Fic: I Tell the Stars Each Night (6/13) part II

[leftlanden]

Title: I Tell the Stars Each Night (6/13)
Pairings: Santana/Brittany, Rachel/Quinn
Other relationships: Pezberry, Quinntana, Quitt, and Brittberry friendship
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 10,800
Spoilers: S2
Disclaimer: Glee is not mine
Chapter Summary:  It's the fourth of July, and Rachel has special plans for Quinn, which take all four girls on a road trip to the beach.  Afterwards, Quinn asks Rachel to her cousin's wedding.


Wednesday, July 13 / 10:34 pm

Rachel sat at the desk in her room staring at her phone.

This was not good. The fact that it wasn't buzzing, and hadn't buzzed all day, was very, very not good.

She picked it up again and dialed Santana.

"Berry."

"Santana, have you heard from Quinn?"

"When?"

"This week."

"You haven't heard from Quinn all week?"

"The last text I got from her was Saturday night, about an hour after I left her house."

"Shit, Berry, it's Wednesday. Did you call Judy to make sure she isn't dead?"

"This morning. She said Quinn was busy with school work and her internship."

"Britt, have you seen Quinn this week?

"Britt says she canceled SAT tutoring yesterday. Maybe you better go over there, Berry."

"I don't think so," Rachel said. "Thanks Santana."

She paused. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm so rude. How was USC?"

"Fucking amazing. Those bitches know what's up."

"I'm glad you liked it."

"Thanks, Berry. Call me when you hear from Quinn, right?"

"Right."

Rachel hung up feeling sick to her stomach. This was really not good.

...

Sunday, July 17 / 2:02am

Rachel's phone finally buzzed with a message from Quinn late Saturday night. She was still awake, barely, watching classic movies on TCM.

"Quinn?" she said frantically, nearly juggling the phone right out of her grasp with her shaking hands.

"Rachel, I'm . . .I'm ready to . . . talk to you now."

"Quinn, are you drunk?"

"Yuuup. Very, very, verrrrrry."

"Quinn, can I come over?"

"No."

"What did you want to talk about?"

"I have to. . . to ask you something."

"Okay. Okay, I'm listening Quinn."

"The night in the woods, Rachel."

"Yeah? W-What about it?"

"Why was it different, Rachel?"

"I don't . . . what do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

"Quinn, I really don't."

"It was different. You were different. It wasn't like that before, and it wasn't like that since."

"How so?"

"You were like . . . you liked it more. You were all. . . crazy."

Rachel's cheeks flushed a little. "I thought you liked it."

"But it's true, right?" Quinn goaded. "You liked it more."

"Not exactly," Rachel hedged.

"I know why, though. You thought I wouldn't know about it, but I do."

"You know about what, Quinn?" Rachel asked, nausea welling up in her stomach. She had no idea where Quinn was going with this, but the tone in her voice made it clear that wherever it was going, Rachel was going to have a very hard time defending herself successfully.

"I knowwww that it was because of Santana."

"Santana? Quinn, what in hell are you talking about?"

"We saw them," Quinn said. "Together. You saw them and you were thinking about her fucking you instead of me, and DON'T tell me you weren't."

"Quinn," Rachel said, holding down a building hysteria to keep her voice level. "That is not true. It's not true at all, Quinn. Listen to me, you're really drunk, okay? And you don't believe me, but none of what you're saying right now makes any sense. I didn't see anything, no more than you did, and even if I had it would have nothing to do with what happened between you and me, okay? Quinn? Quinn, can I please come and see you?"

"No."

"Okay, Quinn, look," Rachel said, her voice breaking. "I promise. I promise you that what happened between you and me in the woods that night was all about you and me. I promise you that, okay? You don't have to worry about that - I don't want Santana, I want you. Are you listening, Quinn?"

There was a long silence during which Rachel was pretty sure she heard the muffled "glug" of Quinn chugging from a bottle of something.

"You don't understand anything, Rachel."

"I. . . How am I supposed to respond to that, Quinn?" Rachel asked desperately. "What do you mean by that?"

"You don't understand ANYTHING about me. You push, and push, and push, and try to make everything happen all how you want it to."

Rachel felt truly sick now, partially because she knew Quinn had left the realm of the absurd and was knocking on the door of the truth.

"I'm so, so sorry about that, Quinn. It's something I'm working on. I can try harder, I can. You know I can, right?"

"I thhhink it's too late. Tooooo late."

"Quinn, don't say that, okay? Listen to me - are you listening?"

"I'm not sure if I am or not."

Rachel shook her head in frustration. "Quinn, think about who I am, please? I'm your Rachel. I'm.. . I'm your Archie. And all I want to be is the person you can talk to, okay? I've been that person before, even before anything happened for real with us. You know that - I know you know that. Maybe it's not easy for me to understand what you're going through, but I'm trying so hard, Quinn, to still be that person, I promise. I want to understand."

Silence rang again in Rachel's left ear.

"Quinn," Rachel said, in desperation. "Do you remember what I said to you last weekend, after we had that fight after the wedding?"

"You said you loved me," Quinn answered immediately, but flatly.

"Right," Rachel said, relieved that she remembered it. "That's right. I do, Quinn, I love you."

"You don't."

Rachel broke into tears in earnest, now.

"Quinn, fuck - how can you say that?"

"Because you THINK so, maybe, but you don't KNOW me. It doesn't matter if we like being together. It's not the same thing."

"No. No, that's not true. I love you. And look, Quinn, I love you even though it isn't easy. And I do know you, okay? You're really mean sometimes, and you're mad a lot, and that's okay. But I try so hard to make you happy, and sometimes it works. It works sometimes, right? Remember? You have to let me keep trying. Quinn, just let me try."

Rachel heard a muffled sound on the other end of the line, but no words.

"Quinn? Are you crying? Quinn, please just let me come see you. Please. We can fix this."

"Rachel, no. . . no, we can't. It's too much, it's too fast. I just. . . I need it to stop. I can't take it anymore."

"Quinn, what are you saying? Why are you saying this?"

"I am so tired of being scared ALL the time. I can't. . . I can't take it anymore, Rachel. I want someone else."

Rachel's voice caught in her throat, and she gagged, nearly throwing up. "There's someone else?" she squeaked.

"I'm - I am sorry, Rachel." Quinn sounded lucid for the first time since the conversation began.

"You're sorry? Well, who is it? Who is she Quinn, because I don't care who it is, she won't be better than me."

"It's not a SHE."

Rachel dropped her phone without hanging up, and flung herself face down on her bed, sobbing.

...

Saturday, July 23 / 7:22pm

Rachel worked her way through an entire box of Kleenexes over two days at Brittany's house, where she slept on the couch in the family room. Brittany, Santana, and Gail brought her everything they could think of to eat and drink. They would come back an hour later to find whatever it was primarily untouched.

It wasn't that she was in a constant, hysterical state. It was more of a low-grade zombie brand of misery, like a gnawing at the pit of her stomach that shot up between her shoulder blades once in a while, and kicked off a new round of sobbing. Sometimes she was conscientious enough to deposit her used tissues in the wastebasket Mrs. Pierce had provided. Other times they dotted the furniture-scape around her like oversized confetti.

This was one of the latter times. Rachel, in her ridiculous lady bug pajamas, had passed out face down while she was supposed to be eating dinner. Santana, observing glumly from the nearby recliner, snapped a photo. She tapped "MMS" and then a "Q."

She didn't get a reply.

...

Saturday, July 8th / 3:00pm

Quinn's cousin happened to be getting married in Defiance, Ohio on the hottest day of the year thus far. Even with the air conditioning on in Mrs. Fabray's car, the sun baked Rachel's skin through the windows. She touched her hands absently to her forehead, where the humidity was curling tiny strands of frizz away from her perfectly arranged upsweep.

"You look fine, Rachel," Quinn said, eyeing her in the rearview mirror. Rachel smiled. In front of her mother, this was Quinn's way of telling Rachel she looked pretty.

Judy didn't like driving in unfamiliar towns, so Quinn had volunteered.

"We have to keep her occupied in the car," Quinn had warned that morning as they did their makeup in Quinn's bathroom. "She's going to put on a front, but she's freaked out about seeing my father today."

"Do you get up to Defiance to see your sister very much, Mrs. Fabray?" Rachel asked, in the spirit of idle distraction.

"Ohhh," Judy sighed, glancing back at Rachel from the front passenger seat. "No, not too often. Russell never liked to put miles on the cars, but Cindy always brought the kids down for Thanksgiving. Sometimes for Easter, too. I'd cook a ham and Russell would organize all the kids for an Easter egg hunt. Quinnie always won, every year, even though she was the youngest. "

"Easter egg hunts always looked like so much fun," Rachel smiled.

"Oh, your family never put them on?" Judy asked, surprised.

"Umm. . .no, I-"

"Rachel's Jewish, mom," Quinn said.

"Oh."

"Well, on one dad's side," Rachel clarified. "And my biological mom is half Jewish, too. Anyway, we didn't celebrate Easter but we'd always have big family get-togethers for Passover, though, just like you guys and Easter. Even my other dad's family on the non-Jewish side would come. It's a wonderful time of year for everyone, I think," she said with forced cheerfulness.

Rachel wasn't sure why she had just said all of that, or how much of what she'd just said had sunk in. Quinn's eyes refused to meet hers in the mirror anymore.

"Sounds . . . festive," Judy said.

Rachel nodded and turned her gaze out the window. She decided she was done making small talk for now.

Forty-five minutes later, Rachel found that she had never been so glad to pull up to a church parking lot. The lobby of the church was mercifully cool, and small groups of friends and relatives stood in pockets of reacquaintance, complaining about the heat.

Rachel knew right away which one was Quinn's sister, even before Quinn and her mother made a beeline for the gorgeous blonde in the coral dress.

"Rachel, this is my sister Fran," Quinn said, "And her husband Thomas. Frannie, this is my friend Rachel."

Rachel shook their hands and told them how nice it was to meet them. "How far along are you?" she asked Frannie, swallowing her surprise.

"Just over five months," Frannie beamed. "I'm finally getting over the morning sickness, so now it's just the hormones and the heat making me uncomfortable."

"It'll all be worth it when she's here," an older woman standing nearby offered. "You just hang in there Francesca. We're all waiting with bated breath."

"Don't put too much pressure on her, Mother," Judy scolded. "It's not good for her."

"It's my first grandbaby! I am well within my rights to put as much pressure on her as I want. Right, Frannie?"

"Grandma, this is my friend Rachel," Quinn said calmly, not missing a beat. "I brought her as my guest, since Finn and I broke up."

"Nice to meet you, Rachel. Do you go to school with Quinnie?"

"Yes ma'am, we became friends in Glee Club."

"So you must know this Finn character? What's wrong with that boy that he would let my granddaughter get away so easily?"

"Well, I suppose when Quinn decides she's ready to move on, there's not much anyone can do."

Quinn's grandmother laughed. "She is a stubborn one."

"Let's take our seats, girls," Judy said. Rachel thought it couldn't be a coincidence that she hurried them into the chapel just as she caught her first glimpse of Russell Fabray out of the corner of her eye.

...

"Sherie and Donovan, welcome," the minister said to begin the ceremony. "Today you have chosen to gather here with your friends and family to share in the joy of this day, the day when the two of you commit to each other in holy matrimony.

The Bible teaches us that love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. For those gathered here today who don't know, Sherie and Donovan met when they were just sixteen years old. Together they navigated the waters of high school and college, never wavering in their commitment to one another, even though for four years they saw each other only on weekends and breaks from school. Now, six years later, in front of the loved ones who guided them in their youth and supported them in their relationship through difficult times, they make a sacred vow of commitment to one another.

Sherie, Donovan - there is a vast and unknown future stretching out before you. The possibilities and potentials of your married life are great; it falls upon your shoulders the task of choosing your values and making your dreams come true.

Through your commitment to each other, may you grow and nurture a love that makes both of you better people. May you cultivate a love that continues to give you great joy, as it has for years already. May it provide you with a passion for living that fuels you with energy and bestows upon you patience to face the responsibilities of life, together."

In the romance of the moment, Rachel wanted desperately to take Quinn's hand.

She lifted the fingers of her left hand, the one closest to Quinn, a few inches off her knee.

She felt tears sting her eyes as Quinn returned the gesture with the fingers of her right hand.

"As I gaze upon the faces gathered in this church, I see so much love," the minister continued. "And I ask that when the two of you remember together your wedding day, you always bring to mind this feeling of how loved you are. Rely on these friends, these members of your family. The marriage between one man and one woman is the cornerstone of God's plan for mankind. The people in this room understand that, and will do everything they can to embrace, support, and grow the love you share.

Let us pause for the first reading from the book of Corinthians. "

...

Quinn and Rachel sat in silence at one of the large, round tables in the reception hall. Quinn gazed longingly at the open bar. Rachel picked through her pasta salad, poking aside the hunks of chicken.

"Quinn," Judy said quietly, or as quietly as she could and still be heard over the terrible disco music blaring from the dance floor, "Have you said hello to your father yet?"

Quinn gazed in his direction, where two tables over Russell was sitting alone, scowling at the drink in his hand.

"I don't even understand why he's here," Quinn replied testily. "It's not his family anymore."

"He's here because your cousin Sherie invited him. Go say hi."

"You're only making me do this so he doesn't come over here."

Judy stared icily at her daughter. Quinn turned on her heel and strode toward her father's table.

"I'm going to get a drink," Judy said. "Would you like another 7-Up, Rachel?"

"No, thank you Mrs. Fabray," Rachel said.

Out of her peripheral vision, Rachel watched Quinn slide into a chair next to her father, who only partially acknowledged her presence. They talked. He glanced once in her direction, a look of disapproval on his face, and Quinn returned in an even worse mood than before.

"He asked about me, didn't he?" Rachel said.

Quinn nodded. "Sort of. He knew who you were already, actually. He said, 'why did I bring that Jewish girl who lives with the homosexuals to my cousin's wedding?'"

"Wow, that's . . . weird and a little creepy."

"Don't take it personally. He keeps tabs on all the undesirable elements in town, not just your family."

"I feel much better, then."

Quinn was very, very sorry she had asked Rachel to come to this wedding. It was one of the dumber things she'd done lately, she decided, and that was really saying something. Damn Rachel and her stupid, perfect Fourth of July.

On the dance floor, the DJ was calling for couples as he started a sappy 80's ballad. Rachel glanced at Quinn sadly. Quinn, her jaw set in a tight frown, didn't return the glance.

Even with a pout, Quinn thought, Rachel looked so beautiful. If they could just hide themselves under an invisibility cloak for one song and hold each other on the dance floor, this day could still be salvaged. Quinn conjured the image in her mind.

"Would you like to dance?"

"Me?" Rachel asked the cute, blonde boy who stood by their table.

He nodded.

Quinn officially wanted to punch every single person she was related to.

"Rachel, this is my cousin Jonah. Jonah, Rachel."

"Go dance, Rachel," Judy said, returning with two glasses of clear, bubbly liquid. "No reason to sit here and be bored with us girls."

Rachel could not possibly want to dance less with this boy. But it was surely easier, and easier to explain, to just go along with it. She rose reluctantly and followed Jonah to the dance floor.

Quinn took one of Judy's drinks and promptly slurped it down, not giving one fuck about the appalled look on her mother's face.

...

Later that night, Quinn and Rachel lay side by side in Quinn's bed, exhausted, still dressed up in everything but their uncomfortable shoes.

"Your sister was really nice," Rachel said.

"Was she?"

"She came up to me while you were in the bathroom and told me it was nice meeting me and that she loved my dress."

"She's usually not that friendly. She must have really liked you."

"So, why didn't you tell me she was pregnant?" Rachel asked quietly.

"I don't know," Quinn shrugged. "Because I think it's stupid. They're too young."

"How old?"

"She's 23, he's 24."

"When did they meet?"

"High school."

Rachel smiled. "That seems to happen a lot in your family. Sherie and Donovan, Frannie and Thomas. Do all of you meet the loves of your lives in high school?" She rolled onto her belly, looking down at Quinn.

"Quit being cute," Quinn said. "I'm not in the mood."

"I know it's a lifetime away," Rachel said, kissing her cheek. "But someday that could be us, right?"

"What could be us?" Quinn asked warily.

"Getting married. I'm not saying that's what you want or what I want," she added hurriedly. "Just that . . . I don't know. It could be us, too. It certainly fits your family tradition."

"Oh God, Rachel," Quinn rolled her eyes. "Tell me, what's the weather like where you live? What color is the sky?"

"I'm just daydreaming, Quinn. Don't you ever do that?"

Quinn sat up. "No, not when it's pointless. That's never going to be us, Rachel. I can't believe after today you don't see that."

Rachel sat up next to her, trying not to feel like Quinn had just put a little crack in her heart. "Why are you getting so mad, Quinn?"

"It's just not how it works," Quinn said. "The fact that you think we'd ever get, you know, the white dresses with the whispers in the seats about how beautiful we look. . . well, it's ridiculous. We don't get the photo albums or the crying grandparents, or the teary-eyed fathers walking us down the aisle. Or, or the big, expensive reception, or the family there to celebrate. You know, we don't get to force our families to dress up and take a day out of their lives to celebrate us. We don't get my church's blessing. We don't get support."

Quinn was on the verge of crying. Rachel felt the tendrils of panic wrap around her insides. Not again.

Quinn paused, looked into Rachel's eyes, and nodded.

"One man, one woman. You heard him."

"It doesn't have to be that way, Quinn," Rachel said. "There are so many communities who would celebrate you being with me - being with a woman."

"God Rachel, just stop. You never get it," Quinn said, rubbing her temples.

"No, I do get it, Quinn. We'll never get the acceptance we want from your family, or your church. I recognize that and I know that that's awful. But if there's one thing I've learned from my dads, it's that sometimes, you know, you have to make your own family."

"I already have a family. I already have a church," Quinn said in a low, tired voice. "And whatever, it's fine, you know. I don't expect you to get it, Rachel. How could you, because you don't understand what it's like to believe."

"I believe in God just like you," Rachel said half-heartedly, recognizing even as she said it that it wasn't the point at all.

"Just, listen to me. Get it through your head. We will never have a wedding, Rachel, because I am tired of having to ask for forgiveness. I spent a year after my daughter was born doing that. Asking for forgiveness. Forgiveness from God, from my family, from the people at my church."

She inhaled a ragged breath. "And from my daughter. Do you know what it's like to feel like you have to ask forgiveness for making a person?"

Rachel blinked. "No. No, of course I don't. But Quinn, I'm confused about what this has to do with getting married."

Tears fell from Quinn's cheeks onto the sheets, and her shoulders started to shake. Rachel wrapped Quinn up in her arms, her head swimming.

"I know you and Santana and everyone, you all think I should just leave," Quinn continued. "Just move on and forget them. But I belong with my church. I need my church. I need it more than ever now, because I have to ask forgiveness for everything," she said. "For every day that I love you. For every time I have sex with you. For every time I lie and tell someone that you're my friend, because lying about it is a sin, too. We don't get a wedding, Rachel, because how can I ask people to celebrate something that they all know is wrong? We just . . . we don't get the same things, Rachel, and it's stupid to pretend that we do."

There were a million things Rachel could have said about the perverse logic of Quinn's religious beliefs.

But only one sentiment made it out of her mouth as she held Quinn while she sobbed.

"I love you too, Quinn," she said, hugging her tight. "Quinn, I love you, too."