Fic: Naked Berry and the Newly-Cropped Hair
Title: Naked Berry
Characters/Pairings: Quinn, Rachel, RP Character (Rachel/Quinn pre-slash, sort of; Rachel/RP Character*; nod to Brittany/Santana).
Rating: Light-[R]/(15) - Nudity & swearing.
Length: 7,487.
Spoilers: Technically 2.02, Britney/Brittany, but it’s almost unnoticeable**.
Summary: FutureFic. Quinn comes back to the apartment she shares with Rachel after an extended period of time away.
Author’s Note(s): Under the cut. You’ll see why.
Disclaimer: This fic contains an heavily fictionalized version of a real person. This is not meant to reflect the actual behaviour of that person in any way, I simply had a bizarre ‘what if?’ situation leap into my head.
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A/N#1: *Don’t worry, it’s not meta, e.g., Rachel dating Dianna Agron. In fact, I don’t think she’s ever even been mentioned on the show. I’ve left the identity secret for storytelling purposes.
A/N#2: **I haven’t even seen this episode, living in Britain and liking to watch things in decent quality first time, but you pick stuff up from other sources.
A/N#3: Right, so this is the long one. Except I hope it’s not as long as I worry it’s going to be because it is very late here and I’m just knackered. All I can promise you is that this will be the only one of this length I ever do. Hopefully. Fingers crossed. (You have my permission to kill me if I do it again.)
I started writing this because I felt guilty at not responding to the comments on my first fic. I would’ve written another one at some point, obviously, but that was the catalyst for this one. I’m not good at social situations and was worried that people would be annoyed with me just putting ‘Thank you, glad you enjoyed it.’ again and again. Having sought advice from a fanfic heroine of mine, letscall_l, I have decided to try responding to any comments this fic gets, even if my responses do all end up the same. For a writer, I really don’t have much imagination. I’ll try to answer any questions, of course. I hope the people who found the first one through Brittany/Santana also read The Treasure Trail. Just in case they don’t, does anybody think I should go back and reply to the first fic’s comments despite it being six weeks ago?
I’m sorry this took so long to write. One month, sixteen days (not all of that used, of course). Others have written 90,000-odd worded fics in the same length of time. However, considering my first fic took several months to write (technically, at least - two bursts months apart), and could fit into the final section of this with 500 word to spare, I shall call the fact that I finished this before my Office 2010 Beta runs out a success. I basically suck at writing, you see. The finished product is acceptable (unlike the length of this Author’s Note), but the process is sadly lacking. The final long section with Rachel and the RP character in particular was written in several small goes, when I was usually aiming for a section a session, and I would imagine the flow suffers because of it.
The first thing you’ll notice if you read my previous, first, fic is that this is not a continuation of it. I probably should’ve mentioned this in that first fic, but I’m sort of a snapshot writer, I write certain scenes that come into my head, and whilst they are part of an ongoing story, there will probably be no rhyme or reason as to which parts of the story get posted when. I apologise for that terrible explanation, and for not continuing the other story, but I don’t have a scene directly following that one in my head right now. Barely the start of one, anyway.
I do, however, have pretty much the entire plot of my own little gleeverse in my head, so with any luck inspiration will strike. And if it doesn’t and I go wandering about the memes searching for any sort of writing inspiration, I'll make sure and mark those as being separate from this verse. Unless the prompt happens to fit and I tie it in whilst fulfilling the OP’s requests.
One other thing about this series: The high school ones will be mainly Brittana with some oblique Faberry, and college and after ones are vice-versa, which is why in this Faberry fic a high school experience is explained and a college one isn’t.
A/N#4: One final thing, not connected to this at all: If anybody’s interested, over the next week or so I’m going to post a couple of pieces of original fiction, failed competition entries. One’s vaguely science-fiction-y, the other’s vaguely crime-y.
A/N#5: Well, that was an utter failure at keeping the Author’s Notes short, wasn’t it? But at least I got through it without swearing. Fuckin’ A, Dude!
A/N#6: Shit. Oh, and commenting points for spotting the mistake I deliberately left in the first section (any others are accidental), and any usage of English phrases rather than American. So, on with the fic! Finally!
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Quinn ran a hand through her newly-cropped hair and not for the first time paused before the door to their apartment.
Wait, when did I start to think of it as OUR apartment? This is MY apartment. Mind you, Rach does spend more time here than I do these days. I mean, how long’s it been this time? Six months?
Six months since she’d left on a travel assignment for the rag she was a photojournalist for. Well, photographer for. This was the first time she’d actually provided the words as well, despite having a well-reviewed student play under her belt, and several pieces of campus journalism.
She ran her fingers through her hair again. Her flight had been delaid an hour, so she had taken the decision to have her hair done - carefully ignoring the voice in her head asking questions (So, why is it that you want to look your best for coming home? Why do you want to surprise Rachel? Expecting her to leap into your arms? Again?) - and she just decided she missed the security of her ponytail.
If I still had that, I’d be in there right now, Rach would’ve made me a coffee, and we’d be catching up. I mean, she won’t be asleep yet, right? It’s only…
She checked her watch. 00:32.
Half-past fucking midnight? How? Shit, what if she’s got an audition tomorrow morning she hasn’t told me about? She’ll have been in bed for hours.
For the sixth time since arriving at the door, she made up her mind.
I’ll spend the night at a hotel, surprise her in the morning. Right. Let’s go, Fabray.
This time, she got all the way to the elevator before spinning around on the spot - taking care not to overcook it with her rucksack and other bags - and marching back to the door, where she once again paused in indecisiveness.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
She let out a distinctly Berry-esque “Huff.”. Living with an irritating brunette midget for five years can do some terrible things to your mannerisms.
What if she doesn’t have an audition she hasn’t told me about in the morning? She likes her lies-in.
She stared blankly at the door.
Shit, shit, shit, sh-
SLAP.
“Ouch,” she rubbed her face - with the hand she used to hit herself, “But thank you.”
She took her keys out, slipped them into the lock, and as quietly as possible opened the door.
She almost started with the shits again when she saw that the lights were off, but then she registered that Rachel’s room light was on, as was the shared bathroom light, and the door to the fridge was wide open. She smiled to herself.
Besides, the food wasn’t that bad whilst I was away.
She then stopped smiling, and chose instead to gawp.
For in front of the open fridge, pleasing bending forwards to investigate its contents, was a very, very, short and very, very-
NAKED BERRY.
Rachel had clearly got up to go to the loo, and found herself to be hungry. And naked. Once again, Quinn ignored mental questions (Why is she naked? Who fucking cares?), and a smirk worthy of her high-school self appeared on her features.
Carefully, she placed her rucksack on the floor, and moved her other bags so that she could ultra-quietly shut the door. Having done that, she removed her feet from the flip-flops she used to fly in, and crept with malicious intent towards the naked girl.
Unfortunately for said naked girl, Quinn was successful in her stealth attempt, and she got fingers jabbed in her sides, causing her to drop the packet of meat she was eating out of and yell loudly.
Unfortunately for said Quinn, it was only after she had initiated the manoeuvre that she registered the packet of meat, so the amused yell of:
“RACHEL!”
Caused her to shoot as far back towards the door as a suddenly in the way kitchen island would allow. And a very, very, naked apparently fucking not Rachel Berry shot into the counter next to the fridge and tried to cover herself after also noticing Rachel wasn’t.
At which point a very, very, naked genuine Rachel Berry ran out of her room.
“What is it Dems?”
She stopped dead when she saw Quinn and her companion on opposite sides of the kitchen. Surveying the scene, she worked out what had happened in the blink of an eye, and promptly burst into a fit of hysterical giggles at the looks on their faces.
After being sufficiently glared at, Rachel came to her senses.
“I suppose I’d better try that again, yes?”
Quinn locked eyes with the other woman and then they both turned back to Rachel and proceeded with some solemn nodding.
“Okay.”
Rachel centred herself like a true actress. Quinn Berry-huffed again, earning an amused glance from the naked stranger.
“Rach, if you’re just going to fuck ab-”
Quinn’s criticism was cut short by five foot of naked Berry hitting her square in the chest and wrapping her arms and legs around her, squealing loudly in her ear.
“You’re home!”
Naked Berry Naked Berry Naked Berry Naked Berry Naked Berry.
“You’re home! You’re home! You’re home! You’re home! You’re home!”
Rachel dropped her legs down and went into a normal hug. Holding Quinn tightly, she suddenly realised what wasn’t happening.
“No return hug?” she pouted.
Quinn looked down at her, quirking an eyebrow.
“Naked Berry.”
“What?” Rachel glanced downwards. “Shit!”
She leapt away from Quinn and ran back into her bedroom.
Dat ass.
Pervert.
Rachel ran back out, now in a dressing gown as short as her high school skirts, only to be met by a discrete cough from the other woman.
“Fuck, sorry.”
She twirled round, giving Quinn a show as she returned to the bedroom again.
I seem to remember her wearing underwear in high school.
Such a pervert.
She came out again and tossed another gown towards the still as-yet-unintroduced woman, who had so far taken all this with remarkable good grace. Quinn noticed something.
“Is that my gown?” she pointed at the woman, who grinned sheepishly.
“Sorry,” she drawled.
Texas? By way of California? Maybe?
“I only have one gown of my own, Quinn.”
“Don’t get defensive, it’s cool. Any girlfriend of Rachel’s is a friend of mine. Well, apart from that one girl, you remember?”
Rachel shuddered.
“Please don’t say her name, it might conjure her up. And she’s not my girlfriend, she’s just a colleague.”
“Colleague? She’s naked. I’m not going to walk into your room and find you filming another YouTube video, am I?”
“MySpace,” Rachel corrected, “As you should recall from your frequent posting of derogatory comments.”
Quinn couldn’t stop the look of sorrow flash across her face. She knew Rachel hadn’t meant it maliciously, but the reminder still hurt. Rachel was instantly remorseful.
“Quinn-”
Quinn dismissed her apology with a wave of her hand and a slightly forced smirk.
“Whatever, Rach, YouTube, MySpace, Veoh… Spankwire. They’re all things you shouldn’t be let anywhere near.”
The CaliTexan grinned.
“Especially that last one.”
Quinn returned the grin, and their expressions only grew more amused at the look of absolute horror and indignation on Rachel’s face.
God, you are so fucking adorable when you’re pissed.
“Pardon?”
“True.”
Quinn’s grin quickly dissolved to confusion, and from there to just plain mortified, leading her to clap a hand around her mouth.
Oh SHIT I did not just say that out loud. Except I totally fucking did, didn’t I?
Quinn glanced from Rachel to the girl from Dal-Angeles. Rachel’s expression was unreadable, while her not-girlfriend just shrugged, looking slightly resigned. Quinn decided it would be best to ignore the situation and change the subject.
“Isn’t it about time for introductions?” she said, nodding towards Rachel’s guest, “She was naked in my presence of over a minute.”
This had the effect of turning ‘Normal’ Rachel into ‘Hostess’ Rachel. Out came the megawatt grin and perfect manners.
“Yes, of course. Long past time actually, forgive me. Quinn Fabray, Demetria Lovato, Dems, Quinn.”
She nodded curtly. Quinn reached over, offering a hand. Demi shook it.
“Hello.”
“Hi. Nice to finally meet the Mighty Quinn.”
Quinn shot a questioning glance at Rachel, but she was still in hostess mode.
“Would you like some tea or coffee? I know it’s late, but-”
Quinn shook her head.
“I should go unpack. I’ll leave you and your naked shortarse alone.”
She looked to the other girl.
“You too.”
Quinn took her bags into her room and laid them out on the bed. She was pleased at the lack of dust, Rachel having threatened to not clean her room, citing being too busy at auditions and acting classes. Quinn had just raised an eyebrow at her before kissing her on the cheek as a way of saying goodbye. Her brow furrowed.
I hope she didn’t turn anything down because she was worried about the upkeep on the apartment.
Then she remembered that Rachel would probably burn down their home if it gave her even half a chance at a role she really wanted, and she smiled.
Damn those Stanislavski classes.
Living with Rachel when she’d been auditioning for Stanley in an all-female production of Streetcar hadn’t been pleasant.
She started to unpack, and as she was putting away items in her dresser her eyes happened to glance at her corkboard, settling on a bright white piece of card with gilt lettering:
Dear Rachel & Quinn,
You are cordially invited to the wedding of
Brittany Susan Pierce
and
Santana Maria Lopez
on
21st June 2019
And then, in Santana’s scrawling mockery of handwriting:
(If you ask for separate invitations with +1s, I will fucking kill you.)
And after that, in Brittany’s studied elegant script:
(No she won’t. But it will prove to her that you’re morons.)
Quinn smiled.
Only another two months to go.
She was so lost in the moment that she only just realised she could hear snippets of the conversation Rachel was having with her companion. Not enough to make sense of, however.
I wonder if S will have to kill us after all. I can just picture the invitation: Dear Rachel Idiot Berry and some asshole called Deme-
Wait. WHAT?!
“You didn’t mention just how steaming hot she is.”
“I’m fairly certain that I did mention that she’s quite attractive.”
“Yeah, ‘quite attractive’, not ‘seriously, you’re a bisexual woman living with THAT and you’ve never tapped it?’. They’re two pretty different descriptions, Rae.”
Rachel was busy making drinks, despite Quinn rejecting her offer, but stopped to give Demi a withering glare. The other girl was sitting at the kitchen island.
“Don’t call me that. And don’t objectify, you know I hate that.”
“No, that you genuinely haven’t mentioned. And I objectify a lot.”
Demi smiled her devil smile, and Rachel turned back to the drinks.
Here it comes. Deflection ready and prepared.
“Maybe you just don’t like me objectifying Quinn?”
Rachel finished the drinks and delivered them to the island, taking a stool herself.
“I thought you liked vaguely - or not so vaguely - Hispanic brunettes, anyway?”
Rachel took the extended middle finger and mouthed “Fuck you” in her stride, putting on a mock-horrified expression.
“Demetria Devonne Lovato, such bad manners for an ex-Disney girl.”
“No, seriously Rae, fu-uck you-oo.”
Rachel just giggled. Demi couldn’t stop herself from doing the same.
“Maybe later, huh? After you and Ms. Hot Blonde 2017 have caught up.”
“Possibly, although the walls in this apartment are rather thin. The ones in our previous domicile where thicker. And we probably won’t catch up until tomorrow.”
Demi considered calling Rachel out on her and Quinn having not only lived together in another apartment, but actually having moved together, but decided she couldn’t face the waffling and deflection tactics that would undoubtedly result.
“So why the coffee? She said she didn’t want one.”
“Oh, she will, I’m just waiting for the penny to drop.”
Demi looked at Rachel looking at Quinn’s bedroom door.
It’s too late for this shit, I’m not seventeen anymore. Still…
“What pen-”
“HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! RACHEL’S FUCKING DEMI FUCKING LOVATO!”
Demi observed Rachel’s finger pointing towards the yell, as if to say “That penny.”.
“You’re right, the walls here are thin.”
Rachel nodded sagely. Quinn’s door opened slowly, and a shy-acting Fabray came back into the kitchen. Rachel pointed out the drink she’d made.
“I thought you might like one anyway.”
“Thanks.”
Quinn reached out, grasped the mug and took a sip.
“Ah, lukewarm, my favourite.”
Rachel smiled. Demi watched her expression, then looked to Quinn. She was lost in the aroma of the tea, then she took another sip and grinned at Rachel. Demi smiled to herself.
Fuck it, this was just sex anyway.
Quinn looked to Demi.
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s cool, dude. It happens all the time.”
Quinn smirked at Rachel.
“Just how many people know you’re fucking her?”
“Highly amusing Quinn.”
“Only the couple of hundred thousand people who still follow my twitter.”
Rachel gasped.
“Demetria!”
Quinn and Demi giggled, making Rachel madder. She glowered at both of them.
“Not funny.”
“Oh it so is,” said Quinn,
“Yeah,” Demi agreed, “Sorry Rae, but you’re cute when you’re angry.”
She reached over and squeezed Rachel’s hand, missing neither the fact that Quinn flinched, just for a millisecond, when she did so, nor the fact that it utterly failed to placate Rachel.
“Don’t ca-”
“-All me that, yeah, I know. Sorry.”
She stretched, and downed the rest of her drink.
“Well, I’d kind of like to be up before mid-day tomorrow, so I’m going back to bed.”
She got up, put her mug in the sink, and then turned to Quinn.
“Here,” she said, taking off her dressing gown, “This is yours.”
She held the gown out to Quinn, who took it wordlessly with her left hand, her right still holding the mug to her lips. Quinn couldn’t stop herself from giving the now naked again woman the once over. Rachel coloured.
“Don’t worry,” Lovato said with a smirk, “I haven’t had to use it all that much.”
She walked into Rachel’s bedroom, both other women watching her go. Rachel sighed, and shook her head.
She’s actually fucking swaggering.
Clearly Quinn had had the same thought.
“Nice swagger.”
“Yes. Unfortunately she knows this.”
They smiled together. Rachel looked into her mug.
Nearly there.
“Hmm. I’d better go keep her company, I suppose.”
“She does seem the type to start without you.”
Rachel almost lost her last mouthful of coffee, but managed to drink it through the coughing fit. Quinn tried to pat her on the back, but she wafted her away, grinning up at her.
“You have no idea.”
A voice came from her bedroom.
“Door’s still open, guys. You don’t need to loudly blurt out stuff for me to be able to hear you.”
Rachel stuck her middle finger up in the direction of her door.
“I thought you had better manners than that, Rae.”
She once again set herself on ‘glower’, but she got up and also put her mug in the sink. She turned to Quinn.
“Catch-up properly tomorrow? We could go out for lunch, there’s that fantastic new restaurant I told you about a couple of weeks ago.”
Quinn recalled the intensely detailed e-mail Rachel had sent her.
“I’d like that. You’re paying.”
“Of course.”
She smiled at Quinn, gave her a brief nod, and went to move past her, but Quinn stopped her.
“Rach, what’s with all this ‘Don’t call me that.’ business? Santana calls you Rae all the time.”
“I’m not sleeping with Santana.”
“But you’ve never even mentioned you don’t like it.”
“I can take it from her.”
“Why don’t you like it? I mean, it’s almost universally accepted as a shortening of Rachel.”
Quinn noticed Rachel’s hand flex. From the way her eyes flitted down to observe the movement, Quinn assumed it was subconscious. When Rachel looked back up, her features had hardened, almost imperceptibly.
“I suppose I’m just not especially fond of any masculine epithets.”
Quinn could no longer meet Rachel’s gaze.
Well, shit. You had to fucking ask, didn’t you Fabray?
Rachel nodded again, and moved off. She was almost at her door when Quinn called out.
“Hey, Rachel.”
She turned to see Quinn left up her mug.
“Thanks for the tea.”
She managed to smile again.
“It’s always my pleasure, Quinn. Welcome home.”
She entered her bedroom and shut the door.
Quinn sat with her tea, sipping it slowly despite its increasing coldness. She wished she could make out the content of the muffled conversation coming from Rachel’s bedroom.
Actually, it’s probably better that I can’t.
She sighed.
I wonder how serious this Lovato shit really is. Maybe we will need separate invites after all.
She finished her drink, staring into the empty mug as if to see the secrets of the universe.
Hell, just mine and Rachel’s relationship would do, thank you.
She got up, dragging her mug lazily over the island top, and going over to the sink, picked up Rachel’s and Demi’s mugs and put all three into the dishwasher. Then she picked up her dressing gown from where she’d left it draped over a chair, and took it down to the bathroom, placing it atop the wash pile. She thought about the apartment’s temperamental central heating, and picked it up again.
Fuck it, she’s a Disney kid, how many diseases could she have?
She got to her door, and looked over at Rachel’s. Glancing down at the gown, she sighed again, and went over. Lifting her hand to knock, she caught a piece of the conversation the other women were engaged in.
“-School, she never spoke to me again. We went to the same lessons, Glee Club, performed together quite without incident…”
“Made YouTube videos?”
Quinn knocked quickly. There was a long pause, then Rachel called out for her to enter. Doing so, she was relieved to see that she wasn’t walking in on them in bed together. Demi was in bed, looking quite comfortable, whilst Rachel sat on the edge, still wearing her dressing gown, and looking up at Quinn expectantly.
“Sorry to interrupt.”
“That’s quite alright, Quinn.”
Lovato hooked an eyebrow, she clearly didn’t agree. Quinn tossed the dressing gown, hitting her full in the face.
“Here, I don’t want to see your naked ass again in the morning, even for a second.”
“Cool,” replied Demi, giving her a thumbs up from underneath the gown.
Rachel and Quinn exchanged smiles.
“’Night.”
“’Night.”
Quinn found she couldn’t look away from Rachel.
Shall I, shan’t I?
Oh what the Hell.
She nodded towards Demi.
“Don’t forget to remind her they were MySpace videos.”
The thumbs up turned into a middle finger. Rachel’s smile faltered, but remained. She nodded curtly. Quinn shut the door, and leaned against it.
“Shit.”
“It’s quite alright, Quinn.”
She almost didn’t catch it, it was although Rachel had whispered it against the door.
Wait, it’s Rachel. Of course she’s now listening at the door. I would be too.
“Goodnight, Rach,” she whispered.
“Goodnight, Quinn,” came the quiet reply.
She took care to walk as loudly as possible to her door, and was in the process of shutting it behind her just as carefully noisily when the thought came to her.
She didn’t even notice my haircut.
Rachel entered her room to find Demi in what she obviously thought was an erotic pose, laying elegantly on the bed with her arms wide like some sort of perverse crucifix. She shut the door. Demi looked over at her.
“So?”
Rachel smiled, and sat on the edge of the bed. She let herself slowly pass her gaze over the other woman, from her feet all the way up to her smirk.
“So what?”
Demi sat up, and leant into Rachel, her chin just resting on her shoulder, inches away from her lips.
“So?”
Rachel feigned indifference.
“Meh, at least you didn’t start without me.”
“I was beginning to seriously consider it.”
She closed the gap, and the kiss was slow, verging on sweet. Rachel smiled to herself.
Sweet for Demi, at any rate.
Demi moved her hand onto Rachel’s thigh, brushing gently against the dressing gown, but not going underneath.
Ah well.
Rachel broke the kiss.
“Nice while it lasted.”
Demi’s smirk got even bigger.
“Who says it has to stop?”
Her hand slipped under the gown. Rachel laid a hand of her own on Demi’s forearm. She shook her head.
“No.”
Demi’s smirk faded, and she flopped back onto the bed.
“What, just because she’s back, you’ve suddenly lost all sexual interest in me?”
Rachel sighed.
“Would you believe that I’m just tired, and want to go to sleep?”
Demi glanced down at her own naked form, then back up at Rachel.
“Dude, I’m Demi Fucking Lovato. No.”
Rachel rolled her eyes.
“Seriously, if I thought you were this hung up on your gorgeous flatmate who you’ve never had sex with, I might not’ve invited myself back here last month.”
“I think you mean ‘with whom you have never had sex’.”
“Right.”
“Or, ‘without whom you have ever engaged in intercourse’.”
“Don’t push it.”
Demi expected another smart retort, but Rachel just stared into the middle distance, her mind clearly elsewhere. Then she realised that Rachel’s last sentence was nonsense, and it finally hit her. She cocked her head to the right, regarding Rachel anew.
“When?”
“Twice. Once in high school, once in college, before we moved in together.”
“So why in God’s name are you ‘just friends’ now?”
“We have a very complicated relationship history.”
“You two have lived together for five years, moved home together, had sex before the living together… I mean, seriously? You’ve known each other since high school? That must be the understatement of the fucking century. And we’re only seventeen years into it!”
“There’s even more to it than that, actually. A certain amount of boyfriend-stealing and less-than-pleasant personality clashes, for example.”
Demi raised an eyebrow. Rachel sighed, uncertain if she should continue, knowing the other girl’s stance on the topic.
Please don’t instantly try to kill Quinn.
“She used to bully me. Relentlessly.”
Demi’s face darkened. Rachel shook her head.
“Don’t. She was just kind of messed up. You know what high school’s like.”
“No, actually, I was working all through those years,” Demi replied. She continued with a sigh, “But I know what middle school is like, and high school is supposed to be ten times worse.”
She chuckled mirthlessly.
“And, of course, I do know what it’s like to be on both sides of the issue.”
Rachel patted Demi’s arm in reassurance.
“Still though, you’ve known each other since high school? Goldilocks walked into my life less than an hour ago and I’m already sick and tired of this mutual ‘I’m so into her but I don’t know if she feels the same way about me’ shit that the two of you are pulling.”
Rachel looked at her quizzically. It was the most unsure Demi had ever seen her.
“You really think it’s mutual?”
“From an outsider’s perspective, you two may as well be humping each other in broad daylight.”
“Oh.”
Rachel’s expression was unreadable. Demi decided to backtrack somewhat.
“But, people do have varying intimacy thresholds. I mean, me and Miley were all over each other without ever actually doing it, so…”
Rachel grinned bittersweetly.
“You sounded like me in high school.”
“Hmm. About that…”
Rachel turned to her, confused.
“What?”
“High school. If she used to bully you so much, why the sex?”
“I don’t think-”
“Rae, come on.”
Rachel shot her the dirtiest of dirty looks. Demi attempted to deflect it.
“Seriously, are you trying to make me horny again? You know that pout turns me on.”
It didn’t work.
“Okay, I’m sorry. Really, Rach.”
Rachel’s expression softened. She turned away and looked at the door.
“She changed. I’m not certain when. I already told you a lot about Glee Club…”
“Two-time Nationals winners!”
Rachel gave a quick laugh.
“Right! I don’t know, though… She just changed. Became softer…”
She trailed off. Demi reached over and laid a hand on her shoulder. She looked down at the hand, then focused on Demi.
“How much did I tell you? Did I mention the pregnancy?”
“Not specifically, but it was pretty difficult to miss, the way you told the story. Although tonight is the first I’ve heard about any boyfriend stealing.”
“Oh. Well, that was never that important.”
“How did a girl like that end up joining ‘Nude Erections’ anyway?”
“Okay, so maybe that was slightly important, but not right now.”
Rachel furrowed her brow, only just registering Demi’s joke.
Wait, did she say…? Oh, just leave it.
Demi saw the look on her face and smiled. She waited for her to continue. Rachel leaned her head onto Demi’s hand, and Demi rubbed her cheek with her thumb.
“As I was saying, she became softer… But not soft enough. We grew closer, more friendly. Not friends, never friends, that was a college development, but still, friendlier. To be honest, I’m not certain if any of ‘New Directions’ would’ve counted me as a friend. My personality was somewhat more abrasive back then-”
“Holy shit, you must have been impossible.”
Demi just giggled about receiving the nth glare of the night.
“Moving on… Friendliness leads to group sleepovers. Which leads to cliché.”
Rachel smiled over at Demi, thinking she had settled the matter. She was met simply with a raised eyebrow and a gentle squeeze of the shoulder from the hand left there. She huffed.
“Fine. Group sleepovers lead to alcohol, alcohol leads to needing to get up in the middle of night whilst wearing very little, getting up in the middle of the night whilst wearing very little leads to walking into Quinn in a similar state of affairs, which leads to collapsing onto each other on the floor, which leads to cliché.”
“What happened after? Obviously not sunshine and rainbows.”
“Certainly not Angels,” Rachel almost whispered. Demi ignored the multitude of other questions milling around her head to focus on the important one.
“So?”
“Nothing,” Rachel almost spat the word. It was the bitterest Demi had ever seen her, “Literally, nothing. There was no heart-to-heart, not even a heart-to-knife, no discussion about it one way or the other…”
She had gone back to sadness, and Demi just gently squeezed her shoulder again. Rachel patted the hand, but removed it, turning fully to face Demi. She sighed.
“After we did it in high school, she never spoke to me again. We went to the same lessons, Glee Club, performed together quite without incident…”
“Made YouTube videos?”
There was a quick rap at the bedroom door, and Rachel spun to face it, a look of horror on her face.
How much did she hear? Was she even listening? How much did she hear? How much did she hear? How much did she hear?
She composed herself.
“Come in.”
Rachel leaned with her back against the door and looked up at the ceiling.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, fuck, shit, fuck, fuck, shit, fuck.
“Fuck.”
“Erudite,” said the dressing gown.
Rachel breathed out, slowly, and returned to her position on the bed. Demi finally pulled off the dressing gown and dropped it by the side of the bed. She got under the sheets. Rachel sighed, and put her head in hands.
“That was so embarrassing.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
Rachel dropped her hands and rubbed them together, then carefully flexed them. Demi knew this to be a particularly bad nervous tick.
“It really wasn’t that bad.”
She reached over and undid Rachel’s dressing gown cord, receiving a swatted hand and a glare for her efforts.
“Demi, no.”
“Yeah, I kinda got that, but at least you’re not doing that hand thing anymore,” she smiled at Rachel, and Rachel smiled back, “And it is finally time for bed. You desperately need to sleep off this embarrassment cluster fuck.”
“Hey!”
Rachel punched her in the shoulder. Demi winced, but laughed it off.
“You punch like a girl.”
Fuck. Ouch. A girl who’s been taking Tae Kwon Do lessons since she was fucking five, maybe. Aargh.
Rachel saw through the ruse.
“Don’t worry, I’ll kiss it better in the morning.”
She stood up, shrugged off the dressing gown, and got into bed. Demi smirked gave her her best smirk.
“Even with Little Ms. Smokey-Jazz-Lounge-Voice sleeping across the hall?”
Rachel giggled.
“That’s a good one, she’ll like that.”
She turned to Demi, leaning into her so that their foreheads were touching, and reached a hand up to brush her cheek.
“Why aren’t you being more territorial? Whenever people hit on me in bars you turn into fucking Santana.”
“Having only met her once, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Trust me, it was meant as one. But why so blasé about this thing with Quinn?”
Demi took the hand brushing her cheek into her own and squeezed it, then brought it to her lips and gave it the gentlest of kisses.
“Oh, please. The moment you said one full sentence about her I knew I was screwed if when she came back she spoke about you in the same way. And I am royally screwed, Rachel.”
“Really? Royally?”
“Really royally.”
“I wish I was as confident of that as you are.”
“Just trust me, Rach, I may be a fuck up in my own amorous affairs, but I know love when I see it in other people. It’s why I never went with Nick; I denied my own nature for a fucking age, but I knew enough to not sleep with a guy who genuinely loved me.”
Rachel smiled, softly.
“I used to wonder about that, reading gossip mags.”
“You didn’t used to believe that stuff, did you?”
“Some of it was very convincing.”
“I would’ve thought somebody who always wanted to be famous would have more sense. Have you read what they’re beginning to write about you?”
Rachel giggled.
“Most of it’s true.”
Demi sighed.
“Roll over.”
“Why?”
“I want to be the big spoon one final time.”
“I’m not going to dump you just because she’s back. You might be wrong about her.”
“Anything’s a possibility.”
Demi made a revolving motion with her finger, and Rachel did as she was told. Demi smiled to herself.
For once.
She was enjoying just hugging Rachel when the thought came to her.
“What about college?”
“Hmm?”
“You said the two of had sex in college too.”
“Oh, right. Yeah.”
“Well?”
Rachel stared into space.
“You know - Hic - you look just like someone I used to know in high school.”
“I’ll tell you later. Sleep now.”
“Okay.”
“Although, since we were on the subject of gossip earlier, what did happen between you and Selena?”
Demi stared into space.
“I didn’t know rapists could smile like that.”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Hmmph.”
Demi kissed the back of Rachel’s head.
“You’re right. Sleep now.”
Quinn sighed and looked over at the clock. Four thirty-seven.
“God, it’s so fucking late I’m talking out loud.”
She had just finished tidying away the last of her bedroom things, having spent some time sitting down quietly after her final exchange with Rachel.
“Why did I make that fucking MySpace crack? Way to show you were eavesdropping, Fabray.”
All she had left was a bag of gifts and her toiletries. She sighed, and looked at the clock again.
“To tea or not to tea?”
She sighed again.
“Oh, what the Hell. I’ll drink it in bed, with a book.”
And I’ve got to stop that, if I wake her up talking to myself, Rach will think I’ve come back with some sort of mental disorder.
“Maybe she’d walk out naked again.”
ALRIGHT, ABSOLUTELY NO MORE FUCKING THING OUT LOUD, OKAY?
Quietly, she exited her room and made her way to the kitchen to make her cup of tea. As she went past Rachel’s door she held her hand out and almost brushed her fingertips against the wood.
Seriously, why can’t I tell her?
She prepared everything and waited for the kettle to boil. Listening to the bubbling water, she had another, more mundane, thought.
To pee or not to pee?
To pee. Shit.
“Of course, the ‘Why can’t I tell her?’ bit is pretty mundane for me these days.”
She got up and walked down the corridor to the bathroom, stopping briefly in her room to pick up her toiletries. Having only been in the bathroom for a less than a minute earlier in the night, she now had the opportunity to see what changes, if any, Rachel had made to the layout of the toiletries.
None at all. Big shock.
Rachel, she reflected, was nothing if not a creature of habit. Everything in its place. She put her toiletries in their place, and then used the facilities.
She washed her hands, then paused. And sniffed.
Can I smell tea? I didn’t think I wanted one so badly I'm going in for olfactory hallucination.
She opened the door to be met with a cup of tea in the hands of a tiny brunette. She was speechless. Rachel frowned.
“I’m sorry, had you decided you weren’t going to have one after all?”
Quinn gathered her thoughts.
Maybe she’ll mention my haircut now. Wait, no, wrong thought…
“Rachel, if anyone apologises, it should be me. I’m sorry I woke you. Thank you for making the tea, though.”
There it is.
She took the cup, and drank some immediately, sighing contentedly.
“You’re better at it than I am, after all.”
Rachel smiled.
“Very true. It’s presumptuous of you to apologise for waking me, however, as I was having trouble sleeping anyway.”
“Oh. Sorry for being presumptuous, then.”
They walked back to their bedroom doors.
“Yes. As a matter of fact, I was lying in bed wondering if I myself wished to use the bathroom, I don’t, by the way, and I heard you come out of your room and fiddle about in the kitchen, talking to yourself. Then when you went to the bathroom yourself, I heard the kettle boil and decided I would be a good flatmate and make you your drink.”
Having finished, Rachel just stood there beaming at her. Quinn couldn’t help but smile widely.
“You know you revert to teenagerdom when you’re tired, right?”
“I am aware of that, yes.”
They both giggled. Then Quinn registered something Rachel said.
Wait, what did I say to myself in the kitch- oh, shit, not again.
The change in her demeanour did not go unnoticed.
“Quinn? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, it’s nothing.”
Rachel didn’t look convinced, so Quinn took it upon herself to change the subject.
“I see the bathroom is just as spotless and, well, the same, as my room. ”
“Everything in its place, Quinn.”
“I was literally just thinking that.”
“You were genuinely just thinking that.”
Quinn narrowed her eyes at Rachel, raised an eyebrow, then gave up trying to be mad and grinned instead.
“Are you sure Britt’s the only Aspy I know?”
“I don’t think living with a social illness has any bearing on correcting people on bad grammar. And to use your example, I’m almost certain Brittany wouldn’t even know you’d said something wrong.”
“I’m telling Santana you said that.”
Rachel’s eyes went wide.
“Please don’t.”
“Relax, I’ll make sure and tell her when B’s nuzzling her neck. It’d be almost impossible to do it at any other time anyway. But, what I was really referring to was the fact that both the bathroom and my bedroom appear to been kept spotlessly clean without anything having been moved at all.”
“Ah. Yes.”
“There’s a book on my bedside table that’s still open at the same page I left it open at six months ago.”
“Actually, I did close that, with a bookmark, but then last Sunday I panicked that you might come back early, and opened it again.”
“Ah. Because nobody could call that a sign of social illness.”
“Hmmph. It’s not true, anyway, I did move some things in your room.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, there were some pens laying on your desk that I put back in their cases, and-”
Rachel suddenly shut up. Quinn frowned.
“And?”
Rachel shuffled her feet, her eyes downcast. When she spoke, she did so slowly and carefully.
“And you left an unfinished manuscript on your bed.”
Quinn’s eyes went even wider than Rachel’s had a brief period earlier.
“You read it.”
Rachel’s eyes shot up to meet hers.
“I- I didn’t- for weeks! Th- Three weeks! I left it there, minding its own business…”
Quinn’s expression went from aghast to disbelieving in the blink of an eye. Rachel regarded the raised eyebrow.
If she keeps doing that to that extent she’ll tear something. Maybe give herself ptosis. Wait, that’s eyelids, isn’t it…
“Would you believe two weeks?”
Quinn shook her head.
“Okay, seriously, it was four days. Genuinely.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry, Quinn, I know you don’t like people reading your work before it’s finished, but your other stuff was so good, and that’s coming from someone who’s a rising star in the industry, that I just couldn’t not read it. You’re wasted as a photographer.”
“I like my job, Rachel.”
“I know you do, really, but you are an award-winning playwright, even if it was just a college award, and it seems sometimes like you don’t care about that aspect of your life anymore.”
“I haven’t stopped writing.”
“The last play you completed was three years ago.”
Quinn sighed.
“Work gets in the way.”
“How long have you been working on this one?”
“Honestly? It started as an assignment.”
Rachel was aghast.
“In college?!”
Quinn pursed her lips.
“In high school.”
Rachel didn’t know what to say. She really hadn’t expected Quinn to have been working on it for that long.
“You usually finish things quite quickly.”
Quinn just nodded.
“Did… Did you want me to speak to the theatre director? I do have some pull, I could probably-”
Quinn cut her off.
“You may have forgotten, but I do have an agent, Rach, I don’t need any favours.”
“You do? Yes, of course you do, sorry. Sandra something?”
“Myerson, yes. Don’t laugh.”
Rachel swallowed the guffaw she almost let out, shaking her head forcefully.
“Never.”
“Good. There are currently two productions of my work coming up. One off-off-Broadway production of my ‘award-winning’ piece, and another in Chicago.”
“What are they doing?”
“Bridewell. The one about the therapeutic garden for people with mental illnesses.”
“That was very good. It’s nice they let you use the real name of the place. Especially since given that it’s all the way over in England, nobody would’ve been any the wiser.”
“I’d be the wiser.”
“Yes, of course. Even so, about your unfinished, as-yet untitled work, there does seem to be the capacity for song in it, the necessity, even, and you’ve never written a musical, so I could probably get you onto a course in the writer’s workshop. Get you networking with potential songwriters.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Quinn sighed, leaning against her door, and took a long overdue gulp of tea. She gazed into the brown liquid.
“So, what did you think of it so far?”
Rachel considered her answer carefully.
“I thought… That I come off surprisingly well in it, especially considering what you thought of me in high school.”
Quinn said nothing, not looking up from her tea.
“And you come off surprisingly poorly, although if you really did start it in high school I guess that’s actually less surprising since you clearly were dealing with a certain amount of self-hatred back then.”
Quinn still didn’t look up.
“’Back then’.”
“In fact, it’s close to the bone with regards to yourself that I’m surprised you didn’t just go the whole hog and call the character Quinn.”
“I guess I didn’t want it to be that easy to check up on. It’s already in my biography that I was in a show choir that won Nationals twice, and I don’t think you’ve ever given an interview where you haven’t mentioned New Directions.”
“I’ve only done two interviews, Quinn.”
“And have you not mentioned New Directions?”
Rachel wisely remained silent.
“There you go.”
“But that can’t possibly have gone through your mind if you were writing in high school.”
Quinn sighed yet again and ran a hand through her hair.
“To be honest, Rach, I’ve started from scratch with it at least five times. Who knew writing about Glee Club would be so difficult?”
“Hmm. It was a very emotive time.”
“No shit. And you wouldn’t really want me to use my actual name, would you? I mean, you may think you come off ‘surprisingly well’ in it, but most people would still think you’re an horrendous monster. I don’t think I wrote about any of us in especially complimentary terms. I even pick on Britt, and as if Santana wouldn’t kill me for it anyway, if it ever went into production, she’s not so slow that she won’t get it’s meant to be her.”
“There’s nothing in what you have written so far that didn’t actually happen. Santana won’t kill you for that. A lawyer might, you’ll probably have to make it less obviously about our Glee Club, but Santana would never.”
Quinn smiled.
“Did you just admit that you were an horrendous monster in high school?”
Rachel smiled back.
“Only in high school?”
They shared a quiet laugh. Rachel lifted her hand, and laid it on Quinn’s forearm.
“The only other thing I might say is, you really are too hard on yourself.”
“I have a lot to be hard on myself over.”
“But did you really have to include the scene where you get drunk with Puck and become pregnant? You could have simply mentioned it later.”
“No, that’s too important. Show, don’t tell, Rachel. Basic storytelling. And I make it quite clear that I’m pretending to get drunk. It was only a couple of wine coolers.”
“I suppose you’re right. It was quite a catalyst, after all.”
“No shit.”
Rachel squeezed Quinn’s arm. Quinn stared into her tea again.
“I’m really good at pretending to be drunk.”
It was so quiet Rachel almost didn’t hear. She did, however, and so she gave another squeeze.
“I’m sure it’ll be brilliant when you finish it, Quinn.”
Quinn grinned.
“Well of course, I am award-winning, after all.”
“Quite so.”
It was Rachel’s turn to sigh.
“I really should leave you to your increasingly lukewarm tea."
"Hey, it's my favourite, remember?"
"Of course, but we've been standing here so long I think I might have to use the bathroom after all.”
“Go then, it wouldn’t be good if a brilliant young playwright wrote a scene about a stunning young ingénue peeing herself.”
Rachel’s mouth dropped open.
“No it would not!”
Her gape turned into an evil grin.
“Wrong hole, by the way.”
The appalled look Quinn gave her was worth it.
“Good God, Berry! Too much information.”
The blonde cocked her head.
“Very Brittany-ish, in fact.”
The brunette harrumphed.
“I am not socially ill.”
“Of course not.”
Quinn utilised her free hand to pat the hand Rachel had left on her forearm. Rachel narrowed her eyes at her, but Quinn just smiled, so Rachel found it impossible to stay mad, and smiled back. The two women remained in that position in a comfortable silence, until Rachel realised she really did need to go to the bathroom.
“Um, I really do need to go, so…”
“Oh, yeah, of course, and anyway, I would like to read with at least some heat left in my tea, so…”
They parted.
“Goodnight, Quinn.”
“Goodnight, Rach.”
Quinn remained leaning against her door as Rachel walked off. She once again ran a hand through her hair. She smiled to herself, bittersweetly.
If she didn’t mention it earlier, why would she mention it when she’s sleep-deprived or needing the toilet?
Rachel had just opened the bathroom door when she turned around and walked back towards her.
“Oh, and I forgot to say earlier, despite it being pretty much the first thing I noticed about you, the whole nudity thing threw me slightly, but I really like your new haircut. It’s just the right length and frazzled-ness.”
She stood in front of Quinn again, and reached up to run her own fingers through the cropped hair. Quinn revelled in the touch, but remained silent and stoic on the outside.
“Don’t make it too much shorter, though, I don’t think the true pixie look would suit you.”
She walked back to the bathroom, giving Quinn a little wave, which she returned, before shutting the door. Quinn grinned like a maniac, and entered her bedroom.
The hallway was now quiet.
Characters/Pairings: Quinn, Rachel, RP Character (Rachel/Quinn pre-slash, sort of; Rachel/RP Character*; nod to Brittany/Santana).
Rating: Light-[R]/(15) - Nudity & swearing.
Length: 7,487.
Spoilers: Technically 2.02, Britney/Brittany, but it’s almost unnoticeable**.
Summary: FutureFic. Quinn comes back to the apartment she shares with Rachel after an extended period of time away.
Author’s Note(s): Under the cut. You’ll see why.
Disclaimer: This fic contains an heavily fictionalized version of a real person. This is not meant to reflect the actual behaviour of that person in any way, I simply had a bizarre ‘what if?’ situation leap into my head.
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A/N#1: *Don’t worry, it’s not meta, e.g., Rachel dating Dianna Agron. In fact, I don’t think she’s ever even been mentioned on the show. I’ve left the identity secret for storytelling purposes.
A/N#2: **I haven’t even seen this episode, living in Britain and liking to watch things in decent quality first time, but you pick stuff up from other sources.
A/N#3: Right, so this is the long one. Except I hope it’s not as long as I worry it’s going to be because it is very late here and I’m just knackered. All I can promise you is that this will be the only one of this length I ever do. Hopefully. Fingers crossed. (You have my permission to kill me if I do it again.)
I started writing this because I felt guilty at not responding to the comments on my first fic. I would’ve written another one at some point, obviously, but that was the catalyst for this one. I’m not good at social situations and was worried that people would be annoyed with me just putting ‘Thank you, glad you enjoyed it.’ again and again. Having sought advice from a fanfic heroine of mine, letscall_l, I have decided to try responding to any comments this fic gets, even if my responses do all end up the same. For a writer, I really don’t have much imagination. I’ll try to answer any questions, of course. I hope the people who found the first one through Brittany/Santana also read The Treasure Trail. Just in case they don’t, does anybody think I should go back and reply to the first fic’s comments despite it being six weeks ago?
I’m sorry this took so long to write. One month, sixteen days (not all of that used, of course). Others have written 90,000-odd worded fics in the same length of time. However, considering my first fic took several months to write (technically, at least - two bursts months apart), and could fit into the final section of this with 500 word to spare, I shall call the fact that I finished this before my Office 2010 Beta runs out a success. I basically suck at writing, you see. The finished product is acceptable (unlike the length of this Author’s Note), but the process is sadly lacking. The final long section with Rachel and the RP character in particular was written in several small goes, when I was usually aiming for a section a session, and I would imagine the flow suffers because of it.
The first thing you’ll notice if you read my previous, first, fic is that this is not a continuation of it. I probably should’ve mentioned this in that first fic, but I’m sort of a snapshot writer, I write certain scenes that come into my head, and whilst they are part of an ongoing story, there will probably be no rhyme or reason as to which parts of the story get posted when. I apologise for that terrible explanation, and for not continuing the other story, but I don’t have a scene directly following that one in my head right now. Barely the start of one, anyway.
I do, however, have pretty much the entire plot of my own little gleeverse in my head, so with any luck inspiration will strike. And if it doesn’t and I go wandering about the memes searching for any sort of writing inspiration, I'll make sure and mark those as being separate from this verse. Unless the prompt happens to fit and I tie it in whilst fulfilling the OP’s requests.
One other thing about this series: The high school ones will be mainly Brittana with some oblique Faberry, and college and after ones are vice-versa, which is why in this Faberry fic a high school experience is explained and a college one isn’t.
A/N#4: One final thing, not connected to this at all: If anybody’s interested, over the next week or so I’m going to post a couple of pieces of original fiction, failed competition entries. One’s vaguely science-fiction-y, the other’s vaguely crime-y.
A/N#5: Well, that was an utter failure at keeping the Author’s Notes short, wasn’t it? But at least I got through it without swearing. Fuckin’ A, Dude!
A/N#6: Shit. Oh, and commenting points for spotting the mistake I deliberately left in the first section (any others are accidental), and any usage of English phrases rather than American. So, on with the fic! Finally!
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Quinn ran a hand through her newly-cropped hair and not for the first time paused before the door to their apartment.
Wait, when did I start to think of it as OUR apartment? This is MY apartment. Mind you, Rach does spend more time here than I do these days. I mean, how long’s it been this time? Six months?
Six months since she’d left on a travel assignment for the rag she was a photojournalist for. Well, photographer for. This was the first time she’d actually provided the words as well, despite having a well-reviewed student play under her belt, and several pieces of campus journalism.
She ran her fingers through her hair again. Her flight had been delaid an hour, so she had taken the decision to have her hair done - carefully ignoring the voice in her head asking questions (So, why is it that you want to look your best for coming home? Why do you want to surprise Rachel? Expecting her to leap into your arms? Again?) - and she just decided she missed the security of her ponytail.
If I still had that, I’d be in there right now, Rach would’ve made me a coffee, and we’d be catching up. I mean, she won’t be asleep yet, right? It’s only…
She checked her watch. 00:32.
Half-past fucking midnight? How? Shit, what if she’s got an audition tomorrow morning she hasn’t told me about? She’ll have been in bed for hours.
For the sixth time since arriving at the door, she made up her mind.
I’ll spend the night at a hotel, surprise her in the morning. Right. Let’s go, Fabray.
This time, she got all the way to the elevator before spinning around on the spot - taking care not to overcook it with her rucksack and other bags - and marching back to the door, where she once again paused in indecisiveness.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
She let out a distinctly Berry-esque “Huff.”. Living with an irritating brunette midget for five years can do some terrible things to your mannerisms.
What if she doesn’t have an audition she hasn’t told me about in the morning? She likes her lies-in.
She stared blankly at the door.
Shit, shit, shit, sh-
SLAP.
“Ouch,” she rubbed her face - with the hand she used to hit herself, “But thank you.”
She took her keys out, slipped them into the lock, and as quietly as possible opened the door.
She almost started with the shits again when she saw that the lights were off, but then she registered that Rachel’s room light was on, as was the shared bathroom light, and the door to the fridge was wide open. She smiled to herself.
Besides, the food wasn’t that bad whilst I was away.
She then stopped smiling, and chose instead to gawp.
For in front of the open fridge, pleasing bending forwards to investigate its contents, was a very, very, short and very, very-
NAKED BERRY.
Rachel had clearly got up to go to the loo, and found herself to be hungry. And naked. Once again, Quinn ignored mental questions (Why is she naked? Who fucking cares?), and a smirk worthy of her high-school self appeared on her features.
Carefully, she placed her rucksack on the floor, and moved her other bags so that she could ultra-quietly shut the door. Having done that, she removed her feet from the flip-flops she used to fly in, and crept with malicious intent towards the naked girl.
Unfortunately for said naked girl, Quinn was successful in her stealth attempt, and she got fingers jabbed in her sides, causing her to drop the packet of meat she was eating out of and yell loudly.
Unfortunately for said Quinn, it was only after she had initiated the manoeuvre that she registered the packet of meat, so the amused yell of:
“RACHEL!”
Caused her to shoot as far back towards the door as a suddenly in the way kitchen island would allow. And a very, very, naked apparently fucking not Rachel Berry shot into the counter next to the fridge and tried to cover herself after also noticing Rachel wasn’t.
At which point a very, very, naked genuine Rachel Berry ran out of her room.
“What is it Dems?”
She stopped dead when she saw Quinn and her companion on opposite sides of the kitchen. Surveying the scene, she worked out what had happened in the blink of an eye, and promptly burst into a fit of hysterical giggles at the looks on their faces.
After being sufficiently glared at, Rachel came to her senses.
“I suppose I’d better try that again, yes?”
Quinn locked eyes with the other woman and then they both turned back to Rachel and proceeded with some solemn nodding.
“Okay.”
Rachel centred herself like a true actress. Quinn Berry-huffed again, earning an amused glance from the naked stranger.
“Rach, if you’re just going to fuck ab-”
Quinn’s criticism was cut short by five foot of naked Berry hitting her square in the chest and wrapping her arms and legs around her, squealing loudly in her ear.
“You’re home!”
Naked Berry Naked Berry Naked Berry Naked Berry Naked Berry.
“You’re home! You’re home! You’re home! You’re home! You’re home!”
Rachel dropped her legs down and went into a normal hug. Holding Quinn tightly, she suddenly realised what wasn’t happening.
“No return hug?” she pouted.
Quinn looked down at her, quirking an eyebrow.
“Naked Berry.”
“What?” Rachel glanced downwards. “Shit!”
She leapt away from Quinn and ran back into her bedroom.
Dat ass.
Pervert.
Rachel ran back out, now in a dressing gown as short as her high school skirts, only to be met by a discrete cough from the other woman.
“Fuck, sorry.”
She twirled round, giving Quinn a show as she returned to the bedroom again.
I seem to remember her wearing underwear in high school.
Such a pervert.
She came out again and tossed another gown towards the still as-yet-unintroduced woman, who had so far taken all this with remarkable good grace. Quinn noticed something.
“Is that my gown?” she pointed at the woman, who grinned sheepishly.
“Sorry,” she drawled.
Texas? By way of California? Maybe?
“I only have one gown of my own, Quinn.”
“Don’t get defensive, it’s cool. Any girlfriend of Rachel’s is a friend of mine. Well, apart from that one girl, you remember?”
Rachel shuddered.
“Please don’t say her name, it might conjure her up. And she’s not my girlfriend, she’s just a colleague.”
“Colleague? She’s naked. I’m not going to walk into your room and find you filming another YouTube video, am I?”
“MySpace,” Rachel corrected, “As you should recall from your frequent posting of derogatory comments.”
Quinn couldn’t stop the look of sorrow flash across her face. She knew Rachel hadn’t meant it maliciously, but the reminder still hurt. Rachel was instantly remorseful.
“Quinn-”
Quinn dismissed her apology with a wave of her hand and a slightly forced smirk.
“Whatever, Rach, YouTube, MySpace, Veoh… Spankwire. They’re all things you shouldn’t be let anywhere near.”
The CaliTexan grinned.
“Especially that last one.”
Quinn returned the grin, and their expressions only grew more amused at the look of absolute horror and indignation on Rachel’s face.
God, you are so fucking adorable when you’re pissed.
“Pardon?”
“True.”
Quinn’s grin quickly dissolved to confusion, and from there to just plain mortified, leading her to clap a hand around her mouth.
Oh SHIT I did not just say that out loud. Except I totally fucking did, didn’t I?
Quinn glanced from Rachel to the girl from Dal-Angeles. Rachel’s expression was unreadable, while her not-girlfriend just shrugged, looking slightly resigned. Quinn decided it would be best to ignore the situation and change the subject.
“Isn’t it about time for introductions?” she said, nodding towards Rachel’s guest, “She was naked in my presence of over a minute.”
This had the effect of turning ‘Normal’ Rachel into ‘Hostess’ Rachel. Out came the megawatt grin and perfect manners.
“Yes, of course. Long past time actually, forgive me. Quinn Fabray, Demetria Lovato, Dems, Quinn.”
She nodded curtly. Quinn reached over, offering a hand. Demi shook it.
“Hello.”
“Hi. Nice to finally meet the Mighty Quinn.”
Quinn shot a questioning glance at Rachel, but she was still in hostess mode.
“Would you like some tea or coffee? I know it’s late, but-”
Quinn shook her head.
“I should go unpack. I’ll leave you and your naked shortarse alone.”
She looked to the other girl.
“You too.”
Quinn took her bags into her room and laid them out on the bed. She was pleased at the lack of dust, Rachel having threatened to not clean her room, citing being too busy at auditions and acting classes. Quinn had just raised an eyebrow at her before kissing her on the cheek as a way of saying goodbye. Her brow furrowed.
I hope she didn’t turn anything down because she was worried about the upkeep on the apartment.
Then she remembered that Rachel would probably burn down their home if it gave her even half a chance at a role she really wanted, and she smiled.
Damn those Stanislavski classes.
Living with Rachel when she’d been auditioning for Stanley in an all-female production of Streetcar hadn’t been pleasant.
She started to unpack, and as she was putting away items in her dresser her eyes happened to glance at her corkboard, settling on a bright white piece of card with gilt lettering:
Dear Rachel & Quinn,
You are cordially invited to the wedding of
Brittany Susan Pierce
and
Santana Maria Lopez
on
21st June 2019
And then, in Santana’s scrawling mockery of handwriting:
(If you ask for separate invitations with +1s, I will fucking kill you.)
And after that, in Brittany’s studied elegant script:
(No she won’t. But it will prove to her that you’re morons.)
Quinn smiled.
Only another two months to go.
She was so lost in the moment that she only just realised she could hear snippets of the conversation Rachel was having with her companion. Not enough to make sense of, however.
I wonder if S will have to kill us after all. I can just picture the invitation: Dear Rachel Idiot Berry and some asshole called Deme-
Wait. WHAT?!
“You didn’t mention just how steaming hot she is.”
“I’m fairly certain that I did mention that she’s quite attractive.”
“Yeah, ‘quite attractive’, not ‘seriously, you’re a bisexual woman living with THAT and you’ve never tapped it?’. They’re two pretty different descriptions, Rae.”
Rachel was busy making drinks, despite Quinn rejecting her offer, but stopped to give Demi a withering glare. The other girl was sitting at the kitchen island.
“Don’t call me that. And don’t objectify, you know I hate that.”
“No, that you genuinely haven’t mentioned. And I objectify a lot.”
Demi smiled her devil smile, and Rachel turned back to the drinks.
Here it comes. Deflection ready and prepared.
“Maybe you just don’t like me objectifying Quinn?”
Rachel finished the drinks and delivered them to the island, taking a stool herself.
“I thought you liked vaguely - or not so vaguely - Hispanic brunettes, anyway?”
Rachel took the extended middle finger and mouthed “Fuck you” in her stride, putting on a mock-horrified expression.
“Demetria Devonne Lovato, such bad manners for an ex-Disney girl.”
“No, seriously Rae, fu-uck you-oo.”
Rachel just giggled. Demi couldn’t stop herself from doing the same.
“Maybe later, huh? After you and Ms. Hot Blonde 2017 have caught up.”
“Possibly, although the walls in this apartment are rather thin. The ones in our previous domicile where thicker. And we probably won’t catch up until tomorrow.”
Demi considered calling Rachel out on her and Quinn having not only lived together in another apartment, but actually having moved together, but decided she couldn’t face the waffling and deflection tactics that would undoubtedly result.
“So why the coffee? She said she didn’t want one.”
“Oh, she will, I’m just waiting for the penny to drop.”
Demi looked at Rachel looking at Quinn’s bedroom door.
It’s too late for this shit, I’m not seventeen anymore. Still…
“What pen-”
“HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! RACHEL’S FUCKING DEMI FUCKING LOVATO!”
Demi observed Rachel’s finger pointing towards the yell, as if to say “That penny.”.
“You’re right, the walls here are thin.”
Rachel nodded sagely. Quinn’s door opened slowly, and a shy-acting Fabray came back into the kitchen. Rachel pointed out the drink she’d made.
“I thought you might like one anyway.”
“Thanks.”
Quinn reached out, grasped the mug and took a sip.
“Ah, lukewarm, my favourite.”
Rachel smiled. Demi watched her expression, then looked to Quinn. She was lost in the aroma of the tea, then she took another sip and grinned at Rachel. Demi smiled to herself.
Fuck it, this was just sex anyway.
Quinn looked to Demi.
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s cool, dude. It happens all the time.”
Quinn smirked at Rachel.
“Just how many people know you’re fucking her?”
“Highly amusing Quinn.”
“Only the couple of hundred thousand people who still follow my twitter.”
Rachel gasped.
“Demetria!”
Quinn and Demi giggled, making Rachel madder. She glowered at both of them.
“Not funny.”
“Oh it so is,” said Quinn,
“Yeah,” Demi agreed, “Sorry Rae, but you’re cute when you’re angry.”
She reached over and squeezed Rachel’s hand, missing neither the fact that Quinn flinched, just for a millisecond, when she did so, nor the fact that it utterly failed to placate Rachel.
“Don’t ca-”
“-All me that, yeah, I know. Sorry.”
She stretched, and downed the rest of her drink.
“Well, I’d kind of like to be up before mid-day tomorrow, so I’m going back to bed.”
She got up, put her mug in the sink, and then turned to Quinn.
“Here,” she said, taking off her dressing gown, “This is yours.”
She held the gown out to Quinn, who took it wordlessly with her left hand, her right still holding the mug to her lips. Quinn couldn’t stop herself from giving the now naked again woman the once over. Rachel coloured.
“Don’t worry,” Lovato said with a smirk, “I haven’t had to use it all that much.”
She walked into Rachel’s bedroom, both other women watching her go. Rachel sighed, and shook her head.
She’s actually fucking swaggering.
Clearly Quinn had had the same thought.
“Nice swagger.”
“Yes. Unfortunately she knows this.”
They smiled together. Rachel looked into her mug.
Nearly there.
“Hmm. I’d better go keep her company, I suppose.”
“She does seem the type to start without you.”
Rachel almost lost her last mouthful of coffee, but managed to drink it through the coughing fit. Quinn tried to pat her on the back, but she wafted her away, grinning up at her.
“You have no idea.”
A voice came from her bedroom.
“Door’s still open, guys. You don’t need to loudly blurt out stuff for me to be able to hear you.”
Rachel stuck her middle finger up in the direction of her door.
“I thought you had better manners than that, Rae.”
She once again set herself on ‘glower’, but she got up and also put her mug in the sink. She turned to Quinn.
“Catch-up properly tomorrow? We could go out for lunch, there’s that fantastic new restaurant I told you about a couple of weeks ago.”
Quinn recalled the intensely detailed e-mail Rachel had sent her.
“I’d like that. You’re paying.”
“Of course.”
She smiled at Quinn, gave her a brief nod, and went to move past her, but Quinn stopped her.
“Rach, what’s with all this ‘Don’t call me that.’ business? Santana calls you Rae all the time.”
“I’m not sleeping with Santana.”
“But you’ve never even mentioned you don’t like it.”
“I can take it from her.”
“Why don’t you like it? I mean, it’s almost universally accepted as a shortening of Rachel.”
Quinn noticed Rachel’s hand flex. From the way her eyes flitted down to observe the movement, Quinn assumed it was subconscious. When Rachel looked back up, her features had hardened, almost imperceptibly.
“I suppose I’m just not especially fond of any masculine epithets.”
Quinn could no longer meet Rachel’s gaze.
Well, shit. You had to fucking ask, didn’t you Fabray?
Rachel nodded again, and moved off. She was almost at her door when Quinn called out.
“Hey, Rachel.”
She turned to see Quinn left up her mug.
“Thanks for the tea.”
She managed to smile again.
“It’s always my pleasure, Quinn. Welcome home.”
She entered her bedroom and shut the door.
Quinn sat with her tea, sipping it slowly despite its increasing coldness. She wished she could make out the content of the muffled conversation coming from Rachel’s bedroom.
Actually, it’s probably better that I can’t.
She sighed.
I wonder how serious this Lovato shit really is. Maybe we will need separate invites after all.
She finished her drink, staring into the empty mug as if to see the secrets of the universe.
Hell, just mine and Rachel’s relationship would do, thank you.
She got up, dragging her mug lazily over the island top, and going over to the sink, picked up Rachel’s and Demi’s mugs and put all three into the dishwasher. Then she picked up her dressing gown from where she’d left it draped over a chair, and took it down to the bathroom, placing it atop the wash pile. She thought about the apartment’s temperamental central heating, and picked it up again.
Fuck it, she’s a Disney kid, how many diseases could she have?
She got to her door, and looked over at Rachel’s. Glancing down at the gown, she sighed again, and went over. Lifting her hand to knock, she caught a piece of the conversation the other women were engaged in.
“-School, she never spoke to me again. We went to the same lessons, Glee Club, performed together quite without incident…”
“Made YouTube videos?”
Quinn knocked quickly. There was a long pause, then Rachel called out for her to enter. Doing so, she was relieved to see that she wasn’t walking in on them in bed together. Demi was in bed, looking quite comfortable, whilst Rachel sat on the edge, still wearing her dressing gown, and looking up at Quinn expectantly.
“Sorry to interrupt.”
“That’s quite alright, Quinn.”
Lovato hooked an eyebrow, she clearly didn’t agree. Quinn tossed the dressing gown, hitting her full in the face.
“Here, I don’t want to see your naked ass again in the morning, even for a second.”
“Cool,” replied Demi, giving her a thumbs up from underneath the gown.
Rachel and Quinn exchanged smiles.
“’Night.”
“’Night.”
Quinn found she couldn’t look away from Rachel.
Shall I, shan’t I?
Oh what the Hell.
She nodded towards Demi.
“Don’t forget to remind her they were MySpace videos.”
The thumbs up turned into a middle finger. Rachel’s smile faltered, but remained. She nodded curtly. Quinn shut the door, and leaned against it.
“Shit.”
“It’s quite alright, Quinn.”
She almost didn’t catch it, it was although Rachel had whispered it against the door.
Wait, it’s Rachel. Of course she’s now listening at the door. I would be too.
“Goodnight, Rach,” she whispered.
“Goodnight, Quinn,” came the quiet reply.
She took care to walk as loudly as possible to her door, and was in the process of shutting it behind her just as carefully noisily when the thought came to her.
She didn’t even notice my haircut.
Rachel entered her room to find Demi in what she obviously thought was an erotic pose, laying elegantly on the bed with her arms wide like some sort of perverse crucifix. She shut the door. Demi looked over at her.
“So?”
Rachel smiled, and sat on the edge of the bed. She let herself slowly pass her gaze over the other woman, from her feet all the way up to her smirk.
“So what?”
Demi sat up, and leant into Rachel, her chin just resting on her shoulder, inches away from her lips.
“So?”
Rachel feigned indifference.
“Meh, at least you didn’t start without me.”
“I was beginning to seriously consider it.”
She closed the gap, and the kiss was slow, verging on sweet. Rachel smiled to herself.
Sweet for Demi, at any rate.
Demi moved her hand onto Rachel’s thigh, brushing gently against the dressing gown, but not going underneath.
Ah well.
Rachel broke the kiss.
“Nice while it lasted.”
Demi’s smirk got even bigger.
“Who says it has to stop?”
Her hand slipped under the gown. Rachel laid a hand of her own on Demi’s forearm. She shook her head.
“No.”
Demi’s smirk faded, and she flopped back onto the bed.
“What, just because she’s back, you’ve suddenly lost all sexual interest in me?”
Rachel sighed.
“Would you believe that I’m just tired, and want to go to sleep?”
Demi glanced down at her own naked form, then back up at Rachel.
“Dude, I’m Demi Fucking Lovato. No.”
Rachel rolled her eyes.
“Seriously, if I thought you were this hung up on your gorgeous flatmate who you’ve never had sex with, I might not’ve invited myself back here last month.”
“I think you mean ‘with whom you have never had sex’.”
“Right.”
“Or, ‘without whom you have ever engaged in intercourse’.”
“Don’t push it.”
Demi expected another smart retort, but Rachel just stared into the middle distance, her mind clearly elsewhere. Then she realised that Rachel’s last sentence was nonsense, and it finally hit her. She cocked her head to the right, regarding Rachel anew.
“When?”
“Twice. Once in high school, once in college, before we moved in together.”
“So why in God’s name are you ‘just friends’ now?”
“We have a very complicated relationship history.”
“You two have lived together for five years, moved home together, had sex before the living together… I mean, seriously? You’ve known each other since high school? That must be the understatement of the fucking century. And we’re only seventeen years into it!”
“There’s even more to it than that, actually. A certain amount of boyfriend-stealing and less-than-pleasant personality clashes, for example.”
Demi raised an eyebrow. Rachel sighed, uncertain if she should continue, knowing the other girl’s stance on the topic.
Please don’t instantly try to kill Quinn.
“She used to bully me. Relentlessly.”
Demi’s face darkened. Rachel shook her head.
“Don’t. She was just kind of messed up. You know what high school’s like.”
“No, actually, I was working all through those years,” Demi replied. She continued with a sigh, “But I know what middle school is like, and high school is supposed to be ten times worse.”
She chuckled mirthlessly.
“And, of course, I do know what it’s like to be on both sides of the issue.”
Rachel patted Demi’s arm in reassurance.
“Still though, you’ve known each other since high school? Goldilocks walked into my life less than an hour ago and I’m already sick and tired of this mutual ‘I’m so into her but I don’t know if she feels the same way about me’ shit that the two of you are pulling.”
Rachel looked at her quizzically. It was the most unsure Demi had ever seen her.
“You really think it’s mutual?”
“From an outsider’s perspective, you two may as well be humping each other in broad daylight.”
“Oh.”
Rachel’s expression was unreadable. Demi decided to backtrack somewhat.
“But, people do have varying intimacy thresholds. I mean, me and Miley were all over each other without ever actually doing it, so…”
Rachel grinned bittersweetly.
“You sounded like me in high school.”
“Hmm. About that…”
Rachel turned to her, confused.
“What?”
“High school. If she used to bully you so much, why the sex?”
“I don’t think-”
“Rae, come on.”
Rachel shot her the dirtiest of dirty looks. Demi attempted to deflect it.
“Seriously, are you trying to make me horny again? You know that pout turns me on.”
It didn’t work.
“Okay, I’m sorry. Really, Rach.”
Rachel’s expression softened. She turned away and looked at the door.
“She changed. I’m not certain when. I already told you a lot about Glee Club…”
“Two-time Nationals winners!”
Rachel gave a quick laugh.
“Right! I don’t know, though… She just changed. Became softer…”
She trailed off. Demi reached over and laid a hand on her shoulder. She looked down at the hand, then focused on Demi.
“How much did I tell you? Did I mention the pregnancy?”
“Not specifically, but it was pretty difficult to miss, the way you told the story. Although tonight is the first I’ve heard about any boyfriend stealing.”
“Oh. Well, that was never that important.”
“How did a girl like that end up joining ‘Nude Erections’ anyway?”
“Okay, so maybe that was slightly important, but not right now.”
Rachel furrowed her brow, only just registering Demi’s joke.
Wait, did she say…? Oh, just leave it.
Demi saw the look on her face and smiled. She waited for her to continue. Rachel leaned her head onto Demi’s hand, and Demi rubbed her cheek with her thumb.
“As I was saying, she became softer… But not soft enough. We grew closer, more friendly. Not friends, never friends, that was a college development, but still, friendlier. To be honest, I’m not certain if any of ‘New Directions’ would’ve counted me as a friend. My personality was somewhat more abrasive back then-”
“Holy shit, you must have been impossible.”
Demi just giggled about receiving the nth glare of the night.
“Moving on… Friendliness leads to group sleepovers. Which leads to cliché.”
Rachel smiled over at Demi, thinking she had settled the matter. She was met simply with a raised eyebrow and a gentle squeeze of the shoulder from the hand left there. She huffed.
“Fine. Group sleepovers lead to alcohol, alcohol leads to needing to get up in the middle of night whilst wearing very little, getting up in the middle of the night whilst wearing very little leads to walking into Quinn in a similar state of affairs, which leads to collapsing onto each other on the floor, which leads to cliché.”
“What happened after? Obviously not sunshine and rainbows.”
“Certainly not Angels,” Rachel almost whispered. Demi ignored the multitude of other questions milling around her head to focus on the important one.
“So?”
“Nothing,” Rachel almost spat the word. It was the bitterest Demi had ever seen her, “Literally, nothing. There was no heart-to-heart, not even a heart-to-knife, no discussion about it one way or the other…”
She had gone back to sadness, and Demi just gently squeezed her shoulder again. Rachel patted the hand, but removed it, turning fully to face Demi. She sighed.
“After we did it in high school, she never spoke to me again. We went to the same lessons, Glee Club, performed together quite without incident…”
“Made YouTube videos?”
There was a quick rap at the bedroom door, and Rachel spun to face it, a look of horror on her face.
How much did she hear? Was she even listening? How much did she hear? How much did she hear? How much did she hear?
She composed herself.
“Come in.”
Rachel leaned with her back against the door and looked up at the ceiling.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, fuck, shit, fuck, fuck, shit, fuck.
“Fuck.”
“Erudite,” said the dressing gown.
Rachel breathed out, slowly, and returned to her position on the bed. Demi finally pulled off the dressing gown and dropped it by the side of the bed. She got under the sheets. Rachel sighed, and put her head in hands.
“That was so embarrassing.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
Rachel dropped her hands and rubbed them together, then carefully flexed them. Demi knew this to be a particularly bad nervous tick.
“It really wasn’t that bad.”
She reached over and undid Rachel’s dressing gown cord, receiving a swatted hand and a glare for her efforts.
“Demi, no.”
“Yeah, I kinda got that, but at least you’re not doing that hand thing anymore,” she smiled at Rachel, and Rachel smiled back, “And it is finally time for bed. You desperately need to sleep off this embarrassment cluster fuck.”
“Hey!”
Rachel punched her in the shoulder. Demi winced, but laughed it off.
“You punch like a girl.”
Fuck. Ouch. A girl who’s been taking Tae Kwon Do lessons since she was fucking five, maybe. Aargh.
Rachel saw through the ruse.
“Don’t worry, I’ll kiss it better in the morning.”
She stood up, shrugged off the dressing gown, and got into bed. Demi smirked gave her her best smirk.
“Even with Little Ms. Smokey-Jazz-Lounge-Voice sleeping across the hall?”
Rachel giggled.
“That’s a good one, she’ll like that.”
She turned to Demi, leaning into her so that their foreheads were touching, and reached a hand up to brush her cheek.
“Why aren’t you being more territorial? Whenever people hit on me in bars you turn into fucking Santana.”
“Having only met her once, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Trust me, it was meant as one. But why so blasé about this thing with Quinn?”
Demi took the hand brushing her cheek into her own and squeezed it, then brought it to her lips and gave it the gentlest of kisses.
“Oh, please. The moment you said one full sentence about her I knew I was screwed if when she came back she spoke about you in the same way. And I am royally screwed, Rachel.”
“Really? Royally?”
“Really royally.”
“I wish I was as confident of that as you are.”
“Just trust me, Rach, I may be a fuck up in my own amorous affairs, but I know love when I see it in other people. It’s why I never went with Nick; I denied my own nature for a fucking age, but I knew enough to not sleep with a guy who genuinely loved me.”
Rachel smiled, softly.
“I used to wonder about that, reading gossip mags.”
“You didn’t used to believe that stuff, did you?”
“Some of it was very convincing.”
“I would’ve thought somebody who always wanted to be famous would have more sense. Have you read what they’re beginning to write about you?”
Rachel giggled.
“Most of it’s true.”
Demi sighed.
“Roll over.”
“Why?”
“I want to be the big spoon one final time.”
“I’m not going to dump you just because she’s back. You might be wrong about her.”
“Anything’s a possibility.”
Demi made a revolving motion with her finger, and Rachel did as she was told. Demi smiled to herself.
For once.
She was enjoying just hugging Rachel when the thought came to her.
“What about college?”
“Hmm?”
“You said the two of had sex in college too.”
“Oh, right. Yeah.”
“Well?”
Rachel stared into space.
“You know - Hic - you look just like someone I used to know in high school.”
“I’ll tell you later. Sleep now.”
“Okay.”
“Although, since we were on the subject of gossip earlier, what did happen between you and Selena?”
Demi stared into space.
“I didn’t know rapists could smile like that.”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Hmmph.”
Demi kissed the back of Rachel’s head.
“You’re right. Sleep now.”
Quinn sighed and looked over at the clock. Four thirty-seven.
“God, it’s so fucking late I’m talking out loud.”
She had just finished tidying away the last of her bedroom things, having spent some time sitting down quietly after her final exchange with Rachel.
“Why did I make that fucking MySpace crack? Way to show you were eavesdropping, Fabray.”
All she had left was a bag of gifts and her toiletries. She sighed, and looked at the clock again.
“To tea or not to tea?”
She sighed again.
“Oh, what the Hell. I’ll drink it in bed, with a book.”
And I’ve got to stop that, if I wake her up talking to myself, Rach will think I’ve come back with some sort of mental disorder.
“Maybe she’d walk out naked again.”
ALRIGHT, ABSOLUTELY NO MORE FUCKING THING OUT LOUD, OKAY?
Quietly, she exited her room and made her way to the kitchen to make her cup of tea. As she went past Rachel’s door she held her hand out and almost brushed her fingertips against the wood.
Seriously, why can’t I tell her?
She prepared everything and waited for the kettle to boil. Listening to the bubbling water, she had another, more mundane, thought.
To pee or not to pee?
To pee. Shit.
“Of course, the ‘Why can’t I tell her?’ bit is pretty mundane for me these days.”
She got up and walked down the corridor to the bathroom, stopping briefly in her room to pick up her toiletries. Having only been in the bathroom for a less than a minute earlier in the night, she now had the opportunity to see what changes, if any, Rachel had made to the layout of the toiletries.
None at all. Big shock.
Rachel, she reflected, was nothing if not a creature of habit. Everything in its place. She put her toiletries in their place, and then used the facilities.
She washed her hands, then paused. And sniffed.
Can I smell tea? I didn’t think I wanted one so badly I'm going in for olfactory hallucination.
She opened the door to be met with a cup of tea in the hands of a tiny brunette. She was speechless. Rachel frowned.
“I’m sorry, had you decided you weren’t going to have one after all?”
Quinn gathered her thoughts.
Maybe she’ll mention my haircut now. Wait, no, wrong thought…
“Rachel, if anyone apologises, it should be me. I’m sorry I woke you. Thank you for making the tea, though.”
There it is.
She took the cup, and drank some immediately, sighing contentedly.
“You’re better at it than I am, after all.”
Rachel smiled.
“Very true. It’s presumptuous of you to apologise for waking me, however, as I was having trouble sleeping anyway.”
“Oh. Sorry for being presumptuous, then.”
They walked back to their bedroom doors.
“Yes. As a matter of fact, I was lying in bed wondering if I myself wished to use the bathroom, I don’t, by the way, and I heard you come out of your room and fiddle about in the kitchen, talking to yourself. Then when you went to the bathroom yourself, I heard the kettle boil and decided I would be a good flatmate and make you your drink.”
Having finished, Rachel just stood there beaming at her. Quinn couldn’t help but smile widely.
“You know you revert to teenagerdom when you’re tired, right?”
“I am aware of that, yes.”
They both giggled. Then Quinn registered something Rachel said.
Wait, what did I say to myself in the kitch- oh, shit, not again.
The change in her demeanour did not go unnoticed.
“Quinn? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, it’s nothing.”
Rachel didn’t look convinced, so Quinn took it upon herself to change the subject.
“I see the bathroom is just as spotless and, well, the same, as my room. ”
“Everything in its place, Quinn.”
“I was literally just thinking that.”
“You were genuinely just thinking that.”
Quinn narrowed her eyes at Rachel, raised an eyebrow, then gave up trying to be mad and grinned instead.
“Are you sure Britt’s the only Aspy I know?”
“I don’t think living with a social illness has any bearing on correcting people on bad grammar. And to use your example, I’m almost certain Brittany wouldn’t even know you’d said something wrong.”
“I’m telling Santana you said that.”
Rachel’s eyes went wide.
“Please don’t.”
“Relax, I’ll make sure and tell her when B’s nuzzling her neck. It’d be almost impossible to do it at any other time anyway. But, what I was really referring to was the fact that both the bathroom and my bedroom appear to been kept spotlessly clean without anything having been moved at all.”
“Ah. Yes.”
“There’s a book on my bedside table that’s still open at the same page I left it open at six months ago.”
“Actually, I did close that, with a bookmark, but then last Sunday I panicked that you might come back early, and opened it again.”
“Ah. Because nobody could call that a sign of social illness.”
“Hmmph. It’s not true, anyway, I did move some things in your room.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, there were some pens laying on your desk that I put back in their cases, and-”
Rachel suddenly shut up. Quinn frowned.
“And?”
Rachel shuffled her feet, her eyes downcast. When she spoke, she did so slowly and carefully.
“And you left an unfinished manuscript on your bed.”
Quinn’s eyes went even wider than Rachel’s had a brief period earlier.
“You read it.”
Rachel’s eyes shot up to meet hers.
“I- I didn’t- for weeks! Th- Three weeks! I left it there, minding its own business…”
Quinn’s expression went from aghast to disbelieving in the blink of an eye. Rachel regarded the raised eyebrow.
If she keeps doing that to that extent she’ll tear something. Maybe give herself ptosis. Wait, that’s eyelids, isn’t it…
“Would you believe two weeks?”
Quinn shook her head.
“Okay, seriously, it was four days. Genuinely.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry, Quinn, I know you don’t like people reading your work before it’s finished, but your other stuff was so good, and that’s coming from someone who’s a rising star in the industry, that I just couldn’t not read it. You’re wasted as a photographer.”
“I like my job, Rachel.”
“I know you do, really, but you are an award-winning playwright, even if it was just a college award, and it seems sometimes like you don’t care about that aspect of your life anymore.”
“I haven’t stopped writing.”
“The last play you completed was three years ago.”
Quinn sighed.
“Work gets in the way.”
“How long have you been working on this one?”
“Honestly? It started as an assignment.”
Rachel was aghast.
“In college?!”
Quinn pursed her lips.
“In high school.”
Rachel didn’t know what to say. She really hadn’t expected Quinn to have been working on it for that long.
“You usually finish things quite quickly.”
Quinn just nodded.
“Did… Did you want me to speak to the theatre director? I do have some pull, I could probably-”
Quinn cut her off.
“You may have forgotten, but I do have an agent, Rach, I don’t need any favours.”
“You do? Yes, of course you do, sorry. Sandra something?”
“Myerson, yes. Don’t laugh.”
Rachel swallowed the guffaw she almost let out, shaking her head forcefully.
“Never.”
“Good. There are currently two productions of my work coming up. One off-off-Broadway production of my ‘award-winning’ piece, and another in Chicago.”
“What are they doing?”
“Bridewell. The one about the therapeutic garden for people with mental illnesses.”
“That was very good. It’s nice they let you use the real name of the place. Especially since given that it’s all the way over in England, nobody would’ve been any the wiser.”
“I’d be the wiser.”
“Yes, of course. Even so, about your unfinished, as-yet untitled work, there does seem to be the capacity for song in it, the necessity, even, and you’ve never written a musical, so I could probably get you onto a course in the writer’s workshop. Get you networking with potential songwriters.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Quinn sighed, leaning against her door, and took a long overdue gulp of tea. She gazed into the brown liquid.
“So, what did you think of it so far?”
Rachel considered her answer carefully.
“I thought… That I come off surprisingly well in it, especially considering what you thought of me in high school.”
Quinn said nothing, not looking up from her tea.
“And you come off surprisingly poorly, although if you really did start it in high school I guess that’s actually less surprising since you clearly were dealing with a certain amount of self-hatred back then.”
Quinn still didn’t look up.
“’Back then’.”
“In fact, it’s close to the bone with regards to yourself that I’m surprised you didn’t just go the whole hog and call the character Quinn.”
“I guess I didn’t want it to be that easy to check up on. It’s already in my biography that I was in a show choir that won Nationals twice, and I don’t think you’ve ever given an interview where you haven’t mentioned New Directions.”
“I’ve only done two interviews, Quinn.”
“And have you not mentioned New Directions?”
Rachel wisely remained silent.
“There you go.”
“But that can’t possibly have gone through your mind if you were writing in high school.”
Quinn sighed yet again and ran a hand through her hair.
“To be honest, Rach, I’ve started from scratch with it at least five times. Who knew writing about Glee Club would be so difficult?”
“Hmm. It was a very emotive time.”
“No shit. And you wouldn’t really want me to use my actual name, would you? I mean, you may think you come off ‘surprisingly well’ in it, but most people would still think you’re an horrendous monster. I don’t think I wrote about any of us in especially complimentary terms. I even pick on Britt, and as if Santana wouldn’t kill me for it anyway, if it ever went into production, she’s not so slow that she won’t get it’s meant to be her.”
“There’s nothing in what you have written so far that didn’t actually happen. Santana won’t kill you for that. A lawyer might, you’ll probably have to make it less obviously about our Glee Club, but Santana would never.”
Quinn smiled.
“Did you just admit that you were an horrendous monster in high school?”
Rachel smiled back.
“Only in high school?”
They shared a quiet laugh. Rachel lifted her hand, and laid it on Quinn’s forearm.
“The only other thing I might say is, you really are too hard on yourself.”
“I have a lot to be hard on myself over.”
“But did you really have to include the scene where you get drunk with Puck and become pregnant? You could have simply mentioned it later.”
“No, that’s too important. Show, don’t tell, Rachel. Basic storytelling. And I make it quite clear that I’m pretending to get drunk. It was only a couple of wine coolers.”
“I suppose you’re right. It was quite a catalyst, after all.”
“No shit.”
Rachel squeezed Quinn’s arm. Quinn stared into her tea again.
“I’m really good at pretending to be drunk.”
It was so quiet Rachel almost didn’t hear. She did, however, and so she gave another squeeze.
“I’m sure it’ll be brilliant when you finish it, Quinn.”
Quinn grinned.
“Well of course, I am award-winning, after all.”
“Quite so.”
It was Rachel’s turn to sigh.
“I really should leave you to your increasingly lukewarm tea."
"Hey, it's my favourite, remember?"
"Of course, but we've been standing here so long I think I might have to use the bathroom after all.”
“Go then, it wouldn’t be good if a brilliant young playwright wrote a scene about a stunning young ingénue peeing herself.”
Rachel’s mouth dropped open.
“No it would not!”
Her gape turned into an evil grin.
“Wrong hole, by the way.”
The appalled look Quinn gave her was worth it.
“Good God, Berry! Too much information.”
The blonde cocked her head.
“Very Brittany-ish, in fact.”
The brunette harrumphed.
“I am not socially ill.”
“Of course not.”
Quinn utilised her free hand to pat the hand Rachel had left on her forearm. Rachel narrowed her eyes at her, but Quinn just smiled, so Rachel found it impossible to stay mad, and smiled back. The two women remained in that position in a comfortable silence, until Rachel realised she really did need to go to the bathroom.
“Um, I really do need to go, so…”
“Oh, yeah, of course, and anyway, I would like to read with at least some heat left in my tea, so…”
They parted.
“Goodnight, Quinn.”
“Goodnight, Rach.”
Quinn remained leaning against her door as Rachel walked off. She once again ran a hand through her hair. She smiled to herself, bittersweetly.
If she didn’t mention it earlier, why would she mention it when she’s sleep-deprived or needing the toilet?
Rachel had just opened the bathroom door when she turned around and walked back towards her.
“Oh, and I forgot to say earlier, despite it being pretty much the first thing I noticed about you, the whole nudity thing threw me slightly, but I really like your new haircut. It’s just the right length and frazzled-ness.”
She stood in front of Quinn again, and reached up to run her own fingers through the cropped hair. Quinn revelled in the touch, but remained silent and stoic on the outside.
“Don’t make it too much shorter, though, I don’t think the true pixie look would suit you.”
She walked back to the bathroom, giving Quinn a little wave, which she returned, before shutting the door. Quinn grinned like a maniac, and entered her bedroom.
The hallway was now quiet.