Glee Fic: Stars that Burn the Brightest
Title: Stars that Burn the Brightest
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn
Word Count: 3600
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Quinn can’t understand why her approval matters to Rachel or why it feels so good that it does.
Spoilers: Through 2x06
Notes: A one-shot I wanted to post before I head to work. Hope you enjoy. :)
Quinn Fabray is bored.
She’s laying on the couch, making herself dizzy as she watches the ceiling fan spin round and round, and it feels like the silence of her empty house is mocking her and her lack of plans even though it’s a weeknight.
She could find something to do; she’s the head cheerleader again and her phone is filled with the numbers of Cheerios who would gladly drive through the night’s rain just for a chance to be bored out of their skulls on the sofa next to her.
Lately, though, the idea of having a lackey over just to mindlessly fawn over her isn’t as appealing as it used to be. Quinn thinks this is evidence that she’s maturing, but when she told Santana her theory, the other girl just sneered something about Quinn losing her touch.
Still, right now, Quinn is alone and wants some company in this house that doesn’t quite yet feel like home.
She grabs her phone off the floor and is in the middle of scrolling through her contact list, about to call Sam for more teasing without pleasing when her ring tone makes her jump and Rachel Berry’s blinding smile pops up on the screen. Quinn’s thumb moves over to the ignore button instinctively, but she hesitates.
Quinn Fabray is really bored.
“Berry,” she sighs into her phone as a greeting.
“Hello, Quinn!”
Quinn feels a shiver of dread creep up her spine at Rachel’s overly excited tone. She just knows she’s about to get roped into another boyfriend-testing scheme or some dramatic musical presentation that will leave her cringing in embarrassment for a week. She thinks about hanging up before Rachel can say another word, but that would be rude and negate Quinn’s theory that she is, in fact, maturing.
“Why are you calling me?” Quinn asks instead.
There’s a small moment of hesitation that comes before Rachel’s response that piques Quinn’s curiosity against her will. “I couldn’t help but notice you were off-pitch during rehearsal today. That is something we simply cannot afford, especially if we take into consideration our placement at Regionals--"
“Berry,” Quinn interrupts, because she can see right through Rachel Berry’s lie even if she can’t actually see Rachel. “Why are you really calling me?”
“I - well, I was hoping you would be willing to help me with a problem,” Rachel admits.
“And you thought calling me and insulting my singing was the best way to win me over?”
“No! I apologize, Quinn. Please forget I called.”
“Rachel,” Quinn barks, exasperated, “just come over.” She hangs up without saying goodbye, confident that Rachel will be at her house shortly.
She may be bored and desperate for company, but she’s still Quinn Fabray, after all.
-----
As it turns out, Rachel’s problem isn’t so much a problem as it is a fact: Her and Finn are “on a break.”
“Like Ross and Rachel?” Quinn had teased her when Rachel first explained, which earned her a heated glare.
But, really, Quinn isn’t so sure she’s the right person to be Rachel’s confidant. For one thing, Rachel is currently listing, in great detail, Finn’s faults, faults that Quinn is intimately familiar with and doesn’t care to hear about at all.
“Berry,” she says in the middle of Rachel ranting about the mailman, “I realize you’re a socially inept Smurf, but what made you think it was a good idea to talk to me about your issues with my ex-boyfriend?”
Rachel falls silent, rant forgotten, as she stares at Quinn in confusion. “I assumed you would understand more than anyone else,” she states, as though it’s completely obvious and Quinn is the graceless moron in the room.
Quinn’s left eye twitches.
“I understand,” Quinn bites out from between clenched teeth, her mouth curling into what she knows to be a frighteningly fake smile, “but we can either talk about something else or you can leave before I hit you.”
Rachel blinks, looking rather like a deer in the headlights before her face breaks into a wide grin. “As long as you avoid my nose,” she says, and the rush of nostalgia Quinn feels as she remembers truths revealed and tears and benches in school hallways makes her light-headed.
“I’ll try,” she promises, lips twitching as she smothers her smile.
“We could talk about Sam,” Rachel offers tentatively. “I’m sorry,” she continues, as Quinn remains silent, “are you two not together anymore?”
Quinn rolls her eyes. “We’re still together,” she sighs. She really wants to leave it at that, but Rachel has the uncanny ability to hone in on unwanted topics, and judging by the sudden light in Rachel’s eyes, Quinn is directly in her crosshairs.
“Something’s wrong, though,” Rachel states confidently. She slides closer to Quinn on the sofa and leans forward intently, as though they’re not the only two people in the house. “Perhaps I can provide advice.”
Quinn has so many potential insults running through her mind, ready to fire at the girl who just spent forty minutes detailing her relationship problems and is now offering to solve Quinn’s. She opens her mouth, but what comes out is a confession instead of a cutting remark.
“I’m using him.” She glances at Rachel, expecting to see open disapproval or even hunger for gossip, but all she sees is honest curiosity. “I like him,” she explains, and it’s the truth. “He can be incredibly sweet, and I like kissing him, but really,” she pauses, swallowing, “really I just think he’s what’s best for my reputation.”
“Why do you care so much about your reputation?”
“It’s all I have,” Quinn answers reflexively, without choosing her words carefully like she should, but Rachel has this - this way about her that makes Quinn not want to lie.
“That’s not true,” Rachel says softly.
“It is,” Quinn murmurs.
“Well, I don’t believe it.”
Quinn doesn’t know what to say to that, and Rachel’s sincerity is kind of intense and disconcerting, so she focuses her gaze on the unlit fireplace and simply nods in thanks.
Rachel reaches over the very small space between them and rests her hand against the side of Quinn’s wrist, and Quinn can see her smile in her peripheral vision. Rachel’s hand retreats to her own lap within moments, though, and Quinn is left wondering why her skin burns when Rachel’s fingers were so cold.
-----
The next day, Schuester’s excitement over the imperfect tense keeps her in Spanish III two minutes after the bell rings, so by the time Quinn makes it to the cafeteria for lunch, her usual table with Santana, Brittany and the Cheerios is full.
Instead of simply glaring at one of the new girls until she scurries away, Quinn heads toward a table occupied by a few of the other kids from glee. She slides into the hard plastic seat in between Tina and Rachel and enjoys the shocked look that crosses both their faces simultaneously.
“Is there a problem?” Quinn asks in a deceptively sweet voice as she unpacks her non-Sylvester-approved lunch.
Mike hurries to shake his head and Tina mutters a quiet response. Kurt and Mercedes are deep in conversation and couldn’t care less about where Quinn sits, but Rachel smiles at her, true and wide.
Lunch progresses pretty normally, considering Quinn is sitting with several people generally considered to be below the bottom of the food chain. A couple of senior Cheerios approach but cower and retreat at one eyebrow raise from Quinn.
She’s totally still got it, no matter what Santana Lopez says.
-----
Rachel inadvertently scares the hell out of her after glee club rehearsal a few days later.
“Do you want to come over?”
Quinn whips around at the sound of Rachel’s voice, her heart pounding. She thought she’d left her back in the choir room. They’re not suddenly, like, friends who walk together, after all.
“To do what?” Quinn asks.
“Hang out?” Rachel smoothes down her bangs, so transparently nervous. “I expected you to decline immediately, to be honest.”
Quinn hums in response, her lips curling into a smirk as she watches Rachel squirm. (She’s maturing, not a saint, okay?)
“We could watch a movie,” Rachel suggests. She’s moved on from her bangs to fiddling with the hem of her skirt. “The other night was nice. Having a friend to spend time with, I mean.”
Quinn’s stomach drops like she’s on a rollercoaster.
Rachel Berry thinks they’re friends.
“It doesn’t take much to be your friend, does it?” Quinn asks without thinking before she speaks, something that’s becoming a habit around this girl. She exhales lightly, avoiding Rachel’s surely hurt gaze. “I actually didn’t mean that as an insult.”
She chances a glance at Rachel’s face and is pleased to find the other girl smiling slightly. “Does that mean you’ll come?”
Quinn sighs loudly; mostly to keep up appearances as she weighs her options because her stomach feels strange and she’s pretty sure Rachel’s vulnerability is a virus that’s gone airborne.
“Fine,” she answers once she’s sure she’s made Rachel wait long enough so that Quinn’s regained the upper ground.
Too bad Rachel’s face-splitting grin makes Quinn feel like she just lost her footing all over again.
-----
“…and this is my room,” Rachel concludes unnecessarily as they enter her bedroom.
“Thanks for the tour.”
Rachel, oblivious to Quinn’s sarcasm, only smiles and sits primly on the edge of her bed. “You can sit down, you know,” she explains when Quinn remains standing in the doorframe.
The truth is, Quinn is currently trying to process this new reality that has her willingly spending time not only with Rachel Berry, but time in Rachel Berry’s bedroom.
Eventually, when she realizes she probably looks super creepy just standing there, Quinn joins Rachel on the bed, cautiously placing a good amount of distance between them. The silence is heavy and awkward until Rachel breaks it.
“Quinn, may I ask you a question and trust that you’ll respond truthfully?”
“I thought we were going to watch a movie,” Quinn says hesitantly.
“This is important,” Rachel states. She shifts closer to Quinn on the bed because she clearly has little to no concept of personal space. Her brown eyes are intense, bordering on Run Joey Run full-on crazy, so Quinn nods, if only so that she won’t send Rachel into some bizarre (most likely musical) meltdown.
Rachel takes a deep breath and straightens her back. “Do you think I’m pretty?”
This is only the second time in her life that Quinn has been shocked into literal silence, and the first time that doesn’t involve a pregnancy test. Rachel is staring at her expectantly, her eyes no longer crazy but now pleading and uncomfortably puppy-like.
“Quinn-"
“I’m thinking,” Quinn snaps.
She looks at Rachel Berry, truly looks, for once not searching for a new feature to insult or draw deformed representations of on school walls or in notebooks. The answer comes to her quicker than she would ever admit, and she continues to stare at Rachel in silence for a moment to hide this fact.
“Yes,” Quinn states simply.
Rachel beams at her; she’s positively glowing as she says, “Thank you, Quinn.”
Quinn’s stomach is flipping and her neck and ears are uncomfortably hot. She knows this feeling. She wants so very badly to say something harsh to wipe that look off of Rachel’s face, because Rachel’s delight is making Quinn happy and it’s just too much.
She bites the inside of her cheek instead, and focuses on the sharp sting of her teeth instead of Rachel’s warmth.
They watch a movie, finally, but Rachel can’t get rid of the small smile that clings so tightly to her mouth and Quinn can’t understand why her approval matters to Rachel or why it feels so good that it does.
-----
That night she makes out with Sam Evans so vigorously she’s pretty sure he doesn’t even have the brain capacity to think of Bieste, let alone anything else.
Her mind doesn’t work the same way, though, and more often than not she catches herself thinking of dark eyes and brown hair and wild, bright smiles.
She only presses herself into him harder, whispers things into lips soft enough that they could belong to her, and tries to pretend that nothing has changed.
-----
“Good morning, Quinn,” Rachel chirps.
Quinn only nods in response, still too tired to formulate words.
After Sam left, she took a blood-freezing cold shower and spent the rest of the night tossing fitfully in bed, thinking about the girl who is now standing in front of her in a sweater featuring two kissing cats.
“I want to thank-"
“Why do you care if I think you’re pretty?” Quinn interrupts, louder than intended. She glances around nervously before she grabs Rachel’s wrist and tugs her into a more secluded corner of the hallway.
“You’re Quinn Fabray,” Rachel answers, smiling.
Quinn sighs. “I’m exhausted, Berry; just spell it out for me.”
“Quinn, you’re the prettiest girl in school,” Rachel explains. That certainly wakes up Quinn. “I was feeling insecure and I figured if you thought I was attractive after all we’ve been through, then there certainly wasn’t a problem with my physical appearance.”
“Oh,” Quinn says numbly.
“So, as I was saying before you interrupted me - which I do not appreciate, for future reference - I want to thank you for your reassurance.”
“You’re welcome.”
Rachel beams and leans closer. “I would hug you if we weren’t in public,” she says quietly.
“What makes you think I’d hug you in private?” Quinn asks, schooling her features into a mask of indifference. (Still not a saint.)
Rachel’s smile disappears immediately. “Oh, I - I just thought…” she trails off as Quinn’s lips tic upward, betraying her amusement. “That was not nice, Quinn!” Rachel huffs.
“Sorry,” Quinn drawls, fully smirking now.
“Liar,” Rachel mutters, but she’s smiling again.
The urge to touch Rachel appears suddenly and powerfully, and, well, she’s already playing with fire just by having an actual conversation with Rachel in public, so she takes a deep breath and makes a decision before she can talk herself out of it.
She glances around before she reaches one arm toward Rachel and lets her fingertips brush the crook of the other girl’s elbow and down her forearm, fleetingly and feather-light.
“How covert of you,” Rachel murmurs. She’s blushing furiously and purposefully looking away from Quinn, but she still steps closer, presumably when she thinks no one’s looking. “I feel like we’re in a spy movie,” she whispers into Quinn’s ear. Quinn shudders. “It’s all very exciting.”
“Very exciting,” Quinn agrees, her voice embarrassingly breathy.
The warning bell rings and Quinn leaps away, guilt and confusion clouding her brain.
Rachel stares at her for a moment with indecipherably dark eyes before she departs without a word, but she’s smiling when she turns to glance back at Quinn, almost ramming into Miss Pillsbury in the process.
-----
“Can I ask you something?”
Rachel looks up from her spot on the floor, where she’s currently unpacking her Bedazzler. “Of course.”
Quinn plays with the fabric in her hands; they’re in her room, supposed to be working on outfits for an upcoming performance, but Quinn is jittery and having trouble focusing enough to know if she’s holding a shirt or pants.
She bites her lip, staring down at the unidentified clothing, and exhales shakily. “Have you ever liked someone you shouldn’t?”
Rachel laughs and Quinn glances toward the sound. “That’s my specialty, Quinn.” She focuses on lining up neat rows of beads, size and color-coded. “Is there something wrong with Sam?” she asks, her tone casual, but Quinn can tell from the unblinking way she’s staring at the beads that she’s dying of curiosity.
“I’m not talking about Sam,” Quinn answers. Rachel’s hands falter, sending several brightly colored gems scattering across the floor. She ignores them in favor of staring at Quinn. “I’m not cheating on him,” Quinn clarifies. “Although I get why you wouldn’t rush to trust me to be faithful.”
“I believe you,” Rachel says firmly. She finally looks away from Quinn as she turns back to the work in front of her. “You like someone else, though.”
“Maybe.” (Don’t lie.) “I think so.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm? That’s all you have to say?” Quinn asks, suddenly angry. “Since when have you spoken monosyllabically?”
Rachel appears startled by Quinn’s tone. “What would you like me to say?” she states calmly. Her eyes are wide and confused, which only stokes Quinn’s resentment.
She glares at Rachel, wondering why the other girl doesn’t get it.
“You should leave,” Quinn bites out, jaw tight.
“We haven’t even started,” Rachel whispers. She sounds confused and strangely desperate. Quinn can relate. “I’m sorry if I made you angry,” she continues sadly, and just like that Quinn’s anger rushes out and leaves her feeling drained.
“Rachel,” she murmurs, “don’t apologize. I’m sorry.”
Rachel crawls over to Quinn’s spot on the floor and kneels before her, peering at her with concerned eyes. She wraps her arms around Quinn and hugs her tightly. Quinn remains still as a swirl of emotions leave her frozen and unable to return the embrace. Rachel pulls back but leaves her hands on Quinn’s shoulders. “Whoever it is that has you feeling this way, I hope he’s worth it.”
He. Quinn lets out a soft, slightly hysterical laugh. She wonders what would happen if she just grabbed Rachel’s neck and kissed her until they both couldn’t breathe. Her hands lift and before she can stop herself she’s holding Rachel’s wrists tightly. She feels Rachel’s pulse beneath her grip, beating strong and fast. Rachel’s gaze is flickering rapidly over Quinn’s face, processing, and Quinn can pinpoint the exact moment that Rachel understands what’s happening. “Oh,” she breathes.
The small sound is enough to startle Quinn out of her madness. What is she even doing; this is Rachel, for God’s sake. She pulls the girl’s hands off of her shoulders and shifts away from temptation.
“Let’s just work,” Quinn says roughly.
-----
She manages to avoid Rachel throughout school and even right up until the end of glee rehearsal the next day, but in her blind haste to leave the room she yanks her backpack up without zipping it and her binder and papers spill all over the ground.
She kneels down and begins jamming the rogue papers into her bag haphazardly and of course, of course, Rachel is there, her small hands gathering Quinn’s work into a neat pile.
“Quinn,” she says simply, handing over the stack of worksheets.
“Don’t,” Quinn pleads. She zips up her backpack in shaky patches and pushes past Rachel.
She’s almost at the door when the strap of her bag tightens against her shoulder and her entire body jerks backward. She twists her head around sharply and glares at Rachel, who still has one hand fisted in the material of Quinn’s backpack. “What the hell, Rachel?” she splutters.
Rachel releases her and crosses her arms. “You’re avoiding me.”
“Yes, Captain Obvious,” Quinn spits. Anger is familiar. Anger is easy.
“Quinn,” Rachel says again. Her eyes take on a recognizable determined sheen, and before Quinn knows it Rachel’s hands are gripping the edge of Quinn’s top and her lips are against Quinn’s own.
Quinn’s hands lift to Rachel’s hips reflexively and she pulls her in closer, tighter, her mouth moving against Rachel’s frantically.
She feels unhinged and crazed in the best way possible as she bites Rachel’s lower lip and slides her tongue into a warm mouth when the other girl gasps.
Finally, finally, finally races through her mind like a mantra, and she kisses Rachel harder, moans softly as Rachel’s hands move from grabbing her top to holding her hips in a painfully tight grasp.
A locker slams in the hallway outside, jolting them apart.
“Come over,” Quinn rasps. Rachel nods energetically.
-----
The drive to Quinn’s house does nothing to calm her down, not with Rachel sitting two feet away and staring unabashedly at her the entire way.
They rush up the stairs to Quinn’s bedroom and Quinn locks the door as soon as they’re inside, pressing Rachel against it and kissing her thoroughly. She drops her hands to Quinn’s stomach and pushes her back toward the bed, their lips still fused together, and they fall roughly onto the mattress, Rachel landing hard on top of Quinn but she can’t really care when Rachel’s tongue is tangled with her own.
Rachel pulls away to breathe, staring at Quinn intently, and she shocks her when she starts to laugh quietly. She presses her face into Quinn’s neck, trying to stifle the sound.
“What?” Quinn smiles.
“My car is still in the parking lot,” Rachel giggles, lifting her head to look at Quinn, and soon Quinn’s laughing with her, the absurdity of the situation finally settling in.
They’re Quinn and Rachel and they’re in Quinn’s bedroom, laughing and flushed and making out on her bed.
Quinn reaches up and tilts Rachel’s head back gently, dipping her tongue into the hollow of the brunette’s throat and running it up the column of her neck. She closes her lips around a rapidly fluttering pulse point and Rachel moans, all thoughts of her car clearly forgotten.
“Wow,” Rachel breathes, shuddering on top of Quinn and shifting until their mouths meet again.
They kiss until Quinn is sure her lips are bruised and Rachel can’t stop smiling against her mouth.
Quinn pulls away slightly, sighing contently at Rachel’s warm eyes and swollen lips. “I don’t know what comes next,” she admits quietly.
Rachel’s soft smile never falters.
“We’ll figure it out.”
---
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn
Word Count: 3600
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Quinn can’t understand why her approval matters to Rachel or why it feels so good that it does.
Spoilers: Through 2x06
Notes: A one-shot I wanted to post before I head to work. Hope you enjoy. :)
Quinn Fabray is bored.
She’s laying on the couch, making herself dizzy as she watches the ceiling fan spin round and round, and it feels like the silence of her empty house is mocking her and her lack of plans even though it’s a weeknight.
She could find something to do; she’s the head cheerleader again and her phone is filled with the numbers of Cheerios who would gladly drive through the night’s rain just for a chance to be bored out of their skulls on the sofa next to her.
Lately, though, the idea of having a lackey over just to mindlessly fawn over her isn’t as appealing as it used to be. Quinn thinks this is evidence that she’s maturing, but when she told Santana her theory, the other girl just sneered something about Quinn losing her touch.
Still, right now, Quinn is alone and wants some company in this house that doesn’t quite yet feel like home.
She grabs her phone off the floor and is in the middle of scrolling through her contact list, about to call Sam for more teasing without pleasing when her ring tone makes her jump and Rachel Berry’s blinding smile pops up on the screen. Quinn’s thumb moves over to the ignore button instinctively, but she hesitates.
Quinn Fabray is really bored.
“Berry,” she sighs into her phone as a greeting.
“Hello, Quinn!”
Quinn feels a shiver of dread creep up her spine at Rachel’s overly excited tone. She just knows she’s about to get roped into another boyfriend-testing scheme or some dramatic musical presentation that will leave her cringing in embarrassment for a week. She thinks about hanging up before Rachel can say another word, but that would be rude and negate Quinn’s theory that she is, in fact, maturing.
“Why are you calling me?” Quinn asks instead.
There’s a small moment of hesitation that comes before Rachel’s response that piques Quinn’s curiosity against her will. “I couldn’t help but notice you were off-pitch during rehearsal today. That is something we simply cannot afford, especially if we take into consideration our placement at Regionals--"
“Berry,” Quinn interrupts, because she can see right through Rachel Berry’s lie even if she can’t actually see Rachel. “Why are you really calling me?”
“I - well, I was hoping you would be willing to help me with a problem,” Rachel admits.
“And you thought calling me and insulting my singing was the best way to win me over?”
“No! I apologize, Quinn. Please forget I called.”
“Rachel,” Quinn barks, exasperated, “just come over.” She hangs up without saying goodbye, confident that Rachel will be at her house shortly.
She may be bored and desperate for company, but she’s still Quinn Fabray, after all.
-----
As it turns out, Rachel’s problem isn’t so much a problem as it is a fact: Her and Finn are “on a break.”
“Like Ross and Rachel?” Quinn had teased her when Rachel first explained, which earned her a heated glare.
But, really, Quinn isn’t so sure she’s the right person to be Rachel’s confidant. For one thing, Rachel is currently listing, in great detail, Finn’s faults, faults that Quinn is intimately familiar with and doesn’t care to hear about at all.
“Berry,” she says in the middle of Rachel ranting about the mailman, “I realize you’re a socially inept Smurf, but what made you think it was a good idea to talk to me about your issues with my ex-boyfriend?”
Rachel falls silent, rant forgotten, as she stares at Quinn in confusion. “I assumed you would understand more than anyone else,” she states, as though it’s completely obvious and Quinn is the graceless moron in the room.
Quinn’s left eye twitches.
“I understand,” Quinn bites out from between clenched teeth, her mouth curling into what she knows to be a frighteningly fake smile, “but we can either talk about something else or you can leave before I hit you.”
Rachel blinks, looking rather like a deer in the headlights before her face breaks into a wide grin. “As long as you avoid my nose,” she says, and the rush of nostalgia Quinn feels as she remembers truths revealed and tears and benches in school hallways makes her light-headed.
“I’ll try,” she promises, lips twitching as she smothers her smile.
“We could talk about Sam,” Rachel offers tentatively. “I’m sorry,” she continues, as Quinn remains silent, “are you two not together anymore?”
Quinn rolls her eyes. “We’re still together,” she sighs. She really wants to leave it at that, but Rachel has the uncanny ability to hone in on unwanted topics, and judging by the sudden light in Rachel’s eyes, Quinn is directly in her crosshairs.
“Something’s wrong, though,” Rachel states confidently. She slides closer to Quinn on the sofa and leans forward intently, as though they’re not the only two people in the house. “Perhaps I can provide advice.”
Quinn has so many potential insults running through her mind, ready to fire at the girl who just spent forty minutes detailing her relationship problems and is now offering to solve Quinn’s. She opens her mouth, but what comes out is a confession instead of a cutting remark.
“I’m using him.” She glances at Rachel, expecting to see open disapproval or even hunger for gossip, but all she sees is honest curiosity. “I like him,” she explains, and it’s the truth. “He can be incredibly sweet, and I like kissing him, but really,” she pauses, swallowing, “really I just think he’s what’s best for my reputation.”
“Why do you care so much about your reputation?”
“It’s all I have,” Quinn answers reflexively, without choosing her words carefully like she should, but Rachel has this - this way about her that makes Quinn not want to lie.
“That’s not true,” Rachel says softly.
“It is,” Quinn murmurs.
“Well, I don’t believe it.”
Quinn doesn’t know what to say to that, and Rachel’s sincerity is kind of intense and disconcerting, so she focuses her gaze on the unlit fireplace and simply nods in thanks.
Rachel reaches over the very small space between them and rests her hand against the side of Quinn’s wrist, and Quinn can see her smile in her peripheral vision. Rachel’s hand retreats to her own lap within moments, though, and Quinn is left wondering why her skin burns when Rachel’s fingers were so cold.
-----
The next day, Schuester’s excitement over the imperfect tense keeps her in Spanish III two minutes after the bell rings, so by the time Quinn makes it to the cafeteria for lunch, her usual table with Santana, Brittany and the Cheerios is full.
Instead of simply glaring at one of the new girls until she scurries away, Quinn heads toward a table occupied by a few of the other kids from glee. She slides into the hard plastic seat in between Tina and Rachel and enjoys the shocked look that crosses both their faces simultaneously.
“Is there a problem?” Quinn asks in a deceptively sweet voice as she unpacks her non-Sylvester-approved lunch.
Mike hurries to shake his head and Tina mutters a quiet response. Kurt and Mercedes are deep in conversation and couldn’t care less about where Quinn sits, but Rachel smiles at her, true and wide.
Lunch progresses pretty normally, considering Quinn is sitting with several people generally considered to be below the bottom of the food chain. A couple of senior Cheerios approach but cower and retreat at one eyebrow raise from Quinn.
She’s totally still got it, no matter what Santana Lopez says.
-----
Rachel inadvertently scares the hell out of her after glee club rehearsal a few days later.
“Do you want to come over?”
Quinn whips around at the sound of Rachel’s voice, her heart pounding. She thought she’d left her back in the choir room. They’re not suddenly, like, friends who walk together, after all.
“To do what?” Quinn asks.
“Hang out?” Rachel smoothes down her bangs, so transparently nervous. “I expected you to decline immediately, to be honest.”
Quinn hums in response, her lips curling into a smirk as she watches Rachel squirm. (She’s maturing, not a saint, okay?)
“We could watch a movie,” Rachel suggests. She’s moved on from her bangs to fiddling with the hem of her skirt. “The other night was nice. Having a friend to spend time with, I mean.”
Quinn’s stomach drops like she’s on a rollercoaster.
Rachel Berry thinks they’re friends.
“It doesn’t take much to be your friend, does it?” Quinn asks without thinking before she speaks, something that’s becoming a habit around this girl. She exhales lightly, avoiding Rachel’s surely hurt gaze. “I actually didn’t mean that as an insult.”
She chances a glance at Rachel’s face and is pleased to find the other girl smiling slightly. “Does that mean you’ll come?”
Quinn sighs loudly; mostly to keep up appearances as she weighs her options because her stomach feels strange and she’s pretty sure Rachel’s vulnerability is a virus that’s gone airborne.
“Fine,” she answers once she’s sure she’s made Rachel wait long enough so that Quinn’s regained the upper ground.
Too bad Rachel’s face-splitting grin makes Quinn feel like she just lost her footing all over again.
-----
“…and this is my room,” Rachel concludes unnecessarily as they enter her bedroom.
“Thanks for the tour.”
Rachel, oblivious to Quinn’s sarcasm, only smiles and sits primly on the edge of her bed. “You can sit down, you know,” she explains when Quinn remains standing in the doorframe.
The truth is, Quinn is currently trying to process this new reality that has her willingly spending time not only with Rachel Berry, but time in Rachel Berry’s bedroom.
Eventually, when she realizes she probably looks super creepy just standing there, Quinn joins Rachel on the bed, cautiously placing a good amount of distance between them. The silence is heavy and awkward until Rachel breaks it.
“Quinn, may I ask you a question and trust that you’ll respond truthfully?”
“I thought we were going to watch a movie,” Quinn says hesitantly.
“This is important,” Rachel states. She shifts closer to Quinn on the bed because she clearly has little to no concept of personal space. Her brown eyes are intense, bordering on Run Joey Run full-on crazy, so Quinn nods, if only so that she won’t send Rachel into some bizarre (most likely musical) meltdown.
Rachel takes a deep breath and straightens her back. “Do you think I’m pretty?”
This is only the second time in her life that Quinn has been shocked into literal silence, and the first time that doesn’t involve a pregnancy test. Rachel is staring at her expectantly, her eyes no longer crazy but now pleading and uncomfortably puppy-like.
“Quinn-"
“I’m thinking,” Quinn snaps.
She looks at Rachel Berry, truly looks, for once not searching for a new feature to insult or draw deformed representations of on school walls or in notebooks. The answer comes to her quicker than she would ever admit, and she continues to stare at Rachel in silence for a moment to hide this fact.
“Yes,” Quinn states simply.
Rachel beams at her; she’s positively glowing as she says, “Thank you, Quinn.”
Quinn’s stomach is flipping and her neck and ears are uncomfortably hot. She knows this feeling. She wants so very badly to say something harsh to wipe that look off of Rachel’s face, because Rachel’s delight is making Quinn happy and it’s just too much.
She bites the inside of her cheek instead, and focuses on the sharp sting of her teeth instead of Rachel’s warmth.
They watch a movie, finally, but Rachel can’t get rid of the small smile that clings so tightly to her mouth and Quinn can’t understand why her approval matters to Rachel or why it feels so good that it does.
-----
That night she makes out with Sam Evans so vigorously she’s pretty sure he doesn’t even have the brain capacity to think of Bieste, let alone anything else.
Her mind doesn’t work the same way, though, and more often than not she catches herself thinking of dark eyes and brown hair and wild, bright smiles.
She only presses herself into him harder, whispers things into lips soft enough that they could belong to her, and tries to pretend that nothing has changed.
-----
“Good morning, Quinn,” Rachel chirps.
Quinn only nods in response, still too tired to formulate words.
After Sam left, she took a blood-freezing cold shower and spent the rest of the night tossing fitfully in bed, thinking about the girl who is now standing in front of her in a sweater featuring two kissing cats.
“I want to thank-"
“Why do you care if I think you’re pretty?” Quinn interrupts, louder than intended. She glances around nervously before she grabs Rachel’s wrist and tugs her into a more secluded corner of the hallway.
“You’re Quinn Fabray,” Rachel answers, smiling.
Quinn sighs. “I’m exhausted, Berry; just spell it out for me.”
“Quinn, you’re the prettiest girl in school,” Rachel explains. That certainly wakes up Quinn. “I was feeling insecure and I figured if you thought I was attractive after all we’ve been through, then there certainly wasn’t a problem with my physical appearance.”
“Oh,” Quinn says numbly.
“So, as I was saying before you interrupted me - which I do not appreciate, for future reference - I want to thank you for your reassurance.”
“You’re welcome.”
Rachel beams and leans closer. “I would hug you if we weren’t in public,” she says quietly.
“What makes you think I’d hug you in private?” Quinn asks, schooling her features into a mask of indifference. (Still not a saint.)
Rachel’s smile disappears immediately. “Oh, I - I just thought…” she trails off as Quinn’s lips tic upward, betraying her amusement. “That was not nice, Quinn!” Rachel huffs.
“Sorry,” Quinn drawls, fully smirking now.
“Liar,” Rachel mutters, but she’s smiling again.
The urge to touch Rachel appears suddenly and powerfully, and, well, she’s already playing with fire just by having an actual conversation with Rachel in public, so she takes a deep breath and makes a decision before she can talk herself out of it.
She glances around before she reaches one arm toward Rachel and lets her fingertips brush the crook of the other girl’s elbow and down her forearm, fleetingly and feather-light.
“How covert of you,” Rachel murmurs. She’s blushing furiously and purposefully looking away from Quinn, but she still steps closer, presumably when she thinks no one’s looking. “I feel like we’re in a spy movie,” she whispers into Quinn’s ear. Quinn shudders. “It’s all very exciting.”
“Very exciting,” Quinn agrees, her voice embarrassingly breathy.
The warning bell rings and Quinn leaps away, guilt and confusion clouding her brain.
Rachel stares at her for a moment with indecipherably dark eyes before she departs without a word, but she’s smiling when she turns to glance back at Quinn, almost ramming into Miss Pillsbury in the process.
-----
“Can I ask you something?”
Rachel looks up from her spot on the floor, where she’s currently unpacking her Bedazzler. “Of course.”
Quinn plays with the fabric in her hands; they’re in her room, supposed to be working on outfits for an upcoming performance, but Quinn is jittery and having trouble focusing enough to know if she’s holding a shirt or pants.
She bites her lip, staring down at the unidentified clothing, and exhales shakily. “Have you ever liked someone you shouldn’t?”
Rachel laughs and Quinn glances toward the sound. “That’s my specialty, Quinn.” She focuses on lining up neat rows of beads, size and color-coded. “Is there something wrong with Sam?” she asks, her tone casual, but Quinn can tell from the unblinking way she’s staring at the beads that she’s dying of curiosity.
“I’m not talking about Sam,” Quinn answers. Rachel’s hands falter, sending several brightly colored gems scattering across the floor. She ignores them in favor of staring at Quinn. “I’m not cheating on him,” Quinn clarifies. “Although I get why you wouldn’t rush to trust me to be faithful.”
“I believe you,” Rachel says firmly. She finally looks away from Quinn as she turns back to the work in front of her. “You like someone else, though.”
“Maybe.” (Don’t lie.) “I think so.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm? That’s all you have to say?” Quinn asks, suddenly angry. “Since when have you spoken monosyllabically?”
Rachel appears startled by Quinn’s tone. “What would you like me to say?” she states calmly. Her eyes are wide and confused, which only stokes Quinn’s resentment.
She glares at Rachel, wondering why the other girl doesn’t get it.
“You should leave,” Quinn bites out, jaw tight.
“We haven’t even started,” Rachel whispers. She sounds confused and strangely desperate. Quinn can relate. “I’m sorry if I made you angry,” she continues sadly, and just like that Quinn’s anger rushes out and leaves her feeling drained.
“Rachel,” she murmurs, “don’t apologize. I’m sorry.”
Rachel crawls over to Quinn’s spot on the floor and kneels before her, peering at her with concerned eyes. She wraps her arms around Quinn and hugs her tightly. Quinn remains still as a swirl of emotions leave her frozen and unable to return the embrace. Rachel pulls back but leaves her hands on Quinn’s shoulders. “Whoever it is that has you feeling this way, I hope he’s worth it.”
He. Quinn lets out a soft, slightly hysterical laugh. She wonders what would happen if she just grabbed Rachel’s neck and kissed her until they both couldn’t breathe. Her hands lift and before she can stop herself she’s holding Rachel’s wrists tightly. She feels Rachel’s pulse beneath her grip, beating strong and fast. Rachel’s gaze is flickering rapidly over Quinn’s face, processing, and Quinn can pinpoint the exact moment that Rachel understands what’s happening. “Oh,” she breathes.
The small sound is enough to startle Quinn out of her madness. What is she even doing; this is Rachel, for God’s sake. She pulls the girl’s hands off of her shoulders and shifts away from temptation.
“Let’s just work,” Quinn says roughly.
-----
She manages to avoid Rachel throughout school and even right up until the end of glee rehearsal the next day, but in her blind haste to leave the room she yanks her backpack up without zipping it and her binder and papers spill all over the ground.
She kneels down and begins jamming the rogue papers into her bag haphazardly and of course, of course, Rachel is there, her small hands gathering Quinn’s work into a neat pile.
“Quinn,” she says simply, handing over the stack of worksheets.
“Don’t,” Quinn pleads. She zips up her backpack in shaky patches and pushes past Rachel.
She’s almost at the door when the strap of her bag tightens against her shoulder and her entire body jerks backward. She twists her head around sharply and glares at Rachel, who still has one hand fisted in the material of Quinn’s backpack. “What the hell, Rachel?” she splutters.
Rachel releases her and crosses her arms. “You’re avoiding me.”
“Yes, Captain Obvious,” Quinn spits. Anger is familiar. Anger is easy.
“Quinn,” Rachel says again. Her eyes take on a recognizable determined sheen, and before Quinn knows it Rachel’s hands are gripping the edge of Quinn’s top and her lips are against Quinn’s own.
Quinn’s hands lift to Rachel’s hips reflexively and she pulls her in closer, tighter, her mouth moving against Rachel’s frantically.
She feels unhinged and crazed in the best way possible as she bites Rachel’s lower lip and slides her tongue into a warm mouth when the other girl gasps.
Finally, finally, finally races through her mind like a mantra, and she kisses Rachel harder, moans softly as Rachel’s hands move from grabbing her top to holding her hips in a painfully tight grasp.
A locker slams in the hallway outside, jolting them apart.
“Come over,” Quinn rasps. Rachel nods energetically.
-----
The drive to Quinn’s house does nothing to calm her down, not with Rachel sitting two feet away and staring unabashedly at her the entire way.
They rush up the stairs to Quinn’s bedroom and Quinn locks the door as soon as they’re inside, pressing Rachel against it and kissing her thoroughly. She drops her hands to Quinn’s stomach and pushes her back toward the bed, their lips still fused together, and they fall roughly onto the mattress, Rachel landing hard on top of Quinn but she can’t really care when Rachel’s tongue is tangled with her own.
Rachel pulls away to breathe, staring at Quinn intently, and she shocks her when she starts to laugh quietly. She presses her face into Quinn’s neck, trying to stifle the sound.
“What?” Quinn smiles.
“My car is still in the parking lot,” Rachel giggles, lifting her head to look at Quinn, and soon Quinn’s laughing with her, the absurdity of the situation finally settling in.
They’re Quinn and Rachel and they’re in Quinn’s bedroom, laughing and flushed and making out on her bed.
Quinn reaches up and tilts Rachel’s head back gently, dipping her tongue into the hollow of the brunette’s throat and running it up the column of her neck. She closes her lips around a rapidly fluttering pulse point and Rachel moans, all thoughts of her car clearly forgotten.
“Wow,” Rachel breathes, shuddering on top of Quinn and shifting until their mouths meet again.
They kiss until Quinn is sure her lips are bruised and Rachel can’t stop smiling against her mouth.
Quinn pulls away slightly, sighing contently at Rachel’s warm eyes and swollen lips. “I don’t know what comes next,” she admits quietly.
Rachel’s soft smile never falters.
“We’ll figure it out.”
---