Author's Note: I published this on LiveJournal a while ago, and I finally decided to publish it on here too because I've gotten back into recently. I love this pairing, and I hate that there aren't that many Sue/Shue moments anymore. But anyway, I hope you enjoy!
Summary: He is bound, chained by her strength and his misery.
He stands before her, yet again. He stands far away and yet too close. He wants to turn to run away, and, eventually, he will, but not now. And even when he does, he will be back. He always comes back.
She is riddle, wrapped inside an enigma, buried inside a snarky beast, ready to fight away any kind of emotion, any type of kindness or humanity.
She draws him to her. And he, a masochist, will always be a glutton for the type of punishment that only she can provide.
He is bound, chained by her strength and his misery.
"Leave," she calls to him, and he is helpless but to listen.
She stands tall and alone, always alone. Her megaphone is in her hand, Becky is by her side, and her squad is in front of her, salivating like pups awaiting some bit of worthless praise.
"Awful!" Her cry is emphasized by the megaphone in her hand. She storms from the gym, angry without a cause.
She hears his talentless little brats singing and almost pauses to call the cops about the horrible disturbance, but she doesn't. Instead, she pauses just outside the door, watching.
She is drawn to him, the negative to his positive. She will never understand. It is almost as bad as comparing the disgusted Botox-gone-wrong that is Newton-John to that of the Queen, the highest power that is Madonna.
She hates him more than she has hated anyone before, and if it wasn't for certain talents of his that don't include rapping, he would be dead, killed in a scheme that involves three midgets and a ketchup-filled bottle of hair gel.
But as much as she hates him, she is addicted and wants him.
He pities her and envies her.
He pities her for her loneliness and her absence of heart, but he envies her strength and her victory. He envies the way she is put together: a tracksuit absent of self-doubt and heartbreak.
But what he envies is what he pities, and all he wants to do is help her.
Ever observant, she watches, watches the flirting, the touches, and the caring.
"Becky," her voice is strong, and she straightens her shoulders. "Fetch me a trash can. I'm about to spew all over their ridiculous mating rituals." Her lip upturns in disgust, and, hearing her, he turns slightly and catches her eye.
The world is wrong, but they are right, and she might truly be sick.
She eventually stops coming by, but he doesn't ponder about reasons and meanings.
Rather, he sulks alone, thinking of her and him and, God forbid, them. He wishes he had paid more attention and committed more to memory because, for all the darkness that she brought to him, she sometimes brought light too.
He walks carefully balanced on a tight rope among his classes, Glee club, and his absent personal life. He strictly avoids her, in the hallways, in the teacher's lounge. Because if he were to fall or even tremble slightly, he would not be able to stop himself from running to her and begging on his knees for her to make things wrong again.
She practices more strenuous cheerleading performances, yells just a bit louder, and insults just a bit more viciously to make up for her weakness. And she isn't avoiding him, she just turns around and goes in a different direction when she sees him because she pities her eyes and her nose and doesn't want them ruined by the pathetic sight of him and the smell of his cologne bath.
"Sue, Shue!" Principal Figgins yells at them, and, for a moment, it's like old times; but then he looks at Sue and she is avoiding his eyes, and he remembers that everything is different. "What is wrong with you? One moment I have to pull you off of each other to keep you from killing each other and the next I see you avoiding each other in the hallways?"
"What, exactly, is the problem?" His mind is clouded in memories and fantasies, and he blinks to clear them all. He hadn't allowed himself to think of even speak of her in so long that now that he does, his brain is overloaded.
"The problem is that the two of you, the coaches of two of the most talented group of students at McKinley should not be acting like hormonal teenagers!" He exclaims, "Which is why I am recommending that the two of you have a group session with Miss Pillsbury."
"These problems that the two of you have had… could you share your feelings on them?" The dirt on the bottom of her Nikes asks. A shudder runs down her spine at the weakness in that voice, her voice, not the mention of feelings.
The two of them sit on opposite sides of the room and stare at the walls.
"No," she spits out firmly.
"Okay, then is there anything that you would like to say to the other?" Not-So-Raggedy Anne continues, and she rolls her eyes. "Will?" The way that she says her voice makes Sue's fingers curl into fists and her knuckles turn white.
She is about to stand and rage about the absurdity of this entire charade, but then Nancy opens his too feminine mouth and whispers, "Why?"
She looks at him, shocked by the boldness of his question. Not frightened by the emotional weight of the question, but rather disgusted at it, she runs.
When he follows her into the hallway, it is obvious that was the move that he wasn't supposed to make.
"Sue," he calls, but there is no falter in her step.
"No, Shue, you made the one deadly mistake. You are weak. This is over."
"I thought it already was!"
She stops at the end of the hallway for a moment before she turns and disappears from his sight.
"Will?" Emma calls out to him in a broken voice.
She is in the middle of draining her eighth protein shake of the day when she hears voices down the hall from her bedroom.
Will Schuester stands in her living room.
"Imelda!" Her voice cuts through the friendly small talk like a knife, and immediately the air of the room changes. "What did I tell you?"
"I'm sorry, Miss Sue, but-"
Imelda immediately gathers her things and quickly leaves all while murmuring useless apologies.
"Sue-" He reaches out to her, and she flinches back. Feelings. Emotions. She's about to be sick.
"Go." Her voice is quiet but still in firm control. She turns away to leave the room herself, disgusted that this is not the first time he has been in her house.
"I don't love you."
She shuts her eyes and listens to the sound of the door opening and shutting and the sound of fading footsteps.
He throws the last paper in his desk and records the last grade before leaning back into his chair. He is tired but not sleepy and happy but unhappy. The pale light of his class contrasts with the darkness of night, and he sighs at the passing of another night at work.
He gathers his shoulder bag with other papers and walks out into the hallway just as she is turning the corner. They stop once they see each other.
His bag clatters to the floor, and he is helpless but to rush to her.
Their lips crash together, all teeth and blood.
Her fingers slip into his blonde locks and pull, holding his mouth tightly to hers. In response, his fingers dig painfully into the skin of her hips. She gasps at his mouth as he pulls back sharply, moving his lips to her neck and biting at the sensitive flesh he found there.
There are no soft words spoken or gentle caresses. This was them: him and her and their flaws, open for the other to see.