The Perfect [3/10]
Title: The Perfect
Author: Effy (asutex)
Rating: R
Warnings: language, sexual situations, homosexuality, abuse
Disclaimer: Do not own... Sadly.
Summary: To anyone else, it was just Rachel and Jesse. Rachel, the ignored beauty. Jesse, the arrogant dream man. Rachel Berry and her perfect boyfriend. The sight forced a frustrated sigh from Quinn's lips. She really hated Jesse.
-
-
-
"So, Ru Paul..."
That was a bad way to start things off.
"Rachel, do you want to hang out...?"
Pitiful. The words made her gag. Pathetic and cliché. She had to do a lot better than just that.
"Hey, sexy, wanna..."
Quinn paused, her words failing her. Somehow, 'wanna fuck' didn't really express what she wanted to do with Rachel. It wasn't just sex that she wanted. Honestly, she could have gotten sex from some randomly selected loser in the school if she had truly wanted to. Hell, if she wanted a black eye and broken ribs, she could have made a pass at sweet Brittany and then deal with being beaten by her enraged Latina girlfriend. All that Quinn wanted from Rachel was her heart. That enthusiastic, overwhelmingly kind, warm heart of hers. The same heart that had pushed the mocked and bullied little diva to relentlessly pursue Quinn during her pregnancy. Her only motivation was the make sure that the then-cheerleader was taking all of her pre-natal vitamins and seeing the doctor when necessary.
That initial request for an audience with the glee queen was vital to the success of the rest of their relationship. Rachel didn't trust her. Quinn was cognizant of this problem. That was why it was so important that her new first impression be adequate; more than adequate. It had to be perfect. There was no room for failure. Shifting in her position leaning against the piano in the empty chorus room, Quinn decided on a different tactic.
"Rachel, could we talk?"
Quinn didn't like the vulnerability that bled into her voice.
"...Quinn? May I ask who you're talking to?"
Well, damn.
Quinn froze, almost afraid to turn around to see the owner of that melodic voice. Her mind was screaming at her, demanding that she 'man-up' immediately and turn around. She had no time to waste. She had been caught in the act and there was no way to turn back now. Firmly planting her trademark confident smirk on her lips, Quinn whirled around, her light hair flipping gracefully.
"Rachel, hi." Quinn greeted the other sweetly.
Her tone did not have the desired effect.
Rachel seemed to draw into herself, eyes carefully observing every detail about Quinn. Her gaze flitted cautiously around the room as though she expected the entirety of glee club to throw slushies in her face at Quinn's bidding. After all, Quinn had a far more secure place in the social hierarchy of their small club. The diva curled her arms around herself tightly, eyes focusing again on the only other individual in the room. Her beautiful eyes were like pools of decadent chocolate, her skin flawless and silky, her locks of soft brown hair framing her face gently.
Quinn's voice caught in her throat. Now was not a good time to freeze up.
"Hi, Quinn... Was there something you wanted to speak to me about," The brunette's head canted to one side, an expression of curiosity taking over the caution. The wariness was still present, but not as pronounced. Her eyes slid to the gleaming black piano and then back, "or is the piano's name Rachel as well?"
"I just- Rachel... I'm sorry." The pint-sized star's eyes widened though her lips pressed together in disbelief. The diva's status as a temporary mute presented the perfect opportunity for Quinn to proceed, "I'm sorry... For everything... And, I know it sounds pathetic and I don't even for a second believe that a little 'I'm sorry' is going to make up for how horrible I've been to you... but, it's a start, right?"
God, she wanted her to say yes.
Please, say yes.
The defenses readied themselves again, the walls sliding into place as a preemptive measure in case Quinn's apology was some sort of joke. Still silent, the brunette nodded slowly. This had to be a world record. Rachel hadn't said anything for about two minutes. Encouraged, the former cheerleader tried to get to her point before the other had any chance to shut her down.
"When I was pregnant... you tried so hard to be my friend. I shouldn't have rejected the offer, but I did... I was just wondering if, maybe...could we start over?" Quinn took a step towards Rachel, holding out her hand as an invitation.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Fabray." Rachel was never one to drop a cue. That small, warm hand grasped her own in a firm handshake. It was like electricity had just jolted into her bloodstream at the touch. A sense of exhilaration flooded over her like a tsunami.
"The pleasure is mine, Rachel Berry." The brunette didn't seem to understand that there was a double meaning to those words. There was about a second during which they were simply holding hands. A locker slammed in the hallway just outside. The moment shattered into irreparable splinters and caused Rachel to pull her hand away. A few seconds of silence followed. Quinn occupied her time by taking in the gorgeous girl in front of her and committing everything about her appearance to memory.
Rachel was wearing an arguably short red plaid skirt with a form-fitting white tank top. A casual glance her way would be enough to convince anyone that the diva had just stepped out of some pervert's hot schoolgirl fantasy. Even though her appearance flaunted her appealing sexual qualities, Quinn still saw a glimpse of the old Rachel beneath the clothing. She still retained that pure innocence that separated her from everyone else in the school. There was one key change, however. The innocence was stifled; strangled. It was weary.
Quinn frowned internally.
These days, Rachel acted... differently. At times, she seemed skittish. Other times, she knew exactly how lovely she looked and used it to distract from the detailed changes in her behavior and appearance. The latter always resulted in a stormy looking Jesse. Quinn was certain that said boy was responsible for the development of the quieter, differently clothed Rachel.
"I should go, Quinn... Jesse will be waiting for me. He doesn't like to be kept waiting and I don't like to waste his time. It's rude and while some stars are rude to people like the paparazzi or fans, I will not be that kind of star. I am the kind of star who will not be rude to her biggest fan: her loving boyfriend. I will see you tomorrow... We can move on from there." There was the babbling, completely characteristic monologue that she had been missing for a few weeks. Rachel, unsure of the appropriate way to end the encounter, opted for a firm nod before almost fleeing from the chorus room.
Quinn allowed a grin to spread across her face, pleased at her success. It was just the start, but it was still progress. Quinn collected herself, slipping into her careful costume of cold confidence. If nothing else, her wonderful parents had taught her how to make a character and then stick to it. The Fabray family was full of excellent actors and actresses on each side. The Fabrays did not fight, they did not have disagreements or differences of opinions, they did not discuss their feelings. The Fabrays lovingly cultivated their image as the ideal family. The perfect, wealthy businessman of a father; the regal, lovely housewife of a mother; the beautiful, popular cheerleaders as daughters.
These lessons had all been of vital importance to Quinn's development as a young woman. They were the primary guiding factors that drove her every decision. She could do absolutely anything that she wanted as long as it was in character. Breaking the habit of wearing lies was difficult. Quinn still couldn't quite manage to break out of the shackles, but she was working on it. For the moment, her façade kept her safe. Fewer people bothered her when she kept up this particular act.
By the time that she stepped into the hallway, Rachel was long gone.
As was normal, Quinn met Puck by his car and rolled her eyes at his flimsy excuse for a mohawk. Like hell was that little thing a mohawk. She didn't understand why Puck insisted on claiming that he had something that he obviously did not. Seeing as she had tried to have that argument with him before, she saw no point in bringing it up again. The narrow strip of black hair was barely noticeable. His plumage was still recovering from having been butchered off by a doctor after 'The Freckle Incident'.
As a housemate, it turned out Puck was actually decent enough to live with. Finn had kept his clothes strewn about his room, the toilet seat up and unflushed after his visits to the restrooms, and dirty dishes stacked in piles in his room. His mom had been a single mom, so one would have assumed that maybe he was mature enough to realize that he should pick up after himself. It hadn't taken long for Quinn to discover that this was not the case with her then-boyfriend. Finn Hudson was truly bumbling, giant man-child. Names like Finncompetence were definitely deserved.
Puck, on the opposite side of the same man-child masculine coin, kept his room fairly organized. It was hardly pristine, but one could actually see the bottom of his closet and walk in without stumbling over his shit. He helped his mother with the dishes and, surprisingly enough, with cooking as well. The bathroom always smelled nice because of the air freshener that his mother insisted on keeping there and he neither left the seat up on the toilet nor forgot to flush. His mother was a single parent as well, but he did everything in his power to help her with domestic duties. Puck, much to her initial surprise, had also taken great care in making sure that she had one side of the bathroom to herself. Vulgar and repulsive as he could be, it could still be said that he was considerate. Well, considerate of her.
Quinn, even after the months of living with him, still felt as though she was imposing on his family. Despite his assurances that she wasn't, the blond refused to accept his answer and did what she could to help out. Puck's mother appreciated the assistance and was delighted to chatter to her while cleaning or preparing meals. Quinn found that she did not enjoy the restrictions in her diet while under Puck's roof. She liked being able to eat bacon. Still, it was a minor thing and she was in no place to complain and simply continued in showing her appreciation at being taken in by such a nice family.
It turned out that getting into Rachel's good graces was easy enough, but painfully slow going. Any large friendly gesture on her part was regarded with intense suspicion and uncertainty. Quinn was forced to take baby steps. Each day, she tried to do something - anything, really - that was small and that could be considered innocent enough. Some days, all she could do was lend the girl a spare pencil (on the rare occasions that Rachel was actually unprepared for class). Other days, the brunette actually let Quinn make some progress by walking with her to class or making friendly small talk.
The other glee kids took little notice of the budding friendship. After all, the relationship was barely in its infancy. There was one person in particular who took a keen interest and he did not seem exuberant about the new friend his girlfriend was making.
"Why is she hanging around so much? What's her angle?" It was as though Jesse was the little voice of paranoia in his girlfriend's head, the voice that told Rachel not to trust her, that she was up to something that would hurt her. The cool manipulative tone to his voice infuriated Quinn beyond reason.
"Jesse, she is attempting to be friends with me. I," Rachel paused, eyes averted slightly and then continued on in a tone so low that Quinn had to inconspicuously shift herself closer to listen, "I am not entirely certain... but I think I trust her."
Her boyfriend said something in a murmur so quiet that there was no way for Quinn to eavesdrop. That was okay, she had heard enough.
Quinn glanced down at herself, smoothing out her clothes in a vain attempt to look more attractive to Miss Rachel Berry, the diva queen. It wasn't as though she had dressed any differently than she usually did. The simple green dress that she wore complemented the verdant tones in her irises. She had never had to work particularly hard to look good.
"Hello, Rachel." A bright smile.
Jesse gave a none too subtle glare before stalking out of the door... without Rachel. A feeling of triumph filled her chest. Hell yes, Quinn for the freaking win.
"Quinn, would..." A pause before she restarted with forced confidence, "Would you like to come to my house this evening? I was thinking that we should attempt a social interaction outside of the educational setting, don't you agree?"
"Works for me." Quinn painted the most disarming smile possible on her lips. It seemed to ease the tension in Rachel's smooth muscles. A bit of her former enthusiasm shone brightly through her recently adopted demeanor.
The house of the Berry family was a decent size. It had two floors along with a sizable basement that, according to a glowing Mr. Berry, was devoted to documenting every piece of paper associated with their little girl's life. Rachel's room was located upstairs and down the hallway. Quinn could have taken in more about the girl's room, but she was far more focused on the object of her intense affections.
Away from Jesse, it was almost as if the old Rachel was back in full force. Yes, she was still a little more reserved, but her returning excitement and high energy behavior was refreshing. The brunette was more than happy to tell stories about each of her two dozen or so trophies. There were some people - a lot of people, actually - who simply pretended to listen when Rachel spoke on and on; there were some people who didn't even bother to pretend and just outright ignored her; there were some people who viciously sniped or insulted her every time that she came close.
Quinn didn't fall into any of those categories.
Not anymore, anyway.
When Rachel spoke, Quinn tried to look casual as she hung on every word. Every important event, ecstatic vocal inflection, and crucial detail was pulled out from the flurry of commotion and stored away safely in her memory banks. Rachel's arms and hands made grand gestures and illustriously mimed every action as she recounted her tales to a gently smiling, one-woman audience. Rachel Berry was such a drama queen. Laughter bubbled up in Quinn's throat but had to be hurriedly forced back so that the brunette wouldn't think she was being mocked.
It was stunning how much Rachel could talk without taking a single breath. She had to be breaking every world record that Guinness had in the area of speaking. The way that her lips moved was enchanting. Quinn had to actively force her eyes to focus on Rachel's to avoid staring at her mouth. And then her heart came to a stand still. Rachel's hand was on her. Rachel Berry's hand was touching hers. Those small and delicate fingers were clasped around her own. A faltering glance up at Rachel's face told her that the girl had just gotten caught up in telling her story.
Even so, the moment was perfect. A sense of utter euphoria shook her and immediately disabled any protective walls that had remained standing. It took every ounce of self-control not to grip onto the other girl's hand tightly and refuse to let go. That would be rushing things. It would ruin all of the progress that had been made. Her hazel eyes scanned over the visible light skin of Rachel's knuckles to her hand to her wrist and followed an invisible line just up to where her sleeve began. She couldn't stop the serene smile that was slowly developing and refusing to be repressed.
Amid the smooth skin of the diva's forearm, there was a subtle change in skin tone. The only reason that Quinn even noticed it was because of her expertise in the area of make-up (being a Cheerio almost required a degree in cosmetology). No, seriously, Coach Slyvester used to make all Cheerios attend classes at the local college. The covered area was barely a different shade than the surrounding flesh, but, nonetheless, it was still different. Rachel didn't wear much make-up. Almost none, actually. So when had the skill with cover-up developed and why, of all places, was it on her arm?
Encircling the arm with her hand, Quinn used her thumb to absently rub at the spot. It was purely out of curiosity and actually acting on the whim was unintentional. But, since she had started, she might as well continue. It was better than trying to hold the diva's hand. This was just a gesture of friendly intimacy. Girls did this sort of thing all of the time. Her actions did not go unnoticed. The monologue died away, confusion causing Rachel's brow to crease. Quinn, however, was more concentrated on the revelation of the discoloration that marred otherwise perfect skin. It was like an unintentional ink spill on a perfect expanse of blank canvas.
"Did you hurt your arm on something, Rachel? Run into a desk?" The question itself was innocent enough. Had Quinn not looked up when she had, she never would have known something was bothering the other girl. For a fleeting moment, Rachel's expression became worried and closed-off. The change, no matter how brief, was cause enough for some amount of concern.
Author: Effy (asutex)
Rating: R
Warnings: language, sexual situations, homosexuality, abuse
Disclaimer: Do not own... Sadly.
Summary: To anyone else, it was just Rachel and Jesse. Rachel, the ignored beauty. Jesse, the arrogant dream man. Rachel Berry and her perfect boyfriend. The sight forced a frustrated sigh from Quinn's lips. She really hated Jesse.
-
-
-
"So, Ru Paul..."
That was a bad way to start things off.
"Rachel, do you want to hang out...?"
Pitiful. The words made her gag. Pathetic and cliché. She had to do a lot better than just that.
"Hey, sexy, wanna..."
Quinn paused, her words failing her. Somehow, 'wanna fuck' didn't really express what she wanted to do with Rachel. It wasn't just sex that she wanted. Honestly, she could have gotten sex from some randomly selected loser in the school if she had truly wanted to. Hell, if she wanted a black eye and broken ribs, she could have made a pass at sweet Brittany and then deal with being beaten by her enraged Latina girlfriend. All that Quinn wanted from Rachel was her heart. That enthusiastic, overwhelmingly kind, warm heart of hers. The same heart that had pushed the mocked and bullied little diva to relentlessly pursue Quinn during her pregnancy. Her only motivation was the make sure that the then-cheerleader was taking all of her pre-natal vitamins and seeing the doctor when necessary.
That initial request for an audience with the glee queen was vital to the success of the rest of their relationship. Rachel didn't trust her. Quinn was cognizant of this problem. That was why it was so important that her new first impression be adequate; more than adequate. It had to be perfect. There was no room for failure. Shifting in her position leaning against the piano in the empty chorus room, Quinn decided on a different tactic.
"Rachel, could we talk?"
Quinn didn't like the vulnerability that bled into her voice.
"...Quinn? May I ask who you're talking to?"
Well, damn.
Quinn froze, almost afraid to turn around to see the owner of that melodic voice. Her mind was screaming at her, demanding that she 'man-up' immediately and turn around. She had no time to waste. She had been caught in the act and there was no way to turn back now. Firmly planting her trademark confident smirk on her lips, Quinn whirled around, her light hair flipping gracefully.
"Rachel, hi." Quinn greeted the other sweetly.
Her tone did not have the desired effect.
Rachel seemed to draw into herself, eyes carefully observing every detail about Quinn. Her gaze flitted cautiously around the room as though she expected the entirety of glee club to throw slushies in her face at Quinn's bidding. After all, Quinn had a far more secure place in the social hierarchy of their small club. The diva curled her arms around herself tightly, eyes focusing again on the only other individual in the room. Her beautiful eyes were like pools of decadent chocolate, her skin flawless and silky, her locks of soft brown hair framing her face gently.
Quinn's voice caught in her throat. Now was not a good time to freeze up.
"Hi, Quinn... Was there something you wanted to speak to me about," The brunette's head canted to one side, an expression of curiosity taking over the caution. The wariness was still present, but not as pronounced. Her eyes slid to the gleaming black piano and then back, "or is the piano's name Rachel as well?"
"I just- Rachel... I'm sorry." The pint-sized star's eyes widened though her lips pressed together in disbelief. The diva's status as a temporary mute presented the perfect opportunity for Quinn to proceed, "I'm sorry... For everything... And, I know it sounds pathetic and I don't even for a second believe that a little 'I'm sorry' is going to make up for how horrible I've been to you... but, it's a start, right?"
God, she wanted her to say yes.
Please, say yes.
The defenses readied themselves again, the walls sliding into place as a preemptive measure in case Quinn's apology was some sort of joke. Still silent, the brunette nodded slowly. This had to be a world record. Rachel hadn't said anything for about two minutes. Encouraged, the former cheerleader tried to get to her point before the other had any chance to shut her down.
"When I was pregnant... you tried so hard to be my friend. I shouldn't have rejected the offer, but I did... I was just wondering if, maybe...could we start over?" Quinn took a step towards Rachel, holding out her hand as an invitation.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Fabray." Rachel was never one to drop a cue. That small, warm hand grasped her own in a firm handshake. It was like electricity had just jolted into her bloodstream at the touch. A sense of exhilaration flooded over her like a tsunami.
"The pleasure is mine, Rachel Berry." The brunette didn't seem to understand that there was a double meaning to those words. There was about a second during which they were simply holding hands. A locker slammed in the hallway just outside. The moment shattered into irreparable splinters and caused Rachel to pull her hand away. A few seconds of silence followed. Quinn occupied her time by taking in the gorgeous girl in front of her and committing everything about her appearance to memory.
Rachel was wearing an arguably short red plaid skirt with a form-fitting white tank top. A casual glance her way would be enough to convince anyone that the diva had just stepped out of some pervert's hot schoolgirl fantasy. Even though her appearance flaunted her appealing sexual qualities, Quinn still saw a glimpse of the old Rachel beneath the clothing. She still retained that pure innocence that separated her from everyone else in the school. There was one key change, however. The innocence was stifled; strangled. It was weary.
Quinn frowned internally.
These days, Rachel acted... differently. At times, she seemed skittish. Other times, she knew exactly how lovely she looked and used it to distract from the detailed changes in her behavior and appearance. The latter always resulted in a stormy looking Jesse. Quinn was certain that said boy was responsible for the development of the quieter, differently clothed Rachel.
"I should go, Quinn... Jesse will be waiting for me. He doesn't like to be kept waiting and I don't like to waste his time. It's rude and while some stars are rude to people like the paparazzi or fans, I will not be that kind of star. I am the kind of star who will not be rude to her biggest fan: her loving boyfriend. I will see you tomorrow... We can move on from there." There was the babbling, completely characteristic monologue that she had been missing for a few weeks. Rachel, unsure of the appropriate way to end the encounter, opted for a firm nod before almost fleeing from the chorus room.
Quinn allowed a grin to spread across her face, pleased at her success. It was just the start, but it was still progress. Quinn collected herself, slipping into her careful costume of cold confidence. If nothing else, her wonderful parents had taught her how to make a character and then stick to it. The Fabray family was full of excellent actors and actresses on each side. The Fabrays did not fight, they did not have disagreements or differences of opinions, they did not discuss their feelings. The Fabrays lovingly cultivated their image as the ideal family. The perfect, wealthy businessman of a father; the regal, lovely housewife of a mother; the beautiful, popular cheerleaders as daughters.
These lessons had all been of vital importance to Quinn's development as a young woman. They were the primary guiding factors that drove her every decision. She could do absolutely anything that she wanted as long as it was in character. Breaking the habit of wearing lies was difficult. Quinn still couldn't quite manage to break out of the shackles, but she was working on it. For the moment, her façade kept her safe. Fewer people bothered her when she kept up this particular act.
By the time that she stepped into the hallway, Rachel was long gone.
As was normal, Quinn met Puck by his car and rolled her eyes at his flimsy excuse for a mohawk. Like hell was that little thing a mohawk. She didn't understand why Puck insisted on claiming that he had something that he obviously did not. Seeing as she had tried to have that argument with him before, she saw no point in bringing it up again. The narrow strip of black hair was barely noticeable. His plumage was still recovering from having been butchered off by a doctor after 'The Freckle Incident'.
As a housemate, it turned out Puck was actually decent enough to live with. Finn had kept his clothes strewn about his room, the toilet seat up and unflushed after his visits to the restrooms, and dirty dishes stacked in piles in his room. His mom had been a single mom, so one would have assumed that maybe he was mature enough to realize that he should pick up after himself. It hadn't taken long for Quinn to discover that this was not the case with her then-boyfriend. Finn Hudson was truly bumbling, giant man-child. Names like Finncompetence were definitely deserved.
Puck, on the opposite side of the same man-child masculine coin, kept his room fairly organized. It was hardly pristine, but one could actually see the bottom of his closet and walk in without stumbling over his shit. He helped his mother with the dishes and, surprisingly enough, with cooking as well. The bathroom always smelled nice because of the air freshener that his mother insisted on keeping there and he neither left the seat up on the toilet nor forgot to flush. His mother was a single parent as well, but he did everything in his power to help her with domestic duties. Puck, much to her initial surprise, had also taken great care in making sure that she had one side of the bathroom to herself. Vulgar and repulsive as he could be, it could still be said that he was considerate. Well, considerate of her.
Quinn, even after the months of living with him, still felt as though she was imposing on his family. Despite his assurances that she wasn't, the blond refused to accept his answer and did what she could to help out. Puck's mother appreciated the assistance and was delighted to chatter to her while cleaning or preparing meals. Quinn found that she did not enjoy the restrictions in her diet while under Puck's roof. She liked being able to eat bacon. Still, it was a minor thing and she was in no place to complain and simply continued in showing her appreciation at being taken in by such a nice family.
It turned out that getting into Rachel's good graces was easy enough, but painfully slow going. Any large friendly gesture on her part was regarded with intense suspicion and uncertainty. Quinn was forced to take baby steps. Each day, she tried to do something - anything, really - that was small and that could be considered innocent enough. Some days, all she could do was lend the girl a spare pencil (on the rare occasions that Rachel was actually unprepared for class). Other days, the brunette actually let Quinn make some progress by walking with her to class or making friendly small talk.
The other glee kids took little notice of the budding friendship. After all, the relationship was barely in its infancy. There was one person in particular who took a keen interest and he did not seem exuberant about the new friend his girlfriend was making.
"Why is she hanging around so much? What's her angle?" It was as though Jesse was the little voice of paranoia in his girlfriend's head, the voice that told Rachel not to trust her, that she was up to something that would hurt her. The cool manipulative tone to his voice infuriated Quinn beyond reason.
"Jesse, she is attempting to be friends with me. I," Rachel paused, eyes averted slightly and then continued on in a tone so low that Quinn had to inconspicuously shift herself closer to listen, "I am not entirely certain... but I think I trust her."
Her boyfriend said something in a murmur so quiet that there was no way for Quinn to eavesdrop. That was okay, she had heard enough.
Quinn glanced down at herself, smoothing out her clothes in a vain attempt to look more attractive to Miss Rachel Berry, the diva queen. It wasn't as though she had dressed any differently than she usually did. The simple green dress that she wore complemented the verdant tones in her irises. She had never had to work particularly hard to look good.
"Hello, Rachel." A bright smile.
Jesse gave a none too subtle glare before stalking out of the door... without Rachel. A feeling of triumph filled her chest. Hell yes, Quinn for the freaking win.
"Quinn, would..." A pause before she restarted with forced confidence, "Would you like to come to my house this evening? I was thinking that we should attempt a social interaction outside of the educational setting, don't you agree?"
"Works for me." Quinn painted the most disarming smile possible on her lips. It seemed to ease the tension in Rachel's smooth muscles. A bit of her former enthusiasm shone brightly through her recently adopted demeanor.
The house of the Berry family was a decent size. It had two floors along with a sizable basement that, according to a glowing Mr. Berry, was devoted to documenting every piece of paper associated with their little girl's life. Rachel's room was located upstairs and down the hallway. Quinn could have taken in more about the girl's room, but she was far more focused on the object of her intense affections.
Away from Jesse, it was almost as if the old Rachel was back in full force. Yes, she was still a little more reserved, but her returning excitement and high energy behavior was refreshing. The brunette was more than happy to tell stories about each of her two dozen or so trophies. There were some people - a lot of people, actually - who simply pretended to listen when Rachel spoke on and on; there were some people who didn't even bother to pretend and just outright ignored her; there were some people who viciously sniped or insulted her every time that she came close.
Quinn didn't fall into any of those categories.
Not anymore, anyway.
When Rachel spoke, Quinn tried to look casual as she hung on every word. Every important event, ecstatic vocal inflection, and crucial detail was pulled out from the flurry of commotion and stored away safely in her memory banks. Rachel's arms and hands made grand gestures and illustriously mimed every action as she recounted her tales to a gently smiling, one-woman audience. Rachel Berry was such a drama queen. Laughter bubbled up in Quinn's throat but had to be hurriedly forced back so that the brunette wouldn't think she was being mocked.
It was stunning how much Rachel could talk without taking a single breath. She had to be breaking every world record that Guinness had in the area of speaking. The way that her lips moved was enchanting. Quinn had to actively force her eyes to focus on Rachel's to avoid staring at her mouth. And then her heart came to a stand still. Rachel's hand was on her. Rachel Berry's hand was touching hers. Those small and delicate fingers were clasped around her own. A faltering glance up at Rachel's face told her that the girl had just gotten caught up in telling her story.
Even so, the moment was perfect. A sense of utter euphoria shook her and immediately disabled any protective walls that had remained standing. It took every ounce of self-control not to grip onto the other girl's hand tightly and refuse to let go. That would be rushing things. It would ruin all of the progress that had been made. Her hazel eyes scanned over the visible light skin of Rachel's knuckles to her hand to her wrist and followed an invisible line just up to where her sleeve began. She couldn't stop the serene smile that was slowly developing and refusing to be repressed.
Amid the smooth skin of the diva's forearm, there was a subtle change in skin tone. The only reason that Quinn even noticed it was because of her expertise in the area of make-up (being a Cheerio almost required a degree in cosmetology). No, seriously, Coach Slyvester used to make all Cheerios attend classes at the local college. The covered area was barely a different shade than the surrounding flesh, but, nonetheless, it was still different. Rachel didn't wear much make-up. Almost none, actually. So when had the skill with cover-up developed and why, of all places, was it on her arm?
Encircling the arm with her hand, Quinn used her thumb to absently rub at the spot. It was purely out of curiosity and actually acting on the whim was unintentional. But, since she had started, she might as well continue. It was better than trying to hold the diva's hand. This was just a gesture of friendly intimacy. Girls did this sort of thing all of the time. Her actions did not go unnoticed. The monologue died away, confusion causing Rachel's brow to crease. Quinn, however, was more concentrated on the revelation of the discoloration that marred otherwise perfect skin. It was like an unintentional ink spill on a perfect expanse of blank canvas.
"Did you hurt your arm on something, Rachel? Run into a desk?" The question itself was innocent enough. Had Quinn not looked up when she had, she never would have known something was bothering the other girl. For a fleeting moment, Rachel's expression became worried and closed-off. The change, no matter how brief, was cause enough for some amount of concern.