
And then he has a thought. He has an idea. He sits back down at the computer and writes until dawn.
"Glee," he begins, "is about opening yourself to joy."
*
vii. Sue
"Apparently it falls to me, yet again, to point out the idiocy of the latest Will Schuester flop. I am pretty certain that at this point, America, you are like that retarded baby that my cousin tried to abort with a coat hanger. Unfortunately, no one has aborted you, so for some reason you turn up in droves to see the dumbest musical ever written.
"Some might say that I am bitter of Schuester's success, because he has escaped Lima and I am still coaching the cheerleading team that wins Nationals every year, with all the associated promotional deals, but I can assure you this is not the case. I want no part of Will Schuester or the hair I have been urging him to cut for the better part of a decade. Or perhaps an exorcism would do the trick.
"Let me tell you something, viewers. Glee is not fun, or funny, and it should not lead to your teacher adopting the child of one of his students. How Schuester avoids arrest for this perversion every day amazes me. And to write a musical about show choir is, frankly, ironic, and not clever in the slightest.
"And that is how Sue sees it."
Fandom: Glee
Length: 2978 words
Prompt:
glee_kink_meme: Will/Terri, Will/Emma, and Will/Rachel if you please. Will Schuester is working on his new Broadway production but he has hit a major slump and it looks like it might flop. Write how the six women (and Kurt) in his life inspire him to finish what may become his greatest work. His wife (Terri), his mistress (Emma), his star (Rachel), the mother of his daughter (Quinn), his daughter (Drizzle), his nemesis (Sue), his costume designer/confidante(Kurt).Pairing: Will/Terri; Will/Emma; slight Will/Rachel
Other: Warnings for infidelity as per prompt. Plot heavily borrowed from and inspired by Nine (2009 movie) as per prompt. Timelines are kinda weird; basically, the Glee kids should be in their early twenties and Will has been writing successful plays basically ever since canon left off.
Excerpt: Will has been writing for four hours. So far, he has the word "The." He looks at it for ten minutes, and then carefully deletes it.
i. Terri
Will has been writing for four hours. So far, he has the word "The." He looks at it for ten minutes, and then carefully deletes it. After a long sigh, he rests his head in his hands, and then gets up from the computer.
He needs a break. He needs to write this play. He looks up at the little golden statues that sit on the bookshelf on his desk. They glitter at him garishly.
Will Schuester, best new Broadway writer in decades. Will Schuester, hit after hit. Will Schuester-- everything he touches turns to gold. To gold.
He brushes his fingers against the platforms of his awards, the edges sharp against his fingers. And then he pulls his keys from his pocket and steps very quietly out of his home office.
"Will!"
Has Terri been lurking at the door? She appears around the corner like a wraith and it's all he can do not to turn around and go back into the dark room. But he's been there since 10am and it's 2pm; the days are getting shorter as Lima slides into winter and the sun is already sinking. He'd like to see it at least once today.
"Yes, Terri?" he says with a sigh. He isn't quite sure why she's here today. He'd asked her for space after the whole hysterical pregnancy incident, but she'd given him barely a week and then just... came back, moved in like it was still her house too. Every time he sees her flat stomach he thinks about filing for divorce-- not because he wants a child that badly, but because her betrayal is a knot in his stomach that might never go away.
Maybe this is why he can't write? But all the best writers are tortured artists, right? In any case, seeing her makes a spurt of anger bloom in his stomach and he crosses his arms, waiting for her to explain herself.
"I thought maybe--" she begins. She's all hesitant now, all fearful and uncertain, as if she thinks he'll hit her. He might be upset with her, but he resents that implication; he never hit her, not even when he tore the false belly from underneath her clothes. Terri has never known who he is. She bites her lip. "I thought maybe we could go out tonight. Just the two of us, and reconnect?"
"I have a play to write, Terri," he answers, brushing past her out the door, and she watches him go in silence.
*
ii. Kurt
They're building a set; he's told them that this musical will be about Lima-- about Ohio, about home, about the soul of the place. It sounded good in interviews and his chief backer, April Rhodes (talk about a turn-around there), likes it. So whatever the musical ends up being about, it will take him back there again. In the meantime, Will is always disoriented to walk into the theater and see the half-built hallways of McKinley and that world he left behind so long ago.
He pulls his hat low over his distinctive hair and sneaks into the costuming department, where Kurt is sewing a hem onto a short pink skirt that has a matching glittery cardigan. It's ugly and somehow it manages to remind him of someone-- who?
"Kurt," Will says with a sigh, sinking into a chair as the young man sews and the business of costuming goes on around them. "What is this monstrosity?"
He's trying to be light-hearted but Kurt scowls. "It's for Rachel, of course," he says. "Don't you recognize the toe-curling combination of grandmother and toddler?"
"Oh," Will says, and looks, and rubs the bridge of his nose. It does look exactly like the outfits Rachel used to wear in high school.
"It's an affront to my designing dignity, I'll have you know," Kurt says, tying a knot and then leaning down to fish in his sewing kit. "I'll be laughed out of Milan next year, just you wait."
Will puts out his hand and waits as Kurt produces a diet soda from its hiding place in the sewing kit. The slight young man takes a couple of sips before handing it to Will, who does not hesitate to savor the lukewarm, flat taste of Diet Pepsi. Terri never buys soda anymore; she can't get pregnant if she's diabetic, Will, remember? Kurt is his supplier. After all, he says, laughing, neither of them are trying to get pregnant.
"No one will laugh at you," Will says, trying to sound reassuring as he downs the soda. "They'll understand when they see the musical."
"The musical you haven't written," Kurt answers, lifting an eyebrow in mild condemnation and then picking up a handful of sequins and looking appraisingly at the cardigan. He turns his back on Will, holding up the sequins.
Will and Kurt have a sort of odd, unexpected friendship. Kurt has been with Will since the first musical, the wild success that made Will famous. Will hired Kurt at the time because he offered to work for almost nothing, but it wasn't difficult to recognize Kurt's talents, and they had a standing partnership ever since. It took Will some time to think of Kurt as a friend instead of a student, but once he had he found the designer to be a great confidant.
Who apparently knows him too well, Will thinks, staring down at the can.
"It's getting there," he lies. "I'm almost there."
Kurt snorts. "Of course, of course. Well, I'm sure Rachel will be in it."
Will can feel rather than see the sneer. He doesn't say anything, because it's true. Rachel is his star, and she always has been. He writes for her.
"Less sequins," he says grumpily, getting up and tossing the can in the garbage. "Wardrobe always goes over budget."
"I bemoan the fact," Kurt answers dryly, and he doesn't watch him go.
*
iii. Emma
If he stays at home, he's going to go insane from Terri's prodding. He can't work at the set because the script is supposed to be done already; if he sticks around too long April will want to see it. So he makes the drive out to the little house in the Bronx where Emma is living.
When she answers the door with plastic gloves on her hands, and she smiles sweetly, he inhales PineSol and feels like he's home. And also, a little giddy.
"I was cleaning the bathroom," she says. Will lifts her up by the waist and kisses her. When he sets her down again she is blushing furiously, lifting a hand to touch her mouth but pausing in time to avoid that contamination.
"Will," she says, "I haven't seen you in a while."
"I've been working," he says. She nods, a little hesitantly, as if she doesn't believe him. She lets him into the house and he'd marvel at the hospital-level cleanliness, but he's quite used to it by now.
"Ken went out with the boys," she says, falsely casual, "so I thought I'd do some cleaning."
"Have an extra pair of gloves?" he asks jovially.
"Always, for you," she answers, eyes bright.
They clean for another hour, until Will's head is swimming with chemicals and the bathroom is acceptably sterile. Then he takes her to bed until stars break behind his eyes. It doesn't take long with her little panting breaths as encouragment. She's making the bed with hospital corners when Ken comes home to find Will in the living room.
"Schuester," he says, tone guarded.
"Will stopped by to see us. Isn't that nice, honey?" Emma says as she comes into the room, her eyes worried. She blows her husband a kiss, which he catches with a baseball glove gesture, his gaze on Will the entire time.
"I'm actually pretty tired," Ken says with an exaggerated yawn. He offers a hand to Will and pulls him roughly to his feet. "So maybe we can hit the bars another time?"
"Oh, no problem," Will answers swiftly. "I understand. I've been working pretty hard on the new musical. I'll send you tickets, all right?"
He tries to catch Emma's eyes as he's herded out the door, but she looks away.
*
iv. Rachel
He sleeps in his office that night, which he still does sometimes. It's not the same mattress that nearly lost the Glee Club their Sectionals-- Will isn't that nostalgic. A cot in the corner of his workplace does for him. He slips out the door early the next morning, before Terri is awake. Screen tests are today, and he's rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, jittery.
Rachel is perfectly on time, sweeping in and radiating confidence. When she steps onto the stage, she pauses for just a second, biting her lip, and it isn't the first time that Will wonders just what had happened to her in high school when he hadn't been around. He spends a moment wishing he could have protected her from it; old regrets. Rachel has the best revenge: success. When she isn't acting in his plays, the entirety of Hollywood clamors for her.
"I don't have a script, Mr. Schuester," she says, as soon as she locates him. She zeroes in on him, all big brown eyes and sharp red heels, and he almost reels from the force of her personality. Will might come up with the plots, but Rachel brings his characters to life-- Carlotta, the vulnerable newlywed; Tara, the jaded detective; Martha, the spontaneous rock-climber. Rachel pours all of herself into every role and this is why he loves her. This is why she is his star.
"You can call me Will, Rachel," he says first, an old dance but the first step is always the same. She blinks but continues on.
"Your assistant promised that you mailed it but I never got the delivery confirmation or the UPS tracking number. I gave her my new email address twice!"
She plants her hands on her hips and he takes them gently, rubbing at her wrists to calm her, and says, "Let's do some screen tests and I'll give you a script before you leave, all right?"
He thinks that he can slip out near the end, step through the door that would lead to the McKinley locker room if it were real. After a moment, she nods. And so he ushers her into wardrobe (thankfully, Kurt doesn't push the glittery cardigan and skirt combination; it's gained another pound of sequins in his absence and Will makes a note to write that scene for dim lighting). When she emerges onto the stage in knee socks and a plaid skirt, it's like she never left high school. She might be in her twenties, but she can definitely play this part.
He begins shooting, which always calms him. There's something bubbling in the back of his mind, and he thinks it might be a scene, so he lets it percolate.
"What do you want me to do, Mr. Schuester?" she asks. He looks up from behind the camera and smiles at her, giving her a few directions. Back, front, side. Now sing something.
She gives him a long, hard look and then sings "Maybe This Time," and when she's done she crosses her arms and refuses to do anything more.
"Not until I've seen the script," she says, lifting her nose, and he can only scrape and apologize and promise it by tomorrow; he doesn't know what has happened, but even his personal copy is missing, what a travesty.
He looks at his watch; nearly six already. Another day gone. He stops in to see Kurt, who tells him he looks worse than yesterday, which Kurt hadn't even thought possible. Kurt hands him a can and tells him that it's nearly six and he should get going.
And Will gets in the car and drives, the scene slipping away from him into the ether from which Rachel had seemingly emerged.
*
v. Quinn
Even with Terri's betrayal and the way that their marriage had fallen apart in the aftermath, Will could not let Quinn down. It might not have been his promise, but he isn't heartless. So he promised to honor his wedding vows and signed the paperwork. He has a daughter, even if they aren't related by blood, and that is almost worth the entire mess.
Quinn wants to be involved in her daughter's life. She might be more involved than she had initially anticipated, a fact which makes Will feel extremely guilty when he has a moment to pause and reflect. She never seems to mind, though, whether she's babysitting for an hour or a week. Quinn has always been a strong person; now that strength manifests in a fierce, tangible love for her child, rather than in pointed barbs at someone else's expense. She's grown up.
When Will arrives at her apartment, the door is already unlocked in anticipation of his coming, and Quinn and Anna are on the floor playing rock-paper-scissors. Anna squeals with delight every time she wins a hand.
"Daddy!" she says, though, as soon as he opens the door, and he's gratified almost to the point of tears when she gets up and toddles toward him, wrapping her arms around his knees.
"Hey, baby," he says softly, scooping her up in his arms. He turns to Quinn, who hasn't moved. Her eyes are gentle as she looks on the two of them. Her hands are clasped in her lap. Despite the fact that she's been keeping the child for the entire weekend and today, she looks perfectly composed, not tired, her makeup and her carefully-chosen casualwear pristine. He doesn't know how she does it. When Anna comes home with him, the whole house is reduced to a four-year-old's perspective, cookie crumbs and nightmares and a million tiny questions about the way the world works.
"How are you, Quinn?" he asks.
"Good," she says, smiling. "I always get to spend more time with her when you're working on a new musical."
It is possible, he supposes, just barely possible, that they could leave Anna at home with Terri alone. But neither of them consider it. It is only done when absolutely necessary. Anna calls Quinn "Mommy" and Terri "the crying lady." Once she'd started talking, that cemented the deal. It is as if Will and Quinn are raising Anna together, just the two of them.
"Daddy's writing songs?" Anna asks, reaching up to tangle her hands in his hair, and he nods, nuzzling at her neck, which still smells like baby to his mind, soap and softness.
"Don't be a stranger," Quinn says, her mouth quirked in a half-smile, as she packs up Anna's overnight bag and lets them out the door.
"Never," Will promises. He's always happy to come back to Quinn's apartment, which is white and airy, somehow calming instead of distancing.
He bundles the girl into the car and sings to her on the way home, the warmth of Quinn's smile solid in the back of his mind.
*
vi. Anna
Will has been writing for four hours and he has nothing. He writes a sentence and erases it. He feels as if he's been awake for days-- his eyes are red and scratchy, and his brain swims with half-formed thoughts that don't resolve into music or dialogue or scene, anything useful.
Anna has been playing quietly for the most part, engrossed in a soap opera of Barbie dolls illuminated by her tiny mumbles. But eventually she climbs carefully onto the cot in his office and falls asleep, thumb in mouth, a habit neither Will nor Quinn have managed to break her of. Will gets up from his computer desk and stretches, turning in a circle, and he sees her-- the little girl with long dark hair plastered to her cheek, with that soft round face of her mother's. Her breathing is even and soft. She has no musical to write.
It's quite a story, Will thinks to himself, how he became a father. Almost unbelievable, in fact, that this little girl is his.
And then he has a thought. He has an idea. He sits back down at the computer and writes until dawn.
"Glee," he begins, "is about opening yourself to joy."
*
vii. Sue
"Apparently it falls to me, yet again, to point out the idiocy of the latest Will Schuester flop. I am pretty certain that at this point, America, you are like that retarded baby that my cousin tried to abort with a coat hanger. Unfortunately, no one has aborted you, so for some reason you turn up in droves to see the dumbest musical ever written.
"Some might say that I am bitter of Schuester's success, because he has escaped Lima and I am still coaching the cheerleading team that wins Nationals every year, with all the associated promotional deals, but I can assure you this is not the case. I want no part of Will Schuester or the hair I have been urging him to cut for the better part of a decade. Or perhaps an exorcism would do the trick.
"Let me tell you something, viewers. Glee is not fun, or funny, and it should not lead to your teacher adopting the child of one of his students. How Schuester avoids arrest for this perversion every day amazes me. And to write a musical about show choir is, frankly, ironic, and not clever in the slightest.
"And that is how Sue sees it."