fic: so bring on the rain (Quinn/Mercedes, PG)
Title: So Bring On the Rain
Pairing: Quinn/Mercedes
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3010
Summary: Making up isn't always as easy as it seems.
Spoilers: Up to 2x06
A/N: Written for dropsofviolet for the glee_rare_pairs exchange. Title taken from this song.
I'd been wanting to write this pairing for a very long time, so I hope you like it! Comments and concrit very much appreciated.
*
"I just don't understand why you're making such a big deal about this. Nothing has to change."
Mercedes has been expecting this conversation for a few days now, and she can already feel the stirrings of a dull headache settling around her right temple. Closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose, she sighs. "Look, it-I know what that uniform does to people, remember? And I know what it did to you," she finishes, her voice low.
"But I'm not the same person I was last year. You should know that."
"So then why are you trying to become that person again?"
Quinn puts her hands on her hips, icy Head Cheerio smile contorting her features until there's barely a shadow of the girl Mercedes has spent so many lazy summer days with. "Wait. Really, you think that's what I want."
"I don't know why you're doing it, Quinn. What I know is that you waited until the last possible moment to tell me about it."
Quinn shrugs and looks away. "I hadn't decided yet."
"We've been hanging out all summer. You could have told me before, that's all I'm saying. The fact that you chose to hide it from me-"
"Doesn't mean anything."
"Yeah, right," Mercedes snorts.
Quinn narrows her eyes. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
"Come on, Quinn," Mercedes says. "We both know what's going to happen once you get back on the team."
For one moment, Mercedes swears she can recognize a flash of... something in Quinn's eyes, but then she blinks and it's gone. "Is that what you really think of me? You know what, don't answer."
Mercedes wants to say something, like I'm just scared things won't be the same or you're one of my best friends and I don't want to lose you or even some other stuff she's not sure she's ready to think about yet, but by the time she opens her mouth, Quinn's already gone.
***
She barely manages to stop herself from calling Quinn the next morning before school, just to test the waters. Reminding herself that no matter how close they might have become over summer break, they've never been the kind of friends who call each other just because, she ends up speed-dialing Kurt and scoring a free ride in the process.
By the time she gets to school, ears still tingling from Kurt's wicked stereo - she ignores all his protests when she switches from his boring playlist to her own, knowing it'll take less than half a song before he starts singing along - she has a plan: as soon as she finds Quinn, she's going to take her aside and put some sense into that blonde head of hers.
Only it all goes to hell when she turns a corner and sees Brittany and Santana flanking Quinn by her locker, that creep Jewfro practically drooling all over them. She might as well be clad in red and white already, if the way the other two seem to be gravitating around her is of any indication.
Mercedes rolls her eyes and turns around, making her way to her own locker. Being late to class and getting stuck in detention is so not the way she wants to start the school year.
The first two days go by in a blur of teachers' boring lectures and Rachel's multiple displays of insanity. (Mercedes doesn't think she'll ever stop being surprised at that girl's levels of deluded self-absorption). She doesn't spare a thought to anything - or anyone - else. And she definitely doesn't mope.
She's Mercedes Jones; she doesn't do moping.
McKinley High has always been known for the speed at which juicy gossip spreads; that's how she finds out about Quinn's fight with Santana. When she gets home after school, she has an e-mail from Kurt, and her first thought upon clicking on it is God bless modern technology. There are videos from every possible angle. (Even a disturbing one filmed at floor level, which is just nasty.)
After all the anticipation, it ends up being kind of a ridiculous fight. All they do is yell and push each other around a little.
It's going to be the talk of the school for weeks.
Shaking her head and closing the tab playing the auto-tuned remix, she stares at Quinn's face on the screen for a moment, index finger hovering over her laptop's touchpad. Rolling her eyes at herself, she pushes away from her desk and goes to get ready for dinner.
This video has been added to your Favorites.
***
To be honest, she doesn't even get what the big deal about breadsticks is. Her only reason for accepting Santana's offer is... actually, she's not really sure herself. But the truth is, their voices do sound good together, and with all the drama going around the club, she figures she could have ended up doing much, much worse than Santana.
"So, this Sam character," Mercedes starts. It's only taken them an hour to agree on the song they're going to perform, and since they're way ahead of schedule, they've decided to hang out in Santana's living-room for a while.
(Actually, Santana is the one who makes the decision. "My house, my rules. I'm not used to talking this much when it's just me and B-I'm just tired, alright?")
Santana hums disinterestedly from her reclined position on the sofa, not bothering to open her eyes. "What about him?"
"Kurt thinks he's gay."
"And I should care because...?"
"No reason," Mercedes shrugs, going back to throwing a pillow in the air over and over.
"Oh for Christ's sakes, just spit it out."
"It's just that, I don't know. I thought that maybe Quinn might have said something about him."
Santana swings her legs around, sitting up. "You people need to get something through those thick heads of yours. Quinn and I, we might be teammates, allies, whatever. But we're not-we don't talk about that sort of stuff." She pauses. "If anything, you're the one she should be talking to. Don't think I didn't notice you two were practically joined at the hip back in the summer."
Mercedes fiddles with the pillow on her lap. "Yeah, we sort of had a fight."
For the first time since the conversation started, Santana looks mildly interested. "No shit."
"It was actually pretty dumb, and there's no reason it shouldn't be over by now except we never really dealt with it. Now she keeps sitting next to me in glee and I don't know if that means she wants to be friends again or what."
Santana smirks. "Yeah, sounds like Quinn. She hates talking about feelings, and she'll do anything to make sure she avoids showing any signs of not being a robot. I still can't believe she went and got herself freaking pregnant," she mutters, narrowing her eyes at Mercedes. "What are you smiling at?"
Mercedes shrugs. "It's just, that's not the Quinn I got to know at all."
"Oh wow, aren't you the expert now. And how was that Quinn?"
"She can be... I don't know," Mercedes pauses, searching for the right word, "charming."
Santana chuckles. "You gotta be kidding me."
"What?"
"Nothing. Good luck with that. Now let's quit the chitchat and focus on getting ourselves those tickets, girl."
*
A couple of days later, Mercedes sits in the choir room, listening to Quinn sing about love and best friends, and willing her heart not to beat right out of her chest. It might be wishful thinking, but she swears Quinn looks straight at her during the chorus, and if she were the kind of person to get butterflies in her stomach, she's pretty sure she'd be feeling them right about now. And, well.
Okay, so maybe she does feel them. A little.
***
The whole Rocky Horror deal is a stroke of genius. It's a lead role - one Mr. Schue would have never considered giving to her if it wasn't for her stepping up to the plate - and it gives her the chance to show off her voice and her acting skills. She's going to be a star someday; she has to start widening her horizons and taking on all sorts of controversial roles.
The fact that the outfit makes her feel sexy as hell doesn't hurt either. Kurt brings an overnight bag, and they barely sleep for two nights in a row, using her mom's old sewing machine and squealing like thirteen year-olds every step of the way.
She kills it at dress rehearsals. The rush of adrenaline that follows, even in front of an empty audience, only serves to reassure her that this is it. This is what she wants to do for the rest of her life.
Getting out of the outfit isn't exactly easy, though; they clearly overlooked functionality with their design. After trying to reach the hidden zipper for a solid minute, her arms bent uncomfortably over her head, she admits defeat.
"Somebody help a girl out here," she calls over her shoulder into the echoing locker room, exhaling loudly at the silence that follows. "Oh, come on."
She's about to say the hell with it and walk home without changing when she hears the sound of footsteps slowly getting closer, accompanied by a light cough.
"Here, let me-"
Mercedes takes a silent breath, plants her hands on her hips and tries to act normal. Of course it's her. That Murphy guy sure knew what he was going on about with his 'anything that can go wrong, will' crap. Except it's more 'really freaking awkward' than 'wrong' in this case.
"Thanks," she mumbles, almost as an afterthought. And because she has to say something, because Quinn's hands are all over the place now (well, they probably aren't, but hell if that's not what it feels like), brushing against her and pressing just slightly on her back and is Quinn shaking? No, it's probably her, the one who's shaking, and Quinn's gonna notice any second now and this is all going to become even more embarrassing and-
"There you go." Quinn clears her throat, taking a small step back.
"Thanks," Mercedes repeats, her chuckle ringing fake to her own ears. "I can... deal with everything else."
"Okay, so I'll just-"
"Yeah."
Quinn doesn't move, though. Mercedes is starting to wonder whether or not she should acknowledge the fact that she's half-naked but the words die in her throat when Quinn speaks.
"You were... amazing out there," she says, and it kinda sounds like I miss you.
"Thank you, Quinn." I miss you too.
After that, Quinn leaves - with nothing more than a mumbled "see you" before basically running away - and Mercedes is left trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
***
At some point during the next couple of weeks, her hallucinations come back with a vengeance. Except this time, instead of cupcakes and burgers, all she sees are tight leather pants everywhere she looks. By the time Friday rolls around, she's lost count of how many times she's found herself awake in the middle of the night, struggling to catch her breath and with those damn images still dancing behind her eyelids.
For all she likes to think of herself as practical and no-nonsense, she has to admit she's been pretty much all talk and no action lately. But there's no point in delaying it any longer.
She has to talk to Quinn.
*
After yet another restless night, she spends all of Saturday morning psyching herself up for what she's about to do.
(Well, to be fair, she also spends some time making sure she looks good. And then a little more time dialing it back, trying not to look too good. She doesn't want to overdo it and risk weirding Quinn out at first glance.
Then she cleans her room. And calls her grandma. And even starts to do her homework.)
"This is ridiculous," she finally mutters to herself when she realizes she's been staring at the same page on her science book for ten minutes.
Before she has time to talk herself out of it or find even more unnecessary chores to do, she bolts out of her house, not stopping until she's right outside the Fabrays' front door.
Just as she's about to knock, the door swings open in front of her and okay, Mercedes had no idea that sort of thing actually happens in real life.
"Oh. Hi," Quinn says, her eyes wide.
"Hey."
"What are you-"
"Were you going out? Cause I can come back later," Mercedes interrupts.
"Was I... oh," Quinn chuckles, shaking her head. "Actually, I was sort of on my way to your house."
"You were?"
Quinn nods. "So, what are you doing here?"
"I was, uh, hoping we could talk."
"Sure. Sure, come on in," Quinn says, taking a step to the side. Mercedes keeps her chin down, suddenly not feeling brave enough to make eye contact in the tiny hallway.
"Backyard?" she asks, because she's convinced that having this conversation in a place full of good memories might make it easier, somehow. Quinn hums her agreement from behind her.
The backyard looks different than it did in the summer. There are brown leaves scattered among the grass, and the lawn chairs are all folded up and gathering dust in a corner. Still, something about it feels right. It's a reasonably warm, sunny day so when Quinn drops down unceremoniously to sit Indian-style on a dry patch of grass, Mercedes shrugs and follows suit.
Neither of them say anything at first, and Mercedes has to push away the niggling voices inside her head, telling her what were you even expecting, coming here like that? Because if this feeling of awkwardness is the price she has to pay for getting her friend back, then so be it. She doesn't allow herself to think of anything past that. Not yet.
She senses movement out of the corner of her eye, and turning to her right, she finds Quinn smiling curiously at her.
"What?"
"You said you wanted to talk," Quinn says, shrugging. The motion causes her shirt to slide down her shoulder a little, and suddenly Mercedes isn't sure she can even speak.
Reeling all those other thoughts back in, she swallows hard, looks at her hands, and finally decides to just go for it.
"I'm sorry for all that stuff I said," is what ends up coming out of her mouth.
Quinn's eyes widen slightly; she was probably expecting some kind of lead up. "You don't have to apologize."
"No, let me do this," she insists. "I was scared about what you getting back on the Cheerios would mean for our friendship, but I shouldn't have doubted you in the first place. I'm sorry."
"Yeah, at first I couldn't figure out why you were saying all of that, so that's why I left. I was pretty angry," Quinn admits.
"I know, I-"
"But at the same time... well, I can't really blame you for thinking that's what I was doing, and maybe the reason I was angry was because I didn't want to hear it," Quinn continues. "I don't know why I didn't tell you, Mercedes."
Mercedes nods, silently debating whether or not to continue in that direction. "Can I ask why? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she rushes to add.
Quinn tilts her head to the side. "Well, I guess part of me wanted to feel powerful again. It gave me a chance to be back on top. Hey, I never said my motives were honorable or anything," she protests at Mercedes' raised eyebrow, lightly swatting her on the knee. Mercedes would be embarrassed by the effect such a simple touch has on her entire nervous system, but Quinn has started talking again, and she seems to be enunciating her words very carefully, like she wants Mercedes to really listen to every word she's saying.
"There's something else, though. After, you know, everything that happened last year, it's really hard for me to get used to-to accept change, to accept that it's okay to be different, that it's okay for me to be different." She pauses, letting out a shaky breath. "So that's why I tried to go back to what I used to be."
Mercedes replays those words over and over in her mind, trying to figure out any secret mea-
No way.
It's probably her subconscious playing tricks on her once again. Quinn could have meant literally anything by that: that it's okay for her to be in glee club, that it's okay for her to be friends with people other than cheerleaders and jocks, or even that she's decided she wants to pursue a career doing interpretive dance.
She could have meant anything, but there's only one thing that Mercedes wants it to mean.
Quinn's laughing at her now (probably at what her face must look like, Mercedes thinks), the same glint in her eyes that she used to get whenever they went to the drive-in and she replaced Mercedes' full soda with an empty one and then she waited until she smacked herself in the face.
Mercedes used to roll her eyes at her whenever she did that sort of childish stuff, the same way she wants to roll her eyes at the Quinn laughing in front of her right now, and at the annoying voices in her head whispering are you serious? and of course she didn't mean that and please, don't be ridiculous.
She wants to roll her eyes but Quinn is laughing so hard her eyes are closed, so she leans over and kisses her instead.
If only to shut them all up.
On the list of most terrifying moments of her life, it ranks squarely in second place.
As for the top moment on that list? It happens only a few seconds later.
Right when Quinn starts kissing her back.
Pairing: Quinn/Mercedes
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3010
Summary: Making up isn't always as easy as it seems.
Spoilers: Up to 2x06
A/N: Written for dropsofviolet for the glee_rare_pairs exchange. Title taken from this song.
I'd been wanting to write this pairing for a very long time, so I hope you like it! Comments and concrit very much appreciated.
*
"I just don't understand why you're making such a big deal about this. Nothing has to change."
Mercedes has been expecting this conversation for a few days now, and she can already feel the stirrings of a dull headache settling around her right temple. Closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose, she sighs. "Look, it-I know what that uniform does to people, remember? And I know what it did to you," she finishes, her voice low.
"But I'm not the same person I was last year. You should know that."
"So then why are you trying to become that person again?"
Quinn puts her hands on her hips, icy Head Cheerio smile contorting her features until there's barely a shadow of the girl Mercedes has spent so many lazy summer days with. "Wait. Really, you think that's what I want."
"I don't know why you're doing it, Quinn. What I know is that you waited until the last possible moment to tell me about it."
Quinn shrugs and looks away. "I hadn't decided yet."
"We've been hanging out all summer. You could have told me before, that's all I'm saying. The fact that you chose to hide it from me-"
"Doesn't mean anything."
"Yeah, right," Mercedes snorts.
Quinn narrows her eyes. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
"Come on, Quinn," Mercedes says. "We both know what's going to happen once you get back on the team."
For one moment, Mercedes swears she can recognize a flash of... something in Quinn's eyes, but then she blinks and it's gone. "Is that what you really think of me? You know what, don't answer."
Mercedes wants to say something, like I'm just scared things won't be the same or you're one of my best friends and I don't want to lose you or even some other stuff she's not sure she's ready to think about yet, but by the time she opens her mouth, Quinn's already gone.
***
She barely manages to stop herself from calling Quinn the next morning before school, just to test the waters. Reminding herself that no matter how close they might have become over summer break, they've never been the kind of friends who call each other just because, she ends up speed-dialing Kurt and scoring a free ride in the process.
By the time she gets to school, ears still tingling from Kurt's wicked stereo - she ignores all his protests when she switches from his boring playlist to her own, knowing it'll take less than half a song before he starts singing along - she has a plan: as soon as she finds Quinn, she's going to take her aside and put some sense into that blonde head of hers.
Only it all goes to hell when she turns a corner and sees Brittany and Santana flanking Quinn by her locker, that creep Jewfro practically drooling all over them. She might as well be clad in red and white already, if the way the other two seem to be gravitating around her is of any indication.
Mercedes rolls her eyes and turns around, making her way to her own locker. Being late to class and getting stuck in detention is so not the way she wants to start the school year.
The first two days go by in a blur of teachers' boring lectures and Rachel's multiple displays of insanity. (Mercedes doesn't think she'll ever stop being surprised at that girl's levels of deluded self-absorption). She doesn't spare a thought to anything - or anyone - else. And she definitely doesn't mope.
She's Mercedes Jones; she doesn't do moping.
McKinley High has always been known for the speed at which juicy gossip spreads; that's how she finds out about Quinn's fight with Santana. When she gets home after school, she has an e-mail from Kurt, and her first thought upon clicking on it is God bless modern technology. There are videos from every possible angle. (Even a disturbing one filmed at floor level, which is just nasty.)
After all the anticipation, it ends up being kind of a ridiculous fight. All they do is yell and push each other around a little.
It's going to be the talk of the school for weeks.
Shaking her head and closing the tab playing the auto-tuned remix, she stares at Quinn's face on the screen for a moment, index finger hovering over her laptop's touchpad. Rolling her eyes at herself, she pushes away from her desk and goes to get ready for dinner.
This video has been added to your Favorites.
***
To be honest, she doesn't even get what the big deal about breadsticks is. Her only reason for accepting Santana's offer is... actually, she's not really sure herself. But the truth is, their voices do sound good together, and with all the drama going around the club, she figures she could have ended up doing much, much worse than Santana.
"So, this Sam character," Mercedes starts. It's only taken them an hour to agree on the song they're going to perform, and since they're way ahead of schedule, they've decided to hang out in Santana's living-room for a while.
(Actually, Santana is the one who makes the decision. "My house, my rules. I'm not used to talking this much when it's just me and B-I'm just tired, alright?")
Santana hums disinterestedly from her reclined position on the sofa, not bothering to open her eyes. "What about him?"
"Kurt thinks he's gay."
"And I should care because...?"
"No reason," Mercedes shrugs, going back to throwing a pillow in the air over and over.
"Oh for Christ's sakes, just spit it out."
"It's just that, I don't know. I thought that maybe Quinn might have said something about him."
Santana swings her legs around, sitting up. "You people need to get something through those thick heads of yours. Quinn and I, we might be teammates, allies, whatever. But we're not-we don't talk about that sort of stuff." She pauses. "If anything, you're the one she should be talking to. Don't think I didn't notice you two were practically joined at the hip back in the summer."
Mercedes fiddles with the pillow on her lap. "Yeah, we sort of had a fight."
For the first time since the conversation started, Santana looks mildly interested. "No shit."
"It was actually pretty dumb, and there's no reason it shouldn't be over by now except we never really dealt with it. Now she keeps sitting next to me in glee and I don't know if that means she wants to be friends again or what."
Santana smirks. "Yeah, sounds like Quinn. She hates talking about feelings, and she'll do anything to make sure she avoids showing any signs of not being a robot. I still can't believe she went and got herself freaking pregnant," she mutters, narrowing her eyes at Mercedes. "What are you smiling at?"
Mercedes shrugs. "It's just, that's not the Quinn I got to know at all."
"Oh wow, aren't you the expert now. And how was that Quinn?"
"She can be... I don't know," Mercedes pauses, searching for the right word, "charming."
Santana chuckles. "You gotta be kidding me."
"What?"
"Nothing. Good luck with that. Now let's quit the chitchat and focus on getting ourselves those tickets, girl."
*
A couple of days later, Mercedes sits in the choir room, listening to Quinn sing about love and best friends, and willing her heart not to beat right out of her chest. It might be wishful thinking, but she swears Quinn looks straight at her during the chorus, and if she were the kind of person to get butterflies in her stomach, she's pretty sure she'd be feeling them right about now. And, well.
Okay, so maybe she does feel them. A little.
***
The whole Rocky Horror deal is a stroke of genius. It's a lead role - one Mr. Schue would have never considered giving to her if it wasn't for her stepping up to the plate - and it gives her the chance to show off her voice and her acting skills. She's going to be a star someday; she has to start widening her horizons and taking on all sorts of controversial roles.
The fact that the outfit makes her feel sexy as hell doesn't hurt either. Kurt brings an overnight bag, and they barely sleep for two nights in a row, using her mom's old sewing machine and squealing like thirteen year-olds every step of the way.
She kills it at dress rehearsals. The rush of adrenaline that follows, even in front of an empty audience, only serves to reassure her that this is it. This is what she wants to do for the rest of her life.
Getting out of the outfit isn't exactly easy, though; they clearly overlooked functionality with their design. After trying to reach the hidden zipper for a solid minute, her arms bent uncomfortably over her head, she admits defeat.
"Somebody help a girl out here," she calls over her shoulder into the echoing locker room, exhaling loudly at the silence that follows. "Oh, come on."
She's about to say the hell with it and walk home without changing when she hears the sound of footsteps slowly getting closer, accompanied by a light cough.
"Here, let me-"
Mercedes takes a silent breath, plants her hands on her hips and tries to act normal. Of course it's her. That Murphy guy sure knew what he was going on about with his 'anything that can go wrong, will' crap. Except it's more 'really freaking awkward' than 'wrong' in this case.
"Thanks," she mumbles, almost as an afterthought. And because she has to say something, because Quinn's hands are all over the place now (well, they probably aren't, but hell if that's not what it feels like), brushing against her and pressing just slightly on her back and is Quinn shaking? No, it's probably her, the one who's shaking, and Quinn's gonna notice any second now and this is all going to become even more embarrassing and-
"There you go." Quinn clears her throat, taking a small step back.
"Thanks," Mercedes repeats, her chuckle ringing fake to her own ears. "I can... deal with everything else."
"Okay, so I'll just-"
"Yeah."
Quinn doesn't move, though. Mercedes is starting to wonder whether or not she should acknowledge the fact that she's half-naked but the words die in her throat when Quinn speaks.
"You were... amazing out there," she says, and it kinda sounds like I miss you.
"Thank you, Quinn." I miss you too.
After that, Quinn leaves - with nothing more than a mumbled "see you" before basically running away - and Mercedes is left trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
***
At some point during the next couple of weeks, her hallucinations come back with a vengeance. Except this time, instead of cupcakes and burgers, all she sees are tight leather pants everywhere she looks. By the time Friday rolls around, she's lost count of how many times she's found herself awake in the middle of the night, struggling to catch her breath and with those damn images still dancing behind her eyelids.
For all she likes to think of herself as practical and no-nonsense, she has to admit she's been pretty much all talk and no action lately. But there's no point in delaying it any longer.
She has to talk to Quinn.
*
After yet another restless night, she spends all of Saturday morning psyching herself up for what she's about to do.
(Well, to be fair, she also spends some time making sure she looks good. And then a little more time dialing it back, trying not to look too good. She doesn't want to overdo it and risk weirding Quinn out at first glance.
Then she cleans her room. And calls her grandma. And even starts to do her homework.)
"This is ridiculous," she finally mutters to herself when she realizes she's been staring at the same page on her science book for ten minutes.
Before she has time to talk herself out of it or find even more unnecessary chores to do, she bolts out of her house, not stopping until she's right outside the Fabrays' front door.
Just as she's about to knock, the door swings open in front of her and okay, Mercedes had no idea that sort of thing actually happens in real life.
"Oh. Hi," Quinn says, her eyes wide.
"Hey."
"What are you-"
"Were you going out? Cause I can come back later," Mercedes interrupts.
"Was I... oh," Quinn chuckles, shaking her head. "Actually, I was sort of on my way to your house."
"You were?"
Quinn nods. "So, what are you doing here?"
"I was, uh, hoping we could talk."
"Sure. Sure, come on in," Quinn says, taking a step to the side. Mercedes keeps her chin down, suddenly not feeling brave enough to make eye contact in the tiny hallway.
"Backyard?" she asks, because she's convinced that having this conversation in a place full of good memories might make it easier, somehow. Quinn hums her agreement from behind her.
The backyard looks different than it did in the summer. There are brown leaves scattered among the grass, and the lawn chairs are all folded up and gathering dust in a corner. Still, something about it feels right. It's a reasonably warm, sunny day so when Quinn drops down unceremoniously to sit Indian-style on a dry patch of grass, Mercedes shrugs and follows suit.
Neither of them say anything at first, and Mercedes has to push away the niggling voices inside her head, telling her what were you even expecting, coming here like that? Because if this feeling of awkwardness is the price she has to pay for getting her friend back, then so be it. She doesn't allow herself to think of anything past that. Not yet.
She senses movement out of the corner of her eye, and turning to her right, she finds Quinn smiling curiously at her.
"What?"
"You said you wanted to talk," Quinn says, shrugging. The motion causes her shirt to slide down her shoulder a little, and suddenly Mercedes isn't sure she can even speak.
Reeling all those other thoughts back in, she swallows hard, looks at her hands, and finally decides to just go for it.
"I'm sorry for all that stuff I said," is what ends up coming out of her mouth.
Quinn's eyes widen slightly; she was probably expecting some kind of lead up. "You don't have to apologize."
"No, let me do this," she insists. "I was scared about what you getting back on the Cheerios would mean for our friendship, but I shouldn't have doubted you in the first place. I'm sorry."
"Yeah, at first I couldn't figure out why you were saying all of that, so that's why I left. I was pretty angry," Quinn admits.
"I know, I-"
"But at the same time... well, I can't really blame you for thinking that's what I was doing, and maybe the reason I was angry was because I didn't want to hear it," Quinn continues. "I don't know why I didn't tell you, Mercedes."
Mercedes nods, silently debating whether or not to continue in that direction. "Can I ask why? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she rushes to add.
Quinn tilts her head to the side. "Well, I guess part of me wanted to feel powerful again. It gave me a chance to be back on top. Hey, I never said my motives were honorable or anything," she protests at Mercedes' raised eyebrow, lightly swatting her on the knee. Mercedes would be embarrassed by the effect such a simple touch has on her entire nervous system, but Quinn has started talking again, and she seems to be enunciating her words very carefully, like she wants Mercedes to really listen to every word she's saying.
"There's something else, though. After, you know, everything that happened last year, it's really hard for me to get used to-to accept change, to accept that it's okay to be different, that it's okay for me to be different." She pauses, letting out a shaky breath. "So that's why I tried to go back to what I used to be."
Mercedes replays those words over and over in her mind, trying to figure out any secret mea-
No way.
It's probably her subconscious playing tricks on her once again. Quinn could have meant literally anything by that: that it's okay for her to be in glee club, that it's okay for her to be friends with people other than cheerleaders and jocks, or even that she's decided she wants to pursue a career doing interpretive dance.
She could have meant anything, but there's only one thing that Mercedes wants it to mean.
Quinn's laughing at her now (probably at what her face must look like, Mercedes thinks), the same glint in her eyes that she used to get whenever they went to the drive-in and she replaced Mercedes' full soda with an empty one and then she waited until she smacked herself in the face.
Mercedes used to roll her eyes at her whenever she did that sort of childish stuff, the same way she wants to roll her eyes at the Quinn laughing in front of her right now, and at the annoying voices in her head whispering are you serious? and of course she didn't mean that and please, don't be ridiculous.
She wants to roll her eyes but Quinn is laughing so hard her eyes are closed, so she leans over and kisses her instead.
If only to shut them all up.
On the list of most terrifying moments of her life, it ranks squarely in second place.
As for the top moment on that list? It happens only a few seconds later.
Right when Quinn starts kissing her back.