Fic: Manual Transmission
Title: “Manual Transmission”
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Quinn got knocked up.
Summary: Quinn takes Rachel out on a date.
Author’s Note: I never write things in the second person. In fact, I think this is the only time I ever have. It makes me feel like I’m sixteen again or something, but what better for writing about sixteen-year-olds, right?
You never imagined this, that you’d be waiting anxiously in your front hall for her. You never imagined she’d ask you out on a date-and you certainly never imagined that she would be shy and hesitant about it, almost as though she were half sure you’d turn her down. But you hadn’t, and she’d promised to pick you up at seven, so even though it is only ten till, you are pacing nervously, afraid you’ll be stood up. She’s changed a lot in the past year, thanks to glee club and the baby and everything, but it’s hard to shake the memories of who she used to be.
But she shows up promptly at seven, and she comes in and talks to your dads, even though they’ve met her countless times before, and she is charming and polite. She helps you into your jacket and smiles at you as you walk the short distance to her car. “You look beautiful,” she says softly, and you could swear your heart stops for the briefest moment.
“Thank you,” you manage, and you smile at her as you get into the car. “You look really nice, too,” you say, as she slides in beside you.
She grins, a familiar cocky grin, but it’s kind this time, and it makes your stomach flutter. “You like Thai food, right?” she asks, and when you nod, her smile is eager.
She knows a great place, she tells you, and you love her enthusiasm. The place is great, and you both gush over the food. Conversation is easy, not stilted as you feared it might be. You’re friends-really friends-now, but this is a date, and there are pressures that come with dating, but one look into her soft hazel eyes makes any awkwardness you were feeling dissipate. Before you realize any time has passed, it’s nine-thirty, and she’s handing the waiter her credit card, even though you protest. “You can get the next one,” she says, and you blush, knowing she’s already thought about going on another date, and agree.
In the parking lot, she stops you before you get into the car, searches your eyes, and then kisses you once, softly, leaving you speechless. She smiles and carefully tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”
“Me too,” you confess, earning yourself another smile.
“I’m not ready to take you home yet,” she admits, as she starts the car. “You wanna go somewhere else?”
“Sure,” you say easily, hardly ready for the night to end yourself, and before she can put the car in reverse, you lean over and kiss her.
She blushes, and you revel in the fact that you could bring color to her cheeks. “If you do that again, I’m not going to want to drive anywhere,” she threatens playfully, and you almost call her bluff, but you’re nervous, so you buckle your seatbelt and let your hands fall into your lap.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I was just-” she apologizes, thinking she’s scared you.
You shake your head. “I know. It’s okay.” When you smile at her, there’s relief in her eyes, and she grins quickly before heading out of the parking lot.
As she drives, you reach over and take her hand across the gearshift. She glances at you out of the sides of her eyes, and you see the corner of her mouth turned up in a small smile. “You’re cute,” she says, and you blush, but you love that she thinks you’re cute.
“Where are we going?” you ask presently, and she shrugs.
“Anywhere you want to go? I like driving at night.”
“Me too,” you say, smiling at her, content to just be with her in the car for a while.
She drives for an hour or more out to dairy country, and she holds your hand the whole time. When you start singing along with the radio, almost unconsciously, she laughs, but there’s none of the old malice in the sound, so you don’t stop. Presently, she joins you, and you share a fleeting look before she turns her eyes back to the road, still singing.
Eventually, she heads back in the direction of the town, and you find yourself wishing that this could last forever-the simple pressure of her hand against yours, the dark spring night, the stupid songs on the radio that you both know all the words to. She has to slow down at some point, and you wonder why she’s suddenly fidgety, and then she takes her hand off the wheel. “What’re you-” you ask, as you watch her try to shift gears with her left hand, because her right is still tangled with yours. “Quinn!” you gasp, dropping her hand, and she laughs nervously, righting the steering and downshifting as the car takes a sharp turn.
“Sorry,” she says sheepishly, and you know, just from that moment, that she could fall in love with you.
Which is a relief, because you’re pretty sure you’re already in love with her.
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Quinn got knocked up.
Summary: Quinn takes Rachel out on a date.
Author’s Note: I never write things in the second person. In fact, I think this is the only time I ever have. It makes me feel like I’m sixteen again or something, but what better for writing about sixteen-year-olds, right?
You never imagined this, that you’d be waiting anxiously in your front hall for her. You never imagined she’d ask you out on a date-and you certainly never imagined that she would be shy and hesitant about it, almost as though she were half sure you’d turn her down. But you hadn’t, and she’d promised to pick you up at seven, so even though it is only ten till, you are pacing nervously, afraid you’ll be stood up. She’s changed a lot in the past year, thanks to glee club and the baby and everything, but it’s hard to shake the memories of who she used to be.
But she shows up promptly at seven, and she comes in and talks to your dads, even though they’ve met her countless times before, and she is charming and polite. She helps you into your jacket and smiles at you as you walk the short distance to her car. “You look beautiful,” she says softly, and you could swear your heart stops for the briefest moment.
“Thank you,” you manage, and you smile at her as you get into the car. “You look really nice, too,” you say, as she slides in beside you.
She grins, a familiar cocky grin, but it’s kind this time, and it makes your stomach flutter. “You like Thai food, right?” she asks, and when you nod, her smile is eager.
She knows a great place, she tells you, and you love her enthusiasm. The place is great, and you both gush over the food. Conversation is easy, not stilted as you feared it might be. You’re friends-really friends-now, but this is a date, and there are pressures that come with dating, but one look into her soft hazel eyes makes any awkwardness you were feeling dissipate. Before you realize any time has passed, it’s nine-thirty, and she’s handing the waiter her credit card, even though you protest. “You can get the next one,” she says, and you blush, knowing she’s already thought about going on another date, and agree.
In the parking lot, she stops you before you get into the car, searches your eyes, and then kisses you once, softly, leaving you speechless. She smiles and carefully tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”
“Me too,” you confess, earning yourself another smile.
“I’m not ready to take you home yet,” she admits, as she starts the car. “You wanna go somewhere else?”
“Sure,” you say easily, hardly ready for the night to end yourself, and before she can put the car in reverse, you lean over and kiss her.
She blushes, and you revel in the fact that you could bring color to her cheeks. “If you do that again, I’m not going to want to drive anywhere,” she threatens playfully, and you almost call her bluff, but you’re nervous, so you buckle your seatbelt and let your hands fall into your lap.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I was just-” she apologizes, thinking she’s scared you.
You shake your head. “I know. It’s okay.” When you smile at her, there’s relief in her eyes, and she grins quickly before heading out of the parking lot.
As she drives, you reach over and take her hand across the gearshift. She glances at you out of the sides of her eyes, and you see the corner of her mouth turned up in a small smile. “You’re cute,” she says, and you blush, but you love that she thinks you’re cute.
“Where are we going?” you ask presently, and she shrugs.
“Anywhere you want to go? I like driving at night.”
“Me too,” you say, smiling at her, content to just be with her in the car for a while.
She drives for an hour or more out to dairy country, and she holds your hand the whole time. When you start singing along with the radio, almost unconsciously, she laughs, but there’s none of the old malice in the sound, so you don’t stop. Presently, she joins you, and you share a fleeting look before she turns her eyes back to the road, still singing.
Eventually, she heads back in the direction of the town, and you find yourself wishing that this could last forever-the simple pressure of her hand against yours, the dark spring night, the stupid songs on the radio that you both know all the words to. She has to slow down at some point, and you wonder why she’s suddenly fidgety, and then she takes her hand off the wheel. “What’re you-” you ask, as you watch her try to shift gears with her left hand, because her right is still tangled with yours. “Quinn!” you gasp, dropping her hand, and she laughs nervously, righting the steering and downshifting as the car takes a sharp turn.
“Sorry,” she says sheepishly, and you know, just from that moment, that she could fall in love with you.
Which is a relief, because you’re pretty sure you’re already in love with her.