where one presumes there is REASON, Rachel/Quinn, PG-13
Title: where one presumes there is REASON
Author: intobrakelights
Rating: PG-13 for strong language.
Characters/Pairings: Rachel/Quinn, Brittany/Santana. The main perspectives come from Santana, Brittany, Kurt, Mercedes, and Tina.
Length: 2000+
Spoilers: Everything up to "Sectionals," at which points this becomes AU.
Summary: Quinn moves in with Rachel; this is the development of their relationship from the eyes of the rest of New Directions.
Author's Notes: I started this ages ago and finally decided to just go back and finish it. I've been sort of tempted to start on a fanfic in which this relationship is chronicled from Rachel's and Quinn's perspectives, but I also have this premise for a ridiculous Glee/Pokémon crossover fic, so we'll see. Anyway, I really hope you guys find this vaguely enjoyable! ♥ Also, I stole this from another Nikki Giovanni poem called "A Greater Love of God and Country" because I'm absolutely addicted to her stuff.
It happens so slowly that for quite some time they notice nothing at all.
---
They aren’t aware until two weeks after Sectionals that Quinn has moved in with Rachel. Of course, once Mercedes has a hold on this information, it isn’t long until everyone knows, and then all that’s left is to wonder how. Nothing seems to have changed between them-Quinn doesn’t call Rachel “RuPaul” or “Man Hands” anymore, but they’re almost certain that stopped months ago. After careful consideration-and maybe a little bit of minor stalking-they come to the conclusion that there is no evidence at all that the two have become friends.
---
“We hear Quinn’s living at your place,” Mercedes comments, causing Rachel to stop midway through a speech that may relate to Glee Club or possibly to her future-slash-impending stardom-by this point, no one’s sure. But by the raising heads, widened eyes, and sudden halt to more than a few snores, it is clear that Rachel is the only one mildly perturbed by the interruption.
“Though I’m not certain how this pertains to our number for Sectionals,” she replies, standing a little straighter as if to retain her dignity, “the answer is yes. Quinn is staying at my house.”
Quinn isn’t here today-and neither is Finn-so there is nothing to limit their curiosity. “So you guys are BFFs or whatever now?” Puck asks, rolling his eyes like he doesn’t care, like the bitterness that sharpens each syllable doesn’t exist (like she couldn’t have stayed with him instead, like he didn’t maybe beg a few times).
“We’re hardly BFFs,” Rachel clarifies, arms now folded across her chest. “She’s staying at my house because she needed somewhere to live.” She pauses for a moment to gaze around the room, meeting each of their eyes with a finality that suggests they have reached the end of this discussion. “Now, if we’ve finished gossiping, we have the matter of Regionals at hand, which is of far greater importance...”
As much as they love the idea of winning Regionals-and as much as they love performing-with Mr. Schuester sick for the day and a newly verified rumor weighing upon them, it only takes a matter of seconds before their attention deteriorates all over again, this time in the form of whispered predictions and possibly a few bets as to which girl will murder the other first and how long it will take for everything to fall apart.
---
Four days later, during Glee practice, Quinn smiles at Rachel.
None of them can remember the last time they saw Quinn smile.
---
“If you would like to continue disrupting practice, I’m certain Mr. Schuester would have no problem suspending you for a few days,” Rachel says, her usual self-confidence somehow underscored by her irritation.
Everyone seems to suck in a collective breath-and even Puck stops in the middle of “disrupting” Quinn. “I’m just making sure she’s gonna take care of the baby,” he protests, but he slumps back into his seat. Only Kurt is close enough to Quinn to notice her reaction-a barely perceptible upward turn of her lips accompanied by a soft sigh presumably of relief. She doesn’t glance in Rachel’s direction once, almost as if she cannot comprehend the existence of the girl leaping to her defense and also, as it happens, providing her with a temporary home.
“If what you’re asking, Noah, is whether or not she’s prepared to throw the baby out onto the street, I should assume the answer would be an obvious ‘no.’ But it sounds to me as if you’re attempting to convince her that she should stay at your house and allow you to take care of the child, and I believe she’s answered that more than enough times: absolutely not. Now-”
“Rachel, it’s okay,” Quinn says, still staring straight ahead, and Kurt exchanges a look with Mercedes who exchanges a look with Tina who exchanges a look with Artie.
When Rachel falls immediately silent, it is Mercedes who whispers to Kurt, “What the hell is in the water today?” But Kurt only nods distractedly, too busy watching Rachel and Quinn, the former who looks as entirely self-righteous as before (but who also shoots a glance toward Quinn) and the latter who has not looked at Rachel once today.
Mr. Schuester, who had been writing on the whiteboard when it all began, is now watching them with his arms folded across his chest. “How about you guys spend some of that energy on destroying the competition instead of each other, okay?” He smiles in what they can only assume is an attempt to diffuse the tension, but Glee ends early that day with no one sure exactly what happened.
---
“We need to get into that house,” Kurt informs Mercedes and Tina the next day.
“Um, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Tina mumbles nervously. “Isn’t trespassing, like, a felony?”
“Yeah,” Mercedes agrees. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I want to know what’s going on there just as much as the next person-but it’s Rachel, and her house is probably booby trapped or something.”
But Kurt is adamant, and by the time he has convinced them of his idea, they have been joined by Brittany-and, by extension, a less-than-thrilled Santana, who has repeatedly assured them that this is the most idiotic plan she has ever heard in her entire life.
Nevertheless, it is only two nights until they are ready, armed with black ninja outfits (courtesy of Kurt and Mercedes), walkie-talkies (courtesy of Kurt’s dad), and code names (courtesy of Brittany).
“Ballad here,” Brittany whispers into her walkie-talkie, despite the fact that all five of them are currently en route in Santana’s car, Brittany and Santana in front and Kurt between Tina and Mercedes in the back. Needless to say, walkie-talkies aren’t exactly a necessity at this point. (Santana had reminded them that they weren’t fucking secret agents and walkie-talkies weren’t going to make anyone cool, but then Brittany had wrapped her arms around her and pouted and said it wouldn’t be nearly as awesome without them and that was that.)
“Britt, we can hear you,” reminds Kurt, breathing a mildly exasperated sigh. “You don’t need the walkie-talkie yet.”
“Hey, Hummel, no one needs your attitude, either,” Santana growls from the driver’s seat, glancing in the rearview mirror to deliver him a glare that guarantees a silent car ride (minus, of course, Brittany’s quiet chattering into her walkie-talkie).
---
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” groans Santana as Brittany drags her to their designated hideout-which happens to be behind a few scattered bushes in the backyard just below a window.
“It’ll be great,” insists Brittany, and her smile is too bright to resist. Santana turns away in order to better disguise the upward curl of her own lips that absolutely cannot be a smile. She is not smiling about some dumbass idea that fucking Hummel decided was his Best Plan Ever.
Luckily (or perhaps not so luckily, considering the source), Santana is interrupted from her not-smiling by their walkie-talkies. They come to life simultaneously, so loud that for a moment Santana’s sure they’re about to get caught.
“It’s Capital G,” whispers the voice. “There’s nothing at the front. We’re walking the perimeter now.”
“10-4,” Brittany replies, her smile falling and her intensity unmistakable. Santana knows better than anyone not to mess with Brittany when she’s wearing her serious spy face.
“Think we can make these a little quieter?” Santana hisses under her breath; it is atrociously unnatural for nervousness and Santana ever to go hand-in-hand, but she has no interest in getting caught by Rachel Berry over the most idiotic plan ever concocted, not to mention carried out.
Brittany just nods, serious as ever, and quickly flips a dial on their walkie-talkies that Santana hadn’t spotted. Ever so slowly, Brittany raises her head above the bushes to peer through the window. After several seconds have passed, Santana demands, “Is there anyone there?”
“Shh,” Brittany whispers back, and if it were anyone else, Santana would not hesitate to react swiftly and fiercely, which would more than likely entail physical assault. But this is Brittany, so she quiets almost immediately. Then, perhaps a minute later, Brittany slumps back behind the bush, taking a seat beside Santana and clutching her walkie-talkie.
“Ballad to Capital G,” she whispers into the device. “10-17. Repeat: 10-17. Target is in sight.”
Santana cannot help but grin this time, because, yes, this is absolutely the most ridiculous plan ever, but then there’s Brittany who spent the entirety of the last three days watching spy movies and burying her head into Santana’s shoulder at the bloody parts and the shooting parts and looking up all the walkie-talkie codes on the internet after Santana taught her how to use Google.
Santana, in an effort not to grab her and kiss her-because Brittany’s in her serious zone and probably wouldn’t appreciate it much-asks, “Quinn’s there?” Because God knows what the hell 10-17 actually means, but she can mostly figure out the rest.
“Shh,” Brittany admonishes, awaiting Kurt’s reply, and all Santana can do is roll her eyes.
After a few seconds, it comes in the form of a quiet: “10-4, Ballad. What’s happening?”
This time, Santana is far too impatient to wait: she peers from behind the bush and when she finally catches sigh of-well, of the targets, all she manage is, “What the fuck?”
Because Quinn and Berry are sitting together on Berry’s couch in Berry’s living room playing video games.
---
“She’s gone insane,” Santana’s muttering the next day at school. “Absolutely batshit insane.” The five of them have gathered in a circle (“What is this, story time?”) in front of the school in order to properly process the information they unearthed. They’d decided to give themselves the rest of the weekend to consider the implications and sort it out, but none of them had quite managed to find any logic in the situation (with the possible exception of Brittany and with the most notable inclusion of Santana). “Maybe Berry’s putting something in her food.”
“Well, maybe it’s a pregnancy craving?” suggests Tina with a shrug, glancing toward the ground-because it’s Santana, a Santana who looks ready to pummel someone at any moment and everyone’s doing their best to avoid eye contact (minus Brittany) lest they become her victim.
“Pregnancy cravings are craving fucking food, not PlayStation games!” Santana shouts, verging on hysterical.
“It looked kind of fun,” Brittany admits distantly, smiling, and suddenly Santana’s sighing and slumping and everyone’s relief is audible.
“Maybe it’s a Berry family ritual,” suggests Kurt. “Not entirely classy, but since when has Rachel Berry ever been classy?”
“Maybe she was just holding it for someone else,” suggests Tina.
“Right, because Berry has lots of friends,” remarks Santana.
“Maybe she just wanted to blow things up,” suggests Mercedes, shrugging. “I’d be pissed if Puck was my baby daddy, too.”
“Maybe it was fun,” suggests Brittany and Santana shakes her head but links their fingers together.
No one makes a comment. (No one’s willing to risk it.)
---
Life carries on undeterred.
In spite of their shock, the next weeks pass by uneventfully. There are no real changes-or if they are, they are so imperceptible as to go entirely undetected, which would be saying quite a lot, considering the amount of stalking that may or may not have occurred during these weeks. Eventually, all they can do is shrug and accept it for what it is: Quinn’s living with Rachel because Rachel offered and Quinn needed somewhere to go. That doesn’t mean they’re, as Puck put it, BFFs.
Santana does her best to ignore the memory of the videogame playing they’d witnessed in order that she not be scarred for her entire life, but Brittany now seems intent on purchasing a Wii and, as Santana has come to expect, her protests go unheard.
Santana absolutely refuses to touch it.
---
A month later and they’re all seated together in the practice room: Santana’s exhausted from a particularly fast-paced game of Wii tennis that may have kept her up until three this morning, but otherwise they have forgotten almost entirely about their short-lived spy career.
It is on this day, however, that Rachel enters the room looking, if possible, more determined than ever and says, “I’d like to begin our session today with a song.” She glances over at the ever-reliable Brad and nods.
When the unmistakable bars of “True Colors” begin to play, Mercedes and Kurt roll their eyes and glance over at Tina-because of all the songs to sing, it figures that Rachel would choose one of the few in which she hadn’t managed to snag the lead vocal, probably in hopes of outshining Tina and proving, once again, that she was the most talented performer ever to live.
So they’re surprised to find that her version is strikingly soft and remarkably understated. Some of the words are almost a whisper. Unsurprisingly, it does sound lovely, but it is a showcasing of her talent they’ve never heard before.
Only after the first verse has passed do they realize much of her attention is focused on one spot-and as they turn to look at the recipient, they are, for a moment, unmoved. Because there’s Finn and he’s smiling and of course she would be singing another song to him. Except then she moves forward and she’s kneeling on the ground and she’s staring up at-Quinn? “So don’t be afraid to let them show,” she sings gently, each word crafted thoughtfully, carefully, tasting of promise and hope and question. “Your true colors are beautiful like a rainbow.”
When the song has finished, Rachel is breathing softly, kneeling in front of Quinn, and no one is moving and no one is breathing but Quinn is flushed and she’s chewing down on her bottom lip and before anyone can remember any word that exists in the English dictionary, Quinn is leaning down and softly pressing their lips together.
“No way,” Mercedes mouths to Kurt and Kurt just shakes his head.
“That’s it,” Artie whispers to Tina conclusively. “The apocalypse is definitely coming our way.”
---
The next day, Rachel is standing in front of them once more and explaining the merits of God knows what Broadway musical when Mercedes interrupts.
“So are you guys, like, dating now?” Rachel folds her arms across her chest and glares, but Mercedes shrugs and says, “Look, I’m just asking what everyone’s already thinking.”
Rachel glances towards Quinn and the rest of them follow her gaze. Quinn’s looking down but there’s a soft smile that it appears she’s trying to bite back and she’s securing a lock of hair behind her ear and her nervousness is palpable. But then she looks up and meets Rachel’s eyes and nods almost imperceptibly.
“Yes, we’re dating now,” answers Rachel, and maybe she’s trying to look annoyed because she sighs and sort of rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, too, and noticeably swallowing and looking down a little bit. “Not that it’s anyone’s business. Now, to return to the topic at hand.”
Mostly everyone stops listening immediately, but they’re throwing entirely unsubtle looks Quinn’s way and there’s Quinn, her smile as bright as the light in her eyes (something none of them have ever witnessed since the pregnancy and maybe even before) and she’s watching Rachel like anything-everything-she’s saying actually matters.
“Wow,” says Tina who exchanges a look with Artie who exchanges a look with Mercedes who exchanges a look with Kurt. Wow.
Author: intobrakelights
Rating: PG-13 for strong language.
Characters/Pairings: Rachel/Quinn, Brittany/Santana. The main perspectives come from Santana, Brittany, Kurt, Mercedes, and Tina.
Length: 2000+
Spoilers: Everything up to "Sectionals," at which points this becomes AU.
Summary: Quinn moves in with Rachel; this is the development of their relationship from the eyes of the rest of New Directions.
Author's Notes: I started this ages ago and finally decided to just go back and finish it. I've been sort of tempted to start on a fanfic in which this relationship is chronicled from Rachel's and Quinn's perspectives, but I also have this premise for a ridiculous Glee/Pokémon crossover fic, so we'll see. Anyway, I really hope you guys find this vaguely enjoyable! ♥ Also, I stole this from another Nikki Giovanni poem called "A Greater Love of God and Country" because I'm absolutely addicted to her stuff.
It happens so slowly that for quite some time they notice nothing at all.
---
They aren’t aware until two weeks after Sectionals that Quinn has moved in with Rachel. Of course, once Mercedes has a hold on this information, it isn’t long until everyone knows, and then all that’s left is to wonder how. Nothing seems to have changed between them-Quinn doesn’t call Rachel “RuPaul” or “Man Hands” anymore, but they’re almost certain that stopped months ago. After careful consideration-and maybe a little bit of minor stalking-they come to the conclusion that there is no evidence at all that the two have become friends.
---
“We hear Quinn’s living at your place,” Mercedes comments, causing Rachel to stop midway through a speech that may relate to Glee Club or possibly to her future-slash-impending stardom-by this point, no one’s sure. But by the raising heads, widened eyes, and sudden halt to more than a few snores, it is clear that Rachel is the only one mildly perturbed by the interruption.
“Though I’m not certain how this pertains to our number for Sectionals,” she replies, standing a little straighter as if to retain her dignity, “the answer is yes. Quinn is staying at my house.”
Quinn isn’t here today-and neither is Finn-so there is nothing to limit their curiosity. “So you guys are BFFs or whatever now?” Puck asks, rolling his eyes like he doesn’t care, like the bitterness that sharpens each syllable doesn’t exist (like she couldn’t have stayed with him instead, like he didn’t maybe beg a few times).
“We’re hardly BFFs,” Rachel clarifies, arms now folded across her chest. “She’s staying at my house because she needed somewhere to live.” She pauses for a moment to gaze around the room, meeting each of their eyes with a finality that suggests they have reached the end of this discussion. “Now, if we’ve finished gossiping, we have the matter of Regionals at hand, which is of far greater importance...”
As much as they love the idea of winning Regionals-and as much as they love performing-with Mr. Schuester sick for the day and a newly verified rumor weighing upon them, it only takes a matter of seconds before their attention deteriorates all over again, this time in the form of whispered predictions and possibly a few bets as to which girl will murder the other first and how long it will take for everything to fall apart.
---
Four days later, during Glee practice, Quinn smiles at Rachel.
None of them can remember the last time they saw Quinn smile.
---
“If you would like to continue disrupting practice, I’m certain Mr. Schuester would have no problem suspending you for a few days,” Rachel says, her usual self-confidence somehow underscored by her irritation.
Everyone seems to suck in a collective breath-and even Puck stops in the middle of “disrupting” Quinn. “I’m just making sure she’s gonna take care of the baby,” he protests, but he slumps back into his seat. Only Kurt is close enough to Quinn to notice her reaction-a barely perceptible upward turn of her lips accompanied by a soft sigh presumably of relief. She doesn’t glance in Rachel’s direction once, almost as if she cannot comprehend the existence of the girl leaping to her defense and also, as it happens, providing her with a temporary home.
“If what you’re asking, Noah, is whether or not she’s prepared to throw the baby out onto the street, I should assume the answer would be an obvious ‘no.’ But it sounds to me as if you’re attempting to convince her that she should stay at your house and allow you to take care of the child, and I believe she’s answered that more than enough times: absolutely not. Now-”
“Rachel, it’s okay,” Quinn says, still staring straight ahead, and Kurt exchanges a look with Mercedes who exchanges a look with Tina who exchanges a look with Artie.
When Rachel falls immediately silent, it is Mercedes who whispers to Kurt, “What the hell is in the water today?” But Kurt only nods distractedly, too busy watching Rachel and Quinn, the former who looks as entirely self-righteous as before (but who also shoots a glance toward Quinn) and the latter who has not looked at Rachel once today.
Mr. Schuester, who had been writing on the whiteboard when it all began, is now watching them with his arms folded across his chest. “How about you guys spend some of that energy on destroying the competition instead of each other, okay?” He smiles in what they can only assume is an attempt to diffuse the tension, but Glee ends early that day with no one sure exactly what happened.
---
“We need to get into that house,” Kurt informs Mercedes and Tina the next day.
“Um, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Tina mumbles nervously. “Isn’t trespassing, like, a felony?”
“Yeah,” Mercedes agrees. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I want to know what’s going on there just as much as the next person-but it’s Rachel, and her house is probably booby trapped or something.”
But Kurt is adamant, and by the time he has convinced them of his idea, they have been joined by Brittany-and, by extension, a less-than-thrilled Santana, who has repeatedly assured them that this is the most idiotic plan she has ever heard in her entire life.
Nevertheless, it is only two nights until they are ready, armed with black ninja outfits (courtesy of Kurt and Mercedes), walkie-talkies (courtesy of Kurt’s dad), and code names (courtesy of Brittany).
“Ballad here,” Brittany whispers into her walkie-talkie, despite the fact that all five of them are currently en route in Santana’s car, Brittany and Santana in front and Kurt between Tina and Mercedes in the back. Needless to say, walkie-talkies aren’t exactly a necessity at this point. (Santana had reminded them that they weren’t fucking secret agents and walkie-talkies weren’t going to make anyone cool, but then Brittany had wrapped her arms around her and pouted and said it wouldn’t be nearly as awesome without them and that was that.)
“Britt, we can hear you,” reminds Kurt, breathing a mildly exasperated sigh. “You don’t need the walkie-talkie yet.”
“Hey, Hummel, no one needs your attitude, either,” Santana growls from the driver’s seat, glancing in the rearview mirror to deliver him a glare that guarantees a silent car ride (minus, of course, Brittany’s quiet chattering into her walkie-talkie).
---
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” groans Santana as Brittany drags her to their designated hideout-which happens to be behind a few scattered bushes in the backyard just below a window.
“It’ll be great,” insists Brittany, and her smile is too bright to resist. Santana turns away in order to better disguise the upward curl of her own lips that absolutely cannot be a smile. She is not smiling about some dumbass idea that fucking Hummel decided was his Best Plan Ever.
Luckily (or perhaps not so luckily, considering the source), Santana is interrupted from her not-smiling by their walkie-talkies. They come to life simultaneously, so loud that for a moment Santana’s sure they’re about to get caught.
“It’s Capital G,” whispers the voice. “There’s nothing at the front. We’re walking the perimeter now.”
“10-4,” Brittany replies, her smile falling and her intensity unmistakable. Santana knows better than anyone not to mess with Brittany when she’s wearing her serious spy face.
“Think we can make these a little quieter?” Santana hisses under her breath; it is atrociously unnatural for nervousness and Santana ever to go hand-in-hand, but she has no interest in getting caught by Rachel Berry over the most idiotic plan ever concocted, not to mention carried out.
Brittany just nods, serious as ever, and quickly flips a dial on their walkie-talkies that Santana hadn’t spotted. Ever so slowly, Brittany raises her head above the bushes to peer through the window. After several seconds have passed, Santana demands, “Is there anyone there?”
“Shh,” Brittany whispers back, and if it were anyone else, Santana would not hesitate to react swiftly and fiercely, which would more than likely entail physical assault. But this is Brittany, so she quiets almost immediately. Then, perhaps a minute later, Brittany slumps back behind the bush, taking a seat beside Santana and clutching her walkie-talkie.
“Ballad to Capital G,” she whispers into the device. “10-17. Repeat: 10-17. Target is in sight.”
Santana cannot help but grin this time, because, yes, this is absolutely the most ridiculous plan ever, but then there’s Brittany who spent the entirety of the last three days watching spy movies and burying her head into Santana’s shoulder at the bloody parts and the shooting parts and looking up all the walkie-talkie codes on the internet after Santana taught her how to use Google.
Santana, in an effort not to grab her and kiss her-because Brittany’s in her serious zone and probably wouldn’t appreciate it much-asks, “Quinn’s there?” Because God knows what the hell 10-17 actually means, but she can mostly figure out the rest.
“Shh,” Brittany admonishes, awaiting Kurt’s reply, and all Santana can do is roll her eyes.
After a few seconds, it comes in the form of a quiet: “10-4, Ballad. What’s happening?”
This time, Santana is far too impatient to wait: she peers from behind the bush and when she finally catches sigh of-well, of the targets, all she manage is, “What the fuck?”
Because Quinn and Berry are sitting together on Berry’s couch in Berry’s living room playing video games.
---
“She’s gone insane,” Santana’s muttering the next day at school. “Absolutely batshit insane.” The five of them have gathered in a circle (“What is this, story time?”) in front of the school in order to properly process the information they unearthed. They’d decided to give themselves the rest of the weekend to consider the implications and sort it out, but none of them had quite managed to find any logic in the situation (with the possible exception of Brittany and with the most notable inclusion of Santana). “Maybe Berry’s putting something in her food.”
“Well, maybe it’s a pregnancy craving?” suggests Tina with a shrug, glancing toward the ground-because it’s Santana, a Santana who looks ready to pummel someone at any moment and everyone’s doing their best to avoid eye contact (minus Brittany) lest they become her victim.
“Pregnancy cravings are craving fucking food, not PlayStation games!” Santana shouts, verging on hysterical.
“It looked kind of fun,” Brittany admits distantly, smiling, and suddenly Santana’s sighing and slumping and everyone’s relief is audible.
“Maybe it’s a Berry family ritual,” suggests Kurt. “Not entirely classy, but since when has Rachel Berry ever been classy?”
“Maybe she was just holding it for someone else,” suggests Tina.
“Right, because Berry has lots of friends,” remarks Santana.
“Maybe she just wanted to blow things up,” suggests Mercedes, shrugging. “I’d be pissed if Puck was my baby daddy, too.”
“Maybe it was fun,” suggests Brittany and Santana shakes her head but links their fingers together.
No one makes a comment. (No one’s willing to risk it.)
---
Life carries on undeterred.
In spite of their shock, the next weeks pass by uneventfully. There are no real changes-or if they are, they are so imperceptible as to go entirely undetected, which would be saying quite a lot, considering the amount of stalking that may or may not have occurred during these weeks. Eventually, all they can do is shrug and accept it for what it is: Quinn’s living with Rachel because Rachel offered and Quinn needed somewhere to go. That doesn’t mean they’re, as Puck put it, BFFs.
Santana does her best to ignore the memory of the videogame playing they’d witnessed in order that she not be scarred for her entire life, but Brittany now seems intent on purchasing a Wii and, as Santana has come to expect, her protests go unheard.
Santana absolutely refuses to touch it.
---
A month later and they’re all seated together in the practice room: Santana’s exhausted from a particularly fast-paced game of Wii tennis that may have kept her up until three this morning, but otherwise they have forgotten almost entirely about their short-lived spy career.
It is on this day, however, that Rachel enters the room looking, if possible, more determined than ever and says, “I’d like to begin our session today with a song.” She glances over at the ever-reliable Brad and nods.
When the unmistakable bars of “True Colors” begin to play, Mercedes and Kurt roll their eyes and glance over at Tina-because of all the songs to sing, it figures that Rachel would choose one of the few in which she hadn’t managed to snag the lead vocal, probably in hopes of outshining Tina and proving, once again, that she was the most talented performer ever to live.
So they’re surprised to find that her version is strikingly soft and remarkably understated. Some of the words are almost a whisper. Unsurprisingly, it does sound lovely, but it is a showcasing of her talent they’ve never heard before.
Only after the first verse has passed do they realize much of her attention is focused on one spot-and as they turn to look at the recipient, they are, for a moment, unmoved. Because there’s Finn and he’s smiling and of course she would be singing another song to him. Except then she moves forward and she’s kneeling on the ground and she’s staring up at-Quinn? “So don’t be afraid to let them show,” she sings gently, each word crafted thoughtfully, carefully, tasting of promise and hope and question. “Your true colors are beautiful like a rainbow.”
When the song has finished, Rachel is breathing softly, kneeling in front of Quinn, and no one is moving and no one is breathing but Quinn is flushed and she’s chewing down on her bottom lip and before anyone can remember any word that exists in the English dictionary, Quinn is leaning down and softly pressing their lips together.
“No way,” Mercedes mouths to Kurt and Kurt just shakes his head.
“That’s it,” Artie whispers to Tina conclusively. “The apocalypse is definitely coming our way.”
---
The next day, Rachel is standing in front of them once more and explaining the merits of God knows what Broadway musical when Mercedes interrupts.
“So are you guys, like, dating now?” Rachel folds her arms across her chest and glares, but Mercedes shrugs and says, “Look, I’m just asking what everyone’s already thinking.”
Rachel glances towards Quinn and the rest of them follow her gaze. Quinn’s looking down but there’s a soft smile that it appears she’s trying to bite back and she’s securing a lock of hair behind her ear and her nervousness is palpable. But then she looks up and meets Rachel’s eyes and nods almost imperceptibly.
“Yes, we’re dating now,” answers Rachel, and maybe she’s trying to look annoyed because she sighs and sort of rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, too, and noticeably swallowing and looking down a little bit. “Not that it’s anyone’s business. Now, to return to the topic at hand.”
Mostly everyone stops listening immediately, but they’re throwing entirely unsubtle looks Quinn’s way and there’s Quinn, her smile as bright as the light in her eyes (something none of them have ever witnessed since the pregnancy and maybe even before) and she’s watching Rachel like anything-everything-she’s saying actually matters.
“Wow,” says Tina who exchanges a look with Artie who exchanges a look with Mercedes who exchanges a look with Kurt. Wow.