…and in the end, shoot back.

They always knew that they wouldn’t have time. It wouldn’t be on their side. It never had been and if they were both to remain as they were. One human, one vampire. Time would never be on their side. Quinn was doomed to be the one limited and Puck was doomed to be the one who had to deal with it. But, time had never been truly placed before her as it was with each drop of blood that left the upper half of the hourglass. 

Out of everything that she had bore, everything that she had lived through and dealt with. The chaos of their apartment. The discord that was a snake as it slithered and wrapped itself around their lives. Each drop that joined fallen. Quinn was beginning to question her ability to handle this. Not if everytime she closed her eyes, she saw the sickly grey shade to Puck’s skin as he lay shivering on the bed. His fingers weakly reaching towards hers—Les was right…she hadn’t reached back, but that was…that was because she couldn’t move. She couldn’t move or speak or even think of anything else but the fact that this was so wrong…You always heard mothers saying that a mother should not outlive their child—and the thought of outliving her vampire made Quinn sick…and she couldn’t move..she couldn’t move as her body collapsed on the floor, shards of the teacup, discarded as every other reminder of what had occurred while she was asleep, piercing through the scrubs and imbedding into her skin until she decided to move. 

She didn’t feel it for the most part. Couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t process. Puck didn’t leave her. This wasn’t a fight. He was dying. Dying and there was nothing in her power to fix it. No one she knew was powerful enough to right it. And what hurt more was in those long hours, long where she merely watched the blood drop—transfixed on the fact that pretending to be strong couldn’t handle the force of the hell her life was painting. Quinn couldn’t be the strong one of the two. She wasn’t supposed to be. She wasn’t supposed to be the one that outlived him either. And even though she wanted to believe that in the eleventh hour that something…some higher being that might still care for her….some miracle could take this out of her hands and fix it for her. 

Quinn wasn’t stupid enough to put all her faith in this. She wasn’t stupid enough to ignore Les completely. She knew that this could end badly. With Puck gone…dead. And she doubt that like Les, he’d appear again. Quinn couldn’t imagine. Living without him. Existing in a world where he didn’t. Despite, Les’ taunting, Quinn didn’t know how to be a real girl anymore. And she knew that there was no one that would ever—-no, Quinn, after hours of sitting, letting the room darken as the sun fell, Quinn couldn’t begin to act as though he was already gone. 

Even in the darkest of days, hope could prevail. There was just this sinking feeling that it wouldn’t. Not for her. Not for him. There were many doomed lovers who had walked the earth and an overwhelming feeling that they were another set of them, and Quinn wanted nothing more than to grow old with Puck—even if he didn’t do it with her. She wanted a boring normal life. But she was dealt this one. Quinn couldn’t give up completely because of his state…the fact his hours was limited or the fact that as she pulled the glass from her skin. She needed to clean up—needed to think clearly…she was pissed. Quinn was utterly pissed at Puck. Making some kind of deal with Les…listening and letting him do that…after everything from the sex to the pregnancy. 

She was going numb from the range and severity of the emotions overrunning her. Numb was good. Numb could mean that she could at least continue to pretend to be strong because the moment that any of those emotions fully kicked in, Quinn was done for. She would sink into them and let those bad thoughts—the ones that lacked hope. The ones that were realistic and sickening. The ones that right now, she needed to stay away—at least until she didn’t have more options. 

Options. 

The first was a few phone calls. The manor in Anderson City. Even though none of the family was currently residing there since Blaine had became Prince of New York. Quinn suspected—and was correct to find that some of the servants were still up-keeping the place. That trail died as quickly as it started—it made sense at first…and even though she was vaguely suspicious that it could be a servant forced or Les deceiving her, Quinn knew that it was almost too obvious to the line of thought that since it had been the home of the majority of Les’ inflicted pain—even though he claimed to be trying to help Puck…free him of her. Unlock his true potential…It all made her sick. She had seen—a degree of what Puck was capable of…a larger portion of what Les could do…and to think that the man she loved could ever be anything like…that

Two more equally pointless calls to Blaine and Vivica. The details couldn’t leave her, her ability to speak the truth—what hang in the balance…it would’t leave her tongue. Admitting it out loud that Puck was dying was solid, more so than some pesky dark thoughts that slinked along the shadows of her mind. It was easier to just let them both believe it was a lover’s quarrel gone amiss. Anything was better than the truth. Anything better than solidifying what her mind was torn between believing and denying. 

And then…as the dark seemed to only surround her more. Her fingers never once inching towards a light, letting it just seep in around her as she prepared…for battle, for loss…her eyes barely leaving the hourglass…she started to replay…

Replay every word Les had said. From the explanation. Her hand sliding over her stomach just because…she hadn’t felt the child there. The pregnancy hadn’t even lasted long enough for her to feel any changes in her body…and yet it was what had caused it—and Les was the one at the helm, but it was this life force—-this gone life force that she had helped create…that was killing Puck’s..her fingers tightening into fists at her side and the anger seemed to take hold for a while…before she just replayed again. All the memories. Hoping at least one held a clue, but nothing…she could find nothing in the memories that hadn’t been her own…nothing in the ones that had. 

But somewhere in the wee hours. When nothing but the creatures that would terrify the mortal and the sane should be awake, and Quinn surrounded by the dark, struggling over thoughts that were too processed for her mind—too underdeveloped to fit. That’s when she remembered, not exactly remembered but every other mental avenue had taken and found it’s dead end…this one—overlooked because she was still dizzy from the transportation between where Puck was being kept and her apartment. Overlooked because she was draining, becoming a husk that didn’t know anything but despair and anger. One that almost broke her phone merely because Les was still texting it. Mocking her. 

Everything that has a beginning, has an end. 


It was so simple. So telling. Quinn, who had spent hours, hours stressing over it. Torn between an overload of emotions and fighting with her own thoughts…Quinn only became angry with herself for being so…so obnoxiously human. So caught up in some deeper meaning. Determined to find ghosts where none walked. All because she thought it meant more. That everything was more than the fact a cruel man couldn’t understand that not everyone was cut from his cloth. She didn’t regret that she had made Puck feel…made him soft. She didn’t regret any of it…and that was the line of thought that brought her back to Boston. Back to the first night. Waking up…dazed and pissed. 

Back to the beginning. 

Puck had to be there. He had to…and she was shoving things into a small duffle…her wallet, phone…anything she needed to fly out. There was no way she could drive. Not in this condition. Quinn didn’t trust herself to drive to the airport, a redeye booked immediately for the morning and a taxi that she rushed when the sun rose. She had to get to him…she had to pray that she was right. That he was there…this was it. Quinn couldn’t find another route…another place, it had to be his home in Boston…she had to get there. The hourglass left in the destruction that had been her home, merely because she couldn’t take it…couldn’t stress over the fact that it might be the last hours she ever spent with him…if Les wasn’t there…provided he’d be gone and she could actually see him. 

Her hands shook the entire time. There was too much. She needed to be numb but every moment had that wall cracking…emotions trying to pour in. But she couldn’t give in—not to this. She could give into anything else but not this..not with this little time left—what could be her only time left with Puck still…

Her voice was harsh. Barking at the cabbie. She almost wish she had drove. Puck’s car could have gotten her there in no time and she wouldn’t have been stuck on a plane…or in a stupid cab with a slow driver who didn’t understand what a hurry she was in. But she’d have crashed, thought those awful thoughts and not been able to sit through them…she’d have crashed and they’d both have been doomed…and her last time seeing him would have been at Les’ side…making no movement or sound to him as he barely spoke. "Better this way." No. No, it wasn’t, Quinn’s teeth were grinding together because nothing was better about this situation. Nothing

Nothing…but the fact that as the cab finally made it to his home. Quinn almost falling out in her rush to make it to the front door. Her body pushing hard as her hand turned the front door…it was unlocked—not surprising at this moment…and for some reason she was still out of breath from her cliched, but necessary run through the airport. She prayed, bounding up the steps that Les wouldn’t be there…prayed, but knew in that moment…that in the eleventh hour…should it reach. Her limits on what she would give for him to fix this…they were gone. Puck couldn’t die, not if she had anything to say with it…her heart fell…dropping and shattering as she reached the bedroom door…Quinn was scared. Unable to act strong. Fearing what lay behind it. Be it hell or high water, she forced her wrist to turn, the door slowly opening at her will. 

1 year ago on 21 May 2012 @ 8:16pm 6 notes
  1. firstblood-and-lastlaugh reblogged this from q--fapray and added:
    q—fapray: “I’m saving him from you.” A soft chuckle was Les’ initial response — a sound of amusement that was quiet and...
  2. q--fapray reblogged this from dontgivea-puck and added:
    Quinn couldn’t understand it. Before she had written it off as a misguided view of the dead. Written it off as family...
  3. dontgivea-puck reblogged this from firstblood-and-lastlaugh and added:
    It turned out your life did flash in front of your eyes right before you died — even if for the majority if your life,...