Glee 1. Prologue

_Prologue_

Beth Puckerman-Fabray is an avid fan of war movies. If anything, it adds to her intense fascination for all things falling under the masculine gender type, despite her mother's silent resentment towards it. She's seen tens and thousands of movies ranging from purely historical ones like movies about the holocaust to more gun-related movies with incredible special effects. But no movie conjured up by Hollywood twits could compare to the raging battle between the tiny girl of sixteen and her statuesque mother, Quinn Fabray.

"Mom!" hollers Beth, following her mother's retreating form. She's sure she could feel the burning sensation of her mother's five-inch, Manolo Blahnik heels on the freshly waved floors of Rochester Academy. Or perhaps it's just her over-active mind coming up with that. Quickening her pace, she sighs.

"Mom, _please_," the tiny blonde could feel her mother's palpitating anger towards her. She has spent nine months being attached to her mother. Even at sixteen, she still felt every bit as attached to her as the day she was conceived. "I'm sorry," sprinting in front of her Quinn, the sole's of Beth's cowboy boots leaving dirt on the ground, she grasps her arms.

"How many times have I told you about celibacy, Elizabeth?" Beth's name isn't actually Elizabeth, but sometimes Quinn added the rest on simply to reinforce her anger. And though it should be easy for the brown-eyed girl to shrug it off, it isn't. And people wonder why such a beautiful woman at thirty two could possibly be the owner of her own fashion studio.

"Forty-six since last month,"

"Beth,"

"Sorry," she mutters quickly, eyes fixed down on the ground, the guilt stricken look on her face pitiful to any other human being's eyes. But Quinn isn't any other human being, she's a mother, and that made her every bit as immune as she is pained by the look on her face.

"Your body is a responsibility, Beth. It isn't just something you can give away under the pretense of infatuation! I get it. You're young, you have hormones and boys are a little bit more handsy than they are in that dance studio of yours," Quinn begins slowly, placing her hand on her daughter's shoulder. "I know, remember,"

"And you regret it, right?" snaps Beth, not because she truly believes this to be the case, but on some occasions, it gets her off the hook. Quinn's gaze does not waver. She backs down.

"No, I don't regret having you," she says, in that motherly voice that makes Beth forget she's only thirty two. "Having you so young, though," it's those words that make Beth almost regret her and her boyfriend's impromptu, erotic, clumsy stumble into the choir room. That almost makes her want to do as her mom always preached and wear a chastity ring and pledge to abstain. That almost makes her wish she saved her virginity.

But she doesn't. Mom has her mistakes, it's her turn to make her own.

"You regret having sex with papa," her voice is tight and desperate. There's a level of hypocrisy that Quinn's exemplifying that doesn't sit well in her stomach. Not once did either Quinn nor Noah "Puck" Puckerman promote the idea of her taking things laying down. She's a Fabray-Puckerman, and being _right_ no matter what is in her blood. Just as it is in her mom's.

"Beth, you're not grasping what I'm saying here," snaps her mom desperately.

"What's there to grasp? We're being safe!" she yells, her voice echoing in the empty hallways.

"That's not the point!"

"Then what is the point?"

"The point is that making love is reserved for marriage. For true, lasting, relationships," returns the elder blonde firmly, eyes blazing with frustration.

"Like you did with Papa?"

"Puck was a mistake-"

"You can't just say I'm not a mistake and then say _fucking_ dad was a mistake!" Quinn closes in on her daughter, eyes dark and firm. Placing both her hands on her hips, she lets out a heavy sigh, her green orbs still resting on her daughter's.

"You have _no_ idea," that condescending tone, it's what does Beth in.

"No, you have no idea," she crossing the line, she should do as every good, perfect, rich, Los Angeles girl does and take on the role of the dismissive, façade-wearing schoolgirl. But she's a Puckerman. She's far more rock and roll than that.

"Mom, you have zero idea what it's like," she begins pleadingly. "It's not about sex, it's about love," Beth ignores the scoff her mom emits.

"You're sixteen,"

"You're telling me you've never been in love at sixteen?" she doesn't wait for a response. Who is she kidding? It's miss holier-than-thou, cocky, emotionally cold Quinn. The queen of maturity, the epitome of practicality; everything she isn't. So she turns around, exiling herself to the passenger seat of her mom's Mercedes Benz, unaware of the look of pure, unadulterated hurt and painful nostalgia in Quinn's eyes.

If only she knew.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I genuinely tried to make this prologue far more impressive, but I just really wanted to give a a tease before I dive into the past. This is Fabang, as you all know, but there's no Mike mentioned _yet_. He'll be in the next one, now whether or not it's present or past, I haven't decided. Anyways, this is sort of a side project to Seasons of Love. SOL is still my largest priority, but this was so interesting, I had to write it. Well, here you go, please review :)


	2. She Moves In Her Own Way

_She Moves In Her Own Way_

Flipping through the freshly printed sheet music from the Rochester Academy printer, Blaine Anderson thoughtlessly drops the pages to the ground. Sighing, he lets out a tiny groan, leaning down to pick up the sheet music. _Close To You_ by the Carpenters. Just imagining the young, privileged students belting out the age old song made a nostalgic grin take on his face. How couldn't it? It feels almost like yesterday when he and the Warblers did the famous, Warbler two-step to whatever pop song was 'in' at the time. It felt almost like yesterday when he grooved to the Michael Jackson medley with the rest of the New Directions during sectionals. Those memories alone, the golden years, are what make the glee club head smile dumbly to himself.

In a few short weeks, his own glee club, the soul riders, would be gracing the stage for sectionals. He can already see the beautiful, sweet toned, Beth Fabray-Puckerman, descending down the stairs, with her boyfriend, the rebellious Santiago Lopez, complimenting her with his own strong, rugged voice. Hearing a light knock, he looks up from the ground, eyes landing on a frustrated looking, mini-Quinn dropping her book bag on the ground.

"Uncle Blaine," she begins, voice rigid and quite noticeably irritated, walking over and picking up the rest of the music sheets from the ground. "We're doing close to you?" she asks casually. Raising his eyebrows, he chuckles.

"How do you-"

"My dad's a _rockstar_," Beth brags, shrugging. "He always makes me listen to all the oldies," Blaine isn't too surprised, of course. Noah Puckerman, with all of his bachelor, rockstar glory, would often put his little girl to sleep with Bon Jovi or Billy Joel playing in the background.

"You okay there, mini Fabs?" Immediately, Beth emits a rather ear-bleeding screech, dramatically crumpling the sheet paper she holds in her hand. The young girl practically shakes in fury, almost ripping the paper into shreds. The former Warbler immediately steps in, grasping her soft arms and forcing them to release the object she held in her hand. Blaine is never sure if Beth's simply theatrical, or if she truly does have a flaming temper much like her mother and father. Either way, he'd prefer that his sheet paper remain intact.

"She's a _bitch_," flinching as the tiny blonde begins swearing underneath her breathe, Blaine sighs. It's for this very reason that he had opted to have the other Lopez boy, Jeremy, be the soul riders' team leader. Beth, for all of her talent and audience appeal, never could see past her own temper.

"I guess we're talking about…" he trails off, waiting for Beth to complete the sentence.

"Big Fabs," he nods, gesturing to the empty stool across from the printer.

"Do you want to talk about it?" asks Blaine, turning back to the printer and picking up the sheet of paper, placing it onto the scanner.

"No, I want to know what terrible, heart wrenching shit happened to my mother that left her a selfish, passive aggressive mess," flinching, the dark haired man in his 30's shakes his head.

"You mean besides getting pregnant at sixteen, mothering a daughter she conceived out of wedlock whilst living with her over bearing, self-righteous mother and being thrown out by her alcoholic father?" asks Blaine rhetorically.

The nature of his and Quinn's friendship is almost identical to his 'wise uncle' relationship with her daughter. Often times, Beth would be so consumed with her own needs and wants that she had a tendency to alienate fact from fiction or to simply empathize. He casts it off as her being a teenager, a very spoiled, very privileged teenager accustomed to thinking only about herself. Of course, there are times her self-serving, manipulation worries both himself and her parents. But still, he hangs onto the first theory. If only for his own sanity.

"Besides that, yeah" she returns, the apathy ringing from her voice. Somehow, Beth could never really wrap her head around the idea that being a pregnant sixteen-year-old isn't nearly as glamorous as they make it out to be on reality TV, which seems to be Beth's bread and butter.

Then again, considering the success Quinn achieved during Beth's more mentally conscious, critical years; owning a beach house overlooking the ocean, running her own designer boutique on Sunset Boulevard and dressing starlets at the Oscars, it must be difficult to believe she ever faced any hardship. That didn't mean the resentment is something Blaine likes coming from the girl. Still, he lets it slide.

"Heartbreak,"

"_As if_!" exclaims Beth, practically falling off of her stool. Clasping her mouth, she tries and keep the loud giggles from falling from her lips. It scares Blaine how much she didn't know about her mother. How much she didn't understand. But then again, it's a two way stress. How would Beth know if Quinn wouldn't tell? Sighing, he keeps his lips shut. Who is he to pass judgment on how the elder blonde is raising her little one? It's not like he has any parenting experience to go by.

"My mom knows nothing about having a heart. If she did, she would have understood what it's like to be in love! To be young and happy and free and _in love_," she drifts off pensively, only to snap herself out of her own stupor.

"Besides, she and daddy are _very_ much over," instantly, the curly-haired man scoffs. Running his fingers over his silk bow tie, he bites down on his lip. Quinn would have a fit if he dared bring _him_ up. Especially to her daughter, whose mouth couldn't be shut unless someone stapled her lips together.

"Oh, you mean the tall dude in her prom picture, right? The one she almost passed off as my father," hearing the judgment in her tone, Blaine shakes his head again.

"Ah, I know! It's the blonde guy who looks like he could be her brother!" says Beth, snapping her fingers and pointing towards her uncle. When Blaine shakes his head yet again, the blonde beauty's jaw immediately drops.

"Those are the _only_ men mom dated that I didn't live to remember," Beth says, trailing off as she slowly approaches Blaine, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

"Who broke my mother's heart?" hearing the hint of surprise and worry in little Beth's voice is endearing, but he's determined to stick his nose out of Quinn's business. It's Quinn's history, Quinn's heartbreak; who is he, if not only a witness to it, to say anything?

"Mini Fabs," he begins sternly.

"If it isn't daddy and it isn't the skyscraper accompanied by a salamander, who is it?"

Blain's dark eyes land on the sheet music. Beth's simply land inquisitively on his face.

"It's that bad, uncle Blaine?" mutters Beth, the concern etched on her face.

"Ask your mother,"

"Like she'd tell me anything. The only things she ever talks about from her high school years was glee club, your obsession with _not_ wearing socks-" her eyes trickle down to his ankles where, sure enough, there was no cloth in sight to cover tit.

"And how hard it was to be a teen mom," she finishes off, those dark brown eyes meeting his yet again.

"If you ask her about it, I'm sure she'll tell you what you should know,"

"Which is…" she says slowly, hoping that her beloved uncle Blaine would look up from his sheet music and meet her eyes. He doesn't.

"_Uncle Blaine_," whines the young girl.

"Get to class,"

"It's after school,"

"Get to glee club practice,"

"It doesn't start for a whole thirty minutes. Come on, I won't say anything," she swear, creating a zipping motion along her lips.

"I highly doubt that, mini Fabs. If your mother didn't insist on you reading classic, American novels, you could be mistaken for a red neck trucker," chides the glee club instructor, meeting her eyes and standing his ground. He can't be intimidated by one of his students. Even if that goofy smile and large, brown eyes could render heartless fiends like Sue Sylvester unconscious or worse, vulnerable.

"Are you saying I swear a lot?"

"No, just that you _talk_ a lot,'

"That's mean,"

"It's a fact," he shrugs, moving past her and walking towards the espresso machine. God, he loved privileged, wealthy prep school filled with privileged, wealthy students with privileged, wealthy parents. It's even better than Dalton during his day, which is a hard thing to be. The scent of imported coffee freshly ground by one of the staff members or incense being lit filled the air. Beautiful, luxurious sofas and seats were scattered in the teacher's lounge. It's a slice in heaven amongst the hell that is rowdy, high school kids with raging hormones and crazy, idealistic beliefs.

"Like mommy's lover boy?" taunts the tiny ball of blonde, which refused to back down. Galloping, almost like a goat or a lamb, she stops right as he was about to reach for a cup of coffee. Withholding coffee from caffeine dependent adults always got her what she wanted. Why, she had gotten her own mother to lend her a vintage pair of riding boots simply because it was five in the morning and coffee would be her only salvation.

"Beth-"

"My mom doesn't talk about how much she's hurting," this fully captures Blaine's attention now. Sighing, Beth stares down at her slightly muddy boots, crossing her arms.

"You know how mom is. She doesn't like talking about the fact that she's lonely. That I'm not enough for her-"

"Beth," comes Blaine's failed attempt to coddle her.

"Save it, we can have my regular, make shift therapy session about my teen mom complex some other time," interrupts Beth, raising her hand and waiting for him to nod her on to continue. He does.

"I want to know my mom, the way she won't let me know her," begs the blonde, eyes twinkling with determination and desperation.

"Please give me that chance. Please," watching the girl's timid, desperate expression, he gulps. No. No. Quinn would have a fit if she knew he told Beth about, well, everything. She would have his head. And not in the way he'd enjoy. Thoughts of her quite literally wringing his head with a wooden hanger from her boutique fled his minds.

But those eyes. So wide, so brown and so dark. And that goofy, desperate grin that made his knees buckle. How can he _not_ tell her now that he had let it slip? This is truly his fault, anyways. And besides, perhaps if he tells her all about it, he would save his blonde best friend, Quinn, the trouble of doing it herself. Which would undoubtedly be painful for her.

Groaning, he grasps her shoulders, dragging her back to the stool she had abandoned. Gently but firmly placing pressure on her shoulders to sit down, he points his finger directly onto the gap between her eyebrows.

"You don't tell your mother _anything_,"

"I won't,"

"And I'm not telling you his name,"

"Fine,"

"Oh, and I get to manipulate the facts,"

"You mean lie," deadpans Beth.

"Call it that, and there goes your excuse for every lie you've been caught in," she huffs, but nods for him to continue.

"Alright, you get to _manipulate the facts_. What else?" sighing, Blaine reaches for a free stool right behind the front desk. Placing it in front of the teenager, he sits on it, crossing his legs as he looks up at the sparkling chandelier and thinking to himself.

"Oh, and you give your mother a big hug after I tell you the story," chuckling, she shakes her head.

"You make it sound like she died,"

"She sort of did," touching the left side of his chest, he sighs. "In here, anyways"

"That bad?"

"Worse. To me, it makes Romeo and Juliet out to be a comedy-"

"It sort of is…" Beth corrects him.

"And this is why I'm a music teacher," he jokes, shaking his head.

"Tell me," nodding, Blaine rubs his chin, feeling the scuff. Letting out a low whistle, he tries and pin point where to begin.

"The New Year's Eve of our junior year," he pin points, and so he begins the long, complicated story of Quinn Fabray and the one that got away.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I know this update took awhile, and it's short, but with the holiday festivities and Seasons Of Love truly being my number one priority, it took me awhile to get into it. I thought I'd leave it here because it seemed like the perfect end, so why drag it on? The next chapter(s) will be a flashback, so we get to find out what exactly happened between Mike and Quinn that left them both so broken. Updating this story won't be as frequent as Seasons Of Love, because I'm attempting to finish that story before putting all my attention onto this. I will update, though.

Oh! And no, Santiago is _not_ Santana's son. He's her little brother. He was born the same year Quinn gave birth to Beth. I have to make it a bit realistic, after all. Same goes for Jeremy. I know there hasn't been a lot of Mike, if at all, but I'm trying to built up a base before we bring him into the story, present time.

Review!


	3. Honey And The Jar

_Honey And The Jar_

"The New Year's Eve of our junior year," he pin points, and so he begins the long, complicated story of Quinn Fabray and the one that got away. Nodding decisively, he places his left hand on his knee, pushing back a misplaced bit of hair. Blaine Anderson feels like his high school boyfriend, Kurt Hummel. He shudders at the thought. Now isn't the time for him to ponder upon his estranged first love. It isn't healthy.

"Your Auntie Santana was throwing a party, and Quinn couldn't make it,"

"Why not?"

"She couldn't afford a babysitter. And…" Blaine trails off, desperately trying to think of a pseudo name for _him_. "Paulie Bleeker-"

"Isn't that the guy from Juno?" Beth pipes in.

"Do you want to hear the story or not?"

"Okay, okay! Paulie Bleeker what?"

"He spent new year's eve with her,"

* * *

><p><strong>January 31, 2010<strong>

"_I heard you couldn't make it," those pensive, hazel eyes break away from the oh-so interesting sight of Beth Fabray-Puckerman crawling on the carpeted floor. Yet she doesn't meet his own gaze, it simply lingers on the empty, oxygen filled spaces around him. He doesn't find anything too wrong with not having her gaze on his. It's less nerve wracking, standing in the middle of the tiny, studio apartment where the two Fabray women reside, that way. _

_Four city street turns, eight neighborhood blocks and two intersections away, in Lima Heights Adjacent, is Santana Lopez's annual New Year's Eve party. It's much like any typical high school party-a few kegs, wine coolers, loud music and the occasional game of strip poker. Probably the only special thing about the Latina's party is the presence of fire crackers and cheap champagne stolen from her father's liquor cabinet. _

_Currently, all of New Directions, Rachel Berry included, are coming together on the joyous eve of a new year. If anything, it's one of the very few times that all twelve of them willingly and rather publicly (because Facebook is public, despite the lack of physical evidence) come together. Thoughts of who's a Cheerio or a football player are the last things on their minds. It's somewhat magical, really. Something about seeing popularity conscious figures mixing with their previous victims gives Mike Chang, in all of his Nike clad, skinny jean-wearing, pop and locking glory, a bit of joy. _

_He always has been too kind for his own good._

_And perhaps it is this kindness, this unadulterated, genuine kindness that makes him leave the joyful, loud party with five different kinds of dip and Just Dance 3 to see the lonely, teen mom silently looking after her child._

_They've never had much of a relationship. If you can call silent acknowledgements in the east hallway, in which Quinn is on her way to Spanish class and Mike is rushing to get to the upper level just in time for Calculus, a relationship, then maybe they do have one. But in the more common definition of the word, they're mere acquaintances. _

_They travel two separate paths that have never intersected. Maybe it's time they do. Heaven knows their lives almost lives are parallel to the other's-never meeting, yet constantly similar. Family troubles and false expectations are just two of the many things that, surprisingly enough, they have in common._

"_You heard correct," she finally meets his gaze. He keeps it for a second. Very few instances did he get the opportunity to openly stare into those infamous, hazel eyes of hers. Why not take it while he can? "Beth didn't want to be alone and I couldn't… Find a babysitter," her voice cracks at the end. She's lying._

"_Beth didn't want to be alone," he repeats thoughtlessly. He doesn't say anything about how, from the looks of it, it's really the elder Fabray that couldn't be alone. Considering that her estranged boy toy, Sam Evans, already moved in on the lost cause known as Santana Lopez, Quinn didn't really have too many people to talk to. Brittany has already sparked a romance with the wheelchair bound, Artie Abrams. Kurt had brought along his "friend", Blaine Anderson. Even Mercedes didn't go alone, opting to finally ask out that seemingly nameless jock on the basketball team. In short, everyone was either coupled off or just didn't really care for Quinn. _

_Mike is, technically, both coupled off and didn't care._

_Except, not really. Because instead of attending the year long, anticipated party with his girlfriend, Tina Cohen-Chang, he's here. He's one half of a couple, and probably the least likely of any of the twelve New Direction members to care for Quinn. _

_But he's here. Despite popular belief (not that anyone ever thought to consider anything existing between the two of them) and expectations, he's here. And he cares._

"_I didn't know you ever knew where I lived," continues the blonde, standing up slowly. She's slightly wider than before. Sure, Mike doesn't sit around analyzing every curve on her body or every pound she may or may not have dropped, but there's enough of a difference for him to notice. Clearly, he isn't the only one. She places her hand on her stomach (he's unsure if it's out of habit from the past nine months of her way of hiding her belly from him)._

"_Puck would bring me here to play COD every now and then," she nods passively, finishing the short walk to the tiny kitchen. Arriving right in front of the fridge, she pulls it open, trying to find something. Seconds later, she pulls out a cherry wine cooler, hurling it in his direction. He catches it._

"_It's new years, no reason you should hold off for my sake," she explains curtly. She reaches for another wine cooler, twisting the bottle cap and practically chugging the fizzy content. He smiles politely, placing it on the shabby coffee table. If this is going to be the Quinn Fabray pity party, it would be good for him to remain sober instead of drink along with her._

"_Did Puck send you here?" _

"_I sent myself,"_

"_And here I thought Mike Chang could only function when given directions," it's meant to bruise his ego. It's a classic, pre-Beth comment that has lost its effect. It's a tad bit pathetic now. But he plays along. She needs this. She needs to cause pain. Maybe then the pain she had to endure would cease to exist._

"_You thought wrong," he shrugs, eyes cool and collected. He ignores his gut wrenching with the unwelcome atmosphere around him. He's here for Quinn. Even if she, and to some extent, himself, didn't know it._

"_Wouldn't be the first time, right?"_

"_Probably not," she walks over to him, her intense orbs burning holes onto his skin._

"_Why are you here?"_

"_I figured you could use someone,"_

"_I don't need anyone," their eyes meet, and it's like he sees her for the first time. He's known the girl for years, he sat beside her during the eight grade, they would dance together on random occasions and, just like many of the boys at McKinley, he's gawked at her perfect figure and Barbie doll face every now and again. But it's the first time he sees her; the wreck she's become, the vulnerability behind those guarded eyes, that strength motherhood bestowed upon her and the misery that followed. He sees Quinn Fabray for more than Quinn Fabray._

_Moments pass, and Mike's eyes now move away from those expectant hazel orbs to the Nintendo Wii game tucked away underneath the TV set._

"_Just Dance 3?"_

* * *

><p>Biting down on her lower lip, the blonde-haired beauty thinks to herself. It doesn't sound like anything unusual, anything special. Surely riding on Santiago Lopez's dirt bike at three in the morning was far more romantic than this love story. But still, there's something about the way Blaine made Quinn out to be so pitiful that made her keep those thoughts to herself.<p>

"But he had a girlfriend, right?"

"He _did_,"

* * *

><p><strong>February 14, 2011<strong>

"_Mike-"_

"_Don't," he hisses vehemently, casting his gaze away from Tina Cohen-Chang towards the sky or the ground or anything that wasn't her. He couldn't look at her. Her face screamed guilt and betrayal and dissatisfaction, but more than anything, it screamed a broken heart._

"_Artie…" Tina trails off._

"_Artie what?" he demands. Because he may be the silent Asian dancer in the background, and he may be kind, sweet-tempered Mike. But this, right now, isn't him. It's someone completely different. It's someone who betrayed one of his best friends, the sanctity of an exclusive relationship and took Tina for himself. And this, right here, is his consequence._

"_It's just, it's different with him," Tina admits in defeat. He should have known. He should have fucking known it was Artie. It had to be. Why else would Tina have turned down the immaculately decorated dining room to "talk" on Valentine's Day?_

"_How?" Mike had the doting boyfriend role down. He bought her unexpected roses on random days and kept his hands right where she wanted them. He befriended Mercedes Jones, her best friend, because it's his responsibility. He trusts her when she says she and Artie are simply working on a duet for New Directions. He does the acts that could have easily snagged him the perfect boyfriend trophy, hands down. _

_And yet Artie Abrams, who objectifies Tina and chooses video games over her, gets the girl. Where's the justice in that?_

"_I'm in love with him,"_

"_But you're not with me?" he snaps._

"_No," and that's all it takes for Mike to turn away from the girl who he, for the very first time in his entire life, believed he had loved and out onto streets of Lima. They were vacant, take away the children running around like chickens with their heads cut off. He couldn't be in her house anymore. He couldn't even go to his. He couldn't stomach the idea of seeing their entire dining room set up for the holiday upon hearing those words leave her lips. _

_But above all, he couldn't hold it against her. Or Artie. It's karma. Yes, that's what it is. Karma. For taking another man's woman. For believing his abs and thoughtless conversations about video games or their parents would be enough for her to fall in love. For believing that when she smiles and called him amazing and perfect, she was talking about him and not Artie. _

_Mike Chang doesn't know a whole lot about love, or anything about it for that matter. But if what they felt for each other truly is love, in it's grandest, sincerest form, then he finds it difficult to blame them. Abs and dancing could never compare to true love, no matter how much he wished it would._

"_You lost?" hesitantly looking towards the sympathetic figure beside him, he's caught off guard when Quinn Fabray is standing right beside him. _

"_You found me," he chides bitterly, slipping his hands into his pockets. His words don't make much sense, he's aware, but he says them anyways. He deserves that much._

"_Then there's no reason to be pouting like that, huh?" asks Quinn rhetorically. It's what Mike always found comforting when he and Quinn would spend Thursday nights playing Just Dance 3 with Beth and eating pizza with an unhealthy amount of bacon. Quinn always had something to say, and it almost always put him in his place._

"_What are you doing here?" if he recalls correctly despite his hazed mind, the blonde didn't exactly live anywhere near the Cohen-Chang's. The neighborhood was primarily middle class, minority families, a far cry from the lower middle class neighborhood she, Puck and Beth resided in._

"_Coming back from work," forming his lips in a small 'O', he nods. Right. A waitress at Breadsticks. He almost forgot._

"_And you?"_

"_I don't know," he answers silently._

"_You should," her eyes flicker from him to the home she recognizes all too well. Barely cringing or showing any form of shock or sympathy, she moves towards him, smiling as if she knows something he doesn't. As if she knows why he is so upset and why he shouldn't be. As if she knows more about him and his emotions than he does. Shifting uncomfortably under her burning, intent gaze, he feels her place a hand on his back lightly. It's simple and all too welcome at the moment._

"_I found you," she says with a coy yet sympathetic smirk. "You don't have feel lost," moving her hand away, he watches as she walks past him, continuing down the pavement. Standing there, awestruck, Mike speaks up before he could properly think his actions through. _

"_Quinn," he calls._

"_Yes, Mike?" _

"_Feel like doing something tonight?"_

"_Like a date?" she asks warily. Chuckling slightly, he shakes his head._

"_No, not like a date,"_

"_Perfect," replies Quinn, walking back towards him. Quinn Fabray may not be any Tina Cohen-Chang, and she may be a bit of a disaster as many of his fellow glee club members would say, and it may be stupid for him to be opening up the option of emotional connection to her of all people. But he does so anyways. _

_After all, she's the only one who found him before he almost lost himself to heartbreak. He'll deal with his heavy heart and anger later. For now, being found is enough._

* * *

><p><strong>April 1, 2011<strong>

_One slushie, Mike can handle. Two slushies, Mike can tolerate. But six falling down on him upon exiting McKinley High's shabby, tiny dance studio, it gets to him. Especially when the entire student body stood around, laughing to themselves, eyes on him and only him. He hates it. Silence is his solace. By living the anonymous, unnoticed life as a member of the Football team, Mike thought he had achieved the ultimate method of remaining unknown whilst in the limelight. By being a part of the beloved, albeit terrible, team, he secured himself safety from slushie attacks. Yet, by remaining quiet, going with the plays and wordlessly joining the team for Thursday night pizza at Breadsticks, he is able to go by unnoticed. _

_But this, public humiliation, it's a bit much for the boy who hides behind Finn Hudson and the rest of the jocks. A bit being an understatement. Jaw dropping, he feels at least three different slushie flavors fall on his back, followed by another three different flavors being whipped right at his face. _

"_Puck!" he can't see past the slush, but that flimsy yet aggravated voice doesn't go unrecognized. Quinn. Puck. Puck did this. _

_He hears the characteristic laughter echo down the hallway, before everyone else follows in suit._

"_What?"_

"_What was that?" she demands. He flickers his eyes open, pushing away the slush from his face. Puck. It's Puck who enlisted Dave Karosky and Azimio to assist in tossing slushies at his back. It's Puck who currently holds two large, mixed slushies in his hand, now emptied and to be found on his face. It's Puck who has made Mike subject to embarrassment. It's all Puck. _

"_April Fool's Day, babe" _

"_I am not your babe,"_

"_Fine, MILF" he excuses. But Quinn's already looking away from the hopeful yet aggravated eyes of one Noah Puckerman, turning to him. Yet instead of seeing that same sympathetic look she had the night of his and Tina's break up, there's a smile on her face. Scrunching his eyebrows together, he tries to gauge what exactly is going through her head. What was she doing? _

"_Follow me," she mouths, and before he knows it, cherry slushie isn't the only thing covering his mouth. No. Quinn Fabray is kissing him. In public. While covered in six different flavors of slushie. In public. She's kidding him. Oh dear God. He feels her soft lips graze against his own, every so simply and gently. He doesn't lean his body against hers or wraps his arms around her, for they've turned numb. The only living viable thing left in his entire body is his lips. Could he just live his life as Quinn's personal kissing machine? He wouldn't mind. Those damned lips. Just like those damned eyes._

_This damned girl would make him insane._

_And they're gone, those lips. She flickers her eyes open, grinning widely._

"_Your lips taste delicious," and before the now silent, awe struck students could react, she takes his hand and drags him away from the public eye of those around him. _

* * *

><p>"<em>Hey Quinn?" Mike asks quietly from the Fabray-Puckerman's shower. He and Quinn barely said anything to anyone after that public display of, well, everything. They just made their way out onto the parking lot, entered Puck's truck and drove to the other side of town until they found their way to her home. It's all one big blur from him really, for his mind could only focus on two things; the liquidated slushie making a large mess in his pants and that kiss. <em>

_Sure, his and Quinn's friendship definitely deepened since that faithful evening on Tanerry street. But his post break up woes and Quinn and Puck's on again-off again relationship made it difficult for Mike to move past friendship. Not that he wanted to, of course. Quinn and baggage went hand-in-hand. And Mike, as selfish as it may seem, simply couldn't handle baggage. Besides, the blonde is a better friend than she ever could be anything else._

_But that kiss. If anything, Quinn is definitely capable of helping him find himself before he loses it. Since that night at Tina's up to now, she's always found a way to assist him before he loses his way. And for that, he's grateful. But more importantly, he's sired. Never would he have imagined that he and Quinn would ever be friends. The Quinn's of the world didn't make the Mike's their friends, they made them another prom vote or someone to hold the door for them. Not a friend. Yet here they are, friends._

_Just friends, right? Quinn made that clear that night at Breadsticks after his and Tina's break up. Just friends. Friends who share secrets and play Just Dance 3 together. Friends who travel different paths, yet manage to hang onto each other. Friends who can kiss and still be friends, with no romantic notions and certainly no unrequited love blooming._

_But if that's the case, then they can no longer be friends. Because here he is, pulling over one of Puck's old shirts and a pair of sweatpants he had tucked away in his gym bag, thinking about all the ways he can trick Quinn to let him kiss her again._

"_Yeah?"_

"_How do I look?" stepping outside of the bathroom, he's caught off guard by a grinning, crawling blob of blonde and perfect known as Beth, crawling up to his leg. Smiling, he doesn't hesitate to pick the girl up in his arms. "How do I look, bumble bee?" he coed to the little girl. Such pure, innocent beauty in such a tiny creature. He's never been the paternal type, but who could resist falling for those expressive, dark brown eyes._

"_Ahem," Quinn's leaning against the door frame, arms crossed and smirking devilishly._

"_Bumble bee here better be careful, she already has guys falling all over her," Quinn comments, eyes sparkling mirthfully as she walks on over to the two. His eyes are drawn to those lips. How would he live without them?_

"_Like mother, like daughter," he mutters._

"_Honey and her bumble bee," Mike points first to Quinn, then to Beth, smiling at the nicknames he has been using on the two for quite some time._

"_And Puck's the bees' nest," she grumbles. He flinches at the sound of Puck's name coming from her mouth. Puck. It's all Puck, he has to remember correctly. Puck is Quinn's man, Puck is Beth's father, he's just the hopeless, newly proclaimed best friend with a Quinn Fabray lip fetish._

"_And me?"_

"_The jar," she returns simply._

"_The jar that keeps the honey together," Quinn says softly, winking at him. She's too perfect, that's the problem. She's too flawlessly, heartbreakingly beautiful and too wise and yet too broken at the same time. She's a perfectly imperfect mess that Mike needs to get out of his system. But she kissed him, she let him in, and now he's falling apart. He wants to hate her. But those damned eyes and damned lips and all her perfect damned words made him, well, damned._

"_You kissed me," he whispers._

"_And?"_

"_And did you do that because everyone was watching me?" she's silent for a bit, contemplating his words and more importantly, hers. Her hands move to the back of Beth's head, rubbing it softly and numbly._

"_I did it because you were watching me," she truly does have a natural skill for confusing the fuck out of him._

"_What?"_

"_You were…" she sighs. "The only person who truly watched me,"_

"_Quinn, what does that even mean?"_

"_It means," she begins pointedly. "That Puck, Sam, Finn, everyone-they don't see me. They don't watch me, watch for signals that I may be hurting or may be struggling or that I may be hurting. They don't watch me. I suppose it makes sense. Watching a train wreck like me isn't actually entertaining or joyful. But you," she smiles a bit. "You watch me and more importantly, you see me,"_

"_Quinn…" he trails off, breathe heavy as he lingers closer to her._

"_Mike," she catches his attention. "Slow," she whispers. "Please, just… Take me slowly,"_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Yes, this update took me forever. And I do apologize, but the semester's ending so exams and projects have been keeping me busy. I should be studying right now, actually. But hey, Fabang couldn't wait. This and one or two more chapter will be primarily flashbacks so you all get to see how Fabang came to be.

As for what Puck did to Mike, keep in mind that he is still very much in love with Quinn, but we'll get into that in the next chapter. How do you like it so far? I'm trying my best to not follow the same pattern as my other Fabang fics by changing things up a bit. Tell me what you think of honey and her jar :D **Review**


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Glee, Friendship, Romance