Angeles (Chapter Two)
The Day The Sky Caught Fire
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two: The Cards Left to Play
London, England, 1348
Rachel doesn’t need to be told there’s something more to Quinn and Santana’s friendship than meets the eye. It isn’t anything romantic but there’s still something there, a deep loyalty that defies both rationality and reason. It is an understanding that goes beyond the concept of words, and Rachel wonders what atrocities must have happened to forge that bond between them.
It is also a loyalty she understands because it is similar to what she feels for Brittany, a fierce protectiveness and she means it when she says she will protect Brittany with her life. It is something Santana and Quinn feel for each other but she can’t help but wonder why - what must have happened, where did this loyalty come from? What forged this bond?
Is the fire still burning in the depth of Quinn’s memories? Is that the reason why her beautiful angel is so afraid of dreaming, because she remembers everything in her sleep?
Eventually Santana notices her watching the two angels, and the angel’s eyes flicker between Rachel and Quinn. There’s something in her eyes, a mixture of amusement and concern, and she wonders what to make of it. She still doesn’t quite know where she stands with Santana, doesn’t know if the angel considers her an ally or an enemy, doesn’t know if she’s her friend or if she is merely tolerated. It’s an enigma, as is everything else with these fallen angels.
And she wants to understand, she really does. She wants to understand why Santana is watching over Quinn all the time, what Santana must have seen to believe Quinn will always need someone by her side even when the blonde angel will insist she doesn’t. She doesn’t miss, too, the way Santana is starting to look at Brittany, and more importantly, the way Brittany is starting to look back at Santana.
She doesn’t know what to make of that, the same way she doesn’t know what to make of Quinn. She feels it, the way Quinn watches her when she thinks she’s sleeping, can almost feel the caress of those hazel eyes on her body. She doesn’t have to open her eyes to know how tense Quinn is as she fights against what her instincts are telling her to do, can almost hear the voices in Quinn’s mind - just touch her, no one will know, go on just do it you know you want to, just see if her skin is that smooth, just do it…
Come morning, though, Quinn barely looks at her at all. There’s an almost dismissive air to her, as she considers Rachel to be a mere inconvenience, as if she considers looking at Rachel to be beneath her. It’s that same trace of arrogance, of confident superiority that she had seen in Santana that night in the kitchen, and she still wonders about the trace of it, if it’s a part of them or if they were taught to believe in it.
She doesn’t quite know what to believe in, anymore.
& & &
Ever since the angels fell from the sky, Rachel hasn’t been able to sleep through a thunderstorm. She keeps seeing it over and over again, the way lightning flashed through the sky, painting it a color it should never have been. She can still hear Santana’s plea - “Make it stop, Quinn, just make it stop” - and since then, she can only associate the roll of thunder with the angels’ suffering.
She walks softly to the kitchen, trying not to disturb anyone in the farmhouse. The sight of Quinn, leaning against the window, is a surprise but isn’t unwelcomed either. Rachel hesitates slightly. Quinn knows she’s there - Quinn always knows when she’s around -but she still wants to know if it’s okay for her to stay.
“We remember different things, Santana and I,” Quinn says softy, still facing the window, and Rachel takes that as acknowledgement of her presence.
“What do you remember?” She asks, and Quinn finally turns around to face her.
“Everything.” And there’s something so defeated about the way she says it, as if she’s so resigned to her fate that she has given up on fighting, and Rachel feels her heart break a little bit more. “I remember everything.”
“And Santana?” She asks, because she doesn’t quite know what else to say. “What does she remember?”
“A different kind of everything.” There’s a trace of something in Quinn’s eyes - a flash of defiance, a hint that suggests there is a part of Quinn still capable of fighting back, but it’s gone before Rachel can begin to make sense of it.
Instead, though, she steps hesitantly towards Quinn. The angel just watches her approaching, and while the trace of disapproval is gone from her eyes, her body language is still cautious, still suspicious of Rachel’s true motives. It strikes Rachel, perhaps for the first time, that maybe Quinn doesn’t know where she stands either.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Rachel says quietly.
“I know,” Quinn nods. “But I’ve been told that before.”
She doesn’t say anything else, but Rachel still understands what Quinn is implying. She wonders what that person’s motivations were, why they betrayed Quinn, if they regret it or if they don’t think about her at all. The thought scares her because Quinn has gotten under her skin, to the point that she can’t think of anything else.
She hesitates for a moment, then she reaches out and touches the palm of Quinn’s hand. There is something comforting in the heat of Quinn’s body, as if her mere presence is enough to fight the cold outside, the evil spirits lurking both in the darkness and in Quinn’s memories. Quinn looks down at her hand. She seems almost surprised by the intimacy of the gesture.
“Am I hurting you?” Rachel asks, suddenly afraid. She jerks her hand back as if burnt, but Quinn is still staring, almost transfixed.
“No,” she answers quietly, her tone full of wonder. “You just make me feel.”
Rachel doesn’t want to think about what it means, that Quinn is so surprised by human emotions.
“What happened to you?” Rachel asks. “Why don’t you trust anyone except for Santana?” For the longest time Quinn doesn’t answer. Instead she turns to the window, her body language pushing Rachel away.
“His name was Finn,” Quinn says, so softly Rachel isn’t completely convinced the angel even meant to speak out loud. “He had a very charming smile.”
& & &
The sensations plague Quinn for the rest of the night. She stands there in the kitchen, finding comfort in the way the cold filters in through the cracks in the wall. She hasn’t moved in hours, though, still staring at her hand, still trying to understand the meaning of it all.
She isn’t supposed to feel.
She hasn’t felt this way since - him. She doesn’t like even thinking his name because it reminds her of everything that happened: the heartache, how she was used as a pawn in a game that had nothing to do with her, the betrayal that came afterwards… She remembers it the most clearly in her dreams and that is why she does her best to avoid falling asleep. It is also how she managed to convince herself it is safer to feel nothing at all than to feel anything.
Was this actually her punishment - feeling? When she was pushed out of the gates of Heaven, when she was to go “live amongst the humans”, was she really being told to feel the effects of human emotions? Is this actually her penance instead of salvation?
Quinn shakes her head, trying to make sense of the thoughts plaguing her mind. Her hand still burns from Rachel’s touch and she doesn’t understand why the sensation won’t fade, nor does she understand why she doesn’t want it to. She takes a deep breath, trying to wrestle back the control she feels slipping from her grasp.
She doesn’t want to feel. She remembers all too well what happened the last time she did. She remembers everything. She hasn’t forgotten, no matter how hard she tried to. No matter how much time has passed, the memories are still there, and she wants to forget it all, she really does.
But then there is Rachel, lingering in her subconscious, with her generosity and compassion. Quinn still doesn’t quite understand how this good in Rachel hasn’t been tainted because there is a part of her that does want to reach out and corrupt it, just to see if she can, just to see if the brunette’s faith in humanity is as strong as the prophecy makes it out to be.
She wants to know if Rachel’s faith in angels is as strong as the brunette claims it is. If she really believes that these strangers who have invaded her life and her home really represent all that is good because the darkness in Quinn hasn’t disappeared at all. It sits there, simmering beneath of the surface, reminding the angel of the damage she could do if her control was taken away from her, if she lost the one thing that held her together.
Outside, lightening zaps through the sky, illuminating the room, reminding her of all she has lost, reminding her of all that she still stands to lose.
& & &
“You’re very pretty for an angel.”
Brittany’s voice breaks the silence in the kitchen and Quinn turns to face her.
“You don’t think angels are meant to be pretty?” She asks, and there’s a trace of both amusement and hurt lingering under the passive expression on her face.
“I think you look human,” Brittany says, sidestepping the question. Quinn tilts her head, a small smile flickering.
“Is that so?” She drawls, and it would come across as mocking if the hazel eyes didn’t look so alive. It strikes Brittany suddenly that Quinn might actually be enjoying this conversation.
“A human is probably the nicest thing you could call Quinn,” Santana teases as she emerges from another room.
Quinn laughs, and this - this is what Rachel must have seen, Brittany realizes. This is the friendship she saw, this easy banter between them, and now, now she can see what Rachel actually meant. She can almost reach out and touch the bond between them, it feels that strong. They understand each other, with their unspoken loyalty forged from having seen too much and not having found the words to make the visions disappear from their memories.
Their friendship is what makes being an angel bearable, Brittany suddenly understands. It’s what keeps them from falling apart. It isn’t any notion of good or faith in God or anything else like that, instead it’s something much simpler, almost even purer. Friendship. The simple act of being there for each other.
Maybe that’s why Quinn grabbed Santana, Brittany thinks. It was about survival instincts, as Quinn had claimed, but both she and Rachel had misinterpreted it. It wasn’t about Quinn holding on to anything, it was Quinn holding on to someone.
“Do all angels have best friends?” Brittany asks, suddenly desperate to understand their friendship better.
“No, we’re special,” Santana says as she winks at her. Brittany looks at the ground, blushing.
“Really?” Brittany presses, and Santana laughs at the obvious awe in her voice.
“Of course we’re special,” Quinn states confidently, and again there is that trace of arrogance, the one that is both charismatic and frustrating. She does believe she’s better than humans, Brittany realizes, and she expects everyone else to believe that, too. “What else would we be?”
“Modest?” Emma Pillsbury suggests as she walks in. “Humble? I can think of several ways you would want to describe yourself as.”
Quinn’s body language changes immediately. Gone is the carefree, relaxed stance of moments before; instead, the angel’s posture stiffens. It is the image of someone bracing themselves for confrontation, and Brittany frowns, not knowing Quinn’s sudden hostility came from.
She’s so focused on watching Quinn that she doesn’t see Santana move until the brunette’s hand is wrapped around the prophet’s throat. The absence of noise is deafening.
“Where are your visions now?” Santana snarls in Emma’s face.
Emma’s eyes widen but other than that, she doesn’t react at her. Brittany hesitates, overcome with indecision. She doesn’t like this side of Santana, she can almost reach out and touch the anger radiating off of her angel but it’s Quinn that terrifies her the most. Emma’s life is in Santana’s hands, but she knows, it’s Quinn’s lack of action that could kill her mother’s friend.
“Do something!” She eventually hisses at Quinn. The blonde angel looks up from her nails.
“Oh, you think she should live?” Quinn asks, and it’s terrifying, the lack of emotion in her voice, as if she considers Emma’s life as a nuisance, an inconvenience she can’t quite get rid of.
“You can’t kill her!” Brittany pleads and she’s so, so close to crying, she just doesn’t understand, doesn’t know what to do in this situation.
“It would be so easy, you know,” Quinn says, and she’s back to looking at her nails, and that’s what makes it so scary. Quinn honestly doesn’t seem to care at all about Emma’s life.
“Please, stop, you’re scaring me,” Brittany cries, and finally, finally something seems to get through to Quinn because her eyes finally have emotion in them.
“Let her go,” she says quietly, and Santana releases her grip on Emma’s throat. In the blink of an eye, though, Emma’s back is against the wall and this time it’s Quinn’s hand wrapped around Emma’s throat.
“Your visions are wrong,” she hisses quietly, just low enough for Emma and Santana to hear. “You can’t be writing the future before it happens. That’s not how this works. Your visions have to be wrong.”
She’s back on the other side of the room in less than a second, wearing the air of casual indifference like a mask.
“What’s going on?” Shelby asks as she walks through the door, Rachel in tow. “Emma, what are you doing here?”
“Nothing,” Santana answers quietly, and there’s the same lack of emotion that’s reflected on Quinn’s face in her voice. “And she was just leaving.”
It isn’t a question and isn’t taken as such. Emma walks out quietly, and Rachel just stands in the doorway, looking between Brittany and the angels, knowing that something has changed but she doesn’t know what.
& & &
She knew something was wrong as soon as she stepped inside the room. Brittany was shaking, Santana was indifferent, but it was Quinn who tipped her off.
Rachel has seen Quinn look a lot of things in the past couple of weeks, but she’s never seen Quinn look a little remorseful. She’s seen pain, anguish, guilt, even on rare occasions, happiness, but she has never seen Quinn show remorse.
What happened to her beautiful, tormented angel? When was she replaced with this distant stranger? Is the shy blonde who quietly whispered in awe that she was remembering how to feel gone for good?
She moves quietly through the house, trying to find her. She doesn’t want to think about how she couldn’t sleep without Quinn by her side. It’s not normal, to feel this attraction, this pull to someone who isn’t completely convinced she won’t destroy the world. Rachel suddenly stops. She can just make out Quinn’s profile next to the fire. Santana is standing next to her.
“You got careless,” Santana says softly. “You got careless and you could have gotten us killed.”
“I know,” Quinn says quietly. Her jaw clenches and even though she can’t see her eyes, Rachel knows the anger is flickering in them. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“I could have taken care of it,” Santana continues, ignoring Quinn completely. “You and I both know that. The situation could have been taken care of, just like that.”
“I know,” Quinn repeats. “You don’t think I’m aware of all that?”
Silence falls between them, and Rachel continues to watch them as the fire licks at their outlines. It paints them in a light she had only seen Quinn in, and not for the first time, she realizes that their beauty is divine, that someone else had to have played a part in their creation because they are that beautiful.
“It was simpler before, wasn’t it?” Quinn muses quietly, staring at the fire. “When it was just you and me, when none of this had ever happened. When we didn’t know. It was simpler back then.”
“Yes,” Santana says softly, “it was.”
“Would you go back, if we could?” Rachel’s angel asks.
For the longest time, Santana doesn’t answer, and the fire continues to paint shadows across their features. From this angle, Rachel can see how exhausted Quinn looks. She has barely slept since she has arrived, and it’s starting to take its toll on her. The composure for which Santana is supposedly known for has vanished completely and now the stress is written all over her face.
“It’s not that simple,” Santana eventually answers. “Maybe before, when we didn’t know… But now? I don’t think I could go back. I just couldn’t.”
“She held my hand,” Quinn admits. “I can still feel it. Is that normal?”
“She’s good for you,” the brunette finally tells Quinn. “You and I can both see that. She’s good for you. She… makes you feel, and that’s something you haven’t done in a really long time.”
“Like I said,” Quinn sighs, turning to face the fire. “Things were simpler when we didn’t know.”
She flicks her wrist and the fire burns brighter.
“For someone who claims they don’t care,” Santana begins carefully, but then her voice trails off. She just looks at Quinn, and Rachel can see the sympathy on Santana’s face.
“What happened before,” Santana starts again, “it won’t happen to you again. I’ll make sure of that. She’ll make sure of that, too. You don’t have to be afraid here, Quinn. You have me looking out for you. And you have Rachel.”
Santana turns and looks straight in the direction where Rachel is partly hidden from the shadows.
“You could be doing a lot worse than having Rachel around,” Santana says, and Rachel takes it for what it is - a gesture of acknowledgment, and beneath that, a stamp of approval.
& & &
“Your visions are wrong.”
Quinn’s words, hissed low and injected with venom, keep replaying in Emma’s head. She doesn’t understand any of it - it had always been Quinn’s anger could be triggered, the dreams had shown as much; Santana’s fury was more of a surprise.
What bothers her, though, is the choice of words. Why was Quinn so desperate to insist that she was mistaken in her dreams. She knows, from where Brittany was standing, that the young blonde could only see the anger - but she was the one who saw Quinn’s eyes, she was the one who the desperation in them.
Why, though? Why did Quinn so desperately want her to believe that the future wasn’t what she thought it could be? Why was Quinn protecting her, when she could easily be giving in to the darkness?
She had seen it, both in Santana and in Quinn, that famous darkness they hid so skillfully. She wonders what it must be like, to have something that dark inside of you, and she admires the angels for their control. It would not take much, she thinks, for them to take someone’s life. It was clearer with Quinn, the temptation is there, beneath the hazel eyes and angelic features - a hidden desire for revenge, to even the score a little. But over what?
A knock on the door pulls Emma out of her monologue. She opens it to find a tall young boy standing on the other side, wet from the rain.
“I’m really sorry,” he says, “but I’m completely lost. I was wondering if you knew where Rachel and Shelby lived? They have something of mine that I’m supposed to pick up.”
“Yes,” Emma says, before she can stop herself. She catches herself, hesitates a little, looking at him.
“Oh, I’m completely forgetting my manners,” the boy apologizes with a charming smile. “My name is Finn Hudson.”
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Disclaimers:
- London wouldn't be bankrupting me this much if I owned Glee
- Title of the chapter is a line from "Angeles" by Elliott Smith
- Special thanks to Erika who, as always, played along with plot development and didn't say anything about me killing her inbox over the past week.