A Lesson to Be Learned, PG, Glee
Title: A Lesson to Be Learned
Author: _dangerzone911
Length: 7700
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Up to Duets.
Summary: Immediately the room fills with protest over the newly added stipulation, all commenting on the potentially disastrous outcome of the assignment. Written for xlaugh16's prompt.
A/N: Special thanks to letscall_l / meremortal2k5 for their continued support and help with my writing. Thanks for being wonderful sounding boards/betas. All of my appreciation.
"Listen up, guys," Will starts as he pulls a stool to the center of the room and takes a seat. It takes a few minutes for the chatter to die down before everyone settles in their seats and turn their attention to him. "I thought instead of doing our usual song assignment, we could do something different this week."
"Please tell me it involves all of us going to Rachel's house and having a ceremonial burning of all things argyle in her closet," Kurt asks, his eyes lighting up at the prospect of setting fire to the visually offensive clothing.
"I'll have you know that not everything I own is argyle, I-"
"We're burning the pantsuits, too," Kurt holds up his hand, interrupting Rachel.
The rest of the members snicker behind their hands and under their breath at the look of horror on Rachel's face.
"Guys, c'mon. Let's be serious," Will chides.
"Oh, I am quite serious, Mr. Schue. You cannot even begin to understand how much I loathe Rachel's clothing and how often I think about setting them on fire."
"Kurt, that's enough," Will warns. Kurt let's out an indelicate snort as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back into his seat. "It seems as though this assignment is needed more than I originally thought."
"What's the assignment?" Finn asks, as Will turns on the stool, grabbing a yellow legal pad from the piano and begins writing.
After he finishes, Will pulls the piece of paper from the pad and beings tearing it into small squares. "You guys are all so very different-"
"You got that right," Santana mutters, rolling her eyes.
"Yet music is the commonality you share that brought this club together," Will continues on, choosing to ignore Santana's sarcasm. "Along the way, I'd hoped that you would learn to accept each other's differences and find more common ground. But even with all you've been through together in the last year, none of you seem to be making much effort to really get to know each other beyond your social statuses outside of this room."
Will stands from the stool and walks over towards them, handing each one of the small squares. "So this is what we're going to do," he returns to the stool, watching as they glance over the piece of paper and at each other. "You're going to partner up and spend the remainder of the period using the list I've given you to get to know each other a little better."
"I pick Kurt," Mercedes speaks up, smiling as she gently nudges the boy.
"Not so fast," Will holds up his hand as the others begin picking their partners. "Choosing your friends for this assignment will get nothing accomplished. So, I'll be assigning partners."
Immediately the room fills with protest over the newly added stipulation, all commenting on the potentially disastrous outcome of the assignment.
"Guys, I don't want to hear it," Will says over the noise. "We're doing this assignment and that's final. Now, let's get started with the partner assignments."
The room settles, but the protests continue quietly as they listen, waiting to hear who Mr. Schuester will pair them with.
One by one, Will goes through their names and pairs them each with unlikely partners - Mercedes and Finn, Brittany and Tina, Sam and Mike, Puck and Artie - until only four people are left to pair up. The remaining four - Rachel, Kurt, Quinn and Santana - alternate between glancing at one another and glancing at Mr. Schuester.
"Please not Rachel, please not Rachel, please not Rachel," Kurt whispers, over and over again, crossing his fingers as Mercedes squeezes his free hand, reassuringly.
"Santana, you'll be paired with Kurt."
The color drains from Kurt's face as he looks over at Santana, who sneers in his direction, and swallows hard. "Maybe Rachel wouldn't have been such a bad choice."
"Sorry, buddy," Mercedes pats his hand offering a sympathetic smile.
"Rachel, Quinn, that leaves you two as partners."
Quinn sighs softly and closes her eyes. She prayed that Mr. Schuester would pair her with Kurt, but if she's learned anything in the last year, it's that prayers are hardly, if ever, answered.
"Now, I'll give you each a hall pass and you and your partner are free to go wherever you want so that you can get to know each other, as long as it's on campus. Everyone will meet back here at the end of the period. Are there any questions?"
"I hope you have a search-and-rescue team or ambulance on standby. Or maybe a hearse," Santana smirks, winking at Kurt.
Kurt gasps.
"Alright everyone, let's get to it," Will claps his hands together. "You have one hour."
As the other members filter out of the room, Rachel takes a deep breath and smooths out her skirt before walking over to Quinn. Rachel stands awkwardly a few steps away, unsure of what to say as she waits for Quinn to finish gathering up her belongings.
"Quinn, I-"
"Let's go, Berry," Quinn breezes past her, snatching up the two hall passes from the top of the piano and stuffing them into her bag as she walks out the door.
Rachel sighs wearily as she shoulders her bag and quickly follows after Quinn.
***
Rachel maintains a comfortable - cautious, if she's being truthful - distance between herself and Quinn as she follows the blonde up a flight of stairs. Looking around her, Rachel starts to become more nervous as they make their way further upwards, away from where the other members of the club are branching off. She wonders as to where Quinn is leading her and why they have to be so far away from the safety of others.
As they reach the third floor, Rachel feels panic course through her when Quinn veers to the left and heads towards a door marked Staff Members Only. "Quinn, what are you doing? We are not staff members and as such, are not allowed in there!"
But Quinn doesn't spare her a glance as she opens the door and disappears inside.
Rachel bites her lip, conflicted as to what to do. If she follows Quinn, she runs the risk of getting caught going into an area restricted to students and more than likely getting in trouble for it, which will put a blemish on her otherwise immaculate school record. If she doesn't follow Quinn, then she will fail to complete Mr. Schuester's assignment which will no doubt cost her future solos. Deciding that if she gets caught she'll have Mr. Schuester vouch for her, she quickly checks the hallway, making sure no one sees her before slipping past the door.
Rachel hurriedly climbs the stairs in front of her until she reaches the door at the top. When she opens it, she flinches and brings her hand up to cover her eyes as bright sunlight bears down upon her. Once her eyes adjust to the light, she takes a few steps forward.
"Quinn?" she calls out, eyes scanning over the roof for the girl who has seemingly vanished.
As she approaches the roof's edge, a chill rushes down her spine at the thought that Quinn might've become disoriented by the brightness of the sun and stumbled over the side. She grasps the wall at the roof's edge and peers over the side, praying she won't see Quinn's lifeless body on the ground below.
"Seriously, Berry? I'm not a toddler. I'm smart enough not to get too close to the edge on a roof of a three-story building. Which is apparently more than I can say for you," Quinn smirks, eyebrow raised, at the way Rachel startles, eyes wide with fear.
"Quinn, you scared me half to death!" Rachel clutches at her chest as she blows out harsh breaths, trying to calm her racing her heart. "I could have fallen over the edge myself because of your juvenile antics!"
"Don't be so dramatic. How else was I supposed to announce my presence without scaring you?" Quinn questions, an amused sort of expression painting her features.
"You could have answered when I called out to you instead of waiting until I was at the roof's edge to say something!" Rachel declares, arms raised in frustration. Dropping her arms back to her side, she frowns, shrugging her shoulders. "Why are we up here anyway? I know Santana made that joke, at least I think it was a joke, about needing rescue teams and ambulances, but I didn't think you would take it to heart."
"You really need to consider switching to decaf," Quinn rolls her eyes as she walks over to the shaded area of the roof and leans against the brick wall.
"I do not drink any sort of caffeinated beverages as it is, I find-"
"Berry," Quinn holds her hand up as she lowers herself to the ground. "I don't actually care."
"Must you be so difficult?" Rachel huffs, folding her arms over her chest. When Quinn doesn't answer, she sighs. "Okay then, let's just get this assignment over with so that I may leave. I still don't understand why we are here, Quinn. Did you not see the signs?"
"Share something personal with your partner," Quinn reads from the paper in her lap, ignoring Rachel's question. She lifts her head to look at the other girl, cocking it to the side as the corners of her lips curl into a slight smirk. "Lead the way, Streisand."
With a small shake of her head, Rachel crosses the roof as she thinks about the question. There are so many things she could share with Quinn. So many things that her fellow members in glee club don't know about her. For as open as she is with her feelings and her emotions, there's so much about herself that she keeps private for fear that she'll be taunted even more so than usual.
To do this assignment, however, she knows she has to be honest. Otherwise, as Mr. Schue said, she'll get nothing accomplished - not that she's expecting much considering who her partner is.
"When I was a child, I was a little slower than was normal for my age," Rachel begins as she settles herself on the ground, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. She thinks she hears a soft snort from Quinn, but she continues on anyway. "Learning choreography for my many dance classes and learning to sing and remembering lyrics to songs came as easily and as naturally as breathing for me. Unfortunately, I didn't fare as well with reading. Words were simply letters forced together in a chaotic collision to my mind. I knew they meant something, but I struggled on a daily basis to figure out what. It wasn't until I was six, almost seven, that I learned how to read."
She closes her eyes for a moment, remembering all the times as a young girl she was teased for being unable to read. How the teachers had looked at her with frustration - or worse, pity - in their eyes when she failed to read a simple sentence. The fear that she would be placed in a special needs class and forced to suffer even more cruel taunting from her classmates, who at their ages seemed to have no sympathy for anyone whose minds worked differently, made her spend the entirety of her holiday vacation hunched over her desk poring over books until she finally made a breakthrough. After her school vacation was over, she returned to class that Monday and stood before her classmates and her teacher, determinedly reading through an entire story in their reading book all on her own.
Emotion swells inside and she clears her throat as she opens her eyes, her gaze falling to Quinn. "That is why I speak the way I do. So that I may remember how far I've come as well as exercise the knowledge I've acquired."
Quinn, though she shouldn't be, is surprised by the honesty of Rachel's words. She's sure the brunette is aware that once the hour is up she could use Rachel's admission against her. And yet, whether from sheer stupidity or unshakable trust, Rachel chose to reveal something deeply personal about herself rather than something insignificant and superficial.
Inhaling deeply, Quinn pulls her bag into her lap and begins rummaging through it, searching. When her fingers graze over smooth leather, she pauses, wondering if she wants to share this part of her, least of all with Rachel. Quinn knows, however, in this case it's not a matter of want, but rather a matter of should.
Once the item is in her hand, she holds it up and away from her body, offering it to Rachel. "Berry."
"What is it?" Rachel asks, making no effort to move towards the blonde, eyes roaming over the object intently.
Quinn doesn't respond with words, but instead arches a fine light brow and flicks her outstretched wrist a couple times.
Rachel slowly stands and crosses the short distance between them, carefully watching Quinn, waiting to see what, if anything, the blonde is planning to do. But other than raising her arm higher to hand Rachel the book, Quinn does nothing. Rachel takes the book with her left hand while her right traces over the textured leather cover. She has half a mind to voice her disapproval over Quinn possessing a book bound in leather but decides that's a battle best left for another day.
For a brief second, she glances past the book in her hand down at Quinn to see the blonde twisting and rolling the strap of her backpack between her fingers before directing her attention back to the book. Upon closer inspection the leather isn't black as she originally thought but rather a deep dark blue color with only the tiniest of scratches marring the cover of the otherwise flawless cover. If not for the very light fading of the leather and the corners of the book bending down and turning inward, Rachel would think Quinn had only just gotten it.
With her fingertip she traces over the raised gold lettering of Quinn's name emblazoned at the bottom right corner before finally opening the book. A small gasp escapes her lips as her eyes take in the pages before her.
Drawings.
Beautifully intricate detail-oriented drawings.
Rachel knew of Quinn's propensity towards drawing, the pornographic images of herself on the walls of the bathroom along with the many grotesque renderings of herself and other classmates posted in the hallways alerted her to that fact. But those were drawn in the manner in which they were to be taken; childish and insulting. These drawings, on the other hand, speak of someone with talent, who not only has a critical eye but an eye for sparking emotion and feeling within the viewer.
Each drawing is so life-like, so alive; tangible beyond the feel of rough paper beneath skin. As her eyes roam over a sketch of Noah, she can almost smell the scent of the aftershave he uses wafting up to her nose. Her ears ring with the sounds of shouted cheers as she looks over the drawing of the cheerleading squad in the gymnasium going through a routine.
But as she reaches the last of the drawings, she is left breathless by the drawing of a little baby girl bundled in a pink blanket.
Beth.
Wisps of blonde hair curl and nestle flat against Beth's head as light brown eyes seem to sparkle as they look up into Rachel's eyes. Chubby cheeks are tinted with a light pink and Rachel feels like she could almost reach forward and tweak them gently. Even though she's on the roof of McKinley High she feels like she's inside the maternity ward of the local hospital with the soft scent of baby powder tickling her nose and the cries of babies reaching her ears.
"During my pregnancy, I spent most of my time alone with only that sketchbook as my company," the sudden sound of Quinn's voice startles Rachel. "It was cathartic, putting pen to paper and creating something beautiful when everything else in my life felt ugly and lonely."
The leather-bound sketchbook was given to her as a gift from her grandmother on her thirteenth birthday. At first, she only appreciated the gift for two reasons: it came from her grandmother and it was one of the only things she had, outside of academic awards and cheerleading trophies, with her name on it. As time wore on and her interest in art deepened, she began drawing in it almost everyday. After her father kicked her out of the house, it became a way not only to express herself creatively but also as a way to combat the loneliness she felt and the thoughts that plagued her mind at all hours.
"I got used to being alone, though. But, now that I'm back home with my mother, I'm never alone. She's always around, trying her best to make up for everything that happened," Quinn shakes her head, a small smile gracing her lips. "It's nice having her actually be there when I need her. But sometimes it's stifling. So I climb up to our roof and take my sketchbook with me and just draw."
Rachel nods her understanding, though Quinn doesn't see her. She realizes now why Quinn chose the roof. Much like she finds comfort in the dark of the auditorium when everything becomes too much and she needs time alone, Quinn seems to find comfort in being in the open air of a roof.
"These drawings? They're stunning, Quinn," Rachel compliments as she closes the book and holds it out for Quinn to take. "Particularly the one of Beth. It is so very beautiful."
"I don't know if I did her justice. I didn't get to spend much time with her before they took her away," Quinn explains, her voice tinged with sadness.
Rachel's eyes widen. "You drew her from memory?"
Quinn nods, sliding her sketchbook back into her bag. Her time with her daughter may have been all too brief, but the angelic face of that little girl would forever be burned into her memory.
"You're very talented," Rachel says quietly.
Quinn angles her head to the side as she looks up at the smaller girl, noting the impressed expression on her face. It seems almost strange to Quinn that Rachel Berry, one who was ever critical of her voice in glee club as well as the decisions she made, could or would ever look at her in such a way. With a slight dip of her head she offers her thanks.
"What next?" Rachel's eyes fall to the piece of paper in Quinn's lap.
"Lighten up. Do an impression of a celebrity or of a famous character," Quinn groans softly, wondering what Mr. Schuester could have possibly been thinking when adding this to their assignment.
"As I went first last time, I think it would only be fair that you go first this time," Rachel muses with a small wry smile.
"Not on your life, Berry," Quinn snorts.
"Fair is fair, Quinn."
"Luckily for me, I'm not interested in fair," Quinn grins a small grin as Rachel stamps her foot on the ground, reminding her of Puck's little sister when she doesn't get her way. "Let's go. Wow me with your impersonation skills."
With a resigned sigh, Rachel turns her back to Quinn as she runs through the list of names of celebrities and famous characters in her mind. She smiles, deciding to go with a tried and true classic. After all nobody can match her with her impersonation of one Ms. Barbra Streisand. Her smile melts away into a somber expression as she draws forth the emotions needed for this.
"Oh, my man, I love him so, he'll never know," Rachel begins to sing, turning slowly to face Quinn. "All my life is just despair, but I don't care."
As she sings, she watches as Quinn folds her arms over her chest, her brows drawing together to form a small, but obvious scowl. While she can usually ignore such looks, considering she receives them almost everyday when she moves to the center of the choir room to voice her opinion or to sing, she's unable to this time because she doesn't understand what she did to warrant that look from Quinn; she's only doing what the assignment called for.
She stops singing, hands on her hips. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you do a Streisand impersonation almost everyday in glee as it is?" Quinn grouses. "You worship her. We get it. Stop running it into the ground."
"You're awfully rude," Rachel frowns.
"That wasn't me being rude, that was me being honest. There's a difference," Quinn points out. "Try another impersonation. Not one that relates to Barbra Streisand, Broadway, musicals or music in general. Can you do that?"
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try something else," Rachel murmurs, shoulders slumping ever so slightly.
"Good."
Quinn's eyes follow Rachel as the smaller girl turns her back to her once more and begins to pace, muttering quietly under her breath. Taking away so many options for Rachel to choose from, Quinn wonders what Rachel will come up with. And just as suddenly as the pacing started, it stops as Rachel turns back around, smiling brightly.
"I've got it. Now, I need you to use your imagination for a moment while I do this. These," Rachel holds up both of her hands, her index fingers curling down to meet her thumbs in a circle while the rest are held up, "are my glasses."
A blonde brow arches as Rachel turns her wrists out, elbows pointing out to the sides, and brings her circled fingers around her eyes.
"Give me a moment," Rachel rolls up on the balls of her feet and settles back down, clearing her throat. With a sharp exhale, Rachel affects an accent and simply says, "And I can see Russia from my house."
Quinn blinks as Rachel draws out the last word.
Behind her finger glasses, Rachel's brows furrow slightly at Quinn's reaction. While she is unsure if her attempt at the accent was successful, she is sure the intention of her impersonation was clear.
Then, Quinn's body shudders as small chuckles escape from her lips until she is laughing softly.
As she lowers her hands to her side, a bright toothy grin spreads over Rachel's features. She actually made Quinn Fabray laugh. Not a taunting, cruel laugh. But a genuine laugh. She mentally pats herself on the back for her accomplishment.
"Not bad, Berry," Quinn confesses as her laughter subsides.
"Thank you," Rachel beams, leaning back against the brick wall. "Now it is your turn."
Quinn grimaces; she was never one for impersonations. At best she can probably sing like someone, but she suspects that since she didn't allow Rachel to impersonate a singer, Rachel will most likely deny her those options as well. That leaves her with one option.
"You think this is hard? Try being pregnant and being forced to perform sub-par dance moves choreographed by a man with a nest of small woodland creatures living on top of his head. That's hard!" Quinn shouts into her imaginary loudspeaker, adopting the trademark contemptuous tone of Coach Sylvester.
Suppressing the urge to smile (because really the impression is dead on) Rachel crosses her arms over her chest with a scowl and arches her brow, perfectly mimicking Quinn's earlier expression. A smirk tugs at her lips as she says, "You do an impersonation of Ms. Sylvester almost everyday."
Quinn's lip curl into a slight sneer and maybe Rachel's imagination is running wild again, but she would swear the blonde just growled at her. Maybe Ms. Sylvester isn't too far off base when she says Quinn reminds her of a younger version of herself.
Quinn rests her head against the wall, her eyes closing as she tries to think of someone else to impersonate. Even though she watches a decent amount of television and spent many nights mockingly quoting characters from shows that she and Mercedes watched, her mind is drawing a blank.
Moments later, a character comes to mind.
"Lala-lala lala-lala Elmo's song. Lala-lala lala-lala Elmo's song," Quinn sings in a falsetto voice. "Me write the music, me write the words, that's Elmo's song." After she's finished with the song that played constantly while she was living at Puck's house, she feels her cheeks flushing as she looks down at her lap, grumbling. "There, you happy?"
Rachel draws her bottom lip between her teeth as a smile breaks out on her face. By the coloring of her cheeks and her refusal to look up at her, Rachel knows that Quinn is embarrassed. Rachel can't help but find Quinn's willingness to let her cool, often time's hard facade to fade away, even for the briefest of moments, to impersonate a character from Sesame Street altogether endearing. "I am quite happy with your impersonation."
"Good. Because we are never speaking of this moment again," Quinn glares up at Rachel, but there's no real malice in her gaze. Rachel smiles and moves her fingers over her lips as if to zip them. Quinn shakes her head. "Moving on. What do you want to be in ten years?"
"I'm quite sure everyone, including those who do not know me personally, knows the answer to that question," Rachel says with an almost nervous smile. "I want to be a successful actress, known the world over for my influence and contributions to the performing arts. I want to be the star in all of the Broadway shows, all of the movies, all of the musicals that influenced me in my formative years. I want to be the youngest ever recipient of the rare and elusive EGOT. I want to be doing what I love - performing."
"I figured as much," Quinn says, then shrugs her shoulders. "At least you're sure of what you want, though."
"Do you not know what you want?" Rachel asks, lowering herself to the ground, her knees tucked underneath her as she leans against the wall, playing with the hem of her skirt.
"I wanna get out of here," Quinn says abruptly, unable to stop the blush that spreads over her cheeks as Rachel recoils slightly, looking at her with wide eyes. "I meant, I want to get out of Lima. I've already laid the foundation for becoming a Lima loser by being a walking cliche and getting pregnant, but I don't want that to be the story of my life."
Before she became pregnant, Quinn felt as though she were on the fast-track to getting the hell out of Lima. Perfect grades in all of her honor classes, position as head cheerleader of the nationally-ranked Cheerios, founder and president of the Celibacy Club, member of the Glee Club, among other extracurricular activities. All calculated moves designed to get a scholarship to a school of her choice outside of the stifling and dream barren city limits of Lima, Ohio. And after she became pregnant, it seemed like all of her dreams of becoming something more; something better, had all been crushed in one fell swoop.
It wasn't until after giving up Beth, as selfish as it is for her to admit, and getting her spot back on the Cheerios that she could even allow herself to feel a glimmer of hope for the future.
"I think most of us living here wish to leave Lima, Quinn," Rachel says gently. "But what do you want to be? What do you want to do beyond moving away from Lima?"
"I honestly don't know," Quinn admits. "My father, before he kicked me out, had his own ideas of what I should do once I graduated and I went along with them. After he kicked me out, I didn't just lose my home and my family, I lost those dreams as well," Quinn explains with a heavy sigh. "But I guess in retrospect, his dreams were never my dreams to begin with. I never wanted to be some corporate head-hunting lawyer or business executive."
"You certainly have the tenacity and blood-thirsty personality to be either, though," Rachel teases, before realizing what she's saying and who she's saying it to. She swallows hard, once again praying Quinn will avoid her nose when she takes a swing.
But to her credit, Quinn only chuckles softly. "True. But I think I'd prefer to go into design or something like that."
"You have the talent for it," Rachel smiles. "I think you would excel in a career such as that. You should look into exploring that option a little more."
"Maybe I will," Quinn says, her smile one of hope. She looks down at the paper in her lap, folding it so only the remaining questions are visible. "Admit something that worries you or something that you are afraid of."
"I don't suppose you'll go first with this question, either?"
"No, I can," Quinn says, surprising Rachel who expected to be told once more to go first. "That's probably the simplest question on the list for me."
Rachel shifts her body, trying to work out the numbness in her shoulder from resting against the brick while she waits for Quinn to answer.
"I only have two real fears," Quinn says, holding up her hand, two fingers up and the rest folded in. "One is the fear that I'll become like my parents. In a loveless marriage that only survived as long as it did because of alcohol and fear of what family and friends would think if they were to suspect the marriage was anything less than the picture-perfect image being presented. That I'll one day have a family that's only a family through blood and name, and not from any real connection to one another. That I'll either be like my father and condemn my child for one mistake, or that I'll be like my mother and stand idly by, watching as it happens."
Rachel doesn't fully understand the fear Quinn feels. Despite her own mother essentially turning her back on her, she still had the unconditional love of two fathers who have always been nothing short of devoted and wonderful to her and to each other. While she may not understand completely, she feels empathy towards the blonde and because of that reaches out, resting her hand on Quinn's knee in a comforting manner.
Quinn glances down at the hand on her knee, but doesn't attempt to move it before continuing as a surge of emotion courses through her. "And the second fear is the fear that Beth will never know who I am. More than anything, that she won't want to know who I am. That when, or even if, she thinks of me, she'll only think of me as this person who didn't love her enough to keep her."
Rachel knows that to offer Quinn words of reassurance, that one day Beth would come to Quinn just as Rachel had gone to Shelby, would only give the blonde false hope. Not because she doesn't believe that Beth will search for her, but because every child is different. And while she had searched for her mother, it doesn't necessarily mean that Beth will do the same. Or that Beth will understand why Quinn gave her up.
Gently she squeezes Quinn's knee, choosing instead to say. "I know you loved her, Quinn. Just as I know you still do. Anyone who looks at your drawing of her can see that."
"Thanks," Quinn mumbles, turning her head away from Rachel as she breathes in deeply, trying to rein in her emotions as she discreetly wipes a tear from her eye. When she's regained her composure, she turns to Rachel and says with a small laugh. "I can probably guess what you're afraid of, huh? That you won't make it on Broadway?"
While there's a hint of sarcasm to Quinn's voice, Rachel, seeing the tinges of red around the edges of Quinn's eyes, doesn't take it personally. She knows, if anything, it's a way for Quinn to reclaim some sense of control and normalcy over the situation.
"While that is, in fact, a fear of mine, it is not the fear that keeps me awake at night," Rachel confesses softly, not missing the surprise reflecting in sharp hazel eyes. "I'm afraid that even after I become a successful actress, star in all of my favorite Broadway shows, land a pivotal role in a future award-winning film; after all my dreams finally come true, that I still will not be truly happy. I'm afraid all the awards, the accolades, the honors will do nothing to compensate for the emptiness inside."
Quinn nods imperceptibly because she knows that feeling all too well. To have everything you could dream of and still be unhappy. It's not a feeling she would wish on anyone, not even Rachel. Something inside of her, in the deepest recesses of her heart, says she should reach out, take the hand on her knee and offer the same reassuring comfort that Rachel gave to her. But to do so, she thinks, would be out of character for her and the sentiment, no matter how genuine it might be in the moment, would seem fake. Instead, the corner of her lips lift up into a smirk, in an attempt to bring levity to the situation, as she says, "Having the chance to prove everyone here wrong by going on to become outrageously famous and then being able to shove it in our faces? Yeah, like that won't make you obnoxiously happy."
Rachel giggles. "Now that you mention it, that certainly does have it's appeal."
"I thought it might," Quinn says, with a good-natured roll of her eyes. "What time is it?"
Rachel pulls her phone from her bag, checking. "It is 12:57. Three more minutes and the hour will be up, and then you will no longer be forced to spend any more of your time in my company."
"Good. I was getting sick of your face," Quinn says, and while her tone is hard as ever, her eyes sparkle with mirth.
"The feeling is quite mutual," Rachel huffs, glaring at the blonde for a moment before allowing a small smile to emerge.
"Last question. Tell your partner a secret," Quinn reads as she stands, folding the piece of paper and tucking it into her bag.
While waiting for Rachel to answer the question, Quinn stretches her arms over her head alleviating the ache in her muscles from having sat for so long. As she's brushing away the flecks of dirt on her uniform, she notices Rachel staring ahead of her with an abnormally pensive expression. Before she can ask, Rachel suddenly looks up at her, a sadness in her eyes that wasn't there moments ago.
"As much as I love Finn, and I do love him so very much, sometimes I-I-" Rachel stammers, then sighs. "Sometimes I can't look at him without being reminded of what I did...how much I hurt you, in order to get him."
There were times when Rachel looked at Finn and all the love she felt for him was overshadowed by the guilt she felt over hurting Quinn. She had been selfish in her pursuit of him, not caring how much pain she caused Quinn in the process. While she was aware that she couldn't be to blame for the lies Quinn told, Rachel knew that by her telling the truth - a truth that wasn't hers to tell - she had caused Quinn's world to crumble even more so than it already had. She began to realize that she should have allowed Quinn the opportunity to tell her truth on her own, instead of taking the choice away from her, for a reason that was fueled only by her own selfish desires. And even though Quinn didn't fault her for doing as she did, she still lives with the guilt of her actions to this day.
The weight of Rachel's secret forces it's way inside of Quinn, twisting and wrapping around her arms and legs, halting their movements until she's frozen in place, looking down at Rachel with eyes wide and lips parted slightly. It's the last thing she expected to hear coming from Rachel's mouth and she finds herself unsure of what to say, of what to feel.
Rachel sees the conflicting emotions shining through hazel eyes and she stands, holding her hand up, shaking her head. "Y-you don't have to say anything, Quinn. The assignment called for a secret and that was the only secret I felt important enough for me to share with you. Of everything I've shared with you in this hour, this is the only thing you really needed to know. What I needed you to know."
The earnestness she sees in Rachel's eyes, in her voice, makes Quinn thankful the brunette offered a reprieve from having to say anything. What can she say? She doesn't understand why Rachel's holding on to guilt over something that happened a year ago, or even why she feels guilty in the first place. None of it had been her fault. But telling Rachel not to feel something, Quinn reasons, would be the same as telling her not to sing. With hope, now that Rachel's finally shared her secret, the burden of guilt will begin to subside until it's no longer nagging at her conscience.
With a small nod, Quinn shoulders her bag as she turns and walks towards the door.
"Quinn," Rachel calls out, and Quinn stops walking but doesn't turn around. "You didn't tell me what your secret was."
Quinn turns her head slightly, only the left side of her face visible, with her eyes downcast. "I don't like you."
The soft words prick painfully at Rachel's heart. After the last hour, she thought maybe Quinn would be, at least, a little more cordial towards her, but it's obvious she was hoping for too much.
"That's hardly a secret, Quinn," Rachel sniffs indelicately, arms folding over her chest.
"Let me finish," Quinn instructs, as she turns to face the smaller girl. "I don't like you, but contrary to popular belief, I don't hate you either."
Dark brows disappear under bangs as Rachel's eyes widen in surprise and disbelief.
"Truth be told, I respect you," Quinn admits softly, her gaze locked onto Rachel's. "Everyone is awful to you, myself included, but you always show up. Everyday, always smiling. Always there to lend a helping hand to those in need, even to those who have been nothing but cruel to you. I can't even pretend to know how you're able to do that, but I respect you for it," Quinn sighs. It's why she can't bring herself to like Rachel; because even though she knows having someone like Rachel in her life would do her good, she knows she could never be the kind of friend Rachel deserves. Rachel's secret solidifies that belief. "As annoying as you can be, you remind me that there are actually good people in this world."
It takes a concentrated effort on Rachel's part not to allow the tears welling in her eyes to spill over and cascade down her cheeks. Quinn may never like her, may never want to be her friend, but Quinn respects her; it's more than she could have hoped for.
Turning, Quinn walks to the door. As she pulls it open, she looks back. "Don't let people like me make you feel like you need to change who you are." With those parting words, Quinn disappears inside and the door closes behind her with a dull thud.
A single tear rolls down Rachel's cheek.
***
"I'm happy to see that you all made it back in one piece," Will says, as everyone settles into their seats, internally sighing in relief that nobody came back with a black eye or bloodied lip. "I hope you used your time wisely and really used this opportunity to get to know your partner."
"I learned that Brittany really doesn't have a single coherent thought in her head," Tina says, looking pointedly at the blonde cheerleader who's seemingly trying to make a phone call using her calculator. Sensing eyes on her, she looks to her right and sees Santana shooting her a murderous glare. She quickly stutters out. "N-n-not t-t-that t-there's anything wrong with that."
"Dude, crippled or not, I hear the words 'Little Artie' come out of your mouth one more time, I'm gonna nut-punch you and shove you in the port-a-john again. Best believe this time I'll roll that sucker," Puck threatens, and Artie instinctively moves his hands to cover his crotch.
"Puck, I don't want to hear you threatening him again!" Will scolds the mohawked boy.
Puck clasps his hands behind his head and leans the chair back on two legs. "Yeah? Well, I don't wanna hear about Artie's junk again."
"Kurt might, though," Santana chimes in, smirking as she looks to Kurt. "But then again, he might be more interested in-"
"Santana!" Kurt hisses, his cheeks flushing. "I swear on my Alexander McQueen fall collection, I will spill your secret if you finish that sentence! And you and I both know that your secret will ruin you a lot faster than mine will ruin me!"
Santana lifts her chin, glaring at the boy, but surprisingly doesn't say anything more, leaving everyone to stare, slack-jawed, wondering what Kurt has on the cheerleader.
Mercedes leans over, whispering. "What's her secret?"
"I'll never tell," Kurt singsongs, then glances at Santana. "Unless, of course, she blabs about mine. Isn't that right, sweetie?"
Santana growls. "Whatever."
Rachel leans against Finn, laying her head against his shoulder, only vaguely listening to the voices of her team-mates.
"You okay?" Finn asks, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.
"I'm fine," Rachel replies with a smile.
"Hey Bristol, what'd you do? Tranq Berry so you could stand being around for an hour without her yapping like a chihuahua?" Santana quips, observing how unusually subdued Rachel seems since returning to class.
Rachel's eyes slide closed, waiting for the inevitable insult to be thrown her way.
"You know, speaking of tranqs, I haven't forgotten about the little fit you threw in the hall after Coach Sylvester made me Captain again and being Captain, I'm the one with the key to Coach's secret filing cabinet. You remember what's in it, don't you, S?" Quinn asks, smiling sweetly as Santana's face pales.
Never expecting the blonde to let an easy opportunity to rip into her go, Rachel is surprised by Quinn's response and lets out the breath she didn't know she was holding and relaxes against Finn.
"What's in Sue's filing cabinet, Santana?" Will asks warily.
"Nothing, Mr. Schue. Just files," Santana says, a weak and obvious lie.
Will sighs, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his fingers, feeling the pressure of a headache beginning to build. Sometimes he can't remember why he ever became a teacher.
"What color is his thong?" Brittany speaks up suddenly, turning her curious gaze to Tina.
Tina blushes profusely, her eyes widening at the blonde's comment.
All eyes snap to Mike who holds up his hands, a horrified look on his face. "Don't look at me. I'm not into wearing girls' underwear."
All eyes turn to Artie who shakes his head vehemently. "Nuh-uh, not me. I don't wear anything that flosses my ass. I'm more of a boxers man."
All eyes turn back to Tina who blinks rapidly, her fingers threading through her hair nervously. "Brittany, it's a secret for a reason."
"Oh," Brittany smiles before leaning towards a curious Santana, whispering, "I'll tell you later."
When the bell sounds, Will breathes a sigh of relief. He doesn't know how much more of their secrets he could handle. "Have a good weekend, guys."
As the room begins to clear, Rachel gathers up her belongings while Finn waits at her side. She looks up to him, smiling gently. "You don't have to wait on me, Finn."
"Are you sure? I mean, I was gonna walk you to class and all."
"I'm sure. I need to go over some sheet music with Brad before I leave. But thank you," Rachel rises up on the tips of her toes and leaves a chaste kiss on his lips.
"Okay," he says, a goofy grin plastered on his face. "I'll see you after class, then."
Rachel nods affirmatively, watching as he bounds out of the room, nearly knocking over Sam as he slaps his hand down on the blonde boy's shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Quinn, the last of the club members still left in the room besides herself, moving towards the door.
Quinn pauses in the doorway, and Rachel thinks maybe Quinn will use this opportunity to reassert her position as head cheerleader and remind Rachel of her place at the bottom of the social food chain. But Rachel could never have predicted what actually happens.
Turning her head, Quinn looks to Rachel, an unreadable expression on her face, and then slowly, her lips curl into a smile.
A warm and genuine smile.
Rachel, helpless to stop herself, smiles in return.
An hour ago, her hopes for their acquaintanceship to be anything other than adversarial were fleeting and dismal. Now, as the blonde dips her head slightly and turns, walking out of the room, Rachel feels like maybe, just maybe, there's a chance that one day she will actually be able to call Quinn Fabray a friend.
Maybe all of Mr. Schuester's assignments are not complete disasters after all.
Author: _dangerzone911
Length: 7700
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Up to Duets.
Summary: Immediately the room fills with protest over the newly added stipulation, all commenting on the potentially disastrous outcome of the assignment. Written for xlaugh16's prompt.
A/N: Special thanks to letscall_l / meremortal2k5 for their continued support and help with my writing. Thanks for being wonderful sounding boards/betas. All of my appreciation.
"Listen up, guys," Will starts as he pulls a stool to the center of the room and takes a seat. It takes a few minutes for the chatter to die down before everyone settles in their seats and turn their attention to him. "I thought instead of doing our usual song assignment, we could do something different this week."
"Please tell me it involves all of us going to Rachel's house and having a ceremonial burning of all things argyle in her closet," Kurt asks, his eyes lighting up at the prospect of setting fire to the visually offensive clothing.
"I'll have you know that not everything I own is argyle, I-"
"We're burning the pantsuits, too," Kurt holds up his hand, interrupting Rachel.
The rest of the members snicker behind their hands and under their breath at the look of horror on Rachel's face.
"Guys, c'mon. Let's be serious," Will chides.
"Oh, I am quite serious, Mr. Schue. You cannot even begin to understand how much I loathe Rachel's clothing and how often I think about setting them on fire."
"Kurt, that's enough," Will warns. Kurt let's out an indelicate snort as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back into his seat. "It seems as though this assignment is needed more than I originally thought."
"What's the assignment?" Finn asks, as Will turns on the stool, grabbing a yellow legal pad from the piano and begins writing.
After he finishes, Will pulls the piece of paper from the pad and beings tearing it into small squares. "You guys are all so very different-"
"You got that right," Santana mutters, rolling her eyes.
"Yet music is the commonality you share that brought this club together," Will continues on, choosing to ignore Santana's sarcasm. "Along the way, I'd hoped that you would learn to accept each other's differences and find more common ground. But even with all you've been through together in the last year, none of you seem to be making much effort to really get to know each other beyond your social statuses outside of this room."
Will stands from the stool and walks over towards them, handing each one of the small squares. "So this is what we're going to do," he returns to the stool, watching as they glance over the piece of paper and at each other. "You're going to partner up and spend the remainder of the period using the list I've given you to get to know each other a little better."
"I pick Kurt," Mercedes speaks up, smiling as she gently nudges the boy.
"Not so fast," Will holds up his hand as the others begin picking their partners. "Choosing your friends for this assignment will get nothing accomplished. So, I'll be assigning partners."
Immediately the room fills with protest over the newly added stipulation, all commenting on the potentially disastrous outcome of the assignment.
"Guys, I don't want to hear it," Will says over the noise. "We're doing this assignment and that's final. Now, let's get started with the partner assignments."
The room settles, but the protests continue quietly as they listen, waiting to hear who Mr. Schuester will pair them with.
One by one, Will goes through their names and pairs them each with unlikely partners - Mercedes and Finn, Brittany and Tina, Sam and Mike, Puck and Artie - until only four people are left to pair up. The remaining four - Rachel, Kurt, Quinn and Santana - alternate between glancing at one another and glancing at Mr. Schuester.
"Please not Rachel, please not Rachel, please not Rachel," Kurt whispers, over and over again, crossing his fingers as Mercedes squeezes his free hand, reassuringly.
"Santana, you'll be paired with Kurt."
The color drains from Kurt's face as he looks over at Santana, who sneers in his direction, and swallows hard. "Maybe Rachel wouldn't have been such a bad choice."
"Sorry, buddy," Mercedes pats his hand offering a sympathetic smile.
"Rachel, Quinn, that leaves you two as partners."
Quinn sighs softly and closes her eyes. She prayed that Mr. Schuester would pair her with Kurt, but if she's learned anything in the last year, it's that prayers are hardly, if ever, answered.
"Now, I'll give you each a hall pass and you and your partner are free to go wherever you want so that you can get to know each other, as long as it's on campus. Everyone will meet back here at the end of the period. Are there any questions?"
"I hope you have a search-and-rescue team or ambulance on standby. Or maybe a hearse," Santana smirks, winking at Kurt.
Kurt gasps.
"Alright everyone, let's get to it," Will claps his hands together. "You have one hour."
As the other members filter out of the room, Rachel takes a deep breath and smooths out her skirt before walking over to Quinn. Rachel stands awkwardly a few steps away, unsure of what to say as she waits for Quinn to finish gathering up her belongings.
"Quinn, I-"
"Let's go, Berry," Quinn breezes past her, snatching up the two hall passes from the top of the piano and stuffing them into her bag as she walks out the door.
Rachel sighs wearily as she shoulders her bag and quickly follows after Quinn.
***
Rachel maintains a comfortable - cautious, if she's being truthful - distance between herself and Quinn as she follows the blonde up a flight of stairs. Looking around her, Rachel starts to become more nervous as they make their way further upwards, away from where the other members of the club are branching off. She wonders as to where Quinn is leading her and why they have to be so far away from the safety of others.
As they reach the third floor, Rachel feels panic course through her when Quinn veers to the left and heads towards a door marked Staff Members Only. "Quinn, what are you doing? We are not staff members and as such, are not allowed in there!"
But Quinn doesn't spare her a glance as she opens the door and disappears inside.
Rachel bites her lip, conflicted as to what to do. If she follows Quinn, she runs the risk of getting caught going into an area restricted to students and more than likely getting in trouble for it, which will put a blemish on her otherwise immaculate school record. If she doesn't follow Quinn, then she will fail to complete Mr. Schuester's assignment which will no doubt cost her future solos. Deciding that if she gets caught she'll have Mr. Schuester vouch for her, she quickly checks the hallway, making sure no one sees her before slipping past the door.
Rachel hurriedly climbs the stairs in front of her until she reaches the door at the top. When she opens it, she flinches and brings her hand up to cover her eyes as bright sunlight bears down upon her. Once her eyes adjust to the light, she takes a few steps forward.
"Quinn?" she calls out, eyes scanning over the roof for the girl who has seemingly vanished.
As she approaches the roof's edge, a chill rushes down her spine at the thought that Quinn might've become disoriented by the brightness of the sun and stumbled over the side. She grasps the wall at the roof's edge and peers over the side, praying she won't see Quinn's lifeless body on the ground below.
"Seriously, Berry? I'm not a toddler. I'm smart enough not to get too close to the edge on a roof of a three-story building. Which is apparently more than I can say for you," Quinn smirks, eyebrow raised, at the way Rachel startles, eyes wide with fear.
"Quinn, you scared me half to death!" Rachel clutches at her chest as she blows out harsh breaths, trying to calm her racing her heart. "I could have fallen over the edge myself because of your juvenile antics!"
"Don't be so dramatic. How else was I supposed to announce my presence without scaring you?" Quinn questions, an amused sort of expression painting her features.
"You could have answered when I called out to you instead of waiting until I was at the roof's edge to say something!" Rachel declares, arms raised in frustration. Dropping her arms back to her side, she frowns, shrugging her shoulders. "Why are we up here anyway? I know Santana made that joke, at least I think it was a joke, about needing rescue teams and ambulances, but I didn't think you would take it to heart."
"You really need to consider switching to decaf," Quinn rolls her eyes as she walks over to the shaded area of the roof and leans against the brick wall.
"I do not drink any sort of caffeinated beverages as it is, I find-"
"Berry," Quinn holds her hand up as she lowers herself to the ground. "I don't actually care."
"Must you be so difficult?" Rachel huffs, folding her arms over her chest. When Quinn doesn't answer, she sighs. "Okay then, let's just get this assignment over with so that I may leave. I still don't understand why we are here, Quinn. Did you not see the signs?"
"Share something personal with your partner," Quinn reads from the paper in her lap, ignoring Rachel's question. She lifts her head to look at the other girl, cocking it to the side as the corners of her lips curl into a slight smirk. "Lead the way, Streisand."
With a small shake of her head, Rachel crosses the roof as she thinks about the question. There are so many things she could share with Quinn. So many things that her fellow members in glee club don't know about her. For as open as she is with her feelings and her emotions, there's so much about herself that she keeps private for fear that she'll be taunted even more so than usual.
To do this assignment, however, she knows she has to be honest. Otherwise, as Mr. Schue said, she'll get nothing accomplished - not that she's expecting much considering who her partner is.
"When I was a child, I was a little slower than was normal for my age," Rachel begins as she settles herself on the ground, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. She thinks she hears a soft snort from Quinn, but she continues on anyway. "Learning choreography for my many dance classes and learning to sing and remembering lyrics to songs came as easily and as naturally as breathing for me. Unfortunately, I didn't fare as well with reading. Words were simply letters forced together in a chaotic collision to my mind. I knew they meant something, but I struggled on a daily basis to figure out what. It wasn't until I was six, almost seven, that I learned how to read."
She closes her eyes for a moment, remembering all the times as a young girl she was teased for being unable to read. How the teachers had looked at her with frustration - or worse, pity - in their eyes when she failed to read a simple sentence. The fear that she would be placed in a special needs class and forced to suffer even more cruel taunting from her classmates, who at their ages seemed to have no sympathy for anyone whose minds worked differently, made her spend the entirety of her holiday vacation hunched over her desk poring over books until she finally made a breakthrough. After her school vacation was over, she returned to class that Monday and stood before her classmates and her teacher, determinedly reading through an entire story in their reading book all on her own.
Emotion swells inside and she clears her throat as she opens her eyes, her gaze falling to Quinn. "That is why I speak the way I do. So that I may remember how far I've come as well as exercise the knowledge I've acquired."
Quinn, though she shouldn't be, is surprised by the honesty of Rachel's words. She's sure the brunette is aware that once the hour is up she could use Rachel's admission against her. And yet, whether from sheer stupidity or unshakable trust, Rachel chose to reveal something deeply personal about herself rather than something insignificant and superficial.
Inhaling deeply, Quinn pulls her bag into her lap and begins rummaging through it, searching. When her fingers graze over smooth leather, she pauses, wondering if she wants to share this part of her, least of all with Rachel. Quinn knows, however, in this case it's not a matter of want, but rather a matter of should.
Once the item is in her hand, she holds it up and away from her body, offering it to Rachel. "Berry."
"What is it?" Rachel asks, making no effort to move towards the blonde, eyes roaming over the object intently.
Quinn doesn't respond with words, but instead arches a fine light brow and flicks her outstretched wrist a couple times.
Rachel slowly stands and crosses the short distance between them, carefully watching Quinn, waiting to see what, if anything, the blonde is planning to do. But other than raising her arm higher to hand Rachel the book, Quinn does nothing. Rachel takes the book with her left hand while her right traces over the textured leather cover. She has half a mind to voice her disapproval over Quinn possessing a book bound in leather but decides that's a battle best left for another day.
For a brief second, she glances past the book in her hand down at Quinn to see the blonde twisting and rolling the strap of her backpack between her fingers before directing her attention back to the book. Upon closer inspection the leather isn't black as she originally thought but rather a deep dark blue color with only the tiniest of scratches marring the cover of the otherwise flawless cover. If not for the very light fading of the leather and the corners of the book bending down and turning inward, Rachel would think Quinn had only just gotten it.
With her fingertip she traces over the raised gold lettering of Quinn's name emblazoned at the bottom right corner before finally opening the book. A small gasp escapes her lips as her eyes take in the pages before her.
Drawings.
Beautifully intricate detail-oriented drawings.
Rachel knew of Quinn's propensity towards drawing, the pornographic images of herself on the walls of the bathroom along with the many grotesque renderings of herself and other classmates posted in the hallways alerted her to that fact. But those were drawn in the manner in which they were to be taken; childish and insulting. These drawings, on the other hand, speak of someone with talent, who not only has a critical eye but an eye for sparking emotion and feeling within the viewer.
Each drawing is so life-like, so alive; tangible beyond the feel of rough paper beneath skin. As her eyes roam over a sketch of Noah, she can almost smell the scent of the aftershave he uses wafting up to her nose. Her ears ring with the sounds of shouted cheers as she looks over the drawing of the cheerleading squad in the gymnasium going through a routine.
But as she reaches the last of the drawings, she is left breathless by the drawing of a little baby girl bundled in a pink blanket.
Beth.
Wisps of blonde hair curl and nestle flat against Beth's head as light brown eyes seem to sparkle as they look up into Rachel's eyes. Chubby cheeks are tinted with a light pink and Rachel feels like she could almost reach forward and tweak them gently. Even though she's on the roof of McKinley High she feels like she's inside the maternity ward of the local hospital with the soft scent of baby powder tickling her nose and the cries of babies reaching her ears.
"During my pregnancy, I spent most of my time alone with only that sketchbook as my company," the sudden sound of Quinn's voice startles Rachel. "It was cathartic, putting pen to paper and creating something beautiful when everything else in my life felt ugly and lonely."
The leather-bound sketchbook was given to her as a gift from her grandmother on her thirteenth birthday. At first, she only appreciated the gift for two reasons: it came from her grandmother and it was one of the only things she had, outside of academic awards and cheerleading trophies, with her name on it. As time wore on and her interest in art deepened, she began drawing in it almost everyday. After her father kicked her out of the house, it became a way not only to express herself creatively but also as a way to combat the loneliness she felt and the thoughts that plagued her mind at all hours.
"I got used to being alone, though. But, now that I'm back home with my mother, I'm never alone. She's always around, trying her best to make up for everything that happened," Quinn shakes her head, a small smile gracing her lips. "It's nice having her actually be there when I need her. But sometimes it's stifling. So I climb up to our roof and take my sketchbook with me and just draw."
Rachel nods her understanding, though Quinn doesn't see her. She realizes now why Quinn chose the roof. Much like she finds comfort in the dark of the auditorium when everything becomes too much and she needs time alone, Quinn seems to find comfort in being in the open air of a roof.
"These drawings? They're stunning, Quinn," Rachel compliments as she closes the book and holds it out for Quinn to take. "Particularly the one of Beth. It is so very beautiful."
"I don't know if I did her justice. I didn't get to spend much time with her before they took her away," Quinn explains, her voice tinged with sadness.
Rachel's eyes widen. "You drew her from memory?"
Quinn nods, sliding her sketchbook back into her bag. Her time with her daughter may have been all too brief, but the angelic face of that little girl would forever be burned into her memory.
"You're very talented," Rachel says quietly.
Quinn angles her head to the side as she looks up at the smaller girl, noting the impressed expression on her face. It seems almost strange to Quinn that Rachel Berry, one who was ever critical of her voice in glee club as well as the decisions she made, could or would ever look at her in such a way. With a slight dip of her head she offers her thanks.
"What next?" Rachel's eyes fall to the piece of paper in Quinn's lap.
"Lighten up. Do an impression of a celebrity or of a famous character," Quinn groans softly, wondering what Mr. Schuester could have possibly been thinking when adding this to their assignment.
"As I went first last time, I think it would only be fair that you go first this time," Rachel muses with a small wry smile.
"Not on your life, Berry," Quinn snorts.
"Fair is fair, Quinn."
"Luckily for me, I'm not interested in fair," Quinn grins a small grin as Rachel stamps her foot on the ground, reminding her of Puck's little sister when she doesn't get her way. "Let's go. Wow me with your impersonation skills."
With a resigned sigh, Rachel turns her back to Quinn as she runs through the list of names of celebrities and famous characters in her mind. She smiles, deciding to go with a tried and true classic. After all nobody can match her with her impersonation of one Ms. Barbra Streisand. Her smile melts away into a somber expression as she draws forth the emotions needed for this.
"Oh, my man, I love him so, he'll never know," Rachel begins to sing, turning slowly to face Quinn. "All my life is just despair, but I don't care."
As she sings, she watches as Quinn folds her arms over her chest, her brows drawing together to form a small, but obvious scowl. While she can usually ignore such looks, considering she receives them almost everyday when she moves to the center of the choir room to voice her opinion or to sing, she's unable to this time because she doesn't understand what she did to warrant that look from Quinn; she's only doing what the assignment called for.
She stops singing, hands on her hips. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you do a Streisand impersonation almost everyday in glee as it is?" Quinn grouses. "You worship her. We get it. Stop running it into the ground."
"You're awfully rude," Rachel frowns.
"That wasn't me being rude, that was me being honest. There's a difference," Quinn points out. "Try another impersonation. Not one that relates to Barbra Streisand, Broadway, musicals or music in general. Can you do that?"
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try something else," Rachel murmurs, shoulders slumping ever so slightly.
"Good."
Quinn's eyes follow Rachel as the smaller girl turns her back to her once more and begins to pace, muttering quietly under her breath. Taking away so many options for Rachel to choose from, Quinn wonders what Rachel will come up with. And just as suddenly as the pacing started, it stops as Rachel turns back around, smiling brightly.
"I've got it. Now, I need you to use your imagination for a moment while I do this. These," Rachel holds up both of her hands, her index fingers curling down to meet her thumbs in a circle while the rest are held up, "are my glasses."
A blonde brow arches as Rachel turns her wrists out, elbows pointing out to the sides, and brings her circled fingers around her eyes.
"Give me a moment," Rachel rolls up on the balls of her feet and settles back down, clearing her throat. With a sharp exhale, Rachel affects an accent and simply says, "And I can see Russia from my house."
Quinn blinks as Rachel draws out the last word.
Behind her finger glasses, Rachel's brows furrow slightly at Quinn's reaction. While she is unsure if her attempt at the accent was successful, she is sure the intention of her impersonation was clear.
Then, Quinn's body shudders as small chuckles escape from her lips until she is laughing softly.
As she lowers her hands to her side, a bright toothy grin spreads over Rachel's features. She actually made Quinn Fabray laugh. Not a taunting, cruel laugh. But a genuine laugh. She mentally pats herself on the back for her accomplishment.
"Not bad, Berry," Quinn confesses as her laughter subsides.
"Thank you," Rachel beams, leaning back against the brick wall. "Now it is your turn."
Quinn grimaces; she was never one for impersonations. At best she can probably sing like someone, but she suspects that since she didn't allow Rachel to impersonate a singer, Rachel will most likely deny her those options as well. That leaves her with one option.
"You think this is hard? Try being pregnant and being forced to perform sub-par dance moves choreographed by a man with a nest of small woodland creatures living on top of his head. That's hard!" Quinn shouts into her imaginary loudspeaker, adopting the trademark contemptuous tone of Coach Sylvester.
Suppressing the urge to smile (because really the impression is dead on) Rachel crosses her arms over her chest with a scowl and arches her brow, perfectly mimicking Quinn's earlier expression. A smirk tugs at her lips as she says, "You do an impersonation of Ms. Sylvester almost everyday."
Quinn's lip curl into a slight sneer and maybe Rachel's imagination is running wild again, but she would swear the blonde just growled at her. Maybe Ms. Sylvester isn't too far off base when she says Quinn reminds her of a younger version of herself.
Quinn rests her head against the wall, her eyes closing as she tries to think of someone else to impersonate. Even though she watches a decent amount of television and spent many nights mockingly quoting characters from shows that she and Mercedes watched, her mind is drawing a blank.
Moments later, a character comes to mind.
"Lala-lala lala-lala Elmo's song. Lala-lala lala-lala Elmo's song," Quinn sings in a falsetto voice. "Me write the music, me write the words, that's Elmo's song." After she's finished with the song that played constantly while she was living at Puck's house, she feels her cheeks flushing as she looks down at her lap, grumbling. "There, you happy?"
Rachel draws her bottom lip between her teeth as a smile breaks out on her face. By the coloring of her cheeks and her refusal to look up at her, Rachel knows that Quinn is embarrassed. Rachel can't help but find Quinn's willingness to let her cool, often time's hard facade to fade away, even for the briefest of moments, to impersonate a character from Sesame Street altogether endearing. "I am quite happy with your impersonation."
"Good. Because we are never speaking of this moment again," Quinn glares up at Rachel, but there's no real malice in her gaze. Rachel smiles and moves her fingers over her lips as if to zip them. Quinn shakes her head. "Moving on. What do you want to be in ten years?"
"I'm quite sure everyone, including those who do not know me personally, knows the answer to that question," Rachel says with an almost nervous smile. "I want to be a successful actress, known the world over for my influence and contributions to the performing arts. I want to be the star in all of the Broadway shows, all of the movies, all of the musicals that influenced me in my formative years. I want to be the youngest ever recipient of the rare and elusive EGOT. I want to be doing what I love - performing."
"I figured as much," Quinn says, then shrugs her shoulders. "At least you're sure of what you want, though."
"Do you not know what you want?" Rachel asks, lowering herself to the ground, her knees tucked underneath her as she leans against the wall, playing with the hem of her skirt.
"I wanna get out of here," Quinn says abruptly, unable to stop the blush that spreads over her cheeks as Rachel recoils slightly, looking at her with wide eyes. "I meant, I want to get out of Lima. I've already laid the foundation for becoming a Lima loser by being a walking cliche and getting pregnant, but I don't want that to be the story of my life."
Before she became pregnant, Quinn felt as though she were on the fast-track to getting the hell out of Lima. Perfect grades in all of her honor classes, position as head cheerleader of the nationally-ranked Cheerios, founder and president of the Celibacy Club, member of the Glee Club, among other extracurricular activities. All calculated moves designed to get a scholarship to a school of her choice outside of the stifling and dream barren city limits of Lima, Ohio. And after she became pregnant, it seemed like all of her dreams of becoming something more; something better, had all been crushed in one fell swoop.
It wasn't until after giving up Beth, as selfish as it is for her to admit, and getting her spot back on the Cheerios that she could even allow herself to feel a glimmer of hope for the future.
"I think most of us living here wish to leave Lima, Quinn," Rachel says gently. "But what do you want to be? What do you want to do beyond moving away from Lima?"
"I honestly don't know," Quinn admits. "My father, before he kicked me out, had his own ideas of what I should do once I graduated and I went along with them. After he kicked me out, I didn't just lose my home and my family, I lost those dreams as well," Quinn explains with a heavy sigh. "But I guess in retrospect, his dreams were never my dreams to begin with. I never wanted to be some corporate head-hunting lawyer or business executive."
"You certainly have the tenacity and blood-thirsty personality to be either, though," Rachel teases, before realizing what she's saying and who she's saying it to. She swallows hard, once again praying Quinn will avoid her nose when she takes a swing.
But to her credit, Quinn only chuckles softly. "True. But I think I'd prefer to go into design or something like that."
"You have the talent for it," Rachel smiles. "I think you would excel in a career such as that. You should look into exploring that option a little more."
"Maybe I will," Quinn says, her smile one of hope. She looks down at the paper in her lap, folding it so only the remaining questions are visible. "Admit something that worries you or something that you are afraid of."
"I don't suppose you'll go first with this question, either?"
"No, I can," Quinn says, surprising Rachel who expected to be told once more to go first. "That's probably the simplest question on the list for me."
Rachel shifts her body, trying to work out the numbness in her shoulder from resting against the brick while she waits for Quinn to answer.
"I only have two real fears," Quinn says, holding up her hand, two fingers up and the rest folded in. "One is the fear that I'll become like my parents. In a loveless marriage that only survived as long as it did because of alcohol and fear of what family and friends would think if they were to suspect the marriage was anything less than the picture-perfect image being presented. That I'll one day have a family that's only a family through blood and name, and not from any real connection to one another. That I'll either be like my father and condemn my child for one mistake, or that I'll be like my mother and stand idly by, watching as it happens."
Rachel doesn't fully understand the fear Quinn feels. Despite her own mother essentially turning her back on her, she still had the unconditional love of two fathers who have always been nothing short of devoted and wonderful to her and to each other. While she may not understand completely, she feels empathy towards the blonde and because of that reaches out, resting her hand on Quinn's knee in a comforting manner.
Quinn glances down at the hand on her knee, but doesn't attempt to move it before continuing as a surge of emotion courses through her. "And the second fear is the fear that Beth will never know who I am. More than anything, that she won't want to know who I am. That when, or even if, she thinks of me, she'll only think of me as this person who didn't love her enough to keep her."
Rachel knows that to offer Quinn words of reassurance, that one day Beth would come to Quinn just as Rachel had gone to Shelby, would only give the blonde false hope. Not because she doesn't believe that Beth will search for her, but because every child is different. And while she had searched for her mother, it doesn't necessarily mean that Beth will do the same. Or that Beth will understand why Quinn gave her up.
Gently she squeezes Quinn's knee, choosing instead to say. "I know you loved her, Quinn. Just as I know you still do. Anyone who looks at your drawing of her can see that."
"Thanks," Quinn mumbles, turning her head away from Rachel as she breathes in deeply, trying to rein in her emotions as she discreetly wipes a tear from her eye. When she's regained her composure, she turns to Rachel and says with a small laugh. "I can probably guess what you're afraid of, huh? That you won't make it on Broadway?"
While there's a hint of sarcasm to Quinn's voice, Rachel, seeing the tinges of red around the edges of Quinn's eyes, doesn't take it personally. She knows, if anything, it's a way for Quinn to reclaim some sense of control and normalcy over the situation.
"While that is, in fact, a fear of mine, it is not the fear that keeps me awake at night," Rachel confesses softly, not missing the surprise reflecting in sharp hazel eyes. "I'm afraid that even after I become a successful actress, star in all of my favorite Broadway shows, land a pivotal role in a future award-winning film; after all my dreams finally come true, that I still will not be truly happy. I'm afraid all the awards, the accolades, the honors will do nothing to compensate for the emptiness inside."
Quinn nods imperceptibly because she knows that feeling all too well. To have everything you could dream of and still be unhappy. It's not a feeling she would wish on anyone, not even Rachel. Something inside of her, in the deepest recesses of her heart, says she should reach out, take the hand on her knee and offer the same reassuring comfort that Rachel gave to her. But to do so, she thinks, would be out of character for her and the sentiment, no matter how genuine it might be in the moment, would seem fake. Instead, the corner of her lips lift up into a smirk, in an attempt to bring levity to the situation, as she says, "Having the chance to prove everyone here wrong by going on to become outrageously famous and then being able to shove it in our faces? Yeah, like that won't make you obnoxiously happy."
Rachel giggles. "Now that you mention it, that certainly does have it's appeal."
"I thought it might," Quinn says, with a good-natured roll of her eyes. "What time is it?"
Rachel pulls her phone from her bag, checking. "It is 12:57. Three more minutes and the hour will be up, and then you will no longer be forced to spend any more of your time in my company."
"Good. I was getting sick of your face," Quinn says, and while her tone is hard as ever, her eyes sparkle with mirth.
"The feeling is quite mutual," Rachel huffs, glaring at the blonde for a moment before allowing a small smile to emerge.
"Last question. Tell your partner a secret," Quinn reads as she stands, folding the piece of paper and tucking it into her bag.
While waiting for Rachel to answer the question, Quinn stretches her arms over her head alleviating the ache in her muscles from having sat for so long. As she's brushing away the flecks of dirt on her uniform, she notices Rachel staring ahead of her with an abnormally pensive expression. Before she can ask, Rachel suddenly looks up at her, a sadness in her eyes that wasn't there moments ago.
"As much as I love Finn, and I do love him so very much, sometimes I-I-" Rachel stammers, then sighs. "Sometimes I can't look at him without being reminded of what I did...how much I hurt you, in order to get him."
There were times when Rachel looked at Finn and all the love she felt for him was overshadowed by the guilt she felt over hurting Quinn. She had been selfish in her pursuit of him, not caring how much pain she caused Quinn in the process. While she was aware that she couldn't be to blame for the lies Quinn told, Rachel knew that by her telling the truth - a truth that wasn't hers to tell - she had caused Quinn's world to crumble even more so than it already had. She began to realize that she should have allowed Quinn the opportunity to tell her truth on her own, instead of taking the choice away from her, for a reason that was fueled only by her own selfish desires. And even though Quinn didn't fault her for doing as she did, she still lives with the guilt of her actions to this day.
The weight of Rachel's secret forces it's way inside of Quinn, twisting and wrapping around her arms and legs, halting their movements until she's frozen in place, looking down at Rachel with eyes wide and lips parted slightly. It's the last thing she expected to hear coming from Rachel's mouth and she finds herself unsure of what to say, of what to feel.
Rachel sees the conflicting emotions shining through hazel eyes and she stands, holding her hand up, shaking her head. "Y-you don't have to say anything, Quinn. The assignment called for a secret and that was the only secret I felt important enough for me to share with you. Of everything I've shared with you in this hour, this is the only thing you really needed to know. What I needed you to know."
The earnestness she sees in Rachel's eyes, in her voice, makes Quinn thankful the brunette offered a reprieve from having to say anything. What can she say? She doesn't understand why Rachel's holding on to guilt over something that happened a year ago, or even why she feels guilty in the first place. None of it had been her fault. But telling Rachel not to feel something, Quinn reasons, would be the same as telling her not to sing. With hope, now that Rachel's finally shared her secret, the burden of guilt will begin to subside until it's no longer nagging at her conscience.
With a small nod, Quinn shoulders her bag as she turns and walks towards the door.
"Quinn," Rachel calls out, and Quinn stops walking but doesn't turn around. "You didn't tell me what your secret was."
Quinn turns her head slightly, only the left side of her face visible, with her eyes downcast. "I don't like you."
The soft words prick painfully at Rachel's heart. After the last hour, she thought maybe Quinn would be, at least, a little more cordial towards her, but it's obvious she was hoping for too much.
"That's hardly a secret, Quinn," Rachel sniffs indelicately, arms folding over her chest.
"Let me finish," Quinn instructs, as she turns to face the smaller girl. "I don't like you, but contrary to popular belief, I don't hate you either."
Dark brows disappear under bangs as Rachel's eyes widen in surprise and disbelief.
"Truth be told, I respect you," Quinn admits softly, her gaze locked onto Rachel's. "Everyone is awful to you, myself included, but you always show up. Everyday, always smiling. Always there to lend a helping hand to those in need, even to those who have been nothing but cruel to you. I can't even pretend to know how you're able to do that, but I respect you for it," Quinn sighs. It's why she can't bring herself to like Rachel; because even though she knows having someone like Rachel in her life would do her good, she knows she could never be the kind of friend Rachel deserves. Rachel's secret solidifies that belief. "As annoying as you can be, you remind me that there are actually good people in this world."
It takes a concentrated effort on Rachel's part not to allow the tears welling in her eyes to spill over and cascade down her cheeks. Quinn may never like her, may never want to be her friend, but Quinn respects her; it's more than she could have hoped for.
Turning, Quinn walks to the door. As she pulls it open, she looks back. "Don't let people like me make you feel like you need to change who you are." With those parting words, Quinn disappears inside and the door closes behind her with a dull thud.
A single tear rolls down Rachel's cheek.
***
"I'm happy to see that you all made it back in one piece," Will says, as everyone settles into their seats, internally sighing in relief that nobody came back with a black eye or bloodied lip. "I hope you used your time wisely and really used this opportunity to get to know your partner."
"I learned that Brittany really doesn't have a single coherent thought in her head," Tina says, looking pointedly at the blonde cheerleader who's seemingly trying to make a phone call using her calculator. Sensing eyes on her, she looks to her right and sees Santana shooting her a murderous glare. She quickly stutters out. "N-n-not t-t-that t-there's anything wrong with that."
"Dude, crippled or not, I hear the words 'Little Artie' come out of your mouth one more time, I'm gonna nut-punch you and shove you in the port-a-john again. Best believe this time I'll roll that sucker," Puck threatens, and Artie instinctively moves his hands to cover his crotch.
"Puck, I don't want to hear you threatening him again!" Will scolds the mohawked boy.
Puck clasps his hands behind his head and leans the chair back on two legs. "Yeah? Well, I don't wanna hear about Artie's junk again."
"Kurt might, though," Santana chimes in, smirking as she looks to Kurt. "But then again, he might be more interested in-"
"Santana!" Kurt hisses, his cheeks flushing. "I swear on my Alexander McQueen fall collection, I will spill your secret if you finish that sentence! And you and I both know that your secret will ruin you a lot faster than mine will ruin me!"
Santana lifts her chin, glaring at the boy, but surprisingly doesn't say anything more, leaving everyone to stare, slack-jawed, wondering what Kurt has on the cheerleader.
Mercedes leans over, whispering. "What's her secret?"
"I'll never tell," Kurt singsongs, then glances at Santana. "Unless, of course, she blabs about mine. Isn't that right, sweetie?"
Santana growls. "Whatever."
Rachel leans against Finn, laying her head against his shoulder, only vaguely listening to the voices of her team-mates.
"You okay?" Finn asks, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.
"I'm fine," Rachel replies with a smile.
"Hey Bristol, what'd you do? Tranq Berry so you could stand being around for an hour without her yapping like a chihuahua?" Santana quips, observing how unusually subdued Rachel seems since returning to class.
Rachel's eyes slide closed, waiting for the inevitable insult to be thrown her way.
"You know, speaking of tranqs, I haven't forgotten about the little fit you threw in the hall after Coach Sylvester made me Captain again and being Captain, I'm the one with the key to Coach's secret filing cabinet. You remember what's in it, don't you, S?" Quinn asks, smiling sweetly as Santana's face pales.
Never expecting the blonde to let an easy opportunity to rip into her go, Rachel is surprised by Quinn's response and lets out the breath she didn't know she was holding and relaxes against Finn.
"What's in Sue's filing cabinet, Santana?" Will asks warily.
"Nothing, Mr. Schue. Just files," Santana says, a weak and obvious lie.
Will sighs, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his fingers, feeling the pressure of a headache beginning to build. Sometimes he can't remember why he ever became a teacher.
"What color is his thong?" Brittany speaks up suddenly, turning her curious gaze to Tina.
Tina blushes profusely, her eyes widening at the blonde's comment.
All eyes snap to Mike who holds up his hands, a horrified look on his face. "Don't look at me. I'm not into wearing girls' underwear."
All eyes turn to Artie who shakes his head vehemently. "Nuh-uh, not me. I don't wear anything that flosses my ass. I'm more of a boxers man."
All eyes turn back to Tina who blinks rapidly, her fingers threading through her hair nervously. "Brittany, it's a secret for a reason."
"Oh," Brittany smiles before leaning towards a curious Santana, whispering, "I'll tell you later."
When the bell sounds, Will breathes a sigh of relief. He doesn't know how much more of their secrets he could handle. "Have a good weekend, guys."
As the room begins to clear, Rachel gathers up her belongings while Finn waits at her side. She looks up to him, smiling gently. "You don't have to wait on me, Finn."
"Are you sure? I mean, I was gonna walk you to class and all."
"I'm sure. I need to go over some sheet music with Brad before I leave. But thank you," Rachel rises up on the tips of her toes and leaves a chaste kiss on his lips.
"Okay," he says, a goofy grin plastered on his face. "I'll see you after class, then."
Rachel nods affirmatively, watching as he bounds out of the room, nearly knocking over Sam as he slaps his hand down on the blonde boy's shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Quinn, the last of the club members still left in the room besides herself, moving towards the door.
Quinn pauses in the doorway, and Rachel thinks maybe Quinn will use this opportunity to reassert her position as head cheerleader and remind Rachel of her place at the bottom of the social food chain. But Rachel could never have predicted what actually happens.
Turning her head, Quinn looks to Rachel, an unreadable expression on her face, and then slowly, her lips curl into a smile.
A warm and genuine smile.
Rachel, helpless to stop herself, smiles in return.
An hour ago, her hopes for their acquaintanceship to be anything other than adversarial were fleeting and dismal. Now, as the blonde dips her head slightly and turns, walking out of the room, Rachel feels like maybe, just maybe, there's a chance that one day she will actually be able to call Quinn Fabray a friend.
Maybe all of Mr. Schuester's assignments are not complete disasters after all.