[GFS Exchange Fic] you say my name like there could be an us, by biruuu for a_shadow_there
Title: you say my name like there could be an us
Author: biruuu
Written For: a_shadow_there
Prompt: coffee and cigarettes
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Spoilers: Season 2
Word Count: 9200
Summary: It's Rachel's last summer in Lima, and she's determined to get Quinn to finally realize what great friends they could be.
A/N: Huge thanks to disasteral_boys for basically holding my hand through the entire process of writing this.
Rachel has always considered herself an expert in all things Lima.
Not that there's much to know about a town that has a golf course and a roller skating rink listed as the top two worth visiting spots on three different online review sites. In fact, its grey, dull predictability-along with the appallingly low chances of being spotted by a Hollywood agent while strolling down Main Street-has been number two on Rachel's list of reasons for wanting to leave Ohio ever since she can remember.
But now, she stands right inside the door she just stepped through, drops of water still clinging to the ends of her hair and her eyelashes, and concedes the possibility that her assumption might not have been completely accurate after all. The possibility that there are places in Lima still unknown to her.
This particular one appears to be some sort of old-fashioned, quaint coffee shop, refreshingly unlike the Lima Bean or any of the many other generic chain stores in town. And as she takes her first couple of tentative steps towards the counter, Rachel looks around and makes a mental note to call Kurt. She's gotten to know his taste so well that she's convinced that, the moment he steps foot in here, Lima's Elite Club For the Appreciation of Lesser Known Broadway Classics will have found its new headquarters. (She has a feeling it might also be the push Blaine needs to finally become their first official non-founding member.)
She's trying to decide on the best possible placement for Kurt's framed poster of Gypsy-not that a show with multiple revivals and international adaptations qualifies as underrated in her opinion, but Rachel knows better than to risk alienating the only other person willing to start this club with her because of a relatively minor detail like that-when a flash of blonde hair catches her eye and she spots a familiar figure tucked into a booth in the far corner. Setting her redecorating plans aside for the moment, she makes her way through the maze of mismatched tables and chairs, doing her best not to disturb the peaceful mood set by the warm orange lamps bolted to the walls.
Out of habit, Rachel glances at the book Quinn is holding. It's a paperback today, and she wonders, not for the first time, whether there's some sort of hidden-maybe even subconscious-meaning behind Quinn's seemingly arbitrary choices of literature.
"Hello, Quinn."
It's proof of the progress they've made (because that's what the past couple of years have been for them: a constant work in progress) that Quinn's only outward reaction to hearing Rachel's voice is a brief tightening of fingers around her book before she looks up at her with a blank expression on her face. Once she takes Rachel's appearance in, though, her eyes widen with poorly disguised curiosity.
"It's pouring," Rachel rushes to explain, pointing over Quinn's shoulder. "I was on my way home from dance class and it caught me off-guard." She waits until Quinn's head is turned and squints at the tinted mirror over the counter, hurriedly running a hand through her hair and looking down at her drenched clothes with a sigh.
Just then, a short woman carrying a steaming coffee pot shuffles towards them. She smiles at Quinn as she refills her cup, and Quinn's grateful look at the woman's retreating back carries an unmistakable touch of familiarity.
"Do you come here often?" Rachel blurts out before she can stop herself.
Quinn raises an eyebrow. "Sometimes. Why?"
"Oh, no reason." She rocks back on her heels and starts again, once she realizes Quinn isn't going to offer her any openings. "So, what are you doing this summer?"
"You're looking at it," Quinn says with a shrug.
Rachel hums noncommittally, having noticed a slight edge of defensiveness in Quinn's tone. "Maybe we could hang out sometime."
"Who? You, me and Finn? Right. Pass."
"It's not like th-Finn and I aren't-" Rachel tries to explain, but Quinn's attention is already back on her book.
"Well," she says instead, taking a deep breath and resisting the urge to stomp her foot, "you seem busy and I have quite a few things to do too so I should get going. It was good to see you, Quinn."
Quinn looks up for a moment and acknowledges Rachel's friendly smile with an awkward nod.
It's not much, but she'll take it. And as she makes her way back to the door, hoping the rain has let out a little, Rachel catches herself smiling again. Attempting small talk with Quinn can be an exhausting exercise in patience, but her quest to become friends with her has been an absolutely thrilling challenge during the past two years, and there's no way she's giving up. Especially now that it feels like she's finally starting to find her stride.
***
Finn picks her up later that night. He makes awkward small talk with her dads while she finishes getting ready, smiles at her when she comes down the stairs, opens her car door for her, compliments her on her clothes.
Those Hummel men are surely proving to be a really positive influence on him when it comes to certain things.
They're going slow this time around, having agreed to keep it casual and not make it official yet, but Rachel can tell Finn wants them to be.
She turns to look at his profile while he drives, and sees him wince and flex his right hand as he turns a corner.
"Are you okay?"
"Huh?" he mumbles, taking his eyes off the road and following her line of vision. "Oh, it's just my thumb's a little sore. Puck came over earlier and it was too hot to go anywhere so we stayed in. Kicked his butt at Halo," he says with a proud smile. "And you? How was dance class?"
"It was okay." Rachel would rather be attending more singing classes instead, but the clock keeps ticking away and considering Mr. Schuester's more than lacking attention to that specific department, she needs all the extra hours of practice she can get. "Hey, did you check out the information about beginner classes I gave you? Ms. Peterson has been asking me about you."
Finn chuckles. "You know, don't get me wrong... all that stuff sounds really cool and everything but-I mean, I'm pretty bad. I don't think a million dance classes would make me better."
"You'll never know if you don't try."
"Yeah, I don't know," he says, turning off the ignition and absently patting the front pockets of his jeans. "But we'll see." He turns and smiles at her, and Rachel feels a sudden rush of affection for him.
Sure, she has friends, now. She has Kurt and Mercedes and she hopes she'll get there with Quinn someday soon. But Finn will always be different. He's the one who hung out with her when nobody else would, made her feel appreciated when no one else did, helped her get the numbers on her side when her status at school kept her away from her dreams of being part of something special.
He's not perfect, but he's Finn.
So she lets him pick the movie, and giggles when he buys the biggest bucket of popcorn she's ever seen, and when they take their seats and he glances at her out of the corner of his eye before casually dropping an arm around her shoulders, she smiles and leans against him, closing her eyes with a sigh.
The future can wait for a little longer.
***
"Uh, it's not raining today."
"And good afternoon to you too, Quinn," Rachel says cheerfully, setting her steaming cup of coffee and her book on the table.
"Wait, what are you-why are you sitting down?"
Keeping a genuine-looking smile on her face is easy; she's been training herself for years, practicing in front of her mirror until she managed to replicate it almost to perfection. It doesn't stop her from second-guessing her plan, though. Maybe it's too much too fast. But then again, she reasons, one thing she's learned about Quinn is that it kind of has to be this way with her sometimes or else they'll never manage to move past casual acquaintances.
And maybe Rachel's getting tired of being patient.
"It just seems like a perfect day to get some reading done, don't you think?"
Quinn gapes at her.
"Yeah, so." Rachel clears her throat. "I'll just be-"
"Stop. Don't talk," Quinn mumbles, pressing two fingers to her forehead with a sigh. "You can stay, but don't push it."
Rachel nods and mimics the motion of her lips being zipped shut. She's determined to make it impossible for Quinn to get annoyed at her today, so she finds a comfortable position and focuses on the familiar words in front of her, the pages dog-eared from use.
Until Quinn breaks the silence with a snort.
Rachel looks up. Quinn is staring at the cover of her book from across the table, both eyebrows raised. "The Importance of Being Barbra: The Brilliant, Tumultuous-"
"Tumultuous Career of Barbra Streisand, yes," Rachel finishes proudly.
Quinn shakes her head. "Where do you even find this stuff?"
"It's a fascinating read, I guarantee you." She pauses, and then adds, "You can borrow it if you want to. I have more copies."
"That's okay, you can keep it." Quinn's smiling now, just a little, and Rachel feels the urge to tell her that she should do it more often, because it makes her look so much prettier than the rest of the time, when it seems like she's either really sad or incredibly angry at the world.
She settles for smiling back. (It kind of backfires on her, because as soon as Quinn realizes she's doing it, she breaks eye contact and busies herself with a sugar packet.)
Still, the mood is clearly more relaxed after that, so when Rachel spots a bookmark with the Columbia University logo sticking out of Quinn's book, she doesn't think twice before picking it up.
Quinn glances at her, face partially hidden by her short bangs. "Perks of being a Cheerio. We used to get swarmed by recruiters at competitions. Which is ironic because half of them could barely read." She shrugs. "I always assumed it was Coach Sylvester pulling strings."
Rachel traces the embossed cardboard with her thumb. "So, is Columbia something you might be considering?"
Quinn looks down at her lap and fiddles with the hem of her shirt. She stays quiet for so long, Rachel starts thinking she's not going to get a reply. And when she finally looks up, eyes wide and biting her lower lip, Rachel has to wonder how it is that most of their conversations seem to end up taking a turn for the serious so quickly.
"I don't-I haven't really thought about it that much yet."
"Oh."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "Just spit it out, whatever it is. You look like you just swallowed a bug."
"I mean," Rachel starts carefully, "obviously, you still have a few months before you have to make any final decisions, and I'm more than aware that not everybody is as precocious as I was when it comes to the envisioning and planning of their future, and that discovering one's calling later on in life has no effect whatsoever in their ability to excel in their chosen field. I didn't mean to imply-" she stops herself, deciding to just cut to the chase. "I-it's just, I remember you said something about real estate once." Quinn's eyes widen. "As admittedly self-obsessed as I can be sometimes, I do pay attention, you know."
"Things have changed a lot since then."
Rachel nods, absently tapping her foot. "Look, I'm aware that what I'm about to suggest is quite possibly the most overused piece of advice in history, but you know what they say about closing your eyes and trying to imagine yourself in ten years? Maybe you could do that."
Quinn shrugs. "Yeah, I guess."
"I'm very glad you agree."
"Not doing it right now, though," Quinn says pointedly after a few seconds.
Rachel immediately averts her eyes. "Yes, of course. I knew that," she mutters, burrowing behind her book and ignoring Quinn's snort.
It comes unbidden, then, her own vision of the future. Maybe it's the topic of their conversation, or Quinn's new haircut and the way it makes her look older and much more worldly, or the coffee shop and its rather dark, offbeat feel, but even though she hasn't even closed her eyes, it's really easy for her to picture the two of them in a couple of years, spending their afternoons in some hole in the wall in New York, complaining about last-minute essay assignments and badmouthing their respective roommates over endless cups of coffee.
(And so what if Rachel also pictures little arguments over whether or not Quinn should accept her front row tickets for Rachel's big Broadway shows free of charge, and hours upon hours spent cutting out glowing reviews from the entertainment section of the newspapers for her scrapbooks? It is her vision after all.)
***
Mercedes' birthday falls on the last week of June.
One hour after the party starts (and six increasingly slurred suggestions to call Mr. Schue later), Rachel has made a crucial discovery: as long as they're intoxicated, her teammates don't seem to mind her taking the lead on every song. She hasn't had anything to drink, and has thus been able to maintain her position at the karaoke machine without complaints for a record-breaking amount of time.
(There's a close call early on, when she magnanimously allows Blaine the chance to sing one of his favorite songs and he almost looks like he wants to protest once it's over. But Mercedes simply rolls her eyes and gives them another microphone, and the crisis is fortunately averted.)
She's also taking advantage of the situation and doing an unofficial screening for potential future duet partners. Everything goes swimmingly until Santana bursts into tears right in the middle of Rachel and Kurt's rendition of Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On", and Sam-who for some reason seems to be acting as co-host-decides to put the karaoke machine away for the night, much to Rachel's rightful indignation.
The last straw breaks when somebody turns the stereo on and Ke$ha's Tik Tok comes blasting from the speakers. Rachel can feel herself beginning to break out in a cold sweat, so she decides to make herself scarce before the gruesome flashbacks start attacking all of her senses.
After bypassing the kitchen, where Finn, Puck and Mike are engrossed in a complex-looking fire hazard of a game involving bottle caps and what smells like lightning fluid, she decides to head upstairs and look for the bathroom so she can splash some water on her face. The first door she opens turns out to be Mercedes' bedroom, so she tries the one across the hallway. It's another bedroom, but this one's not empty.
"Bathroom's next door."
Quinn's tone is distant, and Rachel knows it probably means that she wants to be left alone, but she finds herself taking a few steps into the room anyway. She squints in the half-light the open door provides, wondering if Quinn realizes that her hands are resting protectively over her stomach.
"Was this your room when you lived here?" Quinn nods. "It's really nice," Rachel comments, looking around.
"It's more than that."
Rachel moves a little further into the room, thinking back on those months. She remembers being too wrapped up in her various petty dramas to have been of much help during that time. Remembers Mercedes and Quinn growing progressively closer while she marched, like a horse with blinders on, from one boy to another (with some parental drama thrown in for good measure). She likes to think she'd act differently if she had to do it all over again, but the truth is, she's not sure it's in her character to be that selfless.
But her dads always say it's never too late to learn from one's past mistakes, so when she reaches the bed, she forces herself to stay quiet for once and sits down, across from the chair Quinn is occupying. Even though she's more about grand gestures and big declarations herself, she's starting to realize that for some people, the simple act of being there for them says more than any words could.
A few minutes later, she gets her reward when Quinn's the one to break the silence.
"How weird is it that I don't see anything special?"
Rachel doesn't need to ask what she's talking about. "What do you see?"
"Just... I don't know, boring stuff. Myself, getting home after a day at work. Sometimes-God, why am I even talking about this?" she mutters, "sometimes there's a dog greeting me at the door. It's stupid."
"Well, I wouldn't say that's not special," Rachel says evenly. She tries to make out Quinn's expression but the room is too dark. "It sounds pretty great, actually." She's practically whispering now.
Quinn scoffs. "Yeah, I'm sure that's exactly what you see too."
"It isn't," Rachel admits. "Mine always stop right after the big note and the endless applause."
"See? We're so different." Quinn sighs, getting up from the chair and moving towards the door. "This is why I don't understand why you keep trying to be my friend, Rachel. We have nothing in common."
"Would you-do you want me to stop trying?" Rachel asks, hating how small and whiny her voice sounds but unable to do anything about it.
Quinn pauses right under the threshold, and for one moment, Rachel can see her profile perfectly. She's biting her lip, and her brow is furrowed. A second later, she sets her jaw and walks out, not looking back.
***
"I don't know, she kinda has a point. She's always so awful to you."
"She-okay, she is. But at the same time, you wouldn't believe the amount of meaningful conversations we've had."
"I thought those always ended with one of you either crying or being slapped."
Rachel huffs, flopping backwards on Finn's bed. "Look, I can't say I completely understand why I feel this strange need to have her accept me as a friend, all right? I just thought you of all people would understand."
Finn glances at her over his shoulder. "What? That's like, not even the same thing at all." He frowns. "Is it?"
Rachel's frustrated groan gets drowned out by quick rapping at the door.
"Is everybody looking decent in there?"
Finn rolls his eyes.
"Because for the last time, Finn Hudson. It was an accident! I have a boyfriend now, and even if I didn't, stop flattering yourself. You're really not all-oh hey, Rachel," Kurt says, his voice back to its normal volume once the door's open. "I was looking for you."
"You were?" Rachel frowns.
He grabs her hand. "Yes. Come downstairs, you have to see this."
Rachel allows herself to be dragged along to the living-room (and the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. Mr. Hummel has really good taste when it comes to electrical appliances).
"I present you 'New York on a Budget'," he announces breathlessly. "It just started."
"Nah, dude. She's already seen that one," Finn points out from the doorway.
"I... don't think I have, actually," Rachel replies, allowing Kurt to tug her down into a sitting position.
"You have. Last week, at your house?"
"That one was about general tips for how to survive on a tight budget," she says, waving him off. "This is specifically about New York City. Significantly different, Finn."
"Okay, if you two are just going to keep bickering at each other, go do it somewhere else. I want to watch this."
Rachel squeezes Kurt's thigh in silent apology, and everybody stays quiet after that.
It's not until the "Cheap Eats" segment of the show rolls around that Rachel turns to look over her head and notices Finn is gone.
***
She wouldn't really call it a breakup.
On the list of painful breakups Rachel has experienced so far in her life, it doesn't even place. (Not surprising, all things considered. A sullen, half-hearted ultimatum can't really measure up against the various very public breakups she has suffered through. Not to mention those poor baby chickens she still has nightmares about sometimes.)
The moment Finn starts talking-"I know I said we still have one year 'til graduation, but..."-they both know how the conversation's going to end.
It's never really been a choice.
***
Mercedes calls the next morning, and despite Rachel's multiple reassurances that she's perfectly fine and doesn't need to be cheered up, she refuses to hang up until Rachel has agreed to skip her dance class for one day and go to the mall with them.
Rachel blames her momentary inability to say no on the fact that a small part of her still gets a flutter of giddiness in her stomach whenever others go out of their way to make her feel part of something, even something as silly as a trip to the mall.
(Still, she makes sure to call Mrs. Peterson and explain the situation to her, managing to reschedule her class for the afternoon. There's a difference between being age-appropriately carefree and being just plainly irresponsible.)
***
"They really need to do something about their hair. It's fine when it's just one of them, but when they're walking side by side like that? Creepy."
Mercedes snorts. "Shut up. Like you're one to talk."
"Oh please, that's ludicrous. My hair and Blaine's are clearly different in both color and style. With those two, I can only tell which one is which because as far as I know, Sam doesn't have an affinity for summer dresses that constantly toe the line between cute and matronly."
Stifling a giggle, Rachel turns to look at Tina, who just grins back at her and shrugs before wandering off in the direction of a nail polish display.
Rachel keeps strolling behind the others, tuning out their chatter. She can't say it wasn't a surprise to find Quinn was going to be joining them, and from what she understands, it's not a regular occurrence. Something about her and Sam running into each other in church and ending up with him inviting her along.
Why Sam is here in the first place, she's not exactly sure, but-
"Hey there."
Glancing to her right curiously, Rachel finds a pretty blonde girl about her age, who's smiling-no, more like smirking, she decides-at her from a few feet away.
"Hello," Rachel says with a tentative smile of her own.
The girl steps closer. "So, I was wondering if you might have a minute. See my friend over there?" She turns and points to yet another blonde girl sitting on a bench. "She's dying to meet you."
"Is she?" Rachel asks, trying to mask her confusion but when everything clicks, she feels her chest swell with pride at the thought of meeting her first fan. The others seem to have stopped at Dairy Queen, and she figures it's better to do this without them around to tease her about it anyway. Flexing her right hand in preparation, she wishes she had remembered to put her favorite pen in her bag before she'd left her house that morning.
The girl blushes when she sees them approaching and wow, it's unexpectedly flattering. "Hi, I'm Rachel Berry. Nice to meet you."
"Hey," the girl mumbles, not meeting her eyes. "Ashley."
"She's a little shy. But trust me, she wouldn't shut up about you."
"Really?" That definitely piques Rachel's interest. She wonders if they know about what happened at Nationals. "Are you guys performers too?"
"Uh, sure," not-Ashley says. "Listen, we're actually in a bit of a hurry and we don't want to take too much of your time either, but we couldn't leave without saying a quick hi. It was really nice to meet you. Wasn't it, Ash?" She elbows her friend on the side.
"Yeah. Really nice."
"Okay," Rachel says, unable to hide her puzzlement this time. "It was nice to meet you too, I guess."
"And hey, who knows? Maybe we'll see you around soon."
Rachel feels the urge to reach up and rub her eyes, because she could swear that girl just winked at her.
A moment later, a napkin is being pressed into her palm and the two girls are walking away, arm in arm. Rachel glances down at the paper and her jaw falls open. All she can think of is that if she were a cartoon character, her eyes would have probably fallen out of their sockets.
She makes her way slowly to where the others are sitting, napkin still clutched tightly in her hand.
"We thought you'd gotten lost," Mercedes says. "What did those girls want?"
"I-" she tries, but after choking on that first word, she simply places the napkin on the table with a helpless shrug. Tina picks it up, and Quinn takes a look at it before immediately glancing away, pale as a sheet.
Across the table, Tina tilts her head. "Is this-did you just get propositioned for a lesbian threesome?"
Four pairs of wide eyes turn towards her, and Rachel feels the tips of her ears burning.
Mercedes chuckles. "That would be one hell of a rebound. Hey." She glares at Sam, who's staring at Rachel with a dazed smile on his face.
"Sorry."
Rachel ignores whatever that is and glances at Quinn, who's studiously looking at her menu, almost like she's trying to memorize it. Rachel can't pretend she hasn't noticed that she's the only one who has remained conspicuously silent during the entire conversation.
"Can you-here." Rachel takes the napkin from Tina and folds it carefully in half, hoping the others will get the hint and change the topic.
A few seconds later, Quinn looks up and meets her eyes just in time to see her putting the paper in her pocket.
***
Everybody's in the parking lot, getting ready to leave. There's only a small problem.
Nobody has seen Quinn for the past fifteen minutes. And her phone is turned off.
When Rachel finds her at last, leaning against a railing in the far side of the parking lot, her entire body language is like a giant neon sign: approach with caution.
"Hey, we were wondering where you..." she trails off, frowning. "Wait, since when do you smoke? I'm sure you know how bad that is for-"
"What, my vocal chords?" Quinn snaps. "I don't even do it that often, so save the speech."
Rachel glares at her. "You know, sometimes I do wonder why I even try to be your friend. And for the record, I was going to say your health." It comes out harsher than she meant, and even though she's not sorry she said it (because honestly, it doesn't begin to compare to the things Quinn has said to her), she still softens when she sees Quinn's shoulders drop a little further. She hoists herself up onto the railing and asks, "Do you really think glee club is all I care about?"
Quinn shrugs.
"Like I said, I don't do it that often. Santana gave them to me, told me my voice would get... I don't even know," she says, dropping the cigarette on the floor with a grimace. "It makes me want to throw up anyway, so."
"Yeah, that's probably a side effect from-" Rachel starts, but she trails off when Quinn makes an exasperated noise and dumps the entire pack into the garbage can next to her.
They stay like that for a few minutes, the occasional rumble of an engine and the rhythmic tapping of Rachel's blunt nails against the metal the only sounds breaking the silence.
"So," Rachel finally says, taking a deep breath. "I wanted to talk to you about what happened earlier. I don't know if it made you feel uncomfortable because of your upbringing, or-"
"Seriously, Rachel? I've been in glee club with Kurt for two years now. My best-Santana is a lesbian."
"Okay. Okay, you have a point," Rachel concedes. "But what is it, then? No offense, but you're kind of a mess right now."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Quinn says, reaching up to push her bangs out of her eyes.
"Your hands are shaking."
Quinn laughs, clenching them into fists. "No, they're not."
"Quinn-"
"I heard about you and Finn."
"Uh," is all Rachel can say to that, because really, what? This is the strangest she has seen Quinn act, even for her standards, and she has a feeling that this is one of those conversations where she should be paying more attention to all the things that aren't being said, but she has no clue how to do that. It's almost like trying to parse a foreign language.
Quinn sighs impatiently. "Look, just talk or whatever. I'm not good at this. Tell me about Finn."
"Well," Rachel stalls, trying to focus. Finn. Okay. If Quinn doesn't want to talk about whatever is going on with her, then she can talk about Finn. It's not like they haven't talked about him a hundred times before. "The thing is, I'm not exactly relieved, per se, but-I don't want to feel guilty about looking forward to the future either, you know? He's great, don't get me wrong, but sometimes just looking at him was enough to remind me of everything I can't wait to leave behind."
Next to her, Quinn sighs again.
"I'm not going to pretend this town has been good to me," Rachel continues. "If I could leave today, I wouldn't even think twice about it. So in a way, it was like taking a huge-sorry, no pun intended-a huge weight off my shoulders. I can't afford any more second-guessing. I'd never forgive myself."
Quinn stays quiet for a very long time, and then the only thing she says is, "How do you manage to make it sound so easy?"
"Make what sound easy?"
"Leaving everything behind." She bites her lip. "Going after what you want."
Rachel jumps down from the railing, moving to stand in front of Quinn.
"Look, I know you've always thought that high school was going to be the highest point of your life. That you were going to rule that place for four years and spend the rest of your life reminiscing about the good old times. Again, no offense, but look how well that turned out."
The intensity of Quinn's glare would have intimidated her in the past, but now, it's easy to push past it.
"Now, imagine getting the chance to start again, knowing what you know now, in a different place where nobody knows who you are, or how unpopular you used to be. Or how many people you used to bully," she says pointedly. Quinn looks away, clenching her jaw. "Except this time, you get to do what you want to do instead of what you think you're supposed to. Who wouldn't take the chance to do that?"
"Sounds good," Quinn finally admits.
"The difference between you and me is that I've been looking forward to this all my life. You only started seeing it as a possibility a few weeks ago. That's why it's easier for me."
Quinn nods, biting her lip.
"Now let's go, before they assume we've killed each other and leave without us."
***
She wakes up to the sound of rocks hitting her window. Taking a glance outside, she rolls her eyes with a sleepy groan. She's going to kill Puckerman.
"What do you think you're doing?" she hisses, throwing the door open.
"Dude, chill. Whoa, that's what you wear to sleep? Nice," he says, wiggling his eyebrows.
Rachel crosses her arms across her chest. "Both of my dads are home. You have five seconds-"
"Okay, okay. Jeez." He raises his arms. "Just let me explain. Actually, it's better if you come with me." He quickly checks under the potted plant where Rachel's dads keep their spare key-"I don't even want to know how you knew that was there"-and closes the door softly behind them.
"Where are we going?"
"Around the corner. My truck's parked there."
"Why would you park your truck around the corner?"
"Because I have two very loud, very drunk idiots in there and I didn't want to be the asshole who brought them under your window so they could wake up your dads."
Rachel is about to ask, but then the most tuneless rendition of Lucky she's ever heard reaches her ears, and she doesn't need to anymore.
"Right. So, by the way, you're gonna have to get in there."
"What?"
"Look, it's either you go in or they get out, and I'm not fucking chasing them all over the place again, so." He clasps his hands together, creating a makeshift step for her to climb on.
Rachel sighs, running a hand through her hair. "Where did you find them?"
"I was driving home from Lauren's, and they were making complete asses of themselves right there in the middle of the road."
"We were dancing," comes the outraged protest.
"So I told them I'd take them home, but then they decided they wanted to come here instead. To see their captain," he finishes in an amused voice.
Rachel shakes her head, putting one hand on his shoulder to balance herself. "Fine. Let's get this over with."
He climbs in behind her. "Okay, losers. You have ten minutes and then we're leaving."
"Hey, Rachel," Sam greets her from where he's sprawled on the flatbed. "Looking good."
"Thank you. Wish I could say the same," Rachel mutters.
The idea of sharing a confined space with a drunk Quinn isn't exactly a thrilling one, because from what little she remembers from her party, a drunk Quinn equals an angry Quinn.
But looking at her now, she wonders if maybe Finn's theories weren't as conclusive as he seemed to think. Because Quinn doesn't look angry at all. She's sitting with her legs crossed, leaning against the cabin of the truck, and she looks pretty much the same as any other day, except her eyes look glassier and her features look softer, less composed.
"So, Rachel," Sam starts, propping himself up on an elbow. "What are you doing here?"
"Noah told me you guys wanted to see me."
"That's true, we did. Dude, that's so awesome."
Rachel manages a tight smile. "What is?"
"Dancing," Quinn supplies helpfully.
"Yeah, dancing's awesome," Sam agrees.
Rachel takes a deep breath and reminds herself that, as team captain, it is her duty to listen to her teammates' ideas, no matter the time, the place, or the circumstances.
Some of the terms on that symbolic document need an urgent revising. She'll get to it first thing in the morning.
"We were talking about that before," Sam continues. "About how awesing-awesome dancing is. Right?"
"Right," Quinn says.
"And about how we do a lot of dancing in glee club."
"And you do a lot of glee club... stuff," Quinn adds. "Most of it."
"Yes, there's no denying that," Rachel says.
"So we thought of you," Sam concludes.
"That was very nice of you guys."
"You know who else is nice?"
"Who?"
Sam smiles proudly. "You."
"Oh. Well, thank you very much, Sam."
"Don't thank me, thank Quinn. She's the one who keeps saying that."
"That is so not true," Quinn scoffs.
"Does she?" Rachel asks, looking at Sam.
"I don't."
"Yeah," he mock-whispers.
"I believe you," she says, in the same tone of voice.
"I hate Sam," Quinn declares.
"I don't think you do, Quinn. He's very nice."
"Okay, that's true. He was an awesome boyso-boyfriend too."
"Yeah. Wish I could say the same 'bout you," Sam mutters.
"Shut up. I hate you."
"All right, everybody," Noah says. "Show's over. Say bye to Rachel, we're leaving."
"No, wait a minute." Quinn scoots over until she's flush against Rachel's side, leaning into her ear. "Hey Rachel, wanna know a secret?"
Rachel raises an eyebrow. "Sure."
"Sam has a girlfriend."
"Oh man," Sam groans.
"Want to know another one?" Quinn continues, lightly poking Rachel's nose with her finger. "Hey, remember that time you wanted my nose?"
Rachel tries to bat her hand away. "Yes, Quinn, I do remember."
"It's so funny, because it's not even my nose." Quinn has stopped poking, now, in favor of absently tracing the length of Rachel's nose with her finger.
"I like your nose, Rachel," Sam says.
"Thank you."
"Shut up, you have a girlfriend. Want to know who it is, Rachel?"
"Okay."
"It's Mercedes."
"Wait. Dude, seriously?" Puck asks.
Sam nods smugly, and Puck holds out his fist for him to bump. (He does-on the fourth try.)
Quinn has nodded off against her-she hopes that's the case, at least; any other explanation for the drool on her shoulder would be more than a little disturbing-and right then and there, Rachel makes her decision: sleep can wait. The moment she gets home, she's redacting a mass-email listing the exact limits of her duties as team captain. In painstaking detail.
***
"Rough night?"
Quinn slides her sunglasses up into her hair, scowling at Rachel.
"Oh come on, it was funny," Rachel says, taking a bottle out of her bag. "Here, peace offering. You look like you could use some extra electrolytes."
When Quinn actually smiles at her, Rachel has to consider the possibility that she might still be a little drunk.
"So, what were you doing out here?" she asks, once they've fallen into step together. "I figured you'd be inside, trying to get them to inject caffeine into your veins."
Quinn shrugs. "I was leaving early and I knew you were probably about to show up, so I waited in case you wanted a ride."
"What, not up for walking today?" Rachel teases, because it's either that or breaking out into a musical number that appropriately expresses her joy and gratitude, and she doesn't want to scare Quinn off.
"Are you?"
Yeah, she has to admit that she kind of set herself up for that one.
***
"You know," Quinn says, getting out of her car and popping the trunk so Rachel can retrieve her gym bag, "I thought you'd be the kind of person who sings along with every song on the radio."
"I am. I was simply refraining from doing it today because of your delicate state."
"That's... really considerate of you."
"You don't have to sound so surprised every time."
Quinn chuckles at that, and it makes Rachel feel inordinately proud of herself. She shoulders her gym bag, hearing something crinkle inside.
"Wait, I have something for you," she blurts out, almost regretting it the second the words come out of her mouth.
Quinn frowns curiously. "Okay."
"I really hope I'm not overstepping any boundaries, but I was thinking about how we've talked about this a few times now and I-well, I'm actually not sure whether or not you have any interest in attending college anywhere near the New York area. Who knows, maybe you'd prefer to go somewhere else, which would be perfectly acceptable, don't get me wrong, but after the whole Columbia thing and also, call it bias but I'm planning on moving to New York and since we're friends now, I mean I think we are, I'd certainly say we-"
"Rachel," Quinn cuts her off.
"Sorry. Here."
Quinn takes the small stack of papers from Rachel's slightly clammy hand and starts leafing through the pages.
"I printed them out this morning and put them in my bag, that's why the corners are wrinkled. Oh, and the ink might be smudged at some spots because I was in a bit of a hurry and I couldn't possibly wait any longer for it to dry properly and-Quinn?"
Quinn is staring at her with a slightly pained expression.
"Quinn, are you-"
Quinn shakes her head, her eyes wide. So wide, in fact, that Rachel forces herself to blink a few times in case her own eyes are playing tricks on her, but now it seems like they're also getting closer and closer and-
Rachel steps back on instinct, literally rendered speechless.
For one slightly delirious moment that she'll probably be able to laugh at someday (but not now, definitely not now), she absently wonders if fainting from shock would be too melodramatic of her. She fears it might happen anyway.
Because Quinn just kissed her.
They stare at each other for a few beats longer, and then a strangled sound rips out of Quinn's throat and she's stumbling backwards, towards her car.
"Quinn, what-"
She swears she can almost smell the burnt rubber from Quinn's tires.
***
It takes her twenty minutes to get to Quinn's house.
The walk serves a double purpose: it gives her some extra time to calm down (and replay the events leading up to the... kiss-she still can barely even think about the word, let alone the fact that it actually happened-over and over and over again, trying to remember anything that could help her make sense of why it happened), and she also figures it's safer for the population at large that way; there's only so much damage a person of her size can cause while not operating a motor vehicle.
When she gets to Quinn's, her car is parked almost diagonally across her driveway, but clearly in perfect condition otherwise. Rachel sighs in relief, feeling reassured about having chosen to walk.
She tries knocking on the door and ringing the doorbell, with identical results.
Not that she was expecting anything different.
"Quinn, come on, we need to talk about this."
A bird chirping from a tree nearby is the only response she gets.
Rachel sighs. "I can see your car, you know. I know you're in there."
She hopes Quinn's neighbors aren't nosy because she isn't above turning this into a dramatic production if Quinn doesn't open the door soon.
"Look, I'm confused too, but I'm sure we can handle this like adults."
Thinking she can hear faint footsteps on the other side of the door, she leans her forehead against the wood, lowering her voice.
"You just caught me by surprise, that's all. A-and hey, it's nothing to be ashamed of," she tries. "The world doesn't end simply because one day you find out you might be gay-"
The door rips open.
"Don't. Call me. That," Quinn warns in a low voice. She looks... well, like her whole world just got turned upside down.
"Can we please talk about this?" Rachel asks, trying, to no avail, to get Quinn to meet her eyes.
"There's nothing to talk about."
And she doesn't exactly understand why but this, Rachel is prepared for. Denial is something she can handle.
"Okay. Okay, but can we still be friends? We can pretend it didn't happen if you want to or-"
Quinn looks like she just got punched in the stomach.
"Or, or maybe not-"
"You should go," Quinn cuts her off, sounding strangely defeated.
Rachel brings a shaky hand to her forehead. "Come on, don't do this."
"Just go, Rachel."
***
"And then she just closed the door," she finishes.
She's quite sure Kurt and Mercedes haven't even blinked since she started talking.
"Oh my God."
"Definitely didn't see that one coming."
"Yeah, well. I can assure you, neither did I," Rachel mumbles.
Kurt and Mercedes share a look.
"Are you sure you're not keeping anything from us?" Mercedes finally asks.
"For the last time, I've told you absolutely everything," Rachel says. "My interactions with Quinn have been nothing but friendly during all these weeks, and there was nothing in her behavior towards me that could have clued me in to the fact that she might have started seeing me as anything other than-that she might have been planning on-"
"If she can't even say it out loud," Kurt says, "I can't even imagine what that poor girl must be going through right now."
Mercedes puts her phone away from her ear. "Whatever it is, she's still not up for talking about it. She's either turned her cell off or thrown it at the wall."
Rachel sighs morosely.
"Look, I'm not claiming to know how Quinn's brain works, because seriously? I'd be out of college with a master's degree in psychology if I did. But I used to live with her. And if there's one thing I know about that girl, it's that her concept of friendship is majorly screwed up." Mercedes meets Kurt's eyes again, a look of understanding passing between them, and Rachel is once again painfully aware of just how much she doesn't know about that particular period of Quinn's life.
Kurt nods. "We all know how jealous of Quinn everybody in this room has been at different points in our lives, but the fact is, she doesn't actually seem to have that many friends. If I had to bet, I'd say the concept of somebody wanting to be around her and not expecting anything in return isn't something she's used to."
"And then you swooped in with your big words and your big plans and all your scary focus-don't get me wrong, Rachel, but you have this way of looking at people sometimes..."
"It's intense," Kurt agrees.
Mercedes shrugs. "Who knows, maybe you were sending her all sorts of crazy signals and she got confused. Maybe her head's still all confused and that's why she doesn't want to talk to anybody."
"Or maybe," Kurt says, dragging out the words. "Maybe not so much confused as just... licking her wounds. I mean, she went for it and you pretty much flat-out rejected her. That's got to sting."
"I didn't rej-come on, what was I supposed to do? I was completely blindsided by it."
"And that's why you have to get her to talk to you, so you can explain it to her."
Rachel sighs. She has a feeling it's not going to be that easy.
***
Three unread e-mails, five unanswered text messages and eleven missed calls later, Rachel knows it's time for drastic measures.
It's either going to fix things between them, or make Quinn never want to talk to her again.
At this point, she'll take her chances.
The first version of her plan involves complex diagrams with calculations of the distance between the law firm where Quinn's mom works and her house (taking into account speed limits and delays caused by rush hour) and synchronizing watches and dialing Quinn's phone from an unlisted number at exactly the right time to make sure she's not the one opening the front door. In the end, though, she decides to leave it all to chance. If Quinn refuses to talk to her again, she'll take it as a sign.
As it is, luck appears to be on her side.
"Are you one of Quinn's singing friends?"
"Yes. Rachel Berry. Extremely nice to meet you. Let me just say, your garden looks lovely this time of year."
It's so easy to win Judy over that it almost feels like cheating; then again, she's almost certain that her previous interactions with Quinn's friends have been limited to Finn, Santana and Brittany. It's barely a challenge.
When Quinn appears at the bottom of the stairs, face twisted in equal parts anger and disbelief, Rachel grips the arm of the sofa and fights the urge to flee.
"What are you doing here?"
"Honey, where are your manners?" Judy chides. "Your friend was in the middle of telling me about the many benefits of following a vegan diet." She pats the cushion beside her and Quinn moves, almost robotically, and sits next to her mother. It's fascinating to watch.
Rachel waits patiently, but Judy isn't leaving, and Quinn isn't telling her to leave or inviting her somewhere more private, and-
Okay. If this is the way she wants to play it, Rachel can adapt.
"I miss you," she says, because she does, and because it's a much safer topic to discuss in parental company than 'I think we should talk about that time our lips touched and how you ran away afterwards and have been avoiding me ever since'.
Quinn has her eyes focused on the floor.
"I was thinking maybe we could... watch a movie. My fathers-father," she quickly corrects herself, glancing at Judy, "owns a large selection of both classic and modern films. Tomorrow, maybe?" she finishes hopefully.
"I think that's a superb idea," Judy says. "Quinnie here has been wandering through the house like a ghost for the past few days."
"I can't tomorrow," Quinn mumbles.
"Oh, that's nonsense. What else could you possibly have to do? And don't tell me that Santana girl is coming over again. She keeps running over my gardenias."
"I just can't, mom," Quinn repeats, a little more forcefully. "I have to go somewhere."
Rachel frowns, wondering why she's acting so secretive all of a sudden. But then she sees it.
The hand that Quinn is unconsciously rubbing across her stomach.
Quinn notices a split second after Rachel does, and her eyes widen almost comically. Except Rachel doesn't feel like laughing at all.
She makes up a quick excuse and bolts out of the door, breaking more than a few traffic laws on her way home. She gets on her elliptical and hours later, just barely manages to make it to her bed before passing out from exhaustion.
***
Rocks hitting her window wake her up a couple of nights later, and she doesn't need to look; something tells her it's not Noah this time.
When she opens the front door, Quinn's sitting on the doorstep, chewing on her thumbnail. Rachel sits down next to her, carefully leaving a little distance between them.
"How is she?" she asks, because Quinn has made it all the way here and Rachel figures she deserves not having to start either of the two most awkward conversations they've probably had yet.
"She's great," Quinn says, in a tone of voice Rachel has never heard her use before. It makes something inside her chest flutter.
She swallows past the knot in her throat. "And my-I mean, her-"
"They're doing well, Rachel. She asks about you sometimes."
Rachel nods, unable to do anything else for the moment.
Quinn fidgets next to her. "Look, I know I should have probably told you-"
"No. It was none of my business and you didn't have to tell me. I reacted very badly and I want to apologize."
"I wanted to tell you," Quinn almost whispers. "I've never told anybody, but I wanted to tell you. I just didn't know how."
"You know, about that," Rachel starts, because they might as well start talking about the real reason Quinn is here. "The moment I left your house, I knew I was overreacting. Let's not kid ourselves, we're barely even friends. And it's not like we ever call each other and talk about our days. I was aware of how disproportionate my reaction was." She pauses, turning to look at Quinn for the first time. "Which then made me wonder why exactly I was reacting that badly."
Quinn looks at her then, and Rachel manages a shaky smile.
"This is going to sound-I'm just going to say it. I don't care about Kurt's latest fight with Finn, or about whether Mercedes has already made up her mind between Boston and Chicago. I listen to them because I know that's what friends do, the same way they listen to me go on about things they clearly don't care about. But you," she says, reaching out tentatively and touching Quinn's arm. "I want to know everything about you. I want to know about what kind of books you read and how you take your coffee and-I printed out all that information because I wanted you to want to move to New York with me." She laughs, and Quinn smiles back at her.
"That was kind of... yeah."
"So once I realized where all of my misguided hurt was coming from, figuring out the rest was easy enough."
Quinn scoffs. "Easy enough? I'm terrified."
Rachel scoots over, very deliberately taking Quinn's hand in both of hers. "You hide it well. The whole kissing me and running away thing... fine example of bravery right there."
"Shut up," Quinn groans.
"Hey," Rachel says, cupping Quinn's jaw and not letting her look away, "you're here now, right?"
"Yeah."
"That's pretty brave."
Quinn shrugs. "I guess. Hey, Rachel?"
"Yes?"
"Your hands are shaking."
Rachel smiles, touching her forehead to Quinn's. "No, they aren't."
Their second kiss goes much better than the first.
This time, nobody runs away.
Author: biruuu
Written For: a_shadow_there
Prompt: coffee and cigarettes
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Spoilers: Season 2
Word Count: 9200
Summary: It's Rachel's last summer in Lima, and she's determined to get Quinn to finally realize what great friends they could be.
A/N: Huge thanks to disasteral_boys for basically holding my hand through the entire process of writing this.
Rachel has always considered herself an expert in all things Lima.
Not that there's much to know about a town that has a golf course and a roller skating rink listed as the top two worth visiting spots on three different online review sites. In fact, its grey, dull predictability-along with the appallingly low chances of being spotted by a Hollywood agent while strolling down Main Street-has been number two on Rachel's list of reasons for wanting to leave Ohio ever since she can remember.
But now, she stands right inside the door she just stepped through, drops of water still clinging to the ends of her hair and her eyelashes, and concedes the possibility that her assumption might not have been completely accurate after all. The possibility that there are places in Lima still unknown to her.
This particular one appears to be some sort of old-fashioned, quaint coffee shop, refreshingly unlike the Lima Bean or any of the many other generic chain stores in town. And as she takes her first couple of tentative steps towards the counter, Rachel looks around and makes a mental note to call Kurt. She's gotten to know his taste so well that she's convinced that, the moment he steps foot in here, Lima's Elite Club For the Appreciation of Lesser Known Broadway Classics will have found its new headquarters. (She has a feeling it might also be the push Blaine needs to finally become their first official non-founding member.)
She's trying to decide on the best possible placement for Kurt's framed poster of Gypsy-not that a show with multiple revivals and international adaptations qualifies as underrated in her opinion, but Rachel knows better than to risk alienating the only other person willing to start this club with her because of a relatively minor detail like that-when a flash of blonde hair catches her eye and she spots a familiar figure tucked into a booth in the far corner. Setting her redecorating plans aside for the moment, she makes her way through the maze of mismatched tables and chairs, doing her best not to disturb the peaceful mood set by the warm orange lamps bolted to the walls.
Out of habit, Rachel glances at the book Quinn is holding. It's a paperback today, and she wonders, not for the first time, whether there's some sort of hidden-maybe even subconscious-meaning behind Quinn's seemingly arbitrary choices of literature.
"Hello, Quinn."
It's proof of the progress they've made (because that's what the past couple of years have been for them: a constant work in progress) that Quinn's only outward reaction to hearing Rachel's voice is a brief tightening of fingers around her book before she looks up at her with a blank expression on her face. Once she takes Rachel's appearance in, though, her eyes widen with poorly disguised curiosity.
"It's pouring," Rachel rushes to explain, pointing over Quinn's shoulder. "I was on my way home from dance class and it caught me off-guard." She waits until Quinn's head is turned and squints at the tinted mirror over the counter, hurriedly running a hand through her hair and looking down at her drenched clothes with a sigh.
Just then, a short woman carrying a steaming coffee pot shuffles towards them. She smiles at Quinn as she refills her cup, and Quinn's grateful look at the woman's retreating back carries an unmistakable touch of familiarity.
"Do you come here often?" Rachel blurts out before she can stop herself.
Quinn raises an eyebrow. "Sometimes. Why?"
"Oh, no reason." She rocks back on her heels and starts again, once she realizes Quinn isn't going to offer her any openings. "So, what are you doing this summer?"
"You're looking at it," Quinn says with a shrug.
Rachel hums noncommittally, having noticed a slight edge of defensiveness in Quinn's tone. "Maybe we could hang out sometime."
"Who? You, me and Finn? Right. Pass."
"It's not like th-Finn and I aren't-" Rachel tries to explain, but Quinn's attention is already back on her book.
"Well," she says instead, taking a deep breath and resisting the urge to stomp her foot, "you seem busy and I have quite a few things to do too so I should get going. It was good to see you, Quinn."
Quinn looks up for a moment and acknowledges Rachel's friendly smile with an awkward nod.
It's not much, but she'll take it. And as she makes her way back to the door, hoping the rain has let out a little, Rachel catches herself smiling again. Attempting small talk with Quinn can be an exhausting exercise in patience, but her quest to become friends with her has been an absolutely thrilling challenge during the past two years, and there's no way she's giving up. Especially now that it feels like she's finally starting to find her stride.
***
Finn picks her up later that night. He makes awkward small talk with her dads while she finishes getting ready, smiles at her when she comes down the stairs, opens her car door for her, compliments her on her clothes.
Those Hummel men are surely proving to be a really positive influence on him when it comes to certain things.
They're going slow this time around, having agreed to keep it casual and not make it official yet, but Rachel can tell Finn wants them to be.
She turns to look at his profile while he drives, and sees him wince and flex his right hand as he turns a corner.
"Are you okay?"
"Huh?" he mumbles, taking his eyes off the road and following her line of vision. "Oh, it's just my thumb's a little sore. Puck came over earlier and it was too hot to go anywhere so we stayed in. Kicked his butt at Halo," he says with a proud smile. "And you? How was dance class?"
"It was okay." Rachel would rather be attending more singing classes instead, but the clock keeps ticking away and considering Mr. Schuester's more than lacking attention to that specific department, she needs all the extra hours of practice she can get. "Hey, did you check out the information about beginner classes I gave you? Ms. Peterson has been asking me about you."
Finn chuckles. "You know, don't get me wrong... all that stuff sounds really cool and everything but-I mean, I'm pretty bad. I don't think a million dance classes would make me better."
"You'll never know if you don't try."
"Yeah, I don't know," he says, turning off the ignition and absently patting the front pockets of his jeans. "But we'll see." He turns and smiles at her, and Rachel feels a sudden rush of affection for him.
Sure, she has friends, now. She has Kurt and Mercedes and she hopes she'll get there with Quinn someday soon. But Finn will always be different. He's the one who hung out with her when nobody else would, made her feel appreciated when no one else did, helped her get the numbers on her side when her status at school kept her away from her dreams of being part of something special.
He's not perfect, but he's Finn.
So she lets him pick the movie, and giggles when he buys the biggest bucket of popcorn she's ever seen, and when they take their seats and he glances at her out of the corner of his eye before casually dropping an arm around her shoulders, she smiles and leans against him, closing her eyes with a sigh.
The future can wait for a little longer.
***
"Uh, it's not raining today."
"And good afternoon to you too, Quinn," Rachel says cheerfully, setting her steaming cup of coffee and her book on the table.
"Wait, what are you-why are you sitting down?"
Keeping a genuine-looking smile on her face is easy; she's been training herself for years, practicing in front of her mirror until she managed to replicate it almost to perfection. It doesn't stop her from second-guessing her plan, though. Maybe it's too much too fast. But then again, she reasons, one thing she's learned about Quinn is that it kind of has to be this way with her sometimes or else they'll never manage to move past casual acquaintances.
And maybe Rachel's getting tired of being patient.
"It just seems like a perfect day to get some reading done, don't you think?"
Quinn gapes at her.
"Yeah, so." Rachel clears her throat. "I'll just be-"
"Stop. Don't talk," Quinn mumbles, pressing two fingers to her forehead with a sigh. "You can stay, but don't push it."
Rachel nods and mimics the motion of her lips being zipped shut. She's determined to make it impossible for Quinn to get annoyed at her today, so she finds a comfortable position and focuses on the familiar words in front of her, the pages dog-eared from use.
Until Quinn breaks the silence with a snort.
Rachel looks up. Quinn is staring at the cover of her book from across the table, both eyebrows raised. "The Importance of Being Barbra: The Brilliant, Tumultuous-"
"Tumultuous Career of Barbra Streisand, yes," Rachel finishes proudly.
Quinn shakes her head. "Where do you even find this stuff?"
"It's a fascinating read, I guarantee you." She pauses, and then adds, "You can borrow it if you want to. I have more copies."
"That's okay, you can keep it." Quinn's smiling now, just a little, and Rachel feels the urge to tell her that she should do it more often, because it makes her look so much prettier than the rest of the time, when it seems like she's either really sad or incredibly angry at the world.
She settles for smiling back. (It kind of backfires on her, because as soon as Quinn realizes she's doing it, she breaks eye contact and busies herself with a sugar packet.)
Still, the mood is clearly more relaxed after that, so when Rachel spots a bookmark with the Columbia University logo sticking out of Quinn's book, she doesn't think twice before picking it up.
Quinn glances at her, face partially hidden by her short bangs. "Perks of being a Cheerio. We used to get swarmed by recruiters at competitions. Which is ironic because half of them could barely read." She shrugs. "I always assumed it was Coach Sylvester pulling strings."
Rachel traces the embossed cardboard with her thumb. "So, is Columbia something you might be considering?"
Quinn looks down at her lap and fiddles with the hem of her shirt. She stays quiet for so long, Rachel starts thinking she's not going to get a reply. And when she finally looks up, eyes wide and biting her lower lip, Rachel has to wonder how it is that most of their conversations seem to end up taking a turn for the serious so quickly.
"I don't-I haven't really thought about it that much yet."
"Oh."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "Just spit it out, whatever it is. You look like you just swallowed a bug."
"I mean," Rachel starts carefully, "obviously, you still have a few months before you have to make any final decisions, and I'm more than aware that not everybody is as precocious as I was when it comes to the envisioning and planning of their future, and that discovering one's calling later on in life has no effect whatsoever in their ability to excel in their chosen field. I didn't mean to imply-" she stops herself, deciding to just cut to the chase. "I-it's just, I remember you said something about real estate once." Quinn's eyes widen. "As admittedly self-obsessed as I can be sometimes, I do pay attention, you know."
"Things have changed a lot since then."
Rachel nods, absently tapping her foot. "Look, I'm aware that what I'm about to suggest is quite possibly the most overused piece of advice in history, but you know what they say about closing your eyes and trying to imagine yourself in ten years? Maybe you could do that."
Quinn shrugs. "Yeah, I guess."
"I'm very glad you agree."
"Not doing it right now, though," Quinn says pointedly after a few seconds.
Rachel immediately averts her eyes. "Yes, of course. I knew that," she mutters, burrowing behind her book and ignoring Quinn's snort.
It comes unbidden, then, her own vision of the future. Maybe it's the topic of their conversation, or Quinn's new haircut and the way it makes her look older and much more worldly, or the coffee shop and its rather dark, offbeat feel, but even though she hasn't even closed her eyes, it's really easy for her to picture the two of them in a couple of years, spending their afternoons in some hole in the wall in New York, complaining about last-minute essay assignments and badmouthing their respective roommates over endless cups of coffee.
(And so what if Rachel also pictures little arguments over whether or not Quinn should accept her front row tickets for Rachel's big Broadway shows free of charge, and hours upon hours spent cutting out glowing reviews from the entertainment section of the newspapers for her scrapbooks? It is her vision after all.)
***
Mercedes' birthday falls on the last week of June.
One hour after the party starts (and six increasingly slurred suggestions to call Mr. Schue later), Rachel has made a crucial discovery: as long as they're intoxicated, her teammates don't seem to mind her taking the lead on every song. She hasn't had anything to drink, and has thus been able to maintain her position at the karaoke machine without complaints for a record-breaking amount of time.
(There's a close call early on, when she magnanimously allows Blaine the chance to sing one of his favorite songs and he almost looks like he wants to protest once it's over. But Mercedes simply rolls her eyes and gives them another microphone, and the crisis is fortunately averted.)
She's also taking advantage of the situation and doing an unofficial screening for potential future duet partners. Everything goes swimmingly until Santana bursts into tears right in the middle of Rachel and Kurt's rendition of Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On", and Sam-who for some reason seems to be acting as co-host-decides to put the karaoke machine away for the night, much to Rachel's rightful indignation.
The last straw breaks when somebody turns the stereo on and Ke$ha's Tik Tok comes blasting from the speakers. Rachel can feel herself beginning to break out in a cold sweat, so she decides to make herself scarce before the gruesome flashbacks start attacking all of her senses.
After bypassing the kitchen, where Finn, Puck and Mike are engrossed in a complex-looking fire hazard of a game involving bottle caps and what smells like lightning fluid, she decides to head upstairs and look for the bathroom so she can splash some water on her face. The first door she opens turns out to be Mercedes' bedroom, so she tries the one across the hallway. It's another bedroom, but this one's not empty.
"Bathroom's next door."
Quinn's tone is distant, and Rachel knows it probably means that she wants to be left alone, but she finds herself taking a few steps into the room anyway. She squints in the half-light the open door provides, wondering if Quinn realizes that her hands are resting protectively over her stomach.
"Was this your room when you lived here?" Quinn nods. "It's really nice," Rachel comments, looking around.
"It's more than that."
Rachel moves a little further into the room, thinking back on those months. She remembers being too wrapped up in her various petty dramas to have been of much help during that time. Remembers Mercedes and Quinn growing progressively closer while she marched, like a horse with blinders on, from one boy to another (with some parental drama thrown in for good measure). She likes to think she'd act differently if she had to do it all over again, but the truth is, she's not sure it's in her character to be that selfless.
But her dads always say it's never too late to learn from one's past mistakes, so when she reaches the bed, she forces herself to stay quiet for once and sits down, across from the chair Quinn is occupying. Even though she's more about grand gestures and big declarations herself, she's starting to realize that for some people, the simple act of being there for them says more than any words could.
A few minutes later, she gets her reward when Quinn's the one to break the silence.
"How weird is it that I don't see anything special?"
Rachel doesn't need to ask what she's talking about. "What do you see?"
"Just... I don't know, boring stuff. Myself, getting home after a day at work. Sometimes-God, why am I even talking about this?" she mutters, "sometimes there's a dog greeting me at the door. It's stupid."
"Well, I wouldn't say that's not special," Rachel says evenly. She tries to make out Quinn's expression but the room is too dark. "It sounds pretty great, actually." She's practically whispering now.
Quinn scoffs. "Yeah, I'm sure that's exactly what you see too."
"It isn't," Rachel admits. "Mine always stop right after the big note and the endless applause."
"See? We're so different." Quinn sighs, getting up from the chair and moving towards the door. "This is why I don't understand why you keep trying to be my friend, Rachel. We have nothing in common."
"Would you-do you want me to stop trying?" Rachel asks, hating how small and whiny her voice sounds but unable to do anything about it.
Quinn pauses right under the threshold, and for one moment, Rachel can see her profile perfectly. She's biting her lip, and her brow is furrowed. A second later, she sets her jaw and walks out, not looking back.
***
"I don't know, she kinda has a point. She's always so awful to you."
"She-okay, she is. But at the same time, you wouldn't believe the amount of meaningful conversations we've had."
"I thought those always ended with one of you either crying or being slapped."
Rachel huffs, flopping backwards on Finn's bed. "Look, I can't say I completely understand why I feel this strange need to have her accept me as a friend, all right? I just thought you of all people would understand."
Finn glances at her over his shoulder. "What? That's like, not even the same thing at all." He frowns. "Is it?"
Rachel's frustrated groan gets drowned out by quick rapping at the door.
"Is everybody looking decent in there?"
Finn rolls his eyes.
"Because for the last time, Finn Hudson. It was an accident! I have a boyfriend now, and even if I didn't, stop flattering yourself. You're really not all-oh hey, Rachel," Kurt says, his voice back to its normal volume once the door's open. "I was looking for you."
"You were?" Rachel frowns.
He grabs her hand. "Yes. Come downstairs, you have to see this."
Rachel allows herself to be dragged along to the living-room (and the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. Mr. Hummel has really good taste when it comes to electrical appliances).
"I present you 'New York on a Budget'," he announces breathlessly. "It just started."
"Nah, dude. She's already seen that one," Finn points out from the doorway.
"I... don't think I have, actually," Rachel replies, allowing Kurt to tug her down into a sitting position.
"You have. Last week, at your house?"
"That one was about general tips for how to survive on a tight budget," she says, waving him off. "This is specifically about New York City. Significantly different, Finn."
"Okay, if you two are just going to keep bickering at each other, go do it somewhere else. I want to watch this."
Rachel squeezes Kurt's thigh in silent apology, and everybody stays quiet after that.
It's not until the "Cheap Eats" segment of the show rolls around that Rachel turns to look over her head and notices Finn is gone.
***
She wouldn't really call it a breakup.
On the list of painful breakups Rachel has experienced so far in her life, it doesn't even place. (Not surprising, all things considered. A sullen, half-hearted ultimatum can't really measure up against the various very public breakups she has suffered through. Not to mention those poor baby chickens she still has nightmares about sometimes.)
The moment Finn starts talking-"I know I said we still have one year 'til graduation, but..."-they both know how the conversation's going to end.
It's never really been a choice.
***
Mercedes calls the next morning, and despite Rachel's multiple reassurances that she's perfectly fine and doesn't need to be cheered up, she refuses to hang up until Rachel has agreed to skip her dance class for one day and go to the mall with them.
Rachel blames her momentary inability to say no on the fact that a small part of her still gets a flutter of giddiness in her stomach whenever others go out of their way to make her feel part of something, even something as silly as a trip to the mall.
(Still, she makes sure to call Mrs. Peterson and explain the situation to her, managing to reschedule her class for the afternoon. There's a difference between being age-appropriately carefree and being just plainly irresponsible.)
***
"They really need to do something about their hair. It's fine when it's just one of them, but when they're walking side by side like that? Creepy."
Mercedes snorts. "Shut up. Like you're one to talk."
"Oh please, that's ludicrous. My hair and Blaine's are clearly different in both color and style. With those two, I can only tell which one is which because as far as I know, Sam doesn't have an affinity for summer dresses that constantly toe the line between cute and matronly."
Stifling a giggle, Rachel turns to look at Tina, who just grins back at her and shrugs before wandering off in the direction of a nail polish display.
Rachel keeps strolling behind the others, tuning out their chatter. She can't say it wasn't a surprise to find Quinn was going to be joining them, and from what she understands, it's not a regular occurrence. Something about her and Sam running into each other in church and ending up with him inviting her along.
Why Sam is here in the first place, she's not exactly sure, but-
"Hey there."
Glancing to her right curiously, Rachel finds a pretty blonde girl about her age, who's smiling-no, more like smirking, she decides-at her from a few feet away.
"Hello," Rachel says with a tentative smile of her own.
The girl steps closer. "So, I was wondering if you might have a minute. See my friend over there?" She turns and points to yet another blonde girl sitting on a bench. "She's dying to meet you."
"Is she?" Rachel asks, trying to mask her confusion but when everything clicks, she feels her chest swell with pride at the thought of meeting her first fan. The others seem to have stopped at Dairy Queen, and she figures it's better to do this without them around to tease her about it anyway. Flexing her right hand in preparation, she wishes she had remembered to put her favorite pen in her bag before she'd left her house that morning.
The girl blushes when she sees them approaching and wow, it's unexpectedly flattering. "Hi, I'm Rachel Berry. Nice to meet you."
"Hey," the girl mumbles, not meeting her eyes. "Ashley."
"She's a little shy. But trust me, she wouldn't shut up about you."
"Really?" That definitely piques Rachel's interest. She wonders if they know about what happened at Nationals. "Are you guys performers too?"
"Uh, sure," not-Ashley says. "Listen, we're actually in a bit of a hurry and we don't want to take too much of your time either, but we couldn't leave without saying a quick hi. It was really nice to meet you. Wasn't it, Ash?" She elbows her friend on the side.
"Yeah. Really nice."
"Okay," Rachel says, unable to hide her puzzlement this time. "It was nice to meet you too, I guess."
"And hey, who knows? Maybe we'll see you around soon."
Rachel feels the urge to reach up and rub her eyes, because she could swear that girl just winked at her.
A moment later, a napkin is being pressed into her palm and the two girls are walking away, arm in arm. Rachel glances down at the paper and her jaw falls open. All she can think of is that if she were a cartoon character, her eyes would have probably fallen out of their sockets.
She makes her way slowly to where the others are sitting, napkin still clutched tightly in her hand.
"We thought you'd gotten lost," Mercedes says. "What did those girls want?"
"I-" she tries, but after choking on that first word, she simply places the napkin on the table with a helpless shrug. Tina picks it up, and Quinn takes a look at it before immediately glancing away, pale as a sheet.
Across the table, Tina tilts her head. "Is this-did you just get propositioned for a lesbian threesome?"
Four pairs of wide eyes turn towards her, and Rachel feels the tips of her ears burning.
Mercedes chuckles. "That would be one hell of a rebound. Hey." She glares at Sam, who's staring at Rachel with a dazed smile on his face.
"Sorry."
Rachel ignores whatever that is and glances at Quinn, who's studiously looking at her menu, almost like she's trying to memorize it. Rachel can't pretend she hasn't noticed that she's the only one who has remained conspicuously silent during the entire conversation.
"Can you-here." Rachel takes the napkin from Tina and folds it carefully in half, hoping the others will get the hint and change the topic.
A few seconds later, Quinn looks up and meets her eyes just in time to see her putting the paper in her pocket.
***
Everybody's in the parking lot, getting ready to leave. There's only a small problem.
Nobody has seen Quinn for the past fifteen minutes. And her phone is turned off.
When Rachel finds her at last, leaning against a railing in the far side of the parking lot, her entire body language is like a giant neon sign: approach with caution.
"Hey, we were wondering where you..." she trails off, frowning. "Wait, since when do you smoke? I'm sure you know how bad that is for-"
"What, my vocal chords?" Quinn snaps. "I don't even do it that often, so save the speech."
Rachel glares at her. "You know, sometimes I do wonder why I even try to be your friend. And for the record, I was going to say your health." It comes out harsher than she meant, and even though she's not sorry she said it (because honestly, it doesn't begin to compare to the things Quinn has said to her), she still softens when she sees Quinn's shoulders drop a little further. She hoists herself up onto the railing and asks, "Do you really think glee club is all I care about?"
Quinn shrugs.
"Like I said, I don't do it that often. Santana gave them to me, told me my voice would get... I don't even know," she says, dropping the cigarette on the floor with a grimace. "It makes me want to throw up anyway, so."
"Yeah, that's probably a side effect from-" Rachel starts, but she trails off when Quinn makes an exasperated noise and dumps the entire pack into the garbage can next to her.
They stay like that for a few minutes, the occasional rumble of an engine and the rhythmic tapping of Rachel's blunt nails against the metal the only sounds breaking the silence.
"So," Rachel finally says, taking a deep breath. "I wanted to talk to you about what happened earlier. I don't know if it made you feel uncomfortable because of your upbringing, or-"
"Seriously, Rachel? I've been in glee club with Kurt for two years now. My best-Santana is a lesbian."
"Okay. Okay, you have a point," Rachel concedes. "But what is it, then? No offense, but you're kind of a mess right now."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Quinn says, reaching up to push her bangs out of her eyes.
"Your hands are shaking."
Quinn laughs, clenching them into fists. "No, they're not."
"Quinn-"
"I heard about you and Finn."
"Uh," is all Rachel can say to that, because really, what? This is the strangest she has seen Quinn act, even for her standards, and she has a feeling that this is one of those conversations where she should be paying more attention to all the things that aren't being said, but she has no clue how to do that. It's almost like trying to parse a foreign language.
Quinn sighs impatiently. "Look, just talk or whatever. I'm not good at this. Tell me about Finn."
"Well," Rachel stalls, trying to focus. Finn. Okay. If Quinn doesn't want to talk about whatever is going on with her, then she can talk about Finn. It's not like they haven't talked about him a hundred times before. "The thing is, I'm not exactly relieved, per se, but-I don't want to feel guilty about looking forward to the future either, you know? He's great, don't get me wrong, but sometimes just looking at him was enough to remind me of everything I can't wait to leave behind."
Next to her, Quinn sighs again.
"I'm not going to pretend this town has been good to me," Rachel continues. "If I could leave today, I wouldn't even think twice about it. So in a way, it was like taking a huge-sorry, no pun intended-a huge weight off my shoulders. I can't afford any more second-guessing. I'd never forgive myself."
Quinn stays quiet for a very long time, and then the only thing she says is, "How do you manage to make it sound so easy?"
"Make what sound easy?"
"Leaving everything behind." She bites her lip. "Going after what you want."
Rachel jumps down from the railing, moving to stand in front of Quinn.
"Look, I know you've always thought that high school was going to be the highest point of your life. That you were going to rule that place for four years and spend the rest of your life reminiscing about the good old times. Again, no offense, but look how well that turned out."
The intensity of Quinn's glare would have intimidated her in the past, but now, it's easy to push past it.
"Now, imagine getting the chance to start again, knowing what you know now, in a different place where nobody knows who you are, or how unpopular you used to be. Or how many people you used to bully," she says pointedly. Quinn looks away, clenching her jaw. "Except this time, you get to do what you want to do instead of what you think you're supposed to. Who wouldn't take the chance to do that?"
"Sounds good," Quinn finally admits.
"The difference between you and me is that I've been looking forward to this all my life. You only started seeing it as a possibility a few weeks ago. That's why it's easier for me."
Quinn nods, biting her lip.
"Now let's go, before they assume we've killed each other and leave without us."
***
She wakes up to the sound of rocks hitting her window. Taking a glance outside, she rolls her eyes with a sleepy groan. She's going to kill Puckerman.
"What do you think you're doing?" she hisses, throwing the door open.
"Dude, chill. Whoa, that's what you wear to sleep? Nice," he says, wiggling his eyebrows.
Rachel crosses her arms across her chest. "Both of my dads are home. You have five seconds-"
"Okay, okay. Jeez." He raises his arms. "Just let me explain. Actually, it's better if you come with me." He quickly checks under the potted plant where Rachel's dads keep their spare key-"I don't even want to know how you knew that was there"-and closes the door softly behind them.
"Where are we going?"
"Around the corner. My truck's parked there."
"Why would you park your truck around the corner?"
"Because I have two very loud, very drunk idiots in there and I didn't want to be the asshole who brought them under your window so they could wake up your dads."
Rachel is about to ask, but then the most tuneless rendition of Lucky she's ever heard reaches her ears, and she doesn't need to anymore.
"Right. So, by the way, you're gonna have to get in there."
"What?"
"Look, it's either you go in or they get out, and I'm not fucking chasing them all over the place again, so." He clasps his hands together, creating a makeshift step for her to climb on.
Rachel sighs, running a hand through her hair. "Where did you find them?"
"I was driving home from Lauren's, and they were making complete asses of themselves right there in the middle of the road."
"We were dancing," comes the outraged protest.
"So I told them I'd take them home, but then they decided they wanted to come here instead. To see their captain," he finishes in an amused voice.
Rachel shakes her head, putting one hand on his shoulder to balance herself. "Fine. Let's get this over with."
He climbs in behind her. "Okay, losers. You have ten minutes and then we're leaving."
"Hey, Rachel," Sam greets her from where he's sprawled on the flatbed. "Looking good."
"Thank you. Wish I could say the same," Rachel mutters.
The idea of sharing a confined space with a drunk Quinn isn't exactly a thrilling one, because from what little she remembers from her party, a drunk Quinn equals an angry Quinn.
But looking at her now, she wonders if maybe Finn's theories weren't as conclusive as he seemed to think. Because Quinn doesn't look angry at all. She's sitting with her legs crossed, leaning against the cabin of the truck, and she looks pretty much the same as any other day, except her eyes look glassier and her features look softer, less composed.
"So, Rachel," Sam starts, propping himself up on an elbow. "What are you doing here?"
"Noah told me you guys wanted to see me."
"That's true, we did. Dude, that's so awesome."
Rachel manages a tight smile. "What is?"
"Dancing," Quinn supplies helpfully.
"Yeah, dancing's awesome," Sam agrees.
Rachel takes a deep breath and reminds herself that, as team captain, it is her duty to listen to her teammates' ideas, no matter the time, the place, or the circumstances.
Some of the terms on that symbolic document need an urgent revising. She'll get to it first thing in the morning.
"We were talking about that before," Sam continues. "About how awesing-awesome dancing is. Right?"
"Right," Quinn says.
"And about how we do a lot of dancing in glee club."
"And you do a lot of glee club... stuff," Quinn adds. "Most of it."
"Yes, there's no denying that," Rachel says.
"So we thought of you," Sam concludes.
"That was very nice of you guys."
"You know who else is nice?"
"Who?"
Sam smiles proudly. "You."
"Oh. Well, thank you very much, Sam."
"Don't thank me, thank Quinn. She's the one who keeps saying that."
"That is so not true," Quinn scoffs.
"Does she?" Rachel asks, looking at Sam.
"I don't."
"Yeah," he mock-whispers.
"I believe you," she says, in the same tone of voice.
"I hate Sam," Quinn declares.
"I don't think you do, Quinn. He's very nice."
"Okay, that's true. He was an awesome boyso-boyfriend too."
"Yeah. Wish I could say the same 'bout you," Sam mutters.
"Shut up. I hate you."
"All right, everybody," Noah says. "Show's over. Say bye to Rachel, we're leaving."
"No, wait a minute." Quinn scoots over until she's flush against Rachel's side, leaning into her ear. "Hey Rachel, wanna know a secret?"
Rachel raises an eyebrow. "Sure."
"Sam has a girlfriend."
"Oh man," Sam groans.
"Want to know another one?" Quinn continues, lightly poking Rachel's nose with her finger. "Hey, remember that time you wanted my nose?"
Rachel tries to bat her hand away. "Yes, Quinn, I do remember."
"It's so funny, because it's not even my nose." Quinn has stopped poking, now, in favor of absently tracing the length of Rachel's nose with her finger.
"I like your nose, Rachel," Sam says.
"Thank you."
"Shut up, you have a girlfriend. Want to know who it is, Rachel?"
"Okay."
"It's Mercedes."
"Wait. Dude, seriously?" Puck asks.
Sam nods smugly, and Puck holds out his fist for him to bump. (He does-on the fourth try.)
Quinn has nodded off against her-she hopes that's the case, at least; any other explanation for the drool on her shoulder would be more than a little disturbing-and right then and there, Rachel makes her decision: sleep can wait. The moment she gets home, she's redacting a mass-email listing the exact limits of her duties as team captain. In painstaking detail.
***
"Rough night?"
Quinn slides her sunglasses up into her hair, scowling at Rachel.
"Oh come on, it was funny," Rachel says, taking a bottle out of her bag. "Here, peace offering. You look like you could use some extra electrolytes."
When Quinn actually smiles at her, Rachel has to consider the possibility that she might still be a little drunk.
"So, what were you doing out here?" she asks, once they've fallen into step together. "I figured you'd be inside, trying to get them to inject caffeine into your veins."
Quinn shrugs. "I was leaving early and I knew you were probably about to show up, so I waited in case you wanted a ride."
"What, not up for walking today?" Rachel teases, because it's either that or breaking out into a musical number that appropriately expresses her joy and gratitude, and she doesn't want to scare Quinn off.
"Are you?"
Yeah, she has to admit that she kind of set herself up for that one.
***
"You know," Quinn says, getting out of her car and popping the trunk so Rachel can retrieve her gym bag, "I thought you'd be the kind of person who sings along with every song on the radio."
"I am. I was simply refraining from doing it today because of your delicate state."
"That's... really considerate of you."
"You don't have to sound so surprised every time."
Quinn chuckles at that, and it makes Rachel feel inordinately proud of herself. She shoulders her gym bag, hearing something crinkle inside.
"Wait, I have something for you," she blurts out, almost regretting it the second the words come out of her mouth.
Quinn frowns curiously. "Okay."
"I really hope I'm not overstepping any boundaries, but I was thinking about how we've talked about this a few times now and I-well, I'm actually not sure whether or not you have any interest in attending college anywhere near the New York area. Who knows, maybe you'd prefer to go somewhere else, which would be perfectly acceptable, don't get me wrong, but after the whole Columbia thing and also, call it bias but I'm planning on moving to New York and since we're friends now, I mean I think we are, I'd certainly say we-"
"Rachel," Quinn cuts her off.
"Sorry. Here."
Quinn takes the small stack of papers from Rachel's slightly clammy hand and starts leafing through the pages.
"I printed them out this morning and put them in my bag, that's why the corners are wrinkled. Oh, and the ink might be smudged at some spots because I was in a bit of a hurry and I couldn't possibly wait any longer for it to dry properly and-Quinn?"
Quinn is staring at her with a slightly pained expression.
"Quinn, are you-"
Quinn shakes her head, her eyes wide. So wide, in fact, that Rachel forces herself to blink a few times in case her own eyes are playing tricks on her, but now it seems like they're also getting closer and closer and-
Rachel steps back on instinct, literally rendered speechless.
For one slightly delirious moment that she'll probably be able to laugh at someday (but not now, definitely not now), she absently wonders if fainting from shock would be too melodramatic of her. She fears it might happen anyway.
Because Quinn just kissed her.
They stare at each other for a few beats longer, and then a strangled sound rips out of Quinn's throat and she's stumbling backwards, towards her car.
"Quinn, what-"
She swears she can almost smell the burnt rubber from Quinn's tires.
***
It takes her twenty minutes to get to Quinn's house.
The walk serves a double purpose: it gives her some extra time to calm down (and replay the events leading up to the... kiss-she still can barely even think about the word, let alone the fact that it actually happened-over and over and over again, trying to remember anything that could help her make sense of why it happened), and she also figures it's safer for the population at large that way; there's only so much damage a person of her size can cause while not operating a motor vehicle.
When she gets to Quinn's, her car is parked almost diagonally across her driveway, but clearly in perfect condition otherwise. Rachel sighs in relief, feeling reassured about having chosen to walk.
She tries knocking on the door and ringing the doorbell, with identical results.
Not that she was expecting anything different.
"Quinn, come on, we need to talk about this."
A bird chirping from a tree nearby is the only response she gets.
Rachel sighs. "I can see your car, you know. I know you're in there."
She hopes Quinn's neighbors aren't nosy because she isn't above turning this into a dramatic production if Quinn doesn't open the door soon.
"Look, I'm confused too, but I'm sure we can handle this like adults."
Thinking she can hear faint footsteps on the other side of the door, she leans her forehead against the wood, lowering her voice.
"You just caught me by surprise, that's all. A-and hey, it's nothing to be ashamed of," she tries. "The world doesn't end simply because one day you find out you might be gay-"
The door rips open.
"Don't. Call me. That," Quinn warns in a low voice. She looks... well, like her whole world just got turned upside down.
"Can we please talk about this?" Rachel asks, trying, to no avail, to get Quinn to meet her eyes.
"There's nothing to talk about."
And she doesn't exactly understand why but this, Rachel is prepared for. Denial is something she can handle.
"Okay. Okay, but can we still be friends? We can pretend it didn't happen if you want to or-"
Quinn looks like she just got punched in the stomach.
"Or, or maybe not-"
"You should go," Quinn cuts her off, sounding strangely defeated.
Rachel brings a shaky hand to her forehead. "Come on, don't do this."
"Just go, Rachel."
***
"And then she just closed the door," she finishes.
She's quite sure Kurt and Mercedes haven't even blinked since she started talking.
"Oh my God."
"Definitely didn't see that one coming."
"Yeah, well. I can assure you, neither did I," Rachel mumbles.
Kurt and Mercedes share a look.
"Are you sure you're not keeping anything from us?" Mercedes finally asks.
"For the last time, I've told you absolutely everything," Rachel says. "My interactions with Quinn have been nothing but friendly during all these weeks, and there was nothing in her behavior towards me that could have clued me in to the fact that she might have started seeing me as anything other than-that she might have been planning on-"
"If she can't even say it out loud," Kurt says, "I can't even imagine what that poor girl must be going through right now."
Mercedes puts her phone away from her ear. "Whatever it is, she's still not up for talking about it. She's either turned her cell off or thrown it at the wall."
Rachel sighs morosely.
"Look, I'm not claiming to know how Quinn's brain works, because seriously? I'd be out of college with a master's degree in psychology if I did. But I used to live with her. And if there's one thing I know about that girl, it's that her concept of friendship is majorly screwed up." Mercedes meets Kurt's eyes again, a look of understanding passing between them, and Rachel is once again painfully aware of just how much she doesn't know about that particular period of Quinn's life.
Kurt nods. "We all know how jealous of Quinn everybody in this room has been at different points in our lives, but the fact is, she doesn't actually seem to have that many friends. If I had to bet, I'd say the concept of somebody wanting to be around her and not expecting anything in return isn't something she's used to."
"And then you swooped in with your big words and your big plans and all your scary focus-don't get me wrong, Rachel, but you have this way of looking at people sometimes..."
"It's intense," Kurt agrees.
Mercedes shrugs. "Who knows, maybe you were sending her all sorts of crazy signals and she got confused. Maybe her head's still all confused and that's why she doesn't want to talk to anybody."
"Or maybe," Kurt says, dragging out the words. "Maybe not so much confused as just... licking her wounds. I mean, she went for it and you pretty much flat-out rejected her. That's got to sting."
"I didn't rej-come on, what was I supposed to do? I was completely blindsided by it."
"And that's why you have to get her to talk to you, so you can explain it to her."
Rachel sighs. She has a feeling it's not going to be that easy.
***
Three unread e-mails, five unanswered text messages and eleven missed calls later, Rachel knows it's time for drastic measures.
It's either going to fix things between them, or make Quinn never want to talk to her again.
At this point, she'll take her chances.
The first version of her plan involves complex diagrams with calculations of the distance between the law firm where Quinn's mom works and her house (taking into account speed limits and delays caused by rush hour) and synchronizing watches and dialing Quinn's phone from an unlisted number at exactly the right time to make sure she's not the one opening the front door. In the end, though, she decides to leave it all to chance. If Quinn refuses to talk to her again, she'll take it as a sign.
As it is, luck appears to be on her side.
"Are you one of Quinn's singing friends?"
"Yes. Rachel Berry. Extremely nice to meet you. Let me just say, your garden looks lovely this time of year."
It's so easy to win Judy over that it almost feels like cheating; then again, she's almost certain that her previous interactions with Quinn's friends have been limited to Finn, Santana and Brittany. It's barely a challenge.
When Quinn appears at the bottom of the stairs, face twisted in equal parts anger and disbelief, Rachel grips the arm of the sofa and fights the urge to flee.
"What are you doing here?"
"Honey, where are your manners?" Judy chides. "Your friend was in the middle of telling me about the many benefits of following a vegan diet." She pats the cushion beside her and Quinn moves, almost robotically, and sits next to her mother. It's fascinating to watch.
Rachel waits patiently, but Judy isn't leaving, and Quinn isn't telling her to leave or inviting her somewhere more private, and-
Okay. If this is the way she wants to play it, Rachel can adapt.
"I miss you," she says, because she does, and because it's a much safer topic to discuss in parental company than 'I think we should talk about that time our lips touched and how you ran away afterwards and have been avoiding me ever since'.
Quinn has her eyes focused on the floor.
"I was thinking maybe we could... watch a movie. My fathers-father," she quickly corrects herself, glancing at Judy, "owns a large selection of both classic and modern films. Tomorrow, maybe?" she finishes hopefully.
"I think that's a superb idea," Judy says. "Quinnie here has been wandering through the house like a ghost for the past few days."
"I can't tomorrow," Quinn mumbles.
"Oh, that's nonsense. What else could you possibly have to do? And don't tell me that Santana girl is coming over again. She keeps running over my gardenias."
"I just can't, mom," Quinn repeats, a little more forcefully. "I have to go somewhere."
Rachel frowns, wondering why she's acting so secretive all of a sudden. But then she sees it.
The hand that Quinn is unconsciously rubbing across her stomach.
Quinn notices a split second after Rachel does, and her eyes widen almost comically. Except Rachel doesn't feel like laughing at all.
She makes up a quick excuse and bolts out of the door, breaking more than a few traffic laws on her way home. She gets on her elliptical and hours later, just barely manages to make it to her bed before passing out from exhaustion.
***
Rocks hitting her window wake her up a couple of nights later, and she doesn't need to look; something tells her it's not Noah this time.
When she opens the front door, Quinn's sitting on the doorstep, chewing on her thumbnail. Rachel sits down next to her, carefully leaving a little distance between them.
"How is she?" she asks, because Quinn has made it all the way here and Rachel figures she deserves not having to start either of the two most awkward conversations they've probably had yet.
"She's great," Quinn says, in a tone of voice Rachel has never heard her use before. It makes something inside her chest flutter.
She swallows past the knot in her throat. "And my-I mean, her-"
"They're doing well, Rachel. She asks about you sometimes."
Rachel nods, unable to do anything else for the moment.
Quinn fidgets next to her. "Look, I know I should have probably told you-"
"No. It was none of my business and you didn't have to tell me. I reacted very badly and I want to apologize."
"I wanted to tell you," Quinn almost whispers. "I've never told anybody, but I wanted to tell you. I just didn't know how."
"You know, about that," Rachel starts, because they might as well start talking about the real reason Quinn is here. "The moment I left your house, I knew I was overreacting. Let's not kid ourselves, we're barely even friends. And it's not like we ever call each other and talk about our days. I was aware of how disproportionate my reaction was." She pauses, turning to look at Quinn for the first time. "Which then made me wonder why exactly I was reacting that badly."
Quinn looks at her then, and Rachel manages a shaky smile.
"This is going to sound-I'm just going to say it. I don't care about Kurt's latest fight with Finn, or about whether Mercedes has already made up her mind between Boston and Chicago. I listen to them because I know that's what friends do, the same way they listen to me go on about things they clearly don't care about. But you," she says, reaching out tentatively and touching Quinn's arm. "I want to know everything about you. I want to know about what kind of books you read and how you take your coffee and-I printed out all that information because I wanted you to want to move to New York with me." She laughs, and Quinn smiles back at her.
"That was kind of... yeah."
"So once I realized where all of my misguided hurt was coming from, figuring out the rest was easy enough."
Quinn scoffs. "Easy enough? I'm terrified."
Rachel scoots over, very deliberately taking Quinn's hand in both of hers. "You hide it well. The whole kissing me and running away thing... fine example of bravery right there."
"Shut up," Quinn groans.
"Hey," Rachel says, cupping Quinn's jaw and not letting her look away, "you're here now, right?"
"Yeah."
"That's pretty brave."
Quinn shrugs. "I guess. Hey, Rachel?"
"Yes?"
"Your hands are shaking."
Rachel smiles, touching her forehead to Quinn's. "No, they aren't."
Their second kiss goes much better than the first.
This time, nobody runs away.