Fic: Porcelain Fists (3/4)
Title: Porcelain Fists
Author: cellochick92
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn
Rating: M
Warning: Very triggery material. Deals with domestic violence and abuse of every kind.
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Summary: Faberry future fic in which Quinn and Rachel end up in NY (not together, unaware they're in the same city). Rachel is a successful Broadway star and recognizes Quinn in the audience of one of her shows...Quinn, on the other hand, is not so successful and is in the audience trying to escape the harsh reality of her life and pretend that everything's okay. Abused!Quinn, Protective!Rachel, and a good bit of angst....but there’s a happy ending!
A/N: I switched the format cause it just seemed silly to have that many chapters, particularly given the short length of a number of them. Thus, the fic has been condensed into four parts and the epilogue (cause I didn't want to lose all the lovely comments!)
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The lunch date had gone amazingly, in Quinn's opinion. Rachel had asked for her number at the end of it, and they had set up a dinner date the following night since the brunette had a night off from the show. She thought she would still be able to get away from Jason without rousing his suspicion, and for once she was thankful for his arrogance.
She still wasn't entirely sure why she had told Rachel about dating other women- she knew she could have made something up about going guy-crazy and the diva would probably have believed every word. She was loathe to admit that maybe, just maybe, she wanted it out there in case the brunette was ever interested in anything. Being around the smaller woman made Quinn feel...alive, in a way that she hadn't been since meeting Jason.
As her thoughts moved to her boyfriend, Quinn couldn't help but feel a pang in her heart. As long as he was in the picture, he would never let her go willingly and she didn't think she was strong enough to stand up to him and do something about it. And as much as she wanted to ignore it, she knew that the fact remained that he wouldn't just hurt her if he found out about anything going on between her and Rachel, whether it be a friendship or something more.
He had no qualms about hurting anyone who got in his way, and Quinn knew she would never be able to forgive herself if something happened to Rachel because she was too selfish to put a stop to things. But still, the allure of having someone who cared about her, even as a friend...it was tempting to try to forget about Jason for awhile and just be happy. As she walked into the apartment she shared with Jason and was greeted with the sight of him sitting and waiting for her, however, she knew that there was no way she could ever involve Rachel in this.
His face spoke volumes about what was about to happen, and before she could turn around and run out the door, he had grabbed her and was throwing her to the floor. The shock of impact momentarily stunned the blonde, and before she could regain her senses he was on top of her, hand around her throat to keep her still. She looked up at him, eyes wide with fear as he stared down at her, his voice deadly quiet as he asked, “Is there someone else, Quinn?”
Trying to shake her head in the negative, she stopped immediately as the hand at her neck pressed down. Trying to resist the instinct to struggle, she lay as still as possible while trying to say something, anything, to make him stop. When she couldn't get anything to come out of her mouth, he lost his composure and screamed, “You filthy, lying bitch! I take you in, I take care of you, I provide for your every need, and this is how you repay me?”
Her vision was quickly becoming obscured by black spots as her brain started to shut down from the lack of oxygen, but Quinn managed to force out a single word past the vise of his hand on her throat: “No.”
In a split second he was off of her, and she gasped for air, trying desperately to keep from losing consciousness. She heard the front door slam, signaling his departure, and felt the tears well in the corners of her eyes. Shutting them tightly, Quinn bit back the sob struggling to escape and slowly sat up.
She should have known better than to expect Jason not to notice her recent absence from the apartment. He worked nights for the most part so he was always working when she went out to the shows, and while the consequences were dire if he came home and she wasn't there, it was a risk that she was willing to take if it meant seeing Rachel.
She had known he might be home by the time she returned, but she had just hoped.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she whispered under her breath as she forced herself to stand up. She was lucky he hadn't done anything worse, something that maybe make-up couldn't hide. Walking slowly to the small bathroom, she pulled out her make-up bag from under the sink and laid out her supplies. She didn't care that she was basically daring Jason to do something else by keeping her dinner date with Rachel the following night; she held out a little bit of hope that he would feel a shred of remorse and leave her alone about it.
It had been too long since someone had made her feel anything other than afraid, and she refused to give that up and let Jason take away the one last shred of hope and love she was holding onto. If she was careful, hopefully he would be none the wiser, and with a bit of time and concealer, hopefully Rachel wouldn't be either.
*************
The first time she applied make-up to cover the bruises he left, it took her hours. She didn't know what she was doing- how to layer it, how to alternate between liquid foundation and powdered concealer in order to cover the colors of the marks. She had no idea to use shades that were far lighter than her own skin tone to prevent a noticeable spot from appearing on her skin. She certainly didn't have any ideas about blending and how to present a flawless finished product that didn't just look like she had caked make-up on from her head down.
The first few tries, it looked awful. It was blotchy, and the liquid foundation ended up looking smeared and blotchy, and the powder over it only served to highlight the streakiness of the cover up job as a whole. By the third hour, she had been able to at least get different coverage on her arms and neck, but the face was still a problem.
She remembered reading something about yellow cancelling out the blue and purple tones of black eyes, but when she tried adding yellow into the mix before putting on the foundation and powder, it just made the bruise look a nasty shade of green.
Gradually, however, she began to get the hang of it. By the end of the fifth hour, she had at least managed to make herself look presentable enough to go out in public without having to deal with whispers and finger pointing. As she looked at herself in the mirror, she watched as a tear slowly rolled down her cheek, leaving a thin track in the make up.
Dashing it away quickly, Quinn turned around and busied herself with cleaning up the mess she had made. She had made it this far, and she would be damned if she broke down now, after everything else. Carefully sliding her bag of make up into it's place under the sink, she straightened and faced herself in the mirror again.
She carefully tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, and tried to smile at herself in the mirror. It felt forced and unnatural, but she was reassured that it didn't look that way, and that nobody would be able to note at first glance that she was anything but happy. Sighing, she turned off the light and went back into the main body of the apartment to try to think about what had happened and what she was going to do.
It became a bit of a ritual, after the first couple times. It never took as long as that first time had, but it still felt the same. Eventually, though, she became almost mechanical in her actions. It was a rhythm of sorts- she would wake up to bruises, go into the bathroom after Jason was gone, and put herself back together, blending her rough edges smooth again. And every time, she would slide the bag of make up back into its place, straighten, and put on a smile to prove to herself that she was still able to do this.
No matter how many times she ended up on the floor, she would always get back up with a smile on her face. It didn't matter that it wasn't real. What mattered was that people believed it, and as long as they believed she was happy, Quinn was convinced that she could kid herself into thinking the same thing.
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Quinn knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that it was probably stupid of her to be going out to meet Rachel after how Jason had reacted. It had taken longer than normal for her to cover the bruises and marks he had left behind, and she had taken extra care to wear long sleeves with a scarf to provide extra coverage. The last thing she needed was for Rachel to see something and start to poke and prod about her life and whether she was okay or not.
Thus far, Quinn knew she had been lucky that the diva had taken the diversions she had offered and had allowed the conversation to be directed by the blonde. If the petite brunette suspected she was being hurt, however, Quinn had a nagging suspicion that she wouldn't be so quick to let it drop. Rachel obviously hadn't changed entirely from the argyle-wearing dynamite that Quinn had known in high school, and she saw no reason to find out whether the brunette still possessed her ability to sink her teeth into something and refuse to let go until she got what she wanted.
If she was careful, she was sure that she could keep Rachel at a comfortable distance but still be friends with her. The distance would be critical, though, if she had any hope of justifying the continued contact to herself.
She knew she had gotten off easy with Jason, and if he ever found out that she actually was seeing someone else, albeit not in a romantic context, she didn't want to contemplate what that might mean for either her or Rachel. Quinn knew that she would die before letting Jason hurt Rachel, but there was a quiet voice in the back of her mind that told her just because she was willing to die didn't mean she would be able to keep the brunette safe. If she was dead, then there wouldn't be anyone stopping Jason from going after Rachel, and then...well, she refused to think about what might happen then.
She was going to go into this with her eyes open, but that didn't mean she wanted to torture herself with thoughts of everything that might go wrong, of all the ways that Rachel might be hurt. Walking just a bit faster, she wondered briefly if this was fair to Rachel. The brunette didn't deserve to be lied to, and she certainly didn't deserve to be put in danger without her knowledge.
Pressing the buzzer to Rachel's apartment to let the other woman know she was there, Quinn exhaled slowly. She would figure something out, some way to keep the diva safe, but for now she was going to put those thoughts aside and focus on making sure Rachel had a good time.
Not a moment after the blonde had composed herself, the door swung open and Rachel bounded out. The brunette paused to take in Quinn's appearance, grinning at the other woman as she offered her arm. Quinn looked gorgeous, if a bit overdressed for the weather again, and Rachel felt butterflies swarm her stomach. She was certainly comfortable enough in her sexuality to acknowledge her obvious attraction to the blonde, but she didn't want to act on what she was feeling until she knew a little bit more about the other woman's life.
Rachel knew that Quinn had mostly been putting up a front when she had brushed her off the first couple times they met, but in the time since then she hadn't managed to get much in the way of insight as to why the blonde had been so reluctant to talk with her. She still had the feeling that there was something, some reason that Quinn continued to evade certain questions, but she hadn't been able to pin down any specifics.
It was painfully obvious that Quinn was hiding something, but Rachel had no idea what it was, or why the blonde was so staunchly protecting the details. She just didn't know what to make of the other woman sometimes. She freely offered details about how she was attracted to women as well as men (which Rachel was still trying to process), but then the simplest of questions would elicit an instant redirection of the conversation.
Where do you live? Suddenly they were talking about Rachel's last fling.
What do you do for work? The blonde developed a sudden curiosity about which of Rachel's parts was her favorite.
Are you seeing anyone? Quinn suddenly just had to go ask that woman over there where she got her scarf.
Rachel was loathe to push for fear of scaring the blonde off entirely, but if there was anything she could do to help, then she wanted to know.
A light tug on her arm brought her back to the present as she looked over and saw Quinn staring at her questioningly. “Where'd you go?” she asked, “Looked like you were doing some pretty serious thinking.”
Smiling and shaking her head, Rachel murmured, “No, just got a little lost in my thoughts.” Brightening her tone considerably, she asked, “So, ready to go eat?”
Dinner had gone well, and as they smiled across the table at each other over dessert, Rachel hesitated before speaking. Quinn gave her an encouraging smile and before she could chicken out, Rachel blurted, “Do you just want to go back to my place?” Quinn arched a brow, confused about what the brunette was asking, and waited for her to clarify.
Almost immediately, a blush spread across Rachel's face as she saw the blonde's confusion, and she stumbled over her words in her haste to clarify. “Oh, god- not like- I didn't mean- I was just-”
Stopping to collect her breath, she started to try to explain again, but stopped when she saw the slight smirk on Quinn's face. The blonde let out a chuckle and said, “I know, Rach, and I would love to go back with you.”
Letting out a relieved sigh, Rachel grinned and said, “Movie?”
A half hour later they were curled on Rachel's couch, The Princess Bride playing on the TV. They hadn't been able to agree on anything more recent, but had discovered a mutual love for the movie when Quinn stumbled upon it while browsing the diva's collection. Quinn had sat on one end of the couch, with Rachel on the other, but around the time that Buttercup found out Westley had been killed by the Dread Pirate Roberts, Quinn had begun inching closer to the brunette.
By the time Inigo and Westley were dueling atop the Cliffs of Insanity, Quinn was pressed up against Rachel's side, her head resting on her shoulder. Rachel was trying desperately not to move, unsure of what was acceptable and what might send Quinn scurrying away from her. Quinn, for her part, was trying not to smile at the sense of cautiousness she could feel radiating from the brunette and the warmth seeping into her body because of it.
When they were watching Buttercup throw herself down the hill after Westley, Quinn decided that her current position was entirely too uncomfortable and slid down so she was laying with her head on Rachel's lap. She felt the brunette tense for a long moment, but gradually the smaller woman's posture eased, and she let out a small sigh. After another few minutes, Quinn felt tentative fingers begin to run through her hair, and she turned her face into Rachel's leg as she tried not to moan at how good it felt.
Softly, Rachel asked, "Quinn? Why did you come to my shows?"
Exhaling into the denim of the brunette's jeans, Quinn turned her face to look up at Rachel and replied quietly, "Your voice. It just...it makes everything bad go away. I saw your name on the billboard and went once, and...well, I never stopped going. When I heard you singing it was like my problems didn't exist any more..."
She trailed off, unsure of how to continue without making things awkward, and Rachel squeezed her shoulder gently. Nimble fingers caressed her arms and continued combing her hair, and she sighed at the feeling.
It had just been so long since someone had touched her like that, and she found herself trying to hold back the tears that were suddenly pushing at the corners of her eyes. A few slipped out, and she cursed herself, knowing that Rachel would be able to feel the dampness on her jeans. The only indication the brunette gave, however, was to gently move an arm over Quinn and lace their fingers together, giving a gentle squeeze.
Quinn felt more tears spring to her eyes at the action, and the quiet understanding, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up with Rachel and never leave the comfort of her arms. She felt tender fingers move from her hair to trace light shapes on her back, and she tried to brace herself for the pain she knew would come if Rachel touched one of her bruises.
After a few long minutes, however, she realized that Rachel had traced her entire back, and there had yet to be even a hint of discomfort. The brunette's touch was feather-light, and Quinn felt the last bit of tension bleed from her body as she realized she didn't have to worry about Rachel hurting her. She glanced at the television in time to see Buttercup falling gracefully from the balcony in a flurry of white and silver before she let her eyes slip closed, letting herself get lost in the feeling of Rachel's tenderness.
Rachel felt more than saw Quinn's breathing ease into the steady, deep rhythm of sleep, and she exhaled slowly. She wasn't really sure what had just happened between them, or where it might be going. She hadn't been able to control her hand when Quinn had been in her lap, but the moment of panic that she had overstepped some boundary was immediately quelled when the blonde subtly leaned into the touch.
For a moment, when she had felt the first tears on her thigh, she had panicked and thought that it was because of something she had done. But Quinn hadn't moved away, and so she was left more confused than ever. She felt certain now that Quinn was hiding something, but she was helpless to do anything to ease the other woman's obvious pain. She wanted more than anything to protect Quinn from whatever it was that was hurting her, but until the blonde trusted her enough to tell her, she was stuck unable to do anything.
Slowly, she moved to unwind the scarf from around Quinn's neck. She wasn't about to wake the blonde from a peaceful sleep, but if she was going to sleep here, Rachel certainly wasn't going to risk her choking herself in her sleep. Neatly draping the scarf over the back of the couch, she leaned down and brushed a gentle kiss against the shell of Quinn's ear as she whispered, “Goodnight.”
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The first time she had to go to the hospital, it was the most awful combination of humiliation and terror that she had ever experienced. She knew how she looked, but that didn't mean she appreciated the looks that people were giving her. Of course, she only started noticing the looks after she woke up from the heavy sedative they had given her when she stumbled into the ER with her arm broken in two places, but still.
It had started out like any other confrontation, but in her desperation to get away, Quinn had made the mistake of backpedaling in the direction of the stairs. Jason's hand had connected with her, and the next thing she knew she was falling down, down, down until she felt ground underneath her, the impact resonating with a sickening crack that she felt through her entire body. Everything was completely still for a split second, but in the next instant her body was on fire, pain shooting through every fiber of her being.
She was gasping for air, and trying desperately to keep from screaming, and the result was an awful sort of quiet shriek. She went to try to push herself into a sitting position, but when she moved to lean on her right arm, she felt a sickening sliding sensation, and when she looked down she barely choked back a scream when she saw that her forearm was bent double. The bone was gleaming white, fragmented and splintery in the dim light of the living room, and she felt a wave of nausea sweep her body.
Trying to focus, she glanced back up the stairs but Jason was nowhere in sight. She managed to prop herself against the bottom stair and tried to slow her breathing as much as possible. Looking down at her other arm to make sure it wasn't broken, she reached out and grabbed the banister to try to force herself into a standing position. She almost didn't make it, but after a terrifying few seconds where she thought she might fall over, she was able to begin moving slowly in the direction of the door.
Her one thought was that she needed to get to a doctor. Once on the street, she managed to hail a cab, and nearly fell inside once she had wrestled the door open. The cabbie was trying to talk to her, but when he looked back to see why she wasn't responding, his face went white as a sheet and he immediately started mumbling about hospitals.
Her vision was getting hazy, and she heard the cabbie trying to ask her something, but she couldn't seem to make her mouth form words to respond. She was dimly aware of being lifted by someone and being hit with a blast of cold night air before being enveloped in warmth again, but she couldn't quite grasp what was going on. Everything was blurred together, moving too fast for her to follow.
Her last thought before she slipped into the comfort of darkness was that at least it wouldn't hurt any more.
She woke up hours later in a hospital bed in a standard issue hospital gown, with a nurse standing by the bedside. That was the first time she was on the receiving end of that look, the one that conveyed pity beyond measure and made her feel somehow less. She was hooked up to all sorts of monitors, and when she looked down she wasn't really surprised to see her arm in a massive cast, immobilized from her shoulder down.
She drifted off again, and when she woke up there was a doctor standing at the foot of the bed, writing on a chart. When he glanced up and saw that she was awake, he moved slowly until he was standing on the side of the bed near her head. “Miss, I'm Dr. Johnson, I have a couple questions I need to ask if you're feeling up to it?”
Nodding her head slowly, Quinn answered all of the questions in as few words as possible.
Name? Quinn Fabray.
Age? 23.
Occupation? Homemaker.
Marital Status? Married.
The doctor arched a brow slightly at her answer to the marital status question, before shaking his head slightly and asking, “Ms. Fabray, I just need to clarify- injuries like this are frequently indicators of abuse, you understand I just need to-”
She cut him off, shaking her head vehemently. “NO, I'm not- I mean- what on earth would give you that idea? I just fell down the stairs when I was carrying a load of laundry down. My husband was...he was at work, and I didn't want to take the time to call him. It's just a broken arm, after all!”
Sighing, the doctor shook his head. “Ms. Fabray, I must try to impress upon you the seriousness of what happened. You broke both your ulna and radius in two different places, and you fractured three ribs on top of that. Bear in mind, all of this isn't taking into account all of the bruising and external injury that took place. Are you sure that you...fell down the stairs?”
Regardless of the fact that the doctor's skepticism was well-deserved, Quinn felt a spike of indignation and fixed him with a glare. “Dr. Johnson, if something other than falling down the stairs had occurred, I can assure you that the police would already be carting the individual responsible away. I am insulted that you would insinuate that I am lying right now, or that such a thought could even cross my mind.”
Withering under the blonde's righteous fury, the doctor opened his mouth, closed it, opened it long enough to mutter a quick, “Apologies, Ms. Fabray,” and then made a hasty exit. The second the door closed behind him, Quinn collapsed back against her pillows, not even trying to stop the tears. The combination of the pain and the stress and the fact that he had believed her so easily was just too much, and she was just too tired to keep trying to maintain a stone-faced exterior. Turning her face away from the door as a nurse came in to check her medications, she tried to pull herself together before turning back to the nurse.
“Excuse me, but how long do I have to stay here?”
The man gave her a sympathetic look and said, “You shouldn't be here much longer. They just wanted to keep you for observation since it was such a nasty fall. I know this has to be miserable...is there anyone I can call for you? Your husband, perhaps?”
The look on her face was probably enough to tip him off that calling her husband was an awful idea, but even if it wasn't the rapid shaking of her head and the hastily murmured, “No, no, don't worry about it,” would have been red flags anyways.
Nodding his head slowly, he said, “All right, but if there's anything I can help you with, please don't hesitate to ask. I'm Connor, by the way.”
Relieved that he hadn't pushed her or questioned her about why she wouldn't want her husband by her side at a time like this, Quinn forced a small smile and said, “Nice to meet you. Not ideal circumstances, certainly, but I suppose we might as well make the best of a bad situation. I'm Quinn.”
He had smiled back at her and said, “Nice to meet you. The drugs should be kicking in any moment now, but if you need me I'm right down the hall.”
As she watched him leave the room, closing the door quietly behind him, Quinn felt a brief pang of guilt about lying to him. He seemed like a really nice guy, and while she felt bad about lying to most people, when they were nice, it just seemed to make things...harder. Things got complicated far more quickly, and she had more than enough complications in her life already.
Sighing as she felt her lids begin to droop, Quinn tried not to think about how disappointed everyone would be in her if they knew the truth about how weak she was. It hurt, to know that she could have been so much more, and she welcomed the blank nothingness that unconsciousness brought.
Part Four
Author: cellochick92
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn
Rating: M
Warning: Very triggery material. Deals with domestic violence and abuse of every kind.
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Summary: Faberry future fic in which Quinn and Rachel end up in NY (not together, unaware they're in the same city). Rachel is a successful Broadway star and recognizes Quinn in the audience of one of her shows...Quinn, on the other hand, is not so successful and is in the audience trying to escape the harsh reality of her life and pretend that everything's okay. Abused!Quinn, Protective!Rachel, and a good bit of angst....but there’s a happy ending!
A/N: I switched the format cause it just seemed silly to have that many chapters, particularly given the short length of a number of them. Thus, the fic has been condensed into four parts and the epilogue (cause I didn't want to lose all the lovely comments!)
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The lunch date had gone amazingly, in Quinn's opinion. Rachel had asked for her number at the end of it, and they had set up a dinner date the following night since the brunette had a night off from the show. She thought she would still be able to get away from Jason without rousing his suspicion, and for once she was thankful for his arrogance.
She still wasn't entirely sure why she had told Rachel about dating other women- she knew she could have made something up about going guy-crazy and the diva would probably have believed every word. She was loathe to admit that maybe, just maybe, she wanted it out there in case the brunette was ever interested in anything. Being around the smaller woman made Quinn feel...alive, in a way that she hadn't been since meeting Jason.
As her thoughts moved to her boyfriend, Quinn couldn't help but feel a pang in her heart. As long as he was in the picture, he would never let her go willingly and she didn't think she was strong enough to stand up to him and do something about it. And as much as she wanted to ignore it, she knew that the fact remained that he wouldn't just hurt her if he found out about anything going on between her and Rachel, whether it be a friendship or something more.
He had no qualms about hurting anyone who got in his way, and Quinn knew she would never be able to forgive herself if something happened to Rachel because she was too selfish to put a stop to things. But still, the allure of having someone who cared about her, even as a friend...it was tempting to try to forget about Jason for awhile and just be happy. As she walked into the apartment she shared with Jason and was greeted with the sight of him sitting and waiting for her, however, she knew that there was no way she could ever involve Rachel in this.
His face spoke volumes about what was about to happen, and before she could turn around and run out the door, he had grabbed her and was throwing her to the floor. The shock of impact momentarily stunned the blonde, and before she could regain her senses he was on top of her, hand around her throat to keep her still. She looked up at him, eyes wide with fear as he stared down at her, his voice deadly quiet as he asked, “Is there someone else, Quinn?”
Trying to shake her head in the negative, she stopped immediately as the hand at her neck pressed down. Trying to resist the instinct to struggle, she lay as still as possible while trying to say something, anything, to make him stop. When she couldn't get anything to come out of her mouth, he lost his composure and screamed, “You filthy, lying bitch! I take you in, I take care of you, I provide for your every need, and this is how you repay me?”
Her vision was quickly becoming obscured by black spots as her brain started to shut down from the lack of oxygen, but Quinn managed to force out a single word past the vise of his hand on her throat: “No.”
In a split second he was off of her, and she gasped for air, trying desperately to keep from losing consciousness. She heard the front door slam, signaling his departure, and felt the tears well in the corners of her eyes. Shutting them tightly, Quinn bit back the sob struggling to escape and slowly sat up.
She should have known better than to expect Jason not to notice her recent absence from the apartment. He worked nights for the most part so he was always working when she went out to the shows, and while the consequences were dire if he came home and she wasn't there, it was a risk that she was willing to take if it meant seeing Rachel.
She had known he might be home by the time she returned, but she had just hoped.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she whispered under her breath as she forced herself to stand up. She was lucky he hadn't done anything worse, something that maybe make-up couldn't hide. Walking slowly to the small bathroom, she pulled out her make-up bag from under the sink and laid out her supplies. She didn't care that she was basically daring Jason to do something else by keeping her dinner date with Rachel the following night; she held out a little bit of hope that he would feel a shred of remorse and leave her alone about it.
It had been too long since someone had made her feel anything other than afraid, and she refused to give that up and let Jason take away the one last shred of hope and love she was holding onto. If she was careful, hopefully he would be none the wiser, and with a bit of time and concealer, hopefully Rachel wouldn't be either.
*************
The first time she applied make-up to cover the bruises he left, it took her hours. She didn't know what she was doing- how to layer it, how to alternate between liquid foundation and powdered concealer in order to cover the colors of the marks. She had no idea to use shades that were far lighter than her own skin tone to prevent a noticeable spot from appearing on her skin. She certainly didn't have any ideas about blending and how to present a flawless finished product that didn't just look like she had caked make-up on from her head down.
The first few tries, it looked awful. It was blotchy, and the liquid foundation ended up looking smeared and blotchy, and the powder over it only served to highlight the streakiness of the cover up job as a whole. By the third hour, she had been able to at least get different coverage on her arms and neck, but the face was still a problem.
She remembered reading something about yellow cancelling out the blue and purple tones of black eyes, but when she tried adding yellow into the mix before putting on the foundation and powder, it just made the bruise look a nasty shade of green.
Gradually, however, she began to get the hang of it. By the end of the fifth hour, she had at least managed to make herself look presentable enough to go out in public without having to deal with whispers and finger pointing. As she looked at herself in the mirror, she watched as a tear slowly rolled down her cheek, leaving a thin track in the make up.
Dashing it away quickly, Quinn turned around and busied herself with cleaning up the mess she had made. She had made it this far, and she would be damned if she broke down now, after everything else. Carefully sliding her bag of make up into it's place under the sink, she straightened and faced herself in the mirror again.
She carefully tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, and tried to smile at herself in the mirror. It felt forced and unnatural, but she was reassured that it didn't look that way, and that nobody would be able to note at first glance that she was anything but happy. Sighing, she turned off the light and went back into the main body of the apartment to try to think about what had happened and what she was going to do.
It became a bit of a ritual, after the first couple times. It never took as long as that first time had, but it still felt the same. Eventually, though, she became almost mechanical in her actions. It was a rhythm of sorts- she would wake up to bruises, go into the bathroom after Jason was gone, and put herself back together, blending her rough edges smooth again. And every time, she would slide the bag of make up back into its place, straighten, and put on a smile to prove to herself that she was still able to do this.
No matter how many times she ended up on the floor, she would always get back up with a smile on her face. It didn't matter that it wasn't real. What mattered was that people believed it, and as long as they believed she was happy, Quinn was convinced that she could kid herself into thinking the same thing.
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Quinn knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that it was probably stupid of her to be going out to meet Rachel after how Jason had reacted. It had taken longer than normal for her to cover the bruises and marks he had left behind, and she had taken extra care to wear long sleeves with a scarf to provide extra coverage. The last thing she needed was for Rachel to see something and start to poke and prod about her life and whether she was okay or not.
Thus far, Quinn knew she had been lucky that the diva had taken the diversions she had offered and had allowed the conversation to be directed by the blonde. If the petite brunette suspected she was being hurt, however, Quinn had a nagging suspicion that she wouldn't be so quick to let it drop. Rachel obviously hadn't changed entirely from the argyle-wearing dynamite that Quinn had known in high school, and she saw no reason to find out whether the brunette still possessed her ability to sink her teeth into something and refuse to let go until she got what she wanted.
If she was careful, she was sure that she could keep Rachel at a comfortable distance but still be friends with her. The distance would be critical, though, if she had any hope of justifying the continued contact to herself.
She knew she had gotten off easy with Jason, and if he ever found out that she actually was seeing someone else, albeit not in a romantic context, she didn't want to contemplate what that might mean for either her or Rachel. Quinn knew that she would die before letting Jason hurt Rachel, but there was a quiet voice in the back of her mind that told her just because she was willing to die didn't mean she would be able to keep the brunette safe. If she was dead, then there wouldn't be anyone stopping Jason from going after Rachel, and then...well, she refused to think about what might happen then.
She was going to go into this with her eyes open, but that didn't mean she wanted to torture herself with thoughts of everything that might go wrong, of all the ways that Rachel might be hurt. Walking just a bit faster, she wondered briefly if this was fair to Rachel. The brunette didn't deserve to be lied to, and she certainly didn't deserve to be put in danger without her knowledge.
Pressing the buzzer to Rachel's apartment to let the other woman know she was there, Quinn exhaled slowly. She would figure something out, some way to keep the diva safe, but for now she was going to put those thoughts aside and focus on making sure Rachel had a good time.
Not a moment after the blonde had composed herself, the door swung open and Rachel bounded out. The brunette paused to take in Quinn's appearance, grinning at the other woman as she offered her arm. Quinn looked gorgeous, if a bit overdressed for the weather again, and Rachel felt butterflies swarm her stomach. She was certainly comfortable enough in her sexuality to acknowledge her obvious attraction to the blonde, but she didn't want to act on what she was feeling until she knew a little bit more about the other woman's life.
Rachel knew that Quinn had mostly been putting up a front when she had brushed her off the first couple times they met, but in the time since then she hadn't managed to get much in the way of insight as to why the blonde had been so reluctant to talk with her. She still had the feeling that there was something, some reason that Quinn continued to evade certain questions, but she hadn't been able to pin down any specifics.
It was painfully obvious that Quinn was hiding something, but Rachel had no idea what it was, or why the blonde was so staunchly protecting the details. She just didn't know what to make of the other woman sometimes. She freely offered details about how she was attracted to women as well as men (which Rachel was still trying to process), but then the simplest of questions would elicit an instant redirection of the conversation.
Where do you live? Suddenly they were talking about Rachel's last fling.
What do you do for work? The blonde developed a sudden curiosity about which of Rachel's parts was her favorite.
Are you seeing anyone? Quinn suddenly just had to go ask that woman over there where she got her scarf.
Rachel was loathe to push for fear of scaring the blonde off entirely, but if there was anything she could do to help, then she wanted to know.
A light tug on her arm brought her back to the present as she looked over and saw Quinn staring at her questioningly. “Where'd you go?” she asked, “Looked like you were doing some pretty serious thinking.”
Smiling and shaking her head, Rachel murmured, “No, just got a little lost in my thoughts.” Brightening her tone considerably, she asked, “So, ready to go eat?”
Dinner had gone well, and as they smiled across the table at each other over dessert, Rachel hesitated before speaking. Quinn gave her an encouraging smile and before she could chicken out, Rachel blurted, “Do you just want to go back to my place?” Quinn arched a brow, confused about what the brunette was asking, and waited for her to clarify.
Almost immediately, a blush spread across Rachel's face as she saw the blonde's confusion, and she stumbled over her words in her haste to clarify. “Oh, god- not like- I didn't mean- I was just-”
Stopping to collect her breath, she started to try to explain again, but stopped when she saw the slight smirk on Quinn's face. The blonde let out a chuckle and said, “I know, Rach, and I would love to go back with you.”
Letting out a relieved sigh, Rachel grinned and said, “Movie?”
A half hour later they were curled on Rachel's couch, The Princess Bride playing on the TV. They hadn't been able to agree on anything more recent, but had discovered a mutual love for the movie when Quinn stumbled upon it while browsing the diva's collection. Quinn had sat on one end of the couch, with Rachel on the other, but around the time that Buttercup found out Westley had been killed by the Dread Pirate Roberts, Quinn had begun inching closer to the brunette.
By the time Inigo and Westley were dueling atop the Cliffs of Insanity, Quinn was pressed up against Rachel's side, her head resting on her shoulder. Rachel was trying desperately not to move, unsure of what was acceptable and what might send Quinn scurrying away from her. Quinn, for her part, was trying not to smile at the sense of cautiousness she could feel radiating from the brunette and the warmth seeping into her body because of it.
When they were watching Buttercup throw herself down the hill after Westley, Quinn decided that her current position was entirely too uncomfortable and slid down so she was laying with her head on Rachel's lap. She felt the brunette tense for a long moment, but gradually the smaller woman's posture eased, and she let out a small sigh. After another few minutes, Quinn felt tentative fingers begin to run through her hair, and she turned her face into Rachel's leg as she tried not to moan at how good it felt.
Softly, Rachel asked, "Quinn? Why did you come to my shows?"
Exhaling into the denim of the brunette's jeans, Quinn turned her face to look up at Rachel and replied quietly, "Your voice. It just...it makes everything bad go away. I saw your name on the billboard and went once, and...well, I never stopped going. When I heard you singing it was like my problems didn't exist any more..."
She trailed off, unsure of how to continue without making things awkward, and Rachel squeezed her shoulder gently. Nimble fingers caressed her arms and continued combing her hair, and she sighed at the feeling.
It had just been so long since someone had touched her like that, and she found herself trying to hold back the tears that were suddenly pushing at the corners of her eyes. A few slipped out, and she cursed herself, knowing that Rachel would be able to feel the dampness on her jeans. The only indication the brunette gave, however, was to gently move an arm over Quinn and lace their fingers together, giving a gentle squeeze.
Quinn felt more tears spring to her eyes at the action, and the quiet understanding, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up with Rachel and never leave the comfort of her arms. She felt tender fingers move from her hair to trace light shapes on her back, and she tried to brace herself for the pain she knew would come if Rachel touched one of her bruises.
After a few long minutes, however, she realized that Rachel had traced her entire back, and there had yet to be even a hint of discomfort. The brunette's touch was feather-light, and Quinn felt the last bit of tension bleed from her body as she realized she didn't have to worry about Rachel hurting her. She glanced at the television in time to see Buttercup falling gracefully from the balcony in a flurry of white and silver before she let her eyes slip closed, letting herself get lost in the feeling of Rachel's tenderness.
Rachel felt more than saw Quinn's breathing ease into the steady, deep rhythm of sleep, and she exhaled slowly. She wasn't really sure what had just happened between them, or where it might be going. She hadn't been able to control her hand when Quinn had been in her lap, but the moment of panic that she had overstepped some boundary was immediately quelled when the blonde subtly leaned into the touch.
For a moment, when she had felt the first tears on her thigh, she had panicked and thought that it was because of something she had done. But Quinn hadn't moved away, and so she was left more confused than ever. She felt certain now that Quinn was hiding something, but she was helpless to do anything to ease the other woman's obvious pain. She wanted more than anything to protect Quinn from whatever it was that was hurting her, but until the blonde trusted her enough to tell her, she was stuck unable to do anything.
Slowly, she moved to unwind the scarf from around Quinn's neck. She wasn't about to wake the blonde from a peaceful sleep, but if she was going to sleep here, Rachel certainly wasn't going to risk her choking herself in her sleep. Neatly draping the scarf over the back of the couch, she leaned down and brushed a gentle kiss against the shell of Quinn's ear as she whispered, “Goodnight.”
*************************
The first time she had to go to the hospital, it was the most awful combination of humiliation and terror that she had ever experienced. She knew how she looked, but that didn't mean she appreciated the looks that people were giving her. Of course, she only started noticing the looks after she woke up from the heavy sedative they had given her when she stumbled into the ER with her arm broken in two places, but still.
It had started out like any other confrontation, but in her desperation to get away, Quinn had made the mistake of backpedaling in the direction of the stairs. Jason's hand had connected with her, and the next thing she knew she was falling down, down, down until she felt ground underneath her, the impact resonating with a sickening crack that she felt through her entire body. Everything was completely still for a split second, but in the next instant her body was on fire, pain shooting through every fiber of her being.
She was gasping for air, and trying desperately to keep from screaming, and the result was an awful sort of quiet shriek. She went to try to push herself into a sitting position, but when she moved to lean on her right arm, she felt a sickening sliding sensation, and when she looked down she barely choked back a scream when she saw that her forearm was bent double. The bone was gleaming white, fragmented and splintery in the dim light of the living room, and she felt a wave of nausea sweep her body.
Trying to focus, she glanced back up the stairs but Jason was nowhere in sight. She managed to prop herself against the bottom stair and tried to slow her breathing as much as possible. Looking down at her other arm to make sure it wasn't broken, she reached out and grabbed the banister to try to force herself into a standing position. She almost didn't make it, but after a terrifying few seconds where she thought she might fall over, she was able to begin moving slowly in the direction of the door.
Her one thought was that she needed to get to a doctor. Once on the street, she managed to hail a cab, and nearly fell inside once she had wrestled the door open. The cabbie was trying to talk to her, but when he looked back to see why she wasn't responding, his face went white as a sheet and he immediately started mumbling about hospitals.
Her vision was getting hazy, and she heard the cabbie trying to ask her something, but she couldn't seem to make her mouth form words to respond. She was dimly aware of being lifted by someone and being hit with a blast of cold night air before being enveloped in warmth again, but she couldn't quite grasp what was going on. Everything was blurred together, moving too fast for her to follow.
Her last thought before she slipped into the comfort of darkness was that at least it wouldn't hurt any more.
She woke up hours later in a hospital bed in a standard issue hospital gown, with a nurse standing by the bedside. That was the first time she was on the receiving end of that look, the one that conveyed pity beyond measure and made her feel somehow less. She was hooked up to all sorts of monitors, and when she looked down she wasn't really surprised to see her arm in a massive cast, immobilized from her shoulder down.
She drifted off again, and when she woke up there was a doctor standing at the foot of the bed, writing on a chart. When he glanced up and saw that she was awake, he moved slowly until he was standing on the side of the bed near her head. “Miss, I'm Dr. Johnson, I have a couple questions I need to ask if you're feeling up to it?”
Nodding her head slowly, Quinn answered all of the questions in as few words as possible.
Name? Quinn Fabray.
Age? 23.
Occupation? Homemaker.
Marital Status? Married.
The doctor arched a brow slightly at her answer to the marital status question, before shaking his head slightly and asking, “Ms. Fabray, I just need to clarify- injuries like this are frequently indicators of abuse, you understand I just need to-”
She cut him off, shaking her head vehemently. “NO, I'm not- I mean- what on earth would give you that idea? I just fell down the stairs when I was carrying a load of laundry down. My husband was...he was at work, and I didn't want to take the time to call him. It's just a broken arm, after all!”
Sighing, the doctor shook his head. “Ms. Fabray, I must try to impress upon you the seriousness of what happened. You broke both your ulna and radius in two different places, and you fractured three ribs on top of that. Bear in mind, all of this isn't taking into account all of the bruising and external injury that took place. Are you sure that you...fell down the stairs?”
Regardless of the fact that the doctor's skepticism was well-deserved, Quinn felt a spike of indignation and fixed him with a glare. “Dr. Johnson, if something other than falling down the stairs had occurred, I can assure you that the police would already be carting the individual responsible away. I am insulted that you would insinuate that I am lying right now, or that such a thought could even cross my mind.”
Withering under the blonde's righteous fury, the doctor opened his mouth, closed it, opened it long enough to mutter a quick, “Apologies, Ms. Fabray,” and then made a hasty exit. The second the door closed behind him, Quinn collapsed back against her pillows, not even trying to stop the tears. The combination of the pain and the stress and the fact that he had believed her so easily was just too much, and she was just too tired to keep trying to maintain a stone-faced exterior. Turning her face away from the door as a nurse came in to check her medications, she tried to pull herself together before turning back to the nurse.
“Excuse me, but how long do I have to stay here?”
The man gave her a sympathetic look and said, “You shouldn't be here much longer. They just wanted to keep you for observation since it was such a nasty fall. I know this has to be miserable...is there anyone I can call for you? Your husband, perhaps?”
The look on her face was probably enough to tip him off that calling her husband was an awful idea, but even if it wasn't the rapid shaking of her head and the hastily murmured, “No, no, don't worry about it,” would have been red flags anyways.
Nodding his head slowly, he said, “All right, but if there's anything I can help you with, please don't hesitate to ask. I'm Connor, by the way.”
Relieved that he hadn't pushed her or questioned her about why she wouldn't want her husband by her side at a time like this, Quinn forced a small smile and said, “Nice to meet you. Not ideal circumstances, certainly, but I suppose we might as well make the best of a bad situation. I'm Quinn.”
He had smiled back at her and said, “Nice to meet you. The drugs should be kicking in any moment now, but if you need me I'm right down the hall.”
As she watched him leave the room, closing the door quietly behind him, Quinn felt a brief pang of guilt about lying to him. He seemed like a really nice guy, and while she felt bad about lying to most people, when they were nice, it just seemed to make things...harder. Things got complicated far more quickly, and she had more than enough complications in her life already.
Sighing as she felt her lids begin to droop, Quinn tried not to think about how disappointed everyone would be in her if they knew the truth about how weak she was. It hurt, to know that she could have been so much more, and she welcomed the blank nothingness that unconsciousness brought.
Part Four