[GFS Exchange Fic] I Will Be the Sun by obsetress for Gleesdarklady
Title: I Will Be the Sun
Author: obsetress
Written For: Gleesdarklady
Prompt: Anything Faberry
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn
Rating/Warnings: PG
Spoilers: N/A
Summary: AU after season one. Rachel visits Quinn over the summer.
Author's Note: Title from and partially inspired by Fun.'s "Out On the Town," as well as by Au Revoir Simone's "Anywhere You Looked."
Quinn Fabray wasn't sure she knew what love was.
(And let's face it, she'd think, after the year she'd had, she's not sure she'd know it if it bit her in the ass.)
What she did know was that, lying there under the big black Ohio sky, whatever it was she was feeling was amazing.
It certainly wasn't the way Finn had made her feel, calloused hands clumsily and all too quickly curving around her torso as he'd crush his body against hers, smothering her in his aftershave, and it's not the way Puck had made her feel either, the weight of his body heavy on hers and the unwelcome mix of clove cigarettes and whiskey on his breath pervading the fruity fizz of her own.
It wasn't the way her family made her feel or even the way they used to make her feel, but when she thought about it, she wasn't sure she knew anyone whose family made them feel anything other than a sinking sense of inadequacy. Her family may have once upon a time, she thought, but even then, being just adequate enough had hardly felt any better.
Being with Rachel, though... That had felt better.
Lying there in the grass after tumbling, laughing, down the hill in Quinn's backyard, staring up at the stars in the sky as cicadas hummed quietly in the background... That was a lot better. That was good.
"Do you want to know a secret?" Rachel had asked her, hushed voice excited, and Quinn remembers looking at her and thinking for the first time that Rachel had been right to always call herself a star, because the way her eyes were twinkling then was the same as any star shining above them that night.
Quinn nodded, saying nothing. They'd shared a lot that summer - sunscreen, sunburns (apparently they hadn't shared enough sunscreen, Quinn thought), laughs over their shared entanglements with Finn and Puck ("liasons," Rachel had called them, drawling, before letting out a wide-mouthed laugh, eyes crinkling up at the edges) - but Quinn wasn't sure they'd shared something of such magnitude yet, or that they'd worked up to it. Their friendship wasn't ready for secrets, she'd thought then, but she realizes now that, in retrospect, maybe it was her who hadn't been ready.
"You're aware that when dogs are wet, they try to shake off all the water?"
Quinn hadn't been sure what this had to do with secrets, but Rachel was looking at her expectantly, and not wanting to keep her waiting, Quinn nodded.
"Well," here Rachel paused to clear her throat, as if to add dramatic effect, "my dads always tell me that whenever we have problems, we have to shake them off too. So sometimes when I'm sad," Rachel lowered her voice here, and Quinn leaned into her instinctively, "I like to shake off all my problems. Like a dog."
Quinn had leaned back then, running a hand through her hair with a sigh. "Rachel, I hardly think whatever I have-"
Postpartum, the doctors had told her -
"-is going to be fixed by giving myself some kind of... Weird... whiplash." She'd stopped when she saw Rachel's face begin to fall. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"It's fine, Quinn," Rachel was already smiling again, and Quinn was shocked to see Rachel looking even the littlest bit devious, "it just means we'll have to shake off our problems another way."
"Last time I checked neither of us can really do barrel rolls-"
And with that, Rachel had proceeded to throw herself to the ground, tugging Quinn down with her. "Meet you at the bottom," she'd grinned, and with that, proceeded to push herself off a deck chair and start rolling down the hill.
When Quinn crashed into Rachel at the bottom, both of them giggling uncontrollably, Rachel hadn't moved away; instead, she'd squirmed into Quinn, nestling her head underneath Quinn's arm and sighing contentedly.
"So now that you've been made aware of your capability to perform a barrel roll," Rachel started once their laughter subsided, "do you still feel a sense of," and she drawled again, "ennui? Because I feel compelled to inform you I have a set of tweezers at home I would be delighted to go get for you to get rid of any particularly pesky problems you may have retained."
Quinn laughed and shook her head. "Except for the chigger bites I may have to endure tomorrow, I think I'll be fine."
Rachel made a contented sighing sound, nuzzling deeper into the crook of Quinn's shoulder, and the two of them were quiet, until:
"Rachel?" Quinn's voice was softer, quieter, then, and Quinn hoped Rachel hadn't detected the slight waver.
If she had, however, Rachel chose to ignore it, issuing only an mm? in response.
"Thank you."
"Of course, Quinn," Rachel said, eyes closed, breathing slow and even.
"No..." Quinn sighed, and Rachel had sat up at this, propping herself up on her elbow, concerned, "thank you for this summer. You didn't have to do all this... Babysitting me."
Rachel had smiled at this, looking almost relieved, and, lying back down, burrowing herself deeper into Quinn, said, "it wasn't babysitting, Quinn. You're my friend."
Tears pricked at the corners of Quinn's eyes at that, but if Rachel noticed, she didn't say anything, and the two were quiet for a minute.
And then Rachel had reached for Quinn's hand.
Quinn can recall it so clearly now, as if it had happened only yesterday, and, though she won't admit it to herself in the daylight, in a sense it had.
Switching off the light next to her bed, Quinn had slunk under the light, slightly worn comforter of the Lima Hampton Inn, and sliding both arms under her pillow, tangled her fingers together.
It's happened more times than Quinn would ever admit to anyone, except maybe Rachel.
Quinn thinks now that it's just another secret they'll never get to share.
It stings a little bit.
Everything about that night comes flooding back to her now, standing outside Rachel's hotel room door on the eve of their five-year reunion.
Rachel had come to her window, throwing stones, and when Quinn had finally stuck her head out - "Berry, what are you doing?" - Rachel had simply smiled widely, and patiently reminded Quinn of her penchant for dramatics, adding that, while she'd contemplated supplementing it with some a cappella Joni Mitchell, she didn't want to spook Quinn on what was quite possibly the eve of an actual friendship.
Suddenly Quinn's wishing she'd learned the music to "Come to My Window."
There's a stirring inside the room, though, and Quinn recoils, pulling her hand back and peering through the glass of the front window.
Finn is in bed, and he's wearing a wedding ring.
Quinn knows - she's known since she politely declined Rachel's invitation to their wedding two Decembers ago - but it doesn't change the fact that it hurts.
It doesn't hurt the way Finn had hurt her when he'd kicked over a chair and walked out of Glee, and it doesn't hurt the way Puck had hurt her that hazy night or at any time during the nine months following.
It doesn't hurt the way her family had hurt her when they'd abandoned her, either.
And it's certainly not Rachel hurting her.
What hurts, Quinn thinks, is her own inadequacy. Her inadequacy to speak and her inadequacy to act and her inadequacy to be anything to Rachel anymore except someone toeing the line between "somebody I used to know" and someone with whom Rachel has an actual friendship.
She goes back to her room and to bed, and, slipping two hands under her pillow, wonders if Finn is just adequate or if, to Rachel, he's something more.
Rachel goes to bed late, and when Finn's voice, tinged with sleep, wonders where she's been, she just whispers a simple "bathroom," hoping Finn doesn't detect the slight waver.
He doesn't.
Finn's fallen back asleep and is snoring softly when Rachel glances over her shoulder at the back window. She's left it open, and a warm breeze is drifting in, carrying with it the soft hum of cicadas.
Rachel takes a deep breath, and, inhaling the summer air, closes her eyes and tangles her fingers together.
Author: obsetress
Written For: Gleesdarklady
Prompt: Anything Faberry
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn
Rating/Warnings: PG
Spoilers: N/A
Summary: AU after season one. Rachel visits Quinn over the summer.
Author's Note: Title from and partially inspired by Fun.'s "Out On the Town," as well as by Au Revoir Simone's "Anywhere You Looked."
Quinn Fabray wasn't sure she knew what love was.
(And let's face it, she'd think, after the year she'd had, she's not sure she'd know it if it bit her in the ass.)
What she did know was that, lying there under the big black Ohio sky, whatever it was she was feeling was amazing.
It certainly wasn't the way Finn had made her feel, calloused hands clumsily and all too quickly curving around her torso as he'd crush his body against hers, smothering her in his aftershave, and it's not the way Puck had made her feel either, the weight of his body heavy on hers and the unwelcome mix of clove cigarettes and whiskey on his breath pervading the fruity fizz of her own.
It wasn't the way her family made her feel or even the way they used to make her feel, but when she thought about it, she wasn't sure she knew anyone whose family made them feel anything other than a sinking sense of inadequacy. Her family may have once upon a time, she thought, but even then, being just adequate enough had hardly felt any better.
Being with Rachel, though... That had felt better.
Lying there in the grass after tumbling, laughing, down the hill in Quinn's backyard, staring up at the stars in the sky as cicadas hummed quietly in the background... That was a lot better. That was good.
"Do you want to know a secret?" Rachel had asked her, hushed voice excited, and Quinn remembers looking at her and thinking for the first time that Rachel had been right to always call herself a star, because the way her eyes were twinkling then was the same as any star shining above them that night.
Quinn nodded, saying nothing. They'd shared a lot that summer - sunscreen, sunburns (apparently they hadn't shared enough sunscreen, Quinn thought), laughs over their shared entanglements with Finn and Puck ("liasons," Rachel had called them, drawling, before letting out a wide-mouthed laugh, eyes crinkling up at the edges) - but Quinn wasn't sure they'd shared something of such magnitude yet, or that they'd worked up to it. Their friendship wasn't ready for secrets, she'd thought then, but she realizes now that, in retrospect, maybe it was her who hadn't been ready.
"You're aware that when dogs are wet, they try to shake off all the water?"
Quinn hadn't been sure what this had to do with secrets, but Rachel was looking at her expectantly, and not wanting to keep her waiting, Quinn nodded.
"Well," here Rachel paused to clear her throat, as if to add dramatic effect, "my dads always tell me that whenever we have problems, we have to shake them off too. So sometimes when I'm sad," Rachel lowered her voice here, and Quinn leaned into her instinctively, "I like to shake off all my problems. Like a dog."
Quinn had leaned back then, running a hand through her hair with a sigh. "Rachel, I hardly think whatever I have-"
Postpartum, the doctors had told her -
"-is going to be fixed by giving myself some kind of... Weird... whiplash." She'd stopped when she saw Rachel's face begin to fall. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"It's fine, Quinn," Rachel was already smiling again, and Quinn was shocked to see Rachel looking even the littlest bit devious, "it just means we'll have to shake off our problems another way."
"Last time I checked neither of us can really do barrel rolls-"
And with that, Rachel had proceeded to throw herself to the ground, tugging Quinn down with her. "Meet you at the bottom," she'd grinned, and with that, proceeded to push herself off a deck chair and start rolling down the hill.
When Quinn crashed into Rachel at the bottom, both of them giggling uncontrollably, Rachel hadn't moved away; instead, she'd squirmed into Quinn, nestling her head underneath Quinn's arm and sighing contentedly.
"So now that you've been made aware of your capability to perform a barrel roll," Rachel started once their laughter subsided, "do you still feel a sense of," and she drawled again, "ennui? Because I feel compelled to inform you I have a set of tweezers at home I would be delighted to go get for you to get rid of any particularly pesky problems you may have retained."
Quinn laughed and shook her head. "Except for the chigger bites I may have to endure tomorrow, I think I'll be fine."
Rachel made a contented sighing sound, nuzzling deeper into the crook of Quinn's shoulder, and the two of them were quiet, until:
"Rachel?" Quinn's voice was softer, quieter, then, and Quinn hoped Rachel hadn't detected the slight waver.
If she had, however, Rachel chose to ignore it, issuing only an mm? in response.
"Thank you."
"Of course, Quinn," Rachel said, eyes closed, breathing slow and even.
"No..." Quinn sighed, and Rachel had sat up at this, propping herself up on her elbow, concerned, "thank you for this summer. You didn't have to do all this... Babysitting me."
Rachel had smiled at this, looking almost relieved, and, lying back down, burrowing herself deeper into Quinn, said, "it wasn't babysitting, Quinn. You're my friend."
Tears pricked at the corners of Quinn's eyes at that, but if Rachel noticed, she didn't say anything, and the two were quiet for a minute.
And then Rachel had reached for Quinn's hand.
Quinn can recall it so clearly now, as if it had happened only yesterday, and, though she won't admit it to herself in the daylight, in a sense it had.
Switching off the light next to her bed, Quinn had slunk under the light, slightly worn comforter of the Lima Hampton Inn, and sliding both arms under her pillow, tangled her fingers together.
It's happened more times than Quinn would ever admit to anyone, except maybe Rachel.
Quinn thinks now that it's just another secret they'll never get to share.
It stings a little bit.
Everything about that night comes flooding back to her now, standing outside Rachel's hotel room door on the eve of their five-year reunion.
Rachel had come to her window, throwing stones, and when Quinn had finally stuck her head out - "Berry, what are you doing?" - Rachel had simply smiled widely, and patiently reminded Quinn of her penchant for dramatics, adding that, while she'd contemplated supplementing it with some a cappella Joni Mitchell, she didn't want to spook Quinn on what was quite possibly the eve of an actual friendship.
Suddenly Quinn's wishing she'd learned the music to "Come to My Window."
There's a stirring inside the room, though, and Quinn recoils, pulling her hand back and peering through the glass of the front window.
Finn is in bed, and he's wearing a wedding ring.
Quinn knows - she's known since she politely declined Rachel's invitation to their wedding two Decembers ago - but it doesn't change the fact that it hurts.
It doesn't hurt the way Finn had hurt her when he'd kicked over a chair and walked out of Glee, and it doesn't hurt the way Puck had hurt her that hazy night or at any time during the nine months following.
It doesn't hurt the way her family had hurt her when they'd abandoned her, either.
And it's certainly not Rachel hurting her.
What hurts, Quinn thinks, is her own inadequacy. Her inadequacy to speak and her inadequacy to act and her inadequacy to be anything to Rachel anymore except someone toeing the line between "somebody I used to know" and someone with whom Rachel has an actual friendship.
She goes back to her room and to bed, and, slipping two hands under her pillow, wonders if Finn is just adequate or if, to Rachel, he's something more.
Rachel goes to bed late, and when Finn's voice, tinged with sleep, wonders where she's been, she just whispers a simple "bathroom," hoping Finn doesn't detect the slight waver.
He doesn't.
Finn's fallen back asleep and is snoring softly when Rachel glances over her shoulder at the back window. She's left it open, and a warm breeze is drifting in, carrying with it the soft hum of cicadas.
Rachel takes a deep breath, and, inhaling the summer air, closes her eyes and tangles her fingers together.