Glee 1. what do you wanna marry me for, anyhow?

A/N: So I just want to go ahead and let you guys know that chapter fics are not my forte. Oneshots are for me. I lack the motivation to carry out stories. However, I sat down after watching a movie and thought "I wonder if there's a fanfiction for Quick for this." So I searched for it and searched for it, and alas, there was none! So I was disappointed for awhile, but this story just kept churning around in my head for more than a couple _weeks_. I could not just get the ideas to shut up! And hey, maybe if a potential chapter fic floats around inside my brain for so long, maybe it won't be so mind-numbing to actually sit down and write it!

So here it is, my newest attempt at a chapter fic. Please don't kill me if it takes forever. Feel free to bug me on Tumblr, though. Your enthusiasm inspires me to write more quickly!

* * *

_"Q!"_

_"Hurry up!" Quinn demanded of him, her thin legs working even as she turned to look back to make sure he was still following after her._

_At ten, both Noah Puckerman and Quinn Fabray were gangly, their limbs willowy. Puck, however, had hit a growth spurt a few months back and he looked nearer to thirteen than ten. He had an untidy mohawk, long and dark eyelashes that any girl would kill for, and wide enough shoulders that most of his shirts were five inches longer than they needed to be._

_A crackle of thunder resounded overhead, a bolt of lightning striking the rolling waves that stretched in front of the two children._

_"Whoa! Did you see that?!" Puck's voice was thick with the southern drawl that only someone very uneducated or very young could have. His long legs were quick to catch up with the girl in front of him, bumping into her bony shoulder a little. Her eyes were trained on the sky, thin lips mouthing what he knew were numbers, counting how far away the lightning was. She wasn't enjoying the thrilling weather, she was measuring the danger of it._

_Quinn looked exactly like she was ten. Her eyes took up about half of her face, Puck thought, and her dirty blonde hair still had that fineness to it, as soft as his baby sister's. Her mama liked to put it in braids all of the time, but Puck secretly thought she preferred it down._

_Apparently deeming the lightning far enough away to safely run across the beach, Quinn took off again, kicking up sand behind her as the sky got darker and darker. "I gotta get home or my mama's gonna kill me!" She called out in explanation, her own southern accent trickling into her words, though he knew her mama was coaching her to get rid of it. Puck took off behind her once again, but kept his eyes on the clouds. Her assessment was probably not as accurate as Quinn wanted to believe, not with the way the waves were rolling and the sky was moving. It was just like Quinn to go running into the danger zone in determination to stay out of trouble, but he didn't care so much. He thought it was safer away from the water, and he wasn't going to let her get struck by lightning. That, and she had yet to answer his question._

_"Are ya gonna answer?!" He called out, and ahead of him where he couldn't see, Quinn smiled to herself. "No!" She yelled back as thunder rumbled overhead, hoping her voice at least had remnants of confident rejection._

_Sidestepping a piece of driftwood, it was easy for him to catch up to the blonde girl in just a few strides. "No, you're not gonna answer, or no, you won't marry me?"_

_"Noah Puckerman, I'm ten years old!"_

_In a great sudden moment, lightning struck the sand in front of their small limber bodies, not but eight feet away._

_With a high-pitched scream that only a little girl could have, Quinn turned on her heel back to the forest, almost sinking into the sand with how quickly she pivoted, but was yanked back as Puck caught her elbow. He expected a glare from the girl, not a stricken look that made her eyes even wider. "This way!" He insisted in a sure voice, the kind Quinn usually carried around._

_It didn't take long for his reassurance to dissolve Quinn's panic, and within a matter of heartbeats they were standing at the small space where lightning had touched down. Some sort of clear liquid mass had formed there in result, steaming. Quinn's hand outstretched, just like he knew it would, and he was quick to grab her fingers. "Don't touch it. It's hot." He pulled her up quickly, forgetting as always that girls of his age weren't quite as durable as boys of his age. "We'll be safe here," He insisted, pulling her even closer so their arms touched, diffusing the space between them so there'd be even less of a chance of getting struck. "Lightning never strikes the same place twice."_

_His fingers, holding so tightly to hers, reminded her of their earlier subject, of his question spoken in the middle of a game of hide and seek, after she had so swiftly found what he had thought of as his best hiding spot. "What would you wanna marry me for, anyhow?" She asked, her fingers slipping from his and placing themselves on her hip._

_After a moment of realization, a half smirk curled up his lips and he turned to face her. He took a step closer, knowing it'd bother her because he was approximately five inches taller than her and she'd be reminded of that. "So I can kiss ya anytime I want," He insisted, his tone suggesting that he'd rehearsed it well in his mind._

_Her face went blank with surprise, and her lips parted to say something. But she was stumped. A loud loud crackle of thunder shook her to her bones, but she didn't move as he dipped his head lower to hers so he could press his lips into hers. Her eyes squeezed tight, and didn't open until the light blazing behind her eyes was white hot, just in time to get hit with a bolt of lightning._

* * *

Quinn's eyes opened.

Her heart was pounding, her blood was pumping, and she was suddenly aware that the weather in New York City was no longer mild like it had been earlier. It was storming, storming so hard that it could've rivaled even the Alabama storms that she knew so well.

The dream was reoccurring, almost always on the night of a storm. Probably because it was a memory, one she'd tried so so hard to repress. Of course, they hadn't been hit by lightning. It had only felt like it, really.

Swallowing hard, she sat upright and glanced around. Everyone was still at work, cutting fabric, modeling, stitching things up, the sewing machine the only thing cutting through the chatter and the sounds of the thunderstorm outside. No one had noticed. Quinn glanced down to the sketch she'd fallen asleep doing, the pencil in her hand having left behind a squiggly, evidence of when she'd drifted off. She quickly scrubbed it out and stood upright and walked with purpose, hoping her body betrayed none of her fatigue. Her only purpose was really finding a clock so she'd know exactly how long she had passed out.

"You know," a lilting man's voice interrupted the idle chatter, "Your accent makes reappearances when you're sleeping."

Quinn met eyes with her assistant, and then exhaled, busted. The room seemed to thaw out before her, because of course her impromptu nap hadn't gone unnoticed. They were just messing with her. "How come you let me sleep?!"

Kurt gave her a bemused smile and waved her off. "It was just a couple of minutes, and all we heard you mumble was something about high school football and pig intestines."

Her coworkers smiled at the joke. More than half of them were New York City natives, and it was often a running joke to poke fun at their boss's hometown. Quinn smiled herself, but it was out of relief. He was making it up, she could tell, because her dream had absolutely nothing to do with that and she remembered Kurt's reaction when she had explained that chitlins were a common appetizer back home in Alabama. "Right, well we better get back to work if any of us want more than just a couple minutes of sleep."

Kurt turned back to the model he was altering a dress for, a tape measure dangling around his neck, but mumbled something about needing some sugar to get him going.

And indeed, an hour or so later, Quinn and her various co-workers and models and seamstresses filtered out of her studio and Quinn began the early morning walk on the wet streets of New York City to her apartment.

Upon entering, she stopped dead on her heels. White, pink, and red rose petals made a trail from the door to her bedroom. Quinn felt a little like maybe she had slipped into another vivid dream as she followed it, and found bouquets and bouquets of flowers stacked along her dresser and coffee table and nightstand and vanity. But as her roommate slipped into her room with her arms folded across her chest, she knew she wasn't dreaming.

"Loverboy crawled in here around three am, but I was too drunk to care at first. Eventually, I came in here to make sure he wasn't digging around in your underwear drawer or anything, and almost puked. I listened to him go on about how proud he was of you for about ten minutes and how much he hated thunderstorms about five, and then just walked out. He said to tell you to 'Check the machine'." Santana, with her messy bedhead, left the stunned Quinn standing in the middle of her adorned room and Quinn obediently moved across to the phone sitting in the kitchen.

Jesse St. James' velvety voice filled the room. "Hi, sweetheart. There's a petal there for every time I thought of you last night. Good luck today and I can't wait to see you at the show. You must be so exhausted. Also, don't forget about Ireland. You promised you'd think about it. I love you."

Quinn grinned to herself, and nodded.

* * *

After what would be referred to as the most successful fashion show she'd ever seen to date, Quinn, Kurt, and Santana gathered up for photos. They all put on smirks for the camera. Quinn was only occasionally approached by paparazzi, but it was still often enough that she'd grown used to it.

"Quinn Anderson!" The reported exclaimed, clapping his hands. "We've managed to collect a few details about your life from other articles surrounding you and your work, but I was hoping to get a little confirmation and some deeper insight."

"Of course," She replied, stepping from between her friends and sitting down with the reporter, particularly ignoring Santana's sneaky look of knowing.

"First and foremost, I think the entire country is aware of your eight month long relationship with Secretary St. James, the mayor's son."

Quinn smiled graciously, happy that he'd began with her favorite question. "Yes. Jesse and I have been dating for awhile now and I think it's safe to say he's the love of my life." As soon as that last bit fell from her lips, her mouth had a bit of a metallic taste at the lie. She had pressed her past back, far back, but her consciousness knew what everyone around her did not.

The interview went on, where the metallic taste remained as she spoke of the Anderson Plantation, where all members of the Anderson family lived, which she was a part of, of course. She had been a cheerleader, and a pageant queen, but no, there weren't any videos or pictures left of her participating in either of them, courtesy of her publicist. She'd been accepted to Parsons School of Design, but did not enroll, sure that she'd skip the four years of college and start designing right away.

Lies. All lies.

Thankfully, a hand laid on her shoulder, putting a stop to her thoughts. She turned to see Jesse, smiling down proudly at her. "Hi!" She exclaimed, jumping up to embrace him. Of course, flashes started going off all around them, reminding her of her dream, but she ignored them. He bent down to speak into her ear, and she grinned before he had even spoken a word, picture perfect for the tabloids. "I have a meeting in the Bronx tonight before we meet my mother, so I'm asking my driver to just pick you up and meet me there tonight, alright?" He leaned back and she nodded, prompting him to press a tender kiss to her cheek and then retreating, some press following him away. The reporter had disappeared as well, and she stood alone until Kurt sauntered up to her side.

"Quinn."

"What?"

"He asked you to go to Ireland with him for Christmas, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"Sounds serious."

"Yes."

He met her eye and smiled smugly. "That's not all he's going to ask you."

Her face went blank with surprise. "Really?"

"Really. Oh, please let me pick out your wedding colors! And I don't care if Jesse has a brother, I'm still going to demand to be the best man. I'd say Maid of Honor, but Santana might claw me. Quinn?"

She was still looking a little left to his shoulder, and she blinked. "Yeah?"

"'Yeah?'" He mimicked, mocking the slight southern accent that had slipped into her voice just then. "You kind of went away there."

"Oh, I'm about to."


	2. rain on the roof of this empty house

A/N: My bad, you guys! Apparently, there has been a Quick fic done based on Sweet Home Alabama. I totally searched to see if it had been done before, albeit it was only a Google search, and nothing came up. Thanks for pointing it out for me, though!

Although, I hope no one minds terribly if I continue with my writing. I intend for this to get very detailed, very long, and very painful, but we'll see how it works out on the last one. I also intend for it to be very different. It will follow the same pacing of events and everything, but like I said, this is probably going to get very detailed and will not be exactly the same as the movie and definitely not the same as the other fic.

* * *

"I thought you were tired."

Quinn smiled against the skin of Jesse's neck, continuing to pepper it with kisses. Jesse's hands were held chastely at her waist, making no attempt to roam them up and down her body like she truly wanted them to. "Uh-uh," Quinn murmured, letting her lips trail to his cheek, to which she pressed long tender kisses to. She had long before pressed the bottom that shielded the driver's view into the backseat of the limo, and wasn't too concerned about whether or not anyone could see the couple through the tented windows.

"I'm so glad you said yes. I'm so happy that you're marrying me, Quinn. I've been planning this night for weeks. I knew this was going to be a big day, because of your show and my mother's fundraiser at Lincoln Center, and I wanted to make it even bigger."

Her lips ventured to the corner of his mouth, hoping to get him to kiss her back, but he continued to speak. "It was so perfect. I love seeing that ring on your finger." To make it boldly clear that she was not interested in conversation, Quinn kissed him on the lips, interrupting whatever stream of words were coming up next. She edged herself into his lap, kissing him deeply. Only a few seconds passed before he pulled away.

"Quinn, what's gotten into you? You're getting lipstick on me." She blushed a little, glancing down before, dejected, she moved back into her seat and clicked her seatbelt on. "I thought you wanted to wait?" Jessed prodded gently, still expecting an explanation.

"I do. I'm sorry. I just got carried away, I guess."

He laid a hand on her knee and smiled. "It's alright. I'm happy, too." The two exchanged a couple of charming smiles before he grabbed her hand, running his finger along the three karat engagement ring, which was a stunning silver and diamond replica of Jacqueline Kennedy's engagement ring from Tiffany's. "I can't wait to see the look on my mother's face. Hey, let's call your parents right now!" Jesse leaned down and snatched her phone out of her purse, already starting to scroll through her contacts before she snatched it back.

"No!" Off his look, she felt her cheeks flush with color and she took a deep breath to compose herself. "I-I mean, I haven't seen my parents in almost five years. It's probably better if I tell them in person… By myself."

Jesse looked quite confused about that last part, but accepted it all the same, leaving Quinn quite relieved considering she'd made up her excuse on the spur of the moment. Of course, her objection had not been because she was afraid of upsetting her parents. It was because if he had dialed the number still labeled in her phone as 'Alabama Home', he definitely would be surprised when the man who answered the phone wasn't her daddy.

"They are going to meet me eventually," Jesse reminded her.

"I know," Quinn allowed, flashing him a smile. "And they're going to love you. Eventually."

Jesse's face fell slightly at the last word, but eventually, he smirked. "Are you saying that because I'm a Yankee?"

Quinn smiled, because of course he'd jump to that conclusion, and she should've relied on that before. "Well, yes. And a Democrat," She teased, reaching her fingers out to lace them with his.

* * *

_Their fingers intertwined tightly as he pressed down onto her. Puck kissed her cheek softly, and let his eyes meet hers, the pain clear through them. He had to admit, the back seat of his beat up truck was not the ideal place he wanted to take Quinn Fabray's virginity, but the rain outside was not relenting and both of them had had a couple of beers. _

_The rain drops on the windows reflected a pattern onto her skin, and he thought it made her look even more impossibly beautiful. The fingers of his free hand stroked along her hairline for a few moments, still waiting and waiting for the pain to subside for her, though it was hell for him. Concerned, he glanced down on her. "Are you okay?"_

_She was eighteen and on top of the world, but to him, she still looked just as small and delicate as she had that day lightning had hit the ground mere feet away from them. And yet, she nodded her head despite the obvious pain etched into every feature on her face. "I will be," She whispered, gripping his hand tightly. "Eventually."_

* * *

The next morning, Quinn was quick to get into her car and get on the flight to Montgomery, and then drive the fifty minutes to Pigeon Creek. The night before at the fundraising event, Quinn had only been in the presence of Jesse's mother for an entire minute before she'd found the engagement ring underturned on her finger, and then held it out for every photographer and reporter in New York City to see. Now Quinn had to get home, and fast. Surely, Quinn's life in New York City was not going unnoticed by everyone in her hometown, but she doubted anyone had Googled her name in the past 24 hours at least. Quinn wanted to reach him before the news did. She didn't want him to know that there was a deadline to get things done, or else he may take longer just to spite her. She definitely wouldn't put it past him.

Her phone beeped, alerting her that a call was coming in and she leaned over to her purse in the passenger seat to grab it. "Hello?"

"Quinn Anderson, you are so dead."

Quinn jerked to look at the screen to see who was on the other end, but thought better of it while she was driving, and took a guess instead. "Santana?"

"Yeah, your so-called best friend. I can't believe I had to read that you were engaged to St. James in a magazine along with everyone else in the country, and _then_ I woke up to find that you had disappeared and took _my_ Louis Vuitton luggage with you to wherever the hell you disappeared to. What's up?"

"Crap, the bags are _yours_? I thought they were mine!"

"Whatever, I'll just buy another set. Now where the hell are you?"

Quinn blew out a slow breath, letting her tongue push inside her cheek for a moment. Santana was the only person in New York City who knew the truth about Quinn's past. She knew about her senior year, about Puck, about exactly why she'd turned down the acceptance to Parson's.

"I'm in Alabama."

"Oh my God."

Quinn nodded to herself, rolling her eyes a bit. "Yeah."

Quinn winced to herself slightly as she drove down the gravel road, rocks popping loudly underneath her tires. She always did hate that sound. Nowhere in New York City was it a problem. Quinn leaned over to make sure the envelope was still at the top of her purse, along with a brand new ballpoint pen, and put on her sunglasses. Getting outside of her rental car, she scowled at the dust settling around her. She really shouldn't have worn her Ella Moss dress out here, just to get ruined.

It was nearly one in the afternoon, but no lights were on in the house, but his car was in the driveway. Well, I'm not going to stand out here in this heat forever, she decided and walked up to the door. If he was asleep, oh well.

So Quinn spent at least three minutes banging on the door and looking into windows to try to see if anyone was coming before she'd looked underneath the swing on the porch to see if the spare key was still where she'd hidden it. Surprise, surprise, it was.

The door swung open to reveal that the house had changed since she'd left. It was a little unsettling. After making her way down mindnumbingly familiar roads and finding the familiar house still occupied by him and the key where she'd left it, she'd sort of felt like the only thing that had changed in Pigeon Creek was her.

The vases of flowers she'd had set up were nowhere to be found, the cushions on the couch were absolutely ruined and he'd switched the walls from a rich burgundy color to an industrial grey. The picture of them on their wedding day was still in its place on the mantle, though it was laid face down and had enough dust on the back of it to let Quinn know that it had been like that for awhile. The glass sculpture he'd given her on her sixteenth birthday was still in its place, too, but it actually looked like it'd been dusted.

Quinn was unsettled. The feeling of different but not different made a lot of memories rush back to her. Unhappy ones, yes, but she couldn't deny that there were some happy ones here.

She remembered that right after they'd moved in there, after their wedding, they'd only pulled a mattress into the middle of the living room and lived like that, unopened cardboard boxes surrounding them. They'd made love and ordered pizza and Chinese takeout and talked and slept there for three days.

She also remembered the day he found her on the floor of their kitchen crying because she had burnt their dinner for the umpteenth time and she was so sure it was a sign that they'd be a terrible family.

She remembered the look on his face when she'd taken her luggage by the handle and mumbled a goodbye.

A coonhound sniffed at the manicured toes that peeked out of her high heels, making Quinn jump out of her memories.

"I hope ya know that breakin' and enterin' can get ya up to ten years in prison. And that's only if it's a first offense." His voice was somehow hard and teasing at the same time, which made her believe he hadn't recognized her just yet.

Hesitating for only a second she turned to see him standing there, looking the same just like always. He was standing in the doorway of the porch, wiping his hands of grease with a rag. He should've been wiping his face, since that's what was mostly smeared with it. His shirt had similar smears all over it, leading her to believe that maybe once it was white, but now it was grey. His jeans were worn and torn in a way that told her they definitely weren't bought that way, and his heavy boots were worn down especially at the toes. He hadn't bought any new ones in five years? His face looked a little worn, too, but that was more do to with working in sun and less with age. His eyes were that same hard color of dark green, and his lips still had that same unruly smirk to them. She could tell that even through her dimmed sunglasses. And that damn mohawk still was sitting right on top of his head.

To him, he was seeing a girl who vaguely reminded him of someone, but he only let himself think of her when he was by himself, usually in bed late at night or when sitting quietly on the dock, a fishing pole in his hand. The girl standing before him had a figure like Quinn, but was taller. Probably because of the high heels. Her hair was a more artificial color than Quinn's had been, highlighted, thicker, and looking as if it had been styled professionally. Her clothes were spotless, unwrinkled, tailored. He could sense they were expensive even from where he was standing. Her lips were fuller than his Quinn's had been, her face rounder. She had still yet to grow into her eyes when he last saw her. This girl had, he could tell even through the sunglasses, and her face boasted of noticeable cheekbones. _Maybe it was Quinn, aged five years_, he thought idly, not really believing it. Maybe she was a figment of his imagination.

"I'm sure you'd know," She responded, stepping forward to him. His smile immediately faltered at her voice, unmistakable even when devoid of an accent.

"Quinn?" His voice was shocked almost.

* * *

"_Hey, Quinn!" A female voice called outside from the porch, and Quinn immediately knew it was not her mother or Brittany. It had to Puck's mother, but her voice wasn't normal, like maybe she was straining._

_Quinn swiftly stood from where she'd been sketching on the couch and headed towards the door. It was so nice and warm nowadays that Quinn preferred the outside temperature to the inside, and kept the front door propped open, but the screen door closed to keep out the flies and mosquitos. She could see through it that what Ruth Puckerman was stuggling with was a wiggling coonhound pup, trying to keep it from licking her face all over. With a curious smile, the eighteen year old Quinn nudged open the door and immediately gestured to it, causing it to switch it's attention from Ruth to Quinn and try to squirm out of her arms to get to her. "What is this?"_

"_This," Ruth replied breathlessly as she gratefully handed the puppy over to her, who Quinn let lick her cheek, but then held him a little away, prompting it to sniff at her clothes, "is the newest member of the Puckerman family. His name is Bear."_

"_What?" Quinn laughed, but regarded the puppy a little differently now knowing that he was intended to be hers._

"_Oh, you know Puck. He's all concerned about you being here alone all the time while he works. He's mentioned it to me about eight times over the past three days. I think he wants me to come over and check up on you more often, but I got a bar to run."_

_Quinn nodded understandingly. As sweet as his concern was for her, she felt a little like she was being babysat and fretted over. _

"_So I thought maybe I could get you someone to keep you company all of the time, but he won't be too big of a concern. He's a coonhound, he'll eat whatever, go to the bathroom whenever, and do whatever he wants to tire himself out." Growing tired of wrestling with the puppy, Quinn let him down inside, prompting him to go wiggle and sniff around the rest of his house, his nails clipping against the wooden floor._

"_Plus they're protective," Ruth went on. "He wouldn't let anything happen to you in his sight. Or the baby, when it comes."_

* * *

"I tried knocking, but no one answered," Quinn continued on her point, ignoring whatever emotions were stirring within him. "I guess you were working on something and didn't hear." With a sigh, she removed her sunglasses and folded them into her purse. "The key was in the same place, so I let myself in."

Puck looked like he wanted to step forward, but instead he stepped back. His lips pressed together in disapproval. Disapproval of her, probably. "Well my _wife_ never told me where she'd hidden it," He explained. As if set off by the slightest sign of hostility, the dog started barking its big booming bark.

Ignoring him as they always had when he did that, Quinn responded. "I'd be happy to tell you whatever you want if you just sign the _damn_ papers." Her heels clicking against the floor, she walked out onto the porch with him to offer a pen.

"Good to see ya got the message, then."

"Yeah, and every time you sent them back, it cost me. I have a lawyer who I have to pay three-fifty an hour. It's not funny. Joke's over." She held the pen out further in order to prompt him to sign it.

Puck took the pen, mimicked a thoughtful face, and handed it back. "Ya know, I figured my wife would be a whole lot more pleasant when she finally came home. No "Hey, honey. Lookin' good! How's the family'?"

The pen still pinched between her thumb and her forefinger in front of her, Quinn placed her free hand on her hip. Puck's smirk deepened, as if this common mannerism was funny to him. "I'm not your wife." Quinn said matter-of-factly, though factually, she was. It seemed as if Puck wasn't quite getting this through his head despite their five years of separation, so she continued. "I'm just the girl who climbed in the back of your truck."

For a fleeting second, Puck looked crushed. But he rearranged his features in another fleeting second, and Quinn was sure she imagined it. Maybe it was just the effect she wanted to see of him. Wanting to get it out of her head, she dug through her purse. "Look, I even got idiot proof tags and there's a copy for me, you, and the lawyers." He was still looking at her in a way like he wasn't quite sure if she was really there, and she wanted nothing more than to actually not be there. She wanted to be home in New York City, with her friends and her fiancé and not here rummaging through the dregs of her past life.

The dog was still barking, rhythmically. _Woof-woof-woof-woof_. It counted out every passing second of the awkward silence.

"Look, I just want to finish this. I've got a plane to catch."

"You're just gonna breeze into Pigeon Creek and then leave with your divorce?"

Making an annoyed noise in the back of her throat, Quinn tilted her head. Pigeon Creek was hardly on her list of priorities and he knew it. "I bet your folks don't even know you're here," Puck pushed, knowing he had the upper hand now.

He did have the upper hand. He could just as easily inform her parents of that with a matter of a phone call. Getting angry now, she exclaimed, "That's _my_ business!"

"Honey, that's the only family you got. Get your butt back in that car and go see your parents and then _mayb_e we'll talk about a divorce."

The dog's barking had grown louder and louder all the while, and both of them turned to snap at it. "Shut up, Bear!" Quinn exclaimed, her voice louder than Puck's "Shut up, Bryant!"

Bryant lowered his head and jumped onto the couch, coincidentally right where Bear used to sit curled into Quinn's side.

Taken off guard, Quinn glanced at Puck, a small amount of vulnerability slipping into her tone. "Where's Bear?"

"He died," Puck stated coldly. "You weren't here."

Turning into his house, he shut the screen door in between them, quickly locking it so she couldn't get in even if she wanted to.

The moment stilled between them, making a metallic taste returned. But the pen was still in her hand, reminding her why she'd come and what she was still lacking of despite the hours of travel.

"Puck!" She yelled, beating on the mesh just enough to make it rattle. It had enough holes in it as it was. "You dumb, stubborn, redneck hick! The only reason you won't sign these papers is because I want you to!"

"Ya know, you've changed into a hoity-toity Yankee _bitch_, Quinn."

Realizing that here, yelling at him through a screen door in the middle of an Alabama afternoon, she was not being herself. Stopping the banging, she huffed out a breath and ran her fingers through her hair to straighten it. Her voice softer than before, she met his eyes. "You're right. I have changed. I don't even know that girl anymore."

Puck rocked back on his heels and let his tongue run over his lips. "Well then," he said, grabbing back at the door. "Allow me to remind you."

And the door slammed between them, making Bryant bark all over again.

* * *

Please review.


	3. i am folded, unfolded, and unfolding

A/N: Hey guys. I know I've been taking forever to update. I've kind of been writing things out of order, whichever part I feel inspired to write, but I know I'm taking forever. I'll try to be better about it, pinky promise.

Also, please rest in peace, Cory Monteith.

* * *

"Subterranean Homesick Blues" played on Pigeon Creek's only radio. It took all two minutes and twenty-one seconds of the song to make the drive from her old house on the pond to her parent's house. It looked, like most everything else in Pigeon Creek, exactly the same like it had the day she'd left. The same stair on the porch creaked when you stepped on it, and there were still markings from crayons and markers and pencils on the doorway from where they'd taken Quinn's measurements on her birthday every year. Quinn stood two inches over the five-six mark, but that was only because of her heels. She hadn't gotten taller in the past five years.

Quinn had a hand on her luggage when she rang the doorbell and when the door opened, she didn't pause to look up until she was standing in the foyer of the house. Judy Fabray stood in front of her, her mouth slightly agape at the sight of her only daughter. "Quinnie," She said in bewilderment. Quinn noted that her voice still had that soft pleasant tone to it. It always had. "Hi, mama!" Quinn greeted her.

"Quinnie, we weren't expecting you!" _Well, I wasn't expecting to be here either_, Quinn thought to herself, but smiled. "It was a surprise," She explained. "Where's daddy?"

"Oh, he's still at work today." Quinn nodded, and a moment between them stretched. Judy regarded her daughter, and Quinn regarded her mother. Her mother still looked just the same, give or take a few wrinkles. Her hair was still the same blonde, her eyes the same twinkly blue, eyelashes incredibly long.

"Aren't you just skin and bones!" Judy exclaimed, taking Quinn by the elbow. Quinn frowned just slightly at that. She didn't think she looked too different from when she'd left, but she had gone for five years without southern home cooking. "How's about I reheat you some country fried steak?"

Pressing a hand to her temple, Quinn moved towards the general direction of her old bedroom, luggage in tow. "Actually, I was hoping to just settle in, make a few phone calls, and maybe take a nap."

"Just like that, you walk in after five years and don't even take a few moments to let your mama get a good look at ya?"

Quinn had heard enough. Enough from Puck about leaving because she didn't want to sit around watching him drink and stare at walls, enough from her parents about leaving exactly when that's what they had raised her to do, enough from Santana and her harmless but incredibly sharp snide remarks, enough from every Facebook message or voicemail or Christmas card someone from Pigeon Creek had sent her.

"Ya know, mama, you're starting to sound a lot like Puck." Quinn froze slightly at the vaguely familiar sound of a drawl slipping into her voice. It had taken her a good year to get rid of it, and in a matter of minutes in Pigeon Creek, it was back. If she said her 'I do' in a slow, thick accent, she'd never live it down.

"Oh." Judy said. "I see where your priorities lie. Puck first, then home." Quinn gave her a tired look. Caught, again. It was pretty clear to everyone these days that this was not her priority. Being here, being her parent's daughter, and her old friends' friend, and Puck's wife were the absolute lowest on her list of priorities.

"It was just unfinished business."

"Oh, unfinished business is all." Judy continued to say sarcastically as she edged herself into the kitchen, probably to focus her energy into baking despite Quinn's rejection of food at the moment.

"Well, nothing was stopping you and daddy from visiting _me_."

"Quinn, we can't just up and leave for New York City whenever we want. There's money, and your daddy has to take off of work, and I have to get somebody to water my garden for when I'm gone."

"Mama, I sent you both tickets with my own money. Daddy works at a railroad. I'm a fashion designer and even I can take off of work. Plus you know Ruth would've done it, no questions asked."

Wiping her hands on an apron that she'd slipped on, Judy shook her head so the blonde tendrils around her face would shake. "And what kept _you_ from coming home?"

_Memories_, Quinn thought, but she didn't dare say that out loud. "New York City is home. This isn't." With that, Quinn left her mother at work in the kitchen and made her way into her bedroom.

It looked the same too, of course. It was even a little cleaner than she remembered, but of course, her mother had more time on her hands with just the two of them in the house. Tiaras lined her dresser, and sashes hung up in the closet. Red and white pom-poms were tacked onto the wall, her mother's own addition. The old white wooden vanity had pictures of her lined around it. Pageant pictures, cheerleading pictures, yearbook pictures, pictures of her in her senior year when she'd won Homecoming Queen. The pictures that Quinn had actually put up herself weren't there. Not the one of her and Puck on prom night, not the one of Bear as a puppy, and not the one of Quinn and Puck on his eleventh birthday party, when he'd offered to let her blow out the candles and take his wish for herself.

It almost looked as if it had been prepared for the wave of curious reporters, pruned of any remnants of her relationship and marriage with Puck. Too bad she hadn't been too compelled to mention to the media that she lived in a tiny condo her entire life, right by the railroad tracks that kept her up countless days and nights.

Pursing her lips, Quinn shook her head to herself. Were her parents really mad at her for doing whatever it took to get ahead? She couldn't have revealed to everyone that she was born to teen parents, raised in a Podunk town, and wound up married right out of high school, not when she was just starting out. Rags to riches was inspiring and all, but it didn't matter until your riches mattered.

Sighing to herself, Quinn scooted into her tiny bathroom and splashed water onto her face, trying to clear her head. What could she possibly do to get her divorce? Why was Puck going so far with his refusal to sign the papers? How could she change his mind? What was she supposed to do if she couldn't?

Patting her face dry with a hand towel, she took a seat on the toilet, extremely grateful that her mother had replaced the cover since she'd been gone. Quinn had hated how the vinyl had rubbed off in one spot and the edges of the hole had irritated her legs whenever she sat on it.

* * *

"_Is your mama out lookin' for you?" Quinn said, her speech a little garbled from being woken up. Of course, Noah sneaking into her room hadn't woken up. The sound of his father's motorcycle roaring out of the driveway across the street had, and the train going across the tracks kept her up._

"_I dunno," Noah said from her bedroom and glanced to her momentarily from where she sat on the toilet seat lid before continuing his pacing. "I don't care."_

_Sighing for a moment, Quinn lifted her legs up so she could sit Indian style. When he'd snuck into her room, she'd only been wearing an oversized t-shirt and her legs were getting cold without the covers. He himself wasn't dressed for despite it being well past midnight, which told her that he'd probably been eavesdropping on his parents' fight for hours. _

"_What happened?" Quinn said in that serious voice that Noah openly teased. He said she sounded like the most grown up eight-year-old he'd ever met. _

"_He left, Q!" He exclaimed in a shaky voice. "Daddy packed up all of his shit and left without even telling me or Sarah goodbye. He said he wasn't coming back."_

_Quinn eyes had squinted slightly at the sound of the harsh cuss word slipping from her best friend's lips, but she exhaled slowly. She wanted to get up and hug him, but he wouldn't like that, not when he was angry. He didn't like being around her when he was angry, he'd told her once, because he was real stupid when he was angry. So him being angry here with her told her that him coming here had meant he couldn't have stayed home. "It'll be okay, Noah."_

"_Puck." His serious tone was rivaling hers now._

"_What?" She said, her eyebrows squinting together like her eyes were._

"_I'm going by Puck now. That's what my Little League coach calls me."_

_The idea seemed silly, like he was trying to lighten the mood, but she knew it wasn't genuine. Still, she couldn't help but to smile despite herself. "Since when?"_

"_Since my mama told me that I'm just like him!" His tone made her jump, mostly because she'd been so sure he was trying to joke and it was clear he wasn't. His expression went from hurt to apologetic, but he couldn't stop the outpour of distress. "Ya know what he did, right? He cheated on her, with some slut waitress, he said. Got her pregnant like he got my mama pregnant."_

"_Noah…"_

"_I'm not him, Q. I'm not Noah Puckerman."_

_Her expression was extremely soulful for someone who could only barely understand what was going on around her. She stood, careful to not let her legs get tangled up in one another and make her trip. Standing in front of him, she reached for his hand. "Okay," She told him. "You're Puck."_

_His eyes were red, but he made a show of not wiping at them. He looked at the blonde girl for a moment, and nodded. _

"_But for the record, I like Noah all the same. Noah junior." Quinn let her lips pressed together into a sad smile, hoping she hadn't upset her further with the reminder of his given name._

_He pulled her in for a hug suddenly, holding her tight enough that she sensed he needed it more than he'd wanted to let on. _

_It was silent for a long moment, but then Puck's hand went up to his wildly curly dark hair. A slow smirk curled up his lips. "I triple dog dare you to go get me your daddy's razor."_

* * *

Quinn's hand had lifted to hold her arm as the memory came rushing back to her. She remembered sitting again there while he stood on the stool in front of her sink so he could watch himself shave his curls off his head, leaving behind a strip of dark hair. She had teased him that he might end up scalping himself instead. She was terrified, really, that he really would hurt himself, or that they'd get into big trouble for doing this to his hair. Yet, she agreed. She didn't want to remind him of his father anymore than need be.

When Puck had insisted on being called Puck, all of the adults had insisted it was just a phase. But Quinn had understandingly stuck to the nickname wholeheartedly, and so the other kids had caught on soon enough. Now even his own mother called him Puck.

Clearing her throat, Quinn rose from where she had been sitting and placed the towel back before grabbing her cell phone out of her bag. "Mr. Beaufort?" She greeted her lawyer, and drug out the papers before her. She made sure her ring was still in its box in the pocket of her purse, and then continued. "How long does it take to get a contested divorce?"

Because the rental car was thirty dollars an hour, and Quinn had only been planning to use it for maybe four, she was quick to return it and resorted to walking around the small town herself. She was yammering away to Jesse on the phone about how things had been coming home until he interrupted her.

"Quinn," Jesse said, sheer amusement in his voice. "Did you just say _reckon_?"

Pausing on the sidewalk, Quinn glanced around to see if maybe he'd heard someone else's voice and then tried to remember exactly what she'd said. "Yeah. I guess I did."

"Hey, darlin'. We don't often see the likes of you around here in these parts!" A voice called out from a truck beyond the sidewalk, but Quinn ignored him. If she was eighteen again, she'd have just given him the finger. Scratch that. If she was eighteen again, Puck would've already threatened the guy for her.

"Who's that?" Jesse asked, foolishly concerned, as if he was about to do something about the man all the way from New York City.

"Just some backwoods hick," Quinn answered easily. "I'm ignoring him."

"Woo wee! Look at ya in that Kurt Hummel get-up!" It wasn't the nature of the remark that'd made her turn. It was the knowledge of who exactly had designed the cardigan she was wearing. Only one soul in Pigeon Creek would ever have enough curiosity to come to know that and that was…

"Blaine!" Quinn exclaimed, removing the phone from her ear and running towards the truck just as her friend opened the door and stepped out of it. He wrapped his arms around here and hugged her tightly.

"Well if it isn't Little Miss Fabray," He laughed at her, quickly slipping out of the mock Southern accent he had used to tease her. His actual accent was a lot less pronounced. "Or do I mean Miss Anderson?"

Quinn met his eye, knowing he knew full well why Quinn had dodged the tales of her past, and continued on her own subject. "I didn't recognize you in this truck."

"Yeah, Cooper gave it to me. He skipped out about five months after you did, but he went west, not north." Again, Quinn ignored the jab about her skipping out. Clearly, everyone had to get their grief out on the table before actually attempting a normal conversation. A muffled, "Honey? Are you alright?" came from her phone, and she brought it to her ear quickly.

"Jesse! I'm here. It turns out that 'backwoods hick' was just an old friend messing with me."

"Backwoods hick?" Blaine mouthed to her in amusement while Jesse expressed to Quinn his relief at her going unharmed. Quinn swatted his arm. He pulled her in by her cardigan to his side of the road so an oncoming car wouldn't bump into her. Quinn smiled at the familiarity. She'd been pulled out of the road once or twice before. This exact road, too.

"Hey, Jesse?" She interrupted him. "I think I'm going to have to hang up now. I just narrowly avoided becoming roadkill." Quinn laughed merrily along with Blaine's chuckles while Jesse sputtered.

"You did?! You really have to be more careful, Quinn."

"I know, but I have to go. Talk to you later. Love you." Quinn stuffed her phone in her purse and then smiled up to Blaine.

"Where are you gettin' to? I can give you a ride."

"I'm going, actually. I just went to the bank, where Marley Rose so graciously informed me that her husband had let it slip that Puck and I were still married."

Blaine reached back to scratch his head. "Yeah, Puck told me something about that once."

"Well, did he also inform you that that gave me full rights to a join account?" Quinn asked sneakily.

"Aw, don't mess with the guy's money, Quinn." Blaine gave her a disapproving look, but Quinn was unconcerned.

"I'll put every penny back," Quinn promised. "As soon as he signs the papers."

* * *

_Quinn wrenched open the car door, determined to walk out into the freezing rain even though her body begged to stay in the warmth of the car. "Quinn," Puck protested, leaning across her to pull the door closed. "Just wait a minute."_

_Silently fuming, the blonde leaned back against her seat and waited for him to do the same. Just as Puck opened his mouth again, Quinn pushed open the car again, this time not giving him any opportunity to stop her. She was mad, raving mad, and she wasn't going to let him make any explanations or try to convince that he wasn't anything but pathetic._

_The field party had cleared out, the grass all dead from the bonfire and red Solo cups strewn across it. A few cars had been left there like Puck's had been, evidence of people leaving with other people. Rain collected on everything, steaming. Quinn's dress was starting to feel heavy within seconds, and she stomped over to the tree, where she'd hoped she'd have some cover while she called Brittany to come and pick her up. A second car door slammed and a boy with a dripping mohawk and a storm raging of his own in his eyes made his way over to her. "Don't you come near me, Noah Puckerman." Quinn ordered in a serious voice, and he stopped in front of where she stood under the tree, his expression going quickly from pleading to guarded._

"_That who I am to you now, Q? Noah? My dad?" He asked, rain sputtering from his lips and she only glared at him, acting as if she was only paying him slight attention with the phone under her fingers. She had only said his full name in order to properly convey how absolutely serious she was about him not touching her, but it was kind of hard now not to think such things as 'The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.'_

"_Yeah, sure." She answered blithely. "What's the difference?"_

_The phone was held to her ear now, ringing as it tried to reach Brittany, but Puck ran his tongue over his lips and stepped closer to reach out and take it from her, quickly pressing the End button._

_Quick's glare only deepened and she reached out to grab it from him, but he held it even farther away. He was under the tree with her now, her back up against the trunk, but she knew he wouldn't dare place a hand on her. He'd never even made the slightest attempt to hurt her, not even when they were kids. Mostly, she was worried about her phone getting damaged from the rain._

"_The difference is," Puck said, his eyes searing into hers, "that I love you."_

"_No." Quinn replied after a moment's hesitation. If it was possible, she was even more furious than before. He did not, _did not_, get to say such a thing now when he'd done the unthinkable. Not when he'd been so unbelievably idiotic in a moment of passion and forgotten the most important thing he could ever forget. "No, you don't."_

"_And I'm sorry," He continued, a little breathless, as if she'd said nothing. She hated it when he did that. "And if I could change it, I would. I can't. But it's gonna be okay."_

"_No, it is not _okay_."_

"_No matter what happens, I'm here."_

_Quinn was ignoring him now, acting as if he'd said nothing. She moved from the trunk, closer to him but ignoring him altogether. She reached out to pry her phone from his fingers, but he held it too tightly. "Give me my phone."_

"_Quinn, just please-"_

"Give me my damn phone_, Puckerman!" With an angry look exchanged between the two of them, he released it and held his hands up as if in surrender._

"_Fine." He started towards his truck while she dialed Brittany's number again, his long legs easily making up their distance in a matter of moments. As he turned to get into his truck, he cast a look over to her as she cursed and tried getting ahold of someone else. Finn, maybe. Her arms were held closely to her and with the rain drizzling down on her, she looked a little helpless. _

_Quinn was in the process of debating the consequences of calling her mother or father when she looked up to see him walking to her again, albeit a little more calmly than he had before. "Just let me drive you home."_

"No_._"

"_I just wanna make sure you get home safe."_

_Her eyes flashed at him at the word 'safe' and he ran a hand through the wet strip of dark hair on his head. _

_He sighed and stood for a few moments, hoping for a response. Gradually, his shoulders slumped until he looked absolutely defeated. His hazel eyes were surprisingly bright as he looked at her. "Quinn, I'm sorry."_

_Quinn finally glanced up at him, the muscles in her neck tightening as she swallowed and took a very deep breath. Puck prayed she was trying to soothe herself so she could rationally accept his apology. But she just glanced down to find that Blaine had answered her call and looking relieved. "Hey," She murmured into the phone as she angled her body away from him as if he wasn't there. _

_Rolling his eyes at her stubbornness and hurt by her disregard of his apology, Puck felt his hands ball into tight fists. "I'll call you tomorrow," He said to Quinn, who was in mid-explanation to Blaine, and turned back towards his car._

"_Don't." She replied, and he had to turn to look at her to make sure he hadn't imagined it and she was still mumbling to her phone. But she was looking straight at him. "I'm serious. Don't call. Don't talk to me ever again. As far as I'm concerned, this night never happened."_

_She held his gaze unflinchingly for a long stretch of time. Puck felt like he was curling within himself. It felt like he was peeling himself from her when he finally turned back to the direction of his truck with a set jaw. _

_Yet, he didn't even fire up the engine until he saw Quinn settle into the passenger seat of Blaine's rundown pick-up, her lips pursed and her brow furrowed._

* * *

When Puck's tiny yellow plane landed smoothly onto the dock, he should have noticed how Bryant's ears perked up with eagerness. He only ever did that when the smell of steak was near, and Puck sure as hell hadn't been home to cook any. As a matter of fact, Puck couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten anything other than microwave dinners and pizza without his mother bringing it to him in a plastic container.

He should have noticed it, but he didn't. His thoughts were too tangled up in shiny blonde hair and light green eyes. Quinn Fabray, sweeping into Pigeon Creek like the ghost of his past, smelling a little like honey and making everything in town look dull in comparison. Literally. Her highlighted hair and polished nails and tailored clothes were better suited for taking a walk down Times Square or for posing in front of the paparazzi in Hollywood, not the cracked and worn sidewalks of her hometown. It was a wonder she didn't trip over every crater in the concrete with those heels. But she'd sort of always been that way, smoothly blending into her surroundings, whether it be a muddy sandbar at the lake or in a baby blue jeweled prom dress that looked suited for royalty but fit her perfectly…

But damn, if she wasn't a bitch. She'd always been one for the arguing, but at least then he knew that she was probably just hormonal and would still end up tucked into his side come bedtime. Now… Maybe she really did hate him. Maybe she really did think he was an idiot. Oddly enough, she was exactly what he'd expected her to be when she finally set foot in Alabama again, which was only odd because this was the first time she hadn't surprised him.

He'd been lost in thought about his wife as he tied up the plane on the dock and started down it. It wasn't until he realized there wasn't a whining coonhound wounding its way around his ankles that he even lifted his eyes up to his house. The lights were on, the yellow light visible in comparison to the dimming light outside. Bryant wasn't on the porch, but his senses had been right. That _was_ steaks Puck smelled.

The second thing Puck noticed was that the screen door had been replaced. Had his mother come to coddle him because of the news of Quinn's homecoming? No, he decided after a moment. His mom wasn't like that. That was more Judy.

And yet, Bryant was laying on his back on the couch, and he only ever did that after receiving a belly rub. The lights were brighter, more white than yellow, which meant someone had changed his lightbulbs. A rug had been added to cover up an old stain in the carpet, and pillows and a doily had been added to the couch. Things had been dusted, but he noticed that whoever the intruder was, they hadn't bothered to fix the wedding photo. Indeed, there was the smell of a normal homecooked dinner wafting from the kitchen. Steak, potatoes, garlic bread… Some kind of candles were lit around, smelling like apples. There was only one person he knew who liked the smell of apples…

A small ache of familiarity tightened his chest, and his eyes were already set into a glare when Quinn glided out of the kitchen, her old apron tied around her waist, her blonde hair twisted into a bun. With an air of triumph, Quinn mock-smiled in greeting, her lips tight at the edges. "Hi, honey. Lookin' good. How's the family?"

She was shoving his words down his throat, and his glare did not relent. "What the hell are you doin'?"

"Oh, nothin'. I thought about it, and if it's a wife you want, that's what you're gonna get. I did some redecoratin' and spruced up the place. Do you like it?"

Her voice was still dripping with sarcasm and double meaning. He got it. It was either sign the papers or be tortured with the past _until_ you signed the papers. Well, it would annoy her to have to keep up with the charade for too much longer. It would annoy her a lot more than all this would bother him. "Oh yeah. I love all this frilly shit. I mean, you cleaned up and cooked dinner. I can deal with this. After all, you haven't been around to take care of your house for the past five years."

But Quinn was expecting that. She had a lot more than just this up her sleeve. "Fine. Eat up. I have to place a phone call anyways."

So she moved onto the porch and sat on the porch swing, Bryant happily following his new favorite person to lie at her feet while she dialed her fiancé. Puck knew that was what she was doing. Why else would she be putting up with all this? Why else would she be in such a hurry to get back to New York? Surely, if she just wanted his signature, she could've forged it herself. She'd made way too many comments on his awful handwriting before to not remember how to copy it.

But she wanted him to sign his own name at the bottom of that paper, she wanted him to promise that he wouldn't come around looking for her with bouquet of half-dead tulips in New York City one day.

Suddenly, the steak he was eating wasn't going down as easily as before.

After a good silent fifteen minutes, Quinn came in as he was scraping the steak bone into Bryant's dog bowl and folded her arms in front of her as she leaned against the kitchen counter. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Hell yeah," He answered with a smirk. "Bout time you cooked something."

She sighed, the pretense given up. Whatever her conversation was about, it had worn her down. He couldn't imagine what would be going wrong in her picture perfect New York life, but then again, _he_ was what was wrong with it. It's the only reason she was there.

"It's not my job to cook anything. I'm not your wife, Puck."

"The state of Alabama seems to disagree."

There was a pause in the conversation, full of meaning and then her bright green eyes raised to his, a sardonic smirk on her lips. "Yeah, well, the state of Alabama granted me access to your house and all fifteen grand of your bank account."

It was silent for a moment as Puck dropped his plate into the sink, and then "_Son of a bitch_."

Quinn was on his heels in a second, following him into the tiny living room. "You want a wife, you got one."

"That is not your money. Goddamn it, Quinn! "

"It's probably not yours either! What are you even doing with all that money? Finn told me you long ago quit your job at the tire store. Are you doing anything illegal?!"

He frowned at her, his eyebrows lowering as he ran possible explanations through his head before throwing his arms up in the air. "So what if I am?! That's _my_ business!"

"It won't be my business if you just sign the _damn_ papers!"

"So that's your plan, huh? You come in my life, you mess with me, try to get me to do what you think you want me to?"

"What do ya mean 'think I want you to'? I know I want you to. I don't want to go another night being your wife!"

"Well, sorry, princess. We all can't get everything we want. I didn't." And with that, Puck stalked into his bedroom and slammed the door shut, the lock clicking into place. Bryant made a low yelping sound, but curled up again on the couch.

* * *

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End file.

Glee, Hurt-Comfort, Romance