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It’s almost seven o’clock on a Thursday morning and Emma is waiting in Sue’s office, piping hot latte in hand. The coffee is a peace offering, and most certainly not an apology. Because that would imply she was guilty of something, admitting it to one of the meanest, most frustratingly outrageous people in all of Lima, Ohio. Maybe the world.
But the truth is, Emma does feel guilty. She’s been thinking about what Sue told her, turning it over in her mind, playing it on repeat like the lyrics of a sad song. Her inner psychologist is kicking her for failing to make the connection sooner.
Because she relates to Sue’s childhood, and thus can’t help but internalize Sue’s resentment of a God who would allow such cruelty. Emma has always felt wrong, so terribly uncomfortable in her own skin. She cannot recount the number of times she’s wished to be anyone else, promised to give anything, as long as she could feel normal. Thirty-one years old, and she still feels every bit like that lost child, unable to shake the feeling that her identity has been shaped more by others, instead of herself.
Hearing Sue’s story, her sound reasoning, Emma honestly is not sure what to believe in anymore. And that terrifies her.
The long hand on the clock above Emma’s head crawls closer to the twelve, the short hand a hair’s breath away from the seven. Class starts at seven thirty, and Emma knows Sue never comes in later than five after seven. Anxiety curls in Emma’s stomach, and she wonders why on earth she’s here. What could have possibly possessed her to come into the lion’s den, knowing the risk?
Emma panics then, and stands up to leave. If she’s fast, she can pretend she was never here at all and ditch what was surely a horrible impulse decision. She doesn’t get the chance to take a single step, however, as Sue barrels through the door. Large black sunglasses on her face, thick red scarf wrapped hastily around her neck, black trench coat trailing at the bottom of her mile-long legs — she looks like something out of an action espionage film. Emma gulps, bracing herself for the usual slew of insults.
Never one to disappoint, Sue takes off her sunglasses so she can look Emma in the eyes for what’s sure to be a nasty verbal assault. To be fair, Emma remarks, I am the one in her private space, first thing in the morning. And after our last conversation I doubt she’s happy to see me.
“Irma, how wildly uncanny of you to trespass in my private office at seven o’three in the morning. You know I could have you arrested for this? I used to be a cop, still know how to perform a citizen’s arrest. Why, just the other week I arrested a man for attempting to loot the local Seven Eleven. He brought storage tubs, like those giant seventy quart bins hoarders salivate over, to fill with frozen high fructose corn syrup slushie crap. You know that stuff leads to all kinds of heart disease and organ problems? I should know, I majored in pre-med before I got my PhD. Got no idea what he was gonna do with those tubs, and honestly I don’t wanna. Guy was a creep, told me I looked like a young Dolly Parton and I almost hit him square in the face.”
By this point, Sue has taken off her coat and scarf, hanging them in the wardrobe at the far end of the room. Clad in a black tracksuit with gold stripes, she strides over to her desk as she finishes her speech, looking down at Emma with an expectant look. “You can tell me why you’ve decided to invade my office at the butt crack of dawn and assault my nose with the stench of Lysol and fabric softener, or you can keep looking at me with your mouth hanging open. I will say, the look suits you, although when bugs start to fly in your mouth and lay eggs in there, don’t expect me to call the paramedics for you.”
Emma brings her hand up to cover to mouth, which is most definitely not hanging open, and takes a deep breath, reminding herself why she came. "I brought you this," she holds the latte out to Sue, who stares at it in confusion before hesitantly taking it. Sue holds the paper cup at arm's length like she was just handed a bag of dog poop, inspecting it like at any moment it’ll catch fire or explode all over her face.
Emma stifles a laugh at the image, and in an amused voice tells Sue as much, “It’s coffee, Sue. It’s won’t catch on fire or explode.” When Sue just raises an eyebrow at her, still not convinced, Emma internally rolls her eyes and goes on to describe the elaborate drink she had to bribe the barista in order to get right. “Four shots of Italian dark roast espresso, two pumps of sugar free vanilla syrup, two and a half pumps of mocha sauce, whole milk steamed to a temperature that could rival the sun, served upside down in the largest size cup, with a dash of cinnamon on top.”
When Sue’s expression of skepticism only increases its intensity, eyebrows drawn impossibly close together, Emma gives what she hopes is a well humored smile. “Sans the arsenic.” And adds, “Or any other type of poison.”
Sue looks at Emma a long, scrutinizing moment, before breaking out in laughter. “Poison,” she remarks like it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s heard. “Why waste your time with poison when there are so many more interesting, creative ways to kill?” Emma doesn’t know if Sue is joking or serious, and she really doesn’t want to. Sue sits back in her chair and takes a sip of the coffee all the same, tense plates of ice between them melting down with her sigh of satisfaction.
And if Emma’s stomach clenches when Sue’s mouth stretches into a half smile, smoky blue gaze giving Emma her full attention, well she certainly does not acknowledge it. Definitely does not store the moment in her subconscious for later, to play on repeat until she falls asleep at night.
Because if she were to do that, she would find somewhere, deep in the recesses of her mind, the reason why Sue makes her feel so intimidated and exposed. She would understand why Sue's had this effect on her, this hold, from the first moment Emma saw her walking down the halls of McKinley High, with a swagger that could put even the most confident rock star to shame. She would see clearly the true, ineffable reason why her heart just about leapt out of her chest when Sue shook her hand, grip firm and challenging, long fingers brushing against the pulse point on Emma’s wrist. Her cobalt blue gaze deep and penetrating, as if peering into Emma’s mind. Oh, Emma was so terrified that day, and if she would dare explore the possibilities in that delicate place between dreams and reality, she would know exactly, beyond a doubt, the reason behind all others.
Instead, Emma floats in a limbo of bewildered confusion. While Sue continues to evoke strong, sometimes uncontrollable reactions from her, Emma Pillsbury, a woman who is otherwise the epitome of organization and control.
Vaguely, Emma realizes that Sue is speaking to her, puzzled interest written in the lines around her eyes, mouth quirked to one side. Emma’s brain manages to catch up in time, and she tunes into the end of Sue’s rant. “So unless you’ve been stalking me, Nancy Drew, and want me to know, in what I can only guess is a crisis of identity, why are you here ruminating in my office like an angst-ridden teenager? No one does something nice for Sue Sylvester without expecting something in return. And before you claim innocence, let me say, I know your type — your closeted depravity is written all over your librarian sweaters, tightly buttoned shirts, and tailored pencil skirts cut at just the right length to make you look like the next episode of ‘My Strange Addiction.’ You aren’t fooling anyone, Sugar Queen.”
And with that, Sue takes another swig of coffee, her stare boring into Emma over the top of the coffee cup. As if seeing something on Emma’s face that prompts her to take aggressive action, Sue sets the cup down with a thump and stands up from her chair, hands poised on opposing ends of her desk, crouching over Emma. "Well? I’m waiting,” Sue grinds out in a low, intimidating tone. And poor, sweet, confused Emma realizes she is so far out of her depths. She doesn’t know what to say, where to start, except with accepting how horrible of an idea this was. A major, bright red flashing error on her part.
“U-um, well, I just.” She looks around frantically. Just what? She grasps at fragments of thoughts colliding violently in her mind. Sue looks down at her as if she’s calculating how long it will take before Emma’s brain explodes. Until, perhaps deciding that she doesn’t want brain splattered all over her freshly gilded trophies, she walks swiftly to the door, throwing a scalding look at Emma that clearly says to stop wasting her time and get out of her space.
Taking a deep breath, Emma rises from her seat and does her best to channel the courage that brought her into the lion’s den to begin with. She walks toward Sue, steps measured, voice steady, despite the shaking in her knees. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me the other day,” she begins lightly. “A lot. Probably too much. And I realized why it resonated so deeply with me.” She straightens her back, conviction sinking into her bones. “Because that’s exactly how I felt growing up, praying for hours at a time to any god who would listen and make me normal, so I could just feel safe going to school every day.”
Emma is a small foot’s length away from Sue at this point, shadow of the door frame falling over her face like a curtain. She feels emboldened, in this place hidden from the light of the deserted hallway. Like she could say anything, and it would stay here in the shadows, secret from the rest of the world. Across the gap made by the doorway, Sue stands completely still, looking at her with quiet consideration. Sue’s gaze flicks to the hallway, which in about twenty minutes will be filled with students wandering about. Making a silent decision, she closes the door, coming to stand that much closer to Emma. Sharing her hiding place in the shadows.
Merely inches away from the face that has appeared to her in half-forgotten dreams, evaded her in large crowds, and followed her in memories, Emma has the urge to whisper like she would in confession, as if Sue could somehow absolve her of all her ails and sins.
But this is not confession, and Sue is not Emma’s savior.
“I remember, so vividly, the precise moment people would figure out there was something different about me. The look they would get in their eyes, the way they would speak to me. I would come home crying to my mom, who would turn around my words and make me feel like I was the one at fault, that God was punishing me for some greater sin. So I would do penance, I would abstain, I would recite bible passages for hours, sometimes days. And if that desperation was even a fraction of what your sister must have felt, what you must have–” at this, she breaks her speech, hands gesturing at the air as if summoning a language her tongue cannot form into words.
She takes a shaky breath in, before exhaling deeply. Her eyes rise back to Sue’s, whose gaze is more piercing than ever, a deep crinkle worrying at the center of her forehead. Sue is looking at her as if she is seeing her for who she is, underneath layers of pretense. Emma feels dizzy from that long, fixed stare, in a heady way that makes her wonder if this is what it’s like to be high.
Heart beating fast in her chest, Emma does her best to continue. “Honestly, I think a part of me knew that I would never fit in, that I was always going to be different, and no god could provide a cure for that. What I can’t understand, no matter how much I try, is why I spent so much of my life praying for one.”
Emma’s voice goes thick at the end, as she feels a sharp sting in her upper nose, tears threatening to gather in her eyes. She refuses to cry, and chews at her bottom lip instead. Sue’s eyes flick down at the flash of pink and white, then back up, scanning Emma’s face while searching for something to say.
After a long moment stretched by the faint ticking of the clock, shallow breath taken in, out, and in again, something darkens in Sue’s eyes. She looks away, her face consumed by shadow. “Probably for the same reason I did all those years,” she says bitterly, eyes trained on the floor. “Convinced that somehow, if I hoped hard enough and was deserving enough,” she practically spits, face contorted into a deep scowl, “a false god would grant all my wishes and right every injustice in the world.
“But it’s a lie,” she breathes, face turning back to Emma in a whir of righteous anger. “That’s what nobody wants you to know, because they’re too weak to face it themselves. It’s a comforting lie, and all that hoping, all that praying is a waste of time."
Emma can feel Sue’s breath on her face, coming out in short, hot puffs, smelling like coffee, like spearmint toothpaste, and something else indescribably Sue. She swallows thickly, before responding, her voice steady yet cautious, “I don’t believe that hoping is waste of time.” When Sue bristles and looks like she’s about to turn away again, Emma reaches out on instinct, lays her hand against the side of her neck, pale golden fringe tickling her knuckles.
“I think there’s definitely a difference between hope and blind faith,” she goes on, tone firm and insisting, “but to hope is everything. It’s what makes a brighter future possible. It’s why we’re here, Sue. Guiding these kids in the hope that they can make the world a better place. Otherwise, it’s all so bleak — endless suffering and devastation, without a hope of it getting any better.” Her fingers stroke the skin of Sue’s neck absentmindedly – so soft, she registers somewhere in the back of her mind – and Sue shudders in response, eyes smoldering as she looks at Emma with a mix of incredulity and curiosity. Emma’s voice lowers, as she gets closer, impossibly closer to Sue, asking without expecting an answer, “And what’s the point of that?”
Emma feels Sue swallow and take a sharp breath, the skin on her neck growing warmer against her fingertips, and somewhere at the pit of Emma’s abdomen is a heat that coils tight, throbbing in a way she has only ever felt a few times in her life. She realizes suddenly that she wants to push herself closer, closer, to Sue until there is no space between them. She wants to make Sue to lose her self-control, until Emma’s back is against the wall and Sue’s leg is between her thighs, body pressed flush against hers, hot mouth against the sensitive pulse on her neck.
And maybe, just maybe, Sue wants that too. By the way she’s looking at her as if she could devour her whole, her breaths heavy, eyes dark as the shadows they’re standing in. It really wouldn’t take much, Emma thinks through a haze of arousal, just a fraction of an inch.
A crowd of kids come through the hall, voices echoing loudly, and the moment breaks before it ever really began. Abruptly, Emma remembers precisely where she is and withdraws her hand like she’s been burned, gasping as she stumbles back. Sue looks at her in surprise, an expression of hurt flashing across her face, before she schools her features into something guarded. Impenetrable.
Wordlessly, Sue yanks open the door, looking away from Emma, her profile a fierce sight as she stands at her full height, every muscle in her body drawn tight. And Emma wants to reach out, wants to reassure Sue, tell her — tell her what exactly, Emma isn’t sure. Her mind is racing with a million thoughts at once, and she doesn’t know where to begin. So she starts with something simple. “Sue,” she pleads, trying to get her to look her way again.
Sue’s head snaps to her, staring her down with a challenging glare. And yet, something else, a glimmer perhaps, of something more vulnerable behind that heart stopping cobalt stare. Emma takes that as a positive sign and, stepping carefully as one would when approaching a lion, she comes into the light of the doorway. “Maybe we can continue this conversation sometime. Somewhere…” she glances to the now quite populated hall quickly, then back to Sue again, “away from the school. Coffee, perhaps?”
If Emma wasn't watching Sue closely, she’d miss the change in her expression entirely, but she is and she sees it — the smallest twitch in the corner of her mouth, the way her expression relaxes the slightest bit. Emma smiles brightly in response. Walking out of the office, she adds cheekily, “I did have to bribe a barista about half my salary to find out your coffee order, after all. It’d be so unfortunate if I never got the chance to order it for you again.”
At that, she hears Sue chuckle softly behind her. “Oh yes, it’d be a shame to waste such a noble effort,” Sue replies, vibrant mirth washing away the signs of previous hurt. Emma’s stomach does a delightful little flip.
“A tragedy,” Emma exclaims dramatically over her shoulder, and at this Sue lets out a hearty laugh.
Emma glides all the way back to her office, a warm feeling blooming in her chest. And if she seems distracted the rest of the day, or blushes when Sue pours her a cup of coffee in the teacher’s lounge — well, that’s nobody’s business but her own.