Fic: I Can't Do It Alone [15/?]
Title: I Can't Do It Alone
Author: rainbombz
Rating: R, NC-17, something of that nature.
Warnings: Character death (before and after the start of the story), drugs use, language, sex, perversion of justice - a bit angsty, if you couldn't tell.
Length: ~1100, this part; ~21000, total.
Spoilers: It may have spoilers in future chapters, to whatever the current episode may be at the time of posting. You can work that out. (:
Summary: All she knows is that she can't let Quinn go - not when she's certain that she's the only thing the Cheerio has to cling to.
A/N: This is a short chapter, but I might find the time to write another today.
Also, this is stressing me out - plural of 'Berry': Berrys or Berries?
Berries looks nicer, but I'm not certain you can change the spelling of someone's last name to suit your needs.
Helping Quinn is not as easy as Rachel had anticipated. Every time she tries to do something to rectify a part of the blonde’s life, she’s shot down quickly. Like this morning, where she casually suggested that Quinn miss out on her scheduled party (which the brunette thought was ridiculous anyway, on a Sunday night) only to have Quinn roll her eyes and tell her to butt out. How rude.
Finally, after her pout has been in place for a good twenty minutes, Quinn says, “Okay, what’s wrong?” She’s been trying to concentrate on the movie they’re watching in the Berry living room, but every time she glances over to see Rachel gazing at her like a wounded puppy it becomes a little difficult to divert her attention anywhere but the brunette. Rachel just sniffs, and tosses her head, which makes Quinn roll her eyes for what had to be the millionth time in diva’s company. “Seriously, Berry. What’s wrong?”
“You won’t let me help you.” The second the words are out of her mouth, Rachel feels petty and immature in her thinking. ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day,’ she hears her father say in her ear and suddenly the phrase takes on a whole new meaning in the star’s head.
To her surprise, the cheerleader laughs and her pout deepens further. “Berry, this,” she says, quickly grasping the other girl’s hand and lifting it up between them, “helps. I just need you to be you, okay?”
Rachel doesn’t understand how anything but her carefully laid out plans that she has detailed on multiple sheets of lined A4 could possibly help, but she nods anyway. Both girls turn their attention back to the movie, and Rachel notes that Quinn has yet to let go of her hand. It’s a few minutes before either of them move, and even then it’s just the blonde carefully slipping her fingers through her new-found friend’s and locking them in place.
Just five minutes after the end of the movie, Rachel’s two fathers come back from their day of shopping and sneak their way into the living room to where Rachel and Quinn are sitting, snuggled against one another: TV off, neither of the girls talking. Two sets of eyebrows raise in sync as the parents take in the clasped hands and the gentle smiles that adorn both girls’ faces. A grin plays on the lips of both men, and they exchange twinkle-eyed glances. Maybe their dreams of taking their daughter to her first pride parade aren’t shattered.
They don’t know much about Quinn Fabray, really. They know that she goes to school with their daughter, and that Rachel is quite taken with her. That is pretty much the extent of their knowledge.
They think that they can see all they need to in the careful way the blonde handles their high maintenance daughter, in the looks that they’re both certain that neither of the girls are aware they’re sharing, in the fact that there have been two Saturdays nights of the past three that Rachel hasn’t gone out to get wasted at some club. They think that Quinn’s responsible for this. They think Quinn has a good head on her shoulders. Rachel doesn’t think it would be prudent to correct them.
The teenagers jump at the quiet clearing of throats that announces the fathers’ presence. Quinn, Sam notices with a smile, tries to jump to the other side of the sofa respectfully, only to have Rachel grip her arm that little bit tighter and pull her in that little bit closer. Initially, the blonde looks annoyed - but as soon as a small hand runs soothingly up and down the length of her arm, it gives way into that charming smile that the three Berries have grown used to seeing.
“So, what are you guys up to?” Frank says amiably, in an attempt to rid the silence that is clearly making their daughter’s friend uncomfortable.
“Well, we were watching a movie,” Rachel answers back, fingers linking with Quinn’s instinctually as she does so. “Now, well…” She looks to the cheerleader, the question of whether or not the other girl is staying any longer written clearly on her features.
Quinn grins back at her, then turns to the two men, “American Idol’s on at eight.”
Rachel’s so ecstatic that her crush is staying, she doesn’t even complain at the blatant display of mainstream commercialism conducted by incompetent performers who should really just try making it for themselves (like a true star would) that the blonde seems to think they will be watching. As if it were necessary, this cements her parents’ theory. The star has it bad for this girl if she’s willing to sit through an hour of “results” of which only two minutes would actually be results. The last time they had watched it together, Rachel had made a comment every other minute and eventually drove her parents to the point where they had to tell her to go upstairs so that they could watch “the myriad of third-rate performers” in peace. Sam rolls his eyes subtly. The things people will do for love.
After one of Sam’s delicious dinners, which he insisted Quinn join them for, the four head back to the living room and take care arranging themselves around the television. Finally they come to the comfortable conclusion of having the two oldest on the sofa, their daughter beside them and Quinn sitting cross-legged on the floor with her head tilted back into Rachel’s lap while the other girl’s tiny fingers stroke through the blonde hair cascading across the seat. Rachel had objected to this at first, adamant that as a guest Quinn should really take the most comfortable option.
“I am,” the cheerleader had assured her earnestly, earning herself a heart-warming smile from the diva. If Rachel hadn’t been falling in love with Quinn before, she was pretty sure those two words would have sent her sprawling anyway.
As the ending credits roll, Quinn tilts her head back to look up at Rachel, who had stopped her running commentary at the second pinch from the blonde, to find the star staring back. Quinn gets the feeling that she wasn’t the only one who stopped paying attention after the second break. She had instead revelled in the feeling of Rachel’s hands in her hair, before letting her thoughts wander to the Berry household. She liked it, she decided. She liked that her friend’s parents did judge her the way Mr and Mrs Lopez did; she liked the welcoming, home-y feel and the smell of baking that had wafted through the house both times she visited - mostly, she liked that it was Rachel she was with.
She doesn’t understand how someone who she has spent so long torturing could possibly be so open and caring with her. She doesn’t understand how she could be welcome in this house after slushie facials and insults and teenage pregnancies. She isn’t welcome in her own home - but she’s welcome in the Berries, and she thinks that’s good enough.
Author: rainbombz
Rating: R, NC-17, something of that nature.
Warnings: Character death (before and after the start of the story), drugs use, language, sex, perversion of justice - a bit angsty, if you couldn't tell.
Length: ~1100, this part; ~21000, total.
Spoilers: It may have spoilers in future chapters, to whatever the current episode may be at the time of posting. You can work that out. (:
Summary: All she knows is that she can't let Quinn go - not when she's certain that she's the only thing the Cheerio has to cling to.
A/N: This is a short chapter, but I might find the time to write another today.
Also, this is stressing me out - plural of 'Berry': Berrys or Berries?
Berries looks nicer, but I'm not certain you can change the spelling of someone's last name to suit your needs.
Helping Quinn is not as easy as Rachel had anticipated. Every time she tries to do something to rectify a part of the blonde’s life, she’s shot down quickly. Like this morning, where she casually suggested that Quinn miss out on her scheduled party (which the brunette thought was ridiculous anyway, on a Sunday night) only to have Quinn roll her eyes and tell her to butt out. How rude.
Finally, after her pout has been in place for a good twenty minutes, Quinn says, “Okay, what’s wrong?” She’s been trying to concentrate on the movie they’re watching in the Berry living room, but every time she glances over to see Rachel gazing at her like a wounded puppy it becomes a little difficult to divert her attention anywhere but the brunette. Rachel just sniffs, and tosses her head, which makes Quinn roll her eyes for what had to be the millionth time in diva’s company. “Seriously, Berry. What’s wrong?”
“You won’t let me help you.” The second the words are out of her mouth, Rachel feels petty and immature in her thinking. ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day,’ she hears her father say in her ear and suddenly the phrase takes on a whole new meaning in the star’s head.
To her surprise, the cheerleader laughs and her pout deepens further. “Berry, this,” she says, quickly grasping the other girl’s hand and lifting it up between them, “helps. I just need you to be you, okay?”
Rachel doesn’t understand how anything but her carefully laid out plans that she has detailed on multiple sheets of lined A4 could possibly help, but she nods anyway. Both girls turn their attention back to the movie, and Rachel notes that Quinn has yet to let go of her hand. It’s a few minutes before either of them move, and even then it’s just the blonde carefully slipping her fingers through her new-found friend’s and locking them in place.
Just five minutes after the end of the movie, Rachel’s two fathers come back from their day of shopping and sneak their way into the living room to where Rachel and Quinn are sitting, snuggled against one another: TV off, neither of the girls talking. Two sets of eyebrows raise in sync as the parents take in the clasped hands and the gentle smiles that adorn both girls’ faces. A grin plays on the lips of both men, and they exchange twinkle-eyed glances. Maybe their dreams of taking their daughter to her first pride parade aren’t shattered.
They don’t know much about Quinn Fabray, really. They know that she goes to school with their daughter, and that Rachel is quite taken with her. That is pretty much the extent of their knowledge.
They think that they can see all they need to in the careful way the blonde handles their high maintenance daughter, in the looks that they’re both certain that neither of the girls are aware they’re sharing, in the fact that there have been two Saturdays nights of the past three that Rachel hasn’t gone out to get wasted at some club. They think that Quinn’s responsible for this. They think Quinn has a good head on her shoulders. Rachel doesn’t think it would be prudent to correct them.
The teenagers jump at the quiet clearing of throats that announces the fathers’ presence. Quinn, Sam notices with a smile, tries to jump to the other side of the sofa respectfully, only to have Rachel grip her arm that little bit tighter and pull her in that little bit closer. Initially, the blonde looks annoyed - but as soon as a small hand runs soothingly up and down the length of her arm, it gives way into that charming smile that the three Berries have grown used to seeing.
“So, what are you guys up to?” Frank says amiably, in an attempt to rid the silence that is clearly making their daughter’s friend uncomfortable.
“Well, we were watching a movie,” Rachel answers back, fingers linking with Quinn’s instinctually as she does so. “Now, well…” She looks to the cheerleader, the question of whether or not the other girl is staying any longer written clearly on her features.
Quinn grins back at her, then turns to the two men, “American Idol’s on at eight.”
Rachel’s so ecstatic that her crush is staying, she doesn’t even complain at the blatant display of mainstream commercialism conducted by incompetent performers who should really just try making it for themselves (like a true star would) that the blonde seems to think they will be watching. As if it were necessary, this cements her parents’ theory. The star has it bad for this girl if she’s willing to sit through an hour of “results” of which only two minutes would actually be results. The last time they had watched it together, Rachel had made a comment every other minute and eventually drove her parents to the point where they had to tell her to go upstairs so that they could watch “the myriad of third-rate performers” in peace. Sam rolls his eyes subtly. The things people will do for love.
After one of Sam’s delicious dinners, which he insisted Quinn join them for, the four head back to the living room and take care arranging themselves around the television. Finally they come to the comfortable conclusion of having the two oldest on the sofa, their daughter beside them and Quinn sitting cross-legged on the floor with her head tilted back into Rachel’s lap while the other girl’s tiny fingers stroke through the blonde hair cascading across the seat. Rachel had objected to this at first, adamant that as a guest Quinn should really take the most comfortable option.
“I am,” the cheerleader had assured her earnestly, earning herself a heart-warming smile from the diva. If Rachel hadn’t been falling in love with Quinn before, she was pretty sure those two words would have sent her sprawling anyway.
As the ending credits roll, Quinn tilts her head back to look up at Rachel, who had stopped her running commentary at the second pinch from the blonde, to find the star staring back. Quinn gets the feeling that she wasn’t the only one who stopped paying attention after the second break. She had instead revelled in the feeling of Rachel’s hands in her hair, before letting her thoughts wander to the Berry household. She liked it, she decided. She liked that her friend’s parents did judge her the way Mr and Mrs Lopez did; she liked the welcoming, home-y feel and the smell of baking that had wafted through the house both times she visited - mostly, she liked that it was Rachel she was with.
She doesn’t understand how someone who she has spent so long torturing could possibly be so open and caring with her. She doesn’t understand how she could be welcome in this house after slushie facials and insults and teenage pregnancies. She isn’t welcome in her own home - but she’s welcome in the Berries, and she thinks that’s good enough.