Fic: Company (5/?)
Title: Company
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: R for themes.
Spoilers: Original Song.
Summary: Lawyers and Children
You’re still moving gingerly two days later when you meet with the attorney Rachel’s dads hooked you up with (after a long conversation between themselves and Rachel that ended with her promise to come to California and see them soon). Her name is Lindsey, and she’s every inch the consummate professional. She reviews your file briefly as you wait, and then sets it aside to look you in the eye.
“Do you love your son?” there’s no malice in it, just a question.
“More than life,” you answer, meeting her fierce gaze.
“Good. That’ll help. I have reports from your son’s school as well, and they all say he’s never been anything but happy and healthy. That his clothes might be a bit old, but he always has a lunch and snacks, and he’s never indicated any problems at home.”
“Is that enough?” Rachel asks.
“No. Absolutely not. They’re going to come after you on the employment front. They’ll say, and rightfully so, that your occupation is high-risk and your income is sporadic-“
“Actually,” Rachel interrupts, “that’s not the case anymore. She’s my full-time housekeeper.”
“Good,” Lindsey nods. “That’s very good. But it’s not going to stop them from bringing it up all the same. It’s going to be a character issue, and there’s only one way I can fight that. I’ll need you to make a statement, Quinn.”
“I thought you would have anyway,” you nod, and your hands start to shake, so you hide them under the table. Rachel takes one, giving it a squeeze.
“Are you prepared to do that? You’re going to have to be convincing for us to have any chance of winning.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes,” you promise. “I can’t lose my son.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” she reaches across the table and gives your shoulder a squeeze. “I do believe we can win this, Quinn, I really do. I’m going to do everything I can do, I promise you.”
“Thank you,” your voice isn’t much more than a whisper.
“Go on home, okay? We’ll meet again in a couple of days and work on your statement.”
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You stumble a little on your way to the car, and Rachel grabs you gently. “Are you okay, Quinn? I don’t think you should be up and around yet.”
“You mentioned that once or twice,” you smile a little. “But we can’t get this hearing delayed, so I need to do this.”
“I just don’t like it,” she smoothes your hair back from your face. “I think you could use more time in bed.”
“I need to do something, Rach. Besides, you’re paying me to clean your house, and I haven’t done a thing so far.” There’s a sob that nearly breaks through your facade, and she tries to pull you close. You shrug her off, though, and take a step back. “I can’t keep breaking down,” you explain at her hurt look.
“You’ve been through something horrific, Quinn, and it’s only been two days. You need to grieve, and your mother needs to know-“
“No,” you shake your head. “I can’t. Not yet. I need, I, I have to be strong. For Dylan, for this hearing. When it’s all over, then I’ll deal with it. Okay?”
“I don’t think-“
“Rachel,” you beg, unable to meet her eyes, “please. I’m so close to falling apart. And if I do, I don’t - I don’t know if I can pull it together again. Can you please just let me keep pretending, just for a while?”
“Yes,” she agrees quietly. “But when you want to talk about it-“
“I’ll find you,” you smile crookedly. “Thank you again, for everything - I’m sorry you needed to take a day off for this.”
“I have so much vacation built up,” she waves a dismissive hand. “I’ll be retired before I use it all.”
“Did you want to come over to my place? We could have dinner, you could meet Dylan properly?”
“I’d love that,” she smiles, and your heart takes a leap in your chest.
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She buys pizza on the way - paying for it despite your protests - and parks the car outside Dylan’s school. He comes bounding out before the bell’s finished buzzing, and smiles a gap-toothed grin when he sees you. “Mommy!” he shouts, waving a piece of paper covered in childish printing. “I wrote a letter to daddy today!”
Your smile is suddenly only plastered on, your heart thudding too hard in your chest and your fist clenched hard enough that your chipped nails are drawing blood from your palm, but you embrace him lovingly all the same. “That’s nice, Dylan,” you hope your voice isn’t as toneless as it sounds to you, “what did you say?”
“That I hope someday he can come home, and buy me a puppy.”
“A puppy?” you ask, standing and taking his hand, “what kind of puppy?”
“One with big floppy ears! We seen one in a picture book today!”
“Saw, Dylan. You saw one,” you correct gently.
“Right,” he agrees easily. “What do you think he’ll say?”
“I don’t know, baby. Let’s not worry about it now, okay?” You lead him to Rachel’s car. “We’re taking a car ride home today, how’s that sound? We’ve got some pizza, too.”
“Cheese?” he looks hopeful.
“Yeah, baby, cheese pizza,” you smile at him, opening the back door of the car. “This is mommy’s friend Rachel, she’s going to come for supper.”
“Neat!” he’s already regaling her with stories before the car door closes.
You’re halfway through dinner when Dylan looks seriously at Rachel. “I need to ask you somethin’.”
“Something,” you murmur, patting his hand.
“What do you need to ask me, sweetheart?”
“Can you help mommy not be sad?”
Rachel looks sharply at you, hoping for some cue on how to respond, but you’re struck speechless. She looks back at Dylan, concern on her face. “What do you mean, Dylan?”
“Mommy’s sad,” he explains patiently, as if to someone who’s not all there. “She cries when she thinks I can’t see. Can you help her?”
You look away, trying with all your might to keep your tears from pooling in your eyes. Rachel clears her throat. “I’ll try, Dylan.”
“Thank you,” his attention returns to his pizza.
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Dylan falls asleep in front of the television a few hours later and you carry him to bed, tucking him gently in and kissing his cheek. Your breath catches in your throat as you stand up and really look at him. He’s the only good thing - well, one of two now - in your life, and you know that losing him would break you where nothing has thus far. In the back of your mind, there’s a thought you can’t seem to stamp out - that if you lose, if the court orders you to give him up, you’ll take him and run. You don’t know how far you could get, but you know that this little life belongs to you, and you’ll do anything to keep it that way.
You lose track of time looking at him, and after a while Rachel’s arms wrap around you from behind. You inhale her perfume with a smile and lean into her touch.
“He’s a really great little boy, Quinn.”
“Yeah,” you agree softly. “He really is. It’s amazing that someone like me could make something like that.”
“Someone like you?”
“’Let me tell you how this story ends,’” you quote yourself from memory, “’I get Finn, and you get heartbroken.’”
“Hey,” her grip tightens. “You’re not still beating yourself up about that, are you? After all this time?”
“I think a lot about my life, Rachel,” you take her hand and lead her out of Dylan’s bedroom. “Every day, when I’m trying to find money for Dylan’s clothes, or groceries, or when I’m lying on my back in some motel. I think about the person I was, and I’m so ashamed of myself. What’s funny is that I told you to quit living a fantasy. And it was me - the house, the husband, all of it was just the fantasy of a scared little girl who had no idea what life was really about.”
“I was going to be a Broadway star, remember? You were just trying to help, Quinn - I didn’t get it then, but I do now. And if you hadn’t taken him away from me, I would have been where you are now - you saved me. You’re a good person, Quinn.”
You can’t bring yourself to agree, but you don’t argue either.
“Do you want to watch tv?”
“I’m actually kind of tired.”
“Oh,” you say, letting go of her hand. “Okay. I, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Is your bed not big enough for two?”
“It’s a single,” you laugh softly.
“Then we’ll just have to cuddle.”
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You take Dylan to school together the next morning, and then drive to Rachel’s so she can change for work - the school in Akron starts classes an hour and a half later than Dylan’s primary school, which allows you the extra time. She emerges from the shower wrapped in a towel and looks despairingly at your t-shirt and jeans combo. “I really should have specified that a uniform was required for this job, shouldn’t I?” she teases.
“And what sort of uniform would you like to see me in?” you step closer, and she takes a deep breath.
“Uh-uh. We don’t have time for that. Look,” she walks into her bedroom, and you linger outside her door. “Don’t try and do too much today, okay? You’re not exactly a hundred percent.”
“Cross my heart,” you do, with two fingers, even though she can’t see you. It’s an old habit, a little game between you and your son every time one of you makes a promise. Rachel walks out a few minutes later, looking very pretty in a navy skirt with a white blouse. You fleetingly wish her skirt was as short as the ones she’d worn in her days at McKinley, but you concede that likely wouldn’t be appropriate for a high school teacher.
“Okay,” she grabs her purse and slips on some low heels. “Have a good day, okay, Quinn? Keep the door locked - if that guy (she somehow manages to communicate sick fucking animal with that single word) followed you here the other night, I don’t want him getting in.”
“I will, Rach, I promise. What time will you get back?”
“Early enough that I can go pick up your son with you; I only have two classes to teach today. Oh - I nearly forgot. I think you should give your mom a call. They’re going to want her at this hearing, so you’d better make sure you know what she’s going to say.”
The prospect of that conversation makes you feel a bit queasy, but you nod in agreement. Rachel kisses you on the cheek and you embrace her briefly, drawing strength from her. When she’s out the door, you lock and bolt it behind her. For a heart-stopping second you think you see your rapist across the street, but it’s empty when you look a second later and you chalk it up to nerves.
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Cleaning Rachel’s house is oddly cathartic, you find. It’s a nice little house - two levels, no basement, sparsely decorated. It’s also saddening, though, as you realise that the colors are all neutral, that there doesn’t seem to be a single trace of the forceful Rachel Berry personality anywhere. In an upstairs closet, you find her trophy from your win at Nationals stuffed behind the linens, and it’s enough to bring tears to your eyes - she obviously couldn’t throw it out, but she didn’t want to see it anymore either.
Her bedroom, even, is devoid of color and life. You open the blinds to let light in, and it seems to make the room somehow more depressing than it was in the dark. There’s a large bed, adorned with plain white cotton sheets and a down comforter, a dresser with a vanity mirror, and an end table with an iPod alarm clock on it. Beyond that, the room is all but empty. The walk-in closet is cavernous, but the clothes within are drab and colorless. You begin to dust, starting with the end table, and you’re surprised when you open the top drawer to find a small collection of framed photographs stacked within.
They’re all from McKinley - Glee Club photos, yearbook photos, that sort of thing. Your heart clenches as you look through them, remembering the simplicity of high school. You deliberately don’t look at Finn in any of them, focussing on your other team members. Largely Brittany and Santana, if you’re honest with yourself - they were the closest you had to real friends back then, and you fleetingly wish you could talk to them now. But it’s a silly thought, and you know it is - what on earth could you possibly say to them? If they asked something as simple as what was going on in your life, how could you answer?
The last picture actually makes you gasp aloud. You don’t know when it was taken, not exactly. It was obviously during one of the Glee performances, but you don’t remember it at all. It’s only you and Rachel in the picture, standing side by side with your hands linked, beaming out at the camera. It’s heart-breaking to see the both of you that happy, and you hurriedly put the pictures back where you found them.
And when you open the next drawer and see its contents, you quickly shut it with a blush.
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: R for themes.
Spoilers: Original Song.
Summary: Lawyers and Children
You’re still moving gingerly two days later when you meet with the attorney Rachel’s dads hooked you up with (after a long conversation between themselves and Rachel that ended with her promise to come to California and see them soon). Her name is Lindsey, and she’s every inch the consummate professional. She reviews your file briefly as you wait, and then sets it aside to look you in the eye.
“Do you love your son?” there’s no malice in it, just a question.
“More than life,” you answer, meeting her fierce gaze.
“Good. That’ll help. I have reports from your son’s school as well, and they all say he’s never been anything but happy and healthy. That his clothes might be a bit old, but he always has a lunch and snacks, and he’s never indicated any problems at home.”
“Is that enough?” Rachel asks.
“No. Absolutely not. They’re going to come after you on the employment front. They’ll say, and rightfully so, that your occupation is high-risk and your income is sporadic-“
“Actually,” Rachel interrupts, “that’s not the case anymore. She’s my full-time housekeeper.”
“Good,” Lindsey nods. “That’s very good. But it’s not going to stop them from bringing it up all the same. It’s going to be a character issue, and there’s only one way I can fight that. I’ll need you to make a statement, Quinn.”
“I thought you would have anyway,” you nod, and your hands start to shake, so you hide them under the table. Rachel takes one, giving it a squeeze.
“Are you prepared to do that? You’re going to have to be convincing for us to have any chance of winning.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes,” you promise. “I can’t lose my son.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” she reaches across the table and gives your shoulder a squeeze. “I do believe we can win this, Quinn, I really do. I’m going to do everything I can do, I promise you.”
“Thank you,” your voice isn’t much more than a whisper.
“Go on home, okay? We’ll meet again in a couple of days and work on your statement.”
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You stumble a little on your way to the car, and Rachel grabs you gently. “Are you okay, Quinn? I don’t think you should be up and around yet.”
“You mentioned that once or twice,” you smile a little. “But we can’t get this hearing delayed, so I need to do this.”
“I just don’t like it,” she smoothes your hair back from your face. “I think you could use more time in bed.”
“I need to do something, Rach. Besides, you’re paying me to clean your house, and I haven’t done a thing so far.” There’s a sob that nearly breaks through your facade, and she tries to pull you close. You shrug her off, though, and take a step back. “I can’t keep breaking down,” you explain at her hurt look.
“You’ve been through something horrific, Quinn, and it’s only been two days. You need to grieve, and your mother needs to know-“
“No,” you shake your head. “I can’t. Not yet. I need, I, I have to be strong. For Dylan, for this hearing. When it’s all over, then I’ll deal with it. Okay?”
“I don’t think-“
“Rachel,” you beg, unable to meet her eyes, “please. I’m so close to falling apart. And if I do, I don’t - I don’t know if I can pull it together again. Can you please just let me keep pretending, just for a while?”
“Yes,” she agrees quietly. “But when you want to talk about it-“
“I’ll find you,” you smile crookedly. “Thank you again, for everything - I’m sorry you needed to take a day off for this.”
“I have so much vacation built up,” she waves a dismissive hand. “I’ll be retired before I use it all.”
“Did you want to come over to my place? We could have dinner, you could meet Dylan properly?”
“I’d love that,” she smiles, and your heart takes a leap in your chest.
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She buys pizza on the way - paying for it despite your protests - and parks the car outside Dylan’s school. He comes bounding out before the bell’s finished buzzing, and smiles a gap-toothed grin when he sees you. “Mommy!” he shouts, waving a piece of paper covered in childish printing. “I wrote a letter to daddy today!”
Your smile is suddenly only plastered on, your heart thudding too hard in your chest and your fist clenched hard enough that your chipped nails are drawing blood from your palm, but you embrace him lovingly all the same. “That’s nice, Dylan,” you hope your voice isn’t as toneless as it sounds to you, “what did you say?”
“That I hope someday he can come home, and buy me a puppy.”
“A puppy?” you ask, standing and taking his hand, “what kind of puppy?”
“One with big floppy ears! We seen one in a picture book today!”
“Saw, Dylan. You saw one,” you correct gently.
“Right,” he agrees easily. “What do you think he’ll say?”
“I don’t know, baby. Let’s not worry about it now, okay?” You lead him to Rachel’s car. “We’re taking a car ride home today, how’s that sound? We’ve got some pizza, too.”
“Cheese?” he looks hopeful.
“Yeah, baby, cheese pizza,” you smile at him, opening the back door of the car. “This is mommy’s friend Rachel, she’s going to come for supper.”
“Neat!” he’s already regaling her with stories before the car door closes.
You’re halfway through dinner when Dylan looks seriously at Rachel. “I need to ask you somethin’.”
“Something,” you murmur, patting his hand.
“What do you need to ask me, sweetheart?”
“Can you help mommy not be sad?”
Rachel looks sharply at you, hoping for some cue on how to respond, but you’re struck speechless. She looks back at Dylan, concern on her face. “What do you mean, Dylan?”
“Mommy’s sad,” he explains patiently, as if to someone who’s not all there. “She cries when she thinks I can’t see. Can you help her?”
You look away, trying with all your might to keep your tears from pooling in your eyes. Rachel clears her throat. “I’ll try, Dylan.”
“Thank you,” his attention returns to his pizza.
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Dylan falls asleep in front of the television a few hours later and you carry him to bed, tucking him gently in and kissing his cheek. Your breath catches in your throat as you stand up and really look at him. He’s the only good thing - well, one of two now - in your life, and you know that losing him would break you where nothing has thus far. In the back of your mind, there’s a thought you can’t seem to stamp out - that if you lose, if the court orders you to give him up, you’ll take him and run. You don’t know how far you could get, but you know that this little life belongs to you, and you’ll do anything to keep it that way.
You lose track of time looking at him, and after a while Rachel’s arms wrap around you from behind. You inhale her perfume with a smile and lean into her touch.
“He’s a really great little boy, Quinn.”
“Yeah,” you agree softly. “He really is. It’s amazing that someone like me could make something like that.”
“Someone like you?”
“’Let me tell you how this story ends,’” you quote yourself from memory, “’I get Finn, and you get heartbroken.’”
“Hey,” her grip tightens. “You’re not still beating yourself up about that, are you? After all this time?”
“I think a lot about my life, Rachel,” you take her hand and lead her out of Dylan’s bedroom. “Every day, when I’m trying to find money for Dylan’s clothes, or groceries, or when I’m lying on my back in some motel. I think about the person I was, and I’m so ashamed of myself. What’s funny is that I told you to quit living a fantasy. And it was me - the house, the husband, all of it was just the fantasy of a scared little girl who had no idea what life was really about.”
“I was going to be a Broadway star, remember? You were just trying to help, Quinn - I didn’t get it then, but I do now. And if you hadn’t taken him away from me, I would have been where you are now - you saved me. You’re a good person, Quinn.”
You can’t bring yourself to agree, but you don’t argue either.
“Do you want to watch tv?”
“I’m actually kind of tired.”
“Oh,” you say, letting go of her hand. “Okay. I, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Is your bed not big enough for two?”
“It’s a single,” you laugh softly.
“Then we’ll just have to cuddle.”
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You take Dylan to school together the next morning, and then drive to Rachel’s so she can change for work - the school in Akron starts classes an hour and a half later than Dylan’s primary school, which allows you the extra time. She emerges from the shower wrapped in a towel and looks despairingly at your t-shirt and jeans combo. “I really should have specified that a uniform was required for this job, shouldn’t I?” she teases.
“And what sort of uniform would you like to see me in?” you step closer, and she takes a deep breath.
“Uh-uh. We don’t have time for that. Look,” she walks into her bedroom, and you linger outside her door. “Don’t try and do too much today, okay? You’re not exactly a hundred percent.”
“Cross my heart,” you do, with two fingers, even though she can’t see you. It’s an old habit, a little game between you and your son every time one of you makes a promise. Rachel walks out a few minutes later, looking very pretty in a navy skirt with a white blouse. You fleetingly wish her skirt was as short as the ones she’d worn in her days at McKinley, but you concede that likely wouldn’t be appropriate for a high school teacher.
“Okay,” she grabs her purse and slips on some low heels. “Have a good day, okay, Quinn? Keep the door locked - if that guy (she somehow manages to communicate sick fucking animal with that single word) followed you here the other night, I don’t want him getting in.”
“I will, Rach, I promise. What time will you get back?”
“Early enough that I can go pick up your son with you; I only have two classes to teach today. Oh - I nearly forgot. I think you should give your mom a call. They’re going to want her at this hearing, so you’d better make sure you know what she’s going to say.”
The prospect of that conversation makes you feel a bit queasy, but you nod in agreement. Rachel kisses you on the cheek and you embrace her briefly, drawing strength from her. When she’s out the door, you lock and bolt it behind her. For a heart-stopping second you think you see your rapist across the street, but it’s empty when you look a second later and you chalk it up to nerves.
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Cleaning Rachel’s house is oddly cathartic, you find. It’s a nice little house - two levels, no basement, sparsely decorated. It’s also saddening, though, as you realise that the colors are all neutral, that there doesn’t seem to be a single trace of the forceful Rachel Berry personality anywhere. In an upstairs closet, you find her trophy from your win at Nationals stuffed behind the linens, and it’s enough to bring tears to your eyes - she obviously couldn’t throw it out, but she didn’t want to see it anymore either.
Her bedroom, even, is devoid of color and life. You open the blinds to let light in, and it seems to make the room somehow more depressing than it was in the dark. There’s a large bed, adorned with plain white cotton sheets and a down comforter, a dresser with a vanity mirror, and an end table with an iPod alarm clock on it. Beyond that, the room is all but empty. The walk-in closet is cavernous, but the clothes within are drab and colorless. You begin to dust, starting with the end table, and you’re surprised when you open the top drawer to find a small collection of framed photographs stacked within.
They’re all from McKinley - Glee Club photos, yearbook photos, that sort of thing. Your heart clenches as you look through them, remembering the simplicity of high school. You deliberately don’t look at Finn in any of them, focussing on your other team members. Largely Brittany and Santana, if you’re honest with yourself - they were the closest you had to real friends back then, and you fleetingly wish you could talk to them now. But it’s a silly thought, and you know it is - what on earth could you possibly say to them? If they asked something as simple as what was going on in your life, how could you answer?
The last picture actually makes you gasp aloud. You don’t know when it was taken, not exactly. It was obviously during one of the Glee performances, but you don’t remember it at all. It’s only you and Rachel in the picture, standing side by side with your hands linked, beaming out at the camera. It’s heart-breaking to see the both of you that happy, and you hurriedly put the pictures back where you found them.
And when you open the next drawer and see its contents, you quickly shut it with a blush.