Head Full of Doubt, Road Full of Promise (4/8)
Title: Head Full of Doubt, Road Full of Promise (4/8)
Fandom: Glee
Pairings: Rachel/Quinn; Rachel/Finn; Brittany/Santana; Artie/Tina
Rating: This part is rated R, but it'll be NC-17 soon.
Spoilers: Up through "Sectionals"
Word Count: 7,214
Description: Rachel's answer to Quinn's melancholia is to take her on a summer road trip with the gleeks.
Note: The characters are fake, but the places are real. All the attractions mentioned in this story are actual places, if you ever find yourself on a cross-country road trip.
Previous Parts:
[ Part 1] [ Part 2] [ Part 3]
Songs Featured in this Part:
Jackson 5 - "I Want You Back"
"Mmm. Bacon."
There were a number of things that Rachel would have expected Puck to say to her the next morning. "Bacon" was not one of them. Although, in retrospect, it should've been. He stood beside her at the breakfast buffet, peering into a metal container of crispy bacon. He picked up a couple of strips with the tongs and proffered them to Rachel. She held out her plate in acceptance.
"Think this makes us bad Jews?"
"I believe that adherence to nonsecular laws are subject to personal interpretations of religious texts which obviously can produce a variety of opinions; what's truly important is your own peace of mind."
It was obvious that Puck had been expecting a yes-or-no answer. She picked up her tray and moved on down the line. She started to reach for the eggs, but Puck beat her to the punch, grabbing the spoon and ladling a generous portion on to her plate.
"Thank you, Noah."
Puck nodded. Then said, "So last night was kind of messed up."
"Yes, it was."
"Your arm hurt?"
"Yes, it does." She was still wearing her sweater in order to cover up the bruising.
Puck nodded again. It seemed as if he didn't know what to say. Apologies didn't come easily to him. Or at all, actually. Rachel went to sit at a table, and Puck followed her. He sat down without asking her if he could. It was still early, and they were the only people there. The other members of their group were certainly still asleep. Rachel always woke up at six a.m. every morning for breakfast and exercise. It occurred to her that Puck must have woke up early this morning just to talk to her. They ate their breakfasts together in silence. Puck didn't say anything until they were both done.
"So I got beat up by a girl."
"What?" First bacon, now this. Puck was certainly on some strange tangents this morning.
"In Eureka Springs. That's why I was all messed up. I got beat up by a girl." He looked physically pained just saying the words.
"Oh."
"I was talking to this chick at the place Kurt took us to. I made a move, but turned out that she had a girlfriend and the girlfriend got all upset. Then I kind of said some stuff, so we got into it." Rachel knew Puck, and guessed that he had probably said a lot more than just 'some stuff'. She also marveled at his ability to be continuously drawn to girls who obviously liked other girls, but she wasn't about to say that to him. She would like for her other arm to remain unbruised.
"Did you hit her?"
"She hit me first," Puck replied defensively. "But... no. Not really. I mean, I tried, but she was fast like a freak and I was on the ground before I could do anything. I think she had like karate training or something."
"Oh."
"Anyway, um... Kurt and Mercedes had to stop her. And I, um... I kind of..." Puck was fidgeting nervously in his seat. He cranked his neck around the room, checking to see if there was anyone nearby. Of course, there wasn't. He leaned in and started talking in a low tone. "I kind of, maybe... had... a little..." He took a deep breath, like he was trying to psych himself up. "I may have... ah..."
"What?"
"...cried." The word came out so soft that Rachel wasn't sure whether she had heard him correctly at first.
"What?"
"I wasn't bawling or anything," Puck said quickly, and then Rachel definitely knew that she had heard him correctly. "I had a lot - a lot - to drink that night and I was really just god damn tired. And let me tell you, that girl had some moves. It fucking hurt! Also, it was like one tear."
"You... cried," Rachel repeated, a little stunned at the thought. She didn't think that Puck was physically capable of it.
"Just a little. It was barely.." Puck shook his head. "Anyway, I told Kurt and Mercedes that I'd tear them apart limb from limb if they told anyone. But now you know. So if you wanted to go and tell people, announce it on your little MySpace videos or whatever..." His shrug was marked with tension. "I mean, that'd be okay."
Rachel realized that this wasn't a tangent. This was Puck's way of apologizing. Instead of saying the words "I'm sorry" like a normal human being would, he instead chose to tell her about what was probably the most humiliating experience he's ever had in his young, testosterone-dominated, ego-driven life. This was his peace offering. He was giving Rachel the opportunity to get even.
"Thank you, Noah," she said politely. "Your secret's safe with me."
He smiled. "That's cool."
"And I need to offer you an apology as well. I really should have consulted you before-"
"Forget it." Puck waved his hand dismissively. "What's done is done. I guess if I really wanted to stop you, I would've told Quinn what you were doing back in Memphis. But I didn't, and I won't."
"Thanks," Rachel said quietly.
"But you know that this is a terrible idea, right?"
"You're not the first person to tell me that."
"Who else knows?"
"Finn."
"Great," Puck muttered. "Well, I guess you don't have to worry about him telling Quinn."
"No."
"But this is a bad idea." Not that it wasn't appealing to Puck. He had his own selfish reasons. After he had gotten over his initial outrage, he had to admit that he wanted to see the baby too. He still thought that keeping this from Quinn was a bad idea, but on the other hand, 'bad ideas' and Puck were not strangers. After all, he had gotten his best friend's girlfriend drunk and knocked her up. Deceiving Quinn in order to see his daughter wasn't out of his broad moral bounds.
"I know it seems crazy," Rachel said tranquily. "But I know what I'm doing."
"I hope so." Puck looked at her, almost shyly. "So... are we cool?"
Rachel smiled at him, and touched her hand to his arm.
"We're cool."
Puck clasped his hand over hers and held it there. In that moment, Rachel remembered why she liked him and briefly wondered whether things could have been different between them. Sometimes, Puck was a genuinely good guy. He was almost even... sweet. Puck squeezed her hand and then sprang to his feet.
"All right, well, I'm gonna head back to my room," he said. "I gotta birth a turd before we hit the road."
***
Alliance, NE
"This is the greatest thing I've ever seen," Mike said, awed.
"This is the stupidest thing I've ever seen," Mercedes said, bored.
They were standing in an open field where dozens of cars were spray-painted gray, arranged in a circle and made to resemble Stonehenge. Some of the cars rose out of the ground like a monstrous growth. This place was appropriately called Carhenge. The kids were divided on how they felt about it.
"You cretins. You don't understand art," Kurt sniffed.
"This isn't art," Tina said, even though - oddly enough - it had been her suggestion to come here in the first place. "It's a junkyard."
"Mmm-hmm." Mercedes held out her open palm, and Tina brushed it with her own in a show of solidarity. Kurt rolled his eyes, and looked to Artie for support. Artie shook his head fervently. He was not getting in the middle of this. (But yes, he did think that the cars were really cool.)
"You do have to wonder about the environmental impacts," Rachel offered.
"No one's wondering about that but you," Puck told her.
"I don't like it," Brittany opined.
"Brit, you don't like anything that has less than seven colors," Quinn replied, and Brittany nodded enthusiastically in full agreement of that statement. "I think it's cool."
"That's because this place is as bleak and depressing as you are," Santana said. "No offense."
***
Kimball, NE
Another night, another roadside motel, another party in Puck's room.
Rachel begged off to stay behind in her room so that she could talk to Finn on the phone. They'd been talking everyday since their "video date", sometimes twice a day. Every night before they got off the phone, he told her that he wished he could kiss her good night. Rachel wasn't sure what this meant, if they were dating or still just friends or something in between. It wasn't clearly defined, but she was happy to leave it that way.
They talked for forty-five minutes, and when she got off the phone, she went to take a shower. She had been consciously keeping the bruise on her arm covered all day long, even though the sweater was stifling in the summer heat. But now that she had the room to herself, she didn't think twice about stepping out of the bathroom with just a towel on. However, as fate would have it, she was no longer alone.
Quinn was sitting on the bed, her face flushed red with alcohol. She had too much to drink, and she had only wanted to come back to the room to lie down. She didn't expect to be confronted with a wet, towel-clad Rachel Berry. Understandably, she didn't notice the bruise right away. Her eyes were lingering on other parts of Rachel's body.
"Quinn," Rachel said, startled by the blonde's presence. "I didn't expect you back so early." And that's when Quinn saw it.
"What happened to your arm?"
"Oh." Rachel shied away, tucking her arm behind her back. "It's nothing. I had a rash. I fell. I had a rash and then I fell." Rachel was an unfortunate liar.
"You didn't have that yesterday," Quinn asserted.
"Yes, I did," Rachel answered quickly. "I've had this forever."
"No, you definitely didn't," the blonde insisted. Then she started piecing it together. "You got that call from Puck last night. You went to meet him." Quinn hadn't bothered asking Rachel anything about that meeting. It would've defeated the whole purpose of trying to distance herself from Rachel. Quinn only knew because they shared a room and she had overheard the phone call.
Her initial reaction was disbelief. Puck would never do anything like that. He couldn't. She knew him. But there it was: a red, swollen, ugly shape upon Rachel's arm with distinct fingermarks. Someone had grabbed her, someone had hurt her, and as far as she knew, the only person Rachel saw last night was Puck. As realization sunk in, the disbelief turned into horror. Then rage. A lot of rage. Rachel saw the transformation on her face, clear as day.
"Quinn, no," Rachel started to say. "It's not what you-"
But Quinn was already out the door, tearing down the hallway.
She came to Puck's door and banged on the door until Mike let her in. Puck was in the middle of doing a shot with Brittany. He smirked when he saw Quinn.
"Back for more, Fabray?" he raised the shot glass to her in the gesture of a toast. Quinn certainly was in no mood for that. She went straight for him. Quinn wasn't a big girl, but she commanded presence when she was angry. Puck would have stepped back if he wasn't already leaning against the wall. All conversations in the room ceased.
"What did you do?" Her voice was cold with barely repressed anger. Puck's face fell. He immediately knew what she was talking about.
"She told you?"
For Quinn, that was as good an admission as any. She felt a tremor, white, hot and blinding, and before she knew what she was doing, she drew her arm back and administered a sharp blow to Puck's face. The slap rang out clear and loud. Puck took the slap passively. He felt like he deserved it.
"How could you?" She felt tears involuntarily pricking in her eyes. "You son of a bitch. What the hell were you thinking?"
"Quinn," he said delicately. "Listen-"
He tried to put a hand on her elbow. That only seemed to make her angrier. She jerked away, then returned with balled-up fists, beating them against Puck's head, chest and shoulders.
"You asshole," Quinn spat out. "You fucking asshole."
Puck was big and pretty strong, and Quinn wasn't, but he had to admit that her strikes hurt. He raised his hands, trying to shield himself as best he can, but he didn't try to stop her. Quinn only stopped when someone else forced her to. As she drew her hand back, she felt a hand tightly grab on to her wrist. She turned, ready to unleash her fury on the interferer, until she saw who it was.
"Stop," Rachel pleaded, keeping a firm grip on Quinn. "Quinn, it's not what you think. Please, just... just come with me." She had ran out of the room after Quinn after hastily pulling on a t-shirt and shorts. She didn't have time to dry off, and her damp clothes now clung tightly to the curves of her body. It was a view that the boys in the room (and let's face it, more than a couple of the girls) would have appreciated under different circumstances.
Quinn nodded numbly, and allowed herself to be led away, leaving Puck temporarily forgotten and under the scrutiny of their bewildered friends.
Rachel ushered Quinn back into their room. As soon as they were inside, Quinn turned to Rachel, gingerly taking a hold of the brunette's bruised arm. She examined it closely, delicately running her fingers over the discolored skin.
"We should get you some ice."
"It's fine," Rachel assured her. "You need to know that he didn't mean to do it. It was just a misunderstanding."
"I don't care," Quinn seethed. Rachel had no doubt that Quinn would turn around and go right back to assailing Puck if Rachel would only let her. And as much as Rachel didn't want that to happen, she had to admit that the thought of Quinn getting this worked up over her was... enticing.
"We had a silly fight, but we talked about it this morning, and he apologized. He felt terrible about it. We're okay now," Rachel explained. "Besides, while I appreciate the sentiment, I really don't need you to defend me. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
"But it's my fault," Quinn said miserably.
Rachel looked at her, mystified. "What are you talking about?"
"When he called you last night, I knew that he was up to something. I should have told you not to go, but I was being..." she trailed off. They both knew perfectly well how Quinn had been acting these past few days.
"Like I said. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
"But you take care of me." Quinn nervously bit at her bottom lip. She was still holding on to Rachel's arm. "You always take care of me."
"Yes, well... you're my friend," Rachel replied softly.
"But I haven't been a very good friend to you."
Rachel shrugged helplessly. "You're trying. I know you are."
Quinn drew a deep breath. "I need to try harder." She slid her hands down from Rachel's arm to her hand. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay."
"No, it's not. But I'm going to make it okay," Quinn said. "I want us to be friends again." It wasn't hard for Rachel to catch the implications of that. Friends. Just friends. Rachel forced down the lump building in her throat.
"Whatever you want," she managed to say. Quinn moved in and embraced her. After a brief moment of hesitation, Rachel reciprocated, encircling her arms around the blonde's waist. Quinn could smell the scent of soap and shampoo. She could feel the dampness of Rachel's clothes. She was suddenly acutely, painful aware of just how thin the layer of fabric was that separated her from Rachel's naked body. It was probably a good thing that she didn't get the opportunity to dwell on the thought. A knock at the door roused the girls from their intimate moment. Quinn opened the door, knowing exactly who she'd find. And sure enough, there was Puck in the doorway, his thumbs hooked in his pockets, a hangdog expression on his face.
"So I got beat up by a girl in Eureka Springs."
***
For once at breakfast, no one was crying, glowering, fighting or sulking. Puck gave everyone an abbreviated version of what had happened: he and Rachel had a fight, Rachel was inadvertently injured, Quinn gave him a deserved beating, but now all was well. They accepted the story without too many questions. After all, this was supposed to be a vacation and even these teenagers had a limit as to how much drama they could handle. They were just happy that Rachel and Quinn were friends again. The more time those two spent together, the less time they had to annoy everyone else.
Everything was peaceful.
Until lunchtime.
***
Fort Collins, CO
"I have to go home." Tina was standing at the end of the table, looking nervous and fidgety. Artie was next to her, holding her hand and trying to keep her calm. He had told her repeatedly that it would be all right, but she felt guilty nonetheless. "I just talked to my mom. She's starting to get mad. She wants me back right away."
A hushed pall fell over the group. They'd been expecting this. They'd been gone two weeks now. A few of them had similar conversations with their own parents with varying degrees of intensity. This moment had to come sooner or later. Rachel was, as always, prepared.
"I see," Rachel said calmly. "Is anyone else having problems with their parents?" With some hesitation, Mercedes raised her hand. Then Kurt. Then Matt. Rachel looked to the ones who didn't raise their hands. Mike shrugged. Puck nodded at her, but she already knew that he would stay. Her eyes landed on Brittany and Santana. Brittany seemed uncertain, so she did what she always did when she wasn't sure - she looked at Santana, leaving her to make the decision for both of them. Santana considered the situation. She glanced at Quinn, who was sitting demurely, staring down at her hands in her lap. She made up her mind.
"We can stay," Santana said firmly.
"This will work out well then," Rachel said. "Kurt, I know that it's a tight fit, but you can take Mercedes, Matt, Tina and Artie back to Lima. The rest of us-"
"Actually," Artie ventured. "I'd like to stay." His statement was regarded as a surprise by everyone except Tina. They had all assumed that Artie would go with Tina. But the two of them had discussed it, and they decided that one of them should be there for Quinn. After all, if it weren't for her, who knows how long it would have taken Artie to work up the courage to declare his feelings?
"Are you sure?" Rachel asked.
"Like you said," Artie answered, an easy smile on his face. "It's a tight fit, especially with all our luggage and this." He tapped the side of his wheelchair.
"You guys don't have to..." Quinn started weakly, but faltered. She tried again. "It's really not that bad..." It's really not that bad at home, she wanted to say. But she couldn't bring herself to say the words. God knows that Quinn's never had an aversion to lies, but this one hurt a little too much.
"What are you babbling on about?" Santana snapped at her.
"Seriously," Puck scoffed. "Life is sweet out here. What the hell is there to do in Lima?"
"I'm just here to have fun," Mike piped up.
"Don't delude yourself, Fabray," sneered Santana. "Nobody here cares about you that much."
As the tears welled in her eyes and all her friends found something else to focus on so that they could pretend like they didn't see, Quinn thought that she never loved them as much as she did right then.
***
Boulder, CO
Puck insisted that they now had to party twice as hard to make up for a third of the group being gone. Rachel tried to point out the mathematical and logical flaws of his statement, but he just shoved a shot of Jim Beam in her face.
An hour later, Rachel was in the bathroom with Quinn, but no bathtubs this time. Rachel was on the bathroom counter, sitting adjacent to the sink where Quinn was splashing water on her face. Through the walls, they heard Puck, Artie and Santana cheering as Mike and Brittany had their third dance-off of the night.
"Oh, god," Quinn moaned. "They never stop."
"Do you feel ill?" Rachel asked. "We can head back to the room if you'd like."
Quinn shook her head. "No, I just... I just get overwhelmed by people and noises sometimes when I drink."
Rachel chuckled. "That's become perfectly apparent to me."
"It's a good thing I have you to keep me company." Quinn stepped closer, casually placing her hand upon Rachel's leg. It was more friendly than suggestive, but nonetheless Rachel felt a pleasurable flutter in her lower half. She'll blame it on the alcohol for now. "You're a good friend, Rach."
"You're not so bad yourse-" Wait, there was something else she wanted to say. "Did you just call me Rach?"
It was a fairly simple question, but Quinn took a pause before answering.
"I guess I did. Is that bad?"
"No," Rachel answered with a faint smile. "I think I like it."
Quinn returned her smile. It felt like a good moment for a hug, so that's what she did, moving in until her arms were fully wrapped around Rachel's torso. Her chin rested on the brunette's shoulder. Last night Rachel had smelled of soap and shampoo, fresh and clean like something Quinn couldn't pollute if she had tried. Tonight, it was nothing so sterile; the scent was like shampoo or body spray and booze and sweat and skin and the road and grass on a sunny day and snow on Christmas night and the wind by the seashore and everything that was good and real. And suddenly Quinn felt it again, that feral tug of pure unadulterated want.
She pulled away. Not very far. Just enough so she can look Rachel in the eyes. She reached up to tuck an errant brown lock behind Rachel's ear, then her hand trailed down along her cheek, down to her jawline. It seemed as if everything in the world has stopped. Slowly but not hesitatingly, Quinn leaned in, and lightly pressed her closed lips against Rachel's. It was so soft that it barely felt like a kiss; more like a tickle or a brush. Rachel only sat there, not responding but not rejecting either. When Quinn pulled away again, the confusion was evident in Rachel's eyes.
"Why are you doing this?" Rachel's voice came out so small and hoarse that it didn't even sound like her anymore.
"I don't know," Quinn whispered. Then she drifted in again, and kissed Rachel once more, a little longer and with a bit more intensity. And this definitely felt like a kiss, chaste though it was. However tame, it left Rachel quivering when they parted.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked again. Quinn looked back at her. With her hazel eyes glistening and her voice a broken whisper, she said,
"I can't help myself." With that, her body began to tremble and the hot tears erupted, spilling over the brim and sliding down her cheeks.
Rachel did the only thing she could think of. She kissed Quinn, and slowly parted her lips until their tongues languorously met and melded in a slow waltz.
***
The next morning, it was as if nothing had ever happened.
Quinn wasn't distant. She wasn't absent. She was so effortlessly friendly to Rachel without a trace of awkwardness that Rachel started to wonder if she hadn't imagined the whole thing.
But then it happened again that night under almost the exact same circumstances, just at a different motel in a different town (Trinidad, CO). It became a nightly ritual. When everyone else has gotten too drunk to care or notice, Quinn would drag Rachel into the bathroom and the two of them would kiss until one or both of them became too tired to keep going. Then they would stagger back to their own room and pass out in bed together.
In the morning, Quinn wasn't distant, she wasn't absent, and it's just as if nothing had happened.
***
U.S. Route 87
"Punch buggy!"
"No, Brittany. Just... no."
***
Amarillo, TX
At the Big Texan Steak Ranch in Amarillo, Texas, they offered a challenge to anyone foolish enough to take it. A free meal was offered to anyone who could finish a dinner of a 72-ounce steak along with bread, baked potato, shrimp cocktail and salad within an hour.
"It just doesn't seem to be worth the $72.00," Rachel said disapprovingly.
"You're not a dude. You don't understand," Puck replied. "It's not about the money, Rachel." He, Mike and Brittany sat on a raised platform in the middle of the restaurant, ready to partake in this modern day freakshow. This whole venture had been Mike's idea, who had convinced them all to drive down to Amarillo specifically for this gut-busting, artery-clogging suicide-by-steak mission. Puck and Mike tried to get Artie to do it with them but fortunately, Artie had a brain.
"But I'm not a dude," Brittany said.
"You're a hot chick who thinks like a dude," Puck told her. "Which is better than a dude."
"I'm only saying that this appears to be a lot of time and effort that could used on better things," Rachel stated.
"Berry," Puck said dryly. "You separate your underwear by color and material."
"Organization is important!"
"Why do you know how Rachel sorts her underwear?" Santana asked Puck with some displeasure.
"We had a thing."
"For like two seconds," Santana huffed. "We dated for four months and you still don't know my dad's name."
"Four?" Quinn arched a brow. "I thought it was two."
"I'm counting other stuff."
"Oh, like the sexting stuff after you guys broke up while he was trying to get with me and you were with Brittany?"
"Can we not do this right now? I need to focus!" Puck barked nervously. He was eyeing the steak they were bringing out of the kitchen. All four-and-a-half pounds of it. "Oh, god." Puck looked a little pale. Mike looked positively giddy.
"I'll get the throw-up bucket ready for you," Quinn said cheerfully.
"I've made a huge mistake."
***
Brittany ate half of her steak before she started to look sick and Santana made her stop.
Puck ate his steak, but lost when he couldn't stomach the baked potato.
Mike finished everything and then asked what was for dessert.
For once, there was no drinking that night. Instead, they gathered in Puck's room, alternatively passing him the Pepto-Bismol and mocking him as he periodically dashed into the bathroom.
"I'm swearing off food forever!" Puck bellowed as he hovered over the toilet bowl.
"I could really go for a Kit Kat right now," Mike said.
"I saw them in the vending machine," Artie volunteered helpfully.
"Awesome. Hey, Puckerman, you want one?"
"Fuck you all!"
Quinn took a bottle of vodka and Rachel's hand; the two of them slipped out the room and back to their own. They drank a fifth of the bottle and made out in their bed that night.
Rachel's skin burned; she couldn't tell whether it was from the alcohol or Quinn, although she suspected that it was a combination of both. With every lap of Quinn's tongue against hers, she felt a slow burn incrementally gathering in her lower half. Her undulating hips sought contact with Quinn's, desperate to alleviate the maddening heat. Above her, Quinn moaned, bucking her hips downwards in kind. Rachel, who usually kept her hands politely at Quinn's waist and over the clothes, now felt emboldened to slip one hand underneath Quinn's shirt. With a guttural grunt, Quinn kissed her harder, tangling one hand in Rachel's hair to bring the brunette in closer. Rachel inched her hand up, cupping the swell of Quinn's breasts through her bra. As her thumb gazed over a hardened peak, Quinn pulled back with a startled gasp.
"What's wrong?" Rachel tried to restrain the tone of panic in her voice because she knew perfectly well what was wrong. Her hand retreated from Quinn's soft, inviting flesh and came to rest again on Quinn's waist, over the clothes. "Was that too much?"
Quinn nodded, a worried and anxious expression on her face.
"I can't."
Rachel nodded in understanding. But she still felt compelled to ask,
"Can't... ever?"
Quinn bit the bottom of her lip, her brows furrowed in puzzled concentration.
"Can't... now," she said slowly. "I think." Rachel nodded again.
"I understand."
Quinn's frown gave way to a relaxed smile as she brought her lips down against Rachel's once more. They made out until Rachel grew tired, and fell asleep in Quinn's arms, her head tucked beneath the blonde's chin.
The next morning, it was still as if nothing had happened.
***
Abilene, TX
"We need to help them."
"No, we don't."
"But S..."
"No, Brittany," Santana told her girlfriend firmly. "No." They were in the middle of a busy diner. The group had decided to split up for lunch when Rachel decided that she wanted to try sashimi in the middle of landlocked Texas.
"They're doing the same things that we were doing before," Brittany whined with a slight pout. "And aren't we happier now than before?"
"We're not them. We're nowhere as dysfunctional as they are."
"And don't you think that's like a cry for help?"
"Believe me, Quinn doesn't want our help."
Brittany made a sad face. "But I think they'd be so much happier if they could be like us and do girlfriend stuff."
Santana sighed. She hated seeing Brittany upset, but this was one whim that she couldn't indulge. She took the blonde's hand in hers.
"Sweetie, I know that you want everyone to be happy, but that's just not the way things work, okay? There are some things that you can't fix. Trust me when I say that no one can fix Quinn Fabray. She doesn't want to be saved; she wants to drown."
Brittany frowned. "But Quinn can swim. I've seen her."
Santana decided to try again. "I mean that I think Quinn's happier being unhappy."
The frown only deepened. "That doesn't make any sense."
"I know." Santana squeezed her hand lightly. "But that's Quinn."
"Santana?"
"Yeah, Brit?"
"I'm glad that you're happy being happy."
"Me too, Brit."
"I love you."
Santana smiled in response, and drew the blonde in for a kiss.
"I love you too," she muttered softly against Brittany's lips.
Artie leaned over the table and whispered to Mike.
"They do know that we're sitting right here? I mean, they can see us?"
"Shh." Mike's eyes were slightly glazed, transfixed at the kissing girls. "Don't ruin it."
***
Interstate 45
Rachel drove as Quinn rode shotgun; Brittany and Santana slept soundly in the backseat, Brittany's head against Santana's shoulder. Rachel and Quinn sang along to a familiar song playing on the radio, while Rachel tapped out the beat on the steering wheel. When the song ends, Quinn reached over and turned down the volume.
"I don't know if I like that song."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, he's singing about how much he wants this girl back, but he only wants her back because she's with someone else. There's also the line that goes, 'those pretty faces always made you stand out in a crowd.' It's like he's saying she's ugly. What is that?" Quinn huffed. "Also, Michael Jackson was like ten when he sang this song. That's creepy."
"I think it means that she's more than that to him," Rachel said, although she sounded a little uncertain. "The others are nothing but superficial distractions. Pure physical attraction isn't a sound basis for a relationship."
"But he still only wants her because someone else has her."
"I like to think that the other man is merely a catalyst. The song's protagonist would have inevitably realized his error," Rachel answered. "Sometimes it just takes a little push for someone to realize what they've been missing. It's a sweet apology. I think it's romantic."
Quinn arched a brow.
"You've fantasized about someone singing this to you, haven't you?"
Rachel colored slightly. "Maybe," she muttered.
"Are we talking about anyone in particular?"
Rachel glanced at Quinn out of the corner of her eye, then quickly turned her attention back on to the road.
"Like who?"
"Like Finn." There's an edge to Quinn's tone, masked dull and soft beneath a veil of feigned casualness. "You've thought about him singing this to you?"
Rachel contemplated her answer before replying. She could feel Quinn's gaze on her, heated and focused, which made it all the more difficult to think.
"Maybe. Once. A few times. A while ago," she responded carefully. "Although there were always some logical flaws in that arrangement seeing as how he never had me in the first place."
Quinn felt something squirming and twisting in the pit of her stomach, a stifling, prickling burn spreading through her body and crawling up the back of her throat. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and drew a deep breath to soothe the weight of it. Still, she couldn't help the words from spilling out:
"Why are you obsessed with him?"
"Why are you?"
"I'm not the one-"
"You keep bringing him up, Quinn. And I understand if you want to talk about him, but don't blame me for it," Rachel said calmly. "As far as I'm concerned, this car is a Finn-Free Zone."
Quinn was quiet. Then she said, "Okay."
"Okay," Rachel echoed.
"But I still think that it's creepy for a ten-year-old to sing that song."
Rachel laughed softly, and said, "I fully concur."
***
Huntsville, TX
Puck thought that it would be a fantastic idea to visit the Texas Prison Museum.
Brittany started crying when she saw the electric chair. Santana promptly insisted that they leave at once.
"But I didn't get to see the contraband exhibit," Puck complained. "They have some really bad-ass shivs." Brittany, who had earlier made the terrible mistake of asking Puck what a shiv was and what it was used for, cried even harder. Santana folded her arms across her chest. She was, to put it mildly, displeased.
"I have a proposal," she said icily. "All those in favor of banning Puck from making another suggestion again on this trip, raise your hands." Only Brittany raised her hand. Santana politely cleared her throat. "I said all those in favor, raise your god damn hands!"
The others all quickly raised their hands, including Puck.
"Then it's decided. No more suggestions from Puck," Santana dictated smoothly. "Now. We're all going to go get ice cream."
Brittany clapped her hands together and beamed, all traces of sadness gone.
***
Oklahoma City, OK
"How are we back in Oklahoma?" Artie asked. It was just the boys in their room that night.
"I think we drove," Mike deadpanned.
"But, I mean..." Artie frowned. "Does anyone else feel like we just drove around in a really big circle? We're only two hours from Tulsa."
"Leave it alone, Artie," Puck said lazily.
"But we were in Tulsa like a week ago," Artie persisted. "Or maybe that was two weeks ago." It was easy to lose track of time on the road.
"Who cares, dude?"
"I want to be there for Quinn, but... how long can we keep this up for? We have to go back to Lima at some point, right?"
"Look, you got a problem with being here, you can just wheel yourself back to Ohio," Puck snapped. "We don't need you." Artie shrunk back, and Puck felt a little bit bad, but not bad enough to show it.
"Easy," Mike intervened. "Artie's got a point."
"Just relax, all right? We got this."
"Who's we?" Mike asked. "You and Rachel?"
Puck certainly didn't want to answer that.
"Hey, you guys think I like this? I want to go back too. At least I can score in Lima. I'm horny as shit," he groused. Four girls, and NONE of them wanted to sleep with him. It was just fucked up. "Artie's the only one who's gotten laid on this trip."
"Speak for yourself," Mike mumbled under his breath.
"What?"
"Nothing," Mike said quickly. "Where are the girls tonight anyway?"
"Guess," Artie said dryly.
"Huh." Mike was contemplative. "You guys think it's weird that two-thirds of the girls in glee club are lesbians?"
"They're not lesbians!" Puck sounded oddly defensive. "And if they are, so what? It's nobody's fault." Mike and Artie stared at him. Then they figured it out.
"Oh, because you were with three of them," Artie said.
"Four," Puck muttered.
"Brittany?!" Artie and Mike exclaimed in unison.
"It was like at one party freshman year. We only made out. No big deal." Then he added, rather anxiously, "Don't tell Santana, okay?"
"Four for four." Artie sounded awed. "That has to be a record."
"Shut up," Puck growled.
"Don't feel bad." Mike patted Puck on the back like he was a little kid. "I'm sure it happens to a lot of guys. No one else that I know, but lots of guys, I'm sure."
"Shut up!"
"It's not your fault." Artie was genuinely trying to be helpful. "A lot of people experiment in high school, and with the number of girls you sleep with, statistically speaking-"
"SHUT UP!"
"You know that you can't convert them, right?" Mike teased. "It's a valiant effort, but that there is no man's land."
"Maybe he has a hidden feminine side," Artie suggested. "He was always gently graceful when he used to stuff me into portable toilets."
"I'll stuff your head into a toilet right now if you don't shut up!"
Artie just grinned in response to Puck's threat. Puck kind of missed the days when he could make people cower with only a glare.
"Maybe Puck's half-lesbian," Mike said.
"He does like wearing flannel."
"And I caught him listening to Melissa Etheridge once."
"And he has that pick-up truck."
"Dude," Mike now said to an increasingly agitated Puck. "You'd make an awesome lesbian."
"But not a pretty one," Artie added.
"Oh, god," Puck moaned. "Fuck you all."
***
Liberal, KS
"I wish I could kiss you good night."
"That's sweet."
And it was. The first eleven times she heard it. Now - as much as it made her feel guilty to admit - it was getting old. Talking on the phone with Finn had gotten harder, especially since now she and Quinn had developed the habit of drunkenly making out and then passing out together in bed. But Rachel still managed to schedule in "phone time" with Finn, or "video time" when she could get to Artie's laptop. She might not have tried so hard if he didn't call her so often. But he did, and she found it impossible not to reciprocate. She got the sense that Finn was lonely in Lima. So every night, when the girls headed over to Puck's room, Rachel always found some excuse to stay behind for half an hour or so, and she'd talk to Finn. If any of them suspected, no one said anything.
"So..." Finn said slowly. "What are you wearing?"
"My yellow and pink diamond pattern shirt and a black skirt," Rachel replied automatically. "Why?"
"I was just..." Finn coughed lightly. "I was just thinking about running my hand along your thigh... and um, uh, up that s- skirt."
"Oh," Rachel said, a little bewildered. "Okay. That sounds... lovely."
"Really?" Finn took her at face value, and his voice perked up. With a little more confidence now, he added, "I'm kissing you. And my hand is on, um, your... waist."
"Are you sure? You don't sound sure."
"My hand is on your waist," he said firmly. "I'm kissing your neck now. Sucking on it lightly. My hand's going inside your shirt."
"I don't know if we should do this."
"Why not?" Finn sounded a little hurt. "You're so far away, Rachel, and I... I miss you."
"But we've never done anything like this in person," Rachel tried to ignore how it made her feel when he said I miss you. "It feels weird to do this over the phone."
"Can't we try?" When Rachel didn't respond right away, Finn took a bold step. He mustered up all the courage he had, recalled all his sexual frustrations, channeled his inner Puck and added, "I get so turned on when I hear your voice. I'm already hard." He immediately felt embarrassed. But it was too late to take it back.
"Oh," Rachel answered, stunned. She felt awkward and uncomfortable, and yet, at the same time - and if she was being completely honest - more than a little turned on. It was all very confusing. So Rachel did what she did best when she was confused. She enumerated. She made up a quick mental list of the pros and cons of having phone sex with Finn.
Pro: She liked Finn.
Con: She really liked Quinn.
Pro: Nightly make-out sessions with Quinn has turned her into one gigantic hormonal mess.
Con: She had nightly make-out sessions with Quinn.
Pro: Rachel liked trying new things. She would be trying new things with Quinn if she thought that Quinn would let her. As it was, they never ventured beyond drunken kissing and light over-the-clothes groping.
Con: It didn't seem fair to make Finn the back-up.
Pro: Finn wasn't shy about wanting her whereas Quinn didn't even want to acknowledge what they did.
Con: She really liked Quinn.
Disturbed by the ongoing silence and terrified by the notion that Rachel was never going to speak to him again, Finn said hurriedly,
"I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from. We don't have to do any of this. I'm so sorry." He sounded eager for her approval - desperate for it. For Rachel Berry, who had spent the better part of last year trailing him like a lost puppy, it was a powerful, intoxicating feeling.
So after a moment's hesitation, she now said,
"Tell me again where your hands are."
He did. He told her more than that as her hand waded south.
Afterwards, she said goodbye to Finn and then lay in bed, feeling simultaneously sated and dissatisfied. Rachel wondered if this could be considered cheating, and if so, who exactly she was cheating on and who she was cheating with.
Next Part
Fandom: Glee
Pairings: Rachel/Quinn; Rachel/Finn; Brittany/Santana; Artie/Tina
Rating: This part is rated R, but it'll be NC-17 soon.
Spoilers: Up through "Sectionals"
Word Count: 7,214
Description: Rachel's answer to Quinn's melancholia is to take her on a summer road trip with the gleeks.
Note: The characters are fake, but the places are real. All the attractions mentioned in this story are actual places, if you ever find yourself on a cross-country road trip.
Previous Parts:
[ Part 1] [ Part 2] [ Part 3]
Songs Featured in this Part:
Jackson 5 - "I Want You Back"
"Mmm. Bacon."
There were a number of things that Rachel would have expected Puck to say to her the next morning. "Bacon" was not one of them. Although, in retrospect, it should've been. He stood beside her at the breakfast buffet, peering into a metal container of crispy bacon. He picked up a couple of strips with the tongs and proffered them to Rachel. She held out her plate in acceptance.
"Think this makes us bad Jews?"
"I believe that adherence to nonsecular laws are subject to personal interpretations of religious texts which obviously can produce a variety of opinions; what's truly important is your own peace of mind."
It was obvious that Puck had been expecting a yes-or-no answer. She picked up her tray and moved on down the line. She started to reach for the eggs, but Puck beat her to the punch, grabbing the spoon and ladling a generous portion on to her plate.
"Thank you, Noah."
Puck nodded. Then said, "So last night was kind of messed up."
"Yes, it was."
"Your arm hurt?"
"Yes, it does." She was still wearing her sweater in order to cover up the bruising.
Puck nodded again. It seemed as if he didn't know what to say. Apologies didn't come easily to him. Or at all, actually. Rachel went to sit at a table, and Puck followed her. He sat down without asking her if he could. It was still early, and they were the only people there. The other members of their group were certainly still asleep. Rachel always woke up at six a.m. every morning for breakfast and exercise. It occurred to her that Puck must have woke up early this morning just to talk to her. They ate their breakfasts together in silence. Puck didn't say anything until they were both done.
"So I got beat up by a girl."
"What?" First bacon, now this. Puck was certainly on some strange tangents this morning.
"In Eureka Springs. That's why I was all messed up. I got beat up by a girl." He looked physically pained just saying the words.
"Oh."
"I was talking to this chick at the place Kurt took us to. I made a move, but turned out that she had a girlfriend and the girlfriend got all upset. Then I kind of said some stuff, so we got into it." Rachel knew Puck, and guessed that he had probably said a lot more than just 'some stuff'. She also marveled at his ability to be continuously drawn to girls who obviously liked other girls, but she wasn't about to say that to him. She would like for her other arm to remain unbruised.
"Did you hit her?"
"She hit me first," Puck replied defensively. "But... no. Not really. I mean, I tried, but she was fast like a freak and I was on the ground before I could do anything. I think she had like karate training or something."
"Oh."
"Anyway, um... Kurt and Mercedes had to stop her. And I, um... I kind of..." Puck was fidgeting nervously in his seat. He cranked his neck around the room, checking to see if there was anyone nearby. Of course, there wasn't. He leaned in and started talking in a low tone. "I kind of, maybe... had... a little..." He took a deep breath, like he was trying to psych himself up. "I may have... ah..."
"What?"
"...cried." The word came out so soft that Rachel wasn't sure whether she had heard him correctly at first.
"What?"
"I wasn't bawling or anything," Puck said quickly, and then Rachel definitely knew that she had heard him correctly. "I had a lot - a lot - to drink that night and I was really just god damn tired. And let me tell you, that girl had some moves. It fucking hurt! Also, it was like one tear."
"You... cried," Rachel repeated, a little stunned at the thought. She didn't think that Puck was physically capable of it.
"Just a little. It was barely.." Puck shook his head. "Anyway, I told Kurt and Mercedes that I'd tear them apart limb from limb if they told anyone. But now you know. So if you wanted to go and tell people, announce it on your little MySpace videos or whatever..." His shrug was marked with tension. "I mean, that'd be okay."
Rachel realized that this wasn't a tangent. This was Puck's way of apologizing. Instead of saying the words "I'm sorry" like a normal human being would, he instead chose to tell her about what was probably the most humiliating experience he's ever had in his young, testosterone-dominated, ego-driven life. This was his peace offering. He was giving Rachel the opportunity to get even.
"Thank you, Noah," she said politely. "Your secret's safe with me."
He smiled. "That's cool."
"And I need to offer you an apology as well. I really should have consulted you before-"
"Forget it." Puck waved his hand dismissively. "What's done is done. I guess if I really wanted to stop you, I would've told Quinn what you were doing back in Memphis. But I didn't, and I won't."
"Thanks," Rachel said quietly.
"But you know that this is a terrible idea, right?"
"You're not the first person to tell me that."
"Who else knows?"
"Finn."
"Great," Puck muttered. "Well, I guess you don't have to worry about him telling Quinn."
"No."
"But this is a bad idea." Not that it wasn't appealing to Puck. He had his own selfish reasons. After he had gotten over his initial outrage, he had to admit that he wanted to see the baby too. He still thought that keeping this from Quinn was a bad idea, but on the other hand, 'bad ideas' and Puck were not strangers. After all, he had gotten his best friend's girlfriend drunk and knocked her up. Deceiving Quinn in order to see his daughter wasn't out of his broad moral bounds.
"I know it seems crazy," Rachel said tranquily. "But I know what I'm doing."
"I hope so." Puck looked at her, almost shyly. "So... are we cool?"
Rachel smiled at him, and touched her hand to his arm.
"We're cool."
Puck clasped his hand over hers and held it there. In that moment, Rachel remembered why she liked him and briefly wondered whether things could have been different between them. Sometimes, Puck was a genuinely good guy. He was almost even... sweet. Puck squeezed her hand and then sprang to his feet.
"All right, well, I'm gonna head back to my room," he said. "I gotta birth a turd before we hit the road."
***
Alliance, NE
"This is the greatest thing I've ever seen," Mike said, awed.
"This is the stupidest thing I've ever seen," Mercedes said, bored.
They were standing in an open field where dozens of cars were spray-painted gray, arranged in a circle and made to resemble Stonehenge. Some of the cars rose out of the ground like a monstrous growth. This place was appropriately called Carhenge. The kids were divided on how they felt about it.
"You cretins. You don't understand art," Kurt sniffed.
"This isn't art," Tina said, even though - oddly enough - it had been her suggestion to come here in the first place. "It's a junkyard."
"Mmm-hmm." Mercedes held out her open palm, and Tina brushed it with her own in a show of solidarity. Kurt rolled his eyes, and looked to Artie for support. Artie shook his head fervently. He was not getting in the middle of this. (But yes, he did think that the cars were really cool.)
"You do have to wonder about the environmental impacts," Rachel offered.
"No one's wondering about that but you," Puck told her.
"I don't like it," Brittany opined.
"Brit, you don't like anything that has less than seven colors," Quinn replied, and Brittany nodded enthusiastically in full agreement of that statement. "I think it's cool."
"That's because this place is as bleak and depressing as you are," Santana said. "No offense."
***
Kimball, NE
Another night, another roadside motel, another party in Puck's room.
Rachel begged off to stay behind in her room so that she could talk to Finn on the phone. They'd been talking everyday since their "video date", sometimes twice a day. Every night before they got off the phone, he told her that he wished he could kiss her good night. Rachel wasn't sure what this meant, if they were dating or still just friends or something in between. It wasn't clearly defined, but she was happy to leave it that way.
They talked for forty-five minutes, and when she got off the phone, she went to take a shower. She had been consciously keeping the bruise on her arm covered all day long, even though the sweater was stifling in the summer heat. But now that she had the room to herself, she didn't think twice about stepping out of the bathroom with just a towel on. However, as fate would have it, she was no longer alone.
Quinn was sitting on the bed, her face flushed red with alcohol. She had too much to drink, and she had only wanted to come back to the room to lie down. She didn't expect to be confronted with a wet, towel-clad Rachel Berry. Understandably, she didn't notice the bruise right away. Her eyes were lingering on other parts of Rachel's body.
"Quinn," Rachel said, startled by the blonde's presence. "I didn't expect you back so early." And that's when Quinn saw it.
"What happened to your arm?"
"Oh." Rachel shied away, tucking her arm behind her back. "It's nothing. I had a rash. I fell. I had a rash and then I fell." Rachel was an unfortunate liar.
"You didn't have that yesterday," Quinn asserted.
"Yes, I did," Rachel answered quickly. "I've had this forever."
"No, you definitely didn't," the blonde insisted. Then she started piecing it together. "You got that call from Puck last night. You went to meet him." Quinn hadn't bothered asking Rachel anything about that meeting. It would've defeated the whole purpose of trying to distance herself from Rachel. Quinn only knew because they shared a room and she had overheard the phone call.
Her initial reaction was disbelief. Puck would never do anything like that. He couldn't. She knew him. But there it was: a red, swollen, ugly shape upon Rachel's arm with distinct fingermarks. Someone had grabbed her, someone had hurt her, and as far as she knew, the only person Rachel saw last night was Puck. As realization sunk in, the disbelief turned into horror. Then rage. A lot of rage. Rachel saw the transformation on her face, clear as day.
"Quinn, no," Rachel started to say. "It's not what you-"
But Quinn was already out the door, tearing down the hallway.
She came to Puck's door and banged on the door until Mike let her in. Puck was in the middle of doing a shot with Brittany. He smirked when he saw Quinn.
"Back for more, Fabray?" he raised the shot glass to her in the gesture of a toast. Quinn certainly was in no mood for that. She went straight for him. Quinn wasn't a big girl, but she commanded presence when she was angry. Puck would have stepped back if he wasn't already leaning against the wall. All conversations in the room ceased.
"What did you do?" Her voice was cold with barely repressed anger. Puck's face fell. He immediately knew what she was talking about.
"She told you?"
For Quinn, that was as good an admission as any. She felt a tremor, white, hot and blinding, and before she knew what she was doing, she drew her arm back and administered a sharp blow to Puck's face. The slap rang out clear and loud. Puck took the slap passively. He felt like he deserved it.
"How could you?" She felt tears involuntarily pricking in her eyes. "You son of a bitch. What the hell were you thinking?"
"Quinn," he said delicately. "Listen-"
He tried to put a hand on her elbow. That only seemed to make her angrier. She jerked away, then returned with balled-up fists, beating them against Puck's head, chest and shoulders.
"You asshole," Quinn spat out. "You fucking asshole."
Puck was big and pretty strong, and Quinn wasn't, but he had to admit that her strikes hurt. He raised his hands, trying to shield himself as best he can, but he didn't try to stop her. Quinn only stopped when someone else forced her to. As she drew her hand back, she felt a hand tightly grab on to her wrist. She turned, ready to unleash her fury on the interferer, until she saw who it was.
"Stop," Rachel pleaded, keeping a firm grip on Quinn. "Quinn, it's not what you think. Please, just... just come with me." She had ran out of the room after Quinn after hastily pulling on a t-shirt and shorts. She didn't have time to dry off, and her damp clothes now clung tightly to the curves of her body. It was a view that the boys in the room (and let's face it, more than a couple of the girls) would have appreciated under different circumstances.
Quinn nodded numbly, and allowed herself to be led away, leaving Puck temporarily forgotten and under the scrutiny of their bewildered friends.
Rachel ushered Quinn back into their room. As soon as they were inside, Quinn turned to Rachel, gingerly taking a hold of the brunette's bruised arm. She examined it closely, delicately running her fingers over the discolored skin.
"We should get you some ice."
"It's fine," Rachel assured her. "You need to know that he didn't mean to do it. It was just a misunderstanding."
"I don't care," Quinn seethed. Rachel had no doubt that Quinn would turn around and go right back to assailing Puck if Rachel would only let her. And as much as Rachel didn't want that to happen, she had to admit that the thought of Quinn getting this worked up over her was... enticing.
"We had a silly fight, but we talked about it this morning, and he apologized. He felt terrible about it. We're okay now," Rachel explained. "Besides, while I appreciate the sentiment, I really don't need you to defend me. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
"But it's my fault," Quinn said miserably.
Rachel looked at her, mystified. "What are you talking about?"
"When he called you last night, I knew that he was up to something. I should have told you not to go, but I was being..." she trailed off. They both knew perfectly well how Quinn had been acting these past few days.
"Like I said. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
"But you take care of me." Quinn nervously bit at her bottom lip. She was still holding on to Rachel's arm. "You always take care of me."
"Yes, well... you're my friend," Rachel replied softly.
"But I haven't been a very good friend to you."
Rachel shrugged helplessly. "You're trying. I know you are."
Quinn drew a deep breath. "I need to try harder." She slid her hands down from Rachel's arm to her hand. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay."
"No, it's not. But I'm going to make it okay," Quinn said. "I want us to be friends again." It wasn't hard for Rachel to catch the implications of that. Friends. Just friends. Rachel forced down the lump building in her throat.
"Whatever you want," she managed to say. Quinn moved in and embraced her. After a brief moment of hesitation, Rachel reciprocated, encircling her arms around the blonde's waist. Quinn could smell the scent of soap and shampoo. She could feel the dampness of Rachel's clothes. She was suddenly acutely, painful aware of just how thin the layer of fabric was that separated her from Rachel's naked body. It was probably a good thing that she didn't get the opportunity to dwell on the thought. A knock at the door roused the girls from their intimate moment. Quinn opened the door, knowing exactly who she'd find. And sure enough, there was Puck in the doorway, his thumbs hooked in his pockets, a hangdog expression on his face.
"So I got beat up by a girl in Eureka Springs."
***
For once at breakfast, no one was crying, glowering, fighting or sulking. Puck gave everyone an abbreviated version of what had happened: he and Rachel had a fight, Rachel was inadvertently injured, Quinn gave him a deserved beating, but now all was well. They accepted the story without too many questions. After all, this was supposed to be a vacation and even these teenagers had a limit as to how much drama they could handle. They were just happy that Rachel and Quinn were friends again. The more time those two spent together, the less time they had to annoy everyone else.
Everything was peaceful.
Until lunchtime.
***
Fort Collins, CO
"I have to go home." Tina was standing at the end of the table, looking nervous and fidgety. Artie was next to her, holding her hand and trying to keep her calm. He had told her repeatedly that it would be all right, but she felt guilty nonetheless. "I just talked to my mom. She's starting to get mad. She wants me back right away."
A hushed pall fell over the group. They'd been expecting this. They'd been gone two weeks now. A few of them had similar conversations with their own parents with varying degrees of intensity. This moment had to come sooner or later. Rachel was, as always, prepared.
"I see," Rachel said calmly. "Is anyone else having problems with their parents?" With some hesitation, Mercedes raised her hand. Then Kurt. Then Matt. Rachel looked to the ones who didn't raise their hands. Mike shrugged. Puck nodded at her, but she already knew that he would stay. Her eyes landed on Brittany and Santana. Brittany seemed uncertain, so she did what she always did when she wasn't sure - she looked at Santana, leaving her to make the decision for both of them. Santana considered the situation. She glanced at Quinn, who was sitting demurely, staring down at her hands in her lap. She made up her mind.
"We can stay," Santana said firmly.
"This will work out well then," Rachel said. "Kurt, I know that it's a tight fit, but you can take Mercedes, Matt, Tina and Artie back to Lima. The rest of us-"
"Actually," Artie ventured. "I'd like to stay." His statement was regarded as a surprise by everyone except Tina. They had all assumed that Artie would go with Tina. But the two of them had discussed it, and they decided that one of them should be there for Quinn. After all, if it weren't for her, who knows how long it would have taken Artie to work up the courage to declare his feelings?
"Are you sure?" Rachel asked.
"Like you said," Artie answered, an easy smile on his face. "It's a tight fit, especially with all our luggage and this." He tapped the side of his wheelchair.
"You guys don't have to..." Quinn started weakly, but faltered. She tried again. "It's really not that bad..." It's really not that bad at home, she wanted to say. But she couldn't bring herself to say the words. God knows that Quinn's never had an aversion to lies, but this one hurt a little too much.
"What are you babbling on about?" Santana snapped at her.
"Seriously," Puck scoffed. "Life is sweet out here. What the hell is there to do in Lima?"
"I'm just here to have fun," Mike piped up.
"Don't delude yourself, Fabray," sneered Santana. "Nobody here cares about you that much."
As the tears welled in her eyes and all her friends found something else to focus on so that they could pretend like they didn't see, Quinn thought that she never loved them as much as she did right then.
***
Boulder, CO
Puck insisted that they now had to party twice as hard to make up for a third of the group being gone. Rachel tried to point out the mathematical and logical flaws of his statement, but he just shoved a shot of Jim Beam in her face.
An hour later, Rachel was in the bathroom with Quinn, but no bathtubs this time. Rachel was on the bathroom counter, sitting adjacent to the sink where Quinn was splashing water on her face. Through the walls, they heard Puck, Artie and Santana cheering as Mike and Brittany had their third dance-off of the night.
"Oh, god," Quinn moaned. "They never stop."
"Do you feel ill?" Rachel asked. "We can head back to the room if you'd like."
Quinn shook her head. "No, I just... I just get overwhelmed by people and noises sometimes when I drink."
Rachel chuckled. "That's become perfectly apparent to me."
"It's a good thing I have you to keep me company." Quinn stepped closer, casually placing her hand upon Rachel's leg. It was more friendly than suggestive, but nonetheless Rachel felt a pleasurable flutter in her lower half. She'll blame it on the alcohol for now. "You're a good friend, Rach."
"You're not so bad yourse-" Wait, there was something else she wanted to say. "Did you just call me Rach?"
It was a fairly simple question, but Quinn took a pause before answering.
"I guess I did. Is that bad?"
"No," Rachel answered with a faint smile. "I think I like it."
Quinn returned her smile. It felt like a good moment for a hug, so that's what she did, moving in until her arms were fully wrapped around Rachel's torso. Her chin rested on the brunette's shoulder. Last night Rachel had smelled of soap and shampoo, fresh and clean like something Quinn couldn't pollute if she had tried. Tonight, it was nothing so sterile; the scent was like shampoo or body spray and booze and sweat and skin and the road and grass on a sunny day and snow on Christmas night and the wind by the seashore and everything that was good and real. And suddenly Quinn felt it again, that feral tug of pure unadulterated want.
She pulled away. Not very far. Just enough so she can look Rachel in the eyes. She reached up to tuck an errant brown lock behind Rachel's ear, then her hand trailed down along her cheek, down to her jawline. It seemed as if everything in the world has stopped. Slowly but not hesitatingly, Quinn leaned in, and lightly pressed her closed lips against Rachel's. It was so soft that it barely felt like a kiss; more like a tickle or a brush. Rachel only sat there, not responding but not rejecting either. When Quinn pulled away again, the confusion was evident in Rachel's eyes.
"Why are you doing this?" Rachel's voice came out so small and hoarse that it didn't even sound like her anymore.
"I don't know," Quinn whispered. Then she drifted in again, and kissed Rachel once more, a little longer and with a bit more intensity. And this definitely felt like a kiss, chaste though it was. However tame, it left Rachel quivering when they parted.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked again. Quinn looked back at her. With her hazel eyes glistening and her voice a broken whisper, she said,
"I can't help myself." With that, her body began to tremble and the hot tears erupted, spilling over the brim and sliding down her cheeks.
Rachel did the only thing she could think of. She kissed Quinn, and slowly parted her lips until their tongues languorously met and melded in a slow waltz.
***
The next morning, it was as if nothing had ever happened.
Quinn wasn't distant. She wasn't absent. She was so effortlessly friendly to Rachel without a trace of awkwardness that Rachel started to wonder if she hadn't imagined the whole thing.
But then it happened again that night under almost the exact same circumstances, just at a different motel in a different town (Trinidad, CO). It became a nightly ritual. When everyone else has gotten too drunk to care or notice, Quinn would drag Rachel into the bathroom and the two of them would kiss until one or both of them became too tired to keep going. Then they would stagger back to their own room and pass out in bed together.
In the morning, Quinn wasn't distant, she wasn't absent, and it's just as if nothing had happened.
***
U.S. Route 87
"Punch buggy!"
"No, Brittany. Just... no."
***
Amarillo, TX
At the Big Texan Steak Ranch in Amarillo, Texas, they offered a challenge to anyone foolish enough to take it. A free meal was offered to anyone who could finish a dinner of a 72-ounce steak along with bread, baked potato, shrimp cocktail and salad within an hour.
"It just doesn't seem to be worth the $72.00," Rachel said disapprovingly.
"You're not a dude. You don't understand," Puck replied. "It's not about the money, Rachel." He, Mike and Brittany sat on a raised platform in the middle of the restaurant, ready to partake in this modern day freakshow. This whole venture had been Mike's idea, who had convinced them all to drive down to Amarillo specifically for this gut-busting, artery-clogging suicide-by-steak mission. Puck and Mike tried to get Artie to do it with them but fortunately, Artie had a brain.
"But I'm not a dude," Brittany said.
"You're a hot chick who thinks like a dude," Puck told her. "Which is better than a dude."
"I'm only saying that this appears to be a lot of time and effort that could used on better things," Rachel stated.
"Berry," Puck said dryly. "You separate your underwear by color and material."
"Organization is important!"
"Why do you know how Rachel sorts her underwear?" Santana asked Puck with some displeasure.
"We had a thing."
"For like two seconds," Santana huffed. "We dated for four months and you still don't know my dad's name."
"Four?" Quinn arched a brow. "I thought it was two."
"I'm counting other stuff."
"Oh, like the sexting stuff after you guys broke up while he was trying to get with me and you were with Brittany?"
"Can we not do this right now? I need to focus!" Puck barked nervously. He was eyeing the steak they were bringing out of the kitchen. All four-and-a-half pounds of it. "Oh, god." Puck looked a little pale. Mike looked positively giddy.
"I'll get the throw-up bucket ready for you," Quinn said cheerfully.
"I've made a huge mistake."
***
Brittany ate half of her steak before she started to look sick and Santana made her stop.
Puck ate his steak, but lost when he couldn't stomach the baked potato.
Mike finished everything and then asked what was for dessert.
For once, there was no drinking that night. Instead, they gathered in Puck's room, alternatively passing him the Pepto-Bismol and mocking him as he periodically dashed into the bathroom.
"I'm swearing off food forever!" Puck bellowed as he hovered over the toilet bowl.
"I could really go for a Kit Kat right now," Mike said.
"I saw them in the vending machine," Artie volunteered helpfully.
"Awesome. Hey, Puckerman, you want one?"
"Fuck you all!"
Quinn took a bottle of vodka and Rachel's hand; the two of them slipped out the room and back to their own. They drank a fifth of the bottle and made out in their bed that night.
Rachel's skin burned; she couldn't tell whether it was from the alcohol or Quinn, although she suspected that it was a combination of both. With every lap of Quinn's tongue against hers, she felt a slow burn incrementally gathering in her lower half. Her undulating hips sought contact with Quinn's, desperate to alleviate the maddening heat. Above her, Quinn moaned, bucking her hips downwards in kind. Rachel, who usually kept her hands politely at Quinn's waist and over the clothes, now felt emboldened to slip one hand underneath Quinn's shirt. With a guttural grunt, Quinn kissed her harder, tangling one hand in Rachel's hair to bring the brunette in closer. Rachel inched her hand up, cupping the swell of Quinn's breasts through her bra. As her thumb gazed over a hardened peak, Quinn pulled back with a startled gasp.
"What's wrong?" Rachel tried to restrain the tone of panic in her voice because she knew perfectly well what was wrong. Her hand retreated from Quinn's soft, inviting flesh and came to rest again on Quinn's waist, over the clothes. "Was that too much?"
Quinn nodded, a worried and anxious expression on her face.
"I can't."
Rachel nodded in understanding. But she still felt compelled to ask,
"Can't... ever?"
Quinn bit the bottom of her lip, her brows furrowed in puzzled concentration.
"Can't... now," she said slowly. "I think." Rachel nodded again.
"I understand."
Quinn's frown gave way to a relaxed smile as she brought her lips down against Rachel's once more. They made out until Rachel grew tired, and fell asleep in Quinn's arms, her head tucked beneath the blonde's chin.
The next morning, it was still as if nothing had happened.
***
Abilene, TX
"We need to help them."
"No, we don't."
"But S..."
"No, Brittany," Santana told her girlfriend firmly. "No." They were in the middle of a busy diner. The group had decided to split up for lunch when Rachel decided that she wanted to try sashimi in the middle of landlocked Texas.
"They're doing the same things that we were doing before," Brittany whined with a slight pout. "And aren't we happier now than before?"
"We're not them. We're nowhere as dysfunctional as they are."
"And don't you think that's like a cry for help?"
"Believe me, Quinn doesn't want our help."
Brittany made a sad face. "But I think they'd be so much happier if they could be like us and do girlfriend stuff."
Santana sighed. She hated seeing Brittany upset, but this was one whim that she couldn't indulge. She took the blonde's hand in hers.
"Sweetie, I know that you want everyone to be happy, but that's just not the way things work, okay? There are some things that you can't fix. Trust me when I say that no one can fix Quinn Fabray. She doesn't want to be saved; she wants to drown."
Brittany frowned. "But Quinn can swim. I've seen her."
Santana decided to try again. "I mean that I think Quinn's happier being unhappy."
The frown only deepened. "That doesn't make any sense."
"I know." Santana squeezed her hand lightly. "But that's Quinn."
"Santana?"
"Yeah, Brit?"
"I'm glad that you're happy being happy."
"Me too, Brit."
"I love you."
Santana smiled in response, and drew the blonde in for a kiss.
"I love you too," she muttered softly against Brittany's lips.
Artie leaned over the table and whispered to Mike.
"They do know that we're sitting right here? I mean, they can see us?"
"Shh." Mike's eyes were slightly glazed, transfixed at the kissing girls. "Don't ruin it."
***
Interstate 45
Rachel drove as Quinn rode shotgun; Brittany and Santana slept soundly in the backseat, Brittany's head against Santana's shoulder. Rachel and Quinn sang along to a familiar song playing on the radio, while Rachel tapped out the beat on the steering wheel. When the song ends, Quinn reached over and turned down the volume.
"I don't know if I like that song."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, he's singing about how much he wants this girl back, but he only wants her back because she's with someone else. There's also the line that goes, 'those pretty faces always made you stand out in a crowd.' It's like he's saying she's ugly. What is that?" Quinn huffed. "Also, Michael Jackson was like ten when he sang this song. That's creepy."
"I think it means that she's more than that to him," Rachel said, although she sounded a little uncertain. "The others are nothing but superficial distractions. Pure physical attraction isn't a sound basis for a relationship."
"But he still only wants her because someone else has her."
"I like to think that the other man is merely a catalyst. The song's protagonist would have inevitably realized his error," Rachel answered. "Sometimes it just takes a little push for someone to realize what they've been missing. It's a sweet apology. I think it's romantic."
Quinn arched a brow.
"You've fantasized about someone singing this to you, haven't you?"
Rachel colored slightly. "Maybe," she muttered.
"Are we talking about anyone in particular?"
Rachel glanced at Quinn out of the corner of her eye, then quickly turned her attention back on to the road.
"Like who?"
"Like Finn." There's an edge to Quinn's tone, masked dull and soft beneath a veil of feigned casualness. "You've thought about him singing this to you?"
Rachel contemplated her answer before replying. She could feel Quinn's gaze on her, heated and focused, which made it all the more difficult to think.
"Maybe. Once. A few times. A while ago," she responded carefully. "Although there were always some logical flaws in that arrangement seeing as how he never had me in the first place."
Quinn felt something squirming and twisting in the pit of her stomach, a stifling, prickling burn spreading through her body and crawling up the back of her throat. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and drew a deep breath to soothe the weight of it. Still, she couldn't help the words from spilling out:
"Why are you obsessed with him?"
"Why are you?"
"I'm not the one-"
"You keep bringing him up, Quinn. And I understand if you want to talk about him, but don't blame me for it," Rachel said calmly. "As far as I'm concerned, this car is a Finn-Free Zone."
Quinn was quiet. Then she said, "Okay."
"Okay," Rachel echoed.
"But I still think that it's creepy for a ten-year-old to sing that song."
Rachel laughed softly, and said, "I fully concur."
***
Huntsville, TX
Puck thought that it would be a fantastic idea to visit the Texas Prison Museum.
Brittany started crying when she saw the electric chair. Santana promptly insisted that they leave at once.
"But I didn't get to see the contraband exhibit," Puck complained. "They have some really bad-ass shivs." Brittany, who had earlier made the terrible mistake of asking Puck what a shiv was and what it was used for, cried even harder. Santana folded her arms across her chest. She was, to put it mildly, displeased.
"I have a proposal," she said icily. "All those in favor of banning Puck from making another suggestion again on this trip, raise your hands." Only Brittany raised her hand. Santana politely cleared her throat. "I said all those in favor, raise your god damn hands!"
The others all quickly raised their hands, including Puck.
"Then it's decided. No more suggestions from Puck," Santana dictated smoothly. "Now. We're all going to go get ice cream."
Brittany clapped her hands together and beamed, all traces of sadness gone.
***
Oklahoma City, OK
"How are we back in Oklahoma?" Artie asked. It was just the boys in their room that night.
"I think we drove," Mike deadpanned.
"But, I mean..." Artie frowned. "Does anyone else feel like we just drove around in a really big circle? We're only two hours from Tulsa."
"Leave it alone, Artie," Puck said lazily.
"But we were in Tulsa like a week ago," Artie persisted. "Or maybe that was two weeks ago." It was easy to lose track of time on the road.
"Who cares, dude?"
"I want to be there for Quinn, but... how long can we keep this up for? We have to go back to Lima at some point, right?"
"Look, you got a problem with being here, you can just wheel yourself back to Ohio," Puck snapped. "We don't need you." Artie shrunk back, and Puck felt a little bit bad, but not bad enough to show it.
"Easy," Mike intervened. "Artie's got a point."
"Just relax, all right? We got this."
"Who's we?" Mike asked. "You and Rachel?"
Puck certainly didn't want to answer that.
"Hey, you guys think I like this? I want to go back too. At least I can score in Lima. I'm horny as shit," he groused. Four girls, and NONE of them wanted to sleep with him. It was just fucked up. "Artie's the only one who's gotten laid on this trip."
"Speak for yourself," Mike mumbled under his breath.
"What?"
"Nothing," Mike said quickly. "Where are the girls tonight anyway?"
"Guess," Artie said dryly.
"Huh." Mike was contemplative. "You guys think it's weird that two-thirds of the girls in glee club are lesbians?"
"They're not lesbians!" Puck sounded oddly defensive. "And if they are, so what? It's nobody's fault." Mike and Artie stared at him. Then they figured it out.
"Oh, because you were with three of them," Artie said.
"Four," Puck muttered.
"Brittany?!" Artie and Mike exclaimed in unison.
"It was like at one party freshman year. We only made out. No big deal." Then he added, rather anxiously, "Don't tell Santana, okay?"
"Four for four." Artie sounded awed. "That has to be a record."
"Shut up," Puck growled.
"Don't feel bad." Mike patted Puck on the back like he was a little kid. "I'm sure it happens to a lot of guys. No one else that I know, but lots of guys, I'm sure."
"Shut up!"
"It's not your fault." Artie was genuinely trying to be helpful. "A lot of people experiment in high school, and with the number of girls you sleep with, statistically speaking-"
"SHUT UP!"
"You know that you can't convert them, right?" Mike teased. "It's a valiant effort, but that there is no man's land."
"Maybe he has a hidden feminine side," Artie suggested. "He was always gently graceful when he used to stuff me into portable toilets."
"I'll stuff your head into a toilet right now if you don't shut up!"
Artie just grinned in response to Puck's threat. Puck kind of missed the days when he could make people cower with only a glare.
"Maybe Puck's half-lesbian," Mike said.
"He does like wearing flannel."
"And I caught him listening to Melissa Etheridge once."
"And he has that pick-up truck."
"Dude," Mike now said to an increasingly agitated Puck. "You'd make an awesome lesbian."
"But not a pretty one," Artie added.
"Oh, god," Puck moaned. "Fuck you all."
***
Liberal, KS
"I wish I could kiss you good night."
"That's sweet."
And it was. The first eleven times she heard it. Now - as much as it made her feel guilty to admit - it was getting old. Talking on the phone with Finn had gotten harder, especially since now she and Quinn had developed the habit of drunkenly making out and then passing out together in bed. But Rachel still managed to schedule in "phone time" with Finn, or "video time" when she could get to Artie's laptop. She might not have tried so hard if he didn't call her so often. But he did, and she found it impossible not to reciprocate. She got the sense that Finn was lonely in Lima. So every night, when the girls headed over to Puck's room, Rachel always found some excuse to stay behind for half an hour or so, and she'd talk to Finn. If any of them suspected, no one said anything.
"So..." Finn said slowly. "What are you wearing?"
"My yellow and pink diamond pattern shirt and a black skirt," Rachel replied automatically. "Why?"
"I was just..." Finn coughed lightly. "I was just thinking about running my hand along your thigh... and um, uh, up that s- skirt."
"Oh," Rachel said, a little bewildered. "Okay. That sounds... lovely."
"Really?" Finn took her at face value, and his voice perked up. With a little more confidence now, he added, "I'm kissing you. And my hand is on, um, your... waist."
"Are you sure? You don't sound sure."
"My hand is on your waist," he said firmly. "I'm kissing your neck now. Sucking on it lightly. My hand's going inside your shirt."
"I don't know if we should do this."
"Why not?" Finn sounded a little hurt. "You're so far away, Rachel, and I... I miss you."
"But we've never done anything like this in person," Rachel tried to ignore how it made her feel when he said I miss you. "It feels weird to do this over the phone."
"Can't we try?" When Rachel didn't respond right away, Finn took a bold step. He mustered up all the courage he had, recalled all his sexual frustrations, channeled his inner Puck and added, "I get so turned on when I hear your voice. I'm already hard." He immediately felt embarrassed. But it was too late to take it back.
"Oh," Rachel answered, stunned. She felt awkward and uncomfortable, and yet, at the same time - and if she was being completely honest - more than a little turned on. It was all very confusing. So Rachel did what she did best when she was confused. She enumerated. She made up a quick mental list of the pros and cons of having phone sex with Finn.
Pro: She liked Finn.
Con: She really liked Quinn.
Pro: Nightly make-out sessions with Quinn has turned her into one gigantic hormonal mess.
Con: She had nightly make-out sessions with Quinn.
Pro: Rachel liked trying new things. She would be trying new things with Quinn if she thought that Quinn would let her. As it was, they never ventured beyond drunken kissing and light over-the-clothes groping.
Con: It didn't seem fair to make Finn the back-up.
Pro: Finn wasn't shy about wanting her whereas Quinn didn't even want to acknowledge what they did.
Con: She really liked Quinn.
Disturbed by the ongoing silence and terrified by the notion that Rachel was never going to speak to him again, Finn said hurriedly,
"I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from. We don't have to do any of this. I'm so sorry." He sounded eager for her approval - desperate for it. For Rachel Berry, who had spent the better part of last year trailing him like a lost puppy, it was a powerful, intoxicating feeling.
So after a moment's hesitation, she now said,
"Tell me again where your hands are."
He did. He told her more than that as her hand waded south.
Afterwards, she said goodbye to Finn and then lay in bed, feeling simultaneously sated and dissatisfied. Rachel wondered if this could be considered cheating, and if so, who exactly she was cheating on and who she was cheating with.
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