cruiscin_lan: (Default)
cruiscin_lan ([personal profile] cruiscin_lan) wrote2010-03-18 10:58 pm

FIC: gone in search of refuge

Title: gone in search of refuge
Characters: Finn/Quinn
Word Count: 1153
Rating: R
Disclaimer: If I owned Glee all proceeds would go towards the Howard Bamboo Legal Defense Fund.
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers up to "Sectionals," warning for dubcon and dark themes.
Summary: You said you'd do anything to make it okay.
A/N: Well, this is the opposite of what I intended to write today. Guess that cracky fluff is going to have to wait. Thanks [livejournal.com profile] cameroncrazed for beta'ing!




She follows him home because she doesn't know where else to go. All her things are at his house; at least she needs to get them. In fact, as soon as he opens the front door she makes a bee-line to the guest room and begins to gather her things.

"I'm not going to tell my mom." Finn's standing at the doorway, looking in but not at her. His hands are shoved into his pockets, and his face is red. "You should tell her."

Quinn's breath catches in her throat, and she nods in silent reply.

"You don't have to do it today," he adds. "You can wait until you have another place to stay worked out."

When she speaks, her words are stilted and scared. "I'm so sorry, Finn."

"You keep saying that," he retorts. "It's still not okay."

"I want it to be okay," she whispers, humbled. She plays with a shirt she'd been folding to put away, her fists getting twisted in the soft stretchy fabric. He's been there for her through everything, not just tolerating her but supporting her, caring about her when no one else did. She feels like she owes him so much."I want it to be okay more than anything."

But Finn's shaking his head outside the door, turning away from her. "I don't know how you can fix this, Quinn."

"Please, Finn," she panics, letting the t-shirt fall to the floor as she goes after him. "I don't know what I'm going to do without you," she says. He's already started walking back down the hallway, but she catches him by the arm and pulls him towards her. "Let me have one more chance. Please. Please," she pleads with him, her fingers getting caught in the hem of his sleeve. "I'd do anything, Finn," she continues, her voice reduced to a whisper, "please."

He shrugs her off and walks away without even looking her in the eye. She stands alone in the hallway, shifting her weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably as she watches him leave.




The light switch clicks; the room is bathed in yellow light. Mrs. Hudson's holding onto the door, leaning in, searching the room with her gaze until it falls on the reclining form on the bed. "Quinn?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson?" She'd been facing away from the door, but when her name is called she props herself on her elbow and looks back over her shoulder. She'd gone to bed early in part to avoid her, not trusting herself with her own secret any longer. She wonders if Finn kept his word, or if he'd already told his mom the truth. Quinn rubs the sleep from her eyes with the heel of her hand and bites her tongue.

"I can't find Finn," his mother tells her, worried. "He came home from school with you today, right?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson," Quinn says, her own words interrupted by a genuine yawn.

"He's not answering his phone." Mrs. Hudson lets go of the doorknob momentarily. Her knuckles are white. "Did he mention where he was going?"

Quinn has no idea where Finn might be; she hadn't even been aware that he'd left. She knows it's no use for Mrs. Hudson to worry, though, so she fibs a little. "I think he said he needed to blow off some steam."

"So he's out with his friends?" Mrs. Hudson asks, pressing for details.

"I think so," Quinn replies, justifying to herself that it's not a lie if it's probably true.

"And you didn't go with him?"

"It's been a really long week, Mrs. Hudson," she hesitates. "I went to bed like an hour ago."

"Sorry. Sorry," Mrs. Hudson repeats several times. "Didn't mean to wake you up." As she pulls the door closed behind her, she adds, "If you hear from Finn, though, just let me know, okay?"

Quinn nods. "Yes, Mrs. Hudson." The light goes off again, and she lays back down, letting her hand run thoughtlessly over the surface of her stomach as she falls back into an uneasy sleep.




The door creaks, and a slice of light invades from the hall. She's been sleeping fitfully all night, so she can't decide whether or not she's dreaming until she feels him climb into bed beside her, his weight shifting on top of the mattress.

She's facing away from him, but can't mistake his presence; suddenly she's wide awake. "Finn?" she mutters, confused. She's caught in the way the sheets have twisted as Finn pulls them.

"Yeah," he mumbles, "what?" The word comes out as a low, guttural sound, like a growl, and he leans into the space between her ear and her shoulder. His breath feels warm and wet and it makes the small hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

She turns her face towards him, but is instantly repulsed. "You smell," she remarks - it's unmistakable, the sour smell of cheap liquor that's passed around at school dances and during football games. She grabs the duvet and pulls it back over her neck to block his breath, but he yanks it away. She almost objects, but she feels exposed, and instead she draws her knees up and curls her whole body inward.

Finn paws at her arm, grabbing her just below her shoulder. "You said anything, right?"

"What?"

His breath is heavy. "You said you'd do anything to make it okay?"

"Finn," she tells him, "you're drunk."

"You said you'd do anything."

It's not a question anymore.

"What are you doing?" she asks, but she knows - she knows. She can feel his hardness pressed against the back of her thigh, and with one knee he tries to spread hers apart. He forces one arm around her, holding her flush against his body, while the fingers of his free hand get tangled in her hair. He's naked, and the fabric of her oversized t-shirt clings to his chest.

She knows she could stop him if she tried. She could push him away. She could cry out and his mother would hear. She could say something - anything - and he would stop.

She does none of those things; she simply splays her legs apart and lets him in, chewing her lip and praying for it to be over soon.

It is, but even then Finn's reluctant to let her go. He clutches her to him a while longer, in some poor imitation of intimacy, before he releases her and stumbles out of the bed. He's silhouetted in that cold light from the doorway as he runs his hand through his hair, mumbling something that even he can't hear. His breath catches in his throat, but he forces himself to say "Good night, Quinn," as he leaves.

She twists the fabric at the end of her pillowcase around her fist, and she pushes the cotton-covered knuckles against her mouth to keep silent.







[Poll #1539943]

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