Fic: Cravings (1/1)
Title: Cravings
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: G.
Spoilers: Nope.
Summary: Quinn has a craving, Rachel tries to help. This is just a short bit of inspired idiocy that's been rattling around my head for the past week - sorry! :)
Damn Quinn Fabray anyway. It was her fault, Rachel mused, that she was getting a “this woman is a lunatic” stare from the fourth grocery store employee she’d interrogated that night.
“Uh - no, ma’am. We don’t have anything like that. I don’t know anyone that would - you have a good night, okay?”
Rachel executed a perfect storm-out, stomping across the frozen parking lot to their minivan. It would be easier, she thought, if Quinn got bitchy when she was having her peculiar dietary cravings. Then Rachel could justify being mad at her. But instead of being bitchy, she got teary - clutching the pronounced bump of her stomach and sniffling, apologising for being difficult. And so she couldn’t even get mad at her, she had to hug her and tell her it was okay, that she’d find what she wanted at some store somewhere in the middle of the night.
Most of the time, her requests were reasonable, if somewhat peculiar. Chicken inside of a waffle (with Uncle Sandro’s having closed years before, it was harder to find that than she’d expected), latkes and peanut butter, relish and onion sandwiches, Rachel had never failed to deliver what she’d asked for. But tonight - she was failing, and that was simply unacceptable. Rachel Berry-Fabray did not fail, especially where her wife was concerned. So she retrieved her cell phone and punched up her contacts, settling on a name about halfway through the list and dialling his number.
“Finn? Rachel - I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I need you to do a web search for me. See if there’s anywhere that sells,” she explained what she wanted. “Yes, I’m aware of how it sounds, but Quinn’s having a craving. Yes, exactly.” She waited while he typed. “Oh my god - are you serious? Where is it? Akron? No, that’s fine - I’ll get a cooler Can you call, let them know I’m coming? Thanks, Finn - you’re a lifesaver.”
The drive was dull - the interstate was fairly empty at that hour on a Sunday - but she entertained herself by playing the mix CD she and Quinn had recorded for the baby. They’d had an amazing time recording it - it was like being back in Glee together, and those were some of the happiest memories they shared. Rachel sang along all the way there, until she pulled up in front of an old farmhouse. She stopped the car and ran to the front door, banging loudly on it. The dishevelled old man who operated the place handed her a gallon container, taking twenty dollars from her and closing the door without offering change. She threw the container in a picnic cooler with some ice and began the drive back to Lima.
She could see Quinn’s silhouette through the blinds on their front window, pacing back and forth through the living room. Her hands were on her back, bracing against the extra weight she carried, and her pacing was slower than it would have been months before. Rachel grabbed the cooler and mounted the stairs to their front door two at a time, unlocking the door and letting herself in. Quinn looked hopefully at her.
“I got it!” Rachel crowed. She held out the cooler, and Quinn greedily snatched it away. She eagerly tore it open, grabbing the gallon pail and wordlessly accepting a spoon from Rachel. She stripped the lid off, dug herself a large spoonful and swallowed it gratefully, a look of bliss crossing her features.
And then she promptly turned green and ran for the bathroom.
Rachel shook her head, putting the lid back on the pail. “I don’t know how you expected bacon ice cream to taste good anyway.”
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: G.
Spoilers: Nope.
Summary: Quinn has a craving, Rachel tries to help. This is just a short bit of inspired idiocy that's been rattling around my head for the past week - sorry! :)
Damn Quinn Fabray anyway. It was her fault, Rachel mused, that she was getting a “this woman is a lunatic” stare from the fourth grocery store employee she’d interrogated that night.
“Uh - no, ma’am. We don’t have anything like that. I don’t know anyone that would - you have a good night, okay?”
Rachel executed a perfect storm-out, stomping across the frozen parking lot to their minivan. It would be easier, she thought, if Quinn got bitchy when she was having her peculiar dietary cravings. Then Rachel could justify being mad at her. But instead of being bitchy, she got teary - clutching the pronounced bump of her stomach and sniffling, apologising for being difficult. And so she couldn’t even get mad at her, she had to hug her and tell her it was okay, that she’d find what she wanted at some store somewhere in the middle of the night.
Most of the time, her requests were reasonable, if somewhat peculiar. Chicken inside of a waffle (with Uncle Sandro’s having closed years before, it was harder to find that than she’d expected), latkes and peanut butter, relish and onion sandwiches, Rachel had never failed to deliver what she’d asked for. But tonight - she was failing, and that was simply unacceptable. Rachel Berry-Fabray did not fail, especially where her wife was concerned. So she retrieved her cell phone and punched up her contacts, settling on a name about halfway through the list and dialling his number.
“Finn? Rachel - I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I need you to do a web search for me. See if there’s anywhere that sells,” she explained what she wanted. “Yes, I’m aware of how it sounds, but Quinn’s having a craving. Yes, exactly.” She waited while he typed. “Oh my god - are you serious? Where is it? Akron? No, that’s fine - I’ll get a cooler Can you call, let them know I’m coming? Thanks, Finn - you’re a lifesaver.”
The drive was dull - the interstate was fairly empty at that hour on a Sunday - but she entertained herself by playing the mix CD she and Quinn had recorded for the baby. They’d had an amazing time recording it - it was like being back in Glee together, and those were some of the happiest memories they shared. Rachel sang along all the way there, until she pulled up in front of an old farmhouse. She stopped the car and ran to the front door, banging loudly on it. The dishevelled old man who operated the place handed her a gallon container, taking twenty dollars from her and closing the door without offering change. She threw the container in a picnic cooler with some ice and began the drive back to Lima.
She could see Quinn’s silhouette through the blinds on their front window, pacing back and forth through the living room. Her hands were on her back, bracing against the extra weight she carried, and her pacing was slower than it would have been months before. Rachel grabbed the cooler and mounted the stairs to their front door two at a time, unlocking the door and letting herself in. Quinn looked hopefully at her.
“I got it!” Rachel crowed. She held out the cooler, and Quinn greedily snatched it away. She eagerly tore it open, grabbing the gallon pail and wordlessly accepting a spoon from Rachel. She stripped the lid off, dug herself a large spoonful and swallowed it gratefully, a look of bliss crossing her features.
And then she promptly turned green and ran for the bathroom.
Rachel shook her head, putting the lid back on the pail. “I don’t know how you expected bacon ice cream to taste good anyway.”