Back to a different start
Wrote some Faberry, which was always inevitable, really. Based on one second of S3 footage.
--The hand touched, and then spread gently, until the palm filled the gap, the stretch of skin between the bottom of her top and the top of her shorts. Rachel breathed out slowly, and imagined the shape the movement would make on the surface of the thin sheet above them, eyes pressed firmly closed. Quinn’s heart is pounding right next to her ear, almost deafening in the silence. Rachel breathes, and breaths again, until the incremental tightening of the Quinn’s palm teeters just beneath painful, and then the final breath contains a name.
‘Quinn.’
Quinn is above her, somewhere, voice quiet.
‘I think you forget, sometimes. How much I used to dislike you.’
The words lodge for a moment, and Rachel delays by moving, until her fingers hover, and press a brief touch to Quinn’s knuckles.
‘I think you forget too, sometimes.’
Quinn’s exhale is shaky, and when Rachel opens her eyes she is right there, gaze watery and personal. Rachel looks away instinctively, lifting her finger tips.
‘I’m sorry.’
The finger at her hip quiver slightly, and Rachel fights not to react. Quinn stays quiet.
Eventually. ‘I know.’
Rachel nods once, and then Quinn kisses her.
It’s Nationals tomorrow. Their last shot. They have to sleep.
She kisses her back.
--
Back. To a different start.
--
Things that go with pink;
Stationary, soft toys, pigtails, highlighters for key vocabulary, bubblegum, ice-cream, lipgloss for girls younger than her.
Things that shouldn’t go with pink, but work surprisingly well;
Black. Eyeliner. Big boots. Quinn’s eyes, and lips, and face.
Things that definitely don’t go with pink;
Rachel.
--
It’ll be a while before she gets used to it, she imagines.
Nothing wrong with it.
--
Sectionals nearly don’t work, because when Quinn eventually decides she wants to rejoin Glee club, it is in the most half hearted manner imaginable, and it is exhausting, honestly, trying to not explode and yell at her.
Quinn has this brand new habit of grinning whilst she rolls her eyes at Rachel, and fine, it is a bit gentler than when Rachel only got an eye roll, but at least back then Rachel could just imagine it was because of Quinn’s irrational hatred of her, and work with the emotional response it produced, each time Quinn tried to belittle her.
But amusing Quinn doesn’t create quite the same reaction, and just leaves her feeling small and stupid.
--
They win Sectionals. Only Rachel seems bothered that they scraped through, rather annihilating the competition.
She finds Quinn afterwards.
‘What on earth is wrong with you? Do you not care about the choreography, or something?’
Quinn glances up from her phone.
‘It’s a singing competition, Berry. Also, we won, so, no, not much.’
Rachel lowers her voice, whispering sharply to avoid drawing attention.
‘If you came to practice more often, maybe you could sing and dance at the same time.’
Quinn says nothing for a moment, and then raises her phone abruptly. Rachel hears the shutter click before she can react.
‘Umm, what...’
‘Just wanted a record of what Rachel Berry’s ‘delighted to have won’ face looks like.’
Rachel frowns, and then glares.
‘What’s happened to you?’
Quinn shrugs, tucking her phone away.
‘Just, concentrate on yourself, why don’t you? You sing at the front, I’ll twirl at the back. And you can pretend I’m not there.’
It is impossibly frustrating, watching Quinn walk away and knowing she would have no idea what to say in retort if they replayed the
moment a hundred times.
--
The pink hair disappears about three weeks into the new term.
‘Thank goodness’, Kurt murmurs next to her, inspecting the toes of his shoes to avoid making it clear he was talking about Quinn. ‘I was concerned she was going to grow it out, and not even Quinn’s bone structure could support that kind of misjudgement.’
Rachel doesn’t know what difference it would make.
--
She misses it.
That is, she preferred it when Quinn had pink hair.
--
Miss Sylvester calls Quinn Q again, in an overheard conversation that Rachel couldn’t avoid hearing, in the first week back. Quinn says
something about being busy, and Miss Sylvester says something obnoxious about Ouija boards and the dark arts not being enough to keep the pounds off before making an exit, and honestly, Rachel doesn’t know how any of the Cheerios survive with their souls intact.
She’s taken five steps over without thinking.
‘You don’t need to. Keep pounds off, I mean. You look great. A testament to women struggling to regain their figure after giving birth.’
Quinn raises an eyebrow at her, and wow, since when did Rachel hate it when Quinn did that?
‘Okay. Miss Sylvester’s just trying to get me to rejoin the squad. I’m not going to have a nervous breakdown.’
Rachel nods hurriedly, trying not to look at the black nail varnish because then she’d be forced to question whether Quinn hasn’t already had one.
‘You could rejoin Glee, maybe? People miss you.’
‘Who?’
Rachel frowns before answering, but can’t avoid the hesitation.
‘Brittany? ...Mercedes. Umm.’
Quinn opens her locker, almost into Rachel’s face, forcing her to take a step backwards.
‘Well. Seeing as I’m such an integral part, I’ll consider it.’
Rachel opens her mouth to... she doesn’t know what, but then she realises that Quinn is being gently sarcastic, which is so alien it confuses her momentarily. The corner of Quinn’s mouth quirks slightly, like she is going to say something more, but then she just nods at Rachel, and walks away.
--
The first session after Sectionals, Quinn had taken a seat on the front row in the practice room.
--
The first session after Rachel certainly hadn’t accused Quinn of having a nervous breakdown, Quinn had traipsed into the practice room with sunglasses perched on top of her head.
It isn’t Rachel’s fault Quinn always sits at the back. Or, she thinks furiously, twisting in her seat briefly to get a better look, spends much of the session reading a book. Integral status is earnt, surely?
--
It’s hard to follow what order things happened in. All Rachel knows is now it is New York, and Nationals are tomorrow, and she should be asleep, and certainly not being pressed into the mattress by Quinn shifting her body on top of hers.
--
Quinn stops wearing black at the same time she dyes her hair back. Rachel worries this means she’ll revert back to her old personality, because although she appreciated the fluctuating, occasional arch-nemesis dynamic she and Quinn had going on, this different Quinn seems happier.
The switch doesn’t happen. Rachel doesn’t know why she’s relieved, but relief is a positive emotion, so, fine. Relief all round.
--
After Sectionals, Rachel waits for the stolen photo of her (probably with her mouth open, looking vaguely cross eyed, because anger never looks good on her features) to be posted on Facebook.
She spends a number of hours in bed imagining the caption Quinn will put underneath it, hands twisting in her duvet out of nerves (habit).
It doesn’t appear.
--
Finn remains tall.
Rachel mentions this to Blaine, briefly, because they’re discussing what it is like to be in an adult, stable relationship. And that’s what she and Finn are. Stable.
‘Honestly, I’m so lucky that the biggest problem in our entire relationship is his height. I get a cricked neck if we make out for too long
whilst he’s standing up.’
Blaine coughs quickly, but then nods.
‘Yeah, it is quite a height difference.’
Rachel nods, and runs a hand through her hair, glancing at the door again to see if football practice has finished yet. Nothing. She glances back at the band, who are messing with the cymbals or something, and continues.
‘I’m thinking about asking Finn to carry around a foldaway stool with him. In case. It’ll be a while before I can afford to hire a chiropractor.’
Blaine looks like he’s going to say something supportive, but is interrupted by Quinn’s snort of laughter.
Rachel turns to glare at Quinn, but she’s got her eyes firmly glued to her book, blonde hair doing just enough to cover her expression.
However, after a second or two of inspection Quinn’s shoulders shake once, and then twice, with repressed laughter.
Blaine nudges her.
‘Ignore her. A stool sounds a very sensible precaution.’
Rachel nods vaguely, glancing at the door again and falling quiet.
When she looks around at Quinn the next time, Quinn catches her eye, and presses her lips together, before smiling softly and looking away.
--
Rachel’s angry with her, clearly. Because she was being mocked.
But then she thinks about that smile, and then she isn’t so sure.
--
Regionals come quickly.
Quinn stops her after practice with a couple of weeks to go, one night.
‘You sang that well.’
Rachel doesn’t really know what to say, so instead just remains grateful she didn’t burst into tears with gratitude. (Honestly, what is wrong with her these days?)
Quinn frowns at her after a moment.
‘Right. Well, bye.’
--
She misses the pink hair.
She finds a photo, on Facebook, that night after school. Quinn isn’t looking at the camera, and she’s hardly central in the frame at all. This is probably because Puck took it, and Quinn looks like she is about to flip him off. He’s added underneath pink lady - tastes better than the apple. Rachel understands why Quinn has untagged herself.
She stares at the photo for a minute, before closing the tab too quickly when she hears Finn coming up the stairs.
He does have a pretty distinctive gait.
--
Three days later, she sends Quinn a text that will probably make her look crazy.
Thanks, by the way. You sang really well too.
She gets a response at close to midnight.
Thanks. My twirling is improving, huh?
Rachel wants to reply, but decides she should be asleep.
--
Quinn rejoins the Cheerios after Brittany asks her to, two weeks into the school year.
‘The pyramid is kind of wobbly, and even though Santana asked me not to ask you, you’re one of the best at being pointy. We need more
cute angels.’
‘Acute angles.’
‘Don’t, singular nouns make my teeth hurt.’
Kurt reaches over, and grips the top of her knee, which Rachel now knows is a sign that he is trying not to laugh. Rachel coughs hurriedly, but gets away with it.
--
Quinn doesn’t wear her Cheerio’s outfit unless she’s on the practice field.
Rachel can’t stop panicking that Miss Sylvester will kidnap her and superglue the outfit onto her, but after extensive reading of the school handbook and the Cheerio’s manual that Brittany gave her in exchange for a yoyo for her cat, she discovers there’s nothing in writing that says Quinn has to wear it all the time.
She delivers this news by the lockers, fresh on Monday morning. Quinn frowns at her.
‘That’s good?’
Rachel waves a hand at Quinn.
‘So now you can continue to embrace your new wardrobe freedom reassured that any assault Miss Sylvester makes will be an inappropriate act and contravene McKinley school policy on club membership.’
Quinn looks away over her shoulder, and opens her mouth to say something, before closing it just as quickly. Instead she hoists her bag higher on her shoulder, and glances once.
‘Thanks Rachel.’
--
She sends another text.
Your twirling has definitely improved! We’d never win without you!
Well, let me know if you need tips.
Blushing is a very unusual response.
--
On the bus ride to Regionals, Rachel ends up sitting next to Quinn.
Or rather, she was sitting here, and Finn was sitting at the back talking about killing snipers, and then Quinn sat next to her.
After five minutes she manages to squeak out ‘A lovely day, isn’t it?’
Quinn purses her lips while rooting in her bag, and digs out her earphones. Then she glances once at Rachel and rolls her eyes, before tapping her phone once to start the music.
Fine. Rachel stares out of the window until it starts raining.
After half an hour, she checks her phone out of bordom.
Quinn’s sent her a photo of a baby alligator. Attached is the message sorry. Woke up in a crappy mood. Nice day, sure.
Rachel wonders whether Quinn has deliberately taken to speaking in code to her, or if she is just being stupid.
--
They win Regionals.
--
The night before Regionals, instead of being asleep, Rachel’s staring at Puck’s photo again, and wondering whether anyone else might have taken a photo of Quinn when she had pink hair.
--
After Regionals, Santana has a party, and hasn’t Rachel come far, being invited to one of Santana Lopez’ parties? She’s oddly proud.
Guitar Hero nullifies most of the boys, (and Tina, surprisingly) leaving Rachel with time to really get to know this frankly delicious looking bowl of punch.
--
‘I miss it. Your hair.’
Quinn looks at her.
‘I still have hair.’
‘No, your other hair.’
‘What?’
‘Pink. I miss it.’
‘My mother doesn’t.’
‘Pffftft.’ Rachel decides that eloquence is over-rated. To the point!
‘Dye it back.’
‘Why?’
‘I want it.’
‘Maybe.’
That’s not enough, and Rachel’s about to protest, but then Quinn removes the drink from her hand and hey, good bone structure is not
enough to excuse petty theft, and she’s about to tell Quinn this, but then she falls over the sofa.
--
She wakes up with a text that says If we win Nationals.
Rachel can’t remember what ‘if’ signifies, but the possibility sounds good.
--
Nationals are tomorrow.
Quinn shushes her even though Rachel is certain she didn’t say anything out loud, and kisses the spot where Rachel’s neck meets her collar bone, and then bites once. Rachel almost doesn’t notice the noise she makes when Quinn runs her tongue over the throb, and sucks.
--
Mr Schue pairs them up for a project.
Rachel understands that he believes this’ll be some bonding exercise. Which is ridiculous, her and Quinn get on fine. They just don’t need to interact much.
‘Nationals in two weeks guys. We need to be a tight unit! Get to know each other. Any song, just figure out how to make it work.’
Finn’s paired up with Tina.
‘Rach! What do I... I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to Tina.’
Maybe Mr Schue has a point.
--
It isn’t weird. They have to discuss song selection. It is necessary for there to be impromptu practice sessions.
Mrs Fabray is kind of scary.
Quinn beckons her up from the top of the stairs.
‘This is unexpected.’
Rachel’s got this covered.
‘I felt that seeing as Mr Schue believes there is some awkward tension between us, which is clearly not the case, then maybe we are displaying that at school, which lead me to believe that the school environment is maybe not the healthiest one with us, what with all the history we have on those corridors, so I deemed a quick visit outside of school to be the best route to us starting to dispel any lingering... awkwardity.’
Awkwardity?
Quinn raises an eyebrow at her, and... huh.
‘Okay, then, let me go get a drink. You want anything?’
Rachel shakes her head a couple of times, and is left in Quinn’s room. Quinn’s room.
She doesn’t know what she imagined, but there isn’t anything too surprising. Desk, wardrobe, bed, mirror, laptop, noticeboard, which....
She steps closer. There’s a photo, and a note underneath.
Part of Rachel is oddly satisfied that she had correctly predicted that she would look slightly cross-eyed in the photo Quinn had stolen after
Sectionals. The rest of her is focused on the note.
Try harder.
Rachel almost jumps out of her skin when Quinn bumps the door open again with her hip, one hand holding water and the other a bottle of juice, which she passes to Rachel. She smiles,
‘Just in case you needed something.’
Rachel has to go.
‘I have to go.’
Quinn opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Rachel feels herself getting redder and redder under Quinn’s stare, until her eyes flicker towards the noticeboard and she can’t excuse it.
‘I...my dad just...I’m sorry. I have to go.’
--
Their duet is a disaster.
--
After Sectionals, Quinn had smiled at her in the corridor, and Rachel had worried if she had something on her face.
After Regionals, Quinn had smiled at her in the corridor, and Rachel had felt like her chest was going to explode.
The week before Nationals, Quinn doesn’t look at Rachel at all.
--
She dumps Finn.
‘It’s for the best. We both know it. We’re going in different directions. I’m sorry.’
It is the essence of what she wants to say. But Finn keeps interrupting her and talking about trying harder, and it unwinds into an elaborate process that the whole club ends up being witness to, because he yells at her from across the room and then cries, and, god, she feels awful.
--
New York. The Big Apple.
Rachel doesn’t think about Pink Ladies. She puts her Nationals set list on repeat, and tries to sleep on the plane.
--
There’s a party, that she doesn’t particularly want to participate in. The fact that it is happening on the other side of the wall is annoying, but she’ll just have to deal with it.
The boys are with Finn, clearly, and Brittany’s in there, which means Santana’s in there, and Rachel’s fine with the fact that everyone is in there, actually, because as lead performer she needs her sleep. Their hopes rest on her shoulders tomorrow, so if they all want to party that’s fine, as long as she sleeps.
She is not going to cry.
She does, anyway.
--
Quinn sits on the bed next to her.
‘Here. I got you a sandwich. You haven’t eaten much.’
Rachel unwraps it silently, and pulls at a corner of it.
‘Thanks.’
They’re silent for a while, until someone crashes into the wall next to them with a thud, and it makes Quinn snort.
‘You know, this time last year it was me crying.’
Rachel hums, and swallows.
‘Why?’
Quinn shrugs. ‘Finn had taken you out to dinner.’
Rachel eats the rest of her sandwich in silence. Quinn reaches into her bag when she’s finished, and fishes out a bottle of juice, which nearly makes Rachel bite through her lip. Quinn smiles gently when she takes it.
The music next door only seems to get louder.
--
‘Quinn?’
She looks like an idiot, standing here in her sleep clothes, one knee on the bed. But she’s holding the duvet up and knows what she wants to say, but the words aren’t coming and since when has she been short of words?
Quinn waits a moment, and comes over anyway, so that when Rachel slides in Quinn follows, until their knees are touching and Rachel
needs the light to be turned off so that she can stop trying to not look at Quinn.
It’s too small this bed, for them to sleep comfortably. It’d be so much easier if they could just touch each other.
She’s right there.
--
It’s sort of like losing your mind, Rachel decides, fisting a hand in Quinn’s hair. Choosing something like this.
She never knows where she stands, and Quinn is impossibly cryptic sometimes, and Rachel’s pretty sure Quinn finds her annoying for ninety percent of the time but...
Quinn’s hands smooth across her stomach, and Rachel’s gasping, pulling Quinn in so tight she’s worried it’ll never be enough.
--
They place second.
--
‘Good enough?’
Quinn leans on the wall next to her, in the dark corner she’d retreated into, and watches Puck and Mercedes dance. Rachel frowns briefly at her, questioning.
‘Good enough, for you, I mean?’
Rachel still isn’t certain what she means, and feels a blush starting. Quinn bites her lip and looks away, hiding a smile.
‘Placing second, I meant. Not... oh, whatever.’
Rachel reaches out a hand, touches before Quinn can leave.
‘No, hey, second out of everyone in the whole country is pretty good. My ego isn’t too damaged.’
Quinn resettles, slightly closer this time, so Rachel decides to risk it.
‘Besides, I always have the thought that we’d have performed better maybe, had I not been suffering from a severe lack of sleep.’
Quinn looks down at her shoes.
‘So it is my fault, is what you’re saying.’
Rachel decides she doesn’t care. Second is good. She wouldn’t swap.
She presses Quinn into the wall and kisses her, hands bunching in the sides of Quinn’s top. She kisses until Quinn kisses back.
--
Quinn dyes her hair pink again, that summer.
It’s a good summer.
--The hand touched, and then spread gently, until the palm filled the gap, the stretch of skin between the bottom of her top and the top of her shorts. Rachel breathed out slowly, and imagined the shape the movement would make on the surface of the thin sheet above them, eyes pressed firmly closed. Quinn’s heart is pounding right next to her ear, almost deafening in the silence. Rachel breathes, and breaths again, until the incremental tightening of the Quinn’s palm teeters just beneath painful, and then the final breath contains a name.
‘Quinn.’
Quinn is above her, somewhere, voice quiet.
‘I think you forget, sometimes. How much I used to dislike you.’
The words lodge for a moment, and Rachel delays by moving, until her fingers hover, and press a brief touch to Quinn’s knuckles.
‘I think you forget too, sometimes.’
Quinn’s exhale is shaky, and when Rachel opens her eyes she is right there, gaze watery and personal. Rachel looks away instinctively, lifting her finger tips.
‘I’m sorry.’
The finger at her hip quiver slightly, and Rachel fights not to react. Quinn stays quiet.
Eventually. ‘I know.’
Rachel nods once, and then Quinn kisses her.
It’s Nationals tomorrow. Their last shot. They have to sleep.
She kisses her back.
--
Back. To a different start.
--
Things that go with pink;
Stationary, soft toys, pigtails, highlighters for key vocabulary, bubblegum, ice-cream, lipgloss for girls younger than her.
Things that shouldn’t go with pink, but work surprisingly well;
Black. Eyeliner. Big boots. Quinn’s eyes, and lips, and face.
Things that definitely don’t go with pink;
Rachel.
--
It’ll be a while before she gets used to it, she imagines.
Nothing wrong with it.
--
Sectionals nearly don’t work, because when Quinn eventually decides she wants to rejoin Glee club, it is in the most half hearted manner imaginable, and it is exhausting, honestly, trying to not explode and yell at her.
Quinn has this brand new habit of grinning whilst she rolls her eyes at Rachel, and fine, it is a bit gentler than when Rachel only got an eye roll, but at least back then Rachel could just imagine it was because of Quinn’s irrational hatred of her, and work with the emotional response it produced, each time Quinn tried to belittle her.
But amusing Quinn doesn’t create quite the same reaction, and just leaves her feeling small and stupid.
--
They win Sectionals. Only Rachel seems bothered that they scraped through, rather annihilating the competition.
She finds Quinn afterwards.
‘What on earth is wrong with you? Do you not care about the choreography, or something?’
Quinn glances up from her phone.
‘It’s a singing competition, Berry. Also, we won, so, no, not much.’
Rachel lowers her voice, whispering sharply to avoid drawing attention.
‘If you came to practice more often, maybe you could sing and dance at the same time.’
Quinn says nothing for a moment, and then raises her phone abruptly. Rachel hears the shutter click before she can react.
‘Umm, what...’
‘Just wanted a record of what Rachel Berry’s ‘delighted to have won’ face looks like.’
Rachel frowns, and then glares.
‘What’s happened to you?’
Quinn shrugs, tucking her phone away.
‘Just, concentrate on yourself, why don’t you? You sing at the front, I’ll twirl at the back. And you can pretend I’m not there.’
It is impossibly frustrating, watching Quinn walk away and knowing she would have no idea what to say in retort if they replayed the
moment a hundred times.
--
The pink hair disappears about three weeks into the new term.
‘Thank goodness’, Kurt murmurs next to her, inspecting the toes of his shoes to avoid making it clear he was talking about Quinn. ‘I was concerned she was going to grow it out, and not even Quinn’s bone structure could support that kind of misjudgement.’
Rachel doesn’t know what difference it would make.
--
She misses it.
That is, she preferred it when Quinn had pink hair.
--
Miss Sylvester calls Quinn Q again, in an overheard conversation that Rachel couldn’t avoid hearing, in the first week back. Quinn says
something about being busy, and Miss Sylvester says something obnoxious about Ouija boards and the dark arts not being enough to keep the pounds off before making an exit, and honestly, Rachel doesn’t know how any of the Cheerios survive with their souls intact.
She’s taken five steps over without thinking.
‘You don’t need to. Keep pounds off, I mean. You look great. A testament to women struggling to regain their figure after giving birth.’
Quinn raises an eyebrow at her, and wow, since when did Rachel hate it when Quinn did that?
‘Okay. Miss Sylvester’s just trying to get me to rejoin the squad. I’m not going to have a nervous breakdown.’
Rachel nods hurriedly, trying not to look at the black nail varnish because then she’d be forced to question whether Quinn hasn’t already had one.
‘You could rejoin Glee, maybe? People miss you.’
‘Who?’
Rachel frowns before answering, but can’t avoid the hesitation.
‘Brittany? ...Mercedes. Umm.’
Quinn opens her locker, almost into Rachel’s face, forcing her to take a step backwards.
‘Well. Seeing as I’m such an integral part, I’ll consider it.’
Rachel opens her mouth to... she doesn’t know what, but then she realises that Quinn is being gently sarcastic, which is so alien it confuses her momentarily. The corner of Quinn’s mouth quirks slightly, like she is going to say something more, but then she just nods at Rachel, and walks away.
--
The first session after Sectionals, Quinn had taken a seat on the front row in the practice room.
--
The first session after Rachel certainly hadn’t accused Quinn of having a nervous breakdown, Quinn had traipsed into the practice room with sunglasses perched on top of her head.
It isn’t Rachel’s fault Quinn always sits at the back. Or, she thinks furiously, twisting in her seat briefly to get a better look, spends much of the session reading a book. Integral status is earnt, surely?
--
It’s hard to follow what order things happened in. All Rachel knows is now it is New York, and Nationals are tomorrow, and she should be asleep, and certainly not being pressed into the mattress by Quinn shifting her body on top of hers.
--
Quinn stops wearing black at the same time she dyes her hair back. Rachel worries this means she’ll revert back to her old personality, because although she appreciated the fluctuating, occasional arch-nemesis dynamic she and Quinn had going on, this different Quinn seems happier.
The switch doesn’t happen. Rachel doesn’t know why she’s relieved, but relief is a positive emotion, so, fine. Relief all round.
--
After Sectionals, Rachel waits for the stolen photo of her (probably with her mouth open, looking vaguely cross eyed, because anger never looks good on her features) to be posted on Facebook.
She spends a number of hours in bed imagining the caption Quinn will put underneath it, hands twisting in her duvet out of nerves (habit).
It doesn’t appear.
--
Finn remains tall.
Rachel mentions this to Blaine, briefly, because they’re discussing what it is like to be in an adult, stable relationship. And that’s what she and Finn are. Stable.
‘Honestly, I’m so lucky that the biggest problem in our entire relationship is his height. I get a cricked neck if we make out for too long
whilst he’s standing up.’
Blaine coughs quickly, but then nods.
‘Yeah, it is quite a height difference.’
Rachel nods, and runs a hand through her hair, glancing at the door again to see if football practice has finished yet. Nothing. She glances back at the band, who are messing with the cymbals or something, and continues.
‘I’m thinking about asking Finn to carry around a foldaway stool with him. In case. It’ll be a while before I can afford to hire a chiropractor.’
Blaine looks like he’s going to say something supportive, but is interrupted by Quinn’s snort of laughter.
Rachel turns to glare at Quinn, but she’s got her eyes firmly glued to her book, blonde hair doing just enough to cover her expression.
However, after a second or two of inspection Quinn’s shoulders shake once, and then twice, with repressed laughter.
Blaine nudges her.
‘Ignore her. A stool sounds a very sensible precaution.’
Rachel nods vaguely, glancing at the door again and falling quiet.
When she looks around at Quinn the next time, Quinn catches her eye, and presses her lips together, before smiling softly and looking away.
--
Rachel’s angry with her, clearly. Because she was being mocked.
But then she thinks about that smile, and then she isn’t so sure.
--
Regionals come quickly.
Quinn stops her after practice with a couple of weeks to go, one night.
‘You sang that well.’
Rachel doesn’t really know what to say, so instead just remains grateful she didn’t burst into tears with gratitude. (Honestly, what is wrong with her these days?)
Quinn frowns at her after a moment.
‘Right. Well, bye.’
--
She misses the pink hair.
She finds a photo, on Facebook, that night after school. Quinn isn’t looking at the camera, and she’s hardly central in the frame at all. This is probably because Puck took it, and Quinn looks like she is about to flip him off. He’s added underneath pink lady - tastes better than the apple. Rachel understands why Quinn has untagged herself.
She stares at the photo for a minute, before closing the tab too quickly when she hears Finn coming up the stairs.
He does have a pretty distinctive gait.
--
Three days later, she sends Quinn a text that will probably make her look crazy.
Thanks, by the way. You sang really well too.
She gets a response at close to midnight.
Thanks. My twirling is improving, huh?
Rachel wants to reply, but decides she should be asleep.
--
Quinn rejoins the Cheerios after Brittany asks her to, two weeks into the school year.
‘The pyramid is kind of wobbly, and even though Santana asked me not to ask you, you’re one of the best at being pointy. We need more
cute angels.’
‘Acute angles.’
‘Don’t, singular nouns make my teeth hurt.’
Kurt reaches over, and grips the top of her knee, which Rachel now knows is a sign that he is trying not to laugh. Rachel coughs hurriedly, but gets away with it.
--
Quinn doesn’t wear her Cheerio’s outfit unless she’s on the practice field.
Rachel can’t stop panicking that Miss Sylvester will kidnap her and superglue the outfit onto her, but after extensive reading of the school handbook and the Cheerio’s manual that Brittany gave her in exchange for a yoyo for her cat, she discovers there’s nothing in writing that says Quinn has to wear it all the time.
She delivers this news by the lockers, fresh on Monday morning. Quinn frowns at her.
‘That’s good?’
Rachel waves a hand at Quinn.
‘So now you can continue to embrace your new wardrobe freedom reassured that any assault Miss Sylvester makes will be an inappropriate act and contravene McKinley school policy on club membership.’
Quinn looks away over her shoulder, and opens her mouth to say something, before closing it just as quickly. Instead she hoists her bag higher on her shoulder, and glances once.
‘Thanks Rachel.’
--
She sends another text.
Your twirling has definitely improved! We’d never win without you!
Well, let me know if you need tips.
Blushing is a very unusual response.
--
On the bus ride to Regionals, Rachel ends up sitting next to Quinn.
Or rather, she was sitting here, and Finn was sitting at the back talking about killing snipers, and then Quinn sat next to her.
After five minutes she manages to squeak out ‘A lovely day, isn’t it?’
Quinn purses her lips while rooting in her bag, and digs out her earphones. Then she glances once at Rachel and rolls her eyes, before tapping her phone once to start the music.
Fine. Rachel stares out of the window until it starts raining.
After half an hour, she checks her phone out of bordom.
Quinn’s sent her a photo of a baby alligator. Attached is the message sorry. Woke up in a crappy mood. Nice day, sure.
Rachel wonders whether Quinn has deliberately taken to speaking in code to her, or if she is just being stupid.
--
They win Regionals.
--
The night before Regionals, instead of being asleep, Rachel’s staring at Puck’s photo again, and wondering whether anyone else might have taken a photo of Quinn when she had pink hair.
--
After Regionals, Santana has a party, and hasn’t Rachel come far, being invited to one of Santana Lopez’ parties? She’s oddly proud.
Guitar Hero nullifies most of the boys, (and Tina, surprisingly) leaving Rachel with time to really get to know this frankly delicious looking bowl of punch.
--
‘I miss it. Your hair.’
Quinn looks at her.
‘I still have hair.’
‘No, your other hair.’
‘What?’
‘Pink. I miss it.’
‘My mother doesn’t.’
‘Pffftft.’ Rachel decides that eloquence is over-rated. To the point!
‘Dye it back.’
‘Why?’
‘I want it.’
‘Maybe.’
That’s not enough, and Rachel’s about to protest, but then Quinn removes the drink from her hand and hey, good bone structure is not
enough to excuse petty theft, and she’s about to tell Quinn this, but then she falls over the sofa.
--
She wakes up with a text that says If we win Nationals.
Rachel can’t remember what ‘if’ signifies, but the possibility sounds good.
--
Nationals are tomorrow.
Quinn shushes her even though Rachel is certain she didn’t say anything out loud, and kisses the spot where Rachel’s neck meets her collar bone, and then bites once. Rachel almost doesn’t notice the noise she makes when Quinn runs her tongue over the throb, and sucks.
--
Mr Schue pairs them up for a project.
Rachel understands that he believes this’ll be some bonding exercise. Which is ridiculous, her and Quinn get on fine. They just don’t need to interact much.
‘Nationals in two weeks guys. We need to be a tight unit! Get to know each other. Any song, just figure out how to make it work.’
Finn’s paired up with Tina.
‘Rach! What do I... I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to Tina.’
Maybe Mr Schue has a point.
--
It isn’t weird. They have to discuss song selection. It is necessary for there to be impromptu practice sessions.
Mrs Fabray is kind of scary.
Quinn beckons her up from the top of the stairs.
‘This is unexpected.’
Rachel’s got this covered.
‘I felt that seeing as Mr Schue believes there is some awkward tension between us, which is clearly not the case, then maybe we are displaying that at school, which lead me to believe that the school environment is maybe not the healthiest one with us, what with all the history we have on those corridors, so I deemed a quick visit outside of school to be the best route to us starting to dispel any lingering... awkwardity.’
Awkwardity?
Quinn raises an eyebrow at her, and... huh.
‘Okay, then, let me go get a drink. You want anything?’
Rachel shakes her head a couple of times, and is left in Quinn’s room. Quinn’s room.
She doesn’t know what she imagined, but there isn’t anything too surprising. Desk, wardrobe, bed, mirror, laptop, noticeboard, which....
She steps closer. There’s a photo, and a note underneath.
Part of Rachel is oddly satisfied that she had correctly predicted that she would look slightly cross-eyed in the photo Quinn had stolen after
Sectionals. The rest of her is focused on the note.
Try harder.
Rachel almost jumps out of her skin when Quinn bumps the door open again with her hip, one hand holding water and the other a bottle of juice, which she passes to Rachel. She smiles,
‘Just in case you needed something.’
Rachel has to go.
‘I have to go.’
Quinn opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Rachel feels herself getting redder and redder under Quinn’s stare, until her eyes flicker towards the noticeboard and she can’t excuse it.
‘I...my dad just...I’m sorry. I have to go.’
--
Their duet is a disaster.
--
After Sectionals, Quinn had smiled at her in the corridor, and Rachel had worried if she had something on her face.
After Regionals, Quinn had smiled at her in the corridor, and Rachel had felt like her chest was going to explode.
The week before Nationals, Quinn doesn’t look at Rachel at all.
--
She dumps Finn.
‘It’s for the best. We both know it. We’re going in different directions. I’m sorry.’
It is the essence of what she wants to say. But Finn keeps interrupting her and talking about trying harder, and it unwinds into an elaborate process that the whole club ends up being witness to, because he yells at her from across the room and then cries, and, god, she feels awful.
--
New York. The Big Apple.
Rachel doesn’t think about Pink Ladies. She puts her Nationals set list on repeat, and tries to sleep on the plane.
--
There’s a party, that she doesn’t particularly want to participate in. The fact that it is happening on the other side of the wall is annoying, but she’ll just have to deal with it.
The boys are with Finn, clearly, and Brittany’s in there, which means Santana’s in there, and Rachel’s fine with the fact that everyone is in there, actually, because as lead performer she needs her sleep. Their hopes rest on her shoulders tomorrow, so if they all want to party that’s fine, as long as she sleeps.
She is not going to cry.
She does, anyway.
--
Quinn sits on the bed next to her.
‘Here. I got you a sandwich. You haven’t eaten much.’
Rachel unwraps it silently, and pulls at a corner of it.
‘Thanks.’
They’re silent for a while, until someone crashes into the wall next to them with a thud, and it makes Quinn snort.
‘You know, this time last year it was me crying.’
Rachel hums, and swallows.
‘Why?’
Quinn shrugs. ‘Finn had taken you out to dinner.’
Rachel eats the rest of her sandwich in silence. Quinn reaches into her bag when she’s finished, and fishes out a bottle of juice, which nearly makes Rachel bite through her lip. Quinn smiles gently when she takes it.
The music next door only seems to get louder.
--
‘Quinn?’
She looks like an idiot, standing here in her sleep clothes, one knee on the bed. But she’s holding the duvet up and knows what she wants to say, but the words aren’t coming and since when has she been short of words?
Quinn waits a moment, and comes over anyway, so that when Rachel slides in Quinn follows, until their knees are touching and Rachel
needs the light to be turned off so that she can stop trying to not look at Quinn.
It’s too small this bed, for them to sleep comfortably. It’d be so much easier if they could just touch each other.
She’s right there.
--
It’s sort of like losing your mind, Rachel decides, fisting a hand in Quinn’s hair. Choosing something like this.
She never knows where she stands, and Quinn is impossibly cryptic sometimes, and Rachel’s pretty sure Quinn finds her annoying for ninety percent of the time but...
Quinn’s hands smooth across her stomach, and Rachel’s gasping, pulling Quinn in so tight she’s worried it’ll never be enough.
--
They place second.
--
‘Good enough?’
Quinn leans on the wall next to her, in the dark corner she’d retreated into, and watches Puck and Mercedes dance. Rachel frowns briefly at her, questioning.
‘Good enough, for you, I mean?’
Rachel still isn’t certain what she means, and feels a blush starting. Quinn bites her lip and looks away, hiding a smile.
‘Placing second, I meant. Not... oh, whatever.’
Rachel reaches out a hand, touches before Quinn can leave.
‘No, hey, second out of everyone in the whole country is pretty good. My ego isn’t too damaged.’
Quinn resettles, slightly closer this time, so Rachel decides to risk it.
‘Besides, I always have the thought that we’d have performed better maybe, had I not been suffering from a severe lack of sleep.’
Quinn looks down at her shoes.
‘So it is my fault, is what you’re saying.’
Rachel decides she doesn’t care. Second is good. She wouldn’t swap.
She presses Quinn into the wall and kisses her, hands bunching in the sides of Quinn’s top. She kisses until Quinn kisses back.
--
Quinn dyes her hair pink again, that summer.
It’s a good summer.